Going through the house was depressing. Everything was burnt beyond recognition and it smelled like rot and mold. What had survived had been searched, either by Varvara or the MPD, and their efforts had left a trail of disturbed debris and missing objects.
Including my shoes, wherever those had ended up before Shane got his mitts on them. I was surprised they hadn’t been thrown out months ago, but maybe Morgan had been planning to clean them and add them to the farm’s stash of spare clothing. Waste not, want not.
Zak had to jump a collapsed section of stairs to reach the second level. I wasn’t the complete wuss I’d been before, but I didn’t trust my newfound athleticism that much. I waited at the bottom.
He returned a few minutes later, shaking his head. “I didn’t leave much up there, but it’s all gone.”
We exited the wreckage. Zak surveyed the valley, all death and soot except for one meandering strip of summer greenery where the white stag with golden antlers had walked, then headed toward the line of winter-bare trees and snow-covered evergreens at the far edge of the meadow.
With a flash of dark wings, Lallakai swept out of the sky in her eagle form. Clutched in her talons was a black bundle, and as she dove, she dropped it for Zak to catch. Shadows swirling out from her wings, the eagle transformed midway through her landing and touched down on light human feet, her hair sweeping out behind her.
Straightening, she turned her bright eyes on me—and loathing was written all over her face. I gave her a catty smile, because why not? Her full red lips thinned.
Zak knelt to set the bundle on the ground. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in heavy black plastic and thoroughly duct-taped. Dirt coated most of it, as though it had been buried.
“My druid,” Lallakai purred. “This is all that remains of your hidden caches in the farther reaches of the valley.”
“Did you dig that up all by yourself?” I asked, pretending to be impressed.
She shot me an ice-beam glare.
Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t antagonize the scary darkfae?
Zak ripped the tape off, pulled out a backpack, and unzipped it. As he dug around inside, the telltale clink of glass suggested alchemic contents. He fished out a bundle of leather and unrolled it to reveal a long black coat. He slid his bare arms into the sleeves, then withdrew a handful of colorful crystals on long ties and dropped them over his head, the artifacts resting on his chest.
Lastly, he lifted out a belt. That went around his waist, the sides lined with potion vials. He clipped several fist-sized bottles with leather holders onto the belt as well, then zipped his bag and slung it over one shoulder.
He looked almost like himself again, just less groomed than usual. With a pleased smile, Lallakai reached for his shoulders. Her hands fogged into dark mist and sank into him.
He stepped backward, and her hands reappeared, misty with shadow.
“Not now, Lallakai,” he said, turning away. “I don’t want you in my head right now.”
She dropped her arms, her hands solidifying. An expression twisted her face, one I easily recognized: the jilted, furious humiliation of a rejected woman. Except she wasn’t really a woman—she was a fae.
A fae with a temper who’d just noticed I was watching her.
The emotion melted off her face. She sauntered toward me, hips swaying. I thrust out my jaw, unwilling to let her intimidate me. I wasn’t scared. Nope. No way. But I really wished I had at least one artifact with me. Too bad my dumbass self had stored them all in Kai’s backpack, then left said backpack on the recliner in Aaron’s living room.
She stopped so close I could taste sweetness in the air. Her cool fingers stroked my cheek as she whispered softly, “Do you think you can win him from me, pathetic girl?”
“Weren’t you the one telling me how I had such a special bond with him?” I retorted. That’d been back when she wanted something from me, and I wasn’t all that surprised her attitude had changed with Zak’s return.
Her pointed nails pricked my face. “He belongs to me in ways you cannot conceive.”
Zak, who’d already walked away, glanced over his shoulder. Seeing us, he stopped.
“Lallakai, don’t—” he began sharply.
She stepped back from me. With a pretty little smile, she threw her hands up. Shadows swirled out from her arms and blurred into feathered wings. The rest of her body rippled and shimmered. The eagle took form. Her wing smacked into my head, almost knocking me over as she soared away.
Flying past me, she banked sharply—and shot at Zak. His eyes widened in the instant before the huge eagle swept into him. Her body sank into his, disappearing, and shadows spilled off him like pooling fog.
He staggered backward, his shocked eyes inhumanly bright with fae power. A low sound of pain caught in his throat as he regained his balance.
I rushed to his side. “Zak? Are you—”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, breathing harder than normal. “Lallakai is just in a mood.”
He strode away, and I followed with my teeth gritted. Whatever the hell had just happened, “fine” didn’t seem like the appropriate word. He’d told her not to possess him, and she’d done it anyway—and not in a nice, gentle way either.
As we drew closer to the woods, I realized the destruction that had ravaged the farm ended in an unnaturally perfect line at the forest’s boundary. The snow-dusted leaf litter crunched loudly as we walked into the dappled moonlight under the canopy of branches.
A glimpse of shadow out of the corner of my eye.
From between the trees, a shaggy black varg ghosted closer, its red eyes fixed on Zak. On our other side, a second varg kept pace. Farther out, a third trotted along, its nose to the ground. With the faintest crinkle of disturbed leaves, a fourth one cut out of the undergrowth and swerved toward Zak. He rested his hand on its shoulders, fingers curling into its fur, and it paced beside him for a few steps before veering back into the brush.
I knew the moment Zak had reached his intended destination. I didn’t need to ask. There was no mistaking that this was his goal.
The fir tree wouldn’t have been particularly remarkable among the hundreds of others if not for the charred black fissure that split the broad trunk from roots to crown. It was large—so broad that Zak and I together couldn’t have stretched our arms all the way around the trunk—but it would grow no larger. Deep inside the long crevasse gouged into the trunk, the scorched heartwood glowed faintly; it was still burning deep inside.
“That bitch,” he hissed.
He laid both palms against the bark, then leaned forward until his forehead touched it. Eyes closed, he murmured too softly for me to hear. The waxy needles of the surrounding coniferous trees rustled in the breeze, the sound rising and falling.
Under Zak’s hands, the bark blurred. Slowly, he sank his hands into the tree, then his forearms. Still murmuring unknown words, he opened his eyes and pulled. The bark rippled, deformed. He drew it toward himself.
As familiar shapes formed inside the distortion, part of the tree separated from the trunk. Cradling it against his chest, he sank to his knees.
I crept closer, staring.
A child lay in his lap. Supporting her with one arm, he gently combed dull green hair the texture of straw away from her face. Her huge eyes, almost the same color as Twiggy’s but flat and empty, were half lidded and unfocused. Thin legs, the color of bark, sprawled limply on the forest floor.
Her petite hand fluttered up and he caught it, placing it over his heart.
“You … returned,” she whispered in the high voice of a young girl.
“I did,” he murmured. “But I came too late.”
“I could not … protect it …”
“You did everything you could.”
“She is powerful.” A trembling breath. “Be wary, druid.”
“I will make her pay, Marara, I promise.”
She smiled weakly, eyelids flickering. “Druid … she took your first treasure, but she �
� did not think to search … for a second. I hid it … deep enough.”
He combed her hair back again. “You’re amazing, Marara.”
“Take it now, druid. I waited … for your return, but I am … so tired.”
He looked up. “Tori.”
Throat so tight I couldn’t even swallow, I crossed to his side and knelt. He lifted the frail woodland fae from his lap into mine. I held her small, inhuman body, her skin the texture of wind-worn bark.
“Stay with her,” he murmured. “I’ll be quick.”
I nodded, too numb to ask where he was going as he rose and faced the tree. Again, he pressed his hands to the bark. His arms sunk into the shimmering surface, then he stepped into the tree and disappeared.
My jaw fell open so hard it popped.
“You … are human …”
I dragged my stare down to the fae. She gazed at me with a glimmer of curiosity.
“A human … but you have known fae. You … have been marked.”
My forehead scrunched. “Marked?”
“As a … friend of fae.”
“Do you mean my familiar mark?”
“I see that, too. But the mark of friendship … is different. It means … you are safe … to approach.” She smiled faintly. “Humans are silly. We write messages to each other upon them, and they … suspect nothing.”
I blinked dumbly.
“Are you … a friend of the druid?”
“Yes,” I said softly.
“That … is good. He needs … a … friend.” Her eyes drifted closed. “I am so tired … He must … hurry.”
“Zak, she said to hurry!”
He didn’t reappear. A soft, trembling breath slid from her. Her slight frame seemed to deflate.
“Zak!” I yelled.
The bark twenty-five feet up the tree blurred. Zak’s head and torso appeared, and he pushed out of the trunk. The instant he came free, he dropped. Shadowy wings lifted off his arms and spread wide, slowing his fall. He landed with a thud, and as the wings sank back over his arms, he hurried to us.
“Marara,” he said, kneeling beside her.
“Did you … recover it?”
“Yes, I have it.”
“I will sleep now.”
“Yes.” He cupped her cheek. “I’ll feed your roots one last time.”
“That … would be … a sweet gift.”
He scooped her off my lap and laid her against her tree’s roots. She rested her head against the burnt fissure, tangled hair catching on the bark.
Reaching around his back, he slid a knife from his belt and nudged his sleeve up. He ran the knife across his wrist, just below the lowermost circle tattoo. Blood spilled off his arm, splattering on the tree roots beside the fae.
She sighed. “Thank you, druid.”
“Sleep well, Marara.”
He held his bleeding wrist above the roots. Another deep exhalation slid from her … and she didn’t inhale again. Her diminutive body sank against the roots, limbs stiffening and the rough texture of her skin growing more pronounced.
As her body hardened like the bark it so resembled, he whispered, “And thank you.”
Tucking the knife away, he pressed his thumb into the bleeding cut and straightened. Together, he and I watched her body slowly merge with her tree. After a few minutes, I could just make out her shape among the roots, her slumbering face a round hump with the faintest indents for eyes.
“Tori,” he said heavily. “Could you grab that?”
I looked around. A square of purple fabric lay on the thin dusting of snow where he’d landed after leaping from the tree. I picked it up, its weight surprising me. Not that it was heavy, just heftier than I’d expected for a folded cloth small enough to sit on my palm.
“What is this?” I asked.
He gazed tiredly at the woodland fae and her tree, then straightened his shoulders. “The Carapace of Valdurna.”
Chapter Twelve
Returning to Vancouver via dragonflight was fast but just as uncomfortable as the first time, the icy wind burning my face and numbing my limbs. It was a relief to be back among city lights, but I wasn’t a fan of the exhaust fumes or the prevailing stench of garbage.
I looked to the left. Looked to the right. Scowled and planted my hands on my hips. “Zak.”
“What, Tori?”
“Where the hell are we?”
“The Eastside.”
I made a face at the druid’s back as we walked. His hood was up again, and he’d added black leather gloves to complete his villain outfit.
“Let me rephrase: Why are we in the Eastside and not, say, at my house? Or Aaron’s house?” I kicked a beer bottle off the sidewalk. “Or, you know, somewhere not unpleasant.”
When it came to unpleasant neighborhoods, the Eastside was an award winner. A mix of commercial, industrial, and scarily rundown apartment buildings bordered the streets, their walls tagged with ugly graffiti. It was so late—or so early—that there was no traffic. Only the annoyingly frigid winter wind rustling garbage broke the silence.
“If you want to go home,” Zak replied, “call a cab.”
“Oh, let me just grab my phone and do that right now.” I slapped my hips, my pockets empty—or almost empty. But no phone. That was at Aaron’s house, along with my artifacts. “Why don’t you lend me your phone? Oh wait, you don’t have one either.”
“Temper, temper.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’ve only had a few hours of sleep in the last two days. I’m tired.”
“And cranky.”
“Damn right,” I snarled. Extending my stride, I fell into step beside him so I could glare more effectively. “Why didn’t you have Echo drop us off at Aaron’s house?”
Shadows filled his hood, masking his face. “Because I have things to do here.”
“Like what?”
“Like finding where Varvara is hiding.”
“What makes you think she’s in Vancouver? She could be anywhere.”
“Unless I’m very wrong, she’s been consolidating her influence here since I left.” He paused at a dark intersection, two streetlamps broken and the windows of the featureless buildings boarded up. “You and the Miura woman talked about a lull in crime.”
I followed him across the road, ignoring the crosswalk’s “don’t walk” light. We were so bad. “Yeah, the lull has all the guilds stumped.”
“It isn’t a mystery—not to rogues. The Yamadas know what’s going on. Miura said they’re making preparations.”
“Preparations for what?”
“A power shift. They want to take control of the underground network. Varvara is planning to do the same, and she wants me out of the picture before she makes her move. That’s why she passed information about me to the MPD.”
“She did that? Are you sure?”
“She destroyed my farm to lure me back, then leaked those details to increase my bounty and whet the appetites of bounty hunters. She’s counting on someone catching me before I catch her.”
“It wouldn’t’ve been difficult to figure out you’re a druid and an alchemist from her battle with you last summer, but what about the hundred and something new charges against you? Where’d they come from?”
“My grimoire.” He drew to a halt, staring straight ahead. “That’s what I left in Marara’s tree. Most of it is written in code, but I didn’t bother to code my records of artifacts I’ve acquired, traded, or destroyed.”
I stood beside him, nerves churning. “She gave that information to the MPD? And they used it to tie you to new crimes?”
“I didn’t think she would find the tree. One fir in an entire valley? Even if she knew to look for dryads, there are hundreds.” His hood shifted as he shook his head in frustration. “Now Marara is dead and that bitch has my grimoire. If she cracks my code and gets anything else from it …”
He swept into motion. Rushing after him, I shoved my cold hands in my pockets. My fingers brushed against silky fabric, a
nd I pulled out the folded square of purple he’d retrieved from the dryad tree.
“Why am I carrying this again?” I asked, nose scrunched as I prodded it.
“Do not unfold that.”
I weighed it on my palm. “The Carapace of Valdurna … Didn’t you offer to trade this to that nasty darkfae, the Rat thing?”
“Yes, but I knew he wouldn’t accept it. The point was to start the negotiations off with something impressive and valuable.”
“How valuable are we talking?”
He tapped a gloved finger against the square on my palm. “The only thing more priceless than this, and with a more treacherous power, is probably your demonic artifact.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about the value of the demon amulet. All I cared about was whether it could save Ezra. “What does the Carapace do?”
“It’s a fae-created artifact that makes you invincible.”
I tripped on nothing. Catching myself, I gasped, “I’m sorry, did you say invincible?”
“If you’re wearing that, you can’t die, even if you’re mortally wounded. No magic can affect you and no weapon can touch you.”
If you were wearing it? I cocked my head, trying to imagine what it would look like unfolded.
“Is it a cap?” I asked, flipping it over.
“A cap?”
“Or a glove? A sock? The only other ‘wearable’ thing I can think of that would fold up this small are panties.” I shot him an arch look. “That’s why you aren’t using this artifact right now, isn’t it? You don’t want to wear the Invincibility Panties.”
He made a disgusted noise.
“No one would see that you were wearing them.”
“Powerful magic,” he said loudly, “comes at a commensurate cost. The Carapace’s price is too high for me.”
“What’s the price?”
“All of my magic.”
I stopped dead. He took two more steps, then paused. He touched his inner arm through his sleeve.
“It consumes all magic within and around it. All the magic fae have gifted me would be erased. My artifacts would be wiped clean. My potions would be rendered useless. All my inherent Spiritalis and Arcana magic would be drained, and though that would eventually recover, the rest would be gone forever.”
Druid Vices and a Vodka: The Guild Codex: Spellbound / Six Page 11