Dreamfever
Page 75

“Isn’t there a third option?” I said irritably. “What’s behind door number three? Haven’t you ever seen Let’s Make a Deal?”
He gave me a look.
Obviously not.
“What are we driving tonight?” I asked, as I reached for the doorknob.
I am not riding that.” There were times when I had to put my foot down with Barrons. This was one of them.
“Shut up and get on.”
If I’d shaken my head any more violently, my neck would have snapped.
“On. Now.”
“In your dreams.”
Our “ride” was a Royal Hunter.
Barrons had somehow gotten a Hunter to land in the alley between BB&B and the garage—one of those terrifying beasts whose primary purpose was to eradicate my kind from the face of the earth. Admittedly, it was one of the smaller ones—the size of a narrow two-story house rather than a five-story apartment complex—and it wasn’t throwing off that massively deadly feel of the ones Jayne had shot at, but still, it was a Royal Hunter, the caste responsible for murdering countless sidhe-seers for thousands of years. And he expected me to touch it?
I hadn’t sensed it because it was somehow … dampened.
It crouched there, blacker than pitch, looking all Satanic, with leathery wings and fiery eyes, horns and a forked tail. Its labored exhalations puffed gusts of smoke down the alley into what used to be the biggest Dark Zone in the city. The space between the bookstore and the garage was twenty degrees colder than the rest of the night.
I reached inside my coat for my spear.
“Don’t you dare,” said Barrons. “It’s under my control.”
We stared at each other.
“What did you have to offer a Hunter to get it to do this? How does one mercenary pay another?”
“You should know. How are your precious principles lately?”
I scowled at him. After a moment, I released my spear.
“It can cover the city far more quickly than we can in a car. Your … IFPs, as you call them, don’t bother it, making it the wisest choice of transport.”
“I’m a sidhe-seer, Barrons. It’s a Hunter. Guess what Hunters hunt? Sidhe-seers. I am not getting on it.”
“Time is short, Ms. Lane. Move your ass.”
I poked mentally at the Hunter to glean its intentions, expecting to encounter a roiling pit of homicidal sidhe-seer thoughts.
There was nothing but a wall of black ice. “I can’t get to its mind.” I didn’t like that one bit.
“And tonight it can’t get to yours, so leave it alone and do as I say.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You can’t control a Hunter! Nobody can!”
His dark gaze mocked. “You’re afraid.”
“I am not,” I snapped. Of course I was. The thing might be suspiciously dampened and seemingly oblivious to my presence, but fear of it was in my blood. I’d been born with a deep-seated subconscious alarm. “What if it shakes us off as soon as it gets us up there?” I might not bleed like I used to, but I was pretty sure my bones were as easily broken as the next person’s.
Barrons walked around to the front of the Hunter. Flames leapt in its eyes when it saw him. It sniffed at Barrons, and some of the heat seemed to die. When Barrons withdrew the pouch containing the stones from his coat, the Hunter pressed its nostrils to it and seemed to like the scent. “It knows it would be dead before it could,” he said softly.
“It’s never going to let me on it with my spear, and I’m not giving it up,” I prevaricated.
“Your spear is the least of its concerns.”
“Just how am I supposed to hold on?” I demanded.
“They have loose skin between the wings. Grab it like a horse’s mane. But put these on first.” He tossed a pair of gloves at me. “And keep them on.” They were of strange fabric, thick yet supple. “You don’t want to touch it with bare skin.” He assessed me. “The rest of you should be fine.”
“Why don’t I want to touch it with bare skin?” I asked warily.
“On, Ms. Lane. Now. Or I’ll strap you onto the damned thing.”
It took me a few tries, but a few minutes later I was on the back of an Unseelie Hunter.
I understood why he’d given me the gloves. It radiated such intense cold that if I’d touched it with my bare hands and there’d been any moisture on them at all, they would have frozen to its leathery hide. I shivered, grateful for my layers of leather clothing. Barrons mounted behind me, too close and electric for my comfort.
“Why does it like the smell of the stones?”
“They were chiseled from the walls of the Unseelie King’s fortress. It’s the equivalent of your pecan pie, fried chicken, and fingernail polish,” he said dryly. “Smells like home.”
The Hunter gave a blast of smoky air, filling the alley with the acrid stench of brimstone. Then it unfurled its wings and, with one massive pump of those leathery sails, lifted off and flapped darkly into the night, showering crystals of black ice onto the streets below.
I caught my breath and stared down, watching as the bookstore grew smaller.
We rose higher and higher into the cold, dark night sky.
There was Trinity College and Temple Bar!
There was the Garda station and the park. There was the Guinness Storehouse, with the platform where I’d stood looking down the night I realized I’d fallen in love with this city.