Burned - Moning Karen Marie (книги без регистрации бесплатно полностью .TXT) 📗

It’s how I used to prepare for dates in high school: when Billy James asks me out will I say yes the first time or make him wait; will I wear the low-cut top or something flirty and sweet; when he tries to kiss me, will I let him; if he takes me to the less popular party at Amy Tanhauser’s house instead of the party of the year at Heather Jackson’s, will I dump him; if he wants to have sex, am I ready?

Ah, my long-lost shallow life.

Back then, things unfolded so predictably. I wore flirty and sweet, I dumped him when he took me to the wrong party, and I didn’t have sex with Billy but I did have sex with his older brother later that summer.

My careful prep doesn’t work so well anymore.

Each time I think I’m braced for any possible scenario, gravity changes, my trajectory shifts, rocket fuel gets dumped into my gas tank and I end up hurtling at inconceivable speeds at some entirely new crash site I’d never considered, a big, fat nasty planet I didn’t even know existed that explodes on the horizon so suddenly no amount of frantic braking can save you from impact.

How do you brace yourself for a collision with the unimaginable?

The closer we get to the abbey, the more sultry the clime. On both sides of the drive, mist steams from the lush lawn. I feel like we’re taking a bad trip down a yellow brick road, but what waits for us behind that curtain is no charlatan, rather an enormously powerful, staggeringly dangerous wizard of chaos.

Although it’s two hours till dawn, in Ireland, for heaven’s sake, I’m sweating and my hair is sticking damply to my face. It’s hotter here than it was in Dublin. The fountain isn’t the only new addition to the grounds. Golden trellises draped with black roses offer shelter above marble benches, and I suspect the scent of the blossoms would be drugging to anyone foolish enough to pause in the alcove beneath.

“They’ve stones now,” Drustan says, eyeing a cluster rising from the mist, great bleached-bone fingers reaching for the sky.

“I care naught for the looks of them,” Cian rumbles.

Dageus agrees, “Nor do I.”

Cian grunts and points, a darker-haired version of Lor, at two enormous black megaliths. I think they might like each other. Grunts and all.

“A dolmen awaiting the cover stone,” Ryodan murmurs.

Barrons says, “We bring jackhammers next time. I want those stones destroyed.”

I agree. I watched Darroc usher an Unseelie horde into our city through a dolmen at 1247 LaRuhe, in the heart of the Dark Zone adjacent to BB&B. I later asked V’lane/Cruce to crush it. I want this one crushed, too, before it’s completed and who knows what arrives on our planet next.

As we skirt the fountain, I say, “You do realize we’re walking into a trap, right? Do we have a plan? Is someone going to tell me what it is?”

Seven male heads swivel my way.

“Would you shut her up,” Ryodan says to Barrons.

Barrons slants him a cold look that shuts Ryodan up. I’d sacrifice my eyeteeth to perfect that look. Then again maybe that’s precisely what’s required: long, inhumanly sharp ones like theirs to pull it off.

“I doona ken why you permitted the woman to come. We doona risk ours in battle.” Cian’s brogue is so thick it’s hard to follow.

“Tell that to Colleen,” Christopher says grimly. “She’s inside.”

Drustan gives him an incredulous look. “You let her come tonight? And she’s already inside? How?”

“We need all the information we can get if we hope to rescue Christian from the Hag. These women know the Seelie nearly as well as we do, the Unseelie even better. Colleen joined up with the new sidhe-seers a week ago, to infiltrate the abbey and search their archives.”

“The new group? How?” I demand. “She’s not a sidhe-seer.”

“And you allowed this?” Cian explodes.

“Keep it down. They’re going to hear us,” I warn.

“Honey, they opened the front gate,” Fade says. “They know we’re here. Trap. Remember.”

Christian’s father snorts. “Try stopping her.”

“Is she?” I press.

“What?” he snaps.

“A sidhe-seer.”

“She has other … skills.”

“Why the bloody hell are those Unseelie following you, lass?” Drustan demands. “At first I thought they were drawn to all of us for some reason, but the moment Barrons moves away from you, they’re on you like midges. Is there something about you we should know?”

Seven male heads turn my way again.

“She said they’re ghosts of the Unseelie she’s killed,” Dageus says.

“Not a ghost of truth in that one,” Ryodan says dryly.

“Oh, just shut up, all of you,” I say, exasperated, moving closer to Barrons again, reclaiming a little personal space.

We continue walking in silence toward the abbey.

“So, do we have a plan?” I say again after a few moments.

“Walk up to the front door and go inside,” Barrons replies.

“That’s not a plan. That’s a suicide mission.”

“We’re a little hard to kill,” Fade says.

“Some more than others,” I say pointedly. “I’m not so sure the Keltar get back up quite as easily as—” I bite that one off myself when all four Keltar shoot me looks of death.

Clearly, I impugned their virility, when all I was trying to do is remind my team that the other team doesn’t have the same Get Out of Death Free card.

“Why did you bring her again?” Dageus says.

“Because once she gets with the plan, she’s as useful as the rest of us,” Barrons says.

“It’d help if I knew what the bloody plan was,” I grumble.

“Besides, we can use her Unseelie as body shields,” he adds.

Well darn, that was one I hadn’t thought of.

The front door, which was once slats of wood reinforced by steel, now looms black as polished obsidian, covered with ancient runes I’ve seen before.

Below the abbey, in the chamber that houses Cruce.

It swings silently open.

I move forward and pause on the threshold, looking in to get the lay of the land before I inadvertently plant a foot on a mine.

Seven men march past me, boots echoing on the stone floor.

I hurry to catch up. Well, I mostly hurry. I linger a moment, absorbing the raw fearlessness of their stride, the determination to never quit that squares their shoulders, and it fortifies my resolve. I will match the bar these men set so high. They all have their inner demons. And they manage them.

I will, too.

The entry hall is large and rectangular, with a ceiling that soars to open roof rafters. On three walls, fireplaces that could serve as small bedrooms blast more heat into the already warm room.

The sofas are faded and worn, dotted with handmade pillows and crocheted throws, the floors warmed by century-old rugs, the walls hung with antique tapestries. Chairs perch near tables that hold open books and perspiring glasses of iced drinks.

The room is empty.

“Where the bloody hell is everyone?” Dageus growls.

“Quiet. Someone’s coming,” Barrons says.

Several seconds pass before I hear the sound of people approaching. I envy his preternatural senses, rue that my monster has no such benefits.

I offer benefits with which you could retire from this paltry planet and rule galaxies. You refuse them. Embrace your destiny and we will destroy the prince before we leave this world. It will be our parting gift.

Right. As if either Sinsar Dubh would leave my planet intact. Criminy, I can’t even think about it without it stirring. I mutter Poe beneath my breath and watch as four women enter the room. I’m relieved to see they’re ours. I sat at a table with these women not so long ago.

Leading the group is Josie, a skinny dark-eyed girl with platinum hair and goth makeup, followed by Shauna, a petite brunette with hazel eyes and a quick smile, and the twins, Clare and Sorcha MacSweeney. They are the women Kat brought to our clandestine meeting in a pub, after Rowena instructed a group of them to ambush me and try to take my spear. They failed. I accidentally killed a sidhe-seer in the process. Moira. I never forget the names of humans I’ve slain. I catch myself reaching protectively for my spear but stop, unwilling to invite more of the Book’s unwanted commentary so near another copy of itself plus so many vulnerable humans.