Chapter 7
Crap. And I didn’t
usually use that term.
“We’re in trouble,” I whispered to Delilah. “We
are in so much trouble . . .”
“Again, I ask you, girl: Why should I let you
live?”
I forced myself to my feet even though I just
wanted to cower at his.
“I am Camille, from Otherworld. I’m a priestess
of the Moon Mother. I am the Chosen of the Black Beast. I am a
slayer of demons.” The gods tended to respect people who weren’t
shy about their exploits, so I decided to proceed on that premise
and hope I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.
“Chosen of the . . .” Herne paused, and I felt
him rifling around in my mind. The gods were good at that—getting
inside your brain and worming around till they found what they
wanted to find.
I hated the feeling—it reminded me of when
Vanzir had been sucking at my energy, sliding into my thoughts just
as he slid into my body. My mind, my magic, and my thoughts were my
own. My body might be the temple, but my inner self, my core was the sacred flame.
But surprisingly, he didn’t stay long, nor did
he tarry over things not his business. After a moment, Herne
withdrew from my thoughts and stared at me with a puzzled
look.
“You may wander in my realm, but I will not
protect you. You carry magic far too powerful for your own good,
and because of it, you are in danger. Indeed, danger rides you like
a steed, it clings to your back. You reek of Aeval’s energy and yet
. . . there is something beneath the stench of the Unseelie. And
where you are going, young Fae, the Dark Queen will not be able to
protect you.”
After a moment, he let out a dismissive bark.
“Half-breeds are irksome. I don’t like puzzles.” He motioned to
Tra. “Run ahead. This is not Aeval. Leave these two alone and
neither help nor hinder them.”
“Wait—”
“Well, what is it? Hurry up.” Huffing, his hands
on his hips, he stared down at me, eyes flashing. Delilah looked at
me like I was nuts.
At first I thought to ask him about Chase, but
then I stopped myself. No use putting the detective in danger, in
case Herne’s bad mood extended to him as well. I quickly
restructured my question.
“Have you heard of the Bog Eater? Do you know if
he’s near?” Might as well ask something that could help us.
Herne choked. “Now I understand why I don’t
trust you. Yes, that piece of filth is near. Anyone who cozies up
with the likes of Stollen Kom Lightly deserves what she
gets.”
“I’m not—” I started to say, then stopped as
Herne and Tra vanished in a swirl of frost-covered leaves. Both
confused and relieved—we’d gotten off lightly—I turned to
Delilah.
She broke into a nervous smirk. “You know the
old proverb: Foolish are those who summon the
gods, for the gods might just answer.”
“I didn’t summon him. And Tra gives me the
creeps. I hope he behaves and leaves us alone.” Still shaking, I
forced myself to calm down. “At least we know the Bog Eater is
near.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” Delilah
let out a long sigh and shook her head. “I smell Chase.” She
pointed through a patch of waist-high ferns. “I think he’s that
way.”
We plunged through the fronds, limp from
winter’s chill, and the rattle of dried leaves echoed with our
passing. The overgrowth was dry from the winter, and leaves
shattered with our touch, breaking into shards as we pushed our way
through the tangle.
“Why would Chase have come this way? Maybe he
ran off the path?” Delilah asked, but I could tell she already knew
the answer.
“Easy one. Either he was carried, or he was
running away from something and looking for a place to hide.” I
shook my head, gazing around in the unending sea of foliage. “How
are we going to find him? I’m beginning to think we’re nuts for
coming in here on our own. We should have at least brought Smoky
with us.”
Delilah paused, then pointed ahead.
“Look!”
I followed her gaze and there, in the tangle of
a briar bush that bordered a glen, saw a jacket. It had to be
Chase’s.
We shoved our way through the last of the bushes
over to the brambles, and I gingerly removed the jacket from the
branch. It stuck on the thorns and I tugged, then tugged harder,
and it ripped into my hands. I held it up to Delilah’s nose, but
even from here I could smell Chase on it. He’d come this way.
“He must have been in a big hurry if he had to
leave this.” I peeked through the pockets and took out his wallet,
badge, checkbook, and anything else that looked like it might be
important. As I did so, a card fell out. It was the business card
of a local psychic—one I knew was legit and fairly accurate. I said
nothing, but put it back into the wallet.
Delilah leaned over, and when she stood up
again, she was holding a gun in her gloved fingers. “Chase’s gun.
And it’s been fired. This is not a good sign.” She looked around,
her eyes brimming, but she didn’t cry. She merely slid the gun’s
safety on and placed it into the bag containing the iron cuffs she
carried.
“Should we continue?” I glanced around the glen.
Ringed by tall oak and cedar, the glen was shaded and the ground
dusted with a thick layer of white. Something caught my attention.
At second look, I could see where something—or someone—had been
dragged through the hoarfrost. “Look—there.”
Delilah knelt by the tracks. She sniffed,
holding the breath deep inside for a moment before slowly exhaling.
“Chase. Chase was here. Something caught him and he fired at it,
dropping his gun. Whatever it was, I think it overpowered
him.”
I followed the tracks with my eyes. “That looks
like someone dragging dead weight—I don’t see footprints indicating
he was on his feet.” If he’d been running after them, or resisting,
it would have looked more like a scuffle.
“Come on.” Delilah headed across the glen and I
followed her, not wanting to go farther without additional help.
But Chase had been captured, and who knew what had hold of
him?
I fell in beside her and we followed the trail
of trampled grass. When we came to the other side of the glen,
there was a short path through a ring of cedar and oak, and we
cautiously navigated through it, with Delilah’s nose checking the
air while I kept glancing over my shoulder to watch our
backs.
And then, as we pushed through the trees, we
found ourselves on the edge of a bog—long and wide—that stretched
almost beyond eyesight. I caught the silhouette of land on the
other side, but the marsh was covered with wisps of mist that
lingered above the ground and it was hard to see much through the
vapor. The smell of peat was strong, and the acrid scent of
decaying vegetation rang sour through the air.
I gazed at the wide expanse of wetlands. Fens
were treacherous. If we tried to work our way through there without
the proper equipment, chances were we could get bogged down, no pun
intended. There was no easy way to tell where the path was—the
frost covered everything as it had back in the glen, but with the
tangled foliage, it was impossible to follow any trail that Chase
might have made.
Overhead, a mournful call echoed as a team of
ducks came winging by.
Delilah turned to me, her face pale. “Want to
make a bet the Bog Eater is out there, waiting? Do you think he has
Chase?”
“If he does, then Chase might as well be dead.”
The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. At her
pained look, I bit my lip and then lightly laid my hand on her arm.
“I hope not. Aeval didn’t think so. Do you think he was dragged
away into this strip of forest rather than the bog? Do you want to
look?”
She gave a hopeless shrug. “Do you think we’ll
find anything? Or do you really think he’s out there . . .
dead?”
For the first time, even through all of the crap
we’d been through, I saw defeat on her face as she held her breath,
waiting for my answer. And that tore up my heart. Of all three of
us, she was the eternal optimist, and though I was glad she’d grown
up—she had desperately needed a dose of realism in order to be able
to face what we were up against—the realization that my younger
sister was no longer the happy-go-lucky kitten pained me.
I steeled myself and did something I rarely did.
I lied.
“I don’t think he’s dead. No. If the Bog Eater
had caught him, he would have eaten him up right there and we’d
have found bloody remains. I think something else caught hold of
him. Now, whether he’s out in the bog or not, I’m not sure. We
can’t check on that without more help. But let’s walk along the
edge of the fen here, there’s room enough—just be cautious for
quicksand—and see if we can find any sign that whatever dragged him
away took him into the forest instead.”
Delilah began to breathe again. She flashed me a
grateful look and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Bless you. You’ve
always known just the right thing to say. I know it’s been hard,
over the years—you’ve kept the family going and now, with what
Father pulled on you—but . . . Menolly and I both owe you so
much.”
Averting my eyes so she could not read the truth
of my thoughts, I gave her a soft smile. “That’s what big sisters
are for. Right? Now come on, let’s have a look. Here—grab a wooden
stick so we can test the ground as we go along.” Quicksand could
easily hide in plain view, especially this close to a bog. A good
walking stick could save your life.
We slowly moved forward, testing the ground
every few feet. The path between the forest and the bog was
narrow—a couple of yards at the most—and we tried to keep toward
the trees. Even though I didn’t really believe Chase had been
dragged into the forest, I kept my eyes open. Maybe I was right;
maybe we’d luck out and find a trace of him along the trail.
Delilah and I fell into an easy rhythm. The
chill of the air kept us alert, as did the hum of whatever insects
were able to brave the cold. I wasn’t sure what they were, but it
wasn’t the lazy drone of bees or the sunset chirping of crickets.
No, this was more a buzz, then a pop, pop,
pop. I looked into the trees, searching for birds, and saw
several—a hawk in one branch, unmoving but very aware.
In another tree, several starlings watched over
the forest, along with the inevitable crows. Crows and ravens,
symbols of Morgaine. Could she be nearby? But a little voice inside
whispered: There are more entities who have
dealings with the black birds than just Morgaine. Be cautious. Stay
alert.
We picked our way along, tapping the ground,
looking for signs of Chase. After fifteen minutes, I was almost
ready to give up and turn back when something shiny on the ground
caught my eye. It was in a tangle of huckleberry up ahead, lying
partially beneath a dying fern.
“What’s that?” I pointed to the object.
Delilah, using her stick to prod her way over to
the bushes, knelt by the bush and gingerly reached to pick it up.
From where I stood, it looked like a bracelet. She flipped it over
to gaze at the backside, then looked up at me.
“Chase’s watch. I bought it for him for his
birthday this summer.”
She’d had it inscribed. I’d been there when she
asked them to engrave From your favorite
puddy-tat. Love, Delilah on it. I swallowed a lump in my
throat. Even though she was happy with Shade, Chase had given her
something no one else ever would: her first chance at love.
I made my way over to her and we hunted around
the bush, finally discovering a small trail leading into the
forest. It was covered by detritus—decaying leaves, fallen needles
from the conifers, and other signs of winter—but it was there. And
as we looked closer, we could see the indentations in the mulch.
Again, it appeared as though someone had been dragged along through
here.
“Come on,” I said, feeling the first ray of hope
I’d experienced since Chase disappeared.
We broke through the brush, stumbling along,
following the trail until we came to a ring of toadstools.
A faerie ring. Magic
emanated from them, old magic, trickster magic, and I sucked in a
deep breath. As sure as I knew my own name, I knew that Chase had
entered this ring, but not come out. Somebody had whisked him
away.
“The Bog Eater?” Delilah’s voice was thin.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. No, this
is Fae energy—Elder Fae, most likely, but
not the Bog Eater. And I’m sorry, but we can’t go through that
ring. We have no clue where it leads. It’s even more dangerous than
the bog.”
She slumped to the ground, staring at the fungi.
“I can’t believe this. What the hell’s happening? We should be
chasing demons—with Chase. Not trying to
find out what member of our extended family swept him off.”
I hesitantly stuck my hand in the ring, holding
tight to a branch of the bush next to me. My fingers instantly
began to tingle, and the needle pricks raced up my arm. I yanked it
out again, not wanting to tempt fate.
“We need more help. Let me see if I can find out
anything else.” This wasn’t a good space in which to scry, but I
pulled out the unicorn horn. Eriskel would probably bust my butt if
he knew where I was with this, but it occurred to me that I might
just be able to use the Elementals locked within the horn to find
out more about Chase.
I took a quick look around, then settled myself
against the trunk of a tree. “You keep your eyes open. When I’m
communing with the horn, anything could sneak up on me and I
wouldn’t know it. I don’t trust this place.”
I held the horn in my hands, the cool crystal
resonating through my body with a satisfying tingle. Here was magic
I understood, magic that I knew. Of course, at first it hadn’t been
that way—I’d been scared spitless when I realized that I was being
given possession of the artifact. But now . . . I guess we learn and grow and adapt.
Closing my eyes, I took a long, slow breath and
felt myself spiral inward, into the horn, into the energy, into the
core. A dark chasm opened up and I fell, deep and long, diving
inward. Down I tumbled, head over heels, spinning in a vortex of
spiraling silver and gold. The winds raged around me as I aimed for
the center star—a single shining point on the horizon. As it
approached, I held my breath, hoping to land softly.
Thunk. I hit with a
shudder that raced through me like thunder. And then, standing, I
glanced around and found myself in the little room where I had
first discovered the secret of the horn. A table and two chairs sat
in the center, much like a garden patio set, and on each wall was
fastened a large mirror, like a picture window.
On the south wall was a mirror reflecting a
bronze desert, and there, in a flowing dress fashioned of molten
lava, with hair burgeoning around her like hardened black pillow
lava, stood a beautiful woman whose skin glowed with the color of
sunset. She bowed.
I curtsied in return. “Mistress of
Flames.”
Against the west wall, the mirror showed a
watery ocean rippled with cresting waves, and their roar echoed out
of the picture as a merman rose out of the depths, leaping like a
silver flash through the air, then back into the water. He rose
again, shook his long mane of kelp-colored hair, then turned jet
black eyes on me and inclined his head.
I nodded. “Lord of the Depths.”
To the north wall, within the glass I could see
a tangled forest with mountains rising in the distance. The
Elemental who stepped forward was wearing a frosty cloak over a
green robe beneath, and the faint scent of spring clung to the
dryad look-alike.
“Lady of the Land.” I nodded to her.
Lastly, I turned to the east and a ray of
early-morning sunlight came shimmering through the glass as a
stalwart man flew into the picture, astride the back of an eagle.
They landed on the craggy mountaintop and he dismounted and fell to
one knee, his leather armor brown against the flaxen strands of his
hair.
“Master of the Winds, I am glad to see you
again.” I wasn’t ever sure what to say, but the ritual didn’t seem
set in stone. And I truly was becoming fond of them. Even though
I’d seen them only a few brief times, I could feel them with me
whenever I carried the horn.
I turned to the center of the room and waited,
and sure enough, within a few moments a man appeared. Tall—nearly
seven feet; his skin was as brown as an oak, and his hair long and
dark. He could play with his shape and form, however, and I had
never ascertained what his true looks were. I smiled when I
remembered the earrings he’d been wearing that I’d fallen in love
with. He’d given me a pair just like them.
“Eriskel.” I paused, wondering how to frame my
request.
“You have need of our help? I assume we are not
in the middle of battle or you would be calling on the powers of
the horn from out there.” He motioned to the table and slid into
one of the chairs.
I hadn’t yet figured out whether the jindasel
liked me or just tolerated my presence, but whatever the case, he
was bound by his nature to help me. He was part of the horn; he
would not exist without it. When the Black Unicorn died every
thousand or so years, his horn and hide were shed and made into
ritual artifacts, and a small fragment of the Black Unicorn’s
spirit became trapped in the body of the horn, acting as the mentor
for whoever ended up wielding the weapon.
Jindasels were formed by a number of creatures,
offshoots spinning out of the main spirit like an avatar. They took
on an essence of their own—but the jindasels of the horn were
unique in their ability to function autonomously, without the
original creature that spawned them being near.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin
propped on my hands. “Can you or the Elementals of the horn sense
into other realms or through portals?” I ran down what had happened
and where we were.
Eriskel blinked, his eyes so wide they were
surreal. He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.
“You need to get out of here. Now. This
place is not safe. Not for you. Not for the horn. Do you know what
would happen if one of the Elder Fae got hold of this
artifact?”
“That thought has crossed my mind. Nothing good,
I’m sure.”
“Then go. Get your pretty ass out of here and
protect the horn. If one of the Elder Fae gets hold of it, all hell
will break loose. You think the Bog Eater’s bad? You have no clue
how ruthless and powerful some of these beings are. They may be
your relatives in name, but you are like a dust mote compared to
them. You could probably take one down in a fight if you brought
all the powers of the horn to bear, but it would be dicey, and
you—my lady—would not come out alive.”
And with that, Eriskel ejected me from the horn.
I blinked, the feel of his concern weighing heavy on my shoulders.
Jumping up, I turned to Delilah.
“We have to get out of here. Now.”
“But why?” She frowned, but one shake of my head
spurred her into action. As we headed away from the mushroom ring,
she looked around nervously. “What’s going on?”
“Eriskel convinced me it’s a very bad idea to
have the horn here with me,” I whispered. “I wish we could move
faster—well, me. You can. I wish I could
run faster. Now I’m going to fret until we’re back out of the
portal.”
“I’ll watch your back, never fear for that.”
Delilah didn’t question, just held tighter to the iron blade. She
winced. “I can feel the iron through the glove, but it’s not too
bad. Tingles in a really unpleasant way.”
“Yeah, I know.” We stumbled our way back through
the forest toward the strip of shore between the bog and the
woodland. As we stepped out onto the open strip of land, I stopped
and looked around. “Notice anything odd?”
She paused, listening. “No birds.”
“Yeah.”
Not only had the birds stopped chirping and
crowing, but everything else had gone silent and I could feel an
undercurrent—something rumbling so low I could barely make it out.
It was coming from across the bog in our direction.
I turned toward the fens. The marsh was
quivering—or at least one line of reeds running through it was. My
heart in my throat, I made sure my gloves were on and pulled out
the iron flail from the bag I was carrying.
And then, the rumbling grew louder as an
oh-so-tall creature erupted from the water, spraying peat and
detritus and stinking fen water every which way. The man—was it a
man?—rose up, a good eight or nine feet tall, and his eyes were
spinning with the brilliance of sunlight bouncing off mirrors. He
gave one long laugh, turned my way, and leaped from the bog.