The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale (21 page)

“This isn't a fecking game or a pretty story. This is as alien a place as you'll ever see.”

“Brendan, please, I'm trying to explain—­”

“No! You don't get to explain,” Brendan said. “Now, she agreed to keep it as a treasured possession, which binds her from giving it away, and if she loses it, or it's stolen, then it's destroyed. So if the oíche had plans to use it against you, and likely they did, now at least they won't be able to.”

Caitlin felt a wave of relief.

“But the brownie still could.”

She swallowed.

“Mind, she's a noon fae, a young one at that, and likely just looking for something pretty, but that's not a complication we need.” Brendan turned his back on Caitlin and took several breaths. “You have to trust me, love.”

When Brendan turned back around, the fire in his eyes had cooled, and the last remnants of anger faded when he saw the tears rolling down Caitlin's face.

“I can't leave her here,” Caitlin said. “Not even a piece of her. This isn't about me, do you understand that?”

“I don't claim to know what you're feeling, or what an ordeal this is for you. Next time, just let me handle it.”

Caitlin wiped her tears away. “Okay.”

“Good, now let it go. It's done and it ended well enough. We outschemed the schemers.” Brendan looked over his shoulder. “Now, we're almost there. Let's go and finish this.” He continued down the trail and Caitlin followed. Neither of them spoke.

C
aitlin plodded up yet another rise. At the top, Brendan was waiting for her.

“Here it is,” he said.

Caitlin increased her pace. The destination being so near gave her a second wind. When she crested the hill, Brendan offered her a banana and a bottle of water.

“Here, a peace offering,” he said. “You should eat before we go down. That was quite a hike, and I'm sure you're thirsty.”

“Thanks, I am.” A thin smile emerged on Caitlin's face as she accepted the items. She opened the sports bottle with her teeth and squeezed cool water into her mouth. After several swallows, she passed the bottle to Brendan and ate the banana. She didn't see a faire; all she saw were trees and—­

“Wow.”

Nestled in the valley was what at first appeared to be a thick forest. A closer look revealed a huge market, not unlike the state fairs she went to as a child. In size, it would rival most shopping malls. What made it hard to see was that there were no shops. Instead, bushes grew into a shape that made stalls and provided shade. The trees varied in size, from average to massive. Several were topped by brightly colored banners that flapped in the wind.

Her body froze as images flashed in her head: vicious sneers, twisted trees, writhing shadows, an overwhelming sense of dread, and a face distorted in absolute terror. The brownie? The image was so brief she wasn't sure. Her mouth went dry as Brendan's warning rang in her ears.

“We'll find a guide there, don't you worry,” Brendan said from behind her.

Caitlin jerked and snapped back.

Brendan put the empty water bottle into the pack and looked at the banana peel in her hand, a wry smile on his face. “You want to see something?”

“Okay.”

Using his heel, he dug out a small spot in the ground. He dropped the peel in the hole and covered it with the dirt he'd pushed aside.

Caitlin licked her dry lips. “I don't get—­” She saw movement in the freshly covered spot, and in moments, a small green plant emerged from the soil. The sprout grew, and in just a handful of seconds, a full-­grown banana tree, complete with large bunches of bananas, stood before her.

“That's the business, aye?” Brendan asked.

“That's what I call recycling. Can we eat them?”

“No.” Brendan pulled on the pack. “It's the magic of the land what caused it to grow, so it's no longer mortal fare.”

Caitlin stared at the tree.

“There's a lesson in this.”

Caitlin bit her lower lip.

“To show you the power that's in the very soil of the place. You can't afford any more slips, not of any kind.” He stepped around her and pulled the back of her jacket down so it covered the knife. “Best keep this out of sight.”

Caitlin swallowed and wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. “You, um, you don't think that brownie was working with the oíche, do you?”

“No, she's a noon fae of the Tír. They don't like to consort with the oíche.”

“Oh, good.”

Brendan put a hand on her shoulder. “Let it go. I told you the hair was useless to the oíche. Just make sure you learned the lesson, aye?”

Caitlin licked her dry lips and nodded.

Brendan looked down at the faire. “Even if she spread word of the iron, it'll take some time. Sure, some in the market may smell it on us, but hopefully we'll be in and out before anyone does anything about it.”

“What if we're not?” Caitlin asked.

Brendan pulled the pack tight. “Just follow me lead.” He started down the hill and into the valley.

Caitlin followed close behind.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-­FIVE

T
he soul-­wrenching pain Edward had been expecting wasn't waiting for him. It still hurt really, really badly, but compared to what he'd felt before, it was nearly euphoric. Still, he didn't dare to move, out of fear of disturbing the relative comfort he'd found.

Opening his eyes, he found himself on his back once more. All he saw at first was a white blur. After blinking a few times, the images became discernible.

At least blinking didn't hurt.

He was staring at a white plaster ceiling. Around him, the elves were talking in quiet tones.

“What do we do if he doesn't come around?” Quinn asked.

“We do what we need to do,” Dante said.

“And what if he gives in—­” Arlen started to ask.

“We do what we need to do,” Dante said again.

Edward stifled a tinge of fear. He swallowed and felt a stab of pain, but he focused hard and got a hold of it. At least now he had an edge on the wizard.

“Help me up.” His voice was parched and dry.

The elves looked at him, and soon he was surrounded by pointed ears, radiant eyes, and somber faces.

“You really shouldn't move,” Dante said. “We've done what we can to ease the pain and heal you, but—­”

“How bad is it?” Not that any answer would change things, but Edward needed to know. He'd have to account for that when figuring out his next move.

The elves all looked away.

“That bad, huh?”

“Well,” Dante said, “the pùca got quite a piece of you. We've bound that wound and stopped the bleeding—­”

“But?” Edward was pretty sure he knew what was coming; it was written on every face.

“The fire,” Dante said. “That's what caused the worst damage.” He lowered his head. “Fire is dangerous, even for the fae. You don't need to worry about infection, we've taken care of that, but there's—­” He drew a breath.

“Just tell me.”

“There's going to be a lot of scarring. In time we might be able—­”

“Help me up.”

Everyone stopped and looked at him.

“I said, help me up!” Edward repeated louder. “We've got work to do, and I won't get it done lying here. I'm hurt, not dead. I can still help.”

After a moment of indecision, the elves sat him up. Edward gritted his teeth as the pain flared. He was sitting the edge of a heavy wooden table. The room had brick walls, and the small windows near the ceiling told him they were at least partially below ground.

“Where are we?”

“A
tearmann,
” Dante said. “A sanctuary. It's a safe house, to use your parlance. Of course, you made it even safer.”

Edward furrowed his brow.

“Before you passed out, you cast one last spell,” Dante said. “There's some kind of shield surrounding the door. No one can get in or out.”

“Oh,” Edward said. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure the place was secure. I didn't know where we were.”

“We're all curious why it didn't drop when you went unconscious,” Arlen said. “Without you holding the magic in place, it should've collapsed.”

“Arlen, now's not the time,” Dante said.

“No,” Edward said. “It's okay. Wards are the one thing I've got any skill with. It wasn't the dark power.”

The elves' reactions were so subtle they were hard to see, but there was relief in their eyes.

“Several months ago,” Edward said, “I figured out how to invest wards with a way to draw their own magic.”

The elves shared a look of surprise, and several nodded in approval.

Edward eased himself down from the table, wincing as he did. His shirt had been removed, and one of the elfin bandages now covered his entire midsection. Others crisscrossed his chest and covered his left shoulder. The pain seemed worst there, and he figured that was where the burns were.

“The herbs will speed the healing,” Dante said. “Like mortal healers though, there isn't much we can do for the scarring from burns.”

Lifting his hands, Edward saw his left arm was bandaged down to his elbow. His right was unbandaged, but red and tender, and thankfully his Taid's silver bracelet was unscathed. Going for the knife must've spared it some. He wiggled his left hand and noted his fingers were all there. Lucky. He seemed to remember fingers were often lost in bad burns.

Then he remembered the heat on his face. “Is there a mirror?”

“No,” Dante said. “They can be used as gateways, so we don't keep any.”

“I have this.” Quinn offered his sword. The metal of the blade was polished to a high sheen.

Edward raised the sword up to his face, not sure he wanted to see. The first thing he noticed was that his eyebrows were intact, as was his hair. This surprised him.

“The herbs,” Dante explained. “They speed normal healing, and hair regrows quickly.”

Edward looked again into the blade. His ears had survived with only slight burning, but the tips were bright red. He turned the blade and saw that the left side of his face seemed to have taken the brunt of it.

He'd always liked his long, lean features. He had the kind of face you expected to see buried in a book. Now a large patch of red ran from just below his hairline, down the side of his face, to just below his cheekbone. His goatee was likewise intact. It wouldn't heal pretty, but it could've been a lot worse.

This'll be fun to explain to everyone at the hospital, he thought.

Edward knew, all things considered, that he was lucky, but that didn't stop him from berating himself for his stupidity. This was his fault, and it was a hard lesson learned. He should probably be thankful he was the only one hurt.

Handing the blade back, Edward closed his eyes and sighed. He was done with self-­pity. “I can find the wizard,” he said.

No one said anything.

“He got into my head. I mean, I allowed him into my head, unintentionally. I was stupid, but he's gone now, but I got a piece of him during the eviction. I can use it to find him.”

“You've got the wizard's thread?” Dante said. “Okay. What do you need?”

“A circle,” Edward said.

U
nder his careful instructions, the elves drew the circle in an adjoining room. Edward recounted every detail from the circle in his basement and analyzed each part as it was drawn.

“I seem to have underestimated you on a number of levels,” Dante said. “These aren't easy, even for those well practiced in magic.”

“Eidetic memory.” Edward shrugged, and the pain made him wince. “I've always been able to remember things. Seeing it, hearing it, doesn't matter.”

“Quite a skill for a wizard to have,” Padraig said.

Edward had to stifle a laugh. He appreciated they were trying to boost his confidence, but it might've worked better had he not been burned to a crisp by his own incompetence.

“It's good,” Dante said, “but you know with you inside that thing, we won't be able to help you if something goes wrong.”

“You can't cross the circle once it's closed.”

Dante nodded.

“Well, then, I'll just make sure nothing goes wrong this time.”

The elves cleared the circle, and Edward stepped into its center.

Dante stepped close. “Are you good?” he asked in a whisper.

Edward looked him in the eye. “I am. I was stupid, but I see that now.”

Dante scrutinized him for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, helped Edward sit, and then left the circle.

Edward closed his eyes and reached inside to the place where he'd stored the wizard's thread. He touched the circle and pushed power into it. The instant before it closed, he pushed the wizard's thread in as well. Edward's pain eased as the circle closed and sealed him off from the world.

“
Agor y ffordd
.” His senses reached through a portal connecting him to the other wizard. In moments, Edward found what he sought. Channeling his anger and pain, he grabbed hold of the wizard and heard a name in his head. Akhen.

Then a wall came up, cutting him off from the wizard.

The duel, it seemed, had begun.

Edward pressed against the barrier and felt like he was trying to push through steel with only his fingers. He reached for the wizard's thread and took a fragment from it. He focused his will and tried to shape the fragment into a point. It resisted him, remaining unchanged.

Redoubling his efforts, he tried again, struggling against the fragment's rigidity.

It wasn't working.

“Come on, focus harder. I can do this. I have to do this,” he thought.

He couldn't think of anything. How could he sharpen a sword with a cloth?

Then it dawned on him. He was spreading his focus too wide, working too big. He tried again, concentrating on just a small piece at the very edge.

It began to give.

He worked his way around the edge, feeling it soften more and more. Before long, the thread fragment had a sharp point and keen edge. It was a weapon now, forged from the very essence of the wizard he meant to use it against. He focused his power into it, hardening it. Then he drove it into the barricade.

Screams filled his mind as the spell blade bit into the wall, piercing past the surface.

Cold swept over Edward, and he felt hands grip his neck. The force of it was such that if he'd been in his body, his windpipe would've been crushed. As it was, he was still finding breath hard to come by, and he started to sink into unconsciousness.

The image of Caitlin smiling at him appeared in his head and warmed his heart. The memory of her lips, soft and sweet, pressed to his cheek, filling him with heat and driving out the cold. That was the real Caitlin he knew, not the other wizard's twisted imitation. Edward's resolve hardened beyond that of the wall.

Focusing his will, he drove the spell blade deeper, and cries of pain filled his mind. This time it wasn't just a single scream, it was two. One was certainly human. The other most certainly was not.

The grip on Edward's throat weakened, and he pushed, leaning into the blade with all he had.

The wall shattered and he lurched into the wizard.

Emotions flooded him, and each was as tangible as a change in climate: ice-­cold fear, burning rage, vast and empty indifference. Edward felt himself hurtled forward, racing through Akhen's mind. Then the motion stopped abruptly and he found himself looking through Akhen's eyes. Surrounding him were oíche and other dark creatures he couldn't name.

One of the oíche held up a large, dark purple crystal. “This is the vessel. Destroy it, and our bargain is complete.”

Before Edward could react, a voice in his head spoke to him. Its tone was deep, guttural, and bore an accent that he'd never heard.

“
Give up, wizard,
” the voice said. “
All that awaits you here is pain. More pain than your sad little mind can possibly conceive. You will beg for a death that will not come for centuries.
”

Edward made a decision then, the effects of which he found quite liberating. “That may be,” he said, and found his words came out of the wizard's mouth. “I don't have to survive to succeed. I only need to stop you.”

The oíche and other creatures looked on with uneasiness. The one closest drew back the crystal.

A violent pull caused Edward's vision to blur and he was yanked out of the wizard, past the oíche, and out of the building. He saw the old warehouse from the outside and the Boston skyline in the distance. He searched for a street sign, hoping it would tell him his location, but he only caught a quick glimpse before he was pulled away again.

After that, there was only a blur.

Red lightning leapt from the warehouse to chase him.

Soaring past the buildings of downtown, Edward moved so quickly that the cars and streetlights were reduced to streaks of green, yellow, and red. He saw the magic in pursuit, matching his every turn and gaining on him.

It was trying to track him back to the safe house.

Straining with the effort, Edward reached out to the force pulling him, willing it faster and faster. He pushed energy into it and the lightning fell back until, at last, Edward slammed into his body so hard that it knocked him over and slid him to the edge of the circle. Even before his senses had fully returned, he touched the circle.

“
Diwedd
!” he said, and opened the circle, breaking the connection.

Edward lay on his back, gasping for breath against the pain that surged through him with renewed vigor. Luckily, his back had been spared any burns, but the pain in the rest of his body flared. Each tender part of his skin screamed at being moved and stretched.

Dante knelt over him. “Are you okay?”

“I found him,” Edward said. “I know where they are.”

“Well done, wizard!” Quinn said. “I'll make sure everyone is ready to move out as soon as you are.”

“Wait,” Edward said. “There's a problem.”

“Isn't there always?” Dante asked. “What's this one?”

“There was something else in there.” Edward pushed himself up to a sitting position. “I felt fear in him, but it wasn't toward me. And the hatred—­” He shook his head. “It was almost inconceivable in its magnitude and scope. There was so much rage. He was consumed by it.” He looked at Dante. “Are possessions real?”

“Not possession by the fae,” Dante said.

Faolan cursed and spit on the floor. “I can't believe they actually went that far!”

“What?” Edward asked.

Dante cleared his throat. “The oíche are the only fae who are, shall we say, cordial with Hell-­Spawned.”

“Demons?” Edward's voice came out a little higher than normal.

“For lack of a better term, yes,” Dante said. “Even the Dusk Court doesn't deal with their ilk. Bargains with them never go well and are costly at best, even for fae.”