Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
Martina gasped. “Susan…” Her eyes rolled back into her head. Desperately, she wrenched them back, blinking furiously, as if trying to stay awake.
I recognized her expression. She was fighting hard. She’d been drugged.
Oh, shit.
I grabbed my phone. “Donovan! Donovan, I need help!”
Delilah laughed softly. “Oh, your precious prince can’t help you now. He’s on the roof, fighting his way through five dozen banwyn.”
The words died in my throat.
She knew? Delilah knew?
“None of them can help you,” she gloated, a vicious light in her icy-blue eyes.
“Not the prince, not those two dumb bondsmen of his. The princess is doing her best, but she’s up to her eyeballs in banwyn, too.
And that big lug Fionn is desperately trying to fight them without using magic.
He’s not used to having to do that, you know. ”
Rufus Stonnington mouthed like a goldfish, staring at the gun in Gordon’s hands. “Gordon,” he stammered. “What are you doing?”
“Quiet, Rufus,” Delilah snapped. She reached over and grabbed the half-empty orange juice next to Jared’s head. “Here. Drink this.”
“I— I— I don’t want to.” The old lawyer started to shake. He looked terrified.
“Do it. Now, Rufus.” She shoved the glass at him. “Or I’ll make sure those photos of you and your nephew are all over the club by morning.”
The old lawyer mouthed for another moment.
“Now.”
He put the glass to his lips and drank. Once the rest of the orange juice had disappeared, he whimpered, put his head down on the table, and shut his eyes, still trembling.
There was a thump, as Martina’s head hit the table. She’d fallen unconscious, too.
I had to stop them now. Gordon could only shoot me so many times before he ran out of bullets. I pulled at the magic in my belly and raised my hands?—
Gordon moved, swinging the gun to point at Martina’s head. “Uh uh uh. Don’t move, Susan. Or I’ll blow her brains out.”
My breath came out in a too-shallow pant. What the hell do I do now?
“Nobody is coming to save you. They’ve got their hands full. The banwyn breed like rats, you know,” Gordon said idly. “It’s astonishing. Prince Connor has almost an endless supply. As long as he keeps feeding them, that is. An endless swarm.” His lip curled.
Delilah gave a delicate snort. “Oh, I have no doubt that your people will destroy the ones attacking them eventually. But it will be too late for you. You’ll be far away from here by then.”
A door banged; I flinched. A hunched, gray-haired man stalked out of the kitchen, holding a large carving knife in his hand and wiping a dark-red substance on his apron.
“Sorry I’m late.” Detective Striker gave a cold smile. “I take it you liked the wings? I’ve been working on perfecting the recipe for days.” A flash of orange rolled over his iris.
The fucking wings. They’d set all this up. They knew what food Martina loved. And they’d drugged Jared’s drink, too.
I wanted to scream. We’d covered all our bases, we’d done all our research, and fucking Connor still outplayed us. A wild surge of rage threatened to explode out of me; I clenched my fists.
Gordon knocked the barrel of his Glock against Martina’s head. Delilah gave a delicate laugh. “I wouldn't do that if I were you. Isn’t it funny?” She tilted her head, staring at me. “All that magic. All that power. Wasted on you.”
I glared back at her, struggling to keep myself from exploding. I could?—
No, I couldn’t. Gordon would shoot Martina in the head.
I knew he would do it, too. In the early days of dating Vincent, I’d been hanging around their country house while he and Gordon went duck shooting.
At the time, I’d been shocked by how bloodthirsty he was, leaving winged ducks and geese to die slowly rather than putting them out of their misery, or pumping them full of bullets, trying to blow off their heads.
Vincent showed no interest in torturing innocent animals, so I just forgot about it, and added it to the pile of things I hated about his parents.
I stared at my ex-in laws. “Who are you? No.” I shook my head. “What are you? You don’t have any magic.”
Delilah’s smile twisted, and rage flared in her expression. “We used to.”
Oh.
The answer hit me like a truck—it was so blindingly obvious. I swore under my breath. “Donovan was right. You are fae. You’re from the Kingdom of the Creatives.”
Goddamnit, it all made sense now.
She curled her lip. “Your prince is a moron, too. He looked us in the eye and didn’t recognize us as Upper World creatures.”
“Connor devoured your stone fifty years ago. You lost your magic and came here as refugees. But he found you again, didn’t he? Connor ate your spark stone, so he’s your ruler now. You’re forced to follow him.”
I could use this. Maybe I could talk sense into them…
But Delilah shook her head sharply. “No. Our kingdom is gone, and our species doesn’t exist anymore.
We are mundane, like humans, so this was an obvious place to settle after our realm was destroyed.
Luckily for us, we are still superior in cunning and intellect, so it was easy to amass a fortune once we arrived.
” She let out a light chuckle, careless, as if we were discussing something amusing.
“We don’t follow Prince Connor because we have to.
We follow him because he promised he will put you where you belong. ”
The vitriol in her tone was so harsh, it blasted like sand over my skin. “And where is that?”
“Under his boot.” Her mouth twisted. “If I had my way, you’d be dead and six feet under, but our King needs your blood to ascend to the highest throne.
So, he has promised he will have you lobotomized so you can serve as his tool and his toy.
We respectfully requested that he sew your mouth shut so you can’t open it ever again.
” A cruel light shone in her eyes. “But he made a charming quip about how he might need another hole in case he gets bored with the other two.” She sighed.
“We will have to be satisfied with you just being a vegetable.”
For a moment, I was truly speechless. I’d underestimated her. This woman was insane. The words coming out of her mouth were unspeakable.
I licked my lips slowly. “Delilah… can you hear yourself? Do you hear what you’re saying? What could I have ever done to make you feel this way?”
A scream erupted from her lips, and spit flew. “You took our son away! And you gave him hope. You put ideas into his head, telling him he could be a great artist.”
“But…” I shook my head, bewildered. “He is a great artist.” Vincent was many terrible things, but he was a fantastic artist.
Gordon spat. “A human artist. It is a pathetic, low and weak imitation of what we once were—the great and mighty Creatives.”
“Vincent is a very talented?—”
“He is mediocre, and it feels like a blade to the heart,” Gordon snapped.
“Our magic—the magic of expression—gave us the power to bring crowds to tears with our sculptures; we could incite orgies with our tapestries. Our ballads could fill the hearts of soldiers with such courage, they’d fling themselves against much bigger armies without hesitation.
The emotions we could stir with our creations…
” He gnashed his teeth and looked away. “Our magic faded decades ago. Our son has never known it. But now, because of you, we’re forced to look at his chicken scribble landscapes and unrecognizable portraits, and coo with delight.
We love our son, but you have made a fool of him. ”
I gaped at them. That was it? That’s why they hated me so much? Because I’d encouraged their son to follow his passion, but he just wasn’t good enough for them because of what they used to be?
Noise suddenly blared from my phone—thumps, zings, high-pitched shrieks… and Donovan. “Chosen!” He’d finally taken me off mute and was shouting at the top of his lungs. “Get out of there!”
“Donovan, I can’t?—”
Gordon tapped the Glock on Martina’s head again. “Not another word.”
“Let’s go,” Delilah said, pushing Martina carelessly off the table, and she crumpled onto the floor, still unconscious. Delilah grabbed her ankles and tugged, sliding her along the floor. Gordon followed, his Glock trained on Martina’s head.
I snarled under my breath. They were taking her as a hostage.
Striker jumped forward and grabbed me by the arm. “Time to go. Don’t fight it, or your bitch lawyer will get a bullet in the head. My friends here will be taking her to a safe place, and if you step one foot out of line, she’s dead.”
I stumbled along with him as he dragged me through the tables of the steakhouse, following the Andresanos towards the back of the restaurant. He kicked open the swinging doors leading to the kitchen and pulled me down the hallway.
Something heavy thudded against the front door. Striker yanked me, pulling me faster, and I turned to see that someone had barred it with not one, but two logs that were most definitely not plastic.
My heart gave a jolt. Donovan. He was coming through the front. Then, the doors swung shut, and I saw no more.
I twisted in Striker’s grip, facing the way he was dragging me.
At the end of the hallway, an emergency exit was ajar.
Through the gap, a swarm of banwyn scuttled out in the alleyway, moving too fast for my eyes to follow.
The swarm parted, letting Delilah and Gordon through and revealing a glimpse of a silver sports car.
With a strength I never knew she possessed, Delilah heaved Martina roughly into the back.
Banwyn, a swarm of what looked like a thousand little kids, covered them again, hiding them from view.
I caught a glimpse of Eryk as he slashed through the swarm, trying to take out as many as possible. But he wasn’t chasing the sports car.
Why would he? He had no idea Martina was in it, and he probably thought the Andresanos were innocent civilians caught in the magical warfare out in the alleyway behind the steakhouse.
They were going to get away.
My brain ticked. Cecil. I’d forgotten about Cecil. A surge of hope cleaved through the panic that threatened to choke me. The Andresanos had forgotten about him, too. They thought he was just a dog, drugged unconscious, lying under the table. Please be okay, Cecil…
The front door boomed again; I heard wood splintering. Donovan was breaking through. And by the back exit, Eryk was smashing through the banwyn. There was no chance they were going to let Striker take me anywhere. My pulse hammered; my vision sharpened.
“Uh uh.” Striker yanked my arm hard; it hurt. “Just so you know, if I don’t get back to your in-laws in fifteen minutes, they’ll shoot that bitch in the head and throw her off a bridge.”
Just then, I realized what was happening next. I knew why they suggested this shitty steakhouse in a back alley.
I wouldn’t be walking out of these doors.
Striker shoved me against the bathroom door, and I stumbled inside.
My heart sank when I saw my suspicion was right. There, inside one of the larger cubicles, a round black void yawned, ringed by a circle of green flames.
A portal.
Striker started to laugh as he pulled on my arm roughly, yanking me through the circle of flames.