Heir of the Dog Page 15

  But Rook was so well versed, it brought all my doubts bubbling to the surface. Not that it did me any good. He was my lifeline, even if I wasn’t sure where he was anchored.

  I finger combed my hair and freshened my braid. “How long do you think before the púcas break the news?”

  “Not long.” Tension hung around his shoulders. “It’s not much farther now.”

  Resolved to see this through, I let him guide me while I noted landmarks in case I needed to find my way back out alone. My nose also made critical notations. The air went from crisp and clear to smelling of pungent markers that reeked of warning. Urine. Buckets of it. Some of it old, but most of it fresh.

  Nice, Dad. Real nice.

  Sneezing, I wiped my tickling nose. “What types of predators are in the area?”

  He laughed. Out loud. At me.

  “Dumb question,” I allowed. “I smell two distinct scent markers. One is fresher than the other.”

  Rook stopped and scanned the area. “Your father?”

  “I don’t think so.” I rubbed my nose. “It almost reminds me of...”

  “Get down,” he snapped.

  My hand shot to my glove, lips moving on my Word. Rook sank his shoulder into my gut, tackling me to the ground as a fluorescent-yellow blur bolted past.

  While I lay panting underneath him, an earsplitting roar had me yanking my hand free of my glove and powering up my runes. Rook’s eyes narrowed beyond me. I tilted my head back and, in the upside-down world, spotted a fluorescent-yellow panther-like thing. Its color hurt my sensitive eyes, but not as much as its saber teeth would if I let it get hold of me. I bucked my hips to unseat Rook, but I was stuck until he let me go.

  His immunity to my primary defense mechanism was a pain in my ass.

  “You dare enter these woods,” a rumbling voice challenged.

  It was easier to ask Rook, so I did. “Tell me the cat isn’t talking.”

  “Hush, Thierry.” He lifted his hands. “We mean you no harm. We only seek the Black Dog.”

  “Ha.” The great cat chuckled. “You are a bird. Food. What can food do to me?”

  “I am the Morrigan’s son,” he said with an edge.

  “I know who you are, bastard son of Gregory the Smith.” The cat spat, “You will leave. Now.”

  Rook’s face mottled. “Don’t speak my father’s name. You don’t have that right.”

  A vicious snarl lifted the cat’s lip. “You dare enter these woods with that child and speak of rights?”

  Deciding the cat wasn’t going to pounce just yet, I tilted my head back again. “I’m not a child.”

  “I have known you since before your feet touched mortal soil. You are a babe to one such as me. You are welcome on your father’s land, in his home, always, Thierry Thackeray.” His grin bared too many teeth to be what I considered friendly. “You may stay, but the Morrigan’s hatchling must go.”

  “Rook is my guardian.” I kept calm while my insides quivered. “He is my coimirceoir.”

  The big cat hissed at Rook. “Who granted you that privilege?”

  “The Huntsman.” A cruel twist of his lips turned my stomach. “She is my wife by common fae law.”

  That thick tail started twitching. “What do you say to that, girl?”

  I bit my cheek before answering. “The Faerie High Court recognized his claim.”

  Closing its dark green eyes, the cat sighed. “Child, how you try me.”

  I shoved Rook off me and rolled over to face the cat. “Sorry?”

  Its toes began drumming its claws into the ground. “Did you not hear my warnings?”

  “You sent the pixie?” I shoved into a kneeling position. “That was you in the shower?”

  The great cat shuddered nose to tail. “So much water...”

  “I’m not flexible enough for the alternative,” I said dryly. “My tongue’s on the short side too.”

  The strangled sound must have come from Rook, because the cat eyed me with genuine pity.

  “I aimed to preserve your privacy and indulged my own...aversions...at your expense. That was an unforgivable oversight. I did hope the birds on your mother’s lawn would suffice. Failing that, the feather I left on her pillow. I hoped you would read its warning—” his eyes narrowed on Rook, “—and avoid him at all costs.”

  “The feather was another warning?” My lip curled, and I growled at Rook. “You said the etchings were coordinates to Faerie.”

  “I had to bring you here.” His shoulders straightened. “When I realized you couldn’t read the runes, I took advantage.”

  “You? Take advantage?” I scoffed. “There’s a shocker.”

  The cat twitched his tail.

  “The warnings didn’t help because I didn’t know who Rook was. I thought he—” I jabbed a finger at my sulky husband, “—was Raven. The chess lingo flew right over my head.”

  With a huff, the cat shook his head. “I see now I should have stayed to make you understand, but I did not wish to alarm you by appearing in person.” He rolled his shoulders. “Some find me intimidating. I did not wish you to be afraid.”

  “Afraid isn’t the word I would use.” Terrified sounded about right.

  His rusty chuckle coaxed a timid smile from me. “Of course not.”

  “Since we’re old pals, is there something I can call you?”

  “I will give you my Name when there are not as many sharp ears around.” His eyes narrowed on Rook before turning back to me. “I have heard of your trials and am sorry for them. As recompense, I am yours to call. You are mine to protect. If you require me, you have only to summon me. Until such time as we are able to speak freely—” another cutting glare sliced through Rook, “—you may call me Diode.”

  Rook shifted closer to me, causing Diode’s lips to quiver. I elbowed him hard in the ribs.

  “Well, Diode, we have a problem.” I exhaled. “I don’t suppose my father is around?”

  His lips mashed together. His tail thumped harder. With effort, he shook his head.

  “Are you okay?” The air rippled with the scent of a triggered enchantment.

  Diode took a moment to loosen his jaw before answering. “Yes.”

  I studied him. “What type of spell was that?”

  “Noticed, did you?” He purred with amusement. “I was charmed—of my own free will—by your father. I never had occasion to regret that decision until now. I apologize, but I cannot tell you where he is. It is physically impossible—” His head snapped up. “The hunt comes. Hurry. Follow me.”

  Rook rolled onto his feet and offered me his hand.

  I exchanged a worried glance with him.

  “All is not lost,” he assured me. “If Black Dog was standing behind you, Diode couldn’t point.”

  The big cat leapt ahead and called to us. “The entrance is hidden, but those hounds know your father well. It’s only a matter of time before they locate his den. I’ll do what I can to help until then.”

  We bolted after him, struggling to match his lengthy stride.

  “Dim-witted beasts,” Diode muttered. “True hunters would run alone. Not run in a pack.”

  What a catty sentiment. “Is Macsen dim-witted?”

  “Since you haven’t met him,” he said on a huff, “I won’t shatter your illusions.”

  My side twinged when I laughed.

  Our run was brief. Diode charged an enormous tree that would rival a redwood back home. He hunched his shoulders and pawed at the base. The rest I couldn’t see. I glanced at Rook, who studied the area, the wide tree and the method of entry much the same as I did. My attention on him spread a smug grin across his face.

  A soft click brought my focus back to Diode and the tree. A three-foot section of its truck swung open, and the cat leaned against the door to keep it wedged open. He craned his neck, ears twitching.

  “Get inside.” Diode batted me with his paw. “Hurry.”

  I cuffed Rook by the wrist and dragged him into the gloom
y chamber behind me. Diode ducked inside, and the door sealed on his heels.

  “That will hold them a while.” Smugness dripped from Diode’s words. “Follow me.”

  He hip-bumped Rook, flattening him against the entry’s wall. Me he urged forward with a flick of his tail. I didn’t check my hubby for boo-boos. I drifted into the circular room and shut my eyes, inhaling the rich scent of tobacco smoke and parchment. Fresh scents. Like I had just missed Mac.

  I had inherited my office at the conclave from my father. It used to smell this way, like him. I still caught the phantom scent when I cracked open his reference books. I strolled the perimeter of the room, examining his floor-to-ceiling shelves, afraid to touch the delicate wood carvings lining his walls but unable to tear myself away from perusing the motley collection of knickknacks and books that added up to who my father was.

  I pulled up short when I caught Diode’s sad expression.

  “He never wanted this,” the great cat said.

  Before I could ask what this was—me or Mom or this whole situation—the entire room began trembling. Baubles tumbled from the shelves and crashed onto the floor.

  “What is that?” I saved a tiny owl shaken from its ledge on reflex.

  “The hunt.” Diode’s fur stood on end. “They won’t stop until they knock down the door.”

  Rook came to my side. “How long does that give us?”

  “A half hour.” The cat hissed in response. “Perhaps less.”

  Rook’s lips thinned. “Do we have your permission to search the den?”

  Diode tore his narrowed gaze from Rook and nodded at me. “She may do as she pleases. You may stay where you are if you value your tail feathers.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Rook stood back and entered a staring contest with the cat.

  I had a good idea who was going to win, paws down.

  “Okay.” I dusted my hands. “Here we go.”

  Despite my first impression, and the fact the entire den fit inside a hollow tree, the central room was a good twenty feet in circumference. Fae magic at work. Making room where there was none.

  Opening a door across from the entryway, I stepped down a long hall lit by hand-blown mason jars hung by cords from the ceiling. They were filled with—I squinted up at one—pissed-off pixies.

  Well, that explained the second warning I had received about Rook. Apparently, the petite fae were light sources and messengers all rolled into one easy-to-capture package. They were probably willing to do anything for their freedom.

  I counted seven jars as I passed under them. There must have been twice as many doors. I tried one after the other, but each one was locked. Great. Tell me to look where I please but ensure I got nowhere. Whoever or whatever lurked behind those doors stayed off-limits to me.

  Giving up on the stealth approach, I called, “Macsen?”

  No answer.

  “Macsen Sullivan?” I reached the end of the hall and the final door. “Black Dog?”

  Nothing.

  Gripping the knob, I turned the handle and—to my surprise—the door opened. Right onto a wall of solid dirt. A hall full of doors that led nowhere. Unless.... Why keep all those pixies if their light was never used? Macsen could be using the area for storing them, but sharp doubts prodded me.

  Murmuring my Word, I removed my glove and lit up that hand. Closing my eyes, I blocked out the thudding behind me, the tremors under my feet. I filled my lungs with air from the hall, sorting a whiff of Diode and discarding it to focus on the tobacco aroma. Once I had it, I followed the scent to a nondescript door on the right. Certain I was on to something, I gripped the knob with my left hand.

  Subtle warmth spread from my palm, up my arm, to wrap me in its embrace. Once the magic dispersed, I opened the door, wary of what awaited me. Annoyed chattering reached my ears first. Another set of jars filled with angry pixies made the inner room glow.

  I stepped inside, drawn to a battered desk in the corner. More bookshelves lined these walls. Modern bindings crammed between ancient tomes. Printed reports were pinned down by a glass inkwell. An old comic book wrapped in plastic sat beside an empty mug.

  This must be Macsen’s home office. Judging by his chaotic filing system, not much had changed since he last occupied the space I inherited from him at the marshal’s office. I grinned when I spotted his sleek coffee maker and a bag of dark roast beans. Faerie wasn’t wired for electricity. He brewed with magic or he didn’t drink. I could admire the man’s dedication to remaining caffeinated.

  “Macsen?” I glanced over my shoulder and wet my lips. “Dad?”

  I held my breath. Nothing. He wasn’t here.

  “Why am I not surprised?” I turned a slow circle. “You’re never around when I need you.”

  The ground under my feet shook. I had to go. Now. Before the hunt trapped me in the den. Part of me thought dying here would serve my father right. It would definitely get his attention if he spent days scrubbing my blood from the threadbare rug in the hall. Assuming he didn’t toss it away like he had discarded me. The rest of me wanted to keep living more than I wanted to exact some kind of twisted and petty revenge death.

  Death was pretty much the opposite outcome I was hoping for.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The pixies under glass got one last look from me before I headed back down the hall toward the main room. I didn’t have the heart to search the rest of the den. What was the point? If my father had been here and heard us tromping around his house, he would have put in an appearance by this point.

  That no one had jumped out or yelled get off my lawn told me Black Dog wasn’t in residence. My final hope extinguished. It was me versus the hounds now. No one could save me but myself.

  Diode’s furious scream urged my feet into a run. I grasped the doorknob and held on as the den rattled. When the tremors settled, I flung open the door in time to watch the first hound leap through the opening they had made. Others poured through after it, filling the room with snarling, yapping dogs.

  Rook and Diode were nowhere in sight.

  The first hound’s nostrils flared. He swung his head, saw me and charged.

  Too slow. Shock had numbed my reflexes.

  They had left me. Rook left me.

  The dog’s shoulder hit the door and flung me back against the wall. It skidded, snarling and snapping into the hall with me. From the corner of my eye, I spotted the others noticing what had happened and running full force at me with their teeth gleaming.

  I slammed the door shut and grasped the handle with my left hand, willing enough magic into it to, I hoped, fuse the metal and buy me a few minutes. A low snarl jerked me around, and I flattened against the door. As growls rose in eager chorus behind me, the hound in front of me licked his muzzle.

  He could have been any of them, but I got the sinking feeling he was Raven and that I was truly caught. His eyes gave him away. They were twin voids, black, eternal and shimmering with emotion and experiences too complex for me to untangle at a glance. They reminded me of Rook’s before I knew him better.

  “Nice doggy.” I lifted my hands. “You don’t want to—”

  He lunged. I ducked and rolled under him, pushing to my feet to brace for his next charge. Raven leapt for my throat. Kill or be killed. I shoved my hands out in front to deflect him and ended up clutching a fistful of fur. His teeth snapped an inch from my nose. Hot spittle flew in my face.

  My left palm flooded with all the energy I could syphon in those split seconds, and I fed it to him.

  Raven’s back bowed. He yelped and tried to backpedal. Too late. Magic grabbed him, and it wasn’t letting go. Power seeped under his skin, lifting his fur on end. Deeper and deeper it plumbed.

  The hounds were soul catchers covered in fur. They were hollow, unthinking beasts who lived for the thrill of bringing down prey and pleasing their master, filling that aching emptiness. This hound wasn’t like that.

  His soul burned white hot and sizzled wherever
tendrils of my magic brushed against it. Oh yes. This was Raven. This was old magic, an old soul, and it hadn’t lived this long by yielding in battle.

  The wood at my back thumped as bodies smacked it. If they burst through, it was over. Staring into Raven’s cold eyes made me wonder if it wasn’t already.

  Drawing magic up from my toes, through my body and into my fingertips, I slammed every last drop of power I had left into him. His body seized. His heart stuttered. Before he recovered, I guided my energy there, let it encase the struggling organ, and then I ripped with all my might. I tugged and pulled him magically while our physical bodies remained locked in place with his teeth at my throat.

  His snarling choked to a whine. Shock rounded his eyes the instant before his soul flickered and snuffed, suffusing my limbs with so much power I vibrated with my heady newfound strength. With morbid pleasure, I skinned Raven.

  One minute I held the hound by its throat, the next I clutched a slab of meat.

  For once, I didn’t feel a twinge of remorse. No sympathetic pain, either. Raven would have killed me. I just beat him to it. No doubt I would pay for his death. Later. Right now I was alive, and that’s all that mattered. Be grateful and keep moving.

  The room behind me fell silent. The door stopped thumping. A mournful symphony filled my ears, burning the back of my throat from the force of my instinctual desire to join in their grieving. But I wasn’t sad. Not for Raven. I was exhilarated. High on the essence of the purest concentration I had ever tasted.

  I almost wished Shaw was here to bleed off the excess as he had with O’Shea, as he had dozens of times before that. But as I eyed the door, a foreign confidence whispered through my blood.

  We can take them all, make them pay for their trespass, make them regret ever coming for you or yours. Let me make them hurt.

  I swallowed hard. That voice wasn’t mine, even if the sentiment was tempting.

  With my head clearing, I spared a queasy peek at the remains gripped in my left hand. Shudders wracked me as I forced myself to look at what I had done. Either Faerie was giving my powers a boost or maybe being in my father’s home, a place covered in his magical residue, was to blame for it. I wasn’t sure.