Atlantis Betrayed

was thunder and darkness given sound, the compulsion contained within it so powerful that Fiona had to grit her teeth and lean into the breeze in order to be able to stand her ground against the urge to run or hide or kneel before her friend’s unearthly beauty.

“I am Maeve na Feransel, Princess of the Unseelie Court, and you will bow to me or pay for your insolence,” she thundered. Her voice shook the very walls and carried to Fiona the desperate urge to do just that, to bow and worship Maeve’s beauty for eternity, but also the knowledge that it was no ordinary beauty. No, Maeve’s power was a dark and biting thing; knives wrapped in velvet—swift cuts tempered by sweetness. Her chosen would bow to her and live in pain and ecstasy. Begging for more. Begging to escape. Not knowing which they wanted more.

The few seconds it took for Fiona to realize all of that were enough for her to break free of the compulsion, but another sound helped even more. Christophe. He was clapping.

“Bravo, Fae. Maybe for your next act, you can pull a rabbit out of your ass?”

Fiona winced at the crude words, and fury crossed Maeve’s face, but it was followed quickly by amusement. Her glamour, if that’s what it had been, vanished, and she was suddenly just Maeve, Fiona’s friend, albeit with silver chips like ice floating in her eyes.

“Never out of my ass, mortal,” she said. She laughed, and her laugh held as much compulsion as her glamour had. Fiona wanted to curl up in Maeve’s laughter and bathe in it; revel in the joy of the Fae princess’s happiness for the next fifty years or so.

“Wow. That’s pretty powerful,” she managed to say, breaking free of the compulsion again. “Is that how you always got out of tests at university?”

Maeve laughed again, but this time it was an ordinary laugh, just like thousands they’d shared before. “You have no idea, Fee.”

“What do you want?” Christophe’s voice was pure menace. She glanced back to find his eyes glowing a hot green and both of his hands holding daggers.

“Well, I’d love to find out what exactly you are, Warrior,” Maeve said. “But I’ll settle for my original purpose in coming here. Fiona, darling, you need to get out of town for a while. Forget this plan of stealing the Siren. Far more powerful beings than I are in battle for that gem, and you have no chance against them.”

Fiona suddenly had a hard time breathing. “I—what are you talking about? What’s a Siren? Why would I —”

Maeve cut off her babbling. “Too little, too late. I know you’re the Scarlet Ninja. Others know, too.”

“What are you talking about, Maeve? Really, I think you drank too much champagne—”

Maeve waved a hand in the air, and an image of Fiona, dressed as the Scarlet Ninja, climbing out of the trellised upper window of the Trehorne estate, appeared for a few second before vanishing.

“Trehorne is Fae. You’re lucky he found you amusing, or you’d be licking his boots in the Summer Lands for a few centuries, Fee.”

Fiona abruptly sat down, not trusting her legs to hold her upright any longer. She’d thought she was so clever. So discreet. And who knows how many Fae not only knew her deepest, darkest secret, but found her amusing.

“Listen to me,” Maeve said, suddenly urgent. Her features hardened into an expression of imperious command, and it wasn’t difficult for Fiona to believe that she truly was a princess of her race. “The Siren has become known to us as a weapon of great power. It is said to have the ability to enthrall large numbers of shape- shifters simultaneously. This would be extremely valuable in the war for control of this world. The Seelie and Unseelie Courts have decided to join in to prevent the vampires from gaining complete domination. We wanted to stay neutral; the Moon Goddess herself knows we have enough discord on our own without becoming involved in this fight. But if the vampires succeed, they will turn all mortals into sheep on which to be fed, and we cannot allow total desecration of your race.” She laughed and was again the friend Fiona had known for so long. “Plus, we need your kind. I simply cannot survive without Chanel lipstick.”

“Who has it now?” Christophe stalked over to her. “Who has the Siren now?”

“Do you ask a boon of information, mortal?” Maeve licked her lips, suddenly almost feral. “I will gladly grant it.”

“I ask nothing. I know how your kind works, and I have no desire to be indentured, or worse, to you,” Christophe snarled.

“Oh, I could find something very pleasant for you to do,” Maeve purred.

Fiona wanted to rip her eyes out.

Denal burst into the room. “Can you believe they’re still playing that game? I think Sean is ahead, a zillion to one, but perhaps Declan is letting him win, since . . . oh. My apologies, Lady Fiona,” he said, all but skidding to a halt. “I did not realize you were still entertaining your guest.”

Maeve’s eyes widened. “Oh, Fiona, you bad girl. Not one, but two of them? You must share, you know.”

She crossed the room to Denal, and her walk was pure sex; a gentle sway making the most of her curves. Christophe watched her, and Fiona now wanted to scratch his eyes out.

If this was jealousy, it was exhausting.

“Why don’t you come play with me for a while, handsome man?” Maeve’s voice was honey and cream, whispering a tale of seduction older than time.

Denal was clearly entranced. He bowed deeply. “I am Denal of Atlantis, my lady, and you are?”

Christophe slammed his daggers back into their sheaths. “She is the Unseelie Court Fae I was just warning you about, and you are supposed to be undercover. Certainly not telling Unseelie Court princesses about Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?” Maeve whirled around. “Oh, so that explains the smell and feel of your power. It has the resonance of the ocean crashing into the moonlit beach, sorcerer.”

“I am no sorcerer, I am simply a humble warrior,” Christophe said.

“Anything but humble, I think,” she answered, a dark light in her eyes. “But enough of this. I will give you a gift, none beholden, none owed. I do not know who has the sword, but fear the vampires have acquired it. The sometimes-leader of this region is an ancient vampire named Telios. Find him and you may find what you seek, although it is true there are factions who oppose him.”

“Why would you help us?” Christophe asked.

“Who says I’m helping you? Perhaps there is simply another I wish to oppose.” She laughed, a sound like silvery chimes mixed with a child’s laughter, and turned to Denal. “Come and play with me for a while, fair one.”

“Yes,” Denal said, taking her hand. “I will.”

“No!” Christophe leapt toward him, but it was too late. Maeve cast a magical barrier between them that shimmered like a net of the finest gauze, if gauze were made from diamond dust.

“Willingly spoken, Atlantean,” Maeve said. “Take care of Fiona or I will have more than words for you when next we meet.”

With that, she and Denal vanished.

Fiona gasped and then fell back into her chair, her lungs suddenly unable to fill with air. She began relaxation breathing of long, slow inhales and exhales. “You know, I think that this was perhaps an inch or two beyond what my rational mind can take right now. Atlantis, magical gems, Fae royalty, and vampire attacks. Oh, and let’s not forget sex in museums. Now my best friend is a Fae princess who just stole your best friend. I’ve had it. I’m done. I’d like my straitjacket now, please.”

“He’s not my best friend,” Christophe said.

She let her head fall back on the chair and started laughing. “Right. Because that’s the important part of what I just said.”

“Is one of your new books in here?”

“You want to read? Now?”

He just stared at her, clenching his jaw, and not in a good way, so she sighed and pointed to the bookshelves. “Bottom shelf on the left. It would be bad form to display my books like some sort of trophy, of course.”

“Hopkins?”

“Are you kidding? Hopkins would hang framed posters of all my covers in the foyer if I’d let him. That was a classic grandfather-ism, always going on and on about bad form. He’s probably rolling over in his grave to think I’m