Storm Crossed Read online

  Fox does not like to be touched?

  You’re reading my mind again, she chided Trahern. But yes, touch is usually too intense for him. Sometimes he’ll come and sit close to me, maybe even lean on me. He never wants me to hug him, though.

  This saddens you.

  What can I say? I’m a mother. I naturally want to hold my child, and kiss him and hug him. Touch is a vital way of expressing love. But I have to find other ways that are meaningful to Fox without causing him stress. Love him the way he wants to be loved, you know?

  Trahern only shook his head. Love is not known among the fae, not even between parents and their offspring. For most of us, it is only a myth, albeit a pleasant one.

  The idea was so startling that she risked looking at his perfect face, meeting again that ageless gaze that seemed to see right through her. She wanted to look longer but gave herself a mental shake. It’s late, and way past time to be direct, she decided. “I don’t want to be rude, but are you and your brother planning to leave soon? Fox needs to go to bed, and so do the rest of us mortals.”

  As if in answer, the grim shifted his great bulk so he faced away from Trahern. No emotion registered on the outside, but Lissy detected confusion in Trahern’s eyes—and something very akin to hurt. Nevertheless, he rose smoothly to his feet.

  “I regret troubling all of you this evening. It is obvious to me that my brother intends to remain with Fox, and I must respect his wishes.”

  “Wait just a minute,” protested Lissy. “What about my wishes? I’m not allowed to have dogs in this building!”

  “I’m certain your ellyll friend has informed you that most humans do not see us. A scant few have a gift and cannot be prevented from perceiving the fae, and even fewer are deliberately permitted to do so. Braith will be imperceptible to all else.”

  Lissy’s insides unexpectedly turned to liquid as his voice blossomed in her head. I thank you for your hospitality, good lady. I will return soon to see if Braith has changed his mind. Flustered, she couldn’t think of anything to say before Trahern simply disappeared.

  “Good riddance!” declared Ranyon.

  “And good grief! Looks to me like you have a new pet,” said Brooke. Her mouth quirked as if trying not to laugh.

  “This isn’t funny.” Still holding the sleeping Fox close, Lissy regarded the enormous blue-gray beast on the floor. Lying down, his broad back was level with her coffee table and nearly as wide. “Not funny at all. What am I going to do with him?”

  “Well, at least you don’t have to feed him. Grims don’t eat.” Her friend looked thoughtful. “And he did fetch Squishy Bear without being asked. Maybe he’ll be helpful with Fox. You know, like a service dog or some kind of companion. After all, Fox seems to be able to communicate with him. And who knows, Braith might even keep him safe.”

  “Safe? No one is safe as long as a son of Oak is involved,” declared Ranyon. “He could be a spy, dontcha know!”

  Brooke leaned over to the ellyll. “Paranoid much? Exactly what great secrets are we hiding here? Look, I feel nothing but positive, even happy, energy from that dog. I think he loves Fox. And Trahern wasn’t exactly pleased that Braith found Fox at the campground in the first place. I don’t think he had any secret plans to infiltrate our ranks with a canine agent.” She stood and picked up Fox so Lissy could get to her feet.

  “Give it a rest, Ranyon. Trahern came here tonight on a rescue mission. He thought Fox was holding his brother prisoner,” explained Lissy, taking her son back into her arms with a groan. Carrying him when he was asleep should have been a lot easier than when she’d hauled him thrashing and wailing from the grocery store. Instead, Fox’s ultrarelaxed state made him about as easy to lug as a duffel bag filled with Jell-O.

  “Let me help you,” offered Brooke. “We could each take an end? Put Ranyon under the middle?”

  Picturing that made her smile. “Naw, I got it.” She heaved him over her shoulder and headed for the stairs. The massive dog rose and followed her. “You’re coming, too? I should have known. Remind me to fit you with a sling so you can carry him next time.”

  Fox seemed peaceful when she eased him into his bed, but his eyelids had that bruised look again. She wondered if she looked the same. Meltdowns are hard on us both, bud, she thought as she tucked his Scooby-Doo blanket around him and kissed his forehead. Just as she moved to the door, Braith lay down beside the bed with his chin on his paws. For a moment, the massive dog looked like one of the great marble lions guarding a famous library . . .

  “I guess nothing’s going to get past you, huh?”

  A large tail thumped on the carpet twice.

  When Lissy returned to the living room, she found her friends avidly discussing the giant canine. She had a few things of her own to discuss, but for the moment she simply curled up on the couch across from them.

  “So Braith is Trahern’s brother,” said Brooke. “What’s the scoop on that?”

  Lissy shrugged. “All Trahern said was that he’s been cursed—he didn’t say how or why.”

  “Aye.” A little of the indignation faded from Ranyon’s gnarled face. “He’s a fledgling grim. And all grims begin as a mortal or a fae.”

  “So it’s like what happened to Aidan and Rhys,” said Brooke, leaning forward.

  “Well, he’s not a pure grim, mind ya, or he’d be black as Hades itself. I’m thinkin’ someone interrupted the spell before it could fully change him. But Aidan and Rhys were human, dontcha know. They could be freed.”

  “Lucky for Morgan and me.” Brooke grinned.

  “Yeah, but what about Braith?” asked Lissy. “How do we free him, too?”

  The ellyll shook his head. “It takes very little magic to transform a mortal to a grim. But changing a fae”—he spread his skinny arms wide—“takes enormous power. Such a spell is seldom used, and ’twas never designed to be undone.”

  “What, it’s permanent?” Brooke sounded horrified.

  Even Ranyon seemed a little subdued by the prospect. “Aye, it is,” he said at last. “He might be of the House of Oak, but there are only a few I’d wish such a fate upon.”

  No one spoke for a few moments. No one could. Lissy shivered inwardly, then gradually put that subject aside. There was something else that needed discussing, something that the quiet had finally allowed her brain to piece together. “Speaking of wishing fates on people, let’s talk about magic, shall we?

  “Ranyon, just how long have you known that Fox has power?”

  TWELVE

  Though he could barely see over the tops of the tables, Fychan the tavern keeper wended his way through the boisterous crowd effortlessly, delivering yet another large silver tankard of coblyn ale to Trahern’s table without spilling a drop. He gathered up the empties but refused to accept a proffered coin. “Thee knows the auld proverb: naught for a Hunter, naught from a Hunter.”

  Of course, Trahern knew the superstitious saying. Everyone did. If you didn’t charge a Hunter for your services, you’d never find yourself judged by a Hunter. At least, that’s what many in the Nine Realms liked to believe. He’d never taken advantage of that belief before. In fact, he didn’t know of any rider who would.

  “My coin has fit in your hand rather well on other nights.”

  “Thee hast never drunk this much on other nights. I figure thee for sorrow. Ne’er a good practice to profit from sorrow. Brings poor luck. May thy luck change, and if ale won’t help it along, I’ll bring thee something stronger.” Fychan touched his woolly red cap in respect—not an easy task with his arms full—and headed off to the kitchen as the empty tankards clanged like bells.

  Trahern stared into his ale. His luck had already changed, and not for the better. Why else would he have retreated to a coblyn tavern? It wasn’t a favorite of the Hunt’s riders. It wasn’t a favorite of any Tylwyth Teg he knew of, for that matter—not only did they seldom choose to associate with other fae, but coblyn ceilings tended to be uncomfortably low. Yet there was some
thing about this noisy, bustling establishment that often appealed to him. Tonight, however, neither the clamor nor the copious amounts of ale had silenced his thoughts in the least, and he doubted that a stronger drink would help. Not only was it cursedly difficult for a fae to get falling-down drunk, a sorcerer such as himself was duty-bound to keep both his judgment and his abilities reasonably unimpaired.

  Duty. That’s what it came down to, didn’t it? Duty and loyalty. Trahern had not only shouldered the responsibility of keeping his brother safe but had also committed himself to unlocking the spell that bound him. In the first, he had succeeded, and in the other? Utterly failed. He hadn’t even known that Braith was still Braith, and he had mistaken his brother’s lack of mind speech for lack of being. A foolish assumption, and one that no doubt lay at the heart of why Braith had elected to remain in the mortal realm.

  No. I know him. He would forgive me, though I cannot forgive myself.

  The true problem lay with the human child. While Fox hadn’t bespelled Braith, as Trahern had first suspected, he had nonetheless captured Braith’s loyalty. His brother had chosen Fox.

  Just as magic had chosen the boy.

  Trahern pinched the bridge of his nose as a rare headache began to kick him in the forehead. He could spell it away, but on some level the pain suited his mood. Duty again. Among most sorcerers, there was an unspoken rule, a code of sorts, by which he was obligated to help guide the newly endowed. And those in his family who possessed the gift—save Eirianwen of course, who held herself above such mundane duties—had indeed helped him along. Once he’d learned just enough so that he wasn’t a walking hazard, however, he was left to his own devices. Did my mother plan it that way? His abilities were strong, but his potential would never be realized without continued instruction. Fortunately, his desire and determination to learn had been even stronger than his gift. At first he’d studied in secret from whatever he could get his hands on, from sentient books that inched over the floor of his bedchamber to ancient scrolls of fireproof dragon skin. When he was old enough to take over the reins of trading with other realms on behalf of the House, he could justify traveling to the most distant reaches of the vast kingdom. With Trahern’s clear talent for creating agreements that fattened the coffers of his clan, no one questioned the amount of time he spent away from home. Nor did they suspect he’d spent most of that time plus his own wealth seeking out teachers among every tribe and clan, every known fae race—plus a few whose existence was only legend.

  His mother hadn’t known the lengths to which he had gone to hone his gift, the sacrifices he’d made for knowledge. Or perhaps she did, and that is why she fears me. Braith, on the other hand, had no power, save one. Perhaps he had foreseen a distant future in which Eirianwen did not rule, and that was why she had struck him down . . .

  The future . . . Trahern hadn’t thought about his brother’s rare ability for a very long time. Braith has seen something in Fox’s future!

  “I have been an idiot,” he muttered, shoving the untasted tankard away so that the ale sloshed over the rim. An aged coblyn—a woman—appeared almost instantly to mop up the mess, though her small size obliged her to hop up on a chair to do it. She shook her head, causing her faded curls to flail about like springs from under her shapeless red cap.

  “Nay, sir, thee hast not been an idiot yet. The building is yet standing. People are yet breathing.” She winked before hurrying off to attend another table.

  Unknowingly, she’d hit on the very crux of the situation, he thought. Fox had been endowed with terrifying potential. It wasn’t a dog’s affection for a child that had compelled Braith to attach himself to Fox.

  It was a seer’s concern for the future.

  The boy will be a very formidable sorcerer. If he does not destroy everything and everyone around him first. And that left just one course of action for Trahern: return to the mortal world and persuade Lissy Santiago-Callahan to let him train her son in the very magic she did not wish him to have.

  Lissy was tired beyond tired, but sleep was just going to have to wait. “Out with it, Ranyon,” she ordered. “How long have you known that my son has magic? I heard what you said to Trahern. You knew he was a sorcerer, and you immediately accused him of coming for Fox and his power.”

  The ellyll swung his spindly feet like a guilty child as he sat perched on the couch beside Brooke. Finally, he sighed deeply. “He’s rightfully inherited his family’s gift. But ’tis not the only power to come to him, Lissy dear. He’s got something more, dontcha know.”

  Lissy clutched the last fraying strand of her patience. “No, I do not know. Explain, dammit.”

  “Fae magic.” Ranyon’s voice was almost a whisper, as if he feared being overheard. “Royal fae magic. Our Fox was born with it.”

  “What?” blurted Brooke and Lissy at the same time. Brooke recovered first.

  “Ranyon, that is so not funny.”

  “Aye, there’s not a thing fun about it, but there you are.”

  Lissy’s mind worked furiously. A faery dog shows up out of nowhere and appoints himself Fox’s bodyguard. And the dog’s brother just happens to be a wizard? Trahern says Fox has a powerful gift. Wait, that’s not quite right—he said Fox would be spectacular. I just assumed he meant my own family’s magic had . . . “No. No way. I’m not buying into this, Ranyon.” She tried to adopt a reasonable tone, even though she wanted to scream. “Where on earth would my very human little boy get faery powers?”

  “Why, from yer good man, Matt, a’course,” said the ellyll. “’Twas in his blood.”

  Lissy snorted. “Give me a break! Fox’s dad grew up in Los Angeles. That’s a helluva long way from Wales.”

  “Um—not as far as you might think.” Brooke moved over to Lissy’s couch and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Matt’s last name was Lovell,” she said. “It’s one of the surnames adopted by the Kale, the gypsies who lived in Wales. I’ve traced Matt’s lineage back to them.” Her friend paused for a moment. “It was going to be a surprise, Liss, but I’ve been making a family tree for Fox since the day he was born. I was hoping it might be finished by the time he graduates high school. I thought—well, I thought he’d want to know where he came from.”

  “Really?” Despite the tumult in her brain and the gravity of the ellyll’s revelation, Lissy was astounded and touched. Knitting an afghan would be a major project in her books, but a whole genealogy? “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. No wonder you’re my best friend.” She squeezed Brooke’s hand and ordered herself not to cry. Not now. There were still some big questions to be answered, dammit, and somebody was going to answer them. She sniffed a little as she took a deep breath, then another, composing herself. “Okay, Ranyon, so there’s a long-ago connection to Wales,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “But you’re not going to tell me that Matt had fairy dust in his veins.”

  “A’course not! The fae are many things, but they’re not a bit dusty,” said Ranyon.

  One day I’m going to remember how literal he is . . . “Then what is it you’re saying?”

  “That yer man was heir to a powerful line of magic. One of Matt’s ancestors wed a fae woman, dontcha know. Nerilda of the House of Thorn. She was one of the most powerful sorcerers to come from the ruling family. And despite her high station, she followed the old ways and was faithful to her calling—a rare thing among her kind, dontcha know.”

  Brooke sat abruptly. “Holy cow, you knew her.”

  “Aye, she healed me of a poisonous wound from a llamhigyn y dwr.”

  “A what?” asked Lissy.

  “A water leaper. ’Tis like a great bulbous frog with leathery wings and eyes like glowing green lamps. When its mouth opens, it seems like its ugly head has split in two, but that’s not the most dangerous part. The creature’s long tail ends in a deadly stinger.” Ranyon shuddered. “Jumped me, it did,” he said. “’Twas when I was mournin’ my family and blunderin’ too close to the Lake o’ Loes.�
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  Suddenly Lissy wondered if perhaps the grief-stricken ellyll had blundered near the water on purpose. She found herself wanting to jump up and hug him, but if she didn’t keep him on topic, she’d never get the answers she needed about her son. “Okay, so Fox has two gifts, one from my side of the family and one from his father’s,” she said aloud. “And you didn’t think you should tell me?”

  The ellyll looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, ’twould seem there’s a mite more than that to his gifts.”

  “More?” Of course there’s more. There’s always more. “More what?” Lissy could almost hear the twang as what had to be her very last nerve snapped like a broken guitar string.

  “Ya put two types of magic together, and they either explode or they make something new. And they didn’t explode.”

  “Are you talking about synchronicity?” asked Brooke. “Greater than the sum of its parts?”

  “Bigger, surely, and different, too. I’ve never seen the like.”

  Lissy suddenly felt tired right down to her bones. Even her goddamn hair was tired. She was out of energy, out of patience, and out of resilience. “All right, guys, that’s enough discussion for tonight,” she said with far more calmness than she felt. “I’m done like dinner. I don’t want to hear another word. I can’t hear another word.” She glared at Ranyon when he put up a twiggy hand. “Not. One. Word.” The hand fell back into his lap. “But tomorrow? I’m coming over to the shop tomorrow afternoon, and you are so going to tell me every single thing you know.”