Weald Fae 03 - The Aetherfae

  “Maggie, your barrier,” Freya barked.

  The trembling grew stronger until by my body shook violently. Whether fear and nerves causing the convulsions, or whether it was simply my body reacting to the cold temperature of the ground, I couldn’t stop shaking. The Rogues closed on us and some part of my mind responded. Through chattering teeth, I ignored everything except filling our burrow with energy.

  Dersha moved through the forest—coming closer, veering slightly—directly to us. Another Fae paralleled her a few hundred yards to the right, and veered to match Dersha’s turn. When she got within a few hundred yards, my skin crawled. Hidden by nothing more than a thin energy barrier, a surge of energy passed directly over us. She slowed. My heart skipped a beat. Is hiding underground a mistake? Down here, she can smash us with little effort.

  Dersha slowed and lingered over us for several minutes—the muscles in my chest contracted, squeezing my ribs, deflating my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Has she seen us? Oh god, she has. Finally, anger replaced my fear and I gained a measure of control.

  Dersha hadn’t stopped moving at all. In reality, she continued to glide past us at the same speed—I’d lost it for a split second and nearly freaked out. When Dersha passed a half-mile beyond us, I began to relax—the violent shaking subsided. When she passed beyond my senses, my breathing slowed. I changed the barrier to Clóca and generated a little heat around us.

  “It appears to have worked,” Freya said. “Most amazing. I have never seen Naeshura used in that way before. Your connection to the elements is astounding.”

  “Oh, my god, it worked?”

  Freya took Candace’s hand, compelling calm once again, and looked at me. “Your friend here is very clever—it was remarkable watching her mind work.”

  “Yeah, about that, I thought you were freaked out at first—I should have known better,” I said.

  In the dim light, the curve of Candace’s smile edged the sides of her face. “No, not freaked out—just working it out.”

  “Please…” Ronnie said, “You were hyperventilating in the meadow.”

  She chuckled. “Yes I was, and I’m not apologizing for it either—I’d never seen a werewolf before. That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Ronnie chuckled. “Uh, apparently you’ve forgotten Rhonda’s rhinoplasty—the week after—no makeup. I’ve never seen anything scarier.”

  Candace laughed despite trying not to.

  “Rhinoplasty? Who is Rhonda?” Freya asked.

  “The screeching succubus of Carroll County,” he said. “She stalks the hills of the Ozarks disguised as a human, sucking the life force out of everything.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  CUMBRE VIEJA

  If I took anything positive away from the events of the night, it was that Ozara seemed oblivious to my presence when I projected. Maybe, I told myself, only Mara could track me. My gut told me otherwise.

  It had been a couple hours since Dresha sent two Rogues searching to the south, and took the rest with her to the north. Ronnie said it was about five in the morning—we’d been hiding in the hole for hours. Freya wanted to leave before Dersha came back, but reluctantly agreed to let me project.

  A couple hundred miles to the north, Dersha and her clan were checking cars near the coast. Satisfied we had time to escape, I found Ozara next. She was a world away with Zarkus and the Alliance in their desert stronghold—she and Zarkus were telling them lies about how the Second destroyed the Kabouter.

  As soon as I could, I focused on my family. They were on the run somewhere in the flat-topped hills of the Ozarks—no town within miles. I didn’t recognize the place. The mountains were taller, and the terrain more rugged. I guessed they’d gone south into the Boston Mountains below Fayetteville. Billy, Faye, Danny, Drevek and Tadewi joined Gavin and Wakinyan, providing more protection for my family. Their presence made me feel better. I trusted each—I didn’t know who the mole was, but I had suspicions. Amadahy had never taken human form and she didn’t want the Ohanzee to help me. She became openly hostile each time her clan did anything on my behalf. She had to be the spy.

  It was early evening in Arkansas, and the forest was alive with noise under the late-summer moon. Gavin smiled broadly when I thanked him for getting my family out of harm’s way, even if it was only a temporary pardon.

  “I promise to return to you as soon as your family is safe,” Gavin said.

  Part of me wanted him to stay with Mom and Mitch—they needed protection. My gut and my heart wanted him with me as soon as possible. “We’ll be in Fontainebleau. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Reluctantly, I drifted back to Holland. The nighttime chorus of locusts and tree frogs in the Ozarks stood in stark contrast to the infrequent songs of birds punctuating the morning air of Veluwezoom when we emerged from hiding. Regardless of the natural soundtrack, at that moment everyone I cared about was running from Ozara’s minions in two forests half a world apart—that infuriated me. I had to find Bastien. He would help me learn Aether. While I didn’t know how, I would put a stop to Ozara’s world-wide reign of terror. That is another bit of good news, my inner voice reminded me. There is only one Aetherfae to destroy—my odds are improving. My intuition told me I was wrong about that—it told me there was another. Even as we walked through the morning air, I sensed we were being watched.

  Freya led us past the two lingering Rogues. They never sensed us as we walked several miles through the cover of forest. At a small road, she compelled a man with bushy gray hair in a small sedan to stop. He drove us a few miles to a hotel situated next to a train station without ever making eye contact—he wouldn’t remember a thing. In a thin, flowing white gown, Freya glided through the front doors of the five-story brick hotel and up to the front desk. Nobody noticed her. Without looking up, the blond man behind the counter handed Freya a key card.

  “Now that’s how you check into a hotel,” Ronnie mused.

  A minute later, Freya closed the door to the room behind us. I tossed my muddy backpack on the floor to avoid soiling the white sheets, and peeled my filthy clothes off. Wearing nothing but boxers, Ronnie disappeared into the bathroom. The water came on a few seconds later. Candace didn’t care about the sheets and collapsed on the bed, curling into a fetal position. Freya’s huge gray eyes followed every movement we made, though her heart-shaped face never altered. She seemed unusually stoic for someone whose clan had just been destroyed.

  “Why did you help me?” I asked. “You had to know what the Rogues would do.”

  Candace rolled over and stared at Freya with one eye.

  The immortal’s bow-shaped mouth twisted into a smile. “The truth? We were not going to help you. Dersha told us you were removed from the Weald because the Council did not believe you would become a Maebown. She told us you were impulsive, feeble-minded—dangerous. We intended to turn you over.”

  “What changed?”

  “Your control.”

  “Clóca? Quint?”

  “That was impressive, but no—your emotions. You remained calm—impossible to read. You did not fight, not even when I threatened to turn you over to Dersha. You are nothing like we were told.”

  “If I’d freaked out, I’d be dead now,” I said to myself.

  She blinked her eyes for the first time—slowly—fanning her long golden lashes. “Maybe not. You killed Mara, did you not?”

  I diverted my eyes, uncomfortable to admit Faecide to a Fae. “There was only one of her.”

  “She was one of the original ten, and to my knowledge, the first to die. Two thousand years ago, she destroyed several Seelie more powerful than any of us. Defeating her was no small feat.”

  “And a mortal crime among Fae, right?”

  “It is only a crime among Fae who valued Mara—I did not. Quite the opposite, actually—you have done my species a tremendous service.”

  Her words made me feel a lot more comfortable. “Are you coming with us?”
>
  Her focus dropped, and she stared beyond me like she was trying to catch a glimpse of the past. “No, you don’t need me.”

  “But I do need you,” I insisted.

  She smiled broadly. “You are concerned about me—that is kind. You want me to feel like I belong because I just lost my clan. That is hardly necessary.”

  I felt my face blush. She was right, of course. I felt a great deal of pity and responsibility.

  “I am going to look for survivors—we have a place…” Her focus drifted off again. “Besides, Maggie O’Shea, you know where to look for the one you seek.”

  My mouth went dry. She knew I was listening to their private conversations. “I…” was all I managed before she interrupted.

  “You are about to play naïve in an attempt to hide your secret. Do not bother. I think I will like you better if you avoid transparent attempts to deceive me.”

  My mouth dropped open before I could stop it. “How did you know?”

  “That you can hear our private conversations? We have been hiding together for eight hours and forty-seven minutes—you have not mentioned Bastien since the meadow. There can be only one reason for that.”

  Candace laughed.

  “What do you need before I leave?” she asked.

  “Advice on a route, identification, money…clean clothes.”

  Freya took a pad of paper from a small credenza and created passports and Euros—enough to retire on and more than we would ever need. With the brush of her hand, our ruined clothes looked new again. “The train station is a block away—head east to Amsterdam. Buy a car there and drive north around this place. By then, Dersha will have moved south to intercept you. Cross into Germany and drive east to Bremen, and then to Berlin before you drive south.”

  “Isn’t that pretty far out of the way?” Candace asked.

  “Humans are predictable—you tend to take the shortest path from one place to the next. Dersha will be trying to predict your next move.”

  Candace nodded.

  “Drive east to Berlin—that is Kobold territory. The Kobold are a large clan and they’ve closed their boarders to other Fae. You will be safer there than anywhere. From Berlin, make your way south to Nuremburg, west to Stuttgart, and cross back into France at Strasbourg.” She turned her icy gaze to me. “Do not draw attention.”

  “We won’t,” I said.

  Freya and I locked eyes. “I recommend you keep Ozara’s secret until you learn to create Aether.”

  “I don’t understand. Why shouldn’t we tell the clans?”

  “Who will believe you? The Ancient Ones? The Kobold, the Alfar, or the Jinn? How will you—the unstable child who has killed Fae—convince them?”

  Freya was right—nobody would believe me.

  “Whatever it is she is trying to accomplish, it apparently requires the clans to believe there is a powerful threat. Deception on this level is dangerous. Those who follow her only do so because they think she will protect them. If my kind learns the truth, she would be destroyed. She has gone to great lengths to hide her treachery. If you know her at all, you realize she will do whatever is necessary to protect herself.”

  Freya’s warning chilled me to the core: “Ozara will do anything.”

  “I still don’t understand why you and your clan risked so much to protect me. They died because of me.”

  Freya shook her head. “Death is the frequent toll of liberty. My clan understands that, and I suspect you do, too. Turning you over to Dersha would have spared lives only to condemn them to subservience—that is more evident than ever. Make no mistake, our enemy is not seeking allies.”

  “But you were prepared to join them, weren’t you?”

  “We were actively seeking other options. Had you been the erratic child Dersha described, we were prepared to use you to buy more time. As it turns out, you are our best option.”

  Best option? I felt smaller than ever. It was hard to believe that I played a role in possibly saving mankind—it was beyond my comprehension.

  “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

  “Perseverance, Maggie O’Shea. We will meet again—I’m certain of it.”

  With that, Freya shifted to Naeshura and disappeared in the west.

  * * *

  Turning on the television was a mistake. Scenes from across Arkansas, Missouri, and Tennessee left all three of us staring blankly into the screen—it was so bad it dominated the news around the world. When Gavin told me Memphis was gone, I assumed he meant badly damaged. It appeared from the footage that every building had collapsed or been swallowed. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around the idea that an entire city had disappeared last night. The bridges, over what had been the path of the Mississippi River, had become twisted debris and half buried in mud. The report was in French, so I didn’t understand what the anchor was saying, but the 9.6 pasted to the top of the screen said enough. I didn’t know a lot about earthquakes, but I knew that was extraordinary powerful.

  We boarded a train to Amsterdam without saying more than ten words to one another. Three hours later, we were driving northeast in the small, used diesel Mercedes sedan we’d purchased.

  “It’s pretty here—very green, cute houses,” Candace said, staring out the window.

  Never in the time since I’d met them had it been difficult to make conversation, but even now I didn’t know how to respond. Each potential reply seemed muddle-headed, so I said nothing.

  “This sucks,” Ronnie said, his eyes fixed on the narrow road disappearing under the gray hood of the car.

  “It sucks bad,” Candace agreed.

  “Did you know anyone in Memphis or St. Louis?” he asked.

  “No. You?” she countered.

  “Yeah, my aunt and uncle live in Germantown. Three cousins.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope they’re okay... are you close?” she asked.

  “No, not really. We see them once a year on Grandma’s birthday.”

  Silence.

  “What about you, Maggie.”

  “Distant relatives in Memphis—Dad’s second cousins—the last of the O’Shea line besides me and Mitch.”

  Candace turned and offered a sympathetic smile. I knew they were dead. If the quake hadn’t killed them, the Fae had. The second part of Ozara’s threat registered in my brain. Miami. I pulled my phone out and tried to remember any phone numbers. Grandpa Vic had only one sibling, my great-aunt Maria. She had two daughters, and each of them had four children who were about my age. I was close to only one—Estella. What is her number? Buried deep, it came to me finally. There was no answer. The call went to Estella’s voice mail. I begged her to call me back.

  “Who are you trying to call?” Candace asked.

  “Family. They’re going to hit Miami next—they’re going after my family. I’ve got to warn… oh my god, Lizbeth and Megan.”

  Candace started to ask another questions, but paused when I jabbed Lisbeth’s number.

  “Hello?” Her voice was high-pitched. She sounded agitated.

  “Lizbeth?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Maggie. Listen you’re in—“

  She screamed into my ear. “I don’t know who you are, but this sucks—she was my friend. To call me now, like I have time to deal with this…go to hell you sick piece of—” The connection cracked, then went silent.

  “Oh crap, she thinks I’m dead.”

  Candace nodded. “We all did.”

  I tried the number several times, but she didn’t pick up again. When it went to voice mail I pleaded with her to call me back. I dialed Megan’s number next. It went straight to voice mail. I left her the same message and begged her to call me. Why aren’t they answering the phone?

  “Miami?” Candace asked.

  “Yes. I heard Ozara say it, but it slipped my mind.”

  “Maggie, why are they going after your extended family?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re trying to force me out of hiding.” br />
  Candace turned back to stare out the front of the car and began talking to herself.

  * * *

  I tried to reach Estella, Megan, and Lizbeth for hours. None of them ever answered, and then the circuits were busy. It made me uneasy. I had to get out of the car. We hadn’t eaten a thing in more than twenty-four hours, and each of us was miserable. So just a few miles from the German border, we stopped in Hardenberg and found a little restaurant on a brick-paved street in the middle of town. Once upon a time, I’d thought the pictures I’d seen of the Dutch riding fat-fendered bicycles through the narrow streets of quaint villages were nothing more than stylized postcard images, but I was wrong. There were a dozen people on bicycles, and more bicycles on racks in front of shops up and down the street. It was calming at a time when I needed calm.

  Some of the patrons smiled and nodded when we took a dark wood table at the center of the restaurant. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a round face, asked us something in Dutch, I guess. Candace and Ronnie exchanged looks and then stared at me.

  “I’m so sorry…do you speak English?”

  “Neit,” she replied while she shook her head.

  “Francais?” Ronnie asked.

  The woman frowned and walked back to the bar. A younger woman with short, dark brown hair, angular features, and big doe eyes approached us with a smile.

  With a strong Dutch accent, she asked, “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Could we get a menu?”

  “Americans?”

  Great, I thought. She was about to cop an attitude. “Yes,” I said as pleasantly as I could.

  “So sorry—so much tragedy for you today. We pray for you.”

  Pray? That wasn’t the response I expected, but I’d gladly take any help I could get.

  “Thank you,” Candace said.

  “Earthquake yesterday, flooding today. Is very bad.”

  “Flooding?” I asked.