Blade Dance (A Cold Iron Novel Book 4) (7 page)

The van sped up. She heard it screech to a halt but she didn’t look back, didn’t want to slow down. She heard a door whine open, then cruel hands were grasping her, yanking her hair and covering her mouth and dragging her back over the broken sidewalk and into the van.

Chapter 6

F
inn didn’t like waiting, but there was nothing he could do about little Davin until the Druid made his next move. And there was nothing to distract Finn from his waxing, unsatisfied hunger for Ann Phillips, who would remain unattainable until he had fulfilled his promise about the boy.

He considered slaking his desire with one of the accommodating women of Charlestown. There was never any shortage of local beauties angling to get into his bed. The problem was that Ann also lived in Charlestown and might hear of it, and bargain or no bargain, he doubted she would like the idea very much. Nor, truth be told, did he. Somehow—and slightly to his surprise—using another woman as a substitute for Ann felt like a betrayal.

He was beginning to sound like Iobáth.

Scratching his itch with another Fae, however, might be a different matter. Or so he told himself, without any great conviction, on the way to Deirdre’s house.

The reclusive painter was an undeniably carnal Fae. She lived with her human lover on Beacon Hill, in Boston, about a two-mile walk from Finn’s place in Charlestown, and she often welcomed others into her bed. Once, the possibility of finding Miach there ahead of him had kept Finn away, but the sorcerer was besotted with his current human lover and had, according to reliable sources, forsaken all others.

Deirdre’s house was an eighteenth-century gem hidden behind later, grander brick buildings, reached by way of a narrow drive at the end of Pinckney Street. Today the cobbled courtyard was covered with a blanket of sweet-smelling autumn leaves, and there was woodsmoke drifting from the chimneys.

And a tantalizing aroma of pizza. Deirdre’s lover, Kevin, was an excellent cook, and he had used the house’s antique bake ovens to crisp sizzling platters of dough. They ate, all three of them, companionably in her muted dining room with its pale-green walls and polished mahogany table, and then it was natural that they should go up to Deirdre’s light-filled studio and tumble onto the generous window seat together.

The erotic scene appealed to his Fae nature. Long before the printed word or the moving image, they had watched their own kind and humans sporting together. Deirdre’s voluptuousness on its own was a wonder to behold, but Kevin, though human, was her equal in beauty. His athletic body was muscular and tanned, a pleasing contrast to Deirdre’s pale flesh.

The painter looked sexy as hell, golden hair piled on top of her head, a little bit like Ann’s had been the night before. Kevin unpinned it and kissed her.

And that’s when it all went wrong.

Deirdre’s hair fell like silk all around her shoulders, and Finn found himself wishing that she had kept it up. Hanging loose around her face it was undeniably blond and impossible to pretend it was anything else: impossible to pretend that Deirdre was Ann.

Finn felt his ardor cool. Deirdre placed her hand on his knee, an invitation to join their coupling. He didn’t move. She slid her fingers up his thigh, and nothing stirred in him. She cocked a quizzical eye at him even as Kevin kissed a path over her now exposed breasts, suckling her rosy nipples. When Finn did nothing, Deirdre squeezed Kevin’s arm and gave him a look.

Kevin looked over his shoulder at Finn, a smug smile plastered on his handsome face. Then he kissed Deirdre on the cheek and strode, naked, from the room.

“You need only have said if you wanted to be alone with me,” Deirdre said, shrugging out of her long cashmere sweater and reclining naked before him. “Kevin doesn’t mind.”

Finn had never been entirely convinced of that. “Thank you for lunch,” he said, rising from the daybed. “It’s not you, Deirdre,” he said, letting honesty color the cliché. “It’s me. I’m tempted by the ultimate perversion.”

“Bestiality?” she asked with a teasing glint in her eye.

“Monogamy,” he said, wondering how one made a gracious exit after declining a threesome and rejecting one of the most beautiful women in the world.

“Please tell me it is not Aerin.”

“It’s not Aerin. Her name is Ann. She’s a schoolteacher.”

“You’re a fool, Finn MacUmhaill,” said Deirdre sadly. “There’s nothing but heartbreak in loving like that.”

“People who knock about in glass houses,” said Finn, “shouldn’t throw stones. Kevin is human, and you’ve made a commitment to him. Tied your span to his. Even if he lives five times a mortal man’s normal span, it will still end in his death. It will end with you mourning and following him to the grave thousands of years before your time.”

“It won’t come to that,” said Deirdre, rising and stalking naked to the canvases ranged on easels along the wall. Any trace of seduction was absent from her beautiful voice now.

“Kevin won’t have the opportunity to die of old age.
None
of our human consorts or offspring will.”

The room was always filled with canvases. He rarely stopped to look at them. They were steeped in magic, like all the Fae arts, and Finn mistrusted magic. He liked paintings best when they were pleasing landscapes or rousing battle scenes, but the picture that stopped him cold now was neither. It was a scene of horror, though some Fae would probably call it a terrible beauty.

“I’ve seen it,” she said, pointing to the still-incomplete canvas. “I’ve seen the wall come down.”

There was something in her tone of voice, something about the figures writhing on that wet canvas that chilled him. He did not want to believe her. “So you’re a seer as well as a painter now?”

“I paint possibilities.”

“It’s a pity, then, that you never painted the Druid betrayal before it happened. It might have saved us all a good deal of grief.”

“That’s when it started,” she said, her tone distant, her eyes fixed on some far off point. “When I was chained beneath the earthen mound, with all the Druid corpses. I didn’t have the sight before that. But afterward I saw . . . many things. You and Miach at odds. The birth of your son. And the return of the Druids. The Queen
is
coming back. I know it. It would be wise to strike a bargain with her, through the Prince Consort,
now
, if you want to save your schoolteacher and your half-blood children.”

Deirdre might be right about the wall, but she was wrong about the Queen. At least on one score. There was no bargaining with her. The Queen always got the upper hand. If she came back, his children and his children’s children would die. And so would Deirdre’s Kevin, if he was very lucky. If he wasn’t, the Queen would make a pet of him.

“Stay away from the Prince, Deirdre. He can’t be trusted. The surest way to keep Kevin safe is to prevent the Queen’s return.”

He sounded like Miach now. The irony was not lost on him.

“Is she pretty, your schoolteacher?” asked Deirdre, reaching for her palette.

“Yes. Red haired and fiery,” he said.

Deirdre smiled. “Bring her to lunch, then. Kevin and I would love to meet her.”

Finn doubted “lunch” was all Deirdre had in mind, but he thanked her for the invitation and then slipped out of the house, thankfully without encountering Kevin.

Once outside he was glad he hadn’t taken the car. He wanted to walk to clear his head. He needed to think. About Deirdre’s warning, about his troubles with the Fianna, and the presence of this Druid, and Ann, lovely Ann, who his mind returned to again and again.

The walk did him good. The Fae drew their power from nature, but they were attracted by pageantry, ornament, and drama. Boston provided a surfeit of these things. Her Common and her parks, and her myriad private gardens along with her rivers and shoreline, gave Finn’s kind a direct connection to the source of their magic. The architecture, theaters, schools, museums, and galleries supplied them with spectacle and decoration. And the inhabitants . . .

And that brought him back to Ann again.

He was going to woo and win her, as soon as this business with Davin was done. She’d already agreed, readily enough, to come to his bed as part of the deal they’d made about the boy. Finn was going to make sure that when she fulfilled her part of the bargain, she did so
gladly
.

And Deirdre’s warning about the Prince Consort . . . That had to be dealt with. Finn knew the answer to that particular problem, had known it for some time. That did not make it any easier. He had to ally himself with Miach. He had to bury at last their old enmity. Even learn to accept his son’s choice of wife. Divided, they would never be able to counter the threat the Prince posed, and if the Queen’s lover succeeded in bringing the wall down, Finn would lose everything
he
loved or might ever love.

Like Ann. He was laying his campaign out in his mind, the seduction of Ann Phillips, when his cell phone rang.

It was Iobáth.

“Your Fianna are out of control,” said the Penitent Fae.

That had been precisely his thought last night as he had followed Ann home, but Iobáth’s accusatory tone made him feel defensive. “The Fianna know their business in Charlestown,” he said. “You’re supposed to be watching Sean.”

“I
was
watching Sean. He abducted a schoolteacher off the street an hour ago.”

Finn’s blood ran cold.
Ann
. It could only be Ann. Finn had thought he’d convinced her to stay out of the business with Davin McTeer, but if Sean had gotten wind of her visit . . .

“Where has he taken her?”

“To a warehouse in Somerville. It’s attached to an old box factory.”

“I know it,” said Finn. He ought to. He
owned
it. The Fianna
were
out of control. Sean in particular. Stealing his woman off the streets of his town and having the effrontery to hold her at his warehouse.

Then an even more terrifying thought swept away all his anger. “Was the Druid with him?”

“I’m not certain. I saw only Sean, Patrick, the McTeer woman, and the schoolteacher.”

Finn fought his rising panic. “If it is just Sean and Patrick, we can take them. If the Druid is with them . . . ”

“That is why I didn’t intervene,” said Iobáth. “If the Druid is with them, he could order us to lay down our arms and we would obey, slave to the marks they carved on us. And we would be able to do nothing to save the teacher. Should he order us
to
kill
her, we would do it. We need a sorcerer or we gamble with this woman’s very life.”

He knew that. The terrifying thing was that there were only two sorcerers with the skills and power to fight a Druid: his son, Garrett, and his mortal enemy, Miach. Finn did not know if either would deign to help him.

“Watch the warehouse,” said Finn. “I’ll get us a sorcerer.”

He took a deep breath before calling Miach. Pride would not serve here. He would have to humble himself. He dialed.

“I need your help.”

There was a long silence on the other end. Then Miach said, “You tortured my oldest friend, Finn. You encouraged your son to break his vows to my granddaughter. Why, pray, should I help you?”

“Because we have a rogue Druid in Boston. A Druid who is inking the Fianna in my son’s absence. A creature who has placed a binding
geis
on a seven-year-old
child
. Sean Silver Blade and another of my band have abducted a schoolteacher who threatened to expose their abuse to the authorities, and they’re holding the girl at one of my warehouses. The Druid may be with them.”

“So two of the Fianna have abducted a young woman. Since when do you check the excesses of your followers, Finn MacUmhaill?” asked Miach, the disbelief plain in his voice.

Since I’ve actually met one of their victims
. “If you won’t help me, Miach, then do this for the girl. She was your grandson’s teacher last year.”

Finn recognized the feminine voice in the background. “You mean Ann Phillips?” asked Nieve, Miach’s granddaughter and Finn’s daughter-in-law. Miach must have him on a damned speaker phone.

“Yes,” shouted Finn. “It’s Ann fucking Phillips, and I need a sorcerer to cast a silence on the Druid so we can get her out before Sean hurts her. Did everyone catch that?”

More voices, muffled by distance, then finally Miach said, “Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

“Send Garrett,” said Finn, praying his son would agree. “The Fianna won’t like it if I show up with our oldest enemy and demand they hand over a human they think has defied them.”

“I’ll come.” Garrett’s voice. Finn felt his chest tighten. It had been months since his son had spoken to him. “But I’m coming for Ann’s sake. Not for yours.”

It hurt, but his own pain was a luxury he could not afford until after he saved Ann.

“Meet me at the Commerce Center warehouse.”

There was more low talking in the background. Then Garrett said, “If you think I’ll have to cast a silence, then I should drive rather than
pass
to the location to save my strength.”

“Drive, then,” said Finn, “only come quickly and meet us outside the old box factory.”

Finn
passed
to the corner opposite the factory. There he found Iobáth waiting for him across the street from the warehouse, perched on the roof of a long row of garages.