by Robyn Bachar
“Portia?” I said, waving a helpless hand at the selection.
“Dress for battle. Do you have armor?”
“Yeah, they give you a Kevlar vest when you move into the neighborhood,” I joked, rolling my eyes.
“What’s Kevlar? Is it shiny? I like shiny.”
“Never mind.”
“How about something with lots of pockets? For spell components.”
Well, at least I knew I’d need to be prepared to do magic. The knowledge was not very reassuring, and likely meant my abilities were going to be put to the test. Spellcasting is one of my many strong points, always has been, but like any witch I have an automatic handicap where it’s concerned. Witches require tools to cast spells. We need words, ritual and physical components like wands, daggers, herbs, candles and crystals, to name a few. And we need lots of ’em. A sorcerer can conjure up fire with a thought, but a witch needs to speak an incantation and have a symbol of it on hand, like a match or a lighter. That split-second difference has cost many witches their lives.
I settled on wearing my many-pocketed cargo pants, an army surplus button-down shirt over a black tank top, and my black combat boots. Rifling through the drawers of my dresser, I started pulling out nearly every amulet, talisman and holy symbol I own, stuffing them into my pockets and hanging them around my neck. Next my gaze settled upon my ritual dagger and sword. They both serve the same purpose, performing the same tasks and symbolizing the same things, but each would send a different message to my observers. The sword was a more aggressive symbol than the small dagger.
“Bring both,” Portia suggested.
“Both?”
“Yup. Just in case.”
“Of what? Barbarian invasion?” I joked. Grabbing the belt out of my closet, I affixed the sword’s scabbard and the dagger’s sheath to it.
I loaded my fingers with rings, my wrists and arms with bracelets and watches, and then earrings for my double-pierced ears. Next I brushed out my hair and let it fall long and loose down my back. The final touch was my favorite: my top hat. It’s a detail that is my trademark, and Portia in particular loves it-she probably wouldn’t let me leave without it. It’s black, of course, and Two Tarot cards-Justice and The Moon-are tucked into the satin band.
“You look good!” Portia assured me when I was finished.
“I look like a gypsy going to war.” Turning toward my bed, I nodded to the two cats that had been overseeing my progress. “Well, what do you boys think?” Pippin expressed his opinion by rolling over and demanding a belly rub, which I indulged him with, and Merri just yawned. “Gee, thanks.”
“Good, let’s go!”
Fluttering into the air, she zipped across the room and through the dressing mirror. The glass rippled like water in her wake, and normally I would’ve expected it to display an image of the place in Faerie she’d traveled to, but instead my reflection stared back at me. Guess I’d have to create my own gateway this time.
“Okay, everybody out,” I ordered. Pippin hesitated, wanting more attention, but in a stunning display of actual obedience, both cats hopped down from the bed and hightailed it from the room.
After shutting the door to my closet and to my bedroom, I crossed to the antique mirror. The old dressing mirror stretched taller than me and just slightly wider, and my reflection stared back at me, resigned to our fate. Taking a deep breath, I drew the dagger from my belt and sliced a long, shallow cut across my right palm. The blood welled red, bright and painful against my pale skin, and I placed the palm against the center of the mirror.
“Between the worlds, I make this door,
Safe passage through, as time before.
The lock undone, with blood as key,
As I will, so mote it be.”
The image shimmered and a ripple spread out from my hand like rings on the surface of a pond. A glow formed and lit the room, suffusing the entire reflection until it was a blank sea of light. I inched my hand away and the light brightened even further, almost to the point of blinding until it suddenly faded. My room was no longer reflected in the mirror, but instead an image of a grassy hill appeared. Fluffy white clouds wandered across the landscape’s sky, and the long grass waved in the breeze.
I glanced at the two photos atop my dresser-one of me and my mother on my fourth birthday, and one of me and Maureen at my high school graduation. “Wish me luck, ladies,” I said softly.
Squaring my shoulders, I stepped through the mirror.
I’ve lived in the city all my life, so it’s no surprise that the sensation of breathing fresh air is strange and foreign to me. I’m used to exhaust, smoke and other general pollution, and the absence of it makes me wary. To me, it’s the ultimate reminder of not being in Kansas anymore, Toto. Aside from the cleanliness, Faerie isn’t so different from our world as far as looks go. The grass is green, the sky is blue and the sun shines during the day and the stars at night, though admittedly the constellations are different. I’m not sure why that is, I’m no astronomer, and I haven’t had the time or inclination to find out.
With one hand secure on the hilt of my sword, I walked forward toward the hill. The portal closed behind me with a muffled pop, but I paid it no mind. I knew how to get home without it, even though I had no idea where I was. Despite the fact that I’ve used the same mirror in the same spot for seven years in a row now, it’s never opened to the same place twice. I knew the hill was a faerie mound, and if this was where the door had brought me then this was where I needed to be.
“Portia?” I called out as I walked. It was slow going, or at least in comparison to a brisk walk down the concrete sidewalks of home. Like I said, I’m a city girl. I like my roads paved, my messages instant and my coffee to go.
“Kitty! This is so exciting!”
I turned to see the faerie fly over to join me. A cool shower of faerie dust rained down as Portia fluttered above me, and I couldn’t help but sneeze.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a real barrel of laughs,” I muttered. My fingers itched to light up a cigarette, so I balled my hands into fists and stuffed them into my pockets. No point in being rude to the locals. Yet. “So I take it we’re going in the mound. Whose is it?”
“The Underhill clan. They’re good people. I have cousins here on my mother’s side.” She smiled at me, and then plopped down to walk at my side. I’d heard of them-despite the terribly unoriginal name, they had a good reputation for fairness, and more importantly, did not have a reputation for causing trouble in the human world. Some faeries, mostly the clanless ones, just can’t seem to resist mischief making. A common activity is breaking human gadgets. Ever wonder why your car battery died for no apparent reason? Find your keys in places you know you did not leave them? You’re not crazy, you just had the misfortune of being targeted by a faerie with nothing better to do with eternity.
“Am I the only candidate who’s going to be at this meeting?”
“One other.”
“Only one? That can’t be good. Who is it?”
“Don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough.” Portia shrugged.
Too soon, in my opinion. The base of the hill grew closer and closer with each step we took. My stomach dropped down somewhere between my knees and I swallowed hard. I had to be crazy to be doing this. For one, I was too young to be Titania. I wasn’t even thirty yet. I didn’t want to go into politics. This was just insanity.
There was no visible entrance, but I didn’t expect to see one, not yet anyway. Portia and I continued on in silence until I felt her hand on my arm. Stopping in my tracks, I glanced over at her. She launched herself into the air once again and fluttered ahead of me. A low rumble like distant thunder emanated from the base of the hill, and the ground swelled and split. Dirt and uprooted chunks of sod tumbled up and away to reveal a large wooden door covered with intricate carvings of intertwined roots and vegetables. Decorative potatoes, who knew? With a graceful wave of her hand the door swung open, smooth and soundless, and Portia flew
inside. I followed behind, struggling to keep my expression neutral and my nerves calm.
The smell of faerie magic almost overpowered me as I stepped through the doorway, so much so that it made my eyes water. Walking into the mound was like stepping into a cinnamon-roll factory set for high production. Portia led me down the hallway, a long corridor with walls of rough earth that were common for the inside of a mound. Tiny balls of light bobbed up and down near the ceiling as though floating in a lazy river, casting everything in a soft glow. I was a little unnerved by the quiet hush surrounding us, broken only by the soft whisper of her wings and the clomping of my heavy boots. Most faerie dwellings are constantly filled with noise-they really dislike silence. In addition to that we ought to have run into members of the Underhill clan by now.
“Where is everyone?” I whispered.
“Just wait.”
Great. It wasn’t like Portia to be ominous, or quiet for that matter. A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach, and I did some mental bargaining with it to keep it steady. Losing my lunch in a strange clan’s home would not be a polite way to introduce myself.
Finally we reached an enormous set of double doors, ridiculously large by faerie standards and even pushing the limits of human ones. They were covered in runes I couldn’t read, but I knew this had to be their great hall. Portia fluttered behind me and hovered just over my right shoulder, placing her hand upon it and giving it an encouraging squeeze. The doors opened at a ponderous rate, revealing the room in slow degrees. My breath whooshed out of my lungs in astonishment, and I stood slack-jawed and gaped at the assembled faeries. The entire clan had turned out, as well as members of several others. I scanned the crowd for familiar faces and caught the eye of Tybalt, Portia’s older brother, and he gave me a big grin. Good to know I had some people on my side.
I could barely make out the other end of the hall. Some days it sucks extra hard to be nearsighted, and it reminded me that I needed a new set of glasses. Squinting, I managed to spy three large chairs-no, thrones. The faeries had brought in their Council of Three to oversee the proceedings. The temptation to draw my sword and fall upon it suddenly seemed like an appealing idea. It would be quicker and far less painful than the fate that would await me when my stupid mouth said the wrong thing and pissed off their leaders.
Every faction of magical society is governed by their own Council of Three. Witches, sorcerers, vampires, shapeshifters, everybody. Larger populations have more than one council, each in charge of a certain region. There’s only one faerie Council of Three responsible for dealing with North America, and they were sitting in those chairs. Portia gave my shoulder a bump, and with my heart in my throat I made my way into the hall. The silence here was especially eerie, only the low whispered hush of wings and swishing of tails occupied the room. The sound of tails made me take a closer look at the assembled group. Faeries take the form of whatever they want, whenever they want. Not all prefer the delicate wings Portia sports. Some take on animal features, elemental or even demonic aspects. Whatever catches their fancy, really. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen the original form of a faerie, if the faeries even remember what they were at all.
I remembered not to stare at the council, which would have been really rude, and kept my gaze lowered to stare somewhere around their feet. They were dressed in their finest, glittering and shining bright enough to be their own light source. As I studied the latest in faerie formal footwear I noticed an additional, unexpected pair of shoes standing behind the council and off to the side: a scuffed pair of black combat boots. Despite my better judgment, my curiosity got the better of me and I let my gaze travel upwards. Black duster, black pants, black shirt-the man almost blended completely into the shadows around him, which normally would’ve hinted at a sorcerer, but I knew the faerie council wouldn’t trust one to stand behind them within fireball range.
It had to be a guardian, and my heart sank as I realized it was Lex. There was a casual air about him as he stood with his hands in his coat pockets, and the rest of his appearance complemented his laid-back manner. Unlike last night, his shoulder-length light brown hair was unbound and extra stubble lined his jaw. Lex was watching me, and he gave me an encouraging smile. Flustered, I tore my gaze away, concentrating instead on the figure kneeling with its head bowed low in front of the trio of thrones.
The person’s face was hidden by the hood of a long black cloak. Yuck, must be a sorcerer. Sorcerers tend to lean toward wardrobes befitting wizards in fantasy stories-long robes, pointy hats, gnarled wooden staffs topped with crystals and the like. Someone really needs to tell them that they are not Gandalf, and they need to join the twenty-first century with the rest of us. I noticed a slender man in a dark gray business suit standing behind the sorcerer, but I didn’t recognize him either.
Once we reached the other candidate I knelt as well, trying to look as graceful as I could manage.
“Greetings, Catherine Marie Morrow,” a voice in front of me intoned. I flinched at the sound of my True Name-usually I go by Catherine Baker. I’ve gone to great lengths to hide my True Name from the magical world, and here it was being shared in front of every damn faerie in the hemisphere. Great. My reaction was to be expected, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed the black-cloaked figure had flinched as well. I turned my head toward him as he looked toward me. I peered into the depths of that black hood and recognized him, much to my immediate shock, and my brain shut down as my mouth took over.
“Aw, hell no,” I growled. Leaping to the side, I knocked him off his feet and pinned him to the floor, and the man glared up at me with a mix of shock and hatred. “’Lo, Dad.”
I heard something like the rustling of a thousand wings at once and everything around me went black.
Chapter Three
Throughout my life there have been several times when I woke up and swore that my entire body hurt. Generally I knew the sources of the agonizing pain: moving furniture, an unusually brisk self-defense class, too much drinking. That pain was nothing compared to the complete and utter ache that dragged me back to consciousness, my mind kicking and screaming in protest the entire way.
I blinked my bleary eyes open and discovered a thick layer of blur covered everything above me. Concussion was my first thought, and I reached up to check the status of my broken head. My fingertips brushed my eyelashes and I realized my glasses were missing, which revealed the source of the blurriness. I fished around me for them but my hands found nothing but cool marble floor in my general vicinity. Slow and cautious I sat up, and the room did a lurching spin around me until it righted itself.
“Glasses,” I demanded of no one in particular. One of those multicolored blobs in my field of vision had to be a person.
“Here,” Lex said. My glasses were set into my outstretched hand and I put them on. He knelt at my side, and I glared at him. The hall had emptied out, leaving only the three Council members in front of me. Glancing behind me I saw both Portia and Tybalt, their faces grim, and that scared the hell out of me. Then I remembered why I’d been hit with the unholy huge whammy that knocked me out in the first place. I swore a vicious curse and leapt to my feet, rounding on my father who stood silently several feet away with the man in the charcoal suit standing behind him like a shadow. My hand went for the hilt of my sword, and I looked down in surprise when I didn’t find it there. Before I could do anything further Lex grabbed my arms and dragged me backwards.
“Calm down,” he warned.
“Lemme go!”
“Catherine, no,” Portia snapped as she appeared in front of me. The fact that she actually used my first name gave me a moment of pause-Portia’d never done that in the entire time I’ve known her. I took a deep breath and unclenched my fists.
“Murderer!” I spat at him instead.
“I am not responsible for what happened to your mother,” he replied calmly. It was the first time I’d heard my father’s voice in eighteen years. Amazing how much he sounded the same.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You let your vamp buddies tear her apart like a piñata, you bastard.”
The assembled faeries gasped at the language. Faeries don’t swear, or at least they don’t approve of the use of “oaths and curses” as they call them. I was too furious to care, and the angrier I am the more horrifying my language becomes. Lex gave my arms a squeeze in silent warning to control myself, but I continued to ignore him.
The memory was still so raw and painful, as though it had happened yesterday instead of over a decade ago. I could still see her broken body on the floor of our living room, her eyes wide and terrified, frozen forever, and still smell the awful stench of blood and death and worse. Fury burned inside me, and the floor beneath my feet trembled with it. There were no streetlights to attack here with my excess power, and that power was looking for somewhere else to escape.
“Lord and Lady, I will make you pay for what you’ve done.” My voice was deadly calm, and as the words left my throat something around me seemed to pop. I knew what I’d done-I’d sworn a vow in a faerie mound, a kinslaying vow no less-and invoked my gods at the same time. I was far too angry to care.
The faeries, however, did care.
“ENOUGH!” The word boomed through the room like a crack of thunder. I felt everyone around me step away as I turned and gave my full attention to the speaker. I knew who she was, even though I’d never met her in person before: Cecelia of the Silver Crescent, a truly stunning sight to behold. A frost fairy like my cousins, she looked as though she had been created from silver and moonlight, with iridescent hair falling almost to the floor and wings that glowed with their own light. Large blue eyes stared at me, disapproving, and I had the good sense to feel guilty under her gaze.