Night Seeker (20 page)

“Ulean thinks it’s because we’re near the…you know.” I didn’t even want to speak the words aloud just in case there might be someone listening behind a bush or under a snowbank or on the slipstream. Lainule’s heartstone was too valuable to put at risk because of an overheard whisper.

Chatter rubbed his chin, then looked at Grieve. “She could be right, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t also correct. Two birds, one stone.”

“Whatever the case, we need to cross this meadow to the other side and enter the copse beyond. It will take longer to circle round, but we’d better give it a try. Stick close to the trees and if the Elementals start after us, dart into the woods. My guess is that they’ll stop at the border of the forest.” Grieve paused, looking back at me.

Out here he seemed stronger, no longer broken, but in tune with the snow and the winter, and I realized that he could weather this journey more easily than any of us because of his connection with Myst. His biggest weakness was also his greatest strength.

I smiled at him and held out my hand. He took my fingers, slowly raising them to his lips where he kissed them,
slowly drawing his tongue over the ends, and then let go. He turned and—once again, as we took up our marching order—led the way toward the edge of the forest, all the while cautiously watching the Elemental nearest us.

Breathing hard, I slogged through the snow, leaning on the branch for support. Rhiannon was puffing away behind me. She might be taller and thinner than I, but she wasn’t used to as much physical exertion and I knew this was rough on her. But after a moment, she seemed to catch a second wind.

As we neared the trees, I saw the Elemental turn its head, watching us through whatever magical vision it possessed. I held my breath as it took a step in our direction, then another. But as we approached the edge of the meadow, it stopped, hesitating as if unsure.

Another moment and it turned away from us and took up its stance again, unwavering, unmoving, silent as the pillar of ice it was.

I caught my breath, exhaling with relief. “Score one,” I whispered. “Let’s hope they all stay away.”

Chatter, in front of me, nodded his agreement as we continued trudging along, sweeping the snow with our feet. Grieve and Chatter were essentially breaking the path for the rest of us, so Kaylin, Rhia, and I didn’t have it as rough, but it still wasn’t easy and more than once, I found myself teetering in the narrow walkway, grateful for the support the fir branch was providing.

We edged a quarter way around the meadow. Another quarter arc and we’d be on the other side, able to take the path leading through the trees. So far, so good. No Elementals moved, no attacks came our way, no Shadow Hunters were near, insofar as I—or Ulean—could detect.

Another five yards, ten yards, fifty, and again we stopped to catch our breath and take a gander at the Elementals. All were standing still, as if listening for a distant call. From this distance, they were almost invisible in the ever-falling snow, and it almost hurt to see their beauty. They were magical, works of art caught in freeze-frame, glistening like gemstones.

We moved on again, slowly, cautiously, and were almost to the fork where we could disappear into the woods again, when a noise to my right startled me.

“And so, old friends, might we meet again. Riddle me this: Who has news that might interest young, intrepid explorers who dare to enter the realm of the Queen Myst?”

I jerked around. There, wizened, old, and haggard, was one of the Wilding Fae—the snow hag who had helped us once before in return for her freedom. Chatter and I froze as she laughed, her voice peeling out softly on the slipstream.

The Elementals cocked their heads in unison and turned our way. I rushed off the path, into the woods where she stood and they stopped again.

“Hush, hush…be silent. They hear you.”

“Riddle me this, then, young girl. A bargain must be struck, or certain explorers will be sorely pressed. It is sad to face an old friend who now has become an old enemy. And one who knows of this unwilling traitor, one who was once ensnared in Myst’s grasp, has a hankering for fresh meat, but rabbits are scarce this season and the squirrels have fled the forest.”

I stared at the crone. The Wilding Fae were frightful creatures of the forest who could help you for good or for ill but always at a bargain. Myst had snared the snow hag once before, seeking to utilize her powers, but Chatter, Peyton, and I had freed her and she had shown us where to find the entrance to the tunnel that had led us to the land of the Bat People.

Now she was back. And apparently hungry. But she had news that we needed to hear. The Wilding Fae were good to their words with bargains, as long as the wording was clear. I glanced at Chatter and he nodded. I let him take the lead. He had more experience with these creatures than did I.

“One we have bargained with before says she has news. I wonder, should this be news the mighty explorers do not yet know?” He leaned against a tree, feigning disinterest. Grieve slipped over and wrapped his arm protectively around my waist.

The snow hag cocked her head, a gleam in her eye. “A young Fae man may guess an old woman thinks to trick him, but he might be wrong. There are dangers afoot in the forest and when the belly is empty, it helps to make bargains.”

Chatter pursed his lips. “Hmm…then perhaps such a bargain might be struck. But a young Fae man may wonder if such news be worth the trade. And there might be a time lapse in meeting the payment for the bargain. Fresh meat is not easy to come by when a mission awaits.”

It was the snow hag’s turn to pause. She tipped her head to the sky, letting the snow flutter into her face. One breath, two breaths, three breaths later she gave a sharp nod. “The snow is deep and grows deeper. Fresh meat may make it on the table today or tomorrow or the next day. Whichever day, it will still taste as good as long as it reaches the belly.”

“Then if tomorrow or the next day is as good as today for supping, perhaps a deal can be made. Fresh meat of a brace of rabbits or two fat chickens or perhaps a thick steak to feed several mouths in exchange for news new to the ear?”

She cackled and held out her hand. “Bargains must be blood-sealed. One such as a Cambyra Fae should know the rules.”

Chatter turned to Grieve, who held out a knife, and—without blinking—sliced his thumb. Blood dripping down the side of his hand, Chatter turned back to the snow hag, who had cut her own hand, and they clasped, shaking tightly, the droplets splattering onto the fresh snow, spreading pink stains.

“Then a bargain is sealed.” Her eyes narrowed and she pointed ahead to the path where we were headed. “On yonder path, sitting on a downed tree, waits a beautiful witch. One of the magic-born but turned by Myst for her own use. With flowing locks of red, the same red as one of our explorers. She waits, knowing her daughter approaches, but not realizing that one of the Wilding Fae has struck a bargain for meat. She means to destroy the expedition.”

Heather! Heather was up ahead, waiting for us.

“But how can that be? The redheaded witch is a
vampire
. And light shines on the forest, be it dimmed by clouds or not.”

“One might ask what kind of vampire she is—one might ask when Myst turns the magic-born, do they become
true
vampires or vampires of the Indigo Court, who may walk abroad in the daylight when the need arises?”

I thought quickly as Rhiannon stifled a cry and turned to me. I looked wildly to Grieve and Chatter for guidance.

“She’s right,” Chatter said. “If I remember right, the magic-born turned by Myst become vampires much like the Vampiric Fae, able to walk abroad in the daylight, though not nearly as powerful. But that would mean the light-rage did not affect her. I wonder why.”

I frowned. “The light-rage affected Grieve, but he is Cambyra Fae, not magic-born.”

Before I could say more, Chatter raised one hand and turned back to the snow hag. “Tomorrow or the next day, one who has struck a bargain for meat should stand at the edge of the road near the turnoff to the wishing well, and there the meat shall be delivered at midday. I wonder, does the bargain maker know where this is?”

“Wonder well, you should, but perchance your question might be answered with an affirmation that yes, indeed, the location is known. And now, it is time for one of the Wilding Fae to retreat far away for the day. Too much danger exists in this wood. Too much fear.” Without a word, the snow hag vanished into the thicket.

Rhia turned to me, a mute plea on her face.

I held out my arms and she fell against my shoulder, sobbing. Whispering low, so low that the slipstream could not carry my words, I said, “We will find your mother and put her to rest. Myst will claim her no longer.”

And then, knowing that we were about to face one of the hardest tasks of our lives, I pushed her back by the shoulders and stared into her face. “Can you do this? Can you even
watch
us do this? We must stake her—destroy her.”

Heather, Rhiannon’s mother, had been captured by Myst along with Peyton. She’d given her life so that Peyton
could live. Myst had drunk her down and turned her into a vampire. Weaker than the true vampires but still possessing her magical powers, Heather had fallen under Myst’s spell and now worked for her. And she was waiting for us.

Rhiannon steeled herself, her red hair vivid against her pale skin. “I am ready. We’ll do what we must. I don’t want her to live like this anymore. She would beg me to release her if she weren’t bewitched.”

Chatter stepped forward then, and he took Rhiannon’s hands. As we watched, he brushed her hair back from her face, and then slowly as their gazes locked, he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he encircled her waist, kissing her deeply. I caught my breath and sought for Grieve’s hand. We turned away from the silent tableau, giving them what privacy we could, until Rhiannon cleared her throat.

Chatter stepped back, his gaze never leaving Rhiannon’s. “You know how I feel, Miss Rhiannon. You have to know how I feel.”

She nodded, blushing, whispering, “Please, Chatter…call me Rhiannon. I am not your better. I would never think of myself as such.”

He smiled, then said, “I like to think you feel the same as I.”

Again, she nodded, grinning through her tears. Again, whispering, “I do. I have since…I can remember.”

“Then I promise you this: Whatever needs to be done, I will do my best to help you do. And I—and your cousin—will be here for you afterward. You need never be alone again, Rhiannon.”

And with that, we fell back into marching order and snuck through the woods the rest of the way. Heather was out there, and because we loved her, we were going to kill her.

As we plowed through the snow, visions of Aunt Heather rushed through my mind. She’d always been the one to comfort me when my own mother had grown impatient with my tears. Until I was six, Heather and Rhiannon and the Veil House had been the stabilizing force in my world. And then Krystal dragged me away. I remember standing on the steps as she pulled me toward the car, screaming because I knew—absolutely knew—that once we climbed in that car and drove away, my life would dive into a pit of fear and uncertainty.

And I’d been right.

Phone calls and the occasional visit home had given me hope. But Myst had stripped all of that away when she captured Heather. We would not be facing my aunt but a monster assuming her form. We had to keep that in the forefront of our thoughts.

We crept past rock and trunk, through the snow, keeping low in the overgrowth, the crisp scent of ozone from the storm filling our lungs. I was cold and wet and my jeans felt glued to my calves and thighs. The only place I felt truly dry was inside my boots and beneath my jacket. I
hunkered down as we approached another clearing—the opening to the path we’d been headed toward.

Peering out between the branches I could see Heather standing there, in a gossamer gown the color of twilight, embroidered through with threads of shimmering silver. She was waiting, silent as the grave, her long red hair blowing in the wind. Her lips were red as berries, and her eyes glowed black with the obsidian of the vampires. The handkerchief hem of her gown whipped gently in the breeze, her long sleeves fluttering as if light fingers were moving them.

Rhiannon crept up next to me. She stared at her mother, and her expression said everything her lips could not. Aching loss, loneliness, the pain of watching a loved one who has slipped into the shadows—it was all there, flooding her face. Mutely, she looked at me. I reached out, slowly, to stroke her cheek, and then touched my fingers to my lips and placed them on her own. She hung her head and I waited for her to give the go-ahead. She had to be the one making the decision.

After a moment, Rhia looked up and her expression had changed, a switch had flicked. Her face was a mask of fury, strong and determined. I looked around and found a broken stick on the ground. It would work for a stake.

Rhia did the same, arming herself with a broken twig off of a downed cedar. Grieve, Chatter, and Kaylin mirrored our actions and we were ready.