“At least you’re real.” She snuggled against Widdershins’ warm fur, wishing it was the boy’s long hair rubbing against her cheek.
In the library, Aisling drew out the map she had made, and spread it across the desk, holding the edges flat with other heavy volumes. She dipped her pen nib in the bottle of ink, and scrawled a big, black mark through the dining room.
Eight years ago, she had found the original plans for the house in a drawer in the attic, back when the attic was still a place they could freely go. She’d unrolled them with wide eyes, immediately understanding what they represented. She took them downstairs to show her mother.
“Oh, Aisling, thank you. These are useful.” Her mother spread out the maps across the library: The first floor on the desk, with the old red telephone weighing down one end. The second and third floors on the wide leather sofas that sat opposite each other in front of the fire, and the fourth sheet containing the plans for the attic and basement on the colorful Persian rug. She took up a pen and inkwell and started to make notations.
First, her mother marked off the far end of the east wing, drawing crosses through the neat boxes on either side of the hallway. The bedrooms on the end of the hall had been completely enveloped by the void. Aisling had stood on the landing at the top of the staircase, watching the doorways buckling as they were crushed by the overwhelming power that pulled them between the two worlds. Cracks crisscrossed the wallpaper like spiderwebs, creeping like vines overtaking an abandoned building.
Only, the Hollow wasn’t abandoned. It still housed a family that loved and hated it in equal measure.
Next, Aisling’s mother created a key of notations to mark the strange things they witnessed around the house. Red Xs marked walls where long cracks appeared. Blue circles were places where they heard knocking sounds coming from within the walls. Little musical notes were where they’d heard the voices; the little girl singing nursery rhymes in the guest bathroom, the high-pitched shrieks from the back of the pantry. Blue droplets showed the cascade of water that fell from the ceiling in one of the servant’s rooms. An arrow pointing in a circle showed spaces where time seemed to slow down or speed up.
Over the years, Aisling continued to mark parts of the house that became lost. Some crumbled from decay and neglect, others were dragged into the void. Some rooms morphed into strange caricatures of themselves. As well as the room itself expanding in size, the floor in the middle of the ballroom bounced and buckled when she stepped on it, throwing her about like a giddy dancer. The hall hung with mirrors in the east wing stretched on into infinity; the conservatory grew vines that twisted and burrowed their way through the surrounding rooms, and seemed always to be creeping closer.
The Hollow had been built by her namesake, Lady Aisling Greymouth, in the early seventeenth century. In the library, there were books showing drawings of the Greymouth family at dinners, hosting balls and elaborate costume parties, or taking tea on the lawn. This was back when the Hollow was part of the human realm, an ordinary manor house with rooms that were the same size on the outside as they were on the inside.
The house had seen every event history could imagine. It had withstood wars, rebellions, electrification, the installation of internet cabling. But then, the war had come. The great, deadly war that humans fought with nuclear weapons, the war that scorched Earth and left only a barren, desolate wasteland.
Aisling had been too young to remember much of life before the war, but in the few images she had found in her grandmother’s desk, life looked idyllic. Life after the war, not so much. She couldn’t understand what humans had hated so much about each other that it was worth destroying everything. And being that she was quite possibly the last human left alive, she couldn’t very well ask.
The humans died inhaling the poisoned air, their bodies wasted by radiation. Witches, like the women of Aisling’s family, used their magic to help them breathe, to shield their bodies from immediate harm. Aisling’s grandmother had gone one step further. Thinking quickly, she had led her coven in a ritual to bind their power to the house. If they could just protect the house, she reasoned, they could all survive inside it until the world was safe to inhabit again.
But Aisling’s grandmother hadn’t counted on the fae. They opened the void right over the Hollow. They came down from the sky in chariots made from the stars, and they drew every last surviving life form into their realm.
Grandmother June fought back. Her coven raised a circle of power inside the house. They grounded it. They tried to pull it back from the grasp of the fae. And, when it looked as though all hope was lost, she threw every ounce of power she had left into the house.
That power wasn’t enough to send back the fae or spare June’s life. But it was enough to prevent the fae from being able to enter the house. The Hollow became stuck on the edge of the two worlds, perched precariously on the edge of the void – where the vastness and emptiness of space divided the fae realm from the human world. Both worlds pulled and tugged at the house, trying to draw it completely from the void, but Aisling’s grandmother’s power held the house in place. Her protective spells kept the fae from entering the grounds.
Aisling stared at the X she’d made on the map, and counted the safe rooms she had left. There were only ten in all, including her beloved library. The house had once had thirty-two rooms. Eventually, the void would win, and the Hollow – Aisling’s whole world and everything in it – would be consumed by the vastness of the void.
4
Naill
Niall dreamed about the girl again.
She danced across a marble ballroom as a piano played a beautiful waltz, a flowing emerald gown spinning around her as she twirled in time to the music. She threw her head back, her bow-shaped lips parted in ecstasy and her long neck stretched out as the swelling violin caressed her curves. Brown curls spilled down her back like a chocolate waterfall.
Niall watched, wanting nothing more in the world than to swoop in and take her in his arms, to kiss the pale skin of her neck, to trail his fingers over her luscious breasts and along her swaying hips. But he remained glued to the wall, his body frozen by some invisible force. All he could do was stand and gawk as she moved to the music.
The ballroom rose high above his head, ornate columns circling the checkered marble dance floor, their gilded blooms holding up a vaulted rococo ceiling painted with prancing deer. Candles burned in sconces along the walls, casting a warm, flickering light that reflected back in the polished stone, so it appeared as though hundreds of fireflies trailed around the girl.
She threw out a shapely leg, and spun in a pirouette, her arms above her head. She laughed, a tinkling, musical laugh that made his heart soar.
Her laugh turned into a scream.
The floor of the ballroom dropped away, bending toward a great churning black hole that opened up beneath the glittering chandelier. Her leg collapsed beneath her, and she toppled over, crashing against the marble.
Niall watched, his heart dropping to his knees. The ground tilted steeper, and she began to slide toward the swirling chasm. Her fingers clawed at the smooth stone, searching frantically for a hold. Her screams seared his soul.
Niall willed his limbs to move, but it was as if he were frozen in place, his feet glued to the floor. He could only stand by, unable to even speak, and watch as the floor tilted further, sending his love sliding closer to her doom. He flicked his gaze around the room, searching for another way to rescue her. His eyes fell upon a dark figure – a hooded shadow – floating along the back of the room. It was the figure he’d seen in the Hollow.
“What are you doing here?” he managed to choke out. Anger welled up within him. How could that witch just stand by, while she … while she was …
“Help me!” the girl wailed. The music swelled louder, pounding in his ears.
The figure turned toward him, a blackened shadow where a face should have been. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Niall’s limbs reg
ained movement. He tore himself away from the wall and leapt toward the girl, his arms outstretched, hands reaching for her, reaching …
It’s not too late. It’s not too late.
“Help me! Heeeeeeeeelp …”
“Ooof!” Niall landed on something hard. His head throbbed. His eyelids fluttered open and slowly the world around him came into view.
He was on the floor in the small, drafty room that now passed for his apartment, his blankets in a tangle at his feet. In his throes, he’d managed to knock over his quiver, scattering arrows across the floor.
He rubbed his eyes. He could still hear the waltz swelling in his head.
It’s a dream. Only a dream. He should really visit a medicus. The fae placed a great deal of importance on the meaning and symbolism in dreams. A medical examination might reveal why he had started dreaming of the girl when he was just a child, and why, ever since his dad died, he dreamed of her dying and he being unable to save her.
But he’d only just had a medical, to determine if the ache in his chest was physical or mental. He couldn’t bear parting with another fifty atern. And, for some reason, Niall didn’t want to talk about the girl with anyone else. He hadn’t even told Odiana about the dreams. Every time he opened his mouth to try, something tugged him back. Besides, he had a feeling he knew why he was dreaming about feeling helpless. He hadn’t been able to save his father, and he wasn’t doing much better for Eamon. It all came back to the guilt. The disgusting, horrible guilt.
Niall ran a hand through his long brown curls, and stared up at the picture on his nightstand. It was a photograph taken from an old polaroid camera his father had discovered in a human artifact shop and given to Niall on his tenth birthday. Niall had set the camera on a tripod and taken a portrait of their family. Eamon was in front, glaring at the camera. He smiled dopily in the middle, and their dad stood behind them, beaming with unabashed pride. Niall's throat closed.
“I promise, I will find a way to free Eamon,” he whispered to the photograph.
“You’ve never shown much of an interest in my work before,” Odiana said as she unlocked the door to the lab.
“That’s a lie.” It was not a lie. “I’m fascinated by what you do here. All the … sciencing.”
She snorted, then pushed open the door and gestured for Niall to enter. Niall stepped inside, gazing along the high benches crowded with equipment. Metal shelves running along the wall housed rows and rows of glassware, and a rack to the rear of the room housed an oven, an extractor, and several machines Niall couldn’t identify. He realized the importance the Conclave placed on this research – all the lights were on bright, all the equipment gleamed. An atern meter by the door read a number in the tens of thousands. Everything here was practically brand-new. Scitis’ magic reserves had been tapped deep to outfit these laboratories.
“There it is.” Odiana pointed at a small gun-shaped device sitting in a steel frame on the central bench.
“Huh.” Niall peered at the weapon. It was smaller than he’d expected. His father’s ray had been a metal tube almost as tall as he was. Odiana’s weapon could be held in the hands – its steel exterior gleamed, the edges curved and undulating, like the curves of a woman’s body. A small handle protruded from the bottom edge, finger grips sculpted from toughened leather. Three large dials and a panel of buttons ran down the right-hand side of the barrel. A small battery pack and collection receptacle fit into slots above the handle. It looked so tiny, so flimsy. Could this really be the device that would save Eamon?
“What do you mean, ‘huh’?” Odiana folded her arms.
“I thought it would be bigger.”
She punched him in the arm. “That’s my life’s work you’re disparaging.”
Niall rubbed the spot where she’d clocked him, too nervous to respond. He gulped. He couldn’t believe he was going to do this, and that it had him in such a knot. He was a warrior. He’d done far more dangerous things than what he was about to do.
Was it the guilt again? Odiana was his best friend, the only person apart from Eamon and his father who’d ever been kind to him. His plan to knock her out, steal the gun, and make for the Hollow before she could come to and raise the alarm seemed sensible enough, but maybe there was another way.
Odiana was talking. “—we’ve already had a successful extraction from two objects. Only a few units, but it’s something. We need to try a larger test subject, with more atern. But all our tests so far have been extremely promising—”
“Odiana, I have to tell you something.”
Great, tell her the truth. His internal dialogue dripped with sarcasm. Listen to yourself, becoming concerned about hurting her feelings. A weakling like you won’t last five minutes at that house.
Niall’s heart pounded. He longed to take back the words, but Odiana had already stopped talking, her eyes crinkling in concern. Before he knew what was happening, the words rushed out of him: all the sordid details he’d been hiding for the last six months. He explained, his voice shaking, how Eamon wasn’t really dead, how he had got himself into trouble and how Niall had been helping him. He told her what Laneth was trying to do with his experiments, how he had thousands of atern units stored within objects at his disposal.
“This is ridiculous. Fae shouldn’t be torturing our own kind, nor should Laneth be conducting experiments without the explicit permission of the Quaesitors. We have to go to the Conclave,” she said. “They’ll put a stop to Laneth.”
“They won’t. Laneth is clever. He has dirt on every member of the Conclave. At least three of the highest elders are aternum customers of his. They won’t touch him. He’s got me right where he wants me, and he knows it. The only way I can help Eamon and free myself from Laneth is to gain enough atern to pay him what he believes I owe with enough leftover to remain more powerful than he.”
“That’s going to take quite some power,” she said. “The only object I can think of with that kind of power is … no.” Her eyes flashed. “You can’t even ask that.”
“I wouldn’t. I swear, if it weren’t absolutely important. I have no other option, and at least I’ll be helping you at the same time.” He paused, a word he was not used to saying tripping on his tongue. “Please, let me take the extraction ray to the Hollow. You’re the only one I can trust.”
He knew she loved him. Like a true fae, Niall had decided to exploit that. He flattered her. He reminded her of how long they’d been friends. He appealed to her vanity. He hit her with that word, the word that fae never used – please. Odiana listened, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench.
“But you can’t go to the Hollow. You know better than anyone what it can do,” she said, grabbing his arm like a vice.
“It’s the only way I can hope to extract enough atern. Besides, you were going to send a Venator in to test it, anyway.”
“Not you. It was never going to be you.” Odiana closed her eyes, her nails digging into the skin on his arm. “We don’t even know if it works. By the gods, Niall, your own father—”
“You say you corrected for that.”
“I have, but it’s all theoretical. It hasn’t been tested on that scale yet.”
“You’ve already said you’ve solved that problem. I have my own powers, don’t forget. I’ll be able to find the concentrated pockets of magic at the house, remove the atern, and get out of there, all before breakfast.”
“You’re putting us both at tremendous risk,” she said. “If the Conclave discover I’ve lent this to you, I’ll be joining your brother in a cell.”
“I know,” Niall sighed. “I don’t want to put you in danger, Odiana. That’s why you have to preempt their questioning. Tomorrow, go to them and inform them you had a break-in, that someone stole the device, and that since I was the only one who you discussed your work with, and given that I’m currently missing, you suspect it was me. I’ll deal with the consequences when I come back.”
If I come back, Niall thought, but didn’t
say.
Odiana didn’t need him to say it. The thought was written across her stricken face. “Oh, Niall. You can’t ask me to do this. You just can’t. Why are you throwing away everything you’ve worked for, the whole life you’ve built for yourself, just to save your deadbeat brother?”
“He’s not my deadbeat brother. He’s just my brother. I have to help him. Tell me you wouldn’t do the same for your siblings?” Odiana had two sisters and a brother. She was the eldest.
“I wouldn’t. That’s what makes you special, Niall.” Gingerly, Odiana picked the device from its stand, placed it in its cushioned compartment inside a transport case, and slammed the lid shut. A single tear slid down her cheek.
“Take it.” She shoved the case into his hands.
“Thank you.”
“You know how to use it?”
“I just point and shoot, right?” Niall grinned, wiping a strand of her winter-white hair from her eye.
Odiana yanked the case from his hands, removed the ray, powered it on, and programmed settings with the dials. She shoved the extraction ray back into his hands. “Now you just point and shoot. Don’t touch anything else.”
“I’ve got it.”
“If you run into any problems with the ray …” She swallowed hard a couple of times before continuing. “Or if you find some information you think might be of use to me, post a note through the mail slot. I’ll come to the house every week and check for your word.”
“You won’t regret this.” Niall squeezed her arm, giving her one of his widest grins.
Odiana’s eyes met his, and he was shocked at the pain he saw there. Odiana was always so controlled, and now she was looking at him as though she was about to beg him to stay. She shook her head, focusing her gaze on something behind his head. “Get out of my sight, Niall.”
He did this, shoving past her. He didn’t want to watch the strongest, toughest fae he knew cry.
Hollow: Isa Fae paranormal romance (Fallen Sorcery Book 2) Page 4