Chapter Text
I was halfway to the marina when I felt it. Someone new was following me. My, my. Wasn't I popular today?
I sped a little, waiting until I was concealed under the shadow of an awning before I blipped out of sight, disappearing behind a veil. My go-to defense worked a lot better in crowded places, where the concentration of life left magical contrails that anything with enough talent could follow. In a city, it was akin to trying to determine what jet had left a trail departing an international airport. Even the stronger, more identifiable aura of a wizard was harder to track, worn down as it was by sunlight and the constant buffeting of others' energy.
The marina was a different story. This was the playground of the idle wealthy, not a well-traveled street. Worse, autumn was in full swing, the cold creeping in from the north to chill the waters of Lake Michigan, sending all but the most determined further south to snowbird for the winter. Most people were packing it in. Harder to shake a tail when you're one of only a dozen people in the area. If my pursuer had any talent at all, it was a matter of when they found me, not if. What they couldn't know was that I was never completely alone these days.
"Are you catching this?" I asked, extending my senses to get a feel for what was skulking through the shifting shadows of the marina. I had a vague outline of it, enough to keep it in the periphery, magically speaking, without getting a good picture. It didn't hit my radar as strongly as Fix, which was promising. I hoped. But whatever was out there was magical, I could feel it tingle across my awareness as it drew closer.
"Yes," Fortnea replied immediately.
"Got any guesses? I'll take any theories at this point."
I could take a stab at it, but there really was no telling what could be waiting in the wings. As the Black Knight, I'd racked up too many enemies to count. This didn't feel like the standard Fomor ambush. Their sorcerers' magic had a distinct edge that registered as a taste crept like bile up the back of my throat. Think day-old seafood wafting from a dumpster and you'd have a single note of the flavor. I'd just involved myself in faerie business by meeting with Fix, however briefly, and subtly allied myself with his cause by accepting a transfer of Wilde's favor. And while there was a keen, predatory edge to its emotions, it didn't have that cold, hungry clarity I'd come to associate with Winter either.
She considered it for a moment. "You're correct. It's a faerie. Strong but not in direct service to a monarch of either court."
"Wyldfae?"
"I believe so."
Wyldfae. Great, just great. Just what I needed, another faction butting into an already complex situation. Summer, Winter, the Fallen, my mob boss boyfriend, and an island ready to blow. Might as well throw the partridge and a pear tree into the mix as well.
The last time I'd encountered a Wyldfae, it had been possessing the body of a corrupt, middle-aged crime scene analyst turned serial killer. A wendigo had cleaved to the soul of Wayne Huber after he'd murdered and cannibalized his friend to survive a freak snowstorm in the Huron Mountains. Only hellfire had allowed me to make a clean getaway when he'd tried to add me to an ever-growing list of victims. He'd been exorcized a few years afterward and was rotting in solitary confinement in Stateville Correctional facility for his crimes. Officially, I was considered the sixth victim of the Chicago Butcher, one of Illinois' lesser-known serial killers, overshadowed by the likes of H.H. Holmes or John Wayne Gacy. It went without saying that the incident had soured my impression of the faction of faeries as a whole.
"Most Wyldfae keep to themselves and do their work," Pax said. "Only the drawing of the Wyldfae in preparation to war forces them to pick a side. Perhaps it's just curious."
Ah, Pax, the eternal optimist. One of us had to keep team morale up. At the moment though, I could safely cross off curious observer from the list. Whatever was out there was after me, and gaining, despite my efforts to be discreet. If I could make it to the Water Beetle and get out over the water, things might change. No magic held up well in water, even the inhuman kind. It was like trying to hold liquid in a sieve, your reserves trickling away almost as soon as you'd begun to draw on them.
I was feet away from the dock where the Water Beetle was tied when it materialized. Twelve feet tall, with pointed ears that stuck out noticeably from either side of its head. Its russet skin stretched tight over corded muscle. It was wearing leather armor over its bugling biceps and torso, and a loincloth that draped down to its knees, slit up the sides to allow for free movement, which sort of ruined its usefulness if you asked me. One wrong move and you were flashing the goods to the enemy. Maybe it was hoping to shock and awe me into surrender.
Its features were flat and bestial, more gorilla than humanoid. It bared long, jagged teeth at me in a smile and hefted a club up to shoulder height, advancing on me when it was confident that no one was observing us from the decks of the surrounding ship.
"That is an ogre," Fortnea said in a very small voice. "And it looks angry with you. I suggest we run."