“You look really good,” he says, turning to face me.
“I do?” I self-consciously use my fingers to flip my curls over to one side, then force my hand down. I am not a fidgeter, nor am I ever self-conscious.
“Yeah. You look ten times better than when I found you.”
I arch a brow. “Take it easy on the flattery, big guy, or I’ll start thinking you have eyes for me,” I say wryly.
Finn scrubs a large hand over his stubble-covered jaw. “Sorry, I meant that you seem to be recovering well. My delivery sucked. The charm and silver tongue went to Tiernan, I’m afraid.”
I turn to fully face him and move in a step closer, only a foot separating us, which means I have to tip my head back to hold his gaze. “No worries. I’m more of a direct and to-the-point type of girl, anyway.”
I think I see a flash of heat spark in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared, and I don’t have time to probe that possibility before he moves on.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, sticking his hand in the front pocket of his joggers and pulling something out. “I believe this belongs to you.”
My lips part in surprise when he holds up a silver-colored chain in his large fist with the smooth, rectangular pendant dangling below. “My Armas,” I whisper in disbelief.
Holding my breath, I set my wine glass on the banister and cup the pendant in my hand with an exhale of relief. But then I gasp and Finn curses as a jolt of electricity shoots through my palm and his fist contracts as though in reflex to a shock, too.
I meet his gaze. “You felt that?”
He nods once. “What the hell was…” His question trails off as darkness starts to shift around us. We look up to the night sky to see a shadow slowly enveloping the moon.
“I didn’t know there was supposed to be a lunar eclipse tonight,” I say, watching as the shadow starts to retreat to reveal a sliver of moonlight again.
“There’s not.”
SIX
Somewhere in a remote desert location outside of Vegas…
Smoking his long pipe, Barwyn lazily pushed himself in the old rocking chair outside his single-room, adobe home far outside the city limits of Sin City. At five hundred and seventy-two, he was the oldest living Dark Fae since the time of their exile, as the One True Queen had cursed them to live a mere fraction as long as they would back in Faerie.
For the last six or so decades he’d felt the strain on his body as the curse tried to take him. But he’d made a blood promise to a dear friend, and it was the magic in that promise that kept him tethered to this world until such time as he could fulfill it.
Taking a puff on his pipe, he gently rocked as he absently stroked the head of the coyote sitting next to him. She, too, was incredibly old, and Barwyn often wondered if they hadn’t bonded when she was an abandoned pup if she wouldn’t have passed on long before now. Either way, he was grateful for her companionship, as his was a solitary life.
Every evening for the last hundred years, he stared up at the night sky, as he did now, watching for a sign that Moira foretold before crossing over to Mag Mell.
“Barwyn, my dear friend, I am in need of your help,” she rasped, her voice weakening along with her frail body. “I had hoped I would be able to take care of this myself, but Rhiannon is calling me home. You are the only one I can trust. The fate of our beloved Faerie depends upon it.”
Queen Mother Moira Verran, his friend and powerful fellow seer, then told him of the vision she’d had of the destruction of their homeland and the role her grandchild would have in the events.
“I thought I had subverted the tragedy when I stole the Spear of Assal from King Cormac, however it was merely delayed. It will take so much more to prevent what is coming.” Worry lines creased her forehead. The once formidable queen now appeared feeble and slight lying in the center of the large four-poster bed.
He covered her hand with his and squeezed affectionately. They had been close since childhood, brought together by Garyth Emory, King of the Summer Court, who was also a seer and mentored them in honing their rare specialty powers of foresight.
“Tell me how I can be of help, Moira, and I will do it gladly.”
“I have prepared everything in advance as I have seen it. However, the plan falls apart if not executed at the right time.”
“When will that be?”
“You will know when the night sky is not as it should be. That is when you must send this letter to the location I have noted on the accompanying envelope.”
She gestured to the envelope on her nightstand, sealed with the Verran Armas pressed into wax. Barwyn retrieved it, frowning at the information scrawled on the back.
“I do not know this place.”
“It will not exist for some time yet,” she says, pausing to cough weakly and catch her breath. “My youngest grandson will be there, and he will need what I have given you if there is to be any hope of saving our true home. But not until she is with him.”
“She?”
“His destiny.”
Barwyn sighed and tucked away the painful memory of losing his friend in favor of watching his pipe smoke curl and dance into the air as they stretched toward the moon. The goddess Rhiannon’s symbol shone brightly in the clear night sky, bathing the desert in its ethereal glow.
“Well, girl, what do you think?” He tugged on his long, white beard in thought. “That sufficient stargazing for tonight?”
The coyote whined in response and nudged his leg with her nose. He chuckled. “All right let’s turn in, then. Maybe tomorrow it…”
His words trailed off when he noticed a shadow erasing the moonlight as it swept across the desert. Pushing to his feet, he peered up in wonderment at the lunar eclipse that wasn’t due to happen until October. After more than a century of waiting for that very moment, it felt surreal that it was time for him to fulfill his promise.
He had followed her instructions to the letter, and like Moira, he had made preparations in advance. There was only one thing left to do.
“Come on, girl.”
The coyote trotted ahead of him and into the house, but he wasn’t far behind. Picking up the satellite phone he kept charged and at the ready, he dialed the number, and waited anxiously for the automatic message to get through all the options, then left a simple and direct voicemail. “This is Barwyn Seàn. It’s time to send out my letter.”
