The One and Only Crystal Druid (The Guild Codex: Unveiled Book 1)

by Annette Marie

  I pushed myself up, arms shaking, and spat the bile and blood from my mouth. Choking back a whimper, I crawled toward the kitchen.

  “Your bedroom is the other way,” Ruth remarked, not bothering to look up from her screen.

  I kept crawling toward the kitchen.

  “Are you running away?” She snorted. “Go ahead, then. Find your little boyfriend. Get it out of your system before you come crawling back.”

  In the kitchen doorway, I levered myself to my feet. Every gasping breath sent spears of agony through my ribs. I staggered into the kitchen.

  “Beg for my forgiveness,” Ruth called after me, “and I might reconsider selling you to the Wolfsbane.”

  Her cruel laughter followed me out the patio door.

  I couldn’t take a bus looking like this, and I didn’t have my wallet anyway. So I walked. What else could I do? I had nothing but the clothes on my back and … and the switchblade in my pocket. Always in my pocket. I liked to play with it. I would spin it and flash it around like I was so tough.

  But I was too much of a coward to use it. Not on Ruth.

  I walked. I stopped. I cried, and I walked more. Minutes to hours. The night crept by. It hurt so much. Every step hurt, but I kept going, because we’d promised.

  Something with our plan had gone wrong, something awful, but he would be waiting for me. We’d figure it out. He’d help me. I wasn’t alone.

  I wasn’t alone.

  I wasn’t alone.

  The streets were quiet, the deep of night holding the city in its spell. I staggered to the crime den, the hated building where we’d first met, then turned toward the opposite sidewalk. Limped across the road. Stepped into the dark alley.

  Empty.

  I staggered all the way to the end before stumbling back. Sinking down to sit on the dirty asphalt, I leaned gingerly against the wall and stared out at the street. Waiting. We’d promised.

  A raindrop plopped on my head. Another hit my nose. Patter, patter. The rain fell, soaking me in seconds, and I tucked myself into a tight ball. No jacket, but the cold water numbed me a little to the throbbing, burning, stabbing pain that was everywhere.

  I waited.

  Dizzy. Nauseous.

  I waited.

  Tired. Cold.

  I waited.

  Hurting. Hurting so much.

  My face was buried in my arms, legs pulled up to my chest, raindrops drumming on my head, when I felt the shift. The sour, tainted energies of the city swirled as someone more than human approached.

  I lifted my head.

  He stood ten paces away. Long jacket, hood up. Face in shadow. Watching me like he had that first night, so still, so ominous.

  Then he moved. Slow strides. Closer, closer. Three feet away, he stopped again. I couldn’t see his face through the shadows of his hood. My heart throbbed in my chest, rain running down my face.

  His hand slid from his pocket. A chain hung from his gloved fingers. He tossed it down.

  A clatter on the pavement. My river-stone pendant lying on the wet, muddy ground. Raindrops splattered on the rune carved into its face.

  A deep, ugly crack split the rune.

  My eyes wouldn’t move from that crack. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  I dragged my stare up to his shadowed face.

  He turned and walked away.

  The soft rain became deafening thunder in my ears. My vision fractured. His dark silhouette receded farther and farther. He didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Didn’t look back. Then he was gone from my sight.

  From my life.

  From my future.

  Sitting in the rain, I shuddered. Whole body. Violent. Shaking as the brittle parts of me broke apart. The shards cut me, cut deep, punishing me for my weakness, my naivety, my stupid, stupid hope.

  I sat there as I was sliced apart from the inside. Sat there until the pain crystallized into something else. Until the shards started to grind against each other in my chest.

  Not anger. Not rage. Not hate. Something colder and deeper and utterly unquenchable.

  Uncoiling, I pushed to my feet. The pain was distant. My fear had disappeared.

  I stepped over my broken pendant, the last vestige of my past, and walked away. Walked all the way back to the grand house with its manicured lawn and expensive furnishings, where Ruth waited in her armchair.

  When dawn broke, I was sitting on the living room floor. I was still sitting there hours later when the front door clattered, when the housekeeper’s horrified scream rang out, when she vomited in the doorway.

  And I was still sitting there, drenched in Ruth’s blood, my christened switchblade in my hand, when the police arrived to arrest me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ten years later, I was shattering inside once more.

  Deep blue dusk draped the mountainside, the shadows beneath the trees already dark as night. I’d recovered enough composure to resume walking, but I could barely make out the path and my boots scuffed unsteadily against the uneven ground. My backpack hung from one shoulder, Ríkr cradled in my arms.

  Saber? he ventured cautiously.

  I said nothing. Human emotions were difficult for fae to comprehend. He couldn’t comfort me, and I didn’t want to be comforted anyway.

  The return of my fractured, missing memories should have made me feel whole for the first time in a decade. Instead, I felt more broken. The grinding in my chest wouldn’t stop. It was like a voice screaming in my ear to react, to lash out, to destroy the source of my pain—but I couldn’t. To reach Zak, I would have to get past Lallakai, his two vargs, and a fae stallion. He was too well protected.

  I would find a way. Once I was calmer. Once I had centered myself. And when I next faced him, I wouldn’t merely kill him. I would get answers first.

  I wanted to know why.

  The boy who’d won my teenaged heart. Who’d given me a fake poison. Who’d taken my only treasure, my parents’ precious artifact, and destroyed it. Who’d offered me hope, then left me for dead. The boy who’d betrayed me.

  I had one answer now: the boy from my past had been a druid, not a witch.

  It made perfect sense, and I blamed my fifteen-year-old self’s inexperience and naivety for failing to guess the truth. No one feared a witch the way the other criminals at the den had feared Bane. On top of that, he and his apprentice had both possessed multiple familiars when most witches were lucky to have one.

  But I’d been a young, stupid girl. Druids were rare, so rare, they’d said. Druids died young, they’d said. You’d be lucky to ever meet a druid, they’d said.

  Had he intended to trick me from the start? Had he been thinking of betraying me when we’d first kissed? Had he been planning to destroy my only treasure while we’d made love with it hanging around his neck? Had he laughed at my idiocy while he’d picked out a harmless herbal extract to give me instead of a poison?

  I’d been so stupid.

  The near-full moon peeked above the treetops, but its light wasn’t enough to illuminate the path. Cradling Ríkr in one arm, I swung my bag off my shoulder and dug into it for the flashlight Zak had so considerately packed for me. The thought made me want to smash the bag’s contents on the ground.

  Saber, Ríkr whispered, this time in a tone of warning.

  I stilled my movements—and I heard it. The distant duh-duh-dun, duh-duh-dun of a cantering horse, growing steadily louder.

  Whirling back the way I’d come, I braced myself. The beating hooves grew clearer. I bared my teeth in anticipation, ready for another round even though I had no weapon.

  A dark shape appeared around the bend in the trail. Tilliag’s acid-green eyes gleamed as he slowed to a trot, blowing loudly as he approached.

  There was no rider on his back.

  Standing stiffly, I watched as the stallion halted a few feet away. He surveyed me, then turned his head, presenting the side of his neck. Something glinted in his mane—my switchblade, tied to his l
ong, coarse hair with a piece of twine.

  Take it, the stallion ordered.

  I hesitated, then stepped closer. A quick tug on the twine undid the knot, and my switchblade fell into my hand. My fingers curled tightly around it.

  “You came all this way just to give me my knife?”

  Tilliag snorted. The druid bid me to take you to safety.

  Every muscle in my body went rigid.

  How noble of him, Ríkr muttered.

  “Not happening,” I told Tilliag sharply. “Go back to him.”

  The horse flattened his ears. I will either carry you or accompany you.

  I turned on my heel and marched away. Hooves thudded after me.

  “Go away, Tilliag.”

  Another snort. I agreed to this task.

  “I won’t ride you.”

  Then walk. I dislike carrying humans.

  Wrapped in my arms, Ríkr’s vivid blue eyes narrowed with displeasure. Your disdain for humans is undermined by your obedience to one.

  Tilliag ignored that.

  I stomped another few yards. “Is this a pathetic attempt by Zak to soothe his guilt? Making sure I get home safely won’t fix shit.”

  Going home wasn’t an option anyway. The MPD’s bounty team was probably still waiting at the rescue, and I hadn’t learned anything that would convince them of my innocence. I needed the fae killer or Jason Brine, and my chances of finding either by myself were nil, especially with Ríkr injured.

  I make no effort to understand the minds of humans or druids, Tilliag told us haughtily. Zak did not explain his thoughts when he gave me this task.

  Not mere obedience, Ríkr remarked. Blind obedience.

  I am paying my debt to the druid, Tilliag shot back. It matters not why he bid me to do this.

  “I don’t want Zak’s help,” I snapped. “So you can go.”

  He blew into my ponytail. You are slow.

  I sped up, though I couldn’t keep up the pace. “Where is Zak? Is he walking back?”

  He went on to the crossroads.

  “What? Why? We came to interrogate Balligor, but he’s dead.”

  Tilliag stopped to grab a mouthful of long grass from the edge of the trail. Chewing the long blades, he ambled after me. Zak seeks the heart thief and the witch who called it here. He must kill one or the other before the heart thief learns his name or yours.

  I resisted the urge to look toward the dark summit.

  What foolhardy hubris has convinced him he is a match for this heart thief? Ríkr asked, putting words to the question I was too stubborn to ask. He could not defeat a kelpie. The heart thief will most certainly take his life.

  If the thief does not know Zak’s name, the stallion replied, he can resist its call.

  “Or it’ll try to suck out his soul without his name and drive him mad,” I growled. “It’s stupid and risky.”

  Tilliag trotted a few steps to catch up to us. I would return to him to speed his search, but I must accompany you. You are slow, he added pointedly.

  Ríkr canted his avian head. The return to civilization is a fair distance to walk, dove.

  I huffed out a furious breath. “Fine. I’ll ride.”

  Crouching, I opened my bag and slid Ríkr inside it. He sighed aggrievedly as I zipped the top partially shut, then slung it carefully over my shoulders.

  Ears perked eagerly, Tilliag presented his side to me. I grabbed a handful of his mane and hauled myself up. The moment I was settled, the stallion launched into a trot.

  I squinted at the dark path, then up at the moon. Horses had superior night vision to humans, and being a fae, Tilliag could probably see even better. That didn’t make the ride more comfortable, though.

  My thoughts stretched ahead to my next move. Head into town? Hide in Vancouver? If I could avoid capture until morning, I could buy camping gear and disappear into the wilderness for a couple of weeks. Or should I stay closer? Hope like a fool that Zak would catch the fae killer or Jason Brine?

  No, I wouldn’t count on him. I wouldn’t trust him with anything. I should have known when I’d first spotted him riding out of the fae demesne and mistook him for a terrifying wraith that he was too treacherous for anything but a knife in the ribs.

  Even if he’d saved my life more than once.

  “Betrayer,” I muttered.

  Tilliag’s ears swiveled back toward me.

  Do you intend to kill him? Ríkr asked.

  “Yes.”

  Tilliag arched his neck, his trot going bouncy. The druid is not as powerful as he once was, but I do not think you are strong enough to slay him.

  “What would you know?” I growled.

  Exactly so, Ríkr added, backing me up. A lynx may kill the lion should she crave it more.

  A dismissive snort. Arrogant, you and your witch. I knew it from the moment I first beheld you both.

  “And I knew from the first moment I saw you and Zak that you two were trouble,” I shot back. “Riding down that road like Death itself. I should’ve turned back right then.”

  The stallion looked at me with one eye. Of what road do you speak?

  “Quarry Road. I saw you and Zak riding down it right before the gunshot. I was hiding, so neither of you saw me until the bear fae’s attack later.”

  He trotted in silence for a moment. We traveled no roads that night. I ran the trails among the trees.

  “But I saw you.” I frowned. “A dark rider on a black horse. Who else could it have been?”

  We took no roads, the stallion insisted.

  An icy prickle ran along my spine, and as I shivered, a melody whispered in my mind. Soft, haunting notes.

  A dark rider on empty roads.

  Words slipped from my lips, lilting to a forgotten tune. “On empty roads, in places dark … hoofbeats race, fair souls to mark.”

  Tilliag slowed to a walk, his ears turning toward me.

  “The dark rider comes, when the cold night falls.” My voice trembled, the notes warbling. “The dark rider speaks, when deep his voice calls. The dark rider kills, when he knows your name. And your soul the Dullahan will claim.”

  Tilliag stopped in the middle of the trail. I sat upon the stallion’s back, silence all around us. The melody looped in my head, and I could hear my father’s low voice as he sang the second verse in a spooky tone, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Do not weep, do not pray.” I was shivering. “But bar your doors til dawn of day. The dark rider comes, when the cold night falls.”

  Balligor had said the fae killer appeared at night. He called for the spirits of his victims. And if he knew your name, he would steal your life away.

  “And your soul the Dullahan will claim,” I whispered.

  The Dullahan. More commonly known as the headless horseman. The old Irish myth spoke of a black rider who carried his head under his arm, riding through the countryside at night. Any who saw him died, for he would call their name and steal their soul.

  And I had seen him.

  A dark rider upon a black steed, appearing from the mists of the fae demesne. I’d been afraid. Me, who rarely felt fear, had climbed into a ditch to hide from his gaze. I’d instinctively known he was something terrible, something deadly.

  But when I’d seen Zak astride Tilliag shortly afterward, I’d chalked up my response to an overreaction.

  The Dullahan. Tilliag’s ears were pressed flat to his head, his hooves planted on the trail. That creature has never been seen in these lands.

  “The crossroads,” I croaked. “Does the crossroads connect to Ireland?”

  I do not know.

  “Ríkr, do you know?”

  I am not certain, my familiar whispered, but it links to a land across the great sea where many ancient fae of human legend dwell.

  “Then that’s what Jason did. He called the Dullahan here and set him loose.”

  Set him loose, dove? Ríkr repeated softly. A being such as that cannot be controlled or contained. It is a hand of De
ath.

  Balligor’s taunt rang in my head, and I muttered his words to myself. “Knowing Death will not protect you from it.”

  Protect …

  I hummed under my breath, the notes rising and falling as I stretched my memory. Another verse. Wasn’t there another verse? I dredged up my father’s face, his expression a goofy exaggeration of menace.

  “Darkest death,” I sang, “face him ne’er without pure gold his stare to sever.”

  My hand closed around the locket hanging from my neck. A gold locket. Jason had given it to Laney. As a romantic gift—or as protection? And … Farmer Whitby. A gold watch on his wrist. His gunshot had drawn the Dullahan’s attention, but the fae hadn’t killed him—because he’d been wearing gold.

  “Zak doesn’t know.” I gripped a fistful of Tilliag’s mane, the locket engulfed in my other hand. “He doesn’t know that gold can ward off the Dullahan. He doesn’t have anything to protect him, and the Dullahan could come through the crossroads at any moment.”

  The stallion spun on agile hooves, facing back the way we’d come.

  Wait! Ríkr barked, squirming helplessly in my backpack. Saber, why go to his aid? Why expose yourself to the Dullahan for a man you despise?

  Arching his neck, Tilliag danced on the spot, waiting for my response.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. The sharp grind in my chest, the burning need for vengeance, hadn’t abated. But … but …

  Scrunching my eyes shut, I snarled, “That bastard owes me an explanation. I won’t let him die before I get it—and then I’ll kill him myself. Let’s go!”

  Tilliag sprang straight into a gallop. With thundering hooves, he raced toward the mountain’s summit and the crossroads where the Dullahan would soon appear.

  If the specter of Death wasn’t already on the hunt for his next heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I didn’t dare bring Ríkr into the crossroads when he was injured and helpless. On Summit Trail, high above the crossroads, I hung my backpack in the upper branches of a tree, Ríkr tucked inside.

  He wasn’t pleased about being left behind. I’d be hearing about it for weeks—assuming I survived.