“F-Fae clothes?” Dimitri’s brows shot up. “Forget it.”
“Simeon will insist,” Brice said, and added, “You don’t want him to insist.”
The Fae soldier snarled something at Dimitri, his lip curling. Dimitri couldn’t answer him in words, so he made his favorite sign with his middle finger. Was it truly universal? From the flash of rage in the Fae’s eyes, it was.
“Fuck him,” Dimitri said to Brice. “If he doesn’t like my h-human shape, I’ll use m-my wolf’s.”
Without waiting for the Fae or Brice to argue with him, Dimitri let his fur ripple out to cover himself as he lowered to all fours. Dimitri hid a wolf grin. Sometimes his shift was awkward, with his hair popping out all at once or each limb changing at a different speed. Jaycee would laugh at him, which made her eyes light.
This time Dimitri’s change was as elegant and honed as if he found shifting the easiest thing in the world. He knew he shouldn’t get cocky, because next time, it would probably be as tough as usual, but he felt grim satisfaction at the even deeper scowl on the Fae soldier’s face.
Dimitri also noted that the soldier was a little warier of him in this form. Good to note.
Brice gave the soldier a shrug as though to say, Poor, uncivilized Shifter; what does he know? He then ducked into the guardhouse and came out in an ungainly pair of leggings and a tunic that barely fit his large build.
Dimitri wanted to tell him he looked asinine, but he didn’t want to shift again to speak. He satisfied himself with a wolf yip and let Brice lead the way.
The soldier shouted a word through the gate tunnel, and the portcullis began to creak upward. It rose only about five feet before stopping—whether that was as high as it could go or whoever worked the controls saw no reason to raise it all the way, Dimitri had no idea. Brice, in human form, had to bend nearly double to duck beneath it, but Dimitri trotted under it without a problem.
The arched tunnel beyond the portcullis was about twenty feet long, ending in another metal gate. Not iron, but bronze. No iron for the high Fae.
The tunnel’s ceiling contained several square holes covered with wooden trap doors. “Murder holes,” Brice said. “They can pour boiling oil through them, or throw down boulders, whatever it takes if an enemy gets this far.”
Dimitri had heard of murder holes, having at least watched documentaries about European castles on television. He made no sound, only plodded stoically onward.
The guard at the second portcullis unlatched it and pushed it upward. This guard looked almost identical to the first, down to the scowl—Dimitri wondered briefly if they were twins.
Brice gave him a cordial nod and led Dimitri across an open courtyard toward a massive wooden door.
The courtyard, which was paved with surprisingly smooth stones, showed Dimitri the first hint that some of the Fae in this place might actually be regular people. In one corner, men were building something out of wood, sawing and hammering, sleeves rolled up, yelling to each other over noise as they concentrated on the project.
In another part of courtyard men were repairing a wall with mortar. Fae tended to wear their hair long, and these men had theirs looped up in braids, pinned out of their way. More men and a few women scurried across the courtyard between small doors, carrying bags, boxes, or baskets of whatever was needed for the day-to-day working of the fortress.
Soldiers were here as well, keeping to one side of the activity. These soldiers were training, so didn’t wear the mail the guards did—rather they had short tunics and close-fitting leggings that allowed them to move. Some were doing such prosaic exercises as sit-ups under the tongue-lashing of a sergeant, a few practiced with swords, others sparred hand to hand.
The Fae in the courtyard ceased what they were doing when Dimitri strolled through, following Brice. Those who didn’t see them right away were nudged by their neighbors until they turned around and stared.
No one paid much attention to Brice—his novelty must have worn off, another indication he’d been coming and going to Faerie for some time. They apparently hadn’t seen anything like Dimitri, however. No red wolves in Brice’s makeshift clan.
Dimitri glanced around him, occasionally meeting the eyes of a Fae, who either became fixed in place or looked quickly anywhere but at Dimitri.
That’s right, soak it in. I’ll be doing some serious damage later.
In truth, Dimitri knew there were far too many here for him to fight. If he tried to run, one of the guards only had to push him off the drawbridge or wait until he was on the precipitous path below and shoot him with arrows—end of problem.
Dimitri continued to look around, taking in the lay of the land. The people working at the castle had to be able to bring supplies up here with relative ease—no wagons or even horses would be able to make it up the switchback trail to the front gate.
He wondered if they hauled their goods up the side of the castle with pulleys and winches or carried them up through tunnels in the hill to a back door. Dimitri liked the idea of tunnels. Kendrick’s underground bunker had been chock-full of tunnels—he and Jaycee had become experts at navigating them.
Brice walked through the courtyard without challenge, again confirming he’d been here many times before. Had the run of the place.
Dimitri followed him, his senses alert. He’d chosen wolf form not because it would make the Fae more comfortable with his nakedness, but because he could hear, scent, even see things his human self wouldn’t. He could let his instincts take over.
His instincts did not like the smells he found inside the castle. The large door opened to a wide space encircled by a staircase that led up through the square of the keep. The stairs that twisted upward were stone, flanked by a rickety-looking wooden railing.
The space between the stairs was filled with people occupied by ordinary things—making more repairs to the walls, scrubbing the stone floors, lugging baskets of food into a low-ceilinged hall that must lead to a kitchen. From the smell of things, they kept livestock up here too.
Brice led Dimitri up a flight of stairs, then another. Dimitri peered down through the railings at the working Fae who, like the ones outside, stared at him in amazement with a touch of fear.
So not all Fae were comfortable with the Battle Beasts around. Another good thing to note.
On the second landing, Brice moved down a short hall that ended in a double door. This entrance was guarded by two Fae in the thin silver chain mail. One opened a door and called inside. A sharp voice answered, and then both doors were opened, the Fae stepping back to admit Brice.
Dimitri knew immediately that they’d been admitted into a war room. About a dozen men filled the room—no women in sight—and were studying maps and books with the intensity of generals preparing for battle. The room was high-ceilinged, rising right to the top of the keep, where small openings let in light. There wasn’t much sunshine today, so braziers had been lit for warmth and illumination.
A huge tapestry, which must have taken decades to weave, covered one wall. It depicted a battle with plenty of blood and slain horses, Fae, and to Dimitri’s distaste, Shifters.
One area of the tapestry caught and held his interest. It showed three white tigers—one on the ground, covered in blood, the other two battling another Shifter, a Lupine, over the body of the fallen tiger. The white tigers seemed to be with a man wearing a gold diadem, the wolf with several soldiers in black armor, their heads covered in helmets with full face guards.
The black metal looked like steel or iron, but that couldn’t be. It must be bronze armor painted black, or else those fighters weren’t Fae. Hard to tell with their heads completely covered. Plus, it was a tapestry, not a photograph, and there was no telling whether the weavers were depicting real events or ones in their imaginations.
More disquieting than the tapestry was the glass case that rested near it. Dimitri’s nos
e wrinkled as he went to it, rose to put his paws on it, and peered inside.
In the case lay a collection of skulls and bones. They were large and not human—Dimitri saw wolf, bear, and big cat. A stretch of hide bore the black and white stripes that had become familiar to Dimitri since Kendrick had accepted him into his clan. White tiger.
Dimitri turned from the cabinet with a snarl for Brice. You’re in with people who kill your own kind and keep their bones as trophies? The Shifters in this case never had the chance to be sent to dust, to the Summerland, you asshole.
Dimitri’s heart squeezed in horror as his wolf growled the last observation. A Shifter’s greatest fear was to die without a Guardian near—the Guardian’s sword freed the soul from the body, letting the Shifter enter the afterlife and rest in peace. A soul floating free could be captured, used, tortured.
What had happened to the souls of these dead Shifters? Were they still floating in Faerie, trapped? Dimitri said a silent prayer to the Goddess for them, and for himself. If he died here, he’d suffer the same fate.
“Dimitri.” A deep male voice cut across the room. The words were clear as ice and just as cold. “Welcome. I have heard much about you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jaycee stepped out from under the tree and faced the Fae woman. That lady halted on the path, the shears in her right hand held like a weapon.
“Well?” the woman asked. “How did you get here? Did you come in by the sundial?”
Jaycee resisted glancing behind her to look for a sundial. “No.”
“It’s in the woods,” the woman said impatiently, gesturing with her shears. “Overgrown now. We wouldn’t use it as a sundial anymore, would we?”
Jaycee thought of the ivy-covered pillar she’d passed. “We might have seen it.”
The woman lowered her shears and gave Jaycee a pitying look. “Of course you did, dear. The only way in from that direction is the sundial. You don’t look simple. Are you?”
Jaycee lost her patience. She came forward, keeping a wary eye on the shears, and stopped about ten feet from the red-haired woman. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Why do you speak English so well?”
“You are on my property,” the woman answered. She was taller than Jaycee, her cheekbones high and brushed with pink. “Who are you, Shifter? Did you wander in here by mistake? Or out of curiosity? Or do you belong to that awful Lord Simeon? He’s a—what do you English people call it?—a prat.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone named Simeon,” Jaycee answered. “I’m Jaycee Bordeaux.”
“Française?” The woman looked interested, then began speaking in French.
“I don’t understand a word of French,” Jaycee interrupted her. “I’m not English either. I’m Shifter, living in the States. For now.”
“And your friend?”
Jaycee was conscious of Angus growling under the tree not far away. He didn’t step out to confront the danger—not because of fear, she knew, but because his position boxed the Fae woman between them. He could be at Jaycee’s side swiftly if necessary, or he could cut off the woman’s retreat or block the path of whomever she summoned from the house.
“That’s Angus,” Jaycee said. “I don’t know his last name.”
The Fae woman straightened the flowers in her basket. “You’re very free with names. You do know that names have power?”
“I do,” Jaycee said. “That’s why we have secret names no one knows. I’m sure you’re the same way.”
The woman smiled, but the smile was in no way warm and friendly. “Excellently parried, dear. I am called Lady Aisling Mac Aodha, and these are my lands. I speak English as well as you say, and French also, because I am fond of going past the sundial into the ancient world of my ancestors, now overrun by ordinary mortals.”
Jaycee was intrigued enough to move a little closer. “Your ancestors?”
Lady Aisling regarded her without worry. “The Fae came from there, dear, not here.” She gestured toward the woods with her shears. “Millennia ago. Thousands of years BC, as you would say. We came here when iron began to prevail, our presence in your world lessening by the century until we could no longer live there. This is our refuge. I’m something of a historian and archaeologist, so I like to visit our old home now and again and see how things are going.”
“I thought there was too much iron for you,” Jaycee countered, her voice steady.
Lady Aisling shrugged her elegant shoulders. “There are talismans one can carry that help for a time until they are overwhelmed. I enjoy going to the shops. The clerks are quite respectful and helpful to an elderly woman.”
Jaycee blinked. Lady Aisling might speak like a woman who’d experienced life for a long while, but the clerks in her shops wouldn’t think so. They’d see a beautiful woman with sleek red hair and green eyes that could pierce armor. She doubted Aisling shopped at discount stores—this woman would go into boutiques where she sat on antique furniture and was served tea or wine while the employees brought her what she wanted. Male proprietors probably fell all over themselves to wait on her.
“So, you walk past the sundial, and you’re . . . where?” Jaycee asked. “In Jasmine’s house?” Jasmine had never mentioned a Fae woman popping in and out of her sitting room.
Aisling didn’t change expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear. The other side of the sundial moves, depending on the shadows. It’s a sundial.” She emphasized the word as though Jaycee would have known this if she’d paid attention in school. “I have learned to read it so I can go where I like. I quite enjoy what you call France—Paris, Strasbourg, the south coast. I speak French far better than I speak English—you’ll have to put up with me.”
She was apologetic, a well-bred woman politely explaining her lack.
“That means we can get back through there,” Jaycee said.
“To your exact point of entry, when the shadow is in the correct place.” Aisling nodded, pleased her pupil had been listening. “You did make a note of it, didn’t you?”
Not exactly, but Jaycee would figure that out when the time came. It didn’t really matter if they fled through the Fae gate and found themselves in Paris. Kendrick was good for a plane ticket.
“You don’t seem to be worried about Shifters,” Jaycee said, her gaze going to the shears, which now hung negligibly in Aisling’s hand.
“Because there is nothing to worry about.” A breeze ruffled Aisling’s tunic and the ends of her hair. “Fae are terrified of the creatures, but I have always found that if you don’t provoke Shifters, they are fine. Like snakes. Not that I see many Shifters on my journeys, but I have noted them from afar. They seem to have adapted nicely to the human world in the centuries since they’ve eschewed Faerie. Shifters are bit rough around the edges, but then, you were bred to be part animal. A pity about the Collars and the Shiftertowns. Human beings seem to be unhappy unless they are living in fear of something.”
No, not at all what Jaycee had expected from a Fae. Either this woman was very unusual, or Jaycee would have to revise her definition of Fae.
“We’re looking for a friend.” The words caught in Jaycee’s throat. My mate. I have to find my mate!
“Another Shifter?”
“Yes.” Jaycee swallowed.
Aisling resettled her basket on her arm. “And how did he or she get to Faerie, dear? By the sundial?”
“He went through a circle, in a basement,” Jaycee said, the tightness inside her barely letting her get out the words.
“I see. So, you believe you can ask me where your friend is—who did not come through the gate outside my house—and I will be able to find him for you?”
“Not exactly.” Jaycee moved restlessly. She longed to spring forward and say, Look, bitch, can you help us or not? but she kept herself under control. The woman couldn’t answer questions if she
was shredded.
Aisling looked Jaycee up and down and seemed to reach a decision. She dropped her shears into her basket and said briskly, “Come with me. I want to show you something. You too, Angus.”
Without waiting for them to agree or argue, she turned and strode toward the gate, her tunic fluttering.
Jaycee started after her, only to be stopped by Angus’s hard grip on her elbow. “You’re going to rush into a Fae house?” he growled.
Jaycee shook him off. “If she can help me find Dimitri, I’ll follow her to hell itself.”
Angus shuddered. “Don’t even say that around here. But I get it. He’s your mate. Don’t worry—I’m with you.”
Jaycee hurried after Aisling, who waited for them inside the gate in the wall. Behind it was another garden, this one a kitchen garden, with neat rows of vegetables planted in parallel lines. A knot garden of pungent-smelling herbs wove through the center.
A gardener—a Fae in what looked like burlap clothing—forked up clumps of earth at the edge of a bed. He glanced up in alarm as Aisling led the two Shifters through.
The gardener jerked his long fork from the soil and rushed to Aisling’s side. He began gabbling rapidly, jabbing the fork in the direction of Jaycee and Angus. Aisling listened coolly, then responded in her crisp tones. Jaycee didn’t understand the words, but she imagined what she was saying. Don’t worry. Go back to what you were doing, my good man, and don’t be silly.
The gardener stepped away, but he gave Jaycee and Angus a sharp eye. He wasn’t as tall as Fae Jaycee had seen before, but shorter and broader of shoulder. He was still Fae though.
“Come along,” Aisling said to Jaycee, quickening her pace. “And best you keep that iron hidden. I can feel it, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring it out into the open.”
Jaycee realized she still held the knife Ben had passed her, an antique-looking thing with a leather-wrapped hilt. The metal was cool under her hand, the blade thick but sharp.
Jaycee slid the knife into a pocket along the pink glittery stripe of her pants. The pocket, which she’d altered for her need, was lined with leather so that she could carry a small blade close to her hip if she wanted it. She mostly didn’t bother with knives as leopard claws were more efficient, but having a touch of iron in the middle of Faerie wasn’t a bad thing.