Run, little human, but there’s no place to hide. The Siren is back, the wolves will fall, Atlantis will be destroyed. Run, run, run.”
Fiona grabbed Christophe’s hand and pulled him toward the door. She managed, only just barely, to keep from covering her ears with her hands to block out the horrible laughter. The mad refrain of “run, run, run” followed them out the door and at least fifty feet down the street.
That’s when the pub exploded behind them.
Chapter 34
The wave of heat and power almost preceded the noise, or at least smashed into them simultaneously, so that Fiona was flying through the air as if knocked aside by a giant’s hand before she realized what had happened. Through some miracle of balance or Atlantean magic, Christophe performed an amazing twisting somersault in midair and caught her before she crashed down on the concrete, headfirst.
Together, they sat up and stared at what was left of the Prancing Pony. Fire, smoke, and death.
“They’re going to think it was terrorism,” she said. “We need to leave. Slowly and inconspicuously.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” Christophe said, pointing.
A crowd was boiling up the street toward them. No, too big to be a crowd. More like a mob. But no ordinary mob. This one was utterly, completely, silent.
“They’re all shifters,” Christophe said, pulling Fiona back into the doorway of a shop. “Every single one. They’re shifters, and they’ve been enthralled.”
“So many? At once? That’s not possible,” she protested. Then realization dawned in spite of her brain still feeling dazed from the blast. “He’s got the Siren. This is a demonstration or a taunt, or something. Fairsby has the Siren and he’s already using it.”
Christophe’s face was grim. “Either that or Telios does. One of them must be behind the explosion in the pub, too. Whichever it is, he’s making some kind of point, and he’s making it here. We’re caught in the middle of it.”
Behind them, the shop owner locked the door. The old woman’s worried face appeared in the glass for an instant, and then she ran away, into the back of her shop, or possibly out a rear exit.
“We have to get out of here,” Fiona said. “You can’t fight that many shifters.”
“I won’t have to,” he said as the first ranks marched right past them. Every single shifter stared straight ahead, eyes blank and glazed over. “They’re not here for us.”
Fiona scanned the street. “Everybody is running and hiding, but they’re ignoring the people for now. What is this about?”
A flash of bright blue caught her eye and she cried out. “Christophe, that’s a child. He’s caught right in their path. If they don’t stop, they’ll trample him.”
She tried to run out there, but he yanked her back. “Let me.”
Before she could argue, he transformed into a cloud of sparkling mist and swirled rapidly through the crowd of shifters, then circled the sobbing child and, still in mist form, lifted him off the ground and above the heads of the oncoming shifters, who kept marching as if they’d seen none of it.
They probably hadn’t.
Christophe carried the child to his mother, who’d fallen down while chasing him but appeared unhurt. She took her child and hugged him close to her body, surreptitiously making the sign against the evil eye at the sparkling savior who’d delivered her baby safely to her arms.
Fiona wanted to smack her. Superstitious fool. Christophe had saved her child. She hoped he hadn’t seen the hurtful gesture.
He returned to her and transformed back into his physical self. She launched herself into his arms, kissing him all over his face. He pressed her against the wall and returned her kisses so thoroughly she was trembling by the time he released her.
“You are my hero,” she said, hoping every ounce of her love for him showed in her face.
His eyes widened, and his expression rapidly cycled through smugness, terror, and an almost tentative happiness. Her own eyes widened when she realized she wasn’t reading all that from his face. She was actually feeling his emotions.
“The soul-meld. Can it, does it make me feel your emotions? Like, what did you call the princess?
“Only for me, and I for you. But let’s discuss the finer points of the soul-meld later. Now we need to see what they’re up to, but it’s too dangerous for you. I need to get you out of here.”
“We both need to get out of here,” she said firmly.
“Yes, but only your human body would be harmed by another explosion. If I’m mist, it would pass right through me.”
“If you saw it coming. Last time, we didn’t.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “You’re right. Another reason to depart. But first I need to know if I can learn anything from one of these shifters.”
Quicker than thought, he leapt into the street and grabbed one of the enthralled marching men by the shoulders and hauled him up onto the sidewalk. The rest of the mob never even broke stride. In fact, none of them seemed to even see him do it, as if they were blind to anything but their purpose, whatever that might be.
“What are you doing?”
“Marching. Marching. Marching,” the shifter said in a singsongy voice.
“Yes, I can see that. But why?” Christophe’s eyes glowed hot with power and Fiona realized he was trying to break the enthrallment.
The shifter started shaking, as if caught in the throes of a fierce internal conflict, and then he slumped and fell to his knees. “Experiment,” he said hoarsely, staring up at Christophe. “Telios said we were an experiment. What did he do to us? Why—where am I?”
“You’re going to be all right now,” Christophe said, helping the shifter lean back against the wall. “Just rest for a few minutes and try to remember what else Telios told you. Was he holding anything when he talked to you?”
The shifter clutched his head in his hands, his face screwed up with pain or effort. “A sword. He was holding a sword, and the blue stone on its hilt was glowing like it was lit up from within. But why? Why—what?” He cried out. “It hurts to try to remember. The rest is blank.”
“Do you know where you were? This is important. I need to know where Telios was when he talked to you,” Christophe said.
“Please,” Fiona added. “We must stop him from doing this to any more of your people.”
The shifter shook his head back and forth. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. It’s like there’s a big block between me and the memory.” He clutched his head again. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I just want to go home.”
“We need to get out of here,” Christophe said. “He isn’t going to remember any more.”
“I’ll call Sean.” But she’d no sooner pulled her phone out of her purse than she saw Sean angling the car into a space at the next cross street.
“I swear that boy is psychic.”
“Or he could have heard the sirens,” Christophe pointed out, as the sound approached, shrieking its urgency.
They ran for the car.
“This is bad,” Sean said, as he accelerated away. “Really bad. The radio news says Telios is claiming responsibility and that the shifters who aren’t enthralled are screaming for war. The prime minister is calling in the army, and it looks like London might become a battleground. Again.”
“So it’s Telios,” Fiona said. “The shifter was telling the truth. That answers one question.”
“Does it?” Christophe shook his head. “If I’m Unseelie Court and I want to stir things up, I do something pretty awful to one side and make it look like the other side’s at fault. Boom. Instant war. Then the humans call in the mobs with torches and pitchforks—”
