Urban Mythic: Thirteen Novels of Adventure and Romance, featuring Norse and Greek Gods, Demons and Djinn, Angels, Fairies, Vampires, and Werewolves in the Modern World

by C. Gockel

  She grabbed the box, weighed it in her hands. The nails inside were of various sizes, from a full inch to barely a quarter, and they were in all sorts of states, from bent and rusted to brand new. There had to be dozens of them.

  So she had a weapon. Now, how to use it?

  Glaistig had said to use an offering. Troy had said she wouldn’t be able to slip the iron past the cuelebre´s sense of smell. She was inclined to believe him, judging from the way the redcaps had suspected iron as soon as she had stepped through the door the previous night—or had it been two days before? How long had passed already since her grandma went missing? Did time even matter anymore?

  In any case, if Glaistig said she could use a ruse, and taking into account how offended she had looked when it seemed that Lily thought she was cheating, it seemed it may be crazy difficult, but possible.

  What could hide the smell of iron? She took a handful of nails, brought them to her face, sniffed. If she was very hard-pressed, she might admit to a soft metallic tang in the air, but for the most part, it was unnoticeable. Perhaps the stench was more of a mystical thing, in which case she didn’t know how to counter it.

  No. Focus on what you can control. Keep going step by step.

  She took the box to the kitchen and set it in the counter. An idea was beginning to hatch. All her life, Lily had seen Mackenna leave the offerings out for the fair folk: bread, milk, honey. Every day she had been there, the small plates had been out in the porch, in the yard, or by the trees that farther on would become the forest. She could almost hear the words spoken with Mackenna’s voice fifteen years earlier to a wide-eyed child too young to understand them. “This way they know to which house they should not bring harm.” And harm meant blood and blood had iron.

  Different, of course, but perhaps it could work.

  Lily took out a container and mixed flour with salt. She also needed yeast and she found it where she had dropped it during the first encounter with the bogeys. She had a vague recollection of adding water too. Mackenna’s voice from old memories explained how more water would make bread tasty, but would also cause it to harden faster, and Lily decided to add in a cup and a half of milk instead. She wanted it to be soft and taste great and, if things went badly, there would be no time to lament that it had gone too hard. Then she added a bit of honey, because you could never go wrong with honey and faeries. When the dough looked just about right, she dumped it on the table.

  And, on top of it, she dumped the nails. And she began to knead.

  It hurt. She bruised her knuckles and the nails broke her skin. She gritted her teeth and kept going, watching while the dark grey disappeared in the dough. Specks of red flourished here and there, traces left by her wounded hands, but she only stopped when she had to yank out a particularly rebellious nail from her flesh.

  The wee hours of the night came. She shaped the dough, making sure no nails poked through the surface. At some point, she realized it was not going to get any better.

  Now, how long in the oven? She recalled waiting with all her inexistent patience for warm bread back in the day, but any approximation of time was beyond her. However, such a silly thing could not be the demise of her plan, could it? Surely there were cook books or something with the information.

  Perhaps she should have consulted them before half revisiting and half improvising the recipe itself, but no matter. It was done and it would have to work. She put the bun of bread in the oven, washed her hands, and set about to search for the information.

  Mackenna didn’t have proper cooking books. She had never bought anything like 100 Easy Recipes to Impress for Christmas or Cooking Fast and Delicious Meals with No Salt. That was more her mother’s sphere. Her grandmother bought notebooks instead and painstakingly wrote the recipes as she had learned them from her own mother, who had learned them from her mother. Lily found a small stack of such notebooks stored in a drawer. There was no index, no order to the contents. Some lines were scratched out and notes to improve the recipes were added in the margins.

  “You couldn’t make anything simple, could you?” Lily muttered with a mixture of fondness and annoyance as if Mackenna could hear her wherever she was.

  And, almost as if she could, a piece of paper fell from one of the little books while Lily carried them over to the table. She heard it rustle to the floor in the house’s eerie silence and went back to pick it up.

  Dear Lily, it began.

  She dropped the books.

  If everything has gone according to plan, today is your eighteenth birthday.

  It hadn’t. It wasn’t. Lily had to blink to clear her vision.

  I began to write this little book of field notes when I was your age. I suppose it doesn’t seem like I was a very good writer, showing such meager results after so long! The truth is that many things shouldn’t be put to paper. They must be taught down the generations, for tradition has a special power all by itself.

  But by the time I write this letter, it is more than clear that your mother will have nothing to do with the wisdom I can teach her, and I’m afraid I will not have enough time to teach you in her stead all that I would have you know. Sharing with you these pages seems to be the only way to ensure that a little of the knowledge I’ve gathered over the years remains, even if what can be safely written is but a fraction of what there is.

  I have faith that, one day, you’ll find it in your soul to understand and embrace the real world your mother turned her back against. If that time ever comes, and if I’m not there any longer to guide you as my mother guided me, you’ll at least have these notes to help you as you learn.

  Learning by oneself also has its own magic.

  Love,

  Grandma

  While Lily held the letter, her grandma’s neat calligraphy went blurry and the signature dissolved into lines of gray.

  She was crying. She could hear Mackenna’s voice saying those words. She could picture her writing the letter one day, alone in her kitchen, sad and hopeful and looking forward to the day she could give Lily the notebook. She imagined her, counting the years until she turned eighteen so that she would choose freely whether to believe the words on the piece of paper.

  It hurt. It hurt even more to know that, if she hadn’t come here this summer, hadn’t been attacked, hadn’t met Troy… She wouldn’t have. She would have chosen her mother’s “normal” world instead of the real one.

  Lily leafed through the notebooks, finding the one the letter had fallen from. It was written much like the cooking books, but instead of apple pie or stew, the entries mentioned cures for cattle feet and pixie pox, and there were indented comments here and there with bits of advice. She pressed the letter into place and took a deep breath. She wanted to sit down and devour the contents because she needed the knowledge and because it would help her not to feel quite so alone, but she couldn’t yet. She had a bargain to fulfill. Then she would find her grandmother and they would read the book together.

  Decision made, she put the notebook aside and began to search a recipe for bread. When she found it, she saw it had been baking too long and rushed to get it out.

  It was done. She stared at her offering, her weapon, as it sat cooling in the kitchen counter, an apparently harmless bun that fit in her hand.

  “Okay,” she said aloud. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Braeroddach Loch stood silent and majestic under the early morning sun. If summer hadn’t turned out to be so cold this year, someone might have been practicing some sport or even fishing, but as it was, only the calm waters greeted Lily when she arrived.

  After finishing the bread bun, Lily had packed her offering, her newly found notebook, a jacket, and some money into a knapsack and had set out well before sunrise. The lake was just a few miles northwest from her house and she could navigate the distance. It was better not to try to get a lift or hop onto a bus headed in that general direction because that would call too much attention and she would
rather do without it. Especially when it was so easy to just hike.

  Lily took only a moment to appreciate the lonely sight and another to orient herself, and then she began to make her way around the shore to the small promontory where she knew she would find her destination. Initially, when Troy had turned his back on her and she had realized she would have to find the cave on her own, she had panicked, but at some point while she kneaded the dough, she had known where she had to go.

  There was a legend about Braeroddach Loch. Not very important, of course; it was nothing in comparison to Ness Loch. Still. The tales said there was a hole that was, in truth, a gate to the underworld. It was deep and gaping, and people said that sometimes, on the right day and at the right time, you could hear a sad song drifting up from the core of the earth. No one had ever descended the hole, either. When reminded of the legend, people scoffed and said that it had not been explored because it was nothing but a deep hole, so there was nothing to explore. That the sounds coming up were nothing but the wind, a trick like a giant seashell. Those were normal explanations, born from rational people.

  It wasn’t the truth.

  And when Lily stood over the open maws of the hole, she could see why they would come up with those theories. There was something clinging to the place, a thin veneer that made it seem like it belonged to another world altogether.

  It probably did belong to another world. Most likely it was an opening of a path, bigger and thus clearer for her senses than the ones she had traversed before.

  But what will I find on the other side? Am I even supposed to cross myself before I know the cuelebre is dead?

  She would rather not, but she had only one chance to pull this off and she couldn’t leave it to blind luck. She had to go herself and make sure it worked. Drying her sweaty hands on her pants, she took out the bun and stood at the lip of the hole.

  She let herself slip.

  The transition between one world and the one hidden beside it was different this time. Either because of fear or because she was crossing over alone and uninvited, her stomach jerked and she felt an awkward pull in her limbs as if each part of her wanted to go their own direction.

  She landed with a thud when the feeling reached just this side of painful and the impact took all air from her lungs.

  Somehow, her offering stayed in her grasp.

  Lily forced herself to breathe and look around. Nothing had jumped on her when she had landed and she took it to be a good sign, but still, she needed to have her wits about her. This would be treacherous ground and she was ill-suited to it, just as she had proved by being roped into the bargain.

  The cave was nothing like Troy’s hideout, not even like Glaistig’s. Their areas of the hidden world were humid and cool, saturated with water. This was dry, so much so that the air seemed to suck even the moisture from one’s skin. It hadn’t been formed by constant dripping or by subterranean currents as many other beautiful caves were. Here there was only the pressure of the earth itself compressing and packing and breaking. While there was no clear source of light, Lily could see just fine. The rough stone walls were ocher and massive without so much as a fissure. The floor felt warm under her feet.

  She swallowed.

  “Cuelebre,” she said, trying to sound as if she knew what she was doing. She was proud when her voice only wobbled a little. “I come to you bearing an offering.”

  “You have trespassed,” said a rumbling voice. “No mortal may cross my boundaries without permission.”

  Then, the cuelebre appeared. One moment the cave was a closed, empty vault, and the next there were stairs leading out to a huge corridor. In the opening, curled over itself, laid the serpent-like guardian, staring at her with an amber, ancient eye. The creature must have been at least eighty feet long and its jaws were proportionate with the rest of the body. Seeing its sheer size, appreciating its teeth and the scales that plated its whole body, Lily understood what Troy had meant about impossible fights.

  She wished she had better prepared for this part of the encounter.

  “Please, forgive my mistake.” She tried to sound formal, respectful. She tried to talk like Troy did. “It was caused by my eagerness to show my appreciation.”

  There was a sound of stones breaking and crumbling under infinite force and Lily realized with a start that the cuelebre had snorted a laugh.

  She felt cold sweat pooling in the small of her back and she shivered.

  “I’ve prepared an offering following in the ancient ways and didn’t dare to risk a… misplacement.”

  “I see.” It stirred and uncoiled and, in spite of its looks, its languid movement reminded Lily more of a cat than a cold-blooded snake. That was something. Cats were supposed to be cute, weren’t they? “The ancient ways, you say? Tell me then, little mortal, who are you?”

  “I’m a faerie doctor,” she said without hesitation.

  “Are you now.” There was no question in its tone and it brought its great head closer, inspecting her.

  Lily couldn’t afford to be closely inspected. The iron nails might be mistaken for the blood in her hands, hidden as they were under the smell of fresh bread and the sweet cloy of honey, and if there was a more mystic stench, it might be mitigated by the symbolism of the offering, but it would not last long and it would not hold against a real examination.

  “In training,” she was forced to add. The hand holding the bun began to shake.

  There was another rumble, the distant sound of upheaval produced maybe by an earthquake. “Ah,” it said, thunderous mirth invading its voice. “And what part of your training are you accomplishing today, pray tell?”

  “None, I—”

  “Tsk,” the cuelebre interrupted. “Nothing should turn a worthy soul from their goals. If it is training that you do, then you should train.”

  The mere surrealism of a giant serpent scolding her as if she were a schoolgirl who had forgotten her homework was nearly enough to dispel the rising fear and allow Lily to think. She faced a guardian of the secrets of the earth who despised idleness and was quite vocal about it. Then, there was only one correct answer.

  “I rest from my training today,” she said, “so tomorrow I may work on”—here she stuttered, only slightly, while her mind’s eye reviewed the many odd things she had seen in her grandmother’s attic—“on a stone mortar to help me prepare the brews.”

  “And why would you not work today?”

  “Because first I had to thank you for telling me which kind of stone would be better for that.”

  There was another peal of that monstrous laughter, this time loud enough to make the floor vibrate under Lily.

  “Clever little mortal,” the cuelebre said. “Well played. However, you still trespassed. I should ask an additional price for that.”

  “Name it,” Lily said, knowing she would regret her words. She should haggle, twist the situation so she came up on top, make it seem like she had done the cuelebre a favor instead… but she had gambled much and won so far. She didn’t dare place any more bets.

  The cuelebre narrowed its eyes and studied her for a long moment.

  “You will take your mortar and leave your offering,” it said at length. “And one year and one precise day from now, you will return and bring me a lock of hair of whoever benefited of your using this mortar for the first time.”

  Lily was sure that hair, nail clippings, and other such things were quite dangerous in the hands of a faerie, but she knew that one year and one day from that moment, either the cuelebre or herself would be dead. And even then, she didn’t plan on using the mortar—it had only been the first half-logical thing coming to mind. All in all, it looked like a good bargain and she tried very hard to keep a straight and somber face as she gave the cuelebre her assent.

  “And it is done,” it said.

  The cuelebre moved then, its great body unfolding to the sound of scales sliding against scales. There was a rumble and Lily’s vision trembled, the air undul
ating as if it were too hot, and when the gossamer veil of heated reality settled once more, the corridor leading to the heart of the cave was clear and a small translucent bowl stood at its mouth.

  “Go on, claim your prize,” the cuelebre said, slithering around her.

  The thought of walking farther into the cuelebre’s realm and putting the huge creature between herself and the opening of the path she had come through didn’t appeal to Lily, but she had come much too far to stand back now. She couldn’t begin to second-guess herself.

  Trying to act with aplomb, she walked up the stairs to a mortar and pestle made of exquisite crystallized quartz, smooth as if the stone had been born in such a shape. When she knelt to pick up the cuelebre’s side of the bargain, she stole a look beyond the corridor. It was long, perhaps as long as the cuelebre itself, and on the far side, she could see some sort of dais raised low with a fist-sized stone atop. The chamber was lit by the same unnatural light that seemed to permeate the cuelebre’s domain and she thought she caught shadows pooling around the stone she was supposed to retrieve.

  The vision struck her as odd and it made her fingers falter when she gripped the mortar. The quartz was still warm to the touch and she put it in her knapsack almost reverently because, whether she would use it or not, she had been given a gift fit for kings and she knew it. Then, she deposited her bun of iron bread in place, and as she stood again, she realized why the shadows in the inner chamber of the cave had caught her eye.

  Nothing in this realm cast a shadow, nothing but that stone. Just as the diffused illumination had no source, so there were no dark counterpoints. Not even she cast a shade.

  She glanced over again as she began to walk back toward the opening, trying to be subtle but unable to resist.