by Karen Chance
Pain, bursting behind his eyes, ripping, tearing, burning.
Crell threw up a burly arm, blocking another spell, and intended to melt into the shadows of the forest. His kind were big, but they could move silently when they wished, and the forest would help him. Already, the treetops were thrashing, the birds and animals crying out, creating enough of a ruckus to hide a dozen of his kin.
But then the forest was gone.
Crell had a moment to blink around at bright sun, a blue sky, gray stone, and dozens of tiny, blond heads, prowling towards him.
And then his body was falling into darkness, the taste of honey still sweet on his lips, as someone started eating him.
“Cassie! Now!” Someone was yelling, and for a moment, I didn’t know who. My mind was caught in the memory of a dead man, only no, that would have been better. My mind was caught in the memory of a dying man, as he was ripped apart—
Until I was abruptly jerked backwards. I hit the side of the hill, hard enough to send clods of dirty snow raining down onto my head, just as Gertie’s portal snapped shut. And then I just stayed there, looking blankly at the purple haired woman in front of me, because something was wrong.
Memories continued to crowd me, hard and fast and brighter, far brighter, than anything I’d received from the skull. I looked down and found an arrow clutched in my hand, but not shot through it this time. It was clasped in my palm, as if I’d somehow picked it up or pulled it out of the giant’s forehead, only I didn’t remember doing it. I didn’t remember—
“—where I left it!” Iver ransacked the small room, throwing even the lumpy straw mattress against the wall.
“Let it go—” Torben said, grabbing his arm. “We’re going to be late. They’re assembling now—"
“I’m not letting it go! Some thief must have taken it—”
“Or you left it on the battlements again, as always.” His roommate released him, but only so he could tie up his hair. He liked it in a ridiculous looking topknot when they hunted, so that it didn’t snag on any passing tree limbs. Odin’s beard, but he was vain as a girl—and completely useless!
“I did not leave it anywhere!” Iver snarled. He threw a pack of clothing after the mattress, and bent to go through the chest at the foot of his bed again, even though he’d already done that twice.
“We’ll be late for the hunt,” Torben said again, mildly.
Nothing bothered him, the big oaf!
“There’s always another hunt; this is my favorite quiver!”
“There’s not another hunt like this.”
“Cassie! Cassie, let it go,” someone was shaking me, but all it did was to throw my head around. The stream of images didn’t stop; if anything, they picked up speed. “You’ve gone too far in. Let the damned thing—”
Pelting through the forest, high in the trees, jumping from branch to branch, they made their own private highway. Torben was fast, but Iver was faster. Always had been, with the other’s bones as heavy as an ox’s—or a human’s—Iver thought, pulling ahead. He quickly left his cousin’s son behind, all but sprinting through the treetops after his prey.
Fast; this one was damned fast. He would be though, wouldn’t he? They had been warned.
Vidar, another cousin, gave a whooping cry just up ahead, in the peculiar ululation of his clan. It echoed through the forest like a bird’s cry, except that it included information on direction and speed. Iver adjusted his course slightly, then caught up with and surpassed his cousin.
“Remember what they told us,” Vidar breathed, as he flew by. “We’re not to take it ourselves. Run it to ground; the lord will finish it.”
And the lord will reward, Iver thought, and laughed.
“Cassie! Cassie!” I could hear Gertie’s voice, but I couldn’t respond. Because the pace of the images beating against my mind had just sped up again, as if frantic to tell me all they could while they could. But they came so fast, and were so jumbled up, that I barely knew what I was seeing anymore.
A blonde woman, young, lying among the green moss of a forest floor, a pale dress spread about her, with blood on her lips; a dark, satyr-like creature, cornered against a wall, fear on his face as a dozen shadows closed in; a snarling cat, huge and muscular, like a saber-toothed tiger, only black and beautiful, leaping with claws extended; a bewildered giant, with honeycomb in his hand, staring around at an alien world.
“Cassie!” I felt a slap across my face, harsh and stinging, but it brought me back. The fog of memory cleared, the intrusive thoughts leaving my mind as the arrow fell from my hand. “Can you hear me? Damn you, answer me!”
I looked up into Gertie’s worried face, from a half crouch by the hillside, and wordlessly shook my head.
“What did you see? Can you tell me?”
“They’re hunting us,” I whispered, focusing on the only through thread in all of that. “They’re hunting all of us.”
She looked confused. “Who? Pythias?”
“No. Demigods.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I t’s a hunting l-lodge,” I said, my teeth chattering. “The castle, I mean. Aeslinn moves it from place to place, through a s-series of portals he’s established. He hunted in Faerie for a while, but started running out of easier p-prey, so he switched it up. He lured the fey he wanted to target to Earth and k-killed them here. Their magic didn’t work as well in our world, and th-they didn’t know anybody to call for help—all of their friends were back in F-faerie.”
“Shh,” Gertie said, trying to put something warm into my hands.
She hadn’t asked what I’d meant by “us”; maybe she already knew. Agnes had certainly had no trouble figuring it out. But right then, I didn’t care.
I grabbed her arm, sloshing some liquid onto my shawl. “You don’t understand. He’s killed t-thousands, practically h-hunted Faerie out. Taken anyone he can find with godly blood in their veins, even some of his own p-people, and I don’t know why. He can’t use that many abilities; he couldn’t even keep them all straight! What is he doing—”
“Send for Michaelina,” Gertie said—to Agnes, who I hadn’t even noticed being there.
We’d just gotten back, literally a few minutes before. To the point that I still had snow in my hair, the residue of whatever had fallen off the overhang. And that was despite sitting right beside the fire, in Gertie’s huge old armchair.
She pulled the damp pashmina away, while Agnes all but ran from the room. And handed me the teacup, which was now half empty, but still warm and good. I drank it all, and Rhea was there with a refill before I even finished. The firelight gleamed on her dark hair, which was parted in the middle and tucked into a bun today, a style that would have looked severe on most people, but she carried it off.
It made her look like a Spanish dancer, only then she’d have a red, swirly dress and castanets. Instead of a demure blue dress and a worried frown between her eyes. Poor Rhea; she was constantly having to support a freaked-out Pythia.
“I don’t give you much of a break, do I?” I asked, after the second cup had stopped my teeth from chattering.
“I think it is you who doesn’t get much of a break,” she said, a little grimly.
But there was no time to chat. Agnes was already back, with a girl whose olive skin set off the white lace uniform better than mine, and whose long, dark hair had been crimped into curls that were already falling out. She had huge brown eyes, a sweet expression, and—
“No!” I said, as Gertie moved forward, the fey arrow in her hand.
“We need to know all we can,” Gertie said.
“Yes, but—not her. Find somebody else,” I said, because the girl was maybe fourteen, if that. And there was nothing in that awful thing she needed to see.
“There’s nobody better—”
“Then get somebody worse! Or I’ll do it myself—”
“You can’t control it,” Gertie said stubbornly. “You proved that.”
“I was under stress; I’
ll do better this time.”
Only I didn’t want to. Like, really didn’t. The firelight edged the pure white fletching on the arrow, highlighted some strange markings on the sides, and glinted off the wickedly sharp tip. The latter was dark and pitted, like iron, although that would have been an odd choice for a fey. They acted like the metal was radioactive or poisonous, and avoided it at all costs.
Although maybe that was the point, I thought sickly. Anything would work to bring down animals, even sharpened wood or stone. But if you were hunting sentient prey, ones who might have a better chance of evasion, you’d want to up the ante, wouldn’t you?
You’d want something that would poison them, as soon as it bit.
“You’re in no condition to do anything,” Gertie said. “I shouldn’t even have taken you today—”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Rhea said, and there was nothing sweet about her tone this time.
“Watch your tongue, girl—”
“I have. Too often.” Rhea got between me and the arrow. “No more. I am the Lady’s heir, and she is injured. She will not be touching that . . . thing . . . today.”
Gertie blinked at her, looking confused. Maybe because Rhea’s tone had been flat, even borderline belligerent, but they were actually in agreement. Which wouldn’t work for me.
“No,” I said, trying to get up.
Only to find a soft, but implacable hand on my shoulder. “Sit down,” Rhea said quietly.
It wasn’t a command, but it was close.
“I’m fine—”
“Sit, or I will strap you to the chair.”
I blinked.
“Quite right,” Gertie said. “Sometimes even a Pythia must take instruction.”
“Yes, you’re such a fine example of that,” Agnes said, her voice sour. And before Gertie could respond, she walked over, took the young girl by the shoulder, and ushered her out.
Gertie watched her, looking puzzled. “Bring her back,” she told Agnes.
Agnes didn’t bring her back. She closed the door behind the girl, then turned around with her back to it. She looked at the two of us, and as with Rhea, there was nothing sweet or submissive in her expression. Not that there usually was when she dealt with me, but she was a lot more deferential with Gertie.
But she appeared to have reached tilt.
“There is not going to be any more oddness in this court,” she said abruptly. “No more trips whilst half dead; no more screaming fits; no more erotic sculptures made out of our best bed linens—”
“Hey! You claimed you didn’t find—” I stopped abruptly.
Gertie and Rhea turned to look at me, twin expressions of shock on their features, and I shut up.
“I was trying to spare your feelings, why I don’t know,” Agnes told me severely. “You don’t spare any of ours. Every time you come—every time—it is nothing but strangeness and danger and chaos. And you,” she said, turning on Gertie, “are no better. It is as if the two of you feed off each other.”
“Now see here—”
“I have seen, and I have had enough. I am your heir; it is my responsibility to keep you safe if I can, to help you—”
“And you call this helping, do you?”
“I call this trying!” Agnes said, her eyes flashing. “Although it is difficult when you assure me—when you assure both of us—that the two of you merely plan to have a nice breakfast and talk. ‘Sleep in,’ you said. ‘You’ve had a long night,’ you said—”
“Well, you had,” Gertie replied, but she looked slightly awkward. For about a second, before her shoulders straightened, because this was Gertie. “It was a spur of the moment decision—”
“Yes! It frequently is! That’s the problem—”
“What would you have preferred?” Gertie asked. “For me to take you with us? Endanger you as well?”
“I would have preferred for you not to go at all! Haven’t we had enough upheaval in the last few days? Enough turmoil? A Pythia untethered in time—unheard of! A battle with a god in transition—something that threatened the timeline in unfathomable ways, not to mention nearly killing all of us! Some kind of nonsense in the middle of the night that Iris won’t stop prattling about—”
“That wasn’t my fault,” I pointed out, only to have Agnes’ ire turned on me.
“—and now,” she said furiously. “The very next day, the very next morning, what do we find? Both of you gone—no word to anyone, no idea of when you’ll be back or if you will, no idea if you’re even alive or dead—”
“I was going to bring us back just after we left,” Gertie said defensively. “You need never have known—”
“I needed to know!” Agnes’ face flushed. “And you didn’t come back for over an hour—”
“We ran into a spot of trouble—”
“Of course, you did!” It was practically a scream. “With the two of you off alone, I’m surprised to find the world still turning!”
I didn’t say anything. It was kind of hard to argue that the last few days hadn’t been a slow rolling disaster. But Gertie was made of stronger stuff, and she wasn’t taking that.
But she didn’t get a chance to utter so much as a word before Agnes grabbed the arrow and shook it under her nose. “Do you want to tell me how you obtained this?”
Gertie’s mouth, which had been open in preparation for what looked like a scathing retort, shut with a pop. She glanced at me, and her eyes were a little wide, probably because what we’d done wasn’t exactly textbook. Agnes turned back to me, and I attempted to look innocent.
Judging from her expression, I failed.
“We will bring in a professional,” she said grimly. “And you will stay here—both of you—until she arrives!”
She turned around and stalked out, her lace skirts swinging.
The door slammed behind her, and I relaxed slightly, before realizing that I had to go to the bathroom.
“Can I get up now?” I asked Rhea.
“No.”
~~~
The professional looked it, I had to admit. She was dark-skinned, too, although hers was more ebony than olive, and as prim and proper as a nanny, with her hair as tightly confined as Rhea’s and no makeup on her pretty face. But she didn’t dress like a servant. Her gray and purple houndstooth cloak, which would have done Sherlock Holmes proud, had a matching dress underneath, clasped at the neck with an intaglio amethyst set in gold and as big as my thumb.
It looked like the touch telepath business paid better than I’d thought.
She had gloves on, pretty purple leather things with bows on the backs, but I noticed when she took them off that they were subtlety padded. Looked like she was the real deal, then. I did not envy her the trip she was about to take.
“You’ve been informed that you will be mind wiped afterward?” Gertie asked.
“Yes. It has been factored into my fee.”
She settled gracefully onto the settee across from the wingback. Her hands were long and slender, with perfectly tended nails. I had a sudden flash to the giant’s hands, which had been crisscrossed with scars even at such a young age, with nails bitten down to the quick. The scent of blood and honey filled my nose, and I tried not to retch.
“Wait,” I said, as Agnes attempted to hand over the arrow.
Everyone paused to look at me.
“It’s . . . it’s bad,” I told the telepath.
She gave me a small smile. “In my profession, one learns to deal with—”
“No.” I cut her off rudely; I didn’t care. I looked at Gertie. “Whatever her fee is, triple it.”
I could see the telepath raise an eyebrow in my peripheral vision, but obviously, she didn’t object. She probably thought I was a silly, squeamish woman who had been sheltered her entire life and had gotten a flash of the real world and freaked out. She also looked like she expected Gertie to demur.
“Done,” Gertie said, not even asking how much the fee was.
Guessed I must ha
ve looked worse than I realized on that hillside, I thought grimly.
Gertie’s reaction seemed to have made more of an impression on the telepath, because there was a slight hesitation before she reached for the arrow again.
“We don’t need details on everything,” I said, pausing her hand once more. “There’s . . . there’s a lot of death. You can ignore most of it. What we need is the reason behind it. What’s the point of it all; you understand?”
Her eyes were a little wider now, and her cheeks a little paler. But she nodded. And, very carefully, she took the arrow out of Agnes’s open palm.
And screamed.
It made me jump, because it was immediate, it was loud, and it was prolonged. Agnes tried to grab the arrow back, but the telepath had already collapsed onto the floor with it under her body. Her legs were shaking as if she was having a fit, and her head was whipping back and forth. But her hand was tucked underneath her, and she was wedged in between the settee and the coffee table.
“Help me move her,” I told Rhea, getting up.
“No!” Agnes yelled. “Don’t let them touch! If she has the gift, the visions may transfer over. I’ll do it.”
Rhea moved in front of me, her hands out at her sides, as if she was my guard in a game of basketball. Like I was dumb enough to try it anyway, after that warning! All she managed to do was to block my view, but while I was wrestling her out of the way, I heard the telepath’s voice.
“No. No, I . . . am in control. I am in control.”
The last phrase was said almost viciously, I thought to Agnes, as if maybe she was still tugging on her. But when Rhea finally moved out of the way, I saw Agnes standing over by Gertie, looking a little spooked. The telepath was sitting on the floor, the arrow held in a white knuckled grip in front of her, and a strand of her formerly perfectly coifed hair in her face.
