Chapter 32
Wherein There Is Much Ado in the Ballroom …
As Mina and Phinn charged from the library, Mrs. Temple keeping pace, following swiftly, it sounded like all hell had broken loose in the nearby ballroom.
Shouts and curses and barking spilled through the open doors and bounced down the hall. Not a footman, or Smedley for that matter, could be seen.
“Let go of ’im, you bleedin’ gobshite. You sodding geezer,” yelled Tom. “I’m warnin’ you! I’ll smack you in the goolies!”
“Yes, let go, you gobshite!” cried Christopher. “I don’t want to go to the North Pole! You bleeding well can’t make me.”
“Ow, you little brat.” That was Sir Bedivere. “That hurt!”
Beneath all the insults and vociferous protesting was a chorus of sharp yaps and vicious growls. Brutus was clearly doing his bit, too, to hamper the baronet’s efforts to make off with his ward.
When Mina and Phinn burst into the ballroom, it was to discover that Sir Bedivere had seized Christopher by the back of his coat collar and was dragging him toward the door, along with Brutus; the stocky little dog had sunk his teeth into the baronet’s trouser leg and was tugging with all his might.
Unfortunately, it did indeed appear to be the case that Sir Bedivere possessed a degree of preternatural strength as Queen Maeve had warned.
Even though Tom was valiantly attempting to thwart the baronet’s progress by vigorously whacking him about the backside and the backs of his legs with a poker, Sir Bedivere, for the most part, seemed immune to the blows.
Nevertheless, Christopher was also doing his best to resist his guardian. He was flailing his arms and kicking out with his legs and generally squirming about like a hooked fish.
There was no sign of Smedley, but Mina was certain that Phinn would deal with him later.
It was definitely Sir Bedivere who had to be dealt with first. And hopefully once and for all.
Phinn seemed to be of the same mind too. “Unhand Lord Fitzwilliam right this instant,” he bellowed, crossing the wooden floor in a handful of ground-eating strides. But as he reached out for Sir Bedivere’s arm, the one holding Christopher, Tom jabbed the baronet’s nether regions with the poker.
With a howl of pain, Sir Bedivere released his ward to clutch at his groin.
While Tom’s poker blow to the baronet’s “goolies” hadn’t felled the man, he was at least momentarily stunned.
Enough so that Phinn immediately seized the opportunity to crash-tackle the baronet to the floor.
Christopher, now free, scampered backward toward Mina and Mrs. Temple.
Tom Fleet, still brandishing the poker like a sword, darted across the room to join them too.
“Are you all right?” Mina asked the boys, running her gaze over them both, looking for any signs of injury.
Both Christopher and Tom nodded, then after Tom surrendered his poker to Mina, Mrs. Temple bent down and said in a low voice, “Why don’t you both come with me, and I’ll take you somewhere safe?
” Catching Mina’s eye, she murmured, “I’ll teleport them to the Academy.
I can feel Mab’s presence. She’s growing stronger. It’s why it’s grown so cold in here.”
Mina glanced about the ballroom and was shocked to see that a light dusting of frost was forming over everything—the windowpanes, the chandelier, the marble fireplace, and even across the floor. The tiny ice crystals glittered as sharply as diamonds, hurting Mina’s eyes.
Turning back to Mrs. Temple, her breath misted in the air as she whispered, “I can feel her too. You and the boys had best make haste.”
“Are we going for a ride in the magic cupboard?” asked Tom as the headmistress took the children’s hands and led them into the hall. “Christopher told me all about it. It sounds like wizard fun.”
Mina looked back to Phinn and Sir Bedivere, who were still locked together as they wrestled on the ice-crusted floorboards, both of them attempting but failing to gain the upper hand.
Indeed, Mina’s heart was in her mouth as Phinn and the baronet rolled to the side and Sir Bedivere landed an almighty blow to Phinn’s jaw that nearly knocked his head clean off. As Phinn’s head snapped to the side, blood sprayed from his split lip.
Mina winced in sympathy. Ouch. Poor darling Phinn. She could try to whack Sir Bedivere with the poker again, but there was a risk she’d injure her fiancé too.
Even so, she moved closer, her booted feet crunching through the frost until she was but a handful of yards away. If there was any chance at all to help Phinn get that cursed ring off Sir Bedivere’s hand, she would take it.
Brutus, who seemed to be oblivious to the icy cold, was dancing excitedly around the wrestling men and emitted an encouraging bark as Phinn landed a counterpunch, right in the middle of Sir Bedivere’s nose.
That’s it, Cutthroat O’Connell. Pummel the feckin’ bastard into next week.
Hand his arse to him on a plate. Knee him in the nuts. Show him who’s the boss.
The grunting men rolled again, and this time Phinn landed on top.
Even though one of Sir Bedivere’s hands was at Phinn’s throat, Phinn managed to deliver another powerful punch, this time to the side of the baronet’s head.
Sir Bedivere’s eyes rolled back, the hand squeezing Phinn’s throat fell away, and Phinn immediately pounced.
“Mina,” he cried, ripping off Sir Bedivere’s silver and obsidian ring. “Catch!”
The ring flew through the frosty air toward Mina and she caught it in one hand. “I have it!”
Casting the poker to one side, she immediately dashed across the ballroom to the fireplace. Was it her imagination, or did the ring feel like a small lump of ice that was so cold, it burned the tender flesh of her palm?
Fresh logs and kindling had been stacked in the grate, ready to be lit, and Mina tossed the ensorcelled ring on top of the pile.
Now, to destroy this feckin’ thing once and for all.
As Mina plunged her hand into her governess’s pocket in search of the hawthorn wand she’d been promised by Queen Maeve, Mab’s black eye blazed to life in the ring’s obsidian stone.
It glared at Mina so fiercely, with so much malice, Mina’s heart stuttered and her blood felt like it was turning into a sluggish, icy slurry in her veins. Her thoughts became muddled, like her head was filled with freezing fog.
Traitor. Weakling, hissed a voice inside her mind. Then came a softer plea as Mab’s frost-tipped eyelashes fluttered inside the ring’s dark depths. Put me on …
A wave of dizziness suddenly assailed Mina, and she was possessed with the sudden urge to reach out and do just that.
Her half-frozen fingers twitched … but then she thought of darling Phinn and Christopher and Tom and Emmeline and Mrs. Temple and her own mother and sister.
Everyone she loved, even blinking Brutus.
Gritting her teeth, ignoring the almost overwhelming lure of Mab’s ring, Mina squeezed her eyes shut and whispered “Believe.” And then all at once, her cold fingers closed around something hard and smooth and slender in her pocket. The wand!
“Mina? Anytime you w-w-want to destroy that feckin’ ring is good with me,” called Phinn from behind her. “Bloody Sir Bedivere is stir-stirrin’ and I’m not sure how m-m-much longer I’ll be able to hold him. He’s-he’s a strong bastard, I’ll give him that.”
Mina glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, the baronet was coming to.
“Sorry,” she returned, then hastily withdrew the carved hawthorn wand of light golden-brown wood. Pointing it straight at the ensorcelled ring, Mina gathered her courage, narrowed her gaze and glared straight back at Mab’s eye.
“Faerillion Flambosium,” she declared in a ringing voice … and before she could inhale a breath to triumphantly add, “you wicked cow,” there was a bright burst of blinding light within the fireplace, and the ring was engulfed in eye-searing flames of violet and azure blue.
“Thank the Fae,” murmured Mina as she stepped back a few paces.
Although, it seemed that Queen Mab was not best pleased with having the tables turned on her.
As the tongues of magical Fae fire devoured the logs and everything within the fireplace’s bricked maw, the silver and obsidian ring let out a shrill and furious scream that rattled the windows and the crystal chandelier and indeed, the whole house.
In fact, it was so intense, Mina clapped her hands over her ears and stumbled backward … straight into Phinn’s waiting arms.
He held her close, Mina’s back to his front, and as the last shreds of Mab’s cry faded away along with the layer of frost encrusting the room, he murmured, “Well-well done, lass.” His deep voice, as warm and soothing as a smile, caressed the shell of her ear. “You … you did it.”
“We did it,” Mina whispered as she turned in Phinn’s arms. Framing his beloved face in her hands, she frowned as she examined his injuries—his split and swollen bottom lip, a grazed cheekbone, and a nasty-looking purple bruise had begun to flower along his jaw.
“Heavens, look at you, my poor, darling man. I’d kiss you but for the fact I’m worried I’ll hurt you. ”
Phinn gave a small snort. “I’ve had worse. What’s more, a bit of a sore lip sure as hell won’t stop … won’t stop me from doin’ this.” And then he gently cupped Mina’s cheek, lowered his head and claimed her mouth in a tender, soft-as-velvet kiss.
Oh. Mina wrapped her arms around Lord Kinsale’s strong neck and let herself melt. Melt into Phinn. Just knowing that she need never stop kissing this man—the man she loved and would soon marry—was making her heart brim with unfettered joy and delight.
But of course, this particular kiss had to end because there were so many things that needed to be sorted out. One of which had just started cursing and making groaning noises behind them.