Feversong

  His eyes flared infinitesimally and he opened his mouth to say something, but I’d gotten started and couldn’t stop. “Did you think you were going to find a victim when you looked at me? A woman, torn by self-loathing and pity, castigating herself for every wrong she’s done someone? Wake the fuck up. That’s not me. It’s a hard world and I’m harder in all the right places while still being soft in the important ones. You, my friend, are the one who’s fucked up. You skip the whole self-loathing part and flash right into the loathing everyone else. You shuck every soft part that matters and take your pity-party to a whole new level. You get stuck in the idiot phase and never evolve beyond it. Oh, poor Lor, who can’t love anyone because they all die! You want to look at it that way? Fine. Be a baby. Or you could realize that you get to love so damn many people, forever. But, no, welcome to Lor’s pity-party—a woman got killed that he might have loved—not even did love, just might have—so he’s going to wipe out the whole motherfucking planet because he’s pissed off and doesn’t—”

  His hand was around my throat, choking off my words. The bastard had reached right through my supposedly impenetrable barrier, grabbed me by the neck and was squeezing.

  I suffered no hesitation. My brain instantly processed: Barrons said try a rocket launcher/Lor will always come back/I’m not anybody’s victim and never will be again/the world has to be saved/this prick needs to learn to fear me because yes I killed Jo but I’m not dying for it nor am I putting up with his shit for the rest of my very long life.

  Then there was an automatic machine gun in my hand, manifested by power I hadn’t even realized I was tapping into.

  I jammed the muzzle into his gut and let it rip.

  Lor went flying backward through the air, roared, and lunged for me again.

  I kept firing until he hit the ground and didn’t move anymore.

  I watched him until his body vanished, then ground out, “I trust I made my point,” and sifted back to BB&B.

  When I returned to the bookstore—Barrons hadn’t dropped the wards but I’d given it wide berth this time, appearing well out in the street—he was sitting on the Chesterfield in the dark, waiting for me.

  He assessed me and relaxed minutely. Things went well?

  As well as could be expected, I suppose, I told him with a shrug.

  His eyes narrowed. He heard you out?

  I joined him on the sofa and snorted. “Oh, he definitely heard me out. I was nearly done by the time he started choking me.” As I stared at him through the low light, a wave of raw, desperate lust flooded me. I needed. Him. Now. Kneeling on the cushions, I grabbed his head and kissed him, falling on top of him, taking him back to the sofa beneath me. My body was bristling with energy and savagery and frustration because I’d really wanted to come to a meeting of the minds with Lor, not have to resort to killing him, but I suspected anything less than killing him simply wouldn’t have gotten his attention. And killing him had left something wild in me that needed to be let out.

  Barrons understood and met it in kind.

  Later, I lay in his arms, head on his chest, listening to the peculiar sound of absolutely no heartbeat, and knew he’d leave before long.

  That was okay. I’d dumped a pent-up storm of emotion on his body, punished him with it and let him punish me in return. We ran the full range of sexual appetites in bed, from tender to tortured, white bread to dark, nutty stuff, and it was all good. We were young, strong, and unbreakable.

  I was fairly certain Barrons was drifting in that deeply inward meditative state he sometimes sought and was just about to drift off myself when he jolted me awake by saying softly, “Lor choked you?”

  I smiled against his cool skin. He always got cool when his heart stopped beating. This was my man—testosterone rising, ready to turn on his comrades for harming me. But it was unnecessary. I’d held my own. “Yes.”

  Deep in his chest an atavistic rattle stirred. “I told you that barrier wasn’t going to be strong enough. Fae magic doesn’t work on us.”

  “Cruce’s shield worked on you and the Unseelie princess’s magic worked on Lor in Ryodan’s office.”

  “I told you why his did. The princess’s only worked on Lor because the Sweeper altered her. And that’s one fuck we need to get rid of. Not the princess. She’s well enough out of the way for now.”

  He fell silent and I began to drift again, wondering distantly why the Sweeper was beyond the laws that applied to the Nine. I’d eventually get around to asking but not now. It was peaceful. I was sleepy. And I had no doubt tomorrow would be another eventful day.

  As I was fading, he jarred me awake again with an impatient growl, “Are you going to tell me what the bloody hell you did or do I have to I go find Lor?”

  Oooh! We were firmly ensconced in a new phase of our relationship. I beamed. Barrons wanted to know something, hated having to ask, and asked anyway. And it wasn’t about an OOP or anything business related. Nor was he dashing off to beat up Lor and avenge the fair damsel. I liked these changes. Sleepily, I mumbled, “I killed him. What did you think I did?”

  Barrons stiffened, went motionless then stiffened again, dislodging me from his chest, jarring me fully awake. He propped his head on a fist, making all those gorgeous muscles bunch, and stared down at me, the corners of his mouth twitching.

  “Oh, give it up. You know you want to. Just do it. I know you’re badass. An occasional laugh won’t disabuse me of the notion.”

  Eyes glittering with mirth, he demanded, “How?”

  I told him.

  He threw his head back and laughed, white teeth flashing in his dark face.

  I lay back on the couch, watching him, reached up and touched his lips, and he kissed them then bit gently. Then harder.

  Then he was on me again like a sirocco, gusting over and inside me, taking me down and deep to that beautiful wild place we go when we’re alone and free.

  When he finally got up to leave, the bookstore was carpeted with lush, fragrant flowers and a small tree was blossoming near the sofa.

  My life was strange.

  Good. But strange.

  MAC

  I blew out a frustrated breath and rubbed my eyes.

  I was tired and hung over, and what a load of bullshit that was. I could handle pretty much anything, but I still needed time to recover from chasing beers with tequila.

  Admittedly, I’d chased a lot of beers with a lot of tequila. But late last night when Alina texted and I remembered my promise to meet her, there was no way I was missing a chance to hang out in Temple Bar with my sister.

  We’d talked for hours. About stupid things. About serious things. We’d reminisced. We’d grown maudlin. We’d laughed over silly stories. I’d told her about her funeral (morbid!) and about Barrons (amazing!) and my past year (traumatic as hell).

  She’d told me her story, too, from the day she landed in Dublin, to the first time she’d seen a Fae, to discovering what she was. How she met Darroc and had loved him almost instantly.

  Still, from day one, something in her gut had warned her not to confide, so she’d lied about her family and me. Then the Sinsar Dubh had begun playing games with her, very similar to those it played when I’d arrived.

  Together, they’d learned about themselves—my older sister and her beautiful, exotic fallen Fae. And learned about each other. Over the months, she’d begun seeing significant changes in him, making me wonder briefly what might have happened if I’d met V’lane before I’d met Barrons. I’d have been fascinated, found him frightening yet somehow irresistible, at least for a time, and might even have tried to convince myself he was one of the good guys, blaming his ruthlessness on his alien nature, maybe even convinced myself I could help him evolve. As Darroc had evolved, according to Alina, growing increasingly more human. He’d lost the vestiges of that Fae iciness he’d often evidenced in the beginning of their relationship, that ancient remoteness that had prevented her from telling him many things. He’d become invested i
n her world, her concerns, and in their future together.

  When Darroc asked her to marry him, although she’d been astonished he was willing to be part of such a human ritual she said yes.

  Two days later she’d followed him to 1247 LaRuhe and discovered who her future husband really was and what he’d been doing all along. When he’d glanced up and seen her, she’d run, certain he would give chase, but he hadn’t. She’d walked the streets for hours, finally coming to the decision to call me and return home.

  He’d broken into her apartment while she was leaving a message for me. She’d been afraid he’d come to kill her. But although they’d fought heatedly, he’d merely stormed out, telling her she needed to pull her head out of her ass and take a good hard look at the world and decide what she wanted. He’d be waiting for her.

  Hours later Dani had arrived, telling her that Rowena wanted to meet with her. Numbly, Alina followed.

  I knew the rest of the story.

  But there was one thing she told me that I hadn’t known.

  The young sidhe-seer who’d led her to that alley that day to die had ended up crying as hard as Alina. She’d shaken violently, like she was trying to throw off some kind of physical compulsion. She gnashed her teeth, vomited until there was nothing left but bile, torn at her hair and finally screamed at the end, as if it were she who lay in the alley, dying.

  At that point I’d begun pounding tequila shots, trying to numb my heart and make it through the night. Until I could hug Dani and tell her how much I loved her and that none of it had been her fault.

  I’d wanted to go find her as soon as I’d awakened this morning, but I forced myself to postpone it until I’d sorted through at least a few hundred files. More even than I wanted to show Dani my love and support right now, I wanted to ensure she had a long future of it.

  So, I sat on the sofa in BB&B, with a throbbing head, where I’d been sitting for the past four and a half hours, staring into space, inundated by minutiae and feeling utterly inadequate to the task at hand.

  The only thing I’d managed to learn about the song so far was that it had come from a completely different source than the True Magic. The Fae had no idea who’d given it to them or why. It had been gifted with a single imperative: use it only when you must and remember there is always a price.

  The second part of that imperative made me uneasy. What was the price?

  My imagination ran wild. Would it kill whoever sang it? If we discovered the song, would I die using it?

  The rest of what I’d absorbed were nothing but vague myths and legends, some claiming the song was divine, the beginning of life as we knew it, that it had incited the “Big Bang.” Others claimed it came from a race even more technologically advanced than the Tuatha De Danann who had evolved to a higher state of being and passed off the song as a gift to a race they’d viewed as having potential.

  Each myth, however, shared the common contention that it called due a price. Several seemed to imply that if the race “wielding it” (there was that damn word again) hadn’t done anything wrong, the price would not be high.

  “Wrong” was an exceedingly vague word. I’d done many wrong things. Likewise, “high” was a highly nebulous degree, relative to the person it affected.

  My phone vibrated with a new message from Dancer.

  Done. Ready to try it. Meet here or there?

  BB&B, I texted back.

  I’d written several long letters a few months back: one for my parents, one for Barrons, one for Dani. That was before Alina came back, or I’d’ve written one for her, too.

  They were upstairs in my bedroom, tucked between two of my favorite books, partially visible. I knew if I died, either my mom and dad would come look through my things or Barrons would make sure it got to them.

  I texted him now.

  Meet me and Dancer at BB&B. He finished inverting the music. It’s ready to try.

  If I was going to die today, I wanted Barrons’s face to be one of the last ones I saw.

  I didn’t, however, want my family to watch it happen.

  Barrons arrived wearing muddy jeans and a dirty black tee-shirt, looking big, rugged, and sexy as hell. I almost never see him “slumming,” and it always takes my breath away. He somehow looks even more exotic and animalistic in all the right ways in casual clothing. I knew he’d been out there, lying on his stomach, scraping mud from beneath black holes, and I loved that he didn’t hesitate to get as down and dirty as necessary to protect the things he cared about. Harshly chiseled, muddy, earthy, and anachronistically human and savage, he turned me on when he looked like this. Who was I kidding? The man always turned me on.

  Fresh black and red tattoos covered most of his right arm and part of his left, and I knew that while I’d slept, he’d either been tattooing himself or he and Ryodan had been tattooing each other.

  “Do you have any idea how to do this?” he asked, storming in. Then he drew up short, stopping abruptly at the edge of his priceless, restored antique rug, scowling down at his muddy boots.

  I shook my head. Then smirked a little and invited the mud to vanish from his boots.

  He raised his head and looked at me, returning the smirk. “Who’s Bewitched now? Did you text the others?”

  “That would be me,” I said pertly. “And no. Let’s just do it, see what happens. I figured we’d try the sphere by the church. It’s the closest.”

  Dancer arrived a few minutes later, carrying a laptop. “I don’t know if we need speakers or if this is good enough.”

  I glanced at him sharply, startled by the dark circles beneath his eyes, and thought again of the Elixir of Life. As he handed me the laptop, I said, “If there was a Fae potion that could make you immortal, would you drink it?”

  He cut me a sharp look and scowled. “Christ, does everybody know now?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “And don’t get prickly about it. We care.”

  “Don’t treat me like an invalid,” he said levelly.

  “Not about to. Would you?”

  “No. I’ve done my share of research into the Fae. Did you know the potion allegedly destroys a human’s immortal soul?”

  I did, and I’d wondered on more than one occasion if Cruce’s elixir had the same effect. I hoped not. If so, it was too late now, and I had other issues to deal with. I’d worry about the state of my soul later.

  “I died once. I know what comes next. No way I’m missing it. I’ve known most of my life that I could die pretty much anytime. I’m in no hurry but it doesn’t bother me either. So, are we going to do this? Can we wait for Mega? I texted her, too. She should be here any minute.”

  Tucking the laptop beneath my arm, I headed for the door. Over my shoulder I tossed, “There’s some kind of price for using it. I’d prefer neither of you came with me.” I considered sifting, to prevent them from attending, but decided against it. I’ve become a big believer in free will.

  Then Barrons and Dancer were beside me and we hurried from the bookstore, into the sunny Dublin afternoon.

  Not only did the song have absolutely zero effect on the black hole near the church (although I’d sat dreamily mesmerized, feeling like it was definitely doing something to me), when I went to play it a second time, even louder, it was gone. It simply didn’t exist on the laptop anymore.

  “What do you mean, it’s not there?” Dancer exclaimed. “Give me that thing,” he demanded, reaching for his laptop. “Clearly, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

  When I handed it to him, he scanned it rapidly then began opening folders, digging into root files.

  I sighed and leaned back against a trashcan. The three of us were sitting on a curb, in the gutter, ten feet from the sphere, as close as we should get, Dancer had warned.

  After a few minutes of “bloody hells” and Batman quips, Dancer snapped the laptop shut. “None of my files are here. Not a single one. Every note of the song I recorded, every conversion, inversion, extrapolation, is gone. Even my
Word docs with theories are gone!”

  “How is that even possible?” I’d been sitting here, wondering if the black hole had somehow managed to eat the music we’d played, right down to the source. But if so, it had taken much more than merely the origin of the music, operating like a super-stealth spy, wiping out even Dancer’s notes about it.

  He buried both hands in his hair, scowling. “How can you ask me to postulate when I don’t even understand the primary suppositions? Bugger! Now I’m going to have to bloody well do it all over again.”

  “Why? It didn’t work. That means either the sphere stripped it from your computer or there’s something going on here we don’t understand. Why re-create a failed experiment?” I said pessimistically. I’d had a good feeling about our venture, and had expected the music to do something—if not outright make the sphere vanish, maybe shrink it a bit. But when the song had played with no result, I’d grown dismal.

  Dancer said impatiently, “Because that bastard”—he yanked a hand from his hair and pointed an accusing finger at the sphere—“took something from me and I want it back. That’s reason enough.”

  He pushed to his feet, tucked the laptop beneath his arm, and loped off without a backward glance.

  I looked at Barrons. “I feel like I did something wrong. I can’t shake the feeling this music is what we need. But that blasted ‘wield’ part of the equation is eluding me. I use the True Magic by amplifying it with my Fae tether to the planet. While we were playing the song, I did the same thing, but it had no effect. And now it’s gone. What did I do wrong?”

  He extended a hand and pulled me up. “As much as I hate to say it, you need to talk to Cruce. I’ll round up the others. Meet back at the bookstore.”

  “Why have a meeting? It’s not like we have new information,” I said pissily.