I looked toward the lake again. Must watch for the fairies.
“The people you have surrounded yourself with, they are your family. You love them and you will never stop doing all you can to protect them. You sacrificed what you wanted in order to become what you must be, but not for yourself. You did it for them. There are rewards within that, but those are not the kind of goals you would set your sights on and make you seek this path. You wear the mantle of a heroine, Persephone, and not because you want it. You wear it because, like Cinderella’s slipper, it fits no other.”
I twisted back to him. “Damn it, don’t make me cry right now. I have to be able to see when the fairies arrive!”
Menessos’s arms—and his conviction—enveloped me and I let my tears fall, unashamed. There weren’t many, but I didn’t hold them in. That heat within me flared to life. Warmth and reassurance spread through me. He held me in silence, both of us staring out over the water as the night abated.
As the sun rose, the mist became shadowed, as if the fairies neared the edge of it. For an instant the haze glittered silver and gold, then the prows of a line of ten boats appeared, elongated keels rising up like swan necks fore and aft. They were palest ivory and the golden hues of oak. Sails billowed with unearthly winds, banners snapping atop their masts. At first they seemed ghostly, unreal—but as they cleared the veil of mist, another row appeared like the first. And another. Solid and frightening.
A larger vessel followed. At first I thought it was black and red, but as it became clearer, it was seemingly made of coals flickering with inner heat. Instead of rails, a line of flames framed it bow to stern. And Fax Torris stood on the bow. Her skin was crimson. Her hair, rising stiffly from her scalp in odd peaks, was also shades of scarlet. A wreath of yellow and orange flowers helped create the illusion of a blaze atop her head. She was clothed in shreds of her fiery colors, stirred by the winds into a flickering semblance of flames.
Just to her port side sailed a ship of timber with branches woven to create an intricate railing with yellow and brown leaves flapping. Lucrum stood at the bow of this ship. His face was the green of new leaves, his brown hair tousled thick with brambles. He wore a surcoat of wheat-field tan, a vest and breeches of mud brown. The large jeweled brooch heavy on his lacey cravat was familiar; he’d worn it when they kidnapped Beverley.
At the stern of these two ships came three rows of something like canoes, but fatter on the bottom. Each of these smaller boats carried one or two fairies, and they were dressed for a show, not for battle. That, however, didn’t mean much with the fey.
Behind the last three rows was a pair of tugboats, pulling something large, flat, and threatening. What it carried, though, the mist effectively secreted.
The smaller boats and canoes began fanning out.
“On this humble world,” Fax Torris shouted, “on this great day, witness as we are liberated from our bonds! Long have we been shackled by this great insult. But no more!” Her voice seethed through the air. “Before us stands the source of our abuse. We answered his call, we aided him in his plight, and with cruelty he reacted. With malice he laid a trap. With malevolence, he sprung it. But this day we will be freed.”
While listening, I studied the distant craft, holding my breath and waiting to see it revealed, only to realize they had no intention of showing it—unless needed. It was the surprise threat meant to ensure our submission.
I scanned the smaller boats again. “Are they taking up viewing points, or are those war formations?” I whispered. Mark would know. Does Menessos?
“That’s precisely what I was pondering. Perhaps I should not delay any longer.”
Menessos sank to his knees, in the circle he’d drawn in the sand. It was my cue to get behind him a few feet, but still within the circle. It appeared he was offering himself without resistance. But he whispered the chant, calling the two remaining royal fairies. A call neither could resist. A call that would tear them from their ships and thrust them through space/time to materialize within the circle.
Lucrum, the earth fairy, should appear before Menessos, to the north. Fax Torris would appear behind the vampire, in the southern position allotted to fire. Kirk would take Lucrum. I had a short iron dagger taped up the left sleeve of my blazer. I was ready to rip it free and stab her in the back. There will be no scene of Johnny lying at her feet.
Menessos completed the first line of the chant in seconds. I felt the stirring and studied the fire fairy closely. I wanted to know when she felt it, too.
In a flash of flames, Fax Torris leaped from her ship toward Lucrum’s. Wings of fire sprouted from her back. I glimpsed her raised arm, saw the glint of a blade. Lucrum saw it coming. His cry of horror carried across the water to the shore, vibrating like the dull thudding impact of boulders in a landslide. Fax Torris had murdered him.
Menessos doubled over and fell to the sand in pain, unable to finish the call.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I fell to my knees beside Menessos. “Finish the call!”
“I cannot!” His voice was ragged.
I wrapped my arms around him protectively. He’s mine and he’s hurting. Hurting because of her.
“Treachery!” Fax Torris cried. “That monster has forced my actions! Forced me to slay my own brother! His control over me must be ended! Kill him,” she sobbed. “Kill him!”
It didn’t surprise me that she would twist it and blame Menessos for her own murderous actions.
Beneath me, Menessos groaned and shivered. A spasm rocked him. He whispered, “Call Mountain!”
I turned to the tall line of switchgrass far behind. Waerewolves and Beholders were already racing forward from their hiding spots. “Mountain!”
The big man cleared the tall grass at a jog.
That was when the first shot was fired.
I twisted toward the shore again. The fairies from the small boats were taking to the air, wings speeding them ashore or fleeing into the sky. Of those ready to fight, colorful balls of energy flashed from their palms, magic meant to do harm. A multitude of shots followed in quick succession and their magic died in the iron-filled air. Booming gunshots echoed under the screams of fairies. The caustic odor of gunpowder surrounded me. People are dialing phones right now, reporting gunfire. Police will be here in force in ten minutes . . . They will have to stop. It’ll end before anything can happen to Johnny.
Mountain dropped heavily beside us. “I’m here, Boss.” He offered his wrist to Menessos. Instantly, the vampire lurched upward and took Mountain at the throat, sucking and slurping like a desert wanderer finding the oasis pool. It was beastly and grotesque. It wasn’t anything like the tenderness he showed me. Horrified, I scrambled back.
The scene across the water was macabre. So many fairy bodies dropping on the lake, their frilly costumes rippling on the waves for an instant before body and all disintegrated into slime. Fax was raging, screaming with her scalding voice, demanding Menessos’s head. Injured fairies fluttered ashore.
The buckshot was apparently gone, but it had done its job. If not mortally struck, with iron embedded in their skin, the fey could not work magic. Additionally, blisters were rising, limbs swelling in allergic reaction even as I watched. They could not summon their magical weapons, but clearly a few had summoned theirs before being injured. The waerewolves—I saw the Mr. Clean wannabe and Hector among them—and Beholders clashed with this pitiful fey force, swinging shotguns like baseball bats. It was all carnage.