Fever - Burned Part 44

If, after seeing it, she still insists upon her freedom, he may consider granting it. May consider her lost to him forever.

But most likely not.

He does not tell her any of that.

She inhales sharply. "You would let me go?"

"Finest hours," he says. "You must have heard that part, too."

"I heard also that you believe this world you claim you can save is doomed."

He does not answer, merely stands, enjoying the warmth of her body near his, the sweetness of her breath on his face.

She disparages, "You would deceive me for a single kiss."

"I would raze worlds for a single kiss."

"Try saving one, for far more than that."

"The fabric of their Universe is damaged. Without the song, it is not possible."

She says, "You are the Unseelie King. You will find a way."

"That sounds suspiciously like faith in me," he mocks.

"You see faith where only a challenge has been issued. Will you fail?"

He lowers his head again, until their lips are nearly touching. "Kiss me as if you remember me. Inspire this wild G.o.d as once you did. Incite poetry and fire with your pa.s.sion and perhaps I'll find a way."

She looks up at him and s.h.i.+vers, then places her small, lovely hands on his face and it's his turn to shudder. She's touching him. Of her own volition. Music dances on his skin, translating from her palms into his very being. A stolen touch can never compete with a voluntary touch of hunger, pa.s.sion, desire. The aria of choice is joyous, the cacophony of force brutal, ugly, and cold.

She kisses him reluctantly, barely brus.h.i.+ng her warm lips to his icy ones.

This time, unlike so many others, he doesn't take charge, or seek to deepen the kiss. Merely stands after the agony of half a million years of grieving this woman, basking in his first moment free of pain. Breathes it, inhales it, allows the particles of his being the chance to become for a single glorious moment something other than drawn in tightly upon himself in a frozen, eternal shudder of denial and crus.h.i.+ng loss. Regret is poison that kills the soul.

She cries out against his lips, draws back and looks up at him. "Such grief! It is too much. I cannot endure it!"

"If you believe nothing else I tell you, my queen, believe my pain. Consider the cause."

Then he is gone.

40.

"There's a beast and I let it run"

MAC.

Five days later, a full eight days since Barrons was killed on the top of the mountain, he's still not back and I'm edgy as h.e.l.l and only a minor part of it is due to being in the full throes of Unseelie-flesh withdrawal. The fact that I know he always comes back doesn't mean I can't still think of a gazillion reasons to worry.

I don't know where the Nine are "reborn." I don't how far away it is. I don't even know if it's on this planet. What if he gets stuck in an IFP? What if he tries to hurry, risks taking a plane and encounters a black hole? Would it kill him again and he'd be reborn, or like K'Vruck, does this strange new Fae-fabricated development on our world possess the ability to really, truly kill him?

In the past, it's taken him as few as four days to return. However, it took him nearly a month to make it back to Dublin after Ryodan and I killed him on that cliff in Faery. It's the second time he's died on a cliff. I make a mental note to avoid cliffs with Barrons in the future.

I won't survive another three weeks. I'm driving myself crazy.

I'm still invisible and beginning to feel like the real emotional and mental me is getting sketchy around the edges, with no one to see me, and no reflection in the mirror. I've begun to worry I might fade entirely away.

I don't have the heart to visit my parents and try to explain why I'm invisible.

The Book still hasn't stirred once, not since the day it made me vanish, which continues to freak me out. I've begun to wonder if something happened to it. Surely it doesn't plan to leave me invisible forever. While I love the power and safety from my enemies it confers, I'm getting a little tired of looking in the mirror and seeing nothing. I like seeing me. I like Barrons seeing me, watching his dark eyes get heavy-lidded and hot with desire.

I can't put on makeup. I tried to blow my hair dry a few days ago and succeeded only in scorching my eyebrows and drying out my eyes. It's been weeks since I did my nails. I can't even see them to take the polish off. Yesterday I was struck by a sudden fear I was going to get fat and wouldn't even know it. I had to dash out and find a scale in a nearby house and weigh myself. Unfortunately, every time I stepped on it, I turned the scale invisible, too. You don't realize how rea.s.suring it is to see yourself every day until you can't anymore. Last night, while pacing the bookstore, I found a book called The Invisible Man and decided to read it to see how he handled things, but I couldn't bear the suspense of his struggles so I skipped to the end.

Then I tossed the freaking book across the room.

Oh, yeah, don't want to stay this way forever.

I've taken to haunting Chester's at least once, sometimes twice, a day looking for Ryodan, eavesdropping for word of Barrons, but I haven't caught a glimpse of the owner of Chester's since two nights ago when he brought the Highlander's body back. What little of it he was able to recover. Last time I was there, it appeared Fade was running the club.

The Keltar returned to Scotland the moment they had Dageus's remains, taking Christian with them, and I'd finally seen the elusive Colleen-that was a woman I was looking forward to meeting again, under better circ.u.mstances-to hold a High Druid burial with all the living Keltar in attendance. I'd stood watching as they left, hearing mournful bagpipes in my head, tempted to attend, unwilling to leave my city and miss Barrons's return.

Five days and four long silent nights in the bookstore. I don't sleep in our lair beneath the garage when he's not here. It makes me feel small and alone. I've been tossing restlessly on the chesterfield, waiting for the bell to tinkle.

I fidget with the cuff I slipped on my wrist shortly after Jada dropped it. At least now neither Seelie nor Unseelie can harm me. If Cruce is to be believed.

On the topic of Cruce, I wonder what's happening at the abbey, if Jada really has been able to stop the transformation of our mother house, and if she was the one that closed the doors to the cavern where he's imprisoned. I wonder what things she learned, lost in the Silvers for five and a half years. I'd head out there to see for myself but am currently obsessed with remaining close to the bookstore. In a few more days I might get resigned to the waiting and go take a look around.

The moment Jada had my spear she went on a killing spree. The next day the Dublin Daily reported hundreds of Fae dead.

And the next.

And the next.

I suspect she was making up for her failure to protect the Highlander.

Jada wasn't lying. She certainly does kill.

Eavesdropping at Chester's yesterday, I heard Fae have begun projecting glamour again, concealing their otherworldliness, in an effort to blend with humans, elude Jada's lethal spear.

Which makes sidhe-seers even more critical now.

I blow out a frustrated breath. I haven't been by Chester's since last night. Time for my rounds. "Come on, Barrons," I mutter. "Get your a.s.s back here." I leave a note on the table by the couch in case he returns and bang out the door into the night.

I slip into Chester's when a group of drunken revelers stumble out. I pause a moment at the bal.u.s.trade, looking down over the many subclubs, but see no sign of Ryodan. I don't bother looking for Barrons. I know he'd return to the bookstore, to me, before he went anywhere else.

There's Jo, looking dainty and pretty, hair spiky and tousled around her face, waitressing in the short tartan skirt, baby doll pumps, and crisp white blouse uniform of the kiddie subclub. I'm glad to see she didn't let Ryodan drive her away.

Sean O'Bannion sits with four big, tough-looking men, heads close together, talking quietly at the Sinatra bar. I wonder if Kat's back from wherever she went, if she's okay, if they're still together.

Over by the stairs are Lor and another of the Nine I've not seen before, tall, dark, cut as h.e.l.l, and hot in a Jason Statham way, with a full dark shadow beard and intense eyes. I smile faintly when Lor's gaze repeatedly sweeps the many clubs, to linger on Jo. His mouth changes when he watches her. I know that look. He's thinking about f.u.c.king.

Barrons. G.o.d. I need that man to come back.

Fade is patrolling, watching everything, ready for the slightest disturbance.

I slip down the stairs and head across the club, walk slowly and carefully between Lor and the Jason Statham bouncer so as not to create the slightest breeze, and hurry up the chrome staircase to the private floors.

I'm not leaving tonight without snooping a bit. If I set off an alarm, so be it. I'm restless, bored, and invisible. A dangerous thing for any woman to be.

I ponder what I most want to see: the mysterious s.e.x club the Nine are rumored to have? Nope. It would just get my already twisted, neglected panties in a worse twist. Try to find their private residences? Hmmm. That might be interesting. Steal Ryodan's dark blade so I could control Papa Roach?

Wow. I'm stilled by the marvelous thought.

If he's in there, I'll just pretend I was looking for him to ask if he'd seen Barrons yet.

Ditto, if one of the others is in there.

I can't believe I didn't think of this before! All weapons, good.

I head straight for his office, peer up and down the hallway to make sure no one's looking, press my hand to the panel and slip inside.

It's empty.

Just me and Ryodan's high-tech, two-way gla.s.s headquarters lined with gadgets, and high at the perimeter those countless hi-def cameras upon which he watches the sordid and varied details of his club. The arrogance of the man, thinking his bouncers at the bottom of the stairs guarantee sufficient security.

I head straight for his desk. The knife is no longer there. Like the office, it too is empty. I stand, looking around, trying to spot it, then fiddle with the bottom of his desk to open the hidden panel where he'd stored Jada's contract, deciding he probably put it away for safekeeping.

When the panel slides out, I'm disappointed to find it empty. I move around to the other side of his desk and drop down into his chair, trying to think like him, decide where I would put it if I were Ryodan.

I consider the hidden panel. If I were him, I'd have a panel on this side of the desk, too. I reach beneath the drawer, groping for anomalies in the smooth wood.

There are none. I press gingerly, walking my fingers gently around on the bottom of the desk, down the legs, around the many carvings.

Got it!

A tiny notch in the center of an ornate scroll.

When the second panel slides out, I'm once again disappointed. No knife. Just rows and rows of square black b.u.t.tons like those on a computer keyboard. None of them are labeled. Just smooth black b.u.t.tons. I have no clue what they're for.

I poise a finger above one of them, debating. Knowing Ryodan, I could inadvertently blow the whole club if I push the wrong one.

I sigh. Surely not. Surely he'd make it red if it was the destruct b.u.t.ton, right?

Holding my breath, I poke the first one on the left.

Nothing happens.

I glance around the office quickly to see if some other hidden panel suddenly slid silently out. As far as I see, nothing has changed. I punch the one next to it.

Again nothing.

I punch four more in quick succession.

Not a d.a.m.n thing. What the h.e.l.l are these b.u.t.tons for?

I blow out an exasperated breath, lean back in his chair, prop my feet on the desk, fold my arms behind my head and close my eyes, imagining I'm him, trying to fathom what he might want so close at hand.

I pretend I'm Ryodan, sitting in his office, where he watches the world on his monitors, where he receives reconnaissance, where he controls and nudges the fine details of his kingdom.

Still stymied, I open my eyes and stare around the room.

The monitors. Holy cow. There must be places in his club he likes to keep tabs on that he prefers no one else see.

I kick my boots off the desk and sit up straight. This time when I begin punching b.u.t.tons, I keep a close eye on the screens on the wall directly in front of me.

Aha! Just as I thought, these control his private cameras! The ones that monitor places visitors don't get to see.

The first one on the left makes the image of the main stairs speckle out on the seventh screen from the right and reveals their kitchens.

Oops, guess he knows I was regularly raiding them while I stayed here.

A white-haired man with burning eyes stands at the counter, eating ... oh, no. I didn't want to see that. I punch it off hastily.

The second b.u.t.ton wipes out a shot of the kiddie subclub (apparently he liked to keep an eye on Jo) to reveal a dark, shadowy room, ornately paneled with a lovely transom ceiling. It's empty.

I keep my eyes trained on the cameras at the ceiling in front of his desk. The third b.u.t.ton causes the live feed of the Sinatra subclub to vanish, replacing it with an overhead shot of a state-of-the-art gym, paneled with mirrors.

Kasteo is stretched out on a weight bench, pumping iron, ma.s.sive muscles rippling as he does deep, wide flies. He's bare-chested and as heavily scarred as the others.

To his left, nearly lost in shadow, a woman lies, similarly supine, mimicking his movements with smaller dumbbells.

I gasp, and push slowly to my feet. I don't believe my eyes. I hurry around the desk and stand directly beneath the monitor a few feet above my head. "Kat?" I exclaim softly. "Kat is working out with Kasteo? What the h.e.l.l?" Is she here of her own choice? Did Kasteo abduct her? Did Ryodan lock her away with him? He'd pretended not to have any idea where the missing headmistress had gone!

I watch for a few moments then hurry back around the desk. I want to know everything. This is unbelievable.

I punch the next b.u.t.ton. A shot of the bal.u.s.trade at the entry vanishes and I see a long shadowy corridor. Lor is stalking down it, and I wonder where he's going in such a hurry. I lose him and punch the next b.u.t.ton. As I'd hoped, I'm able to follow him down the hallway. I punch three more b.u.t.tons tracking him through what I realize must be the servers' wing. When I punch the fifth, I gasp again as Lor reaches out, grabs Jo from behind and spins her around. I see their mouths moving, she's angry, he's p.i.s.sed, too, but I can't hear a word. I study the panel irritably, feeling cheated by my reality TV, trying to locate a volume b.u.t.ton but no such luck. When I glance back up, Lor has Jo turned around, facing the wall, shoved against it. He's holding both her hands in one of his, trapped against the cool gla.s.s surface.

I can see her profile. She's not angry anymore. She's turned on as h.e.l.l.

With his other hand he undoes his belt, shoves her short skirt up, and before I can give them the privacy the moment demands, he's up against her, pus.h.i.+ng inside her.