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“It seems that’s what our life has become. I need to change into my boots before we go. You’d better get out of those stilettos if we’re going through that portal. You said you smelled peat and that means bog marsh.”
I glanced at her. She was dressed in heavy jeans and a sweatshirt with a gray tabby cat on the front, but she was wearing canvas Mary Janes. Her hair was short and spiky, an edgy cut that fit her new found confidence.
Delilah was tall, six one, and lean. Menolly was lean also, but short—five one—and petite. I was somewhere in between—at five-seven, I outclassed Marilyn Monroe in the hips and breasts department by a long shot, with an hourglass figure from a porno king’s fantasy. My boobs and hips could move men to weep.
Which meant wearing a lot of separates so clothes fit me right. But that was okay with me. My closet could have furnished a fetish bar, considering my love of leather, lace, bustiers, and chiffon skirts.
We headed up to the study, careful not to wake Morio. My family trunk was sitting in the corner, and I quietly grasped one handle on it while Delilah took hold of the other. Together, we carried it to my bedroom. Our mother had commissioned hope chests for each of us when we were little girls, and mine was made out of the starblazer tree—a black wood similar to ebony that resonated with strong magic, only found back in Otherworld.
I opened the lid for the first time since we’d arrived here. A scattering of treasures—mostly sentimental—filled the trunk. I picked up an old photograph of our mother. She’d had it taken while still a student in Spain, and I held it up, looking silently at the beautiful blond woman who stared back at me. Delilah draped her arm around my neck, gazing at her with me.
“She was beautiful,” I whispered. “You look so much like her. Only a lot taller.”
“I miss her. It’s hard to remember her, though. I was still pretty young when she died and you took over. But I always remember she smelled like something . . . I don’t know what, but it was good.”
I smiled then. “I know what.” As I pulled a bottle from the trunk and opened it, the fragrance filled the room. Chanel No. 5. “You should buy some. They still make it, you know.”
With a wistful look, Delilah shook her head. “That smells so much like Mother. I remember that scent. But I don’t think I could wear it the way she did. I might get some, though, just to keep on my dresser, for when I miss her.”
Slowly, I capped the bottle again and kissed it gently, a wave of homesickness rolling off me. With Mother gone, I’d clung to Father, and now I’d lost him, too. At least Menolly and Delilah still had his love. Shaking off the sense of loss, I put the bottle back in the trunk, along with her picture, and then pulled out a bag and gingerly opened it.
A spider came crawling out, and I automatically squashed it. Ever since our encounter with the werespiders of Kyoka, we’d left none standing inside the house, still worried that the remnants of his cult might have spies around.
I shook out the contents onto the floor, and we stared at the booty. Two pairs of iron handcuffs. An iron-bladed dagger with an antler hilt that I’d managed to procure. And Trillian’s gift to me—a silver flail with nine thin iron chains. They were long enough to snap back on me, so I needed to aim carefully, but they’d give a world of hurt to any Fae who dared to stand up to me.
“Sometimes I miss the days when we were looking for common criminals, don’t you?” I stared up at Delilah, feeling bleak. Life was a lot harder now, and the stakes a lot higher.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” She sighed and knelt beside me. “You really want to take this stuff with us?”
I nodded. “Considering the Bog Eater’s hanging out in there, as well as who knows what, you want to chance not being able to rescue him? Something like this flail could turn the tide. Your dagger is silver, and as aware as the blade is, Lysanthra can’t stand up to one of the Elder Fae.”
“I see your point. Okay then. We take it. I just . . . fighting dirty has never set well with me.” She scrounged around looking for gloves for the two of us. “Here, these are thin but will give us enough protection to handle the iron.”
Iron burned us—not quite so bad as full-blooded Fae, but enough to leave marks. If we didn’t get the metal off our skin, it could eventually kill us, eating through our flesh like acid.
“Dirty or not, when dealing with the insane, the murderous, and the freaks, I’m all about anything that gives me an edge.” I slid on the gloves and gingerly picked up a pair of handcuffs. “I can’t decide whether to bring the Black Unicorn horn or not. We’re going after Fae, and I have my qualms about whether it would help our enemies or hurt them.”
“Bring it. Please. We might need it and you can’t know how it will affect the Elder Fae until you try.”
“True enough.” I pocketed the handcuffs and flail as Delilah picked up the other set of handcuffs along with the iron dagger. “Let me grab it and then we’re off.” As she headed downstairs to get her coat, I went into my room and changed shoes, then withdrew the horn from the hiding place I’d fashioned in a small space under a trapdoor and throw rug.
I held up the glistening horn. Crystal, with threads of gold and silver running through it, the horn of the Black Unicorn was only one of nine known to exist. Each had been shed as he reincarnated.
And with this horn I’d brought down the Black Beast, sent him into his next incarnation. He was running free now, a young stallion, set for another thousand years. And I—bloody and battered—had earned my spot as a priestess for the Moon Mother by being the conduit for his sacrifice.
I was still leery of using it—each time, it felt like the horn vied for some power over me, though I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else. At the core of the horn lived Eriskel, the jindasel through whom the Elementals of the horn channeled their energy. And through Eriskel, their magic channeled to me.
Putting the horn in the deep pocket of my skirt, I closed the hidden Velcro fastener. I’d had Iris retrofit most of my skirts to carry the horn safely, so that even if I wasn’t wearing the Black Beast’s cloak—fashioned out of his hide—I’d be able to carry it with me.
As I put on a warm black microfiber jacket and made sure my boots were tied securely, I wondered just what we were getting into. I cinched my jacket with a silver chain belt, then tied the bag with the handcuffs and iron flail to it. Delilah was waiting for me outside by my car. We were going together, and my Lexus had snow tires and handled the snow better than her Jeep.
As we silently belted ourselves in and I started the car, I breathed a short but sweet prayer for protection. I just hoped the Moon Mother was listening.
Chapter 6
Aeval was standing in the snow, waiting for us. She did not look amused. I curtsied deeply, after elbowing Delilah in the side. She hastily gave a low bow.
“Enough. You are late. It will not happen again, Camille, especially when you join my Court. And now, you are sure you wish to cash in your marker? On a mere mortal?” Her gaze held mine. She was gossamer and silk, she was dark sparkling fire and the hazy mist of the winter night.
