by M. P. Reeves
He shrugged. “It’s just a common expression where I’m from.”
The nymph laughed again, then hopped between trees as she spoke. “The land of steam and iron. Where my kin are ripped down and covered with jewels for human pleasure.”
“What?”
She peeked out from behind a thick ash tree, some twenty five feet away. “I overheard the druids speak of it once. The fake fire on their branches and gold on their heads.”
“Christmas trees?” He chuckled. “It’s not...they’re not meaning you any harm. It’s a holiday. Best holiday of the year actually. With presents and...”
Wide eyed, she stood at his side to the left. “Barbaric!”
Carrick took a step back, finding her bouncing about severely off-putting. “It’s...yeah I guess in a way. Yeah. You’re right. Human’s just...they don’t know about you. If they did I bet they wouldn’t do that.”
“Long ago we all lived together, they knew of us.”
“Time passes. People forget what’s really important. See over there people get so caught up in the moment. Instant dinners, television shows, funny pictures on the internet, all kinds of things that detract from the big picture.”
“Richard....Richard!”
“Mom...come on. Just another ten minutes here, they’re going to announce the winner then I’ll come take the trash out.”
“It’s not just that honey,” She sat on the bed next to him, her long skirt flowing to the ground. “I was hoping you’d play a board game with me?”
He groaned. “Mooooom.....its marathon night...I really want to watch this...”
Her slender hand patted his knee. “Okay, maybe tomorrow.”
“Are you alright?” The soft voice of the nymph cut through his memories.
“Yeah...was just thinking.” He shook his head, the lack of sleep taking a toll on him. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
“Your eyes fill with pain.” Her dark arm extended, the soft touch of her fingertips on his cheek. The nymph’s skin was warmer than his own and smelled like wild flowers.
“I’m fine.” Her concerned amethyst eyes momentarily interrupted his train of thought. Tracing their starburst pattern he desperately tried to remember the question he was going to ask her. It was an important one. Something he had been wanting to say since he had met her. Carrick noticed she blinked in patterns, two blinks every time rather than one.
Think Carrick think...
Carrick! Yes that was it.
“You never told me your name.”
She tilted her head. More blinking. Then tilted her head the other way.
“Meliae.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
The nymph smiled at the compliment, revealing two rows of pristine white teeth. However beautiful her smile there was something about it that struck him funny. It took him a moment, but he realized she had no canines. Her teeth were all flat like a herbivore. In that moment he realized he knew next to nothing about nymphs, did they even eat? Carrick yawned again, internally chastising himself for letting sleep tempt him.
“You are weary.”
“Yeah a bit...didn’t sleep last night. Do you, sleep?” He felt incredibly foolish the moment the question left his mouth.
Meliae put her hood back up, stepping backwards into the tree line. “I do not tarry here.”
“So then where do-”
She was gone, leaving only a trace of her flowery scent in the air.
“Wait! Meliae! Meliae?” He turned around quickly, searching through the thick greens for her slender outline. “Meliae?”
With a curse, Carrick returned to the Elderwood. Resigned to get some rest before he raided the librarium for information. Even with the new revelations about his father and the dark villain he faced, his mind kept drifting back to the odd beauty who ran in the trees. So quiet and reserved, more mythical than tangible, completely opposite from every American girl he had grown up with. Despite his uncle’s warnings, she was still in his mind when his head hit the pillow.
13
Liz couldn’t sleep.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired, she was incredibly tired. Exhausted. Worn out. Every muscle in her body seemed to cry for recovery, yet every time she closed her eyes her mind would wander. Wander back to that night when Matt talked her into being stupid. Talked her into sneaking into Rick’s old apartment complex to check out the damage.
There hadn’t been damage. Least where it was supposed to be. Instead she left not with a feeling of closure, but confusion and a book.
That damned book.
It wasn’t any language she could find. It looked like runes, but wasn’t any rune she could find online. It made her nervous. For no explicable reason the longer she kept the thing in her room-bottom drawer of her desk underneath a three inch white binder containing her report on the Spanish American war from last year-the more on edge she felt.
Which was silly to feel that way about an inanimate object.
It had to be guilt, maybe whatever this book was it was evidence. Maybe this was a clue the police needed to unravel what really happened to Carrick and his Mom. Then again, the police had reported facts that were entirely against what the evidence showed. Still maybe by her holding on to it she was delaying the justice system. Images flashed through her mind of charges being filed against her, headlines reading horrible things about a lovely sweet girl protecting a murdering monster.
No way. Nu uh.
Liz turned on the light on her nightstand. The small pink crystals that hung from the shade making a small fairy sound where her hand bumped them in the dark. The round French inspired analog clock by the door declared it to be 6:30 in the morning. Making the total sleep she had collected in the last two days less than four hours.
Yippie.
Kicking off her cotton purple and white flowered sheets she pattered across the wood floor to her desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. Her hands seemed to tingle when she grabbed the book. Setting it down hard on top of the white desk she glared at the tattered green cover.
It was just a stupid book. A stupid old book in a weird language she found in a wall. A book that by all laws of probability had absolutely nothing to do with Rick. Still...
A knock on the door whirled her around.
“Yes?” She called.
“Elizabeth are you up honey?” The door creaked open slightly revealing the wrinkled kind smile of her father. “I saw the light.”
“Sorry Dad...I couldn’t sleep.”
“Was just going to go for a jog, do you want to join me?” Her first reaction was to say no, thank you, but his expression was so hopeful...
“Sure, I’ll be down in a minute.” When the door shut, Liz grabbed the withered old book and shoved it in her gym bag. Resolved to get rid of the thing today one way or another. Until then...
With a delightful smirk at her own ingenuity, she traded her pajamas for purple running shorts and sneakers then met her father in the garage.
As they ran they traded few words. The mom-proclaimed quiet members of the family preferred the peaceful air and chirping birds to chatter about Aunt Margery’s kidney stones or the neighbor’s boat purchase fiasco.
This morning her father seemed even more reserved than usual, a sign he was still giving her space to recover after the whole ‘your friend is a murderous psycho’ event. Go Dad.
“Feelin better hun?” He asked about a half mile in.
“Yeah, thanks. I was feeling a bit cooped up I suppose.”
“Something like this will do that to you. I remember back in two thousand three when I was laid off from the firm. Cutbacks was what they called it. Belt tightening. Well it felt like a belt tightening right around my throat. I started running every morning just to feel free. Feel in control of something ya know? It was then that I realized, there’s opportunity in every setback. If I hadn’t have been laid off from the firm, I’d have never started exercising again. If I hadn’t started exercisi
ng again, I probably would have had three heart attacks by now just like your uncle Jeff. Do you see what I’m saying Hun?”
“I think so.”
“Sorry...I’m not good at words. That’s more of your Mom’s thing. Just hang in there kiddo.”
Liz smiled at her Dad’s attempt to cheer her up. Dad had in fact, gotten a job that was three times what his old one was not six months after his layoff. He was now a VP, big bucks. It was the job that allowed them to live in this fancy shmancy neighborhood.
“Run with me again tomorrow?” He was right, she felt more in control with every stride in her step.
He smiled, the crow’s feet by his deep brown eyes deepening. “Every day if you want, princess.”
They had just turned the corner onto Mulberry when a black SUV stopped in front of them. The passenger and a man in the back seat got out, both in black suits with those little ear pieces that mostly existed in movies.
“Elizabeth Waters?” The man on the left spoke up as they approached, both men were armed.
“What the hell is this?” Mr. Waters pushed Liz behind himself.
“We need to have a talk with Ms. Waters sir. Stand Aside.” Neither man reached for any form of identification. Liz felt her heart start to pound in her chest. This was an isolated part of their suburban area; Trees and long driveways.
Her dad didn’t seem fazed at all. “Sorry pal, anything you want from Liz is going to have to go through our attorney.”
The man on the left smirked. “I’m afraid we just don’t have that kind of time.” With a nod to his partner, the man on the right pulled a gun from his jacket and pulled the trigger.
14
When Carrick stumbled out of his room the next day, his uncle was not at the dining table where he typically lurked in the early hours. The scent of fresh meats and tea did not waft into his nose as he had grown to expect. Erik was rummaging through the curio cabinet behind the stair that led up to his room. Dressed in only his trousers and boots, the thick muscles on his wide back bore a mixture of scars and tattoos under his long bound hair.
“Nephew.” Erik greeted him without turning in his direction. Shoving some small items in his pockets, Erik extended his left arm to catch his cloak that Arcedes had dropped from above before disappearing up into the high arches of the Elderwood.
“What’s wrong?” Carrick asked quietly, above his head Arcedes let out a tentative trill. The fire in the great hearth still burned from the night before, leading Carrick to wonder if the man had even slept.
“We’ve lost contact with the Níomair post in Los Angeles. Could be as simplistic as a power blackout, could be as dicey as an assassination. Either way the seat has asked us to pull our men out. The aggressors-if we’re facing any-are likely associated with a multinational oil conglomerate who’s been a particular thorn in our side since the sixties due to the initiatives championed by that branch.” Erik huffed, his jaw clenched tight. “I hate to pull you out into the field so quickly but sometimes the only trial is by fire.” With a thick stomp in his step, Erik walked over to the desk at the back of the great room. From the second drawer he pulled a foot long metallic object that glittered against the light of the fire. “This was my grandfatheryour great grandfather’s-favorite. Since you’re still dodgy in combat, keep it for if things ever get close.” With a flick of Erik’s wrist, the blade kissed the air in a whir of motion.
It lodged in the wood of the tree right next to Carrick’s head. "Elfine loved that blade, do not lose it."
Swallowing hard, the bright blue eyes of the young druid inspected the metal inches from his face. Smooth clean lines of steel with a simplistic hilt wrapped in black leather, the metal circle at the end of the handle bearing the triple line of Awen.
A hard yank freed the metal from the wood, leaving behind it just a small puncture that ironically added charm to the aged wall.
“We are going with a pair of Fang. Quin and Conall, both of whom you know. However green they may be in the field, both are skilled in mental and physical arts. I trust both of them with my life, therefore I trust them with yours as well.”
The mention of the angry brooding Quin churned his stomach, although he tried not to show any reaction in his response. “Okay.”
Arcedes swooped down from her perch and down the stairs towards the doorway. Before descending, Erik pegged the young druid with a hard stare. “This is a simple assess and recover mission. Stay close. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be brave.” With that Erik disappeared out into Dre’ien.
“Always don’t be stupid...why can’t you just say be safe or watch out.” Carrick grumbled, slipping the dagger through one of his pant loops.
Outside of the Elderwood both the brooding dark clothed Quin and the quiet angelic Conall were waiting. The strong lines of Quin’s face sharpened by his deep frown, his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Conall on the other hand was unreadable, casually flipping one of his daggers hilt to blade in his right hand. Having never seen the man perform any sort of ambient activity before Carrick assumed he was nervous despite his stoic expression. What caused Carrick to double take was neither loitering druid, but the massive creature sitting patiently beside Quin. It was a wolf the size of a brown bear.
With a head larger than a Great Dane’s, it seemed like some sort of freak of nature. Standing on all fours it lined up with Quin just at his hip. Which was saying something as Quin was easily six foot five. Unreadable brown eyes watched his every step, its thick black fur seeming to stand on edge as Carrick approached. Quin must have noticed this as well, his left hand jutting down to stroke the back of the large beast.
“What’s the latest on the situation?” Carrick overheard Erik ask Quin in a no nonsense, clipped military fashion.
“Fell indicators were red just before we lost contact, approximately an hour ago.”
“So much for this just being another corporate mess.” Erik hissed, then started walking ahead with Quin chatting about insertion strategy, his large black wolf in stride right beside him, tethered by some invisible leash.
“Fell indicators?” Carrick asked Conall quietly.
“A little stone imbued to detect the aura of blight, linked back to the whisperers network.” Conall smiled wistfully. “Nature gives us more network abilities than the glass lines you shove into the ground.”
“Fiber...it’s called fiber...”
“It’s called nonsense you mean.”
“Where’s your wolf?” He asked the blond druid, not wanting to get in a pissing match.
“I haven’t bonded a familiar yet.” Conall muttered as he ducked under a low hanging branch.
“Keep up you two!” Erik called over his shoulder.
Carrick apologized for asking, but Conall just brushed it off with some inspirational quote about all things in good time.
It was not long before the four of them were standing in the meadow of blue and orange blossoms hidden under the thick forest canopy. Standing in a small circle with their heads bowed, Erik clasped his hand over his pendant. The sounds of his deep chanting whispered by Carrick’s ears until he was struck with the familiar feeling of weightlessness.
When gravity pulled him back down he was on the beach in Iona, the warm sun beating down on his neck, the sea air filling his lungs
Carrick started coughing immediately. The air put a metallic taste in his mouth, his limbs a heavier weight at his sides. Quin and Conall were also bent at the waist with a hand over their mouths. Dry heaving and struggling to breathe
“Ah I forgot to mention, first time on this side is quite a shock to your body.”
“The air tastes so foul.” Conall spat out between coughs. "How can anyone live in this filth?"
“You’ll adapt, each shift will get easier. Most importantly, learn to weight your body here in case we get into a tousle. Would hate to go toe to toe with an enemy with all of you off the mark.” Arcedes let out a cry of agreement from high above their position.
; When their hacking fits had subsided, Quin was the first to speak. “We should get moving.”
“Not yet.” Erik replied. “We have to take certain precautions on this side.”
Quin frowned. “There is no one around.”
“Doesn’t matter, never know when we’ll be beset by a tourist or local.” Erik’s voice shifted half an octave down by the time he had completed his sentence. Thick cloak exchanged for a medium grey pin stripe suit with ice pink tie.
“Nice look.” Carrick teased him. Closing his own eyes he pictured own take on an LA businessman, one that was far more silicon valley than Wall Street. A t-shirt with nineteen fifties alien saucers attacking a city, a black blazer, jeans and expensive sneakers. Thick black glasses over a quasi-boyish face topped with short hair that matched his rims.
When he opened his eyes, there was no mistaking which of the two unfamiliar personas was Quin. The brooding druid had gone Goth. His black hair was shoulder length and streaked with purple, a thick body hidden under a black hoodie over ripped jeans and steel toed boots. However, his facial features appeared almost the same.
When Quin got an eyeful of Carrick his gaze narrowed, Starless growled.
“Wow.” Conall-who looked odd with short blond hair, his thin frame in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt-gaped at him.
“What?” Carrick asked confused.
“You can facial reconstruct. That's an advanced illusion ability. Very few have that.”
“Erik told me everyone can do this…” He shot his uncle a look. Even hidden behind aviator sunglasses Erik’s penetrating eyes still seemed to twinkle mischievously.
Quin clicked his now pierced tongue. “Perhaps the half-bloods are more attuned to deception abilities. It is such a human aspect after all.”
“You know Quin, emo is a good look for you.” Carrick shot back. “Almost natural.”