Midnight Enchantment (4 page)

A week of hunting and he’d caught nothing but a handful of moonbeams, a whiff of flowered soap, and a whisper of silken soft skin. No stolen pieces. Only defeat.

He made his way through the glossy black marble corridors of the Unseelie Court, to the ornately carved door of the
Shadow Queen’s quarters. The two black-and-silver-garbed Shadow Guard on either side of the entrance recognized him and gave him access immediately.

He stepped into the room to find Aislinn, the queen of the Unseelie, sitting on a chair in the middle of her large white and rose receiving room. Those who wanted to talk to her came here, to this intimate yet well-appointed room, which was a far cry from the chilly, palatial throne room of the Rose Tower, which currently sat empty.

An enormous swath of red and white velvet and silk encompassed her slim body. Pearls draped her throat and dripped from her ears. Her spine looked ramrod straight, probably from the corset. Once Aislinn was dressed in her elaborate court finery for the day, she didn’t move much. Niall knew all too well that Aislinn preferred her jeans and T-shirts to heavy gowns and jewelry, but there were traditions the fae never gave up. The Shadow Queen—or King, as the case may be—dressed in elaborate finery befitting his or her station.

Caoilainn Elspeth Muirgheal, Summer Queen of the Seelie Court, was always dressed similarly, but Caoilainn always added a coat of frigid bitch to wear as an accessory.

Aislinn turned toward him. Her face appeared pale and dark smudges marked the flesh under her eyes. Normally tension never showed on Aislinn’s beautiful face. Conditions right now were just too much—they’d be too much for anyone. “Niall.” Her voice sounded edgy, yet a note of hope rang through.

He said nothing, only returned her gaze. His lack of response and his expression were message enough—he’d failed again. He hated stealing away that tiny seed of optimism she had.

She dropped her head and let out a slow breath, not speaking for several pregnant moments. “You know that chaos and death are at our door.”

He stepped from the foyer into the room and walked to stand near her. “I know.”

“I may soon need to unleash the goblins and the sluagh on the Rose Tower. No fae ruler has done that since the dark days of the Fae Wars.”

The Shadow Queen couldn’t release the sluagh on an asrai. Not even an immortal army of the damned could catch Elizabeth. The Summer Queen had known that.

“I know.” His gaze dropped to the faint trace of the Shadow Amulet at her collar—the mystical necklace all the Shadow rulers donned that gave them power beyond imagining. The problem was that this power was all tied to death and violence. The goblins, when used as a weapon, were horrendous. The sluagh were worse.

This was why Aislinn looked so taxed.

She’d been forced to take the Shadow Throne when her savage biological father, the former Shadow King, had attempted to kill her and raze her soul. But Aislinn wasn’t really made for the brutality that came with running one of the fae courts. There were hard decisions to be made—carnage to be wrought. Rose or Black didn’t matter, there was always blood on the hands of the Tuatha Dé Danann sídhe royals.

“Soon I’ll have no choice but to unleash the hell of the Netherworld on the head of the Summer Queen, wherever she may be, in order to get those final pieces. This will spark a war between the Rose and Black Towers at a time when we need unity, not division. We will be a warring and divided people when Gideon Amberdoyal gets his way and splits Piefferburg like a ripe peach, probably with the help of the U.S. government. Eventually the humans will have to step in.” She raised her gaze to his. “Embroiled in internal conflict, that’s no way to meet our worst enemy.”

“Give me a little more time.”

“We were out of time the moment Charlotte brought us the final piece of the
bosca fadbh
.”

“I know I can catch her.”

She pressed her lips together. “She’s an
asrai
, Niall. She’s not getting caught unless she wants to be. You’ve never met anything like what she is. None of us have.”

He allowed a slow smile to slip over his mouth. “Maybe, but she’s never met anything like me, either. I have more magick up my sleeve, Aislinn. I’m far from defeated. I’ll find a way to trap her. I swear by my life.”

She smiled a little, and he felt his heart lighten. He cared about Aislinn, worried about her as his friend, not just as his queen. “I will give you a little more time, but not much more, Niall. Not much more.”

*   *   *

GIDEON strode down the gravel pathway leading to the front gates of Piefferburg, the heels of his brown loafers making an unpleasant gritty sound with every step he took. The Labrai-damned U.S. government and their Labrai-damned soldiers were not going to stop him from destroying the fae before they could use the Book of Bindings and the
bosca fadbh
to break the walls of Piefferburg.

No one but Labrai, Himself, would stop him from achieving his goal. Not Colonel McGivens. Not the National Guard.
No one.
The fae would free themselves over his dead body.

The humans didn’t know what was good for them. Insignificant, ignorant creatures with the life expectancy of a worm. They didn’t want to protect themselves, fine, but they weren’t going to drag him and his brothers through the muck of their compassionate stupidity either.

Waiting. Waiting. Negotiating. Diplomacy. More waiting.

Enough!

A barely evolved monkey in a uniform stepped in front of him holding a rifle crossways over his chest. “No Phaendir allowed past this point, sir.”

Gideon raised his head a degree to stare into the young human man’s face. His right eye twitched. “Do you know who I am?”

“Mr. Archdirector, sir.”

“Then get the fuck out of my way, soldier.”

“Can’t do that, sir. Got orders from Colonel McGivens that no one passes this point but authorized personnel.”

Gideon took a pained breath of air and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Sometimes he really wished he could channel the force of the Phaendir’s collective magick through his body on his own. He couldn’t, of course. Phaendir magick had to do with strength in numbers; it was hive magick. All he had was his brute strength.

Looking at him, one wouldn’t peg him for a strong man, though, as Phaendir, he was much, much stronger than the average human male—even stronger than a soldier in the two hundred and ninety-fifth Heavy Brigade Combat Team of the United States National Guard. He was well aware of how he appeared to others—balding brown head, medium-brown eyes,
average height and slight build, face that wasn’t much to write home about. He’d always thought his looks were an advantage.

They made people underestimate him.

Still pinching the bridge of his nose, he punched straight out with his opposite hand, the handle of the blade he’d hidden up his sleeve firmly in his palm—tip stabbing forward, aiming for the lungs. The knife slid through the fabric of the man’s uniform and slipped into flesh as sweet as a bursting berry and just as red. He might not have individual magick to wield, but he was stronger and faster than any human around.

The soldier gurgled wetly, his eyes wide with surprise. He slumped forward, against Gideon. He backed away and the human collapsed to the ground, blood trickling out of his mouth.

A soldier not far away yelled and pointed. Others spotted the fallen man, saw Gideon, and ran toward him. Gideon sprinted away from gates, around the wide, tall brick wall of Piefferburg, gunfire popping behind him.

Should he have snuck out here in the dead of night without the damn U.S. military trying to shoot holes in him? That would have been nice. It also would not have alerted the government to a very important point—he was going in and he was getting the job done. This was his message to them.

A bullet whizzed past his ear and struck the ground near his foot. Another bullet embedded itself in the wall at just the same time he found his target, a crumbling space in the barrier surrounding Piefferburg. It was well concealed by trees and had been left open over the years on purpose by the Phaendir. He and his brethren had also created a rift in the warding in this spot, allowing Phaendir to enter, but no fae to leave.

He dove into the bushes and trees concealing the spot and wiggled through the space, pushing his way through the muck, mud, scraggy trees, and bushes that grew in this part of Piefferburg. Behind him he heard the soldiers yelling, calling out to the others to see if anyone had seen where he’d gone. They would probably assume he’d entered Piefferburg; maybe they’d even find the open spot in the wall.

That was of no concern to him.

He sat for a moment, looking up at the wall from the Piefferburg side. If a fae came too close to the warding, it would repel them—violently.

Wincing, he put a hand to his side, where he’d been stabbed trying to prevent Charlotte Bennett from taking the third piece of the
bosca fadbh
not long ago. The Phaendir had used magick to speed his healing, but the wound still gave him twinges of pain when he moved wrong.

Grimacing in discomfort, mud sticking to his shoes and pant legs up to his knees, he squelched his way through to the other side of the muck until he could no longer hear the cries of the soldiers, then sat down with a thump and pulled off his shoes.

Silence. Not a bird cried. Not a leaf rustled. It was eerie.
Creepy.
Like the Boundary Lands knew he’d just entered and were watching him, weighing him, wondering what to do with him.

He looked around. Tall pine trees reached for the blue sky above his head. Small bushes of pink and lavender flowers spotted here and there, growing when they shouldn’t be growing, this late in the year. The tiny sentient sprae were sparse here, twinkling here and there and giving him the willies.

All around him fae magick breathed on the back of his neck like a dragon. Goose bumps rose along his arms and legs. Nausea clogged the back of his throat.

Dear Labrai, he was in Piefferburg.

He rose, staggering backward, stockinged feet crunching painfully onto pine needles, then he bent over and lost his breakfast on the forest floor. The sound of retching filled the silent air and the scent of vomit mixed with the sweet smell of evergreen and flowers.

Remaining bent over, he rested his hands on his knees and spit a couple times to get the sour taste out of his mouth, feeling the flush of his skin give away to cold. The silence of the Boundary Lands closed around him like a fist once more. He had to get out of here.

Straightening, he shrugged his jacket off and used it to wipe his mouth, then threw it down. Picking up his shoes, he made his way through the forest, trying to forget where he was. He had a long way to go.

And someone very special to meet.

ELIZABETH knelt in her garden—one of many she tended throughout the Boundary Lands—and held her open palm over the earth, feeling the damp power of the land spiraling up into her bare skin. The water in the Boundary Lands constantly called to her other self and, sometimes, like tonight, it was hard to resist.

Moonlight glowed above her, bleaching the color from her skin. She concentrated on the back of her hand, convincing herself to stay in her physical form. She had work to do. This was one of the places where she grew fruit and vegetables for herself and others using her own particular brand of asrai magick. The food needed to be picked, planted, and distributed.

She could coax the soil to produce a wide variety of lettuces, turnips, potatoes, carrots, peas, tomatoes—even apples and peaches—out of their regular season and make them grow very fast. Centuries ago, when grocery stores hadn’t existed, her brand of fae power had been highly sought after. Now she used it to feed the old and infirm residents of the Boundary Lands. This particular garden produced vegetables. She tended it every night.

Digging her fingers into the cool night-touched soil, she sought one of the potatoes under the earth, drew it out, and popped it into her basket. She had a Midas touch when it came to growing things. All she had to do was pop another sproutling into the ground and an additional potato would grow no matter the conditions or the time of year. Tomorrow night it would be ready to feed someone.

Just as she was replacing the seed potato, the hair at her nape rose. A presence had entered her gardening area. Her lips curled into a smile. Ah, so he’d joined her tonight after all. She’d suspected maybe he’d given in and accepted he’d never catch her. But, of course, he wouldn’t give up—he couldn’t. Not a man like him.

Leaving her vegetable basket on the ground, she turned on the balls of her booted feet and crept quietly into the bushes that edged her garden, listening for his tread on the forest floor. He tried so hard to be quiet, but Niall Quinn was no nature fae. He would never fail to leave some kind of passing impression to a wildling.

Peering from between the leaves, she watched him pass, charmed iron rope in his hands. So he was back to the rope trick again. She shook her head. Dealing with this man wasn’t even a challenge for her. It was almost sad, really.