Beguiled (28 page)

“Now we have a spy?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie admitted. “Culhane says someone told the Bog Sprites about the hiding place we were going to use for Eileen. Otherwise, they never would have known about it. The question is, who?”

“Maybe . . .” Nora stopped, shook her head and whispered to herself, “No. No way he’d do that.”

“He who?”

“Jasic,” Nora said finally. “I caught him eavesdropping on Claire and Mac when they were talking about taking Eileen to the alcove. But Maggie, he’s our grandFae. Why would he want to hurt Eileen? It doesn’t make sense.”

“None of this does,” Maggie told her.

“Mom,” Eileen wailed, dragging the one syllable word into at least ten, and successfully dragging Maggie up and out of her thoughts. “I have to go today. I can’t stay home.”

“I’ll call in. Get your assignments for you,” Nora said brightly, picking up her coffee mug for a quick gulp. “That way you won’t get behind.”

“That’s not it,” Eileen countered. “I want to see . . . my friends.”

“You mean Devon,” Maggie corrected, then glanced at Nora with an I-told-you-so expression stamped on her face. Her older sister looked horrified at the prospect of dealing with not only a crazy ex-queen, demons, a Fae pregnancy, a possibly treacherous grandfather and a pushy boyfriend, but also
teen love
.

And who could blame her?

“You’re too young to be thinking about boys,” Nora said with a sort of “Please, God” tone to her voice.

Good luck there, Maggie thought wryly, picking up her own coffee mug with as much tenderness as a mother for her newborn. She was exhausted, on edge and, okay, scared. Someone was after Eileen and if she didn’t figure out who . . . Nope. Not going there, Maggie told herself. What she needed was sleep. No one should be expected to hold their own against a too-smart-for-her-own-good kid on zero sleep.

“You both keep saying that.” Eileen glared at her mother, then at her aunt, spreading the venom around completely. “But I’m
not
a kid. I’m almost a teenager and that’s practically grown-up.”

“You are so not grown-up,” Nora said hotly.

“Eileen,” Maggie said, speaking up fast, before Nora could say something that would start World War III, “it’s not that we don’t trust you . . .”

“We don’t trust
him
,” Nora finished for her.

“You don’t even know him,” Eileen told them both. “Devon is totally nice and sweet and he actually
cares
what I think.”

“I’m sure he’s terrific,” Nora said, though her tone clearly said otherwise.

“Sweetie,” Maggie spoke up, knowing it was dangerous but going for it anyway, “we don’t trust
any
boy around you, okay?”

Eileen sighed heavily, emphasis on the drama. “No, it’s not okay. I’m not an idiot, you know. I
do
know a nice guy from a total jerk.”

“They can fool you,” Maggie muttered, and earned a dark scowl from her beloved niece.

“Did you know that twenty-seven percent of teenagers who are treated like prisoners revolt and end up on the streets?”

“You’re making that one up,” Maggie told her.

“I am not.” She sniffed. “Devon would believe me.”

“Okay, you know what? Enough about the great and fabulous Devon,” Nora told her, using the “mom voice” that always got results. “I’m still in charge of your life and I say you’re not going to school again until we’re sure there aren’t any demons or crazed Fae after you, so just get used to it.”

“I’m a
prisoner
, then?” Eileen’s tone took on the outraged pitch that only a teenage—almost—girl could manage.

“Bingo,” Maggie told her, gulping more coffee desperately. “Welcome to cell block D for Donovan.”

Eileen pushed her chair back so fast, its legs shrieked against the wood floor. “Fine. Then I’ll just go to my room. Where you can lock me in and starve me.”

So said the person who had just polished off three pieces of French toast and four slices of bacon, Maggie thought wryly.

“Do I still have phone privileges? Or am I in solitary confinement?”

“Of course you can use the phone, but your friends are in school, sweetie.” Nora was trying for placating now, but Maggie could have told her it was way too late. The
Good Ship Friendly
had already sailed.

“Fine,” Eileen said again, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “Is it all right with my prison guards if I go out and talk to Bezel? Do you trust
him
?”

“Not really,” Maggie said with a shrug.

“Of course,” Nora told her, frowning at her sister.

Eileen headed for the back door, opened it, then paused and looked back at her mother and aunt. “I’m so not speaking to either one of you ever again.”

When the door slammed, Maggie winced and Nora laid her head down on the table.

“Why did I have kids again?” Nora asked no one in particular.

“Spoken by the completely pregnant Fae-mom-to-be,” Maggie said, gulping her coffee; then she reached out, patted Nora’s head and got up to brew another pot. This was looking to be a very heavily caffeinated morning.

Chapter Fourteen

It was just luck that Maggie happened to glance out the kitchen window a half hour later. Nora was busy upstairs, Claire had gone off to her studio to paint—since she actually made a living at being an artist—and Quinn was off doing warrior stuff. Somewhere.

So Maggie was alone and looking out the blasted window, when a blond boy who looked about sixteen stepped through a portal into the backyard. Maggie almost dropped her coffee; then she
did
drop it when Eileen ran to him and, holding the boy’s hand, stepped back through that portal and disappeared.

“What the—”

Maggie hit the back door at a dead run. She didn’t even stop to shout for Nora. She just raced into the yard and called up to Bezel in his tree house. “Get down here, you sad excuse for a pixie bodyguard!”

Bezel shifted into place instantly and stood before her in the most god-awful clothing she’d ever seen. It was actually a nightshirt. One of those old-fashioned things men used to sleep in back when they clearly didn’t give a damn what they looked like.

Bezel’s was bright red and white plaid and hung down to fall across his big feet. It was buttoned up to the neck, thank heaven—she wasn’t up for a peek at pixie chests—and the whole outfit was completed by the stupid sleep hat he was wearing pulled down over his pointy ears. It was the same material as his nightshirt and had a silly red ball at its triangled end.

“You’re kidding,” she said. “Hell, no wonder Fontana threw you out.”

Insulted, he waved one hand in the air and was instantly wearing his usual green velvet suit. Sad to say, it was quite the improvement. “Fontana
made
me that nightshirt, just so you know. She thinks I look sexy.”

Maggie shook her head and held up both hands in a desperate plea for no more information. “Don’t want to know. Not why I called you.”

“Why in
Ifreann
did you call me then? I was sleeping and you know, it ain’t easy sleeping around here, what with all the people you got popping in and out and—”

“Eileen’s gone,” she said, interrupting the flow of words.

“Gone?” He looked worried. “Where?”

“That’s the point. I don’t know,” Maggie told him, and walked to where she’d seen the portal open. “A blond kid showed up a couple of seconds ago and when he drew another portal, she left with him. She left with a
boy
. Nora will have a cow.”

He snorted.

“And you were supposed to be watching her.”

“Damn kids,” Bezel mumbled, “always causing trouble.” He shook his head until his hair lifted and flew out wildly. “Told Fontana that after the thirteenth one was born.”

“Thirteen kids?” Why had she never known that before? Why did she know it now?

“Twenty-two, total,” he said, not really paying much attention to what she was saying, anyway. His eyebrows wriggled like caterpillars doing a belly dance. “Course, if I ever get back home, we might make more.”

“Oh, God . . .”

“Yeah, it was here,” Bezel muttered, hands stretched out in front of him as he “felt” the air.

“Well, I
know
that,” Maggie pointed out. “I told you, remember?”

A cold wind blew into the yard and Maggie shivered. She threw a quick look back at the house and was grateful she didn’t see Nora coming out to investigate. Her sister just didn’t need the extra worry right now. Much better if Maggie found Eileen and got her home before letting Nora know anything about this situation.

“Yeah, you told me, but you can’t do this, can you?” Bezel smiled and his face fell into a series of thousands of wrinkles with the pleased expression; then he sketched a portal in the air and as the gold light shimmered and a soft, warm wind sailed from its center, he looked up at Maggie and grinned even wider. “This is where he took her.”

“Which is
where
exactly?” Maggie stared into the portal and could only make out the vaguest shapes and colors. Blues, greens and a pearly white that seemed to shimmer.

“The beach.”

Her jaw dropped as she stared into the portal. “The
beach
?”

“Yeah. They’re at one of the lakes in Inia.”

“Inia?”

Bezel scowled and that expression looked much more at home on his ugly face. “Think Minnesota but warmer. Lots of lakes. Lots of sand. Lots of nothing else.”

“Great,” Maggie whispered. “Okay, I’m going to get her. You keep Nora busy.”

“I’ll get her to make me some more cookies,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yeah. You’re a giver.” Maggie took one last look around her yard and stepped through the portal.

The Sluagh were a formidable foe. And they were almost as unnerving as allies.

Mab shuddered to see herself here, in Casia, with the outcasts she herself had sentenced to this dismal place. Small wonder she hadn’t found many friends since her arrival.

But then, she wasn’t looking for friends. She wanted fighters. Those beings who were willing to risk all for a chance at freedom. And she was willing to make whatever deals necessary to ensure that she regained her throne and disposed of those who currently rejoiced in her fall.

“The Dullahan will ride with us. As will the Pooka.”

Mab whirled around and faced the Sluagh who stood in her open doorway. It was the male. Corran. His dark eyes were void of light. No smile creased his beautiful face. But it didn’t matter. Not to Mab. Nothing mattered but that he would do all he had promised.

“Will your brothers join us as well?” she asked.

Corran moved into the room, silently prowling the perimeter. Each step was muffled. There was no rustle of his dark coat. No whisper of movement from the leather pants he wore. He was . . . and yet he wasn’t. It was as if she were alone in the room, but for the cold that was as bitter as the icy storm raging outside her room.

Her room. How far she had sunk, Mab thought with a dismal glance at her surroundings. Four walls, naked wood and a bed that looked less than inviting. That she would have become subject to such as this. She shook her head, disgusted at this turn of events. All because of a half-Fae and Culhane, the traitorous bastard.

She’d lost everything.

Yet she lived. And while she lived, Mab knew that she would fight to reclaim the past. What was rightfully hers.

“You risk great danger in bringing together so many of the rogue Fae.” Corran’s voice was as still as a breath. No inflection. No hint of emotion.

Were the Sluagh capable of emotion? As Fallen Angels, had they been stripped of pride, envy, the need for revenge? If so, could they even understand those emotions in others?

Mab gathered herself, perched on the edge of her bed and with a deliberately casual movement, crossed her legs. “I risk much to gain much.”

Corran swiveled his head to look at her. “There are those in Casia who would sooner see you dead as back on the throne.”

She knew that all too well. Mab hadn’t drawn an easy breath since entering this horrible place. But there were prices to be paid and she was willing to meet them. If that meant working alongside the Pooka and the Dullahan, gods help her, that’s what she would do.