Feverborn
Page 41

I’d sat on the bottom stair inside the silent, luxurious home and pored over pictures of Alina I’d taken from an upstairs bedroom. Thumbed through photos of her with her mysterious, handsome lover. I’d glimpsed my first unusual mirrors here, although I’d not understood what they were at the time.
The mirrors. I smacked myself in the forehead. Shit.
I paused a few steps from the porch, wondering if anyone had bothered to smash them, if perhaps Barrons had spelled them shut after I shoved into one six months ago, planning to step out in Georgia, only to end up lost in the Hall of All Days, where—like Dani—I had stared at billions of mirrors, wondering if I would ever be able to find my way home again.
I didn’t like the idea of anything I’d glimpsed within those hellish Silvers having access to our world. We had enough problems as it was.
I sighed. There was no way I was leaving today without closing all portals at this location.
I took a step forward. Aware I was trudging a little. There were reminders of my sister here. I didn’t want to go inside. But want and responsibility are rarely boon companions.
I took another step.
And froze.
One window on the house had not been blacked out.
The stained-glass transom above the lavishly carved front door.
And somewhere inside that abandoned house, a light had just come on.
13
“Let’s imitate reality—insanity…”
Spear, check.
Unseelie flesh in my blood, check.
Attitude, check.
I silently ascended the porch stairs and pressed my hand to the door.
Damn. Sidhe-seer senses, not a check.
I had no way of knowing if what was within was Fae, human, or perhaps even something else entirely. I took nothing for granted anymore. Whatever it was, it wanted light for some reason. I couldn’t envision an Unseelie flipping a switch or yanking a chain. They liked the dark. They’d lurked in it so long their eyes were well-accustomed to gloom.
I tested the knob, turning slowly.
Unlocked.
I took a fortifying breath and nudged the door open as quietly as possible, just far enough to steal a glimpse inside the house.
Nothing. But then, I couldn’t see much from this point of view.
I listened intently. Thanks to my heightened senses, I was able to discern soft footfalls upstairs on thick carpet. One set. There was a single entity moving inside.
I waited, listening to see if more footfalls joined them.
After a solid minute of hearing the sound of only one person/Fae/whatever, I eased open the door, slipped quickly inside and closed it behind me.
I inhaled deeply, mining for clues about the intruder. I untangled various elements: mildew of an old, unoccupied house; an acrid mold from the eternal rain with no heat running in the colder months and no air when it was warmer; something sulfurous that was no doubt escaping from one of the damned mirrors; a touch of wine spilled long ago—perhaps my sister having a drink with Darroc that had ended in impassioned lovemaking and forgotten wineglasses.
A doughnut.
I inhaled again, deeply. Sure enough. I smelled a doughnut. And coffee. The scent of yeast and something sugary was enormously enticing. I marveled that somewhere in Dublin someone was making doughnuts again. My stomach rumbled loudly. I made a mental note to find that vendor. Food had been in short supply for so long I could only give kudos to the black market if they were managing to obtain baking ingredients.
I moved quietly into the foyer, across black and white marble floors, beneath an elaborate crystal chandelier, my gaze focused tightly ahead, skirting a large round table with a dusty vase of silk flowers and pausing at the foot of an elegant, spiraling staircase.
Soft footfalls directly above.
The sound of a drawer sliding open. A muffled curse.
I couldn’t make out much. The walls and floors were of solid, hundred-year-old construction and served as sound insulation.
I cocked my head, listening, trying to fathom who might come here and search the premises. Besides me. For a moment I wondered if that was what I might find, should I ascend those curving stairs, if I’d somehow gotten trapped in a time loop, if the Sinsar Dubh was playing games with me.
If I doggedly mounted these carpeted risers, was it me I’d find up there?
Like I said, I take nothing for granted anymore. Not a damned thing.
Darroc? Had he truly died?
Some other sidhe-seer, dispatched by Jada, to reconnoiter the house?
Nah. Sidhe-seers worked in twos or more, not alone. Jada and I were the oddity, not the norm.
I eased my foot onto the first riser, placing it squarely in the middle because stairs always squeak when you’re trying to climb them silently. Sure enough, it let out a sullen squeal.
Biting my lip, I eased up, foot sideways, attempting to distribute my weight evenly, moving cautiously.
Above me a door banged shut and I heard another muffled curse, followed by an angry, “Where are you?”
I froze. Sniffed the air. Faint, but there. So faint I’d not caught it, but then I hadn’t expected to.
Squaring my shoulders, I marched up the stairs, determined to lay this particular bullshit to rest once and for all.
Another door banged, footfalls approached. I stiffened and stopped halfway up the stairs as the intruder burst from one of the bedrooms and stormed toward the very stairs I was on.
No. No. No.
This was wrong. This was so bloody wrong.
Alina stood at the top of the stairs, emotion flooding her beautiful features.
Shock. Astonishment. Joy.
Tears trembling in eyes I knew as well as my own. Better. I’d looked at her much more than I’d looked at myself in a mirror.