Chapter 20
Sylvia
“Sylvia,” Father rasped, like it was a breath he’d been holding back for centuries. The very sound of his voice made my bones shiver in my body. His voice. I’d never thought I’d hear it again. “Are you alright, my darling?”
His eyes whisked me over, frown deepening with corners that stole air from my lungs. His attention lingered on my leg, where Rhett had applied the most pressure.
All I could do was lean against the glass. Father was alive. He was here and human, and still clad in that stark black armored gear that jarred my image of him.
How was he here?
The shapeshifter. It had to be. This was Graham, back to torment me.
The gentleness on Father’s face evaporated into something murderous as time surged back into motion, a gunshot whizzing past his head. It ricocheted off the back doors of the vehicle, embedding into the glass of the siren’s case beneath us with a crack. A slow hiss of water trickling out followed.
“Don’t shoot, you idiot!” Eros bellowed. “You’ll injure the cargo!”
The cargo.
Us, I thought bitterly.
“That wasn’t us, sir!”
A shock rippled through us all, and then I saw it: a small, tinted rectangular window near the top of the vehicle, intended for emergency ventilation. It was shattered from the outside.
Small explosions hit the air, rapidfire metallic impacts that clanged along the walls, drowning out all other sound. The gunfire didn’t penetrate, but the impacts of each shot protruded dangerously.
The vehicle swerved on the road, sending all of us—human and fae alike—rocking and stumbling for balance. Cliff braced along the railing over the seats. My head thunked against the glass, and Ben fell to his knees with a groan.
“What the fuck is going on up there?” Eros roared, righting himself and pounding on the thick, tinted glass that separated us from the driver’s cabin. “Keep us on course, it’s not rocket science. Understood?”
“We have to re-route, sir!” the driver’s muffled shout bled back to us. “We’ve got an unidentified operative opening fire on our six.”
Someone’s coming for us. Someone knows we’re here.
I wasn’t sure whether to be hopeful for a savior or terrified of a new bidder.
Whoever they were, enemies still surrounded us.
I longed to freeze them all where they stood, but with the iron core of the metal latticed into the glass case, I couldn’t conjure so much as a spark.
My chest was hollow with that gaping void of magic.
The combatants surged into hand-to-hand combat, a grapple for control in the tight space. Several attacks brought a blow or weapon dangerously close to our containment.
“Sylvia, get back.” Ben gripped me under my knees and shoulders as gently as he could, carrying me away from the glass.
Father fought like I’d never seen him before, brutal and efficient—more like the strategy Jon and Cliff employed in combat than the swift fluidity of the ice wielder I’d grown up training under.
Human. He threw back an elbow with a shout, shattering a guard’s reflective visor. How is he human?
As efficiently as Father was in holding them off, he wasn’t a match for all of them. Rhett was still unresponsive, but two to one were terrible odds. For every effective pummel he landed, the other combatant would recover, crashing into him.
But he wasn’t alone.
As Cliff gave a growl of effort, I snapped my head in his direction. A soft breath rolled out of me. With the methodical speed of a seasoned killer, he had disarmed his father and was zip-tying his hands with his own restraints.
“Fucking coward,” Eros spat. “Always been a faggot, and here I thought you’d finally proven me wrong.”
Cliff glanced up cooly at the cruel phrasing, but pressed onward—patting him down for his phone.
Once retrieved, he tapped the screen, casting a faint glow over the two of them as it sprang to life.
Cliff gripped his father by the jaw, forcing his head still to unlock the device.
All the while, he stole frequent glances over his shoulder at the other guards grappling—watching his back.
After scrolling briefly through the phone’s contents, Cliff pocketed the device, apparently finding what he was looking for.
“All these theatrics.” Eros buckled for freedom, which Cliff rewarded with a harsh shove against the wall, pinning him. “You really think you’re doing anything worthwhile? You’re a joke.”
“I used to be so scared of you,” Cliff said, his voice a soft, gruff thing I could barely make out.
“Be a man and just kill me,” Eros snarled, a vein pulsing hideously in his forehead. “Mark me, there is no coming back from this. I’ll hunt you like a sick dog. Do you hear me? A fucking dog.”
Cliff tightened the zip ties to a painful point, leaving his father’s hands purpling as he dropped them, standing.
“Blow me,” Cliff said.
When he turned to us, my grip tightened around Ben’s shoulders. Cliff’s eyes found me first and settled as though he was immune to the chaos around him, including the berating calls from his father.
I’m sorry, his look shouted to me.
As he reached for our glass enclosure, Rowan stood protectively before Zia, and I couldn’t blame him in the slightest. How could any of us trust that Cliff was really on our side?
The glass of the siren’s tank beneath us continued to crackle. I wanted to warn Cliff to be careful of the siren should it escape, but my voice was stuck. His hands didn’t come directly for us, instead gripping the top of our tank.
“Get to one side and brace yourselves,” he said. “I’ll turn this thing over. Your magic will come back once you’re out, right?” His attention lingered on me, and I nodded numbly to sate him.
Amidst the rattling of the runaway vehicle, he kept the container remarkably steady as he turned it onto its side, allowing us to escape. Ben gingerly set me on my feet. I grimaced, favoring my right leg.
Cliff spotted the injury at once, but just as he began forming a question, Rhett staggered to his feet behind him.
Turning, Cliff stood before us like a human shield.
When Rhett lunged, Cliff pivoted, driving his heel into his midsection that sent Rhett staggering backward against the opposite wall.
Cliff stalked forward—apparently intent on keeping Rhett on the ground this time.
“Can you feel your magic coming back?” Ben asked me, one hand to his chest.
I nodded, looking at my trembling hands. “Slowly.”
It certainly wasn’t returning quickly enough for my taste. The sparkling pull of my affinity ebbed in my core like it was being shaken from a deep sleep.
Waiting for its full return was a luxury none of us could afford. We had to help Cliff incapacitate the three remaining of Eros’ men and find a way to stop the vehicle and get out, now.
And we had to help… him.
I glanced in Father’s direction, still unable to fathom what I was seeing. His face was bloodied, but he was still fighting. Whatever he was—shapeshifter, phantom, or real, I needed him alive. I needed answers.
“Let’s get these off,” I said, jogging behind Zia, hovering my hands over her cruelly bound wings.
The cuff was painstakingly secure—a perfect design to make any haphazard attempt to remove it disastrous.
There must’ve been some sort of instrument to release the mechanism, but it was nowhere in sight.
“Rip it off of me,” Rowan said without an ounce of hesitation. “There’s no time to be delicate about it.”
I knew with utter dismay that he was right.
“The same for me,” Zia said with a firm nod.
Rowan cupped a hand to her face, leaning in fiercely. “Absolutely not. It will be agonizing. We’ll find a safe spot for you before attempting such a thing.”
She squeezed his hand. “I am the only one who can heal our wings straight away. Pain is a small price to pay. You must agree that I’ll be left in far more danger if I can’t fly.”
At that, Rowan couldn’t argue.
With Zia’s blessing, I looped my fingers through the clip at her wings while Ben worked on Rowan’s.
I braced myself, a secondhand shiver racing through my own wings.
But it had to be done quickly, rather than gradually tearing the membrane apart bit by bit.
I took a deep breath, then yanked the cuff straight down, ripping through the inner edges of Zia’s magnificent wings.
She whimpered and staggered to the ground.
Rowan appeared unbothered by his own pain as he swiftly knelt before her.
Zia dropped her head, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.
I thought she was weeping at first, but I began to catch words of an incantation—a healing spell far more complicated than I’d ever dared to touch.
Within seconds, their wings were mended, and Zia looked no worse for wear. I uttered an awed curse, realizing that a noble’s power was no mere fanciful tale.
When the four of us took to the air, Eros shouted at his men. “You idiots! Get a fucking grip and secure the fairies!”
Rhett reacted the swiftest, managing to get the upper hand long enough to slam Cliff’s head against the wall, stunning him. Then his vicious eyes turned to us as we scattered in different directions.
I turned to the siren tank below. The spiderweb crack in the glass was still spreading, and I was happy to help it along.
I had to dig far deeper than usual as I murmured my incantation.
Frost faltered in its crawl up my hands and weirdly.
For a horrible breath, I feared I wouldn’t conjure enough power, but the water gave me the push I needed.
Focusing on the inside of the tank, I willed my ice to make the glass finally burst outward.
“Motherfucker!” Rhett gasped as the siren spilled onto the rumbling floor of the vehicle.
The horrifying, decayed woman was muzzled. As she shook off the effects of the bronze-lined tank, she ripped away the metal clamped around her mouth, tearing flesh in the process and creating a permanent, gory grin. She set her hungry gaze on Rhett, bits of shredded skin hanging from her jaw.
He leapt back, avoiding her snapping teeth.
Snatching a fallen handgun from the floor, he fired it desperately at her, and I could sense the iron in the bullets.
The wounds only made her angrier as she dragged herself toward him, tail lashing and throwing glass around the vehicle.
He didn’t have much space to evade her further.
Another spray of bullets ricocheted against the outside of the shuttle. A scream tore out of me, and I covered my ears with my hands. The rev of an engine roared over the chaos. No—it was more than one, layering over each other. Whoever was after us, they were not alone.
I searched for Ben, Zia, and Rowan—finding the three of them hovering near the ceiling in the opposite corner.
As I darted toward them, I saw that the two guards were upon my father—and Cliff was sidestepping Rhett’s panicked struggle with the siren to help.
But strong as he was, he wasn’t armored the way the others were.
A single blade or bullet could slice right through that fancy shirt and end him.
“We have to help him!” I called to the others.
“I cannot release my magic here,” Rowan said. “The fire will consume everyone, us included. We need to get out. In the open, I can lay waste to these bastards.”
I turned to the glass divider separating us from the driver.
Calling upon the water sloshing on the floor, I volleyed razor-sharp icicles against the glass, but it was too thick to do more than glance hairline fractures across the surface.
If Cliff weren’t occupied, a spray of bullets might do the trick.
But to my surprise, Ben put a hand on my arm. “I can do this.”
Reining back my magic to my hands, I watched as he pressed his palms against the glass.
He stated an unfamiliar incantation, his voice low and ragged.
I braced myself for some sort of glamour, but no, it was earth magic.
His alternate affinity. Right before our eyes, a large section of the glass pane dissolved into sand, crumbling to expose the front section of the vehicle.
The driver was focused on the road, but the armored officer in the passenger’s seat twisted to face the back of the vehicle—his shout of alarm heard even through the dark, mirrored visor.
His gloved hand fumbled between a handgun and one of those horrible gas canisters on his belt.
My nerves seized at the thought of being put under again.
No. I wouldn’t let it happen again.
Although I doubted I could penetrate his armor with my still-recovering magic, I managed to strike his wrist with a bolt of ice to disarm him. The gas cannister clattered at his feet.
While he cursed and fumbled for the weapon, the view through the windshield seized my attention. The spring-like bubble surrounding Aspen was long gone. Fallen snow layered the ground on either side of us, the winding road nearly invisible under the blinding headlights as we sped along.
Through one of the side mirrors, I spotted what was chasing us—the single glow of a motorcycle and the twin headlights of a car breaking away from all other traffic.
I ducked out of the line of fire as the passenger guard recovered. Finding a perch just below the window while the others scattered again, I strategized how best to stop the driver without putting all of us in danger, but a shriek slammed my thoughts away.
The siren was squealing on the floor, writhing. Rhett had torn a shard from the bronze frame of her tank and driven it directly through her neck. Her struggles were slowing.
The siren had gotten a few good hits in before her demise. To my disgust, a bitten chunk of flesh near Rhett’s shoulder was mending itself faster than should have been possible. Was it that device installed on his arm, feeding him that bastardized healing serum?
My fists clenched at my sides, horrified at the thought of this serum used on dozens of evil men like him. I wanted to kill him—to burn all of this down.
A blinding burst of crimson light suddenly cut across the sky, casting a harsh glare through the windshield.
“What the fuck is that?” the driver roared.
A wall of fire had inexplicably erupted along the road, blocking the path. The driver slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone forward. The piercing squeal of tires filled the air like a howling animal.
The world became weightless.