by Karlik, Mary
She listened to their bits of conversation as they passed, and surveyed their dress. They all carried small boxes. Some they held to their ears, others in front of their faces—communication devices, apparently.
In school they’d learned that humans traveled in automobiles. But she would never have guessed the speed at which they zipped down the lanes or the worse-than-troll-farts smell they emitted.
But she wasn’t there to study the oddities of this foreign culture. She needed to concentrate on finding some indication of where her sister and Isla were being held. It was a daunting task. Shops and pubs lined both sides of the street, and squeezed between many of the buildings were narrow passageways that led deeper into the city. It seemed more impossible than hunting a single pine needle in the midst of St. George’s forest.
She had no idea where she’d tumbled into this world, but reckoned the horseman would surely pass through the portal again and wasn’t about to miss it when it happened. And then another, more disturbing thought caused a ripple up her spine.
What if this wasn’t where the horseman had taken Esme? She could be around the next corner or she could be in a different realm. Esme could be sick, hurt, or worse. She could be dead.
No. Positive thoughts.
She would find her sister and Isla alive and well. And since the portal had dumped her on this street, it was reasonable to assume her sister wasn’t far.
She made her way up and down both sides of the road searching for the horseman until night fell. Exhausted, hungry, and scared, she sank onto a bench tucked away from the crowd to rest and to think.
Queasiness churned in Ian’s gut. Too much coffee and too little sleep.
It had been hours since they’d been on the verge of capturing the thing. If Buzzard had been a little quicker, they would have. Once the creature had jumped over his shoe and taken off, they’d lost it.
Now Buzzard and Jack were convinced that the thing had transformed into a human woman. It didn’t make sense. Then again, common sense didn’t seem to apply in this situation. And after a long day, fatigue was settling in on the team.
Jack continued his argument through the earpiece. “I’m telling you, that lass is the creature. She has the same white hair.”
Ian rubbed the back of his neck. “And she’s not wee sized or winged. If we pull her in and you’re wrong, it’ll be the end of the investigation for us.”
Buzzard’s voice came through the earpiece. “We’ve tailed her all day. I have no doubt she’s the creature. But there is a way to be sure.”
“I’m listening.” Ian leaned against the wall of the van and watched Theo yawn and open another bag of crisps.
“Maybe we don’t have a wee creature to put in a cage, but that doesn’t mean we can’t nab her for a quick chat.”
Wide-eyed, Theo paused with a crisp halfway to his mouth. “We have no cause to detain her.”
“Aye, I know it’s not by the book but nothing about this case is by the book.” Ian rubbed his eyes. “I just need more assurance that we’re not following a street performer or a cosplayer. I’m not keen on having kidnapping charges levied against me.”
Jack groaned. “Meanwhile, I’m growing old waiting for something to happen.”
“Aye. But we have to be sure. I don’t want her out of our sight for a second. We’re all getting tired. We’ll take shifts. Jack, come in and get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.” Ian grabbed his plaid shirt from the bench and shrugged it on over his T-shirt.
Jack sighed. “No. I’m good. It’s not that late.”
Ian nodded as though Jack could see him through the earpiece. “We’ll move the van closer. If you see even a hint of a wing, move in. I want to be sure, but I don’t intend to miss the best connection we have to Connor Davis.”
Ian maneuvered the van through the streets and parked close to the Royal Mile. He’d expected hours to pass before the call came, but he’d barely put the van in park when Buzzard screeched in his ear. “Aye. Would you look at that? The lass has wings—and they’re real.”
Ian sat up. “Careful, now.” He slipped through a concealed passage between the cab and the back of the van. “MacGregor, I’ll want you to do the driving.”
Theo vacated the chair in front of the computer screen and made his way to the cab.
Ian kept a running commentary of their location while Theo kept the van close enough to allow easy access once they had her, but not so close that she would become suspicious.
Energy coursed through Ian. After weeks of surveillance, they were about to get their big break. “Buzzard, Jack—when you’re ready, we’re waiting. Make it fast. Don’t give her time to scream.”
Chapter Four
As night fell, the city lit up like a firefly village and it seemed to stretch from one horizon to the next. Layla’s wings drooped low on her back and tears stung her eyes. There’d been no sign of the horseman—not even an ill wind to guide her toward him. It was hopeless. Esme and Isla could be anywhere.
Defeat loomed heavy in her chest. How had she lost them so completely? She’d passed through the portal seconds after the horseman. And then another surge of breath-stealing fear ripped through her, dragging blood from her face right down to her feet. What if she never found them? What if she never found the portal? What if she was stuck on the human side of the door forever?
No. These were the thoughts of the cràdh. She stood, unfurled her wings, and gave them a shake, imagining negative thoughts falling away from them like droplets of water.
Stretching her arms and wings wide, she filled her head with confident thoughts and pretended they weren’t fabricated. I can do this. I will do this. Her plan was simple. She’d keep searching until she found Esme and Isla and then they’d worry about the portal.
Folding her wings over her shoulders, she fashioned an optimistic look with a hint of a smile and made her way back into the never-ending crowd on the walkway. This was it. This round she’d figure it out. She’d find a way to her sister.
But traipsing up and down the street was futile. Nothing had changed. There was no blue door that suddenly popped open to offer a path back to her world. No tunnel fizzing with light and energy. No hint of the horseman and certainly no other fairies. Tired, full of hopelessness—real, not the work of the cràdh—and gnawing hunger in her belly, she stopped just outside a pub and inhaled deeply. Wonderful smells of meat grilling and spices that she couldn’t have imagined in a thousand lifetimes enticed her. Her empty stomach begged her to find sustenance. Without money, she doubted she’d get far, but she had to try.
Tightening her wings over her shoulders, she took a step toward the door. Before she even got close to the threshold, two men came upon her so fast she didn’t have time to react.
They each grabbed an arm and hustled her off the street and into a big white box-like automobile. If she’d seen them coming or reacted faster, she could have fey-sized and escaped. As it was, she was in the automobile before she realized what had happened.
“Go. Go,” one of the men shouted. The other two held her arms as they pushed her to sit on a bench that stretched down the length of the box. A third man stood with his back braced against the wall facing her. Dark hair peeked from beneath a knit cap that looked like it was about to slide off his head. His clothes were typical human. Jeans and a plaid shirt hanging open over a white undershirt. His face wasn’t unattractive as far as humans went, but even without a full beard, he was a bit hairy.
“I’ll take that sword.” He reached for Tormed and Layla shifted fey-size.
The men scrambled after her but she was too fast and flew around the box like a hummingbird on super-sweet nectar.
“Stand down,” the leader commanded, and the men stopped their pursuit.
With a pounding pulse and battle-ready muscles, Layla pulled Tormed from the scabbard, gripped it between her hands, and hovered near the ceiling.
The leader removed his plaid shirt. “Come on. We’re not h
ere to hurt you.” He swung the shirt, nearly catching her.
Clearly he was lying. Layla human-sized and lunged at one of the other two men. The automobile made a sharp turn and she lost her balance. The men shoved her to the floor, held her down, and tried to wrench her sword from her.
Shifting fey-sized, she easily escaped their hold. But before she had a chance to launch into the air, the plaid shirt blanketed her. The fabric tightened around her body, pinning her arms to her sides and her wings flat against her back. She was barely able to breathe, much less fight her way out. She could’ve human-sized, but the shirt would have grown with her. Patience and watchfulness were her weapons now. The instant the moment arose, she’d escape.
The vehicle stopped. A door opened. Muffled voices.
The shirt was swept into the air, and she with it. The fabric loosened enough for her to slash an opening. With her sword battle ready, she lunged forward, wiggled her way through, and right into the belly of a birdcage.
Frustration bit through her as she shoved Tormed into the scabbard. She’d never had a chance to fight.
The cage was carried into a room like a prized possession and set on a table. Her captors gathered into a circle around her and stared. She was used to being scrutinized, but not by creatures who were giants compared to her fey size. And as badly as she wanted to stay strong, her knees felt as if they might collapse any second and her hands were on the verge of shaking violently.
She could not let them see her fear. Taking a warrior’s stance, she flipped her targe from beneath her wing and gripped the strap with her left hand. With her right hand, she held the hilt of her sword. The move didn’t slow her pulse or keep her from holding her breath, or make her eyes stay in focus, but it hid the tremors in her hands and made her feel a wee bit more in control.
One of the men pushed his stringy ginger hair behind his ears and spoke in a hushed tone to the leader. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
The other men nodded.
She wanted to shout that she couldn’t believe was she was seeing either, but since she was the one on the inside of the cage, decided it was better not to provoke them.
Besides, if they thought she didn’t understand their language, they might be freer with their words. If she remained bold in her demeanor, they might not realize she had no magic.
A man whose skin was slightly darker than hers leaned over the cage. “It’s surreal seeing one this close up. Should I call the chief constable? Now we have the proof we need.”
The leader rubbed his chin as though he was working through the question. He shook his head. “No. I think she might be able to help us. I’m going to spend some time talking to our friend.” He leaned closer to the cage. “Besides, there’s no telling what weird experiment they’d do on her.”
Experiment? She tried to remain stoic, but the thump of her heart lurching into her throat made her recoil a half step. Is that what they were doing with the fairies who had been captured? Is that what they had planned for Esme? She kept her stance and swallowed several times, as if somehow that would dislodge the lump in her throat.
The leader straightened and stretched his arms above his head. “You lads can head out. Get some food and rest.”
A man with broad shoulders and a thick chest rubbed a hand across his head. His hair was cut so short it stood at attention on his scalp even after the assault of his palm. “You sure? What if she has power or magic? She could use it on you.”
The leader rubbed his chin again. “I could be wrong, but if she were going to use magic she would have done it by now.”
The ginger shrugged. “We’ll be at the pub, but I hope we don’t return to find you a frog or something.”
If she hadn’t been so terrified that they’d turn her in to this chief constable to be experimented on, she might have rolled her eyes at the comment. How dense were they? If she’d had magic enough to transform them, it wouldn’t be into something as useless as a frog.
The leader wiggled his eyebrows. “Aye, not the way I want to croak.” The men groaned and turned toward the door. The leader called after them, “I assume you won’t get so pissed that you’ll talk.”
The shorthaired man laughed. “Nobody would believe us anyway.”
They left and the leader pulled a chair up to the table. “First, let me reassure you that we are not going to harm you. Do you understand English?” He raised his brows as if it could elicit a response.
She held her blank expression.
He propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. “I think you do understand English.” He waggled his index finger at her. “Judging by that little step you took when I mentioned the word experiment, I think you understand it very well. So let’s assume you do. How about a look at those wings?” He lifted the cage by the handle on the top and twirled it as if to get a better look.
Fey wings were exposed, to be sure, but they were also very private. It was an intimate thing to allow someone to examine one’s wings. It was humiliating enough to be trapped in a birdcage. Layla wasn’t about to allow this human to ogle her wings. She moved with the cage, keeping her front toward him.
He set the cage back on the table. “Okay, so you don’t want to turn your back to me. Is this some sort of respect thing? Like don’t turn your back to the Queen?” He shook his head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. I’m your captor. Is it for protection? Always have your back against the wall, yeah?”
His tone and questions weren’t threatening. It was like he was asking out of curiosity more than anything. And something about his deep blue eyes made her want to trust him. Little by little, fear released its hold and her system kicked back into normal mode.
He nodded and a pleased smile settled on his lips. “That’s it. Afraid of being attacked from behind. Smart.” He leaned back and folded his hands behind his neck, knocking his cap from his head. Layla had expected to see short-cropped hair. But the human wore an elf bun. She clamped her hand over her mouth to hide the smile that tugged at the corners. Those things looked stupid enough on elves—but on a human?
He flipped forward. “What? What’s funny? My hat falling? Or do we humans just look funny?”
She moved to the far side of the cage.
He picked up his cap and twirled it on his finger. “What do I know about you so far? Let’s see. You can change from human size to wee in the blink of an eye, and change back just as fast. So why not change and break out of the cage?” He winked and smiled. “Unless the cage would change with you. That’s it, isn’t it?” He dropped the cap on the table and leaned forward. “Why haven’t you used your magic?”
If he figured out she didn’t have magic, then her only bluff was up. She might not have been as afraid of him as she had been at first, but she didn’t trust him either. And her fey-sized weapons would be almost useless if she had to fight him.
If she could get out of the cage and human-size, then her weapons would come in very handy. She wouldn’t hurt him, just make him return her to the street where he’d found her so she could continue her search for Esme.
She took a breath and stepped forward.
His eyes widened. “Are you ready to speak?”
She nodded.
His eyes practically sparked with excitement. “Let’s start easy. What’s your name and what are you?”
She wasn’t in a position to bargain, but she had to try. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Fair enough. You start.”
“My name is Layla and I’m a fairy—we are also called fey.”
“Layla.” He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “And you’re a fairy. A fairy like a fairytale fairy?”
“Aye, a fairy. Don’t know about the fairytale part.” She leaned against the bars. “And you are?”
He pulled a small case from his pocket and flipped it open to reveal an identification card. “Specialist Crime Division Off
icer Ian Cameron.”
She grabbed the bars and shoved her face close. No use in mucking around. “Well, Specialist Officer Ian Cameron, what have you done with my sister?”
Ian had seen a lot of curious things since he’d become a Edinburgh police officer and even weirder things since making the Specialist Crime Division. But nothing compared to the wee fairy in the cage. And even after weeks of studying the grainy CCTV images, he still struggled to wrap his brain around the fact that fairies existed and the proof was standing before him.
He could almost hear his nana laugh and say, “I told ye so, Ian.” She’d sworn that when she was a lass, she had often watched them play in the glen. Every night, until the day she died, she left a saucer of milk out for the wee folk. And every morning, the milk was gone. Not once had he considered that fairies might have taken the milk. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Still, he doubted this creature was a fairy of the glen. She certainly didn’t fit Nana’s description.
This fairy’s hair was as white as a newborn lamb and fell in a mass of wild curls to her waist. It was a striking contrast against her brown skin. And although she’d seen fit to maintain a glower since her capture, he didn’t miss the wee sparkle her bright green eyes held. Her wings were tucked tightly against her back, but the bit he could see reminded him of the lace doilies his nanna had scattered over every flat surface in the croft.
But the doily-like wings were the only things delicate about the fairy. She wore a belt slung low on her hips and attached to that belt was a silver scabbard holding a sword. Over her right shoulder hung her bow and sticking out of the top of her right boot was the hilt of a sgian-dubh. She was pure tough and had held her own in the van.
It was a wonder she hadn’t turned them all into toads—or was that a myth? Maybe fairies didn’t really have magic? No, if fairies existed—and clearly they did—they had to have magic. Fairies? Magic? The whole thing was mad.