by Shona Husk
Tonight.
Chapter 20
Lydia double-checked the trunk of diaries, then put the key to the lock and a copy of the list in an envelope. She’d come around early to meet the representative from the historical society, who was thrilled to be getting his hands on the Callaway diaries—some of them, anyway. The more recent ones Lydia had already separated and put away. Caspian had been right about their interest in the diaries, but also their concern about the contents. One woman’s life through a couple of wars and various changes in government and policies was a rare collection. Lydia was glad they’d be valued and hoped something useful would come of them instead of the endless speculation and threats. No wonder Gran had never mentioned them.
A sharp rap on the front door made her jump. While she might be doing the right thing, her stomach was still in knots. What if Mr. Johnson looked at the diaries and decided not to take them? Then she’d have to find a way to take the scandal out of them and make the contents public herself, take the risk herself. Was it right that she was letting someone else shoulder the burden? She let out a slow breath and opened the front door. A thin man of less than average height waited on the step. Not what she’d pictured when talking to him on the phone. He’d sounded older.
“Mr. Johnson?”
“Yes.” His pale blue eyes glimmered and she felt herself nodding.
“Come in and I’ll show you where the diaries are.” She stepped aside and let him into the house. As she did a shiver of warning rolled down her spine. Her gaze tracked him as he walked past the painting in the entrance. His reflection caught in the glass… and it looked nothing like the man she was seeing.
Her throat closed. In the reflection was a gaunt pale face, like life had hollowed him out, and his eyes were as cold and pale as ice. The same menace she’d felt when the fairy had arrived for Caspian now lodged in her gut, only bigger and sharper. This man who was pretending to be Mr. Johnson wasn’t here to talk. He was a Grey.
The Grey didn’t seem to have noticed that his reflection didn’t match or maybe he didn’t care. She took a step back. But the door slammed and locked behind her.
“No!” She pulled on the handle and tried to turn it. Lydia spun back to face the Grey.
Her heart thudded, but all he did was look at her and shake his head. “I thought we’d wait for Caspian together. I can’t have you running around outside. You might get hurt.” Hurt was emphasized as if she was safer in here with him.
Her handbag was in the kitchen, along with the landline. But she had iron tucked in her bra, and the hat stand was iron. All she had to do was keep him talking and then what? Whack him with the hat stand? Press it against his skin until he burned? Her stomach tightened. Could she do it?
“What does Caspian have to do with this?” Maybe she should just pretend she didn’t know this man was a fairy. Isn’t that what Dylis had told her to do first? No, that was ignore and it was too late for that.
She glanced at the man’s reflection again and bit her lip at the unsightly visage. How had he tricked her into thinking he was Mr. Johnson when he looked like a walking corpse? The grim reaper come for tea?
“Everything. I asked him to do something for me and he failed.”
Her heart hiccupped. “Well he’s not here. He’s at his shop.”
He sneered. “He’ll be here soon enough. He’ll come to protect you and then he’ll give me what I want.”
She didn’t want to be used in a fairy game, and certainly not as a pawn to force Caspian to do what this Grey wanted.
“I don’t think so.” She grabbed the hat stand and swung it at the Grey. It connected with a sickening crunch against his face, but she didn’t stop to assess the damage as she ran past the howling fairy. Straight for the kitchen for her phone and more iron.
He yelled and cursed and his footsteps pounded after her.
Lydia slid around the dining table. She flicked on the tap. Running water. Fairies hate running water. Then she grabbed her cell phone from her handbag and turned to face the Grey. Half his face was blistered and bleeding and he’d dropped the illusion of being human. This was the scary Caspian faced every day. This is what he saw and pretended not to. Being fairy, even part fairy, was so much more than she’d ever thought.
“What do you want?”
He laughed. “So you know what I am.” He stalked toward her, his clothing dull and frayed, his fingers bony claws.
She flicked a handful of water at him and he came no closer.
The Grey narrowed his eyes. His gaze darted from the iron to the tap and back to her as if weighing his options.
“What do you want?” she repeated. Then she remembered she shouldn’t be talking to him at all. What if he tricked her out of her soul, or she tripped up and made an accidental deal? Oh God, she was in over her head. Where was Caspian? Where was Dylis? Where was anyone who could help her?
“I want the Window. I want to go home.” He watched her but didn’t move closer.
“The Window? Which window? You can have whatever window you want.” She played dumb, and hoped he’d fall for it.
“Not a window, stupid. The Window. A doorway back to Annwyn.”
“Oh.” This was the Grey that had filled her yard with mirrors, the one who had forced Caspian to make a deal that had gotten him hauled off to Annwyn. Shea ap Greely. This wasn’t any old Grey.
Was he desperate enough to kill? She suddenly felt very mortal and very insignificant.
The doorbell rang. Mr. Johnson from the historical society. She gasped with relief and opened her mouth to call out, but the words caught in her throat. She tried again, but her throat closed as if she were silently choking.
Shea wagged his finger at her. “You might have iron, but I still have magic.” If it was possible he began to look worse, deep pits hollowed his cheeks and the burn began to weep. “The man at the door won’t bother us again.” Wasted and angular Shea got uglier by the minute.
Lydia swallowed. “What did you do to him?” Her voice was croaky as if it hadn’t been used in too long. What had he done to her?
“Encouraged him to think no one was home.”
“Uh-huh.” This was a bit of a stand-off. Behind her the tap ran on.
Shea pulled out a chair and sat. “Shall we wait?”
No, she’d much rather leave, but that didn’t seem like an option and she was trying to limit what she said. She leaned against the kitchen counter. “For what?”
“Caspian.”
Lydia waved her cell phone. “I could just call him.”
Shea tilted his head. “That will bring him?”
Or send him running. She dialed his number and prayed he’d answer. She didn’t know how long Shea would be willing to wait.
* * *
Glass shattered. Caspian looked up. Another window broke. There was the unmistakable sound of singing silver as Bramwel drew his sword. Caspian bolted for the shop front. And stopped. He’d been expecting human kids making trouble, not a bunch of five-foot-high ugly banished fairies… trolls to a human mind.
They stood outside the shop, rocks in hand. There wasn’t much more glass to break, but the rocks could still damage the furniture. He looked at Bramwel, his sword hummed ready for use as he stalked toward the doorway and the trolls. He may not want to help Caspian personally, but at least he took his promise of looking after the shop seriously.
The trolls swaggered closer like any overconfident bunch of teens looking for trouble. Except it was broad daylight and no one had been drinking. At least he hoped they hadn’t been drinking. There was nothing more bad tempered than a short, ugly fairy fuelled by a bottle of wine.
“Are you glamouring?”
Bramwel gave him a withering glance. “Of course.”
At least if people saw anything it would be a bunch of troublemakers, not something best left under a bridge to make trouble for travelers.
“I’m going to call the cops.”
“What are they going t
o do? Arrest them?” Bramwel snorted.
“Unless you have a spare sword, it’s the best I’ve got.” The cops arriving would at least scare them off. Caspian was willing to bet Shea was behind this attack, and the imp hadn’t said boo—that’s what he got for relying on banished fairies.
“Can you even use a sword, banished changeling?”
“I did fencing.” Much to his human father’s horror and Dylis’s delight. He’d also been on the track and field team to balance the scales.
“Not the same. Go and ring your cops.”
Yeah, and at least if there was damage it would be covered by insurance. He turned around and heard the stampede of troll feet. When he glanced back Bramwel had already killed one. The rest were staying out of reach. They were just here to destroy.
He snatched up the phone and rang emergency. As he did, the imp jumped onto his chair. He panted, one hand over his tiny heart. While Caspian spoke to the operator, and listened to the crashing out front, he kept one eye on the imp who was doing a strange pantomime that involved choking and a zombie walk. He’d never been good at charades.
As he gave the details to emergency, no one was hurt, just a burglary in progress, his phone beeped from a missed call and message.
Finally the imp gave up on the dance routine and punched some words out on the laptop in the middle of his document.
Shea is with a woman.
Caspian blinked and hoped he’d read that wrong. He hadn’t. Lydia. Shea was with Lydia.
There was a very human cry of pain. The operator was warning him not to be a hero and that the police would arrive shortly. He hung up. Bramwel’s arm was bent in the wrong place. But he was still fighting. Furniture was overturned. He wanted to join the fray just to hurt something, but that wouldn’t help Lydia. This was a distraction, or a warning, or maybe a parting shot. It didn’t matter. He had to get to Lydia.
“I have to leave.”
Bramwel threw piece of broken chair at a troll who danced and laughed, which sounded more like the crunching of gravel than anything joyous. “Go, you’re no use to me here.” He jumped back to avoid the swinging of the other piece of chair as it swept toward his shins. “Finish him, finish this. Don’t let the bloodshed be for nothing.” The words were gritted out.
The imp scuttled past, tripping a troll as he went. At least Bramwel had help until the cops arrived. That didn’t stop Caspian from feeling like a coward for walking away from the fight. He checked the missed call; it was from Lydia. But he didn’t need to hear the message to know what was happening. Shea was at Callaway House, waiting for him.
Caspian picked up his car keys, hoping he didn’t have to choose between Lydia and handing over the Window. He couldn’t. If he lost the Window he was as good as dead. And if he lost Lydia, he might as well be dead.
Chapter 21
Lydia kept hold of the phone, her back to the counter. Beside her the tap ran on. Shea got up and paced, but he held his distance. She expected him to lunge for her at any moment, but the running water seemed to keep him at bay. In her bra she could feel the iron nail pressing into her skin. Dylis had been quite specific about what would work. Compared to the hat stand it seemed so small and yet when she looked at Shea she saw the damage iron could do. She knew exactly how to use the nail. Would she be able to get it out in time?
Shea stopped and stared at her, his eyes cold and dead. “Make me tea.”
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from saying anything. She wasn’t doing anything that he asked. Obeying a Grey was dangerous.
“You think you can stop me? You’re nothing. A soul to steal, bait, or bribe. Your lover is already in trouble. Lost his soul for dealing to me.”
Years of practice was all that kept her from looking shocked. No soul, how was that possible? But she remembered the way he’d acted when he’d first come back, the way he’d stopped when he’d found the nail in her bra and the hesitation to shower, the look in his eye and the way he’d avoided talking while still trying to hold onto her. If he had no soul, what did that make him?
The answer was right in front of her. She swallowed. Caspian was a Grey.
Shea paced closer, his gaze flicking between her and the water. Dylis had said afraid of water, not that it would hurt a fairy. She needed the iron nail in her hand. But she couldn’t get it out while he watched.
“Used you to get to the Window.” Shea grinned. “Your little friend who lived here followed you home, saw you holding a mirror.” He rested one hand on the back of a chair. He was far too close for comfort now. “I’m willing to gamble it’s the Window—and so was your friend.”
The compact in her handbag. Don’t look at your handbag. Keep looking at Shea. I’m going to have nightmares. “That old thing? That’s just my grandmother’s makeup mirror.”
How long had Caspian known? The whole time he’d been here? Or just since he’d come back with the mirror around his neck?
“Where is it?”
“At home, with the rest of the things I took from here.” Her heart was bouncing around and making breathing hard. Could he tell she was lying?
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you want to save your lover?”
“Yes.” But if Caspian had lost his soul in Annwyn then it made sense that the only way to get it back would be to give the mirror to his father, not Shea.
“Then give it to me.”
“It’s at home,” she said really slowly. “Want to take a drive?” She didn’t want to be in a car with him, but if it kept him away from her handbag for a little longer she’d do it.
“You agree to fetch me the Window?”
She opened her mouth then realized that he was trying to get her talking to trip her into a deal. She shut her mouth and bit her tongue for good measure. Why hadn’t Caspian told her all of this?
Because she’d have freaked out because he was a Grey. She’d slept with him while he was missing a soul. Her thoughts swirled around like papers in a breeze. Take a breath and think.
He was still Caspian, and he still needed the Window. That she had it made things simpler. Except Shea knew she had it too. He took a step closer. She flicked some water at him. This time he winced but didn’t step back.
Shit. She’d seen Caspian shower last night, so maybe a fairy’s fear of water wasn’t that great unless it was a river or an ocean.
“I wonder what he’d do to save you.” He tilted his head and flexed his fingers.
Her phone beeped as a message arrived, but she was almost too scared take her eyes off Shea and look. How far could she run? How many invisible fairies were in the house waiting to grab her or trip her up?
The front door opened and Shea turned. She used that moment to slide the nail out of her bra and into her hand.
Caspian appeared in the doorway. His lips tightened, but that was the only sign of distress. Was he even worried about her or just the damn Window?
“You broke the deal. Your thugs attacked my shop. You came here and invaded her house.” Caspian looked at Shea.
“You broke it first. Have you bothered to check a single mirror I left at your house? No, you were too busy at Court meeting your father and losing your soul. I propose a trade. I keep your lover until you get me the Window.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“We make a new one, banished to banished. We can both get what we want.” Shea took a couple of steps and grabbed her arm, dragging her away from the water.
“Let go.” She smacked him in the face with her phone as she tried to get the nail into her fingers ready to use.
He tightened his grip. “A fear of water is one thing, but it is not enough to stop me from getting what I want and getting home. I need the Window and I will have it.”
Caspian stepped forward, then stopped as if unable to move. Shea’s face hollowed, his features becoming more drawn and haggard as if was wasting before her eyes. He was using magic. On Caspian.
“Use magic to fight me, darkling,” Shea sn
eered.
“I’m not a darkling. My father is Court.” Caspian forced the words out, his gaze on Shea, not her.
“Fight to free yourself. Let’s see how fast you wither.” Shea’s grip on her arm eased a fraction as if he was weakening.
Caspian seemed to be fighting for every breath. She almost dropped the nail as she turned it, then it was ready. She said a quick prayer and then drove it into Shea’s thigh.
The scream was like that of a wounded, enraged animal. Shea released her and she moved—but not to Caspian’s side. She went to the other doorway, the one that led to the formal dining room. Without iron or water she had nothing but speed and distance. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Plus her handbag was still on the kitchen counter. That was dumb. But neither Grey knew what was in there wrapped up safe with iron.
Shea reared up and snarled, dark blue… blood, she realized… dripped onto the floor. He stepped toward her, but Caspian pulled the necklace out of his shirt. Shea stopped to watch.
“One more step and I destroy the Window.” Caspian lifted the chain over his head.
“Don’t give it to him,” Lydia whispered. Caspian needed his soul back, didn’t he? Or did he no longer care? Was he on Shea’s side now because he was a Grey? It was all too confusing.
Shea stared at the shard of mirror. “You’re lying. She has it.”
Caspian shook his head. “I went to Court and saw where it was hidden. Here amongst the jewelry. Clever.” That wasn’t right; he’d said it was to help him find the Window. Had he lied about that too? Then she realized she was watching him trick another fairy. He was playing the Grey at his own game.
“Prove it’s the Window,” Shea demanded.
“Prove it’s not.” Caspian shrugged, and his face remained expressionless. “What are you prepared to risk, Shea ap Greely?” He set the mirror swinging, and the chain moved closer to the ends of his fingers, millimeter by millimeter.
Lydia watched as Caspian prepared to break the mirror. What was he risking by doing that?
