Chapter One
At the very mention of the word ‘werewolves’, Malcolm
froze. Every muscle in his body tightened. Even breathing came hard, with his
ribcage so rigid about his middle. Not even his eyes blinked, as he stared
right at the Brownie that had just blurted this out when he brought the tray of
food to him and Willem.
In that frozen instant, Malcolm didn’t care a whit about
the artifact puzzle he’d obsessed over since finding the first piece. His home…
His people… were in danger.
Werewolves were something he’d not had to face, but
Kieran had. And so had Dawn and Bryce. Werewolves were the things of
nightmares, growing bigger than a Sidhe with massive canine jaws as big as his
forearm and claws as long as his palm. They didn’t just feed off fey like a vampire.
They didn’t just kill the fey, either. They ate them.
And the little Brownie just popped off about it like it
was some bit of gossip.
Quick as a snake, Malcolm snatched the little fey by the
front of his shirt and jerked him close. He had to know more. Had to know what
happened. Had to know if everyone was alright.
But he couldn’t even choke out the words that lodged in
his throat. The Glamour Club? Werewolves in the Glamour Club?
Was no place safe?
Jerked from his feet, the Brownie squawked. His small
hands covered the leather bands around Malcolm’s wrists, but he wasn’t able to
break his grip. Which only proved how fragile the Brownie was. Not since the
silver burned deep grooves into his wrists did Malcolm have a lot of strength
in his hands.
Willem leapt from his cot where he’d been consulting his
journals, hurtled over Tiernan, who’d fallen asleep on the floor, and skidded
to a stop just short of bashing into them. “Was anyone hurt?” The Scribe
blurted out, asking the question Malcolm needed the answer to.
“I don’t know!” The Brownie wasn’t any bigger than the
Scribe, both of them like a foot or so shorter than Malcolm. Both of them with
those big, innocent eyes that seemed to plead with Malcolm. Like a child’s.
Like his sister’s.
The very thought of Regan made Malcolm drop his grip on
the Brownie. He wouldn’t have done that to her. He wouldn’t have bullied or
scared her for anything.
This Brownie couldn’t tell him anything. Malcolm twisted
away from him, letting his eyes refocus to see not the physical world around
him, but the magical one. As he turned slowly, he didn’t see the wooden frame
and the stadium-sized canvas tent that surrounded him and the artifact puzzle.
Magic drenched everything on the Isle of Fey, making the
landscape itself glow and hum. Down a little ways, the fey town was alight with
every kind of magic. The lesser fey gave off glittering light of every color,
depending on their race and talents. But besides himself, which didn’t give off
any kind of magic, and Tiernan snoozing on the floor, his energy so knackered
that even his magic was pretty much sticking close to him, he didn’t even see
any other Sidhe on the island.
Twisting around, glancing up toward the mountain that
rose up on the eastern side of the island, Malcolm did finally catch sight of
Trip. Her shadows flicked up there with a bruised black and purple hue. So
there was one. But where were the others?
He didn’t really even need to ask that question.
They’d all been at the Glamour Club.
Too far away for him to see.
Too far away for him to teleport to.
His hands pumped into fists. Tight and loose. Tight and
loose.
Couldn’t hold still.
Couldn’t do anything useful.
His gaze flicked down at Tiernan. He could teleport that
far.
Malcolm punched into his palm, furious with his body for
fighting him. Shaking out his hands, he banished the tension choking him. When
he spoke, it came out rough, but at least it came out. “Wake up!” Standing over
Tiernan, he nudged at the bloke’s side with his trainers. “Tiernan!”
The groan from Tiernan threatened death to the idiot
that didn’t leave him be.
Willem and the Brownie, whose name Malcolm didn’t know,
backed away. No way they were going to be in the middle, if two Sidhe were
going to tussle.
Tiernan might wallop him for waking him, but Malcolm
didn’t care. He bent down to grab his shoulders and shake him. “Wake up!”
But Tiernan didn’t. Just shoved away from Malcolm and
rolled to his other side, then jerked the pillow back up under his head. Just
as quick, he was back to sleep.
But it didn’t matter. A whoosh-pop of teleportation made
Malcolm’s head jerk up.
Jumping up, Malcolm blinked past the world at the magic
again. It hadn’t been real close, but it had been pretty big. Someone with
strong magic, like a Sidhe.
Down the hill… All the way to the beach.
Malcolm broke into a run. Once outside the tent, he
could see for real the place he needed to go. The slope from here to the beach
wasn’t steep, but it was probably a good fifteen minute run through the middle
of the village, which was crowded even in the early evening.
Teleporting was more of an accident than an intension.
In mid-run, Malcolm ‘slipped’ and teleported just a few strides short of the
front porch of the beach house. The sandy ground gave under his feet more than
he expected and Malcolm half stumbled the last bit to the porch. He leapt up
onto it just as the front door opened and Donovan stepped out.
Malcolm jerked to a stop.
Donovan was alive.
Only… his clothes were all ripped up and tacky with
dried blood. Same for Kaitlin, whom he held against him with a steadying arm.
They weren’t still bleeding. Weren’t doubled over or
hurting or anything. Dawn had healed them.
But the blood… The rips…
It had been bad. Real, real, real bad.
“Werewolves,” Malcolm managed to breathe.
“They’ve been dealt with,” Donovan assured him in that
stoic way. The way that said he’d dropped a mountain on them, or something
equally devastating.
“Kieran? Bryce?” Shifting to the side, Malcolm glanced
past Donovan, not seeing the magic from either of his mates. Only a figure of
white-yellow light and the hazy outline of a Touched human. Who was the one
with the light? A Sidhe. Had to be, with that much magic.
Dropping a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, Donovan steered
him back towards the village. “They’re fine. No fatalities. The wounded have
been healed.”
Oh, geez. It had to have been bad to say stuff like
that.
Malcolm let Donovan propel him along the dirt road back
towards the town. Already the fey saw them coming, and started rushing to
gather about. Not getting under foot, but still listening. “Why now? What
happened?” His mind whirled, tumbling and stumbling over itself to understand.
When Malcolm first came to the Glamour Club, he’d worried about Changelings, or
goblins, or vampires, or even Touch-crazed humans coming after him. It’d not
been long before he’d come to think of it as a safe place. A place no one would
dare attack unless they had a death wish.
But even though Donovan obviously got tore up some in
the fight, he didn’t seem the least surprised. “They probably found the club
after Kieran’s brush with them. The sluagh would have kept them back until
now.”
Malcolm glanced up at the mountain. Way up there, just
now and then, he caught sight of the sluagh against the early evening sky, like
great birds wheeling in the air. They’d moved to the Isle just that day, meant
to protect it.
The first chance the werewolves got to attack the club,
they had taken it.
The fey of the Glamour Club fought them off, but there
were some badass fighters at the club. Kieran and Bryce could probably hold
their own for a bit, and Donovan was flat brilliant. Then there was the
head-bashing kinda fey like the trolls and red caps, that played bouncers for
the club.
But the fey of the club weren’t the only ones Malcolm
cared about.
He gripped Donovan’s elbow, not letting go until the
boss turned his serious attention Malcolm’s way. “I want to get Regan and bring
her here.”
Donovan paused, considering what Malcolm asked of him.
“Do you think your father will listen?” He asked in a tone that said that they
both already knew the answer to that.
“I promised I would come back for her. She’s just a kid.
If the werewolves…” He couldn’t even force out the rest of the words.
“First thing in the morning.”
“Now.” Malcolm insisted, the panic mounting already.
“Before something finds them.” And there were a lot of bad things out there
that wanted the fey. The Sidhe, especially. There weren’t even any warriors at
his family’s farm. Regan was just a kid. His da had a shotgun, but what good
was that, if he didn’t see the attack coming? Or if they were overrun?
“Not like this.” Kaitlin twisted away from Donovan’s
arm. She clutched the ripped front of her own shirt with one hand, and then
plucked at the shreds of Donovan’s bloody clothing.
Almost immediately the crowd rustled. Within thirty
seconds a pair of Brownies pressed forward with neatly folded clothing for both
Donovan and Kaitlin.
Donovan, no more modest than most of the fey, changed
right there. His ruined clothing vanishing into the keeping of the Brownies as
quickly as the fresh clothing had arrived. Kaitlin switched out more carefully,
managing the trick of putting on and taking off clothes almost simultaneously
without actually getting naked. The fresh capris slipped up under her mini
skirt before she removed it. The loose t-shirt went on over her head before the
ripped up halter was pulled out from beneath it. It was kind of like a magic
trick how she did it. All sleight of hand and clever timing. He’d seen girls
naked before, but never when he was sober and never a girl who was fey. He
stared at her with distraction, trying to suss out the way she’d managed the
switch without showing anything, until Donovan snapped his fingers and got
Malcolm’s attention again.
“You sure you want to do this now?” Donovan asked, all
serious and dark.
Malcolm nodded. This time, with Donovan there, they’d
have to listen.
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