by Karlik, Mary
“They’re common. Every shop along the Mile sells them.” She pushed the door open and began to retreat. “I really need to get the shop open.”
Ian nodded. “I’m sure it’s coincidence.”
She closed the shop door and he turned away with a chill rattling his body. The scarf and the pin were Miranda’s. He’d given them to her on her birthday, and they had not come from a shop on the Mile.
He stopped inside the close to catch his breath. He could go back, flash his badge, and demand she tell him where she got the scarf. But the shop was small and he was sure it was not where Davis kept the fairies or Miranda.
He took a deep breath and continued through the close. An American female voice sounded in his earpiece and for an instant, the low, flat accent made his pulse surge. But it wasn’t Miranda. This girl had asked Buzzard for directions, which would have been fine if he’d left it at that. But Buzzard rarely stopped with a simple explanation where the lassies were concerned.
In classic Buzzard style, he thickened his accent and launched into a full-on lecture about the once thriving city entombed beneath Edinburgh. Ian heard the females giggle and gush over his words. He’d gone full-on charm. Ian had to admit the man could rival the tour guides.
He was about to tell Buzzard to focus when Jack’s voice sounded in his earpiece. “We have a problem.”
Ian adjusted his beanie lower on his head. “Go ahead.”
“It’s Layla.”
Uneasiness gnawed at him. Had she lost it and exposed her wings? She was nervous, but seemed to be controlling it. “What about her?”
Jack cleared his throat. “She’s gone.”
“What do you mean, she’s gone? I just left her.”
Theo said, “That’s just it. One minute there and then—poof.”
Ach, fairy. What have you done?
Ian jogged to their meeting spot.
Buzzard clocked left then right. “I don’t know how she disappeared.” He held up his hands. “I tried to get rid of the Americans. They wouldn’t leave, so I blocked their view of Layla.”
“And yours.” Jack said. “Theo is doing a frame-by-frame now.”
Buzzard clenched his jaw. “I knew she’d be a distraction. She’s reckless.”
“Reckless or no, we have to find her.” Ian looked around. “You head down toward Holyrood. I’ll head up toward the castle. Think small. She couldn’t have disappeared human-sized.”
He hurried along the shops, scrutinizing the buildings from ground to roof and everything in between. When he reached the castle gates, he spoke into the earpiece. “I haven’t seen anything. Buzzard?”
“No. I can have a look on the other side of the street.”
Ian turned back toward the shop. “Aye. Keep a sharp eye and meet me at the bench.” Ian had a bad feeling about this. Layla was headstrong, but she wasn’t stupid. Her weapons were at the flat. If she were going to go solo, she wouldn’t have left them behind.
As soon as Ian saw Buzzard, he motioned for him to follow. “Theo, anything?”
Theo sounded in his earpiece. “Got it. She popped back to her fey size. We lost her at Mary King’s Close.”
Buzzard shook his head at Ian. “I knew it. She’s a disaster. We shouldn’t have brought her.”
“You shouldn’t have been distracted either.” Ian picked up his pace. “She had to have seen something.”
Irritation gnawed at Layla as she followed Buzzard back through the close. She’d done exactly what Ian had asked—she’d told him about the magic she’d sensed. And what was her reward? To be sent back to wait like a useless child.
Ian had said there wasn’t much time to save Esme and Isla, yet the only sense of urgency came from the sound of her own two feet pacing around the bench. She’d had enough of waiting for Specialist Officer Ian Cameron to actually do something and was about to return to the shop to tell him so when she saw the pudgy little man totter through the close.
Add a beard to his clean-shaven face, ruffle his slicked-down hair, replace his pleated trousers and pressed shirt with woolen braes and a tawny colored tunic, and he’d pass for a bog troll. Not that they were necessarily bad sorts, but what was one doing in the human realm?
As he neared, fey magic wafted from him like the sweet scent of the rosebay willows after a morning shower. And then, as he walked by, she saw it—a sack the same size as the net that had held Esme and Isla.
Excitement, hope, and fear bubbled from her belly and caught in her throat. The tips of her wings fluttered despite her attempt to keep them wrapped around her shoulders. This was it. At long last she’d found her a clue to where her sister might have gone.
Twice she called to Buzzard to get his attention, but he was too busy bleating on to the human girls about some abandoned underground city. She tapped him on the arm, but instead of turning to her, he moved to block her from the girls. As the troll moved past her, she resisted the urge to run after him and tugged on Buzzard’s sleeve. But he pulled his arm away without so much an ear flick in her direction.
If she’d only had one of those communication devices, she could have alerted the team. But she didn’t and there wasn’t time to go after Ian. As it was, the little man was getting farther away. She couldn’t risk losing him and miss the chance to save her sister. She had no choice but to fey-size and follow the troll.
To keep out of the humans’ line of sight, Layla flew near the eaves of the shops, but ducking from one awning to the next slowed her and the troll was gaining distance. To catch up she took a short cut through an opening between the frame and fabric of an awning.
Only, as she passed through, she tipped a spider web. It clamped onto her right wing tip, jerking her back through the gap with such force she thought it might have pulled her wing from its socket. Before she had time to fully focus on the pain radiating across her back, the sticky substance tore from her wing and the sudden release from the web slung her to the opposite side of the canopy.
Her face hit first, burning from temple to chin, and then her body followed, jarring her from teeth to toes. Her bones were still rattling when the fabric rebounded and catapulted her from beneath the awning to skid across the sky like a drunken mayfly. She managed to stop before smacking into the forehead of an unusually tall human. But in the seconds it took to gather her wits and scan the area, she’d lost the troll.
The side of her face stung where it had hit the fabric and her insides spun with an added shot of frantic energy. She had to find him—and to find him she had to risk being seen. She flew down the middle of the walk just high enough to clear the humans’ heads. All it would take was one curious human to look up and see her. But she refused to think about her vulnerability and instead scanned left and right and left again.
Her skin, muscles, and bones ached as she searched. She told herself that she wouldn’t lose the troll and the cràdh reminded her that she already had. And as much as she tried to ignore the gibes of her spiritual parasite, she was two wing flaps away from admitting defeat and returning to the Buzzard when she caught a glimpse of the little man as he slipped between two buildings.
Pushing her wings to fly faster, she rushed to the close, but by the time she dove through the passageway, he was nowhere to be seen. Anxiety needled the base of her belly as she hovered near the door of one of the buildings and tried to feel the fey magic. As hard as she concentrated, as much as she wanted to smell that sweet smell again, there was nothing—not even a hint that the fairies had been through the close.
And worse, the troll was gone.
Her heart banged a dull rhythm and the cràdh laughed as her soul dropped deep into her body. Failure brought the sting of tears to the backs of her eyes as she turned with heavy wings to return to Ian.
Then, metal clanged behind her and she whipped her attention around.
The troll stood outside an iron bar gate and rubbed his empty hands on his trousers. His face twisted into a snarl and he spat before crossing the courtya
rd to the close leading to the lane.
A light flickered behind the gate and hope ignited in Layla’s soul. She tucked her knees as she banked between the bars. And like a moth after a candle, she chased the light through twists and turns below the surface. It didn’t take her long to figure out that she was probably in the once thriving city beneath the city that Buzzard had told the girls about.
As she descended, the air grew damp and reeked with the remnants of the thousands of discarded souls who had once lived and died here. And the atmosphere grew heavy, as if weighted down by their struggles, sorrows, and suffering.
Then the light disappeared altogether, leaving her in complete darkness.
Layla stopped in mid-flight and hovered like a hummingbird. But her heart continued at breakneck speed, slamming against her chest and pounding her pulse into her ears. Her instinct was to gasp in deep, calming breaths of air. But it was so stale and rank she could only manage sips as she concentrated on quieting the hysteria clawing up her spine.
There were two choices before her: turn back and hope she found her way out, or press forward and hope she found the fairies.
She chose option two.
But having made her choice didn’t soothe her anxiety. Her breaths hitched a little faster and her pulse continued its quickstep cadence as the darkness closed around her throat. She tried to heave a huge breath of stinking air but couldn’t force it past the strangling panic.
Wild with fear, she repeated her mantra. “Ceann sociar. Smaointeann soilleir. Aon cheum aig aon àm.” Calm head, clear thoughts, one step at a time. She could do this. It wasn’t the first time she’d been trapped in a maze.
And odd as it was, at a moment when she was in a strange world—or rather, beneath a strange world—chasing after a being so vile that it kidnapped fairies, her mind chose to remember the time Kenna had abandoned her with her little sister in a privet maze. It had taken them hours to find their way out. Afterward, Finn had explained that the trick with a maze was to keep a hand against the outside wall.
Layla exhaled slowly. It’s just a maze that happens to be in the dark. Hand to wall. I can do this.
But she didn’t move. The blackness that enveloped her was stifling and no amount of blinking or squinting affected it. Hanging in the air doing nothing wasn’t an option. She closed her eyes and found that somehow not seeing because her eyes were closed was less frightening than not seeing with her eyes wide open.
I can do this. On the count of three I will move to the right until I find the wall.
When she hit three, she didn’t move. And when she started over and counted to five, she still didn’t move. On the verge of hyperventilation, she had to do something because the alternative was to over breathe until she passed out and flopped onto the ground.
A million tiny bubbles of anxiety burst in her insides as with an outstretched arm she slowly moved to the right until she made contact with the stone. Dust covered her fingertips. Whether it was because of her newfound powers or fairy instinct, she wasn’t sure, but without question, she knew the powder was composed of human ash. A wave of nausea passed through her stomach, and her throat burned, and her wings shuttered, but she continued on.
The feel of her fingers dragging along the stone became her lifeline. Without something solid to connect with, she was sure disorientation would consume her. Without the wall, she wouldn’t have known if she were flying upside down, right side up, left, or right.
Progress was slow and she began to fear that she’d been led into a never-ending labyrinth beneath the earth. Then the wall made a sharp right turning back on itself, revealing a cavern so brightly lit she had to shield her eyes. The contrast was so stark and sudden her heart skittered into her throat as she came to a full stop.
A massive building filled a stone-lined cove three stories high. Gargoyle-shaped sconces with menacing, firelit eyes cast dancing shadows across the structure. Iron bars covered grimy windows on every level. And in the center was metal door so small it seemed hunched by the burden of the windows and stones above it.
Magic danced across her skin. This was it. This was the place that held Esme. Nervous excitement churned inside as she drew in a deep breath and flew to the windows.
But with each window she peered through, disappointment dropped a little heavier in her chest. The rooms were empty. Not so much as a rat dropping inside.
“No, no, no.” Esme had to be here. She’d felt the fey magic. She’d followed it here.
Backing away from the building, she flew in a small circle. Magic tingled all around her. This had to be the place. The fairies must be deep in the building, away from the windows.
Making her way to the door, she passed a first floor window and saw a spark from the edge of her eye. She flew back, peered through the glass, and focused on the empty space. Inside the room, the air flickered as if it were reflecting something—or projecting something.
Of course! How could she have been so naïve? A glamour shielded reality.
She may have been raised magicless, but she’d listened intently in school when the full fey learned their spells and she knew this one. She spoke the glamour reversal spell out loud. “Chan eil ann ach an tul-fhìrinn.” She repeated it in English for good measure. “Nothing but the truth.”
The atmosphere inside the room flashed silver sparks, but the glamour held.
She concentrated on the spell and imagined the glamour melting as she repeated the words. The room flickered and for a couple of seconds the shield gave way.
What she saw in those few seconds sent pricks along her skin like a thousand midge bites. She wanted to fly from the window. She wanted to hightail it up the path to Burnet’s Close and Ian. But she couldn’t.
She had to see it again.
Chapter Eight
It took her two more tries before the glamour peeled away like a curtain. When it did, Layla squeezed her eyes shut, because what she had seen between the bars on the other side of the glass made her head spin and her heart wrench with the horror of it. She wanted nothing more than to erase the image, but it had been etched into her soul.
Steadying herself, she clung the bars covering the window and opened her eyes. Six iron cages were spaced evenly across the floor. They were at least knee-high to a human and twice as wide. Each cage was packed with fey heaped together like rag dolls. They had the same expression she’d seen on the faces of Esme and Isla.
Vacant.
Please. Let them not be dead.
Cage after cage was stuffed with fey. Sunflower fairies lay tangled with those of the Periwinkle, Geranium, Hawthorne, and Lily clans. The yellow, purple, red, pink, and white of their clothes blended to a beautiful, cruel kaleidoscope of color.
Layla gripped the bars so tightly her hands began to go numb. All those fey—body after body piled together as if they didn’t matter, as if they weren’t feeling, living, loving creatures.
Pain filled her chest and the cràdh drank it in like nectar. Her lips pressed together hard, as if sealing in the scream aching to be heard would settle her nerves and quiet the entity thriving on her sorrow.
Slowly, she raised her eyes to the window again. Looking for Esme, she focused on the individual fairies and not on the mass of color in the cage.
Then she saw it. It was faint but it was there. One of the fey moved. The longer she stared, the more movements she saw. They were writhing. The iron wasn’t just sapping their energy—it was causing them physical pain. If Esme was among them, Layla couldn’t see her in the mass of bodies. But it didn’t matter. Whether her sister was there or not, Layla knew she had to get inside and free them.
Releasing the bars, she rushed for the door. But she hardly had time to flap her wings twice before a bone-jarring jolt spit her into the wall across from the structure.
Her back slammed against the stone, sending a bolt of pain up her spine to her head and down into her legs. The force of the magic sent paralyzing tingles through her muscles and dropped
her to the ground like a dead weight. Air whooshed from her chest as the tingling sensation passed like a million tiny bugs crawling off her skin.
As she pulled herself on to her hands and knees, she caught a shimmer in front of the door. Another glamour. She recited the spell again. This time the shield fell away on the first try.
What she saw hidden behind the magic curtain made her breath freeze while fear fired her pulse through her body at hyper-speed.
Her muscles trembled as she stood, stretched her wings to their full span, and prepared for the fight that was surely to follow. Because midway between the path and the door, black fog swirled on the ground.
In the center of that fog stood the horseman.
His hood was pulled forward, shadowing the contours of his face except for his eyes. And his eyes were like nothing Layla had ever seen. The color lay somewhere between silver and blue and they glowed or maybe flamed with a power that drew Layla’s gaze to them. She wanted to break the connection just as fast as she’d made it, but she couldn’t. She was trapped like a fly in a web.
She felt his magic enter her head and ooze across her mind. Then all at once a feeling of euphoria wriggled through the wrinkles and crevasses of her brain as he seized control.
He raised his arm and she rose with it. The sensation spread to her chest, covered her heart, and sent waves of pleasure along the path of her pulse until it consumed every part of her.
She was helpless to break the connection. And worse, she didn’t want to.
He moved closer and opened his palm. It was an invitation to come to him. It would be so easy to fly into his grasp. The magic begged her to give in. It promised that the feeling floating through her would be twice as strong.
Sink into his grasp. No more worries, just perfect bliss.
Her eyes ached to blink, but she couldn’t.
She floated toward him until the tips of his green nails were a hairsbreadth from touching the red blouse she wore. She arched her back and strained against his pull. And then another surge of pleasure pulsed across her brain and through her system and the urge to go to him grew stronger.