A Hollow in the Hills

  ‘I want to stay with him.’

  Brí glared at her. ‘Why am I not surprised? Thankfully for us, it is not your decision. Outside Isabel. All of you. Leave us to work.’

  Left with no choice, Izzy reluctantly left Jinx in their care. As she closed the door behind her she saw the way they circled him, wary as cats around a cobra.

  Ash waited for her outside. They locked together, a unit, and for that Izzy was grateful. If she was alone with Silver right now, she’d lose it. She knew that. And she wasn’t entirely sure what Silver would do.

  ‘Your father will come soon,’ was all Silver said. ‘I can get you some food. You must be hungry.’

  Izzy shook her head. Her father wouldn’t come. He’d be negotiating for her mum’s release. He had to be.

  But part of her was afraid he would. And if he did, what did that mean for Mum? That he’d done it? Or that he put his duty as Grigori higher than his wife? Once she would have sworn that nothing was more important to him than Mum but now …

  ‘We’re good,’ said Ash when Silver didn’t move, waiting for something.

  Silver glared at her, eyes narrowed. ‘Somewhere quiet, out of the way?’ She really had no idea how to talk to teenaged girls. Amazing, cool and magical as Silver was, she didn’t have a clue in this situation.

  It felt strangely powerful to stand beside Ash and face Silver down. Like she was in control for the first time in days. The feeling was exhilarating, but undercut by the thought that she could lose it all in moments. And she would, if Dad arrived. Then she’d just be his daughter.

  But she wanted him there. Because if he came, Mum was safe. Wasn’t she? He wouldn’t come here if she wasn’t. At least she hoped so.

  A queasy feeling in the depth of her stomach wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Silver, I … I just need to unwind a bit. I just need … it’s peaceful here.’

  ‘For now. All right. Just stay away from the Sídhe, okay? Stay away from anyone you don’t know. More and more are coming all the time. Not everyone – many of the solitaries are fleeing, trying to find other places of sanctuary, although I fear there’s nowhere else left.’ She stopped, apparently aware she was rambling. ‘Just stay together and don’t go wandering.’

  ‘Sure.’ That was easy. It would be a pleasure.

  Silver stared at Ash again, as if trying to figure her out. She looked unsettled, as if having the girl there was making her skin crawl, but she couldn’t say why. ‘And keep her away from them too. They’re too dangerous. You know that.’

  ‘You’re all too dangerous. I know that.’

  Silver snorted and turned away, marching over the lawn. Her heels didn’t sink in to the surface, Izzy noticed, even though they looked like spikes.

  ‘Whoa,’ said Ash, exhaling the word in a rush. ‘They are freaky.’

  ‘They’re Sídhe.’

  ‘I gathered.’ They turned away, heading for the centre of the lawn where the Long Stone stood all on its own. ‘So, not made up stories.’

  ‘Not as such. Though the stories aren’t always that accurate, you know?’

  ‘And Jinx?’

  Izzy bit her lower lip. ‘Jinx too.’

  ‘Thought he was too hot to be real.’

  A little twist of something like jealousy appeared for the first time, deep in Izzy’s gut. ‘Oh he’s real. But he’s Cú Sídhe.’

  Ash frowned, thinking about the translation. ‘Hound? Like Cú Chulainn?’

  Legendary Irish hero, stubborn and pig headed, thought he knew everything, stood his ground fighting everyone else on the island, ended badly … yeah, that sounded about right. That sounded just like Jinx.

  ‘Something like that,’ she muttered.

  ‘And what’s your in on all this?’

  ‘I’m … I’m kind of … related. To them. To some of them.’

  ‘That red-haired woman back there?’ Brí. Of course she’d picked up on that.

  ‘Yeah. Her.’

  They reached the stone. The air was even stiller her, calm and muffled, as if they were closed off from the rest of the world. Maybe they were. The aura of peace wrapped itself around them and for the first time in days Izzy felt the tight line running through her shoulders begin to relax.

  ‘And Holly?’

  ‘God, no. I’m not related to her at all.’

  ‘But Jinx is.’

  ‘Her grandson. Apparently. Silver’s his aunt.’

  ‘Not exactly a loving family then. Poor guy.’ She bent down, checked the lawn with her hand and then sat down, crossing her legs. ‘It’s nice here.’

  Izzy sat down too. ‘I guess. You’re taking this well.’

  Ash shrugged. ‘I’m not. But there’s no point in freaking out, is there?’ Then she looked up, a frown breaking over her face. Izzy followed her gaze to where a group was arriving into the area with a great deal of kerfuffle. She recognised the Magpies at once, and her tattoo turned cold. The man walking in front of them was property developer smooth, with slate grey hair and piercing eyes. He wore a three piece suit and his shoes shone. But when she looked at him she saw something old and terrible, Sídhe. He was the Amadán, the Old Man, the Trickster. She knew it in an instant.

  And that wasn’t the worst thing. The two figures with them. That was the worst thing. ‘Hey,’ said Ash. ‘Isn’t that Clodagh?’

  It was a dream. It was just a dream. He had to keep telling himself that because if he didn’t, if he believed it was actually real …

  It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

  And at the same time he knew it was real. So very real.

  Because standing in front of him was a horse taller than he was, twenty-two hands at least. Taller than any natural breed. Its obsidian black coat gleamed and the wild tangle of its mane and tail streamed like black ink in water behind it. Its eyes glowed with a yellow sulphurous light and they fixed on him and on him alone.

  Jinx tried to breathe, but the stench of death swept over him and choked him. His head swam like he was drunk or delirious.

  The Púca watched him silently. Slowly, carefully, he dropped to his knees, bowed his head and tried to fight the instinct to run.

  You didn’t run. You never ran. They loved it when you ran. Because then they could chase you. You’d wake up broken, exhausted, covered in sweat with your heart racing and your blood thundering.

  If you woke up at all.

  If your heart didn’t explode inside you. If the shock didn’t kill you.

  ‘Jinx by Jasper, are you still hers?’

  Its voice was like wind through autumn leaves, rustling and sighing. It reached inside his mind and talked to him there, in the still small place at the base of his brain.

  He tried to find his own voice, but failed. Terror smothered him.

  ‘Tell me now, Jinx by Jasper. Are you still hers?’

  Holly’s? He didn’t want to be Holly’s. He didn’t want to belong to anyone. No one but himself.

  ‘Tell me,’ said the Púca.

  ‘I … I’m not …’

  The Púca snorted and a smoky billow of breath uncurled from its nostrils. Its left hoof scraped the ground beneath them and sparks shot up like embers from a fire, drifting away into the night’s sky.

  ‘Then to whom do you belong?’

  He didn’t know the answer to that. Still he knelt, curled up beneath the great beast, his body bare and shivering, unable to find words.

  The Púca lifted its head as if scenting something.

  ‘Jinx, can you hear me?’ It sounded like Izzy’s voice. It lingered on the air from somewhere far away. He could almost feel her presence, almost. Her touch, her scent, her body pressed against his, warm and tender. So afraid.

  Her fear fluttered through him and lodged deep inside him. It found something to answer it there.

  ‘Please hear me. Please. Wake up.’

  Fear. Terror. Loss. All those and more. A desperate need. A hollow, empty void that sucked everything inside it and left him e
ven emptier. The thought of not being there for her, not being with her. The thought that Holly had reached out and seized him like that. In an instant. She’d snapped her fingers and he had been hers once more.

  Even if inside he had screamed and railed. Even if he hadn’t had a choice.

  He had been Holly’s.

  Holly knew it. And so did Izzy.

  ‘I don’t want to.’ His voice came out, forced through barbed wire in his tight throat.

  ‘Whose are you?’

  ‘I’m my own person. I want … I want to be my own person. I want my life.’

  ‘Then take it. Or lose it.’ The great black horse bent its head towards him. Its mane fell forward into his pleading hands. He gripped and the Púca pulled him up. Up onto his feet, up onto its back. ‘We ride into the nightmare. Hold on or be lost.’

  Its muscled body bunched beneath him and it leaped forward into the night, taking him with it. And all he could do was hold on.

  The wind froze him, tore at his hair and the heat in the creature beneath him wasn’t enough to warm him. It moved across an empty, darkened land, where nothing grew. Nothing moved except them and the shadows like tar clinging to the dips and hollows, to the undersides of stones. He didn’t know how long it took, how far they went, but the Púca didn’t slow, not for a moment. It showed no sign of tiring. But why would it. This was a creature that didn’t tire, didn’t fail.

  It was also something dead – a spirit. The Púca were all gone, centuries ago, wiped out. Or so they said. Shapeshifters, kings, the lords of wild magic. He rode a ghost.

  The Cú Sídhe whispered stories of them. In the darkness, late at night. That once they were kin and now they were no more. That they were wild, filled with wild magic, and that they alone of the fae ran free.

  ‘Are you kin to the Cú Sídhe?’ he asked, breathless.

  ‘We are.’ The Púca laughed inside his mind. ‘You’re not surprised. That’s good. That will make everything easier, won’t it?’

  ‘Easier?’

  ‘We are things of between. Things of change, on the boundaries of all things – now and then, one thing and the other, yesterday and today and tomorrow. We are the changers, the shifters. So of course, we are kin. All shifters are my kin. And you are closer than any other.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘The pool. You want to see the truth, don’t you? This is the only way.’ Jinx struggled, knowing right away that this was fatal. He tried to throw himself off, but his hands were tangled in the thick black hair. It clung to him like tentacles, wrapping around his fingers and hands the more he tried to free himself. ‘Whatever are you doing?’ The Púca laughed, never missing a pace in his wild gallop. ‘You’d die in an instant. I’m no waterhorse, Jinx by Jasper. Not a kelpie or anything of that sort. You’re safe with me. There’s no need for me to kill you. You flirt so often with death that sooner or later you’ll get there without my help. Fall though, and nothing could save you. Ah, here we are now.’

  And with that he slowed to a trot and then a gentle walk. It drew to a halt by a deep, circular pool, the surface still as a mirror. But the water was black, reflecting a starless sky. Released, Jinx slid off the Púca’s back, feeling the touch of the earth like a welcome embrace.

  ‘Where are we?’

  The horse snorted, thick mist billowing from its nostrils. Jinx could see its golden eyes in the water. And then it wasn’t a horse anymore but a man. Thick hair the colour of ebony tumbled down his back and cast his face into shadows. But the eyes were the same. Golden, sulphurous, glowing. He still had the horse’s ears, Jinx realised, and hooves instead of feet. The thrill of wild magic shimmered in the air around him. A man stood beside him now, but not really a man. The king of the Wanderers. A Púca.

  ‘Look, Jinx. Look and remember and see.’

  The voice flowed around him, through him, familiar as air, soothing every jarred nerve.

  The water on the surface of the pool shifted, rippled, but there was no wind. Not even a breeze. The water was still as death.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Look into the pool, Jinx.’

  He knew he wouldn’t get an answer but he didn’t need to hear it. He knew. The Púca had said that they were creatures of the between and Jinx had a good idea which between had him in its clutches now – if he was lucky the space between sleep and waking, otherwise … the space between life and death.

  The water moved and the reflections moved, changed… Or his reflection did. The Púca was still the same, dejected and heartbroken, watching everything. A woman stood with him, also dark haired but beautiful, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her for more than a moment. He didn’t know her. And he did. He knew her like he knew his own face, for his face carried traces of hers.

  His mother. A sob jerked up inside him, unexpected and violent. He tried to swallow it down and it came out strangled. Her face. He’d never thought to see her face. Tears stung his eyes.

  ‘Bella,’ the Púca whispered, his voice so full of longing and despair like a reflection of all that Jinx felt. Through long years and smothered memories, Jinx knew that voice.

  Jinx shivered, blinked to regain his vision more clearly. The image didn’t falter. The woman smiled and his heart filled with something unknown, something he had never felt before. Jinx reached out, without thinking, his fingers almost touching the water. The water that moved and boiled beneath them, that rose as if weightless to meet them.

  The Púca grabbed Jinx by the shoulder, pulling him back as the eels burst from the depths, snapping at him, hissing wildly.

  ‘I didn’t say it was safe here, Jinx. I just told you to look.’

  He nodded, terrified and weak with it. The water stilled again, and the image had changed. Holly stood there, pristine as she had always been, dressed in a tailored suit, her blonde hair sleek and shining, not that blood-stained monster from Bray Head. She looked just as Jinx remembered her.

  Because a small, pale figure lay at her feet, beaten and broken, the first of so many tattoos decorating his skin, still red and raw and fresh.

  Jinx bit into the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as he saw himself as he’d been, when she first took him.

  He remembered fighting. Fighting and fighting until he couldn’t fight anymore, until all the fight was beaten out of him.

  ‘She made you hers,’ said the Púca. ‘Just as she tried to do before, to me. But with you she finally succeeded, didn’t she?’

  ‘No.’

  The kindness bled from his voice. ‘Oh, really?’

  He waved one hand over the surface, wiping away the image of Jinx as a child and showing him Jinx now, or earlier today on Bray Head. He was kneeling at Holly’s feet and though Izzy shouted his name, he didn’t respond. He was Holly’s, through and through. He knew how it must have looked to everyone else.

  His throat closed on the word. One word. One plea. ‘No.’

  ‘It looks very much like it to all of them. You know what they’ll say. All the Sídhe. Treachery is in your blood. Your mother, your father …’

  ‘No,’ he didn’t want to hear about them, not anymore. Not after seeing her. ‘Belladonna was my mother and she—’

  ‘You didn’t know her,’ said the Púca. ‘You were just a babe. I knew her. I loved her—’ Jinx shied back. These were words he didn’t want to hear. Couldn’t allow himself to hear. Because if the Púca loved Bella, he had to be—

  ‘Don’t say that.’ It came out too sharp, too harsh. The Púca would be offended. Instinct coiled up inside him, the need to survive at any cost. But he couldn’t hear. It couldn’t be true. If the Púca loved Bella, then he could only be one person. ‘Please …’

  ‘Oh, please is it?’ He laughed and his hands closed on Jinx’s shoulder, hands cold as ice, clawed below the knuckles where nails should have been. They dug into his skin and the tattoos hissed and writhed beneath his touch. ‘Please is all well and good but it doesn’t do anything for me.
Or for you, it seems. They’ll call you a traitor again, Jinx. They all saw you kneeling there. Down on your knees in front of your matriarch. Son of a traitor, son of a murderer, Holly’s assassin. Holly’s dog. All those names will be back, if they ever really went anywhere. She’s taking you back without even trying.’ He leaned in close, his breath so cold against Jinx’s cheek, but Jinx didn’t dare to turn and look at him. He stared at the water where something else was unfolding. ‘She has a plan. She wants the wild magic, wants control of it. It slipped her grasp before, you see. She couldn’t control me, so she couldn’t control it. But now she has you. She’s waited so long and she made you for this. She took you and she made you a tool, a vessel. She thinks to control it through you.’

  He stood on a hilltop, city lights spread out below him like a billion fireflies. Light rose from the ground, like a wave, a tsunami, golden and terrible as it engulfed him. It burrowed through every pore and winnowed its way deep inside him, changing him as it went. Filling him until he blossomed with light, blinding and golden as the Púca’s eyes. The same light filled his own eyes, eating away at the silver he knew and replacing it until they were the same as the being that held him. And worse, much worse. Shining tears spilled down his face.

  ‘It’s coming,’ whispered the Púca. ‘And there’s only one way to avoid it. Death.’

  Jinx opened his mouth to deny it, but nothing came out.

  Izzy marched across the lawn, everyone else forgotten as she saw her friends flanked by the Magpies. As she drew up, Dylan looked completely panicked, glancing at the older man with them. Clodagh stayed by his side, her expression dazed. That couldn’t be good. It really couldn’t be good.

  But Dylan stepped forward to meet her, his hands raised as if in a gesture of peace. ‘Izzy, just hang on a second.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood. What are you two doing here? What happened? What did you do?’

  ‘The Fear,’ he said and her heart shuddered inside her. She stopped, staring at him. ‘They were at the club. All those people … We had to get away. And now …’ He glanced back at Clodagh.

  It wasn’t good at all.