Long hot showers were a blessing Thomas Almstead was never going to get tired of, no matter how many years or decades separated him from barracks living. Secretly, he didn’t mind the VA doc’s admonition to get more exercise, especially not when he had hiking trails so close to home and a new Nikon D7100 to get to know, but the billowing clouds of steam and the decadent adjustable shower head his son-in-law had installed for him were the icing on the cake.
The phone was ringing as he turned off the water in the shower. Kevin’s ringtone. Cursing, he lunged for the trousers he’d left in a crumpled pile on the bathroom floor, digging his phone out of the pocket just as the last bar of a sweet Hendrix riff started to fade. “Sorry, son, you caught me at an awkward moment. What’s up?”
Silence. Then, “Dad?”
Thomas froze. He remembered that tone. Hadn’t heard it in nearly half a century, but he wasn’t ever going to forget it. He’d heard it in country, too many times, from kids—only a few years younger than he’d been himself, back then, but lacking his experience in the Vietnamese jungle. Kids who had seen too much, and done too much, and were one step from shattering. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Kevin cleared his throat. “Um... are you busy? Can you come down to Purgatory?”
From the sound, his son had taken a step back from whatever ledge he was on, but Thomas found no comfort in that assessment. “Sure. Just give me a few minutes to dry off and get dressed. I’ll be there in...” He thought quickly, as he reached for a towel and wrapped it around himself as best he could one-handed. “Let’s say an hour. Maybe less, depending on the traffic.”
“Right. See you then.”
Son of a bitch. Thomas wished he could fly.
* * *
Kevin set his phone down with excruciating care on the thick glass top of the bar. Not that he thought the phone was in any danger of breaking. Or the bar, for that matter.
Which left him.
All the lights were on, making the underground club almost obscenely cheery. Once it was open for business, of course, it would be plunged into properly decadent shadow. But no amount of light was ever going to chase away the darkness of—last night? No, night before last.
A faint electrical hum called his attention to the door; the black slab swung inward, letting in a hint of the afternoon light from the street above, along with Josh and Conall.
“You’re early,” Kevin croaked.
“I don’t think so.” Josh was the one who answered, but Conall nodded as if he’d been the one to speak. And they hesitated together, as if unsure how to approach.
Two bodies, one soul.
Jesus.
He didn’t realize the door had shut behind them, didn’t even hear them cross the floor, didn’t notice anything until Josh’s arms were around him and Conall’s hand was on his shoulder.
Damn. I thought I was done crying. Josh’s soaked shirt told him otherwise, though.
“I wish you’d called one of us last night.” From the feel of things, Josh wasn’t planning on letting go of Kevin any time soon.
Kevin didn’t give a fuck about Josh’s plans; the former college wrestler shrugged out of the embrace and walked off, down the length of the bar. “There’s no such thing as just one of you. The rest of you come in pairs.”
God, or karma, or someone still had it in for Kevin, because Rhoann Faded in just in time to cock his head in that adorable puzzled way he had, hearing his last utterance.
“If you say ‘or threes,’ Rhoann, so help me Christ I’m going to...” Of course, Kevin had no idea what he was going to do. He hadn’t had any idea since his world had disappeared forever, something like 36 hours ago.
“I would never.” Rhoann took an uneasy step back, his hands slightly raised.
Fuck. If they don’t make me a pariah, I’m going to end up making myself one. No Fae he’d ever known was the slightest bit squeamish about death—any of them would laugh at the thought, he was sure. But he himself was something new to them: half a SoulShare. Yes, Lochlann had almost found himself in Kevin’s situation once, and he’d followed Garrett into death to bring him back rather than face living without him.
Kevin hadn’t had that option.
I should have done it anyway.
No. Digging himself out of that hole had been hard enough once; he wasn’t going to do it again. And that was a promise he was bound to break, he knew. Just... not yet.
“Sorry, Rhoann.” Kevin cleared his throat, eyeing the tall Fae sidelong. “I’m not contagious, don’t worry.”
He regretted the bitterness as soon as it was out, for all the good regret did. Strangely, though, no one seemed to notice—or at least, no one minded, if they did. In fact, everyone seemed to relax a little.
Now that I’m acting the way they expect?
God, this had been a bad idea. He was in no shape to deal with anyone. Not the room full of Fae and their scair-anaim who were going to be congregating here, and most definitely not his father.
But it had to be done. Kevin had to tell his father that his son-in-law was dead. And Thomas wasn’t going to understand, he wasn’t going to believe the story Kevin had to tell, unless he heard the whole story. And believing his son was crazy was going to be a hell of a lot easier than believing the truth, unless Kevin had some help in the telling.
That was the glib explanation, and it was even partly true. But Kevin knew the whole truth, as he looked from Rhoann to Josh to Conall, and up as the door opened to admit Lasair, Bryce, and a limping but enthusiastically wagging Setanta.
His dad was going to need the whole story, but Kevin couldn’t tell it. Couldn’t even think about it. He was probably just going to have to crumple into a chair and let other people do the talking.
Does that make me a coward? Or fundamentally broken?
* * *
Thomas jogged down the last half-dozen steps to the doors of Purgatory, to hell with what his knees thought of the idea. Good thing the traffic into the city had been light... though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been needed here a long time ago.
The lack of any knob or handle on the featureless black glass at the bottom of the stairs stymied him for a second. But the doors swung inward as he reached for them, with a soft electric hum.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Definitely not the crowd waiting for him in what his son had told him was called the ‘cock pit.’ He recognized a few of them, Mac and Lucien and the tattoo artist who had the studio up at street level next to the club. He thought he recognized a few others from Mac and Lucien’s wedding. But a few of them were strangers—including one who looked enough like his son-in-law that Thomas had to give him a good hard look to be sure he wasn’t.
But... Tiernan wasn’t there. And where was Kevin?
Almost on cue, his son made his way through the cock pit, out into the light. And Thomas’ heart nearly stopped. Kevin looked like a shell of himself, pale, his eyes red-rimmed, his broad shoulders hunched around a great hollow space.
Thomas knew that space. He’d been introduced to it in Vietnam, and he’d lived in it after Tanner’s death, and then Louise’s.
“Jesus, son,” he whispered.
Kevin stumbled, and Thomas opened his arms to catch him, braced himself to catch his weight.
“He’s dead, Dad.” Kevin’s voice caught hard, and Thomas felt it in his own chest. “Tiernan. He’s gone.”
Numb, Thomas wrapped his arms around his son and braced him—Kevin hadn’t fallen, but the former sergeant knew a man near collapse when he was holding one up.
What the hell do I say?
He’d never expected to have a son-in-law, and when he’d first met Tiernan, the young man’s impossible good looks had, for just a second, whispered “gold-digger.”
But that first meeting was ancient history, now. Tiernan was—had been—everything his son had ever wanted.
Which meant he’d been everything Thomas had ever wanted for his son.
He didn’t have words for that. He just held Kevin tighter, and stifled a groan when he felt his son’s body start to shake with sobs.
More than one pair of hands gently urged Thomas to step backward; he realized with a start that he and Kevin were surrounded, and being guided toward a black leather loveseat.
Thomas needed to know who they were. What they were doing here. But Kevin was all that mattered to him right now. The rest could wait as long as it had to. He waved the circle back as he drew Kevin down to sit beside him.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Kevin choked. “I asked them to come. There’s... a lot you need to understand, and I’m not in any shape to explain any of it.”
“Tiernan’s dead—I need to understand more than that?”
Ever since Vietnam, Thomas had raised his voice when he was confused, as if he could shout sense into a world that didn’t make any. He felt Kevin flinch, and cursed himself. “Sorry—”
There was a dog between him and his son. Front legs on Thomas’ thigh, back legs on Kevin’s. Growling, the tips of what sure as hell looked like fangs showing.
It hadn’t climbed up. It had just appeared.
“Setanta! Cu droc!” someone snapped.
The dog—no, the puppy—instantly dropped down, ears wilting. And the air was filled with a brimstone stench that would have made a rotten egg gag.
Someone stepped up to claim the pup—another blond, this one with hair that fell in waves halfway down his back. “My apologies, sir, for his poor training.”
Kevin, miraculously, looked like he might remember how to smile someday as he watched the puppy being gathered up and moved firmly to the floor. “It’s okay, Lasair. He’ll figure out I don’t need protecting from Dad eventually.”
The silence stretched out, broken only by the thumping of a tail against the floor.
“Son...” Thomas gestured helplessly. “Talk to me. What’s happened?”
Kevin’s sigh seemed to empty him; he sagged back against the back of the loveseat, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. Finally, his hands dropped, as if they were too heavy for him to hold up. “I don’t know if I can do it, Dad. I’m tapped out.” His arm twitched, echoing the gesture of a defeated wrestler.
“No, you aren’t.” The speaker was another man Thomas recognized, the owner of the massage parlor upstairs. Lochlann something. “If you were, I’d know it.”
“Fucking empath,” Kevin muttered.
“Guilty. And you need to talk.”
I would give my left ball to understand what’s going on here. And his right one to pull his only surviving son out of the deep pit he was falling into right in front of him.
Kevin looked slowly around the circle. One by one, the men shook their heads. Even the puppy whined.
“God damn it.” Kevin dragged himself to a more upright position. “All right. I’ll try.”
Thomas took a deep breath and willed himself to relax, to open himself up, even though he knew he was about to follow his son into hell. He’d learned how to help carry other men’s pain from a Marine chaplain, decades ago in Vietnam. He’d owed it to his men then, and he sure as hell owed it to his son now.
“I can’t tell you all of it. Not now.” Kevin laced his fingers together, so tightly the knuckles were white. He’d done that ever since he was a kid, when things were too much for him. “And the part I have to tell you—you’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“I would never—”
“Tiernan’s not human. Wasn’t human.”
And what do I say to that?
Kevin nodded as if Thomas had spoken. “He was a Fae. So are half the people in this room.”
No one protested. In fact, some of them were nodding. Lochlann, the big blond standing between Mac and Lucien, a redhead who looked several years too young to be in a club like Purgatory, the puppy’s owner, Tiernan’s almost-twin, a dark-skinned man who might have been Spanish or Portuguese, a young man with blond hair curling over one eye and an arresting set of eyebrow piercings, and the man hovering protectively at his side, his peculiar pale-green eyes missing nothing.
“I ought to be asking you—all of you—a lot of questions.” Thomas chose his words carefully. “But that’s not what you’re here for.” And, frankly, he didn’t have it in him to interrogate anyone right now. Even polite questions would be a stretch.
“You’re right.” Kevin’s voice sounded like his throat ached. “But I know you. The questions are still there. And it’s important that you believe me about this, or you sure as hell aren’t going to believe what happened. Conall?”
The red-haired kid—well, not exactly a kid, Thomas supposed, he’d fought next to men his age, a long time ago—almost flinched. But not quite. “What do you need from me?”
“Magick. Something Dad will have to believe.”
“I thought you were going to say that.” Conall sighed. “Here’s hoping this channeling turns out better than my last one.”
He glanced around the room, and for the first time Thomas noticed the bright, almost unnatural green of his eyes. Tiernan had eyes like that, except his were a startling blue.
Had had eyes like that.
“Draoi ríoga?” This from the other youngster in the room, the one with the pierced eyebrows.
A corner of Conall’s mouth twitched up. “Sorry, Highness, but most of my channelings of late have happened in the middle of combat or while I’ve been helping Josh practice M ji kaikyaku tsuri, and I don’t think Kevin is looking for either of those.”
Highness? Thomas was having a hard time keeping his resolve not to ask questions.
Conall laid a hand on Josh’s arm. “Dar’cion, would you mind rolling up your sleeve?”
Josh nodded and unbuttoned his left shirt sleeve. As he tugged and rolled it up, a vivid tattoo slowly became visible—a gold dragon, mouth opened as if it was getting ready to breathe fire.
One look at his son’s haggard face was enough to make Thomas think about breathing some fire of his own. “What the hell are you—”
Conall held up a hand and closed his eyes. He didn’t move, but something around him was moving in a way that made Thomas want to rub his eyes, except he didn’t want to look away from whatever was happening.
The dragon lifted its head from Josh’s arm, craned its neck, and spat blue-white flame.
“Jesus Christ,” Thomas whispered.
And then the rest of the dragon started peeling away from Josh’s arm, golden wings beating the air even before its tail came free.
“Hold out your hand,” Josh said softly.
Thomas did as he was told.
The dragon hovered in front of Josh, staring at him with bright black unblinking eyes.
And then those eyes were looking at him.
The dragon hissed. Grabbing air, it swooped up and around behind Josh’s head, then arrowed straight for Thomas, bating its wings at the last possible second and grabbing the base of his thumb with talons like Satan’s tailor’s needles.
Thomas jerked his arm back, choking back most of a shout. The dragon clung tightly, flapping its wings to stay balanced.
“Scathacrú!” Josh snapped.
The dragon arched its wings, hissing.
“Let go!”
It hissed again, then launched itself from Thomas’ hand. Thomas watched it take wing, his pain already forgotten... stared as it settled on Kevin’s shoulder, as gently as a falling leaf, and butted its head up against the roughness of his unshaven cheek.
Kevin didn’t seem to see anything out of the ordinary. He reached up and stroked under the dragon’s chin with a fingertip. “Sorry, Dad. He’s not really tame.”
“Kind of like Tiernan.” The words were out before Thomas had a chance to think about them. But he couldn’t call them back... and didn’t really want to. “I think I always knew there was something different about him. But he was right for you. And that was all I ever gave a damn about.”
Tears welled up in Kevin’s already red-rimmed eyes. “He was the other half of my soul. That’s how Fae cross over from their world to ours. Half of his soul gets torn away, and comes to our world, and is born in a human.”
Thomas didn’t answer. In fact, he held his breath. Talk, son. Let it out.
Kevin drew a deep, shuddering breath. “An enemy of the Fae was locked away in the human world, thousands of years ago. It should have been safe—it couldn’t do harm here. But Tiernan accidentally set it free, when Art O’Halloran’s nephew tried to kill me.”
“I remember that. Some of it, anyway.” O’Halloran, a partner at Kevin’s law firm, had been trying to blackmail Kevin, courtesy of an extremely compromising picture taken by O’Halloran’s nephew Janek.
Kevin nodded. “It went into Janek O’Halloran. I guess you could say it possessed him. Saved his life, mostly, but there wasn’t much of him left except his hate. For Tiernan—he blamed him for turning him into a rotting meat wagon for a monster. And for the Marfach.”
“That’s the monster?”
“It was.” Another silence. “It turns out some of the Fae had known all along that the Marfach would get out eventually. They made sure there would be Fae over here to stop it when it did.”
“And Tiernan was one of them?”
“Yes.” Kevin swallowed hard. “I’ll tell you the whole story some other time, as much of it as I know. But two nights ago... it came for us. For the last time.”
Kevin closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
Thomas thought he recognized the way Kevin was sitting, the strange depth of his silence. There were mornings seared into his memory, too many mornings getting ready to move out into the jungle by the ghost light of false dawn, not knowing what was going to come at him.
You could be as prepared as you could possibly be, but you still knew your preparation might not matter a damn.
But he’d never watched his son pick up that burden before. And he would have given anything to be the one shouldering it now.
“It was trying to get home, to the Fae Realm. To destroy it. And it would have been happy to destroy this world, too, for being its prison for a couple of thousand years. The easiest way back to the Realm was here, in Purgatory’s basement.”
“And you had to stop it.”
“We had to kill it. Except, it couldn’t die.” Kevin stared at the floor between his feet.
Thomas wondered what he was seeing.
“We trapped it. All of us. Everyone had a job to do, a part to play—as if it had been planned that way. Maybe it was.”
This silence was different. It was strained, taut, dangerous. The others sensed it, too; they moved closer, tense and wary.
“Everyone.” Kevin spoke through a tightness in his throat. “Even me. My job was to—hold Tiernan. Keep him here, keep the Marfach from taking him. My only job. And I—I failed—”
Kevin’s voice broke, raw and anguished. He doubled over, sending the dragon flapping off in a panic.
Thomas didn’t stop to think. He grabbed Kevin and pulled him close.
Kevin fought him, but only for a second. Only until the sobs started to tear their way out of him. “It’s my fault.” Thomas’ jacket muffled Kevin’s hoarse keening.
If I could carry this for you... Thomas ducked his head, clenched his jaw tightly against cries of his own. He couldn’t cry, not now. He had to hold Kevin together.
“Jesus, I didn’t think anything could hurt worse than just losing him, losing him that way, but I let it happen, I failed him—”
“You didn’t.” Conall’s soft voice cut through Kevin’s cries.
“I did—”
“You didn’t. Listen to me, Ngarradh.”
Whatever that word meant, it made Kevin tremble, but it also made him go silent.
Conall rested a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “You didn’t fail. I’ve been thinking about that fight, what I sensed toward the end of it. The Marfach assumed Janek was really dead. Which means he must have been buried so deep in the monster, he almost didn’t make it out, in the end. But he wanted the Marfach dead, just as much as he...”
“Wanted Tiernan dead.” Kevin’s voice sounded like a dull knife. He wasn’t looking up. But at least he was talking.
“Yes. And he saw his chance to have both, I think. He managed to take over their shared body, at least enough to make it stop fighting my channeling. And you kept Tiernan here, kept the Marfach from finishing him, long enough for that to happen. I don’t think anyone else could have done that.”
Thomas wasn’t sure how he’d ever thought of Conall as a kid. The solemn red-haired Fae looked centuries old. Maybe he was.
Kevin raised his head slowly, as if it weighed more than he could normally lift. His eyes were reddened and red-rimmed, staring unseeing at nothing in particular, as if the man behind them was weighing the likely cost of the climb out of hell, trying to decide if it was worth it.
Thomas tightened his grip on Kevin. You bet your ass it’s worth it. I’ve lost one son already—no, two—and I’ll be damned if I’m losing a third.
Kevin’s sigh was more like a groan. “So my job was to hold on to him long enough to let him die at the right time.”
Conall nodded. “The right time to save two worlds.”
“Maybe someday that will be a comfort.”