Chapter 17
17
Rafael stepped between Morgan and the Immortals. While he did not believe they would hurt her, he would not take that chance. When it came to his brethren, sometimes things got out of hand, especially when Makari was involved. To see Fáelán and Kilian react with such intensity surprised him. They were usually the two who calmed situations like this one down.
Holding up his hands, he stepped closer to the men he considered his brothers and let out an ear-piercing whistle. Silence fell and all eyes moved to him. “Arguing and fighting amongst ourselves isn’t going to get us anywhere. How about we move inside—away from watchful eyes—and calmly discuss our next move?”
Makari’s scowl deepened, an almost impossible feat considering his scowl was terrifying, even to Rafael, although he’d never let the Cossack know that. “Who knew the Spaniard would be the voice of reason in this motley group,” Makari grumbled.
Torin thumped him in the middle of his furry chest and laughed. “I did. You always form an opinion without paying attention or giving the issue too much thought.” He sidestepped Makari’s wide swing with a bark of laughter and moved to the front entrance to their home. “I’ll get Gwyn and meet everyone in the library.”
Rafael’s gaze followed him as he disappeared inside. Turning back to the others, he grinned at the black wolf walking toward him. “For what it’s worth, Makari, I wouldn’t have thought that of myself either, so you aren’t alone.”
“Don’t placate, Rafael. It’s beneath you,” Makari said as he walked by. Out of habit, Rafael stepped away, bumping into Morgan, giving the impressively strong wolf a wide berth. He had been on the receiving end of his punches one too many times and didn’t need to be reminded how much they hurt.
“At least you calmed him enough that he was chuckling as he went inside,” Morgan whispered against his back. “He still scares me.”
Rafael smiled. “Me too, just don’t let him know that. We’ll never hear the end of it.” As Kilian followed his brother inside, Rafael wrapped his arm around Morgan’s shoulders and pulled her in front of him, bringing up the rear as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him.
Once everyone settled in the library, including Zhivko, who stood in front of the fireplace, the dancing flames remained visible through his incorporeal body. Fáelán placed a tray filled with mugs of steaming herbal tea on the table and sat, nursing his between his paws, staring at the demon.
Rafael watched as realization dawned, Fáelán’s hazel eyes lighting in surprise. “You aren’t really here—your body is like a hologram, isn’t it?”
Zhivko grinned. “Rafael is right. You are intelligent. Yes, while I am posted to the Unseelie Court, I cannot leave except in an incorporeal form. It has its ups and downs, but if I need to react or help someone in this form, I am not without power, especially as a demon enforcer.”
Kilian frowned. “Back up a moment. While I may not be as smart as my brother, I know a little about demons but haven’t heard of an enforcer before.”
Zhivko’s eyebrows rose. “Really? In my world, it is common knowledge and keeps even the rowdiest demons under control. In the human realm, I believe you call them police.”
“Where is your world, exactly,” Torin asked as he led Gwyn into the room, looking incredibly pregnant.
Morgan jumped up and hugged her sister before returning to her place next to Rafael. He watched her twin struggling to sit on the sofa, his worry rising. As Morrigan’s granddaughter, Gwyn was powerful in her own right, but her pregnancy would not help in the upcoming battle. In fact, it would be a huge liability.
“The Demon Realm sits at the center of Dark World. It comprises several realms, but unless you go there, they are irrelevant. As I mentioned, I can do a few things without my corporeal form and will help search for the traitor who will help Fer-Diorich escape. Without the traitor’s help in thinning the veil early, the Dark Fae would not be able to escape the Unseelie Court early. I also have the power to stop the traitor?—”
“Wait,” Gwyn interrupted. “Why do you keep calling this person a traitor? Do you know who it is?”
“Like Ceridwen and your grandmother, and thanks to Dago’s verification, we believe it’s the Celtic-Fomorian god, Bres,” Rafael answered.
Zhivko nodded. “Ceridwen sent me to give you aid against him. Both she and Cernunnos believe he is the one who has helped build the Ironclaw army on this side of the veil and has kept Fer-Diorich appraised of everyone’s movements since you fought him last May. He has also brought in others, so you must be prepared for surprises. Cernunnos has been searching for any sign of where he’s holed up but has not yet found any hint of his hideout.”
“Merde,” Torin whispered, his hand clasping Gwyn’s and moving it to rest over his heart.
“Stop saying that word. Shit is not a nice word. As often as you say it, it had better not be our children’s first word.” Gwyn glared at her mate, but Rafael caught the slight twitch of her lips as if fighting back laughter.
Rafael glanced at Fáelán. “What do you know about Bres? I know nothing—haven’t heard of him.”
Fáelán walked to one of the shelves and pulled down a large, black, tooled leather book. Laying it on his research table behind them, he flipped through several pages before finding the one he wanted. He read through it and rested his paws on the table on either side of the book. “He is half Fomorian and half Fae—the Fae is on his mother’s side, who just happens to be the goddess ériu. Fortunately, her son took after his father, a Fomorian prince who was magicless. I will never understand how he was elected King of the Tuatha Dé Danann after King Nuada lost an arm in the battle against the Fir Bolg.”
His gaze once more skimmed the page in his book before meeting Rafael’s gaze. “Well, now I know. Bres took advantage of the situation and became the Fae leader. From historical accounts, he was a horrible king who couldn’t fulfill his duties. He imposed his selfish ideologies onto the Tuatha dé Danann, contributing to his eventual downfall. If Nuada hadn’t returned with his silver arm, he would have destroyed the Fae—at least, those in the Seelie Court. The Unseelie Court loved him.”
“Of course they did,” Morgan muttered. “Evil loves evil.” She raised her frown to her sister. “Sort of reminds me of stories we’ve been told about a certain Norse god, doesn’t it?”
Gwyn chuckled. “Loki—and it does.”
“Not all people, or gods, are represented exactly as they are, little sisters,” Zhivko said. “I have had dealings with Loki, and there are many sides to him—most unknown to others.”
Morgan looked contrite, which surprised Rafael. It wasn’t an expression he was used to seeing on her pretty face. For a split second, a burst of anger moved through him. He didn’t like seeing her that way. She was a force to be reckoned with, and this wasn’t her.
What had the recent trauma done to her? How much had it changed who she had been? He wasn’t comfortable pondering it, but if she was going to battle the Dark Fae, he had to know she was in the right frame of mind. Any hesitation would get her and her sister killed, and he wasn’t willing to accept that.
He had waited for this amazing woman for far too long and could not lose her now. Admitting how he felt, especially to her, was a different matter. Everyone he had ever loved had been ripped from his life, so holding people at arm’s length was instinctual.
He inhaled, pulling in the soothing scent of lavender and vanilla from the candles strategically placed around the room and the comforting scent of old books. He loved that smell almost as much as Fáelán. That was the one room he had not shown Morgan yet—his library. While nowhere near as impressive as Fáelán’s, it was still filled with all his favorite books for reading pleasure and research.
In his many travels, he accumulated copies of texts—papyri or stone tablets—from various sources throughout Western and Eastern countries that had been passed down from the libraries of the ancient world, such as Alexandria, Nineveh, Athens, and even Constantinople.
Maybe he could find something there to help in their search for Bres. Perhaps a mention of where he had slunk off to after his abysmal failure as king. He would never have been allowed to remain in Tír na nóg or the Seelie Court, but would he have gone to the Unseelie Court? Those there, including Fer-Diorich, would welcome his craftiness.
Far off, he heard his name and felt a jab against his arm. Pulling his attention back to the present, he glanced down, meeting Morgan’s glare as she stared at him. “Earth to Rafael—Torin called your name several times. Where did you go?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, lost in thought.” He turned his gaze to Torin. “What were you asking?”
Torin gave him a droll glare. “I asked if you had a plan.”
Rafael nodded. “That’s what I was pondering over. Something Fáelán said got me thinking about where Bres went after he was kicked out of Tír na nóg. Not that we know that for certain, but what pantheon would keep a traitor like that in their midst?” He held up his hand with a nod. “Yes, I know…Loki. But, like Zhivko just said, his character is not well known. He only lets people see what he wants them to see—much like I did with you all, no?”
Not wanting to see the condemnation in his brothers’ gazes, he stared at the dancing flames through Zhivko’s legs. “My gut tells me we must figure out where he went after leaving the kingship behind. When we find that location, we will find Bres and, hopefully, stop him from opening the veil.”
He stood and held out his hand to Morgan. Without hesitation, she laid her hand in his, his fingers curling around hers. “I need to look for something first, which shouldn’t take long. Zhivko, Morgan, and I will then go to search for Bres. Please let us know if anyone has a better plan because I’m winging it.”
Makari snorted. “Not the first time you’ve done that, nor will it be the last. Even though Torin is back from Alfheimr, we are still down one Immortal until Kilian returns. From what Torin said, though, the newly turned werewolves and draugar are working together better and should be ready for the upcoming battle here. They are…formidable, to say the least, and will be welcomed against the Dark Fae and his Berserkers.”
He stood, his great strength showing in his height and girth as he rose to his full height. “In the meantime, I will go with you. Getting out of here will do me good. I hate waiting around doing nothing and have been going stir-crazy. Lucan also will be here to help the others guard Gwyn.”
Morgan squeezed Rafael’s hand. He needs this—to feel worthy of something. Use your Fae senses. Of all the Immortals, Makari is the most broken. He needs to feel worthy and that he is helping. Don’t take that away from him.
Rafael met Makari’s black gaze and nodded, holding out his arm, indeed feeling his friend’s internal emotional war. Makari briefly stared at it before gripping Rafael’s elbow, Rafael’s hand only wrapping partway around his friend’s thick forearm. “You are more than welcome. Before this is over, we will need your brute strength more than ever, my friend.”
They left the others and traveled back through the cavern tunnels toward Rafael’s cottage. Just before they reached the door to his kitchen, he turned down a side tunnel, the space almost too narrow for Makari’s broad shoulders. If he was indeed going to open up his life and destroy the walls he had built around his heart all those years ago, he would begin now by sharing his most prized possession. His library.
“Rafael, where are we going? The house is in the other direction,” Morgan whispered in the tunnels’ silence. The only other sound was the soft dripping of the water as it seeped into the ceiling and down the small stalactites forming on the high ceiling above them.
He reached the old monastery door he had installed almost three hundred years ago and exhaled. His thumb sprung the latch, and before he changed his mind, he opened the door. Stepping inside his sanctuary, he glanced around the large room, trying to imagine what the others would see.
Every wall but one was filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves he had carved and built himself. The wall without bookshelves had been divided into two halves. One half held a large cabinet with slide-out drawers.
Each drawer was shallow and contained ancient manuscripts or stone tablets he had collected from archeological digs. Beside that stood a second cabinet filled with all sorts of ingredients for drinks and a French Press. An icemaker and a small refrigerator were under the countertop, which held a small sink.
In the center of the room was a small seating area with two wooden chairs, the marquetry-inlaid floor his Castilian culture was so famous for, and a matching coffee table. The round rug was woven in rich earth tones, and the plant details woven throughout were vibrant and homey.
“Oh, Rafael…” Morgan began, stepping in front of him, her hand sliding along the gentle slope of the chair as her gaze moved around the room. “This is amazing. So many books—” She met his gaze. “Does Fáelán know you have a library too?”
He shook his head. “You are the first ones I’ve ever brought here.” He waved his arm toward his precious books. “While I’m here, this is my sanctuary. I think each one of us deals with our lives differently. Fáelán and I have our books. Torin patrols. Kilian has his wolf pack and,” He nodded at the black wolf. “Makari, his weapons.”
He moved to the closest shelf and ran his finger down the ancient spine, feeling the crackling of leather under his skin. “I began collecting even before I was cursed. I went on one of the later crusades to see what I could find in the Holy Land and discovered a hidden cave deep underground with a few scrolls, much like the Dead Sea Scrolls, but there were quite a few more tablets piled in a sealed niche in one of the walls.”
He walked to the drawer cabinet and pulled out one of the shelves closest to the bottom, showing Makari and Morgan as they stopped beside him. “I made copies, which I have here, and turned the rest into the Antiquities Authority in Israel after its formation. I didn’t want my finds to end up on the Black Market or sold to the highest bidder, so I kept everything safe here.”
“Rafael, you need to show this one to Fáelán. He will know what needs to be done,” Zhivko said.
Turning his head, Rafael saw the demon pointing to one of his oldest books…more of a manual, but in terms of quality, it was one of his finest books. It had been given to him, along with several other books, by one of the Cistercian monks he had befriended near Burgundy, France, just before the Inquisition began.
He had found the pages tucked in the back of one of the more enormous tomes but had never really paid attention to it and couldn’t help but wonder why it had caught the demon’s attention.
“Why? It’s just a simple instruction booklet by one of the Cistercian monks I knew long ago.”
Small red flames blazed to life deep in Zhivko’s eyes. “Have you even read it?”
Rafael shook his head but walked to the bookshelf and pulled the slender leatherbound book from the shelf. His gaze landed on the gilded title, An Incomplete List of Otherworldly Beings and the Lands They Inhabit. His gaze speared Zhivko’s. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
The demon smiled. “Not yet, but there’s always hope something bad happens.”
Rafael rolled his eyes and opened the ancient cover. The tight leather, which had to be close to two thousand years old, didn’t even crackle. The ornately painted pages were pristine as if they had been created yesterday. He flipped a few of the pages until a name caught his attention. Bres .
“Could it be this easy?” he whispered and began reading. The section was short, lasting only a few pages, but it gave more information about the ex-Fae king than Fáelán’s book. This one, though, had a possible destination for them to search.
He glanced up at Morgan and Makari. “Zhivko’s right. This book has exactly what we need to begin our search. From what the Cistercian monk states, after Bres was kicked out of Tír na nóg, he traveled Europe for several years before digging himself a hole—quite literally—in the Austrian Alps. The locals believed it was an entrance to Hell, so they never bothered to explore it. Later, in 1879, a man named Anton Posselt decided to explore the area and discovered the ice caves, but due to the beginning of World War I, he couldn’t complete the exploration. The labyrinth is almost twenty-five miles, and some off-shoot caverns still haven’t been explored.”
Morgan grinned up at Makari. Rocking back on her heels, her grin turned to Rafael, widening into a beautiful smile as she met Rafael’s gaze. “Anyone up for spelunking?”
Zhivko frowned. “That’s an actual word?”
She nodded. “Sure is. My sister and I, along with our parents, used to explore cave systems all over the world. Waitomo Cave in New Zealand is magnificent. Millions of glowworms are inside, and seeing the blue glow from their webs is breathtaking. Gwyn and I returned after our parents died—it was our mother’s favorite place.”
Zhivko nodded. “We have thousands of caverns in Dark World, although none sound as amazing as Waitomo. When I am able to leave the Unseelie Court, maybe Dago and I can go see it for ourselves.” His body dimmed, and he glanced off at something none of them could see. “I need to return to my body for a while but will meet you at the Austrian cave?—”
“It’s called Eisriesenwelt, near the town of Werfen,” Rafael added and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s eight now and night, so we will be able to drive, keeping Makari out of sight. We will meet you inside the cave entrance at seven in the morning.
Zhivko nodded and his image faded from view. Morgan took the book from Rafael and sat down, rereading the excerpt about the man they were after—the man who could jeopardize the entire Multiverse.