I reached inside my coat for my spear.
“Don’t you dare,” said Barrons. “It’s under my control.”
We stared at each other.
“What did you have to offer a Hunter to get it to do this? How does one mercenary pay another?”
“You should know. How are your precious principles lately?”
I scowled at him. After a moment, I released my spear.
“It can cover the city far more quickly than we can in a car. Your … IFPs, as you call them, don’t bother it, making it the wisest choice of transport.”
“I’m a sidhe-seer, Barrons. It’s a Hunter. Guess what Hunters hunt? Sidhe-seers. I am not getting on it.”
“Time is short, Ms. Lane. Move your ass.”
I poked mentally at the Hunter to glean its intentions, expecting to encounter a roiling pit of homicidal sidhe-seer thoughts.
There was nothing but a wall of black ice. “I can’t get to its mind.” I didn’t like that one bit.
“And tonight it can’t get to yours, so leave it alone and do as I say.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You can’t control a Hunter! Nobody can!”
His dark gaze mocked. “You’re afraid.”
“I am not,” I snapped. Of course I was. The thing might be suspiciously dampened and seemingly oblivious to my presence, but fear of it was in my blood. I’d been born with a deep-seated subconscious alarm. “What if it shakes us off as soon as it gets us up there?” I might not bleed like I used to, but I was pretty sure my bones were as easily broken as the next person’s.
Barrons walked around to the front of the Hunter. Flames leapt in its eyes when it saw him. It sniffed at Barrons, and some of the heat seemed to die. When Barrons withdrew the pouch containing the stones from his coat, the Hunter pressed its nostrils to it and seemed to like the scent. “It knows it would be dead before it could,” he said softly.
“It’s never going to let me on it with my spear, and I’m not giving it up,” I prevaricated.
“Your spear is the least of its concerns.”
“Just how am I supposed to hold on?” I demanded.
“They have loose skin between the wings. Grab it like a horse’s mane. But put these on first.” He tossed a pair of gloves at me. “And keep them on.” They were of strange fabric, thick yet supple. “You don’t want to touch it with bare skin.” He assessed me. “The rest of you should be fine.”
“Why don’t I want to touch it with bare skin?” I asked warily.
“On, Ms. Lane. Now. Or I’ll strap you onto the damned thing.”
It took me a few tries, but a few minutes later I was on the back of an Unseelie Hunter.
I understood why he’d given me the gloves. It radiated such intense cold that if I’d touched it with my bare hands and there’d been any moisture on them at all, they would have frozen to its leathery hide. I shivered, grateful for my layers of leather clothing. Barrons mounted behind me, too close and electric for my comfort.
“Why does it like the smell of the stones?”
“They were chiseled from the walls of the Unseelie King’s fortress. It’s the equivalent of your pecan pie, fried chicken, and fingernail polish,” he said dryly. “Smells like home.”
The Hunter gave a blast of smoky air, filling the alley with the acrid stench of brimstone. Then it unfurled its wings and, with one massive pump of those leathery sails, lifted off and flapped darkly into the night, showering crystals of black ice onto the streets below.
I caught my breath and stared down, watching as the bookstore grew smaller.
We rose higher and higher into the cold, dark night sky.
There was Trinity College and Temple Bar!
There was the Garda station and the park. There was the Guinness Storehouse, with the platform where I’d stood looking down the night I realized I’d fallen in love with this city.
There were the docks, the bay, stretching to the ocean’s horizon.
There was the hated church where my world had fallen apart. I tipped my head back and looked up at the stars, rejecting both vision and memory. The moon was brilliantly white, brighter than it should have been, rimmed with that same strange bloody aura I’d seen a few nights ago.
“What’s with the moon?” I asked Barrons.
“The Fae world is bleeding into yours. Look at those streets north of the river.”
I looked away from the crimson-edged moon to where he was pointing. Wet cobblestones glistened a delicate lavender hue of neon intensity, traced by silvery cobwebs of light. It was beautiful.
But it was wrong and deeply disturbing, as if there was more than mere color to those stones. As if some microscopic, lichenlike Unseelie life-form was growing on our world, staining it, transforming it as surely as Cruce’s curse had mutated the Silvers.
“We have to stop things from changing,” I said urgently. At what point would the changes become permanent? Were they already?
“Which is why one would think you wouldn’t waste time arguing when I procure the most efficient mode of travel.” Barrons sounded downright pissy.
I glanced down at my “mode of travel,” at the inky, leathery skin fisted in my gloved hands.
I was riding an Unseelie Hunter! Had any sidhe-seer in the history of humankind ever done such a thing? Dani was never going to believe it. I watched wisps of fog pass its satyrlike head, crowned with lethally pointed ebony horns. I felt the play of tension in its hide as it flapped its massive wings. I studied the city beyond them.
It was a long way down.
“You do know Inspector Jayne shoots at these things,” I said, worried.
“Jayne is otherwise occupied at the moment.”
“You can’t know everything.” Now I was the one who sounded pissy.
He gave the Hunter’s hide a little pat, like one might give a horse.
It reared into an attack pose, craned its neck around, shot a flaming look of banked hatred over its shoulder, and snorted a thin tendril of fire from one nostril in unmistakable rebuke.
Barrons laughed.
I have to admit, aside from the cold and Barrons being much too close, I enjoyed the ride. It was an experience I would never forget. It’s funny how, when things seem the darkest, moments of beauty present themselves in the most unexpected places.
Dublin was still without power, but it had been so for months, and wind and time had carried all smog and pollution out to sea. No smokestacks puffed, no cars emitted fumes. There was no halo of city lights competing with the brilliant moonlight. The city had been swept clean. It was the world the way it used to be, hundreds of years ago. The stars twinkled as sparklingly visible in the Dublin night sky as they did in rural Georgia.