Call to Arms (War of the Fae: Book 2) (25 page)

“Gregale.
 
Are you going to tell me about the pixie, or am I gonna kick you in the ass?”

“Ah, I think I shall tell you about the pixie.”

“Thank you.”

“Pixies are members of the smaller fae.
 
I did not say ‘lesser fae’.
 
Be careful that you do not confuse ‘small’ with ‘weak’.
 
No, it is actually better if you consider ‘small’ to mean ‘concentrated’.
 
Sometimes, some of the strongest magic comes from the tiniest individuals.”
 
He started strolling in random patterns around me as he described the pixies in detail.

“Pixies are a very, very old fae race.
 
Maybe one of the oldest.
 
They pre-date our written records.
 
They are a playful race, not concerned with much more than dancing, laughing, singing, and skipping through the flowers.”

“Wow.
 
They sound horrible.
 
No wonder you keep them trapped in jars.”

Gregale looked at me sideways, deliberately ignoring my sarcasm as he continued.
 
“Their power lies in their ability to seduce and charm other fae.
 
You see
,
pixies don’t understand why the other fae are always so worried about anything other than having fun, dancing, laughing, and singing.
 
So, as soon as they see fae doing anything other than those things – like going to work, practicing skills, managing their households, or what have you – they decide they need to intervene.
 
They work their pixie magic on the unsuspecting fae, and the next thing you know, the charmed fae is dancing around, playing and singing and unable to do anything else.
 
They don’t even
want
to do anything else.
 
They lose their will to live, essentially.
 
Some of them have been known to dance themselves to
death
.
 
The pixie charm is
very
hard to break
;
in fact, anyone who’s been charmed by a pixie and then had the charm broken, is always a little ‘off’ in the head.
 
We can never get them back totally, and believe me, all the best witches have tried.”

“Have you been pixied?”

“That is not funny.”

I giggled.
 
“Yeah, it kinda was.
 
Admit it.”

“No.
 
I know people who have been pixied, and it is not funny at all.
 
Not really.”
 
He tried valiantly to keep his smile from emerging, clearing his throat several times.

“I saw that.
 
You smiled.”

“No, I did not.
 
This is serious business.”

“Well, do you think there’s a chance that you and the pixies just have some sort of misunderstanding?”

“No, there is no misunderstanding.
 
Pixies have charmed hundreds of fae over the centuries, always with the same result.
 
They are not to be trusted.
 
Whenever they are discovered in an area inhabited by other fae, they are captured and bell-jarred until they can be relocated.”

“Where do you send them?
 
To a leper colony or something?”

“No.
 
To a pixie colony.”

I laughed.
 
“Of course you do.”

“You find all of this so amusing.”

“Yes, I really do.
 
I mean, the parallels to my human world are there, but they’re like, sick and funny at the same time.
 
I’ve always been a fan of sick humor.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Okay, so Mr. Know-it-all, what do you think would have happened if I had released that pixie?”

“He would have flown out, pixied you, me, and everyone else in the compound he could before he was caught again – and the witches would have had their hands full trying to get us back from the land of eternal playtime.”

“I think we have the same thing in Florida, only it’s called daycare and the little kids eventually grow out of the pixie charm – what with all the adults around them telling them to behave and stop acting that way all the time.
 
Maybe the witches should just try a heavy dose of scolding and time-outs as a remedy.”

Gregale brushed me off with a simple shake of his head.
 

Oh well, whatever
.
 
I wasn’t happy about the pixie story – it still didn’t seem right to capture him just because he wanted everyone to be happy all the time.
 
I wondered if he would have talked to me or just pixied the shit out of me first if I had lifted that jar.
 
I couldn’t get him totally out of my mind, even though Gregale moved on to other topics.

I later stopped his two-hour discourse on the lifespan and natures of the various elf races to ask him about psychological warfare.
 

“So, my friend Finn, who’s a green elf, mentioned that there’s some psychological warfare going on right now.”

Gregale’s eyes nearly glowed with excitement over this change of subject. “Oh yes, for certain.
 
It is a very effective tactic in modern warfare.”

“Do you think it’s actually happening to people we know?
 
Even us?”

“It could be.
 
Why do you ask?”

“Because there’s been something going on that’s really bothering me.
 
Psychologically you could say.”

“Tell me.”

I could see that I had his complete attention.
 
I quickly gave him the basics about the situation with Tony.
 
He nodded his head in all the right places.
 
When I finished he stood still for a minute – I could almost see the ideas sifting through his head.

“You say that this person Ben just appeared in your town?
 
You are sure he wasn’t there before?”

“I’m sure.
 
Tony even said it.
 
And the guy lives right down the street from Tony.
 
From my family too, actually.”

“Can you get a physical description from Tony?
 
A picture even?
 
Many fae can disguise themselves, but not all of them.
 
Perhaps we could do a search of our contacts to determine if he has been seen before.”

“Do you think he could be fae?”

Gregale shrugged.
 
“It is possible.
 
Not likely, but possible.
 
Like we discussed earlier, you have been targeted.
 
This means
you are considered high value by the Dark Fae
.
 
If they thought they could get to you through your friend, they would do it.
 
It is fair to say that the Dark Fae will stop at nothing in their campaign to win.”

I looked Gregale right in the eye.
 
“Tony means everything to me.
 
If they mess with Tony, they mess with me.”

Gregale looked around fearfully and then moved closer to me.
 
“
Shhh!
 
Do not reveal such things about yourself out in the open like this.
 
It is not safe.”

I backed up a little bit, confused.
 
“What do you mean, it’s not safe?
 
I thought we were in the Green Forest.”

“We are.
 
But we are not always alone.”

“Do you mean there are Dark Fae here?” I whispered fearfully, wondering why I didn’t have a daemon with me.
 
Chase was down, but surely they had substitute daemon
body-guards
around.

“There could be.
 
Or there can be charms or spells left here by Dark Fae witches that capture and report information back to the Dark.”

“Then why are we allowed out here at all?”

“Well, for one we
need
to be out in the forest.
 
We are fae.
 
And second, we are not defenseless.
 
Only the unaware can be taken by surprise.”

“Well, maybe you’re not defenseless, but I pretty much am.”

“Don’t be silly.
 
I have been told that your powers are quite substantial.”
 
He looked pointedly at my leg.
 
“And you wield the Dark of Blackthorn.
 
That is no trifling weapon.”

I looked down at my stick, pulling it from its sheath and holding it out in front of me.

Gregale took a small step backwards.
 

“It’s very small.
 
It’s basically just a sharp stick.
 
Why is everyone so afraid of it?”

Gregale laughed.
 
Gently at first and then louder and longer, until eventually he was in full-on guffaws, tears streaming down his face.

“What?” I asked, half laughing myself.
 
Something I said had been really funny, but I had no idea what.
 
“
Gregale,
shut the hell up for a second and tell me.”
 
I stepped towards him to put my hand on his shoulder, but the movement put him in an instant state of panic.

He swallowed his laughter and looked at me cautiously.
 
“You really do not know what you have in your hand, do you?”

“Yeah.
 
I do.
 
A fucking sharp stick.
 
Sure, it’s burned a couple people ... but most of the time it just sits there being a stupid stick, not much good for anything but kindling.”

Gregale breathed out a deep sigh of disbelief.
 
“Put it away and I will tell you about the Dark of Blackthorn.
 
This could be the most important lesson you learn today.
 
Maybe ever.
 
But first, tell me, how did you come to be in possession of this weapon?”

“When the changeling test started we were given our choice of weapons.”

“And you chose this one?”

“No, it was chosen for me.”

“By whom?”

“By default really.
 
Everyone picked a different weapon and I was the last one to pick and this stick was the only thing left on the table.”

“So it picked you then.”

I looked at him like he was nuts.
 
“I wouldn’t say that.”

Gregale ignored me.
 
“Well, remember how I told you that in the fae word, ‘small’ doesn’t mean ‘weak’ it often means ‘concentrated’?”

I nodded my head.

“Well, that is the case with pixies and it is
definitely
the case with the Dark of Blackthorn.”

“Why do you keep calling it that – the Dark of Blackthorn?”

“Well, because that is its name.
 
A weapon of this stature, of this notoriety, always has a name.
 
This particular weapon is named for its original ... owner, The Dark.”

“The Dark?
 
That was his name?”

“Not ‘his’ name.
 
‘Its’ name.”

“
It
who?”

“I don’t understand.
 
It
was The Dark.”

“
Shit
, here we go again.
 
You fae love to mess with me.
 
Okay, tell me this.
 
Who is Blackthorn?”

“The more interesting question is how are you associated with the Blackthorn?
 
Because the Dark of Blackthorn only works for the members of the Blackthorn line, and from what I saw in Dardennes’ office when you used it on Ivar, you
are
of the line.”

“My mother’s maiden name is Blackthorn.”

“No!”
gasped Gregale.

“Yes!” I fake-gasped back.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Um, yes I can.”

Gregale smiled, shaking his head slowly back and forth.
 
“Dardennes never ceases to amaze me.
 
None of the gray elves believed his
changeling recruiting
plan had any merit, but we went along with it just to give him enough rope to hang himself.
 
And yet here you stand.
 
The first in a group of fae recruited to our cause.
 
A true Blackthorn, actually
wielding
the Dark of Blackthorn.”
 
Gregale continued speaking, but it seemed more like he was talking to himself than to me.
 
“Oh my brethren are going to be tickled pink to hear of my day.
 
And to think I was taunted for having to spend the day with a changeling.”
 
His attention snapped back to me.
 
“Remind me to shake his hand at dinner later, will you please?”