Iron (The Warding Book 1) (32 page)

My heart raced. How could a noise like that go unnoticed, even in squatter’s row? Surely someone would call the cops. I jerked with indecision, going hot, then cold with the realization that no help—or hindrance—would be forthcoming. This wasn’t my neighborhood, where screams still brought people running. It was quite the opposite. Here, domestic violence was likely all too common. Although the ruckus Goliath was making would surely wake and annoy some nearby sleepers, no one was going to risk their neck in something that was clearly not their business.

Still. This was taking too long. Gannon was too close to being backed into a corner. We needed to take the fucker down, quick, before it decided to use its sizable body as a battering ram, close quarters be damned. I had promised not to jump in to the fight, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help—and I was getting ever so good at being a distraction. I drew one of the girls. Pitching myself to carry over the troll’s growls, I yelled, “Hey, Ugly. Did you forget about me?” I threw the blade end over end and watched it careen into the back of Goliath’s head; pommel first. I hadn’t expected it to connect. All I had needed for it to do was exactly what it did.

Goliath spun on me with another wild roar. I backpedaled, retreating into the darkened hallway as he advanced on me. I screwed my face up in my best troll-like snarl and let loose an angry yell of my own. Goliath’s attention remained focused on me as Gannon took advantage of my distraction and sprang forward. A few inches of steel, glistening with blood, protruded through the troll’s chest. Goliath froze. I froze. The growling stopped.

I expected a bellow, a scream—some recognition of the pain he must have been in—but none came. Goliath was dead silent, panting heavily as he stared down at the sword blade. His hand trembled as he touched one thick finger to the edge of the blade and watched it come away, sticky and red with his own blood. He slumped to his knees, the floor trembling with the impact of his weight. I steadied myself with a hand against the wall, ignoring how moist it felt beneath my palm. Now I was the one gaping.

Gannon stepped up behind him. I saw a hand come up and take a fistful of the troll’s matted, shaggy hair. He pulled his head back. Goliath let him.

“Now, Caitlin.”

I drew my remaining knife and stepped forward. Face to face with my nightmare, cowed and dying, I felt no fear. He didn’t move as I stopped in front of him, only inches away with a drawn dagger. He didn’t struggle against Gannon one bit. All the fight had drained out of him. He was beat and he knew it. Not so stupid after all, I guess. I put one hand on his cheek, feeling the pebbled leather of his skin under my hand; feeling him tremble.

I stood there, looking into those wet, beady black eyes and saw fear in them. He was not fighting but, in those final moments as he felt his life slip away, he was scared. As scared as I had been for too many months on end. The rage inside me cooled. I leaned in close and whispered, “You can’t terrorize me anymore.”

The hide under his chin was softer than the rest; a vulnerable spot. My cut was deep and clean, made quick. This time, I didn’t mind the hot, sticky rush that poured over my hands. Gannon loosened his grip and Argoth slumped sideways. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt like I could breathe again.

“Let’s get out of here. I’ll come back to deal with the body,” Gannon said. He wiped his blade clean on the troll’s shirt.

I nodded, cleaning my own blade before slipping it back in its boot sheath. “I need to find my other knife.”

“I see it. I’ll get it.”

Gannon retreated back into the living room. I looked around for something to clean my now gore-covered hand on. The dimly lit bedroom to my right was likely the troll’s, and I wanted nothing to do with anything that could be found in there. I pivoted and saw two more doorways behind me; a bathroom at the end of the hall and another room on my left, the door slightly ajar. Two bedrooms seemed pricey for a troll, even in the ghetto. Had Goliath worked from home, surviving on some dotcom income?

I crept forward and poked my head inside. I felt around for a light switch and flicked it on. It was another bedroom, complete with neatly made bed, book lined desk, dresser, and—from the looks of it—a recently ransacked closet. A few hangers hung bare and a discarded pair of sneakers lay forgotten on the floor. It appeared Goliath had had a roomie, up until very recently. I glanced over at the dresser. It was littered with random personal effects that had been too much of a hassle to take: a cheapo men’s watch, a rather expensive looking bottle of cologne, loose change. Among the cast-offs was a single framed photo, and that made my blood run cold.

“Gannon!”

He skidded to a halt behind me only half a second later, my missing dagger in his hand and ready to strike. He let out a noisy sound of relief when he spied the empty room. He tucked my blade back into its home, muttering, “Good gods, you scared the… What’s wrong?”

I pointed to the picture on the dresser, my hand shaking. “That.” He nudged me to the side and slid into the room. I couldn’t follow. The door-frame was keeping me upright. How could I have forgotten?

He picked up the frame, brow furrowed as he examined its contents. In it, a pretty red-headed girl with a smattering of freckles across her little button nose was gazing up a grinning guy; all lovey-dovey and sweet like. It would have been an endearing shot of a happy couple in love—if the grinning the jackass in it hadn’t been Texas Pete.

“That’s the other guy from the bar,” I said, voice cracking. “The smarmy bastard that was with Ugly over there when they cornered me.” Gannon cursed softly, but I heard it. All my muscles seemed to tighten up at once. That wasn’t the sound of a coincidence. “What?”

“I know him.”

“
What?
” The word could have peeled the paint from the walls.

Gannon put the picture back down. He rubbed at his jaw with one hand. “His name is Liam.” He looked at me like someone had just died and he was delivering the solemn news. “He is Aos Sí, and was a Guardian.”

“Was?” The word had to be forced from my dry throat. I felt like I would vomit if I tried to say more.

“He was cast out, years before my own exile. No one ever heard what happened, after he left. It was widely assumed he was dead.”

I laughed, a dark, ugly sound, and knocked my forehead against the door frame, softly. “Yeah, well, apparently he’s not. He’s been living across town from me, making friends with creepy trolls and planning to sell my soul to the High King.” I gasped, head whipping up so hard I nearly gave myself whiplash. My heart spasmed. “Oh my God! That’s what he’s doing, isn’t he? He’s going back—he’s crossing the Veil and going to tell the King I’m here!”

Gannon hadn’t moved. He wouldn’t look at me. “There’s no way to...”

“Really? Come on Gannon; be real. He’s not here, is he? And it looks like he left in a hurry.” It all made sense. Horrible, stomach churning sense. “This is what we missed. That’s why Goliath was still here. We were wrong all along. The fucking troll was never going to run and tell. A goddamn Aos Sí, disgraced or not, would have a hell of a lot easier of a time getting the King to listen to him than a troll would, wouldn’t he?” Gannon didn’t answer, so I repeated, “Wouldn’t he?”

“Yes.” The word was a sigh; a resignation.

“And what better way to get back in the King’s good graces, than to tell him right where to find a Warder?” I slumped back against the door-frame, eyes on the chipped wood above. I felt like I was back in another doorway, watching as my life was torn apart; my safety ripped away. I wanted to scream. “Fuck, fuck—
fuck
! It’s like every time I take a step forward, I get knocked back three. This is just… I can’t…” I closed my eyes tight to stop them from leaking.

Gannon’s hands closed upon my arms like vice-grips, forcing me to open them and look him in the eye. “Caitlin, do you trust me?

I hesitated, then nodded. None of this was his fault. He was one of the few people who had given a damn about making this right. I had him to thank for Argoth’s death, after all. “Yes.”

Fire burned in those ice-blue eyes. “Then trust me in this: I will find him. I promise you—I will find him and I will stop him.”

Chapter Twenty-One

I was awoken by a low, humming purr in my ear. I careened my head away from the fuzzy body pressed against the side of my face. I turned my head and found myself being regarded by a pair of luminous little cat eyes. Mairi always woke up when I started to get up. I had given up on trying to slip away without waking her. Feline senses were freaky, preternatural things.

She bumped her head against my forehead—which was cat for “good morning,” I had come to learn—and took a leisurely stretch-n-stroll down the edge of the bed. I sat up, working some morning energy into my sleep stiffened muscles myself with a groan that was both pleasure and pain. She hopped down, padded over to the cracked door, and disappeared into the quiet hallway beyond. It was our usual morning routine.

Was it weird that I thought nothing of a shape-shifted fae girl sleeping on my pillow at night? Or, was it weirder that I didn’t think that thinking things like that question was weird anymore?

It was Saturday morning. By all rights, I had no good reason to be awake at 7am. It was balls cold outside my warm, blanket cocoon. I had nowhere to be and nothing more important to do than shower. It was way too early to go searching for the Lynx, so what was I rushing to get up for? Another fae history lesson compliments of Seana? While I appreciated the hearty breakfast and endless flow of coffee that often accompanied her weekend lectures, I just didn’t have it in me to get all excited about combing through another dusty old book, picking apart myths to find their teeny, tiny little nuggets of truth. I flopped back down on the bed and snuggled my face into a pillow

Three days had passed since Gannon and I had taken Goliath down.

Three days with no word on Texas Pete’s whereabouts, with my hopes slowly—but steadily—sinking.

Did it even matter now? I had wanted to fight the good fight to protect the people I loved, but couldn’t remember why I had thought I could make a difference. I wasn’t even sure why I kept trying, really. Maybe I was just too stubborn to give up. Maybe some masochistic part of me liked the pain of pushing myself through another day, just to see what else could go wrong. My life had been torn to shreds and I fully expected every day to bring another earth-shattering tragedy until there was just no solid ground left for me to stand on.

I held on to Gannon’s promise like a beacon in the dark, but even then it was hard to resist depression’s siren song. A large part of me was done with it all. That part really wanted to throw itself into a deep, dark despair—but the rest of me fought on. Giving up seemed like a big waste, after all I had endured.

So, despite the rain cloud parked over my head, I forced myself get out of bed each morning to soldier on. I left my faith in Gannon and tried to continue living life. I went to work, ate the food Seana so graciously put in front of me, and spent my nights drifting from one spot to another, looking for a man I was pretty much certain we would never find.

I made a long, low, unintelligible groan into my pillow. There just weren’t words enough to express my frustration. I hated feeling so helpless. I hated drifting from day to day, like a kite dependent on the wind; no energy, no aspirations—just passively letting life choose my path for me. I had been fighting my own misery for so long. Maybe this new low was just my new normal. Maybe I had given in to depression and was just fooling myself by pretending I was fighting against it.

Mairi had called me iron, but I felt more like a lump of dog shit. She looked up to me like I was a big sister, like I would be the savior for all of them. And what was I doing? Lying in bed, moping. I sat up, kicked off the covers, and raked my hands back though my tangled hair. It felt scummy. I had to actively think to remember the last time I had washed it. It had been in a messy bun for that long. Gross.

I needed to get out of bed and into a shower. I needed to drag myself out of this funk, and force myself to put on pants and a bra—anything to try and to feel like a human being again. Lesson time with Seana wasn’t exactly my idea of fun but what was, these days? Lying in bed all day, being dirty and sad? That had to stop. Whether or not I wanted it, this was my life; there were no take-backs. These fae were my partners, if not exactly my friends, and we were in this mess together, like it or not. I got to my feet and stretched, rallying every ounce of courage I had left.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

~*~

I was right about lesson time with Seana being no fun.

The more I got to know her, the more I came to realize that there were unexpected depths beneath that calm surface. As a Healer, she had cultivated her outward serenity to face the horrors she saw inflicted upon the flesh. That made sense, of course. No one wanted to be treated by a doctor who threw their hands up in the air and ran around in circles, wailing gibberish. She truly was a balanced, unflappable soul; the kind of even-keeled, generous-hearted person I admired and secretly wished I could be.

Beneath that unruffled calm, however, behind that sweet smile, there was the calculating mind of a woman, through and through. A relatable sort of mind, that disliked her opinion being ignored or discounted. One who would make sure that her displeasure was heard loud and clear, though she always managed to do so in a very polite way. Take, for example, the lesson she had so thoughtfully chosen for me when I finally rallied out from under my funk: Trolls—Breeds and Characteristics, with a focus on known weaknesses and fighting styles. It was a subtle dig but I got the message.