A Matter of Truth (Fate, #3)

Will beats me to the punch, his sword out, two fingers pressed against the blade. He slowly circles to the side, so we’ve got two angles on this thing. “I’m no bloody pet.”


Cailleache laughs again, the sound so awful that snow dumps down around us from the surrounding trees.

Even still—she doesn’t want to kill me? She wants me to go with her? Go where? Elder Headquarters? “You want me?” I tell it. Her. “Then you’re going to have to take me.”

I let the arrow loose and it whizzes lightning fast toward Cailleache. She dodges it, but just barely, howling in fury. I reload, but now she’s charging us, so fast she’s a black, wispy blur. Thwang. Reload. Thwang.

She manages to dodge everything.

The next thing I know, my shooting arm is bleeding heavily. Bitch cut me with one of her smoky sai through my coat. Why didn’t I think of making Elder-proof clothing? When will I learn?

That awful mouth twists into a distorted grin. “We can do this all day.”

I draw another arrow out, arm shaky. Bandages snake around my arm. The snow below me is stained red. Will barks something about moving, but I position myself so I’m standing in Cailleache’s direct line toward him. “Is that all you’ve got?” I ask her, glad my voice is even despite me wanting to barf everywhere.

“Oh, little Creator. The things we’ve got in store for you,” it hisses in return.

The next strike, I manage to sideswipe her with one of my arrows. Her scream is an explosion, followed by heavy snow raining down on us. Will comes at her while she twists to the side, slashing at what resembles a leg; the scream turns atomic. Trees splinter around us, but she’s back on her—well, not her feet, because she’s floating, but definitely ready for another round, fresh with a new set of stereotypical villain wait ‘till I get ahold of you threats.

Both Will and I are bleeding profusely. I triage us with bandages as quickly I can, but if this is her game—cut us down, piece by piece—I’m truly scared for our chances as we go round after round. She cuts us, we barely nick her. If I’m not careful, we’ll bleed out in the snow. What can I do? What can I make?

I . . . I walled the last one in. That’s it! I drop a heavy, but clear wall behind her just as she slices at my leg, and then two more on the sides. A roof curves over us, blocking out the snow. It’s enough to momentarily distract Cailleache; one of my arrows finally lands a clean target. Bits of smoke surge out of her in disturbing waves as the arrow tip explodes in her torso. Her mass regroups quickly, but as her anguished shrieks rattle the impenetrable material surrounding us, I drop another wall behind me and Will, effectively caging us all in. And it’s enough for Will to leap forward, looking like he’s in a movie to my blurry eyes—all lithe, slow motion as he first goes up and then down, driving his blade straight through what appears to be her upper back and into the snowy, hard ground below.

He’s pinned her.

And she stays where she is. She’s struggling, fighting against the blade, but somehow, Will found some tangible part of her existence and trapped her to the floor.

“I’ll destroy you.” Black smoke pours from the maw on her face. “Piece by tiny piece!”

“Big words coming from the shish kebab,” Will says to me. He’s panting, sweat swirling with blood on his face.

I’m stunned. There is an Elder effectively pinned and captive, right in front of me. Terrified she’ll somehow break free, I drop a secondary cage around Cailleache’s body, boxing her into position.

Okay. Okay. She’s not going anywhere. At least, I hope not.

“Chloe,” Will murmurs, limping closer. He’s bleeding heavily in at least five or six different places. I’m the same. I get to work on bandaging him, but he grabs my face with one hand, forcing me to look at him. “What are we going to do with her?”

“She’s . . . she’s contained.”

“I know.” He winces as one of my bandages tightens on his leg. “But we can’t leave her like this. What if somebody stumbled upon her?”

I press my palms against my temples. “Normally, we imprison them underground. A team comes and helps. The—the Guard decides what to do.”

“Whatever the Guard is, they aren’t here.” He grunts quietly, flexing a wounded arm. “I am. I’m your team. So again, I ask—what are we going to do?”

I stare at Cailleache; she stares right back, her head twisting up, those semi-lips distorting in pure hatred and anger.

“Back at the house,” Will continues, “you erased the back door. You made us new clothes. You changed my tire after making the first one disappear. You—hell, you made these bandages appear out of thin air.”

I switch my focus to him. “Yes, but—”

“You can make a door disappear,” he says quietly. Firmly. “Why can’t you make that thing disappear?”

What?

All of a sudden, Cailleache thrashes in the box, her efforts to get out redoubling. And the weird thing is, little drops of dark red—more blackish than ruby—splatter around the sword pinning her intangible body. Is she bleeding?