Undeniable (The Druids Book 1) (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Peyton heard the sound of the taser wand juicing up as the guard from the door snapped out the handle that extended into a long, charged stick. He knew all about that taser wand, he’d used it on the fey enough times. He spun around and arched his body in time to avoid getting hit with it in his torso. As the guard’s arm made a wide arc, continuing his swing, Peyton grabbed his wrist and then slammed his palm into the back of the man’s elbow, breaking the joint efficiently. The wand dropped away and Peyton kicked him in the back of his knee. No doubt, tearing ligaments as he sent the man falling to the ground in excruciating pain.

As he swung back around, he saw the long, energy whips unfurl from each of Sophia’s palms. She snapped them like an expert with a bullwhip. Peyton reached his hand up under his jacket, going for his pistol. Just as his arm cleared his body, but before he could bring up the weapon to aim, the energy whip snapped around his wrist and the gun. If he could even just manage to pull the trigger, and make the explosion of gunfire, it would be enough for the agents outside to hear the commotion. But the gun was ripped from his grasp with a painful burning. Peyton snapped back his right hand. The energy through his nerves stripped him of control in his muscles temporarily, and left him no sensation other than an agonizing, stinging pain. The whips were not simply weapons, Peyton knew, they were one of Sophia’s favorite ways of tearing the magic from a fey. And she’d just ripped all the enchantment from his body, from wrist to fingertips. The horrid, tormenting pain shot through his hand worse than if it had been stabbed through with a thousand burning knives. And he screamed in the agony of it.

This was the pain of the enchantment when it was gone. This was the pain he would suffer, if he didn’t keep juiced up with the Touch. This was what kept the druids loyal to their Sidhe masters, regardless of their personal predilections. And Peyton could seriously understand why. His other hand clutched to his wrist, as if that might stop the horrific pain from traveling up into his brain, but he couldn’t tourniquet it off.

Sophia laughed as she flicked the whips about her as gracefully as a cat’s tail when it spotted a prey upon which to pounce. Peyton dodged away with the next snap, which smacked into a table, and broke it in half with a shattering force.

That would have seriously torn him apart, and if she managed to hit him any place more vital than a hand, he would no doubt be completely incapacitated by the agony. She swung both whips in crisscrossing patterns in front of her. Her laughter maniacal in her viciousness.

Given no other option, Peyton turned to the only hope he had left. Against the wall, he banged the black jewel of his ring, and prayed that Deacon wouldn’t ignore his urgent cry for help.

The Changeling appeared in mid-jump from behind Sophia. He landed on her back with his feet planted onto her hips and his knees bent up along the sides of her torso. His clawed hands gripped her head and wrenched it off of her body with a single, merciless, vicious snap. The energy whips died with the wizard, she fell from beneath him and Deacon dove from her and rolled clear. He came up to standing with a smirk already on his face, and with a tilt of his head, he gave Peyton a knowing, and sarcastic look. “And that’s how we deal with wizards.”

Deacon had worked for the wizards against his will, thanks to Peyton, and he knew that he enjoyed his revenge now. Peyton honestly couldn’t blame him.

Clutching his wounded hand to his chest, Peyton grit his teeth. “My hand,” he growled. “She stripped the enchantment from my hand.” Deacon approached Peyton quickly and now that the threat had passed, Peyton slumped to his knees, and then onto his back onto the floor. Deacon knelt over him and gripped his forearm. With frantic, dragging strokes he pulled along Peyton’s arm as if to draw the magic from his shoulder, down into his hand.

“What are you doing?” Peyton demanded.

“The enchantment is still in your blood. I’m circulating it into your hand. The pain will ease. You just need to give it a few moments for the blood to shift.” Deacon worked efficiently, massaging along Peyton’s upper chest and shoulder and then dragging his palms down again and again, working the blood and forcing it to circulate faster. The pain and numbness seemed to spread up Peyton’s arm but as it did, it lessened. It took several more minutes before it became less than excruciating. Peyton experimented with moving his hand, and it obeyed him, but it still hurt like bloody hell.

“You got it together? Your friends are already on their way here. I saw them coming.”

Through gritted teeth Peyton said, “I got this. But, I’m going to need some way of explaining Sophia’s headless corpse. And I’m going to need for the guy,” he nodded towards the guard still writhing on the ground, “to not tell what really happened.”

Deacon said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this covered.” Just as the front door smashed open, and the Interpol agents came rushing in, Deacon had completed his transformation into some sort of demon spawn. He kicked the wizards head towards the door, sending it bouncing along like a half inflated football. Then he stabbed his claws into the face of the guard that was trying to crawl away from him.

The Interpol agents began to open fire, but before their bullets could hit, Deacon was gone. The Changeling certainly knew how to make an entrance, and how to make an even better exit.

Fletcher led the rush over to Peyton, to where he was still sprawled on the floor. “Are you all right, Price?”

“My arm took a battering, but you guys got here just in time.” He wasn’t acting as he pulled his right arm up against his body. The burn marks from the magic whip still seared over his flesh and his fingers trembled with the residual pain of it.

“Get a medic in here!” Fletcher called, and then he helped pull Peyton’s other arm over his shoulder. “I guess she wasn’t very receptive to your offer?”

“She spotted the fake right away, just as I was afraid that she would.”

“And what was with the demon? Was she working with it?”

“I can’t be sure, because he came in out of nowhere, right after we started our conversation, and everything just went crazy after that.”

And that sure wasn’t an exaggeration.

“Come on,” Fletcher said, “let’s get you out of here.”

Chapter Forty

London was glad that Granger allowed her to take a shower and dress in fresh clothing before getting into this conversation with him. She made sandwiches and set out a couple of bottles of Guinness while he freshened himself up in her bathroom. She’d given him the pair of US Marine Corps sweats that Joe had loaned her a while back. It seemed like ages ago, but it probably had only been a matter of months.

When Granger emerged with the sweatshirt stretched across his muscular chest and his towel still rubbing back and forth through his freshly washed hair. She tried to see him for what he saw himself. He was a cop, at the core of it, and he said that he was here to protect people. If she could give him that much, perhaps he could give her some slack as well.

“I made some food, if you’re interested.” She gestured to the peace offering on the coffee table between her chair and the couch. They’d sat in this same room, in these same places, just a few days earlier. She hoped that this time would go better than last.

“I have to thank you for what you did for Kieran back there,” London started. “There’s no telling what would’ve happened if we hadn’t gotten there in time. And Riley too, who was even in worse shape.” It pained her to know that she had been the reason that the guys had been in danger in the first place. But she couldn’t own that responsibility. Vampires, and other predators, were always after the fey. It was the job of the Sidhe to protect the fey. And it was the job of the druids to serve the Sidhe.

Granger reached over and picked up a bottle and took a sip. As if he really needed one about now. And then he put it down. “So, Kieran is one of the Sidhe? But he’s not your patron. I heard that much. Some guy named Lugh? What does that even mean; to be a patron?”

He was putting her on the spot, and really there wasn’t much she could do at this point to deter him. She could make him into an enemy, or she could try and turn him into a friend. “Kieran is one of the Sidhe, yes. That’s not the first time that a predator has had him in their clutches, and we got each other out of that one. Lugh is my patron, yes, and I do what I can to help him to protect the fey. They’re in danger, all the time. Protecting them is important, as important as protecting any endangered species. The realm of the fey collapsed just months ago and their numbers were decimated. The few that survived have been preyed upon by those who would take advantage of their situation. I hope that this helps you to understand why every single fey life is precious to me. Some people dedicate themselves to feeding the poor, or serving their country, or protecting the innocent from threats that they can’t defend themselves against,” she said, nodding towards him, indicating that he fell into that category. “I do what I can, because it is the right thing to do, and someone needs to do it. I wish that you wouldn’t see me as a criminal, when that’s not my intention. You killed a vampire today. I’ve had to kill vampires and werewolves, myself. But I don’t do so indiscriminately. I have friends that are vampires or werewolves. I don’t kill them, just because that’s what they are. But if someone is putting people that I have sworn to protect in danger, I can’t just ignore it. And I can’t turn to someone else to take care of it. Your job is to protect humans and I respect that. I don’t intentionally endanger anyone when I’m doing my job.” She leaned forward, hoping that she’d not said too much, but that she’d said enough of the right things to get through to him. She lifted one of the sandwiches and took a bite, contemplating what more might need to be said.

“I understand where you’re coming from, London. I understand that the fey need to protect themselves. I just need to get to the bottom of what’s going on, to ensure that the bad guys get stopped and the good guys can live in safety.”

“That’s what I’m doing, too. And that’s what my patron is doing.” London leaned forward. “So, do we understand each other? Are you going to let the matter with the wizards drop, now that you understand that they were the bad guys?”

“I want to let it go.” Granger said, helping himself to his own food. “The wizards are still a concern. While investigating this case, we’ve come across one that has been using demonic magic and this is a problem. No one will be safe, not human, not fey, no one if the wizards are starting to dabble in demonic magic.”

London stared hard at Granger, not able to swallow, hardly able to breathe. Was he serious?

“So what are you going to do about this?”

“We lost track of the one that we were after. He was taken away by a nasty demon, but we’re doing further investigation with the other wizards as we speak to find out if this is a rogue wizard or if this is becoming a pattern. So far it’s still debatable.”

Lugh wasn’t going to like the sound of this. No one was. If the wizards were dabbling in demonic magic. It was going to affect the balance of power and the safety of the fey more than anything they’d yet faced.

Chapter Forty-One

Now. The King’s Arms. Alone.

London sent the text message, and then lingered in the shadows of the back booth. She stroked the condensation on her glass, waiting. And it wasn’t but maybe forty-five minutes before Peyton wandered in through the front door. She didn’t wave. Didn’t look at him beyond the initial glance. She just got up and slid out of her booth and walked out the back door into the courtyard of the tavern. It was drizzling and no one had ventured out here. Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was someone waiting for her, just not visible to the human eye.

Leaning against the wall, still under the short awning, she waited. Peyton followed her out a few moments later. Her hand slipped into Peyton’s as he stepped out beside her. “Now,” she murmured.

The unseen hand of her patron, who had been waiting in a veil of Glamour that kept him invisible, gripped her shoulder. The magic cloaked over her and Peyton, stealing them from sight, and then the slippy feeling of teleportation carried them away.

In the next moment they were in a sunny grove some place in Ireland. It didn’t really matter where, she supposed, just a place where they wouldn’t be seen or overheard.

The Glamour dropped away, and the three of them were able to face each other at last.

London watched as Peyton spun, a little disoriented, only to gaze up at Lugh. The former Sidhe Champion towered over them both like a basketball player. Peyton backed up a step, to be able to look up at him without straining his neck. Not much seemed to catch him off guard, but he was looking more stressed than usual. She placed a hand on his bicep. “You asked to see him, and here he is.” London gestured between them, making the introductions. “Peyton Price, this is Lugh. Lugh, this is Peyton, the one who helped me bring down the wizards and free the fey they had captured.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Lugh said graciously, and offered a hand for Peyton to shake. After a moment’s hesitation, Peyton did so. “You wished to speak with me?”

“Yes,” Peyton said, exhaling, but not fully releasing the tension that filled him. London had never seen him so wired, like he was having the week from Hell. He unbuttoned his shirt and opened it, showing the thick black lines that twisted across his skin like a tattoo. “This… was branded into my flesh. And the curse of the Sidhe Touch was burned into me.” His light colored eyes lifted to Lugh’s face. “Can you free me?”

A frown graced Lugh’s lips, as he moved closer to examine the magic. His fingers traced the marks, as he considered them. “You were not taken as a druid in the normal fashion. You gave no vow. You were given no charm.” He blinked slowly, as if in regret. “I do not know what crimes you committed, but this is a penance. It is a sentence I can not commute.” Lugh turned from him.

“All you have to do is give me the Touch when I need it,” Peyton’s voice cracked, as he pursued Lugh, gripping his shoulder. “You could do that much! I would make it worth your while! I know things about the wizards and I can help you! They’ve been calling up demons and you know that will spell disaster for the fey!”

London stepped closer, meaning to intervene, even if Lugh didn’t need that from her. She stopped when Lugh raised his hand. The Sidhe’s voice remained calm as he faced him once more, “Peyton, you have been granted a second chance at life. A chance for redemption. A reprieve. Do not take this as an evil thing. Embrace it.”

“And serve Credne?” Peyton drew back his hand slowly from Lugh’s shoulder and let his arm fall to his side, his hands fisted. “He’s an Unseelie. You don’t know what schemes he might have in store.”

“The Unseelie are always scheming. That is the nature of the Unseelie.” Lugh gave a friendly, but regretful smile. “Of course, it is the nature of the Seelie as well.”

Peyton shook his head. “And that’s it? There is no hope that you can give me? No clue as to a way out of this?”

“I already have. You’ve been set upon a path. Now, you must walk it.” Lugh’s voice wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t forgiving either.

London knew that feeling Peyton struggled with. She’d fought this battle within herself, and finally found more than just peace. She found meaning. “It’s truly not as bad as you fear,” she whispered.

His cold eyes flicked up at hers, and clearly he didn’t believe her. “Easy for you to say, with your golden champion as your patron.” He stared a moment longer, and when clearly no one had anything to say that he wanted to hear, he said in a clipped tone, “I should get back, before I’m missed.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to be the cause of trouble for you.” Lugh agreed.

It was only a second to return Peyton to the courtyard, and then another to carry London and Lugh far away from him. They stood now on the shores of the Isle of Fey, and Lugh’s gaze cast out across the water in contemplation.

London moved up beside him and wrapped her arms around his. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what is more disturbing; that the wizards have turned to demonic intervention, or that Credne’s ambitions are re-emerging. We will have to keep a close eye on both.” He glanced down at her, that serious look in his eyes that she knew meant trouble.

She just nodded. Their work was far from over.