Lie Down with Dogs Read online

  Glacial waters swept through my limbs, reminding me of the time I had fallen off a tower during marshal academy. I had ended up in the med ward, hooked to an IV that drip, drip, dripped icy relief into my veins.

  Paralysis brushed chill fingers down the length of my body, and the eager magic building in my palm snuffed out and left me unable to move my hand, let alone remove my glove or say my Word.

  The last thing I remember was the pity welling in Jenna’s eyes as she mouthed Forgive me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I woke inside the mouth of a frost giant who was suffering five-alarm halitosis. That’s how it felt anyway. Damp walls enclosed me. I figured that out when I jerked awake and headbutted the stone wall inches from the end of my nose. Whoever I had to thank for my new digs had stuck me inside of an upright box made from natural stone with walls I estimated to be three feet in width if my reach was any indication. I could stretch my arms overhead without touching a ceiling. I was five ten, so if this container had a lid, it was at least ten feet from the ground. There were holes drilled into the wall that let in fresh air and faint light. Normally, I cast my own light, but my magic was on the fritz. The concoction Jenna had force-fed me was wearing off faster now that I was conscious, but I was drained.

  Hungry.

  The walls were all that kept me on my feet, but I was sagging.

  “Thank God—and anyone else listening—I’m not claustrophobic,” I mumbled.

  “You’re new,” a tiny voice said from somewhere to my left.

  I strained my ears to pinpoint the source. “Did you hear them bring me in?”

  “No.” A soft feminine laugh echoed. “But only the fresh ones still believe in gods of any kind.”

  That...was not reassuring. “Where are we?”

  “A cavern, but I don’t know where.” She paused. “I was taken from New Haven Colony.”

  I whistled long and soft. “How long have you been here?”

  It took her a while to answer. “I don’t know.”

  New Haven Colony sounded like it belonged on the page of a history book. It must have been somewhere in the northeast. Connecticut maybe? If that was true, she had been here a hell of a lot longer than Jenna’s ten years. Or was a hell of a lot older than her voice sounded. What had Linen said? I had gone without a drink for sixteen hours? That much travel time could have put us outside the state easy, but a Makara required land and sea, and Florida, being a peninsula, made an ideal location. “I was captured in Florida.”

  Curiosity spiked her voice. “Do you think that’s where we still are?”

  “It’s possible.” I shuffled closer to her voice. “Rock formations like these are unusual for the area, but they exist.”

  “I was transferred from another collection. I’m not sure where, only that I wasn’t there long. Faysal, the fae who captured me, traded me to Balamohan.” Her voice quivered. “He has...particular tastes...and Faysal owed him a favor.”

  Trading fae like baseball cards? That explained how Jenna made it here from Port Arkansas. Linen must have scooped her up too, but why? The Valkyrie angle? Did he have a type? What I wouldn’t give for a peek inside the other cells for clues.

  Imagine an entire network of caverns with fae like him stocking them.

  Shudder.

  “I remember the walk to my cell,” she confided. “This cavern is enormous.”

  “If we’re in a natural cave—” and it sounded like she would know, “—then I think I know where we are. There’s only one air-filled cave system in the state—the Florida Caverns State Park.” Mai and I had visited it once on our way to Panama City Beach. “It’s in the panhandle, near Marianna.” I exhaled on a laugh. “Not that knowing where we are helps much.”

  “Knowledge is power,” she contradicted me. “You imparted more than I ever hoped to learn.”

  With a lifespan like hers, she must be fae. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Why not?” She exhaled on a tired laugh. “We have nothing but time.”

  I thumped my head against the rock wall behind me and focused on not thinking about how long I had been trapped before regaining consciousness. Had a whole day passed since Linen took me out of Daytona? Two days? More? The darkness gave no hints, and my companion’s intel was woefully out of date. “Do you have any idea who Linen—um, I mean, Balamohan—has sworn allegiance to?”

  More laughter carried to me, and this time it rang sharp with bitterness. “He forsook his goddess, his purpose. What he once was, he is no more. He is a parasite. He sustains himself with his collection.” A moment passed during which I worried she had lapsed into hysteria before she cleared her throat and continued as if her near loss of control never happened. “To answer you, his fealty lies with the Morrigan.”

  Not good. If she was aware of the relationship between Linen and the Morrigan, it was much older than I first assumed.

  “You mentioned a collection.” I braced myself. “How many of us are there?”

  “Hundreds in this cave,” she answered in a small voice. “And all of us kin.”

  I lifted my head. “Kin?”

  “We’re all death bringers. That’s how he feeds. That’s what the Morrigan made of him. She was once the only death-touched goddess, you know. Then others arose and diminished her power, and then children of those gods, made with fae and humans, rose to prominence and weakened her further.” She sighed as she said, “She yearns for a time which no longer exists, rife with blood and violence. She clutched what tithes she was given to her chest, but once the Black Dog rose, peace reigned in Faerie, and her magic faded as his word became law and his legend took root in the terrified hearts of the fae folk.”

  If that was true, all of her sustenance was coming from the mortal realm. From the conclave. From me.

  “She wants him,” she said, “wants all that he has.”

  “She’s jealous of Macsen Sullivan?” The question was tinged with awe.

  “Jealousy is a good word,” she mused. “It conveys her sense of entitlement.”

  Centuries of careful planning was coming to a head, and all because of me.

  I was the weak link in the unbroken chain spanning my father’s very, very long life. The resentment bubbling up in me since I realized my own father would have let me die to save his own hide cooled to a simmer.

  Now I understood.

  During his life as one of the Huntsman’s hounds, Mac had run with his pack through the mortal realm, collecting fae souls on All Hallows’ Eve. His ties to both realms were solid. Even as a hound, he had held authority here. It made sense his blood could ward this realm from Faerie. Tethers, I had assumed, were natural anchors that conclave outposts sprung up around, but what if I had it backward?

  In my father’s house, I had walked down a hall filled with doors, and each door opened—not to another room—but to another place. Tethers operated on the same idea, but on a larger scale. What if Mac was responsible for stabilizing those too? It would explain how he could monitor the number of fae traveling to this realm at any given time. Though once they were here, they became the conclave’s problem.

  One thing I knew for sure. If any fae who wanted to cross into the mortal realm could, humanity would be wiped out in a blink. I had to warn the conclave. Together we could make a stand. I just had to escape my cell in one piece and sidestep the Morrigan’s plans to use me as her backup sacrificial lamb first.

  “What is your name?”

  The timid voice snapped me from my thoughts, and I answered, “Thierry.”

  “Thierry.” She pronounced it Tee-a-ree instead of Tee-air-ree like I did. “I’m Branwen.” Small, shuffling noises announced her movements. “We should rest now, before the feeding begins. Balamohan only ever visits when he’s hungry.”

  A flash of Jenna and that dot on her temple flickered through my mind, and I shuddered.

  Sleep wasn’t happening.

  “Thierry?”

  I leaned my head against the r
ock beside me, placing my ear closest to her voice, the only comfort to be had in this cold, hard place. “Yes?”

  “I hate that you’re here—” a yawn interrupted her, “—but I’m glad that you are.”

  “We’re going to get out of here.” My voice wavered.

  “No,” she said sadly. “We won’t. You’ll lose your wits faster if you believe that.”

  Far be it from me to judge her coping mechanism, but acceptance wasn’t my style.

  “Rest,” I urged. “You sound like you need it. We’ll talk later.”

  A low hum was her answer, leaving me alone to chew over the problem of our escape.

  The guards’ defection stung my pride. My first line of defense was on the fritz, and my second had gone dark side on me. The three of us hadn’t been friends, but we had been friendly. There at the end, I had trusted them.

  Shaw was my third and best hope of ever seeing the light of day again. I could summon Diode, but that was risky. If he appeared in my cell, he would crush me. Not to mention he couldn’t teleport. Summoning magic didn’t work that way. All I would accomplish by calling him would be to trap him in the cell with me.

  That put me right back to option number three. Shaw. Magic was, of course, my primary defense, but my palm wasn’t sparking. Either the cells were spelled or the drink was spiked, so no help there.

  After a while, my thoughts lagged, and closing my eyes seemed like a good way to help me think.

  Thanks to the tender spots dappling my thighs, I knew I had been a prisoner for several days. I woke Branwen screaming the first time a frigid needle pierced my skin and pumped me full of stinging fluids. Now I just winced and endured.

  The substance Jenna had force fed me in Linen’s study? Turned out it was some nutrient cocktail injected into the prisoners daily at chow time.

  The combination of boredom, hunger and fear conspired against me. Exhaustion was winning. I hadn’t felt any pangs until I began to wonder why I wasn’t feeling them. Now that gnawing pain—and my upcoming injection—was all I could think about. Branwen’s light snores meant I was alone in my misery.

  When a deep throat cleared next to my ear, I shot upright with a shout.

  “Marshal Thackeray,” a disdainful voice ricocheted off the walls. “You are a difficult woman to pin down.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked no one in particular. “This faux-British accent is the best my imagination can come up with? If I’m going to hallucinate, can’t it be in style? Doesn’t Tom Hiddleston do voice work?”

  “I am not imaginary.”

  Unimpressed, I fought back using the power of logic. “That’s exactly what an imaginary man would say. I’m a big girl. Let me have it. Tell me the truth.”

  “I am as real as you are.”

  I flicked my fingers at him. “I’m not up for philosophical debate here. Constructs of my mind would of course seem real to me—”

  “Gods be praised, the woman has lost her marbles,” he mumbled.

  “Pretty sure I never had any. Choking hazard, you know.”

  He remained quiet for several blissful moments until clearing his throat.

  “I have a matter to discuss with you.”

  “No. I’m done talking to myself. I don’t want my next-door neighbor to think I’m nuts.” I waved at nothing. “Buh-bye.”

  “But—”

  “No,” I snarled. “Sanity’s all I’ve got going for me right now, and you’re kind of wrecking that for me. Beat it.”

  “Rudeness is uncalled for.” A heavy pause. “Considering the circumstances, you are forgiven.”

  “Thanks.” I would have curtsied if I had room. “For a second there, I was worried.”

  Worried I was talking to someone who wasn’t there.

  “Your sarcasm endears you to no one,” he said.

  I don’t know. Shaw seemed to like it. “Why do you sound familiar?”

  “We have spoken many times over the phone.”

  Of course we had. Stress had finally cracked me. “You’re the stalker.” Of all people, why imagine him? My brain wasn’t doing me any favors by visualizing me tying up loose ends. I was not going to die, damn it. “Now that you’ve found me, what do you want?”

  “You arrested my son, Herbert Slosson.”

  “Herbert, really?” I thumped my forehead on the wall. “That’s the best you can come up with?”

  “Perhaps this is not the best time— No. It must be done.” The voice continued, “I am Nasir, last anointed son of the Warith djinns. You restored my lamp to me, and I owe you recompense. Choose your boon wisely. Once spoken, your wish cannot be retracted nor expanded upon. It is said and will be done.” He made an impatient sound. “Fairness urges me to wait, but I cannot. I have little power left, and if I do not use the magic my son poured into the lamp to grant your wish, it will not manifest. We must hurry.”

  I nodded like everything my imaginary friend had to say made total sense.

  Three wishes. I had wanted those once. Even one wish could solve any number of my multitude of problems. I could sever the tie between me and Shaw, ensuring he would survive after I left for...

  Crap. Adrenaline drenched me as my mind filled in the blanks the drugs had left empty.

  I had been trapped here for days. Shaw got shaky if he held out for more than four days between feedings. He could go a week, maybe more, but once he got ahold of me, he would drain me dry. All this time, I hadn’t let the enormity of my incarceration faze me. Shaw was still out there. He wouldn’t stop until he found me.

  Faced with a ravenous incubus, I might be safer inside the stone prison.

  “Marshal?”

  I touched my tongue to my chapped lips. “I’m thinking.”

  One wish. I could go traditional and wish for gold so Mom never had to worry about bills again, but weighed against the life-and-death scenarios playing out around me, I couldn’t afford to be that selfish. I touched the wall separating me from Branwen. It was tempting to release her. She deserved it. But after centuries of confinement, even as a fae, I worried her muscles had atrophied. She may not be able to walk, and I wasn’t sure if wishing she was free and healed counted as two wishes or as a clarification of the first.

  The same logic that made me ache to save her damned her in the end.

  She endured. She would survive long after I was gone. And where there was life, there was hope.

  A final option came to mind, and it felt right.

  “Look,” I said to the djinn I wasn’t convinced wasn’t imaginary. “There’s a woman. I want you to find her and take her out of here. Her name is Jenna Shaw.” I bit my lip. “If you can heal her, do it. If you can’t...she would have died here anyway. At least this way her family gets a body to bury.”

  “As you have said,” Nasir intoned, “so shall it be done.”

  No flash of light. No goodbye. No token to prove the deed was done.

  Nasir, the possibly real djinn, was simply gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A hot sting in my gut roused me. I was kneeling, sort of, with my kneecaps braced on the wall in front of me and my feet wedged against the wall behind me. My forehead rested on stone, and the sliver of light my cell was allotted had gone dark. Someone was out there. I balled my fists and hammered against the rock.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “Who’s out there?”

  A heartbeat later the same intense prick of agony rippled through my stomach, and I dry heaved until my throat was raw. My arms weighed too much at first, but I strained until I got one raised. My fingers grazed a warm, slick cord. I tugged on it and felt a corresponding pull deep in my abdomen. I took a breath and yanked harder. One last jerk ripped the string free, smashing my hand into the wall and skinning my knuckles. The throbbing in my hand kept me from inhaling as if that would stop the misery. Finally, I had to gulp air or pass out, and that gave me the courage to test my healing wound.

  The skin was knitting shut and the blood was drying, but a coin-
shaped scab had formed. Clearing my throat, I said Branwen’s name.

  “You get used to it after a while,” she said in a hollowed voice.

  Apparently, I had experienced my first feeding. Please God let it be my last one too.

  “I don’t want to get used to it.” My arms wrapped protectively around my stomach.

  “Balamohan favors the tender parts.” Her voice wavered. “The ones that hurt us the most.”

  I cringed. “He collects personally?”

  “He has no choice. Feedings are rare, because he’s seldom here for any length of time. I suspect he sips from each of us to keep us alive longer. He devours the accumulation since his last visit, which rejuvenates us.” She made a thoughtful sound. “I can hear the screams sometimes. I know there are others nearby, but I have never had a confidante to speak to about such things. The cells beside me remained empty until the day he brought you.”

  That was curious. “I wonder why he placed us together.”

  “Would you hate me if I suggested it was a reward for my good behavior?”

  I laughed. “None of this is your fault. If I had to be stuck here, at least I have good company.”

  A bright note entered her voice. “I feel the same.”

  Though ignorance can be bliss, I had to ask. I wanted to have accurate nightmares I guess.

  “You never said...” I turned my head toward her voice. “What is Balamohan taking from us?”

  “The accumulation of life.” Her voice wobbled. “He consumes that which marks the passage of time until we are held suspended in an eternity of pendulous moments. We do not age while he feeds from us, and his life is extended by the consumption of ours.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “How is that possible?”

  “You are one age today. You will be a day older tomorrow. Balamohan may not visit again for a month or for a year, but when he does, he will drink from you, dissolving the time that passed until you are again the age you are now, the age he prefers.” She let me absorb that. “He is particular in his captures. He catalogs us before shelving us, and he means to keep his collection pristine.”