Storm Crossed Page 9

  “If he did, it might well be a good thing,” added Aidan, gliding seamlessly into the conversation. He carried a heaping plate of pancakes and a couple of extra forks, which he pushed into the center of the table before taking a seat. “Our Fox isn’t fond of surprises. A little warning might be a great favor to the lad.”

  Lissy turned that over in her mind. “You know, I hadn’t even thought of that. Getting a heads-up on stuff could be pretty positive for Fox. I’ve just been scared that he might get the entire Santiago gift, all of it, and he—we—oh, hell, none of us needs any more things to worry about.”

  Brooke patted her arm while deftly stealing a finger of whipped cream and chocolate from the topmost pancake. “I totally agree; you sure don’t need the stress of wondering if Fox is going to be a full-fledged brujo. But your mother hasn’t said anything like that, has she?”

  “I’m wondering if Mama’s been hinting, and I just haven’t wanted to hear it. She keeps saying he has strong gifts.”

  “Well, for one thing, she’s a very proud grandmother. And gifts could mean a lot of things. He’s über-smart, he’s artistic, he has an affinity for rocks. And what about his way with animals? They all love him, even that humongous faery dog last night.”

  “Aye, I wish Fox had been with me yesterday. I had a wild beast at the forge that needed taming.” Aidan held out his left hand. Thick gauze engulfed his thumb and first two fingers from the very tips of them all the way down to his wrist. Duct tape held the generous dressing together.

  “Omigod, I didn’t even notice that. Did those raccoons come back again?” An entire family of them had moved into Aidan’s blacksmith shop one winter. They’d been chased out but made regular attempts to reclaim the building ever since.

  “’Twas no raccoon did this. Tina came by to pick up a few things for the camp and brought her little dog along. I reached down to pat him and near to lost my hand. Couldn’t get the little ddraig off.”

  The big man was from Wales, and Lissy knew that ddraig meant “dragon.” It suits Jake to a T. Especially if dragons have bulldog tendencies.

  Brooke leaned over to her. “Aidan finally had to dunk him in the water barrel in self-defense.”

  “It cools off red-hot metal, so I thought it might do the same for Jake.” He shrugged. “He let go quick enough then. That’s why I wish Fox had been there. He sweetens the bitty devil’s temper considerably.”

  “And anyone who can do that definitely has a gift!” Brooke laughed.

  “Amen to that.” Lissy smiled, but her mind was still full of questions. “But Fox seemed to be able to talk to that big dog last night. Really talk. And he said that Jake tells him stuff.”

  “We’ve seen him do that with the cats. I’m sure they really are communicating, but again, it’s more normal than you think. Remember that animal psychic who helps at Morgan’s clinic now and then? It’s just not major wizardry, hon. Besides, where’s the downside? Some kids have to be taught to be kind to animals and considerate of their needs. Fox has that naturally. You know he has a big heart.”

  Brooke’s words made sense. “I guess you’re right. I’m probably just overreacting,” she said. “But that faery last night seemed to think there was something special about him, especially after Fox said that weird thing about the dog being the guy’s brother.”

  Her friends exchanged looks, and it was Aidan who answered. “I have reason to know that grims are not always what they seem. And this dog may not be a true grim, but he is no ordinary dog, either. It’s possible he’s a man under enchantment.”

  “You mean he really could be that fae’s brother?” Lissy frowned. “But how on earth would Fox know a thing like that? You didn’t know. I didn’t know. Nobody did, just Fox. And after you took him away, he—the faery—called Fox a young adept and asked me who was in charge of his training.”

  Now it was her friend’s turn to frown. Behind her, Aidan growled. “’Tis seldom a good thing when the fae take notice of a child. Lucky for us, this one rides with the Wild Hunt.”

  “And you trust those guys?”

  “I do not trust the Tylwyth Teg, but Lord Lurien has his own sense of honor. I trust his word,” explained Aidan. “As for his Hunters, they are dangerous—and they know it. They have no need or desire to prove their strength by preying on the innocent. During those months I rode with them, they never once strayed from their purpose.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What the heck is their purpose, besides scaring people with big dogs?”

  “I don’t fully understand how they do it,” said Brooke, “but the Wild Hunt keeps the balance between our worlds.” Her husband nodded.

  So the guy I met has a mysterious but important job. Like a superhero or something. Lissy looked at Aidan thoughtfully. “Would you have recognized the faery who was here?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It was a few years ago now, and Lurien was trying to patrol two places with not enough men, plus serving as the Queen’s Right Hand at the same time. Only a handful of his riders were on this side of the waters. ’Tis why he had need of my service.”

  “Did you ever ride here? In the park?”

  “Never. I’ve not seen the Hunt in this place or I wouldn’t have allowed my woman and my friends to camp here—”

  A look from his wife had him backpedaling somewhat. “I mean, I would have expressed concern about the location.” His brow furrowed deeply, and he stuffed half a pancake into his mouth.

  “What my caveman hubby means,” said Brooke, “is if that great dog hadn’t been attracted to our Fox, he’s certain you’d never have seen a Tylwyth Teg here at all.”

  “Yeah, but we did see him,” said Lissy. “All of us. I thought that only certain people could see the fae.”

  “Only certain people can peer through their magic,” Aidan explained with his mouth full. “That’s a rare gift. As for the rest of us, once the fae have revealed themselves to you, they can’t ever hide from you again.”

  “Revealed themselves? I don’t think the dog was interested in hiding at all! And as for his owner, he didn’t seem to give a damn what we saw. Like it didn’t matter, because we were mere humans, or maybe peasants, and not worth the effort.” In fact, the fae’s regal attitude still grated on her. “I want to know why the dog was so interested in Fox in the first place.”

  The big man shrugged and swallowed his pancake at last. “Simple curiosity, I imagine. There’s little that’s novel or new to creatures as ancient as the mountains themselves.”

  “That tall guy I spoke to didn’t look any older than me.”

  “They don’t age as we do. Their queen is among the oldest of all, and yet her beauty would break your dear heart in two,” said Aidan. “Ask Morgan. Gwenhidw yet visits her from time to time.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said. But not today. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to keep enjoying an exceptionally good day with her friends and her son and not give another thought to faery anything.

  If only she knew how to get that exquisite male face out of her mind. And if only her mind would stop trying to remember how to say his name . . .

  The dog was in his room. Not the small, pale image that the moon sometimes showed him, but the real thing—and the animal looked even larger in Fox’s small bedroom than in the wide-open air of the campground. He reached up and rubbed its wrinkly muzzle. “You’re too big for my bed,” said Fox. “But you can lie next to it on the rug and put your head up here. Not on my pillow, though. Okay? And dude, do not lick Squishy Bear.” The dog said something inside his head. It was just like talking with Jake or with Auntie Brooke’s cats, only they didn’t use as many words as Braith did. “You don’t use pillows or blankets or anything? That must suck. I can’t sleep without my pillow.”

  The great animal made himself as small as possible beside the bed and rested his chin on the edge. “I can read you a story,” said Fox. “I’ve got lots of good books. Sky Raiders, The Hunt for the Secret Papyrus, Captain Underpants,
Diary of a Wimpy Kid . . . ” What would a magical dog from the faery world be interested in? “I know! I’ve got one about brownies and stuff. It’s kind of a baby book, ’cause Auntie Morgan gave it to me when I was really little. But it’s still pretty good.”

  The dog inclined his big head.

  “Thermin Nodkin was a brownie . . . ”

  Lissy put away the last of the camping supplies, stuffed a load of laundry in the washer (after checking all pockets thoroughly for more rock “specimens”), and cleaned up the kitchen. Despite the strange events of the night before, today had truly been one of Fox’s best. Though he’d been a little wound up, he was far more social than she’d ever seen him. It took a toll on his energy, of course, and before lunchtime he’d retreated to his tent to look at rocks again with Squishy Bear and Jake and ended up falling asleep in a heap with both.

  When her son woke up, however, he’d wanted to go home right away. Lissy understood. Fox had had enough stimulation for one day and needed to return to base. She didn’t mind. She was so damn proud of this rare social success; plus she’d gotten the chance to have an unhurried visit with all her friends. Had that ever happened? It didn’t mean her son would never get overwhelmed in a grocery store again, but it did mean that he was developing skills, and sometimes those skills actually worked.

  Closing the door on the dishwasher, she turned the dial to “On” and let it hum. She was tired, but she never minded the mundane tasks at night after Fox had gone to bed. It was quiet then, the chores required no brain cells, and it helped her unwind before she sat down to go over her lessons or mark papers. Tonight, however, there were no more papers to mark, and she had a respite from lesson prep for a whole two months . . .

  The idea of having so much unscheduled time was mind-boggling. I’ve been so busy; I haven’t given much thought to what to do this summer. Or even what I’d like to do. She was going to wake up Monday morning with no particular agenda. That would be a treat for a few days, just hanging out with her son and puttering around her little townhouse.

  Not many staff members needed a place to live, but still, the residences had a waiting list, and she was lucky to have gotten one of the newer ones just before Fox turned four. He’d resisted the change, of course, as he resisted all changes. In fact, it had taken three whole months to persuade him to sleep overnight in the place! But Lissy had no intention of living with her mother for the rest of her life, and the townhouse was not only right on the campus where she worked, it was only three blocks from where Fox would attend preschool and kindergarten, and four blocks from grade school.

  As for herself, she loved the bright open kitchen and the modern colors she’d chosen for the walls (with a nod to Fox’s preference for citrus green). With all this time on her hands, she could organize her office (a job that seemed to need doing on a regular basis), maybe rearrange her bedroom. She might even shop for a piece of art to hang over the sleek fireplace . . .

  In other words, she had about a week’s worth of projects and two months to do them in. Plus, in mid-July, Fox was enrolled in a three-week-long day camp for Asperger’s kids. Assuming she could persuade him to attend—she’d been talking about it with him for months so he’d be as prepared as possible—what on earth was she going to do while he was gone?

  Lissy plopped onto the couch, stunned to discover that she had absolutely no frickin’ idea. She adored her son and her career, but it had been necessary to focus on them to the exclusion of everything else. Hadn’t it? Omigod, maybe Mama had a point. Guess I need to get reacquainted with Lissy Santiago-Callahan and see if I can remember who she is. It wouldn’t hurt to expand my horizons a bit. Of course, the little voice in her head argued that as soon as August came, those horizons would once again close in as she fell into the familiar teaching-parenting loop. Fox was getting older, sure, learning and growing. Just look at today’s unprecedented success! But he was still going to need a great deal of her time and coaching.

  I’m just going to be grateful for this summer and make the most of it. For both of us.

  Looking down at her hands and clothes, Lissy decided right then and there to have a long, leisurely hot bath. Maybe even with candles and bubbles, like they do in the magazines. She had a gift pack from a couple of Christmases ago that she’d never used, but hey, Mama said it was time to do something nice for herself, right? If she’d had any wine in the house, she might have poured a glass of that, too, just for the hell of it. Oh, well, next time. For now, we soak!

  EIGHT

  The stiffly manicured grounds and unimaginative landscaping offered little cover, but a minor enchantment easily camouflaged Trahern and his horse. He stood leaning against Cyflym as he studied the upstairs windows of the strange little row houses. Truth be told, he was disappointed that the woman and her son lived in such a place. The idea of dwelling so close to others repelled him. It was like a pysky colony, only these buildings were unnaturally angular and lacking in any adornment whatsoever. Beauty was an essential ingredient in every structure in the fae realms. Did these humans lack an appreciation of it? Other humans, he corrected himself. Because while most of the covered entrances were bare or cluttered with dull furniture, there was a definite acknowledgment of nature by the woman’s door: many vibrant flowers growing in colorful pots; a clever copper wind chime that struck pleasing notes in the breeze; a tray of seeds on the railing to attract birds; and along the front of the porch, beneath silvery green bushes, a half dozen red-capped figurines that reminded him of the coblynau at the tavern. He scrutinized them with a frown, sensing a strange energy. A sudden discordant gliss from the wind chime prickled the hair on the back of his neck. A charm of some sort was at work here, but it wasn’t fae in origin. In fact, it seemed designed to repel fae. It might have worked, too, had Trahern been a lesser sorcerer.

  It will not keep me from my brother.

  With a finger, he drew a small circle in the air and peered through it like a glass. The spell allowed him to scan the second floor without the impediment of walls. There! The woman was in one tiny room, the boy in another, separated by an absurdly short hallway. And just as Trahern had suspected, Braith was with the boy.

  Why?

  The child was speaking—had he somehow spelled Braith to come to him and compelled him to stay? He might be untrained yet still have discovered how to do a few such things on his own. Gathering molecules of air with his fingers, Trahern quickly shaped a transparent seashell, broke it in half, and sent one part drifting upward to the boy’s open window. The other he pressed to his ear.

  “The bad mice chewed through the walls made of sticks and carried away all the brownies’ food for the winter. Everyone was angry with Thermin because his idea had not worked. ‘Now we will starve,’ they said. ‘And it is all your fault. We should never have listened to you . . . ’”

  Trahern frowned. What kind of spell was this? “Drawsleoli!” he shouted. Instantly, he appeared in the room, fully prepared to wrest control of his brother’s mind from this young ddewin, this sorcerer—

  The fair-haired child sat cross-legged on his bed with a small book. Trahern snatched it away from him at once, only to find his arm abruptly clamped inside an impressive set of teeth. His brother glared at him with bright golden eyes.

  “Hey, dude, give it back!” said the boy. “Braith and I are still reading.”

  The great dog increased the pressure, but Trahern was determined. He inspected the small volume, awkwardly turning a few of the pages with his free hand.

  “It is just a tale,” he said at last.

  “You mean like a story? Yeah, it’s my favorite. Well, it used to be when I was a kid. I can read it to you, too, if you want.”

  “I—I thought you were casting a spell on my brother.”

  “Dude, why would I want to do that?”

  The boy looked at him as if he were the seventh kind of idiot. Not only was that a new experience for Trahern, he even felt like an idiot. “It seems that I judged in ha
ste.” Carefully, he presented the book to the child, and the dog’s massive jaws released his arm with a disgusted chuff. Braith resumed his position by the bed without another glance at his brother.

  “You made me lose my place. I hate it when I lose my place!” Suddenly frantic, the boy leafed through the pages until Braith nosed his small elbow. “I know, I know. The mice ate the stick walls, but I can’t find the page. I can’t find it!” He shoved the book back at Trahern. “You find it!”

  There had been a time when he obeyed the Matriarch of the House of Oak. Since then, his obedience was owed to the Lord of the Wild Hunt. Save for the commands of those two powerful individuals, no one had ever given him orders in his entire life. They would not have dared.

  Were all children like this?

  Trahern sat gingerly on the edge of the small bed and leafed through the little book. The illustrations were cleverly done, but the artist had obviously never seen a true brownie. It didn’t seem like a good time to mention that, however. Instead, he quickly scanned the story until he found the phrase he’d overheard. “Here it is.”

  The book was yanked from his hands, and the boy made a show of getting comfortable. “You should sit over there,” he said at last, and pointed at a chair in the corner. “I don’t like people on my bed. It squishes the mattress in the wrong places.”

  Trahern got up at once. It was like rising from a pool, the boy and the dog flowing back into their former positions like so much water. The reading of the tale continued as if he’d never entered the room.

  He’d been dismissed. By a child.

  Declining to sit as directed, Trahern stood by the window. The room was nothing but a tiny box, and the square glass pane likewise diminutive. A far cry from the spacious accommodations he was accustomed to. Even though he no longer lived as one of the House elite, as a Hunter he lacked for nothing, not even privacy. Perhaps the woman was poor? That might explain why she and her son lived like this . . .