Page 7 of Royal Ransom (Princess Procedural #4)

Taliyah

I was on my feet and running before I could think, vaulting over the tail end of the cruiser.

The air around me crackled with power. That was familiar, too. I remembered the spiteful flavor of Wren’s magic when I’d touched the bone knife she’d fashioned from my mother’s skull. And now she’d come back to my town, touched one of my people. She was going to pay for that.

I felt winter rise in me, stronger and more violent than ever before as I approached, steam pouring forward, obscuring the road as my power mingled with the balmy air. I knew the street by heart. Wren and her cronies wouldn’t. Let them try to take me out on my home turf. I would dropkick her elfin ass all the way to a prison cell.

I gripped my service pistol, drawing it slightly from the holster as I approached the shadowy back end of Darla’s car. The trunk appeared open, and I could see a pale leg draped against the darkness of the bumper. My stomach clenched tight in sudden, rational fear.

Was Darla dead? Had they killed her and stuffed her into the trunk of her own car? It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone I cared about lifeless on the ground, but by God, it was going to be the last. If Wren had killed Darla, I’d wring her scrawny neck with my bare hands.

She might not be dead. Don’t jump to conclusions.

Right. I needed to get closer and check her pulse.

Which was the point of the trap. I couldn’t rush in half-cocked and take their bait. There was something nasty waiting between me and the ex-ghost turned medium. If I ran into its path, I was going to be hurt. Badly. I couldn’t even call for backup without alerting them to the fact I’d caught onto the plan. They knew I was somewhere nearby, but the winter in the air was too thick for even Janara’s best to see me clearly. Rime, Janara’s pet prophet, was probably the one to worry about. He could sense things beyond normal faerie perception.

Think, Tally, I thought to myself, tightening my grip on my gun. There were many things proof against bullets in the supernatural world. I’d learned that the hard way when I started policing them. But faeries, especially those as humanoid as the Sidhe, were susceptible to iron. Even if it didn’t kill them, it would hurt like a son of a bitch. After everything they’d done, that thought didn’t bother me much. They deserved a little pain.

So, think! Of what? I thought back at myself snarkily. To my shock, something else answered.

Solutions.

Her voice sounded a lot like mine but held a chill I usually lacked. She radiated cool elegance and cruelty. Every queen of winter was at least a little wicked, though none so much as Janara. Winter was cruel and unforgiving. I was meant to be ice. This wasn’t Janara.

Olwen.

Somehow, she’d found a way to express herself. She didn’t feel like a fully formed person. It felt like an add-on, for lack of a better word. I was the base personality. Maverick’s magic had ensured that. But he couldn’t completely erase the person I was supposed to be. That part of me existed, just as she always had. It was where my magic came from, where the intense, often frightening bouts of emotion originated from. Olwen wasn’t me, she wasn’t Taliyah, but she was still within me and together, we made me who I now was.

Get thee to a therapist later, Tally, I chided myself. If my life was going to devolve into insanity, I might as well embrace it. What do you mean—solutions?

Olwen didn’t often speak in words. She was my predatory winter id, communicating through pictures and impulse. Olwen showed me what she wanted to do. I didn’t argue with her. Allowing the magic to flow to my hand, I manifested a fistful of powdery snow. I lifted it to my lips and blew gently. It wafted out into the murk, shining white like tiny stars against the fog. I got a brief outline of three shapes around the open trunk as the snow struck home. One was small, with almost childlike proportions. Wren. The next was tall, with delicate butterfly wings. I knew they’d be blue. We’d met once before.

The last shape was the most troubling: a large, ape-like figure. A yeti, if my luck continued its steady downward course. I had a split second to choose a target. I could theoretically one-shot a sasquatch if I had the right weapon and the element of surprise. Unfortunately, the 9mm handgun wasn’t the right tool for the job. I’d need a .45 to do even minimal damage, which left Wren and Rime as my targets.

I let out a shaky exhale and aimed for Rime. The shot rang out, echoing down the street like a firecracker. There was a sharp gasp of pain, followed by a muffled thump. It sounded too loud in the silence after the shot.

And then all hell broke loose.

I dove to the side just in time to avoid the scything jaws of something huge and hairy. I could smell the musty scent of its fur on the chilled breeze as it passed, overshooting me by about a foot. Positioning myself as best I could, I targeted the only exploitable anatomical weakness I saw.

The howl from the beast was a wavering falsetto as my shot found its groin. It was a cheap shot, sure. Did I give a damn? Not on your life. I didn’t care how big and bad a monster was. If you shot it between the legs, it usually left you alone. He certainly wouldn’t be up to attacking me while the family jewels bled out on the asphalt.

The part of me that was Olwen surged to the fore, sensing the gathering power of Wren’s spell just seconds before she unleashed it. I rolled just in time for a trough of ice around a foot deep to materialize where my head had been. If the icy hammer had actually struck, my brains would have looked like a smashed raspberry pie. I had a moment of pure, unthinking terror before I forced myself to my feet again. I stayed low, anticipating she’d aim higher. I was taller than she was, and I remembered Poppy saying Wren liked to clout people with her stick. The spell she’d cast had been taxing. If I could get close enough to tackle her, I’d have at least one hostage to use against Janara. It would be a prisoner exchange, which I preferred over ransom.

Wren’s voice spoke through the mist, source-less, despite knowing she was close by. I scooted closer, careful not to disturb the loose rocks under my shoes. It would be embarrassing to be done in by gravel, of all things.

“She’s still alive,” Wren said in a mocking sing-song. It took me a second to work out that she was talking about Darla. “For now,” Wren continued. “But that could change. What are you willing to give me to preserve her misbegotten life?”

The thought of Wren casually snuffing out Darla’s short second life made my stomach churn. I hadn’t realized I’d begun to think of her as a close friend until I saw her slumped in the trunk. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and every sense was on high alert, trying to sense her in the fog.

“You’re more skilled than we realized,” Wren continued. “I wasn’t expecting your little trick. Well done. Perhaps you won’t be such a pitiful challenge after all.”

Pitiful. She wanted to call us pitiful? Janara was the one who had to resort to kidnapping, blackmail, and murder to get her way. If you had to enforce your rule through fear, was it worth anything at all?

I didn’t say anything aloud, though. I kept creeping closer, trying to pinpoint her voice. It oozed from the mist like an overbearing perfume. I fought not to gag. I had to bite my tongue to contain a frightened yip when I made contact with warm flesh. I fought the instinct to rear back. It would only knock me off balance. I jammed the business end of the 9mm against what I thought was a torso.

No response. With a thrill of dawning horror, I realized I’d stumbled on a body. Rime’s body. I’d managed to take him out with just a shot. Or at least, I’d done the next best thing, rendering him so injured he had to hibernate to recover. Either way, I’d dealt him a mortal wound. It felt... wrong, somehow, to crouch over his body like a vulture even as Wren continued to speak.

I had to imagine that Wren didn’t realize Rime was dead or close to it. Otherwise, I didn’t imagine she’d sound so—unconcerned. Hmm, better she didn’t find out anytime soon.

“Did you like our gift, Olwen? I wanted to use your warlock as the stationery for our invite, but we had to make do with Reynard. He screamed when I took the finger, you know.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, worrying it raw. I wanted to scream. Deep down, I knew she wasn’t lying about what she’d done. She’d hurt him not just to harm him, but to torment me as well.

I must have made a sound because the air condensed a few feet away. I managed to get off another shot before the winter gale knocked me off my feet, throwing me into the neighbor’s yard. It set their St. Bernard barking, and lights turned on inside. I caught a brief glimpse of Wren’s bloodied face. The spatter covered most of the right side, streaming from the tattered remnants of her ear. She looked stunned for a moment, her eyes widening as she realized I had her in my sights.

Then she vanished in an instant, leaving only a puff of powdery winter snow behind her. I sagged onto the pavement for a few seconds before I had the presence of mind to check on Darla. There was a pulse, faint but there. Thank God.

Then the dim wail of a siren started up. Someone had heard gunshots and called the cops. I had a body and an injured yeti on my front lawn, and a friend stuffed into the trunk of her own car.

The report on this one was going to be fun.