The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(65)
“Like me, Miss Rook comes from the human world. She’s grown rather fond of it. So here’s the thing—the invasion is off. ”
The crowd erupted in barks of laughter and derisive scoffs.
“Or what?” asked the owl woman.
“Or,” Jackaby answered, “Miss Rook will be forced to kill me. So, you can attack now, that’s certainly an option. You attack—Rook kills me—maybe you kill her, and then you move straight to the messiest massacre you’ve ever imagined. You would have a grand old time, slaughtering humans left and right, stuff of legends—but, when the blood on your claws has dried, that’s all it will have been. Phase one. By morning the veil will have mended and the Dire King’s grand scheme for phase two will be ruined.”
The monsters began to shift uncomfortably. Eyes darted up to the tower keep.
“You’re not going to give up your life, just like that,” said the owl woman. “You’re bluffing.”
“No. I’m not bluffing,” said Jackaby. “What I am is tired. I have given up my life already. I have given it to the sight, and I have given it to my career, and I have given it to my city. I have given my life to protecting people I do not know from villains they do not know exist, and I am tired. If you think I will not give up my life to save the world one last time”—his brow cast heavy shadows over his gray eyes—“then you do not know me at all.”
The black blade felt heavy in my clammy hands. I was rather hoping we were bluffing.
There was tense silence for several seconds, and then the machine up above us clicked off with a buzz. The light from the mechanical rose faded and the mechanism lowered. The fallen fairy army did not rise, although I could see signs of breathing from a few of the limp bodies. From high in the tower of floating rubble, the Dire King was watching.
“He’s bluffing,” snarled the owl woman. “Someone collect those humans. We’re going through.”
The horde stirred. Loup bared his fangs in a wicked grin.
“Stop.” The voice that issued from atop the tower keep was deep and carried a note of finality.
The Unseelie army stopped. I breathed. It had worked. It should not have worked, but it had worked! We were safe, however fleetingly, poised in the eye of a hurricane. And then the Dire King spoke again.
“Kill the girl.”
Almost at once, the throng leapt to obey the command. I scarcely had time to understand what he had said when a spiral-tipped javelin flew out of the crowd. Its aim was true—it soared straight for my chest. Too late, I ducked away. I heard a horrified gasp from the crowd, followed by a deafening silence. I peered out from behind my own hands.
Jackaby had stepped in the way of the javelin.
A jagged, twisted point entered his chest and emerged from the middle of his back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Huh.” Jackaby looked down at the javelin lodged in his chest. He took hold of the shaft in both hands and pulled. The barb slid free with a nauseating sucking sound.
“S-s-sir?” I managed.
“Huh,” said Jackaby, almost to himself. “Ha! Oh! Yes, right.” He dropped the bloody weapon to the ground. “They can’t kill me!”
Jackaby pulled open his shirt front and prodded the spot where the javelin had entered, just left of his clavicle. He wiped the blood away, and aside from a small circle of young, fresh skin, he had not a mark on him. The gem. I had forgotten about Hafgan’s shield!
“Well. All right.” Jackaby addressed the crowd again. “That changes the dynamic a bit, admittedly. But I can work with this. I appear to be immortal now. So there’s that. The invasion is still off. You can’t beat me. Couldn’t kill me if you tried.”
The Unseelie army was now abuzz with noise.
“Kill the girl,” the deep voice repeated, echoing over the susurration of the horde, “and tear the Seer’s limbs from his body. Don’t be gentle. Death is no longer a risk, it seems. Bring whatever is left to me.”
“I don’t like that, sir,” I said. The crowd swelled forward, all teeth and talons.
“Nor I. New plan,” said Jackaby. “Run!”
He threw himself at me, grabbing my arm, and we tumbled backward through the rend. We hit the stones of the old church and rolled. Loup, the big bad wolf, was only a moment behind us. His sharp claws clicked and scraped the floor as he landed. I scrambled to get away, crawling for cover beneath the nearest pew. The owl woman swooped over me and the huge red imp was cackling savagely nearby. More monsters were piling through, like an unthinkably evil pot boiling over. I was scrambling across the cold floor, my heart thudding against my ribs, when a shot rang out like a cannon. The owl woman spun out of the air with a shriek and slammed against the altar.
“Sweet sassy molasses—that’s a lotta ugly!” boomed a familiar voice. Hank Hudson unloaded a second loud shot, this time into the imp’s face, and then tossed the pistol aside, pulling a fresh one from a bandolier across his chest. “Hey, everybody! In here!” he bellowed. “Looks like the war’s on!”
From where I was crouched, half-hidden beneath the church bench, I heard a rapid pattering of footsteps from the front of the chapel, and then a mob of gray-green feet burst into my range of vision. They leapt up, swarming the giant wolf with almost gleeful whooping war cries. Loup howled in fury as half a dozen goblins attached themselves to his fur, pulling and stabbing and kicking furiously. Someone grabbed me by the wrist and I jolted, spinning around. “It’s me,” Jackaby said. “Come on!”