Page 78 of Hidden

Good evening, gentlecreatures of the night. This is Errata Jones, and I’m recording this podcast live on scene as forces gather at the roadside just outside the border of the valley where a fae way station hides behind a spell of invisibility. The object of this mission is to free prisoners held by the fae and to capture the criminal known as the Magician and any associates we can find. An eyewitness account detailed in episode seven of this podcast series confirms the danger posed by the fae residents within the compound, including violent assault, confinement, and torture. What we have on our side is a significant force of vampires and wolf shifters who are highly motivated to see tonight’s action through. What we don’t have is enough hours until daylight because carpooling two rival species and their weaponry took longer than loading incontinent toddlers onto a bus for their first day at playschool.

Izetta ducked under a low-hanging tree limb. It was past midnight and the moon had faded, but she could see plenty from her position halfway between the road and the way station. The Undead had volunteered for scout duty since they were able to cross the perimeter spell without harm. Izetta was perched on a rise that offered a clear view of the house.

The place stirred up a mix of dread and rage that left her hollow and hungry. She’d come too close to her final end on these grounds, and she’d be just as happy never to set foot here again. But Rafe was inside, and she wasn’t leaving without the wolf. She’d given her word.

There had been just enough time for her supplier to courier fresh ointment so that every member of the strike team could see past the glamour concealing the way station. Unfortunately, what it revealed was far more than anyone anticipated. It looked as if the enemy was throwing a party, and a few hundred of their besties had shown up. An entire field was parked up with an eclectic mix of vehicles, from e-bikes to horses to an old Volkswagen bus. It was a far cry from Malatest’s matchy-matchy fleet of shiny black SUVs, and yet somehow more disturbing. For all their elegance, the fae had a chaotic streak that magnified their danger.

As she watched, several sets of doors opened and the partygoers spilled outside, wine goblets in hand. The smell of spices floated out, hinting at a meal inside. It seemed like a typical celebration, with laughter, music, and plenty of drink. A few lit up the long, skinny clay pipes the fae seemed to prefer. All of them were dressed in rich, brilliant colors glittering with jewels.

But why were they there? Up to this point, the activities at the way station had been secretive. What in the name of the Old Gods was going on? And where would she find Rafe?

Errata joined her, her approach as silent as any of the Undead. The only difference in her perfect stillness was the aura of heat that marked her as a living creature. She wore the magic-busting amulet in plain view, as if she wanted to make certain it worked.

“Who are all those people?” Errata asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Someone with a title has come to visit,” Izetta replied, fingering the set of iron handcuffs tucked into her belt. “Look, you can see there are servants in livery.”

“I don’t see any patrols.”

“That’s because they think they’re invisible.”

Errata sniffed. “Arrogant.”

“Yup.”

The werecougar’s attention shifted suddenly to the left. Izetta heard the rustling noise, too. Anywhere else, she would have assumed it was an animal. Here, though, a wild beast didn’t fit. It was coming from too close to the building, and no creature—present company excepted—approached a gathering of fae uninvited. Not even a raccoon.

The wild card creeping away from the way station had to be investigated. They both rose, moving from a crouch to a silent drift toward the noise. It sounded like—she couldn’t exactly say, but it started and stopped at random intervals. And it wasn’t traveling in a straight line, although the general direction was taking them toward the road.

“I’m going for a better look,” Izetta murmured, and launched herself toward the treetops.

Vampire flight was excellent for floating from one rooftop to the next, cloak a-flutter. It had limited use in a crowded forest, where branches snagged hair and clothes. Even so, Izetta threaded her way through the hazards until she came to rest in an oak just ahead of the wild card’s path.

She had both feet on a gnarled limb and one hand on the trunk, ready to leap when the bush below swayed. Izetta tensed, then watched with amazement as a tall fae staggered out of the undergrowth, wearing nothing but loose-fitting pants and a baggy shirt. If the figure had been human, she’d say he was seriously drunk, but it took dedicated drinking for a fae to get so much as tipsy. Bacchante? She didn’t think so—it had given poor old Chuck a rush of wild energy, and this dude looked anything but energetic as he tripped and fell to his knees in the mud.

Errata was ghosting through the brush below, barely disturbing a leaf as she passed. Izetta signaled, indicating their quarry was found and that the werecougar should cut off his retreat. Not that he was going anywhere quickly. Izetta watched as he struggled to his feet and slapped at the bits of bark and dirt clinging to his pant legs. Then he cast a nervous glance over his shoulder and doggedly lurched forward again.

Izetta stepped off the branch, landing lightly in his path. He fell back, arms wide to keep his balance. From this angle, she could see he was athletic, more heavily muscled than most fae, but badly disheveled. His hair was pulling out of its ponytail, leaving limp strands to fall in his face.

“Get out of my way,” he snarled. His speech was slurred, as if his tongue was as uncoordinated as the rest of him.

“No,” Izetta replied. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“None of your concern.” Eyes blazing, he pushed the straggles of blond hair out of his face. There were marks on his wrists as if he’d been bound. An escaped prisoner, then?

“I don’t blame you for leaving,” Izetta said. “The room service here sucks.”

He gave a muffled snort of laughter. “Stand aside.”

Errata emerged behind him, eyes glowing yellow in the fugitive light. When she cleared her throat, the fae spun and fumbled for a sword hilt that wasn’t there. He caught his balance and dropped into a fighting stance. The cat danced out of reach as he lunged to grab her but caught the amulet instead. Errata lashed out with claws.

Izetta pounced, using the fae’s forward motion to knock him facedown. She was a foot shorter and much lighter, but leverage was everything. Errata held him in place while they bound his hands with iron cuffs and hauled him to his feet.

“You’re coming with us,” Errata said, shoving him forward.

The fae stumbled, nearly taking the werecougar with him. “Stop. I’ve been asleep. They put me to sleep. When I woke up, nothing worked right.”

“A spell hangover?” Izetta asked.

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