“…thought you were… kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? Me? You mean you went to…” the words stuck in his throat. “You went to rescue me?” Faelan squeezed the phone so tight he heard it crack. “Are you bloody mad?”
“Women,” the driver said, his gaze darting from Faelan to the road.
“I’ve been fighting demons since 1850—”
There was a squeal, and the car slammed to a stop. Faelan’s face bounced off the back of the seat and the phone flew out of his hand. He grabbed it and rose, meeting the driver’s round eyes in the rearview mirror.
“I don’t think—” the man started.
“Drive,” Faelan ordered, rubbing his nose. The driver’s head bobbed nervously and the taxi leapt forward. “But don’t kill us getting there.”
“Exactly where are you?” Faelan asked Bree.
“…right tower… Druan’s castle.” Her voice dropped so low, he wouldn’t have heard it if not for his warrior senses. “Hurry. Something’s… here… with me.” The connection went dead.
***
The taxi drove past it twice before Faelan saw the back of Bree’s car hidden in the trees. Where was the castle? Deeper in the woods? He paid the driver, and as the car sped away, Faelan crossed the small road and headed for the field. His skin started to prickle a second before he smacked into something hard. He caught a glimpse of trees, iron, and stone before he stumbled back. Warily, he stretched his hand in front of him. The air parted like a curtain, and a picture unfolded before him. A high stone wall, and behind it, a castle.
His clan’s castle. Here in America.
Chapter 16
What sorcery was this? Faelan took two steps back, and the castle disappeared. Two steps forward, and it appeared again. An invisible cloak. Druan had hidden a castle in the middle of a field, a castle that looked exactly like the Connor Castle in Scotland. The illusion was only from outside the cloak. From inside, he could see the road and the trees where Bree had parked. No time to ponder it. He had to get Bree out before Druan discovered he had a guest. Faelan had seen what the demon did to his enemies.
His arm throbbed as he dropped over the iron fence. He sniffed. No demons close by, and no dogs, he hoped. It wasn’t likely. Demons hated animals. An animal could sense a demonic presence long before a human could. Faelan headed toward the north side of the castle, keeping to the shadows. A man with long, raven hair appeared near a narrow door. Faelan jumped behind a tree, his hand on his dirk. The man’s movements were graceful, almost elegant, but powerful. He was too far away to scent for demon blood, but he wasn’t someone Faelan wanted to meet until his strength returned.
Faelan glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t been spotted. When he turned around again, the man had disappeared.
***
Tristol perched on a branch high in the tree and watched as the warrior dropped and ran the few remaining feet to the castle. He tried the side door, and when it wouldn’t open, he stepped back, surveying the second-story balcony far above his head. He tested a thick vine, seemed satisfied, and began to climb. Muscles bulged as the warrior inched his way up the wall. He’d just reached the top when his dagger caught on the vine. He tugged it free, and the vine started to pull away. Leaping, the warrior grasped the edge of the balcony, dangled for a moment, then threw his legs over and stood.
Impressive.
He peered over the side and quickly turned away.
Tristol smirked. So the Mighty Faelan didn’t like heights, but he had strength and power. If it matched his reputation, he might be worth more than a way to eliminate Druan. He would have to bide his time and wait. Not only the fate of the living depended on the outcome of this fight.
***
Faelan leaned against the cold stone and touched his burning arm. He hated heights.
A chill worked up his spine. He glanced over his shoulder, then tested the small door to his left. It was locked. Next to it was a small, dark window. This would be a bedroom in his clan’s castle. He pushed against the glass, and it moved enough to get his head and injured arm through. He pushed hard, and his right shoulder scraped through, followed by his hips and legs. The room was dark. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, using the faint light to get his bearings. He was dismayed that the room looked just as he’d expected.
He opened the door and peered into the dimly lit hallway. The sight was disturbing. The second floor was a replica of Connor Castle. A staircase stood at the end of the wide hallway, like the one he and his brothers had played on. He heard voices approaching and ducked back inside the room, leaving the door cracked so he could hear.
“If Druan doesn’t find the key and the time vault soon, there won’t be any of us left.”
“You’d think he would’ve guarded it.”
The other voice shushed. “Don’t say that. If one of those half-demons hears, it’ll tell, and Druan will do to you what he did to Onca for losing the key. You know Druan’s been on edge, always looking over his shoulder. Can’t say I blame him. Lately, this place feels like it has eyes.”
“You’re working for demons, and you’re worried about ghosts?”
“You know what I mean. You almost jumped out of your skin when that ugly demon woke us this morning. Sometimes I wish we’d never…” the voices faded, and Faelan moved into the hallway, trying to listen. There was no doubt this was Druan’s castle. Faelan was so busy examining the similarities of this castle to the one he’d called home that he didn’t notice the white-haired old man until it was too late. The man—at least he looked like a man— ambled by, his head buried in a book, talking to himself. Faelan’s hand went to his dirk. He’d have to kill the man quietly, so he didn’t raise an alarm. The old man looked up, nodded, and continued toward the stairs, paying Faelan no mind, as if he belonged here. Like a bloody demon.
If Druan was still looking for the vault and the key, then he didn’t know Faelan was awake. Not surprising that Grog would be too scared to tell him. Faelan moved to the third floor. It was dark—no lights in the hall. He didn’t
