Witch's Bounty (11 page)

“It seems important,” he hedged.

“You never did acknowledge if you’d secured a witch for us,” Ronin pressed.

“They need our help.”

“We need theirs. Seems like a quid pro quo to me.” Krystal got to her feet and strode next to Duncan. He felt her net him with a truth spell. “What exactly happened when you went after the witches, and why did you draw us together?”

A hot rush of anger buffeted him. “How dare you?” He surged to his feet and balled his hands into fists. “What? You think I’d lie to you in our very council chambers?”

She shrugged. “Anything is possible. We share blood, yet none of us are close.”

If he backed down now, he was finished. Worse, every Sidhe in the room knew it. Duncan stuck his face inches from hers. “Sit down and take your spell with you.” He shifted his gaze to the hundred or so Sidhe ranged about the room. “If any here do not trust me, leave now.”

Grumbling, Krystal found her way back to her seat. No one else stirred. Duncan drew in a breath. There was still a huge divide to cross, but at least he hadn’t lost the first battle. “Hear me out. Wait until I’m done for discussion. Agreed?” After a long pause, heads bobbed and he began talking.

“…So after the witch and I returned from Hell, I teleported back here because I needed to talk with all of you.” Duncan drew himself up and infused compulsion into his words. “Demons were always our responsibility. Oberon and Titania tasked us with keeping all demons, but especially the Irichna, under control. Don’t answer me right now, but I want you to do some soul searching.

“Everyone needs a reason to exist. A lot of our reason evaporated once we scuttled out from under our responsibilities.”

Ronin opened his mouth, but Duncan held up a hand. “I’m nearly done. If we don’t recapture the gene sequence that allows us to escort demons into Hell, at the very least, we have to help the witches. They are nearly extinct. The demons are stronger than they used to be. I tell you, the one I faced was worse than my expectations by a factor of about ten.

“The last thing I want to leave you with is this: it’s time to allow the changelings sovereignty again. We don’t need their magic. We never did. They could be staunch allies against the demons, and they never were much of a threat to us.”

Duncan sank into his seat. The ebb and flow of musical Sidhe voices eddied about him. He’d done his part. The group would come to a decision in their own time and their own way. There was nothing more for him to do or say. It was hard not to continue to argue for what he wanted, but he bit back further words.

Nothing to do now but wait.

He got to his feet and walked to a side table where someone had thoughtfully provided carafes of water and mead. He poured himself a cup of water and washed it down with spirits, thinking of Colleen, Jenna, and Roz. It pained him to admit it, but the three witches were braver and more resourceful than this roomful of Sidhe. They didn’t question their destiny. They simply stepped up to the plate and took care of business.

“Duncan!”

“What?” He turned and stared at his fellows, wondering who’d called him.

Krystal stepped away from the group. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for the last few minutes. We’ve come to a decision.”

He set down his cup, walked briskly back to his place at the head of the table, and waited. No matter what happened, he’d given it his best shot. If the Sidhe refused him, he’d already decided to return to Colleen’s side and help her, Jenna, and Roz.

“There is merit in your argument,” Ronin said. “We shall see about sharing responsibility for corralling the Irichna, at least until this current problem is over.”

“Yes, then we shall seek a more permanent solution,” Krystal added.

“We’ll be requirin’ blood from one of the witches.” The Sidhe with the Irish accent sat straighter in his chair.

“I’ll see you get it.” Duncan spoke crisply. He wanted to whoop and turn handsprings, but he could celebrate later. He wished he’d paid closer attention to the discussion that netted him what he wanted, but he’d been so certain the tide would flow the other way, he’d kept himself aloof on purpose. So he didn’t bash any of those perfect, Sidhe faces to a pulp.

He gathered magic to teleport away from their meeting place, but Ronin laid a hand on his arm. “You need to hear the rest. We will reconvene at my home on the outskirts of Penrith in one week’s time. The witches need to be there. Your task is to see that they are.”

“Will you allow them to have a voice in our plans?” Duncan asked and then kicked himself for not keeping a tighter rein on his mouth.

Another female Sidhe, with a riot of red curls framing her alabaster skin, drew near, brows quirked. “A bit protective of an inferior species, aren’t you?”

Duncan swallowed angry words. Up until very recently, he’d viewed witches the same way; shaming the speaker wouldn’t change her mind. Instead, he said, “I merely thought I should let them know what to expect.”

“Mmph.” Helena stalked closer. Duncan clapped wards around his mind, which earned him a knowing smile. “I think it might be a wee bit more than that.”

Duncan poured more magic into his warding and waited, but Helena turned and walked away. He exhaled, but quietly, and turned back to Ronin. “I shall do my best, but it’s possible they won’t want to come.”

“Compel them.”

Duncan bristled. “That’s how we secured their cooperation in the first place. It wasn’t right then and it’s not right now.”

Ronin made a clicking sound with his tongue and teeth. “Tsk. Tsk. When did you become such a champion of magical underdogs…brother?”

Ever since we decided Sidhe should rule the magical world.
“I’m not sure that’s what I am, but I haven’t totally lost my sense of fairness.”

Ronin drew his arched brows into a disapproving line. Duncan felt the other Sidhe’s resentment spark and held up his hands, palms out. “Let’s not fight. We need to save our energy for what’s important.”

The other Sidhe clacked his jaws shut. “Just remember whose blood flows in your veins.”

As if I could forget.
“A week is a long time. Are you going to do anything about that Irichna before it calls in reinforcements?”

Ronin glared through narrowed eyes. “I suppose so. The Celtic gods owe us a favor or two, we’ll call in our chips.”

“Good idea.” Duncan clapped him on the back with faux cheer. “I knew there was a reason you were our leader.”

Ronin snarled, but before he could come up with a snappy retort, Duncan summoned magic and teleported to the last place he remembered Oberon and Titania’s palace had been. The pair moved often and shrouded their location by magic, so locating them was often a challenge. Not that anyone looked very hard these days. He’d heard rumors Oberon had faded from all worlds, leaving Titania to rule for both of them.

He searched three different borderworlds and was hungry, tired, and close to giving up. Besides, now that he’d gotten a bit of distance from it, he needed to sort through what happened at the council meeting. The Sidhe had agreed, but it felt like a temporary concession with something behind it he couldn’t quite grasp. Perhaps the reason he’d been lost in thought by the refreshment table was because the others had snared him in a mild ensorcellment. That last thought chilled him.

“I’ll try once more,” he muttered and teleported to a borderworld he’d only heard about, but never visited. The royal castle rose before him, in pastel hues, with flags flying. He girded himself for what would come next. He’d wanted to find his sovereigns, but they could kill his dreams with a word. A triple sun floated lazily overhead. Butterflies clustered thickly; birds trilled. Hummingbirds landed on his arms, small wings beating in staccato time.

Duncan floated up the steps and into the castle. Gravity was mild here, its tug so minimal he had to use magic to force contact with the marble steps and entryway. He wasn’t surprised to find the castle deserted as he wandered through it in search of a throne room. Servants were summoned when needed. Because they were magical creations, they faded to invisibility the rest of the time.

Rich, meaty smells came from the kitchens. Duncan detoured, intent on dishing up a bowl of whatever was cooking, and found Titania, skirts rucked up, her bare feet propped on a table. Silver hair cascaded about her and pooled on the floor. Her unlined face could have belonged to a young woman, but for her world-weary eyes. The queen had always been tall, but now she was so thin her skin held a translucent quality. Duncan wondered if she’d begun the process of fading into the
Dreaming
. It happened to all of them when they’d had enough of immortality.

“Duncan!” She waved a gravy-soaked heel of bread at him. “Dear boy. Come share a meal with me. It does get terribly lonely here.”

He bowed, nodded his thanks, and filled a bowl for himself before settling at the table across from his queen. “Thank you, Your Highness. I should have asked before I sat, but may I get you anything?”

She smiled and handed him an empty glass. “There’s a mead cask in the far corner. Feel free to help yourself.”

By the time he returned to the table, he’d ordered his thoughts and come to a decision. It was manipulative as hell, but he spent the next hour eating and making small talk with Titania. It was obvious she was starved for companionship and so they talked of people they’d known and places they’d been. He thought about asking where Oberon was, but decided not to since the queen hadn’t mentioned him.

At length, she set her glass down and speared him with her pale blue gaze. “This has been delightful, but I’m through deluding myself that this was a social visit. You went to a great deal of trouble to run me down. Why?”

Duncan squared his shoulders. This was it. He couldn’t beat around the bush in the face of Titania’s frank stare. “I’ve fallen in love with a mortal, a witch, and—”

She made a chopping motion with one hand. The beautiful planes of her face twisted into something so unpleasant that Duncan looked away. “Fuck her all you want,” the queen snapped, “but I will not see our blood further diluted by matings outside our line.”

He opened his mouth to protest. The air sharpened with magic so ancient, it scoured his skin, burning him. Duncan summoned a ward. By the time it was in place, Titania had vanished.

Colleen pushed to her feet, keeping the blanket wrapped around her. Her clothes were right where she’d left them, and she stuffed them into her small backpack and slung it over a shoulder. Despite having had very little sleep, she felt surprisingly alert.

Bubba tugged on the blanket. “I want breakfast.”

“Me too.” She grinned at the changeling. “But first I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. Maybe by then, Roz and Jenna will be up.”

“Do you think anyone would mind if I scouted through the kitchen?”

Colleen thought about Mathilde and decided the crone would probably mind very much, particularly since Bubba wasn’t known for being neat. “How about this?” She cocked her head to one side. “This is an old house. There have to be lots of mice. Remember that nice fat one you caught in the basement?”

“Oh, all right.” Bubba made a face. “I know where this conversation is heading.” He spread his arms wide in mock surrender and bowed to her.

“I swear, you missed your calling. You could have had quite a career on the stage.” She flicked magic his way. He shrank into his black cat form and paced out of the room with dignity, tail held high.

She picked up his clothes and followed, but by the time she made the main hallway, he was nowhere in sight. Colleen sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that the changeling wouldn’t get himself into trouble and mounted the broad, formal staircase leading to the home’s upper floors.

It didn’t take long to find a bathroom with a deep, claw foot tub and a shower attachment. She’d just soaped herself when someone barreled into the bathroom, letting in a cloud of cold air. Colleen threw magic outward and recognized Jenna’s energy.

“Thank Christ you weren’t bothering to mute your aura when you came in here,” the other witch said. “Hurry up.”

Colleen’s heart jolted into overdrive. She peeked around the curtained tub into the steamy bathroom. “Why? What’s happened?”

“Roz scented the Irichnas from the other day.”

Colleen dunked her head under the shower spray and rinsed shampoo from her hair. Water running down her body took care of the rest of her. She flipped the taps off and grabbed a large, fluffy blue towel she’d laid next to the tub.

“I’ve got to go.” Jenna turned toward the door. “Meet us in the foyer downstairs.”

“Could you round up Bubba?”

“I suppose so. Where’d you see him last?”

“Downstairs hall. Um, he’s a cat. His pants and shirt are on the floor, right in front of you. If you could change him back, and…”

“Crap!” Jenna grabbed Bubba’s clothes and hustled through the door, not bothering to shut it. “If he’s a cat, he could be anywhere. We don’t have any time to spare.”

Cold air continued to swoosh into the bathroom. Colleen pulled on underwear, pants, top, and jacket as fast as she could over her still-damp skin. She tested her magic while she laced her boots.
Damn!
It hadn’t fully recovered from yesterday’s trip to the underworld.

“Why are you still here?” Mathilde stood in the open door, hands on her hips.

“Because I was taking a shower.” Colleen zipped her jacket and blew out an exasperated breath. “I thought this was a bathroom, not a gathering place.” She snatched up her rucksack and slung it over one shoulder.

“Get going.” Magic flashed from the crone’s hands. Colleen sidestepped it, all but for the smallest jolt, which zapped her leg.

Her temper raced to the fore. She warded herself and stalked forward until she was scant inches from the other witch. “If you want my help—or Roz’s or Jenna’s—you will never deploy magic against me again. Do you understand?”

“I do what I deem necessary. Right now you’re slowing down progress,” Mathilde barked. Power bounced off Colleen’s ward.