40. Effing Kelpies!

Imust have passed out for a minute because I awoke to raised voices.

"Why is Sam lying on a cold stone floor?" Clive ground out.

"I told my grandson to put her down. One surface is much the same as another when the patient is unconscious, and these floors are far easier to clean than bed linens and mattresses."

Heels clicked across the marble tile. When I opened my eyes, I saw Benvair elegantly dressed in a champagne-colored gown, studying me with a look of mild annoyance. No doubt my blood loss was wrecking her party.

"Sorry." I wasn't sure how she did it, but one disapproving look from her and all I wanted to do was quickly back out of the room, bowing and apologizing.

Clive dropped to his knees beside me. "Perhaps it wouldn't be too much to ask for a towel." He was seething and if he didn't calm down, he was about to alienate the dragon clan. "I can assure you a replacement will be delivered later today."

Benvair's eyes flashed and then she walked to the other side of the room.

"Stop," I whispered. "I'm fine."

"You're not, no. I'm kneeling in a pool of your blood. Again, I might add. And your hand is like ice."

That wasn't good.

"Russell has called Dr. Underfoot." Clive picked me up, cradling me in his arms.

"Fyffe is bringing something to staunch the bleeding," Benvair said.

"You made your choice, and now I've made mine." He spared her one look that had her backing up, and then he raced out the patio doors. Carrying me as gently as he could, he rounded the side of the house and stopped at the curb where Russell was waiting with the car. Carefully, he slid us into the back seat. "Go."

"You shouldn't piss off dragons." My voice was weaker than I'd thought, but he heard me.

"No, darling. She shouldn't piss off me." The cold fury in his voice made me shiver. "Russell, turn up the heat."

We were driving through the gates a moment later, so I may have passed out for a couple of minutes. Once the vehicle stopped, the doors flew open and Godfrey was helping Clive move me.

"Where?" Godfrey asked.

"Her bench in the study. Get bandages and blankets. A pillow."

It was weirdly disorienting being rushed through the nocturne. My head was flopping on Clive's arm, so I only saw snatches of things: a light fixture, a painting, flowers, two black-eyed vampires, an open doorway, a bookcase, Clive's desk, the study ceiling.

"I think my blood is exciting your people," I whispered.

"Go downstairs and feed," he called toward the open door.

Godfrey appeared with a pillow and a blanket. That was nice. When Russell stepped forward, he blocked the overhead light, so I could stop squinting. Cold and numb. When the kelpie first bit me, it was all fire and pain. Now I felt like I was drifting down a river in winter, floating this way and that as the currents swirled around me. I'd been hurt lots of times. Why was everyone so upset?

"What's th—" matter? My voice had given out, but I knew Clive would understand.

"You're not healing on your own. We don't know why." Clive turned to Russell and asked something about the doctor.

It was easy to ignore their voices. The rush and gurgle of the river filled my head.

"What's happened to you?"

I turned at the melodious and all too familiar voice. "Your Majesty."

"I heard your heartbeat slow. I thought these vampires were taking care of you." She spared an annoyed glance at the men who spoke nearby.

None of them turned to see that Faerie herself was with us. Maybe only I could see and hear her. Maybe this was a dream. "Damn kelpies attacked me."

"My soldiers did this to you, after I assured you safe passage?" She became incandescent with rage.

"It was on this side. They stepped out of the ocean." I didn't want her to think people in her own realm were ignoring her commands.

"They are ALL my subjects!" Her scream shook the windows.

The vamps stopped talking, gazes trained on the glass.

Dr. Underfoot rushed in behind Gloriana. He took one look at the back of his infuriated queen and dropped to his knees. The vamps as one turned to him, wearing matching expressions of confusion.

Gloriana barely glanced over her shoulder at the dwarf bowing at the door. "Yes, yes. I hear your heart giving out." She paced in front of the bench. "There is something wrong, something poisonous in this realm and it is infecting my people. You"—she pointed, my engagement ring on her finger—"will find the source of the problem and fix it."

"I'll do my best."

"You will make sure to do better than that." She flipped up the blanket covering me, laid one hand on my stomach and the other on my arm, the places where the kelpie had taken out chunks. Power and light shot through me. A flood of golden bubbles sparkled inside me. The cold river was gone and I was lying in a sun-drenched meadow.

She leaned over, her face, her incomparable beauty all I could see. "Don't expect me to come running again. You have a quest. I suggest you get up and start working on it."

An impact tremor shook the air and then sound returned.

Wonder bright in his eyes, Clive took my hand and sat on the edge of the bench. "Your heart. It slowed to a stop for a moment and then started again, healthy and strong."

Dr. Underfoot slowly got to his feet. He approached us warily, clearly not sure what to make of Faerie paying me a visit.

I caught Underfoot's eye. "I'm okay now."

"Of course you're not. Let him bandage your wounds." Clive laid his hand on the side of my face. Joy, relief, love, all of it was loud and clear in his touch.

"I doubt she left wounds," I said, sitting up. Clive tried to stop me from moving, but I patted his arm, scooted up, and then dropped my feet to the floor. "I didn't stain the bench, did I?"

Studying the torn and bloodied dress, I sighed. "Damn. I loved this one." Remembering, my hand shot to my neck. Diamond choker still in place. Fingers flying to my ears, I checked the opals too, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when they were both in place. I was not cut out to wear expensive things.

Sliding the blood-encrusted fabric aside, I looked at my arm and stomach. Both wounds were perfectly healed, skin like new, my scars a memory. I looked up and found Clive staring at my stomach as well. "Is it better or worse to have patches of unscarred skin?" I imagined it looked odd.

Clive rested his hand on my stomach. "How?"

"You'd have to ask Faerie." Ha. I felt it. Clive flinched. I doubt anyone saw it, but with his hand on me, I felt it.

"The windows rattling, our good doctor here on his knees, that was Faerie?" He was doing his best to sound calm and reasonable, but I could tell he was shook.

Nodding, I said, "Gloriana herself stood in your study." I nodded at the dwarf who still hadn't spoken. "Dr. Underfoot saw her."

He cleared his throat. "I did. Yes."

"Thank you so much for coming, but as you can see, I'm perfectly fine." I tapped Clive's arm. "Maybe we can get someone to drive you home, sir."

Underfoot blinked a few times in quick succession, checked his pockets, picked up his bag, and turned to the door. "Not at all," he mumbled as he walked out.

"Miss Quinn, it might be helpful if you explained to those of us who apparently cannot see the queen what happened." Russell closed the study door after the doctor and waited.

"Sure thing." I kicked off my heels—they miraculously still looked like new—and sat crossed-legged on the bench, both knees poking through holes in my dress. "Before we begin, though"—I turned to Clive—"is there any chance you can get a replacement on this dress? I really loved it."

"Anything you want." He shook his head in wonder and leaned back. "You were saying?"

I relayed everything that had happened in Faerie, her two guises, what she'd said to me, the exchange of rings, and then I explained what had just happened.

"Wait," Godfrey began. "Gloriana expects an invitation to the wedding?" Laughing, he plopped down in one of the chairs.

"You're part fae as well?" Russell asked, confusion clear on his face.

Shaking my head, I said, "No. I don't—maybe? It sounded like the Corey wicche who created the first werewolf used fae magic in order to complete the spell. Only members of the original line—Quinns—possess the magic or the blood." I shrugged. "She didn't explain it all. There's some tie between Quinns and the fae." I thought about it a moment. "And Coreys and the fae. Huh." Uneasy, I pushed that aside.

Glancing between Clive and Russell, both of whom looked off balance, I waited for someone to fill me in. When neither did, I finally said, "I saw you take Leticia's head. She's well and truly dead, right?"

"Unfortunately." Clive squeezed my hand and then rose to pace behind his desk. "I wanted her captured alive—wanted to question her—but I couldn't touch her with my mind."

"Because of feeding on the fae?"

"Unclear. Sometimes we inherit gifts from our makers. Sometimes the dark kiss enhances what is already ours. My maker possessed strong mental gifts. They were different from mine—more like Leticia's ability to keep Audrey enthralled for over two centuries—but I believe they augmented my own natural…" He paused, considering.

"Empathy?" Russell suggested.

Clive moved a shoulder and continued pacing. "If you like. I hadn't considered, though, that if we shared a maker, our unique powers would be in conflict."

"I'd assumed Aldith had turned Leticia. You think it was the same vamp who turned you?" I needed an undead family tree so I could keep all the connections straight. Ooh, maybe I'd make a big tapestry on a loom outlining all the relationships. It could—nah, too much work. I'd end up like one of those psycho guys with thousands of pictures plastered to a wall, different colored threads tracing paths between them.

"It stands to reason. We often stay with our sires for years, sometimes centuries. We need to learn, of course, but past that, we've been banished from our old lives, become the stuff of nightmares. Having a companion—even one you despise—can be preferable to being alone. The sire can set the…" He searched for a word.

"Tone," Godfrey said.

Nodding, Clive said, "All right. A sire—or dame in my case—can set the tone for one's undeath. Garyn, my creator, wanted a kind of new family. She wanted us to remain forevermore in each other's company."

"Sad." That sounded like a horribly lonely existence, turning people in hopes of finding a companion.

"She was, yes. I only stayed with her for a few months. I needed to understand this new life, and I needed control. Once I had it, I set out to find the Atwoods and kill the men who had taken my sister. She was desperate to keep me with her, but I'd accepted the kiss to exact retribution, not to find a new friend."

"And once you had, Aldith just happened upon the same vampire? That seems far-fetched." I mean, what were the chances?

Clive opened his mouth to respond and then closed it.

"That," Godfrey said, "makes more sense. She followed you when you left her. You'd probably told her about the Atwoods." He waited for Clive to confirm. At his nod, Godfrey continued, "So she follows, sees what you did, and then offers her services to the woman and child left on their own. She may have even wanted someone to commiserate with, someone who understood what a right bastard you were. They'd spend their undeaths bitching about you. Instead, she got another one hell bent on revenge."

"It makes a strange sort of sense, Sire. If this Garyn turned all three of you, it could explain why your mental powers didn't work," Russell said.

"I've known fledglings from the same creator battle it out. I bet it was the fae blood she was drinking," Godfrey said.

"What about how she was able to turn our people against you? If it was more than just sowing seeds of doubt, if she was actually messing with their heads—"

"Don't forget," Godfrey interrupted. "St. Germain was messing with our people too."

"Right," Russell agreed, getting up to pace on the opposite side of the room. "It was part of the deal. He'd turn Clive's people against him and Amélie would make sure he was given Sam."

"She's still doing it," I reminded them. "Five of your vamps tried to kill me tonight." At Clive's stony silence, I ventured on. "I've been thinking. She was pretty darned adept at using blood to hide, to control, whatever. I don't know all the vamp rules, but is it possible she was feeding your people her own blood to create ties with them, to strengthen her mental suggestions?" I let the question hang, as all three vamps wore similar expressions of concern.

"I've never heard of that," Russell said.

"Nor I," Godfrey said.

"I have." He stared at me and then shook his head. "I'd forgotten. After I'd been turned, Garyn told story after story, helping me to learn control"—he distractedly ran a hand through his hair—"to keep me from wiping out an entire village when the thirst hit. One of the stories was about a nocturne on the continent somewhere. Italy, France…"

He shook his head. "I could barely think then. I remember her talking of a nocturne that had been stolen from the Master by one of his fledglings, one who had fed the other vampires his own blood in order to break old ties and forge new ones."

"If Garyn told you this story," I said, "it stands to reason she told the same one to Aldith and Leticia."