Mark Del Franco - Unfallen Dead

“I do not take orders from you,” she said.

I stared at her. “Look, I’m going to say this once: Either do what I say, or get the hell out of my way.”

She made a pinched face, and the sending shot off her head like an arrow. Keeva was going to have a headache when she got it.

“Now. You and Meryl back up Dylan as long as you can. Let Vize through. Take down anyone else who tries to follow. Watch your time. Dylan and Meryl can drop their silver branches, but you and I need to run for the portal before it closes.”

The air crackled with streaks of golden light as Ceridwen followed Dylan across the field. “This is madness.”

“Welcome to my world,” I said to her back.

Meryl looked up at me. “I am not going to let you kill yourself.”

“I don’t intend to,” I said.

Her face became set. “Don’t think I’m stupid, Grey. Dylan and I only have to drop our silver branches to get out of here, but you can’t shake that silver off on your arm. Ceridwen can reach the door before those horses. You can’t outrun them. You are not dying here.”

I shook my head. “I have no intention of dying here.”

She poked me hard in the chest, but her eyes were glistening. “You owe me a lobster.”

I reached for her. She backed away. “Uh-uh,” she said. “You don’t intend to die; I’m not giving any good-bye hugs.”

“How about a good-luck one?”

She pursed her lips, dropped her chin to her shoulder, and held her arms out. “Okay.”

We hugged. I kissed the top of her head, then tilted her face up for another. She pulled away. “No. You get your good-luck hug, but I am not going to kiss you. Besides, you’re face is a sheet of blood, and it would be icky.”

She danced away from me, then ran after Dylan and Ceridwen. Joe circled in front of me, facing toward the henge entrance. He held his sword ready for swinging.

“Is my face that bad?” I asked.

Joe considered me for a little too long. “Well, you have that little scar by your eye from when you fell in the bathtub when you were five.”

I frowned at him. “I meant the blood.”

He smiled as if it just occurred to him I didn’t normally walk around with blood on my face. “Oh! No, the blood’s cool. You should keep it.”

“Thanks.” I looked at the little guy, hovering all tough and mean in his loincloth. “Joe, promise me you’ll bug out if this falls apart.”

He didn’t look at me. “Nope.”

“Joe…”

He kept his eye on the entrance. “Connor, I’ve stood by your family for generations during some very dark times. Dark, dark times. Even Seamus Ogden macGrey, who was a huge prick. I think he was your great-great-great-great-grandfather. The only reason I stayed with him was his wife made a most excellent mead and was a long-suffering waif. And a looker. Boy, was she a looker. She’s where your brother Cal gets his red hair, if you ask me. I remember this one time…”

“Joe…”

He shook his head. “I ain’t leaving.”

“Fine. No more cookies for you.”

“I left a reminder for you to pick up more.”

“You mean you left the empty bag on my pillow.”

He laughed his maniacal laugh. “Yep.”

“Here they come,” I said.

Vize led the charge. Long black hair streamed from under his helm as he bore down on the entrance. He rose in his stirrups, holding the reins with one hand as he raised a spear with the other. My heart skipped a beat. I flashed open my sensing ability. Relieved, I read nothing more than oakwood charged with elf-shot. It wasn’t a match to my spear. I knew damned well I didn’t want a splinter of the Wheel in his hands.

He launched the spear. He knew how to use one. It sailed straight and true, piercing Dylan’s airbe druad with a burst of emerald essence. That was all it was meant to do, punch a hole to test what they were up against. Dylan patched it without effort. The spear peaked and dropped toward the center of the circle. It had no more charged essence, so it was a simple wooden spear again. One aiming for my chest, but still pretty simple. I lifted my sword. A streak of pink whirred by, and Joe knocked the spear to the ground.

“Thanks,” I said.

“De nada,” he said, returning to his aerial perch.

A stunning assortment of fey rode behind Vize. I hadn’t realized that the animosity to the Seelie Court was so widespread. Things had become much worse since I had left the Guild. Elves in the same black leather tunic Vize wore, unemblemed. Dwarves rode with him, too, surprisingly. Their loyalty to the Elven King was moderate at best, but aligned with Donor Elfenkonig’s henchmen was the last place I’d expect them. If the Elven King wasn’t supporting Vize, they had much to lose. Plenty of solitaries joined him, all shapes and shades, malevolent and wild looks in their eyes. The scary part was the Celts. He had Celtic fey with him, mostly subclans of the major races, but more Danann than I would have guessed flew air cover. I had no idea what that was about.

Vize rode far ahead of his comrades. He might be as damaged as I was, but he wasn’t going to let his followers see him cower in the rear guard. The Teutonic fey put a lot of stock in crazy bravery. Even so, Vize had to be nuts to put himself in that much danger. As he neared, a heavy-duty body shield on him confused me. He didn’t have one earlier. A blue-skinned solitary clung to his back like a climbing animal, all sharp teeth and claws and tangled white hair. A nixie. The shield was hers.

Vize checked the dream mare at the barrier. He cocked his head up, staring transfixed at Ceridwen. He shouted something to his lead riders, but I couldn’t hear what he called.

Dylan sliced a hand through the air, rending a space in the airbe druad between the entrance stones. He made it look like a tactical error and frantically threw useless bindings at the gap to repair it. Vize waited for his company to catch up, then spurred his horse forward. He lunged through the opening, the dream mare lifting in an impressive leap, smoke trailing after it like exhaust. Dylan yanked his fist down, and the barrier snapped closed. Meryl moved in and amplified the charge on the entrance before anyone else could get through. Vize’s immediate followers slammed into the barrier, and the ranks behind them crashed into them in a satisfying knot of confusion.

Vize was nicely surprised when he realized he was alone. He pulled forcefully on the reins, his solitary friend dangling precariously from his back. He managed to bring the horse to a halt, and the great beast danced in a circle as Vize looked back. His followers had stopped tripping onto each other, spacing themselves as best they could to make room. As they reorganized, they threw lightning strikes of essence against the airbe druad.

Ceridwen soared overhead in a pulsating golden aura. Single-handedly, she fended off dozens of the airborne fairies and winged solitaries who tried to fly over the barrier. Her power amazed me. UnderQueens packed more of a wallop than I would have ever guessed.

The narrow space of the entrance avenue worked in Dylan’s favor. No more than three or four fey could attack the shield without hitting one another. Between the extra charge Meryl gave him and his own considerable skill, the barrier held the riders off. Bergin turned the dream mare toward the Boston portal

“Vize needs some prodding in this direction, Joe,” I said.

Joe grinned deep dimples into his cheeks. He flashed out and reappeared with burst of pink essence in Vize’s face. He slapped Vize on the nose and disappeared. The frustrating thing about fighting with a flit is that they’re too small to target a hit well, too fast to chase, and too unconventional to anticipate. A slap on the nose is the last thing you expect anyone to do. And it hurts, to say nothing of humiliating.