His cloak swept over me.
Chicago vanished . . . and Feirie in all its infernal glory surrounded me.
CHAPTER 13
There remained only one actual way to reach Feirie, and that was through the Gate. Unless something had radically changed, this could not actually be Her Lady’s domain. Instead, I was in a pocket realm within the folds of the Feir’hr Sein’s magical cloak. Old Lon could carry me anywhere around the city while I knew nothing but this false but still astounding version of Feirie. As much as that bothered me, what bothered me more was why he’d been able to do that.
Kravayik.
Even more than most humans, shadow folk could be slippery in their alliances. Oberon and Her Lady’d ruled through the most potent of Feirie weapons, fear. They’d earned their subjects’ loyalty by emanating invincibility. Even when Oberon’d originally been exiled, his legacy was so great that there’d been many who believed that he would eventually return in triumph.
Even Fetch still showed traces of Feirie thinking at times, especially when he’d been seduced by Oberon’s offers. Kravayik, though . . . I’d thought Kravayik different. He’d embraced Christianity to a depth that even few humans had. He’d seemed more like a saint to me than I’d ever actually been.
But it appeared that I’d been wrong.
I hadn’t budged an inch since I’d been swallowed up. From the gnarled green oaks surrounding me, I sensed several sets of eyes watching, observing. The oaks stood in a tangle of thorny, wicked brush in which smaller but no less sinister creatures quietly moved about. As with all things in Feirie, they studied me for any weakness that they could abuse.
A raven’s call broke the silence. Nothing in Feirie was ever exactly as it seemed. It was very likely the raven was one of Her Lady’s spies or courtiers alerting those ahead of my presence.
A small shadow briefly poked out of the brush. I made no move. I knew a feint when I saw it.
The dragon knew what I wanted and, when it came to being in Feirie, more than willingly gave it. I reached out to the side, my hand already shaping into a paw.
“I’ll gladly rip your throat out if you come even an inch nearer,” I informed the tall, gaunt elf clad in forest green armor now standing at my side. In one slim, moon-white hand he held a delicate but deadly black onyx dagger.
He bared his teeth. Narrow black eyes took in what to him looked like nothing more than a puny mortal. Yet, I knew he was well aware of just who and what he faced. As Her Lady’s seneschal, he was one of her very favorites. That made him very jealous of anyone who could demand her attention . . . like me.
She awaits you. . . .
Of course Feirie folk had no trouble speaking like a human being, but in the Court, and especially in front of me, he had no intention of using such a primitive method. If I couldn’t cope with his projected thoughts, that just proved how much less of a creature I was.
“She better make it fast. I’ve no time for her little games.”
He let out a hiss. The dagger inched toward me.
Another bird cawed. The seneschal flinched.
The oaks nearest us bent down, then twisted until they formed a towering throne. Lush leaves filled out the throne, creating elegant padding.
A black bird landed atop one side of the top edge. Another followed suit on the opposing end.
In the center of the throne, a black rose blossomed among the leaves. As its petals spread, it grew taller and wider. Two of the petals became arms; two more became legs. Long, very feminine legs.
I’d barely taken two breaths before Her Lady sat before me.
She could’ve just appeared in a puff of smoke or simply walked out from among the oaks. Shadow folk liked dramatic entrances, but I had to give it to her—this was one of the best yet.
Her darling Gatekeeper . . . the Court is honored by your presence. . . .
Standing, she would’ve been taller than the seneschal. Her midnight hair framed her unnaturally beautiful face. She had full pale lips and a small nose in comparison to the males of her kind. Still, however beautiful she was, I could never not think of a vampire or an animate corpse. Her beauty was death itself, both enticing and terrifying.
A musical chuckle filled my head. Her Lady’s hair shifted as if snakes acting at her command. It kept her features ever somewhat obscured, but not enough so that I couldn’t see her eyes.
Sometimes those eyes were simply black like the seneschal’s, other times fiery as Hell’s flames might be. Today, they were pools of glittering darkness in which, if I’d been anyone else, I’d likely see my soul now trapped. Whatever our pact, Her Lady never ceased trying to bend me to her will.
As before, she failed.
“I told your pet I don’t have time for you just now,” I muttered.
The birds cawed angrily while the seneschal inched his dagger closer. For good measure, I snatched the blade from his grip before he could even realize what was happening. There were times when I did enjoy our combined abilities.
From the short, deep chuckle only I heard, this was a moment that the dragon enjoyed, too.
The hiss that escaped the male elf had a hint of concern in it. To lose face before Her Lady might mean other ambitious courtiers seeking to displace him. Worse, she might see him as representing a hint of weakness in her reign. There’d been heads on pikes for less.
“That’s it!” I tossed the dagger to the ground. Her Lady could stare at me all she liked; I wasn’t going to be moved. “You have Lon set me back outside and take Kravayik with him instead if you want! I’ve had enough—”
The landscape rippled. The forest suddenly stretched, expanding to several times its size and adding hills. The nearby oaks rose higher, then created an arch over us.
The brush crawled up between the trees, forming walls. Now, instead of being outside, we stood in the midst of a throne room the envy of any king or emperor. Within the walls, silver and gold streaks pulsated, creating a constant if ever-shifting source of illumination.
Her Lady stood. She was imposing.
It still didn’t impress me.
She flicked a finger toward the seneschal. He immediately bowed and retreated. As he stepped back, he literally faded into the wall.
Her darling Gatekeeper is always a guest. . . .
“Guests aren’t taken by force.”
The slightest hint of a smile graced her lips. It was almost always there, both mocking and tempting. There was no force . . . by Feirie.
She was putting the blame on Kravayik. That was fine with me, to a point. It still didn’t change the current situation, though.
“I’m going to leave now, and you’d better warn Lon, if you can, that when I do, it’s going to leave more than a hole in his cloak.”
The smile faltered. I swear I’d only seen that happen once or twice. The last time had concerned Oberon’s return. The Feir’hr Sein will act as it must.
I’d had enough of answers that weren’t answers. I could feel the rage inside stirring beyond control. Let them see what it’d be like with the actual dragon in their midst.
Yes . . . let me out to play . . . that is it. . . .
“Nick! Nick!”
I hesitated. In the middle of the high-ceilinged chamber—in fact, only a few feet away from me—Claryce materialized.
I recovered almost immediately. This was a trick Her Lady’d played on me just recently, a trick I still resented. “Call off your changeling, Queen, or sword or not, I’ll toss its bloody head at your feet!”
The eyes glittered. I tried to read them, but failed.
“Nick . . . Nick, it is me.” The Claryce figure came around to face me. “Look at me and tell me you don’t know that.”
For good measure, she kissed me. That alone was enough to verify this wasn’t any Feirie changeling.
What at first sounded like a breeze stirring arose from the walls. I knew, though, that the breeze was actually the whispering voices of the Court.
Shadows shi
fted along the walls. Here and there I caught glimpses of a female or male figure dressed in garments that were as much mist as they were substance.
“Nick . . . are they everywhere?”
Claryce’s question surprised me. “You can see them?”
“Wherever I look, but only in bits. The only one I can actually see is her.”
The queen of Feirie made another slight movement of her finger. The whispering subsided. Her Lady gracefully descended. As she did, the two black birds abandoned their positions and alighted on her shoulders. Behind her, her gossamer gown trailed for some distance.
Reappearing, the seneschal angrily held out his hand. His dagger flew up into his grip. Still scowling, he stepped away as his queen approached us.
Even though I’d never been certain whether or not it could work on its creator, I instinctively reached for the sword. Only when my hand was at my chest did I remember that I’d lost the weapon.
“Don’t worry,” Claryce murmured.
There was a muffled snarl behind me. The black birds fluttered from their mistress. She paused as if nothing was amiss, though I had to imagine she couldn’t have expected such gall from him.
Fetch paused beside me. Not just Fetch, though, but Fetch with Her Lady’s gift clenched by the hilt in his jaws.
“Thanks.” I gingerly took the jeweled blade from him, shook off an abundance of saliva, and then brandished it.
The whispering increased noticeably. From high above, the black birds cawed angrily.
“Get behind me, Claryce.”
In response, I heard the familiar click of a gun.
“I still haven’t had a chance to see what this can do.” Claryce drew the ready revolver out of her purse. I hadn’t paid much mind to the purse when Claryce’d appeared, there having been plenty of more obvious things to worry about. It should’ve dawned on me that she hadn’t brought it along for fashion reasons.
Her Lady showed no hint of being disturbed by either Fetch’s appearance or the weapons now drawn against her Court. On the other hand, the birds and the shadows receded farther. I’d had a couple of other confrontations in the Court over the centuries, but I’d never seen the shadow folk react the way they’d just done. I’d almost have sworn that the gun was a threat to them.
Or maybe it was Claryce herself. The queen of Feirie paused before her, peering down at Claryce with unblinking eyes. Fetch growled, but Claryce met the gaze with equal strength.
Her Lady laughed. No matter which incarnation, you are always surprising, Princess. . . .
There was a peculiar tone in her voice, almost as if she were speaking with someone of a caste nearly as high as hers and not simply some mortal. Her use of the title only added to that effect.
But she thinks that you will be the most surprising yet. . . . Her Lady rarely referred to herself in the first person. I didn’t know if that was protocol or some part of some Feirie magic.
“Nice of you to say so,” Claryce replied.
The queen of Feirie reached slim fingers to Claryce’s face. I was ready to intervene, but Her Lady stopped short of actually touching her. Hand still extended, she looked at me.
And so, the Beast is among us again.
I’d never heard her refer to the dragon by such a title, but merely shrugged. “He’s always with me. So?”
Her other hand came up. She slowly shook a finger at me. Not the Leviathan, though he is always welcome in her Court. . . . Her Lady did that pout that’d begun to remind me of the actress Clara Bowe. This time, though, there was something wary in that pout. No . . . the Beast, aptly named by mortal kind, is of your realm. A demon born of man. The Beast that feeds on Feirie. She tilted her head toward Fetch. The Beast that our Kravayik appears to have failed utterly to destroy.
I wasn’t sure why she looked at Fetch when she spoke about Kravayik, but then the full gravity of her words hit me. She was referring to Kravayik in his role as her assassin, something he hadn’t been in decades . . . at least to my knowledge.
The Beast. H. H. Holmes. A demon in human form.
A demon born of man? Was that the irony of the two realms bound together? For Feirie, had H. H. Holmes become a true demon?
“You’re talking thirty years ago,” I pointed out.
Her Lady spread her hands. A lifetime for humans. Yesterday for us.
“Fetch . . . what do you know about this?”
He whined, which answered part of the question. He knew a lot more than he’d ever let on.
Another disappointment, along with our darling Kravayik, she went on, the slight smile back. There was no humor in that smile. So many disappointments with Kravayik. She looked again at Claryce. He could have learned so much from you at that time, our sweet princess.
“Don’t call me that,” Claryce responded. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But that was the previous chapter of your oh-so-interesting life! Such a life! To renew over and over . . . to not be eternal and yet be . . . The queen of Feirie almost looked wistful. To experience and be so much a part of change over and over . . . and not always as the same thing . . .
I had to interrupt. “Is the Beast why you sent Lon after me? Is that the reason?”
Again, she briefly made a face when I mentioned her ghoulish enforcer. If Kravayik cannot perform this task, it falls to you, our Gatekeeper. Yours is to protect both sides of the portal, not just your favored one.
“Yeah, fighting off Oberon didn’t do a thing to help Feirie, did it?” I countered. “I know the balance has got to be maintained. It’d be a lot easier to maintain it if I’d be let in on your little troubles without all this show.”
To this, Her Lady didn’t reply. Instead, she drifted a few steps back, then extended one hand to her right.
Part of one wall gave way. A shadow figure with just enough semblance to a human form flittered over to her. It fell to one knee as it placed in her palm a small object.
The darkness of the Moon’s wake is still spreading, our darling Gatekeeper. The Beast feeds stronger with every night . . . and will feed strongest when the wake reaches its fullest.
“What happens then?”
We do not know . . . but already he eats away at Feirie, which should not be possible. . . .
I expected some sort of game, but after a moment, I realized that she’d said what she could. Her Lady honestly didn’t have much of an answer . . . and that bothered me more than if she had one. If the queen of Feirie had no notion as to what extent this human demon would affect her realm, then the risk of danger to the mortal side had to be even greater.
She eyed the object in her palm, then held it toward me. It rose from her hand and drifted to me. I easily caught it with my free hand.
It was a sphere a little bigger than a marble. There was a dark spot within and slightly to the side that even reminded me of some of the marbles I’d seen kids shooting against curbs.
But I knew right away that it wasn’t some kid’s marble. It wasn’t as fancy as what she’d handed me to deal with Oberon, but I knew it was still something similar.
The spot was blood sealed within to keep it fresh. Feirie blood.
“From one of Oberon’s followers?” I asked. One way to guarantee control over your subjects in Feirie was to keep something of importance from them. Blood was a very good choice. It could be used to punish them from afar or, as I understood Her Lady, to locate a traitor.
No.
I grunted. “One of your own?”
Her Lady didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
I pocketed the marble. “Wouldn’t he be a fool to betray you when you’ve got this? I can’t imagine he’s as powerful as Oberon was.”
Her Lady didn’t answer immediately . . . but someone else did.
“It’s the wake, isn’t it?” Claryce interjected. “There’s something about its effect on things that makes the blood not so strong of a hold as it should be.”
The queen of Feirie pursed
her lips. Clever in this chapter as well. But the blood may give a trail. . . .
“This not-so-loyal servant of yours got a name?” I asked.
To my surprise, Her Lady spoke. “Lysander.”
The fact that she uttered the name out loud—or at least a seductive whisper—said something about Lysander. I knew immediately what. Her Lady’d taken a lover at some point, a not uncommon thing in the Court. Lysander’d had a place of honor, but also one of a form of slavery. If he’d rejected her advances, she might’ve used the blood to punish or torture him.
“Lysander.” I purposely pronounced the name carefully, letting each syllable hit Her Lady as hard as I hoped it would. She’d caused me a lot of trouble and hadn’t bothered to tell me things that could’ve saved us some of this situation. She’d also continued to not only try to entice me, but also scare Claryce. “What can you tell me about . . . Lysander?”
But suddenly Her Lady faded into black mist. As she did, the throne room unraveled, the leaves dwindling and the branches returning to normal. The green oaks pulled away from one another, within seconds leaving us standing in the dark forest again.
But not immediately alone. For a moment, the seneschal stood glaring at me . . . and then he, too, faded away.
“Not a good time to be playing your games,” I argued to the empty air as if it were Her Lady. “You still haven’t even told me when you think this damned peak will take place—”
A strong tremor shook everything. Trying to keep a hold on the sword, I grabbed for Claryce, who seized me in turn.
We went tumbling into the air.
Feirie . . . or rather this semblance of it . . . vanished.
I braced both of us for the inevitable crash. When it came, I was lucky enough to make certain that I took the brunt of it.
My body shook. I held tight to Claryce as we settled.
Strong hands seized me. I pushed Claryce away and prepared to fight.
“Nay, Master Nicholas, it is only I, Kravayik!”
That wasn’t as comforting a response as it might’ve once been. Making sure I kept between Claryce and him, I brought Her Lady’s gift up point first at his chest. “Only you? Who are you, Kravayik?”
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