Kheelan went to the fireplace, adding more kindling. Waiting. Finvorra gulped huge quantities and burped several times before finally sighing in contentment. It wouldn’t be long now before he was a goner.
“Fairy fascist,” Kheelan muttered, poking the logs in barely controlled contempt. He waited a good fifteen minutes after the snores started before stealthily digging the desk key out of the discarded pants. He shuddered, remembering Finvorra’s punishment the last time he’d been caught.
But it was a risk he had to take; there was something suspicious in the way the Seelie Court hadn’t pressed him on his relationship to the very redheaded Skye. Frivolous though they may be, they weren’t stupid either. If he had witnessed her rainbow aura and the lighting of crystals around her, they must have seen it too. For some reason, they hadn’t captured her straight away and kept her captive until Samhain. That could change at any moment. Skye might be in as much danger from the Seelie as the Unseelie.
Ever so slowly, Kheelan turned the key in the desk and lifted the ancient fairy book, pushing the door closed with a soft click. To be safer, he would take this book in another room to read it. If Finvorra did wake up, he would hide the book until he could slip it back in unobserved.
The book’s words shimmered, ephemeral as bubbles underwater. Kheelan held up the hagstone and painstakingly read the words through its hole. He scanned the table of contents, searching for more information on The One of Legend. There it was:
The half-fae child, in her 19th year at Samhain, shall be able to activate the celestial crystal, a potent weapon in the war against the Unseelie Court. Various visionaries insist that a human will accompany her into the Realm of Fairy. Others insist she is escorted by one of the Seelie fairies. In any case, all agree that any human who leads her to the crystal shall be granted a boon. No matter what the human requests, he or she must be granted this wish or the half-fae cannot, or will not, perform her magic.
Kheelan drew in his breath sharply. He must be granted his wish. Freedom was within his grasp. The fairies would have to grant the boon. He didn’t have to rely on their self-serving code of honor. The Fae would be displeased to lose one of their changelings, and they didn’t often grant boons, unless it profited them in some way.
His hands gripped the text, maybe the Seelie Court did know Skye was The One and they planned to steal her away at the last minute before Samhain. Before he could escort her and request his boon.
He couldn’t let that happen. They would poison Skye’s mind, promising her a life of luxury and magic. She’d be their freaking hero, beloved, and probably either offered or mandated to stay in the Realm of the Fae. They would play on Skye’s insecurities as a witch and the lack of human love and understanding in her life.
Kheelan stood abruptly. He had to warn her.
She was in danger.
14
Lilies Of The Valley
“What the—?” An old man rummaging through a dumpster stopped and gaped at Skye as she sprinted the last block to her garage apartment, fairy wings flapping uselessly behind her.
Crap. She’d been so close to making it without anyone seeing her in this ridiculous condition. Skye looked back over her shoulder where he stood, still with the same slack-jawed incredulity, a broken bottle of liquor at his feet.
“Early Halloween party,” she called out. “I’m Tinker Bell.” Skye sprinted up the stairs to her place. With any luck, by morning he wouldn’t remember seeing a real-life Tink running around Tuscaloosa.
She reached for the door handle. Safe at last. Skye turned the knob only to meet the solid resistance of a locked door. Keys! She surveyed her flimsy nightgown without much hope of finding a pocket with keys.
“Aarghh.” She stomped her feet and paced the deck, as much to keep warm as vent frustration. It must be about forty degrees and she didn’t even have a pair of shoes on. She glared at the unyielding door. “Abracadabra, open sesame,” she hissed.
It didn’t open. Big surprise. If she was going to be a fairy, she should at least be granted magic pixie dust or a wand or something. So, this is what it means to be hysterical.
“Why dontcha fly to the window?” The drunk yelled, pointing an unsteady arm to her bedroom window on the side of the building.
Skye whirled in surprise. He was still there, still watching.
“Fly,” he shouted again, arms waving. Probably the only coherent thing he’d said all night.
Why not? She had to do something before she either froze to death or he woke up the whole neighborhood shouting. Skye flapped her wings and glided, air-born, to the—thankfully— unlocked window. Once inside, she gave a little wave to the wino advisor, and slammed it shut.
And walked into a jungle of greenery. All her potted plants, in various stages of death throes, had blossomed into lush foliage and fragrant flowers that would make the most gifted horticulturist gasp in amazement. Ivy and philodendron vines lined the ceiling, windows and doors. The pitifully stunted fig trees on either side of her bed had grown so tall they touched the top of the ceiling. Herbs, orchids, and miniature roses spilled from the windowsill to the floor.
Mom would pass out with shock. Whatever caused the magical transformation, Skye couldn’t take any credit for it.
She blinked, then shook her head. She was too cold to think.
Grabbing a quilt off her bed, she headed to the kitchen to boil water for coffee. Maybe when her teeth stopped chattering she could try and make sense of these . . . these appendages growing out of her back. No wonder she’d been plagued with severe backaches this past year. Her body was trying to sprout. Like alfalfa seeds.
Good goddess.
After filling the teakettle and starting the burner, Skye pulled out a chipped mug with its ‘witchin’ kitchen’ logo and measured a teaspoon of java. No, better make that two teaspoons for an extra jolt of clarity. As Skye got out the sugar and soymilk, the familiar routine took the edge off her near hysteria. She could have a nervous breakdown later.
Skye glanced at the clock. 3:15. Seemed as if she’d been gone days instead of a few hours. And it was way too early to call her Mom or Callie like she had planned.
Taking her drink in the living room, she plopped on the sofa, still shivering beneath the quilt. The wings were awkward and bulky, and she readjusted her body several times until they obediently lay flat behind her. By the time she’d gulped down half of her drink, Skye reckoned the danger of death by exposure was over.
In spite of the caffeine, exhaustion set in, smothering wakefulness like a thick, wool blanket. Flying was hardly a dainty stroll through a rose garden. She fought sleep as hard as a three-year-old forced to take a midday nap. No telling what would happen if she fell asleep again. Skye shuddered, imagined waking up to find herself roaming downtown in the middle of the afternoon, wearing nothing but the thin nightgown with conspicuous wings sticking out from behind.
She stood and paced the room in a desperate effort to stay awake. Her steps gradually slowed and she stumbled in weariness. Perhaps she should chain herself to something. Unfortunately, she had no rope or chain for such an emergency. The best solution for now was to dress warmly in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, along with thick socks and shoes in case she did materialize outside again.
Putting anything over the wings proved a challenge. In a burst of inspiration, Skye located a long Ace bandage and awkwardly tried to bind them flat. She refused to watch the operation in the bathroom mirror. She’d freak.
Once she bound her wings and got her sweatshirt on, she allowed herself a glimpse in the mirror. She drew in a sharp breath. “I look like the hunchback of Notre Dame,” she groaned aloud. The hysteria tried to rise again, but physical exhaustion kept it a tamped down. Skye glared angrily at her reflection. “These ridiculous wings are coming out tomorrow if I have to cut them out myself.”
Her vision blurred, it wouldn’t be long before she conked out. Her best bet was to stay in the bathroom where there were no windows she could f
ly out of. Skye left for provisions, returning with a chair, pillows, and a couple of the thickest blankets she owned. Since she couldn’t lock herself inside the room, Skye propped a chair against the door jamb. If she tried to walk out that door, the noise of the chair falling should wake her. She threw the blankets and pillow in the bathtub and climbed in the makeshift bed, immediately giving way to the oblivion of sleep.
A distant chiming sounded sweet notes that tap danced on the edges of her wakening. The notes formed patterns, increased in tempo and volume, until her dreams conformed to their insistent music.
“Skye,” the notes sang out her name. Nice.
“Skye, wake up.”
Groggily, she opened her eyes.
A vision of beauty coalesced out of a swirl of sparkly lights and music. The scent of lily of the valley filled the tiny bathroom. Skye took in the multi-colored hair, pointed ears, and the silhouette of wings; a fairy.
“I am Annwynn,” she said, her voice redolent with harmony and twinkles.
Kheelan’s former Guardian. No. Something must be wrong. Skye tried to scramble out of the slippery bathtub. “Is Kheelan okay?” Please don’t let the bad fairies have him.
Annwynn smiled. In spite of her great beauty and calm manner, something about the smile made Skye’s spine vibrate in alarm. The smile didn’t match the tiny flicker of craftiness in those violet eyes.
“Kheelan knows how to take care of himself.” A definite off note in the words that Annwynn quickly smoothed out. “It’s ye I’m worried about.”
Skye looked beyond Annwynn’s shoulder and saw the chair still propped against the door. Wow. This fairy could materialize at will. Her unease heightened.
“I’m fine now. But I could have used your help earlier tonight when I found myself flying out in the woods.”
Annwynn laughed. “I was there. Who do ye think got rid of the banshees and kept the lurking Unseelies from harming ye?”
Skye’s mouth gaped open. “You have the power to do that all by yourself?”
The fairy lifted her chin an inch, a signal, and the room was aglow with pixie lights. Up close, Skye was able to make out details she couldn’t before. Their faces were exquisite and tiny, their bodies varying shades of washed-out pastels, as if a master artist had dipped a paintbrush with diluted watercolors in shades of spring. They regarded Skye with almost as much curiosity as she did them. They giggled and danced, trailing glittering pixie dust. The real thing, not Claribel’s cheap imitation. The more they flew about, the stronger the aroma of rain-washed grass with a touch of primrose sweetness. They flittered and quivered, their wings cast trembling bell notes in the air.
“Wouldn’t ye be more comfortable in the den?” Annwynn’s hand gestured to the door. “That bathtub cannot be comfortable for your mortal limbs.”
Skye stepped out of the tub, awkward and sore. Her sweatpants and shirt were crumbled and she didn’t need to look in a mirror to know her hair was a wreck. She hadn’t even brushed it since flying in the October wind.
The pixies giggled and pointed at her back. Skye craned her neck over her shoulder and saw the wings were poking out of the thick material in weird spikes. Her cheeks and chest flamed in embarrassment.
“I’m new to all this,” she said, straightening and gathering a little dignity. Skye strode through their myriad of lights and laughter, refusing to look in the mirror as she removed the chair and went to the den. Annwynn drifted in front—neither walking nor flying, more like floating—her body a foot above the floor.
The pixie lights danced and skittered with abnormal speed, creating a strobe effect that made Skye grab the walls for balance. Relieved, she at last sank into the sofa. She didn’t have to turn on any artificial light with the Fae luminescence in the room. Her innate southern hospitality prompted her to offer the unexpected company refreshment. If Claribel were here, she would offer honey and milk or some such.
“Can I get you something?” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
The pixies tittered and Skye’s face flamed again. Obviously, these rude creatures weren’t southern fairies. She was rapidly losing her enchantment with them.
Annwynn ignored the question. One graceful hand gestured the length of Skye’s ridiculous, disheveled body. “Ye must be overwhelmed with happiness at becoming, at least partly, one of us.”
Skye snorted. They had a very high opinion of themselves. “You must be joking. Overwhelmed, yes. Happy? Not so much.” She took a brief satisfaction in the pixies’ gasps. Annwynn’s eyes flashed a second in irritation, but she squelched it quickly, pasting a serene expression on her lovely face.
“Ye have been bestowed a great honor to be partly one of us,” Annwynn said.
There was that word again—partly. A line was drawn between their world and the human world. She was relegated to some in-between realm, not fully belonging to either. For the first time, she truly understood Kheelan’s dilemma. Except he had it worse, he was trapped by the Fae and granted no wings, none of its magic.
Even worse, they despised him for being all-human.
Skye crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Flying had its moments, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather go back to being my old self.”
Annwynn and the pixies stilled with the completeness of a preying cat about to stalk its victim. The fairy’s face stayed perfectly schooled in calmness. Only the slightest tightening of the lips revealed displeasure.
“There is no going back, Skye. Ye are half-fae by birth.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My mother’s a witch, not a fairy.”
Annwynn said nothing, but continued watching Skye, allowing her to figure it out.
“You mean—?” No, no way Dad was one of them. Her Dad, a fairy? Skye burst out laughing. Although the fairies continued with the silent treatment, their icy disapproval emanated through the room. It made her laugh harder, until she noticed the sound had a hysterical tinge. Skye clenched her jaw shut, stopping abruptly.
“If ye are quite done,” Annwynn said in mild reproof.
Skye nodded. Best to hear them out.
“I’m not talking about that human, Jack Watters. Yer real father is one of us.”
“It can’t be.” Even as she whispered it, Skye felt its truth. No wonder the man she believed to be her father was so distant. He knew she wasn’t his daughter.
Annwynn smiled, as if reading Skye’s thoughts.
She glared at Annwynn and tried to put up a protection shield around her body. She might not have her mother’s talent, but shields were kindergarten-level spells. Focusing, Skye closed her eyes and imagined a pure white light encasing her body, one that only let good energy enter. She whispered the familiar words: “Elemental powers I now command No evil may here encircle or land.
All harm from my presence flee.
As I will, so mote it be.”
She opened her eyes, fully expecting to see the ghostly white aura shield. Instead, a rainbow of colors swirled. “What’s going on here? I don’t appreciate you messing with my mind.”
“I knew it,” Annwynn said, twittering her wings.
The pixies glowed even brighter, their wings flapping furiously.
It was as bright and hot as a dang tanning booth inside the apartment. “Ye are truly The One who will keep the Unseelie Court Fae from eventually shifting the balance of power in their favor.”
“You’re all getting a little carried away here.” Skye shook her head, unsure how to deal with delusional fairies. “When I agreed to help Kheelan, I thought it meant casting a few spells to find who had been murdering the pixies at the shop, or giving him information on the employees. This is getting out of hand.”
“Skye.” Annwynn’s smile was mesmerizing, her voice caressing and musical. “We are the ones who led Kheelan to ye. Whether or not ye agreed to help, ye have no choice in accepting your destiny. Like it or not, our destinies are tied together. Ye were born half fae, and not just any halfling at that. Our
great prophetess, Nostriamela—” Annwynn and her pixie entourage briefly closed their eyes and bowed their heads in respect. “—foresaw thousands of years ago that ye would be able to activate the celestial crystal that will protect us from the Unseelie Fae.”
“What happens if I refuse?” It was all well and good to be against the bad guys, but she didn’t sign up for this total disruption of her life. “Sounds dangerous.”
“We will protect ye,” Annwynn hastened to reassure. “Samhain is almost upon us and the Dark Fae are suspicious. They’ve already attacked ye once. The Seelie Court fairies have been guarding ye as best we can, but it is growing more difficult.”
Skye shuddered, remembering the elf attacks and the malignant, glowing eyes that now followed her in the night. She rubbed her throbbing temples. Too much had happened, too fast. It’s only for a couple more days. She clung to that hope.
“After Samhain, this is over, right?”
“As ye wish.”
Annwynn’s promise came a beat too quick and Skye remembered Kheelan’s warning not to trust any fairy. Her back stiffened and the fairy wings stirred, protesting against the bindings.
Skye pointed to her back. “What about these things?”
“After Samhain, they will go away.”
“I want them to go away now. Flying can be fun, but I can’t be seen in public like this. I have a life, you know.”
One violet eye twitched, the only sign of the fairy’s impatience. “We want ye to come away with us. At once.”
What the hell? “Go where? Like to a safe house or something?” She giggled, trying to stave off the confusion and exhaustion. “You telling me there’s a witness protection program for half-fairies threatened by Unseelie fairies?” She doubled over laughing, clenching her stomach.
She laughed alone.
“Many humans would sacrifice their mortal lives to live a single day in the Realm of Fairy.”
Skye sobered and straightened. Annwynn’s words held the chill of rebuke. Probably not a good idea to piss off these creatures. “I’m sure,” Skye said quickly. “But what about Kheelan? He’s in danger too.”
Changeling: An Appalachian Magic Novel Book 2 (Appalachian Magic Series) Page 14
