Paxton snarls and starts forward, but I throw out an arm to stop him. “Careful,” I murmur. We must go into this with fairly level heads. “If we need to get them out of there, do so. Merletta is less important than your lives.”
Paxton gives me a look that tells me he does not believe my words but nods once.
We take the next tunnel, then round a corner that opens into a larger cave. Magic flies through the air, sparking around us, and when I nod, Paxton is off like a shot, running to Jeremiah’s side.
His lover does not spare him a glance. He cannot. I have never seen Jeremiah so worn down, struggling to hold onto his blessing as he shields himself and Maurice from the high fae standing in the centre of the space.
Merletta wears no glamour. Her dark hair is in disarray, arms trembling. Paxton holds on to Jeremiah’s shoulder, feeding him some of his blessing.
I race to Maurice. He is slumped on the floor, unmoving, though he lifts his head when he sees me. Gently, I probe for his power. It feelsstrange, ragged at the edges. I have never felt anything like this before.
“Can you move?” I ask.
Merletta lets out a howl of rage, but whatever attack she sends our way does not meet us.
“Y-yes.” Maurice pushes up, but he is weak as a kitten. I touch his shoulder. The best idea would be to remove him from this space. I cannot take him anywhere safer, but I can ensure we are not worrying about him while we are fighting. “Fuck. She hit me hard. Right in the core.”
“Up. We need to get you out of here.”
“Fuck that. Get her.”
He collapses back down again, but I sense the flutter of his death magic—the true magic we share—and get to my feet. My blessing has always been a tightly wrapped ball of power. I have always taken pride in my impeccable control, and that does not change now.
Merletta’s eyes flare wide when faced with the three of us. Paxton is immovable, though his power has to be draining some for the way Jeremiah wields it. No matter. I shape mine like a precision strike, and when Merletta raises her hands, the magic of the fae calling to us all under here, surrounded by rock and earth, I aim for her centre, where the heart of her power should rest.
Jeremiah’s gaze darts to me. Only for a second. He drags all the power he can from Paxton, making him gasp in surprise, and when he pushes it out, it shatters Merletta’s shield, allowing my strike through.
She lets out a pained cry before she collapses in a heap on the ground. Jeremiah rushes toward her, Paxton on his heels. I turn my attention to Maurice again.
He is unconscious now, and his death magic trembles when I reach out. Not gone, and I do not believe he will slip over that final edge. His blessing still feels strange, jagged, and when I crouch by his side, he does not wake.
Paxton has Merletta on her knees, arms bound. He and Jeremiah can keep her magic controlled now, though it will be safer for us all once she is in the cellar and the Huntsman is on his way to collect her. Usually, we would send a dangerous fae through the veil ourselves, but these high fae are different. The Huntsman is transporting them over to the Otherworld personally, though I do not know that it means they will face more stringent consequences.
“We need a vehicle,” I say, and Jeremiah gives me a flat look. He is breathing hard, dark curls in disarray.
“Call Njáll,” Paxton replies. “He’ll send something.”
I grimace at the mere thought. He will also be worried, which I can understand, but we have to deal with this fae and ensure that Maurice will wake with his blessing intact, not focus on soothing him.
“Call him. He’s good at his job.” Jeremiah’s words are sharp. Merletta is silent between them, eyes darting amongst the four of us as though she still seeks a way out of the situation she finds herself in.
I have no doubt that is the case. High fae do not like to be bested, especially by those they consider to be lesser than them.
I take out my phone, frowning when I realise I do not have Njáll’s number. Digging around in Maurice’s pockets reveals his own device, but the screen is black and cracked, and it will not turn on. Not that I have a signal down here.
“Outside,” I say.
Jeremiah helps me with Maurice, Paxton pushing Merletta up ahead. She does not fight or argue—she seems disinclined to speak with us at all, which is what I prefer. Once we are outside, I step away and call Grant.
“Vlad?” His voice trembles, and the edge of panic has me clenching my teeth as I bite back the words I truly wish to say to him. “Are you okay?”
“I am fine. I need you to call Njáll. We require a car.”
“Yeah… Yeah, okay.” He moves around, fabric rustling. I think he is in his room. “I can see where you are. Is everyone else all right?”
I sweep my eyes over them. No one is about to die right now. I will call the Huntsman once we are back at the base to come and check on Maurice. “We are fine. The car.”
Grant makes a sound I cannot interpret. “Fine,” he mutters, not quite snapping at me. “I’ll get him to send one over. See you in a bit.”
