The Goblins of Bellwater

by Molly Ringle

  “I’m concerned too, but again, I don’t think I’m going to get into that subject with them.”

  Puget Sound almost never iced over, with its constant seawater flow in and out, but the high-water line from an earlier tide had frozen into a solid rope of seaweed and sticks. Also juice-box straw wrappers and snack-size chip bags. Livy paused to wrench the plastic and foil loose from the frosty seaweed, stuffed it into her coat pocket, then kept walking down to a square wooden dock belonging to Kit’s neighbors. The low tide had stranded the dock on shore.

  Livy looked at the sky. “Clouding up. Snow’s on its way.”

  Kit stepped onto the dock and walked a couple of paces on its creaking planks. “Yeah? They still saying that?”

  “Two to four inches overnight.”

  “Damn. Not nearly enough people came in to buy tire chains, then.”

  Livy put a snow-booted foot on the dock’s stone anchor, half buried in the mud. “I’ve been going out every night lately with that ring, trying to summon the locals. Get some answers.”

  “Still no luck?”

  She shook her head. “They haven’t shown. It’s like they’re refusing to deal with me until…it happens.”

  “Don’t take it personally. The fae—well, I’ve only met the goblin type, but I gather they’re all pretty weird by human standards. They don’t think like us or act like us.”

  Livy regarded his profile as he gazed down the island, the wind whipping his hair. “So, being the liaison. I imagine that’s put a crimp in your relationships.”

  He nodded, still looking off down the beach. “Can’t really tell anyone, and if you can’t tell anyone it’s not much of a relationship. Last person I tried to tell, other than you, was right after I inherited the job. My girlfriend at the time. She, uh…” He hunched his shoulders, burying his hands deeper in his jacket pockets. “Didn’t buy the story. Thought I was a jerk, maybe crazy. That was the end of that.”

  Wincing, Livy scraped her boot against the barnacles on the anchor. Exactly the way she’d reacted, and the way it would have ended, if Skye hadn’t dragged her back to Kit’s doorstep. “God, that must be lonely.”

  “I’ve learned to deal. The art, and doing what I can for people, it’s enough. But at first…well, when I said on our date at Carol’s that I understood about depression, that’s why. When I realized I was screwed and honestly couldn’t do anything about it or even tell people, that made life pretty dark. Still does, some days.” He shot her a brief smile. “At least I can talk about it with you guys now. Believe me, that’s huge.”

  She stepped up onto the dock next to him. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve listened, not stomped off.”

  “You already said. It’s okay.”

  “I know things haven’t been the same the last few days…” Unlike Skye and Grady apparently, Livy and Kit hadn’t indulged in any sex since she’d rocketed out of the cabin a few days ago on the heels of his revelation. “But it’s not because I want it to be over,” she added. “It’s just everything’s been so scary. And tiring.”

  “Plus we’re not under some aphrodisiac spell. Which is a real shame. They couldn’t have given me that instead?”

  She grinned. “Careful. Those deals may sound good, but there are always loopholes.”

  He flicked his hair out of his face. “I know it. Anyhow, don’t apologize. This isn’t…I mean, I hope it’s not over too, but the way it’s gone for me with women during the last seven years, thanks to all this—hey, even if it’s just casual, even if all you want to do is hang out, then I’d still count myself grateful.”

  She nodded, but something unflattering stabbed at her from within those statements. “Thus the ‘no strings attached,’ I guess.”

  “Right. Wouldn’t be my first choice, but it’s what I’m stuck with. I haven’t wanted to saddle anyone with my issues.” He kept his hands deep in his pockets. His gaze followed the ripples of wind across the water.

  “But if someone actually knew, and was willing to help…”

  He smiled, glancing at her for a moment. “Yeah. This is new. I hardly know what to think.”

  She smiled too, though anxiety still swirled around her like the incoming storm. “I know this was supposed to be casual, and I can do casual, but…well, let’s just say I’m open to more.” His clear brown eyes met hers, keen with interest. She shoved a loose curl back under her hat. “I mean, assuming we live through this, and all.”

  “I’ve been hoping you’d say that,” he said, with gentle surprise. “I’ve been hating to think I’d have to let go of you too. You’re the first I’ve…” He seemed to get shy, and huffed a laugh, looking away. “The first for a lot of things. I’m definitely open to more too, assuming you can still stand the sight of me after whatever it is we have to go through.”

  “Which I wish we knew.”

  “Maybe it’s better not to know.”

  Livy was about to argue with that when something white flicked across her vision. She lifted her face. A tiny, cold spark hit her cheek, then another on her eyebrow, and her lips. She held out her arm. Even in the deepening twilight, she easily spotted the white specks of snowflakes on the dark green of her coat sleeve.

  “Hey,” she said. “Snowing.”

  Kit tipped his head back. “Huh. So it is.”

  The wind gusted and the flakes thickened, cascading down past trees and cabins. Livy breathed in the smell of snow, as pure and cold as if the wind had traveled straight here from the peaks of the Olympic Mountains. “Skye and I should go soon. The bridge will be getting slippery.”

  “You guys could stay the night.” Kit kept gazing up into the storm. “If you want.”

  Livy considered it. Snowflakes pattered down around her nose and ears. “True. We’re not right up against the national forest over here. Got some water between us and them. Might even be safer.”

  “Could buy us a night.”

  “I’m betting Skye and Grady won’t mind sharing a bed.”

  Kit smirked.

  “Hey.” Livy stepped up to him, tilted her head, and kissed him.

  He caught the front of her coat to pull her closer. After a long kiss, he slid both arms around her and lowered his head to sigh against her neck. She settled her chin on his shoulder and stood holding him, watching snow collect on the beach.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  SKYE AWOKE. THE ROOM LOOKED LIGHTER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE FOR THE MIDDLE OF A WINTER NIGHT. SHE PEELED away from Grady’s sleeping warmth, and tiptoed to the front window of the cabin, shivering in her bare feet and T-shirt and a pair of soccer shorts borrowed from Grady. She caught her breath at the beauty outside. Everything glowed a magical subdued white. Three or four inches of snow muffled every surface except the dark expanse of water and the undersides of tree branches. The clouds lay thick overhead, reflecting the town’s lights.

  The soft breaths of her three companions rustled through the cabin, from Kit and Livy up in the loft and Grady on the sofa-bed. She registered their company, but couldn’t pull her eyes from the transformed landscape outside. She longed to be out in it, the way she always would feel when waking up to a beautiful snowfall, but stronger now. More feral.

  Something gave way inside her. The scrap of humanity she’d been clinging to now seemed about as inconsequential as a dead leaf. She relaxed her grip and let it fall.

  Though not dressed for winter, she eased back Kit’s deadbolt and turned the doorknob. It squeaked as the door scraped against its frame, and she paused, her heart beating fast. The slumbering breaths of the other three didn’t alter.

  Skye stepped out and shut the door gently. She gasped at the shock of the snow against her bare soles. Shuddering, arms around herself, she walked forward. Tiny snowflakes brushed her cheeks and lashes, like kisses. From the deck she stepped down onto the snow-topped gravel, and padded across it until she stood in the shadows under one of the largest trees, an alder between Kit’s property and the neighbor’s.

 
“I’m ready,” she whispered upward.

  She said it so quietly. They must have been waiting, for they responded at once.

  “Skyyyye. Daaaarling.”

  As if the snow was made of white clay, it curled up into spiral shapes on either side of a path leading between the trees. Teeth chattering, she walked down it. When she looked over her shoulder a few seconds later, Kit’s cabin and all the others on the island were gone.

  Redring and a dozen more goblins crawled headfirst down the tree trunks. They didn’t bother morphing into human form this time. Instead Redring reached out her twiggy fingers, a tiny round berry held between finger and thumb. “Warm up, my dear.”

  Skye opened her mouth and accepted the berry. It tasted like a black huckleberry, on the moldy side, but nowhere near as revolting as the fruit tarts from that first night. As soon as she swallowed it, warmth spread through her body, reviving the blood flow in her bare toes and fingers. In relief, she looked down at her feet, flush with warmth and wiggling unconcernedly in the snow. She felt like she was submerged in a pool of perfect temperature.

  “Welcome,” Redring said. “We are so glad. Shall we, new friend?”

  Skye looked around at the goblins. Their faces now seemed more diverse from one another, livelier, friendlier. Her tribe.

  She tried to remember her old tribe: her sister, mother, friends… sadness tugged at the back of her mind. Those memories were fuzzy, and she shoved away the sadness. She’d had enough of it.

  She smiled at Redring. Smiled. God, how good it felt. “Yes. How do we get off the island?”

  They cackled.

  “Oh, that is easy.” Redring stretched out her arms, which lengthened and became wide, dark wings. A heron’s beak grew on her face, and her legs became skinnier, her toes elongating into bird talons. Five of the other goblins changed too, until a group of extra-large blue herons hopped about in the snow. “When we are done with you two tonight,” Redring added, her voice now croaking like a heron’s, “you will be able to do this, as well.”

  You two. “My mate will come?” Already his human name seemed insignificant, nothing worth remembering. He’d have a new one soon. They both would.

  “How could he resist, sweet one?”

  Skye lifted her chin and repeated the vow: “I’m ready.”

  The six herons wrapped their talons around her arms, three on each side. They beat their wide wings and lifted her into the air. Snowflakes ghosted past. Twigs and heron feathers swiped her nose and legs. They broke through the canopy and Skye gasped in wonder. How gorgeous the wild island and the inlet looked from up here, all frosted with snow. Across the water sprawled the vast forest: home.

  As they soared across the inlet toward the woods, Skye began to laugh. In fact, she cackled.

  Grady awoke with the impression he had heard something. The bed lay empty beside him, and he looked around the shadowy room for Skye. It had been so sweet to fall asleep next to her, and too easy to sleep deeply. He threw back the covers and crept across the room until he could see that the bathroom door stood open and no one was inside. He turned to the front window, caught sight of the snow-blanketed deck and beach, and drifted across to look. He settled his hand on the doorknob, feeling a strong pull to go out. That might have been what he heard—Skye slipping out ahead of him, following the same urge.

  Grady hesitated, unmoving, hand on the cold metal, listening to the barely-discernible sounds of Kit and Livy breathing upstairs. Goodbye, he thought, with only the slightest twinge of regret, nothing at all like the torture he’d gone through when trying to compose a will the other evening.

  Everything was all right now. Or would be soon. He felt light as a snowflake.

  He slipped outside and silently shut the door behind him. Shivering in his socks, pajama pants, and T-shirt, he followed Skye’s footprints until they stopped under a tree. He looked up into the branches. Falling snow scattered across his face, making him blink. “I want to follow her,” he whispered. “Let me come too.”

  A handful of voices giggled above, and a glow caught his eye from below. A path appeared in front of him, lined on both sides by curled snow sculptures that reminded him of seashells. Skye’s footprints led down it, filling up with falling snow. He followed the prints until they stopped again.

  “Thank you, clever boy,” a voice said.

  Grady saw a tarnished brass key, dangling low, followed by the goblin who wore it as a necklace. Somehow he knew it was a she. She crawled headfirst down a tree trunk, barely a foot from his face.

  “Hi,” he said, unconcerned.

  “We could not summon you. Rules are rules. But if you summon us, then all is well!” She and the rest of the goblins laughed.

  Grady nodded, still shivering, arms wrapped around himself. The snow was soaking through his socks.

  “Here.” The goblin thrust a huckleberry toward him.

  Some faint part of his mind screamed, Don’t eat anything!, but he’d left that portion of himself too far behind now to heed it. He had come to be with his mate. His tribe.

  He ate the berry. The chef in him cringed at the dismal quality of the fruit, the moldiness of the flavor, but he dismissed that thought too. And soon forgot it in the delightful rush of warmth that flooded him. Even his sodden feet burst back to full comfort levels.

  “Better?” the goblin asked.

  “Oh yes.”

  “Ready?” She changed into a giant bird—as did all the others.

  He watched, pleased, and felt himself smiling. “I am.” He unfolded his arms and reached up to his new tribemates.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  LIVY KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG EVEN BEFORE SHE OPENED HER EYES. SHE LAY LISTENING, BUT HEARD NOTHING except Kit’s steady breathing. No wind from outside. No sound from Grady and Skye downstairs.

  She loathed to climb out of the luxurious warmth of the bed. It was her first night staying over with Kit, and she’d found it cozy even though they hadn’t tried to have sex, not with Skye and Grady within earshot. She longed to cuddle up close to his heat and go back to sleep, but…not if something was wrong.

  She slipped out of bed, shuddered at the drafty air, and padded across to the loft’s half-wall to look down into the living room. The house was dark, but the snow coating the ground outside sent a filtered light through the windows, enough to see by. Enough to tell the sofa-bed’s blankets were thrown back, and the pillows unoccupied.

  Livy darted to the spiral stairs and flew down them, mostly trying to stay quiet, but increasingly letting go of that concern in the face of panic.

  They weren’t in the bed. They weren’t in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or anywhere in the house.

  “Kit!” Her voice shattered the silence. She ran to the front window, then to each of the side windows, looking out in vain. No one moving. Nothing to see but snow. People had died of hypothermia in conditions like this…

  Kit’s feet thumped on the floor upstairs. “Liv? What is it?”

  “They’re gone! They’re not here.”

  “Shit.” He thundered down the stairs to the front door, which he flung open.

  They stuck their heads out into the icy air.

  “Footprints.” She pointed.

  They looked at one another.

  “I’m suiting up,” she said.

  Within two minutes they were both dressed for outdoors, in snow boots, coats, and gloves. They ran out into the cold. Livy wore the gold ring on a length of yarn around her neck to keep from dropping it, and clutched her gloved hand around it.

  They followed the footprints, seemingly Skye’s and Grady’s both, until they stopped under the large alder at the edge of the property.

  “They just disappear,” Livy said in wonder.

  “They took a path.” Kit’s face had tensed, hardened. “Into the fae world.”

  “I thought that wasn’t supposed to happen from the island!”

  “Well, it can. Just doesn’t usually.”

  “Oka
y.” She turned to him. “You have to go somewhere else. Out of sight, off where you can’t hear me. I have to summon the locals and I have to be alone.”

  He nodded, and took her by the shoulders. “Listen. I don’t know what they’re going to have you do. There’ll probably be weird rules, things that don’t make sense. So…if there’s some kind of magic where they need a sacrifice, someone’s life, someone taken into their world forever—I’ll do it. Give them my name. I mean it. Mine, not yours.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “You kidding me? I’m saving all four of us. We’re not handing over lives tonight.”

  “Livy.” His voice was almost just a breath. His grip tightened on her shoulders. “It may be you don’t have a choice. If that’s how it is, pick me.”

  “What fun would I have around here without you?” Her voice cracked a little.

  “I love you. Shit, I haven’t loved anyone for—I don’t know, ever. I want you to know that. But I also want you to pick me if you have to pick anyone. The rest of you have more to live for.”

  The tears in her eyes blurred his face. “I’m not sure I can promise that. Because I love you too.”

  “Nah, you don’t. Maybe you could someday, and that alone makes me happy. So go save those two, okay?”

  “I do love you,” she insisted.

  “But you love Skye more.” When she hesitated, he added, “As you should. So go.” He let go of her. “Bring them back.”

  She stepped forward and locked him into a long kiss, storing up all the details in case she never saw him again: the soft warmth of his lips, the bristle of his beard, the cozy lingering scent of pillows and sleep. Then she pulled back, bracing her shoulders. “Okay.”

  “Good luck with that magic shovel.” They both smiled as bravely as they could manage, then he turned and walked away.

  She waited until he was around the cabin and out of sight. Then she wiped her eyes, drew a deep breath of the snowy air, and wrapped her hand around the ring on its chain. “I need your help,” she told the silent trees. “Please come.”