Bedeviled (26 page)

Her vision blurring at the edges, Maggie struggled for air that wouldn’t come. The old demon woman was going to take her, and how embarrassing was that? She was going to die in an alley and never see her family or Culhane again. The male Fae would still be slaves, and her world would be up for grabs.

All because Maggie was a lousy fighter.

“You see? I promised you it would be quick.”

Too furious to be scared anymore, Maggie grabbed the demon’s hand and ripped it off her throat. Lurching fast to one side, she tossed her opponent into a pile of cardboard boxes, then jumped to her feet. “You almost had me,” Maggie told her, rubbing her sore throat as if strong fingers were still clasped around it.

“I do have you.” Crawling out from the mess, the woman tugged her skirt down to her knees and stood up, a piece of rotting lettuce stuck to the top of her head like a dark green hat. “You’re nothing.”

Maggie stabbed a finger at her, and a lightning bolt shot across the alley, lighting up the shadows with a pearly blue glow just before it slammed into the woman. She shrieked again and slapped at the flames eating away at her jacket.

“You bitch!”

“I’m not finished.” Another bolt, and another, blue flashes erupting in the shadows, slamming into the demon again and again. She couldn’t keep up with the flames, couldn’t stop them.

Maggie ran at the woman, letting her rage, her frustration, bubble up and over. Fear was gone, and in its place was a steely determination. She was through running from her “destiny.” She’d use what she’d learned and then learn even more. She’d take out demons who tried to kill her, and she’d fight the stupid Faery queen and win, damn it.

Her punches were solid, her kicks magnificent, and in a few minutes it was all over, and what was left of the snotty demon was blowing away down the alley, coating the trash with a sooty residue.

Brushing her hands together, Maggie left the alley to go back to work. “You know, she was right. I think I will call the city. Tell them to take out the trash.”

“Where have you been?”

In the palace of Otherworld Culhane bowed deeply, then straightened and looked into the eyes of his queen. Mab stalked a wide circle around her throne, casting withering glances toward him.

She was tall, lithe and beautiful. Her long golden hair hung like a thick, rich cape down to the middle of her back. Her features were delicate, but her dark green eyes were shrewd as she fixed them on her warrior.

“As always,” he told her, “I train with my brothers.”

The throne room was enormous, with crystal walls gleaming with a soft inner light. The windows were wide and always open so that Mab could take flight whenever she wished. They were warded, though, to prevent any other Fae from slipping inside unnoticed.

The great room had been built specifically for the parties and celebrations Mab had once been known for. But that time was long past. She no longer trusted her subjects enough to allow them easy access to the palace. To her. Now this room, like the rest of the crystal stronghold, lay empty but for the queen and a handful of trusted servants.

Culhane remembered long-ago days when he’d been honored to serve his queen. When he’d taken his place in this room, stood with his brother warriors and proudly watched over the Fae she ruled. His loyalty then had been unquestioning, his duty clear.

And so it was now, though the object of that duty, that loyalty, had changed.

Mab sat down on the sculpted silver throne. Her long fingers caressed the polished round gems that decorated the elaborate chair. Light flashed off the silver, shimmered in the hearts of the rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Mab’s mouth pursed as she studied him and slowly crossed her legs. “Ah, but it’s not only warrior training that’s kept you away from me this long, is it?”

“My queen?” Centuries ago Culhane might have been on edge having this private, personal interview. Having Mab’s complete attention. But he was accustomed to the politics of the palace now, and that knowledge had never served Culhane better than at that moment. His features were blank, his gaze holding only his question to her.

Hopping up from the throne again, as if she couldn’t bear to sit still, Mab took the three steps to the marble floor and crossed the room to him. Her shoes, with their needle-thin heels, tapped against the floor like nervous fingers on a tabletop. Standing before him, she locked her gaze with his as if trying to read his thoughts.

He was thankful that even Mab couldn’t accomplish that particular task. Her face looked as though it had been carved from ice: pale, hard, cold. Culhane had been in service to his queen long enough to know that she was in a dangerous mood.

“You’ve been in the mortal world.”

“As I am wont to do,” he agreed. “It pays to always know what is happening in the other planes.”

“You’ve been spending much time there,” she mused, walking in a slow circle around him, her heels clicking, clicking. She lifted one hand and dragged it across his shoulder blades. Culhane stayed perfectly still. “A curious queen would wonder why.”

“My queen is more clever than that,” he said easily, as she came around his right side to stop in front of him again. Flattering Mab was always a good idea. Culhane noticed her eyes shining with the compliment he’d paid her, even as suspicion remained. “My queen understands that as a Fae warrior, it is only my duty to keep track of possible problems.”

“And have you found some that I should know about?”

“None.” He inclined his head slightly on the lie. “I would, of course, tell you immediately were that the case.”

“Of course.”

Mab studied him for another moment or two, then turned and walked from him to a bank of windows that overlooked the palace gardens. Through the open windows the heady scents of roses and lupine and a dozen other types of flowers rushed in. From a distance came the sounds of laughter and the faint musical lilt of pipes.

“There is word of a demon feud in the mortal world,” Mab said softly.

“Is there?”

She didn’t look at him, only kept her gaze fixed on the scene beyond the glass. “It appears a demon was killed and the power of the Fae it held stolen.”

“I will look into it myself,” he promised with another bow. How had word reached her already? Who did Mab have on the other side watching, collecting information? And why hadn’t she come to him for that chore? Was it possible she already suspected him of treachery?

No, he told himself, even as his features remained calm, unconcerned. Mab was not a queen known for her generosity of spirit. If she had even a hint that Culhane was no longer her man, then she would have dealt with him already.

Finally the queen turned from the window, walked back to him and linked her arm through the curve of his. “Yes, Culhane. I think that would be wise. Go back to the mortal world. Find out who killed the demon, who took the Faery dust, and return it to me.”

“And if another has already merged with the dust?”

She shrugged as they walked from the throne room into the wide, empty, glittering hall. “Kill whoever it is, collect the dust and bring it to me.”

“Yes, my queen.”

Chapter Thirteen

F
aery time might be flying past, but in Maggie’s little corner of the world the days were dragging. While Nora was off somewhere being a hostage, Maggie was trying to soothe her niece, take care of day-to-day stuff—painting, shopping, oh, and in her spare time training to kill ugly-ass demons. The usual.

“If you don’t move your butt faster than that, you’re gonna lose it.” Bezel stalked a circle around her in the backyard, glowering at her from under beetling brows. It was as if he were trying to make himself even uglier than usual.

“In case you hadn’t noticed . . .” Maggie paused for air and briefly held up a hand to indicate that she’d get back to him in a minute. Bending in half, she set both hands on her knees and took long pulls of sweet mother oxygen. She still felt like she was dying, but at least she had enough air to snap at Bezel, “I
am
moving my ass, you little troll.”

“Troll!” He snorted. “I’m too tall to be a troll, and too damned pretty besides.”

“Dear God.”

He wheezed out a laugh. “Wait’ll you have some time to look around Otherworld. You’re gonna be remembering my handsome face with fondness. Some of those freaks over there are enough to turn
my
stomach.”

This from a pixie known to mix tuna and Hershey’s syrup.

Maggie was still struggling for air, so she used this chance to stall her mini-drill sergeant long enough so she could take a break. “I was there, remember? The Fae are gorgeous.”

“Some of ’em,” Bezel allowed. “But my mother always said pretty don’t mean shit.”

“A lovely sentiment. Look, I’m all teary.”

“Hey, she knew what she was talking about. Some of those gorgeous Faeries are nastier than trolls. And that’s saying something, believe me.”

“Great. So Otherworld is a mess, and even if I become queen I’ve still got problems.” As pep talks went, this one pretty much sucked. For three days she’d been working hard, devoting whatever time she could to being at Bezel’s mercy. The pixie was tireless when it came to running Maggie ragged. But she was determined. She was going to be stronger, faster, more powerful than even Culhane expected.

Already she felt the difference inside her. It was just as Culhane had said: The longer the Faery dust was a part of her, the more it seemed that it always had been. She could feel strength running through her like a river. She hardly floated unexpectedly at all anymore, and once this battle was over she really did want to work on the whole flying thing. Her portals were being drawn more easily and looked a lot less shaky than they had only a few days ago.

So all in all she was coming along fine. Would it be enough? God, she hoped so.

“I just thought that Mab was the real problem,” she said, not really wanting to focus on all the other crap lining up in front of her like ugly department store lines on Christmas Eve.

Bezel dropped to the lawn beside the dog, smoothed out the wrinkles on his velvet suit and said, “Mab’s the worst, but once you get past her there’re plenty of other things just waiting to take a shot at you.”

“Fabulous.”

“What? You were expecting rainbows and puppies?” He stroked one hand down Sheba’s head. “No offense, pooch. Otherworld’s just like anywhere else. Nice folks, crappy folks, strange folks, psycho folks.”

“Stop.” She lifted one hand to shut him up. “You’re not making me feel any better, thanks. So if this is your idea of cheering me up, do me a favor and quit while you’re behind.”

“Why would I be trying to make you feel better? Not my job, lady. I’m here to make sure you don’t get your clock cleaned.”

“Feel the love.”

“Look, gods know I hate to admit it, but Culhane’s right. You
are
needed there. That’s not saying you’ll be
wanted.
And it don’t mean everybody’s gonna throw you a damn parade or something.”

“What am I knocking myself out for, then?” Maggie straightened up, pushed her hair back from her—dear God—
sweaty
face and glared at the pixie. “I’ve been damn near killing myself these last few days, getting ready for a battle I don’t give two shits about, while my sister’s off somewhere in fairy-tale land, and Culhane hasn’t even bothered to show his face!”

“You doing this for him or for yourself?”

“I’m having a rant here, not really looking for logic.”

“I said you’ll be
needed
, didn’t I?” He shook his head, and his silvery hair lifted in the wind.

“Yeah?” Maggie looked at the nice cool lawn, the soft grass, the patch of shade, and thought wistfully about stretching right out and taking a nap. Not proactive girl, but definitely happier girl. But true to the vow she’d made to herself, she dismissed the lovely thought of rest and instead threw punches. “
Fae
need
me
.”

“I just said that. You don’t listen. Don’t you have any sense at all? Culhane’s told you that the Fae males are pretty damn sick and tired of being walked on.”

“And? So? Yes?”

His mouth screwed up as if he were chewing something nasty. “
And
your coming in to shake things up will probably kick off a civil war. So yeah, they’re gonna need you to put a stop to it.”

“Huh?” Arms tired, Maggie started doing the kicks Bezel had shown her earlier. She felt like a sad, sad, way less flexible copy of Buffy, but what the hell. “If my involvement starts a civil war, how is that better for anybody?”

“Change isn’t always easy.”

“Wow. Very Zen. Thanks.” Frowning, she muttered, “A civil war. And I’m supposed to head that off at the pass?”

“Otherworld has been the same damned way for thousands of years. It’s ripe for exploding. Fae hate pixies; pixies hate Fae. Dark men go after Gray men. Gray men are just creepy.”

“Hold it.” Maggie held up a hand. “Gray men? What’re they?”

Bezel shuddered and his lips curled back. “There’s lots more terrible things than them, but Gray men give me the trots.”

“Oh, crap.”

“Exactly.” Still shuddering, Bezel said, “They’re all gray and misty, like fog, but alive. They can be solid if they want, but usually they just stay all misty, damp and cold, and when they attack they sort of slide into you, making your insides all slick, like mossy rocks. . . .”

Now it was Maggie shivering as the images rose up in her mind. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to chase away the chill, but it didn’t help.

Bezel shook himself. “Anyway, there’s lots worse than a Gray man out there, so why worry about them?”

“Sure. Why worry?”

Bezel took a breath. “So anyway, back to what I was talking about. Female Fae have all the power, and male Fae are sick of it. So, yeah, things are getting tense back at home, and you as the new queen are gonna have to deal with it. Otherworld’s gonna need you.”

“Wow,” she said, taking another breather, since her legs were screaming at her to sit down. “You paint such a lovely picture of life in Faeryland.”