“You called to me!” he screamed back, gritting his teeth and putting his clean hand up to the palm print on his face. “I was patrolling the area and you whispered that you needed my help.”
“I never called to you,” I said, wondering if I’d somehow made a mistake and project my need to every person in the immediate vicinity. Ugh, if that was the case then Rosinée and Papa Cocodril would’ve felt it, too.
“You did,” Rafe repeated, but I didn’t have time to argue. I’d gotten what I needed and it was time to make a trade—a baby for a key. At least this trade was a fair shade better than the fairytales—I didn’t have to give my own firstborn up, simply help another have her own. That much, I could do.
“Forget it. Go home, Raphael LeRoux, I can find my own way back from here.” Without waiting for a response from him, I whirled on my heel and stalked back to the swamp shack that held my damn key.
It appeared my magic had bled out a little more than intended, as Rosinée and Papa Cocodril were frantically mauling each other when I stepped back through the door. She was straddling his lap and his hands were buried deep inside her voluminous skirts while their tongues wrestled one another.
Pausing a moment, I cleared my throat.
“Quickly, girl,” Rosinée panted, arching her neck and holding the amulet out to me. “Quickly while the magic is still fresh.”
My eyes narrowed at her as I stretched my wet fingers forward. “The key?” I reminded her, pausing before touching the decorated chicken’s foot.
“On the table. Now hurry up so me husband can put a baby in my belly.” She shook the charm at me even as Papa Cocodril's lips made their way down the line of her throat.
With my free hand, I snatched the key from the table where she had left it for me, then touched my two fingers, wet with the product of my orgasm, to her charm. Magic visibly sparked and hissed as my juices met the chicken foot and then it was done.
“Yes,” Rosinée groaned in ecstasy, “yes, I can feel my body come alive again. Go, Veil Keeper. You’ll find your Spear in the old Saint Louis Cemetery. Look for an angel watching over the dead; she be holding your treasure.”
“Wait, then where do I use the key?” I demanded, but it was too late. The swamp witch and her magical lover were rapidly shedding clothes and I knew there would be no more discussion until they were done copulating.
It could take hours, and that was time I didn't have. Hopefully, the keyhole would be obvious when we got there.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” I muttered, leaving the shack and closing the door firmly behind me even as the distinctive grunts and moans of their babymaking followed me out into the bayou.
Placing the key tight between my teeth, I dove headfirst back into the water and began making my way back to the point I'd entered. Hopefully Rafe had followed my directive to leave as I was in no mood to speak with him. It'd be a long walk back to Wild Hunt land, but it could be just what I needed to clear the anger I felt toward him. He had intruded on a private moment with my Lords, regardless of their physical presence, and it was an offense that could not be lightly forgiven.
When I arrived back to the dock where I'd left my clothing though, I found Amelie waiting for me.
“Successful trip?” she asked with an easy smile, and I let her help me out of the water. I took the key from between my teeth and held it up, grinning.
“Nice work, girl. You really are gonna save us all, huh?” Amelie chuckled and handed me my clothes so I could dress. “Rafe came running through here with his tail between his legs a few minutes ago. Asked me to see you safe back to the faery boys. Everything okay there?”
“No,” I replied, “it's not. But I will deal with your alpha another day. Tonight, I have a Spear to find and some memories to retrieve.”
As much as I wanted to feel excited, or even simply optimistic about the retrieval of one-fourth of my lost memories, I simply couldn't muster anything more than a grimace.
Was I really prepared to take the bad with the good? From the shards of memory I had regained on my own, there was no shortage of bad.
Was I strong enough to endure it all over again?
The boys must have sent a message ahead, because when the four of us arrived back to The Wild Hunt clubhouse, my entire Hunt was ready and waiting.
“Keeper,” Fionn greeted me with a respectful dip of his head, “lead us and we shall follow.”
I cast my eyes over my Wild Hunt, all sat ready on their gleaming bikes, dressed in their club patches and bandanas. The older ones scowled, while the younger ones looked excited, but I knew in my heart that they would not betray me. Not tonight, anyway.
“Good,” I replied from the back of Killian's bike. “Let's go then.”
There was no real reason why we needed to go immediately, no reason except the burning urgency in me that something bad was coming.
My powers did not extend to the gift of prophecy, as far as I was aware, but the gnawing feeling in my gut warned of impending danger.
Without any further words, Killian turned his bike and lead the way out of the driveway with the rest of the club falling into position around us. No discussion was necessary. I'd told my Lords where we needed to go, and it was the rest of the Hunt’s job to simply follow.
It wasn't until we were roaring down the I-10, on our way into New Orleans proper, that I was hit by a wave of agony which caused me to cry out.
Killian stopped his bike immediately, leaping off and grasping my face in his hands.
“What is it, mon amour? Speak to me,” he urged. Around us, I sensed the rest of my Wild Hunt had stopped their bikes also, but only my Lords got off to surround me.
“Ciarah, ‘tit fille,” Reece murmured, “what happenin'?”
I wanted to answer them, I did, but I couldn't. Pain, sorrow, and fear wracked my body and it was all I could do to sob and moan while my hands clutched at my head.
Come on, Ciarah. Get a grip, this pain is not your own. You have felt the cold sting of those claws rend your own flesh and survived. You can survive this … this shadow. This echo.
Gasping for air, I forcefully loosened my grip on my hair then ground my teeth together as I looked to my Knights.
“Death,” I croaked. “Fae are dying. Lots of them. They need my help, our help. If not to save their lives, then to save their souls. The creatures …” A violent shiver shuddered through me at even mentioning them. “The creatures responsible won't stop at killing their bodies. Once they achieve that, they will consume their souls and there will be nothing left to regenerate.”
A shocked gasp rose from the club. It was the most unspeakable of punishments, for a fae soul to be consumed. Our race relied heavily on the recycling of old souls as very few new souls were ever created in Faerie.
It was my job, and my job alone to pass judgement on those who did not deserve to be recycled.
“Where?” Arlo growled, his glamour shimmering in and out of focus, betraying his heightened emotions.