Seeing her on the verge of tears now freaked Kim out. She followed Mom downstairs without speaking.
Dad sat in his easy chair, holding a glass of whiskey loosely in his left hand. The reading lamp lit his arm and lap, but left his face in shadow. On the walnut end table beside him lay a piece of parchment at odds with the magazine-perfect living room.
The cream Berber carpet and the cranberry French toile curtains and the tan leather couch all seemed dirty and smudged by the introduction of this one thing from Faerie. It forced itself into her vision with a crisper focus than anything of mortal origins.
Her father set his drink down and leaned forward into the light. Like her mother, he looked scary ancient. His gray wool sweater hung from his shoulders as if he were a first grader playing dress up. His broad, pitted nose was bright red. Dad wiped his hand across his face and covered his eyes for a moment.
He inhaled deeply and dropped his hand. “This is difficult.” Dad picked up the parchment. “We knew it was coming, but…Do you want to sit down?”
“No, sir.” Kim bit the inside of her cheek, uncertain about what was going to come next.
Even though her parents had always told her they’d come to the mortal world for the sole purpose of conceiving her, even though her childhood had been filled with fairy tales in which she was the chosen one, even seeing their glamour, Kim had never fully believed them. Because the truth, that she was the first faerie born into the mortal world since the gate closed, was crazy. She gestured at the parchment. “Can I see it?”
Dad handed it to her and took another sip of his whiskey while Mom dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
To Mossblossom, daughter of Fernbrooke and Woodapple
Right trustie and welbeloved, wee greete you well.
Grat is the task which wee must aske of you, but wee know you will fulfill it in such a way as may not onely nourish and continue our love and good will towards you, but also encrease the same. Our good and most loving Subjects, your worthy parents, have striven to raise you out of the sight of certaine devilish and wicked minded enemies of ours. These enemies who style themselves the Unseelie Court, have most wickedly and unnaturally conspired to have stirred up (as much as in them lay) a generall rebellion throughout our whole Realme. It pleases us to…
“I don’t get this.” Kim lowered the parchment. “I mean, she can’t even spell.”
Her mother winced and took the parchment out of her hands. “The Faerie Queen is using the high court language from before the gate closed during Bloody Mary’s reign. Your father and I had to learn modern English as a second language, of course we were both very young, but—”
“Fern, we need to get moving.” Dad nodded at the brass and mahogany mantel clock. “She wanted us at St. Andrew’s after mass.”
“What?” Kim scanned the parchment again, but the spelling was so poor she had trouble making any sense of it. The cathedral was five blocks from their house, and though she knew it held the Key, they weren’t supposed to open the gate until her sixteenth birthday which was still months away. “But it’s after midnight.”
Her mother sniffed. “If you’d come home when I asked this wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell me why.”
“I didn’t want to distract you at school. Your grades have already been slipping and—”
“Oh, as if that matters. What? My SAT scores will get me into the best schools in Faerie?”
“Stop it.” Draining his whiskey, Dad stood and pulled the letter from her hands. “The Unseelie Court know about you.”
That cut her retort off. The rebel faeries who formed the Unseelie Court had nearly torn the realm apart three hundred years ago when they closed the gate. The only people through since then had been a handful of changelings, like her parents, who’d worked a complicated magic to change places with mortals. “When you say ‘know’...?”
He snapped the parchment at her. “There’s a traitor in the Queen’s Court. She knows not who it is, but it is clear that they have found out about you and the plans to reopen the gate. If we give them any time at all, they will send a changeling and kill you rather than let that happen.”
“Woody, you’re frightening her.”
“What would you have? A child not frightened, but without the information to make good decisions? Fern. We can’t go into the church with her. She has to know that the Unseelie have likely alerted the Catholics and that someone might be there.”
“Let’s just go and get it over with.” Kim flipped the hood of her sweatshirt up to give herself at least a semblance of privacy. Underneath everything, a film of sweat coated her body. Her joints ached with anticipation. “Opening the gate is what I’m here for, isn’t it?”
#
Even though it was only five blocks to the church, her parents drove in case they needed to make a quick getaway. They stopped the Prius across the street from St. Andrew’s and got out with her. Farther down the block, the laughter of late-night hipsters drifted down Alberta Street. Mom put her hands on Kim’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I want you to know that your father and I are very proud of you, no matter what happens.”
Kim’s heartbeat rattled through every bone of her body. She knew their allergies meant that her parents couldn’t go into the church with her, but for a second, she wished they could. “Any last words of advice?”
Her dad leaned in close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Just be safe. You see a priest, you hightail it out of there. We’ll figure out some other plan.”
“Right ...” It had only taken the Faerie Queen five hundred years to cook this one up. Before she could chicken out, Kim got out of the car and crossed the street to the cathedral. She’d read everything her parents could find about the place, knew all about its French Gothic style of architecture, had studied the floor plan until it was printed on the inside of her eyelids, but she had never set foot on the property before.
Once, when she was six, she’d run the five blocks from their house to the cathedral. Her mom caught her just before she got there. Kim had wanted to work the magic so she could get the Key out of the altar. She’d thought her reward would be to get wings like the fairies on TV. Mom had set her straight, explaining that there might be alarms set if any of Faerie blood approached. Since then, she’d always walked down the other side of the street rather than chance it.
Not tonight though. Tonight, she walked straight up the marble steps and pulled out the keys Dad had gotten hold of years ago. It would suck if they’d changed the locks. She put the keys in the lock, braced for something to scream or an alarm to go off.
The door wasn’t even locked. All Dad’s effort to get the keys and she didn’t even need them. Kim hauled open the heavy door and slipped into the nave. She had been to the church’s website dozens of times, but the photo galleries had not conveyed the arcing height of the ceiling. Despite the simple beauty of the oak carvings which adorned the plaster walls, her pulse ratcheted up to quad-espresso rate.
Her parents had refused to teach Kim any spells but those she needed to open the gate, because glamour would interfere with her ability to handle iron. Well, after tonight, baby, that restriction would be lifted and she’d be working it like any good Fae.
Kim sauntered down the middle of the church. Beyond a few guttering candles visible in the side chapel, the building was still and empty. At the altar, Kim put her hand on the cold marble.
All around her, wood splintered as the oak carvings forced their mouths open and shrieked.
Panicked, Kim lifted her hand off the altar, ready to run out of the church—but if she did, her chance to get the Key out of the altar was blown. Whoever had set the alarm already knew she was here.
She pressed her hand back on the altar, crooked her little finger into a fishhook and shouted the words she’d learned as a nursery rhyme:
“Stone, stone, earth’s bone,
Once hid, now shown!”
Under her hand, the center of the stone burst. Its halves tilted and thudded to the ground. In the exposed middle, was a small, ornate iron casket, no larger than a paperback. Above her, the carvings still screamed bloody murder.
A door on the side of the church slammed open and a priest, tousled white hair sticking out like a halo, ran into the sanctuary.
Kim grabbed the casket, leaped over the broken altar, and sprinted down the aisle with the reliquary tucked under her arm like a football.
She hauled open the church door. Yelling incoherently about thieves and sacrilege, the priest chased her. Kim vaulted down the front steps of the cathedral, momentum dropping her forward on her knees. The pavement tore through her striped stockings.
Before Kim could rise, the priest grabbed her. “What did you do?”
Kim tried to shrug free, but the priest had a grip like a bulldog. “Let me go!”
“Stealing is a sin and what you’ve done to the altar ...” His other hand grabbed for the iron reliquary.
Kim kicked and twisted to keep him from taking the Key.
Out of nowhere, her father punched the priest in the nose. The priest staggered, blood streaming down his face.
Dad yelled, “Get in the car!”
Kim tore down the sidewalk. Hipsters and neighbors gawked in the street.
Dashing into the road, Kim headed for her parents’ car. When she stepped off church property, the carvings went silent. The cessation of noise rang like tinnitus.
Their Prius pulled away from the curb. Her mom leaned out the window. “Hurry!”
Kim opened the back door and scrambled into the seat. Dad half fell in after her. As people ran for the car, Mom peeled out, which Kim didn’t even think a hybrid could do.
Mom dodged the onlookers and drove down Alberta to the I-5 onramp. Kim stared out the rear window at the crowd milling around.
“Do you have it?” her mother asked.
Kim turned around to face the front. “Yeah. It’s what I was born to do.”
“Don’t get cocky.” On the seat beside her, Dad had his head down, trying to catch his breath.
Mom peered at her in the rearview mirror. Seeing only her eyes, it was easy to forget how old she looked right now. “We still have to get to Stonehenge to open the gate.”
Kim leaned forward. “I didn’t bring my passport with me.”
“No, no, dear. The replica at Maryhill. We should be able to use it as a mirror with the real one.”
“Oh.” That was a change from the original plan. Kim had been looking forward to going to England, but she’d practiced the ritual every summer at the replica.
“Dammit.” Dad leaned against the seat, still gasping for breath. His face was swollen and puffy.
“Dad?”
He tried to smile, but his breath wheezed in his throat. “Allergies. It’ll pass.”
It sounded like he could barely breathe. His left hand had swollen to water-balloon tightness. “Mom ...?”
Dad put his hand on her knee. “Don’t, you’ll worry her for no reason.”
“What is it, dear?”
Kim bit the inside of her cheek. “How much farther is it?”
“Mmm ... an hour and a half, I think. Why don’t you take a nap, hm? It’s been a long day for you and not over yet.”
As if napping were an option. “You should have seen me. It was ten types of awesome. The rhyme worked like you said and boom!” Kim leaned forward and rested her chin on the seat. “How did they make the carvings scream? I mean, this church was built way after the wall went up, right?”
Kim’s mother tapped the steering wheel. “Well ... you know how, according to the rules, things may only cross between if there’s a one-to-one exchange. The carvings could be like that. They could be something someone prepared in Faerie and exchanged for the ones here. Or, I suppose there could be an Unseelie agent sent as a changeling. Or it might have been Catholic magic of some sort. We’ve never been able to really study the spells built into their rituals.”
Dad’s breath was more labored now. His face lolled against the window.
“Dad?” Kim whispered.
In the passing light from a truck, his skin had a distinct blue pallor. Kim put her hand on his shoulder. “Dad?”
Nothing.
“Mom?” Kim kept her hand on his shoulder, as if she could hold him here. “Something’s wrong with Dad.”
Mom didn’t answer, and Kim thought for a moment that her mother had not heard her, but the Prius slowed and pulled to the side of the interstate.
Still silent, her mother grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Kim could not swallow or breathe or do anything except keep her hand on her dad’s shoulder.
Mom pulled the back door open, her face impassive. As the door opened, Dad started to slump out. Kim tightened her hand on his sweater and hauled him back.
“Fool. Foolish, foolish man.” Mom’s hand trembled as she touched his face. Her breath hitched visibly.
Kim stared at Dad, whose face had all the wrinkles puffed out of it. She did not recognize this moon-faced man in her arms. “What is it? Is he under a spell or what?”
“No. His allergies ...”
A hard laugh escaped Kim. “Allergies? I’ve seen your allergies before; he’s not sneezing, Mom. He can’t even breathe.”
Her mother didn’t answer but rummaged in her purse and pulled out a vial and a pack of Handi Wipes. “He hit the priest, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but ... What? Holy blood is dangerous?” She hated the scorn coming out of her, but the anger was easier to manage than fear.
“Perhaps. Wipe the blood off his hand.” Mom ripped the Handi Wipes pack open and handed it to Kim. “We don’t fully understand the way Catholic magic and Faerie magic interact. I don’t know what spells their priests are under, but I do know this is the sort of protective spell one would lay.” She lifted Dad’s head and held the vial to his lips.
Kim stared, fascinated, as Mom tried to get some of the amber liquid past his swollen lips.
Her mother said, “Kim, I asked you to do something for me and I need you to do it.”
“Sorry.” When she touched her dad’s hand, Kim flinched. The flesh was turgid with pressure but gave slightly under her hands, like a rotting pumpkin.
“How come this didn’t happen to me? I mean, I cast a spell and, you know, desecrated an altar.” She couldn’t tell if the blood was the priest’s or Dad’s from where the skin had broken on his knuckles. “Oh, and stole.”
“You didn’t steal. Fae don’t steal things. The Key belongs to us.”
“Still.” Kim passed the Handi Wipe between her father’s fingers. “Why Dad and not me?”
Mom capped the bottle of whatever and tucked it into her purse. “We had you baptized.”
“What?”
“Think of it as an inoculation against allergies.” Mom slid out of the car. “Ride up front with me.”
“What about Dad?”
Mom stood by the side of the car, her skirt flaring every time a car passed them. She bent down so Kim could see her face. “If we get the gate open fast enough, the Faerie Queen will heal him. He doesn’t have much time. I need you to start thinking.”
Kim swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.” She got out on the passenger side and closed the door as gently as possible to keep from jarring Dad.
Sitting in the front seat, as her mother drove, Kim replayed the events in St. Andrew’s. It wasn’t her fault touching the altar set off an alarm. And Dad should have known better than to hit that priest. Right?
She prodded her scraped knee. He shouldn’t have tried to protect her. And now he might die. The pain did nothing to distract her. Dad had to get better. Kim dug her nails into the raw flesh. The Faerie Queen had to fix him.
#
On a bluff overlooking the Columbia Gorge, the monument loomed out of the dark, silhouetted by moonlight. The water below caught the moon and tossed its silver light like a ball on the
surface of the river. This replica of Stonehenge had been built as a World War I memorial by a railroad industrialist. He’d built it out of “modern” materials, concrete and rebar, but made it look like Stonehenge had when new. The monoliths ringed the center, none fallen on their sides. Even so, it had an air of being decrepit beyond its years. The concrete had its share of graffiti and had crumbled in places.
They’d left Kim’s father in the car because Kim’s mother was worried the spell would think he was an offering in addition to the Key.
Kim huddled against the side of a monolith and tried to stay out of the wind. She ran her fingers across the sculpted surface of the reliquary as if she could read its history in braille. The heavy cross embossed on its surface bumped under her fingers in a constant reminder of what Kim had to undo.
In the middle of the monument, her mother did something on the flat altar. Kim wanted to yell at Mom to hurry and, at the same time, tell her to slow down. As soon as Mom finished prepping the altar, it would be Kim’s turn. What if she didn’t get it right? Dad could die. She clutched the reliquary.
Mom gestured frantically. “Kim, quickly now.”
She joined her mother at the altar stone and put the reliquary in the middle of it. How many times had she pretended to do this while playing in her backyard? She felt split into two halves, the one which knew exactly what to do and the one which was sure she’d screw up. Inhaling to steady herself, Kim pressed her thumb against the catch holding the reliquary shut and let it prick her finger. She bit the inside of her lower lip as the blood welled up on her thumb.
This had been Bloody Mary’s genius; the reliquary would only open to one of pure Faerie blood, but it was made of iron and would burn all Fae who touched it. She had collaborated with the Unseelie Court to close the gate in order to prevent the Faerie Queen from aiding her enemies during the Wyatt Uprising. The Unseelie stooped to her aid, ironically, to keep mortals and their taint out of Faerie. The reliquary was a perfect blend of Catholic and Faerie magics.
Carefully, Kim slid the catch aside, exhaling in a rush of relief as the lock opened. Her thumb stung where the iron had cut her, but no more than with a sunburn. Kim could feel her mother, more than see her, shifting with impatience at her side.
Relics, Wrecks and Ruins Page 12
