Three
THREE
H aving only heard the voice once before, still, I knew who it was before I turned around. Nott, a nymph I met last fall when I went to confront Declan Grant, now a friend. She had been hunting fae at the time. She was as beautiful as I remembered, with her pale skin, emerald-green eyes, and jet-black hair.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Of course. We’ve met before. You’re Nott. You were?—”
“No,” she rushed out, shaking her head. “I’m Thero, and I serve Soter, the protector.”
I squinted at her. “You look just like her.”
Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing as she held my gaze.
“Oh,” I whispered, seeing the pain on her face. “Forgive me. You’re wearing her aegis.”
Quick nod.
Nymphs often, for protection and intimidation, wore the faces of their fallen. It was a mask—or aegis, as they called the glamour. The reasons for this were twofold. First, to those who battled them, it looked like they were immortal. It made sense—how terrifying and disheartening must it be to think you’d triumphed, vanquished an enemy, merely to have them come back again and again. And second, if you appeared in the visage of someone known instead of a stranger, you would be listened to and not questioned.
“What happened?”
“Would you step inside a cloche and speak to me?”
She was inviting me into what my grandfather had called a slip—a pocket dimension. Normally that was a trap, but in this case, since she was a nymph and not something trying to kill me, it was simply a place to talk privately.
Once I followed her into the shadow, maybe three steps, I saw the edges of what she’d fashioned, making the space where we’d been a six-foot square. Strange to see people moving by, so close, and knowing the two of us were invisible to them.
“Tell me what happened,” I pressed her once she faced me.
“We know not,” she rasped. “When we found her…when we examined what was left…before the end, she was bled.”
“But she was a powerful warrior, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
There weren’t a lot of things that could capture, as well as torture, a nymph. A witch could do it, but not a mage, and not any race of fae. I really didn’t want to guess at what else could have ended her. I had to clear my throat because for a moment I was scared, and I didn’t want the new nymph to hear that. “When I spoke to her last, after she found the fae she was after, she told me she was looking for a warlock,” I told Thero. “Could he have hurt her?”
She shook her head. “I know whom you speak of. It wasn’t him. That abomination was found and ended, and she credited your words as aiding her search. She spoke well of you.”
“That was kind,” I murmured.
She stepped closer, and when she did, she allowed the facade to drop, so I saw the green of her eyes change to a deep topaz and her black hair run to chestnut brown. The freckles across her nose were a surprise, as was her deep tan.
“I like your real face better.”
“I show it to you now so there will be no lies between us.”
“Thank you.”
“We found her at the site where the rift was in pieces. Not the one on Corvus, of course, but at the smaller tear by the river.”
I nodded.
“Whatever was asked of her, we can only assume she finally answered based on what happened to her.”
“And you have no idea who or what could have done that?”
She shook her head.
“I’m so sorry you lost her,” I said sincerely, and then the other part of what she told me sank in. “Wait, did you say where the rift was , past tense?”
“Yes, and that’s why I’m here. My lord bade me to give you the news that the small rift is no more.”
“What do you mean no more? That’s not possible.”
“I swear to you, I speak the truth.”
My body reacted before my brain even processed her words, and I shivered hard in response. “No,” I barely managed to get out.
Minute tears, not like the one on Corvus that an entire group of beings could move through at once, but an opening that would allow only one through at a time, could, in extraordinary circumstances, be sealed. But the only way it happened was when something or someone came through that was so powerful, it scorched and sealed the rip when it entered the new world.
“Yes,” she insisted.
“No, I believe you,” I made clear. “I’m just wondering what could have done that.”
“I know not, nor does my lord. We don’t travel the rifts. We have no need of them to come and go.”
I knew that.
Nymphs, like others who tracked and hunted across planes, had the ability to open and close doors to return those that did not belong in other realms. Smaller fae, like fairies, brownies, sprites, púcas, and goblins, to name a few, could slip in and out through practically any crack in the dimensional walls. Also, there were so many patches of magic left all over the world that could be used for crossing from one realm to the other, which accounted for new species of birds, insects, fish, and mammals that popped up from time to time. My grandfather would always point out something from the fae realm when he saw them on the news, knowing that was not simply the natural world at work.
“If a creature is nonsensical, you know it’s not of our realm,” he would say.
Conversely, when people saw extraordinary creatures, like a sasquatch in the woods, a dinosaur in a lake, or a man who was part moth, I never doubted. Those were portals of forgotten magic that allowed an entry and an exit at nearly the same exact moment, the delay accounting for the fuzziness of a picture, there one second, gone the next.
But a rift was needed for something powerful, like a god or goddess, to purposely travel between dimensions. Moreover, when something less than a deity, but stronger than a member of the fae, moved through a rift that was not meant for them, that could barely accommodate their power during the passage from one realm to another, the result was that the portal, once the destination was reached, was incinerated. It was like cauterizing a wound, the heat sealing the tear.
“Did you hear me?” she asked impatiently.
“Of course I heard you, but…” I was still shaking, absorbing her words and terrified of them at the same time. Because what she was telling me was that something very big and scary was in my town. And after working hard last fall to keep out an invader, only to have another show up now, I was both horrified and feeling like a huge failure.
“Why tremble in fear?”
I glanced at her.
“This cannot be changed. You have no recourse but to hunt down whatever dark thing crossed over and either kill it or send it on its way.”
I exhaled sharply. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Not easy. Simply the task at hand.”
Looking at her, at the resolve on her face, somehow made me feel better. And she was right. I was the guardian of Corvus, and Corvus was in Osprey, so therefore, much like the man I loved, I was responsible for the safety of the town. My town.
“Okay,” I said after a moment, walking a few feet away from her and then back, needing to move as I was nearly vibrating with nervous energy. “So do you or your lord have any thoughts on what could have come through?”
“Only that it was not any of the fae. It was other.”
“Other?”
“Yes. Not from our realm, not from Olympus, the Trimurti, the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Great Ennead, or any other realm of gods known to us.”
That was sobering. “What about a lot of the fae at once? Could that do it? I only ask because there seem to be a lot of them at this carnival.”
“There are,” she agreed. “And my sisters and I would have culled any that were malignant. But you have only elves in your midst, along with fairies, dryads, and fauns. You know as well as I do that those races pose no threat to humans. Furthermore, they all traveled here with the matron of the carnival, a descendant of Nintur, who keeps both her fae and humans safe from the horrors of your world, that is far from kind.”
She wasn’t wrong about keeping people safe. That was sorely needed. “So none of them came through the rift Nott used to guard.”
“Correct. Fear none from this carnival, they come in peace, merely to entertain.”
I sighed deeply.
“You hoped it would be simple.” She reached out, took hold of my bicep, and squeezed gently. “I understand that desire.”
“Easiest would be best,” I acknowledged, covering her hand for a moment, then letting go.
“Though you know as well as I, if some visitors fall under the influence of the fae, they will make the decision to leave with them.”
“By influence, you’re not implying they’re bespelled,” I clarified. “You mean the natural beauty and charisma of the fae.”
“Yes. The same way some are enchanted by alluring humans, so are many enthralled by those whose only magic lies in what they are.”
“Which makes leaving purely a choice.” I knew this, but it never hurt to double-check.
“Of course.”
“And contrary to fairy tales, no one is ever under a love spell.”
“I am always surprised at the powers that humans believe the fae possess,” she said flatly. “Many have some minor magic, but only witches are blessed with the art of honey and wounds.”
Otherwise known as the ability to lure others to us and weave sticky, encompassing love spells—the honey—and hex and hurt others—the wounds. I didn’t dabble in either, as I had been raised to leave alone whenever possible the ebb and flow of the world. Nature always knew best, and to interfere meant you had to fix whatever you broke. My grandmother always said that it was best not to assume the part of a god when one had not been so blessed. It was good advice and worked well in all kinds of situations.
I took a breath. “So your lord is Soter?”
“Yes, and the small, sliver rifts of this realm are his to guard on the order of his lord, and mine, the battle god Neit.”
“Nott said that was whom she served.”
Her face scrunched up in pain again. Obviously, she missed her sister dearly.
“Please give both Soter and Neit my thanks.”
“I will,” she whispered.
“May I ask when you found her?”
“A fortnight ago.”
“Thank you again for patrolling.”
“To be clear, we stopped doing that once we found Nott. We have searched these past weeks for what could have crossed but found nothing.”
“Since it successfully crossed through,” I said, studying her face, “why torture Nott? It was already here, safe and sound.”
“Perhaps it wanted to go from here to somewhere else and knew Nott could make that transport happen if she wanted. Maybe it needed information about your town. Nott patrolled here, she knew all who resided in the area. It might be they were looking for someone or something here.”
“Strange of her not to simply say and then return to Soter for reinforcements.”
She shook her head. “It is known that if one is captured by an enemy and questioned, you will not live to be released. It’s folly to believe differently. Nott was wise and knew once she was trapped, she was dead. Whatever information was gleaned, it took torture to loosen her lips.”
“I really am so very sorry.”
“We take solace in knowing that to find her as she was, she held out until the questioner was so furious that she was torn asunder.”
That didn’t give me any comfort at all.
“You must be on your guard now, witch, as my sisters and I are gone from this place. I only appear to you now since Nott would have wanted it this way, and my lord, as well as my lord’s lord, owe yours fealty.”
Which basically meant they were all communicating with lowly ole me because my lord Arawn was far scarier than all the rest of them put together. “Thank you again,” I said, reaching out for her.
She clasped my arm but didn’t push her power through me as was customary. It wasn’t necessary; Thero was there to honor what Nott would have wanted, respecting her wishes, not to test me.
We let go at the same time, and she bowed her head just a bit before pointing behind me, the gesture a reminder of where the edge of the slip was, then turned and walked deeper into the shadows, until she disappeared completely.
I took the required steps out, and a man did a double take when he saw me. It must’ve been strange to see air one moment and me the next.
“Hey,” I greeted him.
He squinted, then went back to what he was doing, carrying a keg into the stall that was serving beer, hot dogs, and hamburgers. He probably thought, as most would have, that he was seeing things.
It took me a few moments of deep breaths, letting the sounds and smells of the carnival wash over me, to recover some semblance of normalcy. Once I did, I knew there was only one person I wanted to talk to, and I needed to walk back to the center of town so that as soon as he was done with his meeting, I would be there.
Leaving the carnival, after witnessing three different shoving matches on my way out that didn’t escalate solely because of the carnival security, I retraced my steps to the town center. I moved fast, breaking into a jog every few minutes, wanting to get there as quickly as I could. It was strange because I was on edge, and due to that, I kept glancing around, unsure of my eyes and ears, seeing and hearing things at the edge of my vision, stepping from the shadows, that couldn’t possibly be there.
Was it stupid? Yes. Could I stop… I could, apparently, because I heard a sound I recognized, which instantly soothed me—several short staccato beginnings of a meow .
There, coming up beside me on the sidewalk, was Argos, my cat.
Now, was he actually a cat? Absolutely not. He was a daemon, which was a lot of different things, depending on the tome where you were looking up the definition. Some said demigod, others a watchful spirit, and yet others a goblin taking animal form. Daemons were not inherently good or evil. They imprinted on a family, and if you took care of them, which mostly involved feeding them, then they stuck around, didn’t eat you, and protected everyone in the home. No one knew where they came from or what made them show up, but when they did, attention needed to be lavished on them, as they basically saw you as a servant. As far as I knew, it was the same with normal cats.
My grandfather told me that his great-grandmother, who had been alive for a short time with him growing up, had been the one who found Argos in the forest. There was no record of him before that in anyone’s diary. He appeared often since then, and I was thankful. Because what made Argos different from a regular cat was that if I found myself in danger when he was around, he could suddenly grow to the size of a male grizzly bear with flashing red eyes and teeth like razors. The issue was, he was a bit of a traveler, and his vigilance was sporadic at best. Tonight, however, walking down the empty streets alone, his company was appreciated even though looking at him was strange. What had taken me by surprise was that normally, his fur was a lustrous, glossy black, but at the moment he appeared as an orange tabby—and a bit of a chunky one at that.
“What’s with you?” I asked him as he walked in front of me and stopped, nearly tripping me before I caught my balance and he darted forward. “And why’re you trying to kill me?”
He ran ahead, jumping up on the low wall that encircled the courthouse, putting him at waist level as I reached him.
“Really,” I said, squinting. “What’s with the color?”
“Oh, look who it is,” a voice said. Diana Flint. Twice in one day meant my luck was not good for some reason. Perhaps I needed to start carrying a periapt to keep her away from me. Though keeping track of whatever charm that would end up being could prove difficult. There were only so many things one could recall.
“Diana,” I greeted her as she walked toward me with Allard Pace, holding on to his arm.
“Xander,” she returned, her blond brows furrowing.
If one had to describe her, the best word would be pinched . She always looked like her face, her eyes, her entire demeanor, really, was both tight and uncomfortable. I had no idea if she ever unclenched any part of her. In contrast, Allard Pace appeared the picture of ease. He had a fluid grace about him, and he was tall and handsome, built like a swimmer. He too was blond, but whereas Diana’s hair was a natural mousy brown, which meant she was forced, by vanity, to constantly have it dyed, his was as golden as his skin, lashes, and brows. The man was basically gilded. Too bad I didn’t like him, but that had more to do with him cruising into town in his flashy Italian sports car and buying up property than anything else. I could own that. But even if he’d been a saint, still, his friendship with Diana Flint wasn’t doing him any favors.
“Mr. Corey,” Pace said, smiling. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I agreed, trying to be cordial. “Are you two on your way to the carnival or on your way home?”
“What are you implying?” Diana snapped at me.
Sometimes I wasn’t as careful with my words as I should be. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I only meant?—”
“We know what you meant,” Pace said to Diana with a smile, which immediately soothed her ruffled feathers. “Don’t we?”
She cleared her throat. “I guess,” she granted belligerently.
“And we left not too long ago,” he explained as they reached me. “I was hoping to take the cemetery tour with you this evening—I saw Oliver earlier today, and he said you were covering for him—but I understand it was canceled.”
“That was a while ago now, but yeah. Whenever the carnival’s in town, a trip through the graveyard can’t hold a candle to that.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, looking me up and down. “I think it would depend on the company one has, don’t you?”
That was another aspect I wasn’t crazy about—the flirting. And not only with me. He flirted with everyone. He wasn’t picky.
“The cemetery tour is actually quite interesting,” Malachi Gant chimed in from behind me. “And Xander does spin a fairly good tale.”
Turning, I smiled at him, pleased to see another of our newer transplants. Unlike Pace, Gant worked for a living. He’d opened a nursery, and Natalie Bauer, who had been our only local florist, had been thrilled. Because while her shop had flowers and created the arrangements for everything from weddings to funerals, graduations to new babies, his nursery carried every exotic bush, plant, and tree known to man. His greenhouse was like an enchanted world. He had a butterfly house, a bamboo forest that could be rented for meetings, and a Japanese garden complete with a koi pond, a beautiful footbridge, and cherry-blossom trees. Just walking under the archway of his nursery, aptly named Sanctuary, was for many, myself included, instantly calming. Something about the way the breeze meandered through the trees, the birdsong, and the scents of flowers from places most of us would never see, all blending together, was intoxicating. I told Lorne I could have easily lived there.
“Fairly good?” I baited him.
Mal smirked as he stepped up beside me. “Fine. It’s very good, though all that stuff about the founders of Osprey is a bit of a snore.”
I squinted at him.
“Oh, come on, Amanda agrees.”
Of course they were friends. Amanda liked people who shared her love of sarcasm. “Amanda being in agreement should not be something you hang your hat on.”
It was his turn to squint. “Hang my hat on? How old are you?”
I shook my head at him, and he waggled his eyebrows back. I turned to Diana. “I was sorry to hear about your bees. I hope you’ll be able to rebuild your colony.”
“There’s nothing to rebuild from. I would need?—”
Sirens interrupted her. Lights and the blaring sound rendered us mute, and we stared as three police utility vehicles, an ambulance, and a fire truck, all flew down Main Street.
“I have lived here all my life and never seen that,” Diana said once they passed us.
It was the same for me.
“Did I see you conversing with an orange tabby?” Mal asked me with a chuckle.
I wondered where in the world Lorne was going, and that was all I could think about, pushing aside even what Thero had told me.
“Xander?” Pace prodded me.
“He’s so rude,” Diana sniped, irritated that quickly. “Always has been, and he was probably talking to a cat, Mal. He’s a witch, you know.”
Mal grunted. “I don’t know about that. The only witch I know in this town is Cordelia Wormwood who owns Witch and Wild over on Union Street.”
“Cordelia,” she scoffed. “Her name was Kathy Hayes when she went to school with me and Xander.”
Interesting how suddenly it was “me and Xander.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. She’s no more a witch than I am.”
“And Aurora Moon?”
“You mean Lynette Fornell who owns the Cupcake Coven? Are you listening to yourself?” She sounded really shrill, which was a change, even for her.
“No? Not a witch either?” He was chuckling.
“Everything in Lynette’s shop gets shipped in, and all she does is repackage all that crap. Not much of a witch.”
“She holds séances,” Pace pointed out. “I’ve even been to one.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what on earth made you think a woman who dresses up to look like a Gothic vampire has a direct line to the spirit world?”
Pace turned his attention to me. “But you’re saying Xander is an actual witch?”
Her gaze met mine. “Probably not. He just had an eccentric grandmother.”
“She was,” I agreed, staring at her. “In the very best way. And everyone loved her.”
She let out a frustrated breath. “That much is true.”
I noted the dark bags under her eyes and wondered if she too had not been sleeping. I was about to ask but then realized I didn’t care.
“I had no idea you were a witch, Xander,” Mal said fondly, shoulder-checking me. “I’ve never seen you in a pointy hat.”
I groaned, and both men laughed.
“So is anyone hungry?” Mal asked. “I was on my way over to Waxing the Moon for some dinner.”
I was going to immediately beg off so I could call Lorne, but my phone rang, saving me the trouble, as it was the man himself. “I need to get this,” I rushed out, walking a few feet away before answering. “Hey, are you all right?”
“No,” he rasped. “And I need you.”
“Of course. Where am I going?”
“To Kathy Hayes’s home over on Union.”
It was a ten-minute ride on my bike. “Okay, I’ll be there shortly.”
“I would come and get you, but I can’t leave.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get right over there.”
“Come around the back, though, and wait a bit. I can’t have you in the house until they take the body.”
All the air rushed from my lungs. “Body?” I barely got out.
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t my place to ask, but I knew he’d tell me. “Was it an accident?” I asked hopefully.
“No, it wasn’t,” he replied, sounding hollow. “She was murdered.”
“I’m so sorry,” I rushed out.
Lorne had left Boston for two reasons: first, to take his brother and niece away from where tragedy had struck their family with the loss of a beloved wife and mother, and second, because he wanted to live somewhere without crime. And yes, there had been the murder of Megan Gallagher last year, but that was tied to supernatural forces beyond his control, so that was different. In his book, it didn’t detract from the allure of the town. The paranormal was not his responsibility to curtail. But murder was something he’d dealt with in the past and was now faced with again. He’d been guaranteed a small-town utopia, and now he was having to deal with exactly what he’d run from.
“It’s not your fault,” I assured him.
“No, I know, but still,” he husked. “This is my town. I’m the chief of police.”
“You can’t be everywhere at once,” I reminded him. “And I know you’ll get justice for her. That’s who you are.”
There was silence on the line before he cleared his throat. “Yeah, so anyway, there’s stuff in here, and I need you to take a look at everything.”
“I will. I’m on my way,” I promised before he hung up.
When I turned to glance at the others, I was surprised Malachi was right there, having joined me.
“Everything all right?” He sounded concerned, those deep-brown eyes of his filled with worry. Usually he was smiling, and it was a good one that emphasized his laugh lines and his dimples.
“Yeah, but I need to get home,” I lied because Lorne wouldn’t want me saying where I was going. “I’ll take a rain check on the food if that’s okay.”
“Absolutely.” He grimaced. “Though you’ll owe me.”
“Why’s that?”
“You know why,” he grumbled. “You’re abandoning me to Diana and Allard’s company. Imagine, if you will, all the horrors they’ll regale me with. They probably want to close down the youth center or kill Lorne’s dog-park initiative or something equally horrible.”
I grinned. “I’ll owe you one.”
“A big one.” He widened his eyes like he was in pain.
“Just ask Pace what he’s going to buy next,” I directed, walking backward. “He loves to talk about himself.”
“I’m aware,” he said snidely.
“I’ll see you later.”
I called a goodbye to Pace, ignored Diana, then bolted down the street to the bike rack in front of the library. Oddly, once I unlocked it and was ready to go, Argos was there, now a Russian Blue, and leaped nimbly into the basket on my bike.
“What is happening with you?” I asked him. And I wasn’t insane, so I didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t speak, as my life was not a Disney movie, but normally his actions made more sense. “I’m not going home,” I informed him, letting him make the decision to jump out or not.
Interestingly, he stayed where he was, turning once, then again, and finally curling up into a ball and chuffing at me.
“You’re so weird,” I muttered as I took off, waving at Malachi as I passed him. The sky rumbled then, letting me know that in a matter of hours there would be a wild summer squall, and my gaze dropped to Argos for a moment. “You’re gonna get wet if you stick with me.”
But he didn’t move or make any noise, which was terribly unlike him. I didn’t have time to devote to him, though. I was far more concerned with Lorne.