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Author's note
Part Nine concludes the portion of the series set in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Parts Seven and Eight. Part Ten will take us to Winter, and pull all the previous threads together.
This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.
All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.
As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. I'll try to respond promptly.
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The streets of Savannah were empty. Not metaphorically, not compared to their usual bustle, but completely and utterly abandoned. Free of cars, carriages, and pedestrians. Free of will o' the wisps, unicorns, and even cats. Cats! The feline population always came out in force when the mortals were abed. Seeing them walk into this shadow and out of that one was as reliable a fixture of the nightly patrols as Cahill could name.
When one finally appeared, then, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Until he noticed how large the black molly was. And saw the characteristic white spot on her chest. By the time her eyes changed from yellow to green, then green to purple, he knew he was looking at Cat Sith, one of Titania's darker incarnations. Or one of her familiars? As ever, the old tales offered no consensus. Either way, the cat's arrival was most unwelcome.
"You are surprised to see me," the queen said. Her voice didn't come from the cat, but everywhere at once. Cahill had no doubt that Titania's ability to speak to him was tied to the fey feline, but at present, its tongue was busy licking the back of an oversized paw. "That's cute. You think the Hippo's glamour bars my entry to your dreams. You know nothing of what I can and can't do, child. Nothing." The way she said that last part, it almost sounded like she'd broken it up into two words. Noth. Ing.
Cahill shuddered in spite of himself.
"I go where I please," Titania continued. "When I please. You might as well tell your children which molecules of air to breathe as attempt to deny me access to your dreams."
He didn't doubt it. And suddenly felt childish for ever having believed otherwise.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"For you and Oberon to join the Hunt." The cat put its paw down and its orange eyes regarded him intently. "We discussed this," the queen's voice said from all around him.
"And we agreed to do so."
"It's time to make good on that agreement."
Right. Of course it was. He'd had nearly two full days with his family, free from her influence. Relatively speaking, anyway. Time to mourn his sister and the child she'd have born him. Meanwhile, the Dreaming would have steadily marched towards dusk. Towards a time of betweenness. A time ripe for fey shenanigans.
And, supposing he survived it, the Queen of Faerie would call on him again in two weeks. As the Dreaming approached dawn, the other time of betweenness.
On and on, it would continue, til he went mad. Or Titania lost interest in the diversion.
"Come, child," the Lady of Shadows said. "I'll not ask again."
So Cahill followed Cat Sith down an alleyway, and out of Savannah. Out of his dreams and into the Dreaming. In a parking garage, of all places.
None of Titania's champions were dressed as knights now. They fey could move about as silently and stealthily in full armor as they could without it, but the symbolism wouldn't be right. So they'd each taken on some new, dark visage. Yet they largely favored the same colors and weapons as when he'd last seen them.
Duncan the dark elf wore purple and black. He melded with the shadows around them as naturally as Titania herself did. Twin kukris were strapped to his back.
His father was in satyr form, but was looking a lot more demonic than he usually did. His horns, ordinarily so modest as to almost be cute, were long, sharp, and wicked. His fur was black rather than its usual brown. Where small, unassuming hooves should have been, there were thick, sharp, menacing knives. A long and serpentine tail lashed behind him. His body had grown leaner, more wiry, his muscles smaller yet more pronounced. His hands had been replaced with long, black claws that gleamed in the fading sunlight. His short chin beard had grown long enough to reach his waist. His bushy eyebrows swept back from his forehead, reaching fine points. His ears did the same. The eyes lurking beneath his fearsome brow changed colors the same way his mother's always did.
Reilly was wreathed in ethereal green flames. But beneath the familiar fairy fire lurked a caricature of his former self. Where blue eyes should have been, there were two particularly bright tongues of green fire. His skin, always pale, looked absolutely ghostly. His tattoos were gone, his muscles were bigger, and his face was contorted into a frozen howl of rage. Jaw elongated, the tip of his chin nearly reached his abdomen. In his oversized fists, he carried the axe with which he'd beheaded Gallech.
Typically, Kearney's fey form bore considerable resemblance to that of Sneezy. But the dwarf Cahill saw before him now was not the least bit adorable. He had skin like onyx, a bald head, and a long braided white beard. The look on his face was as cruel and frightening as Cahill had ever seen. He wore a hooded black cloak over equally dark clothes and wielded twin axes that looked as sharp as razors. His shoulders were as broad as he was tall, and he'd acquired an additional couple hundred pounds' worth of muscle.
Standing a ways back from the others, almost lost in the dark, was a creature the likes of which he'd never seen. It stood a good six feet tall and had a vaguely humanoid torso, but its legs, wings, and head were those of a long-eared owl with black plumage. Its huge eyes blazed orange. Its talons looked like butcher's knives. Cahill was suddenly reminded that while most Western cultures associated owls with wisdom, in Native American, African, and Arab myths, owls were often seen as harbingers of death.
Not a moment after he arrived, Oberon did as well. And the former prince followed the others' lead, assuming a more horrific version of his fey form. That of a ghost. He'd turned pale and immaterial, his hair and limbs trailing off into mist. The sword he wielded looked solid enough, but nothing else about him did.
Briefly, Cahill considered rebeling. But he apparently lacked the guts, because almost without thinking about it, he turned himself into a more menacing version of the horned god. One with clawed fingers, excessive muscle, and pitch black circles covering his eyes, most of his cheeks, and part of his forehead. The lower half of his face belonged more to a goat than a man. He carried with him the spear with which he'd recently run Reilly through.
"Thank you once again, my children, for joining the Hunt," Titania said from all over. Cahill even thought he heard her voice echoing up from the level below them. "We have a few newcomers with us, so please bear with me while I explain the rules again."
Cahill wasn't sure whether he was more uncomfortable with what was about to happen and the visages they'd all adopted to prepare for it or the fact that he was hearing Titania speak so politely. The Queen of Faerie always spoke with a honeyed tongue in old fairy tales, the better to lure young men into following her. Or old, for that matter. Thus, it should not have surprised him in the least to be reminded that she was eminently capable of pleasantries. But the ball of hate dwelling inside him only saw the other side of her. The one that had earned a woman who strove to display every hue of every color known to man the moniker Lady of Shadows. The one that bent men to her will without bothering to deceive or seduce them. The one that gave many commands but made few requests.
"Take careful note of the big yellow numeral by the elevator nearest you," she continued. "That tells you which tier of the Hunt you'll be participating in. I ask that you kindly not pursue targets from tiers above or below yours."
All the times Cahill had imagined this moment since agreeing to take part in the Wild Hunt, not once had he envisioned anything like this. He could almost believe that it wasn't being organized by Titania Dreamsmyth, first among the fey, but some corporation with an army of lawyers and nearly as many human resource specialists.
The black cat nudged a cardboard box towards them using its forehead.
Cahill took a step forward and peered in. Dividers separated the interior four ways. The far left corner contained a pile of pink hemp bracelets. To right of that lay a bunch of deep blue ones. Nearer him, there were piles of black bracelets and multicolored ones.
