Shadowfever

My laughter died and tears sprang to my eyes. He was in my head. I saw little point in hiding anything. He could take a good look around and see the truth for himself.

“I didn’t get the spell.” My voice broke. I’d failed him. I hated myself for that. He’d never failed me.

“I know.”

My gaze flicked to his face, bewildered. “You … know?”

“I knew it was a lie the moment you said it.”

I searched his eyes. “But you looked happy! You smiled. I saw things in your eyes!”

“I was happy. I knew why you’d lied.” His dark gaze was ancient, inhuman, and uncharacteristically gentle. Because you love me.

I drew in a ragged breath.

“Let’s get out of here, Mac. There’s nothing for you down here.”

“The spell! It’s here. I can get it. Use it. Lay him to rest!”

“But you wouldn’t be you anymore. You can’t take a single spell from that thing. It’s all or nothing. We’ll find another way.”

The Sinsar Dubh poisoned the moment. He lies. He hates you for failing him.

“Shut it down, Mac. Ice the lake over.”

I stared at the Book, shining in all its glory. Power, pure and simple. I could create worlds.

Ice his ass over. He’s just worried you’ll be more powerful than he is.

Barrons held out his hand. “Don’t leave me, Rainbow Girl.”

Rainbow Girl. Was that who I was?

It seemed so long ago. I smiled faintly. “Remember the skirt I wore to Mallucé’s the night you told me to dress Goth?”

“It’s upstairs in your closet. Never throw it away. It looked like a wet dream on you.”

I took his hand.

And just like that, we were standing in the street outside Barrons Books and Baubles.

Deep inside me, the Book whumped closed.

As we headed for the entrance, I heard gunshots, and we looked up. Two winged dragons sailed past the moon.

Jayne was shooting at Hunters again.

Hunters.

My eyes widened.

K’Vruck!

Could it be that simple?

“Oh, God, that’s it,” I whispered.

Barrons was holding the door open for me. “What?”

Excitement and urgency flooded me. I clutched his arm. “Can you get me a Hunter to fly?”

“Of course.”

“Hurry, then. I think I know what to do about your son!”

54

Jericho Barrons buried his son in a cemetery on the outskirts of Dublin, after five days of keeping vigil beside his lifeless body, waiting for it to disappear and be reborn wherever it was they were reborn.

His son never disappeared and was never reborn.

He was dead. Truly dead.

I kept a vigil of my own at the door to his study, watching him stare at the beautiful boy through the long days and nights.

The answer was so simple once I’d thought of it.

It had taken a while to find him flying over the city, but he’d finally soared in beside me, blacker than blackness, with his Nightwindflyhighfreeeeeee comments and his old friend remarks—serene and smooth, chuffing the night air in small frosted puffs. The wind had steamed like dry ice in his wake.

I’d asked a favor. It had been the best kind for a Hunter. It had amused.

It took Barrons and five of his men to get the beast from beneath the garage up onto the roof of a nearby building, safely restrained.

Once they’d been far enough away, they radioed me and I had my new “old friend” fly in and do what he does best.

Death isn’t nearly as final as a good K’Vrucking.

When he closed his great black leathery wings around the beast and inhaled long and deep, the beast turned into the boy.

And the boy died.

As if K’Vruck had simply inhaled his life essence.

After he’d suffered who-knew-how-many thousands of years, the child was finally at peace. So was Barrons.

Ryodan and his men had sat with Barrons through the days and nights, waiting, wondering if it was possible one of them could actually be killed. They’d seemed as offended as they’d been relieved. Kasteo had sat in the room and stared unblinking at me for hours. Ryodan and the others had to drag him away. I wondered what they’d done to him a thousand years ago. I knew what grief looked like when I saw it.

And when they’d left, although hostility had poured off them in my direction, I knew I’d won a stay of execution.

They wouldn’t kill me. Not now. I didn’t know how long they might feel benevolent toward me, but I’d take what I could get.

And if one day they decided it was war between us, it was war they’d get.

Somebody’d made me a fighter. With him by my side, there was nothing I couldn’t do.

“Hey baby, you up there?” Daddy’s baritone soared up from the street.

I peeked over the edge of the rooftop and smiled. Mom, Dad, and Inspector Jayne were standing down below, in front of the bookstore. Daddy was carrying a bottle of wine. Jayne had a notebook and a pen, and I knew he was planning to grill me about methods of Fae execution and try, once again, to get his hands on my spear.

I was thrilled my parents had decided to stay in Dublin. They’d taken a house in the city, so we could visit. One of these days, I would give Mom most of Alina’s stuff back. We would sit and talk, go visit her apartment. I’d take Mom to the college where Alina had been happy for a time. We’d remember her and celebrate what we’d had with her while we had it. Mom was a different woman now, stronger, more alive than ever before.

Dad was going to be some kind of brehon, or lawmaker, and work with Jayne and his crew to maintain order in New Dublin. He wanted to fight, but Mom wasn’t real keen on that idea.

She was spearheading a group called NDGU. New Dublin Green-Up was devoted to making the city green again—fertilizing the soil, filling the planters, putting down sod, and eventually bringing the parks and commons back to life. It was the perfect job for her. She was the ultimate nester, and Dublin’s nest was sorely in need of some feathering.

“It’s open, come on up,” I called. Mom was carrying two pretty ceramic pots, and I could see the green tips of bulbs sprouting. All my window boxes and planters were still empty. I hadn’t had time to get out to the abbey yet and dig a few things up. I hoped they were a housewarming gift.

I turned and checked the table. The drinks were chilled, the plates out, the napkins folded. It was my first garden party.