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I feel death weighing on me, so heavy it almost takes my breath away, but the protection provided by the charmed ring holds fast and I manage to remain on my feet.
That is why I cannot give in to my banshee heritage. The writhing women right there on the floor, is concrete evidence that I have made the correct choice to tamp down my power and steer clear of the agony of being half-banshee.
I hurry to the downed necro, kneeling on top of him and reaching into the tangle of netting to find the man’s wrist. He tries to bat me away, but I ignore his ineffectual movements. A bracelet, not only imbued with the familiar purple magic but in fact pulsing with a strong purple light. It can’t be active within the confines of the spelled netting, but it displays its purple badge regardless.
I sink my hand into the deep sleeve of my robe and use the terry cloth fabric to tug at the piece of jewelry to pull it off him.
The man screams and swipes at my hand. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what you’re doing. Wait, stop. Please.”
To my shock, tears well up in his eyes and tumble down his cheeks.
I harden my heart against his pitiful pleas. “You’ve killed so many. And now you’re crying because I’m going to remove your rotten-at-the-core bracelet? Shut up and let me have it. You’re not even controlling them, anymore. The netting is enchanted, and it tamps down all your magic.”
I can’t believe I’m having this conversation in the middle of what amounts to a battleground. I duck as a vamp launches above me, but its target in this moment is a warrior just beyond where I’m kneeling.
I glare into the necromancer’s eyes so he can gauge my sincerity. “Give me your goddamn bracelet, or I’ll have one of these warriors cut off your hand, and then I’ll take it from you, anyway.”
“That would be better. It would be better to lose a hand, than to face death. Only, if you take my hand, leave the bracelet on it.”
What?
“She made us! He made us! It is not our fault. And if I give it up, the punishment is more severe than you can ever imagine. Take the hand off! Then I won’t have relinquished it to you.”
A punishment more severe than having half your arm lopped off by an enraged fae warrior?
I give up trying to reason with him and simply wrestle the band right off his arm. I drop the bracelet into my robe pocket, still reluctant to touch it until we know more about how it works.
His screech becomes a yowl, mingling with the ongoing wail of my two sisters, and I grit my teeth, wondering if my ears will ever recover from this onslaught.
The other necromancer glances across at what I’m doing and his face transforms into a rictus of terror. He does some weird movement with his hands, and the remaining abominations stop mid-battle and gallop over the floor toward him.
I yell a warning to Rhodri, but it’s too late. The man opens a portal, and the still-living abominations pile on top of one another into the circle of light. The necro jumps in last, casting one more stricken glance at the man caught in my net, before disappearing altogether.
The sounds of battle vanish almost instantly. Only a few small skirmishes continue, and then every rogue supe still left in the room is dead. The necro in my net is sobbing uncontrollably.
I turn my head and note Indie and Aleah, still on the floor, still squirming, but their movements are less frenzied and the sounds of sobbing and moaning are finally beginning to calm.
Eventually, all is quiet. I stare around, breathing hard, unable to believe that only a few short minutes ago, I was having my toenails painted and my feet massaged, and imagining a sexy spa date with Rhodri.
Carnage is everywhere. Dead bodies, bits of flesh and limbs, and loose heads lying around sporting various terrifying or terrified expressions. Whatever the previous owner was feeling at the moment of death, is still imprinted on each face.
My heart skips a beat when I see a fallen fae warrior, but it is neither Rhodri, nor Tarrien. The prince kneels by the dead man’s side and adjusts the man’s severed head until it rests approximately where it would be if the man were still alive. It is a small gesture of respect for one of his own.
So many dead. Even these warped creatures were once regular supes, probably just as normal as some of the members of my team. Until somehow, they got caught up in Rhiannon and Targon’s twisted little plan and the madness overtook them. In many ways, the abominations are as much a victim in this as the innocent people they have killed over the years.
Luc mentioned his vampire Maker, Veronique, when he first joined our team in SUDAP. She was perfectly normal one day, and then disappeared from their nest, turning up shortly afterward as a crazed abomination who killed Aleah’s dad. I can only assume that she was somehow poisoned by Targon and Rhiannon’s vile magic, and lost her sanity in the process.
At least we caught one of them alive this time. An abomination pilot. Though by the sound of the necromancer’s moaning, he thinks he isn’t long for this world.
I ignore the dead for now, and concentrate on the only living prisoner.
I suck in a shocked breath when I look down at him. “Jesus!”
In the few short seconds I was distracted by the carnage, the necromancer has developed a nasty red rash. Some of the bumps have become pustular and are beginning to excrete a smelly fluid. It is as if he has been flayed alive by an invisible whip, allowing a sea of pus within his body to begin to ooze out wherever the skin has split.
Is this the punishment he spoke of? What sort of sick mind would create this for one of their own followers?
I finger the shape of the purple bracelet in my robe pocket, and pity fills my chest. “Where are they?”
“I can’t. I can’t...”
I squat down in front of him. “Yes, you can.”
My tone is gentle and once again tears well in his eyes.
“The punishment for removing the bracelet, is death,” he sobs. “You’ve just killed me, you know. The poison is embedded in us all, and the bracelet holds it at bay. If we do as she commands, we get to live. If we remove the bracelet...”
He curls his legs up into his chest and hugs them, rocking back and forth.
A squelching sound ensues, signaling more of the pus has leached out beneath him.
“You know she is evil, through and through,” I say. “Isn’t that all the more reason to share what you know before you die? Did you want to be bound by this bracelet? Did you want to pilot those crazed abominations that kill everything in their path? Is that, truly, what you wanted out of life?”
“No, no,” he says. “I never wanted that. I was only drawn in, because...” He breaks off to cough, the sound wet and disgusting. “Because Targon offered a grant at the Necromancer Institute,” he continues. “He visited there for a time, to learn something of our magics. Eventually he offered money, and the opportunity to study a whole new area of magic, that of necromancer-fae.”
He coughs again to clear the growing gurgle impacting his words. “It sounded perfect. So intriguing. But once I got to his academy—once we all got there—we didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t an academy at all. It was her castle. And Targon said if we didn’t wear the bracelet, he would have us pulled apart, limb by limb. We didn’t believe him, not in the beginning, but he loves her so much, he will do anything to please her.”
“Her?” I know who he means, of course, but I want him to confirm it out loud.
“Queen Rhiannon. She’s a monster! My cousin Jorga said no and tried to walk away, the day Targon took us all to her castle and asked for our assistance. Asked? By the gods, what they did to Jorga!”
His whole body trembles, and the pustules are growing. The stench is almost unbearable. I breathe as lightly as I can above him and narrow my gaze, trying to focus on his eyes rather than the stinky pus escaping his body.
“What’s your name, necromancer?”
“Davon, ma’am.”
I feel a presence beside me and look up to see Rhodri has made his way over to join us. He stands beside me, putting a hand briefly on my shoulder, before squatting down.
“Davon,” Rhodri says, his tone as gentle as mine. “What did they do to Jorga?”
The necro begins to sob once again. “They tied him to a tree branch outside the castle. He was just hanging there, bound by the wrists. And then she got a vamp and a were to approach and take his legs. One leg each. They pulled, running in opposite directions. It was awful, so awful...”
Rhodri bows his head, and then stands quickly. When I glance up at him, his jaw is set in a determined cast.
“She, being, Rhiannon?” Rhodri asks in a flat tone.
“Yes. The queen. And Targon, too. He’s even worse than her. She’s crazy but he’s just plain evil. They both stood and laughed while what was left of my cousin dangled there, bleeding to death. Luckily, I think he died of shock before he bled out, soon after his legs came off. Oh, it was awful. They said the next one to say no would be gutted alive instead.” He chokes and coughs. “None of us ever said no, after that.”
Jesus. I feel physically sick at the images the man’s story evokes. What must Rhodri be feeling? And Tarrien, too. This is their parents the man is talking about. My parents might have chosen to disengage from me at different points in my life, but I can’t imagine what it must be like to know your bloodline is tainted with sheer evil.
I glance again at Rhodri and note the sudden pallor of his face. He looks as if he’s about to throw up. He meets my eyes for an instant and then his gaze slides away, the expression becoming shuttered. But I see the flash of horror and guilt before he manages to lock it away.
His shoulders hunch a little and he turns and begins to pace.
My heart twists for him. But I can’t think about that now. I nod at some of my team, who are standing to one side awaiting instruction. They jump into action to help me untangle the necro. He is no threat, not anymore. I order them to glove up first, and not to touch the fluid leaching from the man’s body. I grab a spare pair of gloves from Jock.
At my order, Davon speaks up. “It’s not poisonous. Not to anyone except...me.”
I hope he’s telling the truth. Even with gloves on, I almost vomit as I reach through the mess and pull him free. My fingers slip and slide in the goo coming out of his sores and some of the liquid smears on my wrist. It doesn’t burn and I feel no tingle, so I assume the magic must be specific to the wearer of the bracelet. Davon coughs again, and suddenly blood mixed with pus dribbles down his chin.
“We’ll get you a healer.” I look around. “Tarrien?”
At my call, Tarrien hurries forward, his face grim as he stares down at Davon. A tiny shake of Tarrien’s head has my eyes widening.
“Oh, but you have to—”
“No healer can help him,” Tarrien says. “I am sorry. I would, if I could.”
The necromancer seems to know more than me, too.
“Healing was never an option.” His voice is a gurgle now, his throat and lungs filling with fluid. “She injected her poison into us and then he fastened on our bracelets. He enjoyed it, the bastard.”
A coughing fit overtakes him, and a spray of liquid flies out and lands on me and a couple of my team members. I resist the urge to wipe my cheek, and instead peel off my gloves and hold out a hand to the man. It’s the only thing I can offer. He clutches onto me as if grateful for the connection.
“I’m sorry, Davon,” I say, pity for him growing, even though I know he must be responsible for more deaths than I can imagine. “If you want to make amends, can you not tell us where to find her? Where to find Targon? We can still try and save you...”
He smiles sadly, his teeth red with blood. “She knew about the winter warriors. She made it so we cannot be healed. She...”
He coughs and a fountain of pus spews everywhere.
My stomach rebels, and I focus on not retching.
Rhodri is back at my side.
“Where is she?” He almost hisses the words and I lay my free hand in a cautionary touch on his arm. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “Tell me, Davon. I will avenge you, and all the others. I will avenge your cousin, too.”
“Jorga?” The necromancer stares up at Rhodri as if weighing whether or not he is telling the truth.
At last, he nods.
“Badlands,” he whispers. “She moved the castle...left only an illusion behind...there’s a portal though, from one to the other. In the field...near the entrance to the castle where she...was held...”
He nods toward Indie, who is sitting up holding a hand to her mouth. She looks exhausted, and angry, and horrified, all rolled into one. Aleah struggles to sit up, too, clutching her head.
As we all turn and look at them, the two banshees hunch over and once again begin the wail of the dying.
I don’t have to look down to know whose death they are singing in this time. The man gurgles, and then falls silent, his grip on my hand falling away.
We are left with the quiet moans and sobs of two banshees signaling that death has once again visited the room.
Only now, we have the information we need to find and destroy the monsters.
