Then been captured again by the Faerie and entombed in the earth.
There was no god alive that despised humans and Faerie more. For that reason alone, Gustaine would remain in his service a bit longer. See if Balor could turn his recent failure around.
“Gustaine!” Balor roared. “Show yourself!”
Hissing softly, Gustaine assembled himself into a small head deep in the shadows. “My lord and master, how may I serve?”
“Find her again! Dispatch your countless bodies and locate that bitch. I want to know the instant you spot her, where she is, what she’s doing, who’s with her, where she’s going. Get me concrete information this time!” he snarled.
He didn’t point out that he’d gotten Balor perfectly concrete information last time but the god had overestimated himself, and underestimated his prey. He loathed that he would have to leave enough of his bodies here with the destructive, raging god to remain in constant communication with him. Yet another master, yet more volatility. He’d give Balor wide berth until he knew her location, stay compressed beneath rocks.
Clearing his throat, he ground out, “How will you destroy her when she possesses such power?” Perhaps he should have allied with the woman. Anyone that could injure Balor was a potential ally worth considering.
Balor gave him a terrible smile, sharp teeth, loathing and rage. “Why do you think I made my camp here of all places? The benefits were countless. I already have something she cares about deeply, and when humans care, humans fall.” He turned in a whirl of long black robes and snarled, “AOZ, gather the other gods and get them here now. It’s long past time we rain down hell on this world.”
Do you wanna touch me there, where
LATER, RYODAN AND I met with Kat and the Shedon in a bona fide conference room beneath Chester’s that was decorated with the same sleek blend of muscle and elegance as the rest of his club. From snooping in his files while he was gone, I knew he had vast holdings, and imagined he held meetings here, preferring to keep his business private. I couldn’t picture him walking into a bank or an attorney’s office.
Part of the nightclub was open again, as Elyreum was a pile of rubble, and I could feel the powerful bass thrumming beneath my boots as I irritably tapped my fingers along to “Do You Wanna Touch Me” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Clearly, someone left Lor in charge of the music. Clearly, someone needed to drag him out of the eighties before he drove the clientele away. Clearly, they could pick a better song than one about people wanting to be touched. My only option right now was a Pillsbury Dough Boy poke in the belly.
When I’d called Kat earlier to fill her in on Balor, she’d swiftly proposed coming into the city for a meeting, saying she had information for us as well.
“It’s possible,” Kat was saying now, “this never would have happened but the Song enhanced whatever the Hunter left inside you, Dani.”
“It’s also possible,” Enyo said, “like the Fae, when one Hunter dies, another must be born; the way Christian and Sean replaced the Unseelie princes.”
“It’s also possible,” Colleen said, “with Hunters, if someone kills them, they automatically become the next one.”
“Not only is all of that irrelevant because it is what it is, it’s also possible,” I said dryly, “that I’ll only turn solid black and never become anything else.” I doubted that. But I was sick of talking about me. I was sick of thinking about me. “We called this meeting to discuss Balor, not me,” I reminded, scratching my arm through my glove. I was no longer icy to the touch but I was having random, sporadic bursts of itching beneath my skin, as if my cells were doing something I’d prefer they weren’t.
I was gloved, covered from head to toe, and bloody well hot. My hair was sleeked back into a braid, because I was afraid if I turned around fast, my long waves would fly out and kill someone. Holy crackling curls, my hair could kill someone!
Everyone knew not to touch me. It wasn’t as if they could forget I was dangerous when half my head was black. Obsidian flames licked across the left side of my face, streaking over my nose. With one solid black eye, dancing with low flames, I was downright fierce looking. And beautiful. Just not who or what I wanted to be.
Kat had filled us in on her time with Christian and Sean, and I’d mulled over the shocking realization that all of us—Mac, Barrons, Ryodan, me, Christian, Sean—had been off in our own corner of the world, trying to deal with our problems. They hadn’t left me. In fact, none of them would have gone if they hadn’t been forced to by their circumstances. Mac needed to learn to wield the queen’s power, Christian would have killed everyone if he’d come around, Barrons would never leave Mac’s side, and Ryodan, oh God, Ryodan had locked himself away to give me the freedom to take lovers, to figure myself out, to grow up. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you, he’d said. Saving me from the fire at the abbey, tattooing me, offering to save Dancer, helping me rescue Shazam, forcing me to live when Dancer died, disappearing when I’d chosen a Ryodan look-alike.
I couldn’t think about that now. We had a world to save.
Thanks to Christian, we finally had a reliable timeline of the history of gods, Fae, and Man. When Kat had finished recapping, I’d taken my turn and filled them in on my battle with Balor.
The Shedon furiously thumbed through the books I’d swiped from BB&B, while I talked.
“Listen to this,” Decla said, reading aloud. “?‘Balor: king of Fomorians, often described as a giant with a large eye that wreaks destruction when opened. It’s said as a child, Balor stared into a cauldron of poison, or a spell of death being brewed by druids, and the fumes caused him to grow an enormous, toxic eye. He was eventually killed by Lugh, in the battle between the Fae and Fomorians for dominion of Ireland.’?”
“Here’s another one,” Duff said, reading from a different book. “?‘The demonic one-eyed god of Death. Invader, conqueror, with a single enormous leg—’?”
“How does anyone even walk on one leg?” Ciara said with a snort.
“He had two,” I assured her. “I injured one of them.”
“?‘—and one huge eye—’?”
“He had two,” I said again. “One was much smaller.”
“?‘—that he can use to kill merely by opening it and looking at someone.’?”
“That’s how he was taking my soul. I made the mistake of locking gazes with him and couldn’t break it. When we find him, you must never look at his eyes. He was wearing a mask, and when he took it off, it was instinctive for me to peer beneath it.”
“Probably why he wears it,” Aurina said. “I’d have looked, too. When people conceal something, it makes you want to see it more.”
“I don’t think that was it, or that’s merely an added boon for him,” I said. “His face was badly scarred beneath the mask, but the rest of it was attractive. Beautiful, even. I got the impression he’s vain, egotistical.”
“Perhaps he got scarred like that when he looked into the cauldron of poison,” Duff suggested.
“If there even was a cauldron,” Kat said dryly. “I researched Balor myths as soon as Dani told me his name on the phone. They’re all over the place. Completely different stories. I found one that alleged he was a benevolent god that came when beseeched to battlefields, to attend the lingering dying, freeing their souls so they wouldn’t have to suffer the pain of death. According to that myth, he was merciful, gently removed them from their bodies and released them to the sky.”
“Well, he’s definitely not doing that now,” I said grimly. “He’s keeping them, absorbing them, using them for power and fuel. Factoring in what Christian told you, Kat, perhaps he was once a benign god, and what the Fae did to him turned him against us. Rather than using his gift for good, he uses it for himself.”
Kat said, “The question is: how do we find him?”
“And how do we kill him?” Enyo said.
“The legends say by taking his eye,” Decla said.
“Those same legends say Balor’s dead,” Kat pointed out. “Which seems to imply it didn’t work.”
“Not necessarily,” Enyo said. “Dani said he’s scarred around that eye. That sounds like someone tried but failed.”
“The myths say Lugh used a slingshot to take Balor’s eye with a stone,” Decla said.
“Yes,” Kat countered, “but supposedly Lugh was his grandson, and Lugh was Fae. Our history is a mess.”
“There may be a simpler solution,” I said, glancing at Ryodan. “Can you kill a god?” The Nine could kill Fae effortlessly. I’d once watched Jericho Barrons suck the psychopathic Sinsar-Dubh from within the body of an Unseelie princess and spit it out. I wasn’t sure there was anything they couldn’t kill.