My scream rang through the quiet night. I bolted to my truck and wrenched the door open. A white owl swept out of the dark trees, wings beating fast.
Saber! What’s wrong?
“Get in!”
He flashed past me as I jumped behind the wheel. The truck tore down the long drive, and I turned onto the main road at high speed, rubber squealing. Halfway down Quarry Road, flashing lights lit the pavement. An ambulance appeared around the bend, sirens wailing. I clenched my jaw, breathing hard through my nose as it sped past.
Saber? Ríkr asked quietly.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t form thoughts coherent enough to share with him. All I knew was that my life as I knew it was over. Again. My gaze flicked to the horizon.
Fuck the Rose Moon.
Chapter Eleven
A white cat landed in my lap, startling me so badly my limbs spasmed.
Saber. Ríkr’s piercing blue gaze bored into me. Snap out of it. This is accomplishing nothing.
I blinked, and my eyelids dragged over my eyeballs like sandpaper. How long had I been staring at nothing? With a few more blinks, my eyes started to water, cooling the burn, and I took in my surroundings. My tiny living room. I’d returned home. Outside the window, dawn tinged the horizon. I’d been sitting here all night?
Closing my eyes, I focused on the feeling of air moving in and out of my lungs, using it to ground myself in my physical body. Numb disconnection threatened to overtake my mind again.
“I can’t go back to prison,” I whispered.
As I spoke the words, flashes of sight, sound, and emotion assaulted me—handcuffs, jail cells, sneering faces, condemning voices, barren cots, empty concrete rooms.
You won’t. Ríkr stared into my face. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t alone. I am with you this time.
I lifted a trembling hand and stroked his soft back. He wasn’t a pet and didn’t enjoy being treated like one, but he didn’t stop me.
You didn’t kill the witch, he said. Why would the mythic authorities blame you?
“Because I was there. If they rule it a murder, they’ll blame me.”
The MPD didn’t work like the human police. There were infinite ways to kill someone with magic, and they didn’t need to know how a murder had been committed if they had a solid case otherwise. I had a criminal record that included murder, no alibi, and a clear motive. I’d recently uttered a death threat, and Laney had caught me standing over the body.
And most damning of all, I was an unsociable, unapproachable, violence-prone woman who gave off distinct “crazy” vibes. When you closely resembled people’s idea of a serial killer, they looked for guilt, not innocence.
I’d be convicted again, and the MPD didn’t give second chances. Repeat murderers got the death penalty.
“And if you come,” I sang under my breath, “when all the flowers are dying … and I am dead, as dead I well may be.”
Ríkr’s claws unsheathed, piercing my jeans and stinging my thighs. Enough. What’s our next move?
I raised my head to squint at the window. “We … we could run for it. Disappear. Start again somewhere else.”
But if they didn’t rule Arla’s death as a murder, I would have banished myself for nothing.
I pressed my clenched fists to my forehead. Was it a murder? Arla had died in a closed room. Laney had last seen her alive forty minutes before I’d arrived, and no one could have gone up the stairs without Laney noticing from her spot in the living room.
Arla hadn’t appeared injured and nothing had disturbed the room. She’d probably died of a stroke or heart attack.
Not that magic was incapable of killing someone in a way that mimicked natural causes. But who would want to kill Arla?
I pictured her office. The Crystal Druid’s bounty page had been on her computer screen, along with a satellite view of the crossroads’ location north of Summit Trail. I hadn’t told her about the druid’s plan to visit the crossroads; I hadn’t been aware he was interested in it when I’d talked to her.
She’d known about the fae attacks the druid was investigating, and she’d known the crossroads was related. If she’d run into him, then her sudden, inexplicable death wasn’t quite the mystery it seemed, was it? “The Ghost,” as he was known in Vancouver’s criminal underworld, had a widespread reputation for cold-blooded murder.
“They’ll blame me for Arla’s death because I look like a criminal,” I told Ríkr. “But what if there were a criminal worse than me who could’ve killed her?”
He narrowed his eyes. Are you suggesting the druid engineered her death?
“It doesn’t matter if he did it. It just needs to look like he did.” I pushed to my feet, forcing Ríkr to leap onto the floor. My stiff muscles ached in protest. “If I can find out what’s happening around here and what that druid is up to, I can tie him to Arla’s death. What’s one more murder charge on his record?”
My life was on the line, and I had no issues sending a known killer to the gallows in my place.
Let me guess. Ríkr trotted after me as I headed to my bedroom. We depart immediately.
“Yes.” I pulled a small backpack from my closet. “We’re going to the crossroads.”
On foot, the hike to Dennett Lake took about three hours. On a dirt bike, I could cover the same ground three times faster.
The engine snarled as I shifted gears, clumps of soil spraying from the tires as the bike tore up the trail. It bounced over rocks and tree roots, low-hanging branches flashing past, but I didn’t let up on the throttle. The trail curved, and I leaned hard into the turn, the wheels skidding across the dirt.
Ahead, the trees parted, revealing Dennett Lake. I sped to its western edge, then cut the engine and dismounted. I wheeled the bike into a dense thicket, hooked my helmet on a handlebar, and pulled a few branches in front of it. I’d rather not walk home if someone stole the bike.
I turned to the west and lifted my long ponytail off the back of my neck, the breeze cooling my skin. Though the mid-morning sky was overcast, the temperature was still rising. It wouldn’t get as hot up here near the summit, but I’d be sweating by noon.
Dennett Lake was pretty but small, with a sheer cliff on its far side, the gray rock studded with pines. Barely sparing the picturesque view a glance, I started toward the waiting forest. No paths connected the lake to Summit Trail, and the quarter mile separating them was too rough for the bike. If I’d ridden a horse, it would’ve been a different story, but I didn’t want to risk another living creature’s life when I had no idea what to expect at the crossroads.
I steadied my breathing as a low-level burn settled into my calves. The trees weren’t dense but traversing the rocky, uneven ground was a workout. At least I was in good shape.
Away from the noise and exhaust of the dirt bike, my senses attuned to the mountain forest. Fresh, earthy scents filled my nose, the breeze softly rustling branches while birds chirped endlessly. Tension slid from my muscles and I settled into a more relaxed stride.
Would I have to leave this place? Leave the rescue. Leave Dominique and Greta. Leave the animals I’d helped nurse back to health, the pastures and the house, my cozy little apartment above the stable. Leave the woods and the mountains.
My chest constricted at the thought.
I puffed out a relieved breath when I reached Summit Trail, the hard-packed dirt easy to distinguish from the mossy, root-tangled rock I’d been hiking across. As I sat on a fallen log to rest my legs and drink some water from my backpack, beating wings sounded nearby.
A white hawk swooped out of the sky and landed beside me, oozing smugness. Have a pleasant walk, dove?
“Screw off,” I muttered.
How rude.
“If you were a more powerful fae, you could transform into a bigger bird and carry me.”
If I were more powerful, I would have consumed you instead of becoming your familiar.
Fair point. As a talentless witch, I didn’t have much to o
ffer a familiar. I turned my arm up to see my inner wrist where, invisible to the naked eye but gleaming in shimmery azure to my witch’s vision, a twisty rune the size of a quarter branded my skin. It was my and Ríkr’s familiar mark, binding us together.
I tilted my wrist, watching the mark glimmer. “Why did you become my familiar?”
He fluffed his feathers. Boredom, mostly.
I sighed. He never gave a serious answer to that question.
Ríkr flew ahead as I started up Summit Trail. The path grew steeper and steeper, and my legs started to burn all over again. The temperature rose as the morning wore on, forcing me to strip off my leather jacket and stuff it in my bag. In a loose navy-blue racerback tank, I continued the hike, my swinging ponytail brushing my shoulders.
It took twenty minutes to reach the summit, and another ten minutes of hiking along it before I found a gap in the trees to see north. The Coast Mountains swept away toward the horizon, the forested peaks interspersed with deep valleys. A couple yards beyond the trail, the terrain dropped away into a steep-sided valley overflowing with coniferous trees—and somewhere down there was the crossroads.
A flash of white wings. Ríkr was circling fifty meters farther down the trail.
I hiked to him and found a dry streambed that meandered downward. I followed it into the valley, where it connected to a burbling creek. Soon after, I was deep in the valley, the creek leading me through the forest. The breeze was softer and warmer, the air buzzing with insects and birdsong. Squirrels raucously chided me for invading their territory.
Ríkr landed on a tree branch. He’d switched to the agile form of an all-white jay, and his crest fluffed up as I joined him.
Do you feel it? he asked.
I let my eyes half close. The first thing I felt was the tranquil but aloof energy of the forest. The sluggish aura of the slow-growing pines wove through the bright, urgent life of the summer flora as they raced to bloom and disperse their precious seeds before winter took their lives. The quick, sprightly energy of wildlife flickered among the plants, just as urgently. In the harsh mountain climate, summer was a crucial time of fertile bounty.
Beneath nature’s flow of life, I could vaguely sense something else. Something more. A deeper power that harmonized with the forest, yet … didn’t quite belong.
I turned slowly, homing in on the feeling. “That way?”
Exactly so. He flitted onto my shoulder. Onward.
Leaving the creek behind, I ventured into the trees. “What should I expect?”
His feathered head bobbed with my strides. Difficult to predict, dove. The crossroads is ever changing.
“What do you mean?”
It is shaped by the power flowing in and out. Some comes from the places to which it connects. Some comes from the beings who tread upon it.
The feeling of alien energy grew stronger until it crackled up my legs with each step, and before I realized I’d crossed the unseen line between the mundane world and the ethereal realm of the fae, I was in it.
Pale mist drifted among the dark, shadowy trees. Draped from their boughs, vines of small blood-red flowers glowed faintly, swaying like eerie garlands. I brushed them aside, my footsteps deadened by the thick carpet of moss and scattered flower petals. Oppressive quiet had fallen, and though it was close to noon, the light had dimmed to the bluish tinge of dusk.
Drenched in the hazy murkiness, pale stone columns rose out of the ground, twice my height and shaped into delicate arches. The unfamiliar architecture, carved with leaves and vines, was ancient and crumbling.
“This is the fae demesne?” I whispered.
An edge of it. He rustled his wings thoughtfully. This place is to our world as a tidepool is to the ocean.
Staring around in wonder, I climbed over a fallen pillar and continued on. More stone carvings stood among the trees, wrapped in flowering vines. The mist deepened, and I could barely detect the forest’s energies anymore. My senses were overwhelmed with ancient fae power.
With a shimmer of blue light, Ríkr transformed into a furry marten, his front paws gripping my shoulder and his hind legs braced against my back. This is unusual.
“What is?”
The crossroads should be lively with my kin. It is too quiet. He canted his head. But … ah. The druid is here.
“Where?” I demanded as a knot of anxiety in my chest released. I’d told the druid about the crossroads yesterday afternoon. He’d had plenty of time to investigate and leave, and I’d had no guarantee he’d still be here.
Ríkr leaped off my shoulder. This way.
His bushy white tail flashed between trees. I hastened after him, thankful for the moss muffling my steps. Ríkr led me into a cluster of crumbling pillars that had probably been a grand structure in the ancient past. The draping vines, heavy with flowers, grew thicker until I was pushing through them like curtains.
Druid?
The unfamiliar, sibilant drone drifted through my mind. My steps faltered.
Druid?
I looked over my shoulder, unable to see much through the vines. The voice seemed to be calling from that direction.
“Ríkr,” I whispered. “Should we go this way?”
No reply from my familiar. I glanced back but couldn’t see anything except endless red flowers. I didn’t know which direction he’d gone.
Druid?
A fae was calling for the druid—which saved me the trouble of finding him. Since I couldn’t see Ríkr to follow him, I started toward the call instead, moving cautiously. It wouldn’t take Ríkr long to realize he’d lost me and backtrack.
The pale mist swirled restlessly even though the air was still and heavy. My nose itched with the sweet fragrance of the blossoms as I padded over soft moss. Ahead, the trees parted, revealing a clearing with a small pond, less than thirty feet wide, in its center. A thick layer of reeds surrounded its banks, and ripples danced across the murky water’s surface.
Druid.
I paused in the shadow of a semi-opaque pine, scanning for any sign of movement, then ventured into the open. Ten feet from the pond, I stopped. The water rippled as though something were moving beneath the surface. The reeds closest to me rustled.
You are not the one I called.
“No,” I agreed. “But I’m also looking for a druid.”
The reeds shook as a dark, slimy shape pushed through them, peeking at me. Why?
“Why should I tell you?”
More of the creature appeared, covered in wet aquatic leaves and green algae sludge. Are you his ally?
“No.”
Are you his enemy?
“Maybe.”
The shape lifted above the reeds, soggy leaves hanging off it: an arched neck topped by a bulky head concealed in rotting vegetation. What vaguely resembled a horse’s muzzle protruded from the slimy mess, except its mouth bristled with jagged teeth.
Do you wish him dead?
I considered the fae. “Maybe.”
Its mouth parted—opening like an alligator’s—and a long black tongue licked its thin lips. A bargain, pretty one? I will help you kill him if I may devour him afterward.
“Do you have a grudge against him?”
A grudge? No, pretty one. I wish only to taste the sweet nectar of his power.
This fae wanted to devour him because his spiritual energy tasted good? Another reason druids rarely reached old age, it seemed.
Lure him to the reeds’ edge, the fae hissed in my mind. And I will strike.
I slid my hand into my jeans pocket, fingers closing around my switchblade. “What do I get out of this deal?”
I will kill the druid for you.
“Who said I need help killing him? If you want in on this, you need to offer me something I can’t get on my own.”
A gurgle erupted from the beastly head. The sound resembled a laugh. What do you desire, pretty one?
“Make me an offer.”
The fae was quiet for a moment. Do you seek the same
answers as the druid?
Aha. “Interesting question.”
I know why Death has come to this mountain. I know of the creature he seeks. I will tell you once I have devoured him.
Hmm. Its offer had potential, but I couldn’t blame Arla’s demise on the druid if this fae ate him first.
“In that case,” I began, “I—”
A hand closed over my mouth from behind.
I jolted violently, and the fae threw his head up in equal surprise. Another hand grabbed my wrist, forcing my fist deeper into my pocket so I couldn’t pull out my knife.
Warm breath washed over my ear. “You weren’t about to agree to his offer, were you?”
Chapter Twelve
The druid’s husky whisper shuddered down my spine, and I threw my head sideways, trying to bash his face. He tightened his hold on my mouth and jaw, forcing my head back into his shoulder.
“I knew you were charming, but plotting my death with a kelpie?” Sarcasm dripped from his deep voice. “And Balligor, I distinctly remember you saying only a few hours ago that you had no idea what was killing fae around here.”
A wet grumble rolled off the slimy fae among the reeds. You offered me nothing of value. But if you give me the pretty one, I will tell you.
“Treacherous, isn’t he?” the druid murmured. “He would have killed you once I was dead, you know.”
As though I hadn’t expected as much. I grabbed his wrist with my free hand and tried to wrench his hand off my mouth. His fingers dug painfully into my cheeks.
His lips touched my ear, his whisper almost soundless. “Keep struggling and I’ll let him have you. You’re way too close to the water.”
My gaze darted to the fae’s dark head. We were only a step away from the reeds, though I could’ve sworn I’d stopped ten feet away from the pond.
The fae opened its mouth, displaying rows of jagged fangs pointing in every direction.
“Don’t even think about it, Balligor,” the druid barked, pulling me harder into his chest. “I have business with this one.”
Then do your business with her quickly. I hunger.
The One and Only Crystal Druid (The Guild Codex: Unveiled Book 1) Page 8