I lift my head from his chest, but barely. For a moment, all I can do is stare down. The floor is pale pink. He has dragged me all the way back to one of the dawn-themed wings. I fumble for my spear. It is gone again.

Awareness returns in slow degrees.

I shove him away.

“I warned you,” he says coolly, offended by my anger.

Well, bully for him; I’m offended by him, too. “You didn’t tell me enough, just to stay away! You should have told me more!”

“I do not explain Fae matters to humans. But since you clearly will not obey otherwise—black floors are his wings. Never enter them. You are not strong enough to survive there. The residue of all that once transpired there still walks those wings. It can trap you. You forced me to come in after you, putting us both at risk!”

We glare at each other, breathing hard. Although he is pumped on Unseelie flesh and far stronger because of it than I am, I gave him a hell of a fight. It hadn’t been easy getting me out of there.

“What were you doing, MacKayla?” he says finally, softly.

“How did you find me there?” I counter.

“My brand. You were in extreme distress.” The tiny gold flecks in his eyes glitter. “You were also extremely aroused.”

“You can sense my feelings from your brand?” I am incensed. He subjects me to violation after violation.

“Only intense ones. The princes pinpointed your precise location. Be glad they did. I found you just in time. You were rushing for the black half of the boudoir.”

“So?”

“The line that divides the two halves of that chamber is no line. It is a Silver. The largest ever made by the king. It is also the first and most ancient of them, unlike any of the others. When needed, it was used for punishment, to execute. You were running for the Silver that leads straight into the Unseelie King’s bedchamber, in the fortress of black ice, deep in the Unseelie prison. In a few more of your human seconds, you would have been dead.”

“Dead?” I choke out. “Why?”

“Only two in all existence could ever travel through that Silver: the Unseelie King and his concubine. Any other that touches it is instantly killed. Even Fae.”

6

The Dani Daily—102 Days AWC …

I glare down at the sheet of paper, but ’cept for the title of my rag and the date, nothing’s coming. Nothing’s been coming for a feckin’ hour.

Here I sit in the abbey’s dining hall, in the middle of this brainless feckin’ herd of sidhe-sheep that are so easily led they should wear feckin’ halters and waggle fluffy sheep asses, and the words just ain’t coming. And they got to. I gotta take up the slack ’til Mac gets back. Stupid sheep are back to obeying Ro and she’s yanked ’em back in line again, got ’em all busy trying to clear the feckin’ Shades from the abbey.

News flash dudes, I keep telling you,they’re reproducing. They eat, they grow, they split. Like feckin’ amoebas. I been tracking ’em. I been watching ’em so hard I can tell ’em apart now. ’Times I play with ’em, mess with the lights, see how close they can really get to me. That’s how I know so much about ’em, but nobody listens to me. Only time I’m heard is when they read my paper. They don’t talk ’bout it, but everybody’s using the Shade-Busters now. Anybody say thanks?

Nope. Not a single “good job, Mega,” not even the teeniest little acknowledgment that I invented ’em.

I need Mac. Been nearly a month and I’m starting to worry that she’s … Nah, ain’t going there.

But where the feck is she? Ain’t seen her since we broke into the Forbidden Libraries together. She in Faery again? She don’t know it, but I read her journal when she was locked up in that cell, Pri-ya, and nobody was paying attention to her stuff ’cept Ro. She read it, too. But I took it back. Had to know what Ro knew. It’s one of my hang-ups: I gotta know everything Ro knows and figure out where she’s going ’fore she goes there. If I can do that, dude, I can run this place!

I know time spent in Faery don’t move the same way as time in the real world, so I ain’t as worried about Mac as I might be. See, V’lane’s gone, too, so I figure she’s with him.

Weird thing is, I keep stopping by BB&B and it looks like Barrons is gone, too!

Tried to get in to Chester’s last night to ask about him, but the stupid feckin’ feckers bounced me at the door.

Me. The Mega!

I grin and swagger a little in my seat.

It took six of ’em! Six of Barrons’ freaky fecks had to work their arses off to keep me out, and we went at it for over an hour.

I wouldn’ta given up at all but that kinda freeze-framing starves me, and I didn’t have enough candy bars crammed in my pockets. Got hungry. Had to eat. Said screw it and left. One of ’em followed me to Dublin’s edge, like he thought he was throwing me outta the city—as if! I’ll try again soon.

Still, I’m getting a little worried.…

Where the feck did everybody go? Why ain’t nobody talking about the LM anymore? Where’s the Sinsar Dubh?

’S been quiet, way too quiet, and that creeps the feck outta me. Only other time things got this quiet … yeah, well—dude—the past ain’t me.

What’s already happened is for has-beens.

I’m all about the future. Tomorrow’s my day.

Today sure as feck ain’t. I ain’t never had it before, but s’pect I got writer’s block. S’pect it’s ’cause I been sitting here watching a couple hundred sidhe-sheep do the equivalent of knit. Got an assembly line set up in the dining hall, making iron bullets. But get this—not for us!