Since none of them could argue with that, they didn’t.
The crystal dangled over the map now, the chain held against her palm. The witch’s eyes closed, and her face went peaceful, the lines around her mouth and eyes easing. “Hush and listen to how the universe moves....”
Jan held her breath, not sure what was going to happen but braced for pretty much anything. Across the coffee table, Martin was sitting on the love seat, his gaze intent on the dangling crystal. In that instant she could see the hazy outline of his other form, his long face shifting to a brown muzzle, ears tilting alertly, his shaggy black hair almost exactly the same as it fell into his eyes....
Magic everywhere. And she had spent most of her life utterly unaware.
Despite everything, despite the danger they were in, the sense of urgency still beating under her chest, Jan wouldn’t have traded this for all the safety in the world. Not even for Tyler to be well and healthy again, and the guilt for that was like heartburn in her chest.
The crystal jerked, even though the witch’s hand remained steady. Next to her, Tyler drew a harsh breath in but didn’t say anything.
The crystal jerked again, with a definite lean to the left. It spun counterclockwise and stopped.
The witch lowered her hand slowly, until the lower edge of the crystal touched the map.
Martin leaned forward and read the markings upside down. “Little Creek.”
“That’s where the new magic stirs,” the witch said. She sounded exhausted. “Of course.”
“Of course?” Jan looked away from the map and into the other woman’s face. “Why ‘of course’?”
The witch moved the crystal away, placing it carefully on the table next to the map, and moved her hand back to the map. “Here.” She pressed a spot to the left of Little Creek with her thumb. “And here.” She marked another spot with her pinkie, spanning the space between with her hand. “There have been murders in the past couple of months. Particularly bloody ones. Entire families. They were calling them wild-animal attacks at first, and then they went out of the news entirely. And then, this week...” Her expression closed off briefly, her thoughts going somewhere else. “They haven’t released the news, not officially, but two police officers investigating the murders disappeared. In the mountains.”
Elizabeth sighed and moved her hand back to her lap, touching the bracelet again. “The night air has been restless for weeks, whispering of something ill-come and unwelcome in the hills. I had hoped that someone would come. Someone who could deal with this.”
“You didn’t want to look until it was someone else’s problem.”
Jan bristled at Martin’s tone, oddly offended on the woman’s behalf, but the witch simply gave him a tired smile. “Borrowing trouble rarely ends well.”
The witch didn’t look magical or impressive. Then again, neither did Martin, truly. They looked like two ordinary, not particularly special people.
Somehow, weirdly, that made Jan feel better. She didn’t look particularly special, either.
“Are we certain that the magic is connected to the murders?” Tyler had pulled back again, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Maybe it’s just coincidence.”
“Coincidences do happen,” Martin said, but he didn’t sound confident enough for anyone’s reassurance.
The witch put her box of crystals away and rummaged in a drawer, pulling out several packets. “Wait here,” she said and went through an open doorway at the back.
There was an uneasy silence among the three of them.
“You think the queen was involved in those killings?” Jan asked.
Martin touched the surface of the map, moving it slightly across the table. “I think that she thinks that the queen was. And right now, she’s the only eyes on the ground we’ve got.”
“On the ground and a hundred miles away,” Jan pointed out.
“She did more from a hundred miles away than anyone AJ sent out.”
“Yeah.” And this was more than they’d had before.
The witch came back with three little sachets in her hand, about the size and shape of tea bags.
“Here.” She handed one to each of them. The unbleached linen was scratchy and filled with something that crackled. Jan lifted it to her nose and sniffed. Lime and something that smelled a little like pizza, or maybe pine? She looked at the witch, who was staring at her with an unnerving steadiness.
“Lime, sage, and pine. And a pinch of fennel. Keep it on you, in your sock or tucked into your bra, somewhere it can’t be easily taken from you.” She lifted one shoulder slightly, a philosophic shrug. “I wish I could do more, but...”
“It’s a protection spell?” Martin had already put his sachet away. Jan hesitated and then tucked hers into her pocket, the one opposite from her inhaler.
“Protection and healing, combined to deter injury. If you are facing violence, it might turn a blade or ill wish away from you. Plus—” and here she smiled a little “—it’s a soothing smell, and I’ve found that it helps with clear thinking.”
When it became apparent that Elizabeth had given them all the aid she could—or would—there wasn’t much left to say. The three visitors got to their feet, tucking the gifts away and offering their hands in thanks. Elizabeth took each gravely, ushering them to the door.
As they were leaving, the witch placed her hand on Jan’s elbow, keeping her there a moment longer.
“You’re not elf-shot,” she said. “But they’ve marked you, too. You’ve made a bargain with them.”
“Yes.” Jan looked over her shoulder to where the men waited, already on the walkway. “To bring him home, to give us time to fight them.”
“That’s dangerous. Deals with the Others...that’s a deal with the devil in another guise. There’s always a higher cost than we think.” Her other hand reached into her pocket and brought out a small brown shape, a little smaller than the sachet. She pressed it into Jan’s hand, and Jan took it automatically, her fingers curving around it. The shape was cool, like stone, and when she looked closer at it, she realized it was carved in the shape of a horse, with an arched back and small blue dots set into its haunches.
“It’s a fetish,” the witch said. “It brings healing and the power of the herd. I put him in my pocket this morning, not knowing why. Now I do.”
Jan’s thumb rubbed over the figure—the fetish—almost absently and felt the stone warm under her touch. On closer inspection, the brown was flecked with red and gold, and she thought of Martin’s other form, the way the water had clung to his hide when they’d escaped from the troll-bridge and how his eyes flickered sometimes with gold.
Jan opened her mouth to ask a question—what, she didn’t know—and Elizabeth put her fingers against Jan’s mouth, silencing her.
“Trust and go,” the witch said.
She rejoined the others in the truck, the small figure still clenched in her hands.
“We’re not going to get anywhere tonight,” Martin said. “It’s too late, and I for one have no interest in driving around after dark without a clue where we’re going. How much cash do you have on you?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jan shook her head. “You don’t have another friend you can call on to loan us crash space?” That was what they had done before, when her apartment had become unsafe. It hadn’t exactly been Hotel Paradise, but there’d been a roof and running water and a bed that had been reasonably comfortable.
“I didn’t think I was going to need bolt-holes all over the East Coast,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. Supernaturals didn’t seem to need as much sleep as humans, but it had been a hell of a long day; he was right, they needed a break.
“There’re blankets in the back,” Tyler said. “It’s not ideal, but we can sack out in a rest area if we take turns.”
>
Jan looked at Martin, who gave a curt nod. “Good enough. Let’s get the hell away from this house. It’s still giving me itches.”
* * *
When their car had pulled away, Elizabeth closed the door carefully, then locked it and ran her hand down the seam between door and frame, her mouth shaping a silent prayer. She then went back into the main room and settled herself on the sofa, her legs crossed underneath her. Breathing in, then out, she reached out to feel the wards that protected the rest of the house, making sure that each one remained intact.
Why hadn’t she done anything, they’d asked. Because she was scared. No: she was terrified. The first time she had sensed magic shifting in her area, had reached out to identify it, things had appeared soon after. Things that smelled of anger, entrails, and greed. Things that lurked in the shadows, watching.
She was not the only one who knew how to listen. And there were things out there that hated any other voice but their own. Bad things. Violent things.
She was able to keep them out, but not for long, not if they brought more. She could leave, flee during the brightest hour of the day, find another place to stay, keep herself close so that they could not find her again. But there were people who needed her, people who needed to find her. She would remain.
Elizabeth had no illusions about herself. She was not brave; she could not fight this battle. But she would not flee it, either.
And when those in need called to her, be they human or other, she would not turn them away.
Her hands reached out to the crystal in the center of the table and touched it gently, the tips of her fingers resting on its surface. “Feel the universe move. Move with it.” It was a mantra, not an invocation, meant only to calm and center her. Then she exhaled and took the next step. “Show me those I can help.”
Inside the crystal, a faint golden flicker gleamed to life.
* * *
His stolnik came to him at dawn, the younger being already draped in formal gear, holding the day’s robes in his hands, ready to dress the consort.
“They are ready.”
It wasn’t a question requiring response. The consort did not care if they were, in fact, ready: they would be ready. He had given his word to the mortal that she would have her time, so long and no more, to ready herself for what would come. Time ran differently here and there, but he could feel the moment coming, the pulse of magic connecting their two worlds. He did not understand why his queen had found it so alluring, but he would follow. Follow and lay waste to all she now held dear, claim the rest, and leave her no choice but to return.
The stolnik draped the robes over his shoulders, adjusting them just so. He allowed it, caught up in his thoughts. The throne room was empty of the usual throngs, the sun yet rising over the plains outside, the Mountain still in shadow and Under the Hill still sleeping, save the consort and his companion and the nine standing in front of him. Nine plus nine humans with them, hollowed-out and waiting.
There should have been ten. The irritation of that scraped at his bones, not so much for the loss of one portal—nine would be enough, no matter how the magic now made them itch for ten, the sense of a pattern incomplete—and not for the delay that agreement had forced on them, but for the ease in which the human had opened a portal of its own, to escape.
Unheard of for a human to do such a thing. Another pattern broken, another thing askew. The one who had come here and left again, stealing back their tenth portal-holder, proved that they could leave as they desired...which raised the possibility that humans could come as they desired, as well.
That could not be allowed. This was their magic, fairly stolen. They had shaped it, and they would control it. And if that meant every human born must be chained or die, then it would be so.
The consort would take great pleasure in destroying what had so fascinated his queen and lured her from the Hill.
“Unleash them,” he said and turned away, secure that the others would do as commanded. There would be no subtlety now, no gentle seduction. The supernatural that had accompanied the human would doubtless spread word among its kind, play up its success, its escape. They would resist, think that they could hold off their inevitable decline.
It did not matter. For whatever unknown reason, the balance had shifted, the magic had changed. His queen might have been the first to scent it, but he had perfected it. They no longer needed to wait, to lurk, to take in small bites what they should devour. The portals would be opened and held, and then the court’s harriers would sweep in, reclaim Nalith, and eradicate the supernatural vermin who had defied them, once and for all.
And then the court would claim the human world entirely, the way they should have, centuries ago.
Chapter 8
Glory woke up with a strange man in her bedroom. Not that this hadn’t happened before, more than twice, but usually the men were young, nice to look at, and curled next to her in bed. Or, sometimes, getting dressed, dropping a kiss on her lips as they hurried off to work or wherever they were going. They weren’t usually old guys standing, fully dressed, staring at her.
Staring at her, holding a mug of coffee in their hands.
She licked her lips and said the only thing that came to mind. “Normally, thieves take the espresso machine, not deliver the product.”
He smiled a little and held the cup out to her.
She sat up, careless of the fact that she was naked, and took it. Her dreams had been jumbled, loud and confusing, and coffee was just the thing to clear her head. And yeah, taking coffee from strange men who appeared in her bedroom was maybe not the wisest of life choices, but she wasn’t exactly the poster child for giving a damn.
“You need to go.”
“What?” Her eyes were focusing better now. He was tall, old but still in solid shape, and wearing a hip-length brown leather coat that she seriously and immediately lusted after.
He also had what looked like an ax buckled at his belt, and knee-high boots that had to be custom-made. If he was playacting, he had a brilliant costuming department. He was also older than she’d thought at first. Ancient, she thought, sipping her coffee. His eyes were ancient.
“The witches are calling. The time for us to stand aside is over. You need to go.”
There was a stranger standing in her bedroom, handing her coffee, talking about witches, and telling her to go...where? She was still dreaming, wasn’t she? That would explain it. She’d fallen asleep at her desk, facedown and drooling over the latest report from Jan and her merry bunch of maniacs, and—
This wasn’t a dream. She knew the feel of her sheets, the sound of the radiator clunking behind her, the weird quiet of her building when she woke up too damn early in the morning. Her dream had been noisy, confusing, filled with voices yelling and the sound of ice moving across the world, slow and unstoppable, leaving a flat, glassy plain behind. And the sound of a clock, a clock like she didn’t have anywhere in her flat, an old-fashioned ticking, marking off the minutes.
Metaphors, she knew it was all metaphors, the usual dream BS her brain kicked out when she was stressed, tied into Jan’s deadline, the deadline they were all working under, but at the same time it wasn’t. And this, the guy standing in front of her, wasn’t a dream.
“They’re coming.” Her hands felt cold, despite the coffee, despite the heat kicking in through the radiators. Tick-tock.
“They’re coming,” the Huntsman agreed. “We must go.”
* * *
Only lost tourists came down the road that led to the Farm—that was precisely why it had been bought years before. The property was isolated, in a part of the state where people respected that in their neighbors and never asked about the odd assortment of individuals who came and went.
So when a sedan pulled up to the gates of the Farm—the property wasn’t actually
fenced, so the gate was more of a checkpoint on the single road that led up to the main buildings than an actual barrier—the guards were prepared to send whoever it was back with directions on how to get to the main road, or Boston, or wherever they had been planning to go.
When a human woman in a dark red business suit got out hauling a suitcase and paid off the driver before the guards could say word one, however, they thought they might have to revise their strategy.
She extended the handle on her luggage and, pulling it behind her, walked up to the guards as though she were an expected and honored visitor.
“I’m here to see Jan.” Her accent definitely wasn’t local, her enunciation crisp and musical all at once, but neither supernatural could quite place it.
“Excuse me?” Grady was a faun and not particularly good at an innocent expression, but he did his best.
“Jan. Your pet human.” The woman narrowed her eyes at him and then, in a voice that carried a definite edge of do-not-fuck-with-me, said, “AJ will want to see me. Now.”
Grady blinked, nodded, and opened the gate for her as though she’d been expected for hours. She nodded regally at both of them and set off up the road, pulling her suitcase behind her.
Once she had gone through, he turned to his cohort with a wild-eyed expression, his skin chalky under his fur. “What? Were you going to stop her?”
“Nope,” his cohort said. “Let that be his problem.” Max was lupin; he had no problem whatsoever letting his pack leader deal with alpha females.
* * *
The track up from the gate seemed steeper than it actually was. Glory was tired, seriously jet-lagged, and in dire need of a decent meal and a steaming strong cup of coffee. And a shower, a shower would be lovely, too. In fact, if someone could point her to a coffee shower, she might be able to die happy.
When Jan had called this The Farm, she’d thought the other woman had been joking, maybe making a spooks reference. But no, it was really a farm, with too much open green space for anyone’s comfort. She thought about what it would be like out here once the sun went down, and shuddered, walking a little faster up the path toward the grouping of buildings. She knew that everyone—everything—here was working for the same cause, and she’d been talking to enough of them to, mostly, get over the instinctive shudder of atavistic unease when something obviously non-human appeared, but there was a world of difference between talking to someone through a vidscreen and knowing they were all around you.
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