him.
Aislinn felt Fionn’s disapproving gaze burn into her. She strode into the attic and threw him a defiant what are you going to do about it look before turning her attention to Rune. The hybrid writhed under him, but wasn’t anywhere close to dying. Since the wolf had severed her carotid artery, it didn’t make sense, unless…
“Aye,” Fionn panted, “ye canna kill these things. They died long ago. The power filling them comes from the Old Ones.”
“But I thought Marta left them in suspended animation,” Aislinn said.
“Aye, and there is much we doona know, lass. Tell yon wolf to let go.” Gwydion’s voice was rough. “The problem was the hair. I have things under control.”
“Rune, to me.”
The wolf, looking immensely pleased with himself, sidestepped away from Marta’s mother. His snout dripping yellow gore, he trotted to Aislinn with his tail swishing from side to side. The hybrid made a hideous groaning noise and scrambled to her feet. The groan morphed into a shriek, and she hurled herself at Gwydion.
Aislinn wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d put on a coat. It was freezing in the attic. Her breath plumed in the air in front of her. “If we can’t kill them,” she asked, trying to keep her teeth from chattering, “how can we put them back to sleep?”
“If we knew that”—Fionn feinted left to avoid a jolt of magic—“doona ye think we would have done it afore now?”
“You managed to with Bran and Arawn,” she began.
“Aye, but neither of them are here,” Gwydion spat, breathing hard. He and the undead thing circled one another. She seemed more aggressive than Fionn’s opponent. Muddy brown eyes gleamed with cunning intelligence as she tried to pin Gwydion into a corner.
“Lass,” he said, “try the unmaking spell. Do ye know it?”
She nodded. She’d used it a time or two to rid herself of small numbers of Bal’ta, apelike minions of the dark gods. Near as she could tell, it simply scattered living molecules to kingdom come. Except these weren’t living creatures. “Are you sure it will work?” she asked dubiously.
“With a few twists, mayhap,” Fionn answered. “We were close, but the female is strong. We thought she was bound, but she broke through. There are three of us now, though.” Coarse laughter burst from him, and he sent magic skimming toward the male hybrid. “The odds have improved.”
“Four,” Rune corrected.
Aislinn looked around for Bella, only just now realizing the bird’s absence. “Where’s—” she began.
“Asleep downstairs,” Fionn muttered. “I dinna wish to bring her into danger.” He looked pointedly at her for a second before returning his gaze to the hybrid, who was trying to run him through with a rusty saber, apparently having given up on magic for the moment. “At least she stayed put.”
“Only because you cast a spell over her,” Aislinn retorted tartly.
“Enough. We have bigger problems.” Fionn rolled his eyes and jumped out of the saber’s path.
Gwydion wove his hands in a complex pattern and chanted. A spell plaited itself around his opponent. Aislinn threw her magic into the mix and felt Fionn direct some as well. He couldn’t pull all his magic away from the fight. If he did, the creature would have him. As it was, a blast of power from the male hybrid—after the saber clattered to the attic floor—had been far too close for Aislinn’s comfort.
She dragged her concentration away from Fionn and poured everything she had into the unmaking spell. Rune chivvied the female hybrid and forced her to stay in the midst of the net working its way around her.
Gwydion’s expression was grim. The hard line of his jaw twitched as magic geysered from him. A wild, Celtic whoop filled the air. “Aye, a bit more and we’ll have this one corralled. I doona plan to make the same error we made last time.”
He tipped the writhing hybrid into one of the coffins. Aislinn raced forward and slammed
Aislinn felt Fionn’s disapproving gaze burn into her. She strode into the attic and threw him a defiant what are you going to do about it look before turning her attention to Rune. The hybrid writhed under him, but wasn’t anywhere close to dying. Since the wolf had severed her carotid artery, it didn’t make sense, unless…
“Aye,” Fionn panted, “ye canna kill these things. They died long ago. The power filling them comes from the Old Ones.”
“But I thought Marta left them in suspended animation,” Aislinn said.
“Aye, and there is much we doona know, lass. Tell yon wolf to let go.” Gwydion’s voice was rough. “The problem was the hair. I have things under control.”
“Rune, to me.”
The wolf, looking immensely pleased with himself, sidestepped away from Marta’s mother. His snout dripping yellow gore, he trotted to Aislinn with his tail swishing from side to side. The hybrid made a hideous groaning noise and scrambled to her feet. The groan morphed into a shriek, and she hurled herself at Gwydion.
Aislinn wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d put on a coat. It was freezing in the attic. Her breath plumed in the air in front of her. “If we can’t kill them,” she asked, trying to keep her teeth from chattering, “how can we put them back to sleep?”
“If we knew that”—Fionn feinted left to avoid a jolt of magic—“doona ye think we would have done it afore now?”
“You managed to with Bran and Arawn,” she began.
“Aye, but neither of them are here,” Gwydion spat, breathing hard. He and the undead thing circled one another. She seemed more aggressive than Fionn’s opponent. Muddy brown eyes gleamed with cunning intelligence as she tried to pin Gwydion into a corner.
“Lass,” he said, “try the unmaking spell. Do ye know it?”
She nodded. She’d used it a time or two to rid herself of small numbers of Bal’ta, apelike minions of the dark gods. Near as she could tell, it simply scattered living molecules to kingdom come. Except these weren’t living creatures. “Are you sure it will work?” she asked dubiously.
“With a few twists, mayhap,” Fionn answered. “We were close, but the female is strong. We thought she was bound, but she broke through. There are three of us now, though.” Coarse laughter burst from him, and he sent magic skimming toward the male hybrid. “The odds have improved.”
“Four,” Rune corrected.
Aislinn looked around for Bella, only just now realizing the bird’s absence. “Where’s—” she began.
“Asleep downstairs,” Fionn muttered. “I dinna wish to bring her into danger.” He looked pointedly at her for a second before returning his gaze to the hybrid, who was trying to run him through with a rusty saber, apparently having given up on magic for the moment. “At least she stayed put.”
“Only because you cast a spell over her,” Aislinn retorted tartly.
“Enough. We have bigger problems.” Fionn rolled his eyes and jumped out of the saber’s path.
Gwydion wove his hands in a complex pattern and chanted. A spell plaited itself around his opponent. Aislinn threw her magic into the mix and felt Fionn direct some as well. He couldn’t pull all his magic away from the fight. If he did, the creature would have him. As it was, a blast of power from the male hybrid—after the saber clattered to the attic floor—had been far too close for Aislinn’s comfort.
She dragged her concentration away from Fionn and poured everything she had into the unmaking spell. Rune chivvied the female hybrid and forced her to stay in the midst of the net working its way around her.
Gwydion’s expression was grim. The hard line of his jaw twitched as magic geysered from him. A wild, Celtic whoop filled the air. “Aye, a bit more and we’ll have this one corralled. I doona plan to make the same error we made last time.”
He tipped the writhing hybrid into one of the coffins. Aislinn raced forward and slammed
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