The Crossing (Immortals) (3 page)

"They are," Mac said grimly, and propelled himself
through the window.

He landed in a crouch beside a smelly rubbish bin, his
boots slipping on muck he'd rather not examine. He was
in a narrow service alley that ran between the pub and a
grocer's. Dashing to the end, he turned right and sprinted
past a row of shops, laying confusion spells in his wake. A
glance over his shoulder revealed no pursuit. Yet.

He knew better than to hope he'd get away clean. Fangirls were a bloody persistent lot.

v A left turn and a right brought him back to his own place.
His vintage Norton Commando motorcycle was parked at
the curb, its outrageous chrome beauty glittering like diamonds in the sun. He started toward it, then stopped short.

Was that a thong dangling from his handlebar?

Bloody, bloody hell. What had happened to his protective wardings?

He flicked the scrap of red lace into the gutter, muttering under his breath. Still cursing, he swung a leg over the
saddle and gunned the engine. Once on the road, he cast an airtight glamour spell around the Norton. Anyone looking would see a battered diesel lorry.

He gunned for the A96. There was only one place in
the human world where fangirls couldn't find him. Mac
didn't intend to stop until he reached it.

No doubt Kalen and Christine would be delighted to
see him.

"Mac. You've been standing up here for hours, staring at
the ocean. What's going on?"

Mac, forearms resting atop the battlement of Kalen's
island castle, kept his eyes trained on the choppy waters
of the North Sea. Partly because he loved the ocean.
But mostly so he wouldn't have to face Christine's
shrewd gaze.

Water witches, he thought with some disgust. The lot
of them were wicked perceptive. Christine had been at
him almost constantly since he'd arrived at her immortal
husband's island fortress three days ago. He'd fled to the
battlements specifically to get away from her questions. So
what did she do? Follow him and ask more.

He tapped a staccato rhythm on the stone. Threequarters time, with a descending beat. "Doesn't that child
of yours need tending, love?"

She smiled. "Not at the moment. Elspeth's sleeping."

And that was another thing. Kalen and Christine's new
daughter. The child gave Mac the oddest feeling. He tried
to put a name to it.

Envy. That was it. A human emotion he'd never quite
understood, and now it was his. He found himself wondering what it would be like to hold his own son or
daughter.

Ridiculous thought, that.

"What about your husband, then?" he asked. "I'm sure
Kalen needs you for something." He tossed her a goodnatured leer intended to feel like old times. It didn't. "Perhaps for making another pretty immortal offspring? He
seems to like the first one you've given him immensely."

Christine laughed, her blue eyes sparkling. "So true. I
think he spends half his time on the floor with Ellie. Becoming a father seems to have sent Kalen into a second
childhood."

"Quite a feat, considering his first was three thousand
years ago."

"Only two thousand nine hundred and seventy," Christine replied with a grin. A breeze caught her dark hair,
throwing the blue streak at her temple into her face. She
tucked it behind her ear.

For an instant, Mac found himself chuckling with her.
The mood didn't last, though. The smile slipped from his
face, as if it didn't quite fit anymore. Moodily, he returned
to his scrutiny of his divine father's watery realm. Lit, Celtic
god of the sea, considered himself something of an artist.
Da had painted the ocean a deep gray blue today, with
brighter patches where cross currents wrestled through the
narrow strait separating the island from the mainland. From
Mac's vantage atop Kalen's enchanted castle, the coast appeared as a jagged line of autumn rusts and golds. Pewter
clouds huddled over the shore, but directly overhead, the
sky was clear and blue. Scottish weather did not dare cross
Kalen's perimeter wardings uninvited.

Tomorrow was Samhain, though. The northern days
were growing rapidly shorter, and even Kalen's vast magic
was powerless against the changing season. Mac, a creature
of light, had never been fond of Highland winters. He
tended to flee to the continent during the darkest months.
But now-disturbingly-he found himself looking forward
to nearly endless night.

His drumming fingers quickened.

"Mac." Christine's voice was tinged with something
that felt uncomfortably like pity. "You can talk to me, you
know."

He sighed. "I know, love, but there's nothing to tell, really. I'm just restless, but I'll be back in London soon. Got
a few new songs to record." He forced a grin. "And a lady
waiting as well-"

"But no one special."

Mac fought a surge of wholly unreasonable annoyance.
Christine was entirely right, his lovers bored him to distraction. His friend's concern should comfort; instead it made
him angry. What the hell was wrong with him? Manannan
mac Lir didn't do anger. He didn't do depressed. He didn't
do jealousy. He was the lighthearted immortal Prince of
Annwyn, for the gods' sake. He'd spent almost all of his
seven hundred years laughing. Life was good, life was endless, life was one long party. He'd never met a problem he
couldn't get around. Or at least make a joke about.

Until now.

Vaguely, he was aware of Christine turning to match his
pose-elbows on the rough stone, face to the sea. He
loved her dearly, but gods, how he wished she'd leave him
alone. He was bad company-had been for some time. He
didn't like to be reminded of it.

"You're not yourself, Mac. At least admit that."

"Christine. i thought mothers were supposed to obsess
over their own offspring." He gave a short, mirthless,
laugh. "The gods know my mother does."

"Is that what this is about? Niniane? Has she done
something?"

"Something more than usual, you mean? No, can't claim
old Mum's hounding me any more or less than usual.
Niniane is... Niniane. She's full Sidhe," he added with a
grimace, as if that explained everything. To his mind, it
did. "She wants me to come home to Annwyn. Permanently."

"She's Queen of Annwyn, Mac. It's understandable that
she wants her only son at her side."

"She can forget it. I hate the Otherworld. It's so bloody
perfect. It's been centuries since I've spent more than
a few hours in a row in the place, and I'm not about
to change my ways now. I've given up trying to make
Niniane accept my choices, but that's a familiar battle, at
least. It doesn't have anything to do with... what's wrong
with me."

There. He'd admitted it. Something was wrong with him.

Christine laid a hand on his arm. He felt her water
magic, flowing like a question. With a sigh he opened
himself enough to provide her with at least part of the
answer.

Her eyes widened. "Leanna?"

The sound of Mac's half sister's name set his stomach
churning. He moved suddenly, breaking contact. "That's
part of it. Damn it, Christine, it's like a scratched vinyl
record playing over and over in my mind. I keep seeing
that foul demon dragging Leanna into hellfire. I can still
hear her screams. Taste her terror." He stared at his hands.
"You heard her that night. She called for me. Begged me
to save her. Do you know, that was the first time my sister
ever asked me for anything?"

"You tried your best to help her." Sympathy etched
Christine's expression. Which was amazing. Leanna had
been Kalen's lover when Christine arrived in Scotland.
When Kalen threw his Sidhe lover over in favor of a human newcomer, Leanna had tried her best to kill her competition. Literally.

"There was nothing else you could have done," Christine continued. "That night at the burial cairns-by then
it was too late. Maybe if Leanna hadn't made a pact with
an Old One... if she hadn't turned demonwhore... if
she'd accepted your offers of help over the years...
maybe then things would've been different. But she didn't. Leanna freely chose death magic over life magic. I know
it's a hard thing to come to terms with, but your sister
chose her own fate. It's no fault of yours that you couldn't
stop her from being dragged into the demon realms."

Mac slammed his palm against the wall. "It feels like my
fault. Where was I when Leanna was born? Where was I
when Niniane abandoned her to her drunken human sot
of a father? Where was I when my sister was growing up
ragged and poor in the mess that came after Culloden?"

"You can't blame yourself for all that! You didn't even
know Leanna existed."

"Damn it, Christine, I should have known. I should
have been there for her. I should have raised her myself.
How could our lovely, heartless mother have thrown her
away? The gods know that if I had my own child-"

He cut off abruptly. His own child? It would never happen. He didn't want a Sidhe wife, and the human women
strong enough in heart and magic to mother a demigod's
child were few and far between.

Christine touched Mac's arm. "Regrets are terrible, I
know."

Mac made a vague gesture. "Regrets are all I seem to
have lately, Christine. Maybe... maybe it's just the season." He made a vague gesture toward the gold and russet
coastline. "Everything's dying."

"It'll come alive again in the spring."

"But it's beautiful now."

And that, Mac realized with a rare flash of insight, was
the crux of his angst. He was an immortal Sidhe demigoda creature of pure life magic. Never, in seven hundred
years of life, had he ever once thought of death as...
beautiful.

He glanced at Christine. Her blue eyes were grave. He
experienced a chill of foreboding. "What? What is it?"

"Oh, Mac. I never thought it might have happened to
you, too." She looked ill.

He wasn't feeling so well himself. "I don't know what
you're talking about."

"When did you start feeling unsettled? As early as last
summer? After... after the Immortals' final battle with
Culsu?"

He considered. "Yeah. About then, I guess."

Last year, when death magic had all but overpowered the
human world, Mac had refused to flee to safety in Annwyn.
Ignoring his mother's protests, he'd joined the four older
Immortals in defeating the powerful demon who'd driven
their youngest immortal brother, Tain, completely insane.

Christine bit her lip. "Kalen and his brothers-and
you-did everything you could to help Tain regain his
sanity."

"So we did. And we succeeded. What of it? That's long
been done with."

"No. It will never be done with. The only reason Tain
isn't a madman now is that Kalen, Adrian, Darius, and
Hunter each absorbed some of Tain's darkness into his
own soul."

"I know that, love."

"Did you also know that the damage Kalen and the
others took on that day is permanent? There's a darkness
in Kalen's soul now that won't ever go away. But we'd
thought... we'd thought only the Immortals were affected. After all, they were the only ones actually in contact with Tain in the last moments of the battle. But now I
wonder..."

Mac swallowed hard. "Unhealthy habit, wondering."
He tried for a light tone. "Curiosity, cats, and all that, you
know."

Christine cocked her head. Mac shifted, uncomfortable
with her scrutiny. He had the feeling she could look straight
through him.

"You look older than you did a year ago," she said finally. "Something like early twenties rather than sixteen. Kalen and I noticed it right away when you arrived. You've
filled out in the chest quite a bit, too, and your zits are
gone. We assumed you'd come to some kind of agreement
with Niniane."

When he didn't reply, she prompted, "You didn't, did
you?"

"No," he admitted. "Honestly, I'm not quite sure how
the aging thing came about. It was rather gradual. Mum's
not at all happy about it-I look older than she does now.
She complained to Da, but Lit told her there was nothing
to be done."

"You aged because you absorbed some of Tain's death
magic. Like Kalen and the other Immortals did. You must
have."

He stared at her, stunned. Death magic? In his own
soul? "No. That just isn't-"

He fell silent. It was possible. Likely, even, given what
had happened to Kalen and the others. Even worse, it was
a perfect explanation for Mac's simmering anger, his restlessness, his envy, his angst. Emotions like that didn't spring
from life magic.

Now he felt really unwell.

"Kalen struggles with the darkness, too, if that's any
consolation," Christine offered.

"Kalen," Mac said in a flash of wholly unreasonable irritation, "has always been a moody bastard. Frankly, love,
I can't see how you'd even notice the difference."

Christine, incredibly, didn't take offense. "Moody, yes,
but this darkness is something more. It's soul deep. But
Kalen wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would
the other Immortals. If the four of them hadn't been able
to lighten their brother's burden, Tain would still be insane. Not happily married."