A Selkie, Drugs and the Undead
The cold night air was a welcome slap in the face. Ronan was keeping up the four feet distance between them she’d grown accustomed to, but she could tell he was tense.
Beth had never before felt anything like what they had shared. Maybe it had been Katya’s influence, but even now she burned for him. Her mind was going over all of the reasons as to why it would be a bad idea to push him into the nearest alley and have her way with him, assuming he’d let her. Mostly she came up with rats and used needles. Even the fact that the Queen called upon him all the time for personal pleasure was barely on Beth’s radar tonight. Their chemistry was just too explosive. She wondered if it was like that for he and Maeve, maybe Ronan’s tongue was just magical. The thought made her sick to her stomach.
He swung his leg over the bike and she slid on behind him, like they’d done countless times today, but this time it was different. This time her arms around his middle and her legs against his felt too good, almost overstimulating. She bit back a groan. He started the engine and they were off, weaving in between cars.
By the time they made it to a worn down looking apartment complex in an even more worn-down neighborhood, Beth had mostly gotten herself under control. The sinister atmosphere helped. Shadows lived in every crevice and the scent of urine was strong.
Beth followed Ronan through a front door that looked like it had once had a code-lock system. Now the latch was torn off and the number pad was dark. The urine scent only got worse once they were inside, but it was joined by the welcomed smell of weed and alcohol.
Ronan pulled the slip of paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. He glanced around and then headed for the stairs, Beth in his wake. Someone watched them from a cracked open door which slammed as they passed.
Friendly people, Beth noted.
The second floor creaked with every step. The two of them stopped at a door marked 2C and Ronan knocked.
“Sylvie may or may not be a threat. Be on your guard,” he said without looking at her.
“Okay.”
The door opened about an inch and suspicious eyes peeked under the chain lock. As soon as they took in Ronan, they widened. “Knight,” breathed a female voice.
Ronan was so popular.
“Go away!”
Or not, though Beth.
“Sylvie, let me in,” Ronan ordered. His tone had become authoritative. It was the tone Beth was starting to recognize as his ‘sheriff voice’.
“Please, Ronan, just go away.”
“Release the chain or I will break out.” Every word sounded dangerous. Beth shouldn’t like it, but she did.
There was a pause and then the door closed, then opened again, this time wide. Sylvie was a little shorter than Beth but attractive in a pixie kind of way, even half devoured by shadow as she was. She looked familiar, but Beth couldn’t quite place her. More than likely Beth had served her at the Glen. The girl had brown eyes and a short black mohawk. She looked up at Ronan with what was unmistakably shame. If they were on the fence about whether she was guilty, this settled it.
Ronan pushed past her into the small apartment. Beth followed, giving the girl a weak smile. The space was cozy, illuminated by five or six hanging lanterns. It was a studio apartment with cracks in the plaster and exposed piping; cheap but charming, as far as Beth was concerned.
Beth took a few steps in and heard the selkie shut the door behind them before she felt it. And oh, god, it was strong. Memories of ingesting the servant’s soul at her wedding reception swept over her and Beth felt an echo of the sheer ecstasy that had accompanied it, immediately followed by the urgent, unbearable hunger for more. She gasped, suddenly aching with agonizing emptiness.
Ronan was in front of her swiftly, strong hands gripping her shoulders as he bent his head to peer into her face. “What is it, Elizabeth?”
It took Beth a moment to work through the gnawing pain of the void, but looking into his eyes helped. “A soul. Or souls. Disembodied?”
Sylvie was wide-eyed. “What is she talking about?”
Ronan ignored her, instead staring intently at his wife. “Are you alright?”
Beth knew she was shaking now. Souls were near, and even more powerful because they weren’t bound inside flesh. Every thought in her mind was centered upon taking them inside her as she had before, on finding that feeling again. “I want it,” she whispered to him, pleading with her eyes.
Ronan frowned, an air of panic to him. He looked at Sylvie. “Do you have souls?”
“Souls?” she asked, alarmed.
“Fae Souls. Detached.” He was looking around now for what Beth could already feel. In fact, she could sense every inch of distance between it and herself.
She spun out of his startled grasp and turned to the corner. A low table stacked with various odds and ends boasted a silver thermos. A soul-filled silver thermos. Beth started in that direction as soon as she pinpointed it, but Ronan caught her arm.
“Thermos,” she hissed, reaching for it even though she was too far away to reach it.
“Elizabeth,” he said warningly, pulling her back around to face him. He stared imploringly into her eyes. “Elizabeth, I need you to get yourself under control. Can you do that?”
“I want it,” she said, this time a little more coherently.
He leaned down and kissed her and all the lusty feelings she’d spent the last twenty minutes fighting off came flooding back with a vengeance, somehow trumping her need for the soul-juice.
Ronan pulled away and cupped her cheeks, his fierce gaze engulfing her. “You okay?”
Beth swallowed and managed to nod, her breathing out of control. Had he just used her attracting to him as a distraction? Tears pricked her eyes at the swift change of emotions from desperate to on fire to used.
Ronan turned away from her and crossed the few steps to the table, snatching up the thermos. He turned accusatively to Sylvie, who was standing to the side looking like someone had just applied jumper cables to her puppy. “What the fuck are you doing with this?”
Beth blinked at the Knight, surprised. Had he cussed? She must be rubbing off on him.
“I’m just moving it. I get it over the border a-and pass it off. That’s all!” The girl shrank down as Ronan rounded on her, his rage almost palpable.
Beth took a few deep breaths and was glad when the need for souls receded. She’d never encountered it in an extracted form before. It drew her like a moth to a flame. The want for more of Ronan’s lips was still there too, so she focused on that. It was an easier hurt to deal with.
“C’mon Ronan, I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Sylvie said meekly.
He opened his mouth, dark eyes blazing, but something slammed hard against the door, interrupting him before he could talk.
Sylvie let out a small shriek and she and Beth both turned in time to face the entrance. Another slam sounded and Ronan’s sword was suddenly in his hand. He pushed in front of the girls with a low growl. The door burst inward, flying off its hinges. In stormed creatures Beth thought she would only ever see in the Hedge and she nearly threw up right there.
“What the hell?” Ronan muttered. He immediately maneuvered into a whirlwind of sword swinging. There were six of them in total.
“Revenants!” Beth called to him, looking around frantically for a weapon. She could use her mortal self-defense training all she wanted on these guys, but she had a feeling they weren’t going down without something sharp becoming intimately acquainted with their body parts.
Ronan pulled a knife from his belt and tossed it to Beth. She caught it, barely. She glanced at Sylvie and was surprised to see the selkie with a gun in her hands.
“What are revenants?” Sylvie asked, squinting at one for a moment before shooting it in the chest. It didn’t stop its movements.
“Soulless Fae,” Beth explained, lunging for the arm of one when he came close enough. She managed a good slash at him before Ronan pulled him back into the fray.
The six of them were circling him. They undoubtedly wanted the souls and Beth noticed that he’d stashed the thermos in his weapons belt. He was keeping them at bay with his trenchant blade.
“Elizabeth, what kills them?” called Ronan.
“I don’t know!” Beth cried. “I’ve never done it!”
In the Hedge Beth had always just managed to run away. She’d gotten in a few good stabs with glass, but it hadn’t affected them. Not even Benji’s fire had.
Sylvie launched another bullet, this time dead center between a revenant’s eyes. The wound seemed to have no effect on the creature whatsoever other than a new hole in its head.
“Nice shot,” Beth muttered.
Sylvie jerked her head in response.
One revenant managed to escape Ronan’s herd and ambled quickly in their direction. His white eyes were eerie as he fixed them on Beth and growled ravenously. She brandished the knife and didn’t hesitate to shove it deeply into his chest when he lunged. He fought back, going for her shoulder with his mouth.
He struck, and Beth cried out, feeling his teeth sink into her flesh. Another shot echoed and blood poured from a sudden hole in his throat. Beth gave Sylvie a hurried smile and the selkie winked in return. Beth pulled the knife out and shoved it straight into the bullet wound, ripping it to the side. A spurt of hot blood splashed across her chest and she gasped.
The revenant went down, dropping to the floor with Beth atop him. She pushed up until she was straddling him and then pulled the knife again, harder, severing the neck. This seemed to do the trick. Fortunately, Beth wasn’t as nauseated as she thought she’d be if she ever had to slice someone’s throat open. Maybe she had a knack for this.
“Decapitation!” she called, watching closely for any signs of movement. When there were none, she rose.
Distantly Beth was aware of the blood from her shoulder cascading down her arm and soaking the left side of her shirt.
God damnit. She loved this shirt.
Without really thinking she pulled another revenant from those surrounding Ronan and aimed for his jugular, lunging. Another hot spray of blood showered her. Unsurprisingly, this one tried to bite at her as well. She was ready for it this time and dodged to the side while jamming the knife into his neck. Four more blasts rang off and a figure dropped to the ground to her right, his head shot clean off.
Beth’s revenant bit at her again and she tugged, dragging the knife. He went down and she straddled him, just like the last one, ripping the knife one more time across his throat and sitting back when it detached from the head. When she looked up Ronan and Sylvie were both staring at her. Ronan had made quick work of the remaining three revenants, dispatching with their heads a lot more cleanly than she and Sylvie had theirs. But he had a longer blade.
The blood that covered Beth was quickly cooling and she stood, stepping off the motionless revenant torso. Her shoulder hurt like a bitch.
Sylvie reloaded her gun.
“They were after the souls,” Beth informed her.
“I didn’t know they were souls,” Sylvie said.
“What did you think you were smuggling?” Ronan asked angrily. His eyes lingered on Beth, checking her over.
“I didn’t ask. Sometimes it’s better that way.” The selkie grabbed a leather backpack and began stuffing clothes inside.
“And you haven’t had to deal with any other revenants?” Beth asked.
“I only got home an hour ago,” said Sylvie. She clasped the bag and turned to Ronan. “Here’s the deal. Either you give me back that thermos and I deliver it to the intended recipient with you as an escort or you confiscate it, like I have a feeling you’re going to, and let me come along so you can protect me when my boss finds out I lost the juice and comes to find me.”
“The latter.” Ronan stepped toward Beth, eyes landing on her shoulder. “You’re bitten.”
“I’m one hundred percent sure I’m not going to become a zombie. Don’t worry.” Beth tried to roll her shoulder back and winced. She handed Ronan back the knife she had borrowed.
“Let’s go to Dougal’s. I’ll be able to patch you up.” Ronan turned decisively to the opening where the door had previously been. “Do you have everything you need to be lost for a while Sylviana?”
“Yes,” she said.
Then they were out and down the stairs, rushing past the skeevy tenants who had come out of their apartments to rubberneck. Somehow, they managed to fit onto the bike. Beth made sure that Sylvie was sandwiched between them, unsure of how she’d handle being pressed against Ronan and his thermos full of souls.
Ronan sped across the city. For a terrifying moment, Beth thought he might use the reality manipulation capabilities that the bike possessed, but he didn’t. Still, it seemed to take no time at all for them to pull up outside Dougal’s. The bar looked like it had already closed for the night. The door was locked, and Ronan pounded on it urgently, flanked by the two blood covered women.
Dougal appeared from the back and rushed to let them in.
“Ronan! What happened?” He locked the door behind them and led them all to an obscure set of stairs by the restrooms.
“We were attacked by revenants,” he bit out, following the short man up. “Elizabeth’s injured. Do you have first aid?”
“Sylvie’s fine, thanks for asking,” Beth heard the selkie grumble.
“Of course I have first aid,” Dougal said as they reached a landing.
The apartment must have run the length of the entire bar because it was huge. It was furnished with the same type of blonde wood as the tables and bar below and one wall was completely made up of windows. Beth couldn’t help but gape at the tastefulness of the area while Ronan took her good arm and lead her to a dining room table. He sat her down in one of the chairs and Dougal joined them a moment later with a box.
“Stop acting like it’s a snake bite, Ronan,” Beth said, not really able to bring herself to look at him without that insistent surge of need from before. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the souls he harbored or if it was just him.
Sylvie sat down across from them and propped her head on her hands. “I heard you got married, Ronan, but I don’t think I really believed it.”
Beth focused her eyes on the table, teeth gritted. Her shoulder stung angrily.
Ronan pulled a knife from his invisi-belt and cut the strap of Beth’s shirt, along with the strap of her bra, in one snip.
“Hey!” she protested.
“The blood would never have come out, lass, I’m sorry to say,” said Dougal. He was soaking cotton balls in antiseptic.
“That’s why leather is amazing,” Sylvie said, shrugging out of her leather jacket and smiling at it appreciatively. The blood either hadn’t penetrated the thick material or was blending in really well. Beth suspected the latter.
“I need a shower,” Beth said, then sucked in a breath as Ronan pressed one of the cotton balls to her shoulder.
“You all do, it looks like,” Dougal said. “I’m going to pop down and grab a little bottle of wine for your pain.” He left for the stairs.
“Hold still,” Ronan ordered, and before she could stop herself Beth was looking up into his face.
Tingles of awareness danced along her skin as she felt herself drown momentarily in his eyes. She remembered them as they’d been a few hours ago; wild with need. She shivered. He looked away, focusing on her shoulder.
“Who is your boss, Sylvie?” he asked.
“You promise you’ll protect me? I need a place to stay too.” Sylvie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Since my apartment is now a revenant tomb.”
Ronan glanced at Beth, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Yes, fine,” she said, hissing as he dragged a cotton ball through a trench in her skin. “But you don’t seem like you need protecting. You’re kind of a badass.”
Sylvie snorted. “I wish. I know how to use a gun, and I can fight with blades a little bit, but only as much as Ronan and Sebastian taught me back in the day.”
Beth looked at her in surprise. “You hung out with them at the palace?”
“We were a trio of mischief,” said Sylvie, a hint of nostalgia in her features.
“I’m sure you will be again,” Beth said, trying not to snap. It was difficult, though, when Ronan was slathering her shoulder up with some sort of painful salve.
Dougal reappeared and set a bottle on the table along with four wine glasses.
“You know, you’re kind of a badass too, Mrs. Mac Nevin,” Sylvie said as the wine was poured.
Beth winced. “I’m never going to get used to being called that. And I’m not a badass. I’ve taken some mortal martial arts and self-defense classes and Sebastian and I spar. Most of what I know, I learned from him.”
“You and Sebastian close?” Sylvie asked.
“We’re roommates.” A glass was slid toward her and she took it, drinking deeply. “Dougal, you are wonderful.”
The older Fae chuckled. “Thanks lass. It’s been awhile since anyone noticed.”
Ronan shot him a rueful glance as he finished applying a bandage to Beth. He sat back and picked up his wine, taking a long pull.
There was a moment of exhausted silence as the four of them each enjoyed their wine.
“The rumors said it was an arranged marriage,” said Sylvie, her tone accusing.
Beth was weary. Now that the adrenaline from the fight was wearing off she could feel every ache, and some of them were from getting blue-balled by Katya. Thinking back now, it was difficult to believe any of that scene in the succubus’ office had ever happened.
“It was.” Ronan finally looked somewhat relaxed. His wine glass was already half empty.
“Then what the hell was with that kiss?” Sylvie asked.
Dougal’s eyes shot to Ronan, bright with interest.
“It was a distraction tactic,” Ronan said dismissively.
“From what?”
“From the souls. Your cargo seems to be highly, highly addictive.”
“And what? Your girlfriend’s a druggie?”
Ronan sat up straight. “Wife. And souls aren’t drugs. Her power gives her direct contact with them. Therefore, she is more susceptible to their . . . attraction.”
Sylvie looked Beth over once again, this time with both curiosity and a hint of fear. “So what’s your power?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to know.” Beth knew that just thinking about it might send her over the edge again. She wondered how long Ronan was going to keep that thermos near her. Maybe he was going to use it to train her or something, build up a tolerance. Or perhaps he really was a villain, and would use it to get her even more addicted so she couldn’t even try to turn down the Queen’s soul-sucking commands.
Beth yawned. “Are we going home tonight?”
“There’s plenty of room here if you want to stay. Couches and a guest room and whatnot,” said Dougal. “And I’ll even make you breakfast in the morning.”
That perked Beth up. The man could cook, if dinner earlier was any indication.
Ronan glanced at her excitement and she could see she saw the corner of his lips twitch up ever so slightly. “That’s very generous of you, thank you Dougal.”
“My pleasure. I’ll go and get the bedroom ready.” He stood and trundled toward a hallway, and then was out of sight.
Beth tried to take another gulp of her wine and then frowned when it was gone already.
“Here,” Sylvie said, bottle in hand. She poured more for each of them and then offered it to Ronan who shook his head. “Still never let your guard down, huh?” She offered him a small smile.
Ronan replied with a hard gaze. “Do I really have to remind you that we were just attacked by revenants? They were after your thermos, Sylvie, which I still have in my possession. Rest is not really an option right now.”
“So get rid of it,” she said with a shrug. “Drop it in a dumpster somewhere.”
Beth grimaced. “It would kill any mortal who found it. Not to mention draw revenants to them if there are more. They’re not supposed to be able to get out of the Hedge, right? I’ve only ever seen them in the Hedge.”
Sylvie blinked at her. “You’ve been in the Hedge?”
“They’re not supposed to be out of the Hedge,” Ronan confirmed, ignoring Sylvie’s question. “So either someone has found a way to let them out or someone is creating new ones on the outside.”
Beth shuddered at the thought. Revenants had haunted her dreams since she was a little girl. “I didn’t think anyone but the Hedge King could open a new gate. At least that’s what the stories say. And I think Rose would notice if a group of revenants came traipsing through the Glen.”
“I’ve never heard of it being possible.” Ronan’s dark eyes settled on Beth, his mouth curved into a thoughtful frown.
“But I guess if someone is able to extract and contain souls then it’s safe to reason that they are leaving revenants in their wake,” said Beth, suddenly dizzy. She took another pull from her wine.
Ronan’s frown deepened and he turned to the selkie. “Who are you working for, Sylvie?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” she said. “I don’t know his name.”
“Bullshit,” said Ronan, causing Beth to jump and blink at him. “You know everyone at Court.”
Sylvie would only know everyone at Court if she was noble herself. Even the servants weren’t expected to keep track of all the courtiers. Beth squinted at her, trying to place her again. She was still familiar but Beth couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
“He’s not part of the Court. I think he’s a hermit. I had to go to his hut in the Drochaid.”
Beth and Ronan both grimaced in unison.
“How did you know to find him?” asked Ronan.
“A messenger came to me. A child.”
“In Faerie?” Ronan sounded disbelieving.
“No. At my apartment.”
“And you just went?” Beth asked, appalled that anyone would follow a strange child not only into Faerie but into the Drochaid.
“There was a lot of money offered,” Sylvie said defensively. “And my life was slightly threatened.”
Beth couldn’t deny that she would have done the same under those circumstances, so she stayed silent.
“That’s our next step then. We’ll go to his hut in the Drochaid,” Ronan said decisively.
Well, thought Beth, doesn’t that just sound like a bathtub full of candy? She rubbed her forehead, exhausted.
Sylvie took a breath as if to speak but she was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. The three of them jumped up instantly but it moved fast enough that even Ronan didn’t catch it when it whooshed across the room and into Beth, pinning her against the wall.
Beth gasped and blinked down at who she realized looked a lot like Marlowe, but younger. He’d been roughly fifteen when they’d met this afternoon, now he seemed about twelve. His teeth were bared and Beth jerked in revulsion when she caught sight of them. Each one was pointed and looked sharp, reminding her of a lamprey.
She struggled but he was much stronger than an actual twelve-year-old. He licked his lips and leaned in, sinking those terrifying teeth into the right side of her neck, piercing the flesh easily. Beth must have some karma with getting bitten today, she decided as she began screaming. Her knees buckled with the pain, but Marlowe held her upright, trapped.
The next moment he was ripped off her and she slumped, sliding down the wall and looking up dazedly. Ronan was holding the thrashing Marlowe by his arms, which were pinned behind his back. But the boy was putting up one hell of a fight and Ronan struggled to keep him there. Beth put a hand to her throat, knowing to try and stem the flow of blood.
Dougal was there beside her in the next instant, holding a bar rag to her wound. She watched as Sylvie moved to help Ronan try to contain the little terror.
“Her blood! Just give me her blood! Marlowe screeched, his voice the high-pitched timbre of a prepubescent boy. “I need it! Just fucking give it to me!”
“Hold this here,” Dougal ordered, placing her hand over the cloth.
Marlowe brought his legs up and kicked at Sylvie, catching her in the chest and sending her flying backwards across the room. Ronan still had a grip on his arms, but it didn’t look like it would last very long. The demon boy jerked hard and was kicking off of everything near him.
Dougal opened a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a small vial then warily approached them. Sylvie was back up and approaching too. She looked like she was trying to decide how best to tackle Marlowe. Dougal muttered something to her and she nodded, then rushed forward, risking another kick to the chest. She grabbed his legs and held him immobile just long enough for Dougal to shove the contents of the vial down his throat.
Almost immediately, Marlowe went limp as he fell into unconsciousness. Beth wanted to clap for Dougal, for the old winemaker was no slouch, but she wasn’t sure she could lift her hands. This, combined with the blood loss from her first bite of the evening had her barely able to feel her legs.
Ronan dropped the Fae to the floor without remorse and stepped over him. He walked to Beth and knelt before her, staring into her eyes. She blinked hazily back at him.
“What the fuck was that?” Sylvie asked, rubbing her sternum.
“That was Marlowe,” said Ronan putting an arm around Beth’s back and another under her knees. He stood, taking her with him.
“I know that was Marlowe. But why did he attack like that? He’s not normally so…” Sylvie trailed off.
“This is younger that I’ve ever seen him,” Dougal said, having produced from somewhere a large set of heavy looking manacles which he was placing around Marlowe’s wrists.
“He must have liked Elizabeth’s blood. Probably tasted the echo of souls,” Ronan said. “We need to get this healed.”
“Why would you give him Elizabeth’s blood?” asked Sylvie.
“In return for information on you,” he said, shooting her a glare.
The selkie looked properly scolded.
“There’s a healer over on Main,” Dougal muttered. He stepped close to them, examining Beth’s neck. He replaced the cloth that she was still dutifully holding with a clean one. “I’ll deal with Marlowe.”
“Are you sure?” Ronan sounded concerned.
“We’ll be fine. I’ll bleed him out a little. Detox him. I’ll stash him in the cellar until he’s gotten this out of his system.”
Beth was so, so tired. Her eyelids fell closed and it felt heavenly.
“Let’s just get her back to Sebastian then,” Ronan said to Sylvie. “He can heal her.”
That meant she’d get to go home tonight. It hurt her neck to smile, but Beth did it anyway.