by HD Smith
“You’ve got quite a talent for seeing what isn’t there.”
At first I wasn’t sure what he meant, then I remembered how he’d been hidden when we met. I shrugged. “It’s come in handy a time or two.”
“Tell me about it, lass,” he said, and I heard the command in his voice.
Although I’d never planned to go into a detailed discussion, the command removed my choice. “Until you, I’d only ever seen the magical trail of wards, thresholds, and hidden portals. I can slip outside my body and walk around with my mind’s presence. Astral Projection.”
“Interesting,” he said, and paused as if considering my words. “What exactly did you see while you were slipping?” The command laced his words again.
“You looked like a ghostly outline of yourself,” I answered without thinking.
“Do you like slipping?”
“Yes,” I answered, then paused. “You make it sound like I was on drugs.” I thought for a minute, then said, “I guess sometimes it’s a bit freaky. Once when I was in Grand Cayman with Mace—not by choice. He had me locked in his basement with two demons. The cell was made of wards. My presence saw a green glow that gave everything inside a sickly pallor.”
“Mace—he’s the reason you took the drink?”
“Yeah. He was banished to Purgatory. Now if he finds me, he can’t make me his slave while he kills me. Win-win.”
Ronin chuckled. “You seem so sure he’ll want to kill you, lass. Why?” He hadn’t put the same command into his voice this time, but there was no reason to hide my opinion of Mace.
“Who the hell knows? He’s got serious daddy issues and I don’t know, he just wants me dead or in love with him—maybe both, I have no clue. The Boss didn’t help the situation when he left the quads with Mab last spring. I’m sure Mace blames me for that, but it was his fault. He killed Junior.”
“I was wondering what happened to that SOB Junior. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” Ronin said, then added with command in his voice, “now, tell me how you know about the Name Caller.”
So this was why he was being so chatty. He wanted to know about the girls or the prophecies, or both. It wasn’t like I’d planned to keep it a secret, but I might have left out a few details had I not just been compelled to tell him everything.
After I’d filled him in on my talks with Merryman and explained how I thought the tiny man was really Omar, and how I’d planned to find Omar and ask about the girls and the prophecies, he questioned me about the blood.
“You’ve got Jayne’s blood?” he asked as if he were confirming the facts.
“Yes, and before you ask, no one knows how I got it.”
“And you don’t know who your daddy is?”
I rolled my eyes and explained the prophecy again. “So, you see, it could be any of the royals.”
“Including Jayne?” he asked.
Compelled to answer him, I said, “Yes—wait, no.”
He laughed. “Which is it, lass? Can she be your parent or not?”
I hadn’t really given it any thought. I mean, I always assumed it was one of the big three, but I couldn’t think of a reason why I’d answered yes so quickly. Was there some possible way Jayne could be my link to the prophecy? I still wanted to answer yes to his question, but why?
“Yes, now ask me how,” I said, hoping his ability to compel me to answer would also help my mind figure it out.
Humoring me, he asked, “How exactly can Jayne be your parent?”
I snickered, immediately thinking of Mab’s answer to that question—something about a stolen ovum and magic. I pushed that thought aside and considered how it was possible. Letting my mind drift—thinking of all possible options—I said, “Time travel.”
“Time travel?” he asked, but I heard the doubt in his voice.
“Fucking time travel,” I repeated. “Jayne did something to time, and it doesn’t work the way it used to. She would have had the ability—if not to control it, to at least manipulate it.” I thought of the way Mab had described how she could be the otherworldly parent. Had Jayne somehow gotten her fertilized eggs to the future? Did I seriously want to consider that as an option? No. How could she have controlled it? I’d only gone back in time by three days, but I got the impression from Mab it could have been worse—hundreds of years worse. “While technically possible, I don’t see how it could be Jayne. Too many things would have to align. If she had had that much control of time, how would she have lost it?”
“Interesting theory,” Ronin said, then asked, “is that why you wanted to know if it was two weeks ago?”
I nodded, not that he could see me as I trailed along behind his horse. “Mab claimed that I was in Purgatory two weeks ago. She said someone saw me. I think she was lying, but just so we’re clear...it’s the last Saturday in July right?”
He chuckled. “Aye, lass—but what year?”
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
He couldn’t keep the humor out of his voice. “Aye, but you should still try to avoid running into her.”
I was quiet for a minute. “You have more control over that than I do. Just tell me she isn’t the Countess of East Harrington.”
“She’s not the Countess of East Harrington.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m bound by my word to deliver you, lass. It’s nothing personal.”
I walked in silence for a while. Ronin had stopped asking question. He must have discovered everything he wanted to know.
Something still bothered me about the silver flask, though. “How was the spell on the flask not the same as being forced to drink?”
“The spell only made you thirsty. You could have refused the drink.”
“Why doesn’t forcing work? Does the magic need consent?”
“No, lass. It’s Pagan Law, and even Mab follows that.”
I snorted. “Why would Mab have to follow the rules? She made them, right?”
“It’s Pagan Law that she follows the rules,” he said. “She would have to change the rules, but it’s easier to follow them. She’s very patient in that regard.”
Patient—that was Mab. I stumbled, and almost fell. My legs were tired, and the whip was rubbing my upper arm raw. I’d kill to have a more active power right now—I’d hulk out and bust through this damn whip.
“Who owns the silver flask?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the endless path we travelled.
“My master. Mab.”
“Your master Mab!” I yelled, all thoughts of my tired legs vanishing.
He nodded. That was it—nodded.
“Why the hell didn’t you warn me? Was this her plan?”
“She has no part in this, and you had your chance to ask questions, lass.”
“Who goes around asking questions like, ‘Who’s your master?’”
“Somebody thinking of binding themselves to another might consider it prudent,” he answered.
I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it. What was there to say? Mab was now my master, once removed. I really needed to get out of Purgatory before she found out. “This is why you can’t speak your name. She forbids it.” Totally sounded like something she’d do.
“Aye. That she does.”
“And, you’re considered a pagan because of the bond with her?” I asked, trying to figure out why Ronin and I could have formed a bond when neither of us were pagans.
“Aye, the bond means the rules apply to us, but we’re not exactly pagans in every sense of the word.”
Just legally...great. I shook my head, disgusted. “You remember the five pagans I mentioned that wanted me dead?” I asked. “You knew she was on that list, right?”
“In all fairness, lass, she’s on a lot of people’s lists.”
“Then why the hell did you bind yourself to me? She won’t be pleased.”
“You’d made up your mind. Even after you knew the flask was spelled, you wanted to be bound to me. Lie to y
ourself if you like, but you know I’m right.”
“I wouldn’t be doing any of this if you hadn’t kidnapped me, and I don’t believe for a minute Mab has no role. How could she not? You had the flask.”
Ronin laughed. “I’ve been carry around that flask for more than a hundred years. It reacts to anyone Mab wants. I didn’t notice right away, or I would have stopped sooner.”
“What? So it wasn’t meant to trap me specifically? And you didn’t notice right away? I was babbling—”
“You’re getting chatty again, lass—”
“Wait,” I said, before he could order me to be quiet—because clearly he couldn’t recognize the difference between incoherent babble and normal conversation. “I answered your questions, so you can answer a few of mine.”
“You’re aware who’s holding the leash, lass?”
“Yes, jackass, it’s Mab. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
An odd sound came from Ronin. When it got louder, I realized he was laughing. Not a snicker or a dismissive kind of laugh, either, a full-on chest-holding belly laugh.
“I’m glad someone thinks it’s funny,” I murmured.
“Well at least it’s not Mace,” he added, regaining his composure.
He was right about that. I didn’t have to worry about Mace—at least not in the complete control category. “You say Mab’s not involved. Who hired you?”
“I’m not allowed to say,” he answered, all seriousness returning.
“How much am I worth?”
“More than most.”
“If all this is about money, then go to the Devil. He’ll pay more.” I hoped he would.
“I can’t. I gave my word. A debt is being paid.”
“A debt.” I huffed. “You mean to say you got in so deep with the countess that you owed her a favor?”
He glanced back, his brow arched. “It’s not my debt, lass.”
“Whose debt is it?”
“Who do you think? I’ve only got one master.”
I wanted to throw my hands up in frustration. “How does she have no role if it’s her damn debt?”
He sighed. “It was a very old debt. She offered my services to pay it. She has no knowledge of these events.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. Mab would find out, then she’d track me down. There was no way he could keep this from her. She’d probably smell me on him. “How did—”
“Stop asking questions about the debt,” he said, lacing the words with command.
I glared at the back of his head. How does anyone get Mab to owe them a debt? I wouldn’t know now. I’d apparently reached his limit on helpfulness. His command made it impossible for me to disobey. Asking about the debt was off limits.
I almost tripped over another rock. “Why the hell are we walking? I was serious about that motorcycle. Or better yet, how about a nice portal to pop us over there? You clearly know how to make them,” I added, remembering the elevator shaft I’d fallen down hours ago.
“Would you prefer Mab learn you’re here right away? If so, I’d be happy to open a portal to the Countess’s estate.”
“Of course not,” I sighed, “but there are other options. A second horse so I could ride too?” I muttered. Giving up on that dead end path, I asked him another question. “Why did you want to know about the prophecies?”
“Hobby.”
“Bullshit, you know something. Why not tell me? It’s not like the countess will know to ask, and it’s not like I’m going to tell her.” When he didn’t speak, I prompted, “why is the Name Caller important?”
He was silent for a beat, then spoke. “The prophecies you know of are only part of the story. It’s common knowledge that none will come to pass before the fourth contender is identified.”
“So we’re all just waiting on the Name Caller to be found?” That didn’t make any sense.
“No, the Name Caller has already been identified. The prophecies don’t speak of the girls by name, but some girls are given a name. If this Omar was the one that told you of the others—and you trust him to be truthful—then it’s possible she is still a contender.”
“Still? You mean because she isn’t dead?”
He shrugged. “I have no clue, lass, but if she is alive, and the other two aren’t dead as was implied by Mab, then four exist, and the prophecies will come to pass.”
I thought about that for a moment. Four named contenders, three paintings, and a book of prophecy—someone really should make a movie.
Thirty minutes later I felt a rush of energy wash over me. We passed through a threshold into the most dilapidated town I’d ever seen. I looked back, expecting to see the cliffs we’d just left, but nothing was there except the briefest shimmer of light running across the sky.
“Turn around,” he said. “You can’t see the void from here.”
The void? I glanced back again. There was no ripple of light this time. The sky was clear.
“What is this place?” I asked, considering the rundown shell of a town in front of me.
“East Harrington.”
“Who would want to be the countess of this?” I said, more to myself than Ronin.
“Trust me, lass, no one wants that title here.”
The place was deserted. There were only a handful of residents on the street. No cars or bikes. I saw a few horses, but unless a stagecoach was expected soon, that was it for transportation. The streets may have been paved, but most of the buildings looked like a throwback to a lost centuries-old ghost town—and not the kind tourists pay to see. More buildings were boarded up than open, and every resident out and about looked to be in their eighties. It was damn hard to make a pagan look bad—even the very old had some amazing spark of beauty about them—but everyone here looked rundown and weathered as if they were at the end of a hard life.
I was so tired I could barely stand. We continued through town until the main road ended at a stone-covered path lined with bare trees. I felt a small pulse of energy as we crossed the threshold of the estate.
A large gray castle rose high beyond a massive set of iron gates. An overcast of gloom seemed to cover everything. Gnarled vines snaked up the side of the castle. Even the ponds and fountains in the large garden were blanketed in a dull reality that deadened what should have been green and lush.
I heard a quick shuffle of feet ahead. A teenage girl dressed in a simple, long cotton skirt, plain shirt, and apron was running from the house to meet us. A maid, I assumed.
Ronin didn’t dismount when she opened the gate. Instead he unhooked the chain from his saddle, pulled the whip handle into his grasp, and said, “Release,” in Ancient.
The whip uncurled and fell straight. I slumped, then steadied myself, not realizing the support the whip had offered.
“Follow the girl into the house,” he commanded.
Without thought or hesitation, I straightened and walked toward her.
“Has a payment been arranged, sir?” the girl asked in a pleasantly light British lilt.
“She is a gift for the countess,” he replied.
The girl gasped, then schooled her expression.
“The journey was long.” Ronin continued as if she hadn’t reacted. “I would recommend cleaning her before she’s presented.”
“Yes sir,” the girl nodded.
I glanced back, but he was already turning to leave. I’d probably never see him again. I opened my mouth to say something, but he put his index finger to his lips.
Whispering so only I could hear, he said, “Don’t let them kill you, lass,” then he and the horse disappeared.
Chapter 10
Don’t let them kill me? The words played over in my head as I followed the girl toward the castle. Who does he mean? The countess? But he said them. Of course, maybe I should have been glad he didn’t say, “Don’t try to escape.”
“Come,” the girl said, walking faster.
She looked no more than sixteen. Her eyes were a pale blue, which made her
rich brown locks seem darker and more striking. Her skin was a warm golden color, which made her eyes and her stunning beauty the only classic pagan characteristics she possessed. It wasn’t that they were all blondes, but rarely did you meet a full pagan that wasn’t at least in the blonde family.
My legs throbbed from fatigue as I entered the house through a side door in the kitchen. The tension in my body relaxed as I crossed the threshold into the castle. The compulsion to follow the girl had ended. I stopped inside the doorway, seriously considering turning and running back out the way I’d come. Of course, where would I go?
“Who’s this?” a woman’s voice said with the same British lilt.
I looked up to find an older woman pointing a large wooden spoon at me. Her eyes were the same pale blue as the girl’s. Even with her warm honey-blond hair, it was clear she was related—the mother, perhaps?
My stomach grumbled when I smelled the fragrant spices of a slow-cooked stew. I was only slightly put off when the older woman chopped up a skinned rabbit, then slid it into the boiling broth.
“The man said she was a gift for the countess,” the girl spoke in a hushed whisper. “Could it be what Gwenny—”
“Shush, child. We’ll not speak of the dead.” The woman frowned, looking me up and down with clear distain. She grunted as if not impressed and turned back to her pot.
“If my presence offends you, madam, I will be happy to leave.” I turned toward the door, only to find it closed and locked. I heard her chuckle as I tried to open it.
“You belong to the countess now, dear. You’ll need her permission to leave.”
I let out a heavy sigh, then turned back to face them. “Good to know,” I murmured.
“Take her below stairs and freshen her up a bit, Mary. Boy!” The older woman bellowed. A young man—who appeared to be in his early twenties—entered the room. “Make sure she doesn’t go wandering around while Mary is preparing her a bath. We certainly don’t want to lose the precious gift before it’s delivered.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his accent a less refined version of the ladies’.
I followed the girl—Mary—down the stairs. I supposed I could have resisted, but a bath sounded wonderful. Maybe I’d also get a nap, then I could think of how to find a way out.
