Neat little houses had the shades and shutters tightly drawn. Their footfalls echoed as they crossed the town square and continued up a steep hill toward the castle. Huge Grif fin Dragons circled the towers, their ominous shapes casting dark shadows under the pale moonlight. Fatigue and pure disheartenment made Sasha’s shoulders slump. This wasn’t what anyone wanted-to live in fear.
Sasha glanced at Sir Rodney, identifying with the sadness in his forlorn expression. Complete dejection was etched across his handsome face and his normally merry eyes were clouded by weariness. Albeit his back was straight and his head held high, he squared his shoulders like a man carrying the weight of the world on them. The Midsummer’s Night Fae Ball was most likely ruined. Lives were at stake, lives had been lost… and all for what? Greed? Power?
Unicorn-riding guards parted as their small, discouraged entourage of weary soldiers approached. Even the second drawbridge seemed to be tired as its pulleys creaked and groaned, dropping the massive wood plank with a thud.
No one spoke. Sir Rodney simply used hand signals to wave alert guards out of the way. The quiet, though weighed with tension, was a blessing. It gave her a chance to think. Then again, thinking only set her nerves on edge… There would sure be hell to pay in the human community. There were bad guys to catch, twisted Weres to bring to justice… and some Vampire lairs to open to daylight-starting with the baron’s, on principle.
“Milord,” a gaunt servant said, bowing deeply upon Sir Rodney’s entrance into the castle courtyard. “We are pleased that you have arrived safely and recovered all of your guests.”
Sir Rodney nodded. “Rupert… These good people have been to hell and back. Some may even require medical attention.” He turned to Shogun’s men and then looked at Shogun.
“We are fine,” Seung Kwon said quickly, showing off his healing gashes. “If we eat, we’ll be restored by morning.”
Woods nodded. “Same here. That and some good, old-fashioned shut-eye.”
“Rest, perhaps even before food,” Bear Shadow said. His voice was a low rumble and his breaths dragged in and out of his chest as though he could sleep where he stood.
“Then allow these men to relax and recover,” Sir Rodney said, as more staff rushed over to accommodate his guests. “Food will be delivered to your rooms, baths drawn, fresh clothing provided… anything you require. That you have to be sheltered here against external adversaries is a complete travesty.”
The ire in Sir Rodney’s voice clipped his tone as he began walking forward again. “I need to speak with the three clan leaders, and will accommodate them equally once we’re done… but we must develop a strategy for the morrow.”
No one protested about being shut out of the leadership meeting. Hell, if she could have gone straight to her room and fallen across goose down with a steak on the way and a little bit of Faery dust sprinkled over her to take away the battle aches that she was starting to feel, yeah, she would have preferred that option. Apparently both clan male alphas felt the same way. She noted that Hunter and Shogun seemed relieved that their men were being cared for and didn’t begrudge them a break in the action. She just wished that she could have gotten the rest of the team behind the walls of Forte Shannon of Inverness under Sir Rodney’s hospitality. Tomorrow that would be job one.
The group split up at the huge marble staircase that spilled down into the grand foyer. Betas were headed up to private rooms with attentive staff while she, Hunter, and Shogun followed Sir Rodney past live coats of armor, expressionless palace guards, and strange three-dimensional portraits and tapestries that looked as though you could fall right into them.
Two exquisitely chiseled guards opened the doors to a large anteroom when Sir Rodney stopped before it. He didn’t turn around, didn’t explain, just kept walking and assumed they’d follow him.
Two-story cathedral windows covered in stained glass greeted them. The meadow scenes they contained were so serene and bucolic that it nearly drew her to touch them. Sir Rodney’s footfalls echoed across the wide stone floor and Sasha peered up at the vaulted ceiling that seemed to go on forever.
Flags hung from the rafters and wall torches spit and smoldered as they passed. In the center of the room was a huge, round wooden table with strange markings on it, and standing in a row with tablets poised were bald-headed little Gnomes in monastic brown and forest-green velvet robes. Some had wiry tufts of hair in spots. Others had what she could only liken to age spots on their heads. There were five in all.
Each one wrinkled his little hooked nose when studying them and the tips of their long, pointed ears turned ever so slightly as though tuning in to something invisible the way one would expect that a giant TV antenna might. But they all had wide, inquisitive eyes that were so clear it seemed as though one could just see forever in their depths.
“Please, have a seat,” Sir Rodney said, as they approached the table. “The last time you were here, you never sat… never neared the round table… This meeting should be different.”
Not accustomed to chivalry at this level, she was slightly surprised when Sir Rodney didn’t move, but her chair came away from the table on its own. It wasn’t until she was seated that the other chairs deemed it was appropriate for them to slide away.
“This was left over from the days of old,” Sir Rodney said with a smile, looking at Sasha. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if Merlin charmed it this way himself.”
His smile was infectious and she couldn’t help the one he brought out on her face. The fact that Hunter and Shogun were slightly bristled but also contrite quietly amused her.
“You weren’t properly introduced before. These gentlemen are my top advisors,” Sir Rodney announced proudly. “Please show them the sigils you discovered at the death sites, as well as what was sent to you on the human contraption, otherwise known as a cell phone.”
Sasha dug in her pocket as the dire-looking advisors gathered around, inserting themselves between each seated person so they could get a better view.
After a moment, what appeared to be the eldest advisor spoke, pointing at each set of symbols. “These are different than the ones found on the young ladies’ bodies, milord. These be progressive spells, milord. Look at the three moons on each and how they ascend to the top of the sigil… how they gradually become fuller. Thus the magick darkens each night, becomes stronger and harder to cure. If it is not broken before the last night, there will be no cure.”
“This is why we need those who be not Fae,” another, gaunter advisor said, glancing around the table and pointing a bony finger at Sasha, Hunter, and Shogun. “The cure is one we cannot carry-and whoever did this was banking on our Fae secrecy… that we would not, in pride, reach out for help beyond our own in matters strictly Fae. The ones who did this were very shrewd, indeed.”
“Cold steel must cross the magick ring that holds each sigil,” the lead advisor said. “St. John’s wort with witchwood-the rowan, and enclosed with bundled bay leaf. That would break the spells set upon this castle and the places Ethan McGregor’s people be.”
“I don’t understand,” Sasha said, looking around. “How can we carry something to a place when we don’t even know where it is?”
The eldest advisor rubbed his chin and smiled a snaggletoothed grin. “Ah! To put a spell on a place as large as this fort, one must have the power of three.” He walked around the table and produced a small wand from inside his sleeve and doodled glittering gold spirals in the air as he spoke. “For a time-sensitive, progressive spell, one that relies on the sigils knowing when the light has cast and passed into moonbeams, it must be able to be exposed to the passage of time.” He spun around and clapped his hands. “It will be in the uppermost floors, hidden in the eaves, not in the basement where daylight never passes. The first death happened in the cellar as a ruse or mayhap to stop a young woman from telling the king all that she knew-something that would incriminate the spell-caster. But the source… aye, lassie, is in the eaves!”