Familiar Stranger

by Michele Hauf

  “Hello, Mr. Harris. You look much different with your trousers on.”

  Squire flashed Jack a wonky look.

  “Out for a bit of sun today?” she asked.

  “What do you want, Ophelia?” With a raised hand, Jack cautioned Squire to remain behind him. “And would you call off the hound? Look what it did to my car.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You don’t need it, after all.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The bargain, Jack. Oh, don’t give me that I-don’t-understand frown. You bargained your life for entrance into the Cadre. You were granted that entrance. Now, it’s time to pay the price. Step forward, if you will. I don’t wish the residual energy of the spell to zap your friend to death.”

  Squire took an immense step backward. “Nice knowing you, mate. You want I should take care of that ring for you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Squire. And who are you? Soon as you think I’m gone, you move in on my girl?”

  Squire offered a sheepish shrug.

  “Boys, there’s no time for dillydally. I’ve tea brewing on the stove, and must return to the cottage.” Ophelia harrumphed.

  “Can’t do it,” Jack said. He planted his feet and squared his hips.

  “A man never goes back on his word. That makes you unworthy, Jack Harris.”

  “Yeah? So take a number and stand in line.” He waggled his finger, displaying his find. “Got a pressing matter. Yes, I promised my life for Mersey’s. And I won’t renege on the deal. But she’s not free yet. And until she is, I’m still on the clock.”

  “That wasn’t the bargain. It was merely to get inside—” Ophelia’s words choked abruptly as Jack grabbed her by the neck.

  The gargoyle gave a silent, stony yowl and flapped its wings.

  “Call off that sodding hunk of gravel,” Jack warned, “or I’ll snap your neck.”

  Ophelia made a gesture with her hand that quieted the gargoyle. Jack felt the heat of its stony-eyed stare, but he did not relent.

  “I’m going back into the St. Yve wood,” he said. “Some Rubythroat faery has my girl.”

  “Rubythorn,” Ophelia rasped. “He’s a bugger.”

  “You’re telling me.” Jack released the woman, and she smoothed a hand down her throat. “Let me rescue Mersey, then you can collect on your bargain. Deal?”

  “You’re fortunate I like you, Jack.”

  “I don’t see how wanting to take a bloke’s life shows much in way of liking him, but if that’s your style…”

  “You have entrance into the forest?” Ophelia asked now, all sweetness and tea.

  “Squire here will lead me.”

  The woman looked over Jack’s companion, her disapproval obvious. “If he’s the best you can summon, then I send my blessings with you, Jack. You’ll need them. And to ensure you make it out in one piece—”

  “So you can claim that piece?”

  “Oh, Jack, you tease.” Ophelia harrumphed again. “I offer you this.”

  Two black ribbons fluttered out from nowhere before Jack and landed at his feet. They snaked about as if alive and the ends joined, forming into a branch.

  “Use this when entering the faery camp,” Ophelia said. “It’s elder, a most sacred tree to the sidhe. We shall meet again. And next time there’ll be no delaying the inevitable.”

  “Look forward to it.”

  The gargoyle leaped to the gravel road with a crunch and, spreading down one wing, allowed Ophelia to climb on.

  Squire whistled appreciatively as he watched the creature take to flight, its passenger sitting sidesaddle upon its back. “Never saw those things do that before,” Squire said. “Wicked.”

  Jack grabbed Squire by the shoulder and shoved him inside the car.

  “You drive. I’ll sit and hold the door shut. Take me as close to the faery round as you can. From there, we’ll walk.”

  Chapter 32

  W as it worth it? Sitting now in a cage, a thing to be teased, while the bargain had won Jack’s freedom from a never-ending consignment to the forest?

  Yes.

  A man like Jack Harris could go mad forever trapped in the St. Yve woods, walking endlessly after. And certainly Mersey would have had no way to find or contact him.

  She was at peace with her decision. Jack would live to return to London. She hoped he’d be more thoughtful before blasting away at demons, and knew, in her small pounding feline heart, he would be. He had captured the demon Beryth with a crystal—a feat that had amazed her. It was Jack’s belief, she knew, that had allowed him to perform the difficult task.

  The man could do anything he set his heart to. Including stealing hers. Crossing her forepaws one over the other, Mersey laid her skull upon her paws and closed her eyes. She did not want to peer out the silver cage bars. She must be content now with memories of her one true love.

  Jack carried the elder branch before him on a palm, while he held Squire’s hand in his other. Black ribbons fluttered across his knees as he took the mossy path in sure strides. Much as he wanted to charge forth, he knew the dangers of an unescorted venture into this wicked forest.

  The air fell heavily upon his shoulders, the sky a warning pre-storm green. Any moment the heavens would crack open and gush down. Before him, the faery round appeared amid centuries-old oaks and rowans and rocks that may have been washed up from the sea millennia ago. But the air was dead still…silent.

  The ominous quiet crowded the back of his throat. He just wanted this to be done, to again see Mersey.

  A pouf of dandelion seedling meandered before Jack, entering the circle with careless abandon. He squinted at it, wondering if it was the same faery he’d earlier encountered. The seedling floated away.

  “Is this the right way?” he whispered to Squire.

  “Who knows?”

  Jack shot a look over his shoulder at the man.

  “I don’t know the forest. Dungeon master, remember? Don’t get out much. I’m here to ensure your passage in and out.”

  “Right then. I’ll just…follow my heart.”

  Squire returned a wink.

  Drawing in a breath, Jack worked his shoulders, releasing the tension that had sprung up unawares. A bee buzzed his ear, but he didn’t flinch. Not real. Don’t forget that. He thought briefly it would have been great to have a weapon, but as quickly knew it wasn’t wise, if simply unnecessary.

  “Where are you, Mersey?” he said softly. Closing his eyes, he listened and sniffed and felt the wind touch his bare chest. Was that a hint of lemon he scented?

  Jack opened his eyes.

  Twilight grew around him so swiftly, he felt the light recede and pull from his flesh like winter growing over summer. Everywhere twinkling lights appeared, beeswax candles apported upon roots winding across the ground and nestled in knotholes pocking elm and oak trunks and twisting branches.

  The sidhe had known of his presence before he’d even entered the forest. Now to wait for an invitation.

  “Mersey, I will not leave without you,” he murmured, feeling determination spread through his every fiber. “I promise you that.”

  Taking in the periphery, Jack began to notice the eyes peeking at him from within the grasses, or there, behind the cover of a ground leaf as wide as an elephant’s ear. Toadstools harbored congregations of whispering sprites, faeries and small bug-like creatures. Anxiety rose, stiffening his neck and straightening his shoulders. Jack coached himself to remain at ease; after all, he came in peace. A new costume for him to wear, but one that did not feel as confining as he’d expected.

  Determined to show him a new vision of the strange creatures that inhabited his own world, Mersey had done him well merely by entering his life. Jack wasn’t sure what he would do when he returned to London and to P-Cell. Blasting indiscriminately at anything that said boo now made little sense. The collateral damage was not acceptable. His superiors wouldn’t approve.

  Wouldn’t matter anyway, if he did not return with Mersey’s
hand in his. Lifting the elder branch over his head, he called out, “I enter your domain in peace, and bearing proof of my claim to Mersey Bane.”

  A scurry of movement appeared like a sped-up movie, colors blending and figures darting, while Jack remained a dizzied spectator. And from somewhere low, perhaps beneath the earth, the mournful cry of a bagpipe sweetened the candlelit night.

  “This way,” hissed close near his ear.

  Jack spun. A thin faery with pointed ears and braided black hair gestured with fingers too long for gloves. It turned and strode over a twist of mossy roots. Jack took two steps for each one the faery made. And then he realized he no longer held Squire’s hand. “Callahan?”

  “Just follow, Jack.” Sounded like the dungeon master’s voice, but Jack didn’t take the time to wonder.

  He turned and saw the elaborately carved chestnut trunk. It formed a huge room, much like an outdoor canopy for parties. Jasmine scented the air and the bell-like giggles of miniature yet unseen observers rang in his ears. He entered, and the carpet crushed beneath his steps. His unease, present since setting foot in the forest, increased. Heartbeats muffled in his ears and his palms grew clammy. Here be faeries. And not the sort that decorated greeting cards or sat as silent statuary in gardens. These faeries were mischievous and malicious, if not deadly.

  “That way,” his guide said and pointed to the door at the opposite side of the trunk.

  A door no higher than a cat’s shoulders and no wider. Jack turned to question the guide, but found he stood alone in the small room. Outside, the candles blinked out, yet the trunk he stood in remained illuminated by flittering firebugs.

  He bent to inspect the door. A small crystal doorknob and knocker were set into the chestnut door. “Mersey could get in there—if she were a cat. Hmm…”

  Never one to turn away from a door that led to opportunity, Jack plucked the doorknob between thumb and forefinger. It opened. He poked a hand inside. The force that suctioned him into the void tore his limbs to a vicious stretch and muffled a scream from his lungs. But it was nothing compared to a demon gaze. And recovery was instant. He stood in the same forest, but it was a room of sorts. Smooth green moss designed a floor, the walls fashioned of close-spaced trees, their limbs curving overhead to form a ceiling. Upon closer inspection, the furniture seemed alive, glittering like sun upon the sea. A silver cage hung suspended over a grand emerald velvet chaise. Inside lay a black cat, its head hung over the cage edge, looking bored.

  “Mersey!”

  Jack rushed toward the cage. A crushing force squeezed his lungs and his breath expelled. Pressed backward, he landed on the ground. Before him stood a male faery, his hand extended, palm flat. The very same who had tried to coax Jack into the faery circle earlier. The cat in the cage mewled. She could easily walk between the bars—

  why did she not?

  “Mersey tells me you are her mortal lover,” the faery announced. “Stand up. Be bold, Jack Harris.” The sidhe’s sapphire eyes glinted and briefly widened in acknowledgment. “You may have my name now, it matters little once Ophelia calls on your debt. I am Raskin Rubythorn. Master of your lover.”

  The branch in Jack’s hand cracked in half. He tossed it to the floor before the chaise. That Mersey remained in the cage hurt Jack’s heart. Did she feel obligated to do so?

  “Mister, er—” LadyAurora had told him this one was ostracized royalty.

  “My lord Rubythorn,” he tried, giving it the protocol he suspected the faery felt he deserved. “I come in peace.”

  “I have heard that one before.” The faery seated himself on the chaise. Silken fabric splayed across the back slinked down in puddles at his feet.

  “You, mortal, you disturb my eyes. Come! Anyone!” Raskin snapped his long fingers crisply. “Bring me some henbane ointment to put this mortal out from my eyes.”

  “I have a claim to Mersey Bane that no sidhe must deny.”

  Jack avoided looking at the cat. He couldn’t bear seeing Mersey trapped. Her greatest fear.

  “Impossible,” Raskin declared. With a nod, he directed Mersey toward his lap.

  It cut to Jack’s soul to watch Mersey glide between the silver bars and pounce onto the chaise. Head down and black ears flat, she settled on the faery’s lap. The bastard stroked her back.

  “I hear no mention of thanks,” Raskin prompted.

  “For imprisoning the woman I love? I’ll save that gratitude.”

  “You used my glamour to enter the Cadre. Ungrateful death merchant.”

  He was not here to argue, or start a row. But it took all Jack’s resolve to swallow a retort and keep his fists from forming. For Mersey. Sacrifice your pride.

  “Thank you,” Jack said. “And now, I have this.”

  Slipping both rings from his littlest finger, Jack presented them upon his palm.

  “What is that?” Raskin asked. “Trinkets? I have a thousand rings in the finest metals and crystals. Your dark little stone does not intrigue me, demon frightener. Can you do better?”

  Jack peered into the sapphire eyes that simultaneously smirked and sneered. Much as he wanted to take the bastard down, he knew the outer appearance was deceptive, and that faeries were hale and powerful. Besides, if Mersey had bargained, he must win her back properly.

  “Mersey’s mother gave me this ring,” he said. “She approved me as mate for her daughter while she carried Mersey in her belly.”

  “Is this man telling the truth?”

  The cat meowed.

  “Liar!”

  “She does not lie!” Jack tamped down his anger. It was so difficult not to grab the fey thing by the neck and squeeze. “Please, if you will not accept this symbol of our destiny, then you must grant me one favor. Allow Mersey to change shapes. I must see her one last time.”

  “You can see her quite plainly—”

  “In human form!”

  “Do not raise your voice to me, mortal.”

  “I will stand here and shout to the skies until you give me that one request.”

  “I’ve given you enough already.”

  “Very well, then I’ll begin.” And Jack shouted anything he could conjure, which just so happened to be a ribald pub ditty.

  Raskin pressed his palms over his ears. “Very well! Show yourself, kitten.”

  And the cat nuzzled her nose beneath the swathes of violet and mauve silk—and changed. The brilliant glow of her transformation was so bright Jack blinked. Within four seconds, his lover sat upon the chaise, shawls about her shoulders, tears in her eyes.

  “Oh, Mersey, my love, don’t cry.”

  “For Hern’s sake!” Raskin huffed. “Get on with it, demon hunter. Say your farewell.”

  Jack held out the smaller ring that he knew was Mersey’s and slid it onto her finger. “This one is yours.” He displayed the other ring on his littlest finger. “And this one is mine.”

  “You found it,” she gasped.

  “You found me.” He stroked her hair from her cheek, regretting that he could not steal her away from the world, and yet feeling he must not leave without her. He would not. He would kill the faery if he had to.

  “We were meant to find one another, Mersey.”

  “Jack,” Mersey murmured.

  Pressing their palms up, they held but four inches apart, wanting to touch, but both unsure of the faery who witnessed this farewell. Suddenly, their palms snapped to one another. The rings clicked, two long-lost mates reunited.

  “I love you, Mersey.”

  “I love you, Jack.”

  “Oh, bloody elves!” Raskin stomped over to the two of them, Jack kneeling before Mersey, and inspected their joined hands. He made to touch the rings, but flinched away. “I can feel it. There is something there.”

  “Yes,” Jack agreed. “True and deep and destined.”

  “Dash me to the dark realm! You do have a claim to her!” Raskin shouted in a storm of noise that shook the leaves on the branches. “Just…take her and be gone.
But know you have incurred my wrath, Jack Harris!”

  “Take a number!” Jack grabbed Mersey and thrust a hand through the doorway.

  Jack woke. It was dark, yet a glimmer of sunlight toyed on the horizon outside the window. He lay in his bed.

  “What kind of dream…?” He rubbed his forehead and studied his hand. The thin black band he’d worn—for how long?—tightened below his knuckle. “Faeries?”

  “Bloody dreams.” He lay back and closed his eyes. “Bloody P-Cell. This job is going to be the death of me,” he murmured and drifted back to sleep.

  Mersey sat on the marble steps outside the St. Yve manor, a plaid blanket wrapped about her shoulders. Beneath, the silk faery raiments sifted across her naked flesh. The lab coat had been lost when she’d shifted to cat shape.

  Squire sat to her right, itching insect bites that spotted his neck as if he’d been a victim at a vampire orgy.

  “Jack,” she said. “He’s gone.”

  Squire had told her about Jack’s bargain with the threshold guardians. He’d sacrificed his life to save hers.

  Gone. As in dead. Never again would she see him.

  Mersey tucked her head into the folds of blanket. Tears slipped over her cheeks. Didn’t Jack realize that to remove himself from this world would devastate her even more than imprisonment in a faery’s silver cage?

  She twisted the ring about her finger. Never would she forget the moment the two rings had connected. They belonged to one another.

  “He was doing what he felt he had to save you,” Squire offered between scratches. “He didn’t care about his own demise. Hero stuff, that bloke. He could have killed Beryth, but he knew the risk to your safety. All he wanted was your freedom.”

  “I wanted a hero.” Mersey sighed. And she had got one.

  “You should come inside, Mersey. Cook has some hot chocolate with that wonderful ginger sugar in it,” Squire said, trying on a hopeful tone.

  “No, thank you,” she said, head still tucked down. Most especially? She wanted to get herself as far from the Cadre as possible. “Leave me alone, Squire.”

  “If you wish. But believe me, I know about Ophelia,” Squire offered.