And magic-fueled until some glitch in Fee’s spells turned the steam into ice. I’d take the chance, and stepped into a gleaming white cubicle where the water already flowed in a cloud of mist, condensing on the mirror above a sink. I let the scalding heat beat against my skin. The water flowing down the drain turned pink—blood I’d tracked through, walking naked through the carnage before I’d burned the dead.
No different from the blood of every feral I’d had to kill. The hybrids. Once, they’d been innocent, with lives ahead of them—and I’d had to help with their destruction. End what they’d become. I wasn’t sure there was enough absolution for what I had to do. What I was becoming.
“You look haggard,” Fee said endless minutes later, when I walked out of the steam, tucking my shirt into the waistband of clean jeans.
“First, I’m too old. Now I’m haggard? Make up your mind.”
“You should spend more time in the sun.”
“It’s your weather,” I reminded him. “Not much sun this time of year.”
“The trees and plants need the winter to rest. I was thinking of your pocket. You should go, enjoy the perpetual summer.”
“You want it both ways.” Fee always did. His logic was fluid. “Hunting hybrids and relaxing in the sun.”
“The vampires should clean up their own messes and not put it on you. How’s it going, by the way?”
“I’ve cleared this quadrant.” At least to the best of my knowledge. I’d finished eliminating the last of the hybrids an hour ago and hadn’t picked up any new scent trails.
Fee grunted with what I assumed was satisfaction. “Try this soup. It’s a new recipe. I found it on one of those internet channels.”
I flopped into a chair, pulled the bowl closer. “Needs salt.”
“You haven’t tried it yet.”
“I’ve tasted your cooking,” I said. “Always needs salt.”
“Really, Grayson, that’s quite beneath you, insulting the cook.”
I watched him with an exhausted glare that held no hostility.
Fee ladled soup into his bowl. “I warned you there’d be dark days before the light.”
“You did.” With the spoon in my hand, I sampled the soup. “How is she?”
“She’s safe, but I can’t say that she’s happy. Being away from you hobbles her power, and yours.”
I reached for the salt shaker. “Being away from me keeps her hidden. She’s safe behind Anson’s wards.”
Anson said he’d added layers of security, and the compound where Noa was living was protected. I refused to fault his efforts, or his commitment to our agreement.
As long as I stayed away.
“Caerwen can help her,” I said, jolting back to Noa’s hobbled power. The nymph understood how to ease a faille’s tension. She’d been doing it for centuries.
“Caerwen and Effa need to return to Aine every few days,” Fee was saying. “Something about the Carmag, affecting the magic. They shrink.”
I smothered the surge of amusement. “You’re sure it’s not your magic, going a little wonky?”
The King of the Forest smiled, the sharp, deceptive smile he used right before he brought down some new destruction, a windstorm or torrential rain on the heads of the nonbelievers. “My magic is impeccable. Regardless of the dispersions that Aine and her sister like to cast.”
“So that incident with the river nymph and the leeches wasn’t you?”
The incident where Noa nearly died, I could have added.
Fee snorted. “If I was rude, I’d point out that the river where Noa encountered the leeches has headwaters in the Carmag and only ran into your territory several miles from the incident.” He nudged aside the tree nymph’s gift. The leaves uncurled, exposing the silver scales of the fish, and the nuts that wobbled and rolled like a children’s game. “Did you ever find a cure?”
“For the worm poison?” What Noa had called it, caused by the leeches, latching on. “No cure. I had to heal her through it, repair what the poison destroyed until it faded.”
