Evidently there were limited locations where the fairy could access the human world. The garden behind the house with its statue was one of them. "What did they discuss?" Lourdes asked.
"I wasn't invited along," Imogen said, "so I've no idea. He left angry, although not with his mother, which made me suspect they discussed Miss Doherty."
Lourdes relayed her strange interchange with the woman on the steps of the hotel earlier. "I don't know what she was threatening," Lourdes said, "but I don't trust her."
Imogen shook her head. "Finn told me he was concerned she might burn down the hotel to get at you. As part of the logic behind what he did to your clothes, I mean. Since my mother-in-law--my first husband's mother, not Gorey's--has a gift for fire, I know it's possible. I don't think Miss Doherty can touch this house, so you're safe here, but…"
Lourdes hadn't realized that fire was the threat likely posed by Brighid Doherty. Fire was a great concern in an area where so many buildings were made of wood. When she went back to the guest room, Lourdes changed into riding garb again, a divided skirt in brown twill and a fresh shirtwaist, and rode back over to Finn's farm, determined to warn him.
It wasn't until she neared the stable yard that she saw something was amiss. Hands ran about in the stable yard is a frantic manner, and smoke rose from the stable nearer the house. Lourdes spurred the gelding forward. She was too late.
When she reached the stable yard, Lourdes jumped down and tied the gelding's reins to the paddock rail. The fire was in the center of the larger stable. Hands were filling buckets of water at the trough in the stable yard and running in through the main door. Others led panicky horses from inside the stable out to the main paddock.
She spotted the head trainer, Mr. Reid, jogging past. "What can I do?" she yelled at him.
"Stay out of our way, ma'am," he yelled back.
Lourdes surveyed the flurry of motion about her. Best to let Finn's trainer handle the fire on his own. A dozen feet away from her, one of the stable hands was barely managing to hang onto two horses, so she tried to reach them instead. Calm, she thought at them.
The two--a stallion and a gelding--settled. She went and laid one hand on the gelding's halter. "Where are you taking the stallion?"
"Lower paddock, missus," the boy said, his eyes wide in his dark face. "Can't get 'im to cooperate, no ways."
Go with him, Lourdes ordered the stallion. The horse rolled an eye at her but didn't fight. "I'll tie the gelding here," she told the boy, grabbing the lead rope. "You take him on down."
The boy nodded jerkily and he jogged off, the stallion trotting behind him.
No!
Lourdes looked at the gelding whose lead rope she held, then at the horse Imogen had lent her. That denial hadn't come from either of them. It was too clearly a word to be a horse's thought anyway. She stepped farther from the geldings, trying to pinpoint the source.
No, it came again, angry and…frightened.
Finn? She couldn't see either him or the dark horse anywhere. She turned and surveyed the paddock behind her. Nevada was there with all the other mares, but no stallion. The hands were still dragging horses out of the larger stable, but they seemed less frantic now, as if the fire was under control. Where are you?
Lourdes closed her eyes to hear more clearly. She could make out the shouting of the stable hands, the whinnying of a horse out in the pasture, and the wind blowing past her ears. She didn't hear any response, as if that lone voice had now been stilled. Where had it come from? That voice in her head had been farther away than the burning stables.
She tied the gelding's lead rope to the fence next to her borrowed mount's reins and then ran in the direction of the smaller stable. She pushed open the main door, stepped inside, and peered down the quiet aisle. None of the horses in the stable were moving, not a single whinny or kick. Perhaps they were all too afraid.
There in the center of the aisle stood Brighid Doherty. The woman had her back turned, but Lourdes didn't need to see her face. Red hair fell down her back like flames licking at her green dress. Her head turned ever so slightly, making Lourdes think she'd been heard entering, but clearly the threat she posed didn't warrant acknowledgement.
She tried again. Finn?
There was no response, but one of the stall doors swung open. The ragged boy she'd seen with Miss Doherty in town stepped out of the stall. He led the dark horse by a silver rope harness--Finn. Shaking and sweating, Finn stumbled, but the boy didn't pause.
Lourdes watched, horrified. Finn should have been able to tear free of the boy's control easily; such a lightweight would pose no challenge to a horse that size. Even so, he dragged himself on in the boy's wake. He began to blow heavily as if he were injured, a terrible sound.
"Well done, mite," Miss Doherty said to the boy.
Lourdes didn't know what to do. "Leave him alone," she shouted.
Brighid turned halfway and favored Lourdes with a dismissive look. The boy led the horse to his mistress' side and gazed up at her adoringly. He held out the silver rope. "Here he is."
Finn was shaking, his breathing still ragged. The rope had been looped about his head with a simple slipknot. He should have been able to shrug it off. Most horses wouldn't put up with that. Somehow that slender rope was forcing Finn to her will. This was what she'd meant in town, when she'd said Finn had no choice. Miss Doherty--Brighid--had simply planned to steal him.
"I need you to bring him with us," Brighid said to the boy. "Just drag him along. He'll follow." She turned to face Lourdes, one slender hand on Finn's withers. "Go claim some other horse, woman. This one's mine."
"You have no right to take him," Lourdes protested.
Brighid laughed. "And you do? Tell me then, what is his true name?"
True name. According to the book, there was great significance to a fairy's 'true' name. If Brighid learned that, she could force Finn to her will, couldn't she? "I would never tell you."
"I didn't think you knew," Brighid said, and turned away as if Lourdes no longer had any significance.
Lourdes cast a quick glance out the stable door, but saw no one outside. The fire in the other stable probably still had all the hands busy.
What do I do? she asked silently, wondering if Finn could hear her at all. He stamped one foot but didn't reply. He stood under Brighid's light touch, shaking. He looked ready to collapse.
Ignoring his distress, Brighid drew one hand in a circle, her mouth moving silently. Lourdes watched, unsure what she was seeing. Was it a spell?
Then the air seemed to split, a spot of nothingness opening above the ground. It formed a glowing ring. The bright air inside showed a grassy plain, the image wavering like a mirage on a hot day. Shocked, Lourdes stepped back, caught her foot on something, and fell back on her rump.
The ring of nothingness slowly widened until it touched the floor of the stable. On the far side of that ring, Lourdes could just make out Brighid's form as she took the boy's hand and led him into that wavering air. Finn followed grudgingly, disappearing into that spot of daylight.
"No!" Lourdes cried, but there was no one there to hear her.
The ring of nothingness began to contract, a door closing after Brighid and her unwilling captive. Lourdes pushed herself off the dirt floor, picking up the tool she'd stumbled over as she did so. The hole in the air was getting smaller, not tall enough to walk through any longer. She stood there for a moment, wondering when someone would show up to help her, when someone would come to save Finn. But no one came.
She got to her feet. "What do I do?"
And then she heard a faint voice in her head. It sounded like angel's voice in the dream--the dream that sent her after Nevada a week before. "Follow."
She pressed her eyes closed for a second, listening for that voice, but it was gone. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the door into somewhere else was almost closed. She was running out of time.
So Lourdes jumped through the hole in the air…and landed on
her face in the grass.
***
Lourdes woke in the middle of a field, the air still and heavy about her. It was midday, or close. She wiped grass seed from her face and then brushed a grasshopper from her skirt. There was no sound but the birds and insects. She felt dazed, for a moment uncertain what she was doing in the middle of an unknown field. In her left hand she held a hoof knife. She stared at it, trying to figure out why she would have such a thing in her hand, particularly when there didn't seem to be a horse anywhere about.
It didn't look old, but the blade was bronze, an unusual choice when steel blades were inexpensive and held their edge. It had to be Finn's.
And that thought brought back the reason she'd ended up in the middle of this field. She'd come here after Finn, to save him. It was a ludicrous thought. What could she do? Through the fabric of her shirtwaist, she touched the medallion that hung about her neck--that of Saint Anne, the patron saint of horsemen and women.
Lourdes closed her eyes and prayed. Glorious Saint Anne, filled with compassion for those who invoke thee and with love for those who suffer, heavily laden with the weight of my troubles…
She opened her eyes, unsure of the propriety of what she was about to request. Given what she knew now of Finn's background, she didn't know if he was Christian or pagan. It was most likely the latter. He was a horseman, though, by any definition. Surely Saint Anne would watch over him, even if he didn't pray to her.
So Lourdes finished the prayer. She slid the hoof knife under her belt so that the curved blade faced away from her, then rose to her feet and took a good look around.
The grassy plain spread for some distance in every direction. There was no evidence of the stable she'd stood in before ending up in this place. In fact, she didn't see any sign of man. She couldn't see any buildings, no roads, no wires. She was well and truly in the middle of nowhere.
She had to be in the faery realm, but that book she'd read hadn't prepared her for this. She was on her own here, without guidance. She noted a path through the grass though, heading toward a distant line of trees. A horse would have left such a path. So Lourdes took a deep breath of the warm grass-scented air and started walking. She had to find Finn. There was no way around it. If nothing else, he might have some idea how to get home.
Part 6
The air was still. The trees looked like pines but they didn't quite smell right, with a spicy scent instead. Lourdes kept walking, following the trail of the horse. It wasn't difficult, hinting that either Brighid was so certain of her power here that she needn't fear being followed, or that she intended for Lourdes to dog her trail. Neither boded well.
At one point Lourdes did spot a herd of horses in the distance, running under the warm sunshine. She briefly considered trying to call them over, but she didn't know how likely these horses were to respond to her. If they'd never been around humans, they would have no reason to heed her. The risk of being trampled wasn't worth it. Besides, for all she knew, they were relatives of Finn's….not true horses at all.
She stopped for a moment, gazing at the path ahead of her and chewing her lower lip. The trail had begun to look like a deer path. She wasn't a tracker and couldn't be sure she was following Finn any longer. There were recently bent twigs along the pathway, but that could have been done by a deer--or a bear for all she knew. She didn't recall reading anything about the animals that inhabited this realm. The thought of a bear sent a shiver down her spine. Or a mountain lion. Did they have those here? That was the last thing she needed to worry about now.
A squirrel scrambled down a tree ahead of her, a round fellow with a bushy black tail, far smaller than the bear she'd feared. She'd never seen a black squirrel before, so she watched as it dug a small stone loose from the hard-packed trail. He picked it up with tiny paws, turned, and flung it at her feet. Then the creature gazed at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to chase it.
Lourdes stood there with her mouth hanging open. In her experience, squirrels had little more going on in their brainpans than sheep. "Do you want me to follow you?"
The squirrel curled his arm in an unmistakable gesture.
He was no more a squirrel, she suspected, than Finn was a horse, so she set off after the creature as it sped along the path. It occasionally stopped and looked back, as if checking to be sure she followed him. Lourdes did her best to keep up, just hoping not to twist an ankle or trip over a tree root.
A squirrel was leading her through the woods. It occurred to her that of everything that had happened to her in the last few days, this was the most like something out of one of the Grimm's tales.
***
The creature had been leading her along the path, but diverged from it just as she was beginning to think they'd reached the end of the woods. She was exhausted, and her feet were very angry with her day's travels. She was hungry, but that book had said humans who ate or drank in the faery realm were trapped there forever. She couldn't know if that was true, but didn't dare risk it.
She had finally figured out what had struck her as odd about that boy who'd been with Brighid. His ragged clothing was out of date--by a long time, perhaps more than a hundred years. And the only explanation she'd been able to figure out for it was that he'd been living in the faery realm all this time. Lourdes didn't want to risk that herself. She didn't want to emerge from this place into a time not her own. She would just have to stay hungry.
When the squirrel stopped at the edge of a clearing and patted a spot on the bare ground, Lourdes stared at the creature. "You want me to sit down?"
The squirrel repeated the gesture firmly.
It seemed a waste of time. "If you are Saint Anne's idea of aid," she told it, "you haven't done your job."
The squirrel patted the ground again, so Lourdes gathered her skirts around her and sat down at the base of one of the pine trees. A pad of old needles made the ground softer, at least. She could see into the clearing, but didn't think that someone who crossed the clearing would notice her. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked her guide.
The squirrel settled on its haunches and leaned forward, staring intently into the clearing. Lourdes joined the creature in staring. "I don't see anything."
The squirrel chittered at her, something about its demeanor suggesting irritation. Lourdes suspected if it had another rock handy, it would toss it at her. It leaned forward again, this time with a more exaggerated motion. Sighing, Lourdes leaned forward, imitating it.
She felt a puff of wind against her face, and then abruptly…it was night. She jerked back in surprise, and the light of day surrounded her again. The sensation reminded her of leaving the hot sun and walking into a cool house. There was a threshold there, between day and night. That was what the squirrel had tried to show her. Taking a deep breath, Lourdes leaned forward again.
This time it seemed more like the first time she'd opened her eyes under water, viewing a different world. In the clearing in front of her it was, indeed, night. A vast fire burned there, and around it were gathered people of strange and ethereal beauty, perhaps twenty or so. They reminded her of the angel from her dreams, faces unlined by age or care. The revelers had a sameness to their appearance, the very perfection of their features rendering them alike. They dressed as if come from a hunt, and to one side of the clearing she could make out tall mounts with delicate antlers, stags of some variety.
None of them noticed her face at the edge of the clearing, so she waited a moment longer, trying to see whatever it was that had made the squirrel bring her here.
One of those near the fire was a woman with hair the color of sumac at the end of summer. Her haughty demeanor didn't mark her as different among these folk, but Lourdes had no doubt that the woman was their queen. The others deferred to her, seemingly congratulating her on some matter. That woman had to be Brighid, even if she looked different--slimmer and more brittle--here in this place.
Fairies had an ability to cast a glamour, Lourdes recalled, that human eyes c
ouldn't pierce. She wondered whether the glamour was what made Brighid seem so perfect here, or what made her seem different in Saratoga. Which appearance was the truth?
Then off to one side, away from the light of the fire, she spotted a dark form huddled on the ground. It was Finn, still a horse but lying on the ground, bound there with many silvery ropes. He was on her side of the fire, fortunately, or she would never have seen him.
Lourdes withdrew her head from that strange realm back into daylight. She found the squirrel looking at her expectantly. "What can I do?"
The squirrel ran to her and clambered up her skirt. Before Lourdes could escape the familiarity, the creature touched the curved blade of the hoof knife she'd slipped under her belt and scampered back to the ground.
She'd forgotten the thing. Lourdes tugged it free from her belt. Surely she could saw through those ropes with it. She turned to the squirrel, wondering if the creature had further advice for her, but it clambered up the pine tree and was gone before she could ask.
How could she get to Finn without being noticed? Surely the fairies didn't want anyone stealing him back, but she had no idea what they would do to her if they caught her. Would they kill her? She closed her eyes, gathering what courage she had. It was a moot point. She had come to this place to find Finn, and if she didn't retrieve him, she had no idea how to get back.
She looked down at her white cambric shirtwaist. Her brown skirt was dark, but the shirt would be a beacon in the darkness on the other side of the barrier. She unknotted the shawl from about her neck, then unbuttoned her shirt cuffs and rolled her sleeves up as high as they would go. Then she unbuttoned the neck and folded the high collar down. The black shawl went atop that. She crossed it over her chest and tucked the ends into her belt. It covered much of her shirt, which should help camouflage her. She picked up the knife and, taking a deep breath, pressed her face through the barrier again.
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