Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3)

by Heather R. Blair

  I stagger, putting out a hand, but of course it sinks right through the doorframe, leaving me floating in midair. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. They’re already through the door before I gather myself enough to follow, but Ajax hasn’t made it very far. He’s on the steps, looking across the muddy yard. There are no security lights here, the bears preferring natural dark, but the windows on the cabin give enough of a glow that I can see Dominic is on the other side. He’s looking at his brother, lips pressed tightly together.

  The twins’ eyes lock and hold for a beat, then Dom disappears into the forest. Seconds later, Ajax fires the Range Rover up, but the engine can’t drown out the roar that follows them down the drive.

  When the taillights fade into nothing, I stand there for a while before I let Rochie’s spell pull me to my sister. She’s upstairs, rifling quietly through Stephen’s desk. The fire is dead and it’s cold inside. She finally comes up with a pen and paper and scribbles swiftly before setting something on top of the paper and vanishing.

  Confused, I move to the desk. There’s a tiny dark bottle with what looks like a sickle moon carved in the side. Frowning, I glance down at the note.

  There are a lot of things I’m trying to put right tonight. I don’t know if any of it is going to change your mind about me, but I didn’t dodge shit, you stupid bruin.

  Jett

  The bottle is for Syana. It’ll cure the moon madness.

  What the hell? Putting things right? What things? And a cure for moon madness—a real one? My head is spinning as I allow Rochie’s charm to tug me away once again.

  When I catch up to my sister this time, the wind is howling along with the murmur of frightened and angry voices.

  I’m at the foot of Enger Tower, looking out over the city. It sparkles down below until it meets the lakeshore, like gems scattered to the edge of a jeweler’s black velvet cloth. Jett is in front of me, her sword unsheathed. There is a rustling all around us. I recognize the sound, having heard it myself, just a few months back in this same spot.

  Gnomes running for cover. Unlike when I was here, these gnomes don’t look merely annoyed and amused, they look terrified. Apparently, Jett is way scarier than me.

  One dashes in front of her. Newb move. Obviously this gnome has never met my sister. She kicks his feet out from under him. He scrambles back up but only gets to his knees before the tip of her blade is nudging the soft spot right under his beardless chin. He’s very young. For a gnome, that might be fifty years, but still… Really, Jett?

  “Merry!” She yells, her voice carrying, even over the wind. “Get your ass up here, or I’m going to start playing whack-a-gnome. With my sword.” Crystal glints in the moonlight. There are several squeals and the gnome in front of Jett swallows visibly, his beardless chin trembling.

  Finally Merry’s voice emerges from the nearest hole. “All right, all right. Keep your shirt on.”

  He regards her with barely restrained fury, his face hard and pinched over his beard.

  “Let him go.”

  “Sure, just as soon as you vow to remain long enough for us to have a chat.”

  Jett seems to be big on chats today.

  Merry’s jaw works, rippling his beard over his chest. “Fine. I swear that I’ll listen to whatever bullshit you’re shoveling. Now release him.”

  With a flick of her wrist, Jett pulls her blade back from the gnome’s throat, then sheathes it behind her shoulder. I’m not sure if that signals general cockiness or a desire to reassure Merry that she’s not out to kill him.

  Either way, it doesn’t seem to gentle his mood any. He looks positively cantankerous.

  “I can’t believe you’d come here after the last stunt you pulled.”

  “Which stunt would that be?”

  “You told me it was your mom that wanted Seph at Brighton that day. And I believed you.”

  “So you heard the news? Who told you?”

  “Does it fucking matter? News travels fast, especially when it concerns sisters killing sisters. Why, Jett?” I swear the gnome has tears in his eyes, though they might be ones of fury. Gnomes hate being played.

  She smiles, the sight of it turning even insubstantial little me cold. “Your bad believing me, then, wasn’t it?”

  “You wanted the werewolves to finish her off so you didn’t have to.”

  There is an edge to her smile now, one I can’t place. “Well, she was my sister. But in the end, there are some things you have to take care of yourself, right, gnome?”

  Merry nods slowly. “A sentiment Cerunnos shares. He hates witches, Jett. If you think working with him will keep you safe, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “Safe? You think this is about keeping safe?” Jett flashes her teeth. The note of disappointment in her voice is almost undetectable, but I can hear it even though I’m sure Merry can’t.

  He shrugs, looking weary. “I don’t care what it’s about, just tell me why you’re here.”

  “That’s easy. I need you to crack Frost’s spell on my sister’s body.”

  I gasp as Merry pales. “You’re kidding.”

  “Are you telling me you can’t do it…or that you won’t?” She reaches for her sword again, but the gnome lifts a hand, his expression grim.

  “I can do it. But I want your vow, Jett Gosse. Never to go after my people again.”

  “You have it. Not a hair on their chinny chin chins. How long will it take you to get there using your tunnels?”

  “A half hour, maybe less. Got to get over the water, too. Then break the spell.” He shrugs. “Say an hour, tops.”

  “Then get cracking.”

  “You want me to go now?”

  “No time like the present. Seph’s not getting any deader. I’d give you a ride but I’ve got an appointment to keep.” She mutters something under her breath that I don’t catch before turning on her heel and disappearing into the night.

  Jett is gone and a minute later, so is Merry, who vanishes with a grimace into a particularly dark hole.

  I’m left staring at Enger Tower with a crowd of worried-looking gnomes that emerge from the tunnels, pale faces bathed in a wash of purple lights. All of us with the same basic expression: what the hell is going on?

  Mrs. Rudd claps delightedly when I tell her the news, but I’m not nearly as cheery. Drifting through the city gave me time to think. Too much time. There is something awfully Ghost in the Machine about all this. Pun not intended. I’m starting to get suspicions, and I don’t like any of them.

  “We need Jack’s spell broken,” I say, looking at her. “Jett just happens to go to Merry to break it. That doesn’t seem odd to you? Like someone’s orchestrating things behind the scenes?” There’s a bite in my tone, but Mrs. Rudd ignores it, shoving things right and left into a huge, brightly patterned carpetbag.

  “No time for conspiracy theories, girlie. Time’s a-wastin’. Let’s go to Wisconsin and get your body back.”

  I’d argue more, but she’s right. If I want to do this, I can’t afford too many questions at this point. It’s nearly midnight already.

  “Don’t forget the fairy,” I hiss. Rochie is snoring away on the couch arm, sounding like the world’s tiniest foghorn. Mrs. Rudd scoops her up with one hand and throws the carpetbag over her shoulder with the other before opening her door.

  I look next door as we walk to the garage. My house looks eerie and unfamiliar in the dark. Things have changed so much since I last walked through those doors in the flesh. In a few hours I may be back. I turn away, rubbing my shoulders uneasily.

  I wonder what Jack is doing right now.

  16

  I don’t want to believe it. No matter how true the bitch’s words ring. Jett’s long gone and I’m still sitting there, staring at the place where she disappeared, my head pounding.

  My bride. It never occurred to me that the warning could have been about love as easily as death. I look down at the runes marked into my skin and curse, getting to my feet, push
ing the ache in my chest aside. None of that matters. Seph is dead and so is any future we might have had.

  Jett is still the one who put a sword in her sister’s back. Which means I’m still going to kill her. Her and Cerunnos. I don’t know why the bastard has put off punishing me for my betrayal, but he’s made one hell of a critical error.

  I look in the mirror on the wall. Frost is creeping around its edges, turning my reflection to ice. I close my eyes, breathing deeply. When I open them again, the frost is gone and beads of water slide down the glass.

  It’s time.

  I stalk from her office, wondering if it’s for the last time. A minute later I’m on Superior Street and catching the wind for a ride north.

  The Dark Council chambers under Palisade Head aren’t as familiar to me as one might think. Generally speaking, we only gather here once a year, though there have been more summonings in the last twelve months than ever before. That doesn’t mean I know all the ins and outs of Cerunnos’s private rooms below the main hall. That’s why I dropped a trail of magical breadcrumbs the last time I was here. That time when he was busy congratulating me for killing Seph at long last. We shared a bottle of wine while we were both apparently lying our asses off.

  I hate wine. Like Seph, I prefer my alcohol straight up from a shot glass or a bottle. Satyrs are partial to grapes though, satyrs and other earth elementals.

  After winding through the maze of hewn rock and earth, I come to the wooden door I remember. A stag is emblazoned on the oak, burned white with magic. The mythical white stag. But it was never a stag and it was never a myth. Some say he was the first of us, the first immortal to be born of earth. The god of the hunt.

  As obvious as it seems now, staring at this symbol, it took me a while to piece things together. Cerunnos has powers that are beyond that of a mere elemental. Because even though he’s been pretending otherwise, he’s a god. One that disappeared ages ago, after the other gods took issue with his mad ways. It took a while for me to see through his current disguise, but I know him now.

  I take a breath and reach for the handle.

  “He’s not there, Jokul.”

  With a sigh, I turn to see Loki loitering behind me. The smirk on the god of chaos’s face is meaningless. That’s Loki’s default expression, but I’m really not in the mood for his games.

  “Then where is dear old Cerunnos?”

  “Now, now, we both know that’s not his name, don’t we?” His look is sly. A sudden suspicion hits.

  “Is that why you’re here—why you’ve been here all along? To keep an eye on him?”

  Loki examines his fingernails, then buffs them against his silk shirt. “Something like that.”

  “So, they know.”

  “Of course they know.” He gives me an incredulous look.

  “And you’re their idea of a babysitter?” I shake my head in disgust. “Are you going to help me, then?”

  That perpetual smirk turns to a full-on grin. “Nah, you know me. I’d rather sit back and watch the fun.”

  My cell chirps. I take the phone from my pocket. It’s Stephen. And there’s only one reason the damn bruin would be calling me. He wants his werewolves. But he’ll have to wait. I’ve got a god to kill and a witch to find.

  “There should be plenty of that to go around very soon.” I push past the god in the doorway.

  As soon as I step through, there is a cool swish of air. The door slams at my back, accompanied by the unmistakable prick of a sword at my throat.

  Blue eyes blaze into mine.

  “Jett. I told you what would happen when I found you on neutral ground.”

  Before that sword can move an inch, my magic crackles down it, freezing her hand to the grip, freezing her in place. I step away from the gleaming crystal tip and shake my head. Her eyes track me, but with one side of her body encased in ice that’s all she can do.

  “How did you know I’d come here?”

  She blinks. “A little birdie told me,” her words are slurred due to the ice currently running through her veins. I’m freezing her magic along with her body, one racing just a little bit faster than the other.

  Then her free hand brushes something at her side and lightning crackles through the room, white-hot and blazing. I step aside and put up a hand, deflecting the blast into the ceiling. Above us, rock groans and shifts, the smell of ozone and dust filling the room. Soul magic? Wonder where she got that? Surely not from Seph. My insides tauten with fury and pain as I stare her down.

  Those eyes look so much like my Seph’s. But they’re not.

  “Say good-bye, Jett.”

  “Jack, wait!” Minutely that stubborn chin lifts. “I can’t beat you, but you can’t beat him. You’re a tough son of a bitch, but you’re not a god.”

  My lips twist. “About that…” All around us the cavern walls start to darken and glisten, until water drips down them in rivulets, then streams that hiss and chatter on their way to the floor.

  “You’ve added to your repertoire, I see.” Loki appears out of nowhere, lounging on the divan next to the sideboard. He reaches for a bottle of wine, grinning. “Four elements. Summon all four and we have ourselves a new god. How perfectly marvelous.”

  “It’s not fucking marvelous.” Jett drops her sword as ice turns to water. The tip slams into the wooden floor, the blade vibrating as she stares at me and crumples to the wall, cradling one hand to her stomach. “Jack, you can’t become a god. That will ruin everything.”

  “I’m sure it will.” I lift a finger to point it at her. “Pity you won’t be there to see it.”

  “No. You don’t understand. Seph is—”

  The door at my back shakes and rattles. Both Jett and I fall back. Loki’s eyes widen from his perch on the bed. The wood splinters and bursts apart. The shadow left standing in the archway is enormous, half-man, half beast, with a rack of horns to rival the greatest stag that ever lived.

  Herne. God of the Hunt.

  The holy Horned One himself.

  “Taking your real shape at last, I see.” I lift my eyebrows, refusing to step any farther back, though the urge is almost overwhelming.

  The monstrous shadow dips its heavy spiked head in amusement, then shrinks and solidifies into the form of the Dark Council leader. He steps into the room, eyes a sparkling green as they flash from me to Loki to Jett and back again.

  “This shape serves as well as any other to finish things, Frost.”

  “Better late than never, is that your story?” I make a disparaging noise against my teeth. “I think not. You have taken your sweet time confronting me for my ‘betrayal.’ At first I couldn’t figure out why. Then it hit me. You’re afraid.”

  Herne snorts, but his eyes flicker. Green and red and back again. “Sounds like you’re projecting, Frost.”

  “Am I? How do you attack those you despise? With disease and pestilence. Through shadows and lies. Even when the Dark Council started, it was about taking threats out one by one, using coercion and secrecy. And throughout it all, you’ve hid your true identity by hook and crook. Bespelling your fake name, constantly disappearing so no one would realize you’re wearing a fake form. You’re a coward who likes to hide in the dark, Herne. You didn’t want to face me…because you weren’t sure you’d win.”

  “Think that if it gives you courage.” Herne’s lip curls. “I’m still a god, Frost. And you’re not.”

  I smile. “That’s about to change.” I reach for the elements I’ve mastered as Herne’s eyes flash red. Loki laughs and Jett yells something I don’t catch.

  Because I’m suddenly falling, wind roaring in my ears. Wind that I didn’t call. Far away, I can feel the wards I placed around Seph’s body shatter, like someone is taking a hammer to them. Something is happening in that cave right now, something terrible and beautiful, all mixed up.

  Far away, I hear Loki’s voice, telling me to call the elements, to call them now, even as Jett screams at me to wait, but I can’t focus on either o
f them.

  Herne is staring down at me, laughing.

  I have that feeling like I did when Seph reached into my chest and wrapped her fingers around my soul. Except this time, the fingers aren’t cool and gentle. They’re hot and greedy, squeezing the life out of me.

  I’ve lived a long, long time. I’ve been burnt, drowned, stabbed so many times I should be perforated—someone even tried to skin me once. I think that might have been Freya. The only thing that has come close to hurting this bad was losing Seph. But that was a mental pain; this is all physical. I think it might be killing me.

  My eyes roll up.

  I hear Loki’s curse and something impossible…

  Something that sounds like Seph screaming my name.

  17

  Mrs. Rudd pulls up to the edge of the lakeshore. The wind is just as angry here as it was at Enger Tower. This time there is no glitter of city lights, no light of any kind to pierce the blackness until Rochie wakes up and emanates a weak violet glow.

  “How do you plan to get to the cave?” I scream over the roar of the lake.

  Ignoring my question, Mrs. Rudd pulls one of the scrolls from her pocket. It’s the sunshine-yellow one. The wind tries to snatch it out of her fingers. She saves it, but her curlers aren’t so lucky. They’re being torn from her head one by one, the Green Bay cap already long gone. I wasn’t sure before, but her hair is definitely lighter now. She also looks younger and much less stout. Am I tripping? Because she looks an awful lot like—

  She pinches the edge of the spellwork. It disintegrates into the night like a vibrant cascade of passing fireflies. The next instant, there’s a boat in front of us, rocking against the shore.

  It’s hard to make out much in the dark, but what I can see isn’t pretty. The paint is peeling and yellowed vinyl of what may have at one time been a slipcover slaps against the warped sides in ragged strips. Mrs. Rudd clambers aboard, Rochie using her back as shelter from the storm.