Feversong
Page 62

“You’re here,” I said evenly, “because if we don’t figure out the Song of Making, and in a hurry, you and your entire race will cease to exist. I won’t remind you of that again. There will be no dissension or hostility if you want to survive. After we’ve saved the world, you can fight with me all you want to about who should have the queen’s power.”
“Promise?” he said silkily.
Great. Was there some quirky Fae law that allowed him to do formal battle with me for the power if he chose to? I snorted. I’d deal with that later if so.
Dancer arrived last, banging in the door, eyes dancing with excitement. “Hey, Mega! Hey, Mac!” he said enthusiastically. “Hey, guys,” he added, with a nod toward the group. “Damn,” he said, turning in a slow circle. “There’s a bloody nuclear load of power in this room!”
There certainly was. I only hoped it was enough.
 
Cruce claimed he had no idea what the bracelet and binoculars were, nor did anyone else have any theories. But when I withdrew the glittering music box, the prince’s eyes widened faintly and he moved imperceptibly toward it before checking himself.
The squat, square box perched on short, ornate legs and was roughly eight by eight inches wide by four inches high, but I somehow knew it could open into a vastly different shape and size than it assumed currently. The lid was a softly glowing luminous pearl embedded with winking gems, attached to the base by diamond-crusted hinges. The sides were covered with elaborate gold filigree and embedded with still more gems. There was no lock or visible catch but when I handed the box to Dancer to inspect, he was unable to open it.
Cruce said, “Let me try.”
I shook my head as Dancer handed it back to me. “Tell me what it is,” I parried.
“I would need to inspect it more closely in order to do that,” he thrust.
“Can you wield the Song of Making if we find it?” I said.
He stared icy daggers at me. “You know I could not.”
“Then why do you think you can continue to withhold information from me? You’re no better than the king. In fact, you’re just like him—wrapped up in your ego and selfish aims. You don’t give a damn about your race. All your impressive talk as V’lane about how Cruce was such a hero, standing up for his brothers, a rogue warrior fighting—”
“ENOUGH!” Cruce thundered so loudly the floor shook, lamps wobbled on tables, and the sky exploded with the percussion of a sudden storm. The temperature plunged drastically and the entire bookstore iced, ceiling, floor, couches, flames in the fireplace, even us.
Damn, I thought as I cracked the ice by standing abruptly. That had been impressive, and in order to control this prince, I was going to have to outdo him. But not with ice. That wasn’t the Seelie way.
I summoned the memory of the scent of flowers on the mound beneath three moons and envisioned the bookstore on a sunny summer day.
The ice vanished.
He gave me a cool, assessing look.
Good. I’d rattled him. For whatever reason, he hadn’t expected a display of power from me yet. Considering he’d been at Aoibheal’s side when she assumed her reign, that must mean it had taken even her time to understand how to use what she’d been given.
Eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, I said icily, “I don’t know what I can and can’t do, Cruce, but I will learn, and quickly, and if you make me learn the hard way, I’ll turn every bit of it against you. I can be the sheepdog that walks at your side, or I can be the wolf you don’t want living in your backyard. The powerful, hungry, savage, and pissed-off wolf, and I promise you, I will delight in destroying your backyard. I have a long memory and few scruples left. It’s your call, babe.”
Did I really just say that? I glanced at Barrons, and the corners of his mouth were twitching faintly as if fighting a smile.
Without another word, Cruce vanished.
Jada opened her mouth to summon him back.
“No,” I commanded. “Let him go. We don’t have time for his games.” I, alone, would deal with his games, later. I knew Cruce well enough to know that as things stood, he wasn’t going to willingly share a single piece of information with us. Only too recently, he’d watched as his queen had bypassed him in favor of a human, and even as V’lane, the prince had always been vain and proud. It was going to take a small miracle to wed him to our aim. I needed time to figure out what that miracle was.
Dropping back down to the sofa, I fiddled with the box and eased it open. Even braced as I was for the otherworldly music, it still got me and instantly transported me far, far away, filled me with such a buoyant sense of freedom and joy that I sat, shivering in near ecstasy until the exquisite melody abruptly stopped. Then I shivered with sudden cold and isolation, bereft, a true believer cut off from God.
I realized dimly that Barrons had me by the shoulders and was shaking me, roaring, “Mac!” straight into my face.
I blinked up at him. “What?” I said blankly.
“What the hell was that horrific sound?” he demanded.
“Horrific? It wasn’t horrific. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. It hurts to stop hearing it.” I glanced around the room for confirmation of my words, reinforcement that there was something wrong with Barrons’s hearing, not mine, but everyone was looking at me as if I was crazy. “Oh, come on! How could you not think that song was beautiful?” I glanced at Jada. “Wasn’t it mind-blowingly amazing to you?”
She shook her head grimly. “It made me want to die.”
I frowned at Dancer.
“Ditto,” he said roughly. “That was pure hell.”
I looked back at Barrons, who nodded, then at Christian and Ryodan, who nodded in turn.
“Made my bloody skin crawl,” Christian said tightly.
I shot Ryodan a look. “What did it make you feel?”
He gave me a penetrating look and said carefully, “Like I was having a hard time holding on to my skin.”
My eyes widened as I got the message and my gaze flew back to Barrons.
His dark eyes gleamed. We both nearly changed. Had to fight it with everything I had.
I frowned down at the music box, wondering what in the world it was, and why only I could hear the exquisite melody it played.
 
We wrapped up a little over an hour later, having accomplished pretty much jack shit.