by Luna Lindsey
Life is a thing once taken
can never be replaced, and so,
is my life forfeit as well, trade like for like,
to make us even.
Yet even then, it isn’t enough,
for I have scalded the one I love,
burned her in oil,
she not deserving, innocent and unsuspecting.
She is not like me,
she cannot understand me.
Perhaps I cannot understand her either,
perhaps I shouldn’t try, perhaps it is impossible,
perhaps we are too different,
yet she is not deserving of what I did to her.
I should have told her, once I knew…
I might have lost her, but at least she never
would have that one last time of us making love,
the memory to come back and wound her,
instead of give her pleasure
like I intended
like i always intended.
Jina’s voice trailed off and she heard the twang of strings from a guitar being set down ungently.
The aisling nudged her, as it nudged the entire brugh. Jett’s resistance was not strong enough. She let the thistle down blow where Jina took it, closing her eyes to savor it the same way she savored the tea. And when the toradh had evaporated like steam from a cooling bowl, Jett stood, let down her hair, and made her way to the basement.
Ramón stood in the kitchen, blocking the door.
“Let me pass,” she commanded.
“Listen, Jett, it’s a spell,” he protested. “You can’t let her trick you.”
“You will let me pass.”
Ramón reluctantly stepped aside. She unlocked the door and slowly moved down the stairs.
Fiz’s guitar lay on the floor where it had fallen next to his black chair that leaked stuffing. Jina lay curled up there, her eyes puffy from crying. When she saw Jett, she sat up, her motions hesitant and uncertain. Jett approached, her hand held out, palm down. Jina spoke. “Maybe if you knew why we–”
“Shhh,” Jett said. She paused then stepped forward, lowering her hand and wrapping her fingers tightly around Jina’s wrist, feeling the blood pumping in her veins.
Jina had lowered her own defenses to be here, Jett realized. This made it even more difficult for Jett to resist her power, with one less wall between them.
Jina’s wrist shook beneath Jett’s fingers. Fear-tinged aisling soaked through. It took no effort to follow the fear through Jina’s skin, down through her bones, and into her heart. The effort had been in resisting this all along.
Jina’s memories clung to Jett like frozen rain. She found the source of Jina’s fear, in a house long ago. An unseelie imp, serial tormenter. Jina’s friend, merely a wager in a bet. These were mischief and shenanigans common to the unseelie folk, but horrors in the eyes of mortals, who had just one body and a short span on earth.
Jina hunted the fae like Jett hunted the fiagai.
“There was once a time,” Jett whispered, a tinge of coolness remaining, reluctant to let her vulnerability show, “a time when your liver would have gone to feed the dun cows, your hair knitted into a hearth rug, and your teeth carved into urns for the wee folk, for no more than the offense of thanking me with your pinkie finger curled.”
“Will nothing save me?” Jina asked, tears streaked her face, her voice raw and shaky. “Not even love?”
Jett looked at Jina’s hand and softened her grip, turning it into a caress. “Love is not enough.”
“It isn’t? Isn’t that what the fairytales say? Love will melt the heart of the beast, isn’t that how it goes?”
“Your American fairytales end that way. Real fairytales end in blood or tears.”
“Love still isn’t enough, not even for you?” Jina’s words were slow, soft, and hesitant. Yin and yielding. Molding and shaping.
“Love is too much.” Jett touched her forehead to Jina’s arm, gripping Jina’s hand too tightly. “Your love forces me to be part of your story. Will you be part of my story, Jina?”
Jett wished she could take back her words as soon as she said them. She was giving too much, too fast. If she did not stop, she would let this fiagai dreamer consume her.
Jett found her refuge in Law, the guiderails to keep her on track. She could correct this, and save herself.
Jina opened her mouth to answer; Jett silenced her. “No, it is not love that sets things aright. It is the pain you have already suffered at the hands of my kind. And a geas that will ensure you will not betray me again, or hurt me as you hurt Ezra.”
Jina stiffened. “A geas?”
“You are a dreamer. You belong under my protection. It was the inevitable conclusion to our path together. Like Ramón, you will swear allegiance to me as my céile. My vassal.”
Jina wiped the tears from her eyes. “Wait… you were hunting me? Seducing me?” Jina tried to pull her hand out of Jett’s. “You wanted to enthrall me all along?”
Jett felt Jina slipping away from her. She had to come along; she had to agree to be enthralled. Otherwise, Jett had but one choice: To throw her out of the brugh. To give her up to the korrigan. And she could not have that.
“Tell me what you want, Jina.”
“Besides my life? My freedom? They say you should never bargain with a faerie.”
“And yet you came here.”
Jina lowered her head. “I was hoping to make amends. Fair amends. I wanted to be safe from Pogswoth. I want to defeat Pogswoth and others like him, and to prevent kids like Ezra from becoming like him. And I wanted to be with you.”
Jina hesitated, as if she were holding back one more request. Jett ignored that which was unspoken, because she knew what it was, and it was something she could never give.
“Your demands are easily met. I can offer assurances to still your fears,” Jett said, her voice gentle. “The geas will bind you, and bind me as well.”
“How?” Jina asked, still a little nervous.
“I will protect you, shelter you. I will be your patron. I will never force you to create, and you will own your music. I will treat you well. You will be free to come and go as you please, and no one will take your toradh forcibly or through deception. And I will never charge rent. So mote it be.”
She felt Jina inching closer, tempted by the deal, though her fears warned her off. Jett hid no trickery in her covenant, yet Jina examined the lines on Jett’s hands closely, as if reading a contract.
And then she discovered the fine print. “What about Sandy?” she asked.
Jett’s face hardened. She let go, stood abruptly, and turned away, sealing her heart tightly against Jina’s persistent tug. “Bargaining time is over.”
“Listen, please. My friend’s been hurt, just like me. That’s why she’s doing this.”
“She has made her choices,” Jett said, voice growing cold. She detached from Jina’s thread of blas na haislinge, allowing her noblesse to take over. “She is not here begging forgiveness. She has shown no remorse. She has not exposed her throat to my teeth. You have. Nothing you say can make me sympathize with her.”
“Don’t you see?” Jina cried, squeezing the arms of the chair, rising to her feet. “You’re both the same. Nothing you say or do will make her sympathize with you either.”
“You are safe here, Jina. I vow it. But her?” Jett calmly turned back to Jina. “She has drawn the attention of the fae. It will not go well for her.”
“Nothing will save Sandy?” Jina said, the sound of defeat creeping into her voice, as it should.
“I have declared all-out war on the Order, and will hunt them until they are no more.”
“Jett, think about the people you love. Sandy knows more about the fae than any human alive, and she has weapons. Your clan will get hurt. There is another way. Sandy would make a better ally than enemy.”
Jett shook her head slowly.
“Then I will not swear your geas,” Jina said sadly.
Jett rounded on Jina, her rage finally breaking through her serene countenance. “This is your only refuge!” she said. “You are lucky I have offered this to you!”
Jina made fists at her side. “I did not run from the control of one ruthless woman to bind myself eternally in the service of another. If a geas is required for me to stay here, then I’ll leave. Just give me a chance to call Trey and have him pick me up. At least he has a bit of iron, and I have my spells.”
“No,” Jett said. “Sit back down. I will not cast you out.”
Jina lowered herself back into the chair hesitantly. Jett walked to the other side of the table, placing it like a wall between them. She raised her hand and beckoned above. The eavesdroppers crept down the stairs. Jett pointed at Fiz, who was the first to tumble down, followed by Ivy.
“Jina is starving. Bring her something to eat.”
“But milady, we’re out of everything,” he said. “Kenny hasn’t done the shopping, and it’s pouring rats and hogs.”
“It’s okay,” Jina protested. “I don’t need–”
“Shush. Fiz, find a way to feed her.”
“Yes, milady.” He rushed up the stairs. Ivy remained, her hands on her hips like an angry mother.
Jett paced before the table and set out her decree. “You are not quite a friend, yet not quite an enemy. You have sought hospitality under my roof, and I must grant it, yet without a geas, I cannot set you free to roam about the brugh at will. You will be well-cared for and comfortable, though watched.”
“Like a prisoner?”
“Would you allow a murderer to lodge freely under your roof without at least some protection?”
“If I’m not a prisoner, then I’m free to go whenever I wish?”
“I would never bar the door to you… but… you seem to know much of the old tales, Jina.”
“I know a little.”
“Then you understand something of the nature of Tir Nan Og. If you attempt to leave the brugh, the halls will become a maze. You may leave by the front door, and discover the path through the front yard does not lead to the street. This way, you will not run blindly out to your doom at the hands of the korrigan.”
Ivy glared smugly at Jina.
“I understand,” Jina said, slumping in her chair. Jett felt the regret coming in waves from Jina, and Jett felt remorse that it had to be this way.
“I must deal with business,” Jett said. “I will return.”
“Don’t go,” Jina whispered softly. “You don’t have to do this.”
But Jett did. Without a word, she placed her foot upon the stair, loosening the belt and shrugging off her kimono as she returned to her bedroom. Even from two floors away, she felt Jina’s despair. Without a geas, she had few defenses left against Jina’s ever-growing dreamtide.
Yet this one thing, she must do, before it swept her under.
As she changed, Jett muttered a soft prayer to Flidais.
“Please mother, help me protect my little ones.”
Such pleas were better said beneath the statue in Cloncahir, though even then, her mother-goddess seemed too far away to hear.
CHAPTER 44
*
SANDY BROODED IN HER OFFICE, trying to stay awake. Was it morning already?
The door opened. Hollis poked his head in. “Body’s gone,” he said.
Sandy looked up and then back at her drink. It had been so easy to slip back into the habit. She’d quit again. Later.
“Good,” she said simply. She didn’t want to think about what he might have done with it. She couldn’t imagine it, and she didn’t want to know. As long as it couldn’t be found.
When she didn’t hear the door close, she looked back up. Hollis stood there with his arms crossed, his white ponytail draped across his shoulder. Today there were no clever math jokes or molecules of caffeine on his shirt. It bluntly said: FUCK OFF.
“What is it?” she asked. Hopefully his resolve hadn’t cracked. Hopefully he wasn’t going to go off about murder like Jina had. Had Jina actually used that word, murder? Sandy couldn’t remember.
“There’s a woman standing in front of the house,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw her when I drove back from, uh, taking out the trash. She’s just standing there, with her hands on her hips like some manga samurai.”
“What is a manga samurai?”
“Just come look.”
Sandy slowly got up. She staggered a little down the hallway, probably because she hadn’t slept all night. She opened the front door and standing at the end of the walk was a tall woman with slightly-too-long legs, black pants that tapered almost to a point, and a white shirt that hung below her waste. Her long black hair blew to the side in the early-morning breeze.
“Sandy Windham?” she called, her voice sweet and clear, cutting through the sunlit air like frozen honey. The voice rung a little after her mouth had closed, as if the honey had stuck along its path and was now melting.
“Yes. What do you want?” Sandy squinted. It sure was bright out. Where had all the clouds gone? Oh, it was probably late spring by now.
“My name is Jett Brightgrove, daughter of Flidais, caretaker of orphans, finder of lost souls, protector of the weak.”
Jett…
“Orven of Noregr was under my watch. With your act of separating his body and soul, and with your prior acts of violence against seelie nykks in the surrounding lands, you have declared war against my kind. You have declared yourself fiagai, and made your intentions clear.
“I, as a Gentry of the Fae, daughter of Flidais, ruler of BrughHaHaus and Cloncahir, and the closest thing to a faerie princess this city has, do hereby declare war in return. You, and your hunters, are henceforth marked. Your skin is like nectar, your flesh like meat left out in the hot sun. The bees and flies will swarm to you from the far reaches of Tir Nan Og, attracted by your scent. Your luck shall run dry, your assets shall crumble, your empire shall become as dust. This is the curse I lay upon you and your house, Sandy Windham.”
“Fuck off,” Sandy replied, quoting Hollis’s shirt. “We are warded. This house is warded. There is nothing you can do!”
“Beware of underestimating us, Sandy Windham. You of all people alive should know this. Oh, and there is one more thing you should know. Jina has willingly entered my realm. She is mine now. Goodbye, fiagai.”
Jett spat the last word. What did it mean? Sandy struggled to remember so she could look it up later, but the word slipped away as the last part of Jett’s message began to settle in.
“Give Jina back!”
Jett had turned and walked away, ignoring her shouts. Sandy chased after her, but when she reached the center of the walk, she tripped and skinned her knee. She looked at her feet, and nothing was there to trip over. When she began the chase again, Jett was nowhere to be seen.
“Come back, you coward! Come back and face me!” Suddenly, Hollis was at her side, his hands encircling her arms, directing her back towards the house. “Come on, Sandy. She’s gone. Let’s go.”
“No! She kidnapped Jina! We have to go find her, save her!”
“Jina obviously went there of her own free will.”
“No, she wouldn’t! She would never!”
“Come inside.”
“Those bastards don’t know the meaning of free will!” Sandy fell to the ground sobbing, ignoring the pain in her knees.
She heard Gretel’s voice gently urging her to stand up. “You must go back inside. You must. They are everywhere already, everywhere, their auras black smears headed towards us. We cannot be out here.” There was a tremble to her voice and now both Hollis and Gretel tugged at her arms.
Sandy looked up. She felt the strange tingle of Tir Nan Og drawing closer. Down the street she saw them coming, ghostly images at first, a dozen will’o’wisps and vague shadows. She put no effort into seeing them, yet as they came closer, they resolved into faerie figures, dancing, prancing grotesques cr
eeping closer to her house, like uncertain forest animals sniffing around an abandoned campsite full of trash.
Gretel urged her toward the house, and at first, Sandy followed begrudgingly, until she glanced behind at the faeries gathering in her yard. Then she began to laugh, a resonating compulsion that rose up from deep inside her.
“What is funny?” Gretel asked. Sandy shook herself free, and stormed through the front door, heading to the Dungeon.
Hollis and Gretel followed.
“Jett has done us a favor,” Sandy said. “We’ve spent all this time trapping and chasing them one by one.” In the Dungeon, she yanked open the armory door, a walk-in closet filled with knives, swords, guns, catapults, and all manner of real and experimental iron weapons. “Now they’re all here, ready to be chopped in our blender!”
Sandy lifted a sword above her head and Hollis caught on, enthusiastically grabbing a two-handed blade fit for a giant. Gretel hesitantly picked up a thin, light weapon, its dull sheen contrasting with its sharp edge.
Sandy led them back up the stairs. They paused in the foyer by the front door.
“Build up all of your willpower,” she said. “All of your hatred, your rationality, cold logic, and disbelief. Make your hearts as iron as your sword. That is our magic. Anything that moves? Show it the slash of your cold blade.”
By now even Gretel was smiling. The door creaked as Sandy swung it wide open. Two ugly trow, barely more than animals, shrieked as they tumbled past the wards and into her hallway. They leapt outside and landed on the walkway, hissing and snarling at them.
“None of you are real!” Sandy shouted, directing her rage at the trow, and they shrunk back to the strip of lawn and trees that divided the sidewalk from the street.
A neighbor walked a small dog in front of her house, and oblivious to the trow, she looked at Sandy with disapproval, then saw the swords and quickened her pace down the street.
A dozen other faeries already dotted the lawn. All seemed to be nykks, though with Tir Nan Og enveloping her house, it was difficult to tell reality from the distorted illusion of dream. There were tiny little nain, medium sized nockers, and one hunch-backed spindly ogre of some kind.
