I shoved my hands in my pockets and stood before Eben’s desk, avoiding the folding chair he used for guests. I wasn’t about to touch the hardhat and walkie talkie that someone had left there, and I didn’t feel much like sitting. The faster I got this over with the better.
“I’m finished with my assessment of the situation, for now,” I said.
“That fast?” he asked.
He lifted dark eyebrows, and came around the desk. He started to reach out to shake my hand, but thought better of it. Good man.
“Your problem falls into my realm of expertise,” I said.
That sounded better than saying he had a junkyard full of iron crazed faeries. Most humans, even the ones who thought that they were open minded, would have trouble wrapping their head around that claim.
“So Mitch wasn’t off the wagon then,” he said, stroking his bead. “Then what now?”
“This isn’t something you and your men can handle,” I said. “Stay out of the junkyard.”
“Until when?” he asked, frowning down at me, his hands fisting at his sides.
Most people probably cowered beneath that glare. Not me. Not today.
“Until I say so,” I said.
“Now listen here…” he said.
“No,” I said, stepping into his personal space.
He stepped back, eyebrows raised. People don’t expect a touch phobe like me to move into their guard. It puts them off balance. Off balance was good. I could work with that.
“No?” he asked.
“I’m done listening,” I said. “We all have shit to whine about.”
“Missy, you don’t know the first thing…” he said, beard quivering.
“About what?” I asked. “Running a business? Funny, you’re daughter and I do just fine with that. Thank you very much. Or maybe you were going to say I don’t know the first thing about loss? Responsibility? Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got those in spades.”
“Fine,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll close up shop, and give my men a few days off. But this can’t go on for long. I need an end date. When will this nightmare be over?”
“Soon,” I said. “Give me until next week to sort things out. But Mr. Braxton? I need your word that no one enters that junkyard until I say it’s clear.”
“A week?” he said, sputtering.
“Your word,” I said, voice going icy.
“Fine, you have my word,” he said. “But I expect you back here next week with an explanation.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said, walking out the door.
I tilted my head up to look at the clouds rushing past the moon, and sighed. I just hoped I’d be alive to keep that appointment.
Chapter 8
My only chance of fixing the problem at the Braxton’s junkyard hung on the slim hope that I’d find clues that would lead to my father, or another way to control my wisp powers, when I entered Faerie three days from now. The very thought sent a thrill of shivers up my spine.
If I could survive the trip through Tech Duinn and find my way into the wisp court, I may finally discover a way to communicate with my wisp brethren. If my father had left me any clues as to how to fulfill my destiny as wisp princess, it would be there at the seat of his power.
“I will make this right,” I said, voice soft. “I promise you.”
I turned and made my way back to the Old Port Quarter. Jinx had left without me. I just hoped she was back at the loft when I got there. I only had a few more days to patch things up with her. I didn’t want to leave on bad terms with my best friend.
Just a few more days.
Oberon’s eyes, one way or another, everything would change on the solstice. I could feel it in my bones.
At least I didn’t have long to wait. It was nearly the summer solstice, the day that the druid Bechuille’s prophetic words promised to lead me through Tech Duinn and into Faerie.
I shivered, pulling my jacket close around me. I’d replayed my trip to Mag Mell, and the druid’s words, over and over again these past few months. Recalling that day was nearly as vivid as one of my visions.
“Good, now let me prepare the bones,” she said.
Béchuille lifted her hand to the bird on her shoulder. I thought she was going to stroke its feathers or pet its head. I gasped as she grabbed the bird roughly in both hands and deftly broke its neck. I’d bought into the Hollywood image of druids as peaceful, animal loving, hippie types who commune with nature. I chided myself for being a fool.
The druid dropped the bird to the ground at her feet and poured a ladle of steaming liquid from the cauldron over its broken body. My eyes widened as the bird was quickly reduced to bone. Whatever was in that cauldron had eaten away all sign of feathers and flesh. So much for Mag Mell being an idyllic paradise; just try telling that to the bird.
“Béchuille’s cauldron contains waters taken from the Fountain of Knowledge in Tír Tairngire,” Torn whispered.
A bit late for him to be informing me of that now. I inched away from the fire, putting Torn between me and the cauldron.
While I changed my position, Béchuille stuffed the bird’s bones into a leather pouch. She tied the pouch and shook it, making the bones rattle inside. I bit the inside of my cheek, and tried not to think about the pretty bird that had perched on the Tuatha Dé’s shoulder mere seconds ago.
The druid stepped to an area beside the cauldron that was void of moss and flowers, and used a wooden staff to draw a circle on the bare ground. She tossed her head back, chanting, arms lifted to the sky. Her green eyes rolled back in her head, and I wondered idly what would happen if the woman fell into her own cauldron. Torn had claimed there was no such thing as death in Mag Mell, but I’d already witnessed the bird’s demise.
Béchuille tossed the bones onto the ground with a clatter, and I snapped my eyes back to the circle. A low moan escaped the druid’s lips and Torn sidled up to me, chomping on his apple.
“I love this part,” he said.
A breeze stirred the woman’s golden hair, and her face paled to a sickly hue. She pointed a shaking finger at me, and a chill ran up my spine to creep into my scalp.
“The door you seek is one that hides,” she said. “You must await midsummer tides. Upon the summer solstice when the moon doth wane, the wisp princess shall sit upon her throne again.”
“Riddles?” I muttered. I should have known this wouldn’t be easy.
“Shhh,” Torn said.
“Muster your allies and gather your power,” she said. “You must reach Tech Duinn’s steps by the witching hour.”
“Oh shit,” Torn said.
“Shhh,” I said.
“Brandish the key and do not lose heart,” she said. “On solstice night the ocean shall part. Go to Martin’s Point at final light of day, and the stones of Donner Isle will lead the way. Not by sea, but by land. You all will take your stand. To the house of Donn you must carry, king Will-o’-the-Wisp’s key to Faerie. Inside Donn’s hearth, bend your knee, close your eyes and turn the key.”
The druid lowered her head, shoulders shaking, and scratched her foot across the edge of the circle. Once the circle was broken, the bones pulled together and began to sprout flesh and feathers once again. I gaped at the bird as it chirped and took wing.
Maybe death truly couldn’t touch this place. After witnessing the bird’s apparent death and rebirth, I didn’t find that very reassuring. I was pretty sure that having your neck broken and the flesh boiled from your bones was unpleasant whether death followed or not.
“So I have to bring the key to Martin’s Point at dusk on the summer solstice?” I asked.
The seer didn’t answer. At closer scrutiny, I realized by the rise and fall of her chest that she’d fallen asleep on her feet.
“Let’s go, Princess,” Torn said.
The cat sidhe started walking toward the pathway from which we’d come. The bones and feathers adorning his leather clothing rattled as he sauntered away f
rom the ring of standing stones. He swaggered confidently, but I wasn’t fooled. Torn’s face had paled at the mention of Tech Duinn.
“What is this Tech Duinn?” I asked. “And who is Donn?”
“Tech Duinn is the house of Donn,” he said. Torn rubbed his chin and grimaced. “Celtic god of the dead.”
For once I was in agreement with Torn. Oh shit.
I shook my head at the memory. I wasn’t any more comfortable with the idea of sneaking into the house of Donn now than I’d been that day in Mag Mell. Too bad I was fresh out of options.
Chapter 9
It took me over an hour to walk from the junkyard to the Old Port Quarter. Jinx and Sparky probably took the bus. They didn’t even have to worry about freaking out the other passengers with Sparky’s appearance. The little demon could glamour himself whenever he wanted, the lucky devil.
Last time they went out shopping, Jinx carried Sparky in her purse, and he looked like a toy poodle. Humans with second sight were rare, so there wasn’t much risk taking the kid out on the town. Not many people can see the true faces of the monsters that walk our streets. I was just one of the very, very unlucky ones who could.
Unlike Jinx and Sparky, I didn’t like public transportation. I avoided the city bus and taxis like the plague. To me, they carried something worse than disease. Taxis and buses were infested with memories, making them a volatile place for the rare individual with a psychometric gift. Your average car or truck wasn’t much better. No, I’d rather take my chances walking the dark streets.
By the time I reached Madam Kaye’s Magic Emporium, I had a stitch in my side and my calves were aching. I worked out daily, moving through the self defense moves and katas that Jenna had taught me, but I’d cut back on my normal runs along the harbor. It’s hard to keep up your usual routine when you’re playing dead.
I still would have been fine, if it hadn’t been for the dog that chased me for six blocks. Some dogs could sense that I was other, and this one didn’t want a monster in his territory. I couldn’t blame him. The dog was just protecting the ones he loved, so I ran until he gave up.
All that running got me back to Harborsmouth faster than I’d planned, which meant I was on Kaye’s doorstep well before normal business hours. I could keep on walking to the loft apartment that I shared with Jinx, or I could take my chances with a grouchy witch. Either way, I was likely going to face a fight. At least here I might get some answers as to what I could expect on my trip to Faerie, a subject that was still off limits with Jinx.
I tilted my head back, studying the stone building until I saw a familiar silhouette atop the roof.
“Hey, Humphrey!” I shouted, cupping my gloved hands around my mouth. “How’s it hangin’?”
Anyone walking or driving by would think I was another of the countless drunks, walking off a night of bar hopping through the Old Port Quarter. After two in the morning, the streets filled with the inebriated, and those who preyed upon them. If someone or something decided that I was an easy mark, they’d be in for a few surprises—including Sharp and Pointy. I hadn’t yet used my silver and iron blades tonight, and I could use the practice.
I heard the scrape of stone claws a split-second before Humphrey’s face came within inches of my own.
“Don’t look now, but you left your eyes burning,” Humphrey said, his voice like rocks in an avalanche.
Crap. Humphrey was right. His face was lit with a yellow glow that wasn’t coming from the nearby streetlamp. I ducked deeper within the shadows of my hoodie, and angled my face away from the street.
“Thanks for the tip, Humphrey,” I said. “As always, you rock.”
The gargoyle laughed at my lame attempt at humor, and I tried not to wince. Humphrey’s laugh was like an earthquake. Thankfully, due to his glamour, I was the only person who could see or hear him. Anyone else would just see a normal stone gargoyle perched above the occult shop’s door. No one seemed to notice or care that the gargoyle wasn’t always in the same place.
Maybe they thought Kaye liked to mess with her customers by moving the statue around. It was definitely the kind of thing she’d do. The witch did like to screw with people.
“Come in, dear, the door’s open,” Kaye’s voice came from Humphrey’s mouth, which was beyond unsettling.
The door clicked open, and I sighed and shook my head. Case in point. There was no reason for Kaye to use the gargoyle like a hand puppet, other than trying to mess with my head.
Humphrey shuddered, and cleared his throat. I was suddenly glad of my hood, or I would have been pelted in the face with dust and pebbles. When a gargoyle coughs, it’s best not to be too close to his face.
“You okay, Humphrey dude?” I asked.
“Fine, fine,” he muttered. He waved his hand like it was no big deal, but his ears were pressed against his skull like a pissed off cat. For the millionth time, I was glad that I wasn’t one of Kaye’s employees. “Go on in.”
“Later,” I said, passing beneath the gargoyle and through the open door. “I better not rock the boat.”
I was running out of witty ways to use rock and stone in a sentence, but the gargoyle seemed amused. I smiled, and walked inside the shop, careful not to stumble into anything in the dark. My fae blood gave me better night vision than a regular human, but it still took my eyes a few seconds to adjust.
Humphrey’s laughter cut off as the door slammed shut behind me. Flames shot up from every candle in the store, which was an impressive number with this being an occult shop, and I blinked at the sudden brightness. More of Kaye’s parlor tricks.
I shook my head, and angled off to the right, passing the registers and heading into the back of the store. Kaye’s shop was filled with occult bric-a-brac—tarot cards, packets of herbs, polished stones, plastic skeletons, brooms, and pointy hats—all the usual suspects. What you wouldn’t find displayed for the general public were any truly powerful occult objects. Those were safely hidden behind closed doors.
Kaye was mischievous as a pixy, but she wasn’t a fool.
The witch was not only wise, she’d also recently regained the full strength of her powers, thanks to dying and being brought back to life with a magic apple supplied by yours truly. I wasn’t the only one who’d recently pulled that stunt, but since the island of Emain Ablach had been flooded, and the apple tree destroyed, I was pretty sure we were the last.
I’d obtained two magic apples, and Kaye and I had died—her from willingly imbibing poison, and me from assassin’s arrows in my vital organs—and were resurrected. The reason for my rebirth was obvious—I was bleeding out and my friends had tried to save my life. Kaye had gone through all of that because of a bargain I’d been tricked into that required me to kill her. It was that or Jinx would die.
If it hadn’t been for the magic apples, I would have been stuck between a rock and a harder rock. Humphrey would appreciate that.
Thankfully, in Kaye’s case, resurrection had the beneficial side effect of removing the tattoos that marked her skin and kept a stranglehold on her powers. The witch was given a clean slate—a fact that gave me chills when I thought about it too hard. Kaye was my friend, but that kind of power was dangerous.
I’d heard stories of Kaye’s exploits from her youth, and I’d been impressed. She’d partnered with the Hunters’ Guild, and brought down some badass supernatural beasties. But she’d been more innocent then. I wasn’t sure what the older, wiser woman would do with that kind of power.
Magic has checks and balances for a reason.
I reached for the latch on the back counter, the entrance into Kaye’s lair, and jumped as a dark, furry shape landed in front of me. Midnight started to purr, and I gave him a quick scratch behind the ear. I wasn’t too worried about getting visions from Midnight. It takes strong emotions to leave a psychic imprint, and cats usually didn’t care enough about the world around them to give me visions.
I’d explained that once to Torn, and he’d taken it as an invitation.
I’d introduced his man parts to Sharp and Pointy, and he backed off. I don’t mind cats, but I wasn’t about to let their immortal lord touch me. I wasn’t suicidal.
Plus, I was courting the local kelpie king, which meant that I was off limits. Not that my relationship status ever curbed Torn’s flirting, much to Ceff’s chagrin. My boyfriend would also be frustrated with where I was right now, which was why I hadn’t told anyone about my plans to make a detour on the way home. There was no sense giving the poor guy an ulcer.
Ceff worried about the faerie courts discovering that death was an affliction that I’d recovered from, and he’d warned against frequenting my usual haunts. I’d avoided the Emporium lately, but I needed to ask Kaye a few questions. Not that information was the only reason why I was here.
I knew better than most just how fragile life was. I’d died once, and we were fresh out of magic apples. If it happened again, I wasn’t coming back.
I needed to say goodbye to my friends, just in case.
I gave Midnight one last scratch, and started toward Kaye’s spell kitchen.
“Better move quick, dear, unless you want a kiss,” Kaye shouted from somewhere insdie the kitchen.
My boot had barely crossed the threshold when a set of large, hairy lips descended toward me. A kiss? Those lips were big enough to swallow me whole.
I ducked, and rolled between two legs the size of tree trunks. My knives hit my palms as I sprung to my feet, making Marvin and Hob stop dead in their tracks. Marvin’s eyes were wide with surprise, but Hob’s twinkled. The brownie must have put my bridge troll friend up to this nonsense, I just knew it.
“What are you two doing?” I asked, voice ringing loud in my ears.
I could have stabbed my friends with iron, the fools.
“Mistletoe,” Marvin said, pointing a large hand toward a sprig of something green hanging above the door.