Rise of the Unseelie #4
Donovan rescued the earthborns. Protected them. Gave them shelter from the predators who would feast on their blood and Sidhe magic.
That time is over.
Time for the earthborns to train. To fight back. To reclaim what is theirs.
Time to show the world what it means to be Unseelie.
(This story begins on the same day as the events in
Enchanted: Touched #3)
“You’re so dead, mate!” Bryce shouted over the explosion of gunfire.
Malcolm flung himself back from the onslaught with a growl. “You’re naff!” Blood splattered on the telly as his man on the video game got massacred for the fifth time in a row. “That’s it! No more Mr. Nice Guy.” He hit the rematch button. “This time I’m bringing out the railgun. See how you like that.”
They jostled into each other as they jumped and dodged with their computer guys in a no-holds-barred, two-player combat to the death.
It didn’t even matter that Bryce crushed him on the stupid video game. Not really. Leastwise for the last few hours Malcolm hadn’t thought about magic at all. Pretty much, anyway. Donovan was the only one who didn’t think Malcolm’s bloodhound ‘magic’ was lame. The other Sidhe did, even if they played it off like it wasn’t any big deal. Like Malcolm wasn’t too awful weird, just kinda twitchy. But for the last couple hours, he’d just been one of the lads with Bryce, playing this video game like they were just regular 17-year-olds. And Malcolm sorta forgot for a tiny bit that they weren’t just that.
All up until a high-pitched whistle sliced over the racket from the game.
It was one of those annoying sounds that echoed in the brain and not just the ears. Malcolm winced, trying to ignore it as he mashed the buttons at a rapid-fire rate. “What is that? Car alarm?”
“What’s what?” Bryce twisted his controller as if that could make his guy dodge for cover faster. “Got me in the leg, you creep!”
“You don’t hear that? For real?” Malcolm paused the game. Even hunching his shoulders against the constant peal couldn’t stop the sound from jangling his nerves. “That whistle?”
Bryce listened and then shook his head. “I don’t hear anything. It’s probably nothing. Come on.” He unpaused the game. A fresh explosion of noise covered most of the magic, but not the whistle.
Malcolm hardly noticed when he dropped the controller. The first sparks of panic prickled all though him as he jumped up and yanked the power cord out of the wall, shutting up the telly. “Is that Kieran? Where is he?”
“Hey! I was winning!” Bryce scowled.
Malcolm turned in a circle, tilting his head this way and that, studying the magic around him. Through the walls and floor Malcolm saw glowing silhouettes, like seeing heat signatures, only his senses were geared to magic. Like the flames that flickered around Bryce constantly, though no one else saw that. Or the healing sparkles that twinkled around Dawn in the flat across from them. On the floors below them, the fey mingled in a sea of rainbow hues. Trip’s darkness floated around her like scarves on the wind as she danced in the club with a group of elves. “He’s not in the club.” Malcolm twisted around. “Where’s that sound coming from?” He blinked as the sudden silence startled him. “It just stopped. Only…” The whistle had been wrong. Desperate, like panic. “Where’s Donovan? He’s not in the club either. Is Kieran with him?”
“Who cares?” Bryce reached to plug the telly back in, but Malcolm stepped on the cord. “Will you move your bloody foot?” He swatted at Malcolm’s leg.
“No! Just wait.” Malcolm listened harder, but couldn’t hear anything of Kieran over the clatter filtering up from the fey in the Glamour Club. Even scrunching his eyes closed tight and gripping the sides of his head, Malcolm couldn’t sift through the racket. Sometimes it was all too much; never-ending chaos that blared and flashed and buffeted against him. A minute ago, he’d been able to ignore it. Now it was everywhere around him and inside him and pick-pick-picking at him. And right now, reaching for the itty, bittiest thread through all the masses of magic crowding and pounding into his mind made him want to scream.
Instead, he ran from it. Malcolm raced from Bryce’s flat and up the flight of steps to the roof. A little further from the magic roiling up from the fey in the club. Bryce chased him though, with his ever-present crackle of flame and campfire scent. Malcolm spun in a full circle, actively listening, but hearing nothing of Kieran’s sound magic. Which was wicked bad. Kieran was one noisy chap, constantly buzzing or humming or whirring or something else loud and usually obnoxious. Only now…
Heart pounding, panic mounting, Malcolm shook his head. “Kie’s in trouble. I know it. Where’s Donovan?”
“How would I know?” Exasperated and impatient and totally not getting it. “Malcolm, forget it. You’re freaking out over nothing.”
Everybody always thought it was nothing. Like Malcolm was some kind of nutter. “It’s not nothing!” Malcolm snatched Bryce by the front of his shirt and jerked him close. “Call Donovan!”