HALLOWED KNIGHT, THE

by Stark, Jenn

  Simon refocused on his device and nodded. “That’s definitely it. Pub, pub, pub, shop. It’s the shop, most definitely.”

  I took in the hand-painted sandwich board sign sitting on the sidewalk outside the quaint little store. Faery Readings! Crystals! Lucky Clovers!

  “Color me surprised.”

  Miranda’s Faery Garden Shoppe boasted a cheerfully painted storefront that could easily have passed for a bookshop, and when we stepped inside, it smelled like a bookshop too—more old leather and polished wood than the typical overwhelming aroma of patchouli. A cheerful set of bells rang as we swung the door open, and a young blonde with gossamer fairy wings perched high on her back popped up from behind the counter, where she’d either been putting something away or playing jacks with pixies.

  “Hello there,” she chirped, waving us in. “Please take your time and look around. We’ve got tea in the back if you’d like to sit a spell in the courtyard, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  I poked at a jewelry tree from which were suspended two dozen pendulums in various hues of crystal, drifting my finger along chakra trees and selenite wands. There was an entire table given over to leprechaun statuary, and four full stacks of books on every metaphysical topic I could imagine. And I could imagine an awful lot. The shop extended farther back from the street than I expected it to, with kiosks and shelving and hints of other rooms.

  “Is there someone doing readings right now?” Simon asked. “Like a psychic?”

  “Oh! That would be Miranda. She’s out in the courtyard, but she’s meditating. If you could tarry another fifteen minutes, though, she could see you then.”

  I checked my watch. “She takes clients at ten a.m.? Every day?”

  “Every day she’s here, which is most days.” The cashier nodded cheerfully, her broad Midwestern American accent coming through more strongly now. “It’s her store, actually, and she lives right above it, always has. She says the place has good energy.”

  “It definitely does that,” Simon muttered, once more looking at his device. “And a whole lot more of it now that we’re inside. What the…”

  He turned away from me and wandered down an aisle that led to a short staircase, taking him deeper into the store.

  “What’s back there?” I asked the cashier, my gaze dropping to the little pin on her shirt. “Ah…your name is Lily?”

  “It is.” She beamed. “Actually, this entire store is cut up into lots of little sections so that you have the impression you’re here all by yourself, even if there’s a crowd. Miranda’s always trying to make each space its own special oasis. I don’t know what your friend is looking for, but I know he’ll find it. I truly do.”

  I eyed her curiously. Lily didn’t have any Connected ability, yet there was an effervescence to her spirit that still projected strongly. “How long have you worked here?”

  “I’m in my third year. Unfortunately, I’m only allowed three years. House rules.”

  “Whose house?”

  “Well, Miranda’s, silly. Oh!” She clapped her hand over her mouth, glittery painted fingernails flashing. “I’m so sorry, that was completely rude. I’m a student at Trinity College, and Miranda hires almost exclusively from there. She won’t let any students stay longer than three school years, though.”

  “That seems…oddly specific.”

  “Right? And she only hires non-Irish students, at least so far as I know. She says she’s doing her part to help tourism, but I’ve always found it cooler to go in shops that have people who have the whole Irish-accent thing going on. It’s just so pretty and different.”

  “You never asked her why she didn’t hire locals?”

  Lily’s eyes widened. “Well, gosh, no. I mean, I’m happy for the job. And if she likes to hire exchange students, then so much the better. I’m a little different because I came to Trinity and stayed, which most students don’t. But it seemed like my place, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I said, flicking my third eye open again. This time, with my focus more attuned, I could see it, the smallest bud of Connected ability blossoming deep within Lily’s heart. It was hardly recognizable, but it was definitely there, and I suspected made all the stronger by her open and accepting demeanor.

  “Have you ever done readings like Miranda?”

  “Oh my, no,” she said again, blushing. “I’m not psychic or anything.”

  Because I was watching closely, I noticed the tightening up of that little bud of Connected power, the flinching back of delicate petals.

  Once again, I was keenly aware that I was about to overreach, and I knew I should be keeping my psychic hands to myself. But this young woman was already on the path, already had within her the power to do and be so much more than what she was. I didn’t need to shove her sprawling down the Connected path, but would it hurt anything to let her know that path existed for her? Would that be so awful?

  And was this how Conal McCarthy had started down his road of rationalization too?

  The tinkling of bells sounded behind me, and the moment was broken. Lily looked up, her face stretching into an even wider smile.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “I’ve got your package from County Fermanagh right here. It came just this morning.”

  I turned as well, blinking as I recognized the man who stood just inside the doorway, half expecting the Green Knight himself.

  It wasn’t, but I was close.

  Conal’s brother, Niall, was built to a slightly smaller scale than his more outgoing counterpart, and quite a few years older. His hair was more ginger than his brother’s, and his face slightly more weathered, green eyes bright and inquisitive. Despite the relative chill of the morning, he wore only a light sweater of sage green buttoned at the front over a worn checked shirt. His khakis were a deep loden green, and his shoes were hardy but basic. The man couldn’t look any more Irish if he were walking in a field of clover.

  “Justice Wilde,” he said easily, stepping forward. He didn’t reach out to shake my hand, but I didn’t mind that so much. Anyone who’d done any research on me at all knew what my hands could do. I was disappointed to realize that Niall’s Connectedness hadn’t improved overnight, though. I’d assumed he had simply been overshadowed by his brother, but in truth, he didn’t burn with much light at all.

  “Just out for a stroll?’ I asked. “Or did Conal want our meetup to happen a little earlier?”

  “Time does seem to be of the essence, doesn’t it?” Niall smiled, his lined face creasing with a wry merriment that had long since been etched into his skin. “But no, come when you wish to come, we’ll be ready. I merely wanted to tell you about the package Lily has behind the desk. It’s actually for you. Compliments of the house, as it were.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “That’s great,” I said, casting a glance behind the desk, but I wasn’t about to let Niall off that easy. Besides, the glass jelly jar that Lily was removing from its packaging looked like it held, well, dirt. It wasn’t going to go anywhere. Lily set the small jar on the desk and scuttled away, doubtless looking for some thirsty pixies eager for tea. “You order it up for me, or did your brother?”

  Niall put his hands in his pockets, and rocked forward on the toes of his thick-soled shoes. “My brother isn’t the fiend you would make him out to be.”

  “No? This is the same guy that tried to take you out some years back, according to your dad.”

  “Oh, tosh,” he scoffed. “My da means well, he truly does, but he oversteps, like most parents. Conal is doing what so many of us can’t—or won’t. Nothing more or less.” Another rocking motion on his feet, and I sighed. Niall McCarthy seemed like a gentle enough soul, the opposite of his more hard-driving sibling, and I almost got the impression I’d like him if it wasn’t for his association with a group of Connecteds who wanted to take over the world. Little details like that tended to stick in my craw a little bit.

  “How long have you guys been all Lords of the
Dance here? I’ve been told Conal had only started his ministry in earnest late last year, but I’m not buying it. It’s all too organized for that.”

  Niall’s smile equal parts gentle and, increasingly, irritating, as I picked up my first hint of entitlement. “That’s not what you really want to ask.”

  “Oh? And what do I want to ask?”

  “If Conal’s the Hallowed Knight, the ancient bogeyman of the druids. I’m sorry to say, he’s not. Which is a shame. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have captured the interest of Justice Wilde. Alas, he’s just a man who, again, is doing what most won’t.”

  I felt my fingers tingle. This guy was about two sentences shy of getting a fireball to the mouth. “Okay, then tell me this. How long have you and Brother Zealot been crafting your plan for global domination? Because you’re playing a very dangerous game.”

  “You think so?”

  That was sentence one.

  “I know so. You guys are doing a great job riding the #FaeToo movement, but you have to know you’re drawing the attention of people who have the ability to shut you down.”

  “Ah, but you see, that’s the beauty of it. No one can—”

  “I’m going to go ahead and stop you before you complete sentence two. When I say shut you down, I don’t mean you guys here at Dublin central. I mean the acolytes you’ve got logging in to your Celtic Faedom website and pledging their support. The Internet is forever, and it’s hackable like you would not believe by people who are way better at this than you are. It’s the little people—and not the wee folk little people—who are going to be hunted down if you cross the wrong mob. It’s your followers who are going to be tried and imprisoned in the court of public fear. If you gave a crap about them, you’d be a little more careful.”

  Something had changed in Niall’s demeanor as I spoke, but when he stiffened at the end, it wasn’t in reaction to my pithy little speech. He turned slightly. “I need to leave.”

  “You need to do a hell of a lot more than that.”

  The bell jingled, and the chill that slid into the gift shop was so profound that I turned despite myself. In that moment, Niall darted past me, nothing but the patter of his thick-soled shoes sounding on the steps as he fled deeper into the shop. Presumably he knew a back way out of the place, away from the newest patron of Miranda’s store.

  Only, there was no one standing in the doorway. “Did someone just come in?” I asked aloud.

  “Oh, that happens from time to time,” Lily the cashier said cheerfully, scuttling back up a different set of stairs. “You never can tell when it’s just a breeze or if there’s a playful spirit wandering about.”

  “Yeah.” That chill didn’t exactly remind me of a playful spirit, but when Lily held up my special jar of dirt, I scowled at it. “That was shipped to you? How long ago?”

  “Special delivery this morning, but Mr. McCarthy asked for it last week, he surely did. Said he might have need of it, and here you are. It’s come direct from County Fermanagh, itself—and it looks hand packed too. That’s important.”

  I eyed the small jar. “It looks like dirt.”

  “That it is. But finer dirt than you ever did see, and that’s the truth.” She mimicked an Irish brogue, bubbling over in laughter. I got the feeling she bubbled over in laughter a lot.

  “You know…” I lifted my hands slightly, the tingling in my fingers growing stronger, and it was everything I could do not to tease the magic forth. “You, ah, have a really bright spirit.”

  “You think so?” she asked, blushing to the roots of her hair. “I’ve always wondered but, you know, how can you not when you’re surrounded by so much of—this.” She gestured to the whimsical displays of crystals and fairy wings. “It makes you almost believe.”

  As she spoke, I watched her energy. While it jumped a little as she began, it dipped just as quickly. Her own beliefs were both pushing her to accept her nascent psychic abilities and discount them at the same time. It must be exhausting. I had a feeling she’d be forced to face the truth soon.

  I tucked the jar into my jacket and glanced at the clock. “It’s after ten o’clock,” I said. “When my friend pops up again, send him out into the courtyard, okay?”

  Without waiting for the woman to respond, I headed toward the back of the shop, aiming for the big sign that said “Faery Garden.” I figured I was on the right track.

  I pushed open the heavy door and was pleasantly surprised to see a cute courtyard in the space beyond, overflowing with flowers, ornamental trees, and babbling fountains. In the center was a setup of several tables and chairs, one of which was occupied by a plump, dark-eyed, curly-haired woman chattering merrily…to no one at all.

  “Excuse me?” I followed the most direct cobblestone pathway, glancing around. Yup, sure enough, there was no one sitting opposite the person I assumed was Miranda. We were alone in the garden.

  “Ah!” she exclaimed, beckoning me forward with hands glittering with several delicate rings. “You’ve quite chased them all away, but rest assured they are listening, so do be kind.”

  I knew I wouldn’t like the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway. “Who’s listening?”

  She beamed at me. She wasn’t a young woman—gray shot through her dark curls and soft lines bracketed her mouth and eyes, but she had an effervescence that belied her lack of cosmetics, making her cheeks bright and her lips full and glossy. She was quite attractive, actually, in a woodsy, flowers-in-her-hair sort of way, and when she moved, her long, silky caftan fluttered in the sunlight. “Why, the brownies of course. Or the wee ones, the little people, and yes, even the fairies, if you’d like to call them that. They answer to anyone seeking them with a pure heart.”

  “I’m sure they do.” I didn’t bother hiding the skepticism in my voice, but I did stop short calling her a liar. Progress.

  “Ah, now there you go. They can pick it up in your tone just as easily as your words, though, to be sure, words matter more.”

  “Than actions?”

  “No, not that, to be true. But what you’re willing to say aloud carries more weight, it surely does. It codifies your thoughts, solidifies them. There are many of us who walk around wondering if we’re good people, feeling poorly for our weaknesses and our petty thoughts. But far worse are those who give those thoughts wings and claws and teeth when they know better, when they know that what they say is purely designed to harm another soul. I don’t think you’re that kind of person, Justice Wilde. I don’t think you’d be here in my garden if you were.”

  I smiled a touch wearily. “Well, thank you, but let me be clear. I don’t believe that brownies dance on the head of a pin.”

  “Oh, of course not,” Miranda scoffed. “They’re far too bossy for that. But, really, Justice Wilde. You’ve gotten so far in your life by being willing to believe so much. You believed in your own resourcefulness, you believed in your ability to make magic even when you didn’t want to believe. You believed in things, and people, and in even the gods themselves.”

  “They sort of kept showing up. It made them tough to ignore.”

  “And yet you’re not willing to cultivate an air of general belief, and that is what is holding you back.”

  Something in Miranda’s delivery made me stiffen a little, a strange tremor lighting along my nerves. For once, I didn’t have a snappy comeback. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, if you could only accept that which is unacceptable, you could do everything you think you can’t do. It’s all right there, but you’re stopping yourself before you get—oh!”

  With as closely as I was paying attention, Miranda’s sudden, startled near scream completely unnerved me. I whirled around, fire springing to life along my fingertips, while Miranda stood up so quickly, she nearly knocked over her chair.

  “Annwn!” she spluttered, the name so lyrical and right that another chill swept through me, exactly as it had in the front of the shop. Only it was Death standing there, looking like she was
fresh off a reaping season and in no mood for fools.

  “Onórach Annwn, you’ve returned,” Miranda continued. I knew you would, they’ve been telling me for so long that the time was nigh, and we’ve made everything ready, we truly have.”

  Death stalked into the courtyard, her face so stony, I was surprised the blossoms didn’t fall right off the trees. “There was nothing to get ready,” she said.

  Another shiver swept over me, but now the sensation felt cooler, more effervescent. All I wanted to do was to hear Death talk. The flowers on the trees did move this time, but only to wiggle and expand, as if trying to blossom more fully.

  “But of course there is,” Miranda exclaimed. “I have your harp—”

  “No.” Death’s voice cracked like a whip, and despite myself, I quailed right along with Miranda. “I ordered that instrument destroyed a long time ago. It isn’t safe for this world.”

  To my surprise, Miranda didn’t back down. “You did, Onórach Annwn. But Scáil An Bháis isn’t any old harp now, is it? It’s special, like you are special. And the two of you together…”

  “Had our run,” Death said. “Scáil An Bháis exacts its price eventually, and that price won’t only be mine to pay.”

  Miranda waved her off. “That’s as may be. But you cannot deny the power you wield. And humanity has needs that the Council cannot deny either, no matter how much they may want to.”

  “Humans can’t be trusted,” Death countered, looking at her meaningfully. “Case in point.”

  “Perhaps and perhaps not,” Miranda said staunchly. “Not all humans are able to be trusted and that’s also as may be, but as you know more than anyone, Connecteds are not all humans. They’re special humans, they’re gifted, and they should be allowed and expected to use their gifts to keep the magic flowing through the world, not to pound it into nothingness.”

  I stared at the shopkeeper, trying to decide which surprised me more. That she was willing to argue with Death, or that she was actually making sense. She winked at me. “Just as not everybody can be special, because if everyone is special, then nobody is.”