Fever 4 - DreamFever (2 page)

  "I'll go up," she says.

  "I need the visual snapshot myself, or I could end up grabbing the wrong thing. You
want me coming out with some fe--er, effin' fairy in my hands?" They rip me a new
one when I cuss. Like I'm a kid. Like I haven't spilled more blood than they've ever
seen. Old enough to kill but too young to cuss. They make a pit bull poodle around.
What kinda logic is that? Hypocrisy pisses me off worse than most anything.

  Her face sets in stubborn lines.

   I push. "I know Mac's in there and for some reason she can't get out. She's in major
trouble." Was she surrounded? Wounded that badly? Had she lost her spear? I didn't
know. Only that she was in way deep shit.

  "Rowena said alive or dead," Kat says stiffly. She left "It sounds like she'll be dead
soon and our problems will be solved" hanging unspoken.

  "We want the Book, remember?" I try reason. Times I think I'm the only one in the
whole abbey that's got any.

  "We'll find it without her. She betrayed us."

   Feck reason. Pisses me off when people jump to conclusions they have no proof for.
"You don't know that, so stop saying it," I growl. Somebody's fist is holding Kat's coat
collar, got her up on her toes. It's mine. I don't know who's more surprised, her or me. I
drop her back on the ground and look away. I've never done anything like that before.
But it's Mac in there and I have to get her out, and Kat's wasting my time big-time with
total BS.

   Her mouth sets with tiny white lines around it, and her eyes take on a look I get a lot.
It makes me feel mad and alone.

  She's afraid of me.

  Mac isn't. One more way we're like sisters.

  Without another word, I give my feet the wings they live for and vanish into the
building.

                                           ***

From the rooftop, I stare.

  My fists clench. I keep my nails real short; still, they gouge blood from my palms.

  Two Fae are dragging Mac down the front steps of a church. She's naked. They drop
her like a piece of trash in the middle of the street. A third Fae exits the church and joins
them, and they stand, imperial guards around her, heads swiveling, surveying the street.

  The raw sex they're throwing off blasts me, but it's not like V'lane, who I'm gonna
give my virginity to one day.

   I'm as obsessed with sex as anybody, but those ... things ... down there ... those
incredibly--fecking A, they hurt to look at; something's wet on my cheeks; are my eyes
boiling in their sockets?--beautiful things scare even me, and I don't scare easy. They
don't move right. Storms of color rush under their skin. Black torques slither at their
necks. There's nothing in their eyes. Nothing. Eyes of pure oblivion. Power. Sex. Death.
They reek of it. They're Unseelie. My blood knows. I want to fall on my knees at their
feet and worship, and Dani Mega O'Malley don't worship nothing but herself.

  I wipe my face. My fingers come away red. My eyes are leaking blood. Freaky.
Kinda cool. Vamps got nothing on Fae.

   I close my eyes, and when I open them again I don't look directly at the things
guarding Mac. Instead, I take a wide-angle image of the scene. Every Fae, fire hydrant,
car, pothole, streetlamp, piece of trash. I map objects and empty spaces on my mental
grid, lock it down tight, calculate margin of error based on likely movement, slap it over
my snapshot.

   I squint. A shadow moves in the street, almost too fast to see. The Fae don't seem to
know it's there. I watch. They don't respond to it. No heads swivel to follow it. I can't
focus on it. Can't make out its shape. It moves like I move ... mostly. What the feck?
Not a Shade. Not a Fae. A blur of shadow. Now it's hanging over Mac. Now it's gone.
Bright side--if the Unseelie aren't noticing it, they shouldn't notice me when I whiz in
to snatch her. Dimmer side--what if whatever it is can see me? What if we collide?
What is it? I don't like unknowns. Unknowns can kill.

   I catch the glint of Mac's spear in a red-robed man's hand. He's carrying it at arm's
length from his body. Only Seelie or humans can touch the Seelie Hallows. He's one or
the other. The Lord Master?

  They have Mac. They have the spear. Don't know if I can grab both so won't try.
Would chance it if it wasn't Mac. They hurt her bad. She's bloody everywhere. She's
my hero. I hate them! Fae took my mother and now they've taken Mac. I refresh my
snapshot of the scene right before I let myself go nuts inside, let that ancient sidhe-seer
place in my head swallow me whole.

 Instantly, I'm cool and perfect and detached from everything. I'm the Shit. It's the
most massive high in the world!

  I zip from one freeze-frame to the next. No in-betweens.

  I'm on the roof of the building.

  I'm in the street.

   I'm between the guards. Lust--wantneedsexdie--incinerates me, but I'm moving too
fast and they can't touch what they can't see and they can't see me and all I have to do
is not cave; hate, hate, hate, make armor from it. Got enough hate to Kevlar all Ireland's
Garda.

  I grab Mac.

  Freeze-frame.

  Heart in my throat! Shadow-thing blocks my path! What is it?

  I'm past it.

  Hear Fae shouting behind me.

  Then I'm screaming at Kat and the crew to get their asses in there, grab that spear,
and kill those bastards.

  Mac in my arms, I freeze frames as fast I can, heading for the abbey.
 

                                   Dani: November 4

L   et me be certain I'm understanding you correctly," Rowena says tightly.

   Her back is to me; her small frame bristles with anger. Times, Ro seems ancient.
Others, she's wicked spry. It's weird. Her spine's ramrod-straight, her hands fisted at
her sides. Her long white hair is braided, wrapped regal as a crown around her head. She
wears the formal white Grand Mistress robes emblazoned with the symbol of our
order--the misshapen emerald shamrock--that she's been wearing ever since all hell
started to break loose. I'm surprised she's waited this long to rip me a new one, but
she's been busy with other things.

   She took away my sword. It's on her desk. The blade shimmers alabaster, like light
stolen straight from heaven--my light--reflecting the glow of dozens of lamps arranged
in the office to illuminate every corner, nook, and cranny.

   When the Orb exploded on All Hallows' Eve, freeing the Shades, we were so caught
off guard that the slithery fecks managed to take out fifty-four of us before we got
enough lamps and flashlights on to protect ourselves. As far as we know, they're un-
killable. My sword can't touch them. Light's a temporary stay of execution, just drives
`em deeper into whatever dark crevices they can find. Our abbey's been compromised,
but we won't give an inch. No way Shades are taking our home and turning it into a
Dark Zone. One by one we'll hunt `em down and force `em out.

   Yesterday, there was one inside Sorcha's boot. Clare saw it happen. Said Sorcha just
kind of vanished down into her shoe, clothes collapsed around it. When we dumped the
boot upside down on the front steps in the sunshine, a papery husk, jewelry, and two
fillings spilled out, followed by a Shade that shattered into a zillion pieces. None of us
is putting on our shoes now without shaking the crap out of `em and shining flashlights
deep. I been wearing sandals a lot, even though it's cold. What a way to go: death-by-
shoe-Shade. I grin. I have a black sense of humor. You try living my life, see what color
yours turns.

  I stare at my sword. My fingers curl on emptiness. It kills me to be parted from it.

   In a whirl of white robes, Rowena spins and skewers me with a look sharp as an ice
pick. I shift uncomfortably. I might make fun of Rowena, call her "Ro," and blather
about how cool I am, but--make no mistake--this old woman is someone you wanna
tread carefully around.

  "You were within killing distance of the Lord Master and three Unseelie Princes and
you did not even draw your sword?"

   "I couldn't," I say defensively. "I had to get Mac. Couldn't risk that she might be
killed in the fight."

  "Which part of dead or alive did I fail to impress upon you?"

  Well, obviously the "dead" part, but I don't say that. "She can track the Book. Why's
everybody keep forgetting that?"

  "No longer! You knew that the moment you laid eyes on her. Traitor, and now Pri-
ya, she is of no use to us. Incapable of thought or speech, she can't even feed herself!
She'll be dead in days, if she lasts that long. Och, and there you went, discarding the
only chance we've ever had at slaying our enemy plus three Unseelie Princes, all for
saving the life of a single worthless girl! Who do you think you are to be making such
decisions for the lot of us?"

  Mac might be Pri-ya, but she's not a traitor. I won't believe that. I say nothing.

  "Get out of my sight," she shouts. "Get out! Get out! Or I'll throw you out!" Her
voice rises and she flings an arm at the door. "Thinking you know what's best--then
go! Have a try at it, you ungrateful child! As if I haven't done everything for you a
mother would and more! Leave! See how long you survive out there without me!"

  I stoically refuse to glance at my sword. No telegraphing for me. Ro catches
everything. But if she's serious, I can beat her to the sword, and will.

  I look at her and ooze neediness and remorse. Cram my eyes full of it. Make my
lower lip quiver. We stare at each other.

   By the time all the muscles in my face are screaming from holding such a stupid,
wussy look, her gaze softens. She draws a deep breath, releases it. Closes her eyes,
sighs. "Dani, och, Dani," she clucks, opening her eyes. "When will you learn? When
you're dead? I have only our best interests at heart. Do you not trust me?"

  I'm massively suspicious of that word. It means to accept without question. I did that
once. "I'm sorry, Rowena." My voice catches on the words. I hang my head. I want my
sword back.

  "I can see you have feelings for that, that--"

  "Mac," I supply, before she calls her something that really pisses me off.

  "But I swear I will never ken the why of it." She pauses heavily, and I know it's my
cue to begin justifying my existence.

  I tell her everything she wants to hear. I'm lonely, I say. Mac was nice to me. I'm
sorry I was so stupid. I'm really trying to learn to be the person you want me to be, I tell
her. I'll do better next time.

  Ro dismisses me but keeps my sword. I deal. For now. I know where it is, and if she
doesn't give it back soon, I'll find an excuse for something that needs killing.

   In the meantime, I got a lot to do. Because I'm superfast, they have me whizzing all
over the county, collecting lamps, bulbs, batteries, a whole list of supplies. The crazy
stuff we saw in Dublin hasn't started happening out here yet. We still got power. Even
if we didn't, we got backup generators out the wazoo. Our abbey's totally self-
sufficient. Own electric, food, water. We got it all.

  So far, I haven't spotted a single Unseelie. Guess they prefer the city. More to feed
on. Kat thinks they won't go rural `til they've gorged on urban, so we should be safe for
a while, `cept for those fecking Shades. `Tween times, I check on Mac. Keep trying to
get her to eat. Ro has the key to her cell. Don't know why she needs locking in, since
she has all those wards around her and can't seem to walk. If I don't get food in her
soon, I'll be requisitioning that key. I can coax her to crawl over to the bars, but I can't
force her to eat through them.

   Thing I really want to know is: Where the feck is V'lane? Why hasn't he come for
Mac? Why didn't he stop the Unseelie Princes from raping her? I call for him as I dart
around the countryside, but if he hears me yelling, he doesn't answer to me. Guess not
to Mac anymore, either.

  And Barrons--what's his deal? Doesn't he want her alive? Why have they all
abandoned her when she needs `em the most?

  Men.

  Dude, they suck.

I dump supplies in the dining hall. Superglue, lights, batteries, brackets. Nobody looks
up. Sidhe-seers at every table, making more of the cool helmet Mac was wearing the
night we fought together. After I snatched her from the princes, Kat and the others went
in, kicked ass, snagged Mac's spear and backpack, and found the pink helmet inside.

   Now they got an assembly line going that I keep supplied, `cept it's getting hard to
find Click-It lights. I might have to go into Dublin, even though Ro says not to raid
stores there.

  Since so many of us work as bike couriers for Post Haste, Inc.--that's the front for
the international sidhe-seer coalition, with offices around the world--most of us already
have our own helmets. Just need `em modified. With Shades in the abbey, everybody's
arguing to be first in line for the next one done. I told `em Mac called it a MacHalo, but
Ro forbade anyone to call it that, like it pissed her off Mac thought of it or something.

  I whiz into the kitchen, yank open the fridge so hard it tips over catty-corner and I
have to right it, then stand there cramming my mouth full of food. Don't know what I'm
eating, don't care. I'm shaking. I have to eat constantly. Superspeed drains me. I go for
high fat, high sugar. Butter, cream, raw eggs go down fast. OJ. Ice cream. Cake. I keep
my pockets stuffed with candy bars and don't go anywhere without my fanny pack. I
gulp two sodas and finally stop shaking.

  I picked up a couple protein drinks for Mac at the store. I worry she might choke on
solid food if she resists. She's gonna eat this time, period.

  Cassie says Ro's making rounds. It's time for that key.

I don't cry. I don't remember if I ever cried. Didn't when Mom was killed. But if I was
gonna cry, I'd do it when I look at Mac. See, her and me? We'd die for each other.
Seeing her like this slays me. I drag my feet on the way to her cell, which, for me,
means walking like a Joe. I munch a couple more candy bars.