Burned - Moning Karen Marie - Страница 12

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My daddy, Jack Lane, settles what civil disputes don’t end in brutality first (which doesn’t leave him many cases to hear) and supervises one of the teams restoring power and getting street sweepers out again. The streetlamps now wink on at dusk and blink out at dawn, the civic centers are offering shelter to the homeless. What few doctors remain have set up a makeshift hospital at Dublin Castle, with Inspector Jayne and the ex-Garda that are now the NDG: New Dublin Guardians. Dad says soon we’ll be fully up and running and generators will no longer be necessary. Seems Ireland had its fair share of engineers and hackers and they weathered the fall of our city better than most.

Food and medicine are the hottest commodities. Dublin’s grocery and convenience stores are empty, the hospital and pharmacies ransacked, and we’ve lost so much farm-rich land to the Shades that rebuilding is going to take time. One of the few positive things about having half the human race erased from the planet is that many supplies are out there, if you can survive the long, dangerous trek, filled with Fae and human predators alike, to find them. WeCare was trying to get a corner on the supply market but failed, squeezed out by ruthless competitors.

There are currently three places to obtain food in Dublin, where the prices vary according to whim: Chester’s, the Fae, and the black market. If you ask me, they’re all black. Of course nobody does ask me because nobody sees me because I lay low all the time and I’ve got a boyfriend who isn’t much for talking.

I snort. I just thought of Jericho Barrons as my “boyfriend.” I doubt that cataclysm was ever a boy and he certainly can’t be called friendly.

It’s official. I’m losing it.

Solitude and inaction are unraveling me right down to the core.

Forty-five minutes later I’m on my way back to the bookstore, another wasted day beneath my belt, headed for another thrilling evening reading dusty, crumbling manuscripts. I used to love to read. But I used to read hot romances and great murder mysteries and autobiographies. Now I read one thing: dry, archaic Fae history and legend.

I decide to cut through the Dark Zone adjacent to BB&B, see what’s happening, and make sure it’s still empty. That’ll make me feel better. I may not be able to actively fight, but at least I can keep tabs on one of my enemy’s favorite campsites, ascertain they haven’t come back.

My Unseelie swarm turns with me as I head down a narrow cobbled lane.

Nearly a year ago, my second day in this city, I’d gotten lost in these forgotten, trash-strewn blocks filled with dilapidated industrial warehouses and docks, crumbling smokestacks, abandoned cars, and thick, porous husks scattered all over the place, oblivious to the amorphous danger lurking in the shadows.

When I’d finally stumbled out of danger, or rather into danger of another sort in Barrons Books & Baubles that afternoon, it had been love at first sight — with the bookstore. The owner was another matter. That was war at first sight. I’m not sure much has changed, except that we both really enjoy the war.

Later that night Barrons had come to my rented room at the Clarin Hotel and tried to bully me into leaving. It hadn’t worked. I might have been pink and pretty and terrified, but I’d stood my ground.

I frown and rub my forehead then pinch the bridge of my nose. Something’s itchy in my skull. Something weird just happened while I was thinking about that night. As if there’s a neatly wrapped bundle tucked away in my head and something disturbed it, kicking up dust, drawing my attention somewhere I might never have looked. Thanks to the Sinsar Dubh eternally infiltrating and attempting to usurp my thoughts, I’ve become a pro at navigating the dimly lit corridors inside my skull, sidestepping certain things, packing others deep into the shadows, picking up still more and carrying them into the light.

But this … I’m not even sure what it is.

It doesn’t feel like part of the Book and it doesn’t feel like me. As if someone else tucked a parcel away, taped it up in thick packing blankets, and left it in a small cave where I might never—

“You made oath, pledged detente,” a voice hisses. “This is my territory now.”

My gaze snaps outward and I’m surprised to find myself seven or eight blocks into the Dark Zone. My body is instantly battle ready, my hand on my spear. My wraiths chitter and flock upward to the roofs above, apparently liking the leprous, beauty-stealing Gray Woman no more than I. I really wish I could figure out what makes them decide to vacate my space at odd moments.

I savor the lack of constriction and expand my shoulders from the drawn-forward hunch I assume when they press close. With the exception of the night I saw Dani, it’s been months since I’ve been able to stand in the street alone.

Now I’m face-to-face with an Unseelie enemy — one-on-one, with nothing in my way. It’s exhilarating, like old times.

A good nine to ten feet tall, covered with open, oozing sores, the Gray Woman is hideous. I get briefly fixated on the long thin hands covered with suckers that nearly killed Dani that night, remember how I’d forced the vile Unseelie to give the teen back her life in exchange for a dirty bargain I should never have made, and would make all over again to keep Dani alive.

I stare up into her rotting face and think about the lisping Fae that killed my sister and the many times this bitch has fed, the countless lives ruined and lost.

I’ve seen none of Ryodan’s men on the streets.

My flock isn’t hemming me in.

The moment is perfection. I’m a sidhe-seer and a powerful Null. I have a weapon that kills the Fae. I don’t need anything from my inner psychopath. My spear is enough. There’s no taint of the Sinsar Dubh in this. I’ve sometimes wondered if the Book is responsible for the wraiths that stalk me, if it summoned them to torment me, believing if it prevents me from fighting the good fight long enough, I’ll flip and succumb to its endless goading.

Not a chance.

I’m going to walk home today with a bounce in my step and a good feeling in my heart, knowing I got rid of one of our many enemies. I’m going to feel like the old me again, out there batting for the team, saving who knows how many thousands of lives by ending this foul, malevolent one.

“You will leave this place. It is mine. You swore free passage and a favor owed,” the Gray Woman hisses.

This is what I’ve needed for months: a golden opportunity to kick self-doubt squarely in the teeth, remind myself that although the Book might needle me, I’m in control. I make the decisions, not the Sinsar Dubh. It can talk all it wants, it can intrude into my thoughts and tempt me endlessly, but at the end of the day it’s me that’s walking my body around and calling the shots.

The Unseelie are vermin; they’ve killed billions of people and would happily gorge on our world until there was nothing left. I despise them and I despise myself for not killing more of them.

My spear glows white when I battle. I’m the good guy.

“Guess what, bitch.” I lunge for the Gray Woman. “I lied.”

Yes, the Sinsar Dubh whispers.

And everything goes dark.

I claw my way back to consciousness, gasping for breath. I’m on my knees, in a gutter — no real surprise there — I’m intimately acquainted with Dublin’s gutters, having puked in more than a few of them.

I hurt everywhere. I’ve wrenched my lower back, my arms burn, my knees are bruised, and I’m drenched.

I peer up, wondering if it’s raining again. It does that a lot here.

Nope, sun is still out, well, sort of. It’s kissing the horizon beyond the — I frown. What just happened? Where am I? Not in the Dark Zone anymore, I’m halfway across the city.

A soft chuckle rolls in my head. Land of the Free, MacKayla. Home of the Brave, Beautiful, and Homicidal. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that, the Sinsar Dubh says silkily.

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