Faery Realms: Ten Magical Titles: Multi-Author Bundle of Novels & Novellas

by Rachel Morgan

  When they stopped near the village of Eilanreach for the night, their last rest before crossing the sound, Saor went into the woods to hunt. He returned later with a brace of rabbits, which he dropped at Eilidh’s feet, before walking to a nearby stream to wash. There was a time when she would have joined him, and they would have laughed and played in the water. Now she averted her eyes and focused on skinning their dinner.

  At least he had dressed before returning to camp. When he continued to exude displeasure with her, she asked, “Why did you come?”

  He shrugged lightly. “Imire made a reasonable request.”

  She shook her head. “That isn’t the reason.”

  “Once, you would not have asked me that.”

  “Once,” she replied, “I was a kingdom faerie. Now I am an exile, and you could be punished for aiding me.”

  “Perhaps things can change.”

  “What things? The conclave will not lift the death sentence. You know that. It is not in their nature to be tolerant or forgiving.”

  “You said yourself you do not cast the azure.”

  Eilidh frowned. “Even with what happened, the incident that brought my nature to light, my crime was not casting the azure. You know that, Saor. It was being able to.” She wondered what had caused his anger to melt and be replaced by this strange new passion.

  “We do not punish faeries who have violence in their hearts, only those who commit wrong acts.” A long silence stretched between them. Finally, he added, “When you left, I thought I’d never see you again. I grieved for you, and I tried to put it behind me. But I never could. You were meant for me. Everyone knew that.”

  “You think if I vowed never to cast the azure, the conclave would believe me? This choice was not offered to me twenty-five years ago. Why would it be now?” She wanted to laugh and dismiss the thought, but Saor’s seriousness gave her pause.

  “If they would not believe your solemn vow, you could offer to be severed.”

  Severed? To endure a magical process so harsh, so painful? To never be capable of touching any magic, even the Ways of Earth, again? To never see a flow or sense the outer reaches of the Halls of Mist? In that state she could never enter the Otherworld, but would be forever confined to the earthly reaches of the fae kingdom. The idea stunned her. No one would ever volunteer for such a thing. It would be considered a fate worse than death. The fae breathed magic. They were magic. To separate a faerie from magic was to cleave them from life.

  Eilidh could feel him waiting for her response. Words escaped her. In all her years, it never occurred to her. Any fae would sooner pluck out their own eyes than offer to be severed. Even if it were possible, would she make that ultimate sacrifice? Would it be any better than living in exile? She would have her father back, and Saor, it seemed, but would other faeries accept her? For decades she would have given anything to return to her old life, but to go back like that? Completely crippled in her soul?

  “It’s possible,” Saor said, “if we do find these faeries who know the Path of the Azure, that they will determine your astral gifts are as weak as your talents in the Ways of Earth.”

  “So weak,” Eilidh said, “that I wouldn’t be any threat, or that I wouldn’t mind being severed?”

  “Perhaps.”

  So this was why he wanted to come. Not to help her untap her powers and receive training and not to ask for help in defeating the blood faerie. Instead, he hoped they would find her abilities so weak they would not be worth exploring, to find some reassurance that would cause the conclave to stop viewing her as a threat.

  When she didn’t reply, Saor’s frustration came to the surface. “You’re thinking of him, aren’t you? That human. You’ve convinced yourself he’s some kind of druid from a book of fables to make him more acceptable to you. After all, what’s the difference between a weak faerie and a strong human?”

  It felt like he’d slapped her. His anger shocked her and stirred her own ire. “You do not want me to have friends, Saor? You can’t stand to be near my deformed magic, so you would rather see me stripped of it than to see me whole and happy?”

  Saor’s eyes glowed with fire. “Are you saying you’re happy with him?”

  “You’re jealous.” Even though his whole demeanour was infuriating, it touched her to see how much he still cared, that he still wanted her.

  “Of a human? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She sat in silence for a few moments, letting their tempers cool. “This plan of yours, I don’t know that the conclave would even consider it. You know how they are.”

  “But would you consider it? To have your life back? To have us back?” It struck her, suddenly, how beautiful he was. His expression was fiercer and more passionate than she’d ever seen it. When she didn’t answer at first, he stepped in close and kissed her tenderly on the lips. He tasted of honey. She’d forgotten how sweet his kisses were, and it made her ache. “Saor…” she began, but she didn’t know how to finish. Could she do what he wanted?

  He silenced her with another kiss and then reached up and removed the black hat from her head. He ran a finger along her left ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Just think on what I’ve said, Eilidh. We belong together.” He glanced at the sky. “We should rest for a while and swim the sound at first light. I don’t want to approach these outcasts during full dark.”

  Eilidh nodded, too stunned by Saor’s words and actions to say anything. She lay on the ground in a bed of heather, but she could not close her eyes, much less sleep. She watched the stars move overhead in their slow dance across the night sky.

  ∞

  Even by the time Munro found himself on his cousin Frankie’s doorstep, he hadn’t yet worked out what he would say. Hi, cousin. So, can you do magic? He settled on playing things by ear, but he hadn’t been able to fool himself into thinking he’d suddenly come up with something that wouldn’t sound barmy.

  He approached the house and took the two steps up to the front door. When he rang the bell, he got no answer. Music drifted from the other side of the house, though, and he decided to peek around back. Sure enough, the sound of heavy metal reverberated from the garage.

  Munro didn’t have to knock, because the side door stood wide open and the waft of paint fumes drifted into the yard. He hardly recognised his cousin beneath the safety mask and goggles, bent over an old sanded-down wheel arch with a can of spray paint, but the shock of black hair couldn’t be anyone else’s. Munro waited for Frankie to see him, since knocking or calling out wouldn’t be heard over the banging music. Just as the song wound down, Frankie looked up. When his cousin removed his mask and goggles, he greeted Munro with a smile.

  “Well, if it isn’t Eastwood, come to visit.”

  Munro laughed. No one had called him Eastwood in years. Not since school. Quinton had been shortened to Quint, which morphed into Clint, which became Eastwood, after the Hollywood actor. As nicknames went, it could have been worse. Munro nodded hello and pointed to the wheel arch. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  Frankie grinned. “Belongs to a friend who got into a bit of a scrape.” He thought a minute and then laughed at his own pun. He wiped his hands on a rag and tossed it aside. “Let’s chat in the house. It’s a bit whiffy in here. Drink?”

  “Sure,” Munro said.

  “Mum told me you stopped in to see her. Said you might be coming by.”

  “Did she? I got the impression you two don’t talk much.”

  Frankie chuckled, leading Munro in through the back door and straight into the kitchen. He fetched two Cokes from the fridge and tossed one to Munro. “She moans about my music and my friends and my general worthlessness, but you know Mum, she doesn’t mean it. She just likes to have a bit of a go at me sometimes.” Frankie shrugged as though it didn’t bother him in the least.

  Munro tapped the can in his hand. “Since when did you give up beer?”

  Frankie smiled. “As soon as the magic wouldn’t let me drink anymore. Not everyone ha
s that problem, but it does a number on my head.”

  Shock, excitement, and no small measure of relief made Munro stop cold. He stared for a moment while Frankie studied his face with amusement. Finally, Munro said, “At least I don’t have to figure out how to ask.”

  Pointing toward the living room, Frankie said, “Let’s sit. You look like you’re about to faint.” He patted Munro on the back. “I’m glad I’m not the only one any more though.”

  “So Carol and Raymond aren’t…”

  “No, just me. I got it from my dad, apparently. From what I’ve learned, girls can carry it, but they never have the abilities. So you got it from your mum, but you must have figured that out or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Not really,” Munro said. “You’re just one of the few family I have left.” Was it dumb luck that brought him here, he wondered, or had he used the same ability that led him to Eilidh that day in the woods?

  “Who unlocked you?”

  “Who what?”

  Frankie took a drink from his Coke, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “From what I’ve been taught, your abilities get unlocked by someone else. It takes a while to learn things. I’m not that strong yet, but I must be getting stronger. I could feel your magic as soon as you came into the garage.” He grinned. “Sounds like a lot of woo-woo new age shite, doesn’t it?”

  Munro laughed. “Kind of does, yeah. Never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

  “So, who is your mentor? Might be someone I know.” Something in Frankie’s tone was guarded.

  Munro could only assume he meant Eilidh. She was the only person he knew who had any kind of magical ability. Mentor would be taking it a bit far, but who else could Frankie mean? Munro hadn’t planned to lie, but he didn’t want to expose Eilidh. Just because Frankie knew about druids and magic didn’t mean he knew about the fae. It didn’t seem like Eilidh knew about other druids, so it stood to reason they weren’t aware of her. “It just sort of happened. Started a couple of weeks ago.”

  Frankie frowned, but nodded. “Like I said, I’m not that strong. I’ve been practicing less than a year. I certainly don’t know everything. So, what happened? Must’ve been something big if it unlocked you without a mentor.”

  Munro took a long drink, stalling. He’d been desperate to find some help, but now that he had it, he felt wary and uncertain about revealing too much. On the other hand, he couldn’t see the harm in just talking about himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the stone tear and the bear. He set them on the table and watched as Frankie stared at them for a moment.

  Frankie didn’t touch them, but instead hovered his hand over the bear. “This one is fresher.” He glanced at Munro for confirmation and then moved on. “You shaped these with the flows?”

  “I guess,” Munro said. “I didn’t even know I was doing it.”

  “Stone,” Frankie muttered. “Interesting.”

  “What does that mean?” Munro remembered Eilidh and Saor talking about the Ways of Earth and affinity with stone or whatnot, but they’d never fully explained it.

  “We call our abilities earth magic. There are four spheres and they correspond to the seasons and elements. The first season is winter and the air element. Next is water and spring. Stone is the element for the third season, and if you could do this without even thinking, I’d guess that’s where you’re strongest. It doesn’t mean a strong druid couldn’t learn the others, but your abilities will probably be strongest in the summer, and working with stone or clay will come naturally to you. Maybe you unlocked without a mentor because we’re so close to the height of summer. I really don’t know.”

  “What’s the fourth?”

  “Fire. That’s the rarest. I’ve only met one fire druid before.” Frankie tapped the stone tear lightly, as if afraid of what it might do. “You say this started a couple of weeks ago?”

  “Yeah, I was outside a church and I put my hand on the stone. I felt…strange. A little bit later, I picked up this rock and was just holding it. Next thing I know, it had become this.”

  “A church? Was it St Paul’s?”

  Munro went still. He’d intentionally not mentioned the name, because he knew Eilidh lived there, at least some of the time. But now he thought of it another way—as the site of the first murder. “It was, actually,” he said. “How did you know? Is it special?”

  Frankie waved it off. “Nah, I just remember another stone druid saying he felt some resonance there.” He shook his empty Coke can. “Want another?”

  “No thanks.” Munro tried to act as natural as he could while still keeping an eye on Frankie as he went into the kitchen. His cousin was lying. He wouldn’t say he had a nose for it, not like he had those hunches for violence, and it certainly wasn’t tied to any ability. Cops got lied to every day of the week. It came with the job. After a while, they got a feel for it. It was something in the eyes and the body language. People either lied well or lied badly, depending on how often they did it. Frankie was obviously unaccustomed to thinking on his feet.

  Munro tried to tease the lie out of the statement. It was possible, of course, that some stone druid had felt Eilidh’s presence. He had certainly responded to her magic. It must have been Eilidh who unlocked him, although she didn’t seem to realise she’d done it. Perhaps Frankie somehow knew of her existence and wanted to keep the information from Munro. She certainly didn’t know Frankie, from what she’d said about druids, but there was more going on than Munro could work out.

  On the other hand, it could be that some druid, maybe even Frankie himself, knew something about the murder. Could Eilidh have been wrong? Could the perpetrator have been a druid and not a faerie? Maybe she sensed the magic and not the race of the person casting it. He wanted to ask Frankie what he knew about blood magic. That certainly didn’t fit into the tidy four-season scheme he’d just explained. But then, Eilidh had suggested she had abilities other than the normal earth magic. Could it be that druids could cast the azure too?

  When Frankie came back, he didn’t have another can in his hands. “Hey,” he said, “I was thinking of going to meet some of my friends tonight, a couple of druids. They could probably answer some questions I can’t. Want to come?”

  There’s even more of us? “Sure,” Munro said. He needed answers, and now not just for himself, but to see what these people knew about the murders. He would have liked backup, but he couldn’t exactly invite Getty along. Besides, all he planned to do was ask a few questions. His thoughts went to Eilidh. He wished she were with him. He could have used her knowledge and keen senses, wherever they were going. “I just need to phone in first. We’re all on call lately.” That was total BS, but Frankie wouldn’t know that.

  Munro called his own number and faked a conversation, leaving it recorded on his land-line voice mail. If anything happened, at least someone could find out where he’d gone. “PC Munro here.” A pause. “Okay, that’s fine.” Another pause, pretending to listen. “That’s fine. I’m at my cousin’s in town. I’ll check in again in a couple hours.” Feeling like an idiot he added, “No problem, Sarge. I have my phone with me.” He hung up, hoping he didn’t sound as stupid as he felt.

  “You’re working those murders?”

  Munro didn’t make too much of the fact that Frankie connected the two deaths. Perth was the sort of place that almost never had an unexplained death. Although they’d kept some of the details out of the press, having two bodies found in public places with no arrests would be enough to make anyone assume something was going on. “Not really. They’ve got CID detectives for that. They’re just making everyone work longer hours to have higher visibility. Gotta let the public think we’re making progress.” He shrugged and tried to look suitably annoyed. He also felt like a bit of an arse for suspecting his own cousin of being involved in a murder, but something was up. He’d learned long ago that being a little suspicious was never a bad thing.

  Chapter 13

  T
he long journey and wakeful night left Eilidh on edge. In the Ways of Earth, she’d only had limited success with the first season, her strongest. Tomorrow would be the height of the third season, and she would have the least connection to her earth power than any other time of year. It left her feeling vulnerable and weak. When Saor told her he’d encountered a few fae on a hunt the night before, she realised how lucky they’d been.

  After they crossed the sound and set foot on the Isle of Skye, Saor used his small talent with fire to dry and warm them before they proceeded. Eilidh could tell he was just as anxious as she. She’d had to live with the idea of having Path of the Azure magic ever since she accidentally cast an illusion that nearly killed one of her kinsmen.

  He had believed he saw a white stag, rare even in the Otherworld, in the highland forests. It had surprised her as much as it did him.

  She remembered controlling the beast like a puppet. She played with it, seeing what it could do. It didn’t have limitations like something real would, but she couldn’t make it do just anything. Trying to discover the rules, Eilidh made it jump in the air. It took great concentration for her to hold it off the ground, but she didn’t understand why. It wasn’t real, after all. Then her kinsman, Piedre, leapt out at the stag, hunting knife drawn. He fell nearly four hundred feet straight down. Neither saw the drop until it was too late. The angle at which the stag stood—up the mountainside from them—deceived their eyes completely. If a fall like that occured in the Otherworld, he would have survived with nothing more than a deep bruising to his pride. In the hills of Earth, though, even the fae were vulnerable to tragedy.

  She could tell by his distance the idea of the Path of the Azure filled Saor with horror. As far as she knew, he’d never seen Eilidh cast it and seemed to be in some denial that it was real. As they walked inland, tension wracked his shoulders. He frowned and focused intently on the flows of earth.

  Eilidh couldn’t keep her mind on their early scouting of the island. She kept thinking back to their conversation the previous night. Returning to the kingdom, even if she were severed, would extend her life by a thousand years. She hadn’t considered that possibility during the past decades. She’d been taught that, as an exile unable to return to the Halls of Mists and walk the magical plane of the Otherworld, she would age faster, although nowhere near as fast as a human. That seemed a blessing to her, condemned and alone as she was. But if she had Imire and Saor beside her, and possibly some of her other friends, if she could once again breathe the kingdom air, would that be worth it? What would she lose? Her earth magic was weak anyway, and she’d never been trained in astral magic. She watched Saor. Perhaps if she wanted to accept his proposal, she shouldn’t go any further. What if she was strong in the Path of the Azure? Wouldn’t that make it harder to give it up?