Ghost Light (29 page)

“Our ears only?” I asked.

I winced and hoped the cat sidhe couldn’t see me in the dark.  Torn only had one tattered ear, the other was no more than a cratered lump of scar tissue.  I’d have to refrain from mentioning ears if I wanted to stay on the cat lord’s good side.

“Yes, princess,” he said.  “It’s just you and me.”

I felt the cat sidhe’s breath on my neck and gripped my knives.

“Touch me Torn and, allies or not, I’ll carve your good ear to match,” I said.

Oops.  So much for not drawing attention to his disfigurements.  I had a real knack for pissing people off.  Jinx said it was my secret superpower, like I needed anymore of those.

“Symmetry may not be such a punishment,” he said.  “Tyger, tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night, what immortal hand or eye, could frame thy fearful symmetry?”

I snorted.  Faeries and their damned love of poetry, it was like a disease.  I was pretty sure that William Blake’s tiger hadn’t been a cat sidhe, but you never know.  Torn’s been around long enough.  At least he wasn’t quoting Shakespeare.  Most fae are obsessed with
The Bard
.

“I don’t have time for games, Torn,” I said.  “I need information.”

“Yummy, I like it when you play rough, Princess,” he said, purring.

“Did I mention that my blades are tipped with iron?” I said.

“Fine,” he said.  With a rattle of bones and a heavy sigh, Torn took a step away.  “What knowledge do you seek?”

I focused on the direction of his voice and took a breath.

“I need to find a door to Faerie,” I said.

“Oh, shit, is that all?” he asked, voice dripping sarcasm.  “Why don’t you ask for Fionn mac Cumhaill’s bag of lost treasure while you’re at it?”

“So you can’t find out?” I asked.

“I didn’t say that, princess,” he said.  Torn struck a match and lit a torch he’d pulled from thin air.  We were still inside the privacy shadow he’d wrapped around us. The torch flickered making light dance across the cat sidhe’s scarred face.  “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To Mag Mell, of course,” he said.

Torn grinned and sprinted away.  I chased after the flickering torch, swearing under my breath. 
Mab’s bloody freaking bones.
  I was trapped in a shadow, playing cat and mouse games with a cat sidhe.

Too bad I was the mouse.

Chapter 34

S
ir Torn ripped a hole in the fabric of reality and leapt into the light beyond.  I shielded my eyes against the sun and stumbled out onto a grassy plain.  My ears popped as the shadow we’d traveled through snapped shut behind me.

I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the clear, bright day.  The sun blazed from a deep cerulean sky, not a cloud marring its perfection.  A breeze rustled the leaves of an orchard to my left and golden light sparkled on the surface of a placid lake to my right.  I sucked in a breath at the fantastical landscape.

A white stag, with antlers streaming moss and flowering vines, drank from the lake.  A cardinal perched on the stag’s back, the bird a brilliant red to match the fields of flowering poppies that went on for miles in every direction.

I’ve a feeling we’re not in Harborsmouth anymore.
  Maybe if I clicked my heels, I’d find a way home.  On second thought, I didn’t think messing with magic was a good idea in this place.  With my luck, a tornado would deposit a house on my head.

Torn leaned against a tree and rubbed a shiny, red apple against the shirt beneath his leather vest.

“Want an apple, Princess?” he asked.  “The food here is free for the taking.  No one wants for food or drink in Mag Mell.”

Mag Mell.  The name sent shivers up my spine.  I was on one of the mythical planes of the Celtic Otherworld.  Elysium, Valhalla, these planes all existed somewhere, but the Celtic Otherworlds of Emain Ablach, Hy Brasil, Roca Barraidh, Tír na nÓg, Ynys Afallon, and Mag Mell were the ones most entwined with Faerie.

Was the door to Faerie here on the verdant plains of Mag Mell?

“W-w-what are we doing here?” I asked.

“Ah, I didn’t think you were one for philosophy, princess,” Torn said.  “I prefer Aristotelianism, but, then again, I used to dine with the man.  His wife Pythias could prepare a mean feast.”

I sighed, jaw aching from grinding my teeth.

“I wasn’t asking about the meaning of life,” I said.  I clenched my fists and glared at the cat sidhe.  “I mean, why are we here in Mag Mell?  Is the door here?”

I had wanted information about the door to Faerie, not a day trip to the Otherworld.  I rubbed the place where my throwing knives were sheathed beneath my jacket.  I felt woefully unprepared.  What horrors lurked within the rustling poppy fields or below the still surface of the lake?  Mag Mell appeared to be a land of peace and tranquility, but looks can be deceiving.

“We are here to see Béchuille, a seer,” he said.  “Mag Mell has long been a source of wisdom to heroes who seek knowledge.”  Torn spun in a circle and pointed away from the stag, placing the lake at his back.  “Come, we go this way.”

I dug in my heels and crossed my arms.

“Not until you tell me what I want to know,” I said.  I fixed Torn with a deadpan look then let the darkness from my nightmares leak out around the edges.  I’d seen enough of death and torment to last a lifetime and, when I let it, it showed.  “Who is this seer and what do I have to give up in bargain for her aid?”

Torn hesitated.

“Tell me,” I said.

I flicked my wrist, snapping the grip of a throwing knife into my palm.  The faerie would spill his guts one way or another.  I grinned, showing too much teeth.

“Wait, princess,” he said.  Torn raised his hands, palm out.  “Let’s be smart about this.  If you kill me, you’ll be stuck in Mag Mell forever.  You need me.”

My fingers itched to draw all of my blades and use Torn for target practice, but he was right.  I had no idea how to leave this place.  The cat sidhe was my ticket home.  I slid the knife back into its sheath and sighed.

“Just tell me what we’re dealing with,” I said.  I ground my teeth and shook my head.  “Please.”

See, I can play nice.

“Ah, perhaps you’d like to frolic a bit in the field or go skinny dipping in the lake while we chat?” he asked.

My fingers twitched and I snarled.

“Don’t press your luck,” I said.

“Right, probably for the best,” he said.  “It’s not wise to dally in the Otherworlds.  Shall we walk and talk?”

Torn gestured to a path I hadn’t noticed before and I strode forward.  His comment made my pulse quicken.

“Okay, spill,” I said, walking at his side.  “Who is this seer, what do I have to sacrifice to get my answers, and why is it “not wise to dally” here?”

“The seer is Béchuille, a druidess and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann,” he said.  “She’ll do the sacrificing, not you.  As for the latter, it’s not wise to dally in the Otherworlds, because time moves differently here than in the mortal realm.  If we don’t move quickly, you could return to find your human business partner long dead.”

“And if we do move quickly?” I asked.

“Then no more than a few hours will have passed,” he said.  “Now come along.”

If we stayed too long in Mag Mell, Jinx, not to mention my mother, would be dead and gone upon my return.  Didn’t I say faeries were trouble?  I knew I’d regret my alliance with the cat sidhe.

I took a deep breath and ran down the path.

Chapter 35

O
ne of the amazing things about Mag Mell is that you never tire.  According to Torn, it’s part of the magic here.  Nothing ever grows old, becomes ill, or dies on the plains of delight.

I ran faster than I’ve ever run, covering miles in a matter of minutes.  Torn sighed and ran beside me, the bones dangling from his ears clattering.  We reached a ring of standing stones approximately ten miles from our starting point without breaking a sweat.

I slowed, examining the menhirs that towered overhead.  A huge stone placed horizontally across two of the others formed the lintel of a door.  Though the circle had no walls, we made our way toward the doorway.

“So how many questions do I get to ask this seer, anyway?” I asked.

I’d done some thinking while running across the plains of Mag Mell.  If I was only allowed one question, I’d rather ask where my father was instead of requesting the location of the door to Faerie.  Heck, if I found Will-o’-the-Wisp, he could tell me the door’s location himself.  No augury necessary.

“You just get the one question, Princess,” he said.  Torn shrugged.  “Don’t ask me how it works, but Béchuille will already know what you seek.  Since she is gifted with the knowledge of gates and pathways, she’s most likely to give you the location of the door.”

“And if that’s not the information I want?” I asked.

“It’s not wise to argue with one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, but do what you want,” he said.  “It’s your funeral.”

Yeah, that didn’t sound ominous or anything.  I guess I’d have to settle for the knowledge the druid was willing to give me.  I sighed and stomped toward the circle of stones.

In the center of the circle, a woman stood over a fire singing in a strange tongue.  Béchuille was not what I expected.  The woman looked more like a goddess than a druid.  The Tuatha Dé was tall and slender as a supermodel, with long, blond hair that fell in waves around her body.  She wore a golden torque around her neck and red robes that brushed the tops of her sandaled feet.

At our approach, the woman ceased her chanting and turned to face us.  A scarlet tanager settled on her shoulder and began to sing in her ear.

“Welcome, Sir Torn and Princess Ivy,” she said.

“My Lady,” Torn said, bowing.  “We come seeking knowledge.”

“I know that which you seek,” Béchuille said.  “Now show me the key.”

Torn turned to me with a smug grin.

“Yes, princess,” he said.  “You do have the key, don’t you?”

Damn, it was a bit late to be asking that.  I glared at Torn and struggled to keep my hands at my waist.  I wanted to strangle the cat sidhe and toss him into the cauldron that bubbled on the fire.

“Princess?” Béchuille asked.

Torn had played me well.  I didn’t want to admit to having a key to Faerie, but now I had no choice.  If I claimed I didn’t own a key, I wouldn’t learn the location of the door.  This trip would have been for nothing.

I lifted my chin and, with stiff movements, unzipped a jacket pocket and retrieved the jewelry box.  My nostrils flared, seething, as I opened the box and lifted the key for the druid’s inspection.  I ignored Torn’s arrogant laugh.

“Good, now let me prepare the bones,” she said.

Béchuille lifted her hand to the bird on her shoulder.  I thought she was going to stroke its feathers or pet its head.  I gasped as she grabbed the bird roughly in both hands and deftly broke its neck.  I’d bought into the Hollywood image of druids as peaceful, animal loving, hippie types who commune with nature.  I chided myself for being a fool.

The druid dropped the bird to the ground at her feet and poured a ladle of steaming liquid from the cauldron over its broken body.  My eyes widened as the bird was quickly reduced to bone.  Whatever was in that cauldron had eaten away all sign of feathers and flesh.  So much for Mag Mell being an idyllic paradise; just try telling that to the bird.

“Béchuille’s cauldron contains waters taken from the Fountain of Knowledge in Tír Tairngire,” Torn whispered.

A bit late for him to be informing me of that now.  I inched away from the fire, putting Torn between me and the cauldron.

While I changed my position, Béchuille stuffed the bird’s bones into a leather pouch.  She tied the pouch and shook it, making the bones rattle inside.  I bit the inside of my cheek and tried not to think about the pretty bird that had perched on the Tuatha Dé’s shoulder mere seconds ago.

The druid stepped to an area beside the cauldron that was void of moss and flowers and used a wooden staff to draw a circle on the bare ground.  She tossed her head back, chanting, arms lifted to the sky.  Her green eyes rolled back in her head and I wondered idly what would happen if the woman fell into her own cauldron.  Torn had claimed there was no such thing as death in Mag Mell, but I’d already witnessed the bird’s demise.

Béchuille tossed the bones onto the ground with a clatter and I snapped my eyes back to circle.  A low moan escaped the druid’s lips and Torn sidled up to me, chomping on his apple.

“I love this part,” he said.

A breeze stirred the woman’s golden hair and her face paled to a sickly hue.  She pointed a shaking finger at me and a chill ran up my spine to creep into my scalp.

“The door you seek is one that hides,” she said.  “You must await midsummer tides.  Upon the summer solstice when the moon doth wane, the wisp princess shall sit upon her throne again.”

“Riddles?” I muttered.  I should have known this wouldn’t be easy.

“Shhh,” Torn said.

“Muster your allies and gather your power,” she said.  “You must reach Tech Duinn’s steps by the witching hour.”

“Oh shit,” Torn said.

“Shhh,” I said.

“Brandish the key and do not lose heart,” she said.  “On solstice night the ocean shall part.  Go to Martin’s Point at final light of day, and the stones of Donner Isle will lead the way.  Not by sea, but by land.  You all will take your stand.  To the house of Donn you must carry, king Will-o’-the-Wisp’s key to Faerie.  Inside Donn’s hearth bend your knee, close your eyes and turn the key.”

The druid lowered her head, shoulders shaking, and scratched her foot across the edge of the circle.  Once the circle was broken, the bones pulled together and began to sprout flesh and feathers once again.  I gaped at the bird as it chirped and took wing.

Maybe death truly couldn’t touch this place.  After witnessing the bird’s apparent death and rebirth, I didn’t find that very reassuring.  I was pretty sure that having your neck broken and the flesh boiled from your bones was unpleasant whether death followed or not.

“So I have to bring the key to Martin’s Point at dusk on the summer solstice?” I asked.