by Karlik, Mary
But his magic didn’t affect the cràdh and in the very corner of her soul, she heard the entity whisper, “Fight him.”
The invading magic argued that if Layla went to him she’d never hurt again.
Then an image of the fairies writhing in pain flashed in her mind, fueling her resolve to fight him. Her only chance of survival was to break eye contact.
The corded muscles in her neck strained as she struggled to look away. Her eyes felt as if they were in a tug-of-war and sweat beaded her brow and upper lip.
Black fog darkened and billowed around the horseman’s feet. His arm trembled with the struggle and she felt his magic digging deeper into her mind. His eyes widened, and for an instant she saw a flash of surprise in them. He resumed his hollow expression so fast she wondered if she’d imagined it. But then the man folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe and closed his eyes.
His magic left her with such a rush that she recoiled. Catching herself before she hit the wall again, she human-sized and reached for her bow. But her hand slapped fabric instead.
She’d left her weapons in Ian’s flat.
Her pulse raced as she waited for his next move. She had no idea why he’d released her. Maybe he’d found the cràdh while poking around in her mind, or perhaps he simply abhorred her humanity. Regardless, it wasn’t over. She’d had magic for a few hours and now she was going to battle.
Terror raged through her system, reducing her breathing to a pant. Her muscles trembled so hard she doubted she could have aimed her bow if she’d had it.
Her mind raced through scenarios that she’d quizzed her sister on while Esme had learned to wield her powers. Layla knew them well and had even pretended she could manage the same magic. But watching wasn’t doing.
Slowing her breaths, she built energy in her core and shook out her hands. She raised her right arm, and opened and closed her fist a couple of times. A blue stream shot from her fingers just as a red stream shot from those of the horseman. Red and blue bolts of magical energy collided and suspended in the air like two opposing ends of a magnet.
She couldn’t believe she’d managed a magic stream on the first try and might have squealed with delight if she hadn’t been so frightened. Instead, she kept her focus on maintaining her flow.
Then his magic crept along her blue stream like a vine. It captured and wrapped around Layla’s flow, twisting and tightening as it traveled up her fingers and arm and dug into her center.
Agony burned through her as every muscle in her body contracted. He lifted her off the ground and pulled her toward him. It was as if her insides were being sucked through a tiny hole. But it wasn’t her insides. He was trying to siphon her magic.
If she couldn’t stop him, he’d harvest it all and leave her with nothing but a burned-out core. She tried to resist and strengthen her magic’s anchor to her soul, but his stream was too strong. A gut-wrenching, blood-freezing scream erupted from her as he began to strip her magic from her core.
She refused to lose, to die today—at least not this way. If she was going to survive and save her powers, she’d had to fight to her strengths—without magic. In a single movement she bent her right knee, seized the handle of the sgian-dubh from her boot, and flicked the knife at the creature.
He was quick to deflect the blow, but the distraction loosened his hold on Layla’s magic. As she called her knife back, she began to unwind her flow from his and pull it back to her center.
But before she completed her task, his encroaching magic ripped from her like a vine being torn from a tree. Pain seared through her and she fell to the ground with lungs that struggled to drag heaving loads of filthy, stinky, death-ridden air into them.
Black fog built around the horseman until it shrouded him like a cloak, and all that could be seen were his two piercing blue eyes as they focused on her. A bony hand rose through the fog and a green-tinged fingernail pressed the skin at the base of her neck.
Keeping her gaze averted from his, she shifted fey-size and with all her might flew for the path into the tunnel. Before reaching the entrance, she glanced over her wing to see if he’d followed. He hadn’t. He stood in front of the building with his eyes focused in the distance and his mouth moving. He was conjuring something.
Layla turned back toward the tunnel and slammed into a whirlwind composed of the dust of human remains. She tried to fly through, but fey-sized as she was, the force was too strong.
She backed away, human-sized, and charged the wind again. It hammered her onto the stone floor. Pain slashed through her hips, back, and wings as she struggled to her feet and prepared for another pass.
The whirlwind grew and morphed into a dragon. Its snout opened and let out a roar that spewed the stench of a thousand rotting corpses.
She stared at the beast, unable to make her muscles move.
This thing is not real.
Adrenaline and fear stormed through her body. Her breaths came in short bursts, barely able to pass through the tightness in her throat. Dizziness flowed into her head as her brain begged for air.
I can fight this dragon. I will fight this dragon. I’ll do it for Esme.
She squeezed her hand tighter around the handle of the sgian-dubh. The blade was useless against a dragon made of dust but feeling it in her hand gave her confidence.
She screamed her sister’s name and charged the dragon.
Wind whipped around her body and she heard the cries of the dying. The dragon dust turned into hundreds of hands reaching for her, brushing rotting fingertips across her skin, and pulling at her wings.
She wedged her heels into the spaces between the stones lining the floor and leaned into the wind. She slid her right foot across the stone, dug her heel into a gap, and then moved the left. Step by step, she continued the process until she’d forced her way through.
When she reached the other side, the whirlwind ceased and dropped a fine layer of dust on the ground. Shrouded in darkness, she listened for the horseman and tried to feel his presence. But the only thing she felt was a mix of relief from her escape and fear that came with the knowledge that he’d allowed it to happen.
He could have regained his hold on her magic and ripped it from her with the same force that he’d pulled his magic out of her. Why hadn’t he? Why had he let her go? Even the conjured whirlwind wouldn’t have hurt her. It was a device created to instill fear.
What now? Would he attack her here in the tunnels? Or was he waiting for a bigger moment? Either way, she couldn’t fight him alone. She had return to the surface, to Ian, and to her weapons.
Stepping gingerly forward, she thought about her next move. If she remained human-sized she had more physical strength, but maneuvering the uneven ground in the darkness would be nearly impossible and flying human-sized was slow and awkward at best. Fey-sized, she gave up strength and stamina but was faster and more agile. At this moment, speed and agility were her best options.
Fey-sized, she charged deeper into the darkness but stopped almost as fast as she’d started—she’d forgotten the hand against the wall trick. Swallowed by black in a world of tangled paths intersecting at odd angles, there was no way she could find her way to the outside wall, much less out of the tunnels, without light.
She attempted to conjure a ball of light in her hand, but the first one was too hot and she dropped it. Frustration bit through her as she blew on the palm of her hand and watched the light fade and disappear as it floated toward the ground. The second one was better, but she had to bounce it on her hand to keep it from burning her.
She managed her way through the underground city juggling the ball along as she made left turns and right turns and went uphill and downhill and up again for hours. And her magic grew weak until she could only maintain the light for a few seconds before it flickered out. She developed a pattern of conjuring a light ball, flying until it extinguished, resting, and then starting over. The process was tedious and tiring and made worse by he gnawing realization that s
he was very, very lost.
But she soldiered on until her wing muscles cramped and sent spasms across her back, up her spine into her neck, dropping her to the ground.
Winding aimlessly through the labyrinth served only to exhaust her powers and bring her mind to the brink of panic. She hadn’t survived the horseman to die in the tunnels. It was time to rest and think through her situation.
She pressed her back against the wall, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. The dagger sheathed in her right boot pressed against her forearm. A smile broke through her exhaustion as she remembered the moment she’d called Tormed to her. The moment she’d realized she had magic. It seemed like forever ago now.
And then an idea sparked. If she could call Tormed to her, could she also take herself to the sword?
She flew in a small circle and conjured a spell asking for guidance to Tormed.
At first she thought she’d failed. Then a flicker of blue light appeared in front of her. She flew toward it and it brightened. If she veered the wrong way it would dull. It was just far enough away that she couldn’t touch it but near enough to see.
After a series of turns, it led her uphill. A light glowed in the distance and she heard voices. She was sure she’d found her way out and rushed toward the glow.
But as she neared the voices, she realized that another part of the underground system intersected with the path she was on. Disappointment that she hadn’t quite made it out rose in her chest. But she shoved it back down with a dose of optimism. After all, if people were on the path, it had to lead to the street above. She human-sized, tucked her wings around her shoulders, and stepped onto the human-filled path.
Not sure where it would emerge above ground, she continued to follow the pale blue light she’d conjured. Eventually, it veered off the well-lit path and took her to the gated opening through which she’d originally come.
Humans were gathered in a circle just beyond the iron gate. Layla fey-sized and flew between the bars to the courtyard. Fortunately, the humans were too focused on a speaker to notice her.
Now, to find Ian. He’d told her to go to Burnet’s Close if they were separated. But she’d been underground for most of the day. Would they still be there? She ended the spell, wrapped her wings over her shoulders, and stepped out of the shadow of the building.
A wave of uneasiness spread across her wings right to the tips. And then the horseman’s presence slithered across her skin as surely as she’d smelled the wildflower magic of the fey earlier. A cold, dead chill filled her as he stepped from the depths of a darkened corridor. Judging by the humans’ lack of reaction, she reckoned they couldn’t see or feel him as he floated across the ground toward her. But she could. She had to get away.
Hustling around the crowd, she jogged through the arched opening and into the high street. She barely had a chance to get her bearings before she was swept into the mass of people moving up the lane to the castle. Like piece of driftwood in a spring melt, she bobbed along with the tourists, but she’d been carried the wrong way. Burnet’s Close was in the opposite direction.
Apprehension tickled the base of her neck as she stretched on tiptoe to search for an escape from the sea of humans. Before she could make her way out, the slithering feeling returned and she knew he was near. Icy tendrils of his magic brushed her skin as she frantically made her way to the edge of the walk.
And then she saw him.
Black fog swirled around his legs as he floated behind a barrier that prevented automobiles from traveling farther down the road. He didn’t seem to be searching for her. It was more like he was waiting for her to come to him.
She allowed herself to get swept back into the crowd until they passed him. Once behind him, she ran across the lane.
He turned as she hit the walk on the far side. In the blink of an eye, he was across the lane too and moving toward her.
Too slow and too visible, she had to find safety. Hurrying her pace, she scanned the buildings for one that would offer sanctuary. And then she saw it. A kirkyard, and beyond that, a kirk. Evil could not pass through the doors of a holy place.
She fey-sized and zipped across the fence enclosing the grounds of the church. She landed on the steps of the building, human-sized, and pushed through the wood doors.
Through an open window, she saw him stop in front of the kirk, duck his head, and disappear.
She let out a breath and dropped into a pew. Safe for now. But she still had to get to Ian.
A priest in a long black cassock approached and she tucked her wings tight as he stopped at the end of the pew where she sat. “You look like you’ve had the day.”
“Aye.” She tried sound normal, but fear and exhaustion made her sound frail.
“Rest. He won’t pass through these doors.” The timbre of his voice echoed the comfort of his words.
She looked up at him. “You saw the man outside?”
“One doesn’t have to see evil to know it.” His round faced softened into a smile. “This is a good place to recover your—erm—energy, as it were.”
“Aye. Thank you, but I have to find my way back to my friend.” She leaned forward and pressed her hands on the bench seat as if to stand.
Ignoring her gesture, he sat next to her. “You have some time.” He stretched his arm across the back of the seat and angled his body toward her. “What is your name, lass?”
“Layla.” Fatigue seemed to seep from her body into the wood of the pew.
“Beautiful name. I’m called Father Wilson. Have patience. You’ll find that you—erm—recover quickly within these walls. You’ll need your power to fight the good fight, as it were.”
Layla dropped her head back and stared at the painted ceiling. “What do you know of my fight?”
He chuckled and raised his eyes too. “Ah, lass. We all have our battles.”
A side door swung open, bathing the priest in light—or rather through him. He was a spirit. He surely knew what she was and what she was running from.
The priest stood. “My cue to leave.” He bowed and said, “Until we meet—”
Ian and Buzzard ran right through him, scattering him into wisps of light.
Chapter Nine
Ian stopped inches from Layla. “Where’ve you been? We’ve looked for you all day.” His words came out with a razor edge, but after pulling surveillance away from Connor Davis to search for the wee fairy, he was in no mood to soften his tone.
She stared back at him with a defiant tilt to her chin. “Where have I been? I’ll tell you where I’ve been—finding the fairies.”
Ian leaned against the back of the pew across from her. “What do you mean?”
“I saw a troll carrying a sack, and as sure as you are standing there, I knew fairies were inside—I felt their magic. So I followed him.”
Buzzard stood at the end of the aisle next to Ian. “You shouldn’t have gone rogue.”
She narrowed her eyes at the man. “I tried to get your attention. You were busy with those girls.” She pointed to Ian. “And you weren’t there. What choice did I have?”
“There’s always a choice, lass.” Buzzard quieted his voice.
The wee fairy raised her wings like an ill-tempered teenager’s shrug. “Aye, I had a choice. My sister could have been in that sack. I’ll make no apologies. I’ll tell you right now, I’d make the same choice again.”
Ian knew Buzzard was frustrated with himself for losing the fairy. But they’d found her now, and shooting barbs at her wasn’t going to help the situation. “Aye. Okay. So let’s start from the beginning. Can you describe the man?”
“A troll dressed like a human.” The words huffed from the fairy.
Buzzard rubbed the back of his neck. “Could you be a bit more specific?”
She snapped him a sideways look. “I was getting there. It’s curious that a troll is in this world passing as human. But you didn’t let me get that far.”
Buzzard held up his
hands. “Continue—by all means. I won’t interrupt again.”
Ian shot Buzzard a stand down look while he listened to Layla give a very detailed description. He hitched the heels of his hands on the top of the pew back. “And where did this man—troll—go?”
“Below the city.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not right. He didn’t go down. He passed the sack off. By the time I got to the tunnel, all I saw was a light. Technically, I chased a light below the city.”
Buzzard folded his arms across his chest. “Ach. You’re lucky you made it back. It’s no wonder we wasted a day looking for you.”
Layla sharpened her gaze to daggers. “And did I ask you to? I certainly didn’t expect it. I’ve made it very clear, I’m here to find Esme and Isla. I won’t waste my time again trying to interrupt you while you’re flirting with the lassies.”
Ian watched his second in command’s face turn an angry shade of purple and his neck muscles twitch. Buzzard was about to lose control. Time to de-escalate the situation.
Ian held up his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. “Aye. Enough. We’ve agreed to work together.” He turned to Layla. “And did you find the fairies?”
Layla set her mouth in a tight line. “Aye, and it was horrible. There’s a massive building well below the surface. Inside, I saw six iron cages, the top of which would come almost to Buzzard’s knees, and they were half as wide. Each one was stuffed full of fey.”
The look of helplessness in her eyes twisted Ian’s gut. He’d take her dagger-gaze any day over this piercing despair. Anger he could deal with. Anger he could diffuse. How was he supposed to fix hopelessness when he wasn’t sure he could dig up even a wee dram of reassurance?
Layla raised bleak eyes to Buzzard. “Full-blood fairies are sensitive to metal, particularly iron. It makes them ill.” She stared across the church. “There must have been fifty or more fey crammed in each of those cages.”
“Christ.” Ian dropped into the pew next to her. Three hundred fairies captured and brought to this world of no magic. If Davis kept them out of their minds with pain, lumped together like rag dolls, there wasn’t much hope that the man cared whether or not they remained alive. Was Davis siphoning the magic and discarding the fairies?
