Magic Harvest

by Karlik, Mary

  She flipped the bow over her shoulder, shoved the arrow back in her quiver, and pulled the sgian-dubh from her boot. A warrior cry erupted from her as she held the knife ready to strike, and flew hard and fast after him. When she neared, he spun the horse to face her and flung up a wall of wind.

  Human-sized, it had slowed her. Fey-sized, as she was now, it sent her tumbling backward into the solid trunk of a critheann tree. The impact rattled her bones like pods in a gourd. Her breath whooshed from her and she spent precious seconds flailing her arms and wings while trying to suck air into her lungs.

  When she was finally able to breathe enough to fuel flight, she charged into the wind after the horseman. The force was too strong. It was like trying to fly through a stone wall. If she couldn’t get through, she had to go over it. She shot straight up to the tops of the trees. As soon as she broke free of the forest canopy, she was able to increase her speed and search for the horseman through gaps in the leaves.

  Before she saw him, she felt his sinister presence. The cràdh awoke and filled her chest. It told her that without magic, she could not win against him and that she’d fail her sister. Layla pushed the parasite’s words away and listened to her heart instead as she folded her wings and dropped through the trees toward the horseman and the net that hung over his back.

  Layla’s lungs burned as she struggled to catch up with the horse. As she closed in on the net bouncing on the horseman’s back, she saw the spikes protruding at intervals along the twine and sensed there was terrible, evil magic mixed with it.

  She grabbed the net with her free hand and prepared to saw the twine with her dirk. A tingling sensation crawled up her arm, tightening her muscles in its path. As the bracelet released its protection against the net’s magic, it danced on her wrist, causing her hand to knock against Esme’s leg. If she hadn’t seen it, she would never have known she’d touched her sister’s skin. It was ice-cold. But more than that, it was hard, as though it was inanimate, as though it was porcelain. The kind of porcelain dolls were made of.

  Layla’s mind struggled with the impossibility of what was happening. Her sister and Isla were prisoners of the magic in the ropes that held them. And to free them from the net, she had to first stop the horseman.

  Tightening her grip on the sgian-dubh, she pulled her free hand back, but her bracelet snagged on one of the spikes. The more she tried to twist it off, the deeper the iron dug into the leather. She stabbed the tip of her dagger into the hole created by the spike and sawed until at last her blade chewed the bracelet off her arm.

  As the bracelet fell away, a blue light flashed before her eyes. And as she tumbled head over heels in the wake of the hooded man, the net, and the fairies trapped inside, power surged through her as though it had been liberated from years of confinement. Her mind reeled at the beauty of the cobalt burst while her muscles quivered at the feel of its energy. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

  She skidded to a stop in a tuft of grass and stared at her hands. One no longer held the dirk and the other was bare of the protection bracelet. Unarmed and unprotected, she lay helpless among the scattered arrows that had fallen from her quiver.

  The hooded man hauled the horse around. His face remained shadowed by the hood, but she didn’t need to see his eyes to know that he was a soulless being. She felt the bitterness of a barren soul from where she lay in the grass. He was a creature of the black fog.

  Layla rose on one elbow, pulled Tormed from its sheath, and waited.

  The horseman could have used his magic against her. He could have taken her. He could have shot a net arrow and reeled her in along with Esme and Isla. Perhaps he sensed she was half-caste and not worthy, but he didn’t. He turned his horse and galloped deeper into the forest.

  Tremors took control of her body as she found the knife in the grass and scrambled to gather her arrows. Her hands shook so hard that she dropped as many as she managed to scoop up. By the time she finally had them shoved into her quiver, she could no longer see the horseman.

  Spent of energy, her wing muscles ached as she flew in the general direction he’d gone. Her right wing cramped causing her to bank narrowly missing a coneflower. When she righted, she saw a grass-covered hill with pink and red granite boulders jutting precariously from the dirt above a thatch-roofed croft. To the left of the cottage was a barn with a small turnout paddock. And in that paddock was the man’s horse.

  As she adjusted her course for the croft, cold emptiness invaded her essence with tendrils of misery, as if searching for something to possess. She pulled away and the feeling subsided. It was a ward to deter intruders and with no magic and no protection bracelet, she had no way to avoid it.

  If Finn had been there, he could’ve reversed the spell. But he wasn’t and Esme and Isla were somewhere inside. She had to push forward.

  Anguish filled her as she flew closer. By the time she landed on the sill of the open window, her heart had sunk so deep in her chest she could scarcely breathe. Emptiness pulled at her cheeks and her legs became almost too heavy to support her.

  Struggling to resist the magic, she focused on the contents of the cottage—wood table with bench seats, door to the left, wood stove to the right, and a blue painted door dead center across from the window.

  A voice from somewhere in her consciousness begged her to drop off the windowsill into the dried leaves below and rest there until she ceased to exist. She wanted to shut out what she knew was not real, but the cràdh joined with the magical ward and poured words of grief into her soul so strong she could no longer resist the urge to end her misery.

  With one foot hanging from the ledge of the sill, she leaned back. But as she prepared to fold her wings and end the internal torture the magic had caused, a lump in the corner of the room caught her attention.

  It was the sack containing Esme and Isla.

  Layla fought the magic that enveloped her and stepped forward through the open window. The sorrow in her soul intensified. But she didn’t try to avoid the ward or quiet the cràdh. Instead, she concentrated on the sack and thought of Esme’s smile, her bright green eyes, her beautiful wings, and the love Layla held for her sister. The ward weakened, the parasite subsided, and Layla was able to spread her wings to fly. But before she lifted into the air, the horseman entered the room, grabbed the sack, and casually slung it over his shoulder.

  No. You cannot have her.

  Fueled by desperation and anger, she launched into the room as he opened the blue door at the back of the house.

  The world tilted clockwise and Layla tumbled across the cottage. By the time the wave had passed, they were gone. But the door remained open.

  She righted herself and shot through the doorway with one thought screaming in her head.

  Esme, I will save you!

  Chapter Three

  Layla shot into the portal and collided with violent magic bent on keeping her out. It drove her back until the toes of her boots dangled just inside the cottage. Her heart raced, echoing her terror that with every second she was denied access, the farther Esme was being taken from her.

  The cràdh laughed and told her that Esme was already lost to her. That she’d never succeed, and to save herself she should retreat.

  Still Layla fought—fought against her fears, against the words of the cràdh, and against the rage of the magic. And the magic fought back.

  Wind whipped around her torso and face. Tears filled eyes she could not hold open. Her lungs burned as if they’d been pulled through her nose, lit on fire, and shoved back into her chest. And her wings felt as if they were on the verge of being ripped from her body. But until they were, she wouldn’t give up—couldn’t give up. Esme’s life depended on her.

  Picturing her sister’s face in her mind’s eye, Layla drew energy from the deepest part of her soul and channeled it to her muscles. Then, as if the magic would hear and obey, she roared, “Let me pass!”

  The wind stopped and energy swathed her like a mi
llion tiny bugs dancing across her skin. And with each movement of her wings the tingles amplified as she sailed through the tunnel.

  Stretching her arms in front, she almost expected to see sparkles. Instead, flickers of blue light played along her skin like tiny will-o-the-wisps. It was fascinating to watch. She’d never experienced anything like the sizzle she felt. Was it due to the absence of the protection bracelet or simply the result of breaching the barrier between the dimensions?

  A pale light winked in the distance like a lighthouse beacon to guide her way. Then, all at once, she catapulted through the passage and sunlight stabbed her eyes. She managed to shield them with her hand in time to see a stone building accelerating toward her—or rather, she toward it.

  Jerking left, she narrowly missed a headfirst crash, but the evasive maneuver sent her bouncing across the ground like a stone skipping across water. On the fourth bump, she landed on the toe of a human-sized shoe in mid-stride. Gasping for air, she reached for the laces, but the foot lifted and sent her tumbling backward into a bush. She fell through the leaves, smacking her back against each branch as she crashed to the ground.

  Dirt prickled her face and a single blade of grass tickled her nose as her mind lingered in the comfort of semi-consciousness. But a relentless pounding in her temples wouldn’t let her stay there.

  She drifted toward awareness and opened her eyes. Blue lights fizzled across her body in little bursts, but the energy they’d produced before had been replaced with a trembling exhaustion in her muscles.

  And then, disorientation hit her as though she’d run into the granite above the cottage. Roaring from the street, voices with unfamiliar accents, and the never ending tap of shoes hitting the walk assaulted her ears. Fumes more pungent than bog gas mixed with savory smells from a nearby kitchen and made her stomach roil.

  Where had the portal spit her out?

  Heaving deep breaths, she managed to crawl to her knees and peek between the leaves of the hedge. Her heart lurched and she rocked back on her heels and clutched her neck as though everything on the other side of the bushes had been lodged in her throat.

  All around her were buildings, automobiles, and humans.

  Non-magical. Greedy. Humans.

  Ceann socair. Smaointeann soilleir. Aon cheum aig aon àm. Cool head. Clear thoughts. One step at a time.

  Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus.

  Human world. She was half human. She should be able to manage this place.

  In school she’d had classes on human culture. And since the portal had only been closed for little more than a dozen years, they’d often listened to guest speakers with firsthand accounts of the world. Plus, when she was a wee bairn, a slight obsession with humans led her to read everything she could about them and prompted an occasional sense that she’d been left on the wrong side of the door.

  Well, she was on the other side of the door now and had a sister to save. She sat up and secured her weapons on her body. It had been a rough ride through the portal, but since she’d come through only seconds after the horseman, Esme and Isla had to be close. It was a matter of finding them, rescuing them, and returning to the fey world.

  She peered through the leaves again. Tall buildings lined both sides of the street as far as she could see. An uneasy feeling crept from her center right up her neck, slamming doubt into her mind. Her breathing became rapid and erratic and like everything else at that moment, out of her control.

  How would she find them? Where would she begin to look? And once she did get them, how would she find her way back? Would the portal have the same blue door on this side?

  Placing a hand on her jittery stomach, she backed away and settled on a hawthorn branch.

  Think and plan. I can do this. She scooted up against the trunk and repeated her mantra until she calmed.

  Ceann socair. Smaointeann soilleir. Aon cheum aig aon àm. Cool head. Clear thoughts. One step at a time.

  By the time her breathing had returned to normal, she’d almost managed to settle the doubt chewing at her confidence. A wisp of a plan to find her sister teased her mind, but before she could grasp it and develop it, a piercing noise hit her ears. She covered them, but it was too loud to be muffled.

  Plants vibrated as the sound neared. The leaves next to her shook as if a cyclone were passing through. And that cyclone hit Layla with a blast of wind that sent her tumbling out of the shrubbery. Her body skittered and spun across the walk, scattering her arrows in every direction. She landed arse-side up against the building as if she’d stopped mid-way through a somersault.

  She flipped over, stood with her back pressed against the stone, and sucked in deep breaths once again. Her arrows were everywhere and so were the human footfalls. She watched them like a cat after prey. When there was a break in the flow of people on the walk she scrambled after the arrows.

  With her pulse whirring through her body, she grabbed them and stuffed them tips up and tips down into her quiver as fast as she could. Then, as she gathered the last one, a pair of dark brown human shoes formed a vee on either side of her.

  Specialist Crime Division officer, Ian Cameron, crumpled the take-away cup and chucked it in the bin. His shoulders twitched in response to the frustration trying to burst through his skin. “It’s been nearly three weeks since we’ve seen anything.”

  Theo MacGregor, expert in all things IT, swiveled his chair to face his boss. “Think he made us?”

  Ian paced as much as he could in the back of the surveillance van. “Anything is possible. But parked four buildings away behind these eight-foot walls, I’d say it’s doubtful.” A familiar thought shoved its way into his mind. Were they chasing something that wasn’t real? Because every part of his logical, puzzle-solving brain told him that what he’d seen didn’t exist.

  “Pull up the creatures.” He leaned over MacGregor’s shoulder, close to the computer screen, and waited while the IT expert ran his fingers across the keyboard. This had become a daily, if not hourly, ritual. It was a way for Ian to remind himself that he wasn’t crazy. That he wasn’t chasing an illusion.

  The team knew Connor Davis was dealing in contraband. They had been watching him for weeks when they’d stumbled across the creatures in the net. At first they’d thought they were dolls used to conceal drugs. Then one of the dolls moved. It was a slight movement, but everyone on his team saw it. And they knew whatever those things were, they were alive.

  “Did you see that, boss?” Jack’s voice screeched in his earpiece.

  Theo clicked the screen to real time. “I don’t see anything.”

  Jack continued, “Run the video back. Focus on Johnston’s Terrace—near the top of the steps.”

  Ian’s gut tightened as Theo tapped on the keyboard. The CCTV video backed up, stopped, and then played in slow motion. And they saw it. A winged creature bounced across the cobblestones and into a hawthorn hedge.

  “Jack, do not leave that area.” Ian rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Theo, do a frame by frame. Let’s make sure it’s not some weird dragonfly or something.”

  Theo ran the video back and isolated the image into a single frame.

  A double shot espresso of adrenaline dumped itself into Ian’s system as he studied the impossibility on the monitor. Unlike the other pictures, he didn’t need to stand close to the screen to convince his logical mind that what was displayed there was real.

  This picture was not grainy, or out of focus, or at an odd angle. And there was no doubt that the thing was not a dragonfly, wee bird, or any other rational explanation.

  He covered his mouth with his palm, backed away from the computer, and then moved close to it again. They had a picture—no—a video of a wee human-ish creature with wings. He knew what his nana would call the thing, but he couldn’t quite say the word. It seemed too old world, too crazy.

  “Buzzard. Jack. Keep eyes on that hedge. When you have your chance, you know what to do.” Ian backed away from the computer and returned to pacing th
e length of the van. This was his first case as the leader of the Major Crime Investigation team and he didn’t want to blow it. The chief had been riding him to get something on Davis or back away. The video would help their case, but nabbing the creature would be the indisputable proof they needed to keep the investigation going.

  And if he was going to find Miranda, he had to keep it going.

  “Hello there, wee one.” A hand almost twice her size reached for Layla.

  Leaping over the toe of the left shoe, she half-ran, half-flew along the building. Once, she glanced over her shoulder to see if she was being followed. But since the walk was full of humans, how would she know? She’d only caught a glimpse of the hand and hadn’t taken the time to notice the human it belonged to. Honestly, one human face looked so like the next, she wasn’t sure she’d know if she had seen it. One thing for sure, this world was too dangerous for a wee fairy. She had to change her size.

  She ducked into a passageway at the end of the building and, seeing no people around, pushed from her core and hoped magic worked in this dimension. For half a breath pain seared from her center as everything inside grew full human-sized.

  It would have been lovely if she could’ve blended in casually with the humans. But with dark skin, white hair, and green wings, she stuck out like a unicorn at a donkey gathering. It was impossible to hide her wings completely, but if she wrapped them over her shoulders with the tips touching in the front, they would look like a delicate green stole to the casual observer. She removed her quiver from the center of her back and slung it over her shoulder next to her bow, hiding both under her right wing. Her targe was easy to conceal beneath the left wing. It wasn’t a perfect disguise, but less obvious than wings and weapons in plain view.

  To their credit, only a few humans gawked. There was the one wee lass walking with her mum who tried to touch Layla’s wings. But her mum pulled her away before her fingers grazed them. Other than that, nobody seemed to care that she looked different. Or maybe she hadn’t noticed because she was too busy staring at them. There seemed to be an endless flow of people on the walkway.