Storm Crossed Page 10

The idea bothered him. Surely someone who shone as brightly as she did should have only the finest and loveliest of everything. Judging by the character of the mortals taken prisoner by the Wild Hunt, however, the human world was not so very different from the Nine Realms. The strong took the best for themselves, not only ignoring the needs of the weak but actively preying upon them.

  At least the energy of the room was pleasing. The walls were the green of sprouting ferns. Most of the furnishings were natural wood, and while several shelves were devoted to books, others held many types of interesting stones. A large plant—a tree, really—stood in a corner, reaching from its bright clay pot to brush the ceiling with brand-new leaves and lending to the harmony of the small space. The only discordant items were tiny figures, strangely made of copper and twigs, standing in rows upon the small desk . . . Like the wind chime outside and the odd red-capped figures in the flower bed, there was something belligerent about them, almost hostile—

  “And the brownies made Thermin their king, because he had saved them from the bad mice,” the boy read. “And the bad mice were never seen again. The end.” He closed the book, and the dog wagged his tail as if applauding.

  “Let us be on our way, Braith. No doubt your young friend requires his sleep.”

  Raising his great head, his brother seemed somehow apologetic as he regarded Trahern for a long moment, then rested his chin on the edge of the bed again and closed his eyes.

  “He doesn’t want to go,” said the boy, as if Trahern failed to understand the message.

  But . . . but he has always been with me. They had lived their entire lives together. And after Braith’s transformation, they had followed the Hunt together for centuries as mortals counted time. How can he not wish to accompany me? I have done him no wrong—

  Except failed to find a cure for his curse. And if it hadn’t been for this mortal child, Trahern would never have guessed that Braith’s essence still existed, that he was yet aware of himself as a man trapped in a grim’s body.

  Perhaps Braith preferred the company of someone who could hear him, as Trahern had once heard him.

  It was the boy’s fault. Everything had been perfectly fine until he came along. Suddenly incensed, Trahern strode down the hallway and flung open the woman’s door. “This must stop at once! Your son is unduly influencing—”

  She was naked. And wet. A hammerblow of arousal jolted his entire body, numbing his surprised brain until a solid blow to the head with a rubbery object on the end of a short stick announced that she was attacking him.

  “Get the hell out of my house!” she yelled, swinging the strange club again. This time he ducked, but the confines of the ridiculously small room kept him from avoiding the blow completely. It glanced off his shoulder and bounced into the side of his face. Instinctively, he tried to retreat, to leave the way he had come, but the narrow door slammed shut behind him. It gave the woman a chance to bludgeon him squarely in the nose.

  “I have no wish to harm you!” Trahern had barely succeeded in slapping the weapon away from her before she seized upon a heavy candle and bashed him repeatedly with it. As he fended off the blows, he finally regained his wits enough to use a spell—and the door momentarily dissolved into nothingness, spilling him into the hallway.

  “Get out of my house!” she repeated, deftly yanking on a robe before snatching up a long-handled brush. The door solidified just in time for her to run smack into it.

  “Tylluan!” hissed Trahern, and winged his way down the hallway as a great gray owl. It probably wasn’t his best choice, considering the size of the window at the turn in the stairs—he had to perch awkwardly on the sill, gripping its frame with his talons so he could squeeze beneath the raised pane. But moments later, he was once again seated on his horse, watching unseen and listening intently as several humans burst from their homes and rushed to the woman’s house.

  “I’m really sorry for all the fuss. There was an animal upstairs. It surprised me, that’s all.”

  Lissy sat on the couch with Fox, thankful that her son was apparently too deeply involved in a handheld video game to be bothered by the crowd. She wished she could be that detached. Campus police were searching the house, and assorted neighbors milled around the living room. Some—led by Claire Emsley from two doors down—even wandered through the kitchen and laundry room. You’d think I was having an open house. Of all the people Lissy would prefer not to have in her home, Claire topped the list. Did being an avid busybody make her a better teacher of information systems? The woman was all South Carolina sweetness on the outside, but she was known for making frequent complaints about her neighbors—including Lissy or, more correctly, Fox. The woman knew nothing about Asperger’s Syndrome and appeared to have no desire to learn. Sighing inwardly, Lissy stuffed what she’d really like to say to Claire into a compartment in her head and nailed the door shut. “You know, I’m wondering if that creature got in through the window in the stairwell. I’ve been asking Maintenance to replace the screen on it ever since we moved in,” she said, hoping the woman would take the bait.

  Claire gave a knowing nod. “Everything’s all catawampus over there ever since Ralph Oberhausen retired. The new manager could mess up a one-car funeral. Why, I had to phone three times last week just to get the paint on the front door touched up.”

  “Hmpf! I’ve been waiting for my damn air-conditioning to get fixed since last summer!” added a gray-haired man who lived in the end unit and was hardly ever seen. Murray? Murphy? All Lissy could remember was that he taught history.

  “There now, you see?” Claire pointed a manicured finger. “And now our Melissa’s been attacked by a wild animal. Why, any one of us could be next! We simply must take a petition to the residence board.”

  It wasn’t a wild animal; it was that damn faery from Palouse Falls. When he surprised her in the bathroom, Lissy hadn’t exactly had time to think about it. In retrospect, he’d seemed seriously pissed—although being beaten with a plunger may have had something to do with it.

  A pair of uniformed men walked briskly down the stairs. “All clear, ma’am. Whatever it was, it must have gone out the same way it came in,” said the older one. His name tag said HANSON. “We’ve had several young raccoons behind the main cafeteria lately, trying to get into the garbage, so they’re definitely around. There’s some fresh scratches on the window frame, and I noticed there’s a downspout from the rain gutter right outside—it’d be an easy climb for them, and they’re pretty curious.”

  “Make sure you keep your distance if you see another one,” warned the other officer. “They look cute, but raccoons can inflict a nasty bite, and they also carry rabies.”

  Hanson nodded. “I’ll make sure a copy of the report goes to Maintenance, and maybe it’ll light a fire under their butts about that window screen.”

  “I’ll cross my fingers it works.” Lissy laughed. “Thanks so much for coming, all of you. I’m embarrassed it was something so silly, but it’s good to know I have neighbors who would react if they thought there was a problem.” Even if one of them is Claire.

  “If the critter comes back, just call us,” said Hanson, and saluted by touching his flashlight to his forehead.

  When everyone had finally filed out, Lissy turned to regard Fox—and his brand-new friend. Not a single person had perceived the giant dog sitting quietly behind the couch, looming over her son like a protective lion. In fact, although the canine had seemed solid enough to Lissy’s touch at Palouse Falls, Claire had walked right through the creature more than once. Too bad she couldn’t see it. Wouldn’t that give her something to talk about? Of course, the woman would probably waste no time filing a report on a “no pet” violation . . . The dog looked up at Lissy and grinned, exposing a flash of very large teeth even as his bath-towel tongue lolled out like a Labrador’s.

  “Dude! I didn’t get to see the raccoon.” Clad in his second-favorite pair of Scooby-Doo pajamas, Fox still didn’t look up from his game. He should ha
ve reacted to the sudden influx of strangers and neighbors into the house. In fact, her routine-oriented son should have reacted, and badly, to the disruption of his bedtime routine—it was past eleven o’clock, after all. Instead, he focused solely on the game as if nothing else was amiss.

  “There wasn’t any raccoon, sweetie. All those good people came to help us because they thought we were in trouble—but I couldn’t tell them about your big dog or his brother because they can’t see them like we can.” And isn’t that six kinds of weird? “Besides, if I told them a faery man walked into my bathroom, they’d spend all night looking for him, and they’d never find him.” Worse, they’d be looking at her like she needed serious help.

  “Yeah. They wouldn’t get any sleep,” said Fox, continuing to play his game. “And they’d have a really bad day tomorrow.” He understood because that was exactly what would happen to him. Except for the great blue-gray dog watching intently over his shoulder (and Lissy didn’t know what the hell to do with the creature other than offer it a blanket and a steak), things seemed okay with him. She felt herself start to relax.

  Until the tall fae appeared right in front of her—and he still looked pissed.

  “You again! I told you to leave!” Lissy snatched up her cell phone from the coffee table and speed-dialed Brooke. “You have no business being in my home. I didn’t invite you in here!”

  “Of a surety, good lady, I have no wish to be here. Please instruct your child to release my brother.”

  Pick up, Brooke, pick up! “My child is not keeping your d—I mean, your brother here.”

  A sleepy voice sounded in her ear at last. “You okay, Liss?”

  “I’m having a close encounter of the faery kind,” said Lissy. “Guess who’s in my living room right now?”

  “What?” She could almost hear Brooke snap fully awake. “I’m on my way. Um—remember we talked once about hospitality being really important to the fae? Just treat him like a guest, and try to play nice till I get there.”

  A guest? Her house was being invaded and she was supposed to play frickin’ hostess? Mentally, Lissy counted to ten, reminding herself that her best friend was the expert here. If Brooke had instructed her to sing karaoke or play Pictionary with the guy, Lissy would do it without question. I just need to keep everyone calm so that Fox is safe, right? That shouldn’t be too hard. Didn’t she already spend every day of her life trying to keep things on an even keel for her son’s sake? Once she’d reframed the situation in her mind, the next step came easily.

  “I’m sorry that I don’t remember how to pronounce your name. But please come into the kitchen and sit down. It’s silly for us to stand here being angry over something we don’t know how to fix yet.” Even as she said it, she realized it was true. The man clearly didn’t want to be in her house any more than she wanted him to be there. A faint shiver in her core announced that at least part of her very much wanted him there . . . which was crazy and annoying, and she shut those feelings down at once. “My friend is coming over to try to help us,” she said. “While we’re waiting, I’m going to put on some tea and make up a snack for us.”

  Behind that veiled gaze was the flicker of surprise she’d seen once before. A moment later, he unfolded his arms and followed her.

  NINE

  Unlike the rooms upstairs, the woman’s kitchen was of a reasonable size—if you were a coblyn, that is. He approved of the pleasant wall color, though—green again, a vivid shade reminiscent of budding leaves. Open shelves displayed bright plates and bowls, and the windowsill boasted an assortment of colored glass bottles that would capture positive energies—even spirits—when daylight shone through them. Clear jars of spices and herbs marched along the back of the counter, like ingredients in an alchemist’s study. An upright metal cabinet—no. He corrected himself. The cabinet was a human machine, a cold box for storing foods, and its bland surface was nearly covered with layers of her son’s paper artwork—and one of the uppermost drawings boasted a gray dog with golden eyes very much like Braith.

  The dog in the picture was smiling. Smiling! Trahern resisted the impulse to scowl.

  Meanwhile, the woman motioned him to a rather plain chair. At least it is made of wood, not metal. Tracing the fine, clear grain of the tabletop with his finger helped him to center and calm himself in this cramped human habitation. But it wasn’t the surroundings that were causing the near-constant hum of electricity beneath his skin, and he knew it. As she had issued her invitation, color had burned along her cheekbones, a natural ruddiness unbidden by magic.

  Was the invitation for something more?

  I must say something. He was being offered hospitality, an extremely rare thing from a mortal, and there were age-old courtesies to be observed. Basic manners, at the very least, but the eloquence that he’d once relied upon at Court had deserted him. “I am Trahern,” he said at last, cursing himself for such an unoriginal beginning.

  She tried to pronounce his name without success, and she laughed at herself. The sound was spontaneous and guileless, far from the practiced amusement of females of the Court. “I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s a sound in there that I’m not quite getting. Is it a Welsh name?”

  “Not originally, although I hear it is sometimes used in Wales. Tra-hern.”

  “Tra, like in trajectory,” she said. “I can hear the beginning just fine, but the end confuses me.”

  “The sound you are missing is much like hair.” He seized a tendril of his own and held it up.

  “Hairn. TraHAIRN,” she practiced. “Accent on the last syllable?”

  He nodded, even as he thought it extremely odd that his name should sound so pleasing from a human tongue. There were other pleasing things about her as well. She was clothed now, but he would not forget what she looked like undressed. As she pulled plates and mugs from an upper shelf, the soft curves of her body fascinated him, beckoned to him . . . He shook his head to clear it and recovered his voice. “And your name, good lady?”

  She stopped slicing bread and turned to study his face with those dark-brown eyes that bespoke intelligence and strength—and that saw entirely too much. “I’ve heard that names have power. Am I going to regret telling you?”

  Wise as well. “I have already gifted you with my true name. Because of that, it is I who have given power to you in this situation.”

  She snorted at that. “It’s not power if I don’t know how to use it!”

  Very wise. “If it sets your mind at rest, then I offer my oath that I will not harm you or your son in any way.” Trahern didn’t intend to say more, but the words sprang out unbidden: “Nor permit harm to come to you if I can help it.”

  “All right, then. My friends have told me that the fae keep their word, and I believe my friends.” She appeared to take her time slicing the last of the bread, and he understood that she was giving him time to absorb that she didn’t trust him, at least not yet. Finally, she set the bread on the table, along with a pot of butter. “My name is Melissa. But it’s usually just Lissy for short.”

  “Melissa sounds much like our word for sweetness. But what is this short name?”

  A plate of cheeses and apple slices joined the bread. “Don’t you have nicknames in the faery world?”

  He frowned. “I do not know this term.”

  “If a name is difficult or long, your friends and family might shorten it. I might call you Tray, for instance.”

  “Do not do that! You spoke the truth when you said that names have power. They should not be tampered with.”

  She didn’t repeat it, but there was a mischievous quirk to her lips now. “You know, sometimes people pick out a feature or an attribute and make up an entirely new name for you. For instance, I have a student in my class whose name is Elizabeth Rose, but she’s been known as Deets most of her life. It’s because she’s so detail oriented. Someone might look at that gorgeous white hair of yours and nickname you—”

  “You are a teacher?” He seized on
the chance to change the subject. The mere thought of name changing made him very uncomfortable. Did humans not realize the magical implications of such actions? Who knew how her life had already been affected by the alteration of her name?

  “A teacher of science, yes. Geology and physics mostly.”

  Trahern buttered a slice of bread that was fairly bursting with interesting seeds and grains. “I have heard of this geology. You study the structure of the earth on the mortal plane?”

  She frowned in puzzlement, and he decided he liked the way her forehead creased just so between her brows. “I study the earth. Period. All of it.”

  “Ah, but you cannot study all of it. You have not been to the Nine Realms, and human sciences would not make sense of it if you did.” He waved the bread at her. “This is quite good.”

  “It’s from this great organic bakery I found, but it must seem pretty plain to someone like you.”

  “I have dined on exotic fare.” In another life. “But I have found that plain foods often satisfy better. This would make a fine meal after a hunt. What animals provided milk for the cheese?”

  A teapot whistled, and she whisked it away from its heat source. “Dairy goats. My friends, Caris and Liam, keep a herd of about forty.”

  He nodded. “I have seen goats in your world. They are very tiny and tame compared to those that live in mine. In fact, one of our Hunters prefers a great black goat as his mount. It is as large as my horse.” And even more dangerous. With six horns and red eyes, the creature bore closer resemblance to a demon than to the benign animal that grazed on mortal farms.

  “A goat big enough to ride? Now that would be something to see!” She poured the steaming water into two large mugs and set one before him.

  “Most who do see it, regret it. The Hunt usually reveals itself only to those who have betrayed human or fae laws.” He sniffed his cup, studying the fragrance of the steeping herbs. “Rose hips. Chamomile and blackberry leaves. A flower—hibiscus, I believe it is called. A fruit of some kind and a single spice as well, but I do not know your names for them.”