A Hollow in the Hills

  ‘Holly,’ whispered Jinx, as if his breath had been knocked from him. ‘Grandmother …’

  Her smile widened still, but didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Yes. Get up, boy. I have need of you.’

  ‘No.’ But he got up all the same, disentangling himself from Izzy as gently as he could. His every movement was wary, guarded. But she could sense the way he vibrated with alarm. ‘I don’t serve you anymore.’

  ‘Oh Jinx, you silly boy … you will always serve me. Whether you want to or not. I thought we’d established that already.’

  She stretched out her hands and whispered something. It made the sound of leaves blowing in the wind, rustling against each other. The Fear drew closer, hungry again despite feeding already. Izzy saw them as they circled the gate, making Ash creep reluctantly forwards.

  ‘Do we need some incentive?’ asked Holly. She snapped her fingers and a shout went up from the bushes. One of the Fear rushed out of it, hauling a small, struggling figure with it.

  Art, it was Art. The leprechaun sprawled in the leaves and mulch, squirming in an attempt to get away, and failing.

  ‘Let him go,’ Jinx said.

  Holly shook her head. ‘He’s a traitor, Jinx. Isn’t he? Tell him, Izzy.’

  Jinx stared at her, and read whatever Holly wanted him to see in her face.

  ‘Please Jinx, please,’ Art howled. ‘You know me. You know how it is. I tried to make it to the castle, but she had me. She made me. Please Jinx! I had to bring the girl here. I had to!’

  Jinx shuddered and Izzy scrambled to her feet, wrapping her arms around him. ‘Don’t listen to them. Please Jinx. Don’t—’

  His body turned hard as iron and just as cold. Izzy looked up into his face and didn’t know him. His eyes froze and darkened, the bright silver dulling, that rebellious gleam fading. He looked confused, like someone waking from a dream. Around his neck the new line of tattoos glowed with a terrible brightness.

  ‘Jinx?’

  ‘He can’t hear you, Isabel Gregory.’ Holly’s voice rose in a chant. ‘Jinx is mine, my blood, my bondsman, always mine. I made you, Jinx by Jasper. I made a vessel of you, a thing that could hold a primal god. I took a broken, useless runt of a child and I made you for a purpose and now it’s time. My magic doesn’t just surround you, you are riddled with it, right to the core of your being. It isn’t just in your tattoos and your piercings.’ She tapped the side of her head with one perfectly manicured fingernail. ‘It’s in here. Forever.’

  Jinx pushed Izzy aside without a word and walked up the hillside. He dropped to his knees at Holly’s feet and bowed his head.

  ‘My Lady Holly,’ he said, and it sounded as if he had to force the words out through clenched teeth. ‘I am yours to command.’

  She glanced at Art, who was still trying find a way out, a way of escape.

  ‘Kill him,’ said Holly.

  ‘No!’ shouted Izzy and Art at the same moment and she lurched back to shield the leprechaun. Not for his sake perhaps, but for Jinx’s. She couldn’t let him do it.

  But Jinx didn’t move. He shivered again and Izzy knew he was trying to fight. Trying and failing, but trying nonetheless. While he couldn’t break free, he still didn’t obey her, not completely.

  Holly scowled and then nodded to Osprey. The Aes Sídhe assassin covered the ground in seconds, his feathered cloak whispering as he moved. He seized the gibbering, pleading, sobbing Art in strong and implacable hands and deftly snapped his neck. Then he flung the body down in front of the Fear and turned back, bowing to Holly with elaborate grace.

  ‘He’s still got a lot to learn,’ he said.

  ‘And we’ll make sure he learns it, my dear,’ she replied, her gaze fixed on Jinx, aglow with malevolence. ‘The hard way.’

  Onstage, the lights were bright and the crowd beneath him bucked and surged like an animal to the music. Dylan could feel it, their energy, their response to the songs they played and it was addictive. His songs, his music, and they responded immediately. Like magic.

  He glanced to the left of the stage, where Clodagh was dancing, swinging her hair out, twisting to the tune and he smiled. He couldn’t help it. She’d come in alone, unable to get Izzy on the phone even though they’d planned to come in together. Clodagh wasn’t happy about it, but the music made her forget. So did access to the green room.

  The strange melancholy haunting him ebbed away with Clodagh around. She didn’t know that last night he was seeing off demons with magic that shouldn’t even be his. Seeing her simple enjoyment made him feel normal again. Just for a moment. Like the old days. Before Silver. Before everything got so complicated.

  Only it wasn’t like the old days. Not really.

  Dylan and his band might only be the supporting act, but everything was falling together. The audience was right there, held with music and magic. The power hummed through his body and out into the world around him. It changed everything, coloured everything with the Silver’s presence.

  No sign of Silver either. It made him sure that something was going on, but he didn’t know what. It couldn’t be good.

  Winding up the number, he met Steve’s gaze and saw him nodding furiously towards the bar where there were more guys in suits. The scout stood with them and gave them another of his enormous thumbs-up gestures. It was looking good. Really good.

  He switched tunes and started the one he’d written for Mari. It took everything down a level, softer, gentler, melancholy, building to tragic once Steve’s vocals kicked in, harmonising with Dylan’s.

  When he concentrated on the melody, and the elusive harmonies that went with it, he could almost sense her standing nearby.

  Mari.

  His little sister. The one he had failed to help, to save. The one he had let die.

  The music called her, charmed her, and he knew it was a song for her and her alone.

  It was Mari’s song.

  It flowed like a dream, bright and dainty to begin with, but then smoothing out, a sweeping melody that undulated through the refrain.

  Mari’s song. He wasn’t sure about this. Hadn’t been, from the moment the lads had told him that they had to include it in the set. And then more and more of his songs. Fewer covers now, more original songs – that was Steve’s mantra – ’cause your songs kill.

  Lots of things killed, but not in the way Steve meant.

  And that was when he felt it – a chill, as if he stood in a pocket of arctic air in spite of the heat in the club generated by exertion, the crowd and the lights.

  He glanced at Clodagh, to see if she felt it too, but she was swaying, eyes closed, tears on her cheeks.

  Mari stood behind her, as if he had summoned her with the song.

  She smiled at him this time. So much better than the scowl he’d seen before when she’d stood in the doorway under the light, or outside the college gate. And he’d forgotten the effect of her smile. Mari could make anyone forget all their troubles when she smiled. She made him forget guilt and doubt. The world seemed to separate, like a waking dream, and while he sang, part of him stood still, enthralled by her presence.

  ‘I like it,’ she whispered, her voice so faint. He shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the music, but he could.

  ‘Good,’ he replied – in his mind rather than with his voice. Dizziness swept over him, a strange sense of double exposure, as if part of him was there on stage, playing and part of him looked on, talking to his sister. Dylan glanced down. His fingers glowed. Traces of light clung like dust to the strings. He had to keep playing. He couldn’t lose her again. He couldn’t stop in the middle of a number, especially not this number.

  ‘The only way to stop it is to visit the halls of the dead,’ she said in answer to a question he hadn’t asked.

  ‘Stop what?’

  And she smiled. Without answers this time. Infuriating, difficult, dangerous Mari. He knew her of old.

  ‘Where are the halls of the dead, Mari?’

  ‘I’ll be waiting
there for you. For you and for Izzy.’ She brushed her hand down the length of Clodagh’s hair, not quite touching it. As if she couldn’t bear to touch it and she couldn’t bear not to.

  ‘Mari, where is it? Why would we go there?’

  ‘Because you’ll have to. She’ll have to. And so you’ll go too, whether Silver will let you go or not. They’ll all want you, you know? All that magical power locked inside you. You’re just like a ripe fruit to them, Dylan. Even to Silver. Just you wait. She’d drain you dry in a moment if she had to.’

  Dylan shuddered as she spoke that one terrible truth. ‘I know that.’ he replied.

  Mari studied him for a long moment as if she could see into his mind and pick through the thoughts there as easily as she picked through his vinyl collection. ‘Maybe you do. But I wonder if you really believe it.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘You called me. Music and magic are a powerful combination, Dylan. Always have been. That’s what makes you so dangerous. And in such danger. And besides, I wanted to come. I wanted to see you play. I wanted to warn you.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘You’re my brother, duh. Besides, the things that are coming … no one should have to face that. Especially not you. And if Izzy heads into trouble like that, you’ll follow, won’t you?’

  ‘What do you think Izzy’s going to do?’

  Mari shook her head. ‘What she always does. And you’ll be right there with her.’

  She froze for a moment and a brief trace of fear flowed over her face.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘They’re here. You have to leave now. They’re here.’

  Dylan shuddered and snapped back into his body, like an elastic band stretched too far that slips free. His gasped breath misted in front of his mouth. The notes almost faltered as his fingers shook. He covered quickly and blinked as the lights swung around to pick him out. Dry ice swirled around his feet, spilled over the edge of the stage and into the audience. It snaked around the edge of the room in a way it shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t.

  It wasn’t dry ice. It was fog.

  The Fear filled the club. He could see them now, forming out of the mist, wandering through the enraptured crowd, invisible to them for now. Just for a little longer. Invisible and waiting, ready to pounce. Oh God, this was bad. Because the moment they felt strong enough, they’d tear through this place, this crowd. They’d feed.

  He knew it.

  Mari’s voice came very close to his ear, her colder than cold breath playing against his cheek. He couldn’t see her now. ‘You can’t help them. The Fear are here. You have to go.’

  ‘Go where.’

  ‘Where you always go. To Silver. To Izzy. You have to leave, Dylan.’

  ‘Mari—’ he began, trying to find a way to say thanks or sorry, or anything coherent, but she cut him off.

  ‘Keep singing. The moment you stop, they’ll attack. I think you’re all that’s holding them back now. Go to the House of Donn. He’s the only one who can help you. The dead belong to him. You’re a target too, Dylan, with all that magic in you. Don’t you get it? Go!’

  One of the Fear rose in front of him now. Through the semi-transparent body he could see the others and then he couldn’t. The body turned solid and the song came to a stop. He couldn’t keep singing. His voice died in his throat, choked with fear. Unable to think of anything else to do, Dylan swung his guitar around at the amp and feedback screeched through the club. People screamed and the Fear attacked – he couldn’t tell which happened first. Everything blurred. Dylan dived to the side of the stage where Clodagh backed away, her face white with terror. She could see them too. All of them.

  He landed heavily, awkwardly, knocking the air from himself. But he couldn’t let that stop him.

  ‘Clodagh. We have to get out of here. Now.’

  ‘Dylan. What’s going on? What are they—?’

  Her voice died in her throat. Mist poured towards them while all around them the Fear drew terror from the shattered audience, those they’d fed on, those they turned on now. The strength it gave them made them coalesce, take form. Clodagh could only stare at one, transfixed as it coiled up before her and loomed over her, forming a figure.

  The Fear surrounded the two of them. There was no way out. Clodagh sobbed something almost incoherent and Dylan pulled her against him, burying her face in his chest so she wouldn’t see them.

  The face in the mist leered at them and then turned its full attention on Dylan.

  ‘Lady Holly said you would run, but that we should chase. She said you would beg, but that we should not heed you.’

  ‘I don’t care what she said.’ And he wasn’t begging for anything.

  ‘She said you should come with us, pretty shining boy. She said if you fight us we should make you.’

  Holly wanted him. That couldn’t be good. None of this was good. ‘If she wants me she wouldn’t let you hurt me.’

  It reached out a long clawed hand and brushed its knifelike fingertips against Clodagh’s hair. ‘She didn’t say anything about not hurting your friend. The second prison has been opened. We’re free to feed now. And these other cattle make us strong. So strong.’

  The other Fear drew closer, clustering around their prey.

  Clodagh sucked in a breath and turned in his arms. Powerless to stop her, Dylan tried to say ‘no’, but the word died in his throat. The creature’s nails scraped her cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

  It bared its teeth and Clodagh screamed. The spell holding Dylan back shattered with the sound. He seized her arm, pulling her clear, and ran for the fire exit, dragging her after him.

  ‘What was it? What was that?’ She panted as she ran, but still tried to get the words out. ‘What was that thing?’

  ‘I… I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s something to do with Izzy, isn’t it?’

  Izzy… and him. They’d come for him and Mari had tried to warn him. Mari had come back from the dead to warn him. ‘Something. Maybe. Just run.’

  ‘They’re coming after us.’

  Of course they were. And how could you outrun something like that?

  They reached the main road outside and almost fell under a passing truck. The lights flared, bright and blinding, but Dylan kept going, skidding around the corner. Everything fell still. Quiet as anything. As if waiting for something worse.

  Alarms blared everywhere, the fire alarm, he hoped. Some people burst out of the doors of the club, screaming, pulling at their hair and clothes. He’d left everyone in there. Dear Jesus, he’d left the guys and all those people …

  But he couldn’t go back. Holly wanted him. Holly had sent them for him.

  Two figures stood on the other side of the road, watching the chaos with glee, dressed in black and white, perfectly turned out and pristine. Magpies. Izzy’s description had been clear enough. So had her warnings.

  But they were probably his only hope. Because getting out of here any other way wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Magpies. Hey!’

  They started towards him, grinning like the nightmares they were. Like they’d been waiting for him.

  ‘Who are they?’ she shouted. And then stopped, digging in her heels, her hands like claws on his arm. ‘I remember them. Jesus, Dylan, what are you doing?’

  ‘Clodagh, there isn’t time.’

  ‘They’re monsters.’

  ‘Yes. But they’re better than what’s behind us. We don’t have a choice.’

  ‘But … but Izzy said …’

  ‘Clodagh, look.’ The mist was gathering, rolling from the fire exit and the main doors of the club and in it, he could see a horde of monsters. Teeth and clawed bared, eyes fixed on the pair of them, on their prey. They had claws like knives and mouths like voids, ready to suck them both in.

  Other people could see them now, so great was their power and strength. Screaming, panicking people, feeding them with terror, making them st
ronger even as they rolled out over Dublin. Death and devastation would follow. And the Fear would follow him.

  Clodagh sucked in a breath and gripped his hand even tighter.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Okay.’ She swallowed hand and looked up into his face. ‘You’d just better be bloody right. Or if they don’t kill you, I will.’

  Jinx struggled against the spells but they closed around him, tighter than an iron maiden. They burned beneath his skin like iron too. The silver that pierced his skin flashed, bright points of agony, and he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t stop. Holly spoke … no, Holly commanded, and he had to obey. His body and mind, so used to doing her will, complied at once.

  Magic. It had to be magic. Her magic, which had woven itself around him, through him for his whole life. She was his blood, his kin. It only made her hold on him stronger.

  Somewhere far off Izzy was shouting his name. He could hear her and it tore him apart inside to hear the anguish in her voice. Izzy, who wouldn’t give up on him, who wouldn’t leave him, not like he’d left her.

  He looked up into Holly’s face, her perfect, impervious face and saw the loathing in the depths of her eyes. And the triumph. She had him. She knew it.

  And so did he.

  ‘Doesn’t she understand you yet?’ asked Holly, almost gently but with an all too familiar mocking lilt.

  He wanted to answer. He wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, but he couldn’t move. His voice didn’t belong to him now.

  ‘Jinx, please …’

  ‘Still begging. Do you ever do anything else, Grigori-child?’

  ‘I never begged you.’ Izzy said it with a matching venom. ‘I never will.’

  ‘Oh, you will. If not for yourself, then for him.’

  ‘What are you going to do to him?’

  ‘What I always intended to do to him. He’s mine. My property. He could have just been an unwanted runt, a by-blow, but I’ve given him purpose.’ She reached out and stroked his hair. Jinx wanted to recoil, to throw himself away, to change and run as fast as he could in the other direction, but he couldn’t.