Soul of Fire

Chapter 11

Tyler had heard the queen’s conversation with Martin, the whispers that followed. His expectations of supernaturals at this point had faded into a wary and weary acceptance: unlike the preters, none of them had tried to hurt him, and some of them had seemed almost decent. Martin...

Martin had helped bring him out of the Other Place. Martin and Jan were friends. Maybe something more than friends, which should have pissed him off, but who was Tyler to judge at this point? He had been dumb enough to go with Stjerne, thinking with his dick instead of either his brain or his heart.

Martin kept Jan safe. That was more than he had been able to do, ever.

The thing was, overall, he didn’t mind supernaturals, not back at the Farm and not here. So, while the whispers about the return of the gnomes made him cautious, he wasn’t prepared for what came in.

They were not small, not like the brownies. He had thought they would be. Their skin was the greenish-yellow of moss, the kind that probably glowed under black lights, and it looked too slick, too damp, as though they were amphibious. Maybe they were. Their heads were bald, their arms too long, and Tyler thought that he was hallucinating before he realized that, no, their bodies were changing as they walked, expanding and contracting, seemingly unrelated pulses, fingers lengthening, bodies hunching, thighs expanding and then contracting down to sticks.

There were four of them, he determined, walking in tight formation, a cadre that seemed to have only one awareness, allowing them to move together that way.

“We are returned,” one of them said when they stopped in front of Nalith’s chair. Martin had taken a step back, away from the throne, and was watching them the way you might a dog you weren’t sure was rabid or not.

“So you have,” Nalith said.

“You promised us rewards,” the lead gnome said. It stepped in front of the other three and seemed to rise in height—not much, but enough that it could look her in the eye. Its face was more defined now, but that only meant that Tyler was aware of its mouth, oval shaped and filled with too many teeth. Like a suckerfish crossed with a shark, and that thought wasn’t at all relaxing. Nor was the next one, driven by way too many hours watching Animal Planet reruns. These things were not just meat eaters; they were carrion eaters. No wonder everyone had taken a step back. He suspected they didn’t much care what flesh they gnawed on.

Then one of them slewed its head around and looked directly at him, its eye red-black and glittering, and Tyler amended that. They might not care but clearly thought human was the most tasty. He reached for the sachet the witch had given him, tucked into his pocket. It didn’t bring him as much comfort as he’d hoped.

“You were rewarded enough in your actions and the pleasure you took in them,” Nalith said, and while her face was still calm, Tyler heard the warning in her voice. So, too, apparently, did the gnomes, because they shifted their feet but did not say anything more.

“Return to your campsite,” Nalith told them. “You are not suited for this room, and this room is not suited to you.”

There was a pause as everyone tried to figure out who had been insulted the most, and then the cadre of gnomes turned and headed back for the door. The supers who had filled in the space behind, the better to watch the show, now scrambled to get out of their way, as though afraid one of the four might reach out to touch them.

Tyler understood that fear. He had seen more terrifying things. He had been strapped into a chair of thorns and had his will torn from him. He had become nothing but a vessel for another’s will—and even he would not willingly suffer one of those creatures to touch him.

There was evil, and it was a sometimes beautiful, bitter thing. But gnomes were not evil, nothing that pure. They were sheer selfish greed, of the sort that could be nothing but ooze and blister.

“You should not let them back, my lady.” One of the supers spoke first into the silence after the gnomes left, after the slam of the door said they had gone outside.

“I should not?” Nalith’s tone was gentle, almost amused, and Tyler’s knees trembled, remembering again the sweet bramble of Stjerne’s voice as she told him to give in, to relent, to be nothing but hers. Every nerve, every atom of his body screamed anger, screamed at him to run, to hide, to stay very still and pray that he wasn’t noticed. Every nerve and atom except the ones deep inside, in the darkest, coldest place of himself, that told him to give in, to accept what he was, what he would always be.

“My lady.” The speaker tried to dig himself out. “I—”

“I will not be defied,” she said, her voice still soft, gentle. “Kelpie.”

Tyler had seen Martin transform before. Or rather, he hadn’t seen it, his eyes forcing themselves shut and opening again only when the man was gone and the beast remained, but he knew the feel of magic pressing on him. He had not realized it could be done so swiftly, though. Nalith had only just given her order when the kelpie struck, gleaming black hooves staving the super’s skull in like a pumpkin after frost.

“Fuck me,” someone murmured, more awed than horrified, and Tyler swallowed back the bile that had risen in his throat. The show of strength, of indifference, was all that had saved him before. He would not break now. He would not let this preter break him, when others—Stjerne, his memory whispered. Lovely, cruel Stjerne—had failed.

Martin had not changed back, standing four legged in the cleared center of the room, his victim underneath him, as though waiting for another challenge to appear, another order to be given.

When none came, he snorted, cold amusement clear in the sound, and stepped backward until he paused by Nalith’s chair, hooves picking delicately across the hardwood floor. His eyes were bright yellow, his mane caked in blood, and there was nothing gentle or tame about him at all. Even Nalith did not dare to rest her hand on his neck or touch that shoulder. The kelpie killed on her order, but it was no pet, no tool to be picked up without caution.

Tyler exhaled slightly, remembering the Martin who had stolen a car and driven them here, who had gone Under the Hill with Jan to bring him back out. The Martin who held Jan’s hand, as if it gave them both comfort. Not tame, no. But not a danger to him here now.

It was just everything else he needed to worry about.

The music was loud, the bass thumping deep enough that hearts regulated themselves to its meter, blood pulsed to its rhythm, bodies swaying in unison throughout the club. Despite that, Harry could hear every word the blonde said, as though they were alone in an empty room.

“You are sweet.” The woman leaned in, her finger tracing the line of his jaw, her nail short but sharp against his skin. Normally being called “sweet” was the kiss of death to your chances, but the way she said it implied less kittens and teddy bears and more tangled sheets and hot wax. His pupils expanded, and his body leaned toward her, drawn by some unseen thread.

“Yeah, I—”

“Stop playing with him, Erini,” a voice interrupted. “Either take him or be done.”

“Hey.” Harry turned to face the intruder, more upset at another male coming near this hottie than what the man had actually said. “The lady and I were talking.”

“My apologies,” the guy said, showing too-perfectly-white teeth in something that wasn’t really a smile.

Harry blinked, his normal reaction utterly derailed. He wasn’t gay, but the guy was seriously hot, too. In fact, he had the same narrow, high-cheekboned face the woman, whatever her name was, had, only on him it didn’t look delicate at all. Metrosexual, yeah, that was the word. Same huge eyes, too, greenish, with those same weird pupils.

“Huh.” He looked back at the woman, considered the two of them, then shrugged, giving them both his best “I’m a good guy” smile. “Your sister, huh? I promise I’ll take good care of her.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” the guy said, and Jesus, that was a creepy-ass smile that made Harry start to reconsider if he wanted to go anywhere with anyone related to this guy, no matter how much his dick was urging him on.

“Indeed,” the woman purred, and her finger left his face, scraping along his chest, lingering just above his belt, an implicit promise of what could happen if she went farther. The fog drifted back into his brain until he forgot everything else, all his concerns.

“Will you come with me?” she asked. “Step away from all this, be mine, and I will be yours? All you need to do is come with me, here and now.”

“Yeah. Sure, why not?”

With a triumphant smile, she took his hand and he let her lead him out of the bar, abandoning his buddies, his drink, his jacket, all lost in the musk-scented fog that had engulfed him.

Behind them, the man remained in the bar, casting a jaded look around the room and seeing no human he felt the urge to charm. He fondled the cell phone in his coat pocket, the unfamiliar tech-magic a talisman of sorts, a reminder and a promise that this exile was a temporary one.

Only hours through the portal, and already he wanted to return home. But he could not, not until their mission was completed.

Before they were sent here, the consort had gathered them together, courtiers and their human pets. It had been an honor and a warning: do not fail. They had expected the consort to speak. Instead, it had been Ylster who’d stepped into the moment. The adviser had not spoken in the court since the queen had disappeared, spending all his energies in finding and tracking her, the strongest of them stretched too far and too thin to waste any energies on something as pointless as speech.

All faith is magic, Ylster had said, his gaze far beyond what they could see. Belief is power. The stronger the humans cling to their faith, the more vulnerable they are to us. This has always been so. They have merely changed their focus, and it has taken us a while to catch up. But now they put their faith in tools, in things that may be manipulated...and controlled.

We will use their faith to power ourselves, and they will thank us for it. Their need for us has always been greater than their desire to be free. Remember that, and do what you must.

One human per hunter was enough to bring them to this world, to open a portal large enough for them to enter and depart at will. But that was merely a step, not the goal. The consort had commanded them to enter this realm, to englamour all they could, to ensure that the portals remain open.

More humans, emptied and bound to the portal-magic, using their faith and desires to tie them to both realms. That was their purpose here, so that the queen would be returned, the consort satisfied. But Erini was hunting because she enjoyed the hunt, going after difficult targets rather than those already half-englamoured by their own desires and dreams.

He shook his head, a gesture he had adopted from this world. He had no interest in human prey; they were soft and easily distracted. Better to go after the others he could smell, circling them mere hours after they crossed through the portal. Not human: the otherfolk of this realm, the so-called supernaturals. Lesser creatures, not useful to the consort’s plan but still dangerous. The supernaturals had already interfered on several occasions, interfering with the acquisition of humans, interfering with portals, and most notably in stealing a portal-keeper from the very court itself.

He had not been there for that, but hearing of it later had made him laugh. Stjerne had lost control of her creature and been punished for it. He would not make that mistake, no matter how many he took in his string.

More, he would not make the error of thinking of humans as anything other than tools. No, he would obey the consort in this as in all things, especially if it hastened their goal, but not for personal enjoyment. The sooner this was done, the sooner they could go home. Unlike Erini, unlike their missing queen, he did not like this realm. There was too much noise, too much...fuss here. The sooner they could subdue it and return, the more pleased he would be.

Seeing two women leaning against the bar, exchanging quips with the man behind it, he smoothed down the leather of his jacket and moved through the crowd. Three at once would at least be a challenge, if he must remain here. Boredom was not to be tolerated.

Cam had taken his queen at her word. The moment the humans had taken their attention away from the two houses they had cleansed, he had directed three each of his pack to take up residence. The computer in the basement of the court kept them connected, although for the most part there was nothing to be communicated. They would establish the houses, set up protective warding, and await instructions. His instructions, not hers.

He checked the email every day, nonetheless. They played a dangerous game, one that could collapse any moment, and his encounter with the human female outside earlier had left him with a vague sense of unease, as though someone had spilled something somewhere and left it there. He might resent the way brownie senses were attuned to whatever house they chose to serve, but he would not ignore those warning signs out of spite. The outer courts needed to remain safe, both for Herself’s sake and their own plans.

The preter’s decision to claim humans for her court had been unexpected and disturbing. Humans shoved in, took the glory, the greater share of power, every time. And so he had planted the seed in the human’s mind, set her to thinking of escape. Nalith needed to depend on them, not humans.

Despite her strength, despite their care, something hovered, crept around the borders. He could not see it, but he felt it. If Nalith did not as well, if she were distracted by her new toys... No. He would not doubt her. He would be ready, and when she had a plan, she would inform him of it.

In the meantime, he would clear the court of these interlopers without any blame for their misfortune falling back on him, and their own plans would go forward. Not to be masters of the world, no, but the whisper in the ear of the mistress of the world. That was always where power lay.