Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
Jack
The abandoned warehouse smells of rust and damp concrete, with an underlying chemical tang that makes my nose itch. It’s not exactly the sort of place I imagined saving the world would be planned, but I suppose top secret supernatural meetings can’t be too picky about venues.
The fluorescent lights overhead flicker intermittently, casting everything in harsh, unsteady shadows.
The cold seeps through the concrete floor despite the space heaters someone dragged in, and I can see my breath when I speak.
It’s the sort of bone-deep chill that comes from buildings left empty too long, where warmth never quite manages to penetrate.
We’ve been here for hours, clustered around a collection of mismatched tables and chairs that someone dragged in from various sources. Maps, charts, and what I can only describe as magical diagrams cover every available surface, weighted down with stones and coffee mugs to keep them from curling.
Empty takeaway containers and coffee cups mark the passage of time. Someone brought sandwiches hours ago, but most remain untouched. The urgency of our situation seems to have killed everyone’s appetite.
The group assembled here represents perhaps the most remarkable alliance in history.
Silas sits at one end of the makeshift conference table, his pale hands gesturing as he explains something about dimensional anchor points.
Ninian perches on a crate nearby, occasionally offering soft-spoken corrections in his musical voice.
Cai is flanked by his two husbands, Kirby’s red hair catching the light as he leans over a particularly complex diagram, while Harlen traces patterns in the air that leave glowing trails.
Eerie and Arin huddle together, the tylwyth’s musical language creating a constant background harmony as Arin translates. And Ned, the vampire, takes careful notes despite claiming not to understand the magical theory.
Dyfri moves between them all like a conductor directing an orchestra, asking questions, offering suggestions, synthesising information from multiple sources.
I watch him work and feel a familiar flutter of pride.
My husband, the brilliant strategist who somehow makes sense of chaos.
The man who can take fragments of ancient magic, vampire lore, dragon rider techniques, and tylwyth wisdom and weave them into something cohesive.
As for me? I’m completely lost.
The magical theory flies over my head like fighter jets, impressive, but incomprehensible.
I understand that they’re trying to do something unprecedented, something that requires precision and power on a scale never before attempted.
Beyond that, I might as well be listening to a conversation conducted entirely in mathematics.
All while my phone sits heavy in my pocket. It’s off, but I can still feel all the missed calls. Dad and his aides freaking out that I punched a fey duke. But I have no regrets. I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times.
But now is not the time for gloating or dark pride. This conversation is important and I need to try and follow it.
“The resonance frequencies need to align across all seventy anchor points simultaneously,” Kirby is saying, his fingers dancing over what looks like a three-dimensional mathematical equation that hovers in the air above the table. “If we’re off by even a microsecond, the entire lattice collapses.”
Silas nods grimly. “Which is why Cai’s ability to weave and channel power is crucial. He can link all the anchor points through his connection to the dragons and create a unified casting.”
I understand perhaps every third word of what they’re discussing, but the general concept is becoming clear.
They’re trying to weave a spell of unprecedented complexity, something that will simultaneously seal seventy different portal anchor points scattered across the globe.
And Cai, apparently, is the linchpin that makes it possible.
“I could have stopped all of this,” Cai says quietly, staring down at his hands. “When the prophecy first spoke of sealing the portals. I could have prevented the invasion entirely.”
Harlen reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. “You made the right choice then, and you’re making the right choice now.”
But I can see the regret eating at Cai despite his husband’s reassurance. The knowledge that he could have saved millions of lives, prevented a multitude of suffering, stopped the fey invasion before it began. All he would have had to do was sacrifice the man he loves.
Looking at Kirby, seeing the way he and Harlen orbit around Cai with complete trust and devotion, I think I understand the choice. Some things are more important than duty. Some people are worth more than the world.
“The power requirements remain our primary concern,” Ninian says, his voice barely audible above the hum of the fluorescent lights. “Even combining all our resources, all the dragons and riders, all the tylwyth refugees, the vampire covens who’ve agreed to help...” He trails off, shaking his head.
The numbers don’t lie, even if we all wish they would.
Kirby pulls out what looks like an ornate calculator made of crystal and gold, his fingers flying over symbols I don’t recognise. Numbers appear in the air above it, glowing soft blue and shifting constantly as he adjusts variables.
“We’re still short,” he confirms after several tense minutes. “By approximately thirty per cent.”
Harlen leans back in his chair, running his hands through his dark hair. “Could we reduce the scope? Target fewer anchor points initially?”
“No.” Eerie’s musical response needs no translation. Arin’s interpretation confirms what his tone already conveyed. “It has to be all seventy simultaneously. Otherwise, the remaining portals will destabilise and tear reality apart.”
Okay, let’s not do that. Tearing reality apart does not sound good. At all. Luckily, everyone seems to agree with me.
The silence that follows is heavy with implications. I may not understand the magical theory, but I can read the expressions around the table. This isn’t a matter of the spell being difficult. It’s mathematically impossible with the resources they have.
Cai stares at the glowing numbers as if willing them to change through sheer force of determination. “What if I pushed harder? Drew more power from the dragons?”
“You’ll kill them,” Silas says bluntly. “And yourself. The human nervous system isn’t designed to channel that much raw magic. You’d burn out like an overloaded circuit and your insides would melt.”
The image his words paint is vivid and horrible. I can see Cai imagining it too, the way his hands clench into fists on the table.
“There has to be something,” Harlen mutters, but even his eternal optimism sounds strained.
They continue running calculations, adjusting variables, looking for some combination that might work. I watch Kirby’s crystal calculator project scenario after scenario, each glowing result more disheartening than the last. Every path leads to the same conclusion. There is not enough power.
The mathematical reality is inescapable. They don’t have enough power, and there’s no way to get more.
Silas slumps angrily in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re fucked.”
The crude declaration cuts through hours of careful discussion. Everyone falls silent and looks glum, the weight of failure settling over the warehouse like fog.
My heart sinks as I look around the table. These brilliant, powerful people have spent months planning, gathering resources, coordinating the most complex magical working in history. And it’s not enough. We’re going to fail, and Earth is going to remain under fey occupation forever.
Dyfri sighs, a sound that carries a lifetime of exhaustion. “No, we are not.”
Something in his voice makes the hair on my arms stand up.
There’s a quality to it I’ve never heard before, a resonance that seems to vibrate in my bones like a tuning fork struck against stone.
Goosebumps race across my skin as the air around us begins to hum with energy that tastes of copper and starlight.
But the effect on everyone else is far more dramatic.
Eyes widen. Chairs scrape against concrete as people instinctively step back. Ninian makes a small sound of shock. Eerie’s musical voice rises in what sounds like recognition mixed with awe.
The air itself seems to thicken, charged with power that makes my teeth ache. It’s like standing too close to a lightning strike, all potential energy and barely contained force.
“What the fuck?” Silas breathes.
Ninian stares at Dyfri with something approaching reverence. “You’ve been hiding your power?”
Everyone is staring now. Cai looks stunned. Kirby’s mouth hangs open. Even Harlen, usually so quick with a joke or casual comment, seems struck speechless.
The silence stretches taut as a bowstring. I can feel something radiating from Dyfri in waves. The air around him seems to shimmer, like heat rising from a summer pavement.
How much has he been hiding? How much of himself has he kept locked away?
Eventually, Kirby rouses himself, blinking as if coming out of a trance. His voice is slightly hoarse when he speaks. “This is... this is great. It’s exactly what we need.”
He’s already turning back to his crystal calculator, fingers flying over the symbols with renewed energy. The numbers that appear this time, glow brighter, shifting into configurations that make everyone lean forward with interest.
“Yes,” Ninian breathes. “Yes, this changes everything.”
Within minutes, the atmosphere in the warehouse has completely transformed. Where before there was despair, now there’s hope. Urgent voices overlap as they begin recalculating, redistributing magical loads, redesigning the spell matrix to account for this new source of power.
But I’m not looking at the calculations. I’m looking at Dyfri.
He meets my gaze across the table, and I see guilt written plainly across his features. Anxiety too, and something that might be fear. Another secret. Another part of himself he’s kept hidden.
How many more are there? How much of my husband is still a mystery?
I stand up and walk around the table to where he’s sitting. Without a word, I take his hand in mine. His fingers are trembling slightly, whether from the magical exertion or emotional stress, I can’t tell.
The questions I want to ask crowd against my teeth.
Why didn’t you tell me? How powerful are you really?
What else are you hiding? But those are conversations for later, for when we’re alone and aren’t discussing the fate of the world.
Right now, what matters is that we might actually have a chance.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, squeezing his hand.
He looks at me with something approaching wonder, as if he expected anger or accusations instead of acceptance.
“Later,” I promise, and see understanding flicker across his face.
Around us, the planning continues with renewed vigour. Voices call out new calculations, revised timelines, adjusted strategies. The energy in the room has shifted from despair to determination.
And through it all, Dyfri’s hand remains clasped in mine. Whatever secrets he’s still keeping, whatever power he’s been hiding, we’ll face it together.
Just like we’ll face everything else.
After all, that’s what marriage is for.