Linda interrupted. “Do you like the chutney in your sandwich. I made it. I’ll give you the recipe.”
“I don’t cook.” Fay blinked at the change of subject.
“Nonsense, dear. Anyone can follow a recipe. And you did say you were changing your life,” Linda added coyly.
“Not radically enough to cook.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m chief cook,” Jim said.
“A very good thing.” Yolanthe smiled at him. If the smiled was forced, everyone still appreciated the effort. “I married him for his cooking.”
“A lie. You married me for—” He broke off, glancing at Fay who watched intently, wanting to understand her mother and her choices. The humor dropped from him. “We married because we love each other.”
“The best of reasons.” Linda finished her tea and sandwiches. “You’ve all been very kind to an old lady who muddled her prophecy, but I won’t trespass further on your family time. It was good to meet you. Faith, was it?”
“Fay. Fay Olwen.”
The Olwen name passed by Linda without an eyelash flicker. “Fay. I’m sure we’ll talk in the future.”
They listened to her footsteps ascend the stairs.
“Linda usually naps in the afternoon,” Jim said. “You should, too, Yolly. You look washed out.”
“It’s Faith’s—Fay’s—first day, here.”
“She’s a big girl and can look after herself.”
“Jim, don’t be rude.”
He opened his eyes wide. “I’m not. It’s the truth.”
“I want Fay to feel welcome.” Yolanthe was upset enough to start a fight.
“I do feel welcome,” Fay intervened. “And if I’m family, you don’t need to stand on ceremony with me.”
Family. It was a magic word for all of them.
“If you’re sure? I am tired. Perhaps you could nap, too, after being portal sick?”
“Maybe.”
“Well.” Yolanthe stood slowly. “I will have a nap.” She touched Fay’s shoulder lightly. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Fay nodded and Yolanthe walked out, looking back twice.
“Stubborn woman. She’s exhausted.” Jim gathered up plates. He worked efficiently, filling the dishwasher and setting it running. “Do you have plans for this afternoon?”
Fay hesitated with the rinsed teapot in her hands. She needed exercise, not rest. Her body might be tired, but her mind and emotions were over-busy. The whir of the dishwasher reminded her of a forgotten chore. “I have to hang out my laundry and if I’m staying a couple of weeks, I’ll need some more clothes.”
“There’s money in the biscuit barrel.” He nodded at a daisy-painted china container that stood on the corner of the bench.
“I have money.” American dollars, not Australian. It didn’t matter. “I have credit cards.”
“Do you want your father to track you to Yolanthe through them?”
She hesitated.
“Look, Fay. I know I’m a stranger to you and God knows what shit you’ve gone through. You don’t give trust easy. But all I want is Yolanthe’s happiness. I have more money than Midas. I used to be an investment banker and I still dabble. You can spend money like a golden river and I’ll not notice it. Anytime you need money, take it from the barrel. If you need more than is there, just tell me. Later, if you insist on paying me back, we can work it out. I’d prefer it if you considered the money a gift. I might be a crazy porter, but I value family. Yolanthe and you are it.”
It was generous, honest and a refusal would be an unmerited rejection.
“I will pay you back.”
Jim relaxed into a grin. “Well, then, I’ll insist on paying you for mosquito proofing the house and yard.”
Fay shook her head in admiration. “Does anyone ever win an argument with you?”
“Yolly, sometimes.” He opened the barrel and pulled out a wad of notes. “Happy shopping. Walk to the top of the street and turn left. You’ll find the city center.” He turned back to the sink in dismissal.
“Thanks.” She pushed the money into a pocket and walked out to the laundry room.
Hanging clothes in the sun was a rare, pleasant relaxation. She fastened the last peg and stood a moment breathing in the mixed scents of honeysuckle, sun-warmed lawn and the herb garden. Then she returned the laundry basket to the back veranda and went in search of the city shops.
She was, after all, on holiday. Either that, or unemployed.
Chapter 7
Fay licked a honey and macadamia nut ice-cream and watched seagulls mug tourists in the green stretch of parkland. Despite numerous “do not feed the gulls” signs, the white and grey birds feasted raucously on chips and sandwich scraps.
She’d been coming to the park for three days, trying to learn the joys of idleness. It wasn’t easy, but slowly her tension was ebbing and she was rebuilding her energy. She concentrated on the smooth richness of the ice-cream.
The pain struck without warning. Her mouth filled with the copper taste of blood and the injuries the demon had inflicted a week ago—great gaping wounds and shattered bones—seemed to tear open.
Her head arched back in a silent scream before she slammed protective magic around her. So close to the sea it came with the wild ozone of the ocean. The clean air drove the stink of the demon and the African jungle from her nostrils. Her vision cleared.
Children still played in the park, couples strolled, tourists ambled and took photographs. Only the gulls had noticed anything different. They were scattering in shrieking panic.
The protective magic won her thinking time, perhaps five seconds before another attack of magic struck. It was time enough for her to realize that powerful though the attack was, she wasn’t the main target.
“God in heaven.” She dropped the mangled mess of ice-cream cone and eased back, letting one of the park’s massive pine trees support and partly hide her.
The demon was trying to break the warding she’d placed on the amulet.
It shouldn’t be possible. To reach her warding, the demon would have had to break the Collegium’s protections; protections set by a team of security experts. Her warding had been superfluous, present only for her own peace of mind after the mortal battle in the Congolese rainforest.
The demon’s power roared, flaring against the warding she’d traced onto the amulet.
Fay closed her eyes, gathering magic from the ocean and land, from the sky and from her own spirit, before sending it into the warding. Physical distance didn’t matter when the spell was her own. It was simply a matter of re-enforcing it.
Simply!
The demon shifted the focus of its attack, no longer trying to sneak past the warding which burned with power. Instead, it wanted her and all she represented: its defeat, its new chance of freedom, revenge and opportunity.
As agony twisted her body, she guided her magic through the final turns of the warding. The pattern locked, sealed beyond hope of the demon’s undoing.
Pain vanished.
Fay slid to the ground, her back against the smooth tree trunk, her legs awkwardly sprawled. Ice-cream oozed over her fingers, mixing with blood where she’d dug her nails into the tree and torn them.
She touched the tree, sending a wisp of healing for the damage she’d caused, then rested her forehead on her knees and panted. She was as weak as if she’d fought for her life—which she had.
“Are you okay?” A woman with a toddler strapped into a stroller stopped in front of Fay. She left a prudent distance between them, but her expression was concerned. “Do you need some help?”
“I…” Fay couldn’t summon even enough magic to hide her bloodied fingers. Her mind spun and shifted on a lie that was almost truth. “I had a panic attack. I’ll be okay.”
“Is there someone I could call?”
“No…Yes. My mom.”
The stranger smiled encouragement. “Do you have her number?”
Fay pushed slowly to her feet,
picked up the mangled ice-cream cone and dropped it in the trash. “That’s all right. She doesn’t live far away. Thanks for checking on me. I’ll be okay now.” The need for privacy was strongly ingrained, stronger than surprised gratitude for a stranger’s concern. She glanced at the toddler babbling happily to itself.
“If you’re sure.” The woman nodded and moved on, looking back once.
Fay rinsed her hands at a tap on the edge of the park and wiped them on the rear of her denim shorts. She headed back to the boardinghouse, her pace quickening from walking to flat out running as strength returned to match her fear.
She’d bound the demon securely this time, relying on no one but her own power. But that wasn’t the end of the matter. How had it broken the Collegium’s warding and what damage had it done?
“Jim.” Fay found him in the conservatory.
He peered over the top of a newspaper, took in her appearance and dropped the paper.
“I have to go back to New York.”
“What the hell has happened?”
She’d known she’d have to explain, that or lie to enlist his support. “The demon I bound last week broke the Collegium’s protections. It came after me, trying to break the warding I’d put on its amulet. It’s still bound—tighter than ever now—but I need to get back to New York. I don’t know what damage it did breaking the Collegium’s protections.”
“Leave ’em to look after themselves.”
She bared her teeth. “Second reason to go back is I’m not risking the Collegium messing with this demon again. I’m going to banish it. The damn thing near killed me.” She thought of the agony in the park, the muscles twisting and tearing from her bones. “Twice.”
“That I understand. Have you told Yolly?”
“No. She’s at her studio.” It surprised Fay, but Yolanthe was a skilled potter with her own gallery and studio a street from the boardinghouse. The last three days had been peaceful, baby steps to learning about one another. Yolanthe hadn’t pushed and Fay had appreciated the time-out. She’d visited the studio once. “I won’t stay in New York. I’ll be back.”
Jim scowled at her. “Yolly will want to say good-bye. Her kid’s going to face a demon, she needs a kiss and a hug.” He plunged forward to where the phone hung on the wall in the kitchen. “You get yourself dressed for New York weather, I’ll call Yolly. Fifteen minutes, you can be out of here.”
Unspoken was the reality that without his portal it would take her one hell of a lot longer to reach New York.
“Fine.”
His scowl intensified. “You know, it’s okay to let people care about you.”
“Do I have a choice?” She was already through the door, starting down the passage to the staircase.
“No!” Jim’s shout followed her.
Fay grinned, though the momentary warmth and humor faded fast.
In her room she stripped, dressed and packed with swift efficiency. The summer holiday clothing she left hanging in the wardrobe. Like she’d said, she would be back. Whatever life she built outside the Collegium, Yolanthe and Jim would be part of it.
“Oh, baby. I didn’t mean to cry.” Yolanthe was, though. She released Fay and clung to Jim’s hand. They all stood at the edge of the portal. “Be careful.”
Jim was more practical. “Take a shell. Porters call them ‘tokens’. We keep them by our own portal long enough to absorb its energy. The shell will get you into any portal and then back to this one. But it’s not an easy journey. A couple of seconds if porter hands you to porter. With a token you might wander for hours.”
“But it will get you home,” Yolanthe said.
Fay closed her hand around a leopard cone and slipped it into her pocket. It was a talisman for what Yolanthe offered: home. She would examine the seashell’s new-to-her magic later. “Thanks.” She hitched her bag securely over her shoulder.
“Cynthia will collect you in New York,” Jim said. “Ready?”
“Yes.” Fay stepped into the portal.
The transition wasn’t as bad as last time. She was stronger, for all that the demon had tried to rip her open again. She clasped Cynthia’s hand in the confusion in-between and let the woman’s surprisingly strong grip guide her out.
Squiffy, the blue toy lamb, butted Fay’s ankle as she stepped out of the portal. With Jim’s token in her pocket, she regarded the soft toy collection with new eyes: not an ageing woman’s eccentricity, but a storehouse of portal power. Squiffy’s animation suggested he’d be an effective guide through the portal for an unaccompanied user.
“Thank you for use of your portal, Cynthia.” Fay hesitated. The Collegium used the New York portal run by Paul O’Halloran and he charged the Collegium for courier services. Fay didn’t know what Cynthia charged or if Jim had traded portal favors. “What do I owe you?”
Cynthia sank into a recliner in the corner of the basement. Squiffy jumped onto her lap. “You brought watchers to the house. Take them with you when you leave.”
“Watchers?”
“The first turned up four hours after Yolanthe and you entered the portal. The Collegium guardian arrived after twelve hours.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to reveal your secrets.”
“Ha! You haven’t. Some people already knew of my portal. The Collegium leaves me alone. They learned that once through the portal, I might guide them anywhere—but definitely not where they demanded.”
“It’s dangerous to provoke the Collegium,” Fay said carefully.
“My portal is well-guarded.” The overhead light sparkled in the eyes of the ranks of soft toys. Squiffy nudged Cynthia’s petting hand. “And I shan’t leave till it is safe again. Take the watchers with you.”
Fay nodded. She adjusted the weight of the bag slung over her shoulder. “You said the second watcher is from the Collegium. Do you know anything more about him or her?”
“They’re guardians. Security, they call themselves. They watch from the street on eight hour shifts.”
“What about the first watcher?”
“A were-leopard. He’s broken into the empty apartment behind my house. He watches alone, although sometimes he has visitors. Both watchers have set magic to alert them. While you are in the safe circle of my home, they can’t detect your presence.”
“May I return here to travel through to Yolanthe and Jim?”
“Paul O’Halloran does not know of Jim’s portal.” Cynthia set the recliner rocking. “Families have a right of safe passage. You are Jim’s family. You are welcome.”
Family. Trusted with secrets and safety. And outside a were-leopard waited for her. Was it Steve?
Hope was a dangerous risk. Better to assume that all the watchers ill-wished her. She pushed aside the question, what if it was Steve?
It had taken the Collegium guardians twelve hours to track her to the portal. Had her habit of evading pursuit delayed them so long, even if she hadn’t consciously hidden her path? Or had it taken her dad that long to realize the change in his own powerbase when she broke ties with the Collegium? What message did the Collegium watchers carry? What did they want with her?
She asked Cynthia’s permission to use the back door, thanked her again and walked out into the 3 a.m. quiet of New York City.
Magic brushed across her senses. A cat yowled. A security alarm whined in the distance, insistent and unanswered.
Fay threw her bag over the back fence and leapt over it herself. She skirted the dumpster tucked into the apartment’s alleyway and jogged through the shadows to the street.
Even magic wouldn’t summon her a cab at this hour, but the subway was two blocks across. She’d catch a ride uptown.
Of course, she could just let the Collegium guardians catch up with her and drive her there. But the raw place in her where she’d broken ties with the Collegium winced at the thought. She was on her own and she’d act like it.
“Shit.” She froze, one foot off the ground, then slowly balanced herself. The cracks in the p
avement shone with magic.
Someone had triggered a capture spell and it was aimed at her. The magic creeping through the cracks would stick her feet like toffee. She could break its hold, but it would slow her. Perhaps slow her enough to make her vulnerable for another magic attack?
Anger whipped through her.
Observation was one thing. Setting traps was quite another. The Collegium guardians had no right to act against an innocent magic user. That they were doing this confirmed her fears: her dad didn’t just use the power of his position. He abused it. So much for free will.
She wrenched at the magic in the pavement, pulling it up by brute force. The energy of it surged, fought with the original spell-caster and at her insistent tug, became hers.
A straggly tree caught her eye. She gathered the flaring magic and flung it over the tree, seeing the net of power settle and sink into the sapling and deeper into the earth. The tree shuddered as it absorbed the energy, then it grew as if observed under time-lapse photography. In seconds, it stood a ten year older tree.
Someone had put a lot of power into the spell aimed to stick Fay’s feet. More power than most Collegium guardians could handle.
“If you’ve finished playing.” A voice purred in her ear.
“Steve!”
He grabbed her wrist and dragged her over to a SUV. Its doors clicked open.
Fay considered her options and climbed into the passenger seat.
The engine started with a roar as unsubtle as a leopard’s challenge. The dashboard lighting showed Steve’s unshaven, tired face. He looked grim. “Can you deal with it?” he asked.
“With what?”
He jerked his head, eyes going to the rearview mirror.
Fay turned in her seat.
Lumbering up behind the car was a golem.
Chapter 8
The golem was seven feet tall, the shape of a sumo wrestler and it gleamed sullenly in the night. In the glare of a streetlight, Fay saw the amalgamation of its construction: bricks, concrete, bitumen, all the mix of chemicals that had soaked into the city’s soil. It wasn’t made of clay, but of New York, itself—and it moved fast.
Demon Hunter (The Collegium Book 1) Page 5