Chapter Thirty-Nine

Miles and miles of tunnels lay out before Rebel. Twenty-six feet wide, lined by conduits of electric railway, turning the Metro underground into a narrow path of dark limestone. It had not been the usual tunnels she’d become accustomed to slipping through and then back up to the above world. This was the other kind of tunnels.

The kind one could get lost in and never come out.

She kept close to Piran as they edged along the wall, avoiding the electric lane. In the distance, a train shrieked and rattled, driving a ghost wind down the tunnel. She felt the faint hum of something in the air, now conscious of what it was. Magic. Lots of it. The Moon Court happened to exist beneath one of the busiest parts of the city’s Tube, thousands of feet below the surface of the Tower of London. How fitting. Gloomy, rank, and subterranean.

As nimble as a feline, she leaped down off a passage ledge into the gloom of another tunnel. Piran followed, keeping to the sidewalls. “Stay out of the light,” he said. “And don’t sweat, or the lycans will scent you.”

“Should I stop breathing?” Rebel was already sweating. Even amid the arctic gusts of air that ruffled her hood, her palms clammed up and her hair was plastered to her neck.

Though it had been mere weeks, the last time she was within the Underground felt like a lifetime ago. Horns blared and rats scurried between their feet, over black earth and other animal tracks. One rat paused, looked up at Rebel, squeaked, and continued. She wondered how close Anjeline was in these underlayers of earth. If she hoped she’d ever see Rebel again. Every inch of her insides felt like a ball of rage. She felt emptier than if Nero had ripped her heart out. She knew the wild ferocity of one lockpick was no match for her father.

Not without a wish.

The deeper they went, the more graffiti began to appear on the passage walls, symbols painted in red. The swirling marks were unlike any gang signs she’d ever seen, yet they seemed familiar. “How do you even know where you’re going?” she voiced.

Piran turned his head. “My father used to be a liaison between the Courts.”

“Until Nero—” Rebel caught herself.

His hand rose to his ear, tugging the point, before dropping to his side again. “My parents cartographed the tunnels for the Courts. Taught me before I grew into my pinions. Years ago, my father was sent as a guide on a quest to hunt down Nero for the Bright Guard. They never returned.” A fall of silvery hair brushed against the smattering of freckles at his temple.

Rebel reached out and touched his shoulder, stopping his harried pace. “Now you’re my valiant guide, leading me through doom,” she said softly. His eyes lightened in the gloom and he chuckled, his countenance lifting and his leathery wings stretching through his jacket.

Still, she knew Piran wanted revenge for his father, for his friends who had fallen at the hand of the magician. Her father. The fact that Piran hadn’t directed any of his retaliation at her showed he was a trustworthy soul. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them. She had helped him from the Siren’s hold, and he would guide her to her doom.

A moment later, Piran said, “Think about forgiving your fox friend. After all, Jaxon was working to free me from the Siren’s enthrall.”

She squinted. “You’re saying that because he charmed you.”

Piran shrugged but grinned. “He may be consumed by his need to fix things.”

“Fix? Jax betrayed me.”

“You’ve never done something you’re less than proud of in order to survive?” he asked, making her pause. “No Sidhe would’ve risked being outcast by his people for helping human striplings off the street.”

Rebel wanted to respond but couldn’t. The club was Jaxon’s entire life, the reason he breathed and thieved. Knowing now what he was, not even human, she had to wonder at those words, at all the times he’d come to her aid, risking heists to pay for her pills. Wondered if she’d ever be able to forgive him for sinking a knife into her back.

They melted into the shadows of another tunnel, and an odor filled Rebel’s nose. She wrinkled her brow, wishing she had no sense of smell. But the stench grew stronger. “Phew. What is that?”

“We’re getting closer.” Piran beat his wings, diffusing the fetor.

It was an unusual odor she couldn’t place, beyond the mildew and grime of the train tunnel. Something organic filled her throat, making her want to gag. But it held a fragrant smell to it with an under scent of…hair. Though, not quite.

Rebel sniffed. “It smells like…” She paused mid-step as the stench smacked her in the face like a well-placed slap. Her eyes widened, now recognizing the landmarks when she’d escaped this place. “The lycanthrope’s den,” she rasped. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

Piran put a hand over her mouth to hush her. “The Night Guard protects the entrance to the Court. For us to enter, we must go through their den.”

Her pulse thundered into a panic and she removed his palm. “Did it not seem pertinent to tell me that?” she whispered harshly.

“You would’ve just sweated more.” He snickered and continued.

More graffiti appeared on the walls. Only these were thieves’ symbols she recognized. Noting to stay away. TURN BACK. They weren’t signs to mislead. They were warnings. One even indicated certain death. Rebel shivered, coming to an archway engraved with emblems. The vast passage was fashioned into a shape of a skull. Its eyes were the entrance.

The Night Guard’s lair.

Rebel hadn’t remembered the skull. Then again, she’d fled so fast from this place it had all been a blur. A ghostly film fizzed off the entrance and along the symbols engraved around it. As suspected, a magic ward. Letting inhabitants out and nothing in. Which explained how she escaped without harm. Feeling bold, she spared a glance down the passage where flagstone stairs led downward, chocked with rubbish that had attracted rats. A few scurried away as her foot inched forward, hitting what looked like chewed-up white flutes. Bones. The leftovers of once breathing things clattered down the stairs to their resting place at the bottom.

She swallowed. “Tell me those aren’t human bones.”

“Stray cats,” Piran replied. “Pigeons, rats, and the occasional vagabond. Wolves like their snacks.”

Her chest grew tighter. “Explain how we get inside without becoming bones.”

“Our own enchantment.” From the pouch hooked to Piran’s belt, he pulled out a pinch of sparkling black dust. He drizzled a handful atop her head.

The powdery tendrils snaked around her limbs, and Rebel’s ebony hair revived to crimson, her teeth sharpened, and an animal pelt appeared around her shoulders. A glance down at herself showed she had been glamoured into someone else’s body, yet it still felt like hers. It was entirely feminine. Though more well-endowed than her own.

Another pass of the dust and Piran’s body changed. Muscle swelled his chest and arms, his wings vanished, and he now towered over Rebel. A male version of herself. It was hardly a plan, being glamoured as the redheaded twins, Styria and Vandal, but it had to work.

“Creepy.” Rebel touched her fang. “How long will the glamour last?”

“Long enough for us to not be turned into wolf pie.” Piran raked his fingers through ginger locks. “And however tempted, remember, don’t eat a thing. Their food works different on people.”

“More different from yours?”

“You won’t enjoy what comes afterward.”

She reached into her satchel, pulled out a vial of elixir, popped the top, and took a long swig. Lady Danu’s special potion. To help relieve her heart spasms long enough to keep whatever magic was inside her at bay. Though with everything, there came a downside. It lasted for an hour or so, and then she would need another dose. Several vials of it were clinking within the bag slung around her back, along with the elemental spheres the Bright Guard had packed her with.

“Remind me again,” she said. “The Inferno globes blow things up?”

“Blue is for shocking. Red is for exploding.”

She nodded with a devilish grin. “Blue shocking. Red exploding.”

He snickered at her expression. “Don’t get trigger happy. The Prince is occupied with the solstice gathering, so we slip in, grab Anjeline’s vase, and slip out.”

The plan was simple: infiltrate the Court, and while Piran caused a distraction using the spheres, Rebel would liberate the vase, and Anjeline along with it. Then they would use the signal to alert the Bright Guard to retaliate.

It was a solid plan. A solid, lethal mission.

From his jacket, Piran withdrew a steel pen-like object. “You were able to pass these wards before because the wolves had dragged you in. This will get us through.” He touched the tip along the archway’s entrance, and as he drew a different sign, it began to glow, canceling out the protection symbol. “Ready?”

The potent excitement Rebel always felt before a heist rose in her chest. She breathed out a prayer and kissed her pendant. Once she took a step forward, she knew she was quite possibly crossing a final border of no return. No matter that her conscience screamed at her to turn around. It was a brave thing. And a stupid one for a human.

“Into the valley of death,” she said and entered the skull’s eye.