by J L Collins
“Hm. And something tells me that being the one to find it has somehow made your day,” Erie said, the amusement in her tone not so subtle. She stood up, dusting herself off, before offering me a hand. “But what in the world is it doing out here?”
I shrugged. “My thoughts exactly. Maybe one of the old relics?”
The corners of her eyes crinkled as she took and held the sword’s blade closer to eye-level. “I don’t know about that. It looks like underneath all the dirt, this thing’s practically new in comparison to the things they keep in the relics room.”
She was right. In some spots, the silver metal of the blade was gleaming under the sun.
“It kind of reminds me of something, though I don’t know why it would be here of all places,” she said, handing it back to me. “Don’t the Fae use these types of swords?”
I frowned. “I don’t really know. I try to keep my contact with Fairy Knights to a minimum. No offense to those Fairy Knights, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she repeated, the corner of her mouth barely curving upward. “Maybe Father will know something more about it. If anyone knows something about the weaponry the Fae use, it’ll be him.”
“True.”
My Uncle Gardner wasn’t necessarily a violent man—and in fact—he was one of the more peaceful heads of the MARC. But he wasn’t well-known for his patience with the Fae. Uncle G was the punctual, rigid side of the law, while the Fae Court was more aligned with a laissez-faire attitude and brutal honesty to a fault. Also, rigidly on the side of no rigidity—they saw Witches as a relatively young race of uptight wielders of magic. And the two did not always get along well.
The sprawling dome of the Athenaeum cast a long shadow that was starting to encompass us within it. I sighed with the sword’s hilt firmly in my grasp. “I guess we should see what he thinks.”
9
Under House Arrest
As anxious as I’d been to get the sword over to Uncle Gardner for him to look it over, I was more than a little surprised with his reaction.
He’d taken the short sword and after briefly inspecting it, handed it off to his new lead investigator, Rufio, to transport it back to MARC headquarters as potential evidence.
“Potential evidence?” I’d questioned him, almost immediately swearing under my breath as he’d raised his thick eyebrows at my tone.
According to him, it was mere decoration, though odd that it was lying out under the bushes. The short sword was too light and too old of a design to be a real Fairy Knight sword. He’d told Erie and I that he would look into it, though, and that had been that.
The short ride to Brady Manor was a quiet one. Erie’s gaze was focused on something outside, though I had a feeling it was more inside her head than anything else.
“Hey,” I said, nudging her elbow. “Are you okay?”
She ran her thumb along the bottom of the window glass, a sad smile crossing her face. “Not really. But you know me, Gwen. I . . . don’t really want to talk about it.”
And I did know her. Whenever my cousin was troubled about something, she used to do her best thinking on her own inside the small observatory at the manor house, situated right by her old bedroom. The balcony had a beautiful gazing glass, not unlike a telescope, and she would sit outside looking up at the night sky until dawn broke over the tree line. I hoped she had somewhere similar to go at her own place.
“Understood.”
“I’m not really in the mood to deal with everyone right now. I think I’ll head home first. I’ll see you later for dinner, though,” Erie said, throwing an arm around my shoulder as she commanded the transport to stop just short of the path leading up to Brady Manor. The carriage transport shuddered around us, not unlike a horse, the door on my side opening outward for me.
“Still doing the nightly dinners here with your parents, hm?” I asked, pasting on what could hopefully pass as a smile. “What happened to ‘no more long-tabled banquets that could feed a werewolf army?’”
“Working at the Mystical Menagerie may be my dream, but not because of the pay. And long-tabled banquets look mighty nice when all you have to eat at home is cat food and the occasional spider apple-cider.”
I gave a mocking gasp. “I didn’t know you had a cat!”
“Rude,” she said, nudging me. “I’ll be sure to pass along your sarcasm to Razzle, Binxley, Mr. Topham, Sir Merryweather, and Joe. And believe me when I say that Joe is not a fan of humor of any sort. Nasty temper, that one.”
I rolled my eyes as I slid out of the carriage transport, ducking to look back inside of it. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever run into him.”
Erie gave a quick wave and the transport lurched forward, the wheels rolling over the uneven road as if it were paved gold. If only the shocks on my Jeep were anything like that…
Brady Manor was just as large and beautiful as ever, my former childhood home was like a permanent pillar in the Spell Haven community. Whatever that meant was different for everyone. Still, I couldn’t help but smile as the wrought-iron gates swung open to greet me. No matter what I did in life, it seemed like Brady Manor would always consider me worthy of its grandeur.
My sneakers squeaked across the floor until I’d had enough of the sound and kicked them off by the wide fireplace that spanned most of the far wall in the parlor room. If Aunt Ginevra had seen me do that…
Heavy footsteps thunked around the corner leading out from the back sun room. Tristan’s scruffy beard wasn’t that far of a stretch from when he was holed up in Sully’s garage months ago. An image of the bottle in Aunt Ginevra’s hand at the Apothecarium came rushing to the forefront of my brain. I scowled.
“Gwennie. I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he said, tripping over a few of the words. His lazy smile and unfocused gaze made me shake my head.
“Am I late to the day-drinking party already?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. “Or are you still drunk from last night?”
“Hey—I object to that. I’m not day-drinking. I’m just a little woozy from that hangover cure Aunt Ginny brought me back. Side effects are pretty much the same as being just a little sloshed. Purely coincidental,” he said, holding his fingers an inch apart. “And just a little bit of the hair of the dog as well.”
I took a few steps forward, the smell wafting off of him hitting me square in the face. “You’re an idiot, Tristan. I hate to say that because you’re my baby brother and I love you, but it’s true.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” he said with a frown.
“I came here to check up on you. I figured I might as well stay here at the manor house while I’m helping Uncle G. So as ridiculous as it feels to ask; how are you?” Gesturing to one of the stuffed armchairs by the fireplace for him to do the same, I took a seat.
Tristan blinked a moment before finally processing what I said, and sat down across from me. “I’m all right I suppose.”
Truth be told, the way his clothes were pulled tightly across what used to be well-defined stomach muscles, I had to wonder if maybe my aunt wasn’t taking too good of care of him. He crossed his ankle over his knee as if to hide this fact from me.
“Really? Because it looks like you’re going a little stir-crazy to me.”
With a sigh, he leaned forward. “Okay. Maybe I’m getting a little tired of being stuck here, yeah.”
“Well, at least you’re being truthful now. Listen, Tris, I know you hate being cooped up like this. But it’s for your own safety. Uncle Gardner has all sorts of wards on the grounds and the house itself now—anyone who isn’t a Brady can’t just come strolling in whenever they want anymore. The last thing we need are the Dark Market profiteers coming after you again.”
He groaned. “I know, I know! You aren’t telling me anything new here, sis. It’s just so frustrating. All I want to do is go back to living a normal life. Ride out to Amaranth Forest and do some camping. Work on some archery. Go spend some time with my girlfriend. Why is that so
much to ask for?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Your girlfriend? Are you talking about Brennrie?”
“Of course I’m talking about Brennrie. I did say girlfriend, right?”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t get the memo that you two were back together,” I replied in haste.
“What? What do you mean back together? We were never officially done. It was just a break while I was working out how to steer clear of Enoch’s guys that wanted my head on a pike. Correction—that still want my head on a pike.”
“Must have had my information wrong, I guess.” Or his girlfriend didn’t realize it was just a break. Why does this sound so familiar to me? “So, you two are doing all right?”
Tristan leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “We’d be doing a heck of a lot better if we could actually see each other. Her family isn’t too keen on letting her roam around Spell Haven anymore, especially now that they know about us. And it really doesn’t help when Uncle G keeps adding safeguards to keep people out of here. She nearly burnt her hand trying to open the iron gates one night. After that, he and Aunt Ginny both said that it was safer for her to wait things out until we know for sure how to quell the profiteers’ thirst for my blood. His words, not mine.”
He took a swig from the bottle I’d seen Aunt Ginny buy for him before, wincing.
I couldn’t help but take pity on my little brother. It had to be hard going from total freedom to do whatever he wanted to being stuck inside the manor. “I’m sorry things aren’t going the way you want. I admit that if I were in your shoes, I’d probably feel the same way.”
He chuckled. “If you were me, you would’ve made smarter choices to begin with, and you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Okay, well yeah,” I laughed softly. “While that’s true and all, I still feel bad. I wish there was something I could do to help expedite the process of getting you out of here.” As big as Brady Manor was, I knew how it felt to be trapped inside it longing to get out to the one you loved. I pushed aside the thoughts just as quickly as they popped up.
“You thinking about busting me out, Gwennie?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. Even now it was impossible to see anything else but the same little Tristan whose first steps and first words were still just as fresh in my memory as my own daughter’s.
“Keep dreaming. I will, however, talk to Uncle G and see if I can’t maybe get you more frequent visits with Brennrie. Maybe if I appeal to him, you might even get a heavily-armored date out of the deal.”
He grinned but it faded away with a sigh. “One can only hope. Though the thought of the damn Shadow Hands skulking about any date with someone as beautiful as my Brennrie doesn’t sound all that ideal. I don’t see how that would give us much privacy if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I’d rather not know what you mean, so to steer the subject away from that . . . How is she doing, anyway?”
He went on to explain how the Fae Court had been keeping their subjects from wandering off out of Arcadia as much lately. According to Tristan, Brennrie was now what the Fae considered ‘dual-natured’, which meant that her unyielding allegiance to the Fae Court was on shaky grounds. Any kind of romantic relationship with a Witch was cause for their suspicion. Which made me wonder when the Fae had become so prejudiced against us.
“I thought they didn’t care who their subjects got it on with? Now suddenly she’s practically an enemy of the state?” I said.
Tristan had summoned a silver tray of scones and Earl Grey for us with the medallion hanging from his neck. A gift from Brennrie, apparently to replace a now broken wand. “There’s more to it than that, but ultimately that’s what it comes down to. They see her as dating below her station, whatever the heck that means.”
As much as I loved growing up and hearing stories about the Fae and their culture and history as the oldest race of creatures in Danann, the more I heard about how they treated outsiders, the less inclined I was to want to deal with them.
Beside us, the empty fireplace roared to life, startling both me and my brother. Swirls of embers lifted up to float toward the chimney. A glowing outline of a face seemed to rise from the embers until it took a more distinctive shape—Uncle Gardner’s.
“Gwendolyn. I’ve looked more into the short sword you uncovered earlier. I’m still not convinced it’s the real deal, but I’d like you to accompany me to Arcadia first thing tomorrow morning. Your aunt and I would like you to know that you’re more than welcome to stay in your old room as it’s prepared for you. And please be sure to let your brother know that we also fully expect him to be sober by dinner this evening. Which you are privy to, as well. Ginevra is out visiting with friends and I shall be at the Athenaeum until dark. We shall both see you for dinner.”
Tristan and I exchanged looks.
I shrugged. “I guess I could always ask Brennrie how she’s doing myself. But don’t get any cutesy ideas to send along love notes. I’m not Cupid.”
10
Queens and Pawns
The last time I was standing at the entrance of the wildflower-strewn valley that dipped into Arcadia I was trying to be as stealthy as possible. On official MARC business and with both Uncle Gardner and my Aunt Bedelia (who refused to be told she couldn’t come) inside the glaringly obvious MARC carriage transport, stealth was no longer a concern of mine.
I was more worried about the dark and heavy clouds rolling across the Arcadian countryside straight ahead. They began at the towering castle—our ultimate destination—spreading out in thick tendrils and tufts of stormy gray. Even with whatever the Fae were brewing, the breeze carried a soft and sweet scent with it, reminding me of honeysuckle.
“Well. Let it never be said that the Fae aren’t dramatic hosts,” Aunt Bedelia said, staring off into the distance as thunder cracked across the earth.
Passing the invisible border that marked the end of Spell Haven and the beginning of Arcadia, the three of us sat in silence. Aunt Bee was busy watching the colorful flowers blur by us along the road while Uncle Gardner was swiping through the magical holoscope that controlled the carriage transport, its screen pulling up an image of the very same short sword I’d found yesterday. Next to it on the screen, was a similarly-shaped weapon in the hands of some Fairy Knight, the knight’s face out of view.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the latter.
“The Fairy Knights do carry shorts words—this is a more recent image of one from my own memory. After the betrayal of . . . someone,” he said, the lines around his eyes tightening, “I called a Head of Creatures Council meeting. With the Queen Mabily in attendance she ensured her royal guard was there too, including the Fairy Knight with that particular sword. It is the current style of weaponry the Fae use, I believe.”
I frowned. “A Head of Creatures Council meeting?”
“Each race of creature in all of Danann appoints a leader to make—”
“I know what a Head of Creatures Council meeting is, sir. What I mean is why did you call it? Those are usually only done in emergencies. Unless I missed something?”
Uncle Gardner sighed, avoiding my gaze. “To apologize. I-I wanted to apologize to everyone for letting someone like Gentry Whitemourn get deep enough within the MARC to sabotage in from the inside out. I made the mistake of trusting Whitemourn. Hell, I made him my own Lead Investigator. And he completely fooled me into thinking he deserved that placement. That honor.”
I sucked in a breath, surprised at Uncle Gardner’s candor. While he was pretty much always blunt and truthful, it was a rarity to see something affect him this way. “All due respect sir, but he fooled everyone. I’m part of that everyone too, you know. He was in it for the long game, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself about trusting him.”
He swiped away the holoscope, setting his shoulders back. “The short sword you found outside the Athenaeum was forged in an ancient style. We don’t know why it was there, but the one who put it there knew thei
r Fairy weapons.”
I nodded, not exactly surprised at the sudden change in topic.
With the sky above us darkening, an unpleasant memory came rushing to the forefront of my mind. “This transport is magic-safe, right?”
“Hm?”
“The vehicle is safe from Arcadian magic, right? I didn’t exactly have the best experience last time I was here.” I twisted to reach my wand, just in case.
“While we may not experience their magic full-on inside the transport, it’s only delaying the inevitable. Once we’re at the outpost we’ll be forced to deal with it. Just keep that in mind,” he said, glancing down at the wand in my hand. “And be sure you’re in your right mind if you need to use that.”
We followed the country road cutting through the beautiful but dangerous hillside, passing a familiar pond with pink sand, until we reached the main trading outpost in Arcadia. It stood like a sore thumb with its arching entryway and hundreds of creatures—mainly the Fae—roaming in and out of it.
As the transport slowed to a stop, my stomach clenched.
“No time like the present!” Aunt Bee crooned as she swung open her door, breaking the barrier spells on the transport that kept out all unwanted magical interference.
It was like coming up for air after a long minute under water. Fairy magic left your brain craving more of it, feeling like you never truly understood how beautiful breathing was until you inhaled your first breath in Arcadia.
I immediately shook my head, trying to clear it of the bubbling, chaotic thoughts that were starting to cloud my real ones. “Ugh. It’s like I just sucked up a mouthful of cotton candy that went straight to my head.”
“What’s that, dear?” Aunt Bedelia asked, adjusting her glasses on her long nose.
Oh, yeah. I guess she has no idea what I’m talking about. “Cotton candy . . . spun sugar. It’s sort of what you imagine the clouds here to feel like in your mouth, but even sweeter.”