by Maria Lima
Bea shook her head. “He can sleep in my room,” she said. “For now, anyway. I’ll be at the café until closing. We can talk about this later.”
I leaned over and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, chica. For everything.”
“De nada, chica,” she whispered into my hair. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Always.”
The trip seemed shorter than usual, both of us keeping quiet on the way, as if to process everything we’d learned, everything we’d experienced over the past couple of days. Too much. Too soon. Where was Gigi? Had she done something stupid, or was she squirreled away somewhere hatching a new plot? I wouldn’t put it past her. Like me, or maybe I was like her, she wasn’t one to sit back and let things unfold slowly. If she could, she’d be right in the thick of it, stirring the pot with every intention of making it come out her way. She’d managed so far—her genetic games producing three possible heirs. Me, Gideon, and the late unlamented Marty. Marty, unfortunately had been somewhat of a dud, a biological sport who’d managed to inherit all sorts of recessive genes, leaving him a Kelly manqué, with not one iota of magickal ability. Then me, who’d Changed far too early, nearly dead from exsanguination as I’d brought Adam out of a coma. Turns out, near-death experience is what triggers the Change for an heir, go figure. Gideon, not to be outdone, had managed to hex himself into a coma, hoping to Change. Once he’d done so, he’d run off to Faery and found his long lost father—Drystan.
Now here we were, at opposite ends, a weird-ass face-off about to happen as if we were fulfilling some long ago prophecy. Except I didn’t believe in prophecy. Even our Kelly seers knew better than that. Prophecies were usually uttered by humans who only played at having Talent. The real thing wasn’t so much a prediction as a potential. No future writ in stone. No swords buried in stone either, for that matter. Just two cousins on opposite sides of what was sure to become a battle royale. I wasn’t kidding myself anymore. I knew that our breaking Truce wasn’t going to result in mere pesky annoyances, but in all-out war. I had to prepare, and a reconnaissance of the old cemetery was step one.
“Bloody hell,” I whispered as Tucker pulled up alongside the road that would lead us close to the small cemetery. “Can you feel it? I didn’t even have to crack open a window.”
Tucker nodded, his face grim.
The atmosphere above the cemetery roiled; dark shapes, darker than the night, twisted in a grotesque parody of some sort of danse macabre. The very air seemed thick and bloated.
I threw up a warding spell around the Rover and the feeling of oppression lessened a bit.
“What is that?” Tucker asked, his big hands gripping the steering wheel.
“Some of the same,” I said. “The same spirits I felt in the cemetery at the Rose Inn. Only here, there are more. Way more.”
“Gideon?”
“Had to be. The warespells we saw in the photos. Must have—” I fell back against the seat as something else hit my senses.
“What the fuck?” I scrabbled forward again.
Tucker’s arm shot across, stopping me. “You’re not opening that door.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m not an idiot. I just need to…” I pressed a palm against the glass of the passenger side window, concentrating. I could feel a different energy behind the dark shapes, something cleaner, more familiar. As I probed, the darkness thickened, the shapes melding together, more and more of them whipping faster and faster into the maw of the center. It grew, pulsing in the dark, blocking the night.
“Keira, what is that?” Tucker’s voice seemed to come from far away. I ignored him.
“C’mon,” I urged, “c’mon. I can feel you.”
With a shudder of air and a whoomph of nearly silent sound, the dark shape shredded into its component pieces, all of which slowly settled down, below our sight.
Tucker grabbed my arm and tore it away from the window. “Keira? Are you all right?”
“Damnation.” I sank back against the seat and put a hand over my eyes. “I’m fine. Only I don’t think things are.”
“What? You’re not making sense.” I knew that Tucker’s frustration was only his worry for me.
I took my arm down and looked directly into his eyes. “The door to Faery is wide fucking open.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Do not ask questions of fairy tales.”
—Jewish Proverb
“Open, how?” Adam paced the small room.
Tucker had turned the car around and returned to Bea’s without another word. He’d been at the Faery portal with me before. He knew the dangers of the place.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Those shapes, the dark spirits hid the magick from me at first. It wasn’t until they started to coalesce that I began to feel—”
“Coalesce?”
I kept untangling my braid. I was exhausted, wrung out. I wanted to do nothing more than to get some sleep. “Yes, coalesce. Like the many pieces wanted to create a whole.”
“That does not sound good.”
“It doesn’t,” I agreed. “But behind the dark wall, I felt the door. Which is why I had to try to find out if I was just imagining it or not.” I put down my hairbrush. “Stop pacing, damn it.”
Adam sat on the bed and regarded me. “It’s open.”
“Completely. So open that anyone could access Faery without knowing how to. We need to set a guard, or figure out how to close the door again.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Well then, we just go on into Faery, find your bloody father and have him close it.” I motioned for Adam to get off the bed so I could pull down the covers. “Adam, I’m bloody well beat, love. I can’t think anymore. Let’s get some rest, okay?” I could barely keep my eyes open. As much as my brain wanted me to take care of this now, I had to rest, to recharge.
“I don’t like the idea of leaving that door open any longer than we have to.”
“I set up some notice-me-not wards around the crossing,” I said. “Left a voice mail at the sheriff’s office that we were back, and that we’d take care of the vandalism. I don’t want any of the deputies to get sick.” I slid underneath the covers and laid my head on the pillow. “Come to think of it, there weren’t any cars out there.” I yawned. “Carlton must have given up watching the place.”
“Of course.” I never heard him leave the room.
“We need backup, Keira,” Tucker argued over breakfast. “We have to get some help.”
I shoveled a forkful of eggs into my mouth and chewed to give me time to calm down. After swallowing, I spoke as calmly as I could. “I know, Tucker. We’ve got two vampires that can’t come with because it’s broad daylight. Bea’s out of the question. Who else?”
Tucker gripped his coffee mug tight. “I don’t want us to be alone out there.”
“I wasn’t planning to do anything rash, Tucker,” I said. “I just wanted to see it during the day. Bring Antonio along. He can help keep an eye out.”
“I’m happy to,” the priest’s voice came from the living room. “I can even help bless the land again.”
“See?” I finished my eggs and tossed the fork onto the plate. “C’mon, we can do this, okay?”
Tucker shook his head. “No bloody way am I going out there without Adam and Niko,” he said. “I’m happy to bring the priest along when we go, but what we saw last night scared the crap out of me. Dad agrees, by the way.”
“You called him?”
“Yeah, first thing when I got up. I told him about what we saw.”
“What was his take?”
“That Gideon’s somehow spelled the spirits angry,” Tucker said. “Our family isn’t attuned to the dead for nothing.”
“Yeah, well, I suppose.” I rose from my seat and joined Antonio in the living room. He was reading a Bible, his probably, as I didn’t think Bea had one. “Anything interesting?”
He shook his head and closed the book, a finger marking his pla
ce. “It comforts me.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I ignored it. “Fine, Tucker, you win,” I said. “I’ll wait until dusk.”
“Good. I’m going to get some groceries,” he said. “Antonio, would you care to come along?”
“I will.” The old man pushed against the arm of the chair, struggling to stand. After a moment, he put out a hand. “Tucker, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Tucker crossed the room and held out his arm. Antonio grabbed it and hauled himself into a standing position. “It’s getting a bit worse,” he said with a rueful smile. “Some days better, some days bad.”
“I wish there was something I could do,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even help you up.” I’d accidentally tried to do so earlier in the day. Antonio had risen early, started coffee and fixed a mess of scrambled eggs and bacon. He’d then settled into the armchair. When I’d smelled the coffee, I’d gotten up, leaving Adam asleep. I’d brushed against Antonio and nearly fainted. He felt like death.
Had our removing him from the place he’d been cursed caused more harm than good? Perhaps. I’d offered to return him, to call him a car or something, but he’d refused. He didn’t want to go back to the Rose Inn. I respected that.
“You are helping by allowing me to help, Miss Kelly. I thank you.” He tucked his arm into Tucker’s with a jaunty smile. “Now, let’s go buy food.”
I watched as the two of them left through the front door. Locking it behind them, I sank back onto the couch, once one of my favorite places to sit and contemplate the universe. I’d lived here two solitary years, entertaining myself as I supposedly watched out for Marty, my penance from Gigi for refusing to leave with the clan when they departed en masse to live in Canada. Gigi. Where was she, damn it? Why hadn’t she surfaced?
With a deep breath, I began the meditation breathing she’d taught me. In, count, out. In, count, out. I let my thoughts fly through my head, latching onto none of them. Clearing my thoughts, clearing my brain. Soft sounds of breathing from the bedrooms entered my consciousness. Adam and Niko. They’d bunked together as—with day dawning—they’d run out of time lightproofing the second guest room. Tucker had slept on the living room couch. Even though it was quite long, it barely fit his six-foot-four length, especially when he slept sprawled out as he liked to. I’d protested, but then realized he needed to do this, to stand guard so to speak. I let him. We’d set up the camp bed for Antonio behind the couch.
I’d taken the other guest room and slept for hours, deep and solid. No nightmares, no dreams I could remember. I’d only woken up to the smell of breakfast somewhere around eleven-thirty or so. I could still smell the savory eggs, the rich coffee, the meaty aroma of the crisp bacon. In, count, out. In, count, out.
I sank deeper into my own consciousness, letting the mundane slide past, focusing on centering myself. Inside, deeper and deeper. As I settled into my trance state, I did a subconscious body and energy check. I was topped off, shields strong and steady.
I let my awareness drift out, away from my center. Gigi… Where are you? I focused on feeling her—her vitality, her soft scent, the smoothness of her milky skin beneath mine when she leads me in a spell. Her voice, lilting through Welsh, then back to English, then Welsh again as she speaks of our heritage, teaches me our protocols. Songs of love, laughter, and our people as she sings me lessons in the wee hours, my body weary, muscles aching from sparring. With a breath and a whisper I am re-energized, the zing of power racing through me, soothing my aches and removing the pain. She is mother, father, leader, mentor. She is Teacher. She is…
… sitting alone in an empty room. All white walls, floors, no windows. She sits in full lotus, eyes closed against the too bright light, chest rising and falling in cadence with mine. The room is warded tight. Spells shine against the walls, the floor, chains of unseen light trap her there. She wears white on her body, a color not commonly seen as part of her wardrobe, some sort of loose tunic and leggings. She is barefoot, her hair loose, dark waves falling past her shoulders to her waist. Nothing to constrict. Nothing to bind, except the wardspells.
“Gigi,” I whisper.
Her eyelids flutter, but do not open.
The wards shimmer, shaking against my intrusion. I read the words embedded within the spells. Words meaning lock out. Meaning she is prisoner here.
I whisper again. “Where are you, Gigi?”
She begins to form a word with her lips.
The world smashed me back to reality as Tucker and Antonio entered the front door, laden with groceries. I winced and fell over, my half lotus unraveling as I hit the floor.
“Keira!” Tucker dropped the bags on the floor and ran over to me. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, sorry, a bit of a headache.”
“Were you meditating on the couch?”
“Yeah, dumb idea.”
“Especially since you knew we’d be back soon,” he said and rescued the grocery bags. “You should go lie down for a bit more, okay?”
“Tucker,” I stood in excitement. “I saw Gigi.”
“What? How?”
“She was in some sort of white room,” I said. “Meditating, like I was. Only the room was warded beyond the telling of it.”
“It was a vision?”
I snagged a banana from the bunch on top of one of the bags. “I don’t know. She heard me calling to her. I know it.” I peeled the fruit and took a huge bite, chewed and swallowed. “I’m not going to say she is actually in a white room,” I said. “I’m sure that was more symbolic than anything, but she’s definitely behind wards.”
“Did you get a sense of where?”
“Not around here.” I waved my hand, banana and all.
“I didn’t think she was,” Tucker said. “Anything more concrete?”
“Not around here, around here,” I tried to explain. “She’s not anywhere.”
Tucker’s brow furrowed. “That’s not possible.”
“It is.” Adam walked out into the living room, avoiding the windows. I’d closed all the curtains and taped them over, but it wasn’t the same as blackout curtains. “I think Minerva is elsewhere. Below.”
“That’s it!” I grabbed him into a hug. “That’s what I felt. Elsewhere. The feel of Faery. It’s the Between.”
“Then how do we get her out?” Tucker asked. “You don’t expect to charge in there, do you? Faery isn’t like here. You can’t just follow a map.”
“No, but we can check out the open door at the cemetery,” I said. “I want to ward it and shut it so that no one can wander in there. Then we can figure out how to get to Gigi.”
“Do you think that’s why it’s open?”
Adam and I both shook our heads. “If she went to Faery, there’s no need for her to come all the way here first. She would’ve used the door in Vancouver.”
“But that door’s not open,” Tucker argued. “She needed to know the spell to open it.”
“I think she does,” I said. “She’s been there before. She’s no stranger to Faery.”
“Then why leave everything behind in the hotel room?”
“It’s not like she can use a cell phone in Faery,” I said.
Tucker crossed his arms and gave us both a stubborn look. “I’m still not buying it,” he said. “This doesn’t sound like her at all.”
“It does if she thinks she’s gone to help,” I argued back. “I know what I felt.”
“I felt it as well,” Adam said. “It woke me. What time is it?”
“Early afternoon,” I said. “Nowhere near dusk.”
“Then come back to bed, love,” he said. “Bea’s room is on the east side of the house and the dark shades and curtains are all taped up there. It’s dark enough. We’ll all get some more rest before we go haring off to Never-Never-Land.”
I shook my head as I followed him down the hall. “As long as there’s no Captain Hook.” Or a crocodile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“The gods’ most savage curses come upon us as answers to our own prayers, you know.”
—Lois McMaster Bujold, The Curse of Chalion
“I have what I need to re-consecrate the cemetery.” Antonio stood in Tucker’s shadow, waiting outside the car for us. Night had finally fallen and we’d been loading up my Land Rover.
“You can re-bless it?” Niko asked, his voice reverent. “I understood this sort of ritual to require a bishop.”
“I can do this,” Antonio insisted. “I may not be a bishop and I may be a sinful man, but I am—was—a good priest. I perform the sacraments. I can execute the ritual of consecration. God will not deny this.” Antonio climbed into the back of the Rover, a small bag clinking against his side. I had no idea what he had in there, holy water, perhaps, some other unguents and oils. “I know what to do.”
“This may get hairy,” I warned as I got into the passenger seat. “The spirits we felt last night were much more active than any at the Rose Inn.”
“God will be with me.” With that, he closed his eyes and began to move his lips. Prayers? Perhaps. I hoped his God was listening and that—as Antonio believed—the ritual would work.
“Niko, Adam, I think it’s best if you two go atop the overhang,” I said. “Niko, you know where it is. It’s not part of the cemetery, so you should be fine up there. I don’t know how long it will take Antonio but I don’t want you to be caught on the property. Tucker, Antonio, and I will go into the cemetery proper.” I’d slept several more hours, then woken up to find Tucker plying me with books and more food. I’d eaten several plates of machacado, tortillas and cheese, followed by a couple of apples for good measure. I was going to need as much energy as I could get.
“We’ll park just beyond the gates,” Tucker said. “You can get to the overhang and we’ll meet you in front of La Angel.”
“El Angel,” Antonio corrected.
“Nope, local custom,” I said. “We all know it’s wrong, but she’s been La Angel for eons.”
“A statue?”
“Yes, it guards the cave entrance,” I said. “The one that holds the door to Faery. Though, not literally, I don’t suppose. She sits out in front of it on a stone plinth. She’s modeled after ‘Winged Victory.’ She’s been there as long as I can remember.”