Old Dog, New Tricks (26 page)

I nudged a rusted gorget with my toe. “What’s with the spring cleaning?”

“This is the location I have chosen for the tether,” he said smugly.

“Do tell.” Not what I anticipated, but it made good sense. “At least Bháin won’t have to worry about cleaning this mess again.”

“No, he won’t.” A smug expression wreathed his face. “I plan on freeing Bháin.”

My mouth forgot how to work for a minute. “
What?
”

“I don’t need his particular skills anymore.” He rescued a battered shield from his closet and let me admire it before he flung it skittering down the hall. “I acquired him for one purpose, and thanks to your promise to escort Branwen to me, that purpose is being fulfilled without his aid.” He ducked into the closet and tossed out more junk. “His kind is temperamental and exhausting to maintain. I’m relieved I will soon be rid of him.”

All I had done was give Rook the potential to secure political power by anchoring a new tether. That didn’t jibe with Bháin’s particular talents. It wasn’t fulfilling an emotional need, except feeding his ambition. Unless he didn’t mean the actual tether, but who he expected to step through it one day.

Oh man. It all clicked with a nauseating
snick
in my head.

Bháin had been indulging Rook with glamour-enhanced role-playing...as Branwen.

It explained the room, Bháin’s drive for perfection of a talent he might use to create exhibits, but I bet only one fae was ever invited to experience them. This explained a lot, like Bháin’s all-you-can-eat pass and Rook’s animosity toward him.

They had been playing house.

Not in a creepy way. Well, okay, it was a little creepy, but Bháin had given Rook the illusion of what he craved the most—love and acceptance and...his sister.

Rook must have read the realization on my face because his flushed scarlet.

I cleared my throat and found somewhere less awkward to look. “What will happen to him?”

A shrug dismissed the problem. “He will return to his people.”

“I cannot return.” Bháin’s voice startled me. “I cannot leave my master’s service and survive.”

Meaning no one else would feed him or no one else could?

I glanced between them before glaring at Rook. “Is that true?”

Rook mashed his lips together and glared at Bháin.

Proof positive.

“Already thinking like a politician, I see.” I let my head fall back on my neck. “You’re covering your tracks. Unseelie House thinks you’re weak because of your mixed blood. Now you’re lobbying for the consul position, and you’re afraid your peers will uncover Bháin’s role in your household and expose your weakness for what it is.” It boggled the mind. “You would really let him die after all he’s done for you?”

A smirk twisted Bháin’s expression. “This is how the sidhe have always treated us. I expected it would happen one day. It is the nature of our talent that we are feared by those who desire us the most.”

I groaned and forced myself to interact with Rook without throttling him. “Has it occurred to you that you’re treating him the same way full-blooded fae treat you?” When that failed to elicit a response, I tossed out another idea. “Why not use him? He can slide into people’s heads, Rook. I mean, he can’t read minds, but harvesting memories is almost the same thing. He’s loyal to you. Use him in other ways.”

Bháin tilted his head. “Why do you care what becomes of me?”

Once I might have confided it was because Shaw and I shared a similar link, that his dependence on me to survive made me sympathetic to Bháin’s situation, but the thought of failing Shaw terrified me beyond my ability to speak of it except to him, and Bháin already knew too many of our secrets.

“You two have some kind of symbiotic relationship happening that I don’t fully understand, and if I’m honest, I don’t want to.” I held up my hands to stall Rook’s protests and kept on addressing Bháin. “Rook knew what he was taking on when he brought you into his home, and that makes your health and wellbeing his responsibility. As your master, he damn well better honor his end of the bargain.”

I forced my teeth to unclench as I awaited a response.

Gesturing toward Bháin to finish clearing out the closet, Rook crossed the debris-strewn hallway to me. He dusted his hands and exhaled through his mouth. “What other ways do you have in mind?”

“Be the opposite of Daibhidh. Mingle with the Unseelie. Host lavish dinners here in your home. Allow Bháin to serve your guests. Let him lift information you can use to better conditions in Faerie. I’m guessing few are aware you’ve retained Bháin except for your mother. Slap some glamour on him to hide his distinctive coloration, and let him earn his keep in another way, in a more lucrative way.”

Gaze distant, Rook murmured, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll abuse the power given to me?”

“I expect you will bend rules and use your questionable morals to get the results you want.” The truth was that fae he managed to deceive would likely respect him more for his cunning, much as his mother had. “You’re not the upfront or honest type, no, but you love your sister, and when I bring her here, you’ll want her to see what you’ve made of yourself and to be proud of you. You’ll want to show her that her faith in you was not misplaced.” I played the highest card I had left. “Or, you follow in the Morrigan’s footsteps, and when Branwen sees how corrupt you’ve become, she will never forgive herself for leaving you. She will spend the rest of her days carrying the burden of guilt for not choosing family over Dónal. Make no mistake, I’ve met Branwen, and she will be ashamed of you.”

Brow creased, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “If I wore a belt, that would have landed below it.”

I shrugged. “You’ve done worse to prove your point.”

“I can’t deny that.” Indecision rippled across his face. “All right. I will use Bháin as you suggest. For the time being.” His demeanor shifted when Bháin overheard and straightened to stare at us. “He can remain.” He aimed his next words at Bháin. “Should he betray me or if his usefulness diminishes...”

“I will not,” Bháin snarled, “and it will not. My skills surpass all but those of my dame.”

Discard him and leave him to die, and Bháin kept his cool. But insult his honor or his talent, and he became High Lord Hissy Fit. Priorities much? I mean, you can’t very well art when you’re dead.

Sidestepping the mess and arguing males, I inspected the closet. “You’re sure this is where you want it?”

“The old tethers’ locations were common knowledge.” Rook turned his back on Bháin’s scowl, ending the argument. “They were unassuming at first, meant to blend in and go unnoticed. Over time they became adorned as the status symbols they were, and it made them obvious.” He walked to me and patted the doorframe. “I prefer this. Modest and tucked out of sight.”

Given the unrest in Faerie, it made sense to keep it hidden. “Fine by me.”

I knelt in front of the threshold and dusted the area clean. Hunching forward, I placed the paper I took from Mac’s office on the floor and smoothed it flat. I read it one last time before bracing myself for pain. I spoke the Word to open my wound and gasped at the sting. Blood stained my skin while it flowed through my fingers to pool on the tile. Figuring that setting an anchor must be similar to how I severed them, I smeared blood across the threshold from left to right, from doorframe to doorframe.

The pendant around my neck was warm in my palm when I gripped it tight in my crimson fist. I let my second sight rise while pushing magic into the charm Mac had given me. I chanted the Word, the coordinates Mac had jotted down, and I pictured where the shifting blue-mesh tunnel should end.

Power churned through my core and spun through my runes into my fingertips. Blood ignited in a blue wash of cool flames that licked up the sides of the door and caused Rook to curse behind me. Air swirled, catching tendrils of my hair and blowing them into my eyes. A faint suction began, and I leaned forward, testing the limits of the threshold. My ears popped, and the whirling vortex took me.

Chapter Nineteen

––––––––

I
landed hard. My left hip took the brunt of it, but impact popped my wrists when I flung out my hands to stop my head from bouncing off the floor. Vision wavering, I saw why. Rough cement slab bumped under my palms. I listed—no, the room did. The floor tapered to a steel drain in the center. The walls were concrete blocks. Bars filled the narrow window. The stink of ripe blood hit my nose.

It worked
. It actually worked. I was in the mortal realm, almost back where I started.

“Come to see me again?” a familiar voice taunted. “Didn’t get enough last time?”

I lurched to my feet and backed against a wall for support. “Nice to see you again too, Red.”

“I remember the taste of you like it was yesterday.” His fingers inched toward his temples where rivulets of blood leaked from the soaked rag on his head, but he paused, as if denying himself a treat.

“That’s not creepy at all,” I said dryly. “Call the guards.”

“Why would I do that?” He gave up and smudged crimson over his cheekbones.

“Look, I don’t have a whole lot of time here.” I sighed. “If you could—”

He charged me, sprung into the air and landed a kick to my solar plexus. Hunching over, he slid his slick fingers through my hair and brought my face down to his knee. I jerked my head to the side, but pain ignited in my jaw. The edge of my teeth cut my cheek, and a copper tang filled my mouth.

Red’s lusty growl of approval when I spat blood on the floor sent an answering rumble pumping through my chest. I was sore, cranky, hungry and wearing dirty leather. I wanted a long, hot shower, to dump this outfit down the trash chute, and to crash on my own bed with Shaw beside me tonight.

Clamping my left hand around Red’s wrist, I made a connection. He tried to pull back, but I held tight and sent magic blasting up his arm. Feeding Shaw had depleted me, and the desire to drink Red down burned in my gut. Those internal scales tipped, and I sank magical teeth deeper into his aura. Devouring chunks of his energy sated the gnawing pit in my belly, but not the moral compass I had inherited from Mac, the one whirling as I fought my instincts over what was the right thing here.

Deep breath
.

Red had been captured. He was serving his time. He was not a threat.

To kill him now was to murder him in cold blood.

I was not that person.

Tightening the leash on my magic, I slowed my intake until he collapsed on the floor. I checked his pulse. Steady. Vitals were good. He was fine. Knocked out and no longer my problem. Stepping over a twitching arm, I reached the door to his cell and hammered on the thick metal with my fists while shouting for the guards.

“What’s all the—? Where is prisoner number zero-one-five?” The guard’s eyes slitted where he peered through the Plexiglas square at me. “Ma’am, remain calm. I’m going to open the door...”

I tuned him out before losing all faith in faekind. Did he really think I accidentally stumbled into the big, bad redcap’s cell on accident? Heck no. You didn’t stumble anywhere inside of a maximum security prison. He was right to question me. I would put the screws to me too. Plus Red was unresponsive...

“Look,” I said, an hour and a pot of coffee later, “I need to speak with Officer Littlejohn. He can vouch for me.” I wish I had my phone to check the time. “How much longer is this going to take?”

“Officer Littlejohn is a NocT officer, ma’am. He works third shift. He ought to clock in any minute.” The officer who had “rescued” me slouched in a metal folding chair angled toward me. A scarred metal table that had seen better days separated us. Bolted to the floor of the formal interrogation room, it didn’t budge an inch no matter how hard I kicked the nearest leg in frustration. “Want me to top off your coffee?”

My mouth opened in a biting retort when the door flung open and smacked the wall.

The officer across from me jumped to his feet, and his hand went to a holstered stun baton.

“What the hell you doing, Fitz?” Littlejohn’s low voice soothed my frazzled nerves. “You know who this is? You damn sure better be glad her daddy’s not here to see this.” His gaze sliced over to me. “I apologize for the wait.”

I strained my neck staring up at him. “Hope I’m not putting you out.”

Fitz stomped out the door, and Littlejohn dropped into the vacant chair. “Last I heard, we were cut off from Faerie. Yet here you are.” He rested his beefy forearms on the table. “You punch a new hole, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed the shadow bristling his chin. “How’d you manage that?”

“My dad—” there was that word again, “—left me instructions that were open to interpretation.”

Using a redcap to hold a sample of my blood for the spell? Brilliant if you asked me.

“That foot of yours is tapping a mile a minute.” He took my hand and stilled it. “These are clacking like you’re typing up a report on the table. Let’s get down to it. Just tell me what you need.”

Easing my hand from under his, I shot him a genuine smile. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

After switching to water, I sat with Littlejohn and hammered out details for locking down the tether. The favor I asked put him in a tight spot, but he agreed to sit on the news of its existence for six hours. Long enough for me to conclude my business in Faerie before I made my report to the magistrates.

Entrusting sensitive information to those two made me ill. Once Mac got on his feet, our mole hunt would begin. Until then I had to honor the chain of command if I wanted to keep my job, which seemed prudent considering the whole princess thing hadn’t panned out.

One much more productive hour later, I strolled into the cell housing the world’s only tether to Faerie and smeared more blood across the threshold to anchor it in both realms. Glancing around, I decided the place had a certain ambiance.

Then I laughed all the way back to Winter.

––––––––

R
ook snatched me out of the tether’s mouth with sweaty palms and a meaty
grunt-thud-flop
. On second thought,
snatched
might not be the right word for it. More likely he had been standing inside of the closet, trying to figure out how to operate the tether without me, when I pinwheeled into him.