“Good luck,” she said to me, peeking down the stairwell.
“Thanks.”
Having seen my dad in this manic mess, ready to hurt Tom, accidentally hurting me…knowing he might, really, want to kill Ehrwnmyr…I thought I had a pretty good idea of how scary a parent could be. (In the realm of good, loving parents, that is—my two older sisters have had other experiences.)
I was wrong, though. About how scary a normally loving parent could look.
Upon walking into my parents’ office, I faced the immediate reality that I never in my life had seen my mother when she was properly furious.
So furious, in fact, I almost felt guilty to be relieved that I was not on the receiving end of said fury. My dad, who was on the receiving end, sat hunched and slouched in his desk chair, as if he wanted to disappear. Puffy red rimmed his eyes, and he seemed to avoid looking at me, too. Thinking back to the day I bridled the kelpie, I knew that feeling well. Really well.
Everyone said I had my mum’s eyes; I wondered if mine had turned that shade of livid green earlier.
“I said ‘come in,’ Heather.” Her voice was soft and even, which was even more chilling than if it actually had been clipped and angry.
I hadn’t realized how long I’d been standing in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am.” I nodded and all but tiptoed to the overstuffed couch nestled between and under the wall made of bookshelves. I normally avoided sitting in it, due to a traumatic walking-in-at-a-bad-time event, but I’d mostly overcome that since being forced to sit in it for more punishments in the past few weeks than ever before In My Whole Life.
“First. From here on out, there will be one rule in this house that is non-negotiable under any circumstances. And that rule is, no one, and I mean no one, in this house is to ever, ever, ever touch another one of my books—any of my books— without speaking to me first. Is that clear?”
Both my dad and I nodded.
“Say it.”
Dad and I mumbled some form of “No one touches your books ever.”
“Good. Second part of that same One Rule. No one, under any circumstances, will attempt any spell or a-ny-thing related to magick without consulting me first. Is that clear?”
Dad and I repeated, “No magick without you, ever.”
As she was speaking, Mum used the same very quiet, very calm, almost sweet tone that was far more unsettling than if she’d been screaming at the top of her lungs. She continued, “And just to make sure we’re absolutely clear, consulting me means that you are one-hundred percent sure that I am paying full attention to you.” She shot a particularly sharp look at my dad. “Which means making me look away from the stove or computer or book to stare you in the eye. Right?”
“I understand,” he said.
Mum looked at me.
“Me too.” I nodded quickly.
Mum held our attention for a long moment in which neither of us seemed to want to breathe. Finally, she took a deep breath of her own and relaxed, leaning back in her chair. She didn’t say anything right away; she just thought, tapping out a beat on her desk with her fingernails.
I cast a glance at Dad, whose jaw twitched just a little as his eyes fell on Mum’s fingers. In a tiny jerk, she met his eyes, and he flinched, bowing his head and lowering his eyes. With a slight curl of her lower lip in the direction of Dad, she made a few more taps before turning to me.
When she faced me, her face softened. “Heather, where were you hurt? Your dad said it was your arm?”
I nodded.
“Let me see it.”
I held it up for her.
“No, come here and let me see.”
With a sigh, I purposely kept myself from rubbing it—I didn’t think I could bear seeing my dad look more guilty—and stood, offering my arm. I couldn’t keep myself from flinching when she touched it, even though she was gentle.
Her face softened even more as she leaned over to kiss just above the burn. Logically, I knew that kissing didn’t really make injuries better—I’ll be twelve in October, for goodness’ sake— but it kind of did help. She let go and reached into one of her bottom drawers. Taking my other hand in hers, she squirted a few pumps of aloe into my palm. “This should soothe it some. I’ll look up if there’s anything more we can do later. All right?”
“Thanks, Mum.”
She nodded her head in the direction of the couch. “Now, tell me everything—starting with what prompted you to invite Tom into the house after your dad had made it clear he didn’t want anything magickal inside the house.”
I drew my eyebrows together sharply, but kept from actually glaring at her. What?! She was siding with Dad after all this?
I searched her face, but she only folded her arms and raised her brows at me, gesturing with a lift of her chin that I should begin my story.
With a sigh, I slouched on the couch and started from the beginning, starting with the dream I had, where I heard Tom in my head trying to get my attention, all the way to admitting I broke grounding to hang out with Ehrwnmyr and repeating everything he told me…including how he purposely didn’t take me away to Faerie or something because I was dumb and didn’t think to be specific when I asked him for a ride.
“Well…” Mum dropped a semi-potent cuss out loud, making my eyes snap wide. Even as she said it, she held up one finger in the direction of my dad and continued, “And don’t you dare chide me. We’ve got two assistant coaches and almost two dozen kids descending upon us before tomorrow’s out, and the only defense we have is the killer fey horse, immune to fey magick, that has to obey our daughter. Our daughter, mind you, a trusting soul who, despite all the crap she’s been through in school, still seems to think the best of just about everyone she meets.”
My dad sat up more in his chair, now leveling his eyes at Mum. “I did say it was a bad idea to still hold horse camp…”
“You also said that there wasn’t any way I could re-un-invite the Countess of Perthshire’s son without making us look bad in front of peerage, nobility…whatever.”
“It’s better than…well…” My dad frowned, this time not flinching when Mum sent him another glare. Granted, this was more her normal-level glare, not the super-kill-you-with-my-fury glare from before.
“I can only think of one thing to do now.” Mum frowned, looking at Dad.
“What?” His voice let on that he knew it wasn’t something he would like.
“You need to make amends with the fey cat. And you need to mean it.”
“What? No! I want him—I want all of them—away from this family. Don’t you see that they’re just going to keep putting us—our children—in the middle of harm?”
“So, what do you want to do? Stand up to them on our own?”
Dad clenched his teeth, but his pause was short. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I want us to do. I want us to stand up to them and tell them they have no right to entangle us in their schemes.”
Mum’s face grew grave. “I don’t think you understand—”
“They’re bullies, Aimee! Don’t you see? They will keep using us and putting us—putting Heather—into danger unless we stand up to them.”
“Michael, we’re talking about a” (several descriptive words I should never repeat) “—Unseelie faerie here. One slip-up where you look into their eyes or fall for some trap, and they kill you.” Mum added more colorful language to describe “slipup” and “kill,” but she wasn’t done. “If they’re feeling benevolent and merciful, they just kill you. Do you get that?”
Dad was silent for a moment. “It seems like one slip-up and the lord and lady faerie who share our property might just be ‘merciful’ and kill us. If we don’t make a deal and let them own us, that is.”
“No. Michael.” Mum cast me an uncomfortable look. “You don’t get it. You don’t want to know what an Unseelie will do to us, to our children, to anyone we love, if they’re feeling even a fraction less than benevolent and merciful. And mind you, to even get an Unseelie to feel benev
olent and merciful means they say ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high will please you the most, O Great Master?’ Is that any clearer? It means, the Unseelie comes in and says, ‘Give me your children as slaves, and I won’t amuse myself by torturing them in front of you…or make you watch their faces while I torture you in front of them.’ Are you getting a better idea now?”
Dad scowled at her. “So, are you suggesting we give up?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you to find it in your heart, for the sake of this family, to swallow your damned pride and make amends to the fey cat, so we can figure out exactly how much danger we all are in and do something about it.”
Dad didn’t respond with more than a sour glare and a pinched face.
Mum sighed. “Look, I know it’s not easy for you right now. You know I know…just…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what else to say, right now. But you have to fix it this time, Michael. And you have to do it the right way, without putting anyone else in danger.”
His glare at Mum intensified, but I could tell it was fueled with more hurt than anger. This time, she stood and glared right back.
Neither gave in. The energy in the room started to feel hot and prickly, even though the sun was barely making it through the clouds and windows. It was getting difficult to breathe.
I cleared my throat. “Um…”
Without looking away from Dad, Mum said, “You are excused for now, Heather. And while I understand why you did it, you are still grounded and you are still not to leave the inside of this castle without our permission. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mum,” I squeaked.
“Good. Now, go see if Mrs. McInnis and Ms. Eliza need any help putting some tea together for our guests.”
“Yes, Mum.” No argument here. I wanted out of that office even more than I had when they were both mad at me for getting involved with the whole kelpie mess.
Leaving the room, though, didn’t settle the sick churning in my stomach. I could feel the fight still going on between my parents. Making me even sicker was the thought that if I hadn’t gotten involved with the kelpie and the faerie, they wouldn’t be having this argument at all.
My brother Rowan joined Lily and me (me being there with permission, this time) as we fed Erwnmyr. We filled in both the kelpie and my younger brother on what had happened today. Rowan took my dad’s mania better than Ermie did, which was kind of surprising.
In fact, Rowan pulled me aside while I was filling Ermie’s trough. “You can’t stay angry at Dad.” I could tell my brother was nervous because he spoke especially slowly and enunciated each word. “You know he didn’t mean to hurt you. He doesn’t know better, and he gets…like I do, when people are angry.”
I swallowed, taken aback by my eight-year-old brother’s insight. “I made sure Dad knows I still love him, and I do. And he’s listening to Mum. We-we’re getting through it.”
Eherwnmyr, for his part, closed his mind so forcefully it almost hurt. When I sent him a feeling of a question without any words, like how he sometimes communicated to me, he paused and looked at me.
You would be angry and unhappy with what I am thinking.
That made my already sick stomach feel even sicker. Yes, I…appreciated, if that’s the right word…him not sharing his perfectly awful kelpie thoughts with me. But obviously, he was having perfectly awful kelpie thoughts about my dad, and I certainly didn’t want Ermie to think of that at all, ever! No matter how angry I was at my dad!
I will not harm your family. You’ve ordered such.
“I don’t want you to want to hurt anyone!”
The kelpie narrowed his eyes at me. That is unfair to desire of me. It is impossible even for you!
“I don’t ever want to hurt anyone.”
Lily cleared her throat, but didn’t look at me.
Oh, yeah. Her mom. Jess. The one thing Lily couldn’t forgive me for was hating her mother. Her mother, who had kidnapped Lily twice, and nearly killed her, almost ruined my dad’s life, and just about dragged him away from my mother, because of some lawsuit over Lily, back when Mum nearly died in the hospital from having Rowan.
Admittedly, hurting Jess was something I had thought of on more than one occasion. And maybe had even written about two years ago, in my journal that my teacher promised to never read but did…xand then summoned me, Lily, and Dad into a rather difficult conference.
Lily had forgiven Jess; I hadn’t. I wouldn’t. She was still making our lives miserable. Jess had made a big deal about having Lily for the summer, and then ditched out a few days after Lily arrived to be in a movie in some foreign country. Also, she was talking about having rights to take Lily over Christmas break. Christmas was my dad’s favorite time of year. Yes, I was mad at him, but I knew it would break his heart to not have Lily home for Christmas.
Ermie was staring at me with far more curiosity than I felt comfortable with. He didn’t ask, and I didn’t feel him prying.
“Fine,” I sighed. “But I can order you to not hurt anyone, ever!”
Not even if you are under attack from…say…a monster of a daoine síth who would enjoy torturing you? Would you rather I not feel compelled to defend you and your family?
I growled. “Fine. Fine! Okay, how about not actually killing any people? I mean…I know you have to kill, like, fish and stuff you eat. I get that. But no, like, people, like you or me… or things that think and talk. And definitely no hurting anyone in my family.” I glanced at Lily, who was looking at me out of the corner of her eye. “Absolutely anybody. Even if I don’t like them. Okay? Is that a doable order?”
He tilted his head, then gave a belabored sigh. It is ‘doable.’ I think it is a foolish, childish order, but I shall do so. He paused. And I will not argue because you at least had the sense to recognize I was a ‘person’ without hesitation.
I sighed as he dipped his head into the fish-filled trough, and then I proceeded to clean the buckets. Lily helped me, giving me a small smile. Rowan finished mucking (which I thoroughly appreciated!), and we headed back inside.
I’d like to say that the rest of my night was uneventful.
God, I so wanted—no, I needed!—the rest of my night to be uneventful!
Such was not meant to be, though. And it wasn’t even faery-or monster-related. It was simple, horrible, human awfulness.
CHAPTER
6
Where I find out the worst situation…can get even worse. And I can’t do anything about it.
I felt eyes on me as I arranged myself, now in pyjamas, on the bed with Old Benson Bear. Having declined to watch the recorded American Idol episode that Lily just had to see, I was by myself, hoping to escape my fears. Fears of ghosts (because the castle was haunted, too). Fears of what was going to happen, since we clearly weren’t getting any answer to Lord Cadmus and Lady Fana tonight. Fears about my dad’s sanity.
Feeling as if I were being stared at was a weird, though not creepy, feeling that interrupted all my awful thoughts. But it was enough to make me jump a little, enough to lose my place in the book I wasn’t really reading. I looked up.
Mum was leaning in my doorway, eyes puffy and rimmed with red, like she had been crying. Mum never let anyone see her cry. Well, hardly ever. She tried to hide it all the time. Her lips were pressed together.
A million awful things flew through my head. Was she going to leave Dad? Was someone else hurt or missing? Had the faerie given her a message that we were going to be attacked?
“What?” I squeaked out.
Mum sucked in a sniffle and said, “You know how your dad and I made you promise to tell us right away whenever you found out about anything awful, no matter how upset we were or what kind of day we had?”
I nodded. “What is it?”
“Come with me. You need to see this.”
I jumped out of bed, letting Old Benson and my book fall where they would, and ran to her side. She put her arm around me and led me to the family room, where
Dad, Lily, and even Ginny and Anita were glued to the television screen, which showed pictures of grey streets with military cars and people running with guns.
“…and Buckingham Palace has offered no comment on the rumor that Prince Christopher and Princess Maryan, along with their three children, were visiting the Princess’ family in Bahrain before the rebellion broke out. No word of the royal family’s whereabouts has been given…”
“Oh, God!” I squeaked. We knew. Princess Maryan had told us, herself, that they were taking a holiday to go visit her family in Bahrain.
My heart stopped. It really and truly stopped. That’s what it felt like. I don’t remember moving, or being moved, to the couch. All of a sudden, I was squished between my parents and having to remember to breathe every so often when my lungs hurt because I’d forgotten to inhale or exhale. The cats, who normally refused couch-eviction, weren’t anywhere to be seen. One of my parents, I didn’t know which…maybe both or maybe they took turns…would rub my back or my braids. At my feet, I felt the bony warmth of Isis curling between our legs.
When the newscast was over, and I was still processing “rebellion” and “terrorist attacks” and “attack on a British-allied regime” and “palace and British embassy bombed in a tandem attack,” Mum rushed over to the desks and grabbed her laptop, barely keeping from falling over the dog, who started whining softly. Dropping back on the couch with a “Ssh!” to Isis, Mum started pulling up windows and tabs, faster than I could follow, about how there had been some hints of this rebellion earlier, and how people should have “read the signs” to prevent the high casualties—casualties?
“Mum, do you think?” I choked.
“I don’t know, sweetie.”
“No,” my dad said more firmly, leaning over to scratch the dog as she scrambled to snuggle near him. “No. With what they’re doing, the anti-British sentiment, they’d make a big deal if…if anything happened to them.” He looked up at my sister, who was typing on her computer. “Lily! What are you doing?”
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