“This is how fae children are taught to make their first construct. Soap isn’t required. It’s purely a visual aid.” He curled his finger and rocked the sphere onto his thumb, which he spread to show he could make a hole without rupturing the bubble. He gestured behind me at the sink. “Choose a cup.”
I picked one he had set upside down to drain on a cloth. “How about this one?”
“It’s fine,” he answered distractedly. “Now—” he spread his fingers, “—set it inside.”
Hesitant, I waited until the mouth of the bubble grew large enough for me to wedge the cup past his hand. It landed on its side, rolling back and forth, but the walls held, and I breathed out a, “Cool.”
“Grab a knife,” he instructed.
I removed the one strapped to my thigh. “Now what?”
He closed his fingers and got them out of my way. “Test it.”
Jabbing the circle got me nowhere. The knife slid off like the tip was greased. “Very cool.” I pursed my lips. “What if I want my cup back? Do I reach in and grab it like you did?”
“You can only access another person’s aer póca when they themselves open it for you. No verbal permission will grant you entry. They are impenetrable except by their creator. That’s what makes them the preferred storage method for fae.”
With the construct between his hands, Mac returned to the sink and held it under running water. He turned back to me, seeming to hold nothing more than his cup. His arms extended in an invitation to touch, and I reached for the handle. My fingers bumped against nothing, and I smoothed a hand over the hardened sphere with a silly grin in place. It was a neat trick. One I wasn’t sure I could replicate.
“What about making it invisible?” I rocked back. “And once it is invisible, how do you see it?”
“You overlay a modified enchantment similar to the ones your guards used.” His voice went flat and cold near the end, probably remembering how Daire and Odhran had betrayed me to Balamohan. “See the faint glow? The spell was kindled with my magic. I can sense that, so locating it is simple.”
Made sense. All magic bore the mark of the one who kindled it, like a fingerprint.
“How do you place it—or whatever?” I tilted my head. “You don’t carry them around, right?”
“They’re thrice charmed.” He murmured a word and blew across his hand. The bubble lifted off and drifted in the air between us at his shoulder height. “Part of the spell buffers the sphere. Prevents it from bumping into me or other people and objects nearby.” He raised his arm high, and the bubble drifted toward me. Again, he reached, this time with his hand, and it remained still. “Otherwise, we would knock our heads into them all the time. Most fae keep clusters for serving different purposes.”
“I can believe it.” Fae were always pulling things out of thin air.
Gesturing toward the sink, Mac stepped aside. “Are you ready to try?”
Anxious to hit the next tether but knowing it was smarter to wait until dawn, I accepted this was a wise use of my time. Pacing the halls wouldn’t make morning come any faster. This distracted me from worrying about Shaw, mostly, which was a good thing, and these were skills I needed to survive not just Faerie, but when I got home. If I got home… So I said, “Yes.”
I set my knife on the counter, dipped my hands into the water to wet them and then waited while Mac placed a dollop of soap in my palm. After working up a lather, I presented my bubble for his inspection. He braced one hip against the counter and let me get a feel for cradling the construct.
He gave me a nod. “The Word to solidify the air bubble yet keep it elastic is buille.”
“Buille.” The exterior walls of the bubble expanded until it filled the inside of my cupped hands. Maybe I was projecting because of where my thoughts had gone earlier, but the pocket felt like latex, like I was holding a balloon. It gave when I pressed down. Solid, but flexible. “Should it be this smooshy?”
Mac grinned. “I told you the charm keeps it elastic.”
I squished it again. “Yours was solid.”
“To you,” he agreed. “Only the caster can manipulate the bubble.”
“It’s solid to everyone else?”
“And everything else.” He tapped the domed top. “Objects placed inside can’t pierce its skin.”
“Good to know.” I held it up to eye level, letting suds drip down my arm. “Pass me a spoon?”
“Live dangerously.” Mac lifted my knife off the counter and extended it. “You won’t break it.”
Doing as he had done, I spread my fingers until there was space to slide my knife inside the bubble. It seesawed across the bottom until coming to rest. “Hey.” I shook it. “I just realized I don’t hear it.”
“No.” He chuckled. “You don’t.”
“This is wild,” I marveled.
“Are you ready for the next step?”
“Sure.” I balanced the bubble in one palm. “Hit me.”
“The second Word is eitilt.”
I puffed up my cheeks, murmured the Word on my exhale, and watched the bubble drift upward.
“Very good.” Mac cleared his throat. “You don’t have to blow on it for the charm to activate.”
My cheeks burned. “Oh.”
Stifling a laugh, he reached toward the sphere to send it rolling. “Can you sense it?”
Again, the balloon analogy worked for me. A slender thread of energy had attached itself to my aura, and my skin prickled when I focused on the sensation. “It feels like someone is watching me.”
Mac’s gaze slid past my shoulder, and his jaw clenched. “That’s because someone is.”
I caught the sphere before it rolled out of reach and narrowed my eyes on Rook.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Rook studied my work. “I came to put my dishes away.”
A grunt slipped past Mac’s lips. “I’ll take those.” He accepted Rook’s plate, cup and utensils. “I will handle cleanup tonight since you were gracious enough to cook for us. We appreciate the meal.”
Hearing Mac’s dismissal, Rook exhaled and shuffled his boots as he walked back into the living room where I figured he had been eavesdropping. Not that I blamed him. Guy must be getting bored.
“The third and final charm is one I must caution you to use with discretion.” He took his bubble in hand. “Invisibility charms have questionable legality in the eyes of the conclave, and I must agree there are more abuses for it than justifiable applications. The one commonly used for this works only on inanimate objects. Invisibility charms that work on living creatures require special permissions.”
I mulled that over. It made sense. Hiding a precious object was a simple matter of security. Hiding a person? Well, that one was harder to justify. It was a recipe for mischief, as I had learned firsthand.
Mac waited for my nod of understanding then breathed, “Imíonn.”
The cup vanished.
“Whoa,” I whispered, reaching for his not-empty hand and touching a hard dome.
Dusting his palms, he rolled the sphere into the air and set it loose. I waved my hand between us and over our heads, but my fingers didn’t find it again. I smiled at Mac when I caught him watching.
He gestured toward my sphere. “Your turn.”
Pushing out a long breath, I spoke the Word. “Imíonn.”
The knife disappeared while the drying, bubbly sheen of soap on my air pocket remained.
A smile lit his eyes. “Perfect.”
I flushed, caught off-guard by the urge to hug him twice in twenty-four hours.
He cast me an indulgent look. “Would you like to transfer your skins?”
I rolled onto the balls of my feet. “You’re sure they’ll all fit in my pocket?”
Pocket, because the whole aer póca thing sounded way too pretentious for a magic bubble.
“Trust me.” Amusement wrinkled his cheeks. “They will.”
With wide eyes, I watched him pull the silky black pelt of my hound f
rom his own pocket. Even knowing the trick, it was still impressive. He handed the fur to me, and I pierced the bubble with my fingertips, spreading the opening as wide as I could. It wasn’t enough, and I growled under my breath until Mac set a hand on my shoulder and motioned for me to start pushing the skin through it.
“It won’t hurt the pelt,” he assured me.
Trusting him, I did as he asked and began feeding the fur through the hand-sized hole. Once the tip made it inside, a slight suction began, supporting the weight of the skin as it slowly and carefully devoured it. Unlike last time, there was no comforting window to see through. The pelt had vanished before my eyes, which was both exciting and worrisome. “Shoot. I forgot to remove the knife.”
Mac turned it into a teaching opportunity. “Reach inside and think of the object you want.”
When nothing happened, I clenched my fist. “Hey—Rook always snaps his fingers. Should I do that?”
“Theatrics.” Mac shook his head. “You don’t need to develop a crutch.”
Crutch or not, it made for a cool effect the first time I saw him do it. Okay. Focus. I got this.
Sticking my hand in the pocket, I expected soft pelt but got cold air. I bit my lip, thinking of the trouble the pelt cost me. The memory of how it was acquired popped in my head, and fur pricked my fingertips. I caught myself before letting it ease out to slink down my arm and focused on my weapon instead. A slow blink later it pricked my palm. Twisting my wrist, I snagged the handle and removed the blade with a hum of satisfaction.
“Excellent.” Mac removed another of my skins from his bubble. “Now try it again.”
Easing the knife back through the hole, I called it to me and then returned it, practicing until Mac announced his satisfaction.
Moving my skins boosted me with a sense of triumph, and the hard work of learning a new skill meant I was exhausted when Mac showed me to a tidy guestroom I wasn’t entirely sure had existed when we first arrived. Otherwise, wouldn’t Rook have taken that bed instead of Mac’s? Given how much living space he had already crammed into the trunk of his tree house, I wasn’t about to complain about him conjuring one more room, especially not when it came complete with its own private bath.
Maybe Mai was onto something. There were perks to being a daddy’s girl.
Chapter 11
Morning smelled like sizzling bacon, and I lay in bed listening to the clatter of pans and utensils in the kitchen. Eyes screwed tight, I let myself pretend the bed I was in belonged to Shaw, that I was at his place, that it was him—not Rook—humming in the kitchen while he fried breakfast for three.
But it wasn’t Shaw. This mattress lacked the dip in his that made it hard to climb out of bed. Not that I ever wanted to when he was around. I inhaled again, scenting bacon when I wished it was the scent of bergamot and patchouli making my mouth water. A tear leaked from the corner of my eye, wet on my cheek. I wiped my face dry with the corner of my sheet. Pity party, table for one.
Shaw would kick my ass if he caught me curled up in bed, knees tight against my chest, fighting off sobs. Forcing my legs straight, I swung them over the edge of the mattress and let them dangle. I rubbed my shoulder where my bra strap had left jagged red lines. It couldn’t be helped. My undies were all I had for sleeping. With Rook two doors down, commando snoozing wasn’t happening.
Bare feet hitting the cool floor, I stood and stretched before snagging my bag where I’d hung it on the doorknob. While I dug through the contents for a stick of deodorant and toothpaste, I fought off a shiver. Tingles down my arms told me my air pocket floated nearby. Smiling, I relaxed my shoulders.
Brush. Spit. Rinse. Ready.
After climbing back into my armor, I strolled into the living room, murmuring my thanks when Rook noticed my entrance and carried a plate heaped with pinkish eggs, rolls and yellow-orange bacon to me.
I swallowed. “Um.”
He handed me a cup filled with sweet-smelling purple juice. “Is something the matter?”
I balanced the plate on my knee and poked the contents with a fork. “This is safe to eat, right?”
“Of course.” Rook crossed his arms. “It’s only—”
“Nope.” I waved my fork around. “I don’t want to know.”
Mac smiled between bites, showing me the food wouldn’t hurt me without saying it outright. He seemed to tolerate Rook better now that the guy was cooking and cleaning for him. If Rook couldn’t go home, he might have a future in domestic work. Strap an apron on him, and let the bidding begin.
A guy who cooked, cleaned and looked good while doing it? Cha-ching.
Unaware of my musings, Rook cleared his throat, half-daring me to try some of his eggs.
Hungry as I was, as little as I had fed, I didn’t hesitate again before shoveling down the meal. Summer was on the docket for today, and I doubted very much they would be happy to see either Mac or me.
Reclaiming his chair from last night, Rook smiled. “Where are you two heading so early?”
I smiled right back. “Touring Faerie one season at a time.”
His lips pinched. “You can tell me the truth.”
“You speak it so rarely, I doubt you know how it sounds,” Mac said.
Red splotched Rook’s cheeks. “I am not a spy.”
I bit into a crisp strip of…not going to ask. “No one said you were.”
“I sensed the privacy charm you used last night.” He accused, “You don’t trust me.”
“No, I don’t.” I leveled a glare at him. “You haven’t given me a single reason why I should.”
“I saved your life,” he said in a quiet voice.
“You endangered it in the first place,” Mac growled, slamming down his plate. “You have done nothing but lie since the moment you entered her life. Nothing but cause her pain. It is what I expect from ones such as you, but Thierry was an innocent. You dragged her into this world.” His jaw bulged. “You wed my only daughter against her will, allowed her to run in the hunt in my stead to further your and your mother’s ambitions. Why should she trust you? She is too smart to play the fool for you.”
Blinking at Mac, I swore he was more pissed about the marriage than the near-death experience.
“You’re right.” Rook hunched over his plate and began picking at his meal.
A twinge of pity rose in me, evaporated by the reminder he was here and Shaw was not.
I glanced at Mac’s cracked plate and the fork on the floor. “I’m ready to go when you are.”
His decisive nod sliced through Rook’s protest.
We rose, and Mac took my dishes with him into the kitchen. Alone with Rook, I tried to be nice.
“Mac has unspoiled books in his office,” I said. “I can bring some out to you before we leave.”
He pushed food around on his plate. “I could help you.”
“As Mai would say, puppy eyes don’t work on me. You don’t know what I’m doing.”
He glanced up at me. “Then tell me.”
“Were you listening just now?” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “That whole speech?”
His gaze slid behind me. “I’m tired of being stuck here while you two pop all over Faerie.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I hadn’t told him about the Hall of Many Doors, and I doubted Mac had, but Rook wasn’t stupid. Me limping in dripping mud and feeling sweary didn’t lend itself to supporting the theory we were holed up in Mac’s office all day.
“You have no idea what we’re doing.” I tapped the end of his nose. “Let’s keep it that way.”
He caught my wrist, his eyes going sharp. “You need my help.”
“Not yet I don’t.” Come time to infiltrate his home, sure. “Sit tight a little longer.”
“I’m tired of sitting tight,” he grumbled.
I broke his grip with a quick upward tug that shot past his thumb. “Then try standing.”
Expression churlish, Rook settled into his chair as Mac rejoined us and raised a ques
tioning brow.
I wiggled my fingers at Rook. “Tootles.”
His lip curled. Bet he would be thrilled with an annulment right about now too.
Boots thumping on the floor, I headed for the Hall of Many Doors and zapped the doorknob with a pulse of magic. I held it open for Mac, earning me a wry grin as he slid past me, heading for a door we had yet to use. He let me do the honors, and we stepped out of cool darkness into the hot Summer sun atop a grassy knoll overlooking a round pond rimmed by cattails with thorns the length of my pinky finger.
My thigh muscles quivered, primed to run, and I fell back a step before forcing myself to hold steady.
“The Halls of Summer?” I squeaked. “The tether is out here?”
“No.” Mac started walking. “It’s in there.”
I snagged his forearm, nails scratching his armor. “The Seelie aren’t just going to let us stroll in.”
“We aren’t taking the front door.” He angled away from the Halls and lengthened his strides. “It won’t take the Seelie long to sense us, assuming the Morrigan’s spies don’t trip the alarm first.” He glanced behind me, where a copse of sapling maples swayed, despite the absence of wind. “Aves.”
Sure enough, black dots marred the newly green treetops like cancer, bowing the graceful trunks under the sentries’ weight. Excited chirrups drifted to us, muted by the distance, but none took flight.
“Great.” I had a bad feeling about this. “I guess there’s no door number three?”
“This is it.” Mac turned his back on them and walked on. “The others are too well guarded.”
I fell into step with him, curious about the back door. The front entrance to the Halls of Summer led visitors through the pond into a round foyer with halls extending outward like spokes on a wheel.
Focused as I was on the Aves and tracking our location, I bumped into Mac when he stopped.
He caught my arm to balance me. “Here we are.”
“I don’t see—wait.” I kicked a tuft of grass aside. “That’s a hole.”
“No.” He reached over his head. “That is a tunnel.”
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