I didn’t want to use it. I wanted a device called the Doras Àlainn, and I had a lead on it, thanks to an informant in South Hive. But as a new arrival to Belgate, I had to assemble a team before I could go after the Doras Àlainn.
Finding my team took longer than I expected, since most of the criminals in Belgate already belong to one of the many gangsunder the Consortium. Due to the delay, the Javelins beat me to the Doras Àlainn. I tried to steal it from their hideout, but after my attempted burglary failed, I had no other option but to use the Rathad.
This morning, Slaughter brought us two victims—one to open the way into Faerie, and another to secure our road home. I told him to find sadistic people, wicked people, those with innocent blood on their hands. I said that to his face, knowing he fits those criteria himself.
The men I assembled for the Annordun heist were plucked from the dregs of Belgate. I had to look for the outliers, the ones who’ve been rejected from other gangs because they’re too cruel, too deceitful, or too careless to be part of anyone else’s crew. They’re pieces of shit, all of them. The kind of men who make my skin crawl.
But I’ve been around loathsome people all my life. I know how to handle them and how to get through jobs with them. They’re not permanent fixtures in my circle, just temporary shields, tools for me to use, stepping stones to help me work my way up the ranks of Belgate’s less savory population.
After the fiasco in Talgus, I came to this city as a desperate, hunted man. When you’re the prey, you’ll accept any protection, no matter how dangerous it is.
I gave Slaughter the parameters for our victims, but I didn’t ask where he found them. The second victim is lying on the beach right now, wrapped in ropes, unconscious. Hopefully he’ll stay that way until we’re done with this job. I’d like for him to die quietly without knowing what his body was used for.
Needle is activating the two interceptors with water from some special Fae pond. The interceptors are red crystals grown from the heart’s blood of a human virgin. Needle said there was another ingredient involved in their creation, too, but I didn’t ask what it was, and he didn’t seem eager to tell me, which meansit’s probably something obscene, something so despicable it even turnshisstomach, which is saying something. The interceptors have the power to disrupt and absorb the energy from powerful spells—at least until they develop cracks and shatter into pieces.
“Slaughter, Grisly, you’ll hold the interceptors,” I order.
“I don’t like putting my hands on Faerie shit, especially when it might get struck by lightning,” Slaughter protests. “Why can’t you and Needle do it?”
“Because I’m the fucking boss, and Needle’s the only one who can work the Rathad.” I deepen my tone and intensify my glare through the eyeholes of my mask. “You want him to get stabbed by a fork of magic lightning? You wanna get home tonight?”
“Yeah—”
“Then take those interceptors and get your asses through that hole. We’ll follow you.”
He growls at me, fists balled up. He and his cousin Grisly are both bulkier than I am, heavy of bone, with brutal amounts of muscle—but I’m taller, and I use that height to stare him down until he grunts and shuffles off to do as I commanded.
With men like this, I have to keep proving that I’m the alpha. There’s a poisonous primality to the way they think, and in order to control them, I have to get into their mindset and make them believe I’m more vicious than they are. I have to be clever, but not too smart, or they’ll start to perceive me as easy prey. It makes no sense to correlate intellect with weakness, of course, but it’s how they operate. Wisdom is frailty to them. Violence, taunts, and threats are the languages they feel most comfortable speaking.
Slaughter and Grisly each take one of the interceptor crystals from Needle, after which he speaks a word or two of some ancient Fae language over them. The crystals begin toglow more strongly, and two spheres of pale pink light expand outward, stretching wide enough that two men could walk comfortably within their protection.
“I’ll go with Grisly, boss,” says Needle. “You walk with Slaughter. Make sure you stay in the circle of his crystal’s influence. Hold the crystals up high, boys, high as you can. And go slow. If lightning hits your crystal, don’t panic. Let the interceptor absorb it. The light of the crystal that was struck will turn green, and that’s normal. Move into the other pair’s safety circle and wait until your crystal recovers its strength, then keep going. The crystals will start to develop cracks as they absorb more and more energy. If both crystals shatter—run.”
“Great,” I mutter.
I hate relying on magic. I’d much rather blast our way through more walls instead of cautiously creeping across the open space between the first two layers of the fortress.
We haven’t gone more than three steps when a massive bolt of crimson lightning shatters against Slaughter’s crystal. He roars, not with pain but with the shock and force of it.
“Hold it up!” yells Needle. “Higher!”
Slaughter keeps his arm high, his huge muscles bulging against the confines of his shirt. The crystal’s light fades to almost nothing, and what remains turns a livid green.
“Now move into the shelter of our crystal until yours recovers,” Needle says.
Slaughter and I crowd into the pale sphere of light cast by Grisly’s crystal.
“Can we keep moving?” I ask.
“Better not,” says Needle. “They recover faster if they stay in one spot.”
“Perfect,” I say through a tight smile.
The four of us stand there, packed together, breathing heavily and waiting, until the first crystal finally turns red and casts its glow again.
“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” I say. “Good work, Needle. We’re alive, and that’s what matters. Now we can make some progress—”
But as the last word leaves my mouth, lightning strikes Grisly’s crystal, and we have to wait again.
