Here Be Monsters [2] by Phaedra Weldon

that the poison would weaken him.  
    Abyssinian Geld was and should be the ruler of this land. Not Thomas Rhymer. Betrayer.  
    Human, most foul.  
    As an UnSeleighe, she wished to see one of her brethren on that throne, and see the Rhymer returned to the Mortal Realm. There he would decay with the years—and she did not care.  
    With her eyes closed she listened to the sounds in the Sick House. Listened to the sounds beyond that to the palace, past the waterfalls, past the Great Hall. She could hear the deep sleep of the court, the Elders, and most importantly, that of Thomas Rhymer.  
    Sighing, Silira opened her eyes and held out her hands above the sleeping prince. She felt the strands of his life—strong but weakened. They were diseased with the poison of cold iron. Flitting her fingers up and down as she rewrote the magic of the prince's soul, she began a variation of the chant of vesta en' coia. Her voice was low and she was very happy this curse wasn't something that needed the strength of voice or volume.  
    There was the familiar pull…and the soft, sparkling incandescence of her life energy as it moved from her to Abyssinian. He moved in his sleep, and moaned before his eyes snapped open. He sat up just as fast and looked at her.  
    "Silira—" he said in a whisper.  
    She finished the spell. There was no guarantee how long it would last. But he had to go. Now. "Prince. You have the power. Go now. The Chimera in Chicago. The Fallen is there."  
    Aby stood up with no indication of his wound. He was dressed in white pants and nothing else. She turned and gathered up the change of clothing she'd brought—it was more suited to the High Court—but it would have to do.  
    "How do you know?"  
    "Oberon and Siobhan are going there. Now. You have to be there."  
    He nodded. "My katana—"  
    Silira smiled. "You will find it at the north Cairn. That gateway has not been destroyed. Go! Now!"  
    The prince took the bundle of clothing and turned to leave. He stopped and looked back at her. "You will stay here…so that you're not in danger?"  
    Silira nodded. "I will."  
    And then he was gone.  
    She smiled and took several steps along the same path.  
    "That was foolish."  
    She knew Illeië was there. Knew the Healer had been watching. "Really? Or more foolish that you didn't stop me?"  
    "If the Fallen drinks his blood—"  
    "Then she will die." Silira turned and faced the Healer.  
    Illeië moved from the shadows, looking more like the monochromatic twilight. "What do you mean? You preformed the vesta en' coia. I saw the transference."  
    "No," Silira smiled. "And yes. I did use that curse. But I also added something a little extra."  
    The Healer came menacingly close. "What did you do , Silira."  
    The UnSeleighe smiled. "I made sure that whether or not the monster takes the prince, she, and everyone around him, will die."  

    - 13 -

    Meant as a front for the ever growing blood clubs in Chicago, Chimera was nothing more than a dark, metal door with a single red bulb overhead. The building looked as if it'd been condemned some time ago, and the metal walls were covered in graffiti.  
    It was down a side street, away from the other more flashy clubs along the strip. And not a place where respectable young people went unless they were looking to score.  
    Paper and debris littered the street from overturned, dinged garbage cans along the left side. The door faced one of the many abandoned brownstone communities that dotted the inner city. The once grand building's former glory could be seen along the roof with its sculpted end-caps.  
    As she looked up at it, Siobhan wouldn't have been surprised to see a gargoyle looking down at her.  
    Gargoyles. That was a whole different can of worms she hoped not to get into in her long life.  
    She and Oberon, dressed in leather and attitude, moved as a couple along the street. Oberon had a dozen knives placed into his jacket and pants, and Siobhan had