“It’s what this was set up for.” Brogan gestured to the walls around them. “Myrkheim. It’s a magnet realm for that magick to protect the other worlds.”
Her scowl deepened. “You use that word as if it makes sense to my Apollite ears.”
Smiling, Brogan glanced to Blaise. “By your coloring, my lady, I assumed you to be a Ljósálfr like Blaise.”
Blaise choked on the word. “Actually my mother was Adoni. So you’d be wrong with your assumption, Lady Brogan. The bitch what birthed me was definitely a member of the dökkálfar. The black fey,” he explained for Medea. “The ljósálfar are those who follow the light and practice magick that only benefits others. Adoni are selfish and practice the dark arts. Hence their dökkálfar moniker, or the dark fey, as they’re more commonly called.” He glanced over his shoulder toward Medea. “‘Myrkheim’ means ‘dark ward,’ which is why it was given to this world.”
Ah, now she understood the distinctions. Medea narrowed her gaze on Brogan. “Which side are you on?”
“I’m what’s called a myrkálfr. Shadow fey. I draw my powers from both the light and dark as needed.”
“In other words, she hasn’t declared a side.” Falcyn narrowed his gaze on her. “No one trusts them as a result. And they’re weaker in their powers because they haven’t committed to one cause or the other.”
“That’s one theory.” Brogan lifted her chin. “But I like to keep my options open. You never know when you’re going to need light or dark powers. The world’s a tenuous place.”
“And I prefer not to judge others.” Blaise offered her his arm.
Medea didn’t comment. “I always thought the light and dark fey thing had to do with their coloring.”
Brogan tucked her hand into the crook of Blaise’s elbow. Medea didn’t miss the way Brogan’s features softened ever so slightly toward him as he placed his hand over hers. “A lot of people mistakenly do, but it has nothing to do with our features or coloring. Most of the Adoni are very fair, and almost all of them are dark in their powers. The designations are more religious in nature and thereby are choices we take voluntarily.”
And by the way Falcyn’s eyes narrowed on that intimate touch, Medea had a feeling he didn’t miss their burgeoning affection either. More than that, he didn’t appear to approve of the way Blaise was doting on his new friend.
At all.
“You okay?” she asked him.
Falcyn turned that glower to her with an unnerving ferocity. She half expected him to breathe fire out his nostrils. If she didn’t know better, she might think him jealous.
“Down, boy. I didn’t do it.”
He arched a brow at her. “What?”
“What, what. Whatever it is that caused that look of hate in your eyes. I didn’t do it. So breathe in, relax, and blink.”
Baffled, Falcyn glanced to Urian. “She always this flippant?”
“Yeah. You have no measurable sense of humor. She has no measurable sense of fear. Bad combo if you ask me. But semi-amusing for the rest of us.”
“Brogan…”
Slowing, Falcyn paused at the musical whisper that echoed off the walls around them.
Brogan froze.
“What is that?” Blaise breathed.
“A haunt. Ignore it. It’s merely another joy that comes with living here.”
“Brogan…” it repeated.
Medea shivered as a chill went down her spine. It was like someone walking over her grave. The singing voice was so creepy in its tone, and at the same time, strangely beckoning. “What are these things?”
“Cousins to púcas, they live in the darkness and lure the unwary to their deaths. I told you that I’m a Deathseer, so they call to me whenever I’m near. To claim one of my ilk is a bonus for them.”
“Medea! Come to me and see what I have for you! You want to visit the past! Come. Come see what I have! You’ll like it, I promise!”
“Ignore it.” Brogan raised her voice louder to cover their tones. “It’s only trying to get you to walk off the edge and plummet to your death.”
