Looking at Zee, Nick suddenly felt that this was how it was supposed to be. They had crossed over into new territory sometime in the night. It was at odds with his usually cautious character, but Nick didn’t look back at the bridges burning behind him. Instead, he looked at Zee, who smiled at him as if he were truly a knight in shining armor. And he felt a bit knightlike that morning. It was strange, but she was getting to know a part of him that Nick himself had never met, a part dredged up out of his psyche by a set of circumstances he could never have imagined.
Of course, while he liked this new man of broad thoughts and action, Nick wasn’t sure whether he was elated or horrified by the suddenness of the change. He generally didn’t like alteration to his life or schedule—especially not of the abrupt variety. In his experience there was almost always a downside to rushing into anything.
He just prayed that this time he was wrong.
The trip began slowly. Zee was grateful because she still wasn’t used to automobiles, and she doubted the children had ever been in one. Nick was careful on the melting snow as they headed for the main road, making sure they didn’t slide around. He turned east when they hit the paved road. They were heading back into Nevada and then south; they would travel toward the desert, moving along the base of the mountain’s spine, looking for any fracture that might indicate an entrance to Cadalach.
A part of Zee was nervous and warned her to remain alert, but she was also very tired, and Nick seemed more than competent when it came to handling this machine. She hovered fitfully between sleep and wakefulness.
She was still conscious when they drove through the first town—though she thought that was a generous description of what was really just a wider stretch of road with a few buildings.
“I don’t like this place,” Hansel muttered.
Zee didn’t, either. It was an eerie spot, deserted, with one traffic light that went through its cycles even though there was no traffic to direct. The whole situation was creepy—the houses were strangely dark, the diner and gas station closed, though the string of lights in the window of the service station’s mini-mart blinked on and off at regular intervals, and frost-fallen leaves still stiff with cold scratched loudly on one another as they skittered past the car, driven by a sudden gust of wind, their dry voices frightened as they fled down the deserted street.
Zee turned her gaze to Nick. He looked at her for a moment and then gazed upward at the chimneys. He had noticed, too. There were no fires in the fireplaces, no faces in the upstairs windows, nor even footprints in the melting snow of the walkways that wended up around the town’s few houses. This was a ghost town. It reminded her of the forest when she was out hunting for Nick’s tree: Every living thing had hidden itself or fled.
“Christmas,” Nick murmured mostly to himself. She knew what he was saying. Probably everyone had left for the holidays, and all that remained were the machines—the timers on the lights, the VCRs— giving a semblance of life.
“Everyone left?” she replied just as softly, not wanting to alarm the children. “What are the odds of that?”
Nick rubbed his temples. She sympathized. Between the voice of worry, their sudden attraction and the children’s constant chatter, her head hurt, too.
“My brain’s turning into a Tower of Babel,” he said, again as though he could hear her thoughts— and perhaps he could. She seemed to be growing steadily more attuned to his. “They must have left town. What else could it be?”
“Maybe you’re right, but don’t stop,” Zee said suddenly, laying a soft hand on his leg. The muscles jumped. “It isn’t . . . nice.”
Nick nodded. He was apparently having a strong moment of intuition that agreed with her assessment of their situation. Ignoring its command to halt, he drove through the intersection against the red light.
“We need gas,” he said. “But there is another town some twenty miles on. We’ll stop there.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Wake me when we get there.”
The town and its feeling of sticky uneasiness fell away as soon as it was out of sight, and suddenly feeling overwhelmingly tired, Zee closed her eyes. Sleep was not the refuge she hoped for, however. She came awake as soon as the highway widened and Nick picked up speed, returning to wakefulness with her nerves and frozen lungs screaming that she was trapped down in the ground, someplace darker than the hive, a place that was more like a grave. Even with her eyes open and testifying that she and the children were safe and above-ground, it took a long while for her to calm enough that she felt she could open her mouth without screaming.
It was the monster! He had come close again, that creature at the mall. She was certain that it was the hobgoblin who’d stalked her dreams, searching for her location. He had looked into her eyes and smiled and said, “I am only reasonably avaricious— less greedy than most CEOs you’ve ever heard of. And I work toward a worthy cause. Why not join me? Don’t you want to be avenged?”
And a part of her had wanted to believe him, had responded to the voice that wormed its way inside her head, leaving a clammy trail of evil behind that was with her even now.
It was just a dream, she assured herself. But that assurance didn’t help much when the nightmare images kept playing out before her eyes.
How do you know it’s a dream? Is it a wish your heart made? a rough voice asked. The monster?
“Do you hear anything?” she whispered to Nick.
“No. Just the engine.” he answered.
But it wasn’t the engine she heard. The monster had begun to hum—again. She’d heard the sound before in some other nightmare. The sound grew louder . . . and then he was there! It was just a watery reflection in the glass, but she could see him, smell him.
There was other movement as well. She looked beyond his reflection, down a long corridor, and saw something terrible at its end. Unable to pull her gaze away, she watched tiny, foreign-looking goblins cavort to some unheard music. Irrelevantly, she marked that rhythm had overlooked this particular hive. Then she realized that they weren’t dancing; they were writhing around in the green dust on the cave floor. She didn’t know these strange goblin faces well enough to judge whether they were contorted in ecstasy or if these lutins were in pain, but either way, she knew they were dying from that green dust, and that somehow this creature in the glass had made it happen.
Isn’t that just as it should be? the rough voice asked, brushing her ears with its diseased breath. Still in her head, it refused to be banished even by the end of her dream, even by her waking. It was getting louder, clearer, closer, too.
Why do you run from me? I can almost see you. The monster suddenly reached for her, his clawed hand emerging through the windshield of the car. It stopped just short of her chin, groping as though it knew she was there.
A scream began to build inside her, one that would escape, tearing out her throat and lungs! It would fill the car and shatter the glass of the windshield—
Then Nick reached over and squeezed her hands, and the monster recoiled and disappeared with a snarl of frustration. All Zee’s pent-up fear dropped away, too, escaped like air from a balloon. A wall of white noise went up between her waking mind and her subconscious, and she couldn’t hear the horrible voice anymore. She managed to pull herself the rest of the way into wakefulness.
“Bad dreams?” Nick asked, his voice low.
“Yes,” she whispered, tightening her grip on his hand. “But they’re gone now.”
He gave her a concerned look, so she smiled in reassurance.
It was silly, but she truly felt better when Nick touched her—she was stronger, smarter. Just . . . better. He was human and therefore couldn’t possess any real magic, but somehow he helped with the fear. Maybe it was something about his humanity that kept the shadows at bay and forced the horrible voice out of her brain.
Zee exhaled slowly, letting muscles unknot themselves from their painful bundles. She lectured herself about her new pessimism and chronic fear as t
hey sped along the highway.
Why was she afraid? They were heading for Cadalach and at high speed. Nick believed her and would help her convince the fey of what had happened. They would stop the monster from doing this horrible thing—whatever it was—and the faeries would know how to keep her and the children safe in their dreams until the monster was dead. Everything would be okay. It had to be.
“It will be okay,” Nick said softly, as though she had spoken aloud. “I promise. Everything will be fine.”
And though there was no reason to, Zee believed him.
Nick felt odd: mostly wonderful, but not himself. Actually, part of him felt pretty terrible. He was tired and very aware that his body was full of bones and joints that were past their first youth and flexibility. He especially felt it in the vertebrae of his spine. Though all his skeleton had legitimate grievance, the small bones of the spine protested loudly their night on the cabin floor, carrying on like it had been a bed of broken glass and nails instead of wood. And they would probably go on protesting until he promised not to do it again. And maybe even longer—just to teach him a lesson. The only thing that would shut them up was a double chucker of ibuprofen, which he didn’t want to take until he found somewhere to stay for the night; Ibuprofen was great with pain but it, like almost all drugs, made him sleepy.
And he didn’t want his senses dulled—for many reasons, not the least of which was that he hadn’t felt so alive in at least a decade. Maybe longer.
Nick realized more than ever that his recent years had not been a real life. The ghost was right, though he hated to admit it. Every tomorrow he had been waiting for was shaping up to be just like every today, which was just like every yesterday—all of them essentially empty. Though he had saved a lot of people, given them the greatest of gifts—or at least prolonged that greatest of gifts—he still had no one to share his important thoughts with. There was no one who smiled when he did because they shared his sense of the ridiculous, or loved sundaes made with mocha ice cream and butterscotch sauce, or walking in the rain without shoes.
Consequently, he’d been drifting. It was productive drifting—useful and necessary and financially rewarding—but he hadn’t been building a path to ward any particular future. It had all seemed blank, the same, every day repeated endlessly until the end of his life. Why make the effort to build a road to nowhere? he’d thought. Drifting would get him there eventually.
Fortunately, drifting without expensive hobbies had allowed him to pay off his student loans and even accumulate a nest egg. He was glad now that he had some money set aside. He’d gladly trade it all— and all the money he’d ever earn, and maybe even his very life—to keep Zee and these children safe.
A part of him realized that this was an extreme reaction, not a feeling he had ever before known. It was, in fact, quite alien. But the feeling was there and quite real, and he had to face the fact that he hadn’t been his normal self for several weeks now. Not since the ghost had shown up.
The voice in his head chose that moment to clear its throat.
What? Nick asked, immediately wary. Can’t you see I’m brooding here? Show some respect for my privacy.
Yeah, I know you’re brooding. It’s just that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this whole what-is-normal thing for a while now.
Talk about it how? Nick thought suspiciously. He glanced left. The reflection he saw looked a bit like someone who belonged in a detox ward.
Are you sick? he asked the ghost in sudden concern. You look older.
I’ve felt better—manifesting is hard work. But never mind that. We need to talk about what is and is not normal for you. You see, what you are feeling for Zee right now—it isn’t all that alien, under the circumstances.
No? Then how come no one I know has jumped off the emotional deep end, doing a love-at-first-sight to end all other love-at-first-sights? Are you going to tell me that everyone else in the world actually does feel this sort of thing but has managed to keep it a secret from me?
Of course not. You don’t know anyone who has reacted like you because—well, you don’t know anybody like you. You aren’t like your friends, Nick. Not entirely. You see, you aren’t quite a hundred percent human.
That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said, Nick thought indignantly. Just because I’m devoted to my work and a bit antisocial—
No, it’s not that. I mean you aren’t human. Literally. At least, you aren’t all human.
What the hell are you talking about?
This may be hard to accept—
Just get on with it. How am I not human? Nick’s hands tightened on the wheel.
One of your ancestors about three generations back had a sort of close encounter of an amorous kind with a powerful pixie. Your mother’s father.
A pixie! The car swerved slightly, and Zee sent Nick a mildly alarmed look. He tried to smile reassuringly.
“Thought I saw a bird in the road,” he muttered. Then he added to the ghost: Look what you almost made me do! Stop making up stuff, okay? At least stop while I’m driving.
Sorry, but I’m not lying—it was a pixie. And being lovestruck she, uh . . . well, a child resulted. Her family has tried to live it down ever since. Your fey ancestors have been on the run for a long while. Do you remember how your mother used to turn your pants pockets inside out before she’d let you go outside?
Nick frowned as he looked at the shadowy face in the window. He recalled vividly, now that the ghost brought it up. It had been damned annoying, too; he’d always been teased by the other kids. He would put his pockets back in as soon as she was out of sight, but occasionally he would forget to turn them out again before he got home, and his mother would have a fit, sometimes shouting and sometimes crying. Eventually, when he and his sister continued failing to cooperate, his mother took to sewing their pockets shut and insisting they always carry salt.
Well, that was a way of keeping the pixies away, the ghost explained. Your mother was always afraid they would try to come and claim you, since you were the first male offspring of the line. It’s why you spent so much time with your father’s family. They lived a long way from any magical beings and had a knack for keeping the fey away.
The ghost asked abruptly, Do you recall the story of Peter Pan, and how a fairy died every time someone said that they didn’t believe? Well, there’s some truth to that. Some humans have that power. Your dad’s family was sort of like . . .
A roach motel for magical beings, Nick finished for him. He didn’t like the thought, but it fit a little-understood pattern that had always been in his subconscious. He thought about his family’s constant watchfulness, and their extreme disapproval whenever he or his sister said something whimsical or played with good-luck charms. This could explain why he had always felt suffocated by them—at times even to the point of physical illness.
His ancestors killed fey—anything magical, in fact— dead. Not with weapons, but with their thoughts. The entire clan is psi-null, too. Meaning . . . they are like the anti-matter of the fey universe. Psychics can’t work around them either. They cancel out magic in any place, in any form. That blood had thinned by your father’s generation, so his family’s presence wasn’t physically fatal to you or your sister, but there was enough anti-magic left to keep the pixies away.
The pixies and one cheery old elf. No wonder Christmas had always been so joyless. What was a holiday without magic—even if was the magic of faith? It also explained why he thought of his family as toxic personalities and unpleasant people, even though they were well-liked and respected by everyone else.
Precisely, the ghost agreed. They are toxic to you. And it wasn’t that they believed too little in your mother’s story. It was that they believed too much, and were afraid for you and your sister. They do care about you, Nick—at least the parts that are human. If they could have exorcised the fey blood in you, they would have.
Nick felt slightly stunned and more than a little cold.
&n
bsp; So, that’s why Mom stayed with Dad—even though she was miserable and they fought all the time.
Yes.
Damn it! Why didn’t anyone say anything about this? Why leave me and my sister in ignorance? We had a right to know.
I don’t know why they stayed silent. . . . Fear that you and Prudence would chase forbidden fruit, perhaps. You and your sister always were rather stubborn about disobeying rules. And perhaps your parents would have told you if they had lived.
It was true that he and Prudence had always been willful and resourceful when they were young. Running off to play with pixies would have seemed a great game.
So, what does all this mean for me? Why is this happening now? Have the stars come into some weird alignment?
No, the heavens are still where they should be. All it means is that you have another reason to go to see the fey—for I believe that this is happening now, not because Mercury is in retrograde or anything like that, but because you have encountered your first magical being and it’s woken up some dormant power inside of you. It’s kindled the candles of your soul. It’s time for enlightenment.
Nick thought about this.
Zee’s magical?
Yes, she isn’t just part goblin. She’s fey, too. The name Finvarra is an old one—older than even she knows.
Is it wise to go to the faeries, though? My mother clearly wanted to keep me away from them. She must have had a good reason. Zee seems afraid of them, too. And the children are very afraid.
At this juncture, I think it’s the only thing you can do. You’re up against things that you have no experience with, and I suspect that your feelings will only get stronger and harder to control the longer you are with Zee.
The ghost was right. All this—his feelings, Zee, Zee’s monster—it was all way beyond anything he had ever dealt with. He needed help.
This is why you’re really here, isn’t it? Nick asked the ghost. You’re not here to save my Christmas spirit, or even my soul. You’re here to make sure that I—
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