"She said she had to visit friends, that she had a few things to take care of, but that she would be back." He looked at Alexander. "She said she would be back, and she never lied to me. Not ever. Mark my words, she will walk through that door one day."
Alexander glanced at him sharply, seemingly surprised by his conviction. Then he flipped to the last page of the sketchbook. His eyes grew into saucers.
"Oh my god, I forgot she used to call it a folly!"
He turned the book to show me the picture. It was a charcoal drawing of a lighthouse surrounded by tall grass, water in the distance behind it. Scrawled across the bottom of the page in large script were the words 'Xander's Folly'.
"You know this place?" I asked, excitement welling up in me.
"Yes, it's about a mile from here. It's not functioning as a lighthouse anymore. They abandoned it years ago, but I loved going there when I was a kid. She called it my folly. Why didn't I think of this sooner?"
"I didn't know she called you Xander," I mused.
"She didn't. Nobody called me by that name until I was in the marines. Maybe it was part of one of her… dreams."
An hour later, we headed toward the lighthouse in Alexander's truck. It was simply too cold to walk.
"I didn't know you grew up so close to the water," I said. "It's ironic—when you first told me your mother disappeared when you were a child I thought she might be a Silkie. And here you were, right next to the bay."
"Aren't those the fae who take the form of a seal? Why would you think that?"
"You were seven years old when she left. It's common for Silkies to yearn to return to the sea after around seven years."
"Like a seven-year itch?" Alexander chuckled.
"Something like that." I smiled. "The pull can be irresistible, even to the point of leaving their children. You can hear them wailing at times, out in the water, trying to get a glimpse of their families."
"I have seen seals here a couple of times over the years."
Alexander turned onto a lane barely visible if you didn't know it was there. We bounced in our seats as we drove over the deteriorated surface of the road toward the lighthouse.
"Xander, we aren't really thinking we'll find your mother here, are we?" I asked. The idea that she had been so close to home all these years seemed ludicrous, and I didn't want to see him heartbroken when the place turned out to be empty.
He looked over and smiled sadly. "No, but I'm hoping for more clues. More breadcrumbs to follow."
The lighthouse towered above us as we pulled up beside it. The white paint on the brick exterior was peeling away, exposing the crumbling red stone underneath. Dusk was falling, and the sky was growing dark. I got out of the truck and looked up at the glass atop the tower.
"Does it ever light up anymore?" I asked.
"No, not since the '30s. When I was young, the neighborhood kids claimed to see a light—they said it was haunted. But I never believed that; I always found it so peaceful here."
He leaned over and took a flashlight from the glove compartment.
"Sure and I see a light now."
He looked up the tower.
"No, not up top; over there." I pointed toward the run-down stone caretaker's cottage that butted up against the lighthouse.
Someone had boarded up the small building, but a glimmer of light leaked through the cracks in the boards. As soon as I spoke the light went out. A dog barked as we approached the building.
"Damn it dog, shut up!" said a voice in an urgent whisper, too low for Alexander to hear.
I should have expected to find her there, after hearing the dog, but I shook my head with disbelief when I recognized the voice.
Vandalized long ago, the rusty padlock hung loose on the thick wooden door. There was nothing to keep us from entering, but it would be better not to walk in on the lass.
"Sloan is inside," I whispered. "Perhaps we should knock so we don't scare her."
Before Alexander could respond, a deadbolt on the inside turned and the teenager swung the door open. The light from the flashlight shone in her eyes, catching a strange gleam.
"I'm not scared of anyone," Sloan said with a scowl, though the weapon in her hand contradicted her. She held an odd, spade-shaped knife tightly her grasp.
She stepped back to allow us to enter the dark cottage. After shutting and locking the door behind us, she flipped a switch on a surge protector. Several small lamps, scattered around the room, flickered on and lit the space with a warm yellow glow.
The room had a spattering of furniture, possibly left behind by an earlier resident. A battered sofa, missing its legs, sat in the middle of the room next to a large pillow for the dog. Sloan seethed, glaring at the dog as she greeted us enthusiastically.
"Put the weapon down," Alexander commanded.
She ignored him and clenched her fist tighter around the blade's six-inch handle. The tension in Alexander's body rose. He squeezed and opened his hand twice before lifting it toward his shoulder. I was about to intervene when Sloan threw the blade on a table. She dropped sulkily onto the sofa, arms folded across her chest.
Alexander relaxed and let his breath out slowly. Calmer now, he glanced around the shabby room.
"You live here? By yourself?" he asked.
"I don't need anyone else."
"Where are your parents?"
"I don't have any parents, and I don't need any." Sloan raised her chin defiantly.
"But you're a kid! How old could you be, fifteen?"
"I'm over eighteen, so don't even think about turning me in. The system and me don't get along."
"So what, you live here with the dog? You're trespassing. Where does the electricity come from, anyway?"
She shrugged.
"No one else was using this place, except the dog—she was here first." Her tone implied it was the dog's fault they were there. "I guess the coast guard just forgot to turn off the electricity."
"No one else uses it because it's uninhabitable," Alexander said, exasperated. He looked around the room and noticed for the first time that a few of the items in the place weren't old and tattered at all.
A laptop and cellphone lay on the table where she had dropped the knife. A black leather bomber jacket lay across the top of a four-drawer tool chest. He walked over and opened one of the drawers. Wrenches and screwdrivers rolled around inside.
"How did you get this stuff? Are you stealing it?" Alexander asked, picking up a screwdriver.
"I'm not a thief!" Sloan said, indignant. She ran to grab the tool from his hand, dropped it into the toolbox and banged the drawer closed. "People pay me to fix things for them. Sometimes they give me things, but I never take a damn thing without asking first."
While Alexander considered these practical matters, something else had caught my attention. I got my first good look at the girl, now that she wasn't wearing the baseball cap and in the slightly better light. There was something unusual about her.
To start with, without the cap obscuring my view, I clearly saw that her ears were pointed. Her auburn eyes weren't human, either. I looked surreptitiously at Alexander, but he had yet to notice: the girl appeared to be a Sidhe, yet not a Sidhe at the same time. Her skin was pale against her dark tattoos, but it lacked opulence. Her faceted eyes didn't sparkle, and her purple hair had no metallic sheen.
Even her aura confused me. It was muddy and dark, but not evil and not outside the human spectrum. However, I was certain she wasn't human. She could have been another type of fae.
I took a step toward her to get a better look. She saw me move and jumped back.
"You stay away from me," she warned. "I can see you're one of them."
Alexander stopped what he was saying and looked at us with a puzzled expression.
"One of who?" he asked.
"Can't you see it? She's like the Morgans."
"I am, but not all of us are the same," I said. "Have they harmed you?"
Her face twisted with di
sgust.
"No, they're just idiots. But my father warned me to stay away from you people. And something nasty has been lurking around here lately. It could be you!"
Alexander's expression went from confusion to surprise. However, he stayed quiet and let us continue our conversation.
"A leanbh, I promise you, I will never hurt you," I said gentling my voice and infusing it with a touch of my essence, willing her to feel the truth in my words.
"Yeah, right. Like I believe you," Sloan mumbled. However, she let me take a step closer.
Her ears were her only obvious non-human feature. I suspected that the earrings she wore provided the little glamour needed to camouflage them, even with the short haircut. She may not even know she was generating the glamour. Nothing else about her would have appeared enough out of place to cause questions.
I reached a hand out to her. "Come, let's sit and talk."
She ignored my hand but went back to sit on the sofa. Alexander found a crate among the clutter, pulled it close and sat on it, the dog lying at his feet.
"What's the dog's name?" he asked as he stroked her back.
"Lady," Sloan said, sounding exhausted. "I call her Lady."
"Sloan, do you remember your parents? Do you know where you come from?" I asked. She shook her head.
"My father told me he found me by the grace of God—whatever the hell that means." The words were tough, but her tone softened at the memory.
"He adopted you? That must have been a blessing for both of you." Her eyes grew wide.
"That's what he used to say! Yeah, and he home schooled me too. He was a handyman and he taught me. I can fix anything," she boasted, then she hesitated and her voice dropped as any hint of happiness drained away. "He died eight years ago."
"What about your mother?"
"Never had one," Sloan said abruptly. Her tone clearly meant to stave off pity as much as any further conversation on the topic. We sat and quietly digested her story. Then Sloan broke the silence. "Mr. M kind of reminds me of my dad."
"You were the one who called Alexander yesterday, weren't you?" She nodded sullenly.
"Weird stuff has been happening around here. People move around like zombies. Five of them have drowned in the bay. They say they're suicides, but I don't know about that. Their families said they acted confused—not depressed or anything—before they died."
"And you thought that could happen to John?" I asked.
She nodded and turned her head away from me, trying to hide her expression. Clearly John was important to her, and she was afraid to lose him.
"He had some confused moments when we arrived, but he seemed fine after a while," Alexander said.
"You're not around him every day," Sloan shot at him. "He's fine sometimes, but I'm telling you, he's changed. Something is wrong." The dog whimpered as if echoing Sloan's concerns.
"Okay, okay," Alexander said, holding up his hands to calm her. "I believe you. We'll figure something out. We certainly aren't going to let him walk into the bay."
CHAPTER NINE
Alexander and I went through the cottage, looking for anything his mother may have left for him. From the main room we went into the tiny kitchen. Someone had taken out the appliances decades ago. Sloan had a microwave and mini-refrigerator on the counter. Alexander eyed them and glanced back at Sloan, who stood leaning against the doorframe behind us.
"More gifts?"
"Yeah. So what?" Sloan said, staring at the doorjamb.
Sloan used the next room for a bedroom. She had cleared it out except for a mattress and a pile of clothes on the floor. We went into the last room; which Sloan wasn't using at all. We picked around the rubble and old furniture, but there was nothing of interest—no books, drawings, photographs, or anything else that might be seen as a clue or evidence that Neve had been there. Alexander spent a half hour going through the papers in an old desk in the corner, but even then he uncovered nothing new.
"Let's go over to the lighthouse," he suggested.
"There's nothing in there," Sloan said.
"I want to look anyway."
Sloan played at appearing uninterested in what we were doing, but she came along with us anyway, citing the need to let Lady out.
When we stepped outside, the air felt heavy and still. The absence of any breeze left the night eerily devoid of sound. Sloan noticed it too. She scanned the area warily.
"Let's get inside," she said.
The door to the lighthouse had also been vandalized, leaving no lock to keep us out. In the beam of Alexander's flashlight, the interior appeared to be better preserved than the outside. No peeling paint; no crumbling bricks.
"There's nothing in here," Sloan told us again.
"I'm sure you're right," I said. "He just needs to see that for himself."
Alexander walked every inch of the ground floor, looking for anything remarkable. Finding nothing, he went to the wrought iron spiral staircase that went up the center of the lighthouse. He shook it forcefully, testing its stability. Satisfied that it was safe, he turned toward Sloan and me.
"You guys go ahead of me. I'll light the way from behind you. Take it easy. We don't want to trip on these narrow steps."
I went first, on the rationale that I didn't need as much light to see or find the odd shaped steps hard to manage. Sloan came after me. She was just as agile on the climb. Lady scrambled up the steps behind Alexander.
The staircase went past the mechanics of the torch on the top of the tower and came to an end at a set of double brick doors, latched in the middle. I lifted the latch and pushed the doors outward. They opened onto a deck that went around the huge glass bulb.
I stood at the metal railing that fenced the deck. The air flowed easily up there. A breeze came off the water, making the night air even more frigid than it had been on the ground. I could see my breath as I gazed out at the rippled reflection of the moon on the bay.
Alexander came to stand beside me and I leaned against him. Sloan walked around to the other side of the tower that faced the town.
"Xander, I'm sorry we didn't find anything," I said. Despite the improbability of finding Neve here, I had expected to find something.
He looked out over water, collecting his thoughts, his eyes heavy with sadness. "What was the point? Why leave a message with Deirdre and the drawing to lead me here for nothing?"
"Maybe the pictures are the clue. We should look at them again."
"Okay, we'll do that." He smiled weakly and put his arm around my waist, but he continued to stare out over the bay.
While we stood together, watching at the moon's rolling reflection, a mist rose from the water. The air grew heavy and still, as it had been below. Lady growled from behind us as she and Sloan made the full circle around the deck. She barked and tried to herd us back through the door when a thick blanket of fog enveloped us. A musky smell of smoke and peat permeated the fog so thickly it choked me.
"It's… a… Gray Man," I sputtered as I coughed.
The alarm in my voice triggered action from Alexander. He whipped his hand back and drew out his sword in one smooth motion. Sloan yelped and jumped away from him.
"Damn, where the hell did that come from?" she choked out.
Then the Gray Man stood before us, a rickety giant with a gray beard and a cloak of fog that swirled around him. He held a long walking stick that was easily seven feet tall. When he saw me he laughed—softly at first, but building until he threw back his head and roared.
"What a wonderful surprise! Tonight I shall dine on The Jewel," he said.
He hadn't noticed Alexander, who rushed him at these words. He swept the sword across the Gray Man's knees, slicing through them and knocking the stick from his hand.
The giant didn't fall to the ground. Instead, the mist swirled around him. In seconds he had reformed, though he now stood four feet shorter. He picked up his stick and swung it at Alexander, who jumped back to avoid the blow and collided with Sloan. The two of the
m tumbled to the floor.
Sloan spouted curses as she jumped up, blade in hand. She ran at the fae, screaming and slashing as she went. She leaned forward, intent on plunging the blade into the creature's gut, but he was quicker. He grabbed her wrist and snapped it. She screamed as she rolled away from him, cradling her broken wrist.
Lady ran around the deck and attacked the fae from behind, snarling and biting at his legs through his swirling cloak.
Alexander stormed him again. The Gray man swung his stick, attempting to knock him across his knees. He jumped back, dodging the blow.
I looked for something to use as a weapon and found nothing but a couple of loose bricks. I picked one up and hurled it at the Gray Man, hitting him in the head. He stumbled back a step. This distracted him enough for Alexander to set upon him again.
He sliced the fae at the waist this time. When the Gray Man reformed, he was Alexander's height. He raised his staff, but before he could bring it down, Alexander plunged the sword into his heart. The runes on the blade glowed bright as the fae's smoky chest burned away from it.
"The Claíomh Solais," the Gray Man said, his eyes wide with shock.
Alexander's chest heaved as he watched the fae take his last breath and melt away, taking the thick fog with him.
Lady started whimpering and nuzzling Sloan even before the Gray Man had completely evaporated. Sloan held her arm just above her distorted and swollen wrist. She took quick shallow breaths and trembled with pain. I ran to kneel beside her and slowly reached out with my hand.
"Don't touch it!" she screamed.
"Sloan, I know you're in pain," I said, keeping my voice low and calm. "If you let me, I can help."
"What the hell can you do? It's broken. Anyone can see that."
Alexander had his back to us, shielding us as his eyes patrolled the perimeter for impending danger. He still held the sword in his hand.
"Do you think that's a good idea?" he said over his shoulder. "We can take her to the emergency room. It isn't far. You don't want to do more than you should."
Alexander had only meant to remind me of the consequences of healing the girl, however Sloan took offence to his choice of words.
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