The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale (22 page)

“Why would they do that?” Edward asked. “Why risk it?”

“Because they're oíche,” Riley said. “They don't think about the consequences of anything. They only think of advancing their own desires.”

“Or,” Dante said, “the wizard outsmarted them. Maybe he found a loophole in their bargain and was able to get out of it ahead.” He chuckled. “The oíche wouldn't like that. So maybe they enlisted a Hell-­Spawned to possess him and finish the job. They could even use the wizard as payment when it was done.”

“What would that mean for Fiona?”

Dante didn't answer. He didn't have to. Edward could read the answer in his eyes.

“We're going to need the gold weapons,” Arlen said.

“Go to the cache and make sure everyone has at least one gold blade in addition to their regular armament,” Dante said. “And ammunition. Lots of ammunition.”

“Gold?” Edward asked. “Is that to demons what iron is to fae?”

“Silver works, too,” Dante said. “But gold is best.”

“There might be something else,” Edward said. “Help me up.”

“It never rains,” Dante said. “It only pours.”

He and Quinn helped Edward stand, careful not to put too much pressure on his wounds. Once he was standing, Edward explained what he'd seen with the crystal, and what the oíche had said.

Dante and Quinn shared a look that made Edward's heart skip a beat.

“You don't think—­?” Quinn asked.

“We need to find out,” Dante said. “We still have that informant?”

Quinn nodded.

“Have Arlen get in touch with him, now.”

Quinn left the room.

“Bad, huh?” Edward asked.

Dante looked at Edward. “You sure you're up to this?”

“I'm going,” Edward said.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-­SIX

A
s the trail into the faire widened to a dirt road, Brendan stopped. “All right, love. As I said before, don't speak to no one, and don't touch nothing.”

Caitlin set her jaw. “I won't make the same mistake again. I know—­”

“You know now. In two minutes, when we're walking amongst the fae and their wares, well, then you might not remember, yeah?”

Caitlin blinked. She hadn't thought of that. It might take just a glance at something to become enchanted by it. The faeries probably had enchantments practically falling off them. “You're right.”

“Keep your wits about you. This is serious business here.”

Caitlin followed close behind Brendan. When they entered the market, she stopped and stared with wide eyes and a slack jaw. The market was also a village, but instead of houses, there were trees with doors set in the trunks at ground level. They also had windows, most of which were open. Along either side of the path, and between the trees, shrubs had been grown into odd shapes to form the stalls where goods were offered for sale. But it was the shoppers and sellers of this market that truly caught her off guard. She saw small, winged pixies, little more than balls of light, flitting about. There were stocky, bearded dwarves working the stalls, and tall, elegant elves perusing the various goods. She even saw a dryad leaning out the window of a large oak tree and flirting with a satyr. In fact, every kind of faerie Caitlin could remember hearing about seemed present. There were also several creatures totally unfamiliar to her.

When Caitlin spotted a goblin, she stared. It had the same huge red eyes and dark green skin as the one who'd attacked them at her house.

“Brendan?” She tried to look away and fight back her fear.

“Not all goblins are Dusk Court,” he whispered. “They do make up some of the noon fae. Keep moving—­we'll draw enough attention to ourselves without you gawking at everyone.” He tugged at her arm.

“Right.” Caitlin tore her gaze from the goblin and looked at the other inhabitants, only partially aware of the larger world around her. She shook her head and blinked. It was kind of like visiting a Disney movie set and seeing all the animated characters walking around as flesh and blood.

As they walked down the dirt road that bisected the market, Caitlin glanced into the stalls. Fabrics of bright colors rippled like liquid, and plants grew in every kind of strange shape, color, and size she could imagine. In one stall, she saw clear glass jars filled with swirling mist and tiny blinking lights. She swallowed as the memory of the strange darkness that escaped the oíche's wounds came to her. Yet another stall sold wands, charms, necklaces, and other jewelry fashioned with stones of every color, some of which were glowing.

The sounds of haggling and friendly chatter stopped. All eyes were now on Caitlin and Brendan, or, more correctly, on Brendan. Windows and shutters were drawn tight. ­People shut their doors and vanished in all manner of ways, some literally. Those who remained wore looks of fear or contempt. But a few appeared almost respectful. The word
Fian
was whispered more than a few times. Everyone gave Caitlin and Brendan a wide birth. Brendan had called it right.

Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlin saw something else that made her look again. A stall was filled with stacked ceramic jars, each of which bore a label. However, the labels read things like A Baby's Laugh, Summer's First Morning Light, Winter's Breath, Spring Rainbow (all colors), Lover's Longing, and Cat's Purr.

“Brendan,” she said and gestured to the stall. “Do they really?”

“Aye. They hold what they say, and every bit is useful in causing mischief. Now come along, we're almost there.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just up ahead. Our man will be at the pub.” Brendan nodded at a monstrously huge oak tree ahead of them.

Caitlin was about to ask him to repeat himself when she saw that this tree also had a door at its base. Windows were scattered across the tall trunk at different levels, which she deduced meant it had several floors. Above the door was a sign that bore the picture of a mug with froth on top.

“Right.” Maybe this should have surprised her more, but compared to everything else, a tree pub didn't rate much. “Of course. The pub, where else would he be?”

Brendan chuckled under his breath. “Aye, that's right. Come on, then, love.”

She followed him inside.

The pub was . . . well . . . it was about like she'd expect a Tír na nÓg pub inside a giant tree to look. At this point, she began to wonder if maybe her mind was just overloaded and that was why she wasn't reacting more strongly. What the final straw was, she didn't know. Maybe it was the Tinker Bell-­like pixie flitting through the air holding a mug that was easily ten times her size, one-­handed no less, or it could've been the centaur at the bar resting a hoof on the rail and drinking from his own large mug. It could've been the gnomes that were arm wrestling, or the elf playing darts with a nixie.

No, it was almost definitely the arm-­wrestling gnomes.

The entire pub was part of the tree, alive and well, no less. The tables grew up out of the floor, as did the bar and benches that were set against the wall. Once more, everyone went quiet and all eyes turned to Brendan, but he seemed unconcerned. Caitlin felt a bit like she was walking with a quarterback through a comic book convention.

Brendan nodded to a table in front of a bench in the corner. “That's our man there.”

Resting or, more correctly, passed out on the table was a small head of frizzy red hair. Attached to it, sitting on the bench, was a little man dressed in green. Caitlin could just hear the faint sound of his snoring from across the room.

“That's our guide?”

“Easy, love.” Brendan chuckled and led her to the booth. “Seamus is a good sort. Don't you worry none, he's not as mangled as all that.”

Caitlin knew she was out of her depth, so she just followed Brendan.

“Seamus!” Brendan banged on the table. “Wake up, lad. Got some work for you.”

Seamus's head shot up to reveal a round face, red cheeks, and a beard of the same frizzy hair that was on top of his head. He cast a bleary-­eyed glare around the room. “Bogs, man! You trying to wake the bleeding dead in here?” There was a slight slur to his speech. Blinking again, his eyes opened wide, and he smiled even wider. “Brendan! Well, I was thinking you'd forgotten about old Seamus, you had.”

Brendan sat in a chair opposite the leprechaun and nodded for Caitlin to sit as well. She pulled a chair over.

“So, what brings you back to the Tír?” Seamus asked. When he saw others in the pub eyeing his table and whispering, he shouted across the room. “Mind your own, or I'll mind it for you! Can't a fella just have a word with a Fian without you clucking like a pack of hens?”

Brendan leaned in close. “We need us some information about a
girseach
. She would've been brought here by the oíche, and not long ago.”

“Bleeding oíche, bah.” Seamus picked up a pipe from the table and poked it with the tip of his finger. There was a little explosion of sparks, and it started smoking. He took several puffs on it and leaned back.

“Seamus.” Brendan's voice was straining to remain calm. “We've not got time for your usual games. We need to know where they've taken her.” Seamus was about to speak, but Brendan cut him off. “No bollocks about not knowing nothing either. If anyone knows something, it's you.”

Seamus laughed. “Easy there, lad.” He looked at Caitlin, and his smile faded. “I'm guessing you'd be the mother, then?”

Caitlin nodded.

Seamus drew in a breath. “Then some free advice for you, love.” He hesitated, then his look became serious. “Go home. Have another child, and forget about this one.”

The floor seemed to drop out from under Caitlin. She had to concentrate to take a breath.

Brendan backhanded Seamus. The blow knocked the leprechaun into the wall and down onto the floor. It happened so fast that it was hardly visible.

Caitlin looked at Brendan in shock.

“Now, Seamus,” Brendan said calmly, ignoring Caitlin. “You know better than to speak to a lady like that. I suggest you apologize, mate.”

“Bogs, man!” Seamus cried out from the floor. “I'd forgotten what a punch you pack. Rivers and stones!” He picked himself up from the floor and took his seat once more, giving Brendan a wary look as he rubbed the side of his face.

“That wasn't a punch, bucko,” Brendan said. “Would you like to see one of those instead?”

“Easy there, son,” Seamus said. “No need to get your hackles raised. I wasn't playing at nothing.” He recovered his pipe, took a puff, then looked around and leaned in. “There're factors in all this you obviously don't know.”

“Well that's why we came to you now, isn't it?” Brendan reached into the backpack, drew out the jug of milk, and set it on the table. “Can we bargain, then?”

“Oh, lad,” Seamus said, nearly drooling as he eyed the jug. “Aye, we can at that.”

“Fine,” Brendan said. “You tell us everything we want to know in regards to the girl—­”

“Everything I know,” Seamus said, correcting him. “You'll not bind me into a bargain that has me scouring the whole of Tír na nÓg for an answer. I've affairs of me own to attend to, you know.”

“Fair play,” Brendan said. “You tell us everything you know in regards to the girl. In return, you get the fresh, delicious, sweet milk.”

“Deal.” Seamus eyed the jug and licked his lips. “Can I get a wee taste now? In good faith, you know?”

“Talk first, then you get your milk. You know how it works.”

“Can't blame a fella for trying, now, can you?” Seamus drew in a breath. “All right, then. It just so happens that I do know about your
girseach
. She and her escorts passed through the market not long ago.”

“You're supposed to be telling us what we want to know,” Caitlin said. “Not what we already know.”

“Oh, I like that one, there,” Seamus said. “Fiery spirit, she has. Reminds me of Á—­”

“Seamus!” Brendan said. “The
girseach
.”

“Right.” Seamus cleared his throat. “Sorry. Well, I do know where she is, but trust me, lad, you don't want to be going after her.”

“I'm not worried about a pack of oíche, now, am I?” Brendan said. “I'll tear the Tír apart if it's needed to get her back, and you know that's the truth.”

“Aye, that I do,” Seamus said. “But it isn't the oíche what have her no more.”

“What?” Caitlin asked, unable to stop herself.

Brendan squeezed her hand under the table. “They took her out of the Tír, then?”

“No, they're still here,” Seamus said. “And from what I hear, they're not at all happy about it, neither.”

“Don't be lying to me now. Did the wizard come here to claim her?”

“Wizard?” A look of genuine confusion came to Seamus's face. “I don't know nothing about no wizard.”

Caitlin blinked at Brendan. “But you and Dante—­”

“I'd say we was wrong,” Brendan said to Caitlin. He turned back to Seamus. “All right, who'd they grab her for, then?”

“Well.” Seamus lowered his voice even more. “That's a fair piece of information you're asking for there, not the usual bit. This is prime—­”

“Seamus,” Brendan growled. “We made us a bargain. You really want word to spread that you backed out of an agreement?” He stared hard, then spoke quietly and calmly. “You really want to back out of a deal with me?”

“No need to be threatening me there, lad,” Seamus said.

“Oh, I'll do worse than threaten you if you don't—­”

“All right.” Seamus took a deep breath. “It'll be the Dark King himself you'll be wanting to visit.” His eyes darted around the room. “That's who they turned her over to.”

Brendan's eyes went wide. “Fergus? Go on with you now!”

Caitlin saw the disbelief in Brendan's eyes, but there was a flicker of something else. She wasn't sure if it was worry, fear, or shock. None of them boded well.

“As you say, we're in a bargain. Besides, I can't be lying to you, now, can I?” Seamus asked. “They went off into the Dusk Lands.”

“That don't mean it was—­”

“I heard it from a very good source,” Seamus said. “It was Fergus himself they handed her over to.”

Caitlin looked at Brendan. His brow was furrowed, and he was looking down.

Her head was spinning and her heart was pounding. The King of the Dusk Court had Fiona? Why would he want her? What did this mean for getting her back?

“This don't change nothing,” Brendan said to Caitlin. “We'll still get her back, if I have to pull her from Fergus's hands meself.”

Caitlin tried to find some comfort in his words and the look in his eyes, but she couldn't. It wasn't there. Still, though his eyes held uncertainty, she understood the commitment he was making to her with those words. It touched her deeply and filled her with gratitude, but it didn't ease her fear.

“Don't change nothing?” Seamus laughed. “I do admire your courage, lad. A fine example of a Fian you are, even if you got bollocks bigger than your brains.”

“So what does Fergus want with a mortal—­” Brendan stopped midsentence and cast a quick glance at Caitlin. “What's he want with a child?”

“That I don't know, lad,” Seamus said. “Wish I did. That'd be a fair bit of currency to bargain with.”

Brendan got to his feet. “Right, we're done, then. Come on, love. Time to go.”

“Hold on there, lad,” Seamus said, his tone hesitant. “I do know one other thing.”