Soul of Fire

Chapter 7

Jan hated road trips. Her ass was numb, and her shoulders ached after two hours in the same position, the door handle digging into her on one side and the space between her leg and Tyler’s almost as painful.

“Pass me the soda?” Martin said, holding out his right hand.

“All gone,” she said and held the empty bottle upside down to prove her point.

The sodas were long finished, the licorice and chips nothing but memories, and all three of them were sick and tired of being in the car, and probably sick and tired of each other, too. On the plus side, after an argument over what radio station to put on that had ended in the radio being turned off entirely, Tyler had started taking more part in the conversation. He still didn’t sound like “her” Tyler, but it was a start.

She still thought him going anywhere near a preter was a crap idea, though.

“We could pull off and look for a convenience store,” she suggested, hoping for a break to stretch her legs.

“No.” Tyler shook his head. “He’s already jittering too much. No more caffeine for him.”

“Who’re you, my mother?”

“Don’t,” Jan said, warning them both. “I swear, I’m half-tempted to bitch slap you both.”

“Don’t slap the driver,” Martin warned, and a sound came from Tyler that made them both look at him, Jan worried, Martin confused.

“I’m sorry.” He was biting his lips hard, staring straight ahead. “I just... We’re in a pickup truck driven by a kelpie, heading to find a witch, driving up the Interstate to stop an invasion from another realm by elves, people, and...”

He started to laugh. It was a hiccuping noise, more than a little hysterical, but it was real laughter, and the tension that had built up around the three of them during the drive faded a little.

About forty-five minutes later, in the middle of a contentious discussion about music from the 1950s that was mostly Ty and Martin arguing over Elvis, she spotted the sign for their exit and breathed a sigh of relief. One more rendition of any Elvis song, and she was going to push them both out of the truck.

“So, this is Albany.” Martin came to a pause at the end of the exit ramp and checked his window, then pulled into city traffic. “Never been here before.”

Tyler looked out the windshield at the buildings around them and made a face. “It’s...”

“It’s a city. Stop being such a small-town snob,” Jan said. “Turn left here. No, the next street, not this one.”

It was nearly dark by now. The truck trundled through the city, following the directions on Jan’s phone to a neighborhood of old houses and almost-as-old trees. Kids were playing on the porch of one house, and teenagers leaned against a parked car, drinking something out of a brown paper bag, their shoulders hunched against the colder night air. If she’d ever had to say where a witch would live, she wouldn’t have picked this street. Then again, why not?

“See?” Jan said to Tyler as Martin maneuvered the truck into a parking spot by the curb. She lifted her chin in the direction of the teenagers, who were studiously ignoring them while taking sideways looks. “Get away from the highway, and it’s just like back home.”

“Not really,” Tyler said, getting out of the truck after her and stretching his arms overhead until she could hear his back crack into line. “But yeah, okay, it’s not all depressing.”

Jan smiled and looked over at Martin. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere else.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. I just... I don’t feel good here. Being here. It’s probably nothing. Which house?”

“That one.” Jan pointed at the gray two-story building with darker trim on the porch. The house was somewhere between “old” and “really old,” but even in the dusk she could tell that the paint was reasonably fresh, the small patch of grass was neatly trimmed, and there were planters on the porch filled with herbs and flowers, giving it a cared-for appearance. And the number painted on the left post matched the one in her email.

This was where the witch lived.

“Time to get this over with, then, I guess,” the kelpie said.

Jan led the way up the stairs, Tyler behind her, Martin a few steps behind him. Before ringing the doorbell, she looked back. Despite his words, Martin was visibly tense, and that was making Jan tense up, as well. Only Tyler seemed unconcerned.

The doorbell was a sweet-voiced chime, repeating three times. The heavy wooden door opened, and a woman looked out at them with polite interest. “How may I help you?”

Jan wasn’t sure what she had been expecting—a wild-haired hippy-dippy type maybe, covered in tie-dye and magical charms, or a New Age type, or even a goth chick in black and satanic symbols. It certainly wasn’t a thirtysomething woman with a neat, professional-looking haircut, wearing jeans and a USAF logo T-shirt.

“Um, Elizabeth Pasteur?”

“That’s me.” Her gaze met Jan’s easily, then she flickered to Tyler, and something in her face changed. “Oh. Oh, dear.” She pushed open the screen door and stepped back. “Come in, please.”

Jan crossed the threshold, Tyler behind her. Martin hung back, and Elizabeth waited. As he stepped onto the porch, the witch blocked him. Not aggressively, not barring him, but forcing him to pause. Not quite a standoff, but the tension crackled in the cool air. Tension and something else that made Martin back up a step, the heavy clunk of four hooves audible on the porch.

Some kind of barrier, Jan realized. Magic? Enough to make him uncomfortable, even outside her property, on the street. It was obvious the woman knew he wasn’t human. Jan cursed, annoyed that she had become so used to supers she hadn’t even thought that might be a problem. Witches didn’t like supernaturals, Martin had said. They had history.

“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s a friend.”

She either didn’t hear Jan or didn’t care, still blocking Martin from entering. “What is your intent here?”

Martin looked at her, then let his gaze move to where Tyler and Jan were already inside the house. “I am here to seek aid and information, not to cause harm or mischief to any within this house.”

The words, oddly formal, seemed to satisfy her, and she stepped back, letting him pass.

The kelpie met Jan’s gaze with a bland expression, but she could read him now: he didn’t like witches, either, didn’t trust them. But they needed this woman’s help, so he would deal.

Inside, the house had a definite New Age vibe, Jan decided. Not that there were crystals and smudge sticks perched everywhere, the way she’d seen in some of the shops and coffeehouses she’d wandered into over the years, but there was a large crystal globe set in the middle of the coffee table, and the herb planters outside were echoed by pots set in all the windowsills and nearby floor. She might have dismissed it all as stage setting, except for what had happened out on the porch.

Jan still wasn’t sure she believed in witches, but she’d learned to recognize power.

“Please, have a seat.” Their hostess gestured at the sofa and chairs grouped around the coffee table. “How may I help you?”

The wording, repeated, struck Jan: not “what do you want” or “can I help you” but “how may I.” They taught that to phone operators, she knew from a college job, but this sounded...warmer. As if she really meant it.

“What makes you think we need help?” They did, of course, but Jan didn’t like being put on the defensive when she had planned to take the offensive.

“An elf-shot human and a water-sprite come to my door, I assume they’re not trying to sell me Mary Kay products.” She tilted her head and looked at Martin. “Are you?”

At a loss, Martin looked at Jan, whose lips twitched despite herself. Not a preter, she reminded herself. Human. “No,” she told the woman. “We’re not. Your name was given to us as...” She hesitated, not quite sure how to phrase it.

“You need a witch,” Elizabeth said easily. “And here I am. How may I help you?”

They’d talked about this during the trip up here. Or rather, she and Martin had; Tyler had remained quiet on this topic, never volunteering an opinion.

Now Ty sat next to her, his knee not quite touching hers but closer than it had been in the truck. She wanted to put her hand on his leg, run her hand across his hair the way she used to when they were curled up on the sofa, watching the rain hit the windows.

She was afraid if she did those things, they wouldn’t feel the same.

“We have reason to believe that the elf-queen is here,” she said instead. “In the sunlit lands.” The phrase sounded stupid to Jan, but Martin had insisted. Remembering the weird twilight skies of the preter realm, it did make sense and was apparently the traditional description.

After the way Elizabeth had reacted to Martin on the porch, Jan had been afraid the woman would react badly to their needs or maybe throw them out. Instead, Elizabeth blinked and drew back a little, leaning against the back of the chair she had chosen. “Indeed.”

“You’re not surprised,” Martin said, his earlier tension gone but replaced with something new, more anticipation than worry.

“No. I wish I were, but...no.” The witch shook her head and fiddled with a beaded bracelet on her left wrist, rolling the beads under her fingers like a rosary. “There have been things recently, vibrations in the world, out of order. Vibrations I could not recognize, did not understand. And in the past few months, they have become...more disturbing. If what you say is true, that would explain a great deal.”

“Could you, can you identify where those vibrations are coming from?” Jan didn’t want to let herself think it could be that simple, that easy. Then again, why not? Most things were simple, once you understood what to look for.

But not people, she reminded herself. People were complicated. Don’t trust her too easily; you don’t know anything about her, and even if she knew Martin wasn’t human, that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Not everything in this world thought elves were a bad idea.

“I could identify them, I suppose. Why should I?” Elizabeth raised a hand to stop any objections that might come. “I’m not saying I won’t, but the spell is not without risk to me. So why should I?”

“Because otherwise, her court will come to find her,” Martin said. “Soon. Now. Her original court, all the lords and ladies of the sunless lands. They have access now, access they control. And they will not leave, after. They are changing, abandoning tradition. They plan to claim this land and all who live within it.” Martin’s voice dropped, an intimate, convincing tone. “You dislike me. But we share this world. We both belong. You know they have no true love for humans—and a human with a touch of magic they will love even less.”

Jan still didn’t understand how a human could work magic, and Martin hadn’t been able to explain it to her; but clearly, from the way Elizabeth’s face tightened, the preters knew about it, too, and didn’t like it.

Supernaturals, preternaturals, and witches, oh, my. Every time Jan thought she’d figured out her new reality, another twist showed up.

“And if you find her first?” Elizabeth asked.

“We can stop whatever games they want to play. We can block their access.” Jan said it as if she believed it, as if it was a done thing, and all they had to do was go through the paces. The fact that it was all bullshit and hope-so and best-case scenario didn’t make it sound any less impressive.

Elizabeth didn’t look impressed. But she did look a little calmer and stopped playing with her bracelet. “All right.” She seemed to be talking to herself, though, not them. “All right.”

Jan didn’t know what to expect. For all that she’d spent the past few weeks living with werewolves and trolls and winged things and god knew what else, the idea of witchcraft had kind of freaked her out, when she thought about it. Which she’d been trying not to do. Maybe because this was a human thing, apparently, and until now she’d been able to keep “human” to mean “normal.”

Normal might be a meaningless term now. The New Normal was Weird. Jan was aware that she was skirting dangerously close to hysteria and dug her nails into the palms of her hands, concentrating on the pain until she felt the hysteria subside.

The other woman got up off the sofa and went to the console table against the wall, picking up a wooden box about the size of her hand. The wood gleamed as if it was old and well cared for, and as the witch brought it back with her, Jan could see that something had been carved into the sides and lid. From where she sat, the design looked like endlessly twining vines, or snakes, but she wasn’t going to get up to look more closely.

She’d been spending enough time with the New Normal to remember Pandora’s box.

“Unfold that map on the table, please,” Elizabeth said, not to anyone in particular. Tyler reached over to pick up the map—just a basic AAA road map of New York State—and opened it, laying it carefully on the coffee table in front of the witch.

Elizabeth placed the box on her lap and lifted the lid. Jan had enough of an angle from her seat to see that the inside was lined in dark green, and it contained more crystals, although much smaller than the monster on the table. The witch lifted out several of the stones, dangling from chains and cords, and considered them, then let all but one drop back into the box. From the soft thump they made, Jan figured the lining was probably velvet, like that in a jewelry box.

The crystal she’d kept out was clear, about the size of a thumb, and strung on a thin silver chain that let it swing easily. The overhead light caught at it, casting tiny rainbows across the map.

“There is magic everywhere,” the woman said, and it wasn’t quite a conversation and not quite a lecture voice but fell somewhere in between. “All a witch does is listen for it, listen to it, and then...ask it to move.”

“That’s all?” Tyler’s voice was amused, dry. Jan looked over at him and saw that familiar, long-missing expression on his face—partially amused, partially disbelieving, and totally engaged. Her eyes prickled with tears, because she had missed it and because someone else had caused it to appear. She squinched her lids shut until the prickling stopped and then opened them again.

“The difficult part is shutting up enough to listen,” Elizabeth replied. “Most—human and non—have trouble with that part.”

Since none of them could argue with that, they didn’t.

The crystal dangled over the map now, the chain held against her palm. The witch’s eyes closed, and her face went peaceful, the lines around her mouth and eyes easing. “Hush and listen to how the universe moves....”

Jan held her breath, not sure what was going to happen but braced for pretty much anything. Across the coffee table, Martin was sitting on the love seat, his gaze intent on the dangling crystal. In that instant she could see the hazy outline of his other form, his long face shifting to a brown muzzle, ears tilting alertly, his shaggy black hair almost exactly the same as it fell into his eyes....

Magic everywhere. And she had spent most of her life utterly unaware.

Despite everything, despite the danger they were in, the sense of urgency still beating under her chest, Jan wouldn’t have traded this for all the safety in the world. Not even for Tyler to be well and healthy again, and the guilt for that was like heartburn in her chest.

The crystal jerked, even though the witch’s hand remained steady. Next to her, Tyler drew a harsh breath in but didn’t say anything.

The crystal jerked again, with a definite lean to the left. It spun counterclockwise and stopped.

The witch lowered her hand slowly, until the lower edge of the crystal touched the map.

Martin leaned forward and read the markings upside down. “Little Creek.”

“That’s where the new magic stirs,” the witch said. She sounded exhausted. “Of course.”

“Of course?” Jan looked away from the map and into the other woman’s face. “Why ‘of course’?”

The witch moved the crystal away, placing it carefully on the table next to the map, and moved her hand back to the map. “Here.” She pressed a spot to the left of Little Creek with her thumb. “And here.” She marked another spot with her pinkie, spanning the space between with her hand. “There have been murders in the past couple of months. Particularly bloody ones. Entire families. They were calling them wild-animal attacks at first, and then they went out of the news entirely. And then, this week...” Her expression closed off briefly, her thoughts going somewhere else. “They haven’t released the news, not officially, but two police officers investigating the murders disappeared. In the mountains.”

Elizabeth sighed and moved her hand back to her lap, touching the bracelet again. “The night air has been restless for weeks, whispering of something ill-come and unwelcome in the hills. I had hoped that someone would come. Someone who could deal with this.”

“You didn’t want to look until it was someone else’s problem.”

Jan bristled at Martin’s tone, oddly offended on the woman’s behalf, but the witch simply gave him a tired smile. “Borrowing trouble rarely ends well.”

The witch didn’t look magical or impressive. Then again, neither did Martin, truly. They looked like two ordinary, not particularly special people.

Somehow, weirdly, that made Jan feel better. She didn’t look particularly special, either.

“Are we certain that the magic is connected to the murders?” Tyler had pulled back again, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Maybe it’s just coincidence.”

“Coincidences do happen,” Martin said, but he didn’t sound confident enough for anyone’s reassurance.

The witch put her box of crystals away and rummaged in a drawer, pulling out several packets. “Wait here,” she said and went through an open doorway at the back.

There was an uneasy silence among the three of them.

“You think the queen was involved in those killings?” Jan asked.

Martin touched the surface of the map, moving it slightly across the table. “I think that she thinks that the queen was. And right now, she’s the only eyes on the ground we’ve got.”

“On the ground and a hundred miles away,” Jan pointed out.

“She did more from a hundred miles away than anyone AJ sent out.”

“Yeah.” And this was more than they’d had before.

The witch came back with three little sachets in her hand, about the size and shape of tea bags.

“Here.” She handed one to each of them. The unbleached linen was scratchy and filled with something that crackled. Jan lifted it to her nose and sniffed. Lime and something that smelled a little like pizza, or maybe pine? She looked at the witch, who was staring at her with an unnerving steadiness.

“Lime, sage, and pine. And a pinch of fennel. Keep it on you, in your sock or tucked into your bra, somewhere it can’t be easily taken from you.” She lifted one shoulder slightly, a philosophic shrug. “I wish I could do more, but...”

“It’s a protection spell?” Martin had already put his sachet away. Jan hesitated and then tucked hers into her pocket, the one opposite from her inhaler.

“Protection and healing, combined to deter injury. If you are facing violence, it might turn a blade or ill wish away from you. Plus—” and here she smiled a little “—it’s a soothing smell, and I’ve found that it helps with clear thinking.”

When it became apparent that Elizabeth had given them all the aid she could—or would—there wasn’t much left to say. The three visitors got to their feet, tucking the gifts away and offering their hands in thanks. Elizabeth took each gravely, ushering them to the door.

As they were leaving, the witch placed her hand on Jan’s elbow, keeping her there a moment longer.

“You’re not elf-shot,” she said. “But they’ve marked you, too. You’ve made a bargain with them.”

“Yes.” Jan looked over her shoulder to where the men waited, already on the walkway. “To bring him home, to give us time to fight them.”

“That’s dangerous. Deals with the Others...that’s a deal with the devil in another guise. There’s always a higher cost than we think.” Her other hand reached into her pocket and brought out a small brown shape, a little smaller than the sachet. She pressed it into Jan’s hand, and Jan took it automatically, her fingers curving around it. The shape was cool, like stone, and when she looked closer at it, she realized it was carved in the shape of a horse, with an arched back and small blue dots set into its haunches.

“It’s a fetish,” the witch said. “It brings healing and the power of the herd. I put him in my pocket this morning, not knowing why. Now I do.”

Jan’s thumb rubbed over the figure—the fetish—almost absently and felt the stone warm under her touch. On closer inspection, the brown was flecked with red and gold, and she thought of Martin’s other form, the way the water had clung to his hide when they’d escaped from the troll-bridge and how his eyes flickered sometimes with gold.

Jan opened her mouth to ask a question—what, she didn’t know—and Elizabeth put her fingers against Jan’s mouth, silencing her.

“Trust and go,” the witch said.

She rejoined the others in the truck, the small figure still clenched in her hands.

“We’re not going to get anywhere tonight,” Martin said. “It’s too late, and I for one have no interest in driving around after dark without a clue where we’re going. How much cash do you have on you?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jan shook her head. “You don’t have another friend you can call on to loan us crash space?” That was what they had done before, when her apartment had become unsafe. It hadn’t exactly been Hotel Paradise, but there’d been a roof and running water and a bed that had been reasonably comfortable.

“I didn’t think I was going to need bolt-holes all over the East Coast,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. Supernaturals didn’t seem to need as much sleep as humans, but it had been a hell of a long day; he was right, they needed a break.

“There’re blankets in the back,” Tyler said. “It’s not ideal, but we can sack out in a rest area if we take turns.”

Jan looked at Martin, who gave a curt nod. “Good enough. Let’s get the hell away from this house. It’s still giving me itches.”

When their car had pulled away, Elizabeth closed the door carefully, then locked it and ran her hand down the seam between door and frame, her mouth shaping a silent prayer. She then went back into the main room and settled herself on the sofa, her legs crossed underneath her. Breathing in, then out, she reached out to feel the wards that protected the rest of the house, making sure that each one remained intact.

Why hadn’t she done anything, they’d asked. Because she was scared. No: she was terrified. The first time she had sensed magic shifting in her area, had reached out to identify it, things had appeared soon after. Things that smelled of anger, entrails, and greed. Things that lurked in the shadows, watching.

She was not the only one who knew how to listen. And there were things out there that hated any other voice but their own. Bad things. Violent things.

She was able to keep them out, but not for long, not if they brought more. She could leave, flee during the brightest hour of the day, find another place to stay, keep herself close so that they could not find her again. But there were people who needed her, people who needed to find her. She would remain.

Elizabeth had no illusions about herself. She was not brave; she could not fight this battle. But she would not flee it, either.

And when those in need called to her, be they human or other, she would not turn them away.

Her hands reached out to the crystal in the center of the table and touched it gently, the tips of her fingers resting on its surface. “Feel the universe move. Move with it.” It was a mantra, not an invocation, meant only to calm and center her. Then she exhaled and took the next step. “Show me those I can help.”

Inside the crystal, a faint golden flicker gleamed to life.

His stolnik came to him at dawn, the younger being already draped in formal gear, holding the day’s robes in his hands, ready to dress the consort.

“They are ready.”

It wasn’t a question requiring response. The consort did not care if they were, in fact, ready: they would be ready. He had given his word to the mortal that she would have her time, so long and no more, to ready herself for what would come. Time ran differently here and there, but he could feel the moment coming, the pulse of magic connecting their two worlds. He did not understand why his queen had found it so alluring, but he would follow. Follow and lay waste to all she now held dear, claim the rest, and leave her no choice but to return.

The stolnik draped the robes over his shoulders, adjusting them just so. He allowed it, caught up in his thoughts. The throne room was empty of the usual throngs, the sun yet rising over the plains outside, the Mountain still in shadow and Under the Hill still sleeping, save the consort and his companion and the nine standing in front of him. Nine plus nine humans with them, hollowed-out and waiting.

There should have been ten. The irritation of that scraped at his bones, not so much for the loss of one portal—nine would be enough, no matter how the magic now made them itch for ten, the sense of a pattern incomplete—and not for the delay that agreement had forced on them, but for the ease in which the human had opened a portal of its own, to escape.

Unheard of for a human to do such a thing. Another pattern broken, another thing askew. The one who had come here and left again, stealing back their tenth portal-holder, proved that they could leave as they desired...which raised the possibility that humans could come as they desired, as well.

That could not be allowed. This was their magic, fairly stolen. They had shaped it, and they would control it. And if that meant every human born must be chained or die, then it would be so.

The consort would take great pleasure in destroying what had so fascinated his queen and lured her from the Hill.

“Unleash them,” he said and turned away, secure that the others would do as commanded. There would be no subtlety now, no gentle seduction. The supernatural that had accompanied the human would doubtless spread word among its kind, play up its success, its escape. They would resist, think that they could hold off their inevitable decline.

It did not matter. For whatever unknown reason, the balance had shifted, the magic had changed. His queen might have been the first to scent it, but he had perfected it. They no longer needed to wait, to lurk, to take in small bites what they should devour. The portals would be opened and held, and then the court’s harriers would sweep in, reclaim Nalith, and eradicate the supernatural vermin who had defied them, once and for all.

And then the court would claim the human world entirely, the way they should have, centuries ago.