Iron Master: Shifters Unbound, Book 12 Page 12

  “There are too many maybes and mights in that sentence,” Ben said.

  “We need to start somewhere,” Jayce said.

  “All right, all right, let me think.”

  Ben reached to the wall again and made himself lightly touch the outlines. He felt power in the insubstantial door, masses of it, but he wasn’t certain how to tap it or what to do with it if he did.

  The others watched him expectantly, certain old Ben could instantly solve their problems.

  True, Lady Aisling, who’d blown him away with her presence, had said that Tamsin could see things for what they were, and had claimed Ben possessed the same ability.

  Ben knew this—he could sense something magical from miles away. He could also make people not see him. He’d love to do that now and slip away from the worried Shifters so he could decide what to do, but they were wise to his tricks and would find him quickly.

  Ben knew he couldn’t go back to Faerie, but could he send others there? Or more importantly, bring Reid and Peigi back? He liked Peigi and Reid—those two kids needed each other.

  If the Fae had murdered them …

  Ben sucked in a breath.

  “All right, Jaycee, conjure Lady Aisling. But whether or not she answers, we’re going in. Tamsin, I might need you.”

  Angus growled, the wolf in him as protective as ever. “For what?”

  “To change this drawn door into a true gate. And then we’ll find Reid and Peigi and bring them home. Agreed?”

  Tamsin gave Ben a startled glance that held some fear. Last fall, she had entered a magical state—the only word he could think of to describe it—and had disintegrated metal. Even iron masters couldn’t do what she’d done. Tamsin had been elated and terrified at the same time, and she still hadn’t processed what had actually happened.

  Behind him, Jaycee took a glittering stone from her pocket. Dimitri hovered near her as she held it up and said, “Lady Aisling? Can I bother you?”

  Tamsin rested her hand next to Ben’s on the wall. “I feel something. You?”

  “Yep.” Ben drew a breath. “But even if it opens, I can’t go in, so it will have to be up to you. And Angus—who is breathing down my neck, literally. Will you stop that?” He growled over his shoulder at the scowling black wolf, who didn’t move at all.

  Only Reg wasn’t giving Ben hell, and not because the man didn’t care. Ben sensed him waiting in case Ben eluded the others. Then Reg would be on him.

  Ben glanced at the tall black man, and Reg grinned at him. I’ll be watching you …

  Beside him, Tamsin gasped. “I think—”

  She broke off as the wall suddenly became a solid door, the door frame full of wild curlicues, carvings of roses in bloom.

  She jerked her hand away. “I don’t know how I did that.”

  Ben believed he knew. He’d felt the molecules of the wall change beneath his hand, had seen their structure alter. Tamsin had done this sort of thing before, when she’d changed metal to dust, though that time she’d had Lady Aisling’s help. Today, Tamsin had used the ancient power in her blood on her own.

  This could prove interesting for the future.

  The door banged open, making Tamsin and Ben—and Angus, still at Ben’s shoulder—leap back. The door revealed only darkness, but a few seconds later, a tall woman with bright red hair in looped braids appeared on the threshold. She wore gray trousers stuffed into boots, a white shirt, and a hooded cloak. She had a smudge of dirt on her nose—Lady Aisling liked to work in her garden.

  “Ah, Tamsin,” she said. “And Jaycee. So nice to hear from you. Have you two had your children yet? Oh, yes, you call them cubs.”

  “Not yet.” Jaycee came forward in welcome. “Hasn’t been enough time.”

  “Hasn’t it?” Lady Aisling remained in the doorway, the darkness behind her complete. It was eerie, that darkness, and Lady Aisling’s brightness cut into it. “Ah well, one loses track of time. Did you need something? Or did you call for a little girl talk? If so, can we go shopping? Perhaps in Milan? I’d love some new shoes.”

  Ben spoke before the others could answer. “We lost some friends to Faerie. We want to get them back.”

  “I see.” Lady Aisling turned her very dark gaze on Ben. He found himself out of breath, as though fire had swept through him. “Why don’t you go in and get them then?” She stood to one side, gesturing through the open doorway.

  “I can’t,” Ben said, his chest tight. “Exiled. Spelled. No goblin allowed back into Faerie.”

  “On whose authority?” Lady Aisling’s brows climbed. “The hoch alfar’s? As though I bow to their dictates.” She again motioned to the darkness behind her. “Come on in, ghallareknoiksnlealous.”

  “Um.” Ben studied the blackness, from which an icy breeze began to blow. “Even though I might explode into dust if I cross the threshold?”

  Lady Aisling frowned in impatience. “You aren’t trying. Your friends cannot come with you. They will perish if they enter—there are far too many hoch alfar running around trying to kill or enslave Shifters. I had to exert myself for them the last time, remember? Only you can evade the bloody hoch alfar. Excuse my language.”

  Ben swallowed. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Haven’t you been listening?”

  “Mmm.” Ben folded his arms, suddenly far too cold. “I’m not sure about this.”

  The Shifters had gathered around him again. “Ben,” they chorused.

  Tamsin patted his shoulder. “If Lady Aisling says it’s okay, then it’s okay.”

  “Yes,” Jaycee put in. “She’ll protect you.”

  Lady Aisling frowned. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

  Ben barely heard her. Her words drifted into the increasingly chilly air, which wrapped itself around Ben and dragged him forward. He held his breath, closed his eyes, muttered inside his head, What the hell. I can only die once. Right? and plunged through the door.

  * * *

  Peigi wasn’t quite certain what Cian had been saying, but Stuart suddenly went still, any enjoyment he might have gained hanging out in this bar in dokk alfar territory sucked out of him.

  “What is it?” she whispered to him.

  Stuart shook his head. He said something more to Cian, who also shook his head.

  “Stuart.”

  Stuart turned to her. “I agree we need to talk about all this. Somewhere private.”

  Peigi glanced across the table. “With them?”

  Michael focused on her with unnerving suddenness. “What are you whispering about? I know every signal you make, woman.”

  True, Peigi had lived with the lout for twenty-five years, and he could read the smallest nuance of her body language. It also meant she knew him very well too.

  “Trying to decide if you can help or if you’re dead weight,” Peigi said calmly.

  She shook inside to say it, but she met his gaze. Another thing Nell had taught her—be scared, sure, but never admit it to the alpha trying to intimidate you.

  Michael immediately grew offended. “Of course I can help. Anything to punch the high Fae bastards in the gut.”

  “Yeah,” Crispin said. “I’ll help too.” His smirk indicated he’d do anything but.

  “And someone needs to keep him in line.” Michael jerked his thumb at Crispin. “And alive so I can disembowel him when we get home.”

  Stuart sent Peigi a sidewise glance, but she remained serene. She’d known exactly how to keep Michael from turning on them—appeal to his sense of vanity that he’d be useless in this situation, an appendage. Michael always wanted to be in charge.

  “Finish up then.” Stuart drained his second glass of gularain without blinking. Michael gave him a baleful look, glanced at the drops in his glass, and pretended to ignore them.

  Crispin took a final delicate sip, and then Cian rose to lead them out.

  Dusk had fallen, but the crowd in the square didn’t show any signs of thinning. Lights pricked the darkness, more and more springi
ng up as they walked. Laughter spilled from other taverns, along with more drumming and singing. Stalls with goods were shutting up, but those serving food or drink did brisk business.

  Stuart insisted Michael and Crispin follow directly behind Cian, which they did willingly. Michael liked the lead position, which allowed him to keep his eye on Cian and also Crispin. Stuart and Peigi brought up the rear, keeping an eye on the two male Shifters.

  Stuart said nothing as they walked, which Peigi understood. Too many ears, and they couldn’t be certain that none understood human languages. Her heart constricted with worry, wondering what Cian had said to sway Stuart into staying, or at least staying for a while.

  They strode from the square through busy streets lined with shops and warehouses, each painted in bright colors, some sporting awnings of broad colored stripes.

  Passers-by stared at the Shifters, but like the patrons in the tavern, they didn’t faint at the sight of them. Shifters were unusual, Peigi concluded, but not wholly unknown. Meaning the dokk alfar had been in contact with Shifters and learned enough about them to know they weren’t dangerous unless threatened. Well, except for Michael, who enjoyed being dangerous, and Crispin, who had attacked on command from a high Fae.

  The presence of Cian seemed to reassure all, however. The dokk alfar watched, but they went about their business.

  Stuart, on the other hand, received many blatant stares of curiosity and perplexity. I was told to find a dokk alfar who dressed in the weirdest clothes I could imagine, Cian’s female warrior, who had stayed behind in the tavern, had said. True, Stuart’s jeans, sweatshirt, and short hair stood out among the long-haired, leather-and-fur clad dokk alfar.

  Cian led them down several streets lined with four- and five-story houses and around corners before he halted in front of a house that didn’t appear much different from the others, except its walls were painted blue instead of the bright orange of the next-door neighbor.

  Cian opened the front door without unlocking it. Peigi, examining it, saw that there was no lock on the door at all. She glanced around the street, trying to see whether other doors were similar, but she didn’t have the chance to decide before Stuart motioned her inside.

  Michael wanted to be a traditional male Shifter and not let Peigi enter until he’d checked out the place. Cian only raised his brows as Michael pushed past him.

  “Stand down,” Stuart said to Michael. “This place is warded out the ass. No one can cross into Cian’s territory without him knowing.”

  Michael halted three feet inside the hall and wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I smell the stink of Fae magic.”

  “I’d watch it,” Stuart advised. “He’ll only put up with your cracks about the Fae for so long.”

  Michael sent Cian an uneasy glance. “I thought he couldn’t understand English.”

  “He doesn’t. But I’ll translate for him.”

  Michael glared. “You’re a bastard.”

  “Yes,” Stuart said quietly. “I am.”

  Crispin entered the house and gave Michael another smirk. Peigi thought Crispin resembled Dylan Morrissey, until he took on a derisive expression, and then Crispin wasn’t anything like Dylan at all. Dylan didn’t have to sneer and boast. He just stood there, and you knew he could out-fight anyone in the room.

  Stuart guided Peigi into the hall, following Cian deeper into his abode. The house had one room fronting the street but ran a long way back into the property, similar to canal houses in Amsterdam Peigi had seen photos of. A staircase bisected the hall, and beyond it opened a courtyard full of plants and a fountain. Behind that, Peigi spied another hall leading to yet more rooms.

  “Nice,” she said, letting out a breath as they stepped into the courtyard. The trickle of the fountain added a soothing note. “I’d love to remodel our little house like this.”

  “Good idea,” Stuart said. “We’ll ask Eric.” Peigi caught the teasing glint in his eye and smiled.

  Michael watched their exchange, his lip lifting in a snarl.

  Crispin, ignoring them, tilted his head to study the walls rising three floors to the roof open to the sky. Balconies ringed the courtyard on the upper floors, decorated with wrought-iron railings. “I thought dark Fae lived in caves.”

  “Some do,” Stuart told him. “Very nice caves, with every luxury. Dokk alfar have been around a long time, and our cities are legendary. The hoch alfar are uncivilized newcomers.”

  “Yeah,” Crispin said. “That’s why they’re kicking dokk alfar ass.”

  Stuart was next to him in a heartbeat, crowding Crispin against the fountain. The spray wet Crispin’s bare legs, and he flinched. “I warned you,” Stuart said. “Keep your mouth shut, or wear a muzzle.”

  Michael laughed. “I volunteer to put it on him.”

  Crispin lifted his hands, the folds of the cloak falling from his arms. “Truce.” He gave Michael a hostile glance. “But once we’re out of here, you’re one dead bear.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Michael said. “Heard it before.”

  Peigi waited until Stuart backed off Crispin, and Crispin busily adjusted his cloak before she continued her conversation with Stuart.

  “You once told me dokk alfar didn’t have to build glittery castles and hunt unicorns, and all that shit. Your words.” She glanced around with admiration. “You never said you had such beautiful houses.”

  “Functional houses,” Stuart said. “The courtyard draws air and cools the house in the heat of summer. The fountain catches rainwater and filters it for drinking. But yes, dokk alfar homes can be beautiful. Not glittery.”

  “Having no glitter is important to you.”

  Stuart met her gaze, deadpan. “Damned important.”

  Peigi wanted to kiss him. The need surged to step against him, lift her face to his, lick his lower lip, and then kiss the hell of out him. Never mind Michael and Crispin, or Cian who waited impatiently, wanting to speak to Stuart about dire things.

  She touched Stuart’s chest, softening her fingers, and saw a flare of need in his dark eyes. Stuart closed his hand on hers, lifted her fingertips to his lips, and nipped one.

  Peigi couldn’t breathe. She could only see Stuart, the man who’d pulled her back from despair and let her laugh again, felt his hot breath on her skin. The rest of the house and those in it, all of Faerie, in fact, faded to nothing.

  Stuart held her gaze for a long time, the frustrated longing in his eyes reflecting hers. He gave her one of his rare smiles and released her.

  “Cian,” he called. He went on in dokk alfar, a phrase Peigi knew. It meant, more or less, Let’s get on with it and back to the gularain.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cian Tadhg Cailean an Mac Diarmud had to work with what he had: An Iron Master who obviously did not want to be here, his bear Shifter mate, and two disgruntled male Shifters they’d picked up on the way.

  The Shifter female called Peigi hovered near Reid, not because she feared Cian or the other Shifters, but to protect Reid from … everything. Cian recognized the stance. He’d seen it in the leopard Shifter who’d come to rescue his cell mate, Dimitri.

  Because of Dimitri and his mate—along with a few other Shifters and a Tuil Erdannan who’d happened along—Cian had lived to see another day. He knew he owed his freedom to Dimitri, who’d been prepared to do battle against a castle full of hoch alfar for a dokk alfar he’d never met. A man of great courage was Dimitri.

  Cian could be kind to Peigi for Dimitri’s sake. As for the other two …

  “They need to be isolated,” he said to Reid. “You trust your mate, but the others can’t know what has happened.”

  Reid gave him a nod. In spite of the man’s odd clothes and shorn hair, he had a weight about him than came not only from the enormous magic Cian sensed in him, but a wisdom that had been gained through suffering. Cian knew all about suffering.

  Reid turned to the Shifters and spoke in the strange language of the humans. Cian remembered listening to Dimitri babble a
nd sing all kinds of things in that language, laughing maniacally every once in a while. The kind of man Cian could go drinking with.

  The male bear Shifter, Michael, growled in enraged belligerence. They’d have to watch that one, Cian had already concluded. The Feline Shifter with the perpetual sneer, who was weaker than the other, rolled his eyes.

  Then they started to argue. Michael snarled, balled up his fist, and went for Reid. Peigi swiftly got in his way, staring down the male bear with anger that went beyond outrage. Those two had a history, Cian surmised.

  Reid calmly pressed Peigi aside and scanned the courtyard. Cian winced when Reid’s gaze fell on the railing that encircled the second floor balcony. Cian’s grandfather had commissioned that from a master blacksmith of his day.

  Before Cian could say a word, the railing melted, raining to the first floor in droplets of iron. While the Shifters stared in amazement, the iron reformed into thin bands that flew toward the male Shifters.

  They tried to run, but too late. The iron bands whipped around the male Shifters’ torsos and lifted them, pinning them together and to the nearest wall. Peigi’s eyes widened, but she didn’t hide her satisfied expression.

  Reid spoke a few more words at the struggling, angry Shifters, then motioned for Cian to lead him and Peigi onward.

  Cian took them to his library. Best for discussion, plus he could pull out documents and scrolls with evidence if he needed to convince Reid to help.

  Peigi studied the library with appreciation. The room was two floors in height, lined with bookcases filled with scrolls, maps, bound papers, books, loose parchment, and anything else Cian had filed as interesting to read. Windows overlooked a stretch of garden behind the house, difficult to find in the city, but Cian’s family had lived on this land since before the city existed.

  “I told them if they were good, I’d let them use the bathroom,” Reid said as Cian closed the door. Mirth glinted in his eyes. “Let’s be careful, though. Shifter hearing is very, very good.”