Chapter 4

MOST FAE ARE to some degree obsessed with pretty things, usually the more gold and sparkly the better. The Stone Order’s fortress reflected the slightly different tastes of the New Gargoyles. As a people, we tended to prefer, unsurprisingly, stone in all its forms. Everything from marble to semi-precious crystals.

The Order was decorated with geometric patterns of all manner of stones. As I raced by, I recognized in the wall designs inlaid turquoise, obsidian, quartz, tourmaline, and half a dozen others. The place practically resonated with the vibrational frequencies of various crystalline materials. New Gargoyles also had an affinity for geometry. We liked everything to be at neat angles.

Usually, Marisol had a few courtiers and pages out in the marble entry, acting as sort of butlers and concierges. The empty entry I’d encountered meant that even the greeters had abandoned their posts to attend the meeting.

I could hear Marisol’s voice from within the auditorium. Grasping the metal handle of one door, I held my breath and pulled.

Inside, the concentric circles of stadium seating appeared completely full. The lights were up on the stage, and the audience area was darkened.

I let out some air. It seemed I’d snuck in. I stood with my back to the wall, letting my eyes adjust. There were only around seven hundred Fae with proven New Gargoyle blood that made them eligible to swear to the Stone Order—demonstrated by forming rock armor—and it seemed all of them were here. Others stood at the wall as I did.

I flicked my eyes left and right, and then did a double-take to my left. My father was one person away, and he was peering at me.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Petra,” he said over the head of the teenage New Gargoyle girl who stood between us. Sarcasm was about as close as stone-faced Oliver Maguire ever got to showing actual emotion.

I gave him a saccharine smile and tilted my head innocently. “Hey, Dad.”

He whispered in the girl’s ear and they switched places. I held in a groan and turned my attention to Marisol.

New Gargoyles generally didn’t go for the fluff and finery typical of the Fae courts. Marisol looked understated but regal in a simple, floor-length dress the color of storm clouds. Strands of semi-precious stones had been woven into her intricately braided ash-blond hair, and a wide mother-of-pearl belt was cinched around her slim waist. She looked like a Greek goddess.

“ . . . the Spriggan kingdom has already stolen a dozen of us,” Marisol was saying from the dais that was the focal point of the curved bench seating. Her son, Maxen, stood just off to one side of the dais, his weight eased over to one hip and his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His attention was fixed on her. “But Sebastian’s isn’t the only kingdom vying for New Gargoyles. King Periclase of the Unseelie Duergar has just made an appeal to King Oberon, arguing that his kingdom has the right to absorb the Stone Order.”

I suddenly felt a little sick to my stomach. The possibility of ending up under the rule of an Unseelie kingdom such as the Duergar had never entered my mind. A Seelie King like Sebastian would be bad enough, but being forced into the Unseelie world would be my own personal nightmare. Whereas the Seelie kingdoms were defined by oaths and honor, the Unseelie kingdoms were known more for deception. And with the Unseelie, the manipulation and political intrigue was ten times worse. The Duergar’s petition to Oberon, a near-god in Faerie and the current king of the High Court, was only a step less serious than a declaration of war.

I blinked and turned a sharp gaze up at my father. “Is she saying what I think she’s saying?”

Personally, I’d always hoped that if Marisol did succeed in forming a Stone Court, she would establish it as an independent kingdom, subjected to neither Seelie nor Unseelie. Such kingdoms were very rare and there were none currently, but then again, we New Gargoyles were an unusual bunch.

Before Oliver could respond to me, Marisol continued.

“One of Periclase’s main arguments is that the Stone Order is much too small and our rate of reproduction much too low to ever gain the numbers needed to formalize into our own kingdom. So, the time has come to strengthen our ranks.” Marisol paused dramatically. “We must begin to show our true strength. First, we will bring the hidden ones into the fold.”

The audience seemed to inhale and murmur all at once. Not quite a gasp, but a collective sound of surprise.

“It’s true.” She raised her chin and looked out solemnly. “There are over a hundred more New Gargoyles. I received a prophecy twenty-five years ago, not long after establishing the Stone Order, that directed me to keep some of our numbers concealed.”

Did I mention that Marisol had prophetic visions? One of her many talents. It wasn’t the sort of thing I’d normally put much stock in, but her prophecies were the real deal.

“For obvious reasons, only a few of us have known about the changelings and other hidden ones,” Marisol said. “Yesterday, I received a sign that it was time for us to seek them out. Only hours later, I got word of the Duergar King Periclase’s formal bid for our fealty.”

Changelings were a fact of Faerie life and always had been. Infidelity was rife in Faerie, and Fae sometimes had need to hide illegitimate babies among the humans in the Earthly realm. This was especially true in earlier eras, when Fae were considerably more brutal and bloody, and infanticide for reasons of jealousy and power wasn’t uncommon. There were other reasons to hide Fae in the Earthly realm, but the myth of the reverse—Fae stealing human babies off to Faerie—was entirely false. No one really knew how or why the rumor began, but Fae had no use for human children. Fae changelings were usually placed in human households after crib deaths. There was an entire race of Fae responsible for executing the placements.

“I tried to get a hold of you last night,” Oliver whispered in my ear.

“What?” I glanced at him distractedly but then returned my attention to Marisol. “Oh, uh, I was on assignment in Faerie and missed your call.”

“We need to talk,” he said.

His tone, which sounded just this side of worried, snagged my attention. Apprehension snaked through me as I looked up at him. My father was one of the most formidable Fae alive. Physically, he was as tall as a full-blood Elf, but with twice the shoulder span, and he was pure, solid muscle. As a fighter, he was almost unbeatable. He’d always been more soldier than father figure, and he was about as touchy-feely as a sandstone cliff. I didn’t resent him for it—he’d made sure I had what I needed when I was growing up—and frankly when he did show anything hinting at emotion, it set me on edge.

He clamped a steel paw around my elbow and pushed me toward the door.

“Let’s go into the hallway,” he said.

“But she’s still talking,” I protested, gesturing at the lit dais. “Isn’t this pretty important?”

“The rest is just wind-down from the big announcement,” he said brusquely.

My brows shot up. Oliver had sworn fealty to Marisol before the Stone Order was even official, and his loyalty to her ran deep and in all directions. This was about as close to disrespectful as I’d ever heard him in regard to her.

I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to like it.

Oliver faced me, holding my shoulders in his huge hands. “Petra, King Periclase has taken a New Gargoyle changeling. A very important one. He kidnapped her.”

I looked at him in confusion, my head pulled back as if he’d shouted at me. “What in Oberon’s name are you talking about?”

“We need you to get the changeling before Periclase tricks her into swearing fealty to him,” he said. “This is important, Petra.”

I shook my head and crossed my arms. “I’m not doing anything until all my questions are answered.”

Oliver’s eyes seemed to plead with me, but only for a split second before they hardened into a glare I knew all too well—it was a look that sliced right through you. But I stood my ground.

“You’re the one who taught me to question until all of my questions are answered and I’m satisfied with the answers. You always said it’s the best way to protect myself against—”

“—the manipulative tendencies of the Fae,” he finished for me. “I’ll give you as much as I can, but you’re going to have to trust me. This is crucial, Petra. Someone has to go get that girl, but it can’t be me. I’m too high profile. It should be you because—”

He cut off abruptly as his gaze flicked over my shoulder to something down the hallway. He stepped to the side and reached up for the grip of the sword he wore on a cross-body scabbard similar to mine.

I twisted to look for whatever had caught his attention. “What is it?”

But even as I said the words, black-swathed figures about four feet high had begun to appear as if out of thin air—dropping from the ceiling and materializing from the walls like a swarm of stealthy insects. Metal glinted in their hands. They looked exactly like the ninja wannabes who’d tried to take out the Spriggan King Sebastian at Druid Circle.

“Assassins!” I hissed needlessly, as Oliver was charging them before I finished saying the word.

Mortimer was already in my hand, engulfed in the violet fire of my magic. I pushed more magic across my skin to activate my stone armor. Pain gripped me as thin plates of stone formed over my body under my clothes. Just in time, as three blades flashed through the air right at me. I leaned right to avoid the one coming at my head and let the other two harmlessly ping off my armor.

“Watch the knives. They’re poisoned,” I called to Oliver, remembering what had happened to Sebastian’s guards.

My father was mowing down the assassins with his sword, a handful of the short-statured figures already lying still on the ground.

Distracted by the knives flashing through the air at me, I didn’t notice the attack from above until it was too late. The surprise of a person’s full weight dropping onto my shoulders pulled me off balance. I stumbled and dropped Mort. Hands curled around my neck as the ninja rode me piggy-back. The sharp edge of a blade slid across the armor at my throat. It caused no injury, but if the blade were slim enough and found one of the hairline spaces between rock plates, I’d be in serious trouble.

I clamped one hand around the attacker’s elbow and yanked sharply. I felt the arm dislocate from the shoulder. A male scream of pain came from under the black fabric mask as I hurled him to the floor. I left him there, writhing. No one was badass enough to keep fighting well with a dislocated shoulder, except maybe Oliver.

The assassins came after us with daggers, having spent their throwing knives. Another ninja flew at me with a murderous yell. I dove and scooped up Mort, then went up to one knee, and pivoted just in time to slash at the glinting metal the attacker wanted to drive into me. The diminutive assassin parried with unexpected skill, lunging and stabbing at my abdomen. He was quick enough to get past my defenses, but the point of his dagger slid off my armor, leaving only a gash in my tank top.

Rather than go for a kill, I used the flat side of my broadsword to whack him on the side of the head. He crumpled to the floor.

I stood up, watching as Oliver finished off the last attacker. My father was breathing through his mouth but had barely broken a sweat.

Something wasn’t adding up here.

The ninja whose arm I’d yanked out of its socket was still on the ground and groaning in agony with his eyes pinched closed. I went to the decorative linen curtains that hung to one side of the door leading into the auditorium and pulled off the length of silvery rope that held them back. Kneeling next to the wounded ninja, I snapped my fingers in front of his face.

“Hey!” I said over his loud moans. “Shut up a second.”

He opened his eyes.

“Put your arm out straight, and I’ll pop it back in,” I said.

He did as I commanded, letting out a screech when I gripped his arm and shoulder and snapped everything back to where it was supposed to be. Before he could get any bright ideas, I flipped him to his stomach, and with my knee pressed into his lower back, I pulled his arms around behind him and tied his wrists together.

Oliver had gone to the auditorium door and pushed it open just a crack to look inside.

“Looks like they’re none the wiser,” he said over his shoulder. He let the door close softly and came to me, a baffled look twisting his face.

I stood. “These are the same guys who attacked yesterday when I was with King Sebastian,” I said.

He beckoned me away from my prisoner.

“They tried to kill the Spriggan king?” Oliver asked, his voice low enough that the tied-up ninja wouldn’t overhear.

“Yeah. I was on an assignment in a nightclub in the new Spriggan territory on the Las Vegas Strip. Sebastian was there meeting with Maxen, and the king invited me for audience. The ninjas attacked and killed a few of Sebastian’s men.”

“Did any of the attackers get away?”

“I don’t think so, but I couldn’t say for sure.” I glanced at the bodies and throwing knives scattered around the hallway, remembering how the bodies at Druid Circle had been quickly piled behind a sofa by Sebastian’s men. “This doesn’t make sense. If it was an assassination attempt, they would have gone after Marisol, but they wouldn’t have done it when she was surrounded by so many who could defend her. And it was like they knew nothing about New Gargoyles. Throwing knives and daggers are all but useless against us, unless one of them gets a lucky stab.”

“I agree.” My father looked grim. “They’re all wrong. Wrong weapons, and too small to be a match physically. I’m much more concerned about how they got in.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Suddenly, I felt a little stupid. The fortress was protected by magic that only allowed New Gargoyles to enter the premises. The doorways literally wouldn’t form for anyone who wasn’t a member of the Stone Order, unless the visitor had explicit permission to enter, and that didn’t happen often.

Oliver stalked over to the ninja I’d tied up and rolled him over, squatting to pull off the attacker’s mask. He looked similar to the one I’d unmasked at Druid Circle—ghostly pallid skin and narrow, pointed ears.

“The others looked banshee-dwarf, too,” I said.

Oliver peered down into the captive’s face, and to his credit, he stared right back.

“Who sent you?” Oliver asked, his voice deadly calm, his tone almost conversational.

A shiver raised goosebumps over my arms. When Oliver used that voice, it meant you were in deep shit. Like, waist-deep. Too much shit to try to turn and run. I remembered it well from my teenage years.

The pallid ninja just stared, his face hard.

Oliver shifted and placed a hand at the ninja’s throat.

“Who sent you?” Oliver repeated. His fingers flexed as he gave a squeeze.

The ninja’s eyes bugged a little, but he pressed his lips into a firm line. Oliver applied more pressure. One of the banshee-dwarf’s eyelids began to twitch. The twitch seemed to spread, and within a couple of seconds his entire body was making tiny jerking movements.

I lunged forward and grabbed my father’s shoulder, pulling him back just as dark purple liquid began to leak from the corner of the banshee-dwarf’s mouth. It sent up a wisp of black vapor. Oliver and I both scrambled backward to avoid inhaling it. The ninja’s jerks grew more pronounced, and then he went still, his head rolling to one side and his dead eyes slanting blankly up at the ceiling.

“Damn,” Oliver muttered. He moved toward the body and nudged the dead ninja with the toe of his boot.

“I knocked out another one,” I said, going over to the assassin I’d whacked with my sword. “Maybe he’ll talk.”

He was on his side, so I pushed him over to his back. Just as he rolled, the same dark curl of vapor rose from the liquid that dripped from his mouth. I jumped back and watched the vapor rise to the ceiling and then dissipate.

“Well, shit,” I muttered. “So much for questioning them. What should we do with the bodies? Think we can get them out of the way before Marisol’s done talking?”

I turned to find my father looking down the hallway, his head tilted. “There were more,” he said.

“More what?” I walked over to stand next to him. My gaze followed his, searching for what had caught his attention.

“There were more of them.” Oliver took a step forward, peering at the still figures scattered like dolls down the hallway. “I killed eight. Now there are only seven.”

One of the bodies shimmered, as if we were looking at it through the heat waves rising from hot asphalt. And then the body disappeared.

I squinted, not quite believing my eyes. “What the—”

Two more ninjas winked out—there and then not. The knives on the floor began to disappear, too. Within the next ten seconds, the rest of the bodies were gone.

Oliver turned to me, his mouth agape. I’d never seen him look so openly baffled.

I shook my head in confusion. The violet flames around Mort sputtered and then extinguished as I let go of my magic. “What in the name of Oberon just happened?”