Storm Warned (The Grim Series) Page 15

  Caris had hoped to gain just a little insight into Liam from his home, but the house had definitely been decorated with a feminine hand. No doubt his aunt had lovingly chosen the pretty floral wallpapers, elaborate quilts, and lace curtains in the upstairs rooms. Of course, even if Liam had added any male touches to the house, it would be impossible to tell now. Glass was everywhere, pictures had fallen from walls, and countless things had toppled from shelves and shattered. The lush carpets were rain-soaked and dirty, shards of glass driven into them. Even the lovely hand-sewn bedding glistened not just with moisture but with millions of crystal-clear slivers. She entered a once-attractive bedroom that had been done up in delicate fern greens. The hues reminded her of Rhedyn, the faery who had attempted to help her.

  Now the pleasing colors were just a backdrop for a thick scattering of dark, wet chestnut leaves . . . As Caris placed one of Ranyon’s magical charms on each broad sill, she glanced out the gaping gabled windows. What had the yard looked like before the storm? There was only a mass of broken trees and a giant’s dustbin of garbage as far as the eye could see. Added to the scoured fields and the great roofless barn, it was a sobering reminder of the immense destructive power that Maelgwn and his hunting party had unleashed.

  Just for sport.

  Anger surged through her. Anger about the yard and the house, about the farm and the livestock, and most of all, anger that Liam had been injured. He could so easily have been killed, she thought as she continued her task of placing charms as she’d been instructed, sometimes having to brush away a pile of glass to do so. The Tylwyth Teg have neither care nor concern, she thought. And there’s no one to stand up to them—or to Maelgwn—but Lurien and Queen Gwenhidw. Did they know where the prince was? Did they have any notion of his grand plans to rule Tir Hardd? And if I were to tell them, what could I say? He said he wants Tir Hardd, but he didn’t say how he planned to get it. Maybe Maelgwn had no plans at all. Maybe he was simply speaking out of temper, still furious that he didn’t get to be in charge of the place. Rather like a spoiled child who didn’t get what he wanted, she thought—except that this child was incredibly dangerous.

  She finished her task on the second floor and went downstairs to the living room, depositing the little talismans along its tall windows. The bowl was empty when she entered the kitchen where Morgan and Ranyon waited at the table.

  “I’ve set out the charms but—oh, I see you’ve done these ones already.” She stopped and took a good look at her new friends’ faces. “Whatever is wrong? Both of you are like to have seen a ghost. Is Liam okay?”

  Morgan put her hands up. “He’s fine. Honest.”

  “We’re just not certain how fine he’ll be after we tell him about the fae,” said Ranyon.

  “You’re going to tell him?” Caris could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Then we must surely be in dire straits, for it’s dangerous for mortals to know such things. The Fair Ones have been known to kill to protect their secrets.”

  “Aye, but we won’t be asking their permission, now will we?” asked Ranyon. “And as fer killin’, the Tylwyth Teg have never needed any particular excuse to shed blood, fae or human.”

  Or to imprison them forever, she thought, and shivered in spite of the heat. “You’re both right, of course. It’ll be a hard thing for him to hear, but a good thing. Liam deserves to know what he’s facing and a chance to defend what’s his.” He would want that, she was sure of it. “But will he listen to us? Couldn’t Ranyon just, well—just appear to him instead?”

  “If he sees a strange and mysterious creature . . .” began Morgan.

  “Who are ya calling strange?”

  “Not like that, Ranyon, honest,” she explained. “I mean, if Liam sees something he’s not familiar with, he’s sure to think he’s hallucinating, and he’ll probably blame it on his concussion. I think our best shot is to talk to him reasonably first.”

  Caris wasn’t convinced. “Reasonable? There’s not a reasonable thing about it. If we tell him a wild story about faeries, he’s sure to think we’re all touched in the head.” It bothered her a great deal that Liam had questioned her sanity. She understood what it must have sounded like when she’d talked of the fae, but still . . . “I surely wish we didn’t have to tell Liam at all.”

  Morgan rose and put a kind hand on her shoulder. “I understand. You don’t know how much I wish we didn’t have to tell him, but not because he’ll think we’re nuts. It’s because once you know about the fae, you can’t ever go back and unknow. It’s like a loss of innocence for a human being,” she explained. “And then you’ll be watching your back forever.”

  “I hadn’t looked at it that way,” said Caris. She hadn’t considered that perhaps Liam—or anyone for that matter—might prefer to remain in the dark. For a moment, she remembered her own younger self, carefree and without fear, completely unaware that the faeries and monsters of the old stories were far from imaginary. It was indeed easier not to know—but it had also left her vulnerable.

  “I see danger everywhere now,” continued Morgan. “I’m learning to live with it, which is why I’m able to leave my home and go to work every day—I refuse to let the Fair Ones win by being afraid to live my life. But some days it’s hard, and I can’t help but wish I didn’t know what I do.”

  The ellyll rolled his eyes. “Seems to me ya did everything ya could think of in order not to know the truth o’ things!”

  “Yeah, you’re right about that. I really did fight it.” She shook her head. “When Rhys first tried to tell me, it caused us a lot of problems and pain, long before we were ready to handle them. I hadn’t learned to trust him yet, and I couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept the existence of the fae. Not until they nearly killed us.”

  “Here’s hoping that Liam won’t be as stubborn,” said Ranyon.

  Caris hoped so too. “Who’s going to be telling him?”

  “I say we wait for Jay, and then we tell him together as soon as the opportunity presents itself,” said Morgan. “Normally, I’d wait and tell him on the weekend when Rhys can be here too—but with monsters running around, I don’t think we should wait.”

  “And after we tell him, then what?”

  “And then it’ll be up to Liam to find the strength to believe,” said Morgan.

  He can do it, thought Caris, her instincts certain of it. I know he can, if he puts his mind to it. But she suspected Liam Cole was also a stubborn man, and she’d seen for herself a fearsome amount of anger and pain behind his vivid blue eyes.

  “First things first, good ladies,” said Ranyon, and motioned for them to sit on each side of him. “Both of ya hold tight to yer chairs. It’s time to put things to rights.”

  Grinning, he clapped his narrow palms together once . . . And the entire house heaved beneath their feet like a live thing.

  Liam stepped out of the cab in front of his roadside mailbox and paid the fare. His head was sore, his brain was sore—hell, even his goddamn hair was sore. At least he’d had his wallet in his jeans when he’d been taken to the hospital, and a kind nurse had come up with a tent-sized T-shirt so he didn’t have to travel home bare-chested. He tried to ignore the fact that purple wasn’t his color and, in fact, matched the bruising that was spreading out from his hairline over his forehead.

  The driver eyed him with concern. “I’d be happy to walk you to the house, mister.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Liam replied automatically, although he wasn’t so certain of that now that he was standing up. He knew the house was set back from the road, but it seemed like a frickin’ mile away. Maybe two. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, wondering whether maybe he could just lie down on the grass and rest for a while first. Instead, he waved a hand at Morgan’s truck that was parked across the driveway. “I’ve got friends here, so I’m not going to be by myself.”

  “I’ll let them know you’re here, then,” sai
d the driver, and cheerfully hammered out three skull-searing blasts of the horn on the steering wheel.

  The noise echoed and pulsed inside Liam’s injured head, and he fully expected to throw up or black out, or both. All was forgotten when a curvy woman with long black hair and a bright smile opened the seldom-used front door. Liam simply stared, not even noticing when the cab drove away.

  Caris Ellen Dillwyn was even more appealing than he remembered.

  She ran down the sidewalk and slipped a supportive arm around his waist before gravity could overpower him. Her body was solid and warm against his—and it felt more than simply good. It felt right. If only he had the strength, he wouldn’t mind standing there until the proverbial cows came home just because she fit so damn nicely under his shoulder.

  Smells good too. Of course, anything would after being inside a hospital, but Caris possessed a unique scent, subtle but heady, something like wild roses mixed with fresh-cut hay. How had he missed that earlier? As she looked up at him with dark, chocolate eyes, every question he’d so carefully planned to ask her about her canine claims evaporated. Time enough for that later. Right now, he couldn’t care less if she told him she was a unicorn.

  “Here, now, whatever are you doing back so soon?” she asked. “I thought you were going to let your physician watch over you tonight.”

  “I didn’t like the food,” he said. She didn’t even crack a smile at the classic hospital complaint, but then he was pretty damn rusty at telling jokes.

  “Well, then, I’ll be glad to make you a bite to eat,” she said. “Whene’er you’re feeling steady, we’ll head in and sit you down.”

  In spite of the fact that he was clutching her shoulder for balance, Liam didn’t think he would ever feel steadier than he did in this moment. Somehow, it seemed that Caris hadn’t righted his body but instead had gimballed the rest of the world into its proper place . . .

  “I’d like to stay right here for a minute.” Or twenty. He reached out with his free hand to lightly cup the side of her face. Her chocolate eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly in surprise, but she didn’t pull back. Her skin was soft against his palm, and if he’d had the strength (and a mouth that tasted less like old carpet) he might have thought about coaxing a kiss from her. Instead, he held Caris’s wondering gaze with his own as he withdrew his hand slowly, circling his fingers on her cheek in a soft caress as they left. He even managed a slight smile—at least he hoped it was a smile. His face didn’t quite feel like his own yet.

  “I’m as steady as I’m ever going to be, I think,” he said. Because of you, he didn’t say.

  Caris seemed to come back to herself, as if she’d been far away. “Right, then, let’s give it a go, shall we? We’ll take it slow and easy.”

  Of course, his lower brain couldn’t help but get ideas from a line like that, but there was also something simple, earthy, and oh-so-pleasant about it. It made him smile enough to aggravate his headache, which of course brought his attention back to where it was needed a hell of a lot more: trying to walk to the house.

  Caris was a good deal stronger than Liam expected, but he was also a good deal weaker than usual. His balance was out of whack too. After a few awkward, halting steps, it was evident that she wasn’t quite strong enough to keep him from listing further and further to the left. Thankfully, Jay appeared just as Liam was about to keel over entirely. With both sides bolstered, plus frequent stops to rest, Liam made it all the way into the house and onto the couch—but barely. What was that, a whole hundred feet or so? He felt drained and shaky, shocked that such a short distance had completely exhausted him, even when he’d had two people practically holding him up. Jay headed upstairs to get pillows and a blanket. Caris was more pragmatic. She eyed Liam’s face appraisingly and passed him a wastebasket exactly two seconds before he threw up.

  On her way to the evening milking, Caris was glad to find Ranyon sitting in the porch swing, his long, twiggy toes waggling contentedly in the summer breeze. She lifted the cloth from a plate.

  “I brought you a little bit of something.”

  “Now that looks to be a brammer of a sandwich!” he said, quick to seize it in both hands. “My thanks to ya, good lady. Is our Liam still asleep?”

  Caris chuckled. Asleep was too mild a word for it. “Morgan says he’s ‘down for the count’—I’m taking it to mean he won’t wake again tonight. She said it was his own fault for not staying in the hospital, but that’s a man for you. He’s definitely overdone himself.”

  The sandwich—a wild creation of meats and cheeses that had been in danger of spoiling with the electricity not working—was nearly as big as Ranyon’s head, but she’d already learned that the little ellyll could put away an astonishing amount of food. He’d proved that soon after he’d worked his charms on the house. She would gladly have cleaned the entire disaster, top to bottom, herself—the day hadn’t come when she was afraid of hard work, no matter how tired she was. But with Liam insisting on coming home so early, there’d been no time for human effort alone to get the job done. “I should be thanking you, dear Ranyon. You worked wonders today, and you managed it all before Liam walked in the door.”

  “Seems to me, the man was half carried in the door,” he said with his mouth full. “And no thanks needed. With a bump on the noggin like that, Liam Cole deserves a bit of calm and order in his house.” He swallowed and grinned. “Besides, ’tis always a pleasure to undo the handiwork of the Fair Ones, dontcha know.”

  Undo it he had. When Caris had set the curious little charms on the windowsills, she’d thought Ranyon was only going to fix the window glass. Instead, everything in the house had suddenly begun flying back to its original place. “A spell o’ restoration” was what he called it, as he sat watching his handiwork with satisfaction fairly glowing from his gnarled features. “And a fair bit o’ protection thrown in fer good measure,” he’d said.

  It was the need for protection that still concerned her. Ranyon seemed certain that neither the lone anghenfil nor the rogue hunt were likely to return very soon. Morgan and Jay also seemed convinced that Steptoe Acres would be safe for at least a few days.

  So why didn’t she feel reassured? “Ranyon, I’m worried for us.”

  Almost half the giant sandwich was already gone, as the ellyll paused midbite and looked up. “Because of Maelgwn? That fool’s already had his entertainment here,” he said. “Look around ya, good lady. What havoc is left for him to loose? What trouble left to cause? Nay, he’ll be on the move, at least for a time. He’s got a big new territory to explore now, and he’ll want to leave his mark on every bit of it like some great stray dog.”

  The broken trees and the roofless barn seemed to underscore the ellyll’s point. And hopefully Maelgwn wouldn’t be causing trouble anywhere for very much longer: Morgan had promised to try to get a message to the queen.

  Yet the disquiet within Caris refused to settle.

  Perhaps it was her time spent as a fae creature herself, perhaps it was the many occasions she’d had to witness Maelgwn’s mercurial nature. Whatever it was, she felt right down to her now-mortal bones that the cruel prince and his rogue hunt would surely gallop this way again. Tonight? Tomorrow night? Next week, next month, next year? There was no way of knowing when. But best to plan for it just the same.

  Jay knew of the existence of the Fair Ones, but he hadn’t witnessed firsthand what they could do. Morgan had more experience in that area, and she agreed with Caris that Liam’s farm needed to be fortified. She had promised to bring along as many iron horseshoes as she could on the weekend—and that was likely to be a considerable number, since her husband, Rhys, had built a forge at their own farm. The metal was a deadly poison to almost all faery beings, and most particularly to the Tylwyth Teg, and it was all the more potent as a ward on a building if the iron was first formed into the horseshoe shape. Just the presence of iron on the property would
repel most fae—and Ranyon had promised to charm each and every piece as well. The iron would then be mounted on every building and fence post until the metal’s influence formed a secure barrier around the farm, just as Morgan and Rhys had done with their own land.

  But would Liam consent to the strange decorations? Morgan and Jay are planning to tell Liam in the morning about the fae. Would he believe what Caris had told him then? Or would he simply decide that all three of them were daft as brushes?

  One thing she did know: if Liam Cole refused to believe in the existence of other realms and other beings, refused to be on his guard or take precautions against them, then he would be in terrible danger.

  And there would be precious little she could do about it.

  THIRTEEN

  A trio of roosters crowed in the yard, each trying to outdo the other. Caris didn’t know who was winning, but they’d succeeded in waking her. She glanced at the dark windows of the fern-green room she’d chosen for her own: daybreak was still a long way off, making it a very short night. Everyone but Liam had stayed up long past midnight, and her many fears had kept her awake for a time after that. She’d been afraid for Liam, certainly, and fearful of what the new day’s revelations would bring. But at the bottom of it all, she’d been terrified that she would awaken as a great black dog once more.

  Tired she might be, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be anything but delighted. She was alive, awake, and a human being.

  A tabletop clock displayed glowing green numbers, suggesting that the electricity had returned. Sure enough, she was able to turn on the pretty stained-glass lamp by the bed. Caris rose and pulled off the thin knit tunic—a man’s T-shirt—that Morgan had suggested she use as nightwear. On the back of the door was a mirror larger than any Caris had seen in her previous life, never mind had the privilege of using. She leaned in close to examine the reflection of her face, then stood back to study her body. Still a woman, as mortal as could be—she pinched herself for the silly fun of it—and still looking much as she had the last time she’d gazed into the tiny mirror of her bedroom in the family farmhouse. The thought that entered her head was brand new, however: does Liam like how I look?