With a Kiss (Twisted Tales) (15 page)

“Banshees
are
faeries!” Hobs shouted through the din.

 “They don’t
look
like faeries!”

“They’re cursed to roam the earth. They were naughty. They were the maidservants of Queen Ratis when the treasures were lost.”

I put my fingers to my lips with a shrill shriek. “Don’t say
her
name!”

He gave me an impatient look. “Ratis is not the hag! Don’t worry. She was the keeper of the treasures. And besides, it’s what
we
call her—nobody knows her real name. Even if I knew it, I would never . . .” The door warped in front of us and I yelped, dragging Babs toward the bathroom. “Oh, no you don’t . . .” Hobs tugged us both back. “Don’t let them corner you. They tear down walls—you can’t.”

“Why aren’t they tearing down
this
wall then?”

“Would
you
want to be in here?” he cried.
Well, no!
Hobs breathed in deeply, pacing the room around us. It looked like he was thinking hard, and I knew he wasn’t being completely honest with me. There was another reason he didn’t want me near the bathroom, and I was pretty sure it had something to do with the mirror and what waited for me in there. “It won’t be long before they get in here.” His eyes searched mine like he wanted to tell me something, but he was torn. “The Banshees don’t even know who they’re fighting. She just sent them after us without an explanation. We’ve got to get them quiet enough to talk some sense into them. Turn the radio down.”

“No!”

The door to the bathroom rattled and I pulled away from it, seeing the windows shake as something hard pounded against them. My legs went weak. This was what Hobs had saved us from. “What’s in the bathroom? More Banshees?”

Hobs paled, but he shook his head. The pressure from the air was building and he pulled us to the middle of the room. We were surrounded. The bathroom door ripped open like cardboard, and the most grotesque thing I had ever seen pulled through the jagged edges of wood. It was a hideous monster. Its paper-white skin stretched over a pointy face. The eyes were crossed, probably because its nose was so bulbous it couldn’t see past it. It was short and stocky . . . and must I go on? The unfortunate thing had absolutely no redeeming features at all. I shrieked and scrambled back, using Hobs’ body as a shield; he laughed a little.

Babs reached out for the monster. “Dadda.”

Hobs wrinkled his nose. “Uh no, that’s not your dadda, honey. That’s Bugul. Try not to look at him directly or you’ll go mad.”

The goblin thing gave a disgusted snort. It wore a leather vest laced up on the sides, tattered black pants. The monster was made of pure muscle. Its forearms and calves were covered in armor. It stalked up to Hobs, poking him hard in the ribs. I screamed. “Where are they?” the creature yelled.

Hobs and I exchanged glances. It was a lot easier than looking at this Bugul guy. To be honest, it actually gave me a headache. “They’re over there.” Hobs motioned hurriedly to the door. The goblin left us, bumbling for it. “Um, Bugul, you know they can’t die, right?” Hobs tried to warn him, but the goblin had himself and apparently everybody else well in hand. He tore the bedroom door down with his bare hands, just like he had the bathroom door.

“Lost, lost . . .”
The Banshees stepped back, choking on a sob.

They were as startled as I had been at seeing him. He chucked what remained of my door against the wall, leaving an ugly dent. “What are you doing here?” The Banshees didn’t move. The radio still kept them back. Bugul turned with an oath and smashed my radio flat. The Banshees stared at him in the awkward silence. A few sniffed. “No one gave you permission to be here!”

I had to avert my eyes from the creature. Hobs, on the other hand, was fascinated. “Clever. Fight death with death. Why didn’t I think of that?” It wasn’t very polite, but yeah, this Bugul guy pretty much looked like death. A slight smile played over Hobs’ lips. “Not so easy on the eyes, maybe, but he makes for a great distraction.” He watched me with a considering look. “Hold Babs close to you.”

He didn’t need to tell me—I already was. The Banshees turned to me and I wasn’t sure our ugly new ally could keep them back for long, especially with their hollowed-eyed looks.
“Lost,”
the queen muttered under her breath.

Hobs pointed at me. “Well, you found her. Maybe you should look a little closer at her before you decide to kill her, Cyhiraeth.”

“Hobs?” I asked.

His eyes drew to mine, but I wasn’t getting whatever he was trying to communicate to me. He brought his attention back to the Banshees, stepping away from me with his hands out to show he was harmless. “She wears the diadem of the keeper. Do you see that, Cyhiraeth? Look on your princess. She’s the one who leads you.”

The Banshees stared at me and then with a shriek, turned to Babs. The baby was more interested in playing with my earrings. Their bloodshot eyes narrowed at her and I buried her face into my shoulder. I didn’t want them to look at her like that and I glared at them to prove it. To my surprise, they bowed their heads.
“It is she.”
One by one they dropped to their knees, their ragged dresses tangled behind them
. “Our liege. Undying loyalty.”

Their voices sounded dead.
“Dying loyalty.”

“Loyalty,”
another echoed.
“Star shall rule the sun and moon.”

My fingers dug into Babs. They were chanting that terrible poem again and watching Babs like she was their liege. “Leave us,” I choked on the order.

“Never leave . . . Keeper, Warrior, Healer of wounds.”

 “
Follow you . . . always.”
At that threat, the Banshees’ crying voices faded as they melted from our sight.

“Shatter our pain.”

It was the last thing I heard. I sagged in relief. Gathering Babs into a hug, I collapsed on the edge of my bed, staring at the broken door. The deep scratches from the Banshees’ broken nails trailed down the walls from the hallway to the living room in a jagged line.

“You lead them?” I asked Babs, but I patted her on the back to soften the accusation. I couldn’t have her crying on me, especially in front of that
thing
. . . well, what was that thing anyway? This Bugul guy?

Hobs clasped the top of the broken doorjamb, the veins sticking out from his forearms as he tried to straighten the frame. “What brings you here, Bugul?” The goblin rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer. “You don’t know anything about a dog in the park, do you?” Hobs kept his voice calm with seemingly little effort. I was familiar with that tone. “Anyone send
that
after us?”

The goblin grumbled, pacing the room in quick, jerky movements. “Everyone’s after you! What do you think you’re doing here, boy? Getting her killed you are! You weren’t supposed to . . .”

Hobs straightened, glancing hastily at me. “Wait, Bugul . . . friend. I thought you took a vow of silence.”

“
Your friend
?” Bugul howled. “You have a lot of nerve! Have you forgotten . . .” the rest of his words were lost in grunts.

“Forgotten what? Your sacred tribute to the queen? Never.” Hobs had the grace to color under Bugul’s withering look. “Bugul’s very devout in his faith, girls. The man recently took a vow of silence.” Bugul waved his arms about in an angry blur, but nothing came out of his mouth. If I could read lips
and
if I knew the faery language, I was sure I’d see a string of curses. Hobs pulled from the door to pat him on the back, but that just started another round of furious grunts. “I missed you too. We’ll talk about it later. Maybe in a few days. I’m pretty sure of it actually.”

Bugul’s eyes bulged in rage and Babs cried out at the spectacle. Hey, it was almost enough to make
me
cry. The goblin noticed the crying toddler, and with a snort of impatience, tore away from us to pace the room.

I tried to relax, but it was hard, knowing that my parents were about to see the remnants of my room. Uh yeah, and everything else had been a little stressful too, I guess.

Chapter Eleven

For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow;
He has loved an earthly maid,
And left for her his woodland shade;
He has lain upon her lip of dew,
And sunned him in her eye of blue,
Fann’d her cheek with his wing of air,
Played in the ringlets of her hair

—Joseph Rodman Drake,
The Culprit Fay

I
hadn’t slept for three days. I stared at the dresses heaped over my floor. Ever since the “freak earthquake” as my family called it, my room had been more than its usual wreck. Babs tripped over my pink furry rug in my high heels, dressing up in practically everything I owned. “Halley! Halley!” She blew a kiss at me. Hobs had taught her to do that. I could barely respond.

I pushed my hand up. It flopped against the bed as I pretended to catch the kiss and press it into my cheek. She smiled. Babs had grown another two years overnight, and then another two before my very eyes. I think that made her about seven-years-old. I stared at her with dull eyes. Babs was beautiful; she looked more like my sisters than I ever did. She talked a mile a minute like they did too.

“Whatsh thish?” She held up my bracelet and then tried to fit it over Bugul’s oversized blue-and-gold-veined wrist, still asking me questions while he glowered at everyone in the room—especially Hobs. “Where didsh you get thish? Can I wear it?”

I smiled wanly. Babs had a little speech impediment. It was cute. She strutted around the room in my Midsummer Dream’s costume. It was appropriate in so many ways. The play was tonight and I wasn’t sure how, but the show had to go on. It was a funny thing to think about when dying. “Midsummer,” I breathed. Hobs messed with my backpack in the corner of the room and I tried to get his attention. “Midsummer Night’s Dream . . . it’s tonight.”

“I know. We need earplugs.” Hobs threw cotton into my backpack next to some water bottles and a bandanna as if we actually had someplace to go. He even dressed up for it in warmer clothes. His vintage jeans gave his legs a long lean look. I, on the other hand, hadn’t changed my clothes since yesterday. I had given up trying to find the Sidhe. I was still in my sweats and rumpled tee, not dressed to go anywhere.

I stared up at him. “You have more clothes than I do.”

His eyes swept significantly over the messy carpet. “No, all your clothes are just on the floor. Get dressed.”

“What for?”

“June 24th, of course. Midsummer, just like your play. Faeries are making merry and night is drawing nigh. No way am I missing the party again this year.” He rescued my arm warmers from the ground and slipped one over my arm like I was a helpless baby—which at this point, I was. “It’s cold in the Sidhe.” His fingers were rough. He pulled my hand through the other knitted tube. It tickled and I watched him dumbly, too weak to move. He confiscated the bracelet from Bugul’s wrist and threw it into my backpack along with some strange knickknacks from the living room. Even if we were able to get to faeryland, how would I get back home, or to the
Otherworld
as they called it here? I tried not to think about it.

Hobs gathered the book of faerytales with his other hand. He slid it into the bag. Bugul straightened and growled out something. Hobs gave him a level look. “There’s no way we’d survive out there without it. It’s our map out of there.”

“I’m supposed to be in the play tonight.” I repeated it like a broken record.

 “Your shadow will do it.”

“My shadow is dumb.” I was rewarded with a flick on the head from my shadow’s exquisite finger, followed by her shrill giggle. She had been flirting with Hobs all day. I couldn’t believe she was even a part of me . . . my airhead part of me. “How will she take over? I can’t even . . . see her all the way.”

“You will.”

“. . . too convenient.”

“It is.” He didn’t spare my simpering shadow a glance, though I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was now me . . . a stupid me. It was strange how I looked with her cheesy smile. She wandered around my messy room in a flirty skirt, a gray striped vest, and—I frowned—my leg warmers. It wouldn’t be long before she was stealing Daphne’s clothes too. She batted her eyelashes at Hobs and ran into a wall. She wasn’t used to having boundaries.

Hobs laughed and met my eyes. “You’re gonna have to fix a lot of things when you get back.”

My shadow took absolutely no offense at that, which worried me. No one would believe she was me for long. “I’d rather go missing.”