by Karlik, Mary
“And here you are in the city living in a box.”
“Aye. I never intended to live in the city, but life had other plans.” He shoved a bite of cereal in his mouth. “What about you? Is the fey world full of thatched roof houses?”
She nodded. “Pretty much. When you’re magical, you don’t really need automobiles or machines or big cities.”
“So what’s it like? Are there really unicorns, and centaurs, and elves, and such?”
She sipped from her cup. “Aye, and ogres and trolls.”
“Fascinating. Are they bad—the ogres and trolls?”
“They can be. My cousin used to torture me with conjured ogres. That’s how I learned to fight with a sword.”
“There’s bound to be a story there.” He drained his mug.
“A bit. The creature wasn’t real, just a magical image. I’m not sure it could even have hurt me. But to a ten-year-old with no means of protection, he was fair frightening. I hid in the caves on the hillside for two terrifying days, sure the ogre was waiting to snap me up.”
“Two days. Didn’t they send a search party?”
She swallowed a bite. “Aye. But it was an elf boy called Finn who found me. He wasn’t really looking, just stumbled across me while he was hunting rabbits. We became friends and he taught me how to fight. The sword was a gift from him. It’s called Tormed. In his language it means courage.”
As she spoke Ian saw vulnerability in her face. Not weakness—more like she’d exposed a wound she hadn’t meant to. “Courage fits you.”
“Thank you. I’ve never thought of myself as courageous. I’m just desperate to save my sister. She’s the most important thing in my life.”
He swirled his spoon in the milk and cereal. “I firmly believe everything happens for a reason. If you hadn’t been bullied, you wouldn’t have learned to fight. And here you are, prepared to fight for your sister.” He held up his empty mug as though he was making a toast. “Your cousin did you a favor.”
“She’s a horrible fairy, but you’re right. And if it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have become friends with Finn.” She held up her cup in a mock salute.
Dipping his spoon for another bite, Ian cut his eyes to her. “Did you know the unicorn is our national animal? Nobody believes in them, but there you are.”
She squeezed her hands together. “That makes perfect sense. They’re fierce, but they’re wonderful and wise as well.”
Ian shook his head. “This is so unbelievable. This fairytale world really exists.”
“Aye, but we don’t refer to it as a fairytale world. That’s an odd word, isn’t it? Do you call yours the humantale world?”
“No. I see your point. It is odd when you put it like that.” He poured more tea into his mug. “You said you’d protected your sister. What about your parents?”
She tore off another piece of fairy cake, but left the bite on her plate. “Aye. I had parents. I never knew my human father. I don’t know anything about him. Not that I didn’t ask, mind you. It’s considered shameful to—you know—with a human. My sister is full blood, magical fey. My stepdad was amazing. He never treated me as though I was different.” She stared at her plate. “My parents were murdered when I was a bairn.”
The last bit of cereal stuck in Ian’s throat. He washed it down with tea and turned to her. “We share a bit of history there. My parents were killed in a robbery. I was at school.” Every muscle in his face tensed at the pain and guilt the memory brought. “My brother and sister found them.” He nodded and spoke the words quickly. “They were young, too young to see such a thing.”
“I’m so sorry.” She nodded along with him. “Not a good club to be a part of. My sister was at home with my aunt, but I saw it happen. It was an attack at a festival. They were eaten by a dragon. I was the only survivor.”
Emotions surged and Ian felt the inevitable burn in his eyes and nose. He held his breath until he could choke the feeling away. “Eaten? I can’t imagine. It’s just terrible.”
“Aye. And do you…” She hesitated and licked her lips. “Do you have the cràdh too?”
“The cràdh?”
She met his eyes. “Aye. In my world there is a spirit called the cràdh. It preys on creatures who’ve experienced tragedy. If it gets inside, it lives there, feeding on sorrow and grief.”
“Is it like a parasite?”
“Exactly like a parasite. Anytime there’s a hint of sorrow, it will release more grief, and doubt, and any other negative feeling you can think of. It’s a burden I’ve learned to live with. Sometimes I don’t know what emotion is real and what’s the cràdh.”
“That’s horrible. Can’t you get rid of it?” Ian knew the depths of grief from losing his parents, but having a thing feed on that sorrow was cruel.
“Sometimes it can be excised. But for me, it took hold before I knew what it was. And truly, you’re the first person I’ve told that I’m infected with it.” She ripped her cake into bits and stared across the kitchen. “How are they now—your brother and sister?”
“Grand.” His face broke out in a wide smile. He was proud of them. Despite the trauma, despite him, they’d grown into fine adults. “My brother is at university studying to be an engineer. My sister is a veterinarian in Skye—the island where we grew up.”
He leaned on the counter. “I get what you mean when you say you’ll do anything to save your sister. I’d fight the devil himself if I had to.”
“Aye.” A hint of a blush rose to her cheeks and she looked around the flat as if she were searching for a subject change. Nibbling one of the bits of fairy cake littered on her plate, she pointed to the wall covered with headshots. “The lass in the pictures. Who is she?”
Ian wasn’t surprised that she’d ask, but still, his stomach clenched as soon as the words were out of her mouth. He needn’t tell her anything. But if he was going to gain her trust, if he was going to expect her help, she should know what the stakes were for him.
He slid his empty bowl across the counter toward the sink. “I share this apartment with a girl called Miranda. I think she’s tangled up in this mess, but I’m not sure how or how deep.”
“Tangled up in kidnapping fairies?”
He shook his head and shrugged at the same time. “She was a singer. It’s a tough business and she couldn’t find a job, so she sang at a pub for tips. One night a man approached her and promised her success. Suddenly it was as though out of all the singers in the entire world, the light shone only on her. The only reason she stayed here was because she was too busy making appearances to move. But she changed with success. She was so angry.”
He scanned the pictures. “I’d been gone for a couple of weeks on a special assignment. When I returned, she was in bad shape.” Wishing somehow he could erase the memory of what he’d seen that night, he rubbed his forehead. “She had bald spots. I swear she looked twenty years older. She was weak—little more than skin-covered bones—and so pale. She cried and said she needed more magic. I thought she meant some new designer drug.”
“Designer drug?” She popped another bite in her mouth.
“Chemical. It makes people feel different, see things.”
“Like too much whisky?”
“Aye, only worse.” He stood, shoved his hands in his front pockets, and leaned against the wall. “She promised that she just needed a little more then she’d quit. She said one more wish would fix everything.”
“Forced magic always has negative consequences.” She said the words like she was repeating something from a rulebook.
“Would she need more, then? To keep the wish going?”
“Aye, and the consequences would get worse.”
“That makes sense.” He stood and placed his bowl in the sink. His cheeks sagged with the memory. “When I refused to give her money, she said she was going to figure out a way, and went to Connor Davis. That’s the last I saw of her. That’s when we started our investigation. It began as drug traffick
ing, but...” He dug his hands deeper in his pockets and rocked forward. “I’m trying to understand all this. The rules of magic.”
“Aye. Ask what you want. I’ll tell you what I know.”
“You don’t have magic, but you can alter your size in a millisecond. Is that a fey trait? Is it a wee bit of magic? Can all fairies do it?”
“Aye and no.” She bobbed her head side to side. “There’s a bit of magic involved. All fairies, as far as I know, can change their size. But also, as far as I know, I’m the only one who can grow human size. I’m told it’s because I’m half human. Another strike against me.”
“How big can the fairies grow?”
“About like this.” She held her hand at about the size of a seven-year-old child.
“So even if they changed their size, it’s not likely they could get away from the kidnapper.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “Aye. Remember, whatever magic is in that net takes their magic away. They could have the ability to grow ogre size and it wouldn’t matter.”
To ease the frustration bunching his muscles, he stretched his arms above his head. “We’ve watched the man for weeks and still don’t have enough tangible evidence to bring him in. I hate to admit it, but it’s pretty smart of him to deal in magical contraband. It’s hard to make a case against something nobody believes exists.”
“Then it’s up to us to stop him.”
“Aye. Tomorrow we’ll go to Davis’s shop. You may not have magic, but maybe you can pick up on something we’re missing.” He yawned. “It’s getting late. I don’t know if fairies sleep, but humans do and I’m exhausted.”
“Aye. We sleep.” A quirky look sparked in her eyes. “Can I trust you not to imprison me again?”
He tipped his chin toward her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “Seeing as how you have the deadly weapons, I think I should ask you that question.”
She shrugged her wings and a playful smile tipped her lips. “Fair enough. I can fey-size and sleep anywhere, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d feel safer human-sized in this world.”
“You can stay in Miranda’s room.” He led her to the room on the other side of the flat and watched her take it in.
This was where Miranda’s personality flowed. The walls were pale yellow in contrast to the gray in the rest of the place. Daisy-print curtains hung across a dingy window. A bright orange desk was centered beneath the window, and perched on the corner of the desk was a pot containing a half-dead plant. He never quite remembered to water it. Her bed took up most of the room, covered with the same daisy print that adorned the windows. Orange, yellow, and white pillows were scattered across it.
“If I have to be stuck in this world, this is a nice space. It’s more what home would feel like.” The fairy smiled, but the corners of her mouth quivered.
“I’m glad you like it.” He forced a smile back. “There’s another bedroom on the other side of the flat. That’s where I’ll be if you need anyth—”
“I won’t.” And then her deep green eyes seemed to beg him to not let her down. “Early tomorrow, right?”
“Aye. First thing.” Part of him wanted to offer her comfort, to assure her they’d find her sister. But he couldn’t make that promise, so he turned and left the room, ignoring the soft, muffled sobs coming from the other side of the door.
Chapter Six
Layla’s eyes shot open and her breaths came in short gasps. She’d dreamt that she was hiding from a dragon and had called out to Finn to save her. But he didn’t come and the dragon roared and fire shot from its mouth and smoke billowed from its nostrils. She cried out again and Ian appeared, standing in front of the beast. But he didn’t strike the dragon. Instead, he turned his back on it and shouted to Layla, “This is your battle to fight.” Then the dragon roared again and lowered its head toward Ian and unhinged its jaw.
She awoke with a gasp before Ian was struck down, but that didn’t save her from the horror of the dream. Her pulse raged through her body as she pulled the covers close and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling until daylight chased away the darkness of the nightmare.
And as sunlight filled the room, the cràdh that had nested in her gut during the night awoke. It stretched and coiled around her soul, wrapping it and squeezing it in a tangled mess of despair and sorrow as it reminded her that she was in the human world, that Esme’s life was in danger, and that it was up to her to figure out how to rescue her sister with little knowledge and less magic.
“Smaointe soiléir.” Clear thoughts. She repeated her mantra over and over, but it didn’t calm her breathing or slow her pulse as she replayed the events of the previous day—the argument with her sister, Finn, the fête, and then the kidnapping. Her memory rested on the moment when the protection bracelet had caught on the net. If it hadn’t snagged, would she have been able to free Esme and Isla?
She pictured the spike digging deeper into the bracelet and her sgian-dubh sawing the leather. She relived the moment she saw the blue light flash and felt the release of energy as the bracelet fell away. It was if power had been freed in that moment.
As if that power had come from her.
But it hadn’t. As much as she wished things were different, she wasn’t magical. The feeling was surly the result of the protection bracelet releasing the spells that it had soaked up throughout the years.
It was a miracle that she hadn’t been hit with one massive mix of bad magic. I should have been caught in that net. Nobody would miss a half-caste fairy. But Esme and Isla?
Helplessness swirled inside and around her. It weighed her down like a wet wool lap rug and screamed at her that she would fail. “I know. I know. This will never work. I can’t do it. Even if I find them, how can I save them without magic?” Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes and trickled down her temples to the sheets.
Feeling sorry for myself won’t save them either.
Magic or no, she was the only chance they had. She’d save her sister or die trying. Turning her head toward the sword, she nodded and said, “Aye, Tormed, time to arm up and do our best.”
A pop sounded across the room jerking her upright. On the floor next to the desk lay a notebook, and above that notebook, teetering on the edge of the desk, was her sword.
She slid from the bed and managed to stand, even though her legs felt about as sturdy as a newborn lambs and her knees were on the verge of knocking too wildly to support her.
She tiptoed across the room and stopped just out of reach of the sword. Could she have moved it? She surveyed the room, almost expecting to see Kenna tucked away somewhere laughing at her prank. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But there was no other fairy in the room.
She stretched trembling fingers toward the sword and then drew them back. Inching closer, she leaned over the desk. Her sword quivered as if waiting for a command, and hope flickered inside her from somewhere long forgotten.
Doubt clouded her confidence as she raised her hand. How many times had she closed her eyes and held her breath before commanding an object to come to her? And each time, the only sound she’d heard was the thump, thump of her pulse pounding in her ears or the laughter of her cousin.
Drawing in a deep breath, she scanned the room again. There was no one to see her fail. She exhaled with a shudder, stepped away from the desk, narrowed her focus on the sword, and said, “Tormed, come to me.”
The sword slid from the desk hilt first, but as soon as the tip left the surface it crashed to the floor. She stared at it with wide eyes, afraid that if she broke the connection, whatever this magic was would go away. Her pulse thundered as she took a few slow breaths. “Aye. Maybe too heavy.”
She pulled her attention from the sword to the desk and raised her hand again. “Brush, come to me.”
Slowly, a hairbrush lifted from the desk and floated in the air. Halfway to her, it stalled and sank toward the floor. She stretched out her arm and wiggled her fingers. “Come on, just a we
e bit more.” The brush began to move again and as soon as it was close, she snatched it from the air.
She squeezed the thing as if it might slip from her grasp, kissed it a half a dozen times, and danced a circle as hope and joy burst inside her.
Magic. She had magic!
How? She was a half-caste. It had been drilled into her that mutants couldn’t develop magic. And then another thought began to rise in her mind.
The bracelet had protected her from spells, to be sure, but what else had it held? What if she’d had magic all along? What if the bracelet had sequestered her magic?
Layla had endured years of torture, unable to defend herself. True, the bracelet had kept the spells of others from harming her, but what about when Esme had needed her help? She squeezed her eyes shut. Why would her own mum want to contain her magic?
She opened her eyes and paced around the room with her hands on her hips, taking in deep gulps of air. That thing had rendered her helpless. It had made her a joke among her own people. It had made her a target.
The few treasured memories she held of the time before her parents were murdered began to crumble. Was the happiness she’d recollected real? Did her mum and dad despise her human side as much as the rest of the clan?
No. Those were the cràdh’s thoughts. Her mum wouldn’t have shoved her into that fruit cart and saved her life if that were so. Besides, the memories of her parents were full of hugs, kisses, laughter, and love. If her mum had fastened that bracelet around her wrist, there had to be a good reason. Perhaps she had been forced to by the prejudice of the elders.
Layla dropped the brush on the bed. This was not the time to ruminate over what had or could have been. Now, she had to figure out what magic she had—and how to use it.