“To eat?” Finn asked, bothered despite the fact that the only reason he didn’t eat leg of lamb anymore was out of respect for Veruca. It wasn’t a pretty thought, picturing a fae monster going after some poor sheep.
“Please.” Darcy sighed, lowering her head into her hands, seeming overwhelmed. “I’m going on old memories and cloudy experiences from a time before I was banished. Once we have the witch, I’ll know more.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Benedict said, getting to his feet.
Donald stood too, following. “I wanted to ask you some things, actually.”
“Shoot,” Benedict said easily.
Finn waited until they’d disappeared to the other side of the long loft and leaned in to pat Darcy’s arm. She looked stressed and overwhelmed, lost. He worried she was about to cry. “You all right, love?”
“I didn’t think this would all be easy, but it’s rough. I’ve been running for a few years—terrified someone would find me. When Ankyati captured me, I thought I was done for. I thought she would turn me over immediately. She didn’t.”
“She had plans,” Veruca said quietly, thinking of what Ankyati had told her.
Darcy looked up, holding Veruca’s eye from her awkward, hunched position. Just as softly, she spoke. “Things are never as they seem with the fae. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
Chapter Nineteen
The witch proved easier to track down than any of them anticipated. Finn had texted Doireann in between loading dishes into the dishwasher, and she’d gotten back to him quickly enough. She’d insisted he was going to owe her more than his past tab, which he didn’t mind, and hoped she would let him work off the debt at the counter of her shop.
Benedict had been impressed with Finn’s resourcefulness, though—much to Finn’s chagrin—not enough to strip down and mud wrestle with Donald as Finn had suggested.
They’d been given an address well outside the city and instructions to bring a case of fresh fruit and vegetables. Donald and Benedict had tried to rush Finn through choosing what exactly the witch might like, which Finn had resented. How were they to know she would be happy with a bag of red apples and a handful of oranges and bananas? Finn wanted to make it worth her while, choosing grapes in three varieties, pears, a fancy vegetable that Finn couldn’t name but that reminded him a green onion blown up to ten times its natural size, and some Brussels sprouts.
Veruca had indulged him, shooing the boys up to the front of the dead grocery store, sticking close while Finn had loaded the cart up with a rainbow. By the time they’d left, he’d bought considerably more than a case, but Veruca was pleased and that was all that mattered.
At least until they got to the witch’s house. Then Finn would know for sure if the boys should have been the ones left in charge, but Finn trusted his instincts.
“You look strained, Donny,” Finn observed as they closed in on the isolated cabin. “Perhaps stripping off your shirt would help.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Donald said, shaking his head over the massive crate of health food. “I’d freeze.”
“Well, I’ll warm you up, then. Skin to skin, it’s the only way,” Finn said.
“Have I misread this relationship?” Benedict asked, looking between the two of them.
“I’m just the muscle,” Donald said. “Regardless of what Finn dreams every night.”
“Not every night,” Finn assured Veruca, pulling her against his hip and giving her a squeeze. “Not even most nights, my love. Just sometimes after too much spicy food.”
“That’s a relief,” Donald said, before eyeballing Veruca. “Perhaps ease up on the jalapeños.”
“You wound me, Donny,” Finn said, clutching his chest as Veruca ignored the bunch of them and knocked on the cabin door. “I’ll need you to kiss it better at once.”
“What part of you is wounded, exactly?” Benedict asked, looking Finn up and down.
“Any part you fancy, friend.”
Benedict chuckled, but instead of getting on his knees and puckering up, he just stood at attention, focused on the task at hand.
Finn sighed for dramatic effect, wondering for a moment if he’d crossed a line with Donald and made him feel uncomfortable, but certain the bigger man had to be used to his shenanigans by now.
The door opened a sliver and Finn caught a look at just the eye of the person beyond. He smiled amenably, surprised the eyeball appeared to be male and wondered if perhaps he was more sexist than he’d previously thought. Benny had assumed Officer Lam would a man, and now here they all were, surprised that the witch wasn’t a woman.
Well, Finn was surprised; he wasn’t Donald and couldn’t speak for how the others felt. For all he knew, everyone else was up on their witch knowledge and it was only Finn who’d been picturing a spritely twig in a flowery taffeta and little pink slippers.
“Mornin,” Finn offered, waving genially at the man, hoping to ease any nerves that had sprouted within him when they’d knocked.
The witch was still for a few moments, his gaze fixated somewhere beyond, before he opened the door all the way and looked to the banshee.
Finn gave him a once over, thinking he looked young, casual in jeans and a t-shirt, an average twenty-something dude. His hair was dark and closely cropped against his scalp, and his brown eyes were unfocused, even as they were aimed squarely at Darcy.
She didn’t react to his gaze, staying quiet as she’d been since they’d gotten in the car and started driving out to the sticks. Finn wondered for a moment if the witch thought anything of her strange appearance, but before he could dig too deep into the curiosity, the witch tilted his head, pointed to the banshee, and spoke.
“Traveler. Dangerous one, far from home. A meteor fallen to earth. Tsunamis, far and wide. I’d like some grapes.”
Abruptly, the witch turned, reaching his bare hands into the box Donald held and plucking out a single grape. He then turned and headed back into the house without explanation.
The banshee followed him in, unbothered by his assessment of her, and Benedict trailed behind, looking just as unfazed. Donald and Veruca went next, leaving Finn standing outside wondering if he’d missed something everyone else had managed to catch onto.
“Right,” he said after a moment, rushing after everyone and shutting the door behind him.
****
Veruca looked around the house, impressed at its beauty and organization. Her experience with witches had led her to believe they wouldn’t have been able to keep lucid long enough to clean or decorate, yet here was this young man and his lovely home.
He led them through woodsy halls to a large kitchen that reminded Veruca of her own, though she preferred to keep her counters bare and her supplies tucked away. He’d spread bowls and utensils around amongst plants and miscellaneous vials of colorful liquids that gave the room a distinctly musky smell. Distantly, among the strange scents, Veruca thought she could pick up a hint of lavender, but it was hard to tell.
“Shooting star,” the witch sang quietly as he stepped behind the island counter and started plucking leaves off a flower Veruca couldn’t identify. “Here to crater the world.”
Darcy watched him for a few moments, curious and concerned, before she turned to Veruca. “Could you—”
“Big things for you,” the witch said suddenly, and Veruca realized he’d lifted his gaze away from his work to look directly into her eyes. “The new queen, reforming the kingdom in her own image. Head to head, crown to crown. The princess will inherit the army, settling in under the shaken stars. The barren future withstands.”
“Could you fix this, please?” Darcy asked, closing her eyes as if frustrated with the nonsense.
“Fix—oh, fix him?” Veruca asked, though she’d realized as she walked in that the witch needed help. His soul was a tangle, a confused mess that left him in bad shape. She’d wanted to smooth it, to braid it and knit it properly around his heart from the moment she’d walked in, but it didn�
��t seem her place.
“I am to be knighted,” the witch said, delight brightening his expression. Veruca could read his name as Justin, though other labels were etched along his soul that she didn’t understand and couldn’t read as easily as a human name.
“He thinks you’re a shiny monarch, my love,” Finn said, his lip quirked. “I’ve seen you in nothing but a tiara and, trust me, you’re more than regal enough.”
Veruca winked at him before moving in toward Justin, curious when the witch’s humanity had drifted away and left him with this addled, dreamy disposition. Power didn’t always manifest in young children and occasionally, in more powerful fae spawn, it would stay tucked away until puberty. Scouts were still sent to evaluate young children, regardless of whether or not their powers had sprouted. Veruca had heard talk of demons who had been plucked from under the nose of the queen as toddlers, some of many recruited by Belial before they could be judged dangerous to humanity.
She herself had been one of those toddlers.
Stepping up next to him as he muddled leaves and seed pods with a mortar and pestle, Veruca gently pressed her hand to his bare forearm, wanting the contact, even though it wasn’t necessary to help him. She could have organized his soul from outside in the woods, but weaving his life force into a calm tapestry felt more personal up close.
Justin’s actions slowed as she worked, his hands pausing here and there, as if he’d forgotten what he was doing for just a moment. By the time she got his soul from the ludicrous, misshapen knot it had been to the smooth, heart-cradling sheath that souls should be, he had stopped entirely.
“What did you do?” he asked, the sing-song tone to his voice gone. “What are you?”
“I helped,” Veruca said simply, patting his arm and stepping back in case he wanted his space. “It’s not permanent, though. It will wear off in time, probably a few hours, judging from the look of you.”
“The look of me?” he asked, and Veruca worried for a moment he was assuming the comment was racially motivated.
“Of your soul,” she said, glancing to Donald without really meaning to. Doing a double-take when she realized he was still standing off to the side holding the fruit Finn had picked out, she gestured wildly to him. “Bring that—put that down. You don’t have to keep carrying it.”
“Is that for me?” Justin asked, his focus on the food. “Wow, you guys really went all out. Usually people just bring a sack of apples or something.”
Finn cleared his throat noisily but didn’t gloat.
“We need to get into Fairy,” Darcy said, closing in to lean on the counter as Justin picked through his loot.
“I can’t help. I’ve never been there.”
“I can let us in,” Darcy said, “but once we’re there we can’t be detected. We need some scattering potions to start with. As well as a hierean potion.”
Justin looked up, brows drawn in, obviously confused. “I’ve never heard of that one.”
“No. We’d need to go on a field trip for you to see the recipe, but I happen to have it memorized.”
“All right, I don’t mind learning something new. I’ll need quite a bit for the scattering potions, though. They’re complicated. And they hurt, from what I can tell.”
“You can make them, though, yes?”
“That recipe I know backward and forward. The other, I’m not sure as I’ve never made it.”
“Perhaps I should have been clearer,” Darcy said, sounding a little frustrated. “You can, you are powerful enough. Will you?”
“I have a patron,” Justin said, gently settling the grapes into a strainer, as if they might explode if handled too harshly. “He may want to set a higher price than some fruit.”
Veruca tensed, watching the siren’s soul quiver, the strands of it going silver and almost metallic. Before she could stop her, the banshee sighed, reaching out to grab the witch’s hand and hum out a low tune.
“Darcy,” Veruca snapped, though her mind was muddled at the sounds flowing through the kitchen. It was a lovely song, almost a nursery rhyme, but the words weren’t soothing or childish. She couldn’t be sure what the words were, really, but her mind was distantly aware that this wasn’t anything that would comfort an infant in its crib.
Chapter Twenty
As with the last time the siren’s voice had gotten its hooks in Veruca’s heart, she came to slowly, a little confused, but unbothered by the situation. The barbs were burning away just as before, leaving Veruca with an unease that was growing slowly and hesitantly, like sprouts without proper sunlight. When she found herself looking into Darcy’s interesting face she frowned, leaning back slightly.
“What’s happened?”
“I need you to understand why I just did that.”
“Did what?” Veruca asked, looking around. The room was still, everyone else unmoving and blank-faced.
Finn had a small quirk to his lip, as if he were happy for the relief from the pesky task of thinking for himself.
“Do you know what a patron is?”
“In the old-fashioned sense, yes. It’s—wait.” Veruca frowned, feeling something bubbling in her chest, the bits of the siren’s soul weakening against her power, almost like her own had reacted to the banshee just hours before. “What—Goddammit, Darcy.”
Clenching her fists to keep from shoving the other woman backward, Veruca dug into her own chest, yanking out the silver barbs and tossing them aside. Turning her attention to Finn, she reached first for the barbs there, intending on freeing everyone in time, but prioritizing him without really meaning to.
Darcy grabbed Veruca’s shoulder, squeezing it gently and leaning into her field of view. “Wait. Just give me a moment. I need you to know why I did that.”
“Why you enthralled us all? Turned us into puppets? I thought you trusted me.”
“I can’t help what my voice does. I told you. That’s why we’re here in the first place, to keep you from my influence. Do you know what a patron is?”
“I—I don’t know. Someone who pays an artist to—to create?”
“Not in this sense. When a witch has a patron, it’s more untoward. A witch with a patron is basically a pet. They’re provided for and kept like a, well, like an outdoor cat. They’re given freedom, to a point, but also watched over and cared for. If something happens to the witch someone will pay.”
“Were you planning on hurting him?”
“No, it’s not that. I just meant to explain the relationship further. A patron mostly keeps the witch for fun, as a status symbol among other high fae. But, they will not hesitate to benefit from the relationship. If the witch were to mention to his patron that I’m—that we’re looking for something to get us into Fairy secretly, for something as … unique as what I’m asking him to make, that patron could come to call, asking for more than just a box of fruit. He could ask something of you, of Finn, of any of us. He—depending on the type of Fairy he is—could recognize me for what I am and report me back to the queen.”
“We can’t have any of that,” Veruca said with a sigh, freeing the last of the barbs from Finn’s soul. He continued to smile, though his brow knit slightly as he looked around, idly curious about what was going on. Working on Donald next, she nodded to Darcy. “I understand. What did you tell him?”
“Not to worry about his patron for now, that we would keep him safe and make sure payment was made to the appropriate parties. We have to finish with him as soon as possible, though. It’s unlikely the patron will drop in, but if it’s a soul fae, they could see my influence—as you can—and cause a ruckus.”
“All right, then what are we waiting for?”
“I wasn’t sure when we arrived what supplies the witch would have and what we’d need, but I see he’s short a few things. Can I give you a list and send you and your empath to pick up what we need?”
“Should I assume this isn’t something else to grab from the grocery store?”
“No, you’ll have to go to a
specialty shop. I’m sure your man would know where to go.”
“What did you tell us?” Veruca asked as she watched Donald tense and look around, suddenly panicked without the siren’s soul influencing his mood.
“I didn’t really tell you guys anything. My orders were aimed at the witch, but you were around to hear me, so it shook you all loose for a bit. I didn’t put my full power behind the siren’s abilities, so it didn’t knock you unconscious.”
“Good to know,” Benedict said mildly, though Veruca could see from the way Donald was looking at the other man that his feelings on the subject weren’t so benign. “What’s happened?”
“We need you to go get us some supplies for the witch,” Veruca said.
Benedict raised a brow. “More fruit?”
“No,” Darcy said, moving into the kitchen to pull through drawers and peer into cabinets. The witch stood by calmly, watching her but not in a way that made Veruca think he was really seeing her. When she dug up a notepad and paper, she started scribbling down a list of items. Veruca noted she was writing with her left hand and wondered if that was the siren’s influence or if the banshee, despite not having a physical form, had a preference herself.
“Will you go?” Veruca asked Donald, hoping he wouldn’t try to stay and protect her or argue.
“I can go,” Donald said easily. “It’ll be nice to have a task other than hauling leeks around.”
“I can go with you, Donny,” Finn offered, ever game for an adventure. “Where’re we headed?”
“Back to Leo’s, I’m assuming,” Donald said, turning to Veruca. “You sure you want him coming with me?”
“If he wants to, he’s free. It might be more dangerous here than out there, honestly.”
“Maybe I should stay, then,” Donald said, looking worried.
Veruca wondered when he’d become such a mother hen but didn’t voice the curiosity. “No, the merc’s got a gun, the banshee’s got her voice, and I’m no couch potato, either. Take Finn, be quick. Hopefully we’ll be able to finish up by sunrise.”
Knell Page 17
