by E J Frost
She lifts her head. Dark pits of eyes meet mine for a second.
She howls into my face.
I throw myself backwards so hard my chair tips over, and land on the floor in a crack of wood. I reach and yank my churi out of its shadow-sheath. I raise the blade, squint into the glow of the protective silver.
She’s gone.
The pocket door slides open. Toby, his furry face wrinkled in concern, pokes his head into the room. “You okay, Tsara?”
I stand slowly. “Yeah.” I sheathe my churi back in the darkness and scrub my hands over my face. “Are you?”
He nods his elongated head. He hasn’t been able to shift back yet, because shifting doesn’t heal wounds and I’m worried his will reopen while his skin and bones are busy rearranging. “Felt something.”
“Me, too.” A very unhappy spirit. And whatever’s called her to me, I don’t want to feel her again. Not without some precautions.
I spend the rest of the evening re-warding the house. Then I call Lilliwhite.
The fae are a funny bunch. They can use modern technology, as long as it doesn’t involve cold iron, but they don’t. I call Lilliwhite in my scrying mirror. It takes her a while to answer. A cell phone or pager would be so much faster. They’re all plastic nowadays anyway. How hard could it be to make a fae-friendly pager?
“Tsara?”
“Hi, Lilliwhite. I need the Squire.”
“Oh, it’s not a good night—”
“I know what night it is.” It’s a noswaith lawen. A dancing night. Which means the fae are busy. But I’ve depleted my stocks of protective herbs by sealing the house, and my stocks of healing herbs in dealing with Toby, and I need the usual compliment of ingredients for next week’s batch of fertility potions. All of which means a trip to the woods. And I’m not going on my own. Not with a pissed-off ghost looking for me.
“Okay, I’ll ask him.”
I wait, chopping comfrey for the healing potion I’ve been giving Toby.
Finally, the Squire’s helmeted face appears in my scrying mirror.
I bow, wipe off my churi and carefully cut my thumb. Smear a little blood on the edge of the mirror. The Squire’s a very traditional fae.
“I am in need of protection,” I say. The words that first brought the Squire to me, when I was attacked by a ghoul pack in the Lexington cemetery.
He bows his helmeted head. I’ve never seen his face. I’m not totally sure he has one.
“I offer my services to the Fair Folk whenever they are in need.”
He bows again, and the pact is sealed for another night. He protects me and if the fae ever need my services, I’m oath-bound to provide them. What services they might need, I’ve never asked. And, evidently, they’ve never needed anything.
But Lilliwhite doesn’t come by just for the coffee. She’s keeping an eye on me. Spying on me, really. Finding out what I can do. For the day when her master decides to call in the debt I owe the fae.
After the mirror goes dark, I pack up my things and seal my herbarium. Ana’s already arrived to keep the convalescing werewolf company. They’re playing Escape from Butcher Bay on Toby’s Xbox in the parlor, which I find disconcerting. Maybe it’s the digital blood splashing all over my TV. When did computer games become so violent? I miss Pac-Man.
Before I’m even to the door, the Squire’s there. I can see the shine of his helmet through the stained glass lites. I open the door and invite him in – because Lilliwhite told me I’d offended him by failing to do so. He shakes his head. He never accepts. Evidently it’s the invitation that’s important.
He holds out his gauntleted hand for my backpack. Ever the gentleman. His other hand stays on his sword-hilt. Ever the warrior. I’ve seen him in action. Against the ghouls that nearly got me. Against a pack of barghast that caught my scent in the Estabrook Woods. He’s amazing. Like something out of The Matrix. He moves too fast for me to follow. He wields the sword like it’s part of him.
He leads me to his horse, which waits patiently at the curb amongst my neighbors’ Suburus and Chevys. The horse shimmers silver in the streetlights. And that’s all anyone looking at the horse, or the Squire, would see. A faint shimmer. The wink of a firefly. The fae are only visible when they want to be to those who don’t have the Sight.
It’s a trick I’d like to learn, but I’m afraid to. My great-great Aunt Rupa was obsessed with invisibility. She wanted to create a potion that could hide our whole clan from the gavver. Her ‘testing arm’ eventually disappeared. Completely. My life is challenging enough without parts of me disappearing.
The Squire leaps onto the back of his horse like he’s weightless. He offers me a hand up. This is the part I hate. Trying to climb onto the back of a horse in a long skirt. I only wear the damn skirt because Lilliwhite told me I was offending the Squire by showing the shape of my legs. Traditionalist. So I wear a skirt and mostly it doesn’t get in my way. Except when I’m getting on and off the horse.
I struggle up behind the Squire. As always, I get the sense that the Squire and his horse are being patient with me. And having a little laugh at my expense.
Once I’m aboard, I grab the Squire tightly around the waist. I’ve learned from experience that I don’t want to fall off. Particularly during the scary part.
I squeeze my eyes closed.
There’s a sense of movement. Rushing. Cold wind against my cheeks, ruffling through my hair. The one time I didn’t shut my eyes I saw a blur of shape and color – and, I swear, stars streaking past – that made me queasy. For days. So now I know to keep my eyes shut until we stop. It only takes a second anyway.
Then we’re there. The horse’s hooves thud softly against dirt. The dizzying sense of movement stops. I open my eyes and look around. Nothing’s familiar. Definitely not the Arlington woods. It’s warmer here than in Boston, for one thing. By at least ten degrees. And wetter. The trees are dripping; rhododendron leaves shine in the moonlight. Maybe North Carolina. The horse likes the North Carolina woods. We go there a lot. Not that the Squire – or the horse – ever tells me where we are. I only know that the warm, wet woods are in North Carolina because I recognized the towering mountains in the distance while I was watching Last of the Mohicans on Turner Classic Movies one lazy Sunday.
Once we went to China. I nearly stumbled across a panda bear while I was looking for Oriental Ginseng. A real panda bear. It looked like a black and white teddy. Only really big. And smelly. But the Chinese woods were full of things. Watchful things. Things that didn’t feel all that friendly. The Squire had his sword out the whole time we were there. We haven’t gone back.
But, then, I haven’t needed wild Oriental Ginseng since then. The horse seems to know what I need and takes us to wherever it’s growing.
The Squire takes my hand from around his waist and helps me down. Down is easier than up, although I’ve ended up on my ass more than once. Once I’m on my feet, the Squire swings off the horse with liquid grace.
I smile at him. “That’s beautiful to watch.” I’ve learned that the fae like to be complimented.
The Squire inclines his head. It’s his due, mortal admiration. I’m glad I can give it to him. Lilliwhite says he doesn’t have any other contact with the mortal world anymore. That makes me sad, because there are certainly plenty of mortal maidens in need of protection. I guess they’ve forgotten how to ask.
He follows me a few steps to the edge of the clearing where there’s a clump of Smooth Solomon’s Seal growing. I’m out, having used all I had on Toby. Kneeling, I gather several handfuls of the droopy-leaved stalks. Then more. More than I need. A vague idea forms in the back of my head.
“Like calls to like,” I tell the Squire. I’ve gotten into the habit of talking to him during our midnight jaunts. He never answers, but he seems to listen. Lilliwhite tells me he likes the sound of my voice, even if he doesn’t always understand what I’m saying. “Solomon’s Seal to Solomon’s Seal.”
I can almost see my Dala
shaking her head. She has very little use for sympathetic magic. I’m the only one in our family who’s been able to do it in generations, anyway.
“My family thinks I’m crazy.” One nice thing about talking to the Squire, he’s very non-judgmental. “They think I should leave Manny to the wolves.” I shake my head as I collect more stalks. “If he was Rom, they’d expect me to donate a kidney. But because he’s not, it’s fine to just forget about the debt I owe him. Hypocrites.”
I spit into the grass. Both in anger and to clear my mouth after speaking ill of my family. My spit sizzles, smokes. Not a good sign. I’m hyped up. Being in the woods usually calms me down.
Well, it’s been a rough couple of days.
“You should be on the look-out for ghosts,” I tell the Squire. “Well, one really angry ghost. I’ve been haunted for the last couple of days.” What I’m saying suddenly clicks in my conscious brain. “Those weird phone calls . . . it’s the ghost.”
I sink the tip of my churi into the dirt and begin drawing a circle around myself before I think about it. The Squire steps to the edge of the circle and looks down at me, his helmeted head tilted to one side.
I stop in mid-motion. “Summoning the ghost here would be really stupid, wouldn’t it? That’s what you’re thinking.” I sigh. “You’re right. I should do it in my hearth room, where I’ve got the permanent circle. It’s just . . . well, I feel safer when you’re around. Guess that makes me a coward, doesn’t it?”
I turn back towards the stand of Solomon’s Seal.
The Squire’s sword sinks into the ground next to me. Through the line I’ve started in the moist earth. I glance up at him.
He taps his gauntleted fingers against his chain-mail breast-plate, then extends his hand toward me.
“What?” I’m not sure what the gestures mean. “Sorry, I’m bad at charades.” And we haven’t played them much before. He doesn’t usually try to communicate with me.
He circles his finger in the air, completing the circle around me. Then taps his finger against his chest again and points at me.
“You’ll, uh, you’ll stay with me while I talk to the ghost?” I ask, hopefully. Wish-projection, my ex-therapist would call it.
The Squire nods.
“Oh.” Blood rushes to my cheeks for no good reason. “Do you want to do it now?” I half-rise. I don’t want to impose on him, and I’d really like to get it over with. Having ghosts howl at me does not make my day.
The Squire shakes his head and gestures towards the woods.
I smile. He may be traditional, but he’s also very generous. I finish gathering the Solomon’s Seal and head deeper into the woods. My knight in faerie armor trails after me.
The trip back seems to take longer than it should. Or maybe it’s just that I’m so tired that I fall asleep against the Squire’s back and he lets me sleep there until the horse’s soft nicker wakes me.
I jerk awake and nearly fall off the horse. The Squire’s firm arm guides me down to the ground. I stand uncertainly on the curb, yawning and shivering. It’s much colder here than it was in the woods.
And that’s when I realize that it’s dawn.
I look up at the armored fae. “You’ve missed the noswaith lawen. I’m really sorry. I didn’t think we’d be gone so long.”
The Squire inclines his head and hands me my bulging backpack. Then he draws a circle in the air.
“Oh, that. Look, I really appreciate your offer, but I don’t want to impose. You don’t have to—”
He stiffens. I gulp back the rest of what I was going to say. He is very traditional, and I’ve probably just done something heinous like call his honor into question.
“Uh, sorry.”
He twists in the saddle, a very un-fae-like movement, and points at the rising sun. He traces a path across the sky with his finger, then taps his chest and points at me.
It takes me a minute, but then I get it. “You want me to wait until tonight?”
He nods.
“But it’s still noswaith lawen. I don’t want to make you miss two nights in a row. Gwyn ap Nudd might not like it—”
He hisses. The first noise I’ve ever heard him make. I swallow hard. Maybe that’s not a name I’m supposed to know. Or speak aloud.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. You’ll be back tonight?”
He nods.
I stammer while I try to avoid thanking him directly. It can be dangerous to thank the fae. “Y-you don’t have to do this. It’s not part of our deal. But I’m really, really grateful—”
He reaches into the cuff of his gauntlet for a moment, plucks something off his sleeve, then holds it out to me. I reach up and he drops something into my hand.
It’s a button. A beautiful button. In the shape of a flower. Each petal is inlaid with a gem: ruby, citrine, yellow sapphire, emerald, amethyst. At the center of the flower winks a diamond. It’s the most exquisite, and probably the most expensive, thing I’ve ever touched.
I didn’t know the fae even had buttons.
The Squire taps his left breast. Over his heart. I nod. It’s a charm and I know how to use charms. “I’ll wear it until you come tonight.”
He shakes his head and closes his hand into a fist.
“I don’t—”
He points at the button and then at me.
“It’s for me?” I squeak. It’s probably worth more than my house. “I can’t—” I shut my mouth abruptly, because it’s an extremely bad idea to refuse a gift from the fae. I gather my brain and drop into a curtsey. “I’m honored.”
That seems to satisfy him. He gives me the mounted bow he always gives me at the end of our evenings. I look away, because Liliiwhite’s told me I shouldn’t watch when he goes. A rush of cold air rustles the fallen leaves on the sidewalk behind me. And he’s gone.
Slowly, I walk up the steps of my house, clutching his button in my hand.
Chapter 10
I string the button on a silver chain and wear it under my shirt. It’s cold against my skin, and even after I’ve worn it for an hour, it doesn’t warm up. Maybe it’s the faerie dust I’ve sprinkled over it to make it look like a plain silver heart. So it doesn’t attract the attention of every mugger and junkie in Boston.
Lin spots it immediately. “New charm?” she asks when I bring her a cup of amaretto crème.
“Sort of. I thought you didn’t have the Sight.”
“I don’t.”
“Right. What kind of dragon was your great-grandfather again?”
Lin snorts into her coffee. “None of your business.”
“Yeah.” I know, actually. It was her great-great-great-great-grandfather and he was a huanglong. She told me back when we first began doing sessions together. After I admitted what had driven me into therapy, and then to medication, and then to acupuncture. “Look, we may have an issue—”
“An issue?” She glances up sharply. “Like the issue with the bird?”
I wrinkle my nose at her. “That wasn’t actually an issue.”
“No, it was a deranged crow that sat outside the clinic for a month croaking ‘Nevermore.’”
“That’s Poe.” I give her a wry grin. “It didn’t talk.”
It did sit outside the clinic for about a month, though. And it did make a lot of noise. I never could figure out what it wanted. At first I thought I’d finally attracted a familiar. But it wouldn’t let me get near it. It just watched me. And croaked. And occasionally tried to crap on me.
Stupid bird.
“Close enough,” Lin says. “Anyway, define issue.”
“I think a ghost is trying to talk to me.”
“Oh, that kind of issue.” Her words are mild but she looks horrified. Chinese ghosts can be aggressive, and quite pissy, so I can’t really blame her.
“She appeared at my house yesterday.”
Lin’s eyebrows shoot up so high they disappear into her bangs. “Could she appear here?”
“Maybe.” I wince at Lin’s expression. �
��I’ve warded the offices again. That’s why I was in early this morning.”
“You call eight-forty early?”
“Hey, I didn’t see you in the Blue Ridge Mountains last night gathering bloodwort for the magic milk until daybreak.”
Lin’s almond eyes widen. “Were you really? How the hell did you get there?”
Shit. I didn’t mean to give that away. “You don’t want to know. Anyway, I thought I’d warn you that we might have an issue—”
“I hate your issues, you know that?”
She doesn’t. Not really. I hope. “Everyone has issues.”
“Evonne has issues with the copy machine. Ruth has issues with Friday afternoon-itis.” That’s true. Our nurse does seem to develop a migraine or P.M.S. or some other reason that she has to leave early every Friday afternoon. “Your issues—”
Are complicated. And usually can’t be solved by calling the copier repairman or taking a prescription-strength painkiller. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Listen, I’m doing you a favor. I could have just let the ghost show up and then told you.”
Lin rolls her eyes. “Thanks loads. So how long are we going to have this issue?”
“I’m going to try to channel her tonight. Hopefully once she says what she has to say, that will be it.”
Or I’ll be haunted. Not the option I’d prefer, really.
Lin’s no dummy. “And if that’s not it?”
“You mind if we cross that bridge when we come to it?”
She shakes her head. “You know, I never know whether to be annoyed or worried with you. I know there’s a ton of stuff you’re not telling me.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I say. That’s kind of a lie, and I don’t like lying to Lin. She’s my friend and our partnership has been very successful, not just financially. I don’t want to blow her trust. But I don’t want her involved in this, either.
“That’s a lie.”
I wince.
“If you’re going to lie to me, at least lie well. Or lie consistently. You just told me you came in early—” A delicate snort. “To re-ward the office. You don’t haul yourself in here before ten to take that sort of precaution unless it’s much, much worse than it sounds.”
