Darkfever_The Fever Series Read online

  “Okay, Barrons, it’s time.”

  “I am not helping you shave your legs,” he said instantly.

  “Oh please. As if I’d let you. I meant for questions.”

  “Oh.”

  “What are you?” I dumped the question on him like a bucket of ice water.

  “I don’t follow,” he said with one those elegant Gallic shrugs.

  “You dropped thirty feet in that warehouse. You should have broken something. You should have broken two somethings—like legs. What are you?”

  There was another of those shrugs. “A man with a rope?”

  “Ha-ha. I didn’t see one.”

  “I can’t help that.” The look he gave me was dry, bored, and just enough to make me doubt what I’d seen that night. After all, I had been pretty wigged out at the time. I couldn’t absolutely guarantee there hadn’t been one of those sophisticated thin cables thieves always used in movies. I tried another tactic. “You sent Mallucé flying through the air. Smashing into pallets, then a forklift.”

  “I’m strong, Ms. Lane. Would you like to feel my muscles?” He showed his teeth but it wasn’t really a smile and we both knew it. Two weeks ago it would have intimidated me.

  “I don’t care how strong you are. Mallucé is superstrong. He’s a vampire.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. His followers seem to think he’s dead.”

  “Oh, happy day,” I said fervently. “One down.” Only a thousand or so to go, in my estimation, though I was afraid I might be way off, as in seriously underestimating.

  “Don’t celebrate yet, Ms. Lane. Don’t believe anything dead until you’ve burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them.”

  “You’re kidding. Some things are that hard to kill?”

  “Some things, Ms. Lane,” he said, beginning the second coat of my manicure, “are impossible to kill. However, I’m not certain Mallucé was one of them. It remains to be seen.”

  I fired my next question at him. “Why do the Shades let you walk in the Dark Zone, Barrons?”

  He painted my entire index finger pink. Then had the nerve to glare up at me, as if I’d done it.

  “Darn it, Barrons, they were looking good until you did that!” I yanked my hand away. “Dampen one of those cotton balls with this.” I thrust a bottle of polish remover at him.

  He took it, with a hard look. “You spy on me, Ms. Lane?”

  “Serendipity, Barrons. I just happened to be glancing out the window when you happened to be doing something nefarious, which only makes me wonder how many nefarious things you’re doing when I’m not glancing out the window. Where’s the Maybach?”

  An instant smile curved his lips; the quick, possessive smile of a man with a new toy. “O’Bannion didn’t need it anymore. The police don’t even see the—what did you call it—Dark Zone? It would have sat there forever. What a waste.”

  “Oh, you are just cold,” I breathed. “That man wasn’t even dead a day.”

  “Spoils of war, Ms. Lane.”

  “Couldn’t you have at least moved those piles while you were at it?”

  He shrugged. “You quit seeing them after a while.”

  I hoped not. It would mean a part of me was as dead as him. “What kind of deal do you have with the Shades, Barrons?”

  I expected evasion, even a counterquestion, but I wasn’t prepared for the one he lashed back at me with. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d encountered V’lane, Ms. Lane?” he said silkily.

  I jerked. “How did you know?”

  “V’lane told me.”

  “How do you know V’lane?” I demanded indignantly.

  “I know everything, Ms. Lane,” he said.

  “Oh really?” I said, saccharine-sweet. “Then who and what is the Lord Master? Answer me that.” Not Fae, for sure. But he hadn’t seemed … altogether human, either.

  “Your sister’s boyfriend,” he said flatly, “and knowing that, just what should I make of you?” When I stared at him blankly, he said, “I found the photos in your jacket.”

  I nearly smacked myself in the forehead. The pictures! I’d forgotten all about the things I’d looted from the Lord Master’s residence. “Where did you put the other things that were in my jacket?” I asked. I couldn’t recall having seen either the two albums or the Franklin Planner in my bedroom. I needed to go over her calendar with a fine-tooth comb. There could be all kinds of valuable information in there: names, addresses, dates.

  “There wasn’t anything else in your jacket.”

  “There was too,” I protested.

  He shook his head.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  I searched his face. Was he telling me the truth? Had they fallen out while I’d been fighting? Or had he taken them for some reason? With a sinking feeling, I realized I might just have to go back to 1247 LaRuhe again to be certain. “I didn’t know he was my sister’s boyfriend, Barrons,” I defended. “She didn’t, either. Remember her message? She said he’d been lying to her all along. That he was one of them and she never knew it until then. He tricked and betrayed her,” I said bitterly. “There, I answered your question. Now you answer mine. Why do the Shades let you walk in the Dark Zone?”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time, just glossed my nails a topcoat and touched up my cuticles in silence. He was better than most nail technicians; the man was a perfectionist. I’d just about given up hope of him answering when he said, “We all have our … gifts, Ms. Lane. You are a Null. I am … other things. What I am not—is your enemy. Nor am I in league with the Shades. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

  “It’d be a whole lot easier to trust you if you’d just answer my question.”

  “I don’t know why you ask, anyway. I could lie to you a million ways to Sunday. Look at my actions. Who saved your life?”

  “Yeah, well, OOP-detectors don’t work so hot dead, do they?” I pointed out.

  “I managed just fine before you came along, Ms. Lane, and would have continued swimmingly without you. Yes, you can find OOPs, but frankly, my life was a great deal less complicated before you barreled into my bookstore.” He sighed. “Bloody hell, I miss those days.”

  “Sorry I’ve been such an inconvenience,” I retorted, “but my life hasn’t exactly been a bowl of cherries since then, either.” We were both quiet for a time, looking into the night, thinking our own thoughts. “Well, at least now I know who killed Alina,” I said finally.

  He looked at me sharply. “Did you hear something in that warehouse I missed, Ms. Lane?”

  “Well, duh, her boyfriend was the Lord Master and she didn’t know it. She must have followed him one day and found out who and what he was, just like I did. And he killed her for it.” It was so obvious I couldn’t believe Barrons didn’t see it himself.

  But he didn’t. Skepticism was written all over his face.

  “What?” I said. “Am I missing something? Are you saying I shouldn’t go after him?”

  “Oh, we should definitely go after him,” Barrons said. “Note the ‘we’ in that sentence, Ms. Lane. Head off one more time by yourself after something big and bad, and I’ll hurt you worse than the monsters do. I want the Lord Master dead if only for one reason: I don’t want any more bloody damned Unseelie in my city. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life it’s this: assume makes an ass out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’ ”

  “Cute,” I said, spelling ass-u-me out in my head.

  “I’m not trying to be cute. I’m saying don’t assume you know who your sister’s killer is until you’ve got solid evidence in your hand or a confession. Assumptions,” he said darkly, “can make even worse things than an ass out of the best of us.”

  I was about to ask him “like what?” when I was suddenly so nauseous that I couldn’t speak. Bile splashed the back of my throat without warning and somebody suddenly poked a knife through my skull—a twelve-inch-long blade I j
ust knew had to be sticking out both temples.

  I lurched to my feet, crashed into the table, and ruined every last one of my nails trying to catch myself. I would have hit the ground and probably rebroken my arm if Barrons hadn’t grabbed me. I think I vomited.

  Right before I passed out.

  When I regained consciousness, I was lying in the chaise and Barrons was bending over me, his expression stark. “What?” he demanded. “What just happened to you, Ms. Lane?”

  “Oh G-God,” I said faintly. I’d never felt anything like that before and never wanted to again. That was it. I was going home. Abandoning it all. Quest for vengeance—over. I quit. I was turning in my formal sidhe-seer notice.

  “What?” he demanded again.

  “I c-c-can’t st-stop sh-sh-sh …” I trailed off. “Shivering” was what I was trying to say, but my teeth were chattering too hard for me to get it out. My blood was ice in my veins. I was cold, so cold. I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again.

  Barrons shrugged off his jacket and draped it over me. “Better?” He waited all of two seconds. “So? What?” he asked impatiently.

  “It w-was here,” I finally managed, gesturing with my good arm toward the edge of the roof. “Somewhere d-down there. I think it was in a c-car. It was moving fast. It’s g-gone now.”

  “What was here? What’s gone?”

  With a last violent shiver, I got my chattering under control. “What do you think, Barrons?” I said. “The Sinsar Dubh.” I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I knew something about that elusive book I’d not known before: It was so evil it corrupted anyone who touched it—no exceptions. “Oh God, we’re in a world of trouble, aren’t we?” I breathed.

  Though neither of us had brought it up, I knew we’d both been thinking about all those Unseelie who’d come through the dolmen that day and were even now being introduced into our world, trained to cast glamours so they could interact with us, and prey on us.

  When everything is in place, the Lord Master had said, I will open the portal and unleash the entire Unseelie prison on this world.

  I had no idea how big the Unseelie prison was and never wanted to know. But I had an awful feeling we were going to find out.

  “Are there more sidhe-seers out there, Barrons?” I asked. “Besides us?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. Because we’re going to need them.” A war was coming. I could feel it in my bones. A war to end all wars.

  And Mankind didn’t even know it.

  Glossary from Mac’s Journal

  DARK ZONE: an area that has been taken over by the Shades. During the day it looks like your everyday abandoned, rundown neighborhood. Once night falls, it’s a death-trap. (Definition Mac)

  DEATH-BY-SEX-FAE (e.g. V’lane): A Fae that is so sexually “potent” a human dies from intercourse with it unless the Fae protects the human from the full impact of its deadly eroticism. (Definition ongoing)

  DRUID: In pre-Christian Celtic society, a Druid presided over divine worship, legislative and judicial matters, philosophy, and the education of elite youth to their order. Druids were believed to be privy to the secrets of the gods, including issues pertaining to the manipulation of physical matter, space, and even time. The old Irish “Drui” means magician, wizard, diviner. (Irish Myths and Legends)

  FAE (fay): see also Tuatha Dé Danaan. Divided into two courts, the Seelie or Light Court, and the Unseelie or Dark Court. Both courts have different castes of Fae, with the four Royal Houses occupying the highest caste of each. The Seelie Queen and her chosen consort rule the Light Court. The Unseelie King and his current concubine govern the Dark. (Definition J.B.)

  FOUR STONES, THE: translucent blue-black stones covered with raised rune-like lettering. The key to deciphering the ancient language and breaking the code of the Sinsar Dubh is hidden in these four mystical stones. An individual stone can be used to shed light on a small portion of the text, but only if the four are reassembled into one will the true text in its entirety be revealed. (Irish Myths and Legends)

  GLAMOUR: illusion cast by the Fae to camouflage their true appearance. The more powerful the Fae, the more difficult it is to penetrate its disguise. The average human sees only what the Fae wants them to see, and is subtly repelled from bumping into or brushing against it by a small perimeter of spatial distortion that is part of the Fae glamour. (Definition J.B.)

  GRAY MAN, THE: monstrously ugly, leprous Unseelie that feeds by stealing beauty from human women. Threat assessment: can kill, but prefers to leave its victim hideously disfigured and alive to suffer. (Personal experience)

  HALLOWS: eight ancient relics of immense power: four light and four dark. The Light Hallows are the stone, the spear, the sword, and the cauldron. The Dark are the mirror, the box, the amulet, and the book (Sinsar Dubh or Dark Book). (A Definitive Guide to Artifacts; Authentic and Legendary)

  MANY-MOUTHED THING, THE: repulsive Unseelie with myriad leechlike mouths, dozens of eyes, and overdeveloped sex organs. Caste of Unseelie: unknown at this time. Threat assessment: unknown at this time but suspect kills in a manner I’d rather not think about. (Personal experience)

  NULL: a sidhe-seer with the power to freeze a Fae with the touch of his or her hands (e.g. me). The higher and more powerful the caste of Fae, the shorter the length of time it stays frozen. (Def. J.B.)

  OOP: acronym for Object of Power, a Fae relic imbued with mystical properties. (Definition Mac)

  PRI-YA: a human addicted to Fae sex. (I think. Definition ongoing)

  ROYAL HUNTERS: a mid-level caste of Unseelie. Militantly sentient, they resemble the classic depiction of the devil, with cloven hooves, horns, long satyr-like faces, leathery wings, fiery orange eyes, and tails. Seven to ten feet tall, they are capable of extraordinary speed on both hoof and wing. Primary function: sidhe-seer exterminators. Threat assessment: kills. (Def. J.B.)

  RHINO-BOYS: lower mid-level caste Unseelie thugs dispatched primarily as watchdogs for high-ranking Fae. (Personal experience)

  SEELIE: the “light” or “fairer” court of the Tuatha Dé Danaan governed by the Seelie Queen, Aoibheal. (Def. J.B.)

  SHADES: one of the lowest castes of Unseelie. Sentient but barely. They hunger—they feed. They cannot bear direct light and hunt only at night. They steal life in the manner the Gray Man steals beauty, draining their victims with vampiric swiftness, leaving behind a pile of clothing and a husk of dehydrated human matter. Threat assessment: kills. (Personal experience)

  SIDHE-SEER (SHE-seer): a person Fae magic doesn’t work on, capable of seeing past the illusions or “glamour” cast by the Fae to the true nature that lies beneath. Some can also see Tabh’rs, hidden portals between realms. Others can sense Seelie and Unseelie objects of power. Each sidh-seer is different, with varying degrees of resistance to the Fae. Some are limited, some are advanced with multiple “special powers.” (Def. J.B.)

  SIFTING: Fae method of locomotion, occurs at speed of thought. (Seen this!)

  SIFTING SILVERS or SILVERS: an elaborate maze of mirrors once used as the primary method of Fae travel between realms, until Cruce cast the forbidden curse into the silvered corridors. Now no Fae dares enter the Silvers. (Def. J.B.)

  SINSAR DUBH (she-suh-DOO): a Dark Hallow belonging to the Tuatha Dé Danaan. Written in a language known only to the most ancient of their kind, it is said to hold the deadliest of all magic within its encrypted pages. Brought to Ireland by the Tuatha Dé during the invasions written of in the pseudo-history Leabhar Gabhåla, it was stolen along with the other Dark Hallows, and rumored to have found its way into the world of Man. Allegedly authored over a million years ago by the Dark King of the Unseelie. (A Definitive Guide to Artifacts; Authentic and Legendary)

  SPEAR OF LUISNE (a.k.a. Spear of Luin, Spear of Longinus, Spear of Destiny, the Flaming Spear): the spear used to pierce Jesus Christ’s side at his crucifixion. Not of human origin; it is a Tuatha Dé Danaan Light Hallow, and one of the few items capable of killing a Fae—re
gardless of rank or power. (Def. J.B.)

  TABH’RS (TAH-vr): Fae doorways or portals between realms, often hidden in everyday human objects. (Def. J.B.)

  TUATHA DÉ DANAAN or TUATHA DÉ (TUA day dhanna or Tua DAY): (See Fae above) A highly advanced race that came to Earth from another world. (Definition ongoing)

  UNSEELIE: the “dark” court of the Tuatha Dé Danaan. According to Tuatha Dé Danaan legend, the Unseelie have been confined for hundreds of thousands of years in an inescapable prison. Inescapable, my ass.

  A Note About The Fever Series.

  Every now and then a writer gets a gift: a tale complete from beginning to end, wrapped up in a box, tied with a pretty bow, deposited on the doorstep of his or her subconscious. All that is required is a willingness to open the door, unwrap the box, release the world within and do your best to transcribe that world into word.

  When the Fever series arrived on my doorstep I was shocked to find so much Thanatos in my Eros. I’d been writing romance novels for years, and had enjoyed every minute I’d spent with my Highlanders and the women who stole their hearts.

  The world that came in the Fever box wasn’t pretty like my romance novels. There were monsters in every corner, people dying, everyone was keeping secrets, all the characters were too flawed to be heroic, and there was no traditional romance to be found. The protagonist was a virtual-Barbie with little ambition or interest in the world around her, and about as far from my personality type as the sun from the moon.

  I sorted through the box, hunting for the elements I recognized as the trademarks of my writing, wondering if the Fed-Ex Story Idea Guy had gotten the addresses mixed up again. He does that from time to time. Every now and then he seems to think it’s funny to drop one of Stephen King’s boxes on my porch. Things move around under the cardboard, and the noises they make come from the dark night of the soul. The few times I’ve been suckered into opening one of those misplaced gifts, I’ve duct-taped the box securely, propped a chair under my doorknob, and refused to go out on my stoop again until it was gone.