Unearthing my own container, I found the same meal waiting for me. Resisting the selfish urge to wolf down the food in front of the others, Tori and I sliced our sandwiches into quarters and pooled the fries so everyone could share. Between that and what Gwydion’s people left out for us, we had more than enough.
To my astonishment, when Lucas said he wanted to inspect the camp and its defenses so he could include the details in his report to the DGI, Chase stood up and said, “I’d like to come with you if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” Lucas said. “You coming, Red?”
Greer shook her head. “The two of you could use some male bonding time,” she said. “Do you think you can take a turn around the camp without being at each other’s throats?”
“I think we can manage,” Chase said with a genuine smile. “Kinda hard to dislike a guy who hauls you up a cliff.”
Under normal circumstances, I would have pointed out that my telekinesis played a large part in said “hauling,” but if Chase McGregor was in the mood to bury the hatchet with Lucas Grayson? I wasn’t going to say a blessed word to derail the peace process.
After they were gone, Greer produced a silver flask from her leather satchel and four small cups. “May I interest you ladies in a libation?” she asked.
“Let me guess,” Tori said, “single malt?”
“Not this time,” Greer said. “It’s brandy.”
“Then deal me in,” she said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use a drink.”
The baobhan sith filled the cups, which we all passed around and raised in a silent but heartfelt toast.
The liquor burned going down my throat but in a good way. Tori wasn’t the only one suffering the effects of the last 48 hours. Unfortunately, there was no time to give into that.
“So,” I said, “we’ve bought ourselves some time with the Jar of Prometheus. Next stop, the Castle of the Dark Druid.”
Greer rolled her cup back in forth in her slender fingers. “Fer Dorich,” she said, lingering over the words with an almost sultry purr, “now there’s a bonnie bad boy if ever I met one.”
“That he is,” Brenna agreed in a way that told me she, too, had more than a casual familiarity with the man in question.
I wasn’t sure what I dreaded most: asking just how well these two women knew the local villain or asking and getting way more detail than I wanted.
“I take it you both have . . . history with this guy?”
Just imagine two essentially immortal, green-eyed Scottish redheads letting out with twin bawdy laughs. I didn’t even know what, specifically, they were laughing about and I blushed anyway.
“That’s a delicate way to put it,” Greer said. “Fer Dorich pre-dates my history as a reformed baobhan sith in the employ of the DGI. Our dalliance was sometime in the 10th century as I recall.”
“Thirteenth for me,” Brenna said. “There was all that nasty fighting in Spain, remember, Greer?”
“I do,” she said. “The French took the Kingdom of Aragon in . . . ”
“1213,” Brenna said. “The whole continent was a mess, so I came home to Scotland for a bit and had a fling with Fer Dorich for the fun of it. I found his indestructible nature refreshing after the fragility of human men. ”
The conversation was as casual as two old friends at a high school reunion trying to remember who took who to the prom — or two professional killers sharpening their switchblades. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
“Any idea how we get him to release the Queen of Summer?” I asked.
Greer and Brenna exchanged a look that spoke volumes I was pretty sure I had no desire to read.
“If there’s one thing we can guarantee you about the Dark Druid,” Greer said, reaching for her flask again, “it’s that he’ll have a price in mind. The only question will be, are we willing — and able — to pay it?”
40
The next morning, Brenna and Greer went out early — we assumed to reminisce about their long-running acquaintance or maybe to compare notes on Fer Dorich. I found Tori sitting at the table by the fire polishing off a plate of perfectly normal looking fried potatoes. To my considerable relief, the food was even the right color.
“Did you leave any for me?” I asked. “And is there coffee?”
“If you want to call it that,” she said, pointing toward the fireplace where an ancient tin pot on an iron hook dangled near the flames.
“Greer made it before she left by basically throwing a handful of ground coffee in boiling water,” Tori explained with a shudder. “Be prepared to strain it through your teeth.”
Crunchy coffee. Not my idea of a great start on the day either.
“Heard anything from the guys?” I asked.
“They’re over at the base of the Mother Tree with Gwydion,” she said. “Our magical space heater is holding back the cold, but it’s not stopping it. Whatever we did to the elemental fire, it’s self-adjusting now. According to Chase, the central core opened at least another inch over night. Like you said, all we did was buy ourselves time.”
Gingerly reaching into the fireplace with some wadded up rags that would have to do as a potholder, I managed to get myself a steaming cup of muddy-looking coffee. When I took a sip, I almost choked. “Seriously?” I said. “You can stand a fork up in this stuff.”
“The potatoes are better,” Tori said.
Thankfully, she was right.
It might have seemed like we were malingering, but we’d agreed not to leave until we were sure the Jar of Prometheus was stable. Honestly? I was glad to have the time. Sitting there with Tori drinking coffee and talking, it almost felt like the way we started any normal day back in Briar Hollow. We both needed that, I think because neither one of us brought up the urgency of the day’s impending business.
We were dressed and packed by mid-morning when the others returned. Chase and Lucas confirmed that the Jar of Prometheus seemed to be symbiotically responding to the level of heat the Mother Tree needed. For now, that had to be enough. It was time to take the flight of the baobhan sith to Fer Dorich’s castle.
Gwydion walked with us to the palisade gate. “If we’re successful,” I told him, “the cold should stop, and you won’t need the Jar of Prometheus anymore. These are the words you’ll need to break the enchantment and close the core.”
He took the folded piece of paper I held out, shaking his head all the while. “I’m no wizard, M’lady,” he said. “This is beyond my abilities.”
“No,” I said, “it’s not. We designed the spell so it can be broken easily. Just recite these words and the core will close.”
“And what of the Jar after that?” Gwydion asked.
“We’ll figure out some way to get it safely back to the archive,” I replied. “Let’s tackle one problem at a time.”
Once we were outside the palisade and on level ground, Greer said, “Are we ready?”
Everyone nodded and joined hands — or talons in Aquila’s case — and watched as the scene around us dissolved into a whirling maelstrom of blurred colors and fleeting impressions.
We landed outside the walls of Fer Dorich’s castle in a clearing adjacent to a thick grove of trees. Somewhat belatedly, we ducked under the sheltering branches to conceal our arrival. We had a plan, worked out the night before, about what to do next.
Greer, Brenna, and I would present ourselves at the gate and ask for an audience with the Dark Druid. Everyone else would hang back and wait — an idea Chase and Lucas hadn’t liked when we came up with it and still didn’t like.
Brenna shut them up pretty fast. “I assure you that Greer and I have ample experience in handling Fer Dorich,” she said, allowing her eyes to flash brazenly.
The suggestiveness in her gaze rendered Chase more or less speechless while Lucas chose to appeal to Greer. “Come on, Red,” he said. “Help a guy out here. You have to see this is a bad plan.”
“Not this time, dear boy,” she said. “If you and C
hase come with us, it will only serve to ignite the competitive side of Fer Dorich’s nature. We do not need any . . . ” She turned to Tori. “What is that rather colorful term you used earlier?”
“Pissing contest,” Tori said evenly.
Aquila let out with a cackling laugh. “Two powerful witches and the baobhan sith are more than equal to the task of negotiating with the Dark Druid,” he said. “And, would it not be wise for us to be outside the walls should they face difficulties inside?”
The logic of that point won Lucas and Chase over, but neither one of them liked it.
Just before the three of us stepped out onto the road that sloped down to the castle, Tori gave me the thumbs up and mouthed “you’ve got this.” Still, once we were out of the sheltering trees, I felt horribly exposed. Anyone watching from the castle would literally see us coming a mile off.
All this time I’ve been using the word “castle,” because that’s what everyone else said. Truthfully, the compound we approached looked like an expensive English country manor surrounded by a high stone wall.
“So are we looking at armed guards down there or what?” I asked.
“Fer Dorich has a security detail,” Brenna said, “but they are hardly armored knights, at least not anymore. In these more modern times, the Dark Druid apparently considers himself to be something of a businessman.”
Which would be why an elf in a shiny black suit and dark glasses met us at the gate. “State your business,” he said brusquely.
“For heaven’s sake, Tarathiel,” Greer said. “You know perfectly well who I am, and I suspect you recognize Brenna as well.”
The elf removed his glasses revealing eyes as light as a sled dog’s. “Greer Macvicar?” he grinned, completely shattering his tough guy persona, “Is it really you? How long has it been?”
“Roughly eleven centuries,” she replied.
“We heard you went to work for the Mother Trees,” Tarathiel said. Then turning to Brenna, he added, “And you’re supposed to be dead.”
“The reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated,” she said smoothly.
Then it was my turn to be scrutinized.
“And you are?” he asked.
“Jinx Hamilton, Witch of the Oak.”
“Do any of you have an invitation?”
Greer sighed. “Please don’t be tiresome, Tarathiel,” she said. “Just tell him we’re here.”
The elf slid his sunglasses back in place and planted his fists on his hips in a posture of consternation. “And say what?” he demanded. “That the three of you were just out walking and decided to come calling?”
At that, the baobhan sith let out with a burst of Elvish that pretty much pinned Tarathiel’s pointy ears back. When she finished, he gasped, “You wouldn’t!”
“Try me,” Greer snapped.
The remaining color drained from his thin face. “Forgive my bad manners,” he stammered. “We don’t have many visitors. Please come in while I tell Fer Dorich you’re here.”
“What was that all about?” I asked Greer as we followed Tarathiel into the house.
“I merely explained that I have always had a fondness for the flavor of Elven blood, but rarely get an opportunity to indulge myself,” she said. “He apparently took a purely epicurean remark literally.”
Wonder why.
While Tarathiel disappeared toward the back of the house, we waited silently in the entry hall, a massive space paneled with dark wood and tiled in pink marble. I turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, expecting to see someone . . . well . . . Druidic. Instead, a slender, handsome man in a business suit came striding toward us. With his close-cropped beard and immaculately combed hair, he could have been a GQ cover model.
“Greer! Brenna!” he said, embracing each of them in turn. “I cannot believe my good fortune. And you, Mistress Hamilton. The Witch of the Oak in my humble home! This is indeed an honor.”
Humble home? Who was he kidding?
“I see you keep up with the times, Fer Dorich,” Greer said drily. “When last I passed through your door the atmosphere was a tad more . . . medieval.”
Fer Dorich laughed. “Well, dear, when last you were here, it was the Middle Ages. I may find myself unnecessarily confined to the In Between, but I don’t have to live like a savage. Please, let’s go into the den.”
He ushered us into a room roughly the size of a football field. At roughly the 50 yard line, a grouping of comfortable furniture sat arranged on a lush Persian carpet in front of a fireplace large enough to barbecue a water buffalo.
“Didn’t this used to be the grand hall?” Brenna said as she sat down on one of the sofas. “
“It did,” Fer Dorich said, claiming a throne-like wingback chair for himself, “but banquets are so tedious. All those people running about flinging food and chasing wenches.”
Something told me this guy had never complained about chasing a wench in his life.
“Now,” he went on, rubbing his hands together, “I assume you’re here to talk about my house guest, the Queen of Summer.”
Fer Dorich might be a Michael Corleone wannabe, but he did know how to get down to business.
“Did you actually take part in Brighid’s kidnapping, Fer Dorich,” Brenna asked conversationally, “or are you merely an accomplice?”
Laying a hand dramatically over his heart, the Druid said, “You wound me. My only son, a troubled lad who insists on calling himself Liam Cleary, appealed to me for help. What is a father to do? He asked only that I provide secure lodging for the Daughter of Dagda. Would you have had me leave her to her own devices in a land as unpredictable as the Middle Realm?”
“Certainly not,” Brenna said, “but are you aware of why she was kidnapped?”
This time the Dark Druid’s smile reminded me of a timber rattler getting ready to strike. “I believe Irenaeus Chesterfield is conducting some meteorological experiments in the Human Realm, is he not?” he said pleasantly.
“He is,” I said, “and he’s threatening the life of the Mother Oak. We need to take Brighid back with us.”
Still affecting fake benevolence, Fer Dorich said, “Of course you do, and I certainly do not want to be party to a severing of the realms. That would be rather bad for my personal business interests, but surely, Mistress Hamilton, you understand that I cannot betray my promise to my son unless I am compensated on a level impossible to ignore.”
In other words, he wanted to make a deal I couldn’t refuse.
“What do you want?”
“A simple accommodation,” he replied. “I want the Agreement limiting travel to and from the Middle Realm lifted.”
Before I could answer, Greer caught my eye. The look she gave me was unmistakable. Let me take this.
“Fer Dorich,” she said, “perhaps you misunderstood. Jinx is the Witch of the Oak, not a member of the Ruling Elders.”
The man’s eyes hardened. “She is Barnaby Shevington’s granddaughter and in a position to wield considerable influence. If the Daughter of Dagda is to leave my home in your company, my price is an end to the oppressive Agreement. That is not open for negotiation.”
“What’s to stop us from saying yes and then doing as we please?” Brenna asked.
That’s when the true measure of the man became apparent.
“If Brighid was kidnapped once, she could be taken again,” he said smoothly. “Or she might meet with a most unfortunate accident. The human realm is quite vulnerable to temperature fluctuations, is it not? I am not an unreasonable man. You may have six months to effect the lifting of the Agreement before my patience grows thin.”
Greer and Brenna both looked at me. They were here to protect me, not to make decisions. That responsibility rested solely on my shoulders, and I was fresh out of bargaining chips — plus, I knew next to nothing about the existing agreement.
“Hasn’t this arrangement with the realms been in place a long time?” I asked.
“It has,” he said.
“So why are you suddenly so interested in seeing it lifted?” I asked.
I didn’t expect Fer Dorich to tell me the truth, and he didn’t disappoint me.
“Let’s just say that I have business interests I would like to pursue trans-dimensionally and leave it at that,” he said smoothly. “If it makes you feel any better, Irenaues’ mad little plot to set himself up as a Creavit dictator doesn’t interest me.”
That, at least, was something. Granddad was going to have a fit, but I didn’t see any other option. We had to get Brighid back to Briar Hollow to confront Cailleach Bheur.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ve got a deal.”
41
Fer Dorich kept his word. Tarathiel escorted Brighid into the cavernous den, and the Dark Druid took it upon himself to make the introductions all around.
“Are you okay?” I asked Brighid, searching her face for signs of mistreatment.
The blonde woman smiled. It was a good smile, the kind that made the corners of her blue eyes crinkle with humor. “As kidnappers go,” she said, “Fer Dorich has been a most convivial host”
“Not a kidnapper,” he said disingenuously, “at most an accessory to kidnapping.”
It’s hard not to like a scoundrel who owns up to his crimes so openly.
“Forgive us, Fer Dorich,” I said, “but we have to get back to the human realm.”
“I completely understand,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it. “By the way, I’m sure your companions are quite tired of hiding in that tedious copse of trees. Do bring them along to the house next time.”
So much for stealth. I didn’t tell him I devoutly hoped there wouldn’t be a next time.
When we exited the “castle,” Brigid walked beside me as we climbed the hill.
“I suspect,” she said, “that you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to find me. Entering the Middle Realm is not something undertaken on a whim. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “You’re right that getting here took some doing, but we had to find you. The Queen of Winter has been busy while you’ve been down here.”
The Amulet of Caorunn (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 7) Page 28
