“Evening will be coming on sooner than we’d like,” she said. “Let’s go inside and see what skilly tune we both know that we can use to summon the sidhe.”
She slipped past him, into the hollow hill. Johnny stood at its sod entrance. He looked around the glade once more, trying to figure out why this was all happening to him. Then he shrugged and followed her inside.
“I see bogans,” Gwi said.
“And I smell sluagh,” Finn added.
Kate nodded glumly, her gaze fixed on the Tower.
It was late afternoon now, the past hours spent in tracking down Gwi Kayleigh. The forester was a tall faerie, lean with angular features. There was troll blood in her, from a few generations back, Finn had explained to Kate before they found her, but before Kate asked how they had come about, they’d spied Gwi and the chance was gone. Gwi wore the mottled greens and browns preferred by most foresters, and carried a bow and quiver. Instead of a pony, she trusted her long legs to carry her through her patrol.
She had listened to Kate’s tale, added a curse or two to Finn’s, then returned with them to Learg Green, where they now spied on the Tower.
“A few bogans we can deal with,” she said, after studying the lay of the land, “and the sluagh won’t be a danger until nightfall.”
“That leaves the droichan,” Kate said,
Gwi looked at the small bundle of rowan twigs that Finn was carrying.
“Those won’t be enough,” she said. “Not if he’s all that the old tales make droichan to be.”
“I’m not leaving Jacky in there with him,” Kate said firmly.
“No one’s asking you to,” Gwi replied. “We just need more of a plan than catch-as-catch-can.”
Kate sighed. She didn’t like to admit it, but the forester was right. What Kate wanted to do was just rush in and get Jacky out of the gruagagh’s clutches. Never mind waiting and thinking and planning. Just get in and out with Jacky, and worry about the gruagagh later. But the gruagagh was the whole problem, as Finn had rightfully pointed out earlier, and if they just charged ahead, they’d all end up as his captives with no one left free to rescue any of them.
“What’re we going to do?” she asked.
Gwi plucked a stem of grass and put it between her lips.
“What we need,” she said, chewing thoughtfully, “is a skinwalker.”
“A shapechanger,” Finn explained at Kate’s puzzled look. “Like those with Lairdsblood who can take swan or seal shape.”
“But the Laird and the whole Court’s gone,” Kate said.
The only other person with Lairdsblood that she knew was Jacky’s sometimes beau, Eilian, the Laird of Dunlogan’s son, but he was too far away to reach quickly, having gone back north to his father’s Court at midsummer.
“There’s others that know a trick or two about changing their skins,” Gwi said.
“What good would a skinwalker even be?” Kate asked. “Just saying we could find one?”
“We need to get inside,” the forester explained. “Without raising an alarm. And what better way to do so than disguised as one of their own? Then, with a bit of luck and surprise on our side, I’d hope we could snatch the Jack and win free with our hides all still in one piece. Now’s not the time to confront the droichan. I’d rather wait until I have his hidden heart in my hand before I go face to face with him.”
“And with Jacky free,” Finn said, “we’ll be able to concentrate on finding that heart.”
“So where do we find a skinwalker?” Kate asked.
“In the borderlands,” Gwi said. “I know a sidhe or two that have the knack and might be persuaded to help.”
Finn shook his head. “No need to go that far.” Before either of the women could ask him what he meant, he took out a needle and a spool of thread. “I can stitch us the illusion of being a bogan or whatever you wish.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Gwi said. She pulled the grass stem from her mouth and pointed it at the hob. “How well would it hold?”
“Well enough for what you want. If we’re subjected to close scrutiny
” He shrugged. “But for something like this, it’ll do.”
“All right,” Gwi said. “I’m game. Kate?”
Kate blinked. She looked from the forester to the Tower, then back again. She wished she felt a little braver, or at least more competent. But there was Jacky to think of.
“I guess so,” she said.
Finn rubbed his palms together.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll use buttons to start the spell. Strips of cloth for headbands to keep it firm
.”
He began to pull pieces of cloth from the small bag that held his bundle of rowan twigs and set to work.
“There’s nothing like stitcheries to enthuse a hob,” Gwi remarked dryly.
Finn didn’t look up, but he grinned.
Kate nodded and went back to studying the Tower. From time to time she’d see a bogan move across a window, or in the backyard.
We’re on our way, Jacky, she thought, wishing she could feel as enthused about bearding the gruagagh in the Tower as Finn was about stitching his spells.
What if Jacky wasn’t even alive anymore?
She remembered what Caraid had said earlier. That Jacky would be fine
Unless be had blooded her
.
“Don’t worry,” Gwi said. “We’ll get the Jack free.”
Oh, I hope so, Kate thought.
She gave the forester a quick smile, but returned to her worrying all the same.
Both Kate and Gwi eyed the result of Finn’s handiwork with a certain dubious concern. Lying on the grass between them were three headbands. Each was made of strips of cloth, woven and stitched together, from which hung a number of long loose pieces like the ribbons of a May tree. To each of their jackets he had sewn a small wooden button.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the hob said with a grin, “but watch first before you decide.”
He put on one of the headbands, adjusting it so that the ribbon-like streamers hung at his sides and back. It gave him a curiously festive air. Before either of the women could comment on the silliness of it, he attached the foremost ribbon on his left side to the button on his jacket. Kate blinked as he wavered for a moment, then blinked again and edged away from the hob as the bulk of a small bogan appeared where he’d been sitting. The bogan had a foolish look on his face.
“Not bad,” Gwi said, reaching for one of the headbands. “Not bad at all. A little fuzzy about the edges, and it wouldn’t stand up to a scrutiny by the beastie’s mother just saying such creatures are born and not hatched from refuse but it’ll do.”
A moment later, Kate was sitting with two bogans.
“We’ll have to growl a bit when we talk,” Finn said. “I’ve disguised our looks and our scents, but I can’t touch voices.”
Kate nodded and grabbed the last of the headbands. She put it on, slipped the button on her jacket through the buttonhole that Finn had provided in the appropriate ribbon, and then there were three of the Unseelie creatures sitting on the riverbank in Windsor Park. The Finn bogan studied each of his companions critically, then nodded to himself and undid the button from his own ribbon.
“We’ll wait a bit,” he said as Kate and Gwi followed suit. “The day’ll be gone soon and the twilight’s the best time for this sort of work.”
“What about the rowan twigs?” Kate asked.
“I’ll stitch one in Gwi’s jacket and one in my own,” Finn said. “The rest we can each carry in our pockets. But don’t forget, Kate. They might work well enough to shield us from the droichan’s spells, but a bogan can still spike us, quicker than you’d like, and the rowan won’t work if the droichan should lay his hands physically upon us.”
“I don’t like waiting,” Gwi said. “We’ll have the sluagh to deal with then, as well as the droichan and his bogans.”
Not to mention, Kate thought, that the longer they waited
, the less chance there was of Jacky still being all in one piece.
“Twilight’s best for this sort of work,” Finn insisted.
“Oh, I know that,” Gwi said. “I just don’t like it.”
The forester found herself a new long stem of grass to chew on and settled down against the bole of a fat oak to wait, her gaze fixed on the Tower across the park. She had a hunter’s patience an attribute that neither of her companions seemed to share, for they fidgeted and were continually adjusting this and that, shifting their weight from one side to another, and generally feeling uncomfortable. It seemed to take forever before Gwi sat up, head cocked and nostrils widening.
“It’s time,” she said. “I can smell the nightfall on the wind.”
“A bare room,” the gruagagh said, “yet it stinks of magic.” He stepped past Jacky and walked into the center of the room. “Having spent the better part of the day attempting to discover the secrets of Bhruic’s Tower, I think it’s time now for you to show me what has been hidden so well from me.”
Jacky looked at him as though he were crazy. A bare room? The third-floor study looked no different than ever, except that there was an unruly pile of books around Kate’s reading chair. Was Cumin blind?
He walked out of her range of sight once more and she heard the door close.
“I’m guarding the door,” he said, “and the window lets out on a three-story drop. I trust you’ll agree that escape is futile. Turn and look at me.”
Her body obediently turned her around so that she was facing the gruagagh. He lifted his left hand and made a brief pass in the air between them, fingers moving in a quick, controlled pattern. As his hand dropped to his side, she regained control of her body, only to have it crumple to the floor.
Every limb was numb. Pin pricklings went through her as circulation was restored. She remembered what he’d said about having spent the better part of the day searching the Tower. A quick glance at the window showed that it was indeed late in the afternoon. Almost night. No wonder she had this numb, swollen feeling in every part of her body. She’d spent the same better part of the day, and some of the night too, sitting on a hard kitchen chair.
The gruagagh watched her patiently as she got the lumps that were her legs under her and pushed herself up, first to a crouching position, then finally to her feet. She swayed there, lifting and putting down her feet, shaking her arms, trying to get the numbness out of them.
“Show me the key,” Cumin said.
“Can’t you see it?” Jacky asked.
A frown moved fox-quick across the gruagagh’s face.
“Would you like me to have your body throw itself out that window?” he asked.
“But then you’d never find out, would you?” Jacky replied sweetly.
She was acting far bolder than she felt, but she knew she had to put up a good front.
“You are trying my patience, you little fraud of a Jack.”
“Why don’t you just read my mind?” Jacky asked. “Why don’t you have my hand write it all out for you? Or are those tricks beyond your capabilities?”
Something flickered in the gruagagh’s eyes. Before he could do anything, Jacky shrugged.
“But I’ll show you what you want,” she said. “Why should I care? I’m tired of this Tower, tired of its responsibilities. Everyone wants me to be a gruagagh to replace Bhruic but I’m sick to death of being compared to him. Let them see how much they like having a gruagagh back in charge when it’s you.”
Jacky knew that there was enough of her real frustration in what she said to make her words ring true to the gruagagh. She looked around the room, still surprised at how it seemed empty to him, while its clutter and furnishing were very physically present to her from a pair of teacups that hadn’t been taken downstairs last night, to the books around Kate’s chair, to the mess Kate must have made last night on the worktable where a scatter of twigs lay on top of a mess made up of a sheaf of papers, one of Bhruic’s journals, a rolled-up map, an empty porcelain jar, a knife
.
Jacky wandered over to the table and stood near the weapon.
“I guess Bhruic was paranoid about what someone like you would do with this place,” she said, “so he put some spell on it to keep it invisible from you.” She turned, her back to the worktable. “The trouble is, I don’t know how to make you see what’s here. What if it’s keyed to one’s purpose? What if when someone comes in with all kinds of bad intentions, everything just shuts down? What can we do about that? Do you know a spell to hide your intent?”
Cumin regarded her through narrowed eyes and Jacky knew just what he must be thinking. He had to be reconsidering his earlier impression of her. Last night she’d been childishly easy to put under his control but then he’d taken her by surprise. But if Bhruic had left her in charge of his Tower, if Kinrowan’s Laird had agreed and not replaced her with someone else for as long as the year since Bhruic was gone, then there must be more to her than what he could see. Right now her assessment of why the key to the Tower remained locked away from him had to be making sense because, as anyone who knew, or had even heard about Bhruic knew, it was just the sort of thing that Kinrowan’s Gruagagh with his old-fashioned desire “to do things right” would lay upon the place.
“I know such a spell,” he conceded, “but it is based upon hiding one’s intent from a living creature
not a wizard’s Tower.”
Jacky shrugged and leaned back against the worktable.
“That’s too bad,” she said. “This is a table I’m leaning against right now. A worktable. Should I try to hand things that are on it to you? Maybe one of Bhruic’s journals? Tell me what you want me to do. I’m not a gruagagh. I can’t wave my hand and make everything visible to you.”
“His journals are there?” Cumin asked.
“One is,” Jacky replied.
She lifted it from the table, noted that Cumin could see it while it was in her hand, then set it down again.
“There’s more of them over there,” she added, waving to the bookshelves on another wall.
“Give me that one,” Cumin said, pointing to the invisible spot where she’d set the journal down
“Sure.”
Jacky swallowed dryly as the gruagagh moved towards her to take the book. The knife was lying there, waiting for her hand, but she didn’t know if she could use it. It was for the good of Kinrowan which was under her protection. It was to save her own skin. But it was one thing to knock a giant down a flight of stairs and kill him in the heat of the moment, and quite another to deliberately stab a human being even one so evil as this gruagagh.
“The book,” Cumin demanded, looming over her.
“What
what do you think these are good for?” she mumbled, trying to buy time.
In her left hand she held up a handful of rowan twigs, plucked from the table.
The gruagagh bared his teeth, like a dog snarling, and swung a fist at her, but she ducked. And grabbed the knife. She saw him step into the same space that the table occupied, still unaware of its presence, except intellectually because she had told him it was there. On a physical level, it didn’t exist for him.
He stopped when he saw the knife in her hand.
“You pitiful thing,” he said. “What do you mean to do with that?”
Jacky’s anger returned in a rush. She stepped in close, stabbing him in the chest. He staggered slightly under the blow, but remained standing, a faint smile touching his lips. Jacky stumbled back. Before her horrified gaze, he reached up and plucked the knife from his breast, tossing it to the floor.
“You can’t kill what has no heart,” the gruagagh said.
It was too much for Jacky. Seeing him standing there in the middle of a table which didn’t exist for him
plucking the knife from his chest
and there was no wound, no blood, nothing
.
She backed steadily away from him until she bumpe
d against the sill of the window and could go no further. She lifted her hands to ward off the approaching gruagagh, and didn’t know why she bothered. There was a shadow around him now, a black aura that clung to him, and it seemed that he wore the head of a black hound superimposed over his own features.
Desperately, she flung the handful of rowan at him. The gruagagh threw back his head and laughed.
“Was that your best?” he asked. “A knife and a handful of rowan twigs? You’re mine, child, and I will have the secrets of this Tower from you. I will tear them from you as my bogans chew your flesh. You’ll die eventually but in such pain
“
Jacky glanced behind her. The gruagagh saw a three-story drop through a window, but she saw all of Kinrowan spread out before her.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” the gruagagh cried.
He lunged for her, but he was too late.
Jacky’s gaze, drawn by the flash of a hob’s red cap and a familiar head of tousled curls, latched onto Kate, Finn, and a tall woman who were crouching together by the riverbanks on the other side of the park. Before the gruagagh could reach her, she threw herself out the window, screaming Kate’s name.
Behind her, she heard the gruagagh howl in rage. He grabbed for her leg, but caught only a handful of air. He was either not brave enough or not foolish enough to follow her when she vanished from his sight.
Henk stopped off at Johnny’s apartment after work, but there was no answer to his knock. He went around back, fetched the key from under its brick, and let himself in. A quick prowl-through told him that while Johnny had been back since they’d gone up to Sandy Hill earlier this morning, he was gone now. His bike was missing as well. It didn’t take Henk long to work out where his friend had gone.
“Christ, Johnny,” he muttered as he returned the key to its hiding place. “You’ve got to give it up.”
But he knew Johnny too well, knew that Johnny wasn’t one to give up. Whatever Jemi Pook had done to him, Johnny would push through it until he’d worked it all out. Henk had seen it too often before.