by C. Gockel
“Wait,” she said. “Is there no other way?”
He smiled, the gesture reaching his eyes, alighting them with a wicked gleam, and stared at her long enough to make her squirm.
“And what appears to be the problem with this way, Lily Boyd?” His voice softened a little when he pronounced her name and she only felt a tingling and a gentle encouragement instead of the violent pull she had experienced earlier.
“I don’t want to ride you,” she blurted, blushing. His smile widened and she cursed her pale skin. Judging by the heat, her cheeks looked like apples.
“I thought all the little girls wanted their own pony,” he pressed, amused by her distress.
Lily bit the inside of her cheek. Part of her wanted to react to his innuendo. Another petulant part wanted to tell him she wasn’t a little girl. Yet another part wanted nothing more than to salvage whatever was left of her dignity, and in the end, the last part won.
“I can’t ride, I told you,” she replied, as if that were the whole reason.
“You did so quite admirably before.” He went along, but his tone and eyes made it clear he hadn’t been fooled.
“Must have been the stress. You know, life-or-death situation. I’ve read adrenaline does that to you.”
“Judging from your delicious babbling, an insufficient stress level should not be a problem this time, either.”
She opened and closed her mouth. “Damn it,” she said at last, averting her eyes and glaring at the floor. “Isn’t it embarrassing for you?”
“Not at all. Why would it be?”
Lily scoffed, but then she caught his expression. There was a hint of curiosity there. For him, it was a legitimate question and the fact gave her some pause.
It can’t be just me losing my mind in the gutter. The idea of a girl riding a guy is universally dirty, isn’t it? Unless faeries don’t work quite that way. Unless he thinks of himself more like a horse. Unless he’s not seeing me as a girl at all. But I am a girl, and he isn’t an animal.
She forced out a small cough. “Never mind,” she said after too long in silence.
He nodded, claiming the verbal victory with grace, and then his form became a liquid shadow that shifted and coalesced into the tall steed.
“You cannot fall,” he said in her head just like he had the previous time.
“Is it related to the protection magic?” she asked, feeling awkward for speaking to a horse.
“It is related to a kelpie's nature. Our riders never fall.”
“Okay.” Subdued, she did her best to climb on his back and he endured her accidental hair pulls and knee blows. Then, she was up and she felt what Troy meant. A subtle, gentle energy began pouring over her skin, the sensation not unlike being submerged in tepid water. A feeling she didn’t want to dwell on.
“That’s handy,” she said, “but we should probably hurry.”
And then they were off.
Chapter Eleven
It was as if not a single minute had passed for the cottage. She’d expected to see police tape around the yard, policemen coming and going, outraged neighbors and curious onlookers, but there was none of that. Dusk was falling, just like it had when she had run away, and the front door rested against its frame where it had been wrenched off its hinges. The windows were closed and the blinds down as if the whole house made ready to rest for the night, oblivious to the violence within. Lily slid off Troy’s back and shivered. In truth, she didn’t want to go back in there. All her good memories had been replaced by a waking nightmare she had no wish to relive. And deep down, she wondered if Troy wasn’t right, if the best solution wouldn’t be a train to Manchester and a long time to forget.
She shook herself. No. Grandma deserves better.
And so she steeled her resolve because she wondered if Mackenna wasn’t alive and waiting for her to acknowledge that the old tales had it right most of the time.
“Will you come inside?” she asked Troy when he finished shifting back into human form. She knew she could communicate regardless of his current shape, but she still had a hard time thinking of the horse she had ridden as Troy, much less talking to him.
“Yes,” he said simply. At her inquisitive look, he gave her a small, tight smile. “Would you know what to look for?”
“I… suppose not.” Again, that feeling of being chastised. “Thanks.”
Troy shook his head. “As I said, I have an interest in the truth as well.”
“Okay, then let’s…” Lily gestured vaguely toward the house. “Investigate.”
“When I came into the doctor’s home, the front door was locked.” He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Why?”
“I came in through the kitchen. I thought I saw something in the backyard and went to look. Then, it just made more sense to use the closest door. Is it important?”
“Could be.” He started to circle the house, retracing with eerie accuracy the steps she had taken before. “Did it escape?”
“What?” Lily frowned and he halted again, one hand on the kitchen door’s latch.
“Whatever creature you saw. Did it escape, or could you glimpse it?”
“Oh. It didn’t escape. It was the laundry, actually.”
Troy didn’t move and his fingers drummed the door frame. “Why would your laundry line draw your attention I wonder?” he mused, barely above a whisper. “Unless it was not yours.”
“It was ours. Grandma put out her favorite shirt. I guess she found it while I was fetching food.”
He turned, looking at her from profile, and the visible corner of his mouth turned up in a mirthless grimace. “Shall I guess? When you told the doctor you had seen her outside the house and recalled a conversation she had not been part of, she gave you the necklace. Then, after but a little time, she decided it was imperative to wear this shirt of hers, but it could not be found. Then she realized there was some vital need to acquire something from the village, and so out you went. When you returned, the shirt was out, dry and clean. No doctor.”
Lily hugged herself. Her blood had become icicles in her veins, colder with each spoken word. How can he possibly know? That’s a recounting, nearly hour by hour. He’s only missed the woman I saw… or I thought I saw.
“Were you looking?” she asked, her throat dry.
“No.” He breathed out a laugh. “However, I do recognize what happened.”
“Am I missing something important?”
“Is there something important you ever see?” He shook his head and entered the kitchen. Before Lily could answer, he went on, “That question should not be answered. I used pure rhetoric, since you seem to be so fond of it. However, if you must know, you saw a bean-nighe, a faerie who launders the clothing of the soon to be deceased. Yet another ill omen you failed to recognize.”
“You’re capable of sarcasm,” Lily said with a dry voice. The poor banter attempt helped her to avoid making the emotional connection to the events.
“Of course I am, though the fact is hardly pertinent to this… investigation.” The way he hesitated before the word “investigation” made Lily uncomfortable. It was as if he didn’t believe in what they were trying to accomplish.
“Ill omens, then. Do they stack? Like, if you get two, it’s worse than getting one?”
“If two different people indicate they saw a flying monkey, the likelihood of a monkey who has learned to fly does not increase. It does augment the possibilities of the impossible having happened, though.”
“I think I get your meaning,” Lily said. The chances of her grandmother being alive and well got dimmer and dimmer… but she still had no proof of her murder, so she clutched hope to her chest and tried to focus. “Do you think we’ll find something?”
“I am certain we will.”
Lily paused in the door to the corridor while he gave a cursory look to the bedrooms. She didn’t want to look at their rooms, so she zeroed in on the hint of amusement she caught in his tone—just like when they’d
been playing twenty questions back in his refuge.
“And will this something be useful?” she asked, realizing her blunder.
He turned to her from the living room door and offered a bow along with a wicked grin. It wasn’t praise, but it was one of the closest things to recognition he had offered her so far and Lily felt giddy in spite of the situation.
“Part of the missing tale is here, yes,” he replied at length. “Either we are capable of reading it correctly or not.”
“Either, or.” She rolled her eyes and gathered enough courage to follow him into the living room.
It still resembled a battle zone, but there was no hint of the dark creatures that attacked her.
“Where are they?” The skin on the nape of her neck prickled with anticipation.
“I trust their comrades took them back,” said Troy absently, perusing the various knick-knacks Mackenna had kept as souvenirs.
“It’s like I dreamed it. Gone without a trace.” She began to wonder if, indeed, she hadn’t dreamed it. Troy didn’t answer, but he picked up the discarded poker and offered it to her. It was bent out of shape, as if after delivering a blow, and its tip was covered in a fine dark dust. “That is…?”
“Blood remnants, yes.”
“Why’d it turn to dust?”
“The reason is complex and not relevant.” He dropped the poker again. Now, Lily saw other smudges of that same dirt on the floor and clinging to the overturned couch. “What hides there?” Troy asked, cutting through her thoughts with a precision that made her think he was more trying to keep her grounded than interested in the answer.
“Oh, the attic.” Lily approached him. He stood right under the trapdoor in the spot where she had been overwhelmed by the bogeys. Small splashes of rusty red covered the wooden planks around his feet and she felt sick. That’s real blood. Mine. There’s quite a bit.
A cool touch to her elbow helped her snap out of it. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “This is affecting me worse than I thought.” Troy nodded but had the decency not to say anything along the lines of “I told you so” and she pressed on. “What did you say?”
“I asked for a means to reach this attic. I believe the brownies nested there.”
“There’s only a lot of boxes and shelves.” She frowned. “But I’ll get you the ladder.”
Troy went up first and Lily followed after a moment’s hesitation. She walked around him to flick on the lights, revealing the attic as pristine as ever.
“The nest, indeed,” he said. “Even after turning, they kept it clean and ordered.”
“I always thought it was Grandma being obsessive about her faerie trinkets.” Lily’s fingers skimmed along one shelf. There was not a speck of dirt.
“No. I doubt the doctor ever had need to clean or organize anything in her home.”
“Troy,” called Lily. “I just remembered. When I first arrived, Grandma asked me to bring down some stuff. I… I’m sure I put something in a box to get it down to her, but it was not there a second later when we looked. Grandma sent me back up to check and it was just lying on the floor. It weirded me out, but she said it was normal.” She looked at Troy, who listened with a pensive look. “Does it mean something?”
“The doctor did not want you to come live with her, did she?”
“She never admits it when she needs help. That’s all.” Right?
“I believed it to be an isolated instance, but…” He shook his head. “The brownies changed well before your arrival. She was aware of it.”
“I don’t think so. She would’ve gotten rid of them.”
“Bogeys are a surprisingly persistent kind of fay. Not even moving out of a home convinces them to abandon their prey.”
“Why aren’t there more reports about eaten people if it’s so hard to get rid of them?”
“You would call them evil creatures, but their intent is not always murderous.”
“This attack was a fluke, then?”
“A fluke.” Troy thought about it for a minute. “No. It was planned. You could say such fact in itself is abnormal, though.”
“You said they’re meticulous,” Lily commented. “It would be normal for them to plan, right?”
“Meticulous because everything has its proper place and each place must contain nothing but what it is meant to hold. Planning is related to forethought, an unrelated aspect,” he explained, his voice strained. It probably cost him to be clear and patient, and Lily tried to absorb the news. She was sure he wouldn’t repeat himself.
"What could’ve gotten them to plan a murder, then?”
“The correct question might be ‘who.’ And I rather believe it was a murder spree.”
“Grandma and me both.” Lily nodded, but Troy found a small nook against the wall, cozied up by two slim pillows, and sat with a frown.
“The doctor, yes. Then, you… Or whoever had come into the house.” He thought about it and nodded to himself. “You did not live here until very recently, but the bogeys were prepared and took great pains to ensure nothing seemed amiss from the outside. They expected someone to enter the house and planned accordingly.”
“The outside still hasn’t changed,” Lily pointed out. “The door you broke down to rescue me was even propped in place.”
“I do not recall stopping to fix it on the way out,” he said, standing up without warning, “so whoever they were waiting for must not have arrived yet.”
“And they’re still waiting?” she croaked.
“Come,” he replied, not trying to deny it and calm her. “In silence.”
They went down the ladder and Troy hurried to check the rest of the rooms, this time more thoroughly. Lily did her best to stay glued to his back as they peeked into Mackenna’s bedroom, her own, the little study down the hall, and even the pantry. Nothing ominous greeted them, no creatures, and no blood from previous struggles. When they finished, Lily breathed out in relief.
“We’re alone,” she said. Relaxing, she noticed the tension still held Troy’s shoulders tight. His whole body was taut, ready to spring into action, and his eyes stared fixedly ahead, at some point beyond the walls. “Aren’t we?” she asked, her voice trembling a little.
“They await outside,” he said in a low voice.
Chapter Twelve
Lily swallowed. “Can you see them?”
Troy nodded and motioned for her to come closer. “They no longer hide.” He lowered his head, bringing his gaze level with hers, and then pointed out a crack between the blinds. “There,” he said. “Do you see?”
Lily followed the line of his finger and squinted. There, between the leaves dappled in shadows, stood a dash of color. “Is that—?” She tilted her head. The angle was very poor and she tried to take a step closer to the window to better see. Troy’s arm locked around her waist like an iron band, keeping her back. “It can’t possibly be David the gnome, right?”
“Who?” For an instant, puzzlement overrode Troy’s tight tone.
She felt foolish as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Of course he wouldn’t know silly children’s cartoons. “A gnome who lives on a tree trunk and acts as a doctor, helping out people.”
“It is not David the gnome.”
“What is it, then?”
“A gnome who lives wherever pain and sorrow have left an imprint, and he torments people, dying his cap with the lifeblood of his victims.”
“I liked mine better.”
“Indeed.”
“Okay, so what do we do? I’ll follow your orders, just tell me.”
“Now you choose to listen to me,” he said wryly.
“You’re the one who knows what we’re up against,” she admitted.
“Is there any weapon you can wield?”
“The poker?”
She felt him shake his head and his grip on her midsection relaxed. “Listen to me, Lily. This is no longer a matter of house fay going rogue, and the foe standing before us is among the cruelest you coul
d face.”
“Worse than the bogeys?”
“Much, much worse. I want you to think very carefully now. Is there any iron in the house?”
Lily bit her lip. She would say yes, of course. What sort of house didn’t have iron somewhere? But Mackenna had been a faerie doctor, used to dealing with creatures who saw the cold metal’s mere possession as a mortal threat. The poker had been made of bronze, the cutlery was sterling silver, the kitchen pots pewter or clay.
“There’s a horseshoe hanging over the door,” she said at last.
“Nailed to it, I presume.”
“Yes.”
“Insufficient. They shall not wait quietly while we secure a means to destroy them, I fear.”
“We could look through the attic. There’s a lot of stuff up there. We might find something.”
“It is a possibility.” He squeezed her hip and gently pushed her aside. “Go and search. Do not take long.”
“What, alone? Aren’t you coming?”
“I must watch. Make sure they do not enter the house and catch us unaware.” He spared her a brief glance before focusing on the creatures outside again. “Go. It is safe.”
Lily touched her fingers to the pendant around her neck, understanding. He would know if she were in danger. The bogeys were gone, the house was secure—the only danger came from the beasts outside and he kept a close eye on those. She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her, and then rushed up the ladder.
Following some silly instinct, she checked the alphabetically-sorted shelves for a box labeled “weapons.” Of course it didn’t pan out, but it offered her a good place to start. Working from the far end toward the beginning, she opened the boxes and glanced at their contents. She wasn’t very thorough, but she hoped an iron object would jump out enough when everything surrounding it gleamed in the warm colors of bronze, copper, and a thousand shades of wood.
Nothing. Box after box was examined, a legion of spoons, pots, cauldrons, scales, candles and even swathes of cloth discarded in her wake.
