Although the skies over Medietes were always cold and gray – the same broken sky they encountered every day since the Eternal Winter began – above the Hollow, black storm clouds constantly swirled, raging and crashing against each other as the energy of the void between the realms collided. As Niall watched, lightning arced down from the sky and struck the iron fence surrounding the house. The fence crackled loudly, but did not break.
Odiana shuddered, placing her hand over Niall’s. “It’s not natural,” she said. “That much raw power. It’s no wonder it’s still standing after all this time.”
“They should just burn that place down,” Niall said, the words harsher than he intended. The Hollow held a special plate of hatred within his heart. If it wasn’t for that house, he wouldn’t be in the position he was in now, with guilt clutching his chest and a box in his pocket.
“Are you kidding? They wouldn’t dare waste it. The Conclave is just hoping we can get one of our extractors working, so they can drain the place completely. That much raw atern would probably power the whole faction for the next twenty years.”
Odiana’s words pounded against his head … I’ve already matched the code and I can prove it works … The first faint flicker of an idea rubbed against the edge of Niall’s mind. He turned them over, giving them form, weighing his options against the possible risks.
“Personally, I think they should just smoke the place out with poison gas …” Odiana scoffed. “If you kill what’s inside, you kill its source of power, and it will let go of its secrets. But the Conclave won’t agree to that. They don’t want to risk losing a single witch, especially not one that powerful.”
Niall nodded. Everyone knew the Hollow was still occupied. Lights went on and off in the manor’s windows. Sometimes, smoke could be seen pouring from the chimney, and once or twice the door even creaked open a crack. As a teenager, he and his brother Eamon used to dare each other to run up the scorched hill and peer over the garden wall. Once, they’d seen a dark-cloaked figure float slowly across the upstairs window. The image of the figure gliding with aching slowness across their vision appeared in Niall's dreams whenever he was frightened or upset. He’d been seeing it a lot ever since his father’s death.
“Maybe they’d be willing to share the atern. You know, if you asked nicely?” It was a question he used to tease his father with, back when his father was still alive and shit like that was funny.
Odiana snorted. “Sometimes, you really are hilarious.”
Just then, Aedan exited the shop, carrying a heavy sack over his shoulder. He nodded to Niall, who started to get down from the carriage, patting his pockets to find his tinderbox. Venators always burned these places, as a deterrent to other witches, to keep their slaves in their place.
Odiana shoved his hand away. She closed her eyes, and raised her hand toward the door of the shop. Niall watched as thin tendrils of blue smoke poured from her fingers, touching the wooden building. A few seconds later, flames burst out of the windows, and glass objects crashed inside.
“You could use a match, you know,” Niall said, as he settled back in his seat to watch the blaze. The fire spell had cost Odiana ten atern.
She shrugged. “You’re such a skinflint.” She punched him playfully in the arm, then grabbed his hand and flipped his wrist over, her eyes glossing over his number: 4,252. “Why do you save so much of yours? You can’t take it with you when you die, you know.”
“No.” Niall shook his head. The corner of the tiny pill box brushed his leg. “You certainly can’t.”
“That’s good, Niall,” Laneth said, as he turned the tiny box over in his hands. “That’s very good, indeed.”
“It’s worth 800 units, at least,” Niall said, his chest heavy. As he sat across from Laneth, watching the enormous man paw at the tiny box, he felt small, helpless. He always felt like that when he met with Laneth.
Laneth placed the box down on the table. “I was thinking 400.” He grinned. Laneth rarely smiled, which made his grin all the more alarming. He wiped a sticky hand across his face, leaving a trail of grease. Laneth repaired vehicles and large machines for the university. He always seemed to be covered with grease. It oozed from his pores.
Four hundred was ridiculously low. Niall knew he could get triple that if he took it the box to a reputable dealer. Laneth knew it too, which was why he was grinning. “Fine. Take 400 off. That means he still owes—”
“Five thousand eighty atern,” Laneth responded, quickly calculating the math in his head. He may have been large and greasy, but he wasn’t stupid. Far from it, which was what made him so dangerous.
The number buzzed inside Niall's head, so huge and impossible. Even though he’d been paying Laneth off in installments for months now, the debt didn’t seem to get any smaller. But he had no alternative. He couldn’t go to the authorities. He had no other family to turn to.
“Can I see him?” Niall asked.
Laneth waved his hand. He was already engrossed in his new prize. He placed the box on his workbench, and aimed one of his bright lights at it, inspecting it from all angles. Even though he was an Aedifex (a builder) and not a Quaesitor, Laneth had the same goal as Odiana and every other great mind in Scitis: to find a way to extract atern from objects. Only, if Laneth discovered a way to extract magic first, he wouldn’t share it. He’d sell it to the highest bidder, or worse.
Niall left Laneth admiring his new acquisition and wandered down the stone steps into the cellar beneath Laneth's residence. The old witch Laneth kept as a servant waved him through without asking his business. Niall was such a frequent visitor that he was well-known in Laneth’s labyrinthine lair. As he passed, the witch gazed up at him with pleading eyes.
“Please …” she begged, holding out her arm so Niall could see the ugly scars that marked Laneth’s experiments on her. Niall didn’t even slow down. What did he care what Laneth did to some witch? That wasn’t why he was here.
One … two … three … Niall trudged past the empty cells, his boots clanking against the stone cobbles. Down here, the air hung heavy with damp, the smell of bodily fluids flaring in his nostrils. A pitiful place for pitiable men.
“Eamon,” Niall spoke into the darkness.
“My brother.” A hand reached carefully through the bars, and clasped his. The fingers felt thin, brittle. Not at all like the fine hands of the great man that Eamon had once been.
Eamon was once the head scientist at the university’s atern research laboratory. Their father’s treasured son, Eamon was set to inherit their father’s vast store of atern, along with his position as Chancellor of the university.
Then, two years ago, their father had grown increasingly ill – a wasting disease that had robbed him of his vitality in a matter of weeks, worsened by the intense chill that permeated all of Scitis. Eamon gambled away his sorrow and numbed his pain with atern-drugs, so that he could focus on learning all he could from their father while he was still alive. Niall, who as the second son could count on no inheritance of atern, had no such luxury. His grief had been raw, unhindered, free to ravage his mind wherever he sought refuge.
With Odiana’s help, Niall prepared himself for his father’s slow descent into the afterlife. He prepared to one day have to say goodbye. But then, his father was killed in an experiment up by the Hollow – the first test of an atern extraction ray he’d designed. As the beam from the ray hit the house, it created a reverse pole, sending back a huge surge that drained the power from the entire array. Niall's father – who was standing on the array at the time – died instantly, the last of his magic sucked completely into the house, without a chance to pass it on to his son. Eamon’s entire inheritance, gone in a flash, and with it any chance he had at repaying his gambling and drug debts.
But Laneth – the secret chemist and supplier of the most sought-after drugs at the Aternum – was nothing if not enterprising. He knew that exposing Eamon would do no good – the Conclave would have made an example of him, and
Laneth would never have got his payment, or the chance to access all Eamon’s scientific knowledge.
Instead, Laneth paid off Eamon’s gambling debts. He arranged for Eamon to “disappear” on an invented Conclave assignment. The only people in the city who knew Eamon was alive were Laneth and Niall, and it would stay that way until Niall finished paying Laneth the 10,000 atern he demanded for his services.
Now, Niall's brother rotted in the old prison cells beneath Laneth's workshop, forced to help Laneth with his studies, and Niall stole magical items in order to pay down Laneth's fee.
“I have taken another 400 units from your debt,” Niall said.
“I’ve told you before, don’t do this,” Eamon’s voice pleaded. “I made this mess. I was the one who gambled away all my atern, thinking Father’s inheritance would bring it back up again. You have so much to live for, Niall. Don’t destroy your future for me.”
“You’re my brother.”
“And a lot of use that relationship has done you. Please, Niall. Don’t do this. Laneth will not let me go, even if you do pay the full 10,000. Keep the atern for yourself. Save it to buy Odiana’s hand in marriage. I know she would agree in a heartbeat.”
“Her father would die before wedding her into our disgraced family,” Niall said. And I don’t feel for her what she does for me. Odiana is a good friend, but as a wife … He’d never seen her as more than a friend. Besides, he had little to offer a wife, especially one of Odiana’s rank and sect.
“Odiana is strong. She would find a way.”
Niall smiled at that. He was right. Odiana wasn’t used to not getting her way. “You’re right about that.”
“Tell me what else has been going on. Has Odiana had any success with her ray?” The hope in Eamon’s voice made Niall’s chest ache. Although neither of them were particular fans of the Quaesitors, they didn’t want Laneth to crack the formula before the university did.
“How do you know about that?”
“I heard Laneth talking about it,” Eamon said. “Apparently, they’ve had some kind of breakthrough, but he can’t get anyone to tell him what it is.”
“She believes she may have finally come across the right equation to tap into stored magic. She’s putting the final touches on the new extraction ray. Of course, it needs testing.”
“Of course. Quaesitors do so love their tests. Do you remember when Dad blew up the kitchen?”
The memory flicked across Niall’s vision. He and Eamon had been playing on the upper floor of their stately home when suddenly the whole house shook. A loud boom thudded in his ears. Niall dived for the floor, convinced the void was collapsing and dragging the whole fae realm into the darkness along with it. After a few seconds the shaking subsided, and their father poked his head sheepishly around the door to check they were okay, his face black with soot and his eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Of course,” Niall said, keeping his voice light. “Mom never could get the soot stains from the walls.”
“I miss him,” Eamon said.
Niall started to say something, but his words caught in his throat. The guilt clenched at his chest. He took a couple of deep breaths, then said, “I’ve been thinking about how to get you out of here, and I’ve come up with a plan.”
Eamon sighed. Niall knew why: he’d had a lot of ideas before that hadn’t worked. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“Laneth is becoming more and more greedy. He offers me less and less for the items I bring to him. He knows he has me by the balls, and that as long as you hold debt, I will continue to bring him atern. He’s building up a store of items. I need to find a way to pay him off in one swoop, to reverse the power dynamic between us.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” Eamon threw his hands up. “Laneth has tens of thousands of units. You’d have to drain the Hollow to get enough power to overcome him.”
“Exactly.”
Eamon’s eyes burned into his. “Brother, no.”
“Odiana needs to test her device, right? But the university has forbidden Quaesitors to test there after what happened to Dad, so I figure I’ll volunteer and—”
“No. No no no no no no NO.” Eamon rattled the bars for emphasis.
“But—”
“NO. Don’t go near that place. You saw what happened to Father. It sucked the life from him, as easy as knocking back a glass of aternum. If the same thing happens to you …”
“Don’t fear, brother. Odiana knows what she’s doing. She’s learned from Dad’s mistakes.”
“Of course she has. But she’s going to make all new ones.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You’ll be careful?” Eamon was screaming. He slammed his palm against the iron, rattling the cage. Niall winced as he saw the crisscrossed burns across Eamon’s hand from where he’d touched the bars. Touching iron hurt. “You’re trying to commit suicide and you tell me you’ll be careful? We already lost Dad to that evil place. Don’t you get yourself killed, too.”
“I won’t get killed. I trust Odiana. You were just saying how clever she is—”
“Dad was clever, too. I’m sure he’s enjoying using his intellect in the afterlife.”
Niall narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Like it or not, there’s nothing you can do from in there. Remember, while you’re a prisoner here, I’m a prisoner alongside you. Laneth will never stop coming after me for what he wants. This is the only way I’m ever going to free myself.”
“It’s not worth it. I’m your older brother, and I demand you obey me—”
“Don’t give me that crap. I’m doing this, whether you like it or not. I’m going to the Hollow, and I’m coming back with enough atern to set us both free.” Niall shot his brother a final, rebellious stare. “You’ll see.”
3
Aisling
Aisling woke to warm fingers caressing her face, the tips lighting fire across her skin. The boy lay beside her, his features calm, serene. He mouthed something to her, his tongue touching the front of his lips in a way that was utterly tantalizing. The crash of the surf drowned out the words.
They lay on a beach, the sand warm beneath her naked skin. He draped his arm across her side, their legs sandwiched together, limbs tangled in the white sand. With his fingers he traced the line of her chin, dancing along her throat, over her collarbone, darting along the edge of her naked breast.
Aisling’s body tingled with anticipation. She kept her eyes locked on the boy. His eyes were a blue so cold and vivid, she couldn’t believe they were real, that they gazed at her, at her, with such a violent craving, it felt as though they were melting away her skin.
A lock of his dark hair fell over his face, and she reached out to tuck it away. Really, it was just an excuse to get her hands on his body, to drag her nails across the hard muscles of his chest. The minuscule space between them seemed like an abyss. Aisling’s body ached to be pressed against his, to be consumed utterly in the flame of his desire.
Her hand moved through the air in front of her in slow-motion, as though she were pushing through treacle. Finally, her fingertips brushed his cheek. She sucked in her breath as she ran the tips over his coarse stubble.
He blinked, and disappeared, the whole beach sucked into a black void. Heart pounding, Aisling jerked herself upright. Her hands thrust out, searching for the warmth of his skin.
Then she remembered.
She wasn’t lying on a beach at all, but splayed out in her bed, the covers in disarray around her. The boy wasn’t beside her. He was a figment of her imagination, invented to keep her sane all these years. She’d never even been on a beach before – she’d constructed the vision of an endless expanse of pearly white sand and crystal water from descriptions she’d read in books.
For the last five years, Aisling had seen the boy in her dreams. He’d grown up alongside her: a teen when she’d hit puberty, his strong shoulders and haunting face making her pulse quicken and an ache settle between her legs. They’d held
hands and danced at the prom and she’d felt like every romance book ever written had been inspired by that night.
Now he was no longer a boy at all, but a fully-fledged man, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw, barely recognizable from the gangly kid she’d once danced with. But those deep pools of intense blue that stared out at her from the veil of her subconscious, they had stayed the same all these years.
He’s not here. He’s not real.
Aisling allowed herself three deep breaths, three still moments where she could withdraw the image from her mind, to rub away the impression of the boy that still lingered on her fingers. Then it was time to begin the day.
She threw off the covers, and went into the hall, ignoring the door directly to the left of her bedroom. It hadn’t been there yesterday, and she’d opened enough strange doors in this house to find its presence unimpressive.
When she and her sister used to visit their grandmother, they would stay in a honeysuckle-yellow room on the first floor at the end of the east wing, overlooking the rose gardens. But ever since her room had been swallowed by the void, Aisling had been sleeping in the old servants’ quarters, housed along a dim, narrow hall behind the kitchens. The rooms weren’t nearly as grand, but she preferred them like that. Less opportunity for ghosts lurking in the corners or dark cracks to go unnoticed.
Widdershins skidded around the corner, purring with delight as he rubbed up against Aisling’s bare legs. A tiny speck of something stuck to his tail. Aisling pulled it off and held it up to her candle to inspect it. It was the flowering head of a maize plant.
“How did that get here, boy? Come on, tell me. Where do you go?” Aisling picked up the cat and cradled him in her arms. Widdershins had been showing up with all sorts of weird smells and objects lately.
Widdershins’ whole body vibrated with the intensity of his purr. He didn’t reply. Cats never did.
Hollow: Isa Fae paranormal romance (Fallen Sorcery Book 2) Page 3