The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale (23 page)

Brendan's jaw clenched. “Forgot something, did you?”

Seamus didn't say anything.

“Come on, out with it, then.”

“I know what it was that Fergus paid the oíche,” Seamus said.

“Aye? Well, go on, then.”

“He's offered them a chance for release.” Seamus leaned back and began puffing his pipe with a shaking hand, his eyes darting around the room.

“Seamus,” Brendan said, “can you smell what you're shoveling, mate? They was released when the Rogue Court formed, weren't they? In fact, right now they're fighting a war to take control of it.”

“I didn't say release them from his court,” Seamus said between puffs.

Brendan's face fell. “
Dar fia,
is that even possible?”

Seamus nodded. “Oh, sure it is, lad. Not something that happens often, and it does come with all kinds of strings, mind, but it can be done. They have themselves one full day to pull it off, and they don't have the means to do it themselves.”

“That's why they needed the bloody wizard,” Brendan said.

“Aye. That'd be one way to do it, to be sure.”

“Brendan?” Caitlin had no idea what this meant, but clearly it wasn't good.

Brendan looked at her, then back to Seamus. “Anything else you're forgetting to tell us?”

Seamus didn't answer. He just puffed on his pipe.

“Right, then.” Brendan took Caitlin's hand and pulled her along behind him as he went to the door.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-­SEVEN

“B
rendan,” Caitlin said as soon as they walked out the door of the pub, “why would the King of the Dusk Court want Fiona? Is it because she's a changeling?”

“It'd have to be, but it doesn't make any bleeding sense.”

“Why?”

“Cause your blood line isn't of his court,” Brendan said.

Caitlin felt a surge of relief, though it was tempered with caution. “How do you know that?”

“Well, your da stuck around, didn't he? Well, as long as he could anyway. If he'd been one of Fergus's, he wouldn't have been so kind. That means he was either Dawn Court or a noon fae that were connected with the Dawn Court.” He looked away and let out a breath. “Why the bloody hell would he want a changeling child that weren't of his own court?”

Caitlin's hand went to her pocket and caressed the little stuffed bear.

“No use trying to figure that one out,” he said. “We need to focus on getting her back, is all.”

“What?”

Brendan looked her in the eye. “Look, love. I don't know what he'd want her for, but it's not going to be anything good. We can either sit here trying to reason it out, which will be for nothing, or we can just go and get her back. You tell me, which do you prefer?”

“Okay. What's a chance for release mean?”

“That's another ball of shite.” Brendan began pacing. “It means the oíche wouldn't be fae anymore.”

“So, what, they'd be mortal?”

“No.” Brendan took her hand and led her around the pub, out of sight. “They'd have their strength, their speed, probably even their magic. What they wouldn't have is anyone to answer to. There wouldn't be nothing stopping them from doing as they please. No hearth protections, no Oaths, no nothing. Hell, even iron might not bite them anymore.”

“Monsters free to roam the countryside.”

Brendan nodded.

Caitlin shivered. “Edward. We have to warn Edward and Dante.”

“Aye, but we got no way to get word to them.”

Caitlin's knees felt weak. She thought of Eddy and Dante walking into something very different from what they expected. Eddy was the smartest person she'd ever known. Maybe he and Dante together would figure it out. She held tight to that hope, then refocused on Fiona and getting her back.

She looked up at Brendan. “Okay, what's next?”

“Well, considering where we need to be going,” he said as he led her back around the tree, “we need to pick us up a charm.”

Caitlin followed him back into the market. Again, the chattering went silent as they walked down the street to the stall selling the wands and jewelry. A goblin stood behind the table, watching them warily.

Brendan stared back in silence.

“Are you . . . um . . . ,” the goblin said with a shaking voice, then cleared his throat. “Are you looking for something specific?”

“Aye.” Brendan examined the necklaces hanging from a stick. “We need us a seeking stone.”

The goblin's eyes widened, and a smile came to his face that made Caitlin uneasy. She could almost see the cartoon dollar signs pop into his eyes.

“I take it you have payment?” the goblin asked.

Caitlin saw the goblin look at her, and she shuddered.

“We can bargain,” Brendan said, locking eyes with the goblin. “If you have one, that is.”

“Oh, I do happen to have one left.” The goblin drew a necklace out from under the table. From a leather cord hung a dark blue crystal. It was flat and smooth, with a hole in the center through which the cord was tied.

“One left?” Brendan laughed. “Oh, aren't we just lucky, then.”

“Indeed you are, Fian.” The goblin nodded several times. “In fact, a nixie was just inquiring about it.” He held up the necklace. Light glittered and danced inside the stone. “Finest goblin craftsmanship you'll find. A dreaming stone, polished with silk that was woven by a traveler longing for home.”

Brendan reached to grab and examine it, but the goblin pulled it back.

“Payment?”

Brendan eyed him. “You wouldn't be stupid enough to try and pawn me something false, would you?”

The goblin's mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. It was hard to tell, but he looked genuinely insulted. If she hadn't seen it, Caitlin wouldn't have believed his face was capable of it.

“Of course not!” the goblin said. “I don't sell imitations.”

“Fair enough,” Brendan said. “How much?”

The goblin smiled at Caitlin. “I like her eyes.”

“My . . . my eyes?” She gulped. Cold ran down her spine as she remembered the kind of payments that faeries took. She had a brief flash of a ceramic jar with a new label. Changeling's Eyes (Green).

Brendan crossed his arms. “No.”

The goblin scowled. “Then, how about—­”

“No memories either, no names, none of that.”

The goblin gritted his teeth. “Well, it isn't free, Fian!”

Brendan set the backpack on the table, and the goblin eyed him with interest. “How'll this do, then?” Brendan pulled the bread out and set it on the table.

The goblin snatched up the bread and sniffed it. “It's a start, but I'll need something else as well.”

“Fine.” Brendan reached back in and set the honey on the table. “This as well, then.”

The goblin licked his lips. “My good Fian, you must understand, this is a fine example—­”

“And this.” Brendan pulled the half-­full whiskey bottle from the pack. “Final offer, or we take our—­”

“Done.” The goblin snatched up the honey and whiskey, then handed the necklace to Brendan.

“Pleasure.” Brendan took the stone and pulled his pack back on. “We're done here.”

Caitlin followed Brendan out of the market. She couldn't help but think they'd forgotten something.

When they were well away from the market, Brendan knelt down and picked up a small stone from the ground.

“What's that for?” Caitlin asked.

“Well,” Brendan said as he pressed the stone from the ground against the blue crystal. “Odds are we won't be able to just walk out of the Dusk Lands.” The stone melded into the crystal and filled the hole in the middle. “This will bring you—­”

Caitlin flashed him a look.

“—­us back to this spot.” He stood up.

She tried to ignore the fact that he wasn't looking her in the eye anymore.

“It seeks the place it were joined.” He slipped the necklace over her head. “Make a note of the land. If something should happen to me, make a flat run for the sidhe mound. Don't stop for nothing, or no one.”

Caitlin looked at the necklace and back to Brendan, who still wasn't looking at her.

Whatever it takes, right?

He started back to the trail leading away from the market. “I suppose there's one good thing to come of the turn of events.”

“And what's that?”

“The Dusk Lands are easy to find. Just walk away from the light.”

The sun was hanging in the sky above them, but slightly behind. The implications of Brendan's words weighed heavy on her heart, but there was something else.

What were they forgetting?

Caitlin opened her mouth to ask Brendan, but she closed it again. He would've remembered whatever it was; it was just her mind playing games with her.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-­EIGHT

“A
re you sure?” Edward asked, eyeing the table.

“We treated you quickly,” Quinn said. “It was to keep out infection and treat the pain. We didn't do it with the intention you'd be going into combat.”

Edward climbed, slowly, back onto the table.

Faolan and Quinn helped him lie back down. Edward closed his eyes against the encroaching headache and the anticipated pain.

“Breathe,” Quinn said. “Just relax. Everything will be okay.” He gave Edward a minute, then asked, “Are you ready?”

“Just work as quickly as possible.”

Edward clenched his already aching jaw and sucked in a breath as the bandages were pulled away. While they didn't stick, for which he was incredibly grateful, they still sent waves of pain through him. He took long, deep breaths and the pain began to subside, but he could feel tears running down the sides of his face.

Caitlin and Fiona, just think about them. This too will pass.

The air was cold on his skin, and Edward dared a glance down. Only his shoulder was clearly visible, and it wasn't an encouraging sight. A large patch of bright red skin glistened with moisture, typical of a bad burn. He could see remnants of blackened skin that had been sloughed off at the edges of the pink swath. As his stomach lurched, he dropped his head down on the table and fought back more tears.

“All right,” Faolan said. “We're going to apply more ointment now. It'll ease the pain, but the initial contact will hurt. And since you're going outside, we're going to bandage both hands and the side of your face.”

Edward steeled himself. “Go ahead.”

Something cold touched his stomach and pain tore through him, but it was minor in comparison to what he had already suffered and quickly faded to a dull burn.

The process was repeated on his various injuries; deep breath, grit through a moment of pain, then, finally, relief. His face was last, and one of the elves had to wipe some tears away. As the salve was applied, he noticed a musty, earthy smell to it.

“That's the last of the ointment,” Quinn said. “Now we're going to place the bandages. This part shouldn't hurt at all.”

There was a cool sensation, then a gentle tightness on his stomach. Next was his chest, and it became hard to draw a deep breath. Edward had no idea how much time passed, but eventually he felt something cool on his face.

“That's it,” Quinn said. “We're done.”

Edward gave himself a moment to take stock. He drew in a breath and felt a twinge, but it was manageable. He wiggled his fingers and bent his arm. It felt like he was wearing tight leather gloves, but he could move with only a slight hindrance. The pain was much reduced, which was like being hit by a bus, then saying that a sixteen-­pound sledgehammer wasn't a big deal.

“Help me up, please.”

Faolan and Quinn went to opposite sides and lifted him up to a sitting position.

Edward eased himself around so that his legs hung off the table. “So far, so good,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

He slid off the table and stood. With a slight hesitation, he moved his arms and fingers, then turned his body. When pain didn't lance through him, he risked a little more movement, then a little more. He found that it was the bandages, not the pain, that limited his movement.

“How do you feel?” Faolan asked.

“Good.” Flesh-­colored bandages clung to Edward's body. As far as his torso went, it seemed he had more bandage than skin. “You could make a fortune off these, you know?”

There was a wave of tense laughter, and Edward smiled despite himself. When satisfied he was in good shape, Faolan and Quinn joined the others at a large wardrobe against the wall. Edward watched them pull out armor plates made of a faintly greenish metal and affix them to their wrists, shoulders, and shins. Each had some kind of sigil or rune on them.

So, the tactical gear was the light stuff?

“I've got something for you,” Dante said. He was dressed like the others; dark green military-­style pants, black boots, and what Edward presumed was a bulletproof vest. The outfit looked like the kind soldiers or SWAT teams wore, as opposed to the lighter police issue. He already had on his armor plates, and it was a very strange look—­old world meets new. He also had a belt around his waist with two scabbards hanging from it, one on each hip. A third sword, much shorter than the other two, went across the back of the belt horizontally, and Edward could see a gold blade. There were knives on his wrists and calves, and one of the elfin submachine guns hung from his shoulder.

“That's some outfit,” Edward said.

“About that. We can't have you going into battle half naked.” Dante handed Edward a bundle of black cloth.

“What's this?” The fabric was light, like silk, but without the sheen.

“Open it and look.”

Edward unfolded the bundle. He found a long-­sleeved black shirt of the softest cotton he'd ever encountered. He slipped it on over his head and found it fit him perfectly. It was so light that it hardly felt like wearing anything.

“There's more,” Dante said.

Edward unfolded a long, black coat similar to a trench coat, but sans the lapels. It was also incredibly light and a black so flat it seemed to absorb light. As the fabric moved, symbols that were either painted or drawn on became visible. While the coat was dull, the symbols had a patina that was almost liquid in appearance. He couldn't help but smile as he slipped it on. Again, it fit perfectly and hung to midcalf.

“What do you think?” Dante asked.

“Amazing,” Edward said. “Look the part, act the part?”

“Something like that.”

“What's with all black? Aren't elves supposed to be light and all about greens and such?”

“Usually, but black is just so stylish.” Dante laughed.

“So, what are these symbols?” Edward asked.

“They'll provide you protection and help you focus your magic,” Dante said.

Edward picked up the subtle emphasis on the word
your.

“They're called Asarlaí robes, used primarily by the high sidhe conjurers.” Dante gave him a wry smile. “Wizards have been offering their first born to the fae in hopes of getting one for centuries. Normally, they don't look like that, but I thought a coat suited you better than literal robes.”

Edward noticed for the first time that the buzzing in his head was gone. “I don't know what to say. ‘Thank you' seems a little lacking.”

“You earned it.”

Edward didn't answer.

“You've proven yourself a friend, and you'll need it.” Dante handed him another bundle of black, then motioned with his head to the room with the circle. “You might also want to change out of your scorched pants.”

“Right,” Edward said. “I appreciate it.”

“Don't go getting sentimental on me. We don't just give those robes away—­you have to earn one.”

Faolan turned. “And you have.”

There was a murmur of agreement amongst the others, and Dante joined the elves in checking each other's armor. With a sizeable boost to his confidence, Edward went into the other room to change.

When he was done, he stood there for a long moment, alone in the darkness. The effect of the coat was noticeable now. His mind felt focused and in control. All signs of fatigue, both mental and physical, had melted away.

Letting out a deep sigh, Edward considered the situation and everything that was at stake. He prepared as best he could, mostly just calming himself. As he reached for the door, a voice spoke to him from the darkness.

“I'm very proud of you.”

Edward froze. The last time he'd heard that voice, it had been an attempt to fool him. Of course, it hadn't been aloud, and he hadn't been conscious.

“Believe in yourself, Edward,” the voice said. “Know yourself and your own power.”

Edward's mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton.

“Remember that magic is an expression of who you are. Understanding of yourself is needed to understand magic. It's part of being a
dewin
.”

“Taid?”

Edward waited for several long seconds, his hand absently touching his Taid's bracelet, but no other sound came.

“No, that's not creepy at all.”

“What isn't?” Dante asked.

“Jesus!”

“No, but ­people confuse us all the time,” Dante said through a smile. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

“I know cats that make more noise than you.”

Dante's smile melted away.

“What is it?”

“The situation has changed,” Dante said.

Edward sucked in a breath. “Caitlin?”

“No, it's not about her. Arlen got in touch with our informant.”

“So this is about the crystal I saw?” Edward asked.

“Time is short, so listen closely.”

Edward nodded.

“The oíche took Fiona to Fergus,” Dante said. “Our informant couldn't tell us why, because the oíche have been tight lipped. What we do know is that in return for the girl, Fergus is giving the oíche a chance to be released from every fae court. The catch is they can't do it themselves. What you saw was, for lack of a better term, a vessel that holds their essence, bound into a Tír-­ian crystal. If the wizard succeeds in destroying it, wherever it's destroyed becomes their new homeland. If it happens here, they're free. They could run loose over this world with impunity.”

“Dear God,” Edward said.

“My reaction was similar, if somewhat more colorful,” Dante said.

“You're sure this informant wasn't lying?”

“Fae can't lie, not even to each other. The informant didn't even try to dance around the subject. He told Arlen everything almost before he could ask.”

“Can we get to Brendan and Caitlin? They'll need our help,” Edward said.

“There's no way to reach them now,” Dante said. “The noon fae have been touchy about installing cell towers. Listen, this end of the fight has nothing to do with you, Caitlin, or Fiona anymore. If you want out, I'll understand.”

“Can you stop the ritual without me?” Edward asked.

Dante hesitated. “I'm not sure.”

“If you need me, I'm with you.”

“Glad to hear it,” Dante said and smiled.

“You know, you could've kept this from me, at least until after it was done. I'd have gone along and, all things considered, I would've understood.”

“I considered that, but I decided to trust in you, again.” Dante patted Edward's back, careful to avoid his burned shoulder, then stepped into the main room. “Don't worry, my friend. You're not going into this alone.”

There was a chorus of agreement amongst the elves.

“So, where is this place?” Dante motioned to Quinn, who was working on a laptop. After a few moments, he found the building on, of all things, Google Maps.

“You sure that's the place?” Dante asked, looking at the screen in street view.

“Positive,” Edward said.

“All right, Quinn, upload it to the GPS units,” Dante said.

Quinn began hitting keys.

“Listen up, everyone,” Dante said. “The horses will be here soon.”

Edward quirked a smile, but after a moment of no one laughing, it disappeared.

Dante addressed the troops. “Quinn told you the situation. Be smart and be quick. The consequences of failure are higher than we expected, but we've known something like this was going to happen. Fergus won't give the oíche more than one chance. If we can disrupt the ritual, the vessel with their essence will return to Fergus and the oíche will be forced back into the Dusk Court.” He looked from one face to another. “Is everyone ready?”

The elves put their fists to their hearts in what Edward presumed was a salute.

Dante turned to him and motioned to the door. “Now, if you'd be so kind as to let us out.”

Edward focused his will. Power flowed through him as he reached out to the barrier he had raised. He felt the weaving of magic that it was built upon. It was crude, but effective. He pulled the magic apart and the barrier evaporated.

“Are the horses here?” Dante asked.

“Just waiting for our signal,” Riley said.

“Good. Edward's with me in the lead, the rest of you take positions around us. I want one driving and the other keeping a look out at all times. Odds are good we'll get hit en route.”

Before Edward could ask about how sharing a horse would work, Faolan and Quinn opened the door and ran up a short set of stairs. A moment later they shouted an all-­clear, then Padraig and Daire went out next. Edward's heart pounded. Dante nodded at him, and Edward climbed the stairs as quickly as he could. Thankfully, his pain was almost nonexistent now.

When he reached street level, Edward looked around. The sun was long since set. The elfin Delta Force took up positions in a circle around Edward and Dante, weapons leveled in all directions.

Edward didn't see any horses. He was about to ask Dante about it when Faolan whistled.

There was the roar of several engines starting, then a shimmer in the street, and Edward found himself looking at five brand-­new black Ford Mustangs.

A crooked smile crossed Edward's lips.

Each of the cars had two racing stripes running up the hood, over the roof, and down the back. The doors opened, and Dante urged Edward into the passenger seat of the lead car, then sprinted around to the other side and climbed in.

“Buckle up.”

Edward had just started to reach for the seat belt when Dante put the accelerator to the floor. Edward was pushed back into his seat as the car sped off.

“You know,” Edward said, after finally fastening the belt, “traffic through Boston at this time of night is going to be—­”

“Don't worry. Traffic won't be an issue.” Dante made a gesture and said something too quiet to make out.