Page 8 of The Falconer

Thesgian dubhwill only distract the revenant for seconds before its wound heals. Where in the blazes is that lightning pistol? My eyes dart around the room in search of it, ranging across carpet and furniture and—

There!I spot the steel glint of my pistol underneath the dresser.

Beside me, the faery rises and gropes for the knife thrust in its stomach. I dive for the pistol, grabbing it as I roll onto my back to take aim. The pistol’s generator hums as conductor spines rise along the top of the barrel. At the pistol’s mouth, bluntly pointed core rods open like flower petals.

The faery yanks the blade out of its flesh with a yelp. It drops thesgian dubhto the floor and pulls back its lips, baring sharp teeth. A low, reverberating snarl escapes its throat and it rushes me again.

I aim for its pectoral and pull the trigger.

The capsule ofseilgflùrin the pistol releases first, a split second before a strong bolt of electricity is pushed through the core rod. Both hit the creature square in its muscular, oozing chest.

The revenant claws at the wound. A fernlike Lichtenberg figure forms rapidly at the point of entry. I watch it bloom as theseilgflùris released into the creature’s body.

The massive faery crumples to the floor at my feet, gasping.

Breathing hard, I wait for the moment I treasure most. For the faery to take its last breath.

When it does, its power slides into me, smooth and hot and soft like silk across skin. I shiver as the ammonia and sulphur taste in my mouth ebbs, leaving the heat of power around me.

I feel. Ifeel. Strong and untouchable and capable. An exquisite glow of joy fills me up and extinguishes my anger. For this instant, I am whole again. I am not broken or empty. The shadow-self inside me that compels me to kill is silent. I am unburdened. I am complete.

All too soon the power fades and so does the relief. And as always, I’m left with the familiar ache of rage.

Chapter 4

‘Lord Hepburn?’ I pat his cheek once. ‘Wake up.’

His injuries are worrisome. A younger person might survive them, but Lord Hepburn is two and seventy. He could handle the small amount of energy he lost, but the cuts on his chest are so deep that he’s bleeding all over the place. I must attend to them quickly.

Lord Hepburn mumbles something. I take this as an encouraging sign.

‘My lord,’ I say deliberately, trying to keep my voice down. ‘Do you have a stitcher kit?’

He groans.

‘Confound it,’ I mutter. ‘Wake up!’

His eyes flutter open. ‘Miss Gordon?’ His eyes are glazed with pain as he squints at me.

Oh dear.Gordonis his wife’s maiden name. Some faeries have mental abilities that can make people see things, deceive them into believing whatever the faery wants. It wouldn’t surprise me if the revenant made Lord Hepburn think he was sometime years in the past, meeting his future wife here. ‘Aye,’ I say gently. ‘It’s Miss Gordon. And I would like to know if you have a stitcher kit.’

‘At my bedside.’ His voice is barely audible.

Thank heavens. Many wealthier families don’t bother to keep one – they call a doctor to bring it for them.

I rush to the table beside the bed. Next to the lamp is a small octagonal gold box. I kneel by Lord Hepburn again and place the box flat against his chest, just over his injuries.

He gropes for my wrist and winces. ‘I couldn’t see . . .’

‘Your attacker,’ I finish for him, softly. ‘I know. Now, this might hurt a bit.’ I twist the brass key at the base of the box and sit back.

Panels at the top of the box slide apart and stitchers deploy from the small opening. The wee mechanical spiders crawl atop his chest, spinning fine threads of human tendon through his injuries. I watch as his flesh is stitched back together again in perfectly straight sutures.

It’s not entirely painless. Lord Hepburn gasps and his thin body shudders, his hand clutching mine. ‘Almost done,’ I reassure him. I don’t know why I say it; it’s not as if he’ll recall me being here.

He smiles slightly. ‘Thank you.’ Moments later, he faints.

I think of how I enjoyed the sensation of the revenant’s death instead of immediately aiding Lord Hepburn. How I tracked it, more concerned with vengeance than anything else. Some hero I am. I don’t deserve his gratitude.

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