by Allison Pang
“No.” I twiddled the amulet between my fingers. “The magic was trapped between worlds. My mother died here, but my dreams were keeping some part of her alive. I had to let her go before it would work for me.” My throat constricted against the truth of the words and I knew I would most likely never see her there again.
“Hell of a way to go about finding it.” A sharp bark of hysterical laughter escaped me. “You’d think these mystical gewgaws would come with directions or something.” I held the crystal up to the light, watching the play of colors scatter over my palm. “Never mind that. Do you think it will work?”
Phineas leaned forward to sniff it. His horn brushed the gem and a pure chime rang out. His ears flattened. “There’s really only one way to find out.”
I looked at the clock, sighing when I saw the time: 5 A.M.
Talivar pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Go on back to sleep. I’ll contact the others and tell them we’ll meet them at the Judgment Hall in a few hours.”
I thought of that pile of bones outside the gates and shuddered. “I don’t know if I can.” I shook my head at them. “No, I’ve slept enough. Besides, the sooner we open the Door, the happier everyone will be.” My eyes flicked to the window, the dim glow of false dawn hovering behind the blinds.
“Time waits for no man.” I nudged him with my shoulder. “Or prince.”
He eyed me gravely, a tight smile creasing his lips. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
Sixteen
My brother is an ass.” Sonja rolled her eyes before hugging me tight. “And I’m going to slap him upside his thick head next time I see him.”
“Thanks. I guess.” Her wings wrapped around me briefly, tickling my nose with their softness. The Judgment Hall swirled around us with energy, a mass of tired bodies and anxious glances. I caught a few familiar faces in the crowd—Didi the pixie in Barbie pink, a pair of undines, a cluster of angels—visitors to the Midnight Marketplace and friends from the Hallows. Finding Sonja here to see me off was a nice surprise, though, all things considered.
She’d been caught in the backlash the same as the rest of the OtherFolk, but had been unable to make it back to the Dreaming without getting to the CrossRoads first.
“Stubborn prick always did need to figure things out for himself. But men are stupid.”
My mouth quirked. “So you’ve said. Are you sure you won’t come with us?”
“No. I’ve no dealings with Faerie and seeing as you’ve already got a way in, I think I’m going to sit this one out.” Her dark eyes became troubled. “As much as I hate that bastard Maurice for what he did to us, I’m just as happy to leave what happens to him up to Moira.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t called to testify as to what he did.”
“I was. I didn’t go.” Her nostrils flared at my expression of surprise. “Don’t judge me, Abby. The Fae may think they’ve got the right to demand their answers, but it’s my people’s blood that allowed it to happen. I don’t want to know how he did it … and I don’t want anyone else to either.”
I looked at her pinched face and nodded. If things were different, I might have pressed, but we had bigger issues at hand and she’d clearly made up her mind.
“Sorry to interrupt, Abby, but it’s time.” Talivar tapped my shoulder, handing me my backpack. He gave the succubus a polite nod as I shrugged into the straps. I didn’t have much in it besides an extra change of clothes and a few protein bars. Haute cuisine it wasn’t, but I figured it would get me by for a couple of days.
“Good luck.” Sonja brushed a kiss over my lips and slid into the crowd in a whirl of feathers. Talivar and Phineas flanked me as I strode toward the dais where Roweena currently held court, allowing my mini-entourage to push away the crowd with a flurry of tiny nips on the unicorn’s part. Talivar stared down anyone foolish enough to stand in my way and that seemed to work just as well.
“Well?” Roweena got to her feet, a graceful swan among the masses.
“Is this all of them?”
“All who chose to come,” she said, her eyes drooping in a weary acceptance. Underneath it I knew she meant that there were some who could not make it, given whatever state they were in, or some who just chose not to. And then there were the ones who were too weak to have lasted even the few days I had been gone. Some of their bodies had been brought over by van, their Glamours faded away like dying leaves; without the magic of the CrossRoads, all that remained were the fragile husks of their native forms.
“What do I have to do?” I fidgeted beneath the weight of stares upon me, eager to get moving.
“The Door beneath the Hill. It’s a direct conduit for Fae royalty to our realm … and the one most likely to react to the Key. If we can keep it open long enough to let those who might choose to pass through to the CrossRoads, as well as messengers, that should work.”
“All right.” Melanie poked me in the arm, her violin case on her shoulder and a small rucksack falling down to her hip. “You ready?”
I shrugged, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach. “You sure you want to come?”
“Are you kidding?” She smiled, tucking an unruly red curl behind her ear. “Besides, my feet are aching to move. That little road trip of ours sparked the urge to do some rambling. Might as well go somewhere I’ve never been, eh?”
“And if we all end up getting killed?”
She raised up a finger, her chin lifted. “To die would be an awfully great adventure,” she quoted.
“As long as it’s not your last.”
“Ah well. Second star to the right and straight on till morning and all that shit. What about Benjamin?”
“Staying here for now.” It had been a tough decision, but as terrible as it was to make, I couldn’t see potentially walking into an OtherFolk mess with a baby. God only knew what we’d be getting into, or what we’d meet on the other side. I’d TouchStoned him this morning anyway, sealing the bond with a kiss to his forehead. I caught a fleeting glimpse of the world through his eyes, soft and hazy and full of milk and a contented belly and that was that.
He’d let out a gurgling laugh and yanked the hair stick out of my bun, but even I had to admit there was a little more color to his face. At least this way, I’d know he’d be okay, even if the CrossRoads only stayed open for a short while.
“If we can make it to Faerie safely, Talivar will send for him then, or go back to get him. If we’re really lucky, Moira will be able to come for him herself.”
Phineas prodded me in the calf with his horn. “Quit stalling, you two. Let’s do this bitch.”
“Aye, aye, Captain Small Shanks.” I pulled the amulet from beneath my shirt, the glow illuminating everything nearby in a soft blue aura.
Roweena blinked. “Well, you managed to get it working, anyway. This might actually have a chance at success.”
“Don’t let your confidence in me get in the way or anything.”
Talivar squeezed my hand. “Peace. And let me take the lead, once we get through the Door.”
“All yours.”
The elf had changed into an outfit I hadn’t seen before, dark leather vambraces at his wrists and a thick vest over his tunic. His sword hung lose at his side, but now he also had a massive bow slung over his shoulder, a quiver of nasty looking arrows bristling at his hip. His hair was neatly braided and tucked out of the way. “It’s like having my very own pet Legolas.”
His mouth curled up in a private smile. “You have no idea.”
I coughed suddenly, the four of us following Roweena through the inner workings of the Hall. The Door beneath the Hill was a bit of a misnomer as it was really embedded in the basement of the Portsmyth Catholic Church. An underground corridor connected it to the Judgment Hall, allowing OtherFolk on specific royal business to travel freely without the need for Glamours.
Behind us trailed the remaining OtherFolk. “We’d better not fuck this up,” I muttered beneath their heated stares.
“What’
s all this ‘we’ stuff? Last I checked you were the bearer for the damn thing.” Phineas trotted ahead of us a little faster, hooves tapping out a quick rhythm. Beside me, Melanie began to hum “We’re Off to See the Wizard.”
At last, Roweena stopped. The corridor split here, but the reason for the halt soon became evident. An elegantly carved Door arched to the left, Celtic knot work leafing the sides in silver-gilt intricacies.
“It’s said these designs hold the secret to the CrossRoads themselves,” Talivar mused, one finger reaching out to trace the pattern. “Though none of us has ever truly figured it out.”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna leave that up to someone else,” I said.
Melanie coughed something into her fist that sounded an awful lot like “MarySue,” but I let it slide. After all, she played a magic fiddle. Not like she had any room to talk.
Holding the amulet in my hand, I approached the Door, the stone shining with an even stronger light. Encouraging. The OtherFolk gazes hungrily strained toward me. I could hear Talivar snapping at them to get back, his sword humming as he walked a perimeter around our little group. Normally I would have assumed the Protectorate’s word would have been obeyed, but the circumstances here were a bit strained, not counting the close quarters and the different Paths mixing together.
Behind him, Tresa sat in a cart drawn by an enormous white stag, its cloven hooves the size of dinner plates. And by sat, I meant she was bound and gagged for good measure. The Fae woman looked a bit worse for wear, her hair matted in greasy tangles, but I wasn’t particularly heartbroken about it. Our eyes met and she sneered behind the gag.
I hadn’t wanted to bring her along, but Talivar insisted we take her straight to the Queen. He knew his mother best so I couldn’t see much point in making a stink about it. Anything to get this resolved faster was fine by me.
The Door began to vibrate, the stone arch shaking when I touched the carving. The stag bugled, and Talivar snatched at the harness, giving it a sharp tug.
“Open,” I said hoarsely to make myself heard above the panicked cry from the rear of the crowd. Dimly I wondered if there would be reports of a low-scale earthquake in the papers tomorrow or some crazy story about the church collapsing upon a host of daemons.
I closed my eyes. Heat radiated from the stone beneath my fingers. A thread of power snaked through, golden and commanding. The Queen’s? It was as though there was a veil between us, and my amulet poked holes through the seams.
Frantically the golden thread tried to sew up each pocket, but the faster I pulled, the sloppier the thread got. The veil bowed toward me, the power of the CrossRoads slamming against it like a silver river. Leaks dripped from the holes as I punched through, the magic pooling at my feet.
The golden thread spun faster, but it was already too late. I opened my eyes to see the Door glowing, silver and blue sparkles shining as it opened—only to be crushed into the side of the wall as the mob screamed past me a moment later, grinding my face into the carving. The breath rushed out of me in a whoosh as I struggled to regain my feet. Talivar shouted my name, and I caught sight of his head above the crowd. I pressed toward him, wincing as someone’s hoof slammed down hard on my foot.
“Hold on!” I could see his mouth moving, but his voice was lost to the echo. He gestured wildly at me, his fingers pointing at my head. “—turn around!”
I barely threw my hands up in time to catch the brutal antlers of the white stag bearing down upon me, the traces half snapped from the cart. Tresa had curled into a ball, her hands still tied behind her as she tumbled into the side rail.
Abruptly the stag shook its head, snorting into my face, the whites of its eyes rolling madly. I winced as a prong cut into my palm, grunting when the deer plunged forward through the crowd, lifting me like a rag doll. I clung to my perch, trying to avoid having my legs trampled. I caught one last glimpse of Melanie, her jaw dropping before she disappeared from sight.
Everyone disappeared, for that matter, and I realized we’d entered the Door. The silver sparkles flew over us, stirred up by the churning of the hooves grinding into the CrossRoads. Where the fuck was the beast going? Did I just hold on and hope it stopped somewhere? Did I attempt to roll out of its way? Where would I even end up?
My arms burned with a dull ache from holding myself up for so long. “So much for a well-thought-out plan.”
Here I was on the CrossRoads for the first time. For real.
Alone.
Good times.
Before I could come up with any strategy that didn’t end up with me becoming mincemeat beneath Rambo-Bambi’s hooves, the stag stumbled. The slick road slid out from underneath us, and its antlers tore from my grasp as it sprawled onto its side, sending me flying into a moss-covered ditch. I attempted to roll without slamming my head into the ground. My bad knee wrenched hard when I landed, cracking with an audible pop.
The cart hurtled from the road and disappeared into the soft mist. Beside me, the stag chuffed, sides blowing hard. I skirted its lashing hooves; it couldn’t seem to get up. My knee protested violently as I staggered to my feet. Limping, I gingerly circled the deer, keeping a sharp eye out for Tresa.
And then I saw the arrows.
Two of them—the fletching set with oily black feathers. Talivar’s. One set in the rear flank and one further along beneath the ribs. I wondered if it had nicked a lung. The stag’s eyes had already started to glaze over, a sickly yellow foam pouring from its nose.
Poison? I retracted my hands quickly from the arrow. Not much point in trying to pull it out now. If it was poison, it was fast acting, and if there was any coating the outside of the arrow? No thanks.
The stag let out a shuddering sigh and went limp. A trickle of blood leaked from its mouth. I glanced behind the way we’d come, seeing nothing but darkness. Still. If Talivar had followed, we’d left him far behind.
“Oh the humanity.” My backpack was a little shredded from when I fell, but still in working condition, its contents mostly unharmed. I pulled out Charlie’s iron blade from where I’d tucked it and slid it into my back pocket.
She had willingly parted with it once I told her where I was going, though I hated the fact I thought I’d need it at all.
I hadn’t told Talivar I had it. Undoubtedly he’d be insulted I didn’t trust him to keep me safe, but here I was. Iron was often considered contraband upon certain parts of the CrossRoads, but to my knowledge there was a certain amount that sold under the table. TouchStoned Fae were able to resist it up to a point, but I was pretty sure getting caught taking it directly into Faerie wasn’t going to make me any friends.
On the other hand, dying for a set of principles that weren’t mine seemed rather foolish.
Like my last venture onto the CrossRoads, I could see nothing but shadows all around me; the light from the road was the only source of illumination. That, and my amulet.
I quickly tucked it beneath my shirt. With any luck the Glamour would still work, but no sense in taking chances.
Now what, Abby? Last time I was here I’d ended up in the Borderlands, which was a land between Paths. The denizens there held no allegiance to anyone, except maybe a high bidder, and this time I didn’t have the others to save my ass. Best to stay on the road, and try to find my way to Faerie.
My knee screamed when I started walking away from the deer, heat swelling at the lower part of my thigh. A familiar sensation and one that usually meant a few days of keeping it propped up with a bit of ice, but there wasn’t much chance of that here.
I retraced the way the stag had come, finding the spot where the cart had upset. Soft silver grass grew along the edges of the road, the blades flattened wetly against the ground, leaving me with little doubt as to why. The cart itself was only a few yards away. One wheel had been completely shattered.
There was no sign of Tresa save the tattered remains of her gag. I debated the wisdom of trying to track her down in the darkness. Uneasy, I retreated to the road, hearing
the creak of something grinding into the cobblestones. A strange wooden caravan pulled by a set of pony-size elephants emerged from the mist; each carried the pink spiral shell of a snail upon its back.
I blinked. Mollusk or pachyderm? “Either way, double the trunk space…”
At the reins sat a wizened little man with a set of antenna sprouting from his head. A dark-eyed woman crouched beside him, their faces nothing more than a fat pile of wrinkles. They regarded me cautiously, stopping the wagon when they saw the stag.
The dwarf snapped his fingers and a third being emerged from inside one of the wagons. He only came up to my chest, but his face was that of a pig, his broad snout waggling comically. Tattered, dirty rags covered his feet. He grunted as his tongue slid from between thick lips to moisten his tusks.
“Dids ye kills it?”
“Erm. No.” I shook my head.
“Steals it belike?”
“No. I just …” The words died on my lips. I had been going to say I’d found it that way, but the old adage about lying to the Fae held true. The Fae, even the lesser ones, assuming that’s what these folk were, could taste lies as they were spoken. I didn’t need to offend anyone yet. I gave the pig-man a weak smile. “It’s complicated.”
“Aye. I can sees that.” He snuffled at the stag’s body, coughing when he saw the arrows. “Ach. They’ve the swamp oil on them.” His beady eyes roamed over me for a moment. “And yer name?”
“Ab—” I hesitated. Names were power here. Yet if the others came looking for me I would have to give them a trail they could follow. For a moment I almost said Bacon-hag, but given the porcine demeanor of my present company I decided against that.
“Ab?” His mouth bristles twitched.
“—sinthe. Call me Absinthe.” It was lame, but maybe someone would figure out that Absinthe could maybe be short for Abby Sinclair. Probably not, though.
“Not much of a green Faery, are ye?” The pig-man chortled, ears flopping forward. “Ye can call me Jimmy. Jimmy Squarefoot if ye like them proper sorts of manners. I can see ye have bloodies on yer hand.”
