Faerie Tale

by Nicola Rhodes

  Tamar shook her head. ‘How do we even know it’s you we’re talking to now?’ she said.

  ‘You’ll just have to trust me,’ said Stiles desperately.

  Tamar looked sadly at him. ‘We can’t,’ she said.

  * * *

  The whole gang was in a hitherto unknown state of discord. Denny was still angry with Tamar, with Stiles too, and not for hiding his new power either. He had forgiven them both for what had happened in the woods of course, but it rankled. What made it worse was their uncertainty at the time about whether or not it had been real. They should have known.

  He was also being rather cold with Hecaté, although he knew that this was unfair. But he could not bring himself to talk to her in case he lost his temper and everyone found out. That it was important that no one knew, was something that Denny felt strongly about, but, if pushed, he could not have said why.

  Tamar was frustrated with Denny, why could he not understand? She also had an unsettling feeling that he had not forgiven her for her indiscretion with Stiles in the woods, even though it was not her fault. Certain remarks that he had made, in his anger over the fact that she had become a Djinn again, had made her fear that he was indulging a belief that she had more than friendly feelings for Stiles. That he had not forgiven her, or perhaps no longer trusted her.

  No one in the house trusted Stiles at the moment. He had told too many lies recently and had received a considerable power boost, the effects of which were still unclear. Who knew what he might do, or even if he were still himself.

  Even Hecaté was uncertain of him; he was not acting like himself even with her. She also felt terribly guilty every time she met Denny’s eye and was hurt by the way he was treating her, hurt and angry. How dare he make her feel like this?

  Stiles himself was feeling isolated and uneasy. It seemed that he had paid a high price for his new abilities. The others could have told him that it was always so. Not that he blamed them for being cautious. As, he believed, the world’s most suspicious man, he himself would have done no less. But still … surely a little support and understanding would not have been too much to ask. Instead, it seemed they had deserted him and he was left feeling angry and resentful.

  As for Cindy, she was not unaware of the tensions swirling around her and, even though she was the only one in the house that no one was angry with or wary of, it was having its effect on her. She herself was annoyed with everyone, because no one would tell her what the hell was going on.

  She sensed that, although they had all come to terms with Jacky, they were still uncertain of him. And no one seemed to care that her real child was still missing. They were too busy worrying about other things. Things that they apparently did not care to share with her.

  She had always felt the least important in the gang. The least liked or respected and the least needed. The one who, if she disappeared, would not be missed, at least not much.

  Denny treated her with bare tolerance or at best distant courtesy (the best of a bad bunch, she thought, and yet he hurt her the most for some reason). Tamar ignored her, and they all thought she was too stupid to be borne at times.

  She had never really analysed these feelings before. She had thought she was unhappy because Eugene had left her alone. But now that things were so bad around here, she had had time to think. Eugene had not left her alone; he had left her with a whole mob of people who were supposed to be her friends – and she was still alone.

  Cindy made up her mind. She lifted the changeling out of his cot. ‘Come on Kiddo,’ she said. ‘Let’s get out of here,’

  The changeling gurgled happily and wrapped chubby arms around her neck.

  ‘At least there’s still one person around here who loves me,’ thought Cindy.

  And, although she would have died before she admitted it, she was not so much thinking of Eugene as of Denny.

  ~ Chapter Twenty ~

  It had been a week since they had returned and there was still no sign of Tamar’s plan – if she had even had one beyond making sure that no one died.

  The Faerie Queen was known to have rebuilt her palace and was presiding over a reign of terror from there, and still Tamar did nothing.

  There was the question now, of course, of how Stiles’s new powers could be factored in. As Denny had pointed out, they had gone to the abandoned gypsy camp in hopes of finding something that might help, knowing full well that Finvarra had used their power and he had had control of the portal stones. But it had to be admitted that what they had had in mind was something more along the lines of something to use on the stones instead of witch (or as it turned out druid) blood.

  There was an unspoken decision among all of them not to engage the Faeries again until they had something pretty solid to use against them. Something, in fact, that could not fail.

  There was nothing. Unless it turned out that Stiles’s new powers were the key and they could not be sure of that yet.

  And they were safe here for the time being …

  There was a scuffle in the hall. A bewildered Faerie had broken in and found itself facing the kind of odds that Faeries tried to avoid i.e. one person but with a sword and in a very bad temper.

  Tamar waved the sword threateningly at the Faerie, and it backed nervously toward the door. Denny watching over the banister thought it looked rather foxy faced although it was clearly trying hard to look better. It put Denny in mind of the Queen.

  It was having no effect on Tamar, even though it did look rather like Denny. Finally, it gave up and fled out the door. Tamar pursued it. It stood on the step shaking and gasping. Tamar did not move for a second, and the Faerie asked. ‘You’re just going to let me go?’

  ‘No,’ said Tamar. ‘I just didn’t want you to bleed on the carpet.’ And she struck.

  Denny looked thoughtful as he walked back up the stairs unobserved.

  ‘Denny’s in a pretty bad mood these days,’ said Stiles coming up behind her.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tamar, ‘well.’ She did not turn round.

  Stiles nodded. ‘I know you don’t trust me anymore,’ he said. ‘But I think you should listen to me anyway.’

  Tamar turned round slowly. ‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘What?’

  Stiles nodded as if she had just answered a question. ‘Thought so,’ he said.

  Tamar frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’ she snapped.

  Denny called Tamar from up the stairs, and she instantly made to go.

  ‘That,’ said Stiles. ‘You have to go don’t you?’

  ‘Denny wants me,’ she said evasively.

  ‘And he’s the Master now,’ agreed Stiles. ‘I am a policeman,’ he added in answer to her wary expression. ‘I notice things.’ He lifted his hands. ‘No freaky powers I promise, I had my suspicions before I ever got … “Avatared” and well …’ he took her unresisting arm gently. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one to have recently acquired some new wrist-wear. He drew back her sleeve as Denny had done to reveal the manacle.

  ‘Tamar.’

  ‘Yes Master?’ said Stiles. ‘That was a bit of a giveaway you know.’

  Still Tamar said nothing.

  Denny came bounding down the stairs ‘Tam … oh!’ he stopped short as he took in the scene. ‘She can’t tell you about it,’ he said to Stiles. ‘I – um – told her not to.’ He had the grace to look embarrassed about this, so Stiles did not comment. He just looked.

  ‘Why?’ he said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ said Denny. ‘I didn’t want Cindy to know either.’ He felt this was a point worth making – there was enough bad feeling around as it was. ‘Where is Cindy anyway?’ he added. ‘I haven’t seen her all day.’

  ‘Sulking in her room,’ said Stiles dismissively. ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  ‘Cindy doesn’t sulk,’ said Tamar obediently.

  ‘Anyway, she always comes down at one to feed the … Jacky,’ said Denny and it’s nearly two.’

  Stiles was being tag
-teamed by them, and he knew it. He gave it one last try. ‘This is me guys,’ he said. ‘I promise. Please just tell me what’s going on.’

  Denny sighed. ‘Think about it mate,’ he said. And Stiles smiled in relief at the re-introduction of this familiarity.

  ‘How do you think Hecaté managed to bring us all back?’

  ‘Nothing’s free,’ put in Tamar.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Stiles as this sunk in.’

  ‘Don’t talk to yourself,’ said Denny. ‘I’ll think you’ve lost your mind.’

  Stiles gave a weak smile at this sally.

  ‘That’s why we didn’t tell you,’ said Tamar.

  ‘So now we all know,’ said Denny. ‘Except Cindy. I suppose we’d better tell her too.’

  Hecaté appeared in the room. ‘You will have to find her first,’ she said. ‘Cindy has left the house. She took the little one with her and all of her clothes too. She appears to have left for good.’

  Denny groaned. ‘More trouble,’ he said.

  * * *

  Cindy was barrelling along an eerily deserted motorway on stolen motorbike (stolen from Denny actually although he rarely used it) with the wind whipping through her hair (witches do not need crash helmets). She did not know where she was going, or how far. Just so long as it was far, far away from Den … the others. She could have gone farther and faster by teleporting, but everyone knew that the Faeries could sense witch magic (well, for a given value of everyone) so it just was not worth it. And anyway, Tamar could easily track her that way. She did not want any trouble, not with Faeries or with Tamar, if Tamar caught up with her it would definitely lead to awkward questions.

  For the moment, anyway she was happy. She felt curiously free. Later, when she came to analyse her feelings, she knew she would feel both lonely and wretched. But so what? She had felt lonely and wretched at home and, deep in her heart, she knew very well the reason why.

  It was at this moment that her mind decided to throw up the inconvenient memory that Tamar, of all people, had remembered Mother’s Day that year and had even provided a card and flowers, ostensibly from Jacky. Even Hecaté had not remembered.

  But Tamar had. Cindy just could not figure it out.

  The small bundle strapped to her back gurgled happily, and Cindy was grateful for that at least. At least he was not frightened. On the contrary, he seemed to be having the most fun she had ever known him to have. Thank God, there were no Plod about. Cindy winced as she thought this. “Plod” was a Denny word and one that a few years ago she would not have dreamed of uttering, even in the privacy of her head.

  But then, she had changed and in greater ways than this.

  What a pity nobody seemed to have noticed.

  * * *

  ‘Why would she leave?’ this was Tamar, she sounded angry – which meant that she was worried.

  Stiles shrugged, and Hecaté looked perplexed, but Denny looked thoughtful.

  Tamar would, at one time have pounced on this and demanded to know what he was thinking.

  Fortunately, Stiles was there to pick up the slack. ‘What do you think?’ he asked Denny.

  ‘I think she’s sick and tired of us,’ said Denny. ‘And I don’t blame her either.’

  ‘But it’s not safe out there,’ said Tamar ignoring the implication.

  ‘It’s not safe in here either,’ said Denny. ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘Well … you’ll have to go and get her,’ said Tamar in a fair imitation of her usual high-handed manner. ‘It has to be you,’ she added. ‘You’re the only one she’ll listen to.’

  ‘Me?’ said Denny innocently.

  ‘Oh come on, we all know she has a crush on you.’

  ‘Only now and then,’ said Denny vaguely, before he had time to think.

  ‘So? Boss her about a bit.’

  Denny blushed. He had not realised she had noticed. But of course she had, he realised. She probably thought it was funny. And that was the problem wasn’t it? None of them took Cindy very seriously. No wonder she had gone. He suddenly felt terribly guilty. He had more reason than anyone here to feel this way. He had a horrible feeling that this was his fault – well, well mainly his fault. But surely, Cindy had not been …

  He became aware that Tamar was looking quizzically at him.

  ‘All right, all right.’ He gave in. ‘But I want Jack to come too, she’s bound to have covered her tracks. I need a detective.’ He did not want to face Cindy alone. That was the truth of it, if he was honest.

  Stiles saluted ironically. ‘Yessir,’ he said. ‘At your service sah?’

  ‘She won’t be all that hard to find surely?’ said Tamar. ‘This is Cindy we’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate her,’ said Denny. ‘She’s not stupid you know.’

  ‘No she is not.’ said Hecaté. ‘She really is not.’

  Tamar looked bewilderedly at both of them.

  ‘She’s not?’

  * * *

  ‘See I told you,’ said Denny. ‘She took my bike; I knew she wouldn’t use magic. Too risky.’

  ‘What do you think she was afraid of?’ said Tamar ironically, ‘me or the Faeries?’

  ‘Both probably.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Stiles was thinking. ‘She probably went north then. It’s clear that way. The Faeries are all the other way.’

  ‘They’ve closed the roads off to the north,’ said Denny.

  ‘Exactly, said Stiles, ‘a nice clear run. She’s a witch – remember? If she even knows the traffic laws, you can bet she doesn’t apply them to herself.’

  ‘Unless she thinks that we’ll think of that,’ said Denny.

  ‘Hah!’ said Tamar. ‘That would be graduate level thinking for Cindy.’

  ‘Tamar’s right,’ said Stiles, ‘Cindy may not be stupid, but let’s not give her too much credit.’

  ‘It’s far more likely that she doesn’t think we’ll bother chasing her,’ said Denny severely.

  ‘Hecaté?’ said Stiles. ‘Can’t you sense her?’

  ‘No, I cannot. She is moving too fast.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Denny carefully, ‘in what direction?’

  Hecaté concentrated. ‘North north east,’ she said.

  ‘That’s the motorway,’ said Denny. ‘Come on Jack. Let’s get her back before she does something …’

  ‘Stupid?’ supplied Tamar.

  ~ Chapter Twenty One ~

  It was getting dark, and the hills were turning a misty purple colour; it was getting cold.

  Cindy skidded the motor bike to an inexpert stop and blinked. The hills were doing strange things in the foggy twilight, moving nearer and farther, bowing and rippling like thin silk in a breeze. Suddenly a hill detached itself from the others and stood up in the shape of an exceptionally large man.

  Now Cindy had seen some pretty astounding things over the last few years, but this was a bit too much for her. She whimpered and tried to convince herself she was dreaming. The man stood against the skyline, bigger than King Kong, stretched arms several miles long, and said in a loud, booming voice that carried over the countryside. ‘THAT ART BETTYR.’

  Then he spotted Cindy.

  Cindy remembered herself and checked Jacky who was not, as she had expected, rigid with terror but rather seemed, not only calm, but actually happy.

  She did not have time to wonder about this, as the colossal figure was walking upright down the steep slope of the hill in a manner that surely no human being could have managed.

  Contrary to the usual way of natural perspective, however, he seemed to be diminishing in size the closer he came to her until he stood before her hardly any taller than she was. There was no question of running away; her legs were paralysed. Her tongue was not though.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ she managed a little shakily but reasonably calmly in the circumstances.

  ‘You should go home,’ he told her. ‘It isn’t safe for witches out here. She will find you.’

  He turned his attentio
n to Jacky who gurgled happily. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘My son. You have taken good care of him I see.’ And he reached a hand out to the baby.

  Cindy snatched him away angrily. Suddenly she knew who this was.

  ‘Finvarra!’ she said wonderingly. ‘Tamar said you were dead.’

  ‘Do you really think that I can be killed so easily?’ he said. ‘I who have walked this earth for a thousand years.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ yelled Cindy. ‘Where the hell is my son?’

  ‘He is safe,’ said Finvarra.

  ‘Where is …’

  Finvarra took her gaze and held it; there was a terrible darkness in his eyes. There was a moment of dizziness then the world fell away, and everything went black.

  * * *

  She awoke to find an anxious Denny bending over her. ‘Cindy?’ he was saying. ‘Cindy, are you all right? What happened?’ he lifted her gently onto her feet. ‘Did you have an accident?’

  ‘Finvarra,’ she managed.

  ‘Denny,’ he told her, not understanding.

  ‘No, he was here, where’s Jacky?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Denny assured her. ‘Jack took him home What do you mean he was here? Finvarra’s dead.’

  ‘Not dead, I saw him. He … he …’

  Okay, okay, never mind for now, as long as you’re all right. You can tell me later – at home.’

  There was no gainsaying that tone of voice when he used it. It meant you did what he said and did not argue.

  He never asked her why she had left.

  He did not want to know, she thought, which meant he had a good idea, he just did not want to hear it. Well, that was all right with her. She did not want to say it.

  The journey back was the most terrifying and exhilarating experience of Cindy’s life. She had thought she had ridden the bike pretty fast, but Denny drove everything from a truck to a pedal boat at what Tamar referred to as warp speed.

  Stiles had taken the car that he and Denny had driven together, and he drove sedately home, aware that he had what, for want of a better description, he called a “kiddie” in the back, and without a child seat to strap him into.