‘Well, yes all right, I suppose so. But …’
‘One of yours?’ asked Stiles.
‘Oh, but … they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t.’ Finvarra insisted.
‘No, probably not,’ agreed Stiles. ‘After all, if they were going to do it, why wait all this time?’
‘What does she want with Denny?’ asked Tamar abruptly.
‘Denny?’ Finvarra looked blank for a moment and then he said. ‘You mean the other one, the blond haired one with the injury? She took him?’
‘Yes.’
Finvarra shook his head. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he said. ‘She’s at it again.’
‘What?’
‘She’s going to marry him.’
‘Denny?’ spluttered Stiles in disbelief.
‘But she’s married already, isn’t she?’ said Tamar. ‘I thought there was a king somewhere, isn’t there?’
Finvarra shrugged as if this was irrelevant.
‘Denny?’ repeated Stiles. ‘I mean, no offence to the guy, but why him? I don’t get it.’
‘I do,’ said Tamar. ‘After all, I want to marry him.’
‘Yes but that’s different. I mean why not pick a king or a president or something.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Yes but she could have picked anyone – someone with power and influence.’
Tamar cocked her head on one side. ‘What’s your point?’ she asked.
‘Ah, yes. I see what you mean.’
‘How do we stop her?’ asked Tamar, getting back to the point.
Finvarra looked puzzled. ‘Stop her?’
‘Ah!’
‘Listen,’ said Stiles, ‘what I don’t understand is why aren’t you … I mean, why weren’t you …? Oh, damn!
‘What we mean is, how are you involved in all this? How can you have known her for a thousand years? Aren’t you human?’ Tamar translated kindly.
‘It’s a long story,’ said Finvarra. Then he caught sight of Tamar’s expression. ‘Suppose I tell you all about it?’ he added hastily.
* * *
‘Feeling any more amenable?’
Denny managed to raise his head with difficulty, and gave the Faerie Queen a sour look. ‘Hardly,’ he told her. ‘You know torture isn’t usually considered the best way to make friends and influence people.’ He reconsidered this statement and added. ‘Well make friends anyway.’
The Queen gave a silvery, tinkly laugh that made shivers run down Denny’s spine. ‘But what choice do I have?’ she said.’ Your mind is closed. It would have been so much easier the other way.’
‘But not as much fun,’ said Denny, astutely.
‘I like talking to you,’ she confided. ‘We think alike.’
‘I’m sorry you think so,’ he told her. ‘That was sarcasm in case you didn’t realise.’
But Queen Onagh had not heard of sarcasm, so she chose to ignore this remark.
‘My last husband wasn’t like you at all,’ she said.
‘Is he dead?’ asked Denny, slightly fearfully. He could easily imagine this creature killing a dozen husbands if she took it into her head.
‘Dead? No,’ she said. ‘He’s around somewhere. Hatching plots, I’ll be bound. He betrayed me, you know.’ She clenched her fists and bit her lips until the blood came. ‘Betrayed me … to witches!’
Denny closed his eyes. ‘Tell me more,’ he thought fervently. ‘Tell me everything.’
* * *
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ said Finvarra. ‘I’m not on your side or anything. I mean I’m not human after all. Not exactly, I just rule them. ’
‘The gypsies?’ asked Stiles.
Finvarra nodded. ‘For several generations now. They are the natural enemies of the Sidhe,’ he added. ‘It seemed a good choice.’
‘So then, you’re not exactly on her side either?’ said Tamar.’
‘If it came right down to it … no I suppose not. We’ve been estranged for a long time.’ He sighed. ‘She always gets it wrong,’ he said obscurely. ‘No patience. The time is not yet.’ He seemed to be talking to himself. Tamar noted his words carefully – she would work out what they meant later. For example, what did he mean estranged?
‘Tell us about the Key Stones,’ she said.
‘Witches put up the stones to guard the portal after she went through.’ Finvarra told them. ‘She wasn’t exactly banished you see, just prevented from coming back through. In those days, before the stones were raised, the door was always open, and they came through whenever they wanted, but their court was in the Faerie realm. But she went too far you see, she wanted to rule, tried to marry the King, had him right under her thumb. They do that you see. Folk see them the way they want them to. Except witches and druids – they see everything the way it really is. Anyway, it was a reign of terror. People locked their doors and hid under the bed with a handy piece of iron. Horseshoes nailed to the door, that kind of thing. Happy days,’ he smiled reminiscently.
Tamar gave him a look. He coughed self-consciously
‘Ahem! Anyway a bunch of witches decided enough was enough, so they raised the stones one Winter Solstice night when most of the Sidhe were feasting at court.’
‘But not all of them?’
Finvarra looked surprised. ‘No there were some stragglers,’ he admitted. ‘How did you know that?’
Tamar shrugged. ‘Call it a hunch,’ she said looking hard at Finvarra. He did not flinch.
‘The witches knew they wouldn’t live forever,’ he continued, ‘so they made a deal with me to guard the stones.’
‘Why did you agree?’ asked Stiles.
A cunning look crept over the king’s face. ‘It was me or her,’ he said. ‘Besides, it’s been so peaceful without her.’
‘What do you mean, it was you or her?’ said Stiles. ‘Did the witches threaten you?’
‘No,’ said Tamar. ‘That’s not what he meant.’
‘He’s not telling us everything,’ she thought, ‘not by a long shot. – Like who the hell he really is’.
‘I should get after your friend before it’s too late,’ said Finvarra, abruptly cutting off this line of speculation
She’s set up Court over there,’ he pointed approximately east according to the setting sun (Stiles’s compass was now merely decoration) ‘about five leagues as the buzzard flies. I should get a move on if I were you.’
Tamar merely stared at him until he began to shift uncomfortably.
‘Well, I’ll just get out of your way …’ he began.
‘How do we send her back?’ said Stiles baldly.
‘You can’t.’ said Finvarra. ‘You’ll have to kill her.’
‘Okay,’ said Tamar calmly. ‘How do we do that?’
‘You can’t expect me to tell you that,’ objected Finvarra. What am I, an idiot?’
‘What kills her, kills you too?’ said Tamar. She was fishing here, but she was almost certain she was right.
‘I never said that.’
‘But it’s obvious,’ put in Stiles. Who had no idea where she was going with this but was backing her up valiantly anyway.
‘Iron,’ added Tamar in a very low voice.
Finvarra gave in. ‘Oh, all right,’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s better than being dead. But if you want to send her back, you’ll have to do it before she binds herself to the land.’
‘Spill it,’ commanded Tamar. ‘All of it.’
* * *
Witches always see things exactly as they are.
Of course, they do not always necessarily understand what they are seeing. This was particularly true of Cindy, who had always been a bit blonde.
When Hecaté had performed the chant and exposed the changeling, Cindy’s reaction had been a disappointing ‘So what?’
Even Jacky had looked surprised, but only for a moment, then he had merely looked smug.
Clearly, Cindy had been seeing the changeling as he was all along, but it had apparently never occurred to her that he w
as not her son.
Of all the possible outcomes of her plan, Hecaté had not even considered that it would make absolutely no difference at all.
~ Chapter Eight ~
Tamar let Stiles handle the interrogation. Well, each to his strengths. She handled the glowering menacingly and the filtering of Finvarra’s lies into an approximation of the truth.
When she thought that they had extracted as much from him as they were going to Tamar reached inside her jacket and pulled from somewhere (probably another dimension) a long iron sword and cut his head off. Before the head had even rolled, the whole body had turned into a gelatinous goo. They watched it seep into the grass.
‘One down,’ she said. ‘Let’s go get the rest.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘He’d have been as bad as her,’ said Tamar. ‘He’s one of them. What do you think he’s been doing here all these years, painting the flowers, mending shoes? What do you think he meant by “it’s not time yet”? He wanted what she wants. He set himself up as a king over the gypsies didn’t he? They can’t help themselves. But he wanted her out of the way first, and he was waiting for something else too.’
‘What?
‘We’ll never know now, and it doesn’t matter anymore.’
‘But you could have just sent him back.’
‘No! No more Faeries, if she got back through, he might have too – one day. We have to get rid of them all – like … like wasps.’
‘So why did you make him tell us about the stones?’
‘Ha! To see if he would. He was scared. Scared because we knew about the iron. That’s all I wanted to know.’
‘That’s nasty.’
‘It’s going to get nastier.
‘Where did you get that sword anyway? I thought Denny said manifestations wouldn’t work.’
‘I didn’t manifest it. I called for it. Denny’s got a whole collection of this stuff, in the attic. He doesn’t use it anymore, since he got the Athame.’
‘You called for it? I never heard of that before’
Tamar looked smug. ‘Very tough magic that,’ she said, ‘especially when you don’t know where you are. That’s why I usually manifest stuff. It’s much easier.’
Another thought struck Stiles. ‘A whole collection?’ he asked.
Tamar grinned. ‘Yeah.’
‘Can I have one then?’
‘Only if you promise to be careful.’
Stiles gave this some thought. ‘I’ll be careful to kill every Faerie that I see,’ he promised.
‘All right then.’
‘So,’ said Stiles, ‘let’s go and find the nest.’
* * *
‘She is coming here.’
‘Who?’
‘The raven haired one, the one with the bad temper.’
Denny said nothing.
‘Well?’ she snapped.
‘What?’
‘She is coming for you?’
‘So I imagine.’
‘Why?’
‘She saw me first.’
* * *
‘But he isn’t your child,’ Hecaté had Cindy by the shoulders and was shaking her.
‘Whose is he then?’ asked Cindy perplexed.
‘He’s a changeling, you know a Faerie child – look at him.’
Cindy looked. ‘He looks like my uncle Ray,’ she said.
‘For Hades’ sake Cindy, he’s got wings!’*
*[Traditionally the Sidhe do not have wings of the body any more than humans do. But all Faerie children are born with wings, which drop off about age three. No one knows why this should be.]
‘Apart from that of course.’
‘And you did not wonder about that?’
‘Well, what with Eugene being an angel and everything I just … I don’t know. Are you sure about this?’
‘How do you not fall on your face more?’ asked Hecaté in exasperation.
‘What?’
‘Anyway the few Nephilim that do have wings, have angelic wings, not Faerie wings like those. Do those look like angel’s wings to you? And they do not get them until adulthood anyway.’
The what?’
‘The children of women and angels – the Nephilim. You did not think you were the first did you?’
‘I never thought about it,’
‘Very well,’ said Hecaté. ‘Watch this.’ And she waved an iron skillet that she had taken the precaution of hiding amongst her clothes. Jacky shrank visibly.
‘See?’ she said. ‘He’s afraid of the iron.’
Maternal instinct took over. ‘Don’t you hurt him,’ shouted Cindy, grabbing Jacky and holding him to her body protectively.
‘He’s not Jacky!’ yelled Hecaté coming incautiously towards them still holding the skillet. But Cindy had had enough. She dumped Jacky behind her on the bed, grabbed an extremely heavy glass bedside lamp and swung.
As Hecaté lay on the bedroom floor, unmoving, Jacky came and took Cindy’s hand, he grinned malevolently. ‘Come on Mummy,’ he said. ‘It’s time.’
Cindy looked blankly at him. ‘All right dear,’ she said.
If you go down to the woods today, you’re in for a big surprise.
~ Chapter Nine ~
It was a palace – that was what Stiles could not quite believe. An actual goddamned for-real fairy palace – with turrets. Tamar was not a bit surprised.
It stood on a hill that certainly had not been there before, in fact, it seemed to float just above and in front of the landscape, a bit like a very realistic hologram. Tamar thought it had been grafted on to the scenery rather than fitted into it, and if you looked properly at it, it appeared that the rest of the terrain had been subtly moved out of the way to make room for it. For some reason, this made her intensely angry.
Stiles just stared at it in wonder.
‘Weapons?’ she snapped to bring Stiles back to the matter at hand.
‘Check,’ said Stiles automatically.
‘Good, you guard the gate,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘I’m going in alone.’
‘Oh no you bloody well are not!’
Tamar gave him the benefit of her best steely-eyed gaze, which impressed him not at all.
‘Do you really want to argue with me right now?’ she said dryly
‘Yes.’
‘This is between me and her,’ said Tamar.
‘Yes,’ agreed Stiles. ‘But a bit of back-up never hurt. Anyway, I’m coming, so get used to it.’
Tamar opened her mouth to argue but Stiles forestalled her. ‘He’s my friend Tamar.’ he said gently.
Tamar just stared at Stiles with her mouth open as if she had not even considered this.
She gulped guiltily once or twice. ‘Right,’ she managed. ‘Come on then.’
‘They’ll be expecting us,’ Tamar cautioned Stiles.
‘I know,’
‘But I’ve got an idea,’
The doors stood open with only two door wards guarding it. Tamar tornadoed* into the castle –– a lithe chain mail clad figure wielding the biggest sword this side of the Middle Ages. Knocking Faeries to the left and right of her – those of them, anyway, who were incautious enough to get near to her. The rest she ignored. Stiles could mop them up.
*[Like storming in, but more so. Tamar did not have a motto, but if she had, it would have been along the lines of “Enough is never enough” or even “Too much is never enough” or possibly “If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing”]
Stiles was finding his chain mail a little cumbersome, but he was glad of it anyway. The Faeries clearly had not expected it, and they shied away from it as if it burned. He was sweating and short of breath in the heavy helmet and breastplate; in fact, he was certain that he was going to have a heart attack, and he was as happy as he had ever been in his life.
Tamar seemed to be enjoying herself too. This was what life was all about. Swinging a great heavy sword while the Faeries ran and screamed.
* * *
&
nbsp; Denny knew he was dying. He just did not know exactly how long it was going to take. He had never been tortured to death before.
She knew it of course, and she would save him if he capitulated. But it was too high a price to pay. The old Denny would have scoffed at this idea, being a pragmatist of the first order. How could there be too high a price for your life? But now he understood. She had given him a glimpse into her world – the world inside her head – and it was empty, like her. A mere glamour, no substance. No human could live like that. It would be like being dead with the unfortunate drawback that you would be alive to suffer it.
Of course, he would escape if he possibly could, that was different. But she had taken the Athame – it was standing in a lump of rock not more than a few feet from him. A particularly ingenious bit of cruelty in which she had taken immense delight. He could see it but not reach it and, frankly, even if he could have, he was not sure he would have the strength to remove it now anyway. Of course, the Athame itself would give him the strength, but he was not able to realise that now. He could barely think straight.
His mind was slipping; he was finding it increasingly difficult to think about anything but the pain.
‘Iron,’ he thought vaguely. ‘Iron to bind.’ Well he had no iron, but something was nagging at him something else in the same context but different. ‘Iron to bind … and … and …’
Iron was how you killed Faeries, but he could not kill them. Even if he had had iron he was in no condition to … it was something else … not to kill. Something that you would not think of as a weapon. Not to kill but … they were afraid of iron, and they liked … something they liked? That did not make sense. Denny was aware that he was becoming incoherent – Faeries tend to have this effect. He tried to focus his mind. ‘Iron to bind and …’
His train of thought was interrupted by a crash. He heard screaming. Despite his agony, he grinned. Tamar.
Of course, it was too late for him, he could not last much longer and anyway she would have him killed rather than let Tamar have him. But Tamar would not have thought of that. She always went at everything like a mad bull at a gate. Consequences were something that happened to other people in Tamar’s private universe.
Still, he would be avenged at least. Tamar would never let it go. She never let anything go.
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