Fury's Kiss

Page 77

But not as much as the hand I couldn’t see that had just grabbed the front bumper.
Suddenly, everything stopped.
Until I threw the SUV into four-wheel drive and skidded back hard enough to wrench off the bumper, to burst into the salon still wearing the remains of the wall, and to sling around and hit my head on the door as I slammed on the brakes, planning to head straight for—
Nothing. Because the hand that had been on the bumper was now on my shoulder. And it wasn’t kidding around.
But neither was I, so I floored it again. And that, plus a vicious elbow to the head of the vamp hanging out the driver’s-side window, broke his hold long enough for the SUV to dive through the portal. And out the other side. And I was moving before it stopped, jumping out the door, lurching for the wall and slamming my hand down on—
Ha, ha—yes! The shield slammed shut, slicing through the SUV like a knife through butter. Its crumpled back end remained in the ruined grocery-slash-beauty-shop, while the rest—
Well, damn, I thought, my euphoria fading as the bisected front section peeled away from the wall and crashed to the floor.
The sound was deafening—metal scraping, glass shattering and the radio still blaring Rammstein’s greatest hits. For a moment, until the engine gave one last gasp and died from the lack of a fuel tank that was now several blocks away. The headlights winked out a second later, plunging the basement into darkness. And the music faded off with one last, strangled cry.
And, finally, all was quiet.
But not for long, I thought grimly.
It was after eleven, which meant I’d been away more than twenty-four hours without a phone call. I’d expected to catch it from Claire tomorrow, but at least by then I would have been clean, dressed and somewhat prepared. Instead of covered in grass and sweat and reeking of cow shit, in a sheet, and without a clue.
I sighed.
And had it echoed by a small, higher note from somewhere nearby.
My heart leapt to my throat, since it had been pretty close anyway, until I identified the sound: one of Stinky’s strange trills. I sighed again, this time in relief, and sagged back against the railing. But only for a second. Claire was probably belting her robe on right now, and while I couldn’t save myself, I could rescue a certain midnight miscreant.
I started up the stairs.
Duergars were mostly nocturnal, although that wasn’t why Stinky was often found prowling around the house in the middle of the night. That had more to do with his conviction that pretty much everything belonged in his fuzzy little belly, including my beer. Which was less of a concern than some of the potions I kept around that he could easily mistake for a new type of beverage. His Duergar blood made him resistant to poisons, but resistant didn’t mean immune, and he was going to learn to stay in bed, damn it.
One of these years.
“Give it up, boyo,” I told him, throwing open the door. “You know what Claire will say if—”
I froze, my hand still on the knob.
“I do not think your friend will say anything,” a polite voice commented.
It was familiar, although I hardly needed it. The light wasn’t on in the living room, but starlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, casting an ironic halo around a certain silver-blond head. Narrowed gray eyes met mine, hard as steel, and a faint smile turned up a corner of a sculpted mouth.
Æsubrand.
The stairway was open behind me, since I hadn’t even reached the top step. I could slam the door closed, leap down the stairs, hit the shield and dive through the portal. And even in my condition, there was a decent chance I might make it.
I didn’t move.
And he’d known I wouldn’t, because he hadn’t moved, either. Except to tighten one strong hand a little more around his captive’s diapered bottom. Aiden, fast asleep and slack-limbed, the silky blond hair tousled and hanging in his face.
And Stinky wasn’t far off. He was kicking fretfully in the arms of a woman across the room, but not making any headway. He looked vague, the big eyes half-lidded, one blue sock clinging precariously to a few stick-like toes. Unlike the woman, whose star-like gaze was sharp as a knife.
She was tall, more so even than Claire, with a wave of golden hair that cascaded down her dark blue gown, almost reaching her embroidered satin shoes. She was fresh-faced, pink-cheeked, blue-eyed and stunning. She looked about sixteen.
She wasn’t.
Unless I was way, way luckier than normal, I thought I knew why mama hadn’t been covering for Æsubrand.
Because she’d been with him.
“We have been expecting you,” Æsubrand told me, his mouth quirking as I just continued to stand there.
“This is the creature you told me about?” his mother asked, looking me over. She didn’t appear impressed. I wished I could say the same.
“She can be surprising,” he murmured, his hand running over the soft baby hair of his hostage.
“How did you get in here?” I rasped, stalling for time. Where the hell were the twins? Or the garden full of dreadful warriors we were supposed to have? Or Claire.
I felt my stomach go into free fall.
Where was Claire?
“C’est pas difficile,” a familiar voice said, causing me to jump. But we hadn’t had a new arrival. A glance across the room showed Stinky being held in the same spot, in the same position. But now he was cradled in the arms of an overweight Frenchman in chef’s whites.
“My mother is skilled in glamourie,” Æsubrand said casually. “And in far-seeing. She has been watching the house through the eyes of one of her bird-creatures, and saw the vampire’s servants arrive yesterday. It was simple enough to mimic one of them, and persuade the half-breed to let her in through the wards.”
“A weary mother will rarely turn down an offer of help,” the woman’s voice said, sounding strange coming from the man’s throat.
“So you helped her…how?” I asked, afraid I already knew. I didn’t think Efridís had chosen to impersonate the chef by accident.
“I offered to cook le diner,” she said, the clear young voice turning amused.
My blood ran cold.
“But this one, he is part Duergar,” she continued, glancing at the sleepy Stinky. “Their kind are resistant to drugs.”
“Drugs?” I said sharply, not allowing myself to hope. There were plenty of lethal drugs, after all.…
“They live,” Efridís said shortly, melting back into herself. “My son believes we need your assistance.”
“My…” I looked back at Æsubrand, who had settled himself comfortably in the big red wingback chair. Like he was here for a friendly chat.
Yeah. That was likely.
But Stinky was still alive, and Aiden. And Claire—
“I want to see Claire,” I told him.
He frowned. “We do not have much time. I expected you to return hours ago. There is—”
“I want to see her!” I repeated. And even to me, my voice sounded a little…high.
Screw it. It had been a long day.
The two fey exchanged glances, then Efridís nodded. “Come.”
I followed her into the hall, and then through an utterly silent house. The place was usually a subtle symphony: light fey laughter from the backyard, the clang of pots and pans from the kitchen, SpongeBob shrieking from the living room, bits of conversation from everywhere, and the country music one of the twins inexplicably liked drifting up from the basement. Tonight, all I heard was the tinkle of a wind chime getting tossed around by a faint breeze as Efridís pushed open the back door.
Outside was more of the same—the porch dark and empty, the garden still except for a fire guttering in the fey camp. There were a few people around it, getting splashed by the low red light, but no one was talking. Or moving.
One of the guards had a stick in his hand, like he’d been using it to poke at the embers. His eyes were open, with reflected flames dancing in the irises. More flames were slowly eating up the stick, the bottom half of which was already black. The next second, it collapsed into nothingness, sifting away on the wind. He didn’t flinch.
Not even when a sudden gust of wind caught the back door of the house, slamming it against the old boards like a gunshot.
I jumped, and Æsubrand grabbed my arm. “Are you satisfied?”
“At what?” I demanded harshly. “What did you give them?”
“A fey drug,” Efridís said, shrugging. “You would not know of it.”
“Then how do I know you haven’t killed them?” I’d finally spotted Claire, slumped over one of the picnic tables, her bright red hair cascading over the weathered wood like a spill of firelight. I wanted to run to her, to feel that pulse beating under my fingertips. But that would mean shrugging off Æsubrand’s hold, and right now, I wasn’t sure I could do that.
And weakness wasn’t something he admired.
“If I had wanted them dead, I would not have used poison,” he sneered. “It is a coward’s weapon.”
“That’s real convincing coming from someone who makes war on children!”
Silver eyes flashed. “It was not my doing that put the child’s life in danger. He should never have been born.”
“According to you.”
“According to treaty,” Efridís said, her voice a sweet note on the air.
“Come again?” I said, trying not to look like I was scouring the surroundings for help. Marlowe should have had a crap ton of his boys around the house. So where the hell were they?
And why do you care? I asked myself bitterly. They couldn’t get through the house shields, and I couldn’t get to the charm that collapsed them. Not with two fey to watch and lives at stake. I couldn’t do anything but stand here, trying not to sway on my feet, and listen. And hope they needed something I had to offer.
Although I’d be damned if I could think of what that might be.
“There was a great war once, between the two leading martial houses of Faerie,” Efridís said. “You know of it?”