Tarn nodded toward William. “I will make her into one of my children, just as once I made William into my child. Oh, it isn’t the same as the process that produced Zachariah. It is,” and Tarn smiled his old smile, “less enjoyable. But they are my children, just the same, born from my desire and my essence. William and the others were dying on a hillside when I found them. I took them into myself, then fashioned them new bodies from my own power and placed their minds within.”
Branwyn the crafter seized on a detail. “Why did you have to make new bodies for them?”
“Their existing bodies were badly damaged,” said Tarn, and paused, waiting for the question he seemed to know was coming.
“But Penny’s body is just fine. Can’t she keep her body? She’s very attached to it.”
“Her mortal body will not support a mind without a soul. That’s why she’s wasting away despite your doctors’ efforts. Celestial magic is required to support a body without a soul.”
“She has a soul, it’s just damaged,” Branwyn protested, then dropped her eyes rather than meet Tarn’s sympathetic gaze. Subdued, she added, “What does this have to do with trouble along the way? Trouble you consider only an inconvenience?”
“Edward and Alfred and Harold are all still here,” he said, tapping his chest. “They endure as long as I do, or at least as long as I hold Underlight.” He turned a brooding glance toward the gallery. “Restoring them is only a matter of energy. I have not done it because that energy is reserved for Penny.”
Branwyn looked between William and Tarn. William’s gaze was fixed on the middle distance, like he wasn’t listening. Then her eyes narrowed. “Did you mean to say that? Because it sounds like you just said you don't need the door open to save Penny.”
“If only it were that simple.” His shoulders slumped. “I said I would save her if I could. Until I try, Underlight keeps me to my word; it holds the power in trust—and it is more power than merely embodying a changeling would take. But I cannot try until the door is open; it requires too much of my attention.”
Branwyn regarded him suspiciously. Then, softening, she said, “Poor faerie Lord, caught by your own game.” He didn't even look at her, although she waited for a long moment. Then she shrugged. “Fine. It sounds like a plan. Let’s do this.”
As if released from an invisible cage, Tarn went to one of the pictures on the wall and touched its gilded frame. The fairytale castle contained within grew larger, and the point of view swooped through the castle's golden gates. Light gathered within the frame and grew so bright that Branwyn could no longer make out what was beyond.
“Follow me,” said William, and stepped through the frame.
Branwyn moved to follow him and Tarn caught her hand as she drew close. “Branwyn. It is important that you come back.”
Without thinking about it, Branwyn squeezed Tarn’s hand. “It’s important to me, too.”
As if the tightening of her hand was an invitation, Tarn brought her fingers to his mouth and brushed his lips over them, then released her before she could pull away. “Make sure he accepts the message as well as the gift. I’ll know when that happens. Now go,” he said, turning away.
Without letting herself hesitate, she stepped into the light.
Her foot came down on a hard surface. As the dazzle faded from her eyes, disorientation swept over and she flailed her arms instinctively.
William caught her shoulder. “Steady. Look down at your feet for now.”
Branwyn did more than that, dropping to her knees to hold onto the ground. “Where the hell are we?” she whispered. She was kneeling on stone steps about five feet wide. One side clung to a wall, while the other had nothing remotely resembling a banister or guard rail. Before she’d fallen to her knees, she’d seen the dizzying drop off the side. She’d seen more, too.
“Why,” she started, then cleared her throat and tried for a more normal voice. “Why are we upside down?”
“We’re not upside down. The castle is.” William moved in front of her and offered her a hand up.
“That isn’t helping. Why are we here?”
William quirked an eyebrow. “Are you afraid of heights? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“No,” Branwyn snapped, and stood up, keeping her eyes on William’s face. He smirked and she narrowed her eyes. “Lead on. Just remember I’ll be behind you on this death staircase.”
“Of course. And my men will be behind you. Don’t worry, they’ll catch you if you stumble and fall.” He started climbing the stairs. Branwyn glanced up carefully, bracing herself for the vertigo that came at seeing the floor of the castle far, far above her. A chandelier on an impossibly long chain reached toward the sky, the candles in it burning upside down. The pale flames were only barely visible, because there were windows in the curving wall that the staircase hugged and sunlight streamed in, making the polished silver fixtures of the lamps and chandeliers shine brighter than the flames. As they passed one window, Branwyn glanced out and saw clouds drifting by below.
One of the changelings behind her caught her shoulder again, and she shook him off. “I’m fine.” She stopped at the window, though, and took a good long look out. It was true that the castle was upside down, because far, far below, under the drifting clouds, she could see the green of a verdant land. She took a deep breath, feeling a breeze on her face, tasting the tang of rain. Then a rainbow arched past, translucent but far more solid than any prismatic reflection she’d seen on Earth. She looked at it wistfully, remembering childhood stories, then sighed and turned back to where William was waiting. Sometimes being a grownup wasn’t nearly as much fun as being a kid.
Not only was the ridiculous structure upside down, it was also far larger than even a fairytale castle had any right to be. The climb went on for nearly half an hour and Branwyn’s legs were burning by the time they turned at a landing and entered a long corridor. The surface they walked on was both curved and tiled with a flowered mosaic, and it was scarcely easier to navigate than the stairs had been. Still, once she got the hang of it, she found she had breath to talk. “Why aren’t we on the road? I liked the road. It was scenic. It was flat.”
“That road is for travel within Faerie. We’re traveling between two points in Creation right now. It’s different.”
“When are we going to leave the castle?”
William glanced back at her. “When we get to where we’re going.”
Appalled, Branwyn said, “This entire trip is going to be in the castle? How big is it?”
“Much, much bigger than we’ll see,” William assured her.
The corridor ended in a courtyard roofed by a thin wooden lattice wound with grapevines. Roofed, which meant that would serve as their ground. Branwyn stared at the delicate-looking network of twigs and rods, and the spaces between them. They weren’t very large, but the sticks didn’t look very strong, and Branwyn was certain that if she lost her footing and fell, she’d crash through the lattice and fall into the sky below.
William was watching her. When she noticed, she asked brightly, “Any special rules for crossing this?” When he shook his head, she sprang out onto the lattice, felt it sway underneath her, and sprang again, half-running, half-jumping until she got to the shaded arcade on the other side. Then her wobbly legs gave out beneath her and she sank into a heap. Several of the changeling guards were laughing and cheering for her, and even William wore a faint but genuine smile.
They bounded after her, far more sure on their feet than she felt she had been. They didn’t collapse once they reached the other side, either. It was probably because they were professionals.
“Do you need a rest?” asked William, offering her a canteen.
She pushed herself to her feet. “I’m good for now. Maybe after the next challenge. What is next, by the way? Do I have to walk a tightrope across the sunset? Fly? Because I can’t fly, let’s just get that out there. At least, not unless you’re handing out wings. Are you handing out wings? Do we
get to slide down rainbows?” Then she took the canteen and drank from it, just to stop her own babbling.
“Down, yes, but more stairs.”
“We’re going higher in the castle? Well, that will be easy. Yay!”
But going down endless flights of stairs was almost as exhausting as climbing them, at least in the number of flights they descended. “Why do they call them flights?” Branwyn wondered aloud. “It’s a bad word for stairs. It raises one’s hopes. I disapprove.”
Eventually, they did take a break, on the flat ceiling of a high and narrow tower. The stairs continued up one floor, but a tapestry dominated the far wall of the tower and. like them, it was upside down compared to the rest of the castle. It showed a dark, wet forest, full of tall pine trees and tangled, fern-strewn foliage. A modern lodge lurked amid the trees, completely unlit.
“That’s it?” When William inclined his head, Branwyn added, “Are we going to hike through the forest? Or shall we end up in the lodge, upside down?”
“Very droll. Have you rested enough? Are you ready to face the Hunter?” William put his hand on the side of the tapestry and pulled it aside. It covered a large hole in the wall that led into absolute darkness.
Branwyn stood up. Her legs had stiffened during the brief rest and she could feel the beginnings of a deep ache that was going to make walking torture tomorrow. “I’m not going to get any more ready than this.”
“Very well.” With no more warning than that, the darkness of the hole reached out and swallowed the room. The floor vanished beneath Branwyn’s feet and she thumped down on an uneven surface. Wetness tickled her ankles and cool dampness invaded her lungs. She couldn’t see a thing.
“William?” she called, as she fumbled in her backpack for her flashlight.
Somebody near her groaned, and William swore. There was a sick thud and a cry of pain and a moist squelching. Something moved past Branwyn’s arm and she swung violently with the flashlight as she turned it on. A hand caught the flashlight, fingers obscuring the beam, and somebody whispered, “Shh,” too close to her ear. Then the flashlight was released and the shadow that had caught it moved on.
Flashlights aren’t very useful in dark, wet forests full of strange sounds and pained cries . The darkness became darker, and the points illuminated by the beam of light seemed to be nothing more than shadow and glare. William growled, “You wo—” and trailed off in a gurgle, which in turn faded into silence.
Trees rustled in the wind. Branwyn turned her flashlight onto the ground and didn’t look directly at the spot of light, waiting for her eyes to adjust even a little. It was moonless and cloudy above; without a flashlight, she wouldn’t be able to move until dawn. With one hand, she scrubbed moisture off her face; a tree branch must have flung droplets at her in the scuffle. “Severin? I know that’s you.”
“Yes,” he said, right behind her. She was expecting that, so she managed to limit her reaction to her breath hissing between her teeth.
“What have you done?” She tried to control her emotions. They’re okay, they’re okay, they just took a shortcut home. I need to worry about myself.
“I only meant to do one or two, but I got bored waiting and waiting and waiting. I thought you’d be here hours ago.” He sounded accusing, as if it was her fault he’d gone overboard on the whole “murder” thing.
Branwyn looked up at the sky. It was brighter than she expected, even with the clouds and no moon. “How did you know we’d be coming here?”
She could feel his warmth on the back of her neck as he murmured, “I’ve been at this a long time, cupcake.”
When Branwyn looked around the forest again, carefully not turning around, this time she saw some lights distantly through the trees. She fixed the direction in her mind, then looked down at the flashlit ground and started picking her way across it.
Severin crunched behind her, humming under his breath. Oh, William, Branwyn thought. I’m sorry. The dampness of the air seemed to blur the distant light, but when she blinked, it came back into focus again, steadily growing larger and, she hoped, more welcoming.
She meant to ignore Severin for the entire hike, but after a while he stopped tromping behind her and glided up to walk beside her, his steps becoming as silent as a ghost’s. If she didn’t look at him, he barely seemed more than a voice in her ear. “What’s he trying to bargain with? Not you, I hope.”
“None of your business. Go away.”
“Oh, I can’t do that yet. Hunter knows I’m here. Saying hello is only polite.”
Branwyn stopped, digging her heels into the pine-needle carpet. “Why are you so obsessed with Tarn? There’s fae running all over LA now that you could be stalking.”
“Perhaps I’ll get to them eventually. Would you like that, cupcake?” She could just make out his eyes, wells of blackness in the shadowed planes of his face.
Refusing to be drawn in, Branwyn said, “Why Tarn first?”
“I owe him,” said Severin easily. “Don’t push, Branwyn. You won’t like the result.” And there was a note in his voice that gave Branwyn pause, like he meant what he was saying.
Even so, she almost pushed further—but she was here on a mission. She had a different monster to get something out of. So, as much as it galled her, she turned her gaze back to the uneven ground and resumed her trek. Severin drifted beside her, silent.
As she got closer, she realized she was approaching the house from the back, and in front was a proper driveway that extended out to a private road. Scowling, she circled the house. She understood from one of the charms Zachariah had given her that it was easiest to enter and exit the Backworld from specific locations, but it was annoying that she’d had to hike through the woods in the dark.
Annoying, and worse. Oh, William. She hoped she’d understood what Tarn had been telling her, that it was just an inconvenience, that the bastard beside her hadn’t hurt them too much first. They could be hurt, oh yes, she remembered that from before.
She couldn’t stop going over how helpless Severin made her, in so many ways. In ways she usually tried to avoid remembering. She was just an accessory in a game he was playing with Tarn. He could hurt and kill her companions, then walk alongside her, and she could do nothing about it. He got under her skin and into her subconscious. It was intolerable; it barely stood thinking about, but here in the darkness, wrapped in a fear she couldn’t contain, she couldn’t escape it.
The shadow beside her shifted, became something with footsteps again. He sighed and touched the back of her neck lightly. “Don’t.”
She shied away and lost her footing on a tree root, landing on her hands and one knee. The flashlight fell onto the same root, half-illuminating Severin. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his head low as he watched her without expression.
“You don’t,” Branwyn snarled, rising to her feet again. “Don’t touch me.”
He didn’t answer, but somebody else did. A voice called from the front of the house, “I hear somebody lost in the woods.” It was a sing-song, anticipatory cry, meant to carry to prey. Several figures appeared around the edge of the house, bringing with them the scent of cigarette smoke.
“Do you think it’s Hunter’s guest?” asked the same voice.
“That would be a disappointment,” said another voice. The third figure moved into the woods, obscuring several of the house lights. He was very large.
Severin moved just a little, so he was between Branwyn and the three figures. “It’s me,” he said, very quietly.
From the sudden stillness, the complete cessation of movement sounds, they heard him just fine. For a moment the night was dead silent, and Branwyn instinctively paused in the act of brushing herself off in case her hands on her jeans broke the calm.
Then the first speaker said sullenly, “You.”
“Me,” Severin repeated lightly. “And an envoy for your master. Be a good dog and show us in.”
“Right,” muttered the first figure, and all three
of them withdrew. Severin strolled after them without a backward glance. Branwyn took a deep breath, exhaled out her fear, and followed behind. She passed by the edge of the wood where they’d been standing and noticed a half-smoked cigarette still smoldering in the layer of dead leaves. Scowling, she ground it under her foot until it was nothing but char and dirt.
-sixteen-
Hunter sprawled on a long, leather couch in the large front room of the lodge. Although he was only one of several men giving advice about somebody’s woman problems, he was immediately recognizable as the lord and master of all he surveyed. When he saw Severin, he stood up. “My brother,” he said warmly.
He was as tall as Tarn and built like a tank, with closely trimmed dirty blond hair, a mustache and goatee. When he strode forward to clasp Severin’s hand, Branwyn thought he would loom over the leaner, smaller kaiju. But something odd happened as Hunter bore down on them: the world seemed to ripple. A pulse both visible and painful passed out from the two of them as they gripped each other’s wrists. Suddenly physical size didn't seem to matter at all. Both of them bared their teeth at the other; there was no way to describe what passed between them as a smile. For a moment, red and black static danced across her vision and an enormous hand seemed to be pressing down on her.
Branwyn leaned against the door and exhaled. The pain arrived between her eyes like a needle and passed out through the base of her spine. The others in the room shifted uncomfortably as well, which was a small consolation. It wasn’t agonizing; she could cope, but she didn’t like it.
Then the two kaiju parted and the pulsing pain faded. “Welcome to my home,” said Hunter. “Sit down. One of the boys will get you a beer.” Severin smiled, as if amused by the thought, but moved to an occupied armchair that almost magically became unoccupied as he approached.
Hunter turned to Branwyn. She straightened up, embarrassed that she’d been letting herself hide behind Severin. Simon’s warnings had gotten to her, made her expect the worst. But this didn’t look like the set of a horror movie. It had big picture windows and large speakers high on the walls and a bearskin rug in front of a subdued fire at the far end of the room. A few men were repositioning themselves in Severin's wake, some giving up their chairs to others and leaning against the walls. It looked like, at worst, a frat house. And she’d met Severin’s terrifying gaze more than once; how bad could Hunter be?
Infinity Key (Senyaza Series Book 2) Page 20
