by A. L. Knorr
I took a breath and recoiled gently. "What are you doing?"
He paused, gaze on my lips. His hands came up, gently cupping my elbows. "You want this too." He cocked his head, and I was reminded of an inquisitive puppy. "Was I wrong?"
"I'm in love with Lachlan." I put my palms on his chest and moved him a step back.
His brows twitched, making him look puzzled. "The Scot whose car I returned?"
I stepped around him. "I didn't think you even liked me."
He turned to follow me, frowning. "First of all, you should be with someone of your own kind. Second of all, how could you think I didn't like you? I lost a thumb for you." His expression crumpled like he regretted the words. "Not that that is a reason to be with me, just ... I thought you knew how I felt."
"Um. No. And it never occurred to me because I thought you knew that I’m in love with Lachlan." I looked around for a way out. All of the panels were closed up tight. I felt with my fingers along the seams where two panels met. "How do we open the walls?"
Laec took my hand and pulled me around to face him. "Georjie, you're half fae. You belong here, in Stavarjak." He paused and swallowed before he added, "With me."
Annoyance, dismay, and compassion made a strange soup in my belly. The shock of his admission, so out of the blue, had me feeling blind-sided. "How do you know where I belong? I'm half human, that could just as easily mean I belong on my side of the veil, the side where I was born and raised. The side where most everyone I love lives."
Laec's eyes tightened, his mouth became a straight line. "You're putting both of our worlds in danger with your pigheadedness. Why can't you admit when you're beaten? Stay here and the threat to your life goes away, and the threat to the veil."
My patience was wearing thin. "I already told you the Queen promised she has my back. I don't have to defeat Daracha, all I have to do is lure her."
"What if the witch has killed the last Wise without? Then you're taking an unnecessary risk."
I glared at him. "If Daracha found one, she could find more. And what of Fyfa? You expect me to leave her in that state when I know what will heal her?"
I could tell that Laec hadn't thought of that. He had no response, only closed his mouth and looked at me. Silence grew heavy between us. I finally broke it because I couldn't read his expression and I was afraid of what he might have been thinking.
"I'm sorry I don't return your feelings, but I've got things to do and standing here debating with you is wasting precious time." I turned away and shouted at the room. "I'm finished; can I go now please?"
There came a loud clank and a whooshing of air as the panels of the room separated and swept outward, opening like a flower.
"Georjie," Laec said sharply, reaching for me.
I slipped away from him and squeezed through one of the narrow openings, not stopping to admire the way the torches flared to life to light my way. Retracing our steps down the corridor and up the many levels of landings and stairs, I did not stop. I heard Laec as he followed me, though he didn't say anything else.
I didn't fully trust Laec, though I knew what he'd sacrificed for me. Something about him reminded me of a dangerous wild animal, one of the beautiful ones you admire from a distance but don't want to get too close to. Lachlan had never given me pause to consider the dangers of loving him. Trusting him was easy and falling in love with him had been even easier. I wasn't about to turn my back on that and all that I cared for, for what might turn out to be a fling with someone different and a little dangerous.
He was handsome, no one could deny his appeal, handsome like some ornate, well-crafted knife. I had some experience with the kind of boys who'd been attracted to me simply because I'd taken no notice of them, like I was a challenge. I wasn't interested in playing games like that. Saxony appreciated these kinds of 'mating rituals' because she was good at them and wired for them, even from a young age—to her, courting was a dance, but to me it was a game, and games had winners and losers. Always. Between Lachlan and me, there were no sides, there was only what was real and what was best for us. He was for me, and I was for him. Laec was sometimes for me, and sometimes for himself.
As I approached the final level, Laec said my name again. I didn't stop or wait for him. I didn't have the energy or the time to debate. I had to get myself to Dundee, and deep inside there was a small twist of fear that if I gave him half a chance, Laec might prevent me from leaving.
"Georjie, I'm sorry," Laec said as I left the castle. I glanced back to see him step from the doorway. It slid closed seamlessly behind him.
"Thank you for bringing me to the treasury, Laec. Look after Fyfa. When she wakes, give her my love and tell her what's happened."
Laec's body seemed to tighten, to load as if ready to spring. I saw his fingers twitch at his sides, and my body tensed.
"You're really going?"
I threw my hands wide with exasperation. "What do you expect? I just explained why to you."
"I don't think ... " He took a step forward, I matched it with a step back.
"You don't think what?"
"I don't think you should trust the queen."
His words were like darts puncturing the balloon of hope that I had allowed to grow within me. I was at a loss for words, my mind blazing. It was like he’d found my biggest fear button and stomped on it.
"I don’t have a choice," I said softly, and my words seemed to strike him as hard as his had struck me. He bared his teeth and lunged.
I leapt back as he made a grab for me, fingers curling to clutch and missing by a hair's breadth. The air around him shimmered and his mouth opened, eyes tightening again.
In the space between heartbeats, I slipped between worlds. Laec's form vanished as my body was blasted by an icy wind. I shivered and staggered for balance.
The walls of Blackmouth Castle loomed close to me, my feet sinking in the freezing mud of one of the side gardens. Panting a little, Laec's words echoed in my mind, planting tiny seeds of doubt with every repetition. I plucked those seeds up before they had a chance to root deep, but I couldn’t get them all.
"I don't have a choice," I repeated at the place where Laec had been standing a moment before.
Sucking sounds filled the air as I made my way out of the garden and to the walkway that led around to the back door.
Chapter Sixteen
I pulled Gavin's all-purpose vehicle into the parking lot of the Dundee Museum. I'd told the Sutherlands that I wanted to take a road trip south to visit some historic sites. Gavin was more than happy to give me the use of one of his vehicles.
I was hesitant to tell Lachlan about my plan, such as it could be called a plan, because I knew he'd want to come. In the end, I had to tell him because he could smell my anxiety. The last couple of days to the day of the full moon was torture. How could I know if I was leaving things too late, or if I was leaving too early?
My plan went something like this: leave Blackmouth Castle early in the morning, alone and with a full tank of gas. Arrive in Dundee as dawn hit. I didn't want to have an accidental face to face with the ithe at night, which would put me at a disadvantage, but I also didn't want to do this in full daylight. The less attention I attracted, the better. Lachlan and I had hunted for the location of the old well, but there was no mention of it in any of his books or on any of his maps. We learned however that there was a large hand-painted map of the medieval Dundee outside of the town's museum. That seemed to be my best shot. So, I'd find the well as daylight was chasing back the shadows and learn whatever I could at the old well, via residual.
My hope was that something in the residual would give me an advantage. If it did, I'd run with whatever advantage that was. If it didn't, I'd wait for some sign of Daracha or the ithe. I had to walk a tightrope once that happened ... let them see me and follow me back to Blackmouth, using every trick I had not to get caught. I couldn't afford the mistakes of last time, driving on the wrong side of the road and taking a wrong turn in a
panic. I had to keep a cool head, stay in control, both of myself and of Gavin's truck. I'd seen Daracha take the shape of a purple thundercloud. She'd been able to move fast, but if I hadn't panicked and turned down an empty fire road, I should have been able to stay in front of her. Should ... a word full of risk and happenstance.
It was messy and a million things could go wrong, but it was the best I could come up with in the time I had.
Dawn was a subtle glow on the eastern horizon, painting the clouds a light dove-grey bleeding upwards into smoke-black. Putting the small four-wheeled drive truck into park, I spotted what I was looking for before I even got out. The town had erected the commemorative map some fifty years ago, a map which artfully highlighted ancient features, including ones no longer in existence. Hoping the town's old well was one of these, I made my way over to the tall square sign.
My breath misted in front of my face. In the distance, a dog gave a brief howl and grew silent again. The streets were quiet, lit with only a few lamps. Thankfully, there were two lights overhanging the sign. Scanning the map for a notation marking an old well yielded nothing, but my eye caught on a circular hill denoted by elevation lines. Because of my dream, I knew the well was on a hill. I noted the interweaving roads and followed with my finger the one which would take me nearest.
Getting back into the vehicle, I left the parking lot and made my way through town at slightly too fast a speed. I forced myself down to the speed limit. I didn't need the police muddling my already precarious plan.
A park surrounded by a circle of trees—the center of which was a soft mound that looked familiar—came into view on the left hand side. A parking area opened up. I pulled Gavin's vehicle in before turning it off and getting out.
The park was surrounded by a black iron fence and a sign at the gate proclaimed dogs welcome as long as they left no stink bombs in the grass. Trying the gate, I found it unlocked and stepped through to a trail which ran around the entire perimeter. Ignoring the trail, I crossed over it and headed uphill. My mouth went dry as a strange feeling of déjà vu came over me. I wondered if that's where déjà vu came from, places or events we'd experienced in our dreams but forgotten in our waking life, leaving us with a jolt of recognition that we'd been there before.
Beyond the hill, well into the trees outside the park's fence was the soft glow of a ley line. Straight enough to have been drawn with a ruler, it arrowed its way north where it would pass not too distant from the castle. I was pleasantly surprised to see it, but perhaps I shouldn't have been. It only made sense that there was a supernatural connection between Dundee and Blackmouth.
A worn trail in the short grass wound its way up the hill in a zigzag manner. There was no well at the top of the hill, but I felt sure this was the right place. After all, this was now a public park; they wouldn't leave a medieval well here to be a hazard to visitors.
When I was close to the top, I stooped and grabbed a clump of damp earth. Straightening, I watched, heart pounding, as a residual bled into my vision. The old well took shape to my left, a circular structure of stones. The wooden cover had been removed and lay in the grass not far away. Also on the ground, barely visible, was a blade in a scabbard, a quiver of arrows, and a bow. My sight caught hard on them. They weren't the kinds of weapons a human would carry, even in medieval times. I knew at a glance from their elaborate designs that they had a fae owner.
Above the well, a shape blotted out a sky full of stars. I recognized the shape as human and choked off a scream. I staggered backward away from the sight.
A man hung upside down over the mouth of the well, rotating slowly as though on some invisible rotisserie. Long hair swung and drifted in a breeze, totally obscuring the face. It was obvious it was a man from the breadth of shoulder, length of legs and arms, and size of his booted feet. His arms dangled overhead, his elegantly formed hands and fingers relaxed.
It was also obvious he was fae.
As the man turned, a pointed ear could be glimpsed through the hanging hair, a bit of cheekbone and chin, the tip of his nose. He was dressed similarly to Laec, only his clothing was more suited to cold weather. A long sleeved tunic belted at the waist, a thick vest in some soft knitted material, like wool. Leather pants reflected the dull light of a moonlit night, and well-made boots that covered the knee. He was either dead, unconscious, or in some trance because though there were no visible bonds; he remained completely still.
Fyfa's words echoed in my mind. She'd told me about a fae lover she'd had. He'd become vengeful and left the within to stop the witch.
He never returned. Daracha killed him.
It was Fyfa's lover I was seeing now, I was certain of it. Perhaps it was Fyfa's lover who had given me the broken message. But how? The events I was seeing happened in the seventeenth century. How could he have left a message for me in my time. Unless ... he was still alive, still able to do magic, somehow. Why hadn't I asked Fyfa for his name?
Women’s voices made me turn. Coming up the hill, each carrying a bag over their shoulder, were two ladies in medieval dress.
Whatever Laec had done to me that night in Lachlan's spare bedroom had woken my ability to hear residuals. I was grateful and sent Laec silent thanks. But as the women talked, dread began to fill my heart like cold water. As they approached and the moonlight illuminated their features, I recognized Daracha, but only barely.
She was very young, not yet out of her teens, but she already had her breathtaking beauty. A flawless complexion, luminous large eyes, and full naturally dark lips. Though I couldn't see her colors, I knew her hair would be that rich impossible red.
The figures of both women were astonishing, even under the layers of skirts and shawls they wore. Large-breasted, small-waisted, and wide curving hips swayed elegantly as they walked up the hill.
Margaret—she could not have been anyone else—was as stunning as Daracha. Long hair, which surely had been a bright, burnished gold, lay luscious and curled over her shoulders. A small kerchief tied at the nape of her neck covered the top of her head. She had a small pointed chin, eyebrows and lashes a movie-star from the forties would have envied, and a rosebud mouth. The eyes, though. Hard and cold and lit with a malevolence that took my breath away.
Curiously, Daracha did not yet have the cold apathy that I had seen in her in the present day. Her transformation into a black witch was not yet complete. Daracha kept her eyes focused on the ground, looking up at the well and the fae dangling over it only briefly. She trailed behind Margaret, huffing as they climbed the hill in their heavy skirts.
"Why must you dawdle so?" Margaret snapped at her companion without looking at her. "Did I not warn you the spell must be done at the zenith of the moon? I try to teach you, but you are willfully obstinate. I thought surely your beauty would make you keen."
"I am keen, Margaret." Daracha's voice had none of the power it had now. She sounded meek, even cowed, by her friend. "I lost track of time."
"As usual. Did you bring the knife? The one with the bone handle?"
"I brought it. I had to put Sarah to sleep to get it." Daracha took a few jogging steps to catch up to Margaret but as she did, I saw the strangest thing.
Just when Daracha jogged, Margaret slid forward along the ground at a pace faster than the speed her stride should have allowed. I wanted to close my eyes to block out the dizzy feeling this weird effect brought on, but I didn't want to miss anything. Margaret continued to ask Daracha if she'd brought more things, either not noticing or pretending not to notice that she'd slipped forward like she was riding a moving walkway. The result was that no matter how she tried, Daracha could not catch the other witch, and remained always a step behind.
They came to the well and stopped, looking up at the fae dangling there in silence. I wondered if he was conscious and decided he must not be. Surely he would have asked for mercy or tried to barter with them for his life.
Ejecting clouds of vapor, Daracha shifted uneasily beside Margaret, unwilling to look
at the fae man for longer than a few seconds at a time. Her hands wrung the life from each other and her voice came out as a frightened squeak. "Are you certain this is necessary?"
"Would you rather kill him and miss your chance?" Margaret snapped. "We can be done with it right now, but you won't likely have another opportunity. They do not venture beyond the veil often any more. Do not allow your squeamishness to keep you weak."
The young witch only nodded, her breathing fast and shallow.
Margaret put out her hand. "Give me the bag. Stand there and do exactly as I say." She pointed to a spot near the well where the earth was bare of grass, the place those drawing water would have stood.
Daracha took the bag from her shoulder and handed it to Margaret. Moving forward, she stood on the spot she'd been commanded to. Her face was pale and dewy, her shoulders raised and tight.
"Relax, it looks like you're the one facing lifetimes of enslavement." Margaret set the bag on the ground and began to rummage inside. "Byrne is the victim here, not you."
My lips parted in shock and my gaze flew to the fae prisoner.
"Burn," I whispered. The answer the ithe had given me when I'd asked it who it was. Shock made me feel off balance and I took a step back, sucking in air. They were turning Fyfa's lover into the ithe. Bile burned the back of my throat and a tear escaped. I brushed it away angrily, wishing there was something I could do to stop them.
Margaret stood, holding a small ceramic bowl and the bone-handled steak knife. She looked up at the sky as though judging the face of a clock. Putting the bowl and the knife in the same hand, she held up several fingers and closed one eye. Peering at the moon, she muttered a few inaudible words. Finished with that, she nodded and handed Daracha the bowl. As she did this, the fae man stopped rotating and just hung there in the air like a levitating upside down statue.
Horror built in my stomach like a hive of angry bees as I watched Margaret give Daracha instructions. As Daracha drew blood from Byrne's dangling hand, stretching over the mouth of the well to catch it in the bowl, Margaret retrieved a sheaf of papers from the bag. She referred to them, feeding Daracha incantations in a plain voice. Daracha repeated them in a low chant. It made me want to retch.