Dreamfever

Dani: 2:58 p.m., November 1

Hey, it's me--Dani. I'm gonna be taking over for a while. Fecking good thing, too, 'cause Mac's in serious trouble. We all are. Last night everything changed. End-of-the-world stuff. Uh-huh, that bad. Fae and human worlds collided with the biggest bang since creation, and everything is a mess.

Fecking Shades loose in the fecking abbey. Ro through the roof with it, screaming that Mac betrayed us. Ordered us to hunt her. Bring her in dead or alive. Shut her up or shut her down, she said. Keep her away from the enemy, because she's too powerful a weapon to be used against us. She's the only one who can track the Sinsar Dubh. No way we can let her fall into the wrong hands, and Ro says any hands but hers are the wrong ones.

I know stuff about Mac that she'd kill me for, if she knew I knew. Good thing she doesn't know. I never want to fight Mac.

But here I am, hunting her.

I don't believe she spiked the Orb with Shades. Pretty much everyone else does, though. They don't know Mac like I do. I know Mac like we're sisters. No way she betrayed us.

Seven hundred thirteen of us alive at the abbey at five o'clock last night. Five hundred twenty-two sidhe-seers left at last count. Taking Dublin back. Hunting Mac. Kicking every bit of Fae ass we see along the way.

No sign of her yet. But we're headed in the right direction. There's an epicenter of power in the city, reeking stinking nasty Fae as toxic as the fallout plume from a nuclear explosion. We all feel it. Taste it. Practically see the mushroom cloud hanging in the air. We don't even talk to one another. Don't need to. If Mac's still in Dublin, that's where she is, straight ahead. No way any sidhe-seer could turn away from this kinda pull. I hope she's nailing their butts with the spear. We'll fight back to back like we did a couple nights ago.

But I've got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. . . .

Bull-fecking-crikey! I don't feel sick. I never feel sick. Sick is for wusses and wannabes.

Mac can take care of herself. She's the strongest of us all.

"?'Cept me," I mutter, with a swagger and a grin.

"What?" Jo says behind me.

I don't bother answering. They already think I'm cocky enough. I have reasons to be cocky. Uh-huh, I'm that good.

Five hundred twenty-two of us closing in. We fight like banshees and can do some serious damage, but we've got only one weapon--the Sword of Light--that can kill a Fae.

"And it's mine." I grin again. I can't help it. Fecking A, it's the supercoolest gig in the world to be a superhero. Superfast, superstrong, with a few extra "supers" in me that Batman would trade all his toys for. What everybody else wishes they could do, I can. Behind me, Jo says "What?" again, but I'm not grinning anymore. I'm back to feeling prowly, pissed. Being fourteen--well, I almost am--blows. One minute I'm on top of the world, next I'm mad at everybody. Jo says I'm hormonal. She says it gets better. If better means I'm gonna turn into a grown-up, thanks but not. Gimme a blaze of glory any day. Who wants to get old and wrinkly?

If the Unseelie hadn't taken the power grids down last night, turning the whole city into a Dark Zone, I'd've come after Mac sooner, but Kat made us hide like cowards 'til dawn. Not enough flashlights, she said.

Duh, I'm superfast, I said.

Great, she said, so you'd have us watch you whiz superfast right through a Shade and...