A Dangerous Season: Bend-Bite-Shift, #9

Chapter 1

Belle

THE HANK OF BROWN HAIR bobbing above the surface of the water might have been anyone’s. In the faery realm, brown wasn’t by any means the most common hair color, but it certainly fit a good many. Still, something in Belle knew what she was going to find when Rooney turned the body over. The tension in his muscles sang out to her in a steady hum. Her Siren’s powers were getting stronger the longer she lived in the faery world; either that or she was getting better at understanding them.

She inhaled, closed her eyes a moment, then nodded at him when he gave her a questioning raise of his brows.

Damn... he muttered, dropping one knee into the mud beside the Cailean Lake.

Belle’s hand clasped his shoulder as they both stared down at Fómhar, the Autumn Woman. Her green eyes were open wide, frozen in a lifeless gaze. Her skin was grey, her bluish lips parted as if she’d died with some unspoken word on her tongue.

This must have been what the breech was about, Belle said, gritting her teeth to keep the tears at bay. Even while she was holding her emotions so tight, Roon must have been able to read her pain because he reached his hand to cup hers, still gripping his shoulder.

Yeah, it must have been. I should’ve thought more of it, but I figured it was just a scouting party.

The seasonal districts all had their own magical guards protecting their perimeters now. In the Autumn, around nightfall, there had been an alert on their northeast boundary. When Rooney got the message from one of the sentries, he sent a small group of pixies to inspect things. He insisted to Belle that it was nothing to be alarmed about. Regret rose sour and hot in the back of his throat, and his muscles tensed in response.

Don’t do that, Belle told him, her voice sharp with authority. All of this is foreign territory. If Fómhar had followed our advice and moved closer to us, this might not have happened. She chose to remain on the fringe and insisted on being alone. We can’t afford self-blame right now. All of us are disoriented by the goings-on here.

Rooney’s head bobbed up and down, but he didn’t move otherwise for a few moments. She knew he must feel just as she did—that if they just stared at the Woman long enough, Fómhar would blink her eyes and sit up from her watery grave.

Come, Belle said, shaking him gently to get his attention. Let’s get someone to help us. We need to do something with her before anyone else finds her.

He agreed, but first he grabbed the dead Woman’s stiff body under the arms and dragged her fully onto the shore. With a final long look and another nod of his head, he turned his gaze up.

Okay, princess. You’re the boss.

Belle wasn’t keen on the way he’d said that. It wasn’t the first time he’d called her the boss or the leader or sometimes her highness. Internally, her feathers had ruffled each time. Things were so tense around the realm and especially in their inner circle of friends that she refrained from making any comment, but her ire was mounting.

The faery realm was a divided world since the start of the revolt some five weeks ago. Báisteach and Geimhreadh were allied, exercising domain over the Island Anethemusa and the Winter district. The Summer and the Autumn were likewise joined, though each district maintained autonomous control of their season. Spring was the odd man out, Earrach declaring that her season was neutral and off-limits except by invitation to fae from other districts.

Aimilíona is expected here this afternoon, hopefully with a response from the Spring. We should give her a full report so that she can warn Samhradh, Rooney noted, taking Belle’s hand as they walked in the direction of the camp near Rooney’s parents’ home.

There were no strict rules of real estate ownership here, but most of the people had spots of land they considered their own. Those were their safe places, their homes, and they liked staying there. But since the upheaval, many fae had begun camping near the cabin. Before long, there was a virtual refuge city, the fae believing the long-thought extinct Siren could provide some sort of safety. Belle didn’t like that idea at all, but she found that she couldn’t turn away from the people when they needed her.

A similar situation was occurring in the Summer, though if Belle was reticent to provide a safehaven, McKenna was downright opposed to it. Of course, these days, she was opposed to most anything. But that was another story.

How did they do it? Belle asked, squeezing Roon’s hand to be sure he was listening to her. I saw no markings. No blood.

He shook his red head with a frown. I don’t know. But I really didn’t look that closely.

A beautiful young faery with wings rushed towards them when they got close to their house. Aimilíona had long, white-blonde hair that gave her an ethereal look. For all her innocence of face, the sword strapped to her waist issued a deadly warning of her fierce nature.

I’m glad you’re back, she told them with a shaky smile, leaning in to place a kiss to Belle’s cheek.

Yeah, the natives are getting restless. Everyone turned to face Jill as she stepped into the sunlight, ever ready with a bright smile.

Hey, sexy. What are you doing here? Rooney asked then winked down at Belle when she huffed at him over the flirtatious endearment he still used from time to time with his vampire friend.

Hasn’t marriage taught you anything? Doc said, not surprisingly making his appearance as well.

Rooney snorted, and Belle laughed. Ain’t no ball and chains on these ankles. He raised a foot as if to provide proof of that.

Not for lack of trying. Wasn’t it just this morning that you asked...again?

He smacked her backside then reached that same hand out to shake Doc’s. I have a feeling this isn’t a social call.

The apologetic frown on Doc’s face said clearly enough that it wasn’t. All five of them closed ranks to form a circle. Devan hasn’t been able to reach Daeglan since yesterday. She can’t ‘feel’ where he is to focus on him. She opened a door into his cottage, but no one was there. She wants to go search for him, but Kent’s against it. He wants to go instead.

Damn, Belle hissed, her black eyebrows tightening into a severe scowl.

Devan’s father was a Winter fae, and although that district was technically in a sort of cold war with the Summer and Autumn districts and the rebels, he insisted on staying close to his people there. Some of the Winter fae had been a part of the planning for the rebellion and keeping their identities and their lives safe was of paramount concern these days.

Belle eyed Aimilíona. Any word from Earrach’s people?

The faery handed Belle a slip of paper. She opened it and saw that it was blank, just as it had been each time. The Summer and Autumn fae had been sending regular entreaties to the Spring, urging Earrach to band with them. Báisteach was the fae of water, and she was withholding it from the Summer and Autumn districts, but everyone believed that, if Earrach could be won, she could help mediate a final resolution. Although the Spring hadn’t actually sided with her sister, Báisteach continued to provide for Earrach’s district.

Roon looked over Belle’s shoulder and exhaled long and hard. The messages were magical, and a blank slip of paper was Earrach’s way of ignoring their pleas.

"Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ Aimilíona asked, piercing Belle with a questioning stare.

Fómhar’s been killed. Her body was in the Cailean Lake.

Oh my God. You mean... Aimilíona swallowed then touched her fingers to her mouth. You mean assassinated?

What else could it be? Roon reflected. It doesn’t seem likely she’d die of natural causes.

The group took a moment to let things sink in. Then Doc inhaled and raised his chin. Shall I help you with her body? What do your people do with your dead?

Rooney nodded, relief etching into his features. Yeah, I’d appreciate that. He slapped Doc on the shoulder.

Should we do that? Belle spoke just as the men were walking away. All eyes focused on her, concern marring all of their expressions.

What’re you saying, princess?

Perhaps we should just dispose of the body. Is it necessary to make an affair of it?

Fómhar isn’t Báisteach, Belle. She tried to help us. She continued to try to help us after the hill was destroyed. I think she deserves a burial.

Just let her speak, Rooney. Jill raised her hand in his direction. We all have a right to thoughts and opinions. She must have a reason for what she’s saying.

Swallowing, Belle rolled her shoulders back. We don’t know what happened here, and until we do, perhaps it’s wise to keep it under wraps. There are those amongst the Dissenters who believe the Women should be stripped of their power the same way they stripped the Islanders. Báisteach could want to do away with her sister. Anyone could have done this. Anyone, or no one.

They were all silent, absorbing her words. It wasn’t as if none of them had considered all or some of those possibilities. And Belle realized that she might have been overreacting as well. She just wasn’t sure they could afford to spread more upheaval amid the fae.

I can’t believe one of the people here in the Autumn would do this. Rooney shook his head, the anger in his eyes belying the softness of his words.

Belle glanced at the ground then nodded her head in acquiescence. You’re right. She deserves a proper burial.

She could feel Jill looking at her intently, but she locked her eyes with Roon. He studied her long and hard, and she could see the waver in his expression. The muscles moved in his jaw, indicating his inner distress.

Go. Belle motioned as she forced a smile. Take care of her.

Finally, he nodded. The two men walked back in the direction of the lake.

Chapter 2

Gerry

SHE DOESN’T LIKE IT.

Of course she does.

Bullshit. She damned well hates it.

Don’t use that language around my daughters.

She hates it more than the hat.

As if to prove her mother’s point about how much she despised the big, pink headband, Emmie turned beet red and howled her displeasure. She kicked and pumped her fists at Nicky in angry jerks, gasping for breath between frantic wails.

Gerry couldn’t contain her mirth, laughing out loud even as she switched Sophie from the crook of her arm to her shoulder.

Nicky slipped the band off the baby’s head then lifted her close to his chest. Aw, c’mon, Emmie-baby. Don’t cry. Daddy’s sorry.

Gerry snorted and reached a hand out to caress the fussing infant. You do realize crying is okay for her, right? Works her lungs and makes her strong. Don’t act like it’s the end of the world every time she screams. It isn’t necessary to make a spectacle of yourself over it.

Mommy’s mean, isn’t she? She’s the meanest mommy in the whole world. My poor Emmie-baby.

Gerry rolled her eyes and slipped Sophie into her crib, careful not to disturb her sound sleep. Stuffing her hand into the diaper bag, she found one of the pacifiers and stretched her arm over Nicky’s to pop it into the crying baby’s mouth. She jiggled it back and forth a moment until Emmie latched onto it and started sucking hard. Within seconds, her eyes were closed and her breathing was slowing.

There was a little tap on the door to the nursery, and Gerry wasn’t surprised to see Joya poking her head around the corner. The auburn-haired woman grinned sheepishly and tiptoed in, her hands tight against her stomach.

I heard the crying. I thought I would check.

Raising an eyebrow, Gerry cut her eyes in Nicky’s direction. Why am I not surprised? Everyone makes fools of themselves over these babies.

Nicky bounced Emmie a few more times before he handed her into Joya’s waiting arms with a half grin. How’s Viktor?

Oh. Joya’s loving smile wavered ever