I glanced at Pritkin. “Why isn’t Marlowe tied up or something? ”
“Because we may need him,” was the grim reply.
“Do you know who he is?” I demanded.
“Better than you.” He tore his eyes away from Billy, who was now rocking back and forth, staring sightlessly at the wall, and turned the full force of his stare on me. He wasn’t angry—that, at least, I’d almost come to expect, and it wouldn’t have worried me. But this was different. He was pared down somehow, his eyes so intense that they looked like two lasers. It was the face of a predator when its own life is threatened—deadly, serious and completely focused.
“Let me explain the situation,” he said, and even his words were faster and more clipped than before, as if every second counted. “We have arrived in Faerie, but not in the unobtrusive way I had planned. Most of our magic will not work, and we have a finite amount of nonmagical weapons. One of our company is gravely ill and two others are mentally suspect. To make matters worse, that dragon was the guardian of the portal, and having failed to defeat us itself, it has gone after reinforcements. If the Fey do not already know we’re here, they soon will. And we cannot go back though the portal for obvious reasons.”
“Will the Senate come after us?” I asked, uncertain that I wanted an answer.
Pritkin gave a short bark of a laugh. It didn’t sound amused. “Oh, no, at least not until they can appeal for passes. To cross into Faerie without them is to risk a death sentence. As we have done.”
“He means that we’re all in this together,” Marlowe added. “I, too, am without a pass, and the Fey are famous for not listening to excuses. If I’m caught, I could be killed.” He smiled at me. “So I won’t be caught, and shall endeavor to see you are not, either.”
Mac snorted. “The fact is, we’re all safer together. Nobody would last a day in Faerie alone right now.”
Marlowe shrugged. “That, too. And, as my first comradely gesture, may I suggest that we leave this area as soon as may be? We have very little time to lose.”
Pritkin had pulled Billy up by the wrists and now he slapped him, hard. “He’s right. If the Fey find us, they will either kill us on sight or ransom us back to the Circle or Senate. ” After the second slap, Billy tried to hit him back, but Pritkin blocked his arm, then twisted it cruelly behind his back before pushing him at me. “Gain control of your servant, ” he said briefly. “I will deal with mine. Then we move.”
I spent the next few minutes getting my ward checked out by Mac while I tried to reassure a very freaked-out Billy Joe. “Why are you so upset?” I asked, when he had calmed down enough to listen. “You have a body,” I pinched him lightly on the arm and he flinched, the big baby. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” He certainly seemed to have a good time whenever he was borrowing mine.
Billy still looked stunned, although some color had started to return to his cheeks. Without warning, he leaned over and kissed me hard on the lips. I jerked away and slapped him, and shock made it harder than I’d intended, but he just laughed. His hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears as he gingerly felt his stinging cheek, but his expression was euphoric. “It’s true; it’s really true,” he said in awe; then his eyes grew wide and he abruptly started rooting through Mac’s backpack. He came out with one of the beers, clutching it like he’d found a treasure made of pure gold. It was unopened, and he scrabbled at it, trying to get the bottle cap off with his bare hands.
“You don’t get it, Cass,” he said, his eyes almost feverish. “Sure, I babysit your body from time to time, but nothing’s really real, you know? Like there’s a film over everything, and I only ever touch that, taste that.” He gave a yell of frustration and tried to smash the bottle on the table, but it was padded and the glass bounced off.
Obviously, he was not going to be coherent until he’d had a drink. “Give that to me,” I said impatiently, and he handed it over, but his eyes never left the dark brown bottle. I opened it on the metal underside of the cot and he snatched it out of my hand, gulping half the contents at one time.
“Oh, my God,” he said reverently, falling to his knees. “Oh Jaysus.”
I was about to tell him to stop the melodrama when Mac interrupted with a report. “There’s nothing wrong with your ward, so it must be the geis. They tend to complicate things, with the more powerful spells causing the most interference. And the dúthracht is about the strongest there is.”
“But my ward worked before, and the spell was cast when I was eleven,” I protested.
“That could have been why you got away with it, because you were too young for the geis to be active. This particular ward is designed to fit over your aura like a glove does a hand, but it needs a stable field to keep a proper grip. An active geis is interpreted as a serious threat, and your natural defenses go into constant turmoil, trying to reject the invader. But, by doing so, they make it impossible for your artificial protection to do its job.”
Light dawned. “That’s why Pritkin was freaking out at Miranda. He knew if she didn’t remove the geis, he couldn’t get that tattoo.”
I was immediately sorry I’d said anything, since Mac demanded the whole story and seemed to find the idea of a small, female gargoyle getting the best of Pritkin hysterically funny. I finally managed to get him back on track, but he didn’t tell me anything I wanted to hear. “It’s like trying to put a glove on a small, squirming child, Cassie—which is why kids usually get mittens. It’s too damn much trouble to get them dressed otherwise.” Mac sounded like he knew, and I briefly wondered whether he had a family. Possibly there were people who would mourn him if Pritkin got him killed.
“So you can’t fix it?”
“I’m sorry, Cassie. Get rid of the geis, and I can have it running in no time. Otherwise—”
“I’m screwed.”
“It looks that way.”
As if in comment on the way my day was going, Billy took that moment to throw up beer all over the floor in front of my sneakers. I snatched my feet back just in time. “Billy! What is the matter with you?”
He groaned and sat up. “Stomach cramps,” he gasped. I sighed and went to get him a glass of water.
“Sip it,” I warned. “You have a brand-new stomach. Nobody gives babies beer, so I guess you don’t get any, either.” I took the bottle away, and he groaned louder.
“Have a heart, Cass!”
I held the bottle up and shook it, letting the amber liquid slosh against the sides. “Get off your backside and help me with Tomas and maybe I’ll give it to you.”
“There’s a pub in the town where we’re headed,” Marlowe said mildly.
“How do you know where we’re going?” I asked suspiciously.
“Because we aren’t spoiled for choice.” Billy was regarding the vamp as if he’d just announced that he’d won the lottery. “Beer, pretty girls—of a sort—and excellent music, as I recall.”
Billy jumped up as if propelled out of a canon. “Where’s that poor unfortunate, then? We should get the lad somewhere safe so he can rest and heal,” he added piously.
“What town?” I asked Marlowe.
“The local village and castle are populated by Dark Fey, a few of whom have done favors for my spies in the past. That has primarily taken the form of intelligence gathering—they spy on the Light Fey and my contacts among the Light spy on them. But occasionally they have helped out agents in distress—for a fee, of course.”
“You spy on the Fey?” I asked in surprise.
Marlowe smiled. “I spy on everyone. It’s my job.”
“Discuss this later,” Pritkin said, poking his head in through the curtain. The golem stood next to him calmly enough, but it flinched when the curtain brushed against its arm. “If the Dark Fey find us before we come to an understanding—”
“Point taken,” Marlowe murmured. Together, he and Billy got Tomas out from under the table and into a makeshift sling made out of the cot blanket. I didn’t believe Marlowe
when he swore the Fey sun didn’t harm vampires, but Mac backed him up. Since Tomas didn’t burst into flames when the beams leaking through the ruined roof fell on him, I had to assume they were right.
Billy took one end of the sling and Marlowe picked up the other. His cooperation made me apprehensive enough to walk alongside the bearers to ensure that he didn’t harm Tomas when no one was looking. I’d have preferred another helper, but there weren’t a lot of options. I doubted I could carry even half of Tomas’ weight for any distance, especially not weighed down by fifty pounds of ammunition. Mac was bringing up the rear and his hands needed to be free for weapons. And Pritkin, at the head of our motley group, had his hands full keeping his servant from freaking out again.
The poor golem was shaking and looking about wild-eyed, jumping at every breath of wind, chirping bird or Billy singing “I’m a rover and seldom sober,” until Pritkin threatened to make him a ghost again if he didn’t stop. It was like the golem had never seen any of it before—which I guess he hadn’t, at least not through human eyes—and wasn’t sure what was benign and what was a threat. I don’t know what they rely on for senses, but based on his scream when a cloud of airborne dandelions brushed against his bare chest, I don’t think it’s the same five we humans use.
We finally made it to the tree line, but even I could follow the path of trampled grass in our wake. Anyone with tracking experience wouldn’t even break a sweat following us. I stared at the dark woods ahead and hoped someone had a plan.
The next hour was a nightmare, slogging through a forest that, while amazing, was also intensely creepy. For one thing, it made the centuries-old trees that had surrounded Tony’s farmhouse look like saplings. We passed two giant oaks going in, each of which had a trunk large enough to have driven a car through had they been hollow. Of course, that would have required building a ramp first, because the trunks started well above my head, resting on a massive root system taller than most houses. They were positioned like sentries at a castle’s gate, their mossy arms raised as if in salute—or warning.
The tangled tree roots all seemed to stop at the same point, forming a rough path towards who knew what. Something brushed my shoulder as we pushed our way into the sea of brambles and tangled underbrush. For an instant I thought I saw a gnarled hand with bulbous knuckles and unnaturally long fingers reaching for me. I jumped before realizing it was nothing more threatening than a low-hanging branch, the moss on it damp and clammy against my skin.
Even worse was the way the place smelled. The meadow had been warm and fresh and flowery, but there was no pleasant green scent here. The forest was dank and mildewed, but below that was something worse—sour and faintly rotten. I thought about it as we plodded along, and it finally hit me. It was like being in the presence of a terminally ill person. No matter how good the hygiene, there is always a faint odor clinging to them that doesn’t smell like anything else. The forest reeked of death—not the quick, red-clawed end of a hunted animal, but the long, lingering sickness of someone death has stalked for a very long time. I vastly preferred the meadow.
I pressed closer to Tomas, who was thankfully still oblivious, and tried not to look as spooked as I felt. But there was something unnatural about these woods. It was in the murky light that made it instantly twilight, and in the age, which pressed down like gravity had somehow increased as soon as we left the field. I couldn’t even begin to guess how old some of the trees were, but every time I thought they couldn’t get any bigger, they managed. And my tired brain kept seeing faces in patterns in the bark—old, craggy ones with mushroom hair, lichen beards and shadowy eyes.
Marlowe tried several times to start a conversation, but I ignored him until he gave up. I had other things to think about, like how I was going to find Myra and what I was going to do with her when I did. Now that I was here, I understood why she’d chosen to hide in Faerie. It was an entirely new playing field, and one I knew nothing about. Getting close enough to spring the trap was going to be difficult if my power was unreliable, and I had no idea how many allies she had. After seeing what happened to Mac’s wards, I wasn’t as confident about the Senate’s weapons as I had been. What if they didn’t work in this crazy new world?
My mood wasn’t improved by more mundane considerations, like how heavy the damned coat was getting, how much I could really use a bath, and how badly I wanted to see Mircea. The craving hadn’t diminished, and although it was bearable, it wasn’t fun. I felt like a three-pack-a-day smoker at the end of a twelve-hour flight. Only, for me, there was no relief in sight.
We finally stopped for a breather. Wind rustled the tree-tops, but down at ground level, there wasn’t so much as a breath of air. Billy, who had been bitching about Tomas’ weight the whole way, swore we’d been walking for a day, but it had probably been only an hour or so. I stripped off the lead-lined torture device Pritkin had stuck me with, and it helped a little, but no breeze hit my soaked clothes.
I was bent over, panting and exhausted, sweat running off my face to drip onto the leaf-strewn forest floor, when I saw it: my first proof that this really was an enchanted forest. A tree root, covered in bright red lichen like a scaly arm, reached up from the path to position itself on the ground under my nose. I shied back, giving a surprised yelp, then watched as it sucked dry every leaf that held any of my sweat.
"W-What is that?” I pulled back a leg as the root came closer, rummaging through the leaves like a pig after acorns. It couldn’t see me, but it knew I was there.
“A spy.” Marlowe’s resigned tones came from above my head. “I knew we couldn’t avoid them, but I was hoping for a bit longer than this.”
“A spy for whom?”
“The Dark Fey,” Pritkin answered, coming alongside. “This is their forest.”
“Very likely,” Marlowe concurred. “But I should reach our allies before—”
“You aren’t going,” Pritkin interrupted. “Give me a token and I’ll do it.”
“Go where?” I asked, but no one was listening.
“They don’t know you,” Marlowe protested. “Even with an introduction from me, you could be in danger.”
Pritkin smiled sourly. “I’ll take the risk.”
Mac cleared his throat. “It might be best if I go,” he offered. “You’ve got enough trouble keeping that one in line”—he nodded at the golem, who was running his hands over the trunk of a nearby tree, an expression of wonder on his features—“and it doesn’t know me. If something sets it off again, I can’t guarantee I can control it.”
“It’s coming with me.”
“It won’t be much good in a fight right now,” Mac said doubtfully.
“It isn’t going to be fighting.” Pritkin glanced at me. “I suppose you want to stay here and tend him?” He didn’t name Tomas, but we both knew whom he meant. I looked at Marlowe before replying. He was adjusting the bandages around his curls as if they pained him, and grinned when he caught my eye.
“The storm didn’t do my head any good,” he explained, wincing slightly as his hand brushed a tender spot. “First Rasputin cracks my skull, and now this. You would think someone could aim for another part of my anatomy just once, but oh, no.”
I didn’t smile back. Marlowe might really be in pain, or he might be trying to convince me how weak he was. If the latter, he was wasting his time. I’d seen enough injured vamps to know: if they were conscious and moving, they were deadly. There wasn’t much I could do for Tomas, but at least I’d make sure Marlowe didn’t cut off his head. I looked back at Pritkin and nodded.
“Then I’ll need to borrow your servant.”
Billy had collapsed into a sweaty heap as soon as we stopped and was now tugging on one of his black boots and swearing. I guess he had tender baby feet to go along with the new stomach. “You sure? He’s not much of a fighter.”
“He’s only there in case something goes wrong. To run back and warn you.”
“He should be able to handle that.” I nudged Bi
lly. “You’re up.” He bitched, of course, but eventually beer won out over blisters and he agreed to go.
Marlowe scribbled a brief note on a piece of paper that Mac had located among our supplies. It seemed somehow wrong to be using lined notebook paper and a ballpoint to write an introduction to the Fey, but no one else seemed to notice. “I’m not sure my contacts are still there,” Marlowe said, handing over the finished note. “Time doesn’t flow the same way here. My spies have sometimes entered months apart to find that they arrived on the same day, or on other occasions that decades had passed. We’ve never been able to determine a pattern.”
“I’ll manage,” Pritkin said, rummaging through my discarded coat for ammunition. He fished out three large boxes. I didn’t ask what he thought he’d need that many bullets for. I didn’t want to know.
He had exchanged his leather trench for a dark cape with a hood from Mac’s pack and, after a brief struggle, managed to get the golem to accept being put into his coat. It wasn’t a great disguise, considering that the golem was still orange, bald, seven feet tall and barefoot, but it beat the alternative. “Shouldn’t he stay here?” I asked doubtfully.
Pritkin didn’t answer me, but Marlowe smiled slightly. “If the mage does not bring a gift, he will never gain an audience. Fey protocol.”
“A gift?” It took a few seconds to sink in. “You mean— but that’s slavery!”
“He isn’t actually alive, Cassie,” Mac protested.
I looked at the childlike being blinking slowly at Pritkin as he was buttoned into the long coat. He seemed to find the buttons fascinating, and kept poking at them with an orange, but otherwise very human-looking, finger. “He looks alive to me,” I said.
“I’ll retrieve him later—he’s merely to get me in!” Pritkin said crossly. “Or would you prefer to offer your servant instead?”