“Leave or die,” Vale said, his voice fierce.
Urien staggered, struggling to breathe, but the pain only seemed to ignite his fury. His hands glowed with a sickly green light as the ground beneath our feet trembled.
“You think you can stop me? We are beyond your power, godling!”
The spell hit like a freight train made of glass.
It shattered against me and exploded into a storm of glittering shards that sliced bark from the trees and turned the pavement into smoking gravel. I dug my heels in and let the impact roll through me. My snakes hissed, tasting ozone and iron, and the sharp green scent of ancient fae magic.
I’d harbored a guess as to their identity, and now I was certain of it. The knowledge wasn’t comforting. These were a special class of fae, ancient and powerful, and worst of all—weapons couldn’t kill them.
The ground cracked open, and from the crevice, ghostly apparitions rose, creatures from the underworld, their deformed hands reaching for Cowboy and Gage. The duo didn’t have the necessary skills to defend themselves against this kind of threat, but, as the son of Enmesharra, I was sure Vale did.
“Vale!” I shouted.
Cowboy and Gage fought to free themselves as they were pulled under, but their hands slipped helplessly through the apparitions. Vale raised his hand, his voice a low chant that reverberated through the square.
The air snapped, and the apparitions froze. I sensed their focus on him.
“That’s right,” Vale said, keeping his voice low and firm. “Icommand you now. Release them.”
The apparitions dissipated, releasing their hold on Cowboy and Gage.
But Urien wasn’t finished. He muttered another incantation under his breath, and a wave of black magic surged forward, aiming to drown them instead.
Urien was clearly the standout faerie. I had to throw sand in his gears. If I couldn’t kill him, I could at least slow him down. The short faerie stepped into my line of sight, giving me an idea.
I hurled my dagger and watched the blade slice my target’s cheek. Blood spilled from the wound, prompting the faerie to shriek from pain. It probably wasn’t often they experienced injuries.
The distraction worked. Urien turned to check on his companion, and his concentration broke. The magical void receded, revealing a sputtering Cowboy and Gage.
Urien pointed a finger at me, vibrating with anger. “You injured Mordren.”
“It’s only a flesh wound,” I replied.
“It was a team effort, really,” Vale said.
I gaped at him. “Seriously? Are you that competitive you can’t even let me have Morty?”
“Mordren.”
“Whatever.”
While we squabbled, Urien swept Mordren into his trench coat and together they disappeared. We spun to fight theremaining fae and watched as they were claimed by the mist instead, returning to mere myths in a modern world. My lip curled at the smell of crushed flowers and rot. In the distance, a siren began to wail. And under it—so faint I might have imagined it—laughter like wind through dead leaves. Assholes.
We stood in the empty square, collecting our wits as well as our thoughts.
Cowboy tipped back his hat and rubbed his thumb across his forehead. “Well, shit.”
Gage stared at the vacant ground. “I’m a faerie. Why can’t I do cool tricks like them?”
“They weren’t Thornborn,” Vale said, a statement of fact rather than a question.
“No, not this time.” Vale and I had encountered Thornborn a few weeks ago, mere blocks from where we now stood.
“No way those guys are ordinary fae,” Cowboy said.
“They’re not,” I said. “They’re Coranians.”
