The Morrigan's Curse (6 page)

Bedivere cleared his throat. “What if I offer to provide secure and pleasant living facilities for any Kin seeking sanctuary from the conflict? We'll take no one by force. Jax, you and your liege lady can inspect the premises.” He met Jax's eyes and didn't patronize him with a pat on the hand. “I want to see the Emrys girl spared, if we can. Even if you doubt my humanistic motives, you must believe I have no desire to see the Emrys family decreased further and the eighth day endangered.” He tilted his head slightly toward the other side of the table, where Sloane and Bors sat.

Bedivere doesn't trust them either.
Jax extended his right hand. “Can we shake on it, sir? That you'll keep neutral
Kin safe? That you'll block any plan to eliminate the Emrys family?”

Jax heard the intake of breath around the table. It was pretty bold to use Bedivere's own talent against him, and Jax wondered if he'd gone too far. But Bedivere didn't seem angry. He clasped Jax's hand. “You have my word. I will not approve any action designed to deliberately result in the annihilation of the Emrys family, and I'll guarantee the safety of any neutral Kin in my care to the best of my ability.”

It was a carefully worded statement, and Jax understood there were probably clever ways around it. He hadn't gotten everything he wanted, and Addie was still in danger. But Jax saw respect in Bedivere's eyes and felt the tingle of magical potential in his handshake. Considering this was his first time facing the Table, Jax didn't think he'd done too badly.

CALVIN BEDIVERE'S SUPPORT DID
not sway the council, however, which voted six to four in favor of a preemptive strike during the seven-day timeline if the Llyrs' hiding place was discovered. Sheila Morgan did tell Jax they would try to “incapacitate” rather than “annihilate,” although that didn't comfort him much.

After the meeting, Oliver Bors headed for the door with Roger Sagramore on his heels. Sloane followed, but made a point of passing by Riley on her way out. “Just so you know,” she said, flipping her long brown hair over one shoulder, “a cheap suit and a bad haircut don't make you look any less like a punk.”

“Stop checking me out, then,” Riley replied.

“You wish!” Sloane hissed.

After Sloane left, Carlotta Lyonnesse approached Riley. “My dear boy, I am so very sorry about your family. Your mother and I weren't
closely
related, but I felt her loss
all the same. I don't know if you remember, but my granddaughter dated one of your cousins . . .”

“I remember,” Riley said gruffly. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching his hands, while Carlotta ran through condolences for seemingly every deceased member of his family. Riley stood there and endured it.

Jax was trying to think of a way to rescue him when he heard footsteps behind him and turned to face Sheila Morgan. She had such a powerful personality, Jax had forgotten how tiny she was, just like her daughter Deidre. “You did well today,” she said. “Both of you.
You
took everyone by surprise, and
he
made a good impression without overreaching himself—like Sloane did. It's a shame you came late. You missed her getting a smackdown from Pellinore.”

Jax
was
sorry he'd missed that. “We came late on purpose,” he explained. “Riley wanted me to apply for the Emrys seat in front of the whole council. He was afraid I'd be turned away without a full vote if we came early.”

“Not a bad strategy,” Sheila said. “It's enough of an upheaval for three vacant seats to be filled at one time. But to have you show up as a solid voting block—Pendragon, Kaye, and Emrys—that's thrown off the balance of the entire Table. No wonder Lyonnesse and Bedivere are making friendly overtures.”

Is that what they were doing? Jax glanced around. On the other side of the room, Bedivere was engaged in
conversation with Mrs. Crandall, while Pellinore watched with crossed arms and hunched eyebrows.

Dulac and Bors always voted together, Jax guessed. And from the way Sagramore had left the room in their company, he was probably their ally. Now three new votes threatened their power at the Table.
Sloane must be hopping mad!
Bedivere seemed to be neutral, along with Sheila. Pellinore was abrasive, but at least he wasn't in Sloane's back pocket.

“Can you help me out with something?” Jax asked Deidre's mother. “I'm still trying to learn who everybody is and what their talents are. How was Lyonnesse related to Riley's mom?”

“They were distant cousins. The Lyonnesse talent is linguistics—mastering any language, spoken or written. Riley's mother was from a branch-off line and had a similar talent, limited to spoken language.”

“How about Sagramore?”

“Sagramore is a facilitator. He can't do anything on his own, but he can link the talents of other people to produce new and creative results. An ironic talent for such an unsociable man.”

Did Sheila Morgan just make a joke? Jax hadn't thought she possessed a sense of humor. “What's the Bors talent?” he asked.

“You don't know? Aren't they
your
relatives?”

Jax tried to figure out the relationship on his fingers.
If Ursula Dulac had been his great-aunt, then her son Oliver would be some sort of cousin—maybe once or twice removed?

Sheila got tired of waiting. “The Bors talent is suppression of magic within a certain radius. The more of them working together, the larger the suppression field. That might be useful for fighting the Llyrs, although Oliver and his brothers don't have experience in anything more combative than the floor of the Stock Exchange.”

“And Pellinore?”

Sheila almost smiled. “You've heard of werewolves?”

Jax gasped. “No. Way.”

“I'm exaggerating, but not by much. If you ever have the chance to see him in action, you'll never forget it.” Jax's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, staring at the bearded man across the room, but Sheila didn't give him much time to dwell on the idea. “Now
you
tell me something. Brownie holes. It's true? You can get into them?”

“Yes.” Jax ripped his gaze away from Ash Pellinore.

“What sort of military application do they have?”

“Uh . . .” How was Jax supposed to know? “I used them to sneak around the Dulac building. And I was able to move in time a bit. Backward or forward by a couple hours.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is it true what Oliver said? They lost the only person who could grant other people access?”

“Yeah, their spell caster was the expert.”
Was
the expert. Now Dorian was the expert.

Suddenly, Jax realized why Sheila was talking to him when there were other, more important people in the room. She was doing exactly what she'd said Bedivere and Lyonnesse were doing: making friendly overtures. Jax was
worth
something to her. He had inside knowledge of something she saw potential in.

That was why he dared to ask, “Can my liege lady request a favor of you?” Sheila arched a dark eyebrow, but Jax plunged on. “Bedivere said he'd take in Kin refugees, and I know of a house that's full of them—mostly children. We could use help moving them to safety before something bad happens to them.”

“Why would I be interested in this?” Jax understood she wasn't being cold, just blunt. What benefit did she gain from transporting a bunch of Kin orphans?

“Because there's also a Kin woman living at that house who might help us. When I was there a few weeks ago, she went into a trance and told me the Llyrs were escaping from Oeth-Anoeth. I'm pretty sure she said this at the exact moment it was happening, all the way across the ocean.” Jax smiled. “Would someone with that kind of talent interest you, ma'am?”

Now, Sheila truly smiled back, and her face didn't even crack.

ADDIE RISKED A GLIMPSE
out the window, and the sight of the ground so far below made her feel dizzy. Her first time in an airplane had been after her rescue from the Dulac prison—and on that occasion she'd been more worried about the Transitioner planes pursuing them and the lightning Bran was using to fight them than how high off the ground she was. All her life, Addie had seen Normal airplanes hanging motionless in the sky on the eighth day, but that was different. Magic held them there. Addie knew the power of magic. What was holding this plane up while it flew? Science? Addie had no faith in the power of science.

Neither, apparently, did Bran. He'd questioned Madoc extensively about the plane and especially about the Normals who serviced it. “If the mechanics don't excel at their job
and
keep their mouths shut,” Madoc had explained, “they won't receive their exorbitant salary.”

Normals were motivated by money, according to Madoc,
which was why he'd spent centuries acquiring it. Addie wondered what the Normals thought of their mysterious, anonymous employer. When Madoc first started amassing his fortune in the early 1700s, communicating through the use of handwritten letters wasn't unusual. Now, Normals conducted business with phones and computers and other devices Addie had never seen in operation, but according to Kel, Madoc issued instructions to his employees the old-fashioned way and paid them well enough not to question it.

Madoc's money would finance their search for the Treasures of the Kin, but once they were found, it would be up to Addie to use their power to weave the eighth day into the Normal timeline and end the exile of her race. To do this, she would have to master a spell that had confounded her father—a spell that might not have been successfully cast since her ancestor Merlin did it centuries ago.

So, before they boarded the plane to Vermont to speak to the Corra oracle, Addie had met with Bran Llyr for her first tutoring session. The sun had just risen over the ocean when she joined him on the patio outside Madoc's living-room windows. “What can you do?” Bran had demanded of her without any kind of welcome.

Addie glanced around, unsure of what he wanted. Her eyes passed over the embers of last night's bonfire—cold, dry, scattered embers, because
last night
had really been a week ago. Seeing the remains of the fire, she made up her mind to give Bran the best she had, rather than build up to it. She
snapped her fingers and, with a purple starburst of magic, produced a five-inch flame that danced on the tips of her forefinger and thumb. It wasn't the invisible magic fire her father had taught all his children as a defensive spell, the one that burned her palms and drained her of energy. This was an actual flame, although it didn't burn
her
. She smirked a bit.

Bran's expression didn't change. “So, you can light Madoc's cigarettes without a match. Is that all?”

The smirk fell off Addie's face.
Is that all?
Sure, the fire starter she'd copied this magic from had been able to do it naturally; that had been his
talent
. The point was that Addie could mimic his talent so effortlessly. “I can also write curses,” she said, shaking the flame out and trying not to sound huffy. Addie had picked up all kinds of things from the refugees passing through the Carroway house. It had been against the rules for the residents to share their talents with one another. But Addie had sharp eyes, and she wasn't afraid of a spanking when caught.

“Can you defend yourself?” Bran asked, tapping his staff on the patio stones and throwing out his other hand.

Addie saw a wall of white flying toward her before she was slapped to the ground by a gust of wind. Her rear end hit the stones, followed by her elbows, and very nearly the back of her head. She propped herself up, gasping, until Bran dropped his hand and the wind ceased instantly. “Obviously not,” Bran observed.

Sucking in air, Addie thought of a barrier spell she might
have used to block the wind.
Too late now.
At least she could show him she was a quick learner. She jumped up and thrust both hands out. Bran's long white hair rustled slightly in a faint breeze. It wasn't as impressive a display as she'd hoped for, but she shrugged. “It takes practice for me to get it right. But I can do wind now. Thanks.”

Bran looked down on her impassively. “How does a spell caster copy the magic of others without casting spells?”

“I am casting spells,” Addie corrected him. “I just learned to do it without all that silly ritual stuff—symbols and incantations. I don't need them anymore.”

“You can't
change
your talent through learning,” Bran said. When Addie shrugged again, he pressed her further. “You said you were taught this by someone. Who?”

“An old woman,” Addie said, watching his face to see if he figured it out. “Really old. You could even call her a
crone
.”

Bran Llyr was skilled at not giving away his thoughts, but Addie saw the skin tighten around his eyes as he considered her answer. Then the quiet of their surroundings was broken by several Aeron boys running along the beach, yowling with mischief and mayhem, and Madoc emerged from the house to ready his plane for their journey, followed by Griffyn and Ysabel.

Addie's private lesson came to a premature end.

The airplane dipped. Addie felt the sensation of falling in her stomach and looked at Kel, but he seemed perfectly calm. However, Griffyn, seated with Ysabel a row ahead,
threw a newspaper he'd been reading to the floor. “Tell your father to stop that!” he growled at Kel.

“He has to descend,” Kel replied. “We're almost at our destination.”

That made Addie squirm in her seat more than the drop in altitude. The Carroways were going to be so
angry
at her for bringing these people to their house. She wished Griffyn and Ysabel had stayed behind. If it was just she and Bran, she'd have a better chance of convincing her foster parents that what she was doing was right for her people. No Transitioners knew better than Emma and Dale Carroway how much the Kin had suffered from their banishment to the eighth day. They'd devoted their whole lives to serving members of the unfairly imprisoned Kin race, even though it meant avoiding other Transitioners and keeping themselves in a self-imposed isolation.

Madoc landed the plane on a street in the middle of town, bringing it to a stop between a candy store and the library. Although Addie had skateboarded down this street dozens of times, she had never set foot inside either the store or the library. Normal establishments were closed to her.

Addie chewed on a fingernail.
Emma will know we're here
.
Her foster mother was a sensitive who detected emotions. Emma would immediately sense strangers in her town, but she'd also recognize Addie.
Can she feel me wishing her to be calm . . . to trust me?

Kel opened the outer door and lowered the stairs that
unfolded from the body of the plane. “Make Adelina go first,” Madoc called from the cockpit. “Her presence might prevent Transitioners from attacking us, and we'll need her to find the house.”

Dale Carroway's talent was obscuring his location from others. But he couldn't hide himself or his house from Addie. She'd known him too long and lived in his house half her life.

As she walked down the aisle, Addie picked up Griffyn's newspaper from the floor and tossed it into an empty seat. The front page headline caught her eye. “Death Toll from Freak Hurricane Tops 500 in 3 States. Beach Towns Devastated. Staten Island under Water.” Belatedly the words sank in, and she stopped in her tracks. Death toll? Freak hurricane? Did they mean the storm the Llyrs had created?

Bran pushed her forward, and Kel took her arm to help her onto the stairs to disembark from the plane. Addie steadied herself, feeling off balance. She hadn't realized the storm would do that kind of damage. Somehow, Addie had imagined it singling out the Dulac building—hovering over it and striking it with lightning, like in the cartoons the orphans watched on the Carroways' VHS cassette player.

“You'll let me talk to them, right?” she asked, turning around. Bran frowned, not understanding her, and she tried again. Her mouth had gone dry. “At the Carroway house. You'll let me talk to my foster parents and convince them not to interfere. You promised.”

“I will not bargain with Transitioners. We've come to get
our oracle. If
you
convince the Transitioners to stand aside, so much the better.” Bran pushed Addie forward again.

She led the way down a street she knew like the back of her hand. Griffyn peered through store windows, and Ysabel disappeared down an alley, heading off on her own. The Mathonwys brought up the rear, Madoc smoking a cigarette—which reminded Addie of the flame she'd summoned with her silly finger snap.

Did I really think I'd impress Bran Llyr with that trick? A man who raised a hurricane the first time he was free to use his talent to its full extent?

I've made a mistake.

When they reached her home street, she spoke over her shoulder nervously. “I'm leading you to house number seventeen. You won't be able to see it. But trust me; it's there.”

“What's she talking about?” grumbled Griffyn. “I see it just fine.”

Addie snapped her head around. “You do?”

“I see it,” Kel confirmed. “They must not be here.”

He was right. If Dale was at home, the white Victorian house would be invisible. Had they abandoned it? Moved somewhere else with all the homeless refugees in tow? Had something
happened
to them?

Then the front door opened, and Dale and Emma Carroway stepped onto the wraparound porch. Emma met Addie's eyes immediately and mouthed her name—
Addie
!
—looking stricken and worried and happy to see her all at once.

Dale marched down the porch steps. “Stop! None of you but Addie is welcome here.”

Bran and Griffyn didn't break stride, and Addie ran ahead, trying to stay in front of the group. “We aren't here to hurt anyone!” she shouted. “We just want to talk to Aine Corra!”

Dale shook his head. “They said you might bring these people here, Addie—but I thought we raised you smarter than this.”

Who
said she'd be coming? Who could possibly know she was with the Llyrs—except the Dulacs? Addie looked around, wondering if there was an army of Dulacs and their vassals hidden in the neighboring houses.

“Corra!” Bran shouted at the house. “Come out of there! We have business with you!”

“You have no business with anyone in my house.” Dale was still walking toward them. It reminded Addie of how Dr. Morder had walked up to Bran after Addie was rescued—as if he expected to converse with the Llyr lord equal to equal. He'd paid for that error with his life.

Dr. Morder was the main person to credit for Addie's escape from the Dulacs. While she was a prisoner, Morder, a half-Kin, half-Transitioner spell caster and Dulac vassal, had told her that he wanted to join the Kin and was willing to betray his liege to do so. Under the circumstances, Addie had been reluctant to trust him, and Morder had tried to prove himself by using his magic to contact the only person who'd
escaped the ambushed Hummer—Kel—and apprise him of Addie's whereabouts.

For this service, Dr. Morder had expected gratitude. Instead Bran had struck him down without a word of warning or a moment's hesitation. And Morder had been half-Kin. What would Bran do to an angry Transitioner who confronted him?

Addie held out a hand to warn her foster father not to come any closer. “Dale, please send Aine out to speak to us, if she's here. If not, we need to know where she's gone.”

“They've fooled you,” Dale replied. He looked over her head at Bran. “Are you proud? That you've twisted a little girl's head around so she doesn't know right from wrong?”

“Let me shut his mouth,” Griffyn hissed, reaching toward one of his throwing knives.

Addie waved an arm without thinking, and a gust of wind knocked Griffyn sideways. Griffyn stared at her in shock and muttered under his breath to raise a counterattack. Addie saw the white magic gathering around him.

Just then, a group of children appeared from behind the house, herded by Ysabel. Many were crying. The older ones carried the younger ones, and Aine followed, holding her infant son in one arm and her toddler daughter, Brigit, in the other. Addie now understood what Dale had been up to. He'd known Addie was with the Llyrs and hadn't bothered trying to hide the house. Instead, he'd stalled them while Aine and the refugee children fled out the back door and escaped.
At least until Ysabel caught them.

Griffyn strode forward and wrenched Brigit away from Aine. He dumped the toddler unceremoniously on her diapered backside among the other children. Aine managed to pass her baby to Dale before he could receive the same treatment. Then Griffyn dragged her over to face his father.

Aine looked dazed, as if she barely understood where she was or what was happening. It was a confusion Addie had seen her experience many times and one of the reasons Addie had concluded she was a Corra. The oracle talent of the Corras was uncannily accurate and completely involuntary.

Bran looked down at Aine. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder. “We have come for an oracle,” he said. “Where are the Treasures of the Kin?”

Aine shook her head. Her eyelids fluttered; her lips trembled. “I will not aid you.”

To Addie's horror, Dale handed Aine's baby to Emma and stepped forward to intervene.
No!
Addie shook her head at him urgently.

Griffyn turned Aine's hand over and slapped a coin into it. “Now you
must
prophesy for us,” he said. “I've crossed your palm with silver.”