I handed Sloan the mug and encouraged her to drink the honeysuckle and pinkberry tea. She didn't need it for healing, but the warm liquid might sooth her nerves.
"That was a great success," Holly's cheerful voice preceded her into the room. "They practically bought the store…"
Her voice trailed off when saw Sloan. She turned to me with a puzzled expression after taking in Sloan's harsh appearance.
"Pix, this is Sloan, a friend of Xander's father. She's been watching over him for us."
"You have her taking care of your father?" Holly asked. "But she's just a kid. She can't be more than thirteen…"
"Damn it, I'm not a kid," Sloan snapped.
As Holly looked her over again, re-evaluating the details, I did the same. My essence had made subtle changes in her appearance. Her skin was a bit more luminous; her purple hair had gained some luster.
"I came back to tell you that your demonstration was a big success. Sales are significantly higher today," Holly said, forcing a smile.
"That's grand, Pix."
"Yeah. But I need to speak to you about something. Can you come with me a minute?"
Holly picked up the sleeping Trayce from his cradle in the front of the room. I closed the door behind us and followed her into my workroom.
"She looks so young, and she has pointed ears—is she a Sidhe?" Holly whispered. I had drilled into Holly's head that she must never let a fae know she could break their glamour. "Is she a danger to Trayce?"
"No more dangerous than any stranger. She doesn't seem to know what she is. If she's a Sidhe, I would put her in her mid to late twenties."
Sloan was too tall to be a Brounie, too pretty to be a Leprechaun, and a Silkie would have returned to the sea long ago. There were other possibilities; other types of fae existed. None were a good match for Sloan.
More and more the evidence leaned toward her being a Sidhe. She had flitted on the wind, albeit clumsily; she was tall and willowy and seemed to brighten whenever I gave her a bit of my essence. But if she was a Sidhe, I still didn't understand why her appearance was so dull in the first place.
Back in the storage room, Alexander and Sloan faced each other, arms crossed and glaring. I rushed in, ready to diffuse whatever brewed between them. I frowned at Alexander, who should know better. He kept his petulant stance, not willing to give up his suspicions towards Sloan.
Alexander's phone rang and he stepped away to take the call, giving me the opportunity to look Sloan over for any residual injuries. She appeared whole and comfortable, her pain completely gone. I lifted her chin and brushed her hair from her eyes. She was a pretty girl when you looked past the piercings and tattoos.
"You'll do," I said, smiling.
She squinted at me, apparently confused by my tenderness. Then she gave me a tentative smile in return.
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
"I could eat," she said. She tried to feign nonchalance with a shrug, but her eyes grew wide with anticipation.
Xander returned and watched silently as I went to my purse, took out twenty dollars and handed it to Sloan. I sent her off to the café next door to get lunch. He watched her go, shaking his head.
"I hope you know what you're doing with that one."
We went into my workroom. Alexander dropped into a chair behind me while I cleared off my worktable, getting ready to go home for the day.
"Matt says there hasn't been any more activity around the estate," he said, gesturing with his phone. "Are you sure you're okay with my bringing my father to Pine Ridge? You hardly know him, and here I am planning to settle him into your home."
"Sure and he will come to us. Family takes care of family," I said, surprised by the question. I hadn't considered any other arrangement.
"I figured you would say that," he said with a smile. "I just didn't want to assume."
With my tools and supplies safely put away, I reached for my purse. Alexander grabbed my coat and held it up to help me into it.
"Let me take you home, get you safe within the wards. Matt and I will head out right after. I'll figure out how to convince him to return with me along the way."
"It would be faster if Sloan and I to flit to him and drive him back in his car. Besides, with a little Sidhe essence I can convince anyone to do anything."
Alexander dropped his arms, letting my coat drag on the floor, his expression a mixture of shock and outrage. "Tressa, that's out of the question. I don't trust that street urchin. Like I believe she flitted here without knowing what she was doing or where she was going," he said with biting sarcasm.
"Sloan is a mixed up kid who was never nurtured by her own kind. She just needs someone to take her under their wing."
"You told me she's probably in her twenties. Like she says herself, she's no kid."
"The Sidhe mature much slower than humans. After all, our life span covers hundreds of years. That's why she looks so young."
He stared at me with pursed lips. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. He lifted the coat again and I slid my arms through the sleeves.
"What does her aura tell you?"
At least now he was listening. Unfortunately, I couldn't give him the reassurances he hoped for.
Half an hour later, we discussed the plan with Sloan. I assured Alexander several times that I would be cautious—that I would take my cellphone so he could reach me. Finally, after I agreed to flit away at the first sign of trouble, he left the shop and headed back to Pine Ridge to prepare for his father's arrival.
Although I made flitting together sound simple to reassure Alexander, I had some concerns that I hadn't mentioned to him. Flitting while holding onto another Sidhe could be a catastrophe if the two Sidhe weren't bound together or didn't move in tandem. It involved a lot of trust on both parts.
I knew Sloan did not trust me, and if I spoke truthfully I didn't trust her either—at least, not in this situation. We would have to travel separately.
"Sloan, you did this once, so I'm sure you have the basic idea of how it works, but let me give you some instruction."
Sloan shrugged, doing her best to pretend disinterest.
"Yeah, okay, whatever."
"To arrive at the right place involves picturing the location where you want the wind to take you. When we go outside we'll take a few steps and will the wind to pick us up. Concentrate on the spot you want to be transported to, like the driveway next to Mr. Mannus's house. The better you're able to picture it and leave everything else out of your mind, the faster the wind will take you there. If you get distracted, you might end up taking a detour. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah, I got it. Let's just go."
I told Holly I was leaving, offering the excuse that I had to take Sloan home. Then we headed out the back door of the shop.
I was walking in the driveway of Alexander's childhood home a minute later. It didn't surprise me that Sloan hadn't arrived with me; flitting takes a while to get to the hang of. John's home was as quiet as it had been when I arrived with Alexander on our first visit. However, just to be sure, I went to the front door while I waited for Sloan to arrive.
Before I could ring the doorbell I heard Lady barking from behind the house. I was starting in that direction when Sloan landed hard on the driveway, tripping and falling to her knees on the macadam. She cursed, shrugging me off when I tried to help her to her feet.
Lady's bark turned into a snarl; Sloan and I looked at each other and rushed towards the garage. Despite the frigid weather, the garage door was open wide. John lay on the ground, appearing to have just fallen. The huge dog stood between him and George Morgan, who had a dagger in his hand. She bared her teeth and snapped at him.
"Get out of my way, you stupid dog," he shouted, swinging his leg out to kick her. "If he's dead, I get to go home."
Lady dodged his blow but took advantage of the wild swing, clamping her jaws around his ankle. He yelled and slashed down with the dagger, forcing the dog to release her grip to avoid being stabb
ed. Morgan stumbled backward, unable to stand on the mauled ankle. Lady went back to her defensive stance, protecting John from the Unseelie.
"George! What the hell's gotten into you?" John yelled, leaning on the fender of the car as he stood.
"My Nancy is gone."
"Yes, I went to her memorial service," John said, bewildered. "But why attack me?"
"We've been stuck here for almost thirty years—our punishment—to wait and watch for the fáidh to return. Now Nancy's gone and I can't accompany her body home."
The Unseelie's eyes were wild, spoiling the 'mild-mannered middle-aged man' facade. John stepped backwards, looking frail and elderly. He ran up against the workbench along the back wall, unable to move any farther. He reached out blindly and grabbed a large metal wrench that lay on top of the bench.
"Unseelie George Morgan, son of the fallen, leave this human. Even you must find dishonor in such a disproportionate fight," I called out to him in the way of the Otherworld.
I startled him out of his lunacy. He spun toward me, taking a stronger grip on his dagger. Runes, etched in to the blade, flashed in the sunlight.
"Who dares to try to true name me?" he yelled. When he saw me, his eyes grew wide with astonishment. "The King's Jewel!" He cackled. "Even better. You will restore my favor with my prince."
He forgot all about John. His focus now centered on capturing me for Deaglan Mór. He came at me with his dagger even as I spread my hands to show I had no weapon.
"Is there no honor among the Unseelie that they would attack a defenseless woman?" I said, taking a step back.
My cell phone rang, the noise shrilled in my coat pocket. No doubt Alexander had sensed we were in danger. I remembered my promise to flit away and looked past George to John. I couldn't keep that promise; not when it meant leaving John here on his own.
"The greatest dishonor is missing my dear Nancy's sendoff. You are my ticket back to the Otherworld."
Lady ran up and sprang at George, jumping at him with her full weight. He lost his balance and fell. When he hit the pavement the big dog held him down, standing with her front paws on his chest.
He swung wildly with his blade and slashed at Lady's leg. The dog yelped and jumped away. She attacked him again as he got back to his feet, snarling and crunching down on the calf muscle of his already injured leg. Blood gushed from the wounds.
Morgan stopped his yelling and cursing long enough to throw a loud, three note whistle onto the wind—the Unseelie Faugh a Ballagh, a traditional battle cry calling all combatants.
Sloan came up beside me. I had forgotten about her until she appeared in my peripheral vision. She carried the odd spade shaped knife in her hand. George stared at the blade, mesmerized, and didn't react when she slashed it at him and pierced his side. He put his hand to the whole by his ribs and looked at the blood spilling through his fingers.
"It's you. The Lost Child," he said. Then a new flame ignited inside him. He seemed to regain strength, lunging for Sloan with his knife. The girl jumped away just as John knocked the Unseelie over the head with the wrench. Morgan dropped to the ground.
Sloan stood over Morgan, ready to take the blade to him should he move. She kicked his dagger away, sending it spinning into the yard. John dropped the wrench and took a few steps backwards. We all stood in stunned silence, gasping for breath as we took in the bloody mess that covered the driveway.
"What do we do now?" Sloan asked.
Before I could respond, the Unseelie's body, along with all the blood, disappeared.
We had to get away as fast as possible. The wind would carry Morgan's whistle to any Unseelie for miles. Perhaps there were no more Unseelie in the area, but Nancy and George Morgan and the Gray Man should never have been here either. For all I knew, a dozen was about to descend upon us.
My phone kept ringing, but I didn't take the time to answer. I was desperate to get our little group away from this place, and I couldn't flit away without getting John and Lady to safety first.
The violence had confused John. He didn't recognize me. He didn't even recognize Sloan. Only the dog seemed familiar to him, though he kept calling her Casey. I had to assume that had been the name of the Nelson's dog.
While he fussed about the wounded dog, I gave Sloan a towel I found in the kitchen. I instructed her to wrap the dog's wound and apply pressure to stop the bleeding. That would do until we got away.
She did as I asked while I ran upstairs. I pulled a big battered suitcase from a shelf in the closet and filled it with clothes and personal items. Once I had the basics, I rushed back downstairs.
"The bleeding's stopped," Sloan said.
I grabbed a butcher knife from the woodblock on the counter.
"Where's your knife?" I asked Sloan, realizing she no longer held it.
I hadn't seen it earlier, not until she had it in her hand. The same thing had happened at the lighthouse. Perhaps it had a glamour similar to the sword's that made it indiscernible until wielded.
Sloan shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I dropped it outside."
She looked annoyingly calm. She had no experience, no training to know what George Morgan's whistle had meant. I grabbed a second knife from the wooden block and handed it to her.
"Okay, let's get going," I said.
We all moved toward the door except John. He went to the kitchen counter and began making coffee.
"John, what are you doing? We have to get out of here," I said.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He came over and kissed my cheek. "Nice to see you. Come again soon."
I watched, amazed, as he returned to the coffeemaker and scooped coffee into the filter. My phone rang again, rattling my already jagged nerves.
"Mr. M, you need to come with us," Sloan said urgently, picking up on my distress.
"Oh no, I can't leave now. Neve will come home any minute."
"John, Alexander asked us to take you home to him. You don't want to keep him waiting, do you?" I spoke sweetly, infusing my voice with my Sidhe essence, willing him to comply with my request.
Sloan took his hand and tried to pull him toward the door. He yanked his arm back angrily.
"I'm not going anywhere. I told you: Neve will be here soon. She'll expect me to be here."
I let out a breath in a huff of frustration. Lady whined beside me. My phone rang again and my patience snapped. If I didn't get him out of there soon we could all be dead. I said a little prayer, asking for forgiveness; then I turned and looked him directly in the eyes.
"John Timothy Mannus, father of Alexander Mannus, you will give me your keys, get into the car, and let me drive you to visit with your son."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALEXANDER
I cursed myself for the hundredth time. How could I have agreed to let Tressa go without me? It had been insanity.
"Xander, you've got to calm down or you'll explode," said Matt.
He sat in a leather executive chair in front of the screens, monitoring the cameras and motion detectors around the estate.
The small control room didn't lend itself well to pacing, which I had been doing anyway for several hours. Ever since five minutes after Tressa left and a pain in my gut screamed danger.
It took a half hour, but she finally answered her phone. She hastily summarized their encounter with Morgan. Once I was sure she had gotten away and was on the way home, the pain began to ease. Still, I refused to leave the control room with a possible immanent threat of Unseelie, and apparently I couldn't make myself stop the pacing.
"I should've gone with her."
"We thought the Morgans might be here. You made your decision based on the information you had at the time."
"Hmm," I said noncommittal. I wasn't convinced I made the decision at all. Tressa was really good at getting her way when she wanted to.
"Anyway, it sounds as if things would have been much worse if she hadn't gotten there when she did. I hate to think what you would have found if you had gotten there three hours l
ater." Matt was right, but somehow that didn't make me feel better. "Well anyway, on the bright side, the only activity I see on the Estate is a few deer scrounging for food. The last time an Unseelie touched the wards the camera picked up flashes of red. I haven't seen any of that either."
My father's silver Honda appeared on one of the cameras and my shoulders immediately felt lighter. They had finally arrived. I had planned to run to meet them, but I stayed put to watch the screen when I noticed they had stopped before turning into the driveway.
Tressa sat in the driver's seat arguing with Sloan, who sat next to her. The camera at the gate captured an amazing amount of detail. I could see the weariness and frustration on Tressa's face.
I tried to read their lips, but they spoke so quickly it was fruitless. With Tressa still talking, Sloan opened the door and rushed out. Tressa lunged across the seat and tried to grab her, but Sloan was too quick.
She slammed the car door in Tressa's face. Turning back for a moment, she inadvertently looked directly at the security camera before jogging out of view. Her expression startled me. I expected defiance, anger, or perhaps even ambiguity, but instead her face had been lined with pain. It didn't make any sense. Why not come in and let Tressa help her if she had hurt herself?
The fleeting thought evaporated. I left the control room and sprinted toward the front door. My only concern was to make sure the rest of them were okay.
"Shamus, they're here," I yelled, but when I reached the foyer the old Brounie was already there.
"No need to shout, Mr. Xander," Shamus said in that haughty way he had. "It is my duty to greet anyone who enters this home, so of course I am here."
I stopped the biting remark that jumped into my mind from escaping out of my mouth. Choosing to ignore him instead, I ran out the door and met the car as it pulled up to the front of the house.
The Honda came to a stop and an instant later, Tressa flung her arms around my neck. Her body trembled with stress and fear. I pulled her to me, resting my head on hers.
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