The Waking Magic (Winter's Blight Book 3)

by M. C. Aquila

“Your, uh, sarcasm is getting better.”

  “Aye. I have been practicing.”

  “Um, anyway,” James continued, “I was asking about giant arachnids, specifically. I bet you can hear that chiming above you—they’re bells, meant to deter something from the festival grounds.”

  “Wonderful.” Alvey began to roll her wheels faster, grumbling something under her breath. As she snorted and huffed, her breath swirled out of her nostrils like smoke from a fuming dragon.

  “Alvey—” James began.

  “Can you pester Deirdre instead? I am certain she would love to hear all about giant spiders or brag about her brand-new knack for Shadow Magic and how easily it came to her!”

  His mouth suddenly dry, he managed to croak out, “Shadow Magic? Deirdre didn’t say anything about any, uh, Shadow Magic.”

  “Well, she has certainly been telling Iain all about it and anyone else who will listen!”

  “She didn’t tell me,” James repeated, letting the words sink in. He stared ahead, his jaw clenched.

  “Clearly Deirdre does not find you as interesting or trustworthy as your older brother,” Alvey said bluntly. She didn’t slap James in the face, but it felt as if she had.

  “Deirdre is… Deirdre is my friend.”

  “And nothing else?”

  James balked and then laughed. Despite his brother teasing that Deirdre was his girlfriend when they had met in the city, he had never thought of her that way. But it had felt good when Deirdre had thought he was cool and smart and clever, being a girl and older than him. He’d never really had a friend until he met her.

  A lot of things are different now. How has so much changed in so little time? Deirdre’s changed. Maybe I have too.

  “She was, uh, my friend,” James clarified. “But now she’s acting like my parent or something, and she’s actually kind of annoying right now.”

  “Aye, she is annoying. Well said.”

  Rolling his shoulders like he could shrug off his hurt, James said quickly, “It doesn’t matter. There’ll probably be much more interesting magic and faeries at the Wayfaring Festival anyway.”

  “If Deirdre and Iain let you out of their sights.” Alvey’s smile was smug.

  Now it was James’s turn to be smug, and he let it seep into his voice. “You’re, uh, not the only one who has snuck off undetected before. Once I find Delphina and get my answers, I’ll be doing what I want. I don’t care what anyone has to say about it.”

  Alvey stiffened in her chair, and after a moment, she actually smiled. A genuine smile suited her face quite well, and James looked away, feeling warm.

  “Perhaps…” She tilted her head toward him. “I shall come with you, if you are as daring as you say.”

  It took all of James’s self-control not to kick up his heels. He grinned, sliding his book under his arm and striding onward with his back a little more straightened.

  “Uh, sure,” he said, his voice pitching. “I mean, I guess. If you want.”

  The terrain around the Wayfaring Festival was rocky with small cliffs, rolling hills, and dense trees, while the festival itself was on elevated, smoother ground. To their left was a line of caravans waiting to park in the camping area, in which there were also some tents set up for sleeping away from the traffic. A rumble of thunder caused James to jolt; the sky was gray, the rain clouds full and ready to burst.

  “At least we’re on high ground,” James muttered. “Then maybe there won’t be any flooding.”

  Looking ahead, James grinned widely at what he saw: a massive hawthorn tree with sprawling, gnarled roots sprouting in and out of the ground. The bark was littered with knotholes, and the leaves were green, untouched by autumn’s hand. He knew what that meant, and he grabbed his notebook and added the tree to the crude map he had started from listening to others describe the grounds.

  “That is one of the biggest trees I’ve ever seen.” Deirdre slowed her pace and gazed up, her eyes wide. “And look at those branches—they’d be perfect for climbing!”

  After a cursory glance at her, he offered, “You know that’s another faery tree. That could mean a lot of things, but I’m guessing it’s there to help with the flow of water.”

  “Like the one at the waterfall?”

  “Sort of. It probably, uh, helps water flow out of the grounds when it rains.” James was unable to control his smile when he added, “It also means there are faeries living in it. Maybe… maybe a dryad or bird faeries!”

  Deirdre rubbed at her arm, looking away from him. “More faeries and magic for you, huh?”

  He tilted his head at her, studying her reaction, then shrugged. After placing his notebook in his sweatshirt pocket, he opened his Unseelie book again and flipped through it.

  “Where do you think we’ll find your mum’s sister?” Deirdre asked as they caught up with the others.

  “Well, since she makes and sells copper, she’ll probably be at the bazaar area, which, according to that lady we met, should be past the music stages.”

  To their right, past the giant faery tree, were rows of stalls and colorful tents selling food, with lines already forming. A breeze swept through, wafting mouthwatering scents of cooking meat, spices, and baked goods their way.

  Ahead of them, Iain’s stomach growled loudly, and Deirdre and James burst out laughing in unison. Beside him, even Cai let out a snort. Iain twisted around to scowl at Deirdre and James, but there was teasing in his eyes.

  As they neared the bazaar, Cai declared he was going to find a new flask for them to pay for since Deirdre had ruined his.

  Iain was quick to march over to him as he was about to leave and insisted, “We’ll meet in the middle of the festival in an hour, so don’t wander too far.”

  “You think I’m gonna just walk out on you, don’t you?” Cai asked him with a smirk. “Think again. I’m not leaving without my amulet first, which you promised to give to me once we reached the festival grounds.”

  “I never said that. You did. I said you would get it back at the Summer Court.”

  Iain did not even flinch as Cai stepped close and jabbed a finger into his chest.

  “Oh, you’ve still got leverage over me,” Cai said, his voice low and threatening, “but now I have leverage of my own.”

  Iain’s face twitched, but he repeated, “An hour.”

  With a quick nod to Deirdre and James and a hardy slap to Iain’s back, Cai added, “Don’t go trusting strangers with your life story, lad. That could land you in trouble someday.”

  That can’t be good.

  After glaring at the back of Cai’s head until he vanished into the crowd, glad he was gone, James focused his attention on his brother, who had drifted closer to him and Deirdre and Alvey as they walked.

  Iain ran his hand through his hair. “Stupid,” Iain whispered to himself tersely. “That was stupid.”

  “You should forget about him. He’s just… he’s just a bully, and he won’t help us,” James told him quietly. “But he was bluffing about whatever he just threatened to do.”

  Iain’s posture relaxed. “You’re right, James.” He nodded. “I should’ve seen he was bluffing, but I just wasn’t using my head. It’s just—I get muddled when I think about who he is, you know?”

  “You’d make a better knight than him anyway.”

  His brother’s mouth fell open as he processed what he’d said. “James…” he said. “That means a lot. Especially coming from the great Merlin himself.”

  Iain reached over to ruffle his hair, but James ducked out of the way in time, letting out a yelp.

  The closer they came to the bazaar, the crowd became thicker, and James could see another giant faery tree—oak this time—in the middle of the field. The trunk was so thick it reminded him of an African baobab tree. Large caravans and tents were crowded beneath it.

  To the east, where another enormous tree stood out among the smaller groves, there was a sea of folding chairs being set up. Under the far tree was an altar w
here the wedding would take place, a table with a white tablecloth draped over it. Around it, people were staking poles into the ground, racing against the rain to raise the awning.

  As they continued north, the mob of people thinned out slowly, and James could see a tree line ahead of them to the left that led to a small, steady incline. There was music rising up from the trees with a small gathering of people below a few feet from the tree line.

  At first James’s pulse quickened when he saw them, thinking for a split second that there were faeries dancing in the glen. He had heard of faery dances that lasted days and nights and how they sometimes swept humans into their games until they passed out from exhaustion, unable to keep up with the faeries’ zeal for dance and the living fire of their songs.

  But the closer he got, the more apparent it became that these weren’t faeries; they had overly small, obviously cloth wings attached to their backs that looked like a dragonfly’s. They wore man-made clothing, and one of the girls had glitter and makeup smeared on her skin and horns attached to her headband.

  Smells wafted through the air with smoke from the burning campfire and lit cigarettes, and James scrunched up his nose. There was another scent that he recognized too well, one that was so sweet it turned his stomach: Pan.

  Iain walked right into him, jolting; his face was pale as he said, “Let’s keep moving, yeah? We’re almost to the bazaar.”

  When James turned to tell Deirdre, she was stepping toward the sound of a fiddle playing somewhere in the distance, her eyes alight as she watched the dancing.

  James grabbed her sleeve, jerking her back. “We need to stay away from there.” Before she could protest, he clarified, “Faery cultists. Some of those people are real faery cultists.”

  She tilted her head. “You mentioned those before, didn’t you? What does that mean?”

  “They’re people who want to be faeries or think they’re related to them.” James swallowed hard, adding, “And they think… they think that by acting like them, eating the food they eat, they’ll gain favor with the faeries.”

  “Weird.” Deirdre’s eyes widened, and she took a wary step away from the cultists. “I’m glad you noticed. All I saw was dancing.”

  “It would, uh, probably be bad if they found out that you’re a faery,” James pointed out. “And they would know if you danced, because they wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

  Her expression softening, Deirdre said, “Thanks, James.”

  Then, as they began to follow Iain, who was charging ahead, she added, “This place kind of reminds me of Ferrier’s Town.”

  Ferrier’s Town…

  He had often walked past that strange little faery town on his way back from school or the library, always longing to explore its markets and glimpse the wild, inhuman faces that weaved through it. He would have traded anything for just a peek at the magic inside.

  It wouldn’t be enough. Not now. Not after everything I’ve seen. I’ve already seen more magic, more creatures than anyone would see in a lifetime spent in Neo-London. I wouldn’t go back for anything.

  “You know a lot about stuff like this, don’t you?” Deirdre asked him, nodding to the cultists, snapping him back to reality.

  “I guess.” James shrugged, though she was correct. “Anyway, they’re mostly harmless. And they don’t really know anything about real faeries—I don’t think they’d even be able to tell a Brownie from a goblin.”

  “Goblins are Unseelie, right?”

  In response, James flipped through his book for the pages on goblins, hobs, and boggarts, holding it out for her to look at. But Deirdre was not focused on him anymore, looking instead at a fiddler who was playing as she waltzed up the hill with a spring in her step and a musical laugh in her voice.

  The fiddler was not dressed like the cultists—no wings or horns or tails or pointed ears. Behind her, a man wearing black from head to toe followed, offering paper flyers to anyone who wandered by. The moment they spotted James and Deirdre, the fiddler stopped playing and jumped in place excitedly, before the fiddler and her companion headed straight for them.

  “Uh… uh—” James stammered, wondering if they should leave.

  “Is he a faery?” Deirdre asked him. “Look at his eyes—they’re gold.”

  The man’s eyes were gold-colored, and he was smiling a wide, almost familiar smile, as if he knew exactly who James was.

  “Hello, lovely patrons,” the man said in a clear, posh accent as he closed the distance between them in a single stride, stooping into a bow. “I’m doing you a favor by inviting you to my sister Vera’s fiddle performance later this afternoon. You won’t regret it!”

  He held out a flyer to each of them expectantly.

  The fiddler lingered back but waved a few times. James glanced over his shoulder, thinking that she must be waving to someone else.

  Deirdre took the flyer from the man’s hand, whose fingers were painted with black nail polish, and read it over. James looked up to see the man’s strange eyes staring at him intently.

  “Honestly,” the man said, gesturing behind him at the faery cultists, “these people aren’t the liveliest audience, so we’re trying to find anyone we can to attend. But you two look like you’d appreciate true art, given that you’re walking around reading—”

  The moment the man reached out for James’s book and turned it over to read the title, he cut himself off. Something in his demeanor shifted then, and his showiness from before faded as he asked, breathless, “Where did you get this?”

  “From, um, a bookshop in Neo-London.”

  Why is he so interested? James wondered. He doesn’t look like he’s read a lot of books. He looks like a punk.

  “Truly? How funny.” The man laughed. “There were only a limited number of copies of that book ever sold, and most of them were destroyed pre-Cataclysm. Judging by the state of your copy, I’d wager it’s the second edition, released in 1930. Neo-London—now that is the last place I would have expected to find it!”

  Had it been raining, James might’ve drowned from how long his mouth stayed open. Eventually he stammered, “My book… my book’s missing some pages.”

  “Interesting. Which ones? I know my own copy front to back, cover to cover.”

  “You’ve read Servants of the Winter Court?” James’s face heated when he realized how quizzical he sounded.

  But the man just laughed. “I know I don’t look it, but I’ve read a great deal of Fae lore in my studies. Some of it is fairy-tale nonsense like they”—he gestured limply to the cultists behind him—“would believe, but that book of yours is the real deal. I’d probably be able to tell you exactly what information you’re missing if I could see your copy.”

  “Really?” James gaped. “That would be… that would be great. See, this one section on Moorland creatures was torn out, so…”

  “I think it could be kismet that we ran into each other and that you found that book of yours before anyone else in that city.” The man held out his hand for James to shake and blurted merrily, “I’m Cecil.”

  James stared at his hand, not taking it.

  Lowering his hand, Cecil continued, “A person’s name or title holds a lot of power. What are you called?”

  “James, where did you—?” Iain had apparently noticed that only Alvey was following him; he strode over, coming to stand behind James, his arms folded across his chest, and scowled.

  “Ah, and there is my answer,” Cecil muttered, throwing his hands in the air as if thanking some mystical power.

  Turning to Iain, Cecil held out a flyer and said, “Now you look like someone who is desperate for a good time. Care to hear a fiddle performance later?”

  Iain studied him with scrutiny, not taking the flyer or uncrossing his arms. “Thanks, but we’ve already got plans for today.” Then, jerking his thumb toward the bazaar, he said to James, “Let’s go.”

  “Some music might just put a smile on that grim face of yours, darling,” Cecil called
after Iain as they left.

  As they walked away, catching up with Alvey, James snorted a laugh, looked up at Iain and asked, “Did he just call you darling?”

  His brother’s ears were reddening. “I think you misheard,” he muttered.

  “I don’t think so.” James grinned at Deirdre, asking, “You heard him say darling, didn’t you?”

  Deirdre giggled into her hands, her hair bobbing as she nodded. “I did!”

  Unable to help himself, James prodded Iain’s arm and asked, “Do you, um, know which way we’re going, darling?”

  “James, are you looking for a smack to the head?”

  Gesturing grandly with one hand, linking her arm through Iain’s, Deirdre said in an airy, posh tone, “It’s this way, darling! Come along!”

  Iain’s face colored, and all he could seem to do was stammer.

  Alvey snapped back, “Stop teasing him!” But the Cheshire cat grin on her face should have warned them as she added, “’Tis quite cruel. He cannot help being so easily flustered. Can you, darling?”

  Once a laughing Deirdre dropped Iain’s arm and James could see that Iain’s brain was functional enough to have a conversation again, James showed him the Unseelie book and said, “Cecil told me he has a copy of this Unseelie book I found and that… and that he can tell us exactly what we’re missing—the pages that Dad tore out!”

  “We’re probably about to find out everything we need to know from Delphina anyway.”

  “Okay, but she might not know the faery cat’s weaknesses and stuff—”

  “James.” Iain slowed his pace to focus on him fully. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? Because he called you—”

  “Because,” Iain said with a sharp exhale, “something was off about him. We have no idea who he is or what he wants. That area he was in was not a good place to be.”

  “I know that.” He huffed. “I’m not stupid.”

  Iain leveled him with a serious look. “I know you’re brilliant. You planned this, all of this. You’re the reason we’re here, about to find Mum.”

  Then you just don’t trust my judgment. Or me.