Chapter Eighteen
Cut Cari down, or go for the fae bitch first?
Mason didn’t like how exposed Cari was, even if her skin was dressed in gold and wealth and beauty. She was trapped up there. In pain? Terrified, certainly. But Maeve was sentimental about her, so he concentrated on the fae. What would a Martin blade do to Maeve? Would the intent-to-kill work the same way? Or how about Xavier’s weapon-of-the-moment? Did it know how to sever a fae from this world?
“The wards, Arman!” Jack Bastian shouted.
The wards had clearly not stopped Maeve from entering Maya House, so it was unlikely that other House wards would work either. Magekind was at Maeve’s mercy. But none of the mages here could leave, nor any help get inside, if the Maya wards remained in place.
“You swore to me!” Mason yelled back at Jack, just in case he needed a reminder. Jack Bastian had promised that Light would protect Fletcher. Well, here was the moment. That thousand years of angelic experience now belonged to an eight-year-old mage boy.
Mason felt the burning attention of the fae queen before he had a chance to whip around.
“I remembered why I don’t like love,” she said to him. She’d grown in size and density in the past two days. Or maybe she had no sense of proportion and thought bigger was better. “Passion, and desire, and all the agonies of the flesh I do like. But love is a trap set by Order, and you have ensnared my daughter inside it.”
“You will not touch him!” screamed Cari. “He’s mine!”
“Dove,” Maeve said to her, “it will only hurt for a moment. I learned about time, too. And pain. Both are fleeting things. You’ll see.”
Maeve reached out with a jet of Shadow, and Mason ducked and lunged with his long knives. He drew an X on her belly to spill her guts.
Only the angel’s blade had any effect. The slash went crimson, then healed itself and even the faery gown she wore was whole again. But it stung her enough that she backhanded him into the wall. The blades flew out of his grasp—his fault—he knew how to hold on to a weapon. The impact had dazed him.
People were screaming and looking over their shoulders in their haste to get out.
And Fletcher yelled, “Dad!” from Jack’s struggling grasp.
Maeve struck down again.
Mason grabbed a drink tray—flutes of Black Moll crashed to the floor—and he held the platter overhead, while sending crackles of Shadow through the glass. His shoulders and back took the hot shock of the strike, but the tray itself held. A shield.
The phoenix dived from above. Maeve looked up, just in time for Kaye to take a faery eyeball from its socket. With a swat, Maeve sent Brand crashing to the floor.
Kaye’s naked human body seemed crushed, collapsed into death. An audible gasp went round the room, the Brand fire snuffed, but then she burst into flames and ascended into the ceiling circle again.
Arman Maya cast an illusion of an angelic host coming to the battle, but it was Gunnar Martin who lunged with the blade intended for Jack Bastian. Not the unity anyone expected, but Mason would take what he could get.
Maeve seemed beset by the little stings of inconsequential creatures.
“Get me down,” Cari said, panting. “Get me down so I can help!”
Maybe Cari was the only one who could make a real difference. Mason dropped the tray and used a chair to climb up toward her. He gripped the gold lace that fastened her to the throne, but no matter how it tore his hands, the metallic stuff would not come loose. He needed one of his knives. Either would probably cut through the lace. He twisted from his climb to locate the nearest one.
And then his heart stopped.
Fletcher panted in the arms of the soldier guy. When the firebird crashed into the floor, the angel almost crushed him, but then the bird took off, and Fletcher was able to breathe again.
The fight was getting good. Made him bounce with excitement.
Crazy kong lady going down!
One of his dad’s weapons was lost under the feet of the scared people. Stupid. The other knife, the gold one, lay waiting on the other side of the crowd. It glowed with light. So cool.
His dad was trying to get Cari down from the throne. She was going to need some real clothes, like right away, because he could totally see her boobs and belly button and
down there
, too. He’d have to tell his dad that with this and the humping thing, he was officially scarred for life.
The cool long knife first.
The soldier was watching the bird, so Fletcher knew how to get free. The move didn’t work on his dad anymore, but this guy? A thousand years of so-easy-sucker.
Stealth dropped his weight and spun to the side when the soldier grabbed forward.
I mean, really.
The angel got his balance back, but too late.
Stealth was already running. There were people in the way, but he was a Walker, so he threw his weight into a knee slide right past the crazy kong fae and into the crowd, smoking through the legs of one-two-three people who didn’t even have time to scream.
“Fletcher!” his dad hollered. Okay, so maybe a grounding was in his future. Fletcher stood up and threw the gold knife in the air. Which his dad caught, no problemo.
And just in time for the angel soldier to catch up and yank him into a
serious
hold, the kind reserved for prisoners, bad guys, and assassins.
Hell yeah.
“He gets it from you,” Cari said, as Mason began cutting her free. The stunt Fletcher had just pulled had turned her belly to water. “I swear you Strays are out of your minds.”
The gown was exquisite chicken wire, made to fit her, but damn uncomfortable.
“He’s punished for life.” White lined Mason’s mouth, a level of rage she’d not encountered thus far. Not even when she’d parted his Shadow to see his soul.
From her high vantage she could take in the action in the room. Most of the mages had cleared out—the wards must be open—only her closest allies and Martin remained. And he was slowly bloodying against Maeve’s strikes. Kaye was relentlessly gauging at Maeve’s eyes, to keep her sightless. And Arman Maya with his illusions had the fae twitching.
But every injury healed and the fae’s energy didn’t flag. The fae was immortal, elemental. There was no way to kill her. They had to find a way to drive her back into Twilight, and Cari didn’t have the faintest idea how. Sooner or later, probably sooner, Maeve would get bored. And then what?
Bored meant death.
Just as Cari broke free, Shadow roiled like a dust storm into the ballroom. The air grew thicker, sweeter, more potent. And out of its abject depths, a new figure stalked onto the battlefield. Khan, aka Shadowman. At his side was Cari’s favorite angel Custo, and he was snarling for a fight.
The cavalry.
“Insufferable,” Maeve complained at Shadowman. “As Death, you must know that of the two of us, only one can die. And it isn’t me.”
“Hello, Mab,” Khan returned. “Only one of us is suited for this world, and it’s not you either.”
Custo drew a golden blade, like Mason’s. He shot a look to Jack Bastian, and Cari caught the flush of relief that crossed the other angel’s features. Meant the Order was here now. Their rhythmic march was no Maya illusion this time.
The alliance was coming together after all, and with all the age and experience in this room,
someone
had to know how to send Maeve back.
Mason lifted Cari down from the throne, the gown dragging its elaborate train. She kicked off transparent crystal slippers the likes of which would make Stacia weep.
The knife in Mason’s grip grew into a long, fat sword.
Khan threw a fistful of darkness at the fae queen and she aged before their eyes, crumpling in stature. Then inhaled and grew to even more staggering proportions. The menace in her eyes told Cari that playtime was well over.
Custo flung himself forward, then yelped as he was swatted to the side, unconscious.
Cari approached to face down her fairy godmother. She drew deep on Shadow to be able to fight, but the power that flooded her umbra came from Maeve via the Dolan ward stones. They were leashed together. There was no escape for her. Xavier had been right all along. And yet, the time was past to free herself from the fae.
“No escape,” Maeve said, as if she knew Cari’s heart.
Mason came up beside her, his arm around her waist. Sword ready.
“But you’re trapped, just like I am,” Cari said. “There’s nowhere for you to go, but back.”
An army of angels entered the room and settled into tight ranks for an assault. Their breastplates reflected the light of the faefires, and no Shadow touched them. They would come and come and beat back the queen for as long as it took.
“Retreat into Shadow, Maeve,” Khan said. “This world does not want you.”
“The world has no choice,” the fae queen replied.
Her arm licked out.
Cari only had time to cringe as she was grabbed by her hair and wrenched from Mason’s grasp. The force with which she was yanked toward the fae would’ve easily scalped her or broken her neck, but Maeve had made her immortal. She was a dolly, a plaything that had been lovingly dressed, but was now dragged around according to mood.
“Mine,” Maeve said, petulantly.
Mason rushed them.
But darkness clouded Cari’s vision, and she was jerked again, this time into oblivion.
The Order couldn’t reach her here. Dolan House was impregnable; her line had seen to it.
Her
power sourced the wards. Humanity could clamor at her gates. The Order could marshal against her. But she was staying, forever. This was the Dark Age, and she was their queen.
And in the meantime?
Maeve cast Cari to the side and called upon black magic.
“What’s going o—?” a fair-haired chit asked, coming into the great hall.
Maeve raised a finger at her.
Just a moment.
Then she clenched her hand, and Shadow burst outward from her, like the dust from a crashing meteor. She writhed in pleasure as it exploded through the House, across the property, past the wards, and out upon the earth. It would cover the sky with darkness and everything thereunder would wither, unless it was her will that they should not. Their pitiful electricity could not pierce this gloom. Order would break if humanity, in despair, looked elsewhere for survival.
She smiled as the humans that mobbed the perimeter screamed their fear—so simple to control them—then she turned to the mage girl with the white hair. “You were saying?”
Cari had stood from her tumble. “Stacia, get away.”
The girl Stacia cringed from Cari.
“Pitch!”
Yes, Cari was the night—gold and black and stunning in her perfection.
A crone with glamour in her blood entered the room as well, and Maeve waited patiently while she took in a fae queen’s grandeur. It would be overwhelming to one such as she to see true beauty.
“You,”
the crone finally said.
“Me,” Maeve sighed. At last someone understood.
Laurence came forward. “We’ve already got a contingent near Dolan House.”
Mason gripped his arm. “How do you know they went there?” Mad Mab and Cari had disappeared into a dark welling of magic, leaving gloom and fire behind them. He’d thought they’d both crossed into Twilight, and was prepared to go after Cari into the Otherworld, if necessary.
“Order, that’s how,” Laurence answered. “They report that most of Middlesex County is blacked out. Dolan House is at the center.”
Everywhere would be blacked out soon.
“Makes sense she’d go there if she felt threatened,” Bastian said. “It’s the Dolan seat of power.” He had Fletcher grabbed by the collar; the boy’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Maeve will be untouchable by Order unless Cari can get the wards down.”
Cari. Alone. With that creature.
“The wards are made of Mab,” Khan said. “There’s no getting the wards down. Why would Maeve allow it?”
“Maybe not allow it,” Mason said. “But she might be too distracted to do anything about it. A moment of weakness?”
“You mean to follow them, then?” Laurence said.
Mason nodded, though he was pretty sure the angel knew the answer already. “Any way I can.” Where was that Lakatos?
And would Fletcher understand? He had to leave him behind again.
“I’ve got a good hold of him now,” Bastian grumbled, lifting the kid from the back of his clothes.
“I can fight, too,” Fletcher said fiercely.
Kid had a tenuous grip on reality. He didn’t seem to connect the very real danger with the fantasy going on in his mind. Why hadn’t Mason noticed before? Probably because
the father
was squarely to blame, nurturing those fantasies since he’d been born.
And what would Fletcher learn today, when that father took off to fight a creature that he couldn’t possibly subdue?
Bastian answered. “That you fight anyway. I’ll protect him until you come back.”
Which could be never.
“Not for you,” Bastian said. “Though you might come back as one of us.”
A goddamn angel. The idea made him feel strange all over.
“The quicker you die, the quicker you can be back,” Khan observed wryly. “I’ll transport you.”
A ride.
Mason shuddered out a breath. He grabbed Fletcher’s face and kissed him hard on the forehead. “Love you, kid.”
Fletcher wasn’t embarrassed. He showed his big front teeth. “Kick some ass, Dad.”
“Will do,” Mason said. Kid needed a mother. Maybe an army of them to clean up his act.
“The Order will be waiting for the moment the wards come down,” Laurence said.
“Ready?” Khan asked.