by Dawn, Autumn
“Let me in,” her mother said again, moving closer.
The closer she got, the more Billy wanted to go to her. Her feet inched forward. Alarmed, she stiffened her knees. What was this?
Her mother’s features became visible, but they seemed hard to focus on, as if a veil of white light obscured them. Billy began to question if she really were here in person. Had she found a way to communicate from her prison?
Her feet slid forward another inch. She grabbed a tree branch to brace against, but her hand didn’t want to grasp it.
“Summer’s child,” the woman whispered, and it was bright and terrible. Beautiful and deadly, her voice lured, demanded. The wind rose and brushed the swirling leaves from the woman’s path with an invisible broom.
Billy smelled ozone. Banshee!
She scrabbled for a slender willow and held on, sinking her will into it. The tree shivered, its roots going deep as Billy drove her fear and anger down, searching for the cold, bright river of power within. It had come so easily yesterday, but now…. What was different? Where was it?
The banshee sang, unearthly, brilliant with magic. The tree shivered, unable to hold her. Billy’s hand slipped, and her feet took her forward another step. Her body didn’t want to fight. She was almost over the line.
The banshee smiled.
Billy screamed as her arm was grabbed. A rotting log flew over her head like a missile and struck it in the chest. The thing shrieked, a painful scream of fury, and skittered away.
Billy cautiously took her hands from her ears. It was quiet. The banshee was gone.
Ash looked at her calmly. “You were supposed to be fetching thyme.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Right. I…thanks.”
He snorted and headed back toward the house. “Hurry up; I’m hungry.”
She fell into step with him, not as eager to be alone now. “That was…I never realized how powerful a banshee could be. I couldn’t reach my magic.”
He shrugged. “First thing they do. If your feet won’t listen to you, why would your magic?”
“It didn’t stop you,” she pointed out, troubled.
“I know what I’m doing, pup.” He smiled when she bristled. “Young hunter. You have some things to learn before you hunt banshee.”
She looked around as they entered the house. “Where’s Eyrnie? I’ve thought he’d come running with the banshee making all that racket.”
“He went to town. Something about your water heater.”
She frowned. “What, did he try to shower? He’d better not be buying parts.” Eyrnie was great at fixing things, but she’d never seen him tackle something like that.
For that matter, she was surprised he’d leave her with the troll. She eyed him suspiciously.
He added thyme and stirred his pot, raising his brows when he noticed her stare. “He’s not in the pot, lamb chop.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a cut of meat.”
He smiled faintly, his attention on the pot. “What shall we call you? Rosebud? Bonbon?”
“Does it have to be edible?” she groused, pouring tea. She sat at the table, grateful to be off her shaky feet.
He chuckled and filled two plates with goulash and buttered parsnips with anise.
She frowned in confusion as she took a bite. “I thought I hated goulash.”
“No one hates my food.” Ash took a bite, eating with intense concentration.
No doubt his guests didn’t want to end up in the stewpot, she thought uncharitably, but had to admit the food was excellent.
Eyrnie showed up at dessert. He eyed the blackberry cobbler and fresh whipped cream. “Well, at least the food’s improved around here.” He helped himself to a big bowl. “Glad to see you’re still alive.”
“You look really worried,” she said wryly.
He sighed. “Guess Ash would have killed you by now if that was his angle.”
She frowned at him, unwilling to go into what Ash did want. “You have a problem with my water heater?”
He shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”
She eyed him, but short of beating him, figured that was all he’d say for now. Instead of pursuing the subject, she brought up something more pressing. “The banshee was here. Ash threw a log at it and chased it off.”
Eyrnie froze and looked her over carefully. “You’re all right?”
Her mouth tightened. “It wasn’t going well. She’s dangerous.” It was a poor explanation, but she hated to admit just how helpless she’d been. “We’re going to have to think about how we’re going to take her out.”
“We could lure in her in around dinnertime,” Eyrnie commented, savoring a bite of dessert. He smiled slyly at Ash.
“Nein. Your…tooth isn’t big enough, Oma.”
“Grandma?” Eyrnie guessed. “Troll women must have interesting anatomy.”
Billy frowned at him. “You’re off topic, Pony.”
Eyrnie looked offended.
Ash burst into laughter.
It took her a minute, but it dawned on her what she’d said. She blushed, mortified. “Sorry! It’s just that he’s always saying it…” she trailed off lamely, shooting a glare at Ash, whose belly laugh nearly sent him tumbling from his seat. There was a faint vibration in the floor, as if someone had turned up a bass.
Eyrnie’s eyes narrowed and red flickered in the depths, but he made an effort to get back on topic. “Decapitation or burning, right? We can carry swords, but we’d have to get close to her to use them. Would earplugs work? A deafness charm?”
“How will you fight the winds?” Ash asked, pushing aside his empty bowl. He looked contently full…for the moment. “Also, she has claws and teeth.”
“I could throw a tree at her,” Billy said dryly.
“Or carry around a grenade launcher,” Eyrnie suggested with helpful sarcasm. He was clearly still miffed.
She sighed, hoping he wouldn’t decide to visit her dreams and retaliate. Maybe she should start thinking of a way to block them from him. “It’s not a terrible idea, if I could find a fae weapon that could mimic such things. I’ll sleep on it.”
She retreated to her room, grateful for the privacy. Unfortunately, the hamster in her brain kept running his wheel, flipping through troll, pooka and banshee with little progress. Aggravated, she finally gave up and left her room, pausing uncertainly as she caught sight of her mother’s open door. Hesitant, she looked in.
The room looked as it always had; she’d put the room in stasis when she’d returned, so she didn’t have to enter, even to dust. Slightly cluttered, the bed was neatly made—her doing. Her mother rarely made her bed. It had bothered Billy to see it rumpled, though, as if her mother would come back at anytime and climb in.
Maybe she should clean it out, get rid of things. The idea made her cringe. What would her mother think if she came back? Was Billy still hoping they could reconcile?
She sighed. That was unlikely. Her mother would not be sorry; in her mind, she’d had every right to force her daughter to mate. She’d be angry, and Billy had taken her place as head of the clan. Billy wouldn’t give that up, and they couldn’t share a house after that. Billy could move, but she couldn’t afford to. Besides, if she left, the house and garden would become rundown.
She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to fight. She also didn’t want to make a decision that made a permanent rift in her family, and tossing out her mom’s stuff would definitely do that. Maybe she still had hope of her mother changing after all.
Maura was another story. It was doubtful she’d ever forgive Billy for her daughter’s death, even though it hadn’t been Billy’s fault. Maura would look for a way to kill her.
Billy sighed and headed for the stairs. She would make a decision about the room soon.
The kitchen was empty and clean, the dishes neatly put away; Ash was ritualistic about food.
She had to admit it was nice. She didn’t mind cooking, but it was another chore. He’d even ta
ken over the shopping; a godsend, since his appetite was enormous.
She headed out to the back garden.
13. Moonlight in the garden with a troll
The moon was full, casting melancholy light over the backyard. It brought back memories of how things used to be, back when her mother was still pretending to be her grandmother.
* * *
Gran had patted her arm as she led the way to the garden. “I have something I’ve been working on for you.” She descended the back steps into the flower garden, then past it to a stone walled garden.
Guests were never allowed in here. There were too many plants that were dangerous to the uninitiated. Billy gently brushed the petals of the sleeping dragon flower inside the gate, enjoying the feel of its flame-colored scales. These pets were above and beyond guard dogs. Anyone who invaded here would be swallowed whole, their body never found.
Twilight brought some of the more interesting plants to life. Moonflowers stretched and opened their glowing faces to the night. Luminous seeds of windflower drifted in the warm breeze, competing with the fireflies. Candle flowers flickered as a nightingale woke up and began to sing. It was only one of the exotic creatures Gran had invited to share her garden.
“Over here,” Gran said softly, stopping before the hollow oak that housed the house brownies. A peep of shy brown eyes showed briefly through the leafy boughs and then winked out of sight. Gran moved her hand under the tree, as if sweeping aside a curtain, and there it was. A softly glimmering piece of cloth, seemingly woven of moonbeam and spidersilk, hung from the bough. Gran delicately removed it and invited Billy to touch it.
“I’m afraid to tear it,” Billy marveled, lightly running a finger over the cloth, fearful of snags. “Did you make it?”
Gran smiled. “I’ve been weaving it since you were born, though I’ve had to lengthen it in the past few years. You’re unseemly long-limbed for a pixie.” She didn’t seem displeased. “Try it on.”
Billy wasn’t sure what to say as she accepted the garment. As she held it up, she saw the silver-blue mesh was intricately woven in a flower pattern and resembled a body suit. She was unsure of the suit’s purpose, but she was certain Gran hadn’t spent eighteen years weaving it just so her granddaughter could walk around in a transparent leotard. She shed her clothes, dropping them on the stone bench and sat down to slide on the suit. Skin-tight, it felt weightless, almost as if she wore nothing, and its soft glow was more concealing than she’d have expected.
“Pixie body armor,” Gran said with satisfaction. “Woven of ironweed, bindweed and the morning dew of a white rose.”
Billy didn’t ask how one wove dew, afraid her Gran would give her a practical demonstration, but she was curious. “White rose? That seems like an odd thing to make armor out of.”
Gran snorted. “It needed some of your essence to bind to you. Rose water—for you’ve an innocent spirit, but not too sweet. Remember, a rose has thorns.” She reached behind her and brought forth a silvery diadem. It appeared to be made of woven silver thorns, and when she placed it on Billy’s brow, she could feel it snaking tendrils under her hair, curving over the back of her skull like a helmet. “A warrior’s helm. It will protect that stubborn skull of yours, and encourage clear thinking.”
Billy fingered the thorny helm; half-afraid she’d prick a finger. It felt odd. “Is this a pixie custom, or something you just wanted to do? I’m amazed if every grandmother does this kind of work. This is something else.” She realized she wasn’t being specific, and clarified, “I mean, could Aunt Maura make something like this?”
Gran was silent for quite awhile as she checked the fit of the armor. “She could, and she was taught. It would not be as fine a garment as this, but…” Her lips tightened. “Carrie isn’t ready. I’m not certain she ever will be.
“You are the stronger warrior. The blood of your father gives you hybrid-vigor that Carrie doesn’t have.”
Billy wasn’t certain what that meant. She’d been told that her father was human, someone who’d knocked up her mother and run off. He’d died in a brawl soon after. The only thing she had left of him was his Harley.
“Carrie’s half-human, too.”
Gran raised a brow, and waited.
Billy faltered. There was something in Gran’s expression. “Well, what? She is…isn’t she?”
“Maura was practical in the making of her child. She sought out a fae alliance, which bore fruit. She thought it best to breed back to the original bloodlines.”
“Get out! Are you saying Aunt Maura cheated on Uncle George?” Billy boggled at the idea of nose-in-the-air Maura sexing it up with some fairy stud. Poor Uncle George!
“One does what one must,” Gran said with disturbing calm. She gestured to Billy’s clothes. “No mortal eye will spy your armor. Wear it in good health.” She left Billy alone in the garden.
Billy didn’t like her Gran’s attitude. Uncle George might be human, but he was a person, too. He had a right to expect faithfulness from his wife. And Carrie? Did she know? Was that part of the reason she was such a troglodyte? Was she hiding a secret complex about her shameful conception? Maybe, under her perfectly applied makeup and skimpy cheerleader wear, there lurked a wounded heart.
Billy sighed. So many lies.
Something bothered her about the memory of Maura’s alleged infidelity, though. She thought about what she knew of Carrie and frowned. She’d never displayed much of a magical talent. For that matter, she’d seemed almost oblivious to cues that Billy took for granted. How had she missed sensing the troll in their first encounter? Maura’s explanation about Carrie ignoring her senses just didn’t jive. Surely Carrie wouldn’t imperil her life like that.
Billy wondered if Maura had lied to their mother. Maybe she had been pressured to sleep with a fae, and lied to make her mother happy. Many things would make sense if Carrie had been three-quarters human.
“Hello, liebling,” Ash said, spooking her.
She whipped around and saw him standing at the garden gate. Her shoulders dropped as she saw he was still outside. “You startled me.”
He gave her a thoughtful look, then reached out and gently stroked the dragon flower. The scaly petals shivered, but did not attack.
Astonished, Billy stared as he entered the garden. “Why didn’t it eat you?”
Ash shrugged. “We talk, your pet and I. We have an understanding.”
She eyed him. Even Eyrnie wouldn’t waltz in here without invitation and escape unscathed. “Like what?”
He smiled and sat on the wooden bench. It had been braided from living willows that rustled with his weight. “We monsters should stick together.”
She could see she wouldn’t get any more out of him. Abruptly tired, she sat on the far side of the bench.
Silence stretched. When she couldn’t stand it any more, she said bluntly, “I’m not going to make little troll babies for you, Ash. My mother tried to turn me into a baby factory, and it didn’t end well.”
“I heard,” he said calmly, unconcerned.
She frowned at him. “What? You’re not upset that I won’t let you drag me off to your cave?”
“Castle,” he corrected. When her eyes widened, he smiled unpleasantly. “It is not only dwarves who build, liebling.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “What’s a liebling? Is it edible?”
He smiled, for real this time. “Nein, gummibärchen.”
She regrouped. “My point is seducing me isn’t going to work. You might have a pretty wrapper, but I know better than to get mixed up with a troll.”
He smiled mischievously. “Who is thinking of food now?”
“It’s inevitable with you around.” She noticed a flower in his hand, and frowned. “What is it with people picking my roses? No wonder that poor bush is nearly naked.”
“The tea you drink, does it not have rose bud?”
“Yeah. My mom was notorious for picking the buds. She made the tea with it; I hardly ever
saw the flowers.”
“Hm.” He studied the flower thoughtfully. “You drink it often. Daily, I think? There is a very large jar in the pantry.”
She shrugged. It tasted good, and it reminded her of happier times.
“I wonder what would happen if you stopped.”
She stilled. He seemed relaxed, wasn’t even looking at her, yet his question hung there, weighty and framed in silence. It made her short hairs rise. “It’s just tea.”
“Made by your mother.”
“So? That doesn’t make it menacing or anything.” She resented his bringing it up. It was one of the few special things her mom had done for her, and she didn’t need him ruining it.
“How did you travel to Underhill?” he asked, regarding her with patient eyes.
Uncertain what that had to do with anything, she said slowly, “We went into the woods at the full moon. There are a couple of trees there. The tops grew together, making an arch.” It had been easier to get home from the other side; her mother had explained that magic was more powerful in the fae world. Indeed, she had felt more strength there than she’d ever known. It had made it almost easy to defeat her mother and her “suitor”.
“Interesting that I can open any door and find myself Underhill, don’t you think?”
What? He wanted an ovation? “Well, bravo for you.”
His eyes glimmered. “How does your pooka find his way there?”
She frowned. She’d always assumed he entered through dreams, but never asked. She’d never wanted to go there.
He studied the garden in silence for a moment. “The moonlight becomes you.”
She blinked, ambushed by the unexpected compliment. Were all trolls this bewildering to talk to?
He turned to her, regarded her frankly. “Your lips are very pretty.”
She coughed on a laugh. “That’s one I’ve never heard.”
“I always notice mouths—it’s a troll thing.” He grinned at her laughter. “Yours doesn’t have much biting power, but I think…” He leaned over and kissed her.
She would’ve expected a troll’s kiss to be disgusting; rank and sloppy. This wasn’t.