Storm Warned (The Grim Series) (9 page)

“Liam. I’m Liam Cole.”

It was good name,
a strong name for a strong man,
thought Caris. An apt name in another way, too—
Liam
meant “protector,” and surely it fit someone who would give their own shirt to a dying dog. She was about to offer him more water when he began shouting.

“Here! Over here!” He tried to sit up higher but quickly paled and broke into a sweat, putting a hand to his head as if trying to hold it in place. The other hand he waved in the direction of the house, where a man and woman were climbing the steps.

“Easy now. I’ll hail them for you.” Caris stood up at once, shouting and waving. The couple saw her, thank goodness. They hurried as much as possible too, each carrying a case of some sort, but it was difficult to negotiate the piles of debris that littered the ground. Both broke into a jog as soon as they could get close enough.

“Liam! Omigod, are you all right?” The woman dropped down next to him and began checking him over.

“Man, am I glad to see you guys,” he sighed.

“Glad to see you too, bud, but holy crap, why didn’t you call the EMTs? They would have been here a lot sooner than us. You’re hurt.” The woman frowned at the huge, bleeding lump on Liam’s head and felt carefully around it. She pulled a penlight from her pocket and shone it directly into each of Liam’s blue eyes. “Your pupils match—that’s something to be thankful for,” she said.

Meanwhile, her partner remained standing and extended his hand politely to Caris. “I’m Jay, and
this
”—he inclined his head toward the woman examining Liam—“is my partner and friend, Morgan. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Caris could feel her cheeks heat as she remembered her half-naked condition. Liam’s shirt was large, but it was as thin as a summer nightshift—and a whole lot shorter. Small wonder Jay was asking if she was all right: she probably looked daft as a brush, undressed as she was. “I’d be very much better if I had something proper to wear,” she said.

At her words, Morgan’s head whipped around. She scrutinized Caris for a long, piercing moment before turning her attention back to Liam. “Jay,” she said. “I’ve got spare scrubs in the bottom of one of these bags she can have. Maybe even some coveralls in the truck. But call 911 for me first, will you?”

“I’m fine,” protested Liam, although Jay whipped out a phone and pressed the numbers anyway. “Morgan, I need you to look at the dog.”

“I’ll be glad to check him too, right after we get you sorted out,” she said.

“What dog?” asked Jay, glancing around with the phone still pressed to his ear. “Where is it?”

Caris was about to explain but stopped herself just in time. Liam hadn’t believed her, so why would these people? In fact, why would
anyone
? For some reason, Morgan had already eyed her with raw suspicion—how would the woman react to the truth? Caris opted for a half-truth instead. “There was a lost dog here that Liam was trying to help. I . . . I don’t know where it’s gone off to. I was more worried about him, and trying to keep him still.”

“I’ll just bet he was really cooperative too,” said Morgan. She was holding a finger in front of her friend’s face. “Pay attention, Liam. I need you to look this way . . . now that way.”

Liam winced and pressed the heel of his hand into one eye. “Dammit,” he said. “That hurts worse than my head does.”

“Ambulance is on its way,” announced Jay. “You know, I got crowned by the flat of a wooden broadsword during a Ren fair a couple years ago. The concussion gave me a monster headache, but my eyes were the worst. Felt like they were being stabbed in their sockets every time I moved them.”

Liam snorted. “Wish I could say it was something noble like a sword that hit me. Unfortunately, it was a goddamn flower vase.”

“A formidable enough weapon if an angry woman is wielding it.” Jay looked over at Caris and grinned.

She was appalled at the notion. “I did no such thing!” she protested. “I only just met him!” But then, she
had
shoved him hard, and she’d used her fists to do it. It had been purely instinctive when he grabbed her. Could she have injured him further?

Liam glanced up and met her gaze for a moment, giving her a lopsided wink that let her know she didn’t need to worry. “It wasn’t Caris,” he said. “But even that would’ve had a little more dignity to it. Aunt Ruby’s big crystal vase fell off a shelf during the storm. Knocked me colder than a pickled herring.”

“You were
unconscious
?” Morgan put the penlight away. “If we hadn’t already called 911, we’d be doing it now. You’re
so
going to the hospital, mister.”

“But I’ve got to find the dog! And my goats—I don’t know if they’re hurt, and they haven’t even been milked yet! I don’t know where the cattle are, and my horses are with them, and . . .”

Morgan shushed him. “We’ll find all your animals, and we’ll look after them. You know you can trust us to do that, or you wouldn’t have called us.”

“And I can help as well,” declared Caris. “I’ve worked my father’s farm and cared for plenty of ewes in my time, and a few cows and goats as well. If they’re waiting to be milked, they’re sure to come to us.” Again she noticed Morgan studying her.
Why?

“The goats can be fussy about being milked by strangers,” began Liam.

“I’ve a charm fer that!” A brand new voice—and an odd one—entered the conversation. “And you can count on my helping hand as well.” A knee-high being hove into sight through the tall grass and walked boldly up to the gathering, with a spotted hen as big as he was tucked under one skinny arm.

An ellyll!
Caris knew the ellyllon were powerful elementals, wielding the most ancient of magics. Yet, among all the creatures of the Nine Realms, they were one of the rarest. Most said that bwganod, giant salamander-like creatures with wicked teeth, had eaten them. Caris, however, had overheard a different story: that a dark faction of the Tylwyth Teg resented the power of the ellyllon, which far exceeded their own. The power-hungry group had conspired to use blood magic, forbidden by the most ancient of laws, and enacted a curse that temporarily weakened their rivals. With their ability to defend themselves diminished, every ellyll found by the conspirators had been slain in a single night.

“Hey, Ranyon.” Jay mouthed the words quietly. “Where’ve you been?” He wasn’t a tall man, but the little creature had to reach high to slap him on the arm with his twiglike fingers.

“Looking about, seeing what’s what. Ya could have waited a mite,” he declared, not softening his own voice one bit. “Not everyone has great long legs like
you
, ya know.”

“Nice to think I’ve got long legs compared to somebody,” whispered Jay. “I always feel like a skinny kid compared to Rhys.” He glanced around, apparently to make sure that Morgan hadn’t heard that remark—or perhaps to be certain she was blocking Liam’s view. Caris quickly pretended to be facing another direction entirely. From the corner of her eye, however, she saw Jay and Ranyon exchange a complicated system of clasps and knuckle bumps. Both grinned like fools afterward, and Morgan looked over her shoulder and winked at them.

Caris didn’t know which was more surprising, that this rare fae creature was
here
of all places or that the humans could see him. A grim was intended to be seen by the person it was sent to warn, but not many mortals had the ability to perceive the fae on their own. Nor did any fae show themselves readily. Yet Jay had demonstrated he could both see and converse with Ranyon. Morgan saw the little ellyll, but she didn’t speak to him as she tended Liam. Jay fell silent as well. Ranyon didn’t seem to mind a bit, as he simply kept up a running conversation all by himself. After a moment, Caris understood why his human friends were so quiet.

Liam cannot see or hear the fae.

Considering what the prince’s outlaw hunt had done to Liam’s once-lovely farm, she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. As it was, he probably blamed the destruction on a storm. What would he do if he knew the storm was not a natural one? She couldn’t guess the answer to that either, but she did know one thing: the trio of newcomers expected
her
to be as blind and deaf to the faery realm as Liam was. And for now, it seemed safer to let them think that.

SEVEN

I
t was her fault. She had forced him to do it.

Maelgwn was in a foul mood as he paced the crystalline cavern he’d chosen for his temporary chambers.
Temporary
until his palace could be built, a structure that would outshine the queen’s own residence in the Nine Realms. But thinking about the splendor he would surround himself with as he ruled Tir Hardd failed to cool his rage. Caris Ellen Dillwyn had spoiled his plans. Oh, not beyond recovery, of course, never that—no one was
that
important, and Maelgwn prided himself on his resourcefulness. But her value as a weapon would have made his plans far simpler to implement.

As a grim, it had been easy to hide her, but it should also have been easy to control her. For a time, it seemed to work. The same foolish mortal girl who had defied Maelgwn’s orders, and broken her pathetic little
ffidil
in front of him, had been his obedient dog for nearly two human centuries. Yet no sooner had he brought his hunt to Tir Hardd than he’d been forced to make an example of her. One of the other grims had spotted her attempting to escape and raised the alarm.

Where did she think she could hide that I could not find her?
Most of his followers felt that mortals weren’t very smart, and Maelgwn was inclined to agree.
But they could be trained.
And he was determined that this particular human should learn once and for all. In his rage, however, he had wielded the light whip too fiercely. Lightning had struck repeatedly, and she hadn’t gotten up again.

Even now, he swore he could still smell the stench of burning dog hair.

How dare she die!

Maelgwn’s fury had known no bounds as he led his hunt on a rampage throughout the human countryside. The mortal plane would soon know they had a new master, and even now his fists clenched to think of it. He would be as the old gods, feared by all and worshipped with offerings. The stones in the silver breastplate beneath his tunic hummed, as if they liked the idea as much as he did. It made him think of the rich collection of relics and artifacts that he and his followers had brought with them, all possessing power in one form or another.

The prince had left the dead grim exactly where she had died, of course—after he had kicked her repeatedly, of course—but perhaps he should have someone retrieve the silver collar. The intricately designed torcs worn by the big black dogs were forged in such a way that they retained magic. At the very least, Maelgwn could bind a new grim with it.
Perhaps I’ll bind Rhedyn with it . . .

Normally, the prince would simply send out grims to get the job done. But this could be an opportunity in disguise. After all, hadn’t he just forged a brand new partnership? Surely this was a perfect little task with which to test that alliance.

As Morgan sat with her friend to wait for the ambulance, Jay grabbed a bag and headed around the other side of the barn to check on the goats. The mysterious Caris went with him to help. The simple dark-green scrubs Jay had found for her looked absolutely rich next to her olive-toned skin and glossy black hair “Your girlfriend’s quite beautiful,” Morgan ventured. “Lovely accent too—sounds like she could be Welsh, though not from the same area as Rhys.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Liam said firmly. “And I have no idea where she’s from. I’ve only known her a few minutes more than you have.”

“Really? How did she get here?”

“Not a damn clue.”

“Well, it must be your lucky day if pretty women are dropping out of the sky.”

He snorted. “Not if I’m not looking for one.”

Defensive much?
“Well, I just meant . . .”

“Besides,” he added. “She’s had a tough time of it. I don’t know what happened to her in the storm, but she’s really confused right now. You’ll look after her too, right?”

She blinked at his odd remark, but her answer was sure. “Of course we will.”

The ambulance pulled into the laneway of the farm just as she was about to ask Liam what he meant.
Caris didn’t looked confused—in fact, she was taking care of Liam before we got here.
As the EMTs made their way across the obstacle course that had once been a yard, Morgan squeezed Liam’s hand. “Look, I know you don’t want to be fussed over, but I really think you’ve got a concussion, possibly a bad one, and they’re nothing to mess around with.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I watch football,” he said. “Believe me, I have a brand-new respect for guys that take a hit on a play.”

Morgan moved back out of the way to stand with Ranyon, who still had the chicken tucked under one scrawny arm. No one could see the ellyll unless he allowed them to—but she couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to hide the hen as well! Ranyon undoubtedly was hoping to take it home to Leo’s house, to join his growing flock of “found” fowl.
Do I need to talk to him about leaving it here? It’s got to be Liam’s chicken.
She knew Ranyon would never steal it, but would he try to “borrow” it?
The fae had many strange ideas about ownership.

Together they watched as the EMTs carefully put a cervical collar on Liam to immobilize his head and neck. It was a sure sign of how lousy he must feel that he didn’t protest, even when they strapped him to the stretcher. When it was obvious they were done, she put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry a bit about your animals, Liam. We’ll take care of all of them as long as you need us to. Just get some rest, okay?”

“I’ll probably be back in a couple of hours or so,” he said, but the gruff certainty was gone from his voice. Instead, he sounded tired, and his face was nearly as white as the sheet on the stretcher.

No way would any self-respecting hospital release a head-injury patient without at least an overnight observation,
she thought. Meanwhile, she’d do her best for his livestock and make arrangements for their care. If Liam wasn’t worried about them, maybe he wouldn’t be so damn anxious to come home. “I’ll call and give you a full report on your animals,” she said, then added, “And about Caris too.”

“Thanks, Morgan. I’m glad you came. You’re a good friend. No wonder Tina thinks the world of you.”

“You just get better—and I’ll call Tina to let her know where you are.”

He frowned, then winced, no doubt sorry he’d moved the muscles in his battered forehead. “Shit, if you do that, she’s just gonna worry.”

“Sorry, but relatives have that prerogative. But I’ll let
her
make the decision as to what to tell your aunt and uncle.”

“At least Tina won’t be able to find them right away. They’re on some kind of archeological tour of Peru right now. Aunt Ruby’s really into Aztec ruins and all that.”

“I think those are Inca ruins.”

“Same difference.”

She patted his hand, then stepped back out of the way as the EMTs moved in. “See you later, bud.”

“Make sure you help, Caris,” Liam called out. “And find that dog!”

Morgan watched after them for a moment, not envying their trip through the debris-strewn yard and wondering whether she should go with them and try to help. That’s when Ranyon reached up and tugged at her sleeve.

“Is he dying?” he asked solemnly.

“He’s got a concussion for certain, but it’ll heal in time.”

“So yer certain he won’t be dying?”

Morgan looked down at the little man in surprise. “Now you’re scaring me. What’s all this about dying?”

In answer, he held up his twiggy hand. It didn’t look strong enough to hold the heavy silver collar draped over his palm. The wide band of intricately woven links hung to the ground on either side of his upstretched arm. Morgan recognized the otherworldly workmanship of the piece at once, but its perfection was marred: dozens of scarred and broken links glinted in the sun. Many even looked melted, as if the collar had suffered some great violence.

“Omigod,” she whispered, as she took the collar from Ranyon. Her skin crawled at the touch of the faery-forged metal. She’d felt a strong fae presence here, but
this
she hadn’t expected. All the clues had presented themselves almost as soon as she’d arrived, however.
A dog goes missing and a mystery woman from Wales shows up. What the hell else could it be?
“Liam said he didn’t know Caris, but he was certainly worried about her. He said she was confused and wanted me to look out for her.” Her voice trailed away as she looked around, quickly scanning the farm in every direction.

Ranyon shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a
female
grim afore, but there’s a death dog here for certain,” he declared. “There’s naught else that wears a collar like this in all of the Nine Realms, and ya know that better than most. So if yer friend’s not fated for death, what’s a grim doing here? And worse came along with it, dontcha know.”

The ellyll’s words penetrated Morgan’s frantic thoughts. “Worse? What the hell’s worse than a messenger of death?”

“A fae hunt rode through here: it’s them that brought the storm down on yer friend’s farm.”

Morgan finally shifted her gaze away from the collar to stare at her friend. “Ranyon, are you sure? The place is a helluva mess, but I didn’t see any hoofprints at all.”

“Nor will ya, not from fae horses. But the air is disturbed, dontcha know—the energies are stricken as sparks from a flint. I feel their path and their passing. ’Tis their power we’ve been feeling ever since we came close to this place.”

Although she believed him, the situation made no sense to her. “But Lurien leads the Wild Hunt.” Not that she trusted the tall, dark lord one hundred percent, mind you. Nothing personal, but it was usually a mistake to trust a fae. Although the queen herself had become as dear a friend to her as had Ranyon, others of the faery realm were coldhearted and amoral at best, malicious and deadly at worst. Lurien appeared to have a code of honor, but whether it matched human ideals was another matter entirely. Still . . . “I’ve never heard of him leaving a swath of destruction like this. Never. He’s, well, too classy to do something so juvenile. And our friend, Aidan, certainly wouldn’t do it if he was filling in for Lurien—and besides, he and Brooke have been gone for a month now.”

“True on all counts, good lady. But I can feel the magic of this hunt everywhere, and it tells me another strange thing: the dogs were all grims, with not a single
Cŵn Annwn
to be found.”

Morgan frowned. “My grandmother used to say the Cŵn Annwn were faery hounds—they’re pure white, aren’t they?”

“Aye, and marked with red ears and red eyes. Lurien has a great mob of ’em. There’s nothing can follow a trail like a Cŵn Annwn. Grims might run along with the Wild Hunt for the sport of it, or because they’ve finally gone mad, but never in such numbers. There must have been half a hundred great black dogs here last night, and just as many riders.” He placed his twiggy hands on his hips. “And so ’twas not Lurien’s band at all that did this mischief.”

Fifty
grims? The enormous dogs would make a terrifying picture. And although the true Wild Hunt was not immune from being hijacked by those with ill intent—and Morgan would never forget the encounter that had nearly killed her and her husband at their own farm—the implications of Ranyon’s words were much, much worse. “You’re talking about something altogether new then, like a rogue hunt?”

He nodded solemnly. “There are many vile creatures and scoundrels, fae beings that defy the queen’s authority and seek holdings in Tir Hardd unlawfully. Worse, they could bring harm to the human world above. We have the proof before us, good lady: someone has brought over an outlaw hunt, and look at what it’s wrought in a single night.” The ellyll waved a hand at the destruction all around them.

Great. Just great.
The royally sanctioned Wild Hunt was terrifying enough, but they were bound by ancient laws. There were parameters, boundaries,
rules
for heaven’s sake. But a rogue hunt? All bets were off. They would likely do whatever they pleased—unless it was possible for the true Wild Hunt to find them and catch them. “No wonder Lurien’s been trying to patrol the new territory as well as the old kingdom. Now I understand why he needs Aidan’s help so often.”