I smoothed it out.
The Dublin Daily
August 3 AWC
EMERGENCY ALERT!
NEW DUBLINERS BE ON GUARD!
We’ve just received confirmation that there are TWO deadly copies of the PSYCHOPATHIC, EVIL Sinsar Dubh in Ireland!
One has possessed MACKAYLA LANE. The other has possessed
DANI O’MALLEY
who now calls herself JADA. See photos below.
MACKAYLA LANE and JADA are under full, terrifying MIND CONTROL of the deadliest books of black magic that have ever existed! They CANNOT be saved.
They’re PSYCHOTIC AND DANGEROUS!
They must be KILLED to be stopped!
Contact WeCare if you have information on their whereabouts. DO NOT APPROACH THEM YOURSELF!
Help us PROTECT New Dublin!
Join WeCare today!
I frowned. “Wait, what? This doesn’t make any sense. She’s not, right?” Surely in the past few days she hadn’t released Cruce and fallen under his control.
“Not that I’m aware. Ryodan’s been keeping close tabs on her.”
“Who would print this and why?”
He cocked his head, studying me intently.
“You thought she posted the first one and I printed this in retaliation.”
He shrugged. “If someone throws you to the sharks, drag them in with you. Makes two of you against the sharks. With few exceptions, humans will unite to defeat a common predator before resuming their personal vendettas, creating multiple opportunities for escape.”
I loved his logic, clean, simple, and effective. “I probably would have just protested my innocence. Printed a Daily of my own denying it all.” Rather than turn on Dani, even if she had turned on me. I would never admit to anyone that I’d killed a Guardian. I hated myself for it, hated the idea someone may have watched me do it. I wanted a name. It’s creepy to think someone knows something terrible about you and you have no idea who they are.
“Reason never works. There’s an inherent bias in the system. The attacker has the offense, which makes the defense appear defensive, therefore guilty. If neither you nor Dani printed these, someone wants both of you targeted, on the run or dead. And with two simple pieces of paper, achieved their aim. These are posted all over the city. I saw a small mob forming outside Dublin Castle, demanding the Guardians take action.”
Which is why he’d thought it was Jayne who came after me. The castle had been commandeered after the walls fell to house Guardian garrisons and what passed as the city’s only hospital. “But why would anyone believe this? WeCare didn’t offer a shred of proof. Besides,” I groused, “their writing is positively juvenile.”
“Fear, boredom, and a sense of helplessness have bred many a witch hunt. He who controls the presses…”
“Controls the populace,” I finished. “Don’t they realize we have far bigger problems? Like the fabric of our planet being destroyed?”
“They’re blaming the black holes on you and Dani. The mob was ranting that the magic you’re using is so destructive it’s tearing the world apart.”
“And you don’t worry they might be on the way here right now?” I said tartly. To further damage my home. My hands fisted.
“I might have sidled into that mob and let it drop that I saw two young women dancing naked around a glowing book in a cemetery on the edge of town.”
I snorted. “And it worked?”
“The promise of naked women and violence has always been irresistible bait for frightened men. Still, it’s only a matter of time before they come.”
He pushed up like a graceful dark panther, muscles rippling. He didn’t look as forbidding when his body wasn’t covered with black and crimson tattoos. I rarely saw him with his skin unblemished. Beautiful naked man. My skin smelled of him. I didn’t want to shower it off but the paint had to go.
He offered his hand, pulled me to my feet. At the last moment his head fell forward and he inhaled. I smiled. We smell good to each other when we fuck. People should always smell good to each other when they fuck or they’re fucking the wrong person.
“I have work to do,” he said, and I caught the hint of regret that we couldn’t just forget the world, stay devolved. Life was so much simpler when we ignored everything but each other.
“We have work to do,” I corrected. I wasn’t sitting on the sidelines anymore.
“I. Get cleaned up. We leave within the hour.”
Before I could even open my mouth to argue, he was gone, vanishing in that fluid way of his, either too fast for me to see or blending into objects like a chameleon as he moved from one to the next.
A disembodied voice said, “I’ll ward the store against humans. You’ll be safe here until I return. Ms. Lane.”
I bristled. I’d been “Mac” to him for the past hour, deep inside his skin, taken him deep inside mine.
With two tiny words he’d erected that formal wall between us again.
“Ms. Lane, my ass,” I muttered. But he was gone.
—
Precisely one hour later we left by the back door, stepping into the alley between BB&B and Barrons’s garage. I loathed leaving the store with all the windows shot out but Barrons assured me no harm would come to it.
While showering I’d realized something I’d overlooked when reading the Dublin Daily earlier: Today was August third—exactly one year to the day I’d first set foot on Irish soil. So much had happened. So much had changed. It was still hard to process the existence-altering vagaries of my life. Now that I was visible again I wanted to talk to Mom about some of my problems, get swallowed in one of my daddy’s big bear hugs, but our family reunion would have to wait.
I shivered in the chilly damp air. My hair was still wet, blond streaked with crimson. The lemon oil I’d used to break down the spray paint had softened and separated the matted areas but hadn’t eradicated the scarlet stain. Just another bad hair day in Dublin.
My wet hair wasn’t the only reason I was shivering. An icy Hunter crouched in the back alley, restrained by symbols Barrons had etched on its wings and the back of its head. It was the same Hunter I’d ridden the day we tried to track the Sinsar Dubh and were deceived by the Book, scattered like frightened mice. The day the ancient Hunter, K’Vruck, had sailed alongside me, admonishing me for not flying on him and warming me with his “old friend” greeting.
I have an enormous sappy-sweet spot for the largest, most ancient Hunter whose name is synonymous with death and kiss so final it eradicates the very essence of the soul. No poodle girl here. Not even a pit bull. My chosen beast is the happy odd finality that is K’Vruck. I wondered where he was and if he might join us again in the sky tonight.
I shuddered at the thought. If so, I’d drive him away. I didn’t want him near Barrons. Ever.
He wasn’t my only problem in the skies. Now that I was visible, I wondered how long I had before I was smothered in noxious ghouls. It seemed like all I ever did was swap one complication for another.
This evening’s conveyance was a fifth the size of its gargantuan brother. I wondered why we weren’t taking one of Barrons’s cars; they’d certainly outrun anything else on the road. The Hunter’s leathery skin was the absence of all color, inkier than midnight in a dark grotto, swallowing what light hit it as if it had ducked into a cosmic bathroom and powdered itself with black-hole dust. Wings at rest by whatever charm Barrons used that could control such creatures, its body steamed like dry ice in the drizzly night.
I shivered again. Riding one of these great beasts was like stretching yourself across a glacier. And if you’re damp anywhere and touch it with bare skin, you stick like a tongue to a metal post on an icy morning. I’d gotten conned into accepting such a dare on a rare wintry morning in Georgia, waiting for the school bus with friends. “I need to grab more—”