Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Legends

by Lydia Sherrer

  “You! You killed my son!”

  “No! I didn’t—I mean, it was an accident! The buckshot—“

  But her father paid no heed, screaming over her protests as he advanced, crackling with renewed energy. “Your brother! You murdered your own brother! My SON!”

  Lily just stumbled back, mind frozen blank with shock and too weary, so weary of fighting.

  But before John Faust could utter a single spell, Sebastian’s staff fell, breaking through the weaker rear of John Faust’s shield. Though its power was blunted, it continued, hitting the older man solidly in the back of the head.

  John Faust dropped like a rock.

  Knowing he wouldn’t be seriously injured, only knocked out, Lily rushed to Caden’s side. Keeling, her hands fluttered in helpless panic. “No, no, no, Caden. What do we do? Help! Sebastian, help me!”

  Tears leaked from her eyes as she ripped off her jacket and pressed it to the wound in the side of her brother’s neck, heedless of the blood. Its acrid, metallic tang assaulted her nostrils, adding nausea to her already shocked system.

  Then Sebastian was there, pulling her away.

  “No! We can’t—he might still—stop Sebastian!”

  “Lily. Lily! Stop it. It’s over. There’s too much blood. It must have hit an artery. He would have bled out in less than a minute.”

  “Nooo…no…” Lily’s voice faded to an agonized whisper, turning into Sebastian’s embrace as he held her tightly, paying no heed to her blood-covered hands or the blood dripping from his temple.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see Trista standing close by, staring down at her dead brother. There was no emotion on her face, no tears, no sadness. Lily wondered briefly what kind of loveless, miserable life she’d been subjected to, to not even mourn her own brother’s passing. She also wondered if she had any hope of healing those wounds.

  A yowl from Sir Kipling brought all their heads up just in time to see John Faust scramble to his feet—apparently not as unconscious as they had assumed—and stumble toward the back of the cavern where—no!

  Slowly, carefully, silently, Morgan le Fay had crept to the far wall where the arch of dimmu runes was carved into the rock. There she had silently enchanted them to open a portal to only she knew where. Somehow she’d managed to signal to John Faust, who was even now scrambling toward it as fast as he could.

  Lily pushed off Sebastian’s chest, her weary legs stumbling toward them as her mouth opened, mind searching for any spell that might delay their inevitable departure. Or should she aim at the portal? Any spell’s energy had a chance to disrupt the portal’s magic, but if she timed it wrong and someone tried to go through right as the spell hit and the portal failed, they would be killed.

  It was no use. Her mind was agonizingly sluggish, weighed down by intense fatigue. By the time she’d begun her spell, Morgan le Fay had already disappeared through the archway, and John Faust was at her heel.

  Unwilling to risk killing her father, Lily let the spell die on her lips just as he dove head first through the portal. By the time she reached the far wall, the magic had dissipated, leaving only blank stone in its wake.

  The sudden silence of the room roared in her ears, its stillness a stark contrast to the furious battle not minutes before. Stumbling to a standstill, she turned and leaned against the wall, intending to slide down it and rest her weary legs. But the sight of a tiny form on the cavern floor made her stiffen.

  It was right where Morgan had fallen after being stunned.

  “Nooo, Pip. Not you, too.” The words dropped from her lips as quietly as the tears dripped from her cheeks, making dark splashes on the dusty floor.

  Sinking to her knees and crawling over to the little pixie, Lily gently scooped the limp form up into her palm. Pip’s glow had been extinguished, the green of magic that had been her life force snuffed out like a candle, leaving a tiny, frail creature with gossamer wings. Lily cradled the pixie against her cheek, rocking back and forth as crushing sorrow tore cruelly at her heart. The violence of it was unexpected. She had barely known Pip, yet the fae had stuck loyally by her, even died protecting her. Overcome by grief, she wept for the brave little pixie.

  Somewhere in that storm of sadness, Lily felt a hand on her shoulder. She heard Sebastian’s low, comforting voice, then felt him sit down beside her, pulling her close to lean against him. He rocked with her, sharing her grief as they both mourned their fallen friend.

  Lily didn’t weep just for Pip. She wept for the evil in the world. The hate. The misguided intentions and greed for power that led to good people dying for no reason.

  “I—I—f—failed.” Lily sobbed into Sebastian’s shirt, overcome by despair. “Pip—is—d—dead, and C—Caden, too. And they g—got away.”

  He gripped her tighter, as if he could somehow squeeze away her pain. “Hush. Don’t talk like that. You didn’t fail. You stripped Morgan of a large part of her power. You convinced Trista to side with us. You’ve taken away all of John Faust’s allies and he’s on the run. We’ll catch him. We’ll catch them both. It’s going to be alright.”

  “B—but Pip—“

  “Don’t think about it. Bad things happen. People…” Sebastian paused, then took a shuddering breath, every word heavy with pain. “People die. You can’t stop it. I promise, you’ll drive yourself insane if you try to make sense of it. There is no…no why. It just happens. And the only way we can go on is to make sure they didn’t die in vain.”

  Lily tried to nod, tears still streaming down her cheeks even though her shuddering sobs had subsided. There was a why, and she knew what it was. Its name was John Faust, and he had to be stopped. How long would she hold back and let her friends get hurt? That man had killed before and he would kill again. He deserved to die. He ought to die. But could she do it herself? Who else had to suffer before she was finally driven to kill her own father?

  Those thoughts did nothing to calm her, so she tried to push them away. She would have to face them eventually, but not today.

  “W—what are we going to do now?” Lily asked, trying to dry her eyes on her sleeve before realizing it was already soaked.

  “I’m going to summon Thiriel. She owes us. Don’t worry, we’ll get everything straightened out. I promise.”

  Not having a shred of strength left in her to do anything but believe him, she believed him with all her heart. That belief gave her the strength to take his hand and haul herself to her feet. It gave her the strength to wrap Pip in a handkerchief and carefully stow her body away in a pocket of her backpack. It gave her the strength to help Trista move Caden’s body out of the pool of blood and clean him off as best they could as Sir Kipling sat nearby, watching solemnly over the body. Her faithful cat, perhaps knowing that Sebastian was what she’d needed in her moment of grief, had remained to stand guard by Caden’s body like a furred and four-footed honor guard until they came to collect him. Lily was grateful, feeling that Caden shouldn’t be left alone.

  Cyril was busy rousing Hawkins, who seemed unhurt but for a massive headache. The manservant looked away sadly when he saw what had happened to Caden, but offered no apology. Lily supposed that, having done what he thought was right in a dangerous situation, Hawkins accepted the consequences of his actions and moved on. She wanted to be angry with him but knew she couldn’t. Caden would have done his best to help John Faust kill them all if he hadn’t been shot. He might have intercepted Lily before she got to Morgan, turning the tide of the battle against them. His youth was no excuse. So instead, Lily turned her anger toward her father, the man who had betrayed his son by teaching him lies and raising him as a tool of his own selfish quest for power.

  As she and Trista finished tending to Caden’s body, Lily wondered morbidly what they would do with it. They obviously couldn’t take it back to Tintagel village and become embroiled in an international murder investigation. But before she could fret too much, Sebastian appeared at her side. He put a reassuring hand on her arm and sp
oke clearly, calling out Thiriel’s name in the fae tongue.

  Slowly, as if she were reluctant to come, the shadows coalesced into her tall, lithe form, white hair cascading down her shoulders in picture-perfect contrast to their disheveled states. She gazed about them, eyes taking in the new faces of Cyril and Trista, then lingering on the bloody pool on the floor. She sighed.

  Thiriel took Lily and Sebastian, along with Sir Kipling, with her to the fae realm. She refused to admit the other three of their group, but Hawkins assured her they would be fine making their careful way up the cliff face and back to the hotel. They agreed to meet there once business in the fae realm was taken care of.

  Journeying with Thiriel to Melthalin wasn’t the long, tiring ordeal they’d experienced before. Apparently, being a high fae meant you had greater control over passage through the twilight. She simply gathered them to her—Lily and Sebastian carrying Caden’s body between them—and warned them to stay close. Then the cavern walls faded. The cold blackness lasted only a moment before it was slowly replaced by open woodland, its every leaf glittering with frost as the landscape shone in the first light of dawn.

  They buried Caden on a hill under a giant hemlock tree. Lily was saddened that they could not return his body to his mother, but it was out of the question. There was no way to convince the authorities they weren’t to blame for his death.

  There was no grave to dig. Thiriel simply commanded the earth to open. It shifted in waves, gently swallowing Caden’s still-warm body until it was gone from sight. In some sort of cat token of respect, Sir Kipling carefully pressed a paw into the dirt over the grave, leaving a perfectly formed print to keep Caden company.

  Lily watched dully as a few curious pixies emerged from the surrounding grass, inspecting the grave. They seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, though whether through some unspoken communication with Thiriel or just their own sensitivity to death, she had no idea. One of them flitted forward, dipping again and again to touch the freshly turned earth with her tiny feet. Wherever she touched, little white flowers emerged from the soil, growing at supernatural speed as they blossomed to make a white carpet over her brother’s grave. Lily fought back tears as she silently thanked the little pixie for her gift.

  Next, Thiriel took them to the outskirts of the court of Kaliar and Kaliel, the dualities of growth. It was a gigantic, fantastically monstrous tree, soaring hundreds of feet into the air, its trunk as thick as a house. With a jolt of understanding, Lily realized that this was the tree whose roots made up the roof of Thiriel’s court below. At Sebastian’s insistence, they did not enter it, rather waited as Thiriel went to find the high fae in whose charge Pip had been.

  “Believe me, the fewer high fae who take notice of us, the better,” Sebastian assured her. “They stay out of human affairs for a reason, and we should stay out of theirs.”

  “Though the occasion is rare, I must say in this instance that I agree with the man,” Sir Kipling meowed, as if that settled it.

  They spoke quietly while they waited, keeping an eye on the pixies and other small fae who crept out to inspect them, curious but wary. The sight of the pixies made Lily tear up again and, to distract herself, she asked Sebastian where Yuki had gone.

  “He stayed to guard the entrance of the cave while we came to help you, though I’m sure he slunk away with his tail between his legs as soon as he got wind Thiriel was going to show up. She would be none too pleased to find him helping us, even if he didn’t actually fight. He’ll show back up eventually, once the coast is clear. I’m sure of it. He had too much fun teasing Kip to not be back.”

  Satisfied, Lily asked another question that had been bothering her. “If the fae aren’t supposed to meddle in human affairs, why did Pip fight? Why didn’t she just stay away like I told her to?”

  Sebastian sighed. “The low fae aren’t quite like the high fae in many respects. Less intellectual, more instinctual. More like animals than they are like humans. They also aren’t all that good at following certain rules. Whereas the high fae’s very purpose is to maintain order, the low fae are a bit less stiff in that regard. They’re usually up for anything, as long as…as long as it’s fun and there’s, um, something in it for them,” he finished, glum.

  “Oh,” Lily said, watching sadly as two pixies chased each other around a tree branch.

  Sir Kipling also eyed them, and Lily nudged him with her foot, giving him a warning glare when he looked up at her with an innocent expression.

  “I didn’t see Jas. Did he ever show up?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “Low fae have personalities just like every other creature, and I’ve noticed it varies with their species. Pixies like Pip who look after the earth and plants tend to be more emotional, more affectionate. Jas is something of an elemental fae. I’ve not seen a speck of feeling from him beyond his love for mischief. He wasn’t interested in helping us this time. Didn’t think it would be any fun.”

  Lily nodded, not really caring but grateful for something to take her mind off her sorrow.

  Thiriel finally returned, followed by a fair-skinned fae whose limbs resembled branches and whose hair was a mane of flowers intertwined with each golden thread. Thiriel introduced her as Shariel, one half of the duality of plants.

  Once again fighting back tears, Lily gently removed the handkerchief-wrapped pixie from her backpack and handed the whole bundle to Shariel.

  The beautiful fae’s face showed no emotion, but she crooned a mournful, wordless melody as she carefully peeled back the white cloth to reveal the tiny form within. Handing the handkerchief back, Shariel bowed her head over her cupped hands and murmured words in the fae language, as if saying a prayer over Pip’s body. When she raised her head and held out her hands to Sebastian, Lily gasped. Pip’s body had been transformed into a wooden ring, intricately carved with minuscule flowers.

  The high fae addressed Sebastian. “You who were her companion, take this. She would have wanted you to have it.”

  “But—but—is that, I mean…is that her?” Lily couldn’t help asking as Sebastian reverently took the ring, sliding it onto his right hand so that it rested near his fae tattoo.

  “No, child.” Shariel’s soft eyes, a curious shade of purple, fell on Lily. “Her essence has long since returned to the Source, and from it I will make her anew, for her responsibilities cannot go unattended.”

  Lily was about to open her mouth to ask another question when Sebastian coughed, an obvious warning that this was not the time for scholarly inquiry.

  With a word of farewell to Thiriel, Shariel glided away back toward the majestic tree, and Thiriel turned toward them. “Come. Your task here is complete. It is time to return you to your own realm.”

  As before, the journey was short. They appeared on a lonely beach pounded by the Atlantic surf. The sun had just risen over the cliffs to the east and was now shimmering off the foaming waves as they beat upon the sand. At first Lily didn’t know where they were, but then she recognized the rock formation in the distance as Tintagel Island.

  Moving away from Thiriel, Lily looked back when Sebastian didn’t follow. She saw Thiriel leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Sebastian nodded, face grim, then stepped away.

  With the sun shining down upon them, the high fae didn’t so much disappear in a swirl of darkness as she faded like a fog beneath the warm rays of the coming day.

  Epilogue

  To Lily’s relief, Trista was still at the hotel when they finally trudged through its doors forty minutes later. She’d half expected her sister to disappear with the dawn like Thiriel had.

  Everyone took hot showers and cleaned up. Thiriel had been kind enough to touch them all with a bit of glamour, hiding their bloodied and disheveled states from the villagers and hotel staff, helpful since Lily was too tired and spent to cast any magic.

  Lily had just finished her shower when she got the second good news that morning in the form of a call from her mother. If she hadn’
t already been sitting down when Freda gave her the update, she would have collapsed in relief. With George Dee’s help, Allen had found a way to counteract the curse on Madam Barrington. It wasn’t as good as unmaking the curse completely, but it was a step in the right direction. Hopefully, with intensive care and a little patience, her mentor should be well enough to go home in a few weeks.

  With all the swiftness their weary bodies could muster, they packed their bags and returned to Oxford, dropping Cyril off at his office. As he said goodbye to Lily, he thanked her again for letting him accompany them on their grand adventure. “But,” as he said with a sheepish grin, “next time you need something highly dangerous translated, perhaps you should head over to Cambridge. I’m sure they could help you there.”

  Lily smiled sadly at that. Cyril seemed to have learned his lesson that adventure wasn’t as glamorous as the stories made it seem, even if he now had fabulous material to write about in one of his papers—not that anyone would believe him. But turning her back on adventure for the comfort of an office chair wasn’t a luxury Lily possessed. Even when she finally returned to the safety of her own office within McCain Library’s quiet embrace, the adventure would follow her, whether she wanted it to or not.

  They said their goodbyes to Oxford. Though they could have, in theory, stayed on another week, Lily decided its novelty had faded, or perhaps she was just weighed down by grief. Either way, it seemed much more grey than it had before, and they were all eager to return home. She would come back someday to plumb the depths of its glorious libraries. Someday, but not then.

  Hawkins drove them to Aylesbury to stay at Highthorne manor for the night. Elizabeth welcomed them with warmth and sympathy, tending to their wounds—the visible ones, at least—and laundering all their filthy clothes. Curiously, Lily’s outfit barely needed a wash, despite the fact that she’d literally knelt in her brother’s blood. Elizabeth didn’t comment, however, so neither did Lily, simply grateful that, at the very least, she hadn’t ruined a good set of clothes.