The thoughts drifted through Munro’s mind. He felt oddly calm and removed as though he could finally think clearly, separated from his physical reality.
Someone placed a plastic mask over Munro’s face. The cool air smelled strange, as though it were too clean, too pure…the smell of nothing. Something jostled Munro. He felt movement and heard voices, calm, but no-nonsense. He used that tone sometimes himself. Cops learned quickly how to talk without leaving room for argument or negotiation. Some people needed help focusing. Usually if anyone needed a cop, there was something bad happening. He had to talk to people who were distressed, angry, grieving, or clouded by alcohol or drugs. Clear, crisp commands. That was the only thing that would get through. Step away now or get out of the vehicle, please or I’m sorry. There’s been an accident.
Clear and calm. That’s what Getty sounded like when he said, “I’m right here, Munro. We’re almost there. Don’t worry.”
Munro wanted to take him aside. Don’t tell people what not to do. Tell them what to do. Always issue commands in the positive. If a cop says, “Don’t worry,” all they hear is the word worry.
A hard pain hit Munro’s spine as it lurched into an awkward curve, arching his back off the surface where he lay. Muscles contracted, jerking and releasing, jerking and releasing. The calm voices grew insistent and frenzied, but in a controlled, orchestrated way.
Swirling colours turned black, and all sound grew distant.
Munro floated for a while. The blackness became grey and vague. The pain had evaporated, and the voices stilled. He loved the silence. Some people filled their heads with music or flicked on the telly for company, but Munro found comfort in quiet. This particular silence was more complete than any he’d ever experienced. He felt as if he were wrapped in a cloud, miles away from even the most distant traffic or the slightest breeze.
He saw mottled green. Then he saw her. She walked through the woods, moving away from him. He recognised the spiky white hair. He couldn’t help but marvel at the economy of her movements as she navigated the dense, uneven forest. He followed, floating behind her without gaining ground. Once, she stopped. He almost felt her listening. She lifted her face, and her head twitched to the side. Was she sniffing the air? Suddenly, she whipped her head around and looked right at him. Part of him flinched, but when he saw her puzzled expression, he realised she couldn’t see him. That was when he noticed the gentle, corkscrew turn at the top of her ears. Her swirling eyes scanned the woods behind her. Her body poised with the tension of a wild animal, ready to pounce—or to flee. So beautiful, he thought. As he voiced the words, she faded away, and his world returned to blackness.
Chapter 5
The peculiar sensation of eyes prickling against her skin made Eilidh glance over her shoulder. It shouldn’t surprise her. She had been a Watcher, but it didn’t take long away from the kingdom to lose the sharpness of her skills. She had spent nearly a quarter of her life in exile. A twinge of sadness and longing threatened to surface, and she pushed it back to the recesses of her mind. Self-pity would wait. For now, she had to focus on a greater purpose. It pleased her to have one after so long of merely surviving.
“You smell like a human.” The voice floated to her as a whisper on the wind.
Her heart lurched. “Saor.” She stepped away from the tree, so she could be clearly seen from all sides, and opened her mouth slowly to show she held no incantations.
“Your life is forfeit in the kingdom,” he said, approaching her from the trees. His long golden hair hung straight around his pale face and shone in the morning light. His dark grey eyes appeared hard and unwavering—like the stone magic he favoured. Eilidh could not read them.
“Yes.” Now was the moment, she thought. He would either kill her or not. He’d loved her once, but did he love duty more?
Suddenly, he stood in front of her. It startled Eilidh. His skills had grown over the past decades while hers dulled.
“So you have come to die?” His angry, mocking tone shocked Eilidh. This was not the Saor she remembered.
“I bring news to the conclave.” She licked her lips, feeling more nervous than she had expected. When she decided to warn them of the deaths and report that one of the forbidden, higher forms had been used, it made sense at the time. Any of their kingdom would have done the same. Now, standing and facing the one who would have been her mate, she realised her folly. She wasn’t a kingdom faerie any longer. Had she been sitting in that tower all those long years waiting for an excuse to come back? Fool. She’d convinced herself she’d accepted her fate, but seeing the disgust on Saor’s beautiful face made her heart ache with renewed pain.
He stepped back and flicked his eyes to the trees as though pondering her words. His hesitation lasted only a moment. “What news?”
“Someone has cast blood shadows in the city.”
His eyes turned sharp again, cutting her with accusation.
“Not me, Saor. You know my crimes were in the astral realm, not the blood.”
His perfectly angled features froze, as though he did not even breathe. They had never once spoken of her wrongdoing. But then, he’d never come to see her after the truth became known, nor even sent word. Finally, Saor gave a barely perceptible nod.
“He killed a human.”
Saor snorted his lack of concern. “Does this bother you?”
Eilidh winced at his derisive manner. “It was brutal. Violent. And yet controlled and purposeful.” She turned her chin up to stare Saor squarely in the face. “Powerful.”
Saor narrowed his eyes, calculating again. He had not, Eilidh thought, been so stoic and hard before. Had she done this? Was he yet another casualty of her deformed magical talents? They used to laugh together, all those many years ago. Now, seeing his stony expression, she couldn’t remember what his laughter sounded like.
“Do you know who he is? Has another been exiled since my…departure?”
“Since you tried to kill your own father and ran away?”
Another blow to the heart. “He lives then?”
Saor nodded. “He told the conclave that he fell and said when he awoke, you had gone. An obvious lie.”
Eilidh did not let herself smile, but she was pleased by her father’s cleverness. If he’d told the story of her overpowering him, they might have suspected him. But since he told them the opposite, they blamed her instead.
“Too obvious,” Saor said, a warning in his tone.
He knew. And he was telling her, as clearly as any faerie would speak. Was there threat in his words? If anyone learned that her father helped her escape, he could face the same fate. “What do you want, Saor?”
He blinked at her directness. It was not their way. The fae spoke in half-nods and flicks of the eyes. “You have changed, Eilidh.”
She fought the bitterness in her throat. “The human world is ugly, Saor, and I have grown slow. I miss…” Eilidh could not say it. She would not let herself reminisce about the Halls of Mist or the Otherworld. Only the outer reaches of the fae kingdoms overlapped the human plane. Even they were forbidden to her.
The pair stood in long silence. Another thing Eilidh missed. Humans rushed everywhere, filled every moment with noise. They lacked the discipline of quiet.
Finally, Eilidh spoke again. “This blood faerie. He smells wrong, Saor. And strong. I tracked him, but the trail vanished.” She wondered if she should tell him that the faerie had touched her mind but decided that would only remind Saor of her own wrongness.
“I’ve never known you to lose a trail.”
She nodded her appreciation of the compliment. “Do you know who he is?” she asked again. Few of the fae would choose to live outside the kingdoms. The pull of the Otherworld was too strong.
Saor turned his face downward to indicate he did not, a subtle gesture that made her smile. Even with the horrible and irreparable rift between them, she had missed him. It pleased her to see she still recognised his tiniest movements.
�
��If he attacks again, could you best him?”
Eilidh had wondered that herself, but only briefly. “No. You know me, Saor. I’ve never been strong.”
“Not in the Ways of Earth, no.”
His admission surprised her. Earth magic was the only acceptable magic among the fae. She’d been weak, ridiculously so. Like the runt of a litter, expected to crawl away and die because the Mother Earth had rejected her. It had always been Saor who protected her, he who trained her in the skills of the Watchers. What she lacked in magical talent, he taught her tenfold in plant lore, agility, strength, and skill. And now he spoke to her of the Path of the Azure, forbidden to the fae because of its corruptive and addictive nature.
“I had no training in astral magic.”
He knew as well as she that her statement, although true, did not answer his question.
She relented. “No. I could not best him with the Path of the Azure. I resist the flows, so they are unfamiliar to me.”
“You keep the law?”
His surprise annoyed Eilidh. “I am fae,” she said.
“You are not of our kingdom,” he reminded her.
“I am fae,” she repeated, setting her jaw firmly.
A flicker of a smile passed his lips and then disappeared. “I will speak to the conclave. I doubt they will trouble themselves, but they will want to know of this…turn.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling bereft as she realised their conversation had drawn to a close. “Will you tell my father I am well?”
“Would it be true?”
“Will you tell him?”
She thought she saw a nod, but his movement was so faint and her senses so dulled from exile, she couldn’t be certain.
All trace of tenderness or friendship left Saor’s features. His eyes grew hard, as though he suddenly remembered what she had become. “Go, Eilidh. Your life is forfeit if you stay here.” In a blur, Saor touched her cheek before disappearing into the trees. The rocks at her feet vibrated as he cast his words into the stone. “Go,” they said.
No longer able to stand the memories of what she had lost forever, Eilidh turned and ran.
***
Munro didn’t remember deciding to go into the woods. He tried not to think about it, because he didn’t remember how he got there. All he knew was that something was missing. Confused and feverish, he wasn’t entirely sure what it was missing from.
He did recall waking up in the hospital. Someone had taken off his stab-vest and utility belt, but he still wore his uniform when he woke up in A&E. He’d heard Getty telling someone that Munro had questioned a witness who’d had some kind of seizure. The doctors had instructed Getty not to worry. His partner was in good hands, they’d said.
Those good hands came by and took blood, checked his temperature and blood pressure, and wrote on charts. Nurses asked him questions for which he could make no coherent answer. He felt as though he’d been drugged. His words slurred and his vision warped like he was floating under water. The clearest thing in his mind was her. The way she looked at him pierced his clouded mind. “Ears,” he said. They were so cute, the way they curled at the top, but those eyes made him take her very seriously. Beautiful, yes. Delightful and enchanting, definitely. But absolutely dangerous. He hoped and prayed she wasn’t involved in the murder at St Paul’s. He knew better than to fool himself. She wasn’t some innocent waif.
A face appeared in front of him. “Do your ears hurt, Mr Munro?”
“Twisted,” he replied, exhausted from the effort.
“All right then, pet. I’ll tell the doctor,” she said. In a quieter voice, as though speaking to someone on the other side of the room, she added, “‘Twisted,’ he said. His fever isn’t coming down.” She tutted, and Munro felt the curtained cubicle empty.
The Accident and Emergency department was never completely silent. He’d been here plenty of times to take accident reports, interview victims, respond to reports about stab injuries and the rare gunshot wound. Long ago, he’d come when his dad fell ill with cancer. He pushed that unwelcome memory aside.
Munro opened his eyes. He felt strange, but at least he could focus. He was, as he had suspected, alone. His eyes turned to the east. Beyond the hospital and the city and the river, she was there. Something called him. It wasn’t her that called, but whatever it was, it drew him. He had to find out who she was, what she was, and…then what? He didn’t know. His mind would surely clear by the time he got there.
Getty must have taken his stab-vest and utility belt, because they weren’t in the cubicle, but that was okay. Munro checked his pockets. He had his wallet, keys, and his shoes. They hadn’t had the time to get him properly undressed and into a hospital bed. If he didn’t hurry, they’d be back to do just that.
He didn’t have any trouble getting out of the hospital. No one thought to stop a cop from doing anything. One of the benefits of his job was that people saw the uniform, not the face. He reached the doors before he heard someone behind him say, “Have you seen the policeman who was here a moment ago?”
Outside, it took a minute to get his bearings. He walked down the hill toward the car parks, going right past the buses, down Rose Crescent and toward the Queen’s Bridge. Along the way, things got hazy. He quit thinking about walking—quit thinking about anything. He just moved, closer and closer to…something.
She could help him. Of that he had no doubt. The closer he got, the better he felt. For once he wasn’t planning and carefully deciding. He just walked.
After a long while, Munro stumbled. How long had he been out here? The memory of his journey was dim. His legs shook. He felt hungry and exhausted. He wanted to lie in the cool grass. It took a moment to get his bearings. Tall green trees surrounded him. A tractor growled far in the distance, so he thought he was somewhere near a farm. The ground did look comfortable. Why was he here? He couldn’t remember. Maybe if he sat down and took a moment to consider, everything would make sense later. He only needed a rest.
***
It didn’t take long for Eilidh to reach the border of the kingdom lands. They weren’t marked by sign or stone, or even cutting river or stone dyke. Unlike human borders, the influence of the kingdom lands moved like the tides, spreading out at night when the fae were at their most powerful and receding in the light of day.
Passing outside the kingdom lifted danger from her shoulders. The fae would not come after her in the human world. She posed no threat as long as she stayed away. Even still, she felt bereft all over again. Every part of her wanted to run back to Saor, beg his forgiveness, tell him it had been a horrible mistake. But she couldn’t. The fae conclave was not known for reasonableness. Her exile hadn’t arisen from her actions, although she had committed criminal acts, but from her existence. She could touch forbidden magic. The mere ability made her an outlaw.
The moment she stepped outside the barrier, she felt a presence. Someone sought her. Something in the unrelenting focus on her created a small but constant mental pressure point she could not ignore. Questions filled her mind. The magic was like none she had encountered before. It felt strange and foreign. It sparked curiosity and fear. Fae magic always felt familiar, even if she did not know the incantation or the one who cast it.
The source, she felt certain, came from some distance. She could possibly avoid it by going far west and then doubling back to Perth. It would take time, because she would have to travel in an odd meandering line to avoid the kingdom territories that stretched hundreds of miles. Human clusters burned holes in the fae’s influence and protection. At this time of year, with the long summer days, she had more breathing room than usual. But there were many pockets of strength she must avoid at all costs. Few would show as much compassion as Saor if she were discovered.
Curiosity and…something else…made her squint toward the distant source of alien magic. It drew her. She stopped dead in the forest, frozen so completely that her muscles complained. Eilidh forced herself to relax and take one step
after another toward the source of this peculiar sensation. A faint wish for her father’s advice flitted through her mind. She pushed it away with a barely-breathed curse. She had to learn to think differently. Wishing for her old life made her worse than foolish.
The foreign magic tugged, and she moved more steadily toward it. She was fae. What could she have to fear? The question taunted her, but she ignored the well-practiced jibes. Faith. She was fae.
After more than an hour of walking, she could nearly touch the aura of the strange magic. She circled around and listened. She felt a presence, but only one. She heard no speech. The wind, with some gentle coaxing, brought the scent of a human, definitely male. Her old skills as a Watcher came quickly back. She climbed up a sturdy conifer. Humans rarely glanced up. The source did not move, but it did pulse. She wished, not for the first time, that she had not been born so utterly incompetent in the stone element. Then she could have spoken to the ground beneath his feet.
Blood Faerie - Contemporary Urban Fantasy (Caledonia Fae, Book 1) Page 4
