Chalice and Blade

by Alexes Razevich

  I returned to the parlor, my thoughts a jumble. My parents were still standing.

  “We’re going home now,” Mom said. “Your dad is exhausted from the flight and neither of us expected this run-in with Modis. Come for dinner tonight at six. We’ll talk things over then.”

  My mind spun with too many disconnected and yet connected thoughts and feelings to manage more than a single word.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Chapter 2

  After my parents left, I did what I tended to do when wild, nervous energy roiled through me: swept the kitchen floor, vacuumed the parlor, cleaned the downstairs bathroom—mindless work to busy my body and conscious mind while my subconscious chewed over the morning’s events.

  My parents had lied to me. My. Entire. Life.

  Modis wanted and needed my mom and me to go into the darkling lands and retrieve a stolen artifact or war would break out between humans and fairies. I’d seen Elgrin and her fairy warriors in battle. I didn’t want us humans on the fairies’ bad side.

  What I did want was to talk to Dee. He was still staying with what remained of his family. The hole his absence left was deep.

  He hadn’t called at all the first week after it had all gone down in that house in Palos Verdes with his half-brother, Gil. He’d called twice the second week, and those conversations had been short and reserved. Now in week three, he called me or I called him every day.

  He didn’t want to talk about how things were at his family compound, and I didn’t press. The sorrow and strain in him rolled through me every time we spoke. How did anyone cope with the death of a brother who’d tried his damnedest to kill you? How did one cope with knowing that, had it come to it, you would have killed your brother to save others who you loved? How did you live with knowledge of what the fairies had done to Gil in their revenge?

  Instead, we talked about the weather there and here, and how much we missed the other. Yesterday, he’d said he was starting to feel like it was time to come home. My heart had whooped and hollered, but all I’d said was, “It’ll be good to see you.”

  Dee, being Dee, had said, “Yeah.”

  Sometimes it’s when we have the most to say that we speak the least.

  I found my phone and punched up his number. The call went straight to voicemail, which meant he’d turned his phone off—unusual for a man who basically regarded his cell phone as a primary bodily organ. After I’d left a message and asked him to call, I felt restless and at loose ends again.

  I took down the wards that protected my house from unwanted intruders, human and otherwise, went out to the porch, put the wards back up, and crossed the Strand to the beach. I traipsed across the sand, past volleyball players and folks gathered around beach towels and blankets, down to the water.

  Water was my element. The ocean soothed my soul like it does most people. It also increased my personal strength and power. I suspected I was going to need both in the darkling lands.

  This being the middle of October, even though the weather was still warm there weren’t a lot of people in the ocean when I waded in. The swells swirled around me, the water gently pushing and pulling, rising and falling as waves formed, hit the shore, and then receded. I stood in the water and thought about my great-grandfather, the supposed selkie. I still wasn’t sure whether I believed the story or not. Elgrin, the fairy warrior, had sensed fae in me. Modis felt fae in me. So maybe the story was true. Maybe that selkie DNA partially accounted for my love of the sea.

  A trio of young women, I guessed them to be late teens, early twenties, ran into the water near me, splashing and laughing as the cool water hit their skins. One dove under an oncoming wave, while the other two shrieked and tried to jump high enough to not be smacked in the face by saltwater. They failed, and the wave soaked them and me up to our shoulders, flecks of water and foam landing on our faces and hair. The girls saw that we’d all suffered the same fate and grinned at me. I smiled back.

  I would have stayed all day, but the afternoon was waning and I needed to shower, dress, and run a quick errand before heading to my parents’ house for dinner. I figured I had enough time to do it all and still be there on time.

  Back in my house, I checked my phone. No call from Dee yet. I grabbed what was left of the animal cookies and headed off to see Maurice.

  Maurice the rat lived in a small patch of greenery near the tennis courts behind the Hermosa Beach Community Center. He was already sitting on his haunches, waiting, when I parked and got out of the car. I didn’t know if he could see the future or just knew the sound of my engine. He scampered over and sat up by my feet, his nose and ears twitching.

  I hunkered down over my ankles and offered the cookies.

  “Is Diego back yet?” he said, waving the cookies away.

  A small worm of worry slithered through me. It wasn’t like Maurice to turn down a gift of sweets. It wasn’t like Maurice to have that anxious tone in his voice. Snark and insults were more his style.

  I shook my head. “He’s still with his family. I called him earlier but he hasn’t called back yet. Why?”

  “Jesus,” Maurice said. “You haven’t heard?”

  “I know some artifacts are missing.”

  The rat dropped down to all fours and walked in a nervous circle.

  “Maurice, what’s going on?”

  He stopped, sat on his haunches and looked up at me. “The human Keeper of the blade is dead. Murdered.”

  I nodded. Modis had told us that.

  “You know who that Keeper was, don’t you?” Maurice said.

  I shook my head. Modis hadn’t told us and I’d been so consumed with other thoughts that I hadn’t asked.

  The rat stopped pacing and stared up at me. “Hugo Bernard.”

  Crap.

  Hugo Bernard was on the Magic Council that oversaw the legal aspects of the magic community. The Council settled legal spats, monitored the magic police, acted as judge and jury for those accused of crimes, and were sometimes executioners as well. Hugo had an irrational hatred for Diego’s mentor, The Gate, and had transferred that over into a profound dislike for Dee and, by extension, for me. His death was going to stir up twelve kinds of shit in the community.

  “And you know who they are blaming,” Maurice said.

  From the rat’s voice tone, it could only be one person. “The Gate.”

  “Exactly.” Maurice’s tail twitched like he’d been struck by a live wire. “He’s been arrested and is being held. He’s refusing to answer any questions. An innocence speaker was called and said The Gate had nothing to do with Hugo’s death. That asshole, McGowan, said The Gate’s magic was so strong he could have blinded the innocence speaker to the truth.”

  Sean McGowan headed the local magic police unit. I agreed with Maurice that the man was a jerk.

  “Is that possible?” I asked.

  Maurice shrugged his tiny shoulders. “I wouldn’t have thought so.”

  “McGowan and Hugo were close friends,” I said. “That friendship probably blinded him so he can’t see any possible villain except The Gate.” I ran a hand through my hair. “This is bad.”

  “You have to get in touch with Diego and tell him he needs to come back now and help sort this out.”

  I nodded. “I’ll keep trying to reach him, but I’m off soon to the darkling lands. I can leave a message, but that’s not the sort of thing you want to hear about on voicemail.”

  The rat waved a small paw in the air. “Whatever. He needs to know, and he needs to come do something about it. Now.” He cocked his head as though a thought had hit him. “Why are you going to the darkling lands? How will you get back out?”

  “I’m going with my mother. Evidently, we have enough fae blood to be allowed in and out. Also evidently that’s where one of the stolen artifacts is. We’ve been tasked with finding and retrieving it.”

  Maurice nodded forcefully. “Yes. Good.” He looked up. “You’ll need my help. I’m going with you.”


  I parked in my parents’ long driveway and then took a shortcut to the front porch through the stand of Spanish Firs that bordered the property. The trees had been planted back in the 1920s and were nearly thirty feet tall. They made the house look a bit like a Christmas tree farm from the street and almost hid the house from view. I guessed the Goodlights had always valued their privacies.

  The house was old, built in the last century by my great-great-grandfather, who’d also built the house I lived in. Fashioned after a palace he’d seen in Spain, it was all arches and white stucco and red tile roof with red bougainvillea and pink oleander near the walls.

  I hesitated on the porch as an awareness made the back of my neck prickle. Someone was in the house beside my mother and father. The vibe from the third person was familiar but I couldn’t place it.

  Only one way to find out who it was. I turned the ornate brass doorknob and pushed the door open.

  My mother, father, and my grandmother were in the living room, drinking tea and in the midst of what looked like an intense conversation when I walked in.

  At least I thought it was my grandmother, who I hadn’t seen in eighteen years, judging by the clear family resemblance between my mom and the woman. In fact, they looked more like sisters with a bit of an age gap than mother and daughter—which was crazy. G-ma was in her eighties and Mom had recently turned sixty-six. But then, my mother didn’t look her chronological age either. Neither did I, for that matter. I was twenty-eight and still getting skeptical looks and seriously carded when I bought alcohol.

  My mother, though, was tiny, maybe five-foot-one on a good day. G-ma was a good half-foot taller, closer to my height. While Mom’s hair was the same chestnut brown as mine, G-ma’s hair was more reddish, tending to auburn. Both women had brown eyes, but G-ma’s were so large and such a deep, dark, velvety shade it was easy to believe her father had been a selkie. I had my dad’s eye color—hazel chasing toward green.

  Mom wore black slacks and a black and silver paisley button-up blouse. G-ma wore jeans and a Mexican peasant blouse with blue and yellow embroidery around the neckline. It seemed like their outfits should have been reversed, given their ages, but I supposed they dressed to personality rather than years. G-ma jumped to her feet as I entered the room.

  We moved toward each other and hugged. She smelled and felt like I remembered. She didn’t smell like cookies, more like dusty lemon, to be honest, but she always managed to make me think of warm sugar, butter, and vanilla.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I said, holding her forearms with my hands, unwilling to let go quite yet. I was my parents’ only child. I had aunts, uncles, and cousins with whom I’d grown up but who had always seemed to regard me as a little odd. Mom, Dad, and especially G-ma had always made me feel completely accepted and loved. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her.

  G-ma lifted one eyebrow and shot me a conspirator’s smile. “I’m coming with you and your mother tomorrow.”

  I hid my surprise. “Good. We’re going to need every skill we have between us.”

  “Ummm,” G-ma said, and cast her glance over her shoulder to where my parents sat on the couch.

  I let loose of G-ma and walked over to hug my father and then my mother.

  “Tea?” Mom asked, rising from where she sat next to my dad.

  That was so my mother—trouble lay on the horizon, soon we’d head off on a quest that could be harrowing, and she casually offered tea. You’d think we were English or something.

  “I’d love some,” I said and took a spot on the other side of my dad on the long brown leather couch.

  My dad pushed his black-rim glasses up from where they’d slid down his nose. He was a handsome man, tall and slim, with wavy brown hair and hazel eyes. He looked suitably Californian in tan cargo shorts, a blue tee shirt, and gray running shoes. I’d been born when my mom was in her late thirties and my dad forty. Dad didn’t look sixty-eight any more than my mom looked her age. That was magic’s doing. And now that I knew what my parents truly were, their youthful looks began to make sense.

  “You could have told me you were a wizard,” I said softly to him.

  He put his large, strong hand over mine. “We thought it best not to. Your mom will explain.”

  As if on cue, Mom returned with a teapot, four cups, and a selection of homemade cookies on a tray. Her hands didn’t shake as she poured a cup for me, but her vibe was jangly and tense. I probably shouldn’t have picked this moment for this question but I needed to know. And I was still pissed at my parents for leaving out some rather important family information. I leaned forward on the couch and looked to my grandmother.

  “G-ma, is it true that your father was a selkie? I’ve heard that all my life but—“

  “Absolutely,” she said. “I used to play in his sealcoat when I was young—dress up, as it were. I loved to watch him transform when he put on or took off his coat. I loved that he was fae and had his own special magic, very different from my mother’s.”

  G-ma paused and a wistful smile crossed her face. “We swam the ocean together, our family. Mother had a spell she used to transform her and me. This was before I’d learned to shift myself. Once we went all the way to Catalina in our seal bodies. It’s quite a long swim for a young girl.”

  I had so many questions. Things my parents had shied away from confirming or denying in their odd quest to make my life ‘normal.’

  “So, we do have fae blood?” I said.

  “Of course! I’m half fae. Your mother is quarter.”

  “Which makes me what? An eighth?”

  “Your math is accurate.” She leaned toward me. “If you were less, Modis wouldn’t have asked you on this quest. The fae and their servants in the darkling lands won’t tolerate anyone in their domain who is less than an eighth.”

  I felt my mother tense again and her regret that I was fae enough. She’d rather I stayed home.

  What, exactly, did ‘the fae and their servants’ mean?

  “So you’re half fae and a shapeshifter?” I said.

  “That’s true, too.” G-ma grinned slyly. “Shall I demonstrate?”

  Mom glared at G-ma.

  G-ma tsked. “You tried to keep magic out of Oona’s life and what good did it do you? None. She wound up smack in the middle of it anyway, except she wound up mostly unprepared because you hid her birthright and legacy from her.”

  Mom’s mouth drew into a tight line, but she didn’t reply. I heard her thoughts without even trying. I had my reasons.

  G-ma grinned and focused on me. “Lucky you hooked up with your wizard and were able to learn a few things.”

  No filter. That’s what people said about my grandmother. She had no filter and said whatever popped into her head.

  G-ma, her eyes gleaming, glanced at Mom and then back to me. “Now, watch. I’ll show you a little of what I can do.”

  Mom sucked in a hard breath but again kept her words to herself. Dad sighed in a long-suffering way and took Mom’s hand in his own.

  The mix of emotions in the room was making my stomach hurt. If they didn’t knock it off, I was afraid I’d be sick. I was having a hard time imagining my mother and grandmother working together on anything, much less on finding and retrieving the stolen chalice.

  G-ma flashed me another huge grin. Her shoulders shook slightly. There was a shimmer in the air like a heat mirage, and her clothes suddenly lay crumpled on the floor. A tiny, white, teacup poodle shook itself free of the clothing and trotted over to stand at my feet.

  I reached to pick up the dog but before I could, the little dog’s shoulders shook, the air shimmered, and a chimpanzee lurched back and forth from foot to foot making little hoo-hoo-hoo sounds in G-ma’s best imitation of a cartoon chimp. The chimp grabbed G-ma’s clothes and rushed out of the room.

  Stunned, I looked at my mother.

  Mom sighed. “That’s just a taste of what my childhood was like. Mother thought it was great fun to shift into animal forms
to ’entertain’ my friends. The last sleepover I ever had, my mother showed up as a growling tiger in the room where five of my friends and I were sleeping. Needless to say, I lost a few friends that night.”

  “That must have been rough.”

  “And not the least of it. Your grandmother is psychic, as you are. She seemed to delight in telling me what my friends—and boyfriends—were truly thinking about me. Not that she only picked out the negative. She’d tell me the positive, too, but somehow it was the negative things that stuck in my head.”

  Wasn’t that always the way? We could hear ten good things about our self from others and one criticism, and it was the criticism that would bounce around in our brains afterwards.

  G-ma came back into the parlor, adjusting her shirt absentmindedly as if nothing unusual had just happened. She sat in one of the two club chairs and dusted invisible dirt off her hands.

  “Well, now that that’s cleared up, how about we talk about our plans for the darkling lands?”

  Chapter 3

  Back at home, the last word of the spell to reload the protective wards on my house was leaving my lips as my phone rang. I pulled the phone from my purse, glanced at the screen, and thumbed on the FaceTime call. “Hey, Dee.”

  His dark hair had grown shaggy, he was in need of a shave, and his blue-gray eyes looked beyond tired. I wanted to reach through the ether to him, tell him that whatever was making him look that way, things would get better.

  “What’s up?” he said. “Your message had a bit of a desperate edge to it.”

  Desperation seemed to be soaking souls everywhere these days.

  I walked into the parlor. The curtains on the huge glass window looking out to the Strand and the beach beyond were open. A gaggle of slightly drunk young women was passing by. I shut the curtains. The room was more intimate with the curtains drawn. I sat on the sofa, my feet drawn up under me.