The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale (9 page)

“What is that thing?” one screamed.

“How the hell did he do that?” another asked.

Brendan listened and noted the locations of the remaining oíche around him. While his senses were exceptional before, now they were unparalleled. Even over the noise that echoed in the warehouse, he could hear the hum of the streetlights outside. Beneath the overwhelming blood and fear, he could smell the perfume of a woman who'd walked by hours ago.

A female oíche sprang at him. Brendan grabbed her from the air by the throat. He'd heard her muscles and tendons stretch when she'd leapt.

She kicked and raked her claws over his extended arm. With all his considerable strength, Brendan drove her down to the floor. Concrete and bone broke as he lifted, then slammed, her repeatedly. When she stopped moving, he tore her throat out.

“Shoot him, damn it!” someone screamed. “SHOOT HIM!”

Automatic gunfire and muzzle flashes exploded from several places in the room. Brendan leapt to evade the fire. While the shots were poorly aimed, several shattered the painted-­over windows and let in dim street light, the oíche were dumping enough bullets to make up for it. A ­couple of shots ripped through Brendan's shoulder, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground. However, this pain, like the other, was of no consequence. It was just a nuisance.

Let them fight, but tonight, death has come for the immortal fae!

When the guns clicked empty, Brendan lifted himself from the ground and smiled. He watched the herd fumbling to reload. In a series of long strides, he crossed the room and tore into the stomach of one, then another, and they fell to the ground in lifeless heaps before a cry of pain could escape their lips.

Brendan roared, and it was a dirge on their behalf, undeserving though they were.

“Everyone out, now!” someone shouted.

Brendan recognized the voice as belonging to the one who'd gotten away earlier, the one whose sister he'd killed. He focused on that one.

The oíche saw Brendan charging at him. His black eyes widened, then he leapt into a dark corner and vanished, leaving only the tingling scent of magic behind.

With nothing there to slow him, Brendan slammed into the wall. He screamed in frustration and turned to see the remaining oíche leap into other dark corners and disappear.

Brendan fell to his knees and screamed his rage into the night. Blood and vengeance had been denied him! Now, with no one left, his conscious mind began the fight for control. His body shook as the rage called for more blood.

Outside, there's more blood outside! Go out and take it! There is so much more! Can't you smell it?

He could, sweet and alluring. It was a balm to his fury and frustration. Others, so many others could fall in the place of those who'd escaped—­

“No!”

Digging for every drop of willpower he could find, Brendan struggled to push the raging beast aside.

A door creaked, faint footsteps approached, and Brendan looked up as a familiar smell hit him, ancient oaks and meadow grass grown wild.

No, not now!

“Brendan?” Dante's voice called from across the shadow-­laden room. “Are you in here?”

“Get out of here!” Brendan struggled to say, but it came out as a guttural scream.

Dante froze, eyes wide, when he saw Brendan. The three elves behind Dante, likewise dressed in black and holding some kind of small machine gun, took aim at Brendan.

“Lower your weapons,” Dante said.

“But Magister, look at him,” one of the elves said.

“Do it now!”

Take them. They're just like the others. You know they can't be trusted! Take them all, right now. Purge this world of their kind
—­

“No!” Brendan said.

“It's me,” Dante said. His tone was calm and even, his hands up.

Brendan drove his claws into the cement floor.

“Magister, we need—­”

“Shut up,” Dante said in a harsh whisper to the elves. “You can fight it back,” he said to Brendan. “You're the stronger one. We made sure of that.”

Brendan screamed, struggling against the monster and wanting nothing more than to tear the flesh from Dante's bones. To feel his hot blood—­

“Brendan, she wouldn't want this. She would want you to save the child.”

Brendan saw Áine standing before him, as real as Dante. She smiled, and he felt the warmth of her love like a noonday sun.

“I love you,” she said. “And this isn't who you are, my love.”

Cold washed over him, quelling the inferno, and he felt a rush of strength as his will hardened to steel. He pushed and fought the beast back, one inch at time, until, at last, it faltered and Brendan got the upper hand.

Relief flooded through him as the heat extinguished and the beast retreated.

You'll not keep me locked away forever!

The pain and injuries that were of no consequence before leveled Brendan now, and he collapsed, gasping for air. When he managed to open his eyes, Áine was gone and his heart broke all over again. In the distance, he could see the handles of his knives glinting in a small pool of light leaking from a broken window. His eyes drifted over to Dante and the elves. They were watching him, warily.

Brendan lay there for several minutes, struggling to draw in a breath and get the better of the pain, physical and emotional. His muscles burned as he rolled himself onto his side.

“Is it you?” Dante asked.

Brendan couldn't speak, but he did manage to nod.

Dante started to move forward, but one of the elves grabbed his shoulder. “Are you sure it's safe, Magister?”

The hesitation in Dante's eyes was like a knife in Brendan's heart.

“On your feet, Fian! There's still work to be done!” Brendan told himself. With effort and pain, he got to his knees. He gritted his teeth and groaned as he lifted himself to his feet. His legs threatened to give out, but he managed to make it to the wall. He leaned against it and turned to look at Dante.

Dante pulled free of the elf and ran over to Brendan. He tore the remnants of Brendan's shirt off and used it to clean away some of the blood, but there was so much that his efforts did little more than spread it around and mix it with the evaporating oíche gore.

Brendan sucked in a breath and tried to take stock of just how bad off he was.

“Well, you've looked better,” Dante said. “Sorry about that, but—­”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Brendan didn't look up. “Just being smart about it.”

Brendan's left shoulder had at least three bullet wounds. His ribs felt cracked or broken, which explained why he was having trouble breathing. His face had taken a beating that left his skull throbbing with a dull pain, but somehow they hadn't broken his jaw. There were cuts all over his chest, and he was sure under all that blood would be plenty of bruises. His legs had escaped with only a ­couple of grazes from stray bullets and shrapnel from ones that had broken apart when they'd hit the floor.

“You look pale,” Dante said.

“I'll live,” Brendan said. “We need to get out of here before the coppers show.”

“Don't worry about them.” Dante motioned for one of the elves to help him. “We've taken care of that.” When the elves faltered, Dante glared at them. One came to stand beside Dante while the other two watched the room.

Brendan's eyes were wet. “I didn't have no choice. I wouldn't have let it loose, but—­”

“You don't have to explain to me. I know how bad it had to be for you to go there.”

Brendan knew Dante couldn't really understand, but he smiled anyway.

“So, ambush, huh?” Dante asked as he looked Brendan over.

“Aye.” Brendan nodded. “They set me up, and did a fine job of it, too.”

“Looks like.” Dante squinted at Brendan's wounds. “I won't say I told you so.”

“Appreciate that, boss.”

Dante turned to the elf at his side. “I can't see anything. I need some light.”

The elf removed a small sphere from inside his coat and held it in his open palm. The sphere lifted and glowed brighter and brighter until the area was filled with soft white light.

“Ouch,” Dante said. “Something tells me you look even worse under this blood. Hand me the kit, Liam.”

The elf to his right pulled a black case from his jacket pocket, opened it, and held it out.

Dante removed a long, thin crystal rod with a black tip. “We need to get the bullets out, Brendan. This is going to hurt like hell.”

“Well, that'll be a nice break, then,” Brendan said between labored breaths.

“I just—­”

“
Dar fia
! Just do what you have to.”

Dante gripped Brendan's shoulder and pushed the rod into one of the bullet holes.

Brendan closed his eyes as all of his muscles tried to flex at once.

“Got it.” Dante withdrew the rod; encased inside the crystal, just below the black, was a single bullet. “That's one. Are you sure—­”

“
Mo mhallacht ort,
just do it already!” Brendan said without opening his eyes.

Dante retrieved the second and third bullets. As he pulled the rod out for the last time, the bullets were lined up in a row inside the crystal. “You okay?” he asked.

Brendan nodded, and his breathing began to return to something approaching normal.

Dante put the rod back in the case and brought out a small jar. He dipped a finger in and removed a generous amount of greenish ointment. “This'll help with the pain.”

“You're talking like we've never done this before.”

“It's been some time, and some could say you still haven't learned not to bring a knife to a gunfight.” Dante applied liberal amounts of the ointment to the bullet wounds.

“Well, I brought two knives, didn't I?”

Dante chuckled and shook his head.

“Trust those bloody things if you want,” Brendan said. “Like as not, they'd explode in me hands.”

“Sure, cause that happens all the time.” Dante smiled. “You know, it's so cute that you don't let things like progress affect you.” He returned the jar to the case. “Let's get a bandage on that.”

Dante rolled a small, flesh-­colored ball between his palms. After a moment, he pulled and stretched it into a flat disk. When he was happy with the size, he placed it on Brendan's shoulder.

The bandage stuck, then drew itself tight. The ointment was working, and the pain in Brendan's shoulder was almost gone. He looked away as Dante tended to his ribs and face.

Dante closed the case. “That should do it for now. How do you feel?”

“Better, thanks.” Brendan found that his legs were steady once more. One of the elves handed him his knives. He sheathed them behind his back. “We've a problem.”

“A new problem, I assume?” Dante asked. “Not one of the myriad of other problems we already know about?”

“Aye.”

“Just like old times. What is it?” Dante saw the look on Brendan's face and turned a little pale. “What's wrong?”

Brendan drew a breath. “They crossed.”

“What? No, that can't be. That's impossible.”

The elves gave each other quick glances.

“I know that, don't I?” Brendan said. “But they did. I saw them with me own eyes. They leapt into some shadows and was gone.”

“I don't need to remind you the Rogue Court can't cross without a gateway,” Dante said. “Even if they had one, it isn't an instantaneous trip. Only the trouping fae can do that, and I know the oíche didn't join their ranks.”

“I saw what I saw,” Brendan said. “I didn't say I could explain it. Is there no way they could do it?”

Dante shrugged. “I suppose they might have prepped it, but they'd still need a gateway.”

“What if they had help?”

Dante considered for a moment. “A mortal wizard might be able to do it. If he were good enough, he could make a talisman that would work as a gateway.”

“Maybe that's who they stole the
girseach
for?”

Dante ran a hand through his shoulder-­length hair. “That's possible, I suppose. Where'd they find a wizard, though? It's not like they're listed in the yellow pages under
W
.”

“We could ask Justin when we're asking about the girl.”

“We could,” Dante said. “But, shocking as it may be, he and his entourage disappeared shortly after I talked to you.”

“Aye, monster surprise there,” Brendan said. “But it don't matter none. We don't need to search him out.” He smiled. “I've got his name.”

“You've got Justin's true name?” Dante asked. “Do I want to know how you got it?”

“Not likely,” Brendan said. “I got it the same place I got yours.”

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,” Dante said. “Now all we need is a wizard of our own to compel Justin to appear and answer our questions.”

Brendan's smile widened.

Dante's eyes went wide. “Do not tell me you found a wizard,” he said, then gave Brendan a hard look. “Is there something I should be worried about?”

“Relax, mate,” Brendan said. “It were just by chance. He's a friend of the wee one's mother. I don't know if he has the skill to pull it off, but if it'll help, he'll likely try.”

“Try? That doesn't sound promising.”

“Oh, you got a better plan in mind, then, aye?”

Dante sighed. “Let's go. We've got a car parked outside.” He took a few steps, with the elves close on his heels.

“No, I'll be taking me truck, thanks,” Brendan said.

“You think you're good to drive?” Dante asked. “Just because you don't feel the pain doesn't mean the injuries are healed.”

Brendan opened his mouth to comment, but Dante cut him off.