Mistral's Kiss

CHAPTER 18

THERE WAS A MARKED CAR AND SEVERAL UNMARKED CARS SITTING there. Inside, cops and FBI stared at us, eyes wide. We had simply appeared out of thin air; I guess it was worth a stare or two.

“How are we going to explain this?” Rhys asked softly.

The car doors started opening. Police of all flavors poured out into the cold. Then there was wind at our backs…warm wind, and a sound like birds, if birds could be too large, and too frightening for words.

“Oh, God,” Rhys said, “they’re coming through.”

“Mistral, Sholto, hold the door closed if you can. Give us time,” Doyle said.

Mistral and Sholto turned to face that warm, seeking wind. Doyle ran toward the cars; I was still in his arms. The others followed, though Frost’s wounds caused him to follow slowly behind us.

The police were calling to us. “What’s wrong?” “Is the princess hurt?”

“Stay in your cars and you’ll be safe,” Doyle yelled.

The closest car held two dark-suited men. One was young and dark, the other older and balding. “Charles, FBI,” the younger one said. “You don’t give us orders.”

“If the princess is in danger, I can, by your own laws,” said Doyle.

The older one said, “Special Agent Bancroft, what’s happening? That’s not geese I’m hearing.”

A uniform that was St. Louis city, one Illinois state trooper, and a local precinct cop joined us. Apparently, when the rest of the police went away after we’d last dealt with them here, they’d left a little bit of everybody behind. No one wanted to be left out, I guess.

“If you all stay in your cars, you will be safe,” Doyle repeated.

One of the younger uniforms said, “We’re cops. We’re not paid to be safe.”

“Spoken like someone who is not even close to his pension,” another officer said, one with more weight around his middle.

“Jesus,” one of them said. I didn’t have to glance back, for now Frost had caught up with us. He’d bled all over Rhys, so that it looked like Rhys was hurt worse. Abe was still bleeding from falling among the bones.

One of the uniforms touched his shoulder radio and started requesting an ambulance. Doyle yelled above the growing sound of wind and birds, “There is no time. They will be upon us in moments.”

“Who?” Bancroft asked.

Doyle shook his head and moved around the agent. He laid me in the passenger seat of the car, then opened the backseat door, saying, “Put Frost inside, Rhys.”

“I will not leave you,” Frost said. The men laid him in the seat even as he protested.

Doyle grabbed Frost’s shoulder and said, “If I die, if all of us die, if the others are gone into the ground for good, then you must survive. You must take her back to Los Angeles and not return.”

I started to get out of the car then. “I won’t leave you.”

Doyle pushed me back into the seat. He knelt down and gave me the full weight of his dark eyes. “Meredith, Merry, we ca

I gripped his arms, so smooth, so muscled, so solid. “I won’t leave you.”

“Nor I,” Frost said, struggling to sit up in the backseat.

“Frost,” Doyle almost yelled it, “I do not trust anyone but you and me to keep her safe. If it is not to be me, then it must be you.”

Bancroft said, “Get in and drive, Charlie.”

The younger agent didn’t argue this time; he got behind the wheel. I was still holding on to Doyle, shaking my head over and over. One of the other cops had gotten a first-aid kit out of the car. Bancroft took it and crawled into the back with Frost.

“No,” I said to Doyle. “I am princess here, not you.”

“Your duty is to live,” Doyle said.

I shook my head. “If you die, I’m not sure I want to.”

He kissed me then, hard and fierce. I tried to melt into that kiss, but he tore himself away and slammed the door in my face.

The doors locked. I glanced at the agent, who said, “We have to get you to safety, Princess.”

“Unlock the door,” I demanded.

He ignored me and started the engine, hit the gas. Just then wind slammed into the car, so hard that it skidded the vehicle to the side. Charlie fought to keep the car in the parking lot and out of the trees.

“Drive,” Bancroft yelled, “drive like a son of a bitch!”

I looked then, because I had to. The wild hunt had broken through, and it was like the moment in the cave — as if the darkness had split open and was spilling out nightmares. But the nightmares were even more solid now. Or maybe, now that I’d seen them, I couldn’t unsee them.

A coat flew over my face, and I was left scrambling at it. “Don’t look, Merry,” Frost said, his voice choked, “don’t look.”

“Put on the coat, Princess,” Bancroft said. “We’ll get you to the hospital.”

I held the coat in my arms, but turned to look back.

The police were shooting at the hunt. Mistral lit the sky with lightning, and one of the police crumbled to the ground. Was he screaming? The horror spilled over Sholto, and he was lost to it. Doyle leapt toward the tentacles and teeth, the sword glittering in the moonlight. I screamed his name, but the last thing I saw before we drove into the dark was Doyle lost under a weight of nightmares.