The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(64)
The blond man, Tilde, shrugged impassively. “We shall see, cousin.”
And then the tower hummed. A beam of wavering light burst from the metal rose at the top, amplified a hundred times by the dome. It hit the fairy phalanx like a speeding train, and the whole courtyard was bathed in blinding light.
I blinked as my eyes adjusted. Virgule was on his knees. Several of the soldiers behind him had collapsed altogether. Beads of sparkling light rose from them like droplets of water falling from a tree after the rain, but upside down, spinning and circling and rising until they were absorbed by the machine high above them.
The blood drained from my face. All around me, trolls and gremlins and great hairy monsters were cackling with vile glee at the sight of the fairies collapsing to the ground. I looked to the tower. At the base of the machine, something was happening. The device that looked like a giant microscope whirred to life. From out of each nozzle suddenly burst an arc of concentrated light—white-blue and as intense as the sun itself, like writhing snakes of lightning.
The imp in the metal frame screamed. The owl woman groaned. Loup doubled over and growled. And then they changed. They grew.
As the eldritch energy washed over its little body, the imp began to bulge and pop grotesquely. Before my eyes it ceased to have a little body at all. It was a brute the size of a gorilla, and swelling larger still. Soon the thing was too large for the metal frame at all and it tumbled forward. Massive red horns had sprouted from its head where tiny nubs had been, and it let out a bellow like a lion’s roar. Loup bent low as the arc of lightning blasted through him. His coarse hair thickened and his muscles groaned until suddenly there stood in his place a wolf the size of a workhorse. He bounded out of the ruined tower and shook his fur. The woman bared her teeth and clutched at the sides of the metal frame. Her wings grew wider and her feet became terrible talons. When the top of the frame began to press on her back, she burst out of the tower and flapped over the army.
The Unseelie horde parted. The owl woman soared across to the far end of the courtyard, where the enormous gap in the rend revealed the waiting ruins of the old church. Loup padded down the aisle after her, and the imp—now more of a demonic gargoyle—followed close behind. They trod past their brethren to approving cheers. More Unseelie creatures were already clamoring into the base of the tower to be the next soldiers to be made ready.
“He’s draining them,” I said. “The entire Seelie fae army. He’s killing them!”
Virgule, his hand shaking uncontrollably, tried to lift his sword. It clattered back to the ground almost at once and he fell onto his side.
The fairy army was not simply dying. With every moment they grew weaker, the Unseelie were growing stronger. Inside the tower, new, wild-looking creatures were taking shape. Muscles bulged. Great thorns emerged from a dark spirit’s arms and legs, and her hair looked like a briar patch. Next to her, a scaly man the size of an ox climbed out of his own frame. He looked like he could lift a carriage. “Miss Rook,” whispered Jackaby.
“Yes, Mr. Jackaby,” I whispered back.
“I think you ought to know. I’m about to do something very foolish.”
“I had a feeling you might, sir,” I said. “And I have a sinking suspicion I’m going to help.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Make way! Move aside! Excuse us! Pardon me! Thank you!” The faces of the Unseelie soldiers wore a baffled expression as we cut through their ranks. Well, most of them looked baffled. One or two didn’t really have faces at all, which made it hard to tell. There were hisses and murmurs and claws pointed in our direction, but the frank confidence with which my employer blustered his way through the thick of them was oddly mesmerizing. Apparently they had not expected a pair of unassuming humans to advance on their growing crowd of the nastiest, most powerful monsters in existence.
Jackaby was unarmed. I still held Morwen’s black blade. I had it pointed, as I had been directed, squarely at my employer’s back.
We reached the massive cleft in the fabric of the veil. The ruins of the quiet church stood on the other side. “That’s it! Nearly there! I think that will do! Hello, yes, may I have everyone’s attention?” Jackaby called out—entirely unnecessarily.
The crowd, already fixed on the pair of us, grew hushed. On the other side of the courtyard, Virgule and the fairy army were collapsing into stillness. The beam persisted relentlessly.
“I am R. F. Jackaby. I am a paranormal investigator and host to the immortal sight,” he declared loudly. “As you all know, you cannot kill me. King’s orders.”
“I do not know that!” shouted a voice from the back.
“Shut your gob. I told you to read the pamphlet!” countered another voice.
“Well—as those of you who perused the literature are well aware,” Jackaby continued, “your egomaniacal monarch has made it clear that he needs me alive in order to move on to phase two—which, as I understand it, has all the juiciest bits. Chaos and rivers of blood and all that.”
The owl woman stepped forward. “So? He needs you. We already have you.”
“Ah, right you are. But here’s where it gets interesting,” Jackaby went on. “Allow me to introduce my stalwart assistant, Miss Rook. Miss Rook, horrible mob. Horrible mob, Miss Rook.”
I swallowed hard as their eyes rested on me.