by C. L. Roman
"You stayed in touch with Neala, even after Uncle Din exiled her."
"That is beside the point, and nothing to do with you."
"It has everything to do with me. And did from the moment I met Jackson."
Rolling her eyes, Gwyneth rose from the couch. "Don't be ridiculous. You were children when you knew him. You can't possibly think yourself in any way connected to him now."
"He was my friend, Mother. He saved my life."
"Balor wouldn't have hurt you."
Rubbing her midsection in remembrance, Maeve said, "He wouldn't have killed me, maybe. But that isn't the point. You let me believe Jackson was dead, because of me. That wasn't right Mother, and you know it."
"We've been over this. What was I supposed to do? Tell you? And what would have happened when you slipped back to see him and got caught, again?"
"I would never have endangered Jackson."
Gwyneth's gaze softened, and she took Maeve's hands in hers. "You were a child, and you thought everyone was immortal, that nothing truly bad could happen to the ones you love, just as all children do. I did what needed to be done to protect both of you. And Neala did the same. That is the end of it."
Considering her own desperation to keep Jackson's existence a secret from Balor, Maeve couldn't argue with that logic. Pulling her hands free, Maeve poured herself another drink and added one for her mother. "It isn't, though." She handed her mother the glass, trying to ignore Gwyneth's worried expression. In a few short sentences, she explained what Neala had done, leaving Solcruth out of it for the moment. "Which means that once Uncle Din finds out the power has been passed on instead of returned, he'll want Jackson dead."
"No, Din wouldn't—"
Maeve coughed out a laugh, bitter and short. "Wouldn't what? Kill to protect his power? Of course he would. I know he's your brother, but that's all the more reason for you to know what he's capable of." She took a long swig from her drink. "It wouldn't be the first time he's killed for his benefit."
"You will keep such thoughts to yourself, young lady. I've told you, Din had no part in Bran's death." Gwyneth's face was pale, and the hand holding her glass shook.
"He was the one who stood to benefit most, and he banished Neala so fast afterward that she didn't have time to accuse him. I'd say that raises suspicions at the very least."
"Neala would never have accused Din. She wasn't even there when Bran died, and there was no evidence to suggest that Din was involved."
"Think what you want. Right now, I'm fine with leaving the past in the past. Jackson's life, on the other hand, is not something I'm willing to gamble on. He can tap into the Fomora, Mother. And that means Din, and every other clan chief and mage in the empire, will see him as a threat."
Gwyneth opened her mouth, but no words came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Neala had no business giving him her power. Jackson has no place in Aelfholm, or anywhere in the Lower Realm for that matter."
"What difference does that make? Balor had no right to attack Jackson in the Upper Realm, but he did it."
"Because he thought Jackson was a threat. He —"
"Exactly."
A muffled chime sent Gwyneth looking for her bag. She found it on a nearby table and searched out a small, black compact. Flipping it open, she read the message on the mirror inside. "Oh no," she said, and covered her mouth with her hand, staring at her daughter.
"What is it?"
"Your father and I are summoned to a council of the elders."
"Now?" A slow tide of dread moved up Maeve's spine, locking her shoulders into place and balling her fists. "Council meetings are only held on the full moon. Tonight, it's only a quarter of the way there."
"Unless there is an emergency, such as..."
"Such as a serious breach of the law. I don’t know how, but they know."
Gwyneth nodded once. "I'll stall them as long as I can. Your father will help if I tell him..." She trailed off.
Maeve plucked several items from a cabinet and tossed them into her pack. A hand on her shoulder stopped her, but she didn't turn around.
"Take your grimoire with you. You never know when you might need it." Gwyneth paused, watching her daughter’s tense profile for a moment. “I could tell you to walk away, that this isn't your fight."
"But?"
"But I know you wouldn't listen. So, I'll tell you this. Your uncle is not the enemy you think he is. Don't do anything to change that."
Maeve dropped her book of shadows into the rucksack and turned. "You might do better to tell him that about Jackson and me."
She strode through the front door, pausing with her hand on the knob as her mother spoke.
"If I thought it would help, I would."
Maeve took a deep breath and rode the elevation spell down. She jumped the final five feet to the ground and ran toward the portal.
Chapter Twelve
Jackson lifted two fingers, swirling them to get the bartender's attention. The woman slid a mug of cold draft down the bar into his waiting hand. "Put it on my tab," he said.
“Sure thing,” she said, pulling out a rag to wipe up a spill.
He stared into the mirror behind the liquor bottles, catching glimpses of the other patrons as they moved behind him. Another half hour spent nursing his beer didn't improve his mood or provide any answers, so he decided to head home.
He laid a ten on the bar, figuring that would cover the drink and the tip and wandered outside. Overhead the stars blazed like a promise, but Jackson kept his head down as he walked home.
The footsteps behind him started a block later, keeping pace without catching up. Jackson took his hands from his pockets, using the store windows to his left to try and catch sight of his stalker. The glare of the streetlights didn't give him much, but he could make out a hunched figure, about his own height, wearing a hooded coat in some indeterminate, dark color.
"Jackson!" The insistent whisper caught his attention, and he made an abrupt turn to follow it into the deeper shadows of an alley. Brick walls closed in on either side as a hand reached out of the darkness to clutch his arm.
"It's Maeve," she said and pulled him farther away from the street.
"I know that. Do you think I would have turned into this deathtrap for anyone else?" He glanced at the far end of the narrow passage, blocked by a dumpster and a brick wall. "There's someone following me."
"Of course, there is. Do you think I would have called you into this deathtrap if there weren't?"
He couldn't see her grin, but he could hear it in her voice. "Ok, so now what —"
"Ssh." A ball of purple light blossomed, and by its illumination he could make out her hands and the inviting curve of her lower lip. Her chin lifted, indicating that he should move to her right.
He did, and the purple ball became a translucent disk, held flat between them and the mouth of the alley, where his stalker was just coming into view. Through the shield, Jackson saw the figure pause, its head swinging right, then left, before it moved off down the street.
"Simple chameleon spell,” Maeve said. “As long as you stand still, you look like whatever is behind you." She grabbed his hand and urged him toward the alley's blocked end.
"We can't..." Jackson's voice trailed off as they walked right through the wall and found themselves standing in front of the Cherish Apartments.
He stared at Maeve and then said, in a fair imitation of Neala’s brogue, "You got a lot of tricks up your sleeve there, darlin’."
"You don’t know the half of it," she said with a seductive smile.
“I’ll bet I don’t.” He took a step closer, wondering if her hair was as soft as it looked, then caught himself. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving your butt, at the moment. Let's get inside. There are some things you need to know, and I'd rather not get into it out here where I can't set wards."
"What are wards? Sounds familiar, but I can't place it.”
Maeve slapped the heel of he
r hand to her forehead. "Oh. My. Goddess. We have so much work to do."
She scooted across the street and into the apartments. With a glance up and down the empty street, Jackson followed. The vestibule door closed behind them, locking out the last remnants of ambient street light. Jackson groped for a switch, found it and flipped it on — with no effect. The dark lay against his eyes like the threat of blindness.
"What the hell?" he mumbled.
"Stick close," Maeve said, and he felt her hand in his. "I don't think we're alone."
"The guy on the street?"
She snorted. "That would be nice, comparatively speaking. Come on. Whoever it is, I'm betting they know we're here by now, so running probably won't work."
Jackson stiffened. "I don't run."
"You might want to learn," She dug a guidestone from her pocket and ignited it with a muttered incantation. Reclaiming his hand, she tugged him toward the stairs.
"What is that?"
"It’s a guidestone.” At his blank look, she rolled her eyes. “I'll explain later. Do you have your keys? It will be better to go to your apartment since mine is probably occupied."
"I have a better idea. Why don't you two join me in here?" Outside the reach of Maeve's light, the baritone voice managed to sound bored and faintly amused at the same time.
Maeve groaned, halting mid-step. Feeling the tension in her grip on his hand, Jackson moved around her, putting himself between her and whatever threat the voice represented.
"What are you doing? Get back where you were," Maeve said.
"No," Jackson responded. He turned toward the upper landing. "I'm guessing you are responsible for the lights being out. Why don't you undo whatever, umm, spell you cast and turn them back on?"
"Oh, I had nothing to do with the lights. You can blame our little Maeve for that."
Jackson looked into Maeve's upturned features, his brows raised in question.
Shrugging, she nodded. "What did you expect me to do? Broadcast our presence to every dark elf and pixen assassin in the Upper Realm?"
"That might have been a better choice than to risk breaking your neck in a pitch-black stairwell," the voice said. "Especially since, so far as I know, I'm the only one sent after you, and I'm clearly already here.”
“The only one? What about the stalker?” Maeve asked, disbelief clear in her tone.
“Insurance only. To make sure you both made it here. But enough. I have other appointments to keep." A snap of fingers and a short phrase in a language Jackson didn't understand, brought light flooding from the sconces along the staircase.
Framed in the entrance to Maeve's apartment stood a male, tall and pale with gray hair and midnight eyes. Four thin scars marred his cheek.
Memory flooded back to Jackson. "Balor. That's what she called you, wasn't it?"
"Probably, since that is my name," Balor said.
"Shut up, Jackson," Maeve said and slid past him up the stairs. "Leave him out of this, Balor. I'll say goodnight here, and you and I can go into my apartment and talk.” She gave Jackson a short nod before continuing up the stairs. "What does Uncle Din want this time? " She reached Balor and took his arm as if to lead him into her apartment, but he didn't move.
"Your companion will need to join us."
Maeve's hand fluttered up to her chest. "What for? He’s just a friend.”
"You always were a terrible liar."
"Hey," Jackson said. "You need to watch how you talk to her."
"I hardly need a human to give me lessons in etiquette. Both of you, inside, now." Balor stepped back from the door and gestured curtly for them to precede him inside.
Solcruth warmed against his wrist, and Jackson gained the landing in two steps. Grasping Maeve's hand, he pulled her toward his apartment, his keys already out. "I don't think so. Maeve and I haven't finished our, erm, date. " He shoved the door open and was halfway inside before he'd finished speaking, tugging Maeve along with him.
He slammed the door behind them and turned the key. Maeve shoved him aside, her hand gripping the knob as purple light poured from between her fingers. Under her breath, she mumbled a series of incomprehensible syllables, and a gleaming spiderweb flowed from her hand, encompassing the door.
"That won't hold him for long. You have to come with me, Jackson."
The wooden barrier shook under Balor’s fists. "Maeve! You are charged with treason." He no longer sounded bored or amused. "You must return to Aelfholm with me to answer the allegations against you."
"I'll come with you, but you have to leave my friend out of it."
"Jackson Delaney is charged with theft."
Maeve paled. "Theft of what?"
"You know the answer to that, Maeve. He stole Neala's power. He must answer for it."
"I didn't steal anything. She —"
Maeve slapped her hand over Jackson's mouth, cutting off his protest. "Don't give them more ammunition to hang you with," she whispered. "We have to get out of here."
"You will release the door, Maeve, and come with me, or I will not be responsible for the consequences." A hollow boom vibrated the door against its frame, and Balor's voice dropped all pretense of formal authority. "I know you have the Clochroi. Surely you do not believe Dinael will allow you to keep it?"
"I don't have it," Maeve shouted. "I told both of you that when you summoned me three weeks ago."
"What is he talking about?" Jackson asked.
Maeve shot him a desperate glance. "Not really the time, Jacks. We need to go."
"Go where?" Jackson asked. Another boom shook the door, and several purple strands snapped with a fading hiss. "In case you hadn't noticed, he has the only exit blocked."
"There's never only one exit." Maeve ran into the kitchen and returned with a box of salt. Working quickly, she drew a white circle on the carpet and set a black and brown striped stone at each of the four compass points. "Get the grimoire. We'll need it."
Jackson glanced around, spying the book on the coffee table. "That is not where I left it."
"And you're surprised? Come on!"
A low stream of words drifted through the door and the purple strands faded to lavender, smoke rising from them in thin, white spirals.
Scooping up the spell book, Jackson turned to her. "Now what?"
"Get inside the circle, you idiot!"
One by one the spell threads snapped, peeling back from the center of the door in writhing coils. Jackson jumped into the circle, closing his arms around Maeve as she spoke the incantation.
From this enemy, we must flee,
To a port, he cannot see,
Time and tide, tree and heather,
Safely abide, between now and forever.
The stones levitated six inches from the carpet and flames shot up from the salt circle, surrounding them within its shield as the door burst open. Balor stood in the opening, shouting something they couldn't hear.
Maeve thrust out a hand, screaming words Jackson didn't understand, and Balor stumbled backward into the dark behind him. The room faded, and in the next instant, it was gone.
Instead, they stood on a street corner in the loudest, fastest moving city he'd ever experienced. Weird looking cars streamed by in four never-ending rows. Pedestrians hustled past, staring into small, flat rectangles of glass in their hands. No one even looked up long enough to notice two people appearing out of thin air right in front of them. The crowd flowed around their tiny circle as if at some subconscious command.
Maeve held her hand out, and the stones flew into her palm. With a practiced gesture, she stowed them in her purse. The salt and fire were nowhere to be seen.
"How —?" Jackson couldn't complete the question, but Maeve didn't seem to mind.
Her mouth quirked. "Let's find a hotel and something to eat. Then I'll explain everything."
She moved off through the crowd, leaving him no other choice but to follow. The space around them collapsed, and before he could blink, there were ten strangers betwe
en them.
"A LOT of tricks." Jackson rubbed his arms and muttered under his breath as he struggled after her.
Chapter Thirteen
It took them an hour to find a hotel with an available room. Maeve checked them in as Mr. and Mrs. Strange. The desk clerk looked at her oddly.
"Like the comic book character?"
"No, like me and my, um, husband," Maeve said.
Jackson smirked at her. "My wife and I just got married," he said to the clerk. "She's still getting used to the name change."
Nodding, the clerk slid two plastic key-cards across the counter to them. "Congratulations. Room 4704, Sir. Welcome to Waldorf-Astoria," he said, naming one of the most prestigious hotels in New York.
Jackson smothered his surprise and accepted the cards. "What are these?"
"You are so funny, darling," Maeve said, her lips stretched tight over her teeth. "Thank you, young man. I told him that we shouldn't elope without reservations. Now he's so stressed he doesn't recognize key cards when he sees them." She grabbed Jackson's hand and dragged him away from the desk.
They walked to the elevator in silence, but as the doors slid closed, Jackson turned to her. "What the hell is going on? Where are we?" He scrubbed his hands against his thighs.
"New York. An even better question is, when are we? Based on the music in the elevator, I’m guessing some point post-2000, and probably closer to 2005 or so, since they gave us these cards instead of the thick plastic ones with the holes in them that they used the last time I was here in the nineties.” The doors opened, and she shot him an oblique glance. “And that means I need a cell phone." She led the way down the hall. "And so do you, I guess."
Reaching the room, she slid the card through the slot and shoved the door open. “Come on. Might as well enjoy it while you can.” She crossed the room to the bed and sat down next to a futuristic telephone. Holding her hand over the instrument, she closed her eyes. The same purple gleam he'd seen her use before drifted down from her fingers onto the phone. Opening her eyes, she picked it up and dialed.
"Hello? Arcadia? Hey girl. I'm in a bit of a hassle, and I could use your help." She listened for a moment and then smiled. "You are a doll. Ok, so I need two cell phones, full data package, IDs for whatever time frame I'm in... What? No, things were pretty tense when I cast the spell, and I didn't have time to be specific. Can you find out? We're in the Waldorf, room 4703, under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Levi Strange. Yeah, I'll hold on."
