He carried her to the bed when they were done, and they lay tangled in each other’s arms for as long as they dared.
“It’s all going to be okay,” she said, “if we have each other.”
“If we have each other,” agreed Elada. “And we stick to Miach’s plan. Together with Conn and Beth, we can face Donal and Finn down, and dissuade the Prince from pursuing you.”
Something in the bed with them buzzed.
“What is that?” Sorcha asked.
“It’s my cell phone. You should get one.”
“I don’t need one. No one ever calls me.”
“I’ll be calling you,” he said, reaching for his phone.
“You hardly use yours,” she said.
“True, but it comes in handy. And I suspect this is Miach calling, trying to be tactful for once, rather than just knocking on our door.”
Elada tapped his phone and looked at it quizzically. “I don’t recognize that number.”
Sorcha lifted her head to look. “That’s Tommy’s number,” she said. “Why is Tommy calling you?”
“Because you don’t have a cell phone.”
“Tommy wouldn’t be shy about knocking on my door. We lived together for years. And he wasn’t my only boyfriend.”
Exasperated, Elada answered the phone.
It wasn’t Tommy. The voice that rang from the phone was deep, authoritative, and undeniably Fae. Sorcha could hear it clear as a bell.
“Put your Druid slut on the phone, Brightsword.”
Elada’s face darkened. Sorcha reached for the phone, but he held it away from her. “Go to hell, Donal,” he replied.
“Fine. If she’s a stone singer, she can hear me anyway. We have the fiddler.”
“Let me have the phone,” Sorcha said.
Elada shook his head. “No. This isn’t just your fight.”
“Yes, it is. Tommy, and everyone else who is in danger, is in danger because of me.”
“She’s right, Brightsword,” came the voice of the late Keiran’s master from the sleek little smartphone. The case was decorated with a child’s stickers, Sorcha now noticed, no doubt a gift from little Garrett. Ladybugs and bees and other playroom images. A tribute to her all too human Fae, whom she was afraid she was about to lose.
“If she comes to us freely, the fiddler will live. If you tell Miach, though, I’ll send him back to her in pieces.”
“You can’t have Sorcha,” said Elada. “And if you kill the fiddler, Keiran won’t be the last New York Fae to die from stone song. She can send her voice a mile over a city block and shatter steel with it. Your followers will die one by one, some of them in front of your very eyes, and you, Donal, will be the last to go.”
Sorcha bit her tongue.
Elada ended the call before Donal could respond.
“I can’t do any of those things,” she said.
“No, not yet, but it doesn’t hurt for Donal to think you can. He’ll think twice about killing the fiddler now, and that gives us time to strategize with Miach.”
Her heart fell. “No.”
“Sorcha, there are too many factions in play for you to face Donal on your own. And he is sure to double-cross you.”
“I won’t do anything that jeopardizes Tommy’s life, including telling Miach that Donal has him. And if you love me, neither will you.”
“Sorcha, I do love you; that’s why I can’t let you do this. Donal will kill you. And he will kill Tommy, too, no matter what he tells you. The only kind of bargain he will strike with a Druid is a Fae bargain, and that means it will be to the Fae’s advantage.”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.” She held out her hand. “Give me the phone.”
“I can’t, Sorcha. I have to tell Miach.”
“Then you’re still bound to him, and not me, no matter what words we just spoke.”
Elada was silent for a moment. “This isn’t just about Tommy, or you, or us. Donal snatched your friend out of a warded house. That means everyone here is in danger, and Miach needs to know that.”
Sorcha shook her head. “They didn’t snatch him. They didn’t have to. They used his cell phone. He’s always on it. And it reproduces Fae voices with absolute fidelity. I can hear the magic coming through the speaker when Donal talks. All they had to do was command Tommy to walk out the front door, and he did.”
Now Elada cursed explicitly in Fae and in English.
“They’re going to kill him,” Sorcha said. “I’m his only chance.”
“What is it you want me to do?”
Chapter 14
Elada had not particularly liked Miach’s plan. Finn was a dangerous adversary and a treacherous ally. Even tied by marriage as their two houses were, there was no trust between them. It had started two thousand years ago, when Miach and Finn had disagreed about how to deal with the Druids, and it had gone on for two millennia until an attempt at peace had been made. Miach had fostered Finn’s promising full-blood son and trained him as a mage. He was raised in Miach’s house with Miach’s family, and he betrayed them all by seducing and eloping with Miach’s beloved granddaughter Nieve and getting her pregnant, at sixteen, with a half-breed. She’d nearly died delivering the baby, and after Miach had saved her life, he’d forbidden Garrett to ever see his wife or son again.
Miach had relented in order to save Helene Whitney, but that did not mean he and Finn were friends. The sorcerer had agreed to take Garrett back as a pupil, but he didn’t trust the boy and was still reluctant to admit him fully to the secrets of his craft.
That Miach had been willing to treat with Finn to save Sorcha was a testament to his regard for Elada. And now Elada planned to betray him.
“I want you to lie to Miach,” said Sorcha Kavanaugh, the woman Elada loved, whose Druid blood he should recoil from, whose voice had charmed him, who was going to throw her life away to save a human fiddler of no great distinction because she was nothing like her ancestors.
“Yes,” said Elada. “I got that part. I hope you have more of a plan than that, for your sake and for Tommy Carrell’s.”
“I do. Sort of. I want you to give me your phone. I’m going to call Donal back. I’ll tell him I’ll turn myself over to him.”
“You can’t do that. He doesn’t plan to use you like the Prince; he plans to execute you. Probably in New York, in full view of his followers. When you killed Keiran, you were standing outside his town house. It was an affront to his dignity, an insult to the highest Fae in Manhattan. He cannot let it stand now that he knows of you, or he will lose face and he will lose power.”
“I’m not going to just put my neck on the block,” she said. “I’m going to arrange a meeting. A trade. If you can help me slip away from Miach, and get Tommy away from Donal, I’ll do the rest.”
“They won’t give you time to use your voice. They’ll demand that you put yourself in their power. If they gag you—”
“If they gag me, I can do this,” she said. She picked up an apple from the bowl of fruit on the desk. It was carved out of wood and painted a bright glossy red. She held it up at eye level and began to hum.
“Sorcha,” he said. He had vowed to earn her trust, he ought to give her his, but her voice was a terrifying thing.
The apple shook in her palm. He expected something to happen. A crack of thunder, a flash of light, some indicator that a dangerous force was at work, but instead, the note sweetened and the apple disappeared in a puff of dust that wafted gently on the air, then fell to the floor, powdering the carpet. All that was left behind was the scent of apples and Sorcha’s beatific smile.
“My love, my bard, my sweet lady Druid, if you can do that, then I think this just might work.”
• • •
Sorcha was glad the trick with the apple had worked. Miach had taught her that. Humming was a safe re
fuge for her power. She could control that. It was like a steam valve for her voice. It let a little of it out, but by keeping her lips closed, she was able to modulate its effect.
She probably shouldn’t tell Elada that she couldn’t do it all the time. Or that she hadn’t mastered inorganic materials. Or that if she tried to use her full voice, open-mouthed, she might bring the house down around them. If she told him that, he’d never agree to help her.
Sorcha hoped he would never find out about the deception. If her voice worked when she reached for it, he’d never need to know. And she’d study twice as hard with Miach when all this done, if he would have her back as a student after the stunt they were about to pull. Judging from all the talk about the sorcerer’s tortured relationship with his pupil Garrett, chances were good that she could win her way back into his good graces.
The trouble was that they couldn’t pull it off without bringing another player into their conspiracy.
“It has be to Nieve,” Elada had said.
“She’s Miach’s granddaughter,” said Sorcha.
“Yes. She’s his granddaughter, and he will forgive her anything. She’s about the only one who can cross him and get away with it.”
“Is she that good a cook?”
“Are you asking if that is the secret to living amicably with a Fae?”
“If it is, our love is doomed. I can make eggs and cinnamon toast. That’s about it.”
“I like both of those things,” said Elada. “But the reason we’re not asking Helene to help us isn’t that she can’t cook.”
“Can she?”
“Not really. She makes reservations. And she has made vows to Miach, whereas Nieve has not.
“And she obviously adores you,” said Sorcha. “Should I be jealous?”
“Of Nieve?”
“Yes. Of the young, attractive woman who is part Fae and not at all Druid.”
Elada kissed her then and said, “I saw Nieve born. I have changed her diapers. She loves me like a favorite uncle and I love her like a daughter.”
“Enough, dare I say, to drive a minivan for her?”
“Guilty as charged. We bought it when Garrett was born. And the armor was Miach’s idea. I still don’t believe Garrett’s father would ever harm him or Nieve, but Finn is another matter. If he’s involved in Donal’s scheme, if you hear even a whisper of the Fianna, this plan is off.”
So they drew Nieve into their conspiracy.
Everyone had agreed in Deirdre’s dining room that Nieve, Garrett, Helene, and Tommy must be taken to safety in Essex immediately. Miach had owned the house on the tidal marsh for decades, and while he kept it ready for guests at a moment’s notice, he rarely used it, and no one outside the immediate family knew of its existence. Since Miach was the only Fae present who could carry a living being with him when he passed, it was decided that he must ferry them one by one and then rest before making contact with Finn. Most Fae couldn’t carry anything at all when they passed. Miach could carry a person, but two trips would be enough to exhaust him and four would incapacitate him for several hours.
It was their best chance to get out of the house and away from Miach, while he was ferrying Nieve and Garrett back and forth. By the time he knew they had slipped away, he would be too depleted from passing to do anything about it.
“I’ll make him take me first,” Nieve had said, “and then have him go back for Garrett. Once he brings Helene, I’ll tell him I’m feeling sick and he’ll have to stay.”
“What kind of sick?” Elada asked sharply.
“Morning sick,” the young woman said, looking Elada directly in the eye.
“Oh, Nieve,” said Elada. “Say it isn’t true.”
“I was going to have to tell him at some point. At least now the row will be in the service of a good cause. And he won’t leave my side if I say I’m in pain.”
“He is going to kill Garrett,” said Elada.
“Congratulations, I think,” said Sorcha, who had never really thought about the possibility for herself and Elada. He’d explained to her that the Fae didn’t breed easily, and that he hadn’t fathered a child in centuries, so they’d foregone birth control in their encounters. Perhaps Garrett’s relative youth was what made the difference.
“Thank you,” said Nieve. “But you won’t look so envious when you see me in two months. I’ll be big as a house and miserable with it all the time.”
“That sounds . . . painful,” confessed Sorcha.
“On the plus side,” chirped Nieve, “the terrible twos fly right by.”
Sorcha wasn’t sure that sounded like a good enough tradeoff.
In the end Elada wouldn’t allow her to make the call to Donal. He insisted on doing it himself.
“You are not experienced at bargaining with the Fae. We speak with forked tongues. I want to be certain the conditions are explicit and that any assurances he gives will be binding on him.”
“You mean like a geis.”
“Yes, like a geis.”
She listened to the phone call, because with her hearing, she couldn’t avoid it.
“We will make the exchange at the Navy Yard,” Donal said.
“That’s Finn’s territory,” said Elada. “Not acceptable.”
“It is Fae territory,” countered Donal. “And I will not tolerate human interference.”
“The exchange must be in South Boston,” Elada said.
“South Boston is Miach’s, for now,” replied the Manhattan Fae, “and he has proven himself untrustworthy.”
“Swear that you will give up the fiddler, alive and whole, if we come to the Navy Yard.”
There was silence on the other end.
“I will give up the fiddler, as long as the girl abides by my conditions.”
They were as expected. Elada didn’t like them. Sorcha could see that on his face. And they were unavoidable. They both knew that.
When the hour came, Nieve played her part to perfection. She complained of a headache and asked her grandfather to postpone moving them. When Miach insisted, she grudgingly agreed. No one had yet noticed Tommy Carrell’s absence, but the presence of a wailing preschooler tended to do that to people—and Fae.
Miach was gone longer than anyone expected. Little Garrett ran to Elada the minute his mother disappeared with her grandfather, but Elada gently disengaged the boy and handed him off to Conn, who looked as though someone had just given a daffodil to play with—mildly puzzled and very, very worried it might break.
It was Conn who asked where the fiddler had gone, and Elada who lied smoothly and said he was upstairs resting in the study until it was time to leave. Kevin shot Elada and Beth a troubled glance, but said nothing.
When Miach returned, he was impatient. “Come, Garrett,” he said, beckoning the boy. “Your mother isn’t feeling well.”
But Garrett had become enamored of Conn’s shining blond hair and even brighter sword and had to be chased three times around the dining room before anyone could catch him. Sorcha could feel the air vibrate when the little boy ran, and she knew she was sensing magic, nascent but growing.
By this time Miach was clearly irritated and finally put an end to matters by yelling at Garrett, which triggered a fit of hysteria. The sorcerer and the boy finally disappeared amidst the sound of the child wailing.
Then it was time for Sorcha and Elada to make their escape. During the chaos they slipped out the door. Sorcha was sure that Beth Carter’s eye had been on her, but when Sorcha turned to look back, Beth was looking studiously away.
It was Deirdre and Kevin who stopped them, blocking the drive.
“Why are you leaving?” Deirdre asked.
“And where is the fiddler?” Kevin added.
Sorcha saw no point in lying now. She’d only promised not to tell Miach. “Donal has Tommy at the Navy Y
ard. He wants me in exchange for my friend.”
“And you’re handing yourself over, the lamb to the slaughter?” Deirdre asked. She seemed more bemused than surprised by Sorcha’s predicament, and Sorcha found herself wondering if the painter kept an intentional distance between herself and present events.
“No. We have a plan to save Tommy. I’ll give myself up and Elada will take Tommy to the house in Essex, where he’ll be safe. Then I’ll escape.”
“How?” asked Kevin.
“I’ll use my voice,” she said quietly. She was going to hurt people, the way she had hurt Elada, but not, hopefully, the way she had killed Keiran. She’d promised Elada that she wouldn’t hold back if it came to it, if it was down to her life or one of Donal’s people, but she wasn’t sure she could do it if called upon.
“It’s too dangerous,” said Kevin. “If Donal means to kill you, he could position a half-breed sniper on one of the buildings and take you out before you even got near him.”
“We don’t think Donal wants to kill her outright, here in Boston. We think he wants to take her home to Manhattan. She killed a follower of his named Keiran on the sidewalk outside Donal’s home. His people will expect him to deal out justice in front of them.”
“And if you are wrong?” asked Kevin. “If simple assassination is their aim?”
“Can you draw us a map of the Navy Yard and mark the positions where a sniper might be located?” asked Elada. “Kevin used to work there,” he explained to Sorcha.
“At the museum?” asked Sorcha, who knew there was nothing in the Navy Yard but the frigate Constitution and a museum. She’d thought Kevin was an athlete.
“No,” said Kevin. “On the docks. Building ships.”
“But they haven’t built ships in Charlestown in decades,” said Sorcha.
“No, they haven’t,” Kevin agreed.
“The fiddler isn’t worth it,” Deirdre said. “And you aren’t ready to face Donal.”
“Ready or not, Tommy is my responsibility,” said Sorcha. For all the times he had walked her home from the train station, for all the times he had discouraged the unruly drunks at the Black Rose. He had protected her, and he’d nearly lost the use of his hand defending her from the Prince. “I can’t let him die.”
Stone Song Page 17