Read The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6) Online

Authors: Heather Killough-Walden

The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6) (8 page)

Chapter Nine

It was approximately five or six seconds later that Minerva was able to digest the rest of what Caliban had just told her.

“Wait….”
Queens? Kamon?
“Run that all by me again.”

Caliban’s gaze narrowed. He studied her carefully, then leaned over the table toward her. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Don’t know what?”

He shook his head. “How can you be aware of what you are, of the fae, and of the unseelie and even of who
I
am, but not know
this
?”

“What’s ‘this?’” she asked. “What is it that I don’t know?” She waited as he sat back again and seemed to puzzle over something. He absent-mindedly touched his hand to his chest, and then winced. More blood soaked through his shirt. It was going from white to red in record time.

He was hurt because he was guarding her from something, from some
one
.

“Why
are
you protecting me?” she asked then.

“Where the hell is the waitress?” he demanded suddenly, ignoring her question and frowning toward the back door. His eyes hardened into purple diamonds. “Someone should have been out by now.”

“I have the right to know,” she insisted, leaning toward him. “What’s going on? Who is this ‘
Kamon’
person? And what do you mean by ‘
queens’
?”

“Something’s wrong,” he said, and his gaze focued. In one graceful move, he slid to the end of the bench and stood up, rising to his impossible, indomitable height.

Minerva blinked. He was intimidating without even meaning to be.

But then she glared. She scooted to the end of her own bench and joined him, jumping to her feet. “What do you mean?” she asked, looking from him to the double metal doors at the back of the café. He was contemplating them in stern silence.

“No one came out to greet us when we sounded the bell at the door,” he told her.

“No, but….” That was true. Someone probably
should
have come out by now, but shit happens. “Maybe they didn’t hear it, or maybe they’re in the bathroom.”

“I don’t hear anyone in the kitchen at all,” he said. “I also don’t sense any life in this establishment beyond us.”

Again, Minerva blinked. “You don’t sense any
life
?”

He turned and regarded her, tilting his handsome head to one side to contemplate her with the same intense scrutiny that he’d used to study the back door a moment earlier. It made Minerva feel trapped. It was strange to suddenly realize she was completely alone in a deserted café with a man who was half a foot taller than her, and who no doubt weighed a hundred pounds more, all of it muscle. To say nothing of the magic he harbored.

“You could do the same with a  bit of training,” he told her, interrupting her thoughts. “You possess the natural talent, the natural magic. You’re simply undisciplined.”

Minerva’s adrenal gland came wide awake, and she was suddenly very much
un
afraid of him. What fear there had been a moment ago was hastily overrun with mounting outrage.

“Ex
cuse
me?” Had he just called her undisciplined? “What the hell is
that
supposed to mean?” she demanded. If anything at all, she was the most disciplined person on the face of the fucking planet! She put up with humanity’s bullshit every single day and she had yet to stash a
single
body in her trunk! That was pretty damned disciplined!

The corners of Caliban’s mouth curled up in an amused and secret smile.

Minerva took a step back. “Are you
baiting
me?” she asked him.

“Not at all. You’re simply too sensitive. That’s typical for a Wisher,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Minerva’s blood stream filled up with even more adrenaline as Caliban turned and strode purposefully toward the double doors at the back of the café. She looked after him for a minute, stewing in an increasingly strong cocktail of emotions, before she finally jerked herself out of her own anger and stormed off in the same direction.

He pushed through the metal double doors and into the kitchen beyond. Minerva had caught up and was stepping into the kitchen right behind him when the darkness hit her.

It would have been difficult to describe it any other way. It wasn’t actually dark. It wasn’t as if the lights grew dim or the shadows grew long or anything so poetic. It was simply that everything felt as if it had been cast into doubt. It was too quiet. The air felt thick with something wrong.

“What is that?” she whispered as her gaze combed over the very still, very sterile kitchen. It was patently clear no one had been in here cooking any time recently.

“Magic,” Caliban replied. “You’re becoming increasingly capable of sensing it because of your proximity to me.”

Minerva let most of that go and focused on the important bit. “Someone was casting magic in this café?”

“No, not
was
,” he corrected. His gaze was focused on the back door to the kitchen. It was slightly ajar. The night beckoned beyond it, eerily illuminated by a flickering light that most likely hung over the back doorstep. “Someone
is
casting magic in this café.”

Minerva was reminded of the Goldilocks fairy tale.
Someone’s been sleeping in
my
bed, father! And she’s still here!

Caliban moved like a shield in front of he as they crept toward that back door. If the moments of her life had been a horror movie, she would have imagined ominous music playing just then, increasing in volume and key to indicate approaching danger.

She could also swear she felt waves of jagged power coming off Caliban. It was different than it had been when she’d first met him in Oxford. It wasn’t nearly as strong now, but it was more ragged and sharp. He was irritated. Agitated.

“Stop,” she said suddenly.

A whirlwind of things occurred to her at once. It was like someone had turned on a movie projector in her mind. It had happened to her before. She felt like
Shawn Spencer
from
Psych
when it happened: Little bits and pieces of things she’d unconsciously noticed before would suddenly spill out into her consciousness, making her aware of them and their meanings.

She saw the front of the café and its lighting that reminded her of that painting. Then she saw the red, sparkling vinyl booths. Next was the bar at the back of the café, where she could imagine truckers taking in a fat-heavy breakfast, and weary travelers filling up on countless cups of fresh, hot coffee.

She turned back toward the kitchen behind her. It really
was
pristine. It really
did
look like it had never been used.

She felt Caliban turning to face her; she could feel his eyes on her like laser beams. “What is it?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.” She moved like a zombie back through the gleaming stainless steel countertops and un-scratched pots and pans that hung from a holder in the ceiling. She pushed through the swinging double steel doors and into the dining area beyond. Her eyes raked over the seats – seats that would have been sitting in the hot Nevada sun for months at the very least, but which bore not a single crack, or even any fading.

She turned her attention to the ground. There was no dust, no crumbs, no footprints or dirt blown in from outside.

“It’s impossible,” she whispered.

“It’s not real,” came Caliban’s assessment behind her.

She spun to face him, and her own panic matched the new emotion on his face. “None of this is real!”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed tersely. His gaze left hers to slide along the same tables and windows and floor. “It’s all an illusion.”

Chapter Ten

Cal rushed to the diner’s front doors and reached out to grasp the handle of one – but stopped just short of touching it. Minerva was right behind him.

“What?” she asked, breathless with fear. “Why did you stop?”

“The doors could be cursed.” He felt something radiating off them. It was like coming too close to dry ice.

He withdrew, swearing softly under his breath. He’d been entirely off his game. The hunger inside him was growing, demanding he take what he needed and heal. His wounds were splitting apart and burning, as iron wounds were wont to do. He was growing irritable. His words were becoming acidic.

Minerva was right; he
had
been baiting her. He couldn’t help it. He
wanted
to start a fight with her. He wanted her to attack him. Hell, he
needed
it. Because if she attacked him, then he would be well within his rights to defend himself. If she dared cast a wish at him, he would have every right to throw her up against a wall, pin her by her wrists, and take her mouth with his own. Just to shut her up. Because everyone knew that a Wisher’s most dangerous weapon was her tongue.

Caliban took a very deep breath and tried for all he was worth to focus on what was happening. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.
Think, damn it!
They’d walked into a trap. The diner was nothing more than an illusion. He had no idea how extensive it was, or when the other shoe was going to drop. He had
no
idea what was going to happen. This wasn’t like him at all.

Someone else was here or had been here very recently. Someone very powerful was using illusory magic, and had successfully lured them into one of the most elaborate cages Cal had ever seen. It was incredible how well it had been laid.

Once he’d realized his pilot was dead and the plane was doomed, he’d transported himself and Minerva to the ground and disintegrated the plane to destroy evidence and spare anyone below from harm. Having done this, it was up to him to decide what to do next.

He could have transported them again. But it was plain that his attacker was one step ahead of him. The enemy seemed to
know
him. So Cal had done something a little out of character and suggested that they walk.


Walk?
” she’d asked with a disbelieving look at the extent of dry land around them.

“We’ll be safer,” he’d insisted. The fae were very good at finding their way through nature. They were excellent trackers. Deadly hunters. Caliban knew which direction to go in order to find civilization. He even knew how long it would take – a few hours or so, at most. It was night, and their travels would be over before the dehydrating, burning rays of the sun were high again in the sky. Finally, he knew that if they hungry or thirsty, his fae magic could at the very least provide them sustenance. He was the Unseelie King, after all. He could transform air to chocolate in a way that would put a Hollow Box to shame.

But it turned out that none of this had been necessary. They’d run into incredibly good fortune when they’d topped a hill to find what appeared to be a relatively well traveled dirt road and, of all things, a
restaurant
. The diner’s lit-up sign read, “Alice’s Cup of Tea,” or it would have, anyway, if Alice’s “e” and the “p” in “Cup” hadn’t both been burned out.

Looking back now, maybe
that
was the detail that had fooled him. Caliban couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, he and Minerva had both naturally assumed the café to be authentic, and they’d traipsed right inside and sat down.

Son of a bitch
, he thought now in pure, broiling frustration. How much damage had already been done? Why was the illusion here? Who was behind this? And what the
hell
were they waiting for?

Caliban gritted his teeth until he felt they might crack. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight they hurt. But neither helped him focus. His wounded body was raging. He’d
never
had to wait this long for healing magic. If he ever ailed of so much as a splinter, ten women would hone in on him as if he were a beacon. He could take his pick.

His body was well aware of this. It was out of control, like a terribly spoiled child. It wanted what his mind knew it could not have.

He couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to press Minerva up against that wall and feel every inch of her furious body against his as he captured her lips and drank her in. She would probably fight him. She may be the most empathetic soul on the planet, but that also meant she was one of the strongest. She didn’t like injustice one bit. She no doubt rooted for the underdog. Likely, she stood up for the weaklings against bullies. She would consider his actions wrong, and she would probably use every physical defense she could muster to rally against him.

And they would all fail. And he would win anyway. Because that was who he was. And she was who he wanted.

I want her.

It was more than the healing her touch would give him. It was more than a hunger he felt for her strength and magic and power. Oh, it was so much more.
I need her!

“Your Majesty?” she asked, and he felt a gentle hand on his shirt sleeve. He glanced down at her fingers, taking in their long, slim grace. From the tone of her voice, he would wager this wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get his attention, which might be why she’d resorted to referring to him as “your majesty.” He had been lost in his selfish thoughts, and she’d lost patience.

Irritation rode him hard. “It’s Caliban,” he told her between gritted teeth. “Call me Caliban.”

There was silence behind him. Her hand dropped.

He fought the urge to snatch it back again. Instead, he turned to face her, and with immense control, he managed to school his thoughts and tame the beast inside him long enough to plaster an indifferent expression on his face and keep the red from entering his eyes. If they started to glow with fire… they would both be done-for.

“’Cal’ will work as well.”

She watched him in uncertainty, her gaze darting every now and then to the room around him, a room which they both now knew was fake.

“Take my hands,” he instructed calmly, holding his hands out palm-up for her. “I’ll transport us again, this time to some place crowded. It’s our safest bet.”

“Do you think you have it in you?” she asked, nodding toward the red on his shirt. No doubt, she was also wondering what the people in the “crowded” place they transported to would think of all that blood.

“I do.” He held his hands up a little higher, his entire body tensing with anticipation and need.

This time, she took them. Her skin was cool and dry against his, a balm of sweet, unbelievable relief. He was burning up; if a mortal had taken his temperature just then, they would have wanted to put him on ice.

But if she noticed this difference, she expertly managed not to show it. Maybe she knew this was not the time. Or maybe she simply knew that he was in a rough state and realized there was no point in dwelling on it. Rather, she maintained eye contact with him, kept her expression serious, and waited patiently, exhibiting a kind of faith in him that he didn’t even have in himself.

Caliban’s grip closed gently over her fingers. He straightened, closed his eyes, and focused on her touch. Even this small gesture, this brief and impersonal contact, was already having a curative effect upon him. He could feel one of the slices in his chest begin to mend, as if a doctor were pulling its two edges together with invisible thread. He felt a small bit of her magic infuse his blood stream, cooling it off like an ice cube thrown into a boiling pot of water.

He hadn’t even realized his head had been throbbing, until it at last began to let up, easing its pressure off his temples and sinuses, and opening up his air passages like an oxygen mask. He took a deep breath. He’d been worse off than he thought. That iron had really done him ugly.

When he opened his eyes this time, he could actually
see
the edges of the illusion he and Minerva had walked right into.

He’d been oblivious to it before, completely bamboozled by the minute detailing of the expertly crafted spell and the fact that he couldn’t pull his mind away from the needs of his body. Whoever had cast the illusion of the café possessed
immense
power. But it shouldn’t have fooled him. Yet it
had
.

And Minerva had pulled the wool away from his eyes with a single touch. She was already more powerful than he was. She just didn’t know it yet.

We’re going to make an amazing team
, he thought wistfully. Then he blinked. He was surprised at the thought. It wasn’t like him to be sentimental, and the timing was
way
off.

But there it was, all the same.

At once, he released Minerva’s left hand and turned, raising his right hand outward as he moved. Magic poured from his out-turned palm, resembling shadows, pixie dust, and fog. He dragged his arm through space in a way that forced it to relinquish its hold on time, and the diner in front of him wavered.

He heard Minerva gasp as little by little, the illusion around them was dispelled. The café seemed to disintegrate inch by inch, just as the plane had. Caliban turned a full circle, Minerva turning with him, and all the while, he maintained his grip on her right hand.

At last, they stood in the center of a small plain in the vast desert. There was not another sign of life as far as the eye could see. Caliban looked down. Around twenty feet away, a red ruby the size of a man’s fist pulsed with fresh color and life.

“I should have known,” he muttered. He released Minerva’s hand and strode toward the ruby. He bent and picked it up, knowing it would do him no harm. In fact, he knew
exactly
why it pulsed red and glowing and oh, so beautiful.

“There’s another one,” said Minerva behind him. He turned and she pointed to the second pulsing ruby several feet away. There was a third, as well – and a fourth. Four pulsing, glowing, blood-red rubies at the four corners of what had once been an illusory diner.

“Grab them,” he instructed calmly. He did the same, moving quickly toward the second ruby. Minerva did as instructed, perhaps instinctively knowing it was important. When they had all four rubies, they met once more in the middle and combined them in their open palms.

“What are they?”

“Rubies,” Caliban replied.

Minerva probably would have asked why they were pulsing, but the rubies chose that very moment to
stop
pulsing. Within a few seconds, the rubies had all died down into their normal rosy red hues. They glimmered with perfect multi-facets, and if they had been taken to a jeweler, they would have sold for millions a piece. Perhaps billions. Maybe they would have wound up in museums.

“What just happened?”

Cal took a deep breath. “Black diamonds are used to store magic,” he began, lowering his hands to squeeze the rubies between his fingers. “They’ve been used for centuries by all manner of magic user from fae to warlock. But they are also used to
take
magic. These were once black diamonds. They’re rubies now because they’ve taken my magic. This is how rubies are made. They’re actually no more than black diamonds that have stolen fae magic.
This
was the point of the illusion.” He squeezed the forsaken stones between his fingers until he was afraid they might shatter. “To drain me. And probably you as well.”

Minerva looked from him to the stones and back again. “Well, can you take the magic back now?”

He shook his head. “No. Once it’s taken, it’s gone forever.” No wonder he’d felt so horrible. “Rubies are a one-way door. There’s no going back.”

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