talk.
“Low-caste Unseelie are distracted by anything upon which they might feed. I needed a short passage, void of life, through which to herd them. I would never have gotten them out of this world and into yours. Besides, many of them would not have fit through such a small opening.”
I remember the horde of Unseelie—some wispy and diminutive, others fleshy and enormous—that had poured through the giant dolmen the night I’d caught my first glimpse of the crimson-robed Lord Master and realized, much to my horror, that he was my sister’s boyfriend. The night that Mallucé had nearly killed me and would have, if Barrons hadn’t miraculously appeared and saved me. I try to evict the memory, but it’s too late.
I’m in the warehouse, trapped between Darroc and Mallucé …
Barrons drops down next to me, long black coat fluttering.
Now that was just stupid, Ms. Lane , he says, with that mocking smile of his. They would have figured out who you were soon enough .
We battle Darroc and his minions. Mallucé injures me badly. Barrons carries me back to his bookstore, where he heals me. It’s the first time he ever kisses me. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Once more he saved me—and what did I do when he needed me?
Killed him.
The silent scream is back, welling up inside me. Biting it down takes all the strength I possess.
I stumble.
Darroc catches my arm and steadies me.
I shake him off. “I’m fine. Just hungry.” I’m not. My body has shut down. “Let’s get out of here.” I step into the Silver. I expect to meet resistance, because I always have in the past when entering a Silver, so I duck my head and push forward a little. The silvery surface is thick, gluey.
I explode out the other side into a headlong sprawl. I scramble to my feet and whirl on him, as he glides from the mirror with smooth grace. “What did you do? Push me?”
“I did no such thing. Perhaps it is the Silver’s way of saying ‘good riddance’ to the stones,” he mocks.
I’d not considered the effect they might have. Tucked away in the rune-covered leather pouch in my backpack, I’d forgotten them. My sidhe -senses don’t seem to work in the Silvers. I don’t feel their cold, dark fire in the pit of my brain.
He smirks. “Or perhaps it’s saying good riddance to you , MacKayla. Give them to me. I will carry them through the next Silver and we will see what happens to you then.”
The next Silver? Only then do I realize we’re not back in Dublin but in another white room which has ten mirrors hanging on the wall. He’s made it difficult for anyone to follow him. I wonder where the other nine go.
“As if that’s going to happen,” I mutter. I adjust my backpack and dust myself off.
“You do not wish to know. Are you human or are you stone?” he goads. “If I carry them, and the mirror expels you with such force again, we’ll have our answer.”
I’m not a stone. “Just tell me which mirror goes to Dublin.”
“Fourth from the left.”
I push in, but warily this time, in no mood for another fall. This Silver is strange. It takes me into a long tunnel where I move through one brick wall after the next, as if he has stacked Tabh’rs , like the one in Christian’s desert that was inside a cactus, only these are concealed in brick walls.
But where?
I catch a blurred glimpse of a street at night through the next Silver and am buffeted by a chilly breeze. Then I’m blasted so hard across a cobbled alley into a brick wall that it stuns me. This one is solid and impenetrable.
I’d know my city blindfolded. We’re back in Dublin. I hug the wall, determined to stay standing. I’ve been on my ass enough today.
I might be shaky on my feet—but at least I’m on them when my sidhe -seer senses kick in with a vengeance, as if awakening after a long, resented sleep enforced by being in the Silvers. Alien energy slams into my brain: The city is teeming with Fae.
Objects of Power and Fae used to make me feel sick to my
“Low-caste Unseelie are distracted by anything upon which they might feed. I needed a short passage, void of life, through which to herd them. I would never have gotten them out of this world and into yours. Besides, many of them would not have fit through such a small opening.”
I remember the horde of Unseelie—some wispy and diminutive, others fleshy and enormous—that had poured through the giant dolmen the night I’d caught my first glimpse of the crimson-robed Lord Master and realized, much to my horror, that he was my sister’s boyfriend. The night that Mallucé had nearly killed me and would have, if Barrons hadn’t miraculously appeared and saved me. I try to evict the memory, but it’s too late.
I’m in the warehouse, trapped between Darroc and Mallucé …
Barrons drops down next to me, long black coat fluttering.
Now that was just stupid, Ms. Lane , he says, with that mocking smile of his. They would have figured out who you were soon enough .
We battle Darroc and his minions. Mallucé injures me badly. Barrons carries me back to his bookstore, where he heals me. It’s the first time he ever kisses me. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Once more he saved me—and what did I do when he needed me?
Killed him.
The silent scream is back, welling up inside me. Biting it down takes all the strength I possess.
I stumble.
Darroc catches my arm and steadies me.
I shake him off. “I’m fine. Just hungry.” I’m not. My body has shut down. “Let’s get out of here.” I step into the Silver. I expect to meet resistance, because I always have in the past when entering a Silver, so I duck my head and push forward a little. The silvery surface is thick, gluey.
I explode out the other side into a headlong sprawl. I scramble to my feet and whirl on him, as he glides from the mirror with smooth grace. “What did you do? Push me?”
“I did no such thing. Perhaps it is the Silver’s way of saying ‘good riddance’ to the stones,” he mocks.
I’d not considered the effect they might have. Tucked away in the rune-covered leather pouch in my backpack, I’d forgotten them. My sidhe -senses don’t seem to work in the Silvers. I don’t feel their cold, dark fire in the pit of my brain.
He smirks. “Or perhaps it’s saying good riddance to you , MacKayla. Give them to me. I will carry them through the next Silver and we will see what happens to you then.”
The next Silver? Only then do I realize we’re not back in Dublin but in another white room which has ten mirrors hanging on the wall. He’s made it difficult for anyone to follow him. I wonder where the other nine go.
“As if that’s going to happen,” I mutter. I adjust my backpack and dust myself off.
“You do not wish to know. Are you human or are you stone?” he goads. “If I carry them, and the mirror expels you with such force again, we’ll have our answer.”
I’m not a stone. “Just tell me which mirror goes to Dublin.”
“Fourth from the left.”
I push in, but warily this time, in no mood for another fall. This Silver is strange. It takes me into a long tunnel where I move through one brick wall after the next, as if he has stacked Tabh’rs , like the one in Christian’s desert that was inside a cactus, only these are concealed in brick walls.
But where?
I catch a blurred glimpse of a street at night through the next Silver and am buffeted by a chilly breeze. Then I’m blasted so hard across a cobbled alley into a brick wall that it stuns me. This one is solid and impenetrable.
I’d know my city blindfolded. We’re back in Dublin. I hug the wall, determined to stay standing. I’ve been on my ass enough today.
I might be shaky on my feet—but at least I’m on them when my sidhe -seer senses kick in with a vengeance, as if awakening after a long, resented sleep enforced by being in the Silvers. Alien energy slams into my brain: The city is teeming with Fae.
Objects of Power and Fae used to make me feel sick to my
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