Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Reynolds Square would have been a peaceful place, with pathways winding around shaded benches and the gentle hum of the city in the background.
Tonight, however, the air was thick with tension—and so were my shoulders as I crossed the square alongside Vale and Cowboy to approach the four fae currently confronting Gage.
There was no way this ended without a fight. I was glad to have my blades.
“Here is your money,” I heard the first faerie say, thrusting a thick envelope into Gage’s hand. He was a tall, gaunt man with pale skin and cracked lips. His blond hair spiked into sharp points along his scalp. He crooked his bony fingers at Gage. “Now give us the stone.”
Gage peeked inside the envelope. “Quick question. How long until these bills blow up into balloons and float away?”
I had to give him credit: for someone who bordered on skeletal, the first faerie was nimble on his feet. He took Gage down hard and fast with a short strike to the solar plexus. Gage doubled over and the faerie drove him to the ground with two elbows to his lower back.
Cowboy started forward, but Vale shook his head, mute.
The other three fae flanked their friend. Despite the dimly lit square, I could see that the trio’s hair was a sliding scale of color: golden blond, reddish gold, flame red.
“The stone,” the first faerie demanded, his palm outstretched and open.
Gage dragged his head off the ground to look at his assailant. “You’ll have to dig around in my pockets for it. Start on the left side, if you don’t mind. That ball is itchy.”
“You’ll have no balls left to scratch if you don’t cooperate,” the golden-blond faerie said.
“He doesn’t have the stone,” Vale said, choosing this moment to make our presence known. “Let him go.”
The four fae gave us their full attention, giving Gage time to get back on his feet. Their bodies brimmed with ancient power. A shudder ran through me.
“Then you will give us the stone,” Reddish Gold said. He was slightly shorter and stockier than his friends, which made the trench coat and boots slightly less flattering on his frame.
“You already have one of the stones,” Vale told him. “Why do you need more?”
The first faerie brushed past his companions to address Vale. “We’ve paid your friend. Why do you care?”
“You paid us magic money, and you know it,” Gage said.
Vale held the fae’s attention. “I’m the Protector of the Region, and you’ve committed crimes in my territory. It’s my job to care.”
The first faerie appeared unconcerned. “The stone, now, and we will not make you pay the price for your impertinence.”
“That’s a big word,” I told Vale. “Maybe your dad gave him vocabulary lessons too.”
Cowboy chuckled. “I told you I like her.”
Vale maintained eye contact with the fae leader. “Leave now or face the consequences.”
The first faerie cracked his knobby knuckles. “I think we can all agree that it is you who will have to face the consequences.”
Cowboy bared his fangs. “I haven’t tasted fae blood in a long time. Looking forward to the high I know I’ll feel afterward.”
Our opponents fanned out in a semicircle. Beside me, Vale cracked his neck once, like a man about to bench-press a building. I wondered whether he could.
“Now, Urien?” the short one asked, uncurling his fingers.
“Not yet, Mordren,” the leader answered, presumably Urien.
A crackle of lightning tore through the air as Urien spoke, his voice dark and smooth. “You are weak, godling. Soon this city will belong to us.”
“I don’t think you fully grasp the mistake you’re about to make,” Vale said. “Savannah is under my protection. There is no place for you here. Leave, while you still have both legs to carry you.”
“You want stone,” I said. “I’ll give you stone.” My serpentine hair lashed forward as I focused my gaze on Urien.
Nothing happened.
Urien smiled wickedly, stretching his gaunt face into a distorted mask. “I do believe we’re immune to your particular charms.”
Good thing I wasn’t a one-trick stone pony.
I released four of my snakes. They streaked toward the fae.
Uriel managed to create a barrier of shimmering green light between us, but one snake struck with such force that it shattered the spell.
Another serpent coiled around the redhead’s wrist. The faerie screamed, but the snake’s grip only tightened, cutting off his blood supply.
The reddish-gold faerie twisted away from the other snake, flinging a bolt of crackling energy at my chest. The bolt hit with the force of a thunderclap, sending me stumbling backward.
My snakes hissed angrily, but I recovered, flicking my wrist to send another snake toward the faerie’s throat.
My opponent staggered back, dodging just enough that it only grazed the side of his neck, leaving a gash.
Cowboy joined the fray. One second, he leaned against the spotlit statue of John Wesley that dominated the square, hat low over dead eyes. The next, he was a blur of dust and hunger. He reappeared behind the leftmost fae, fangs flashing white.
A growl rumbled in Vale’s chest as he pressed our advantage. With a single, graceful leap, the demigod closed the gap between him and Urien. He punched straight through Urien’s second attempt at a shield, making contact with Urien’s throat.
“Leave or die,” Vale said, his voice fierce.
Urien staggered, struggling to breathe, but the pain only seemed to ignite his fury. His hands glowed with a sickly green light as the ground beneath our feet trembled.
“You think you can stop me? We are beyond your power, godling!”
The spell hit like a freight train made of glass.
It shattered against me and exploded into a storm of glittering shards that sliced bark from the trees and turned the pavement into smoking gravel. I dug my heels in and let the impact roll through me. My snakes hissed, tasting ozone and iron, and the sharp green scent of ancient fae magic.
I’d harbored a guess as to their identity, and now I was certain of it. The knowledge wasn’t comforting. These were a special class of fae, ancient and powerful, and worst of all—weapons couldn’t kill them.
The ground cracked open, and from the crevice, ghostly apparitions rose, creatures from the underworld, their deformed hands reaching for Cowboy and Gage. The duo didn’t have the necessary skills to defend themselves against this kind of threat, but, as the son of Enmesharra, I was sure Vale did.
“Vale!” I shouted.
Cowboy and Gage fought to free themselves as they were pulled under, but their hands slipped helplessly through the apparitions. Vale raised his hand, his voice a low chant that reverberated through the square.
The air snapped, and the apparitions froze. I sensed their focus on him.
“That’s right,” Vale said, keeping his voice low and firm. “I command you now. Release them.”
The apparitions dissipated, releasing their hold on Cowboy and Gage.
But Urien wasn’t finished. He muttered another incantation under his breath, and a wave of black magic surged forward, aiming to drown them instead.
Urien was clearly the standout faerie. I had to throw sand in his gears. If I couldn’t kill him, I could at least slow him down. The short faerie stepped into my line of sight, giving me an idea.
I hurled my dagger and watched the blade slice my target’s cheek. Blood spilled from the wound, prompting the faerie to shriek from pain. It probably wasn’t often they experienced injuries.
The distraction worked. Urien turned to check on his companion, and his concentration broke. The magical void receded, revealing a sputtering Cowboy and Gage.
Urien pointed a finger at me, vibrating with anger. “You injured Mordren.”
“It’s only a flesh wound,” I replied.
“It was a team effort, really,” Vale said.
I gaped at him. “Seriously? Are you that competitive you can’t even let me have Morty?”
“Mordren.”
“Whatever.”
While we squabbled, Urien swept Mordren into his trench coat and together they disappeared.
We spun to fight the remaining fae and watched as they were claimed by the mist instead, returning to mere myths in a modern world.
My lip curled at the smell of crushed flowers and rot.
In the distance, a siren began to wail. And under it—so faint I might have imagined it—laughter like wind through dead leaves. Assholes.
We stood in the empty square, collecting our wits as well as our thoughts.
Cowboy tipped back his hat and rubbed his thumb across his forehead. “Well, shit.”
Gage stared at the vacant ground. “I’m a faerie. Why can’t I do cool tricks like them?”
“They weren’t Thornborn,” Vale said, a statement of fact rather than a question.
“No, not this time.” Vale and I had encountered Thornborn a few weeks ago, mere blocks from where we now stood.
“No way those guys are ordinary fae,” Cowboy said.
“They’re not,” I said. “They’re Coranians.”
The vampire looked at me. “Is that a family name?”
“No, another subset of fae, like the Thornborn, but without the political agenda.”
“Well, they seem to have a political agenda now,” Gage said.
Vale rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t heard of them before.”
“How about the Seven Sorcerers? Have you heard of them?”
He shook his head. “Are they related?”
“That’s another name for the Coranians. Squares and rectangles.”
He shot me a quizzical look.
“Not all fae are Coranians, but all Coranians are fae.”
“Right, got it.”
“But there were only four of them,” Cowboy said.
“The other three are somewhere nearby. They stick together, but they’re nomadic. Usually they’re just passing through. They throw money around like it grows on trees and then disappear.”
“Well, money is paper,” Gage said.
“It’s faerie money. Looks real enough, but once the Coranians are gone, it returns to its original form. By the time the victim realizes the money’s no good, the fae are long gone.”
Gage stared at me. “You couldn’t have mentioned these Coranians before now?”