Remnants of Magic (34 page)

“I’m not Seelie. I don’t need lies and deceit.” Jhaer circled him, but Lugh wouldn’t trust him with his back, turning with the Unseelie’s angry pacing. “What are you up to, Lugh?”

His annoyance roiled into anger. Even after the desolation of the Mounds, Jhaer refused to see any Seelie as other than his enemy. Within him, the beast growled, testing its strength against Lugh’s resistance. He snapped, “I have only
ever
served the Sidhe. Everything I’ve
ever
done, I’ve done for our people! Which you bloody well know!”

“Liar!” The Unseelie’s lips curled back, showing his teeth like an animal. The expression alerted Lugh’s beast as a threat. “What do you want the flute for?”

Don’t tell him.
The beast paced, craving to escape Lugh’s control.
He will destroy everything to spite you!

And Lugh believed it. Jhaer never listened to reason. Never retreated. He’d been deadly as an Elite. Probably more so now that he’d no queen and no court to answer to. Amassing his empire in some fey stronghold guarded by sluagh and training the Sidhe children to hate Lugh as much as he.

Yet still, Lugh tried to reason with him. “Can you not trust me? I am your Champion!”

“You are not my Champion! Nor the Champion to any Sidhe alive!”

As menacing as Lugh felt in the throes of the bestial corruption, this Unseelie embraced it as part of his very nature. Like a dark destroyer, the Elite revelled in his fury.

“You carry your tattered mantle and tout your faded glory of a world crushed beneath the earth.” Jhaer struck out with both hands, shoving Lugh in the shoulders and driving him back a step. Challenging him. Pushing, wrestling, and animated disagreements fell within the constraints of the parley. Only blows meant to deal damage, offensive magic, and use of weapons were forbidden. “What are you up to, Seelie? Answer me plain!”

Strike him!
The beast leapt forward.
Rip his head off!

Instead, Lugh lunged, tackling Jhaer and knocking him to the ground.

The Unseelie brought up a knee between them and kicked out, flipping Lugh off of him.

Both scrambling to their feet, they circled each other, taking their measures, Lugh growled, “How is it that you are not Fading? What foul magic is this? It is not fey!”

“The magic of this realm is not purely fey, but it is free. Free from Seelie control. Free from your tyranny.” Jhaer rushed him.

Even as Lugh somersaulted over Jhaer, the Elite anticipated the move. He hooked Lugh’s leg with his arm, twisted him while he was in flight, and then drove Lugh to his back on the ground.

The body blow jarred Lugh, but sent the beast into an uproar. Slipping Lugh’s control, the beast surged forth and snapped his teeth at Donovan, but missed.

Even as Donovan straddled Lugh’s chest and kept his shoulders pinned with his weight pressing down over his palms, he demanded. “Tell me now! What is the flute for?”

Don’t tell him! He’ll stop you! He’ll ruin everything!

Lugh gripped Donovan’s wrists. With the boldness of his fury, he concocted a believable lie, though it wouldn’t withstand any true scrutiny “I fashioned it with Rhiannon. I mean to use our combined magic woven into the thing to find her! She is mine! Now give me that bloody flute!” Arching his back he bucked Donovan off. Lugh scrambled to his feet once more.

“You lie!” The anger burned with savage passion in Jhaer’s eyes as he recovered his footing. “I will stop you, whatever you are planning. I will hunt you down. I will kill you if I must, but I will stop you!”

“You shall not stop me!” Lugh spat the furious words, storming away from the Unseelie before he instigated the beast to attack. Already, it burned through his veins like black fire. The infuriating Unseelie would never return the artifact for any reason, just to spite Lugh. No amount of talking would ever change that. He’d have to make do without it. More importantly, Lugh knew Jhaer’s secret now. He knew how the Unseelie thwarted the Fade and abounded with magic.

“This discussion is not over!” The ground flexed below Lugh. It shivered a ripple like water as the magic saturated it.

Lugh knew this trickery, but even jumping away from it he couldn’t escape it.

His feet sank into the quicksand, which sucked him down to his knees in the muck. The ground solidified about his legs, shackling him in place. Lugh’s hand shot out to catch himself, but it too sank into the liquid sediment, and then the earth snapped its jaws tight around his wrist.

Trapped, the beast exploded into a frenzy. He jerked, fighting to free himself, though the ground held him fast.

“Don’t you see what Seelie arrogance has wrought? Death!” Jhaer grabbed Lugh by either side of his head and forced him to look up at him. “The Unseelie are the future of the Sidhe. Submit!”

The beast flared up in Lugh. His enemy before, this warrior he’d grappled with for ages.
Blast him!
The beast coiled up the power within Lugh, stoking it for a strike.
Burn him! Kill him!

“No!” With all the strength he could conjure, Lugh drove his palm into Jhaer’s breastbone, knocking him back. Breaking the skin contact.

Jhaer snapped, “You fool!” even as Lugh teleported away.

Chapter Eleven

The magic consumed in the teleportation exceeded Lugh’s reserves. Halfway through the jump, his magic unraveled.

Lugh reappeared, higher in the air than he’d intended and several yards short of his aim. Momentum carried him sailing forward. Managing to spin, Lugh slammed against the ground with his back. It drove the air from him. The impact against his Fading body stabbed like a thousand flaming needles.

The scream that ripped from him filled the night. His arms crossed over the agony in his chest. Curling to the side, he struggled to catch hold of the pain, to bring it down to a tolerable level. It slipped his grasp, twisting into fragmenting terror.

His body was shredding.

The Fade tore at him with merciless claws.

Forcing his hands to move, he fought past the pain. But the burning torment flooded through him, bringing another scream ripping from his throat.

“Lugh!”

London…

She rushed for him.

“Don’t touch me!” he ordered before the pressure of her hands could ignite a fresh horror.

Numb fingers fumbled with his pocket… With the bottle…

Shaking hands that his will could not tame twisted open the cap.

Lugh found his lips with the bottle.

Drank down the dark magic.

His body tried to gag on the poison, but he forced himself to swallow.

Swallow or die.

Then the drained bottle dropped from his hand.

Freezing, twisting, anguish coiled deep in Lugh’s gut. His body fought against the Fade. Fought against the dark magic spreading.

He rolled farther. Forcing himself up onto his elbows and knees.

The pain shivered and gnarled into numbing tingles.

Lugh’s fists clenched the grass. He choked back the urge to vomit up the vile magic spreading into him.

The pain retreated, but the torment of foul magic roiled into a storm within him.

Lugh reached for London’s hand. “Help me to the auto.”

Still doubled over, still clenching the darkness sickening his gut, Lugh stumbled to the vehicle. He climbed in the back. Curled up on the seat. Closed his eyes against what he’d had to do to save himself and the future of the fey.

The auto shifted as London climbed into the operator’s seat. “Where are we going? The dragon’s place?”

“Adara Grove,” he managed to hiss through his teeth.

With one hand grinding into the ache in his gut, and both knees drawn up tight, Lugh curled his arm over his head, hiding from the flares of brain-splitting lights cast by the autos they passed in the night.

London called over the seat at him, “What happened to you back there?”

“Shut up and drive!”

Lugh shivered, coiled in on himself. Felt the darkness spreading… spreading… staining… consuming… conquering…

He retched, but nothing came up. The corruption was in him now.

And there was nothing that could stop it.

Chapter Twelve

The auto halted its undulation, and then the engine ceased its unending growl. “We’re here,” London said, releasing her seat restraint.

Lugh shifted himself into a seated position. The pain had passed some time before and he barely could recall the memory of it. Not with the humming surge of dark power that consumed him. It flowed unhindered through him with an intoxicating rush that made his body tingle. More alive in this darkness than he’d ever been in his entire life.

No more rules. No more controls. No more expectations.

He’d shed them all.

Replaced by a wicked pleasure.

Knees apart, since the abbreviated space in the second seat couldn’t contain his long thighs straight on, he reached over the back of the forward seat and grabbed the mirror affixed to the glass. Twisting the angle of the mirror, Lugh gazed at his reflection. The veins in his bloodshot eyes were black. Bruised smudges painted the soft tissue below his eyes. More telling were his coal-black irises. His hair had darkened from his normal sunshine blond to a darker shade, the way his hair looked when it was wet and it was dark out. Only this wasn’t due to either of those factors now. The hue of his skin was not so fair either, picking up a slight coppery tinge.

Grinning, he caught the flash of something else. Running his tongue over his teeth, he felt the points of fangs. Like the fangs of a panther, these were wider than the piercing fangs of a vampire. More like the meat-tearing canines of a werewolf.

That was different. And something he longed to experiment with.

But more than the physical changes, the internal transformation thrilled him the most.

Laughing, realization dawned on him. This was no blunt attack of dark magic upon his soul. He’d not lost his mind, overtaken by the animal of his beast. Not at all. This was no careless flooding of shadow into his light that would bring on a blind eclipse of violence.

No. Nothing so inelegant as that.

This was a carefully constructed dark enchantment designed for effect.

And it felt glorious.

Without needing to even glance at London, he knew that she stared. He snagged the dark glasses she left hooked onto the sun visor. They would have to do, since he could not spare magic for his Glamour. He donned his shirt and jacket. The hood, he tugged over his hair. “Accompany me.”

From where the car path ended to the borders of the grove was a short hike. His muscles appreciated the flexing. The panther loved this strong, agile Sidhe body. So like a cat’s with its liquid, sensual movement.

“Don’t you think you should tell me what’s going on?” London paced him, staying a half step behind.

He didn’t answer.

Within minutes they breached the veil of Glamour shimmering at the edge of the Grove. Two wood elves guarding the perimeter, one armed with the traditional long bow and the other with a rifle, hailed him.

With the authority of his race, Lugh demanded, “I will speak with King Mckenna and the healer Niamh. Tell them The Shining One returns.” He grinned to himself, invoking that old nickname as if there was still anything in him of the light.

In the blink of teleportation, the archer vanished and then returned. Mckenna and the healer appeared almost as swiftly, both garbed in only such wraps as their modesty required bound over their sleeping attire. Self-consciously, Niamh smoothed back the blond strands that escaped her ankle-length braid.

Lugh swept his hungry gaze over the healer’s feminine curves. His sunglasses disguised more than the evidence of dark magic, but also the wicked lusts that were not at all Seelie in their decorum.

Speaking carefully so that his fangs didn’t show, Lugh forced his deepened voice to sound moderately civil. “The ley lines.” If Jhaer could adapt to that impure flow, then so could he. For the last few months, the Fade had shredded Lugh. He’d tolerate that weakness no longer. “They can forestall the Fade. How do we connect to them?”

“The ley lines?” Mckenna glanced down as if he might be able to see those invisible rivers of power flowing through the ground beneath their feet. “It is not pure fey, but it would be sustaining. If the fey who live upon the surface have at least to some degree connected to the magic of this realm, that would explain why we’re not Fading. Those from the Mounds would not have adapted to the impure flow.”

“Yes, of course. I see.” Niamh agreed. “Perhaps some technique might be developed to speed the connection process.”

“Contact Cai and see what rituals he might devise, Niamh. We’ll want to begin experimenting with them as soon as may be.” King Mckenna urged her to go forth. “It is not the preferred solution, but it may prevent more fey from Fading completely.”

Only when the young healer departed, did Mckenna turn once more toward Lugh. “The fey can not survive long as a people with no home realm and with the magic of the fey polluted and diluted by the magic of this realm. You have the support of Adara Grove, Lugh. And all our resources are at your command.”

Oh, yes. That fey realm he’d hoped to create. He’d forgotten all about that.

The man he’d once been died with the Collapse of the Mounds. Everything he’d done since then had been nothing but fighting the inevitable. No Seelie survived, or he’d have found at least one by now. The Unseelie thrived in this realm of filth. Let them wallow in it. The ignorant, ungrateful lot of them. “The Unseelie will come. Prepare to defend against them.”

London stepped forward, offering a card in her outstretched hand. “The number where Lugh can be reached.”

Mckenna accepted the slip of paper. “We will be in communication just as soon as the enchantments are prepared, Champion.”

Turning away from him, Lugh muttered under his breath, “I’m no one’s Champion.”

He slung his arm possessively around London’s shoulder, drawing her back toward the auto. She belonged to him. He could feel that still. Awareness of her pulsed within him, like a faint chime or a lighthouse in the distance.

In a whisper, she asked, “What was in that bottle you drank from?”

Lugh smiled, feral with the growing bestial lusts that he reveled in. “Freedom.”

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