Page 53 of Sins of the Fathers
“Unlike the Kings, I don’t have the spirits of my dead family returning to the mountains to give me strength,” she spat. “I took the energy of the ones I kidnapped. I will never be weak again.”
“Lady, I don’t know who told you that dead Kings are the spirits of Cunanoon Mountain, but they lied. Those genius loci were here long before the Kings, and they’ll be here when the land sinks back under the sea. If tapping that is your end game, it’s not going to happen.”
“You’re wrong!” Ophelia’s voice rose to a shriek. “Liar! That’s why the Kings are so hard to kill. Once I break that link, they’ll be as easy to destroy as everyone else.”
“We’re just good at what we do. We make our own luck,” Grady told her, daring to meet her gaze. “How did you think you were going to cut the family off from the spirits of the hills? Wave your hand? Light a candle?”
“Open the mounds and release the dark fae and their creatures,” Ophelia replied, eyes glinting with madness. “They will obey me, and those of us with magic will take our rightful place ruling over those without.”
The crazy is strong with this one,Grady thought.No wonder the SPS goons love her. They’ve missed the part where she’s the queen and they’re the drones.
Cold dread shivered through him at her words.Open the mounds? Release the dark fae? She’s fucking mad. They’ll destroy all of us—and she’ll be first in line.
“The mound fae have been imprisoned for millennia. How are you going to do that?” Grady feared that if Ophelia ended the rant, he would never get the answers he craved.
A cruel smile twisted Ophelia’s features, something that Grady thought belonged to a serial killer—maybe an apt comparison. “You’ll see. I’ll have a guest shortly who will be very interested to meet you.”
With that, Ophelia turned and walked away, leaving Grady to his unanswered questions.
Once the witch and her two goons went to the kitchen to eat, Grady tested the chain and his cuffs.Standard steel, no sigils or magic. Solid and heavy, but mundane.
Now that he could move, he slowly shifted his hand to find the amulet that still hung beneath his shirt. As soon as he clasped it in his palm, he felt better, as if it cleansed the last of Ophelia’s spell from him.
Grady found a way to raise a pinprick of blood on his finger from a sharp edge on the cuff’s hinge and pressed the crimson droplet to the mojo bag that had gone unnoticed in his pocket. If feeding theentityin the bag tightened its bond with him, Grady was open to all the help he could get.
Ophelia’s so certain that she has the upper hand she never even searched my pockets. My gun’s gone, but my wallet’s still in my back pocket. Tonight, when they sleep, I’ll get the lock pick that’s in my wallet. Maybe I can get out of these cuffs. If I can run into the forest, the song of the mountains will guide me home.
The driver brought him a bucket and turned his back while Grady fumbled with his fly to relieve himself.
“If you take a shit, I’m making you slop the bucket out into the john,” the man warned. He took the bucket, walked into the hallway, and moments later, Grady heard a toilet flush.
At least I didn’t have to piss myself. A little dignity left before she kills me.
Grady ate the sandwich the shooter brought him, cheese slices on dry bread and a can of generic lukewarm soda. He hated the thought of taking food from the hand of the man who had shot Dawson, but Grady knew he needed to keep his strength up if he was going to escape—or fight to the last.
The sound of bells made him look up sharply. This wasn’t the tinkle of chimes like Grady had heard at the fairy ring. The heavy, ominous clang reminded him of a death knell.
“Daelin. Welcome.” Ophelia’s entire manner changed. Her honeyed tone was in glaring opposition to the screech she had directed at Grady moments earlier. Even her appearance was different, and Grady guessed it was a trick of her magic.
“My lady, you are gracious.”
The newcomer might have been the most elegant being Grady had ever seen; tall, slim, and with an other-worldly, ethereal beauty that told him this must be one of the fae.
A heartbeat later, and Grady’s vision glitched like a bad video. Superimposed over the beauty was a hideous face, gaunt like an old corpse, all sharp angles. This was the fae’s natural appearance, its beauty nothing but a glamour.
One monster helping another.
“Is the ritual arranged? I don’t want to wait,” Ophelia sounded imperious, like a queen to a commoner. Grady had the distinct impression that Daelin had the upper hand.
Why does that name sound familiar?Grady had always been fascinated by stories of the fae, although he never expected to meet one—had fervently hoped not to, given their tricky and sometimes bloodthirsty reputation.
Not Daelin. The Dullahan. The horseman. Reaper of souls. This is not good. Not good at all.
“Tomorrow night is auspicious,” Daelin told her. “All will be as we have planned.”
He turned, seeming to notice Grady for the first time. Grady shied away from the cold gaze and caught a glimpse of sharp teeth behind blood-red lips.
“This one has a bit of a shine to him,” Daelin remarked. “He will feed you well and give you power for the ritual.”
