PART THREE
___________________
Dawn
“Turned out I was wrong.
It wasn’t the dark I should have been afraid of, at all.”
—Mac’s journal
NINETEEN
It was the second longest night of my life. The longest is yet to come.
I passed the time culling my memory for good ones, reliving them in vivid detail: those two years when Alina and I were in high school together; the trip we’d made as a family to Tybee Island, the guy I’d met there, who gave me my first real kiss, out in the waves where my parents couldn’t see us; my graduation party; Alina’s farewell bash before she’d left for Ireland.
Silence came long before dawn.
It was absolute; the hours from five to seven were so unearthly quiet I was afraid some cosmic calamity had befallen my closet; that a Fae realm had been victorious in the battle for the right to exist at my precise latitude and longitude, and me and the mops had been relegated Elsewhere. Precisely where Elsewhere might be I had no idea, but at 7:25 A.M., the moment of sunrise, it was still so utterly silent that when I placed my hand on the doorknob, it occurred to me to wonder if I might open it onto the vacuum of Space.
It would certainly simplify things.
I would be dead, and no longer have to worry about what the day might bring.
If I opened the door, I had to go out there. I didn’t want to. My closet was cozy, safe, perhaps forgotten. What would I find out there? How would I get out of the city? What existed beyond Dublin’s boundaries? Had we lost parts of the world last night, in a metaphysical battle between realms? Was Ashford, Georgia, still where it was supposed to be? Was I? Where would I go? Who would I trust? In the grand scheme of things, finding the Sinsar Dubh suddenly seemed a minor issue.
I cracked open the door, glimpsed the lower platform beyond, and exhaled with relief. Distastefully, with meticulous care, I strapped my spear harness back on. Unseelie marched through my blood, posturing aggressively. It would continue to do so for days, and I would fear my spear the entire time. I eased from the closet. After a thorough look around to make sure no Shades had assumed squatting rights during the night, I clicked myself off and ascended to the belfry.
When I stepped into the stone archway, I exhaled another sigh of relief.
The city looked mostly the same. The buildings stood. They hadn’t been burned or demolished, and they hadn’t vanished. Dublin might be worse for the wear, her party dress torn, hose run, stiletto heels broken, but she was in dishabille, not dead, and could one day be craic-filled and vibrant again.
There was no foot or motor traffic. The city looked abandoned. Though signs of rioting littered the streets, from cars to debris to bodies, there were neither people nor Fae moving around down there. I felt like the last person left alive.
There were no lights on, either. I checked my cell phone. No service. By nightfall, I was going to have to be holed up safely again.
I watched the city until day had fully dawned, and sunlight splintered off streets cobbled with broken glass. In the past forty-five minutes, no one and nothing had moved. It seemed the Unseelie foot soldiers had scrubbed Dublin clean of human life, and moved on. I doubted the Shades had gone. I could see greenery on the outskirts of the city. They’d probably gorged until the first rays of morning had forced them to retreat to their hidden cracks and crevices.
I blessed whatever fates had inspired me to make my MacHalo. It looked like it was going to be an integral part of keeping myself alive for a while. Impossible to stay to the lights when there were no lights to stay to.
First on my agenda was to find batteries, and cram my backpack full of them. Second was food. Third was wondering if Barrons could still track me by the tattoo at the base of my skull in a world that had merged with Faery realms, and if that was a good thing or a bad thing? Would V’lane come searching for me? Had the sidhe-seers survived? How was Dani? I didn’t dare let my thoughts turn toward home. Until I found a phone that worked and could call, I couldn’t handicap myself with those fears.
At the top of the rickety ladder, I slipped off my spear harness and dropped it the hundred-plus feet to the floor below, tossing it into the corner near the door. If the rungs gave way again, I would not fall on my own spear.
I descended slowly, carefully, and didn’t breathe normally again until I’d reached the bottom. I’d eaten all the Unseelie I’d diced and jarred. I felt safer with a stash on me. I wanted more. Needed more. Who knew what battles I might encounter today?
I grabbed a loop of the spear harness, slid it over my shoulder, and stepped through the door, head cocked, listening for voices, movement, any sign of danger. The church was eerily quiet, flatly so. I inhaled, taking full advantage of my Unseelie-enhanced senses. There was a peculiar odor in the air, one I couldn’t place. It appealed yet . . . disturbed me. It smelled kindred . . . but not quite. I hated not having my sidhe-seer senses. I hated not knowing if there might be Fae right around the corner, waiting to ambush me.
I moved furtively forward and added a fourth note to my mental agenda: new footwear. Tennis shoes. Rare are the boots crafted for stealth, and mine weren’t.
Midway across the anteroom, I stopped. To my left was a wide flight of marble stairs, swathed by a carpeted runner that descended to tall double doors exiting the church.
To my right was the entrance to the chapel. Even beyond its closed doors, I could smell the inner sanctum, the faint, cloying scent of incense and that other, elusive, spicy scent that disturbed and intrigued me. In the dim light of the hushed morning, the white doors of the oratory seemed to glow with a soft, unspoken invitation.
I could turn left, and head out into Dublin’s streets, or go right, and take a few moments to confer with a God I’d not spoken to much in my life. Was he listening today? Or had he shaken his head, packed up his Creation Kit, and headed off for a less screwed-up world late last night? What would I talk about? How cheated I felt by Alina’s death? How angry I was at being alone?
I turned left. There were easier monsters to deal with in the streets.
At the top of the stair, lust blasted me, incinerated my will, awakening exotic, excruciating sexual need. For a change, I welcomed it.
“V’lane!” I exclaimed, yanking my hand from the top button of my jeans. I could feel him outside the church. He was moving toward me, down the sidewalk, up the outer stairs, about to enter. He’d found me! I caught myself thanking the God I’d just refused to talk to.
The doors opened and I was blinded by sunlight. My pupils constricted to pinpoints. Framed in the entrance, V’lane’s hair shimmered a dozen shades of gold, bronze, and copper. He looked every inch the avenging angel in a way Barrons never could. There was that unusual scent; the one that beckoned and bedeviled me. Rolling off his skin. Did he always smell this way, and I could only pick it up now because I had Unseelie-heightened senses?
Spiked by his dark brethren, I wasn’t sensing V’lane as a Fae. I felt no nausea. His appearance had been preceded only by his lethal sexuality. He was impacting me as he would any woman. It was no wonder heads turned when we went places. His allure was even stronger with my sidhe-seer senses dead, as if some special quality in my blood normally shielded me from his full effect, but couldn’t when my veins ran with Fae.
Whatever the reason, his impact was formidable today. It was even more intense than the first time I’d encountered him, when I’d had no idea what he was. My legs felt weak. My breasts were heavy, aching, and my nipples burned. I wanted sex, needed sex. Violently. Had to have it. Didn’t care about repercussions. I wanted to fuck and fuck until I couldn’t move. Hadn’t he said he could give it to me without hurting me? Mute himself, protect me from being harmed or changed?
“Turn it off,” I forced myself to say, but I was smiling when I said it, and my command lacked heat.
I was so relieved to see him!
My sweater was on the floor. I bent to pick it up.
He moved from the shaft of brilliant sunlight and glided up the stairs. “Sidhe-seer,” he said.
As the door closed behind him, and the anteroom returned to its dimly lit state, my pupils dilated, adjusted, and I realized my error. Gasping, I took a step back. “You’re not V’lane!”
The exotic prince’s gaze fixed on my breasts, sculpted by a lacy bra. I pressed my sweater to my chest. He made a sound deep in his throat and my knees buckled with sexual anticipation. Only with immense effort did I remain standing. I wanted to be on my knees. I should be on my knees. He wanted me on my knees. And hands. My head was vacuumed of thought. My lips and legs moved apart.
He stepped closer.
I fought a frantic battle with myself, managed to step back.
“No,” he said. “I am not.” Lids lowered over alien, ancient eyes, lifted. “Whatever that is.”
“Wh-who are you?” I stammered.
He took another step forward.
I took another step back. There went my sweater again. Shit.
“The end,” he said simply.
The doors leading to the inner sanctum opened behind me. I felt the draft of passage, and more of the strange, disturbing scent filled my nostrils.
Lust sledgehammered me, front and rear.
“We are all the end,” a cold voice floated over my shoulder. “And beginning. Soon. Later. After.”
“Time. Irrelevant,” the other replied. “Round is round.”