Courting Darkness (Page 11)

But surprisingly, he didn’t stay long, nor did he tarry over things not his business. After a moment, Herne withdrew from my thoughts and stared at me with a puzzled look.

“You may wander in my realm, but I will not protect you. You carry magic far too powerful for your own good, and because of it, you are in danger. Indeed, danger rides you like a steed, it clings to your back. You reek of Aeval’s energy and yet . . . there is something beneath the stench of the Unseelie. And where you are going, young Fae, the Dark Queen will not be able to protect you.”

After a moment, he let out a dismissive bark. “Half-breeds are irksome. I don’t like puzzles.” He motioned to Tra. “Run ahead. This is not Aeval. Leave these two alone and neither help nor hinder them.”

“Wait—”

“Well, what is it? Hurry up.” Huffing, his hands on his hips, he stared down at me, eyes flashing. Delilah looked at me like I was nuts.

At first I thought to ask him about Chase, but then I stopped myself. No use putting the detective in danger, in case Herne’s bad mood extended to him as well. I quickly restructured my question.

“Have you heard of the Bog Eater? Do you know if he’s near?” Might as well ask something that could help us.

Herne choked. “Now I understand why I don’t trust you. Yes, that piece of filth is near. Anyone who cozies up with the likes of Stollen Kom Lightly deserves what she gets.”

“I’m not—” I started to say, then stopped as Herne and Tra vanished in a swirl of frost-covered leaves. Both confused and relieved—we’d gotten off lightly—I turned to Delilah.

She broke into a nervous smirk. “You know the old proverb: Foolish are those who summon the gods, for the gods might just answer.”

“I didn’t summon him. And Tra gives me the creeps. I hope he behaves and leaves us alone.” Still shaking, I forced myself to calm down. “At least we know the Bog Eater is near.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” Delilah let out a long sigh and shook her head. “I smell Chase.” She pointed through a patch of waist-high ferns. “I think he’s that way.”

We plunged through the fronds, limp from winter’s chill, and the rattle of dried leaves echoed with our passing. The overgrowth was dry from the winter, and leaves shattered with our touch, breaking into shards as we pushed our way through the tangle.

“Why would Chase have come this way? Maybe he ran off the path?” Delilah asked, but I could tell she already knew the answer.

“Easy one. Either he was carried, or he was running away from something and looking for a place to hide.” I shook my head, gazing around in the unending sea of foliage. “How are we going to find him? I’m beginning to think we’re nuts for coming in here on our own. We should have at least brought Smoky with us.”

Delilah paused, then pointed ahead. “Look!”

I followed her gaze and there, in the tangle of a briar bush that bordered a glen, saw a jacket. It had to be Chase’s.

We shoved our way through the last of the bushes over to the brambles, and I gingerly removed the jacket from the branch. It stuck on the thorns and I tugged, then tugged harder, and it ripped into my hands. I held it up to Delilah’s nose, but even from here I could smell Chase on it. He’d come this way.

“He must have been in a big hurry if he had to leave this.” I peeked through the pockets and took out his wallet, badge, checkbook, and anything else that looked like it might be important. As I did so, a card fell out. It was the business card of a local psychic—one I knew was legit and fairly accurate. I said nothing, but put it back into the wallet.

Delilah leaned over, and when she stood up again, she was holding a gun in her gloved fingers. “Chase’s gun. And it’s been fired. This is not a good sign.” She looked around, her eyes brimming, but she didn’t cry. She merely slid the gun’s safety on and placed it into the bag containing the iron cuffs she carried.

“Should we continue?” I glanced around the glen. Ringed by tall oak and cedar, the glen was shaded and the ground dusted with a thick layer of white. Something caught my attention. At second look, I could see where something—or someone—had been dragged through the hoarfrost. “Look—there.”

Delilah knelt by the tracks. She sniffed, holding the breath deep inside for a moment before slowly exhaling. “Chase. Chase was here. Something caught him and he fired at it, dropping his gun. Whatever it was, I think it overpowered him.”

I followed the tracks with my eyes. “That looks like someone dragging dead weight—I don’t see footprints indicating he was on his feet.” If he’d been running after them, or resisting, it would have looked more like a scuffle.

“Come on.” Delilah headed across the glen and I followed her, not wanting to go farther without additional help. But Chase had been captured, and who knew what had hold of him?

I fell in beside her and we followed the trail of trampled grass. When we came to the other side of the glen, there was a short path through a ring of cedar and oak, and we cautiously navigated through it, with Delilah’s nose checking the air while I kept glancing over my shoulder to watch our backs.

And then, as we pushed through the trees, we found ourselves on the edge of a bog—long and wide—that stretched almost beyond eyesight. I caught the silhouette of land on the other side, but the marsh was covered with wisps of mist that lingered above the ground and it was hard to see much through the vapor. The smell of peat was strong, and the acrid scent of decaying vegetation rang sour through the air.

I gazed at the wide expanse of wetlands. Fens were treacherous. If we tried to work our way through there without the proper equipment, chances were we could get bogged down, no pun intended. There was no easy way to tell where the path was—the frost covered everything as it had back in the glen, but with the tangled foliage, it was impossible to follow any trail that Chase might have made.

Overhead, a mournful call echoed as a team of ducks came winging by.

“If he does, then Chase might as well be dead.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. At her pained look, I bit my lip and then lightly laid my hand on her arm. “I hope not. Aeval didn’t think so. Do you think he was dragged away into this strip of forest rather than the bog? Do you want to look?”

She gave a hopeless shrug. “Do you think we’ll find anything? Or do you really think he’s out there . . . dead?”

For the first time, even through all of the crap we’d been through, I saw defeat on her face as she held her breath, waiting for my answer. And that tore up my heart. Of all three of us, she was the eternal optimist, and though I was glad she’d grown up—she had desperately needed a dose of realism in order to be able to face what we were up against—the realization that my younger sister was no longer the happy-go-lucky kitten pained me.

I steeled myself and did something I rarely did. I lied.

“I don’t think he’s dead. No. If the Bog Eater had caught him, he would have eaten him up right there and we’d have found bloody remains. I think something else caught hold of him. Now, whether he’s out in the bog or not, I’m not sure. We can’t check on that without more help. But let’s walk along the edge of the fen here, there’s room enough—just be cautious for quicksand—and see if we can find any sign that whatever dragged him away took him into the forest instead.”

Delilah began to breathe again. She flashed me a grateful look and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Bless you. You’ve always known just the right thing to say. I know it’s been hard, over the years—you’ve kept the family going and now, with what Father pulled on you—but . . . Menolly and I both owe you so much.”

Averting my eyes so she could not read the truth of my thoughts, I gave her a soft smile. “That’s what big sisters are for. Right? Now come on, let’s have a look. Here—grab a wooden stick so we can test the ground as we go along.” Quicksand could easily hide in plain view, especially this close to a bog. A good walking stick could save your life.

We slowly moved forward, testing the ground every few feet. The path between the forest and the bog was narrow—a couple of yards at the most—and we tried to keep toward the trees. Even though I didn’t really believe Chase had been dragged into the forest, I kept my eyes open. Maybe I was right; maybe we’d luck out and find a trace of him along the trail.

Delilah and I fell into an easy rhythm. The chill of the air kept us alert, as did the hum of whatever insects were able to brave the cold. I wasn’t sure what they were, but it wasn’t the lazy drone of bees or the sunset chirping of crickets. No, this was more a buzz, then a pop, pop, pop. I looked into the trees, searching for birds, and saw several—a hawk in one branch, unmoving but very aware.

In another tree, several starlings watched over the forest, along with the inevitable crows. Crows and ravens, symbols of Morgaine. Could she be nearby? But a little voice inside whispered: There are more entities who have dealings with the black birds than just Morgaine. Be cautious. Stay alert.

We picked our way along, tapping the ground, looking for signs of Chase. After fifteen minutes, I was almost ready to give up and turn back when something shiny on the ground caught my eye. It was in a tangle of huckleberry up ahead, lying partially beneath a dying fern.

“What’s that?” I pointed to the object.

Delilah, using her stick to prod her way over to the bushes, knelt by the bush and gingerly reached to pick it up. From where I stood, it looked like a bracelet. She flipped it over to gaze at the backside, then looked up at me.

“Chase’s watch. I bought it for him for his birthday this summer.”

She’d had it inscribed. I’d been there when she asked them to engrave From your favorite puddy-tat. Love, Delilah on it. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Even though she was happy with Shade, Chase had given her something no one else ever would: her first chance at love.

I made my way over to her and we hunted around the bush, finally discovering a small trail leading into the forest. It was covered by detritus—decaying leaves, fallen needles from the conifers, and other signs of winter—but it was there. And as we looked closer, we could see the indentations in the mulch. Again, it appeared as though someone had been dragged along through here.

“Come on,” I said, feeling the first ray of hope I’d experienced since Chase disappeared.

We broke through the brush, stumbling along, following the trail until we came to a ring of toadstools.

A faerie ring. Magic emanated from them, old magic, trickster magic, and I sucked in a deep breath. As sure as I knew my own name, I knew that Chase had entered this ring, but not come out. Somebody had whisked him away.

“The Bog Eater?” Delilah’s voice was thin.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. No, this is Fae energy—Elder Fae, most likely, but not the Bog Eater. And I’m sorry, but we can’t go through that ring. We have no clue where it leads. It’s even more dangerous than the bog.”

She slumped to the ground, staring at the fungi. “I can’t believe this. What the hell’s happening? We should be chasing demons—with Chase. Not trying to find out what member of our extended family swept him off.”

I hesitantly stuck my hand in the ring, holding tight to a branch of the bush next to me. My fingers instantly began to tingle, and the needle pricks raced up my arm. I yanked it out again, not wanting to tempt fate.

“We need more help. Let me see if I can find out anything else.” This wasn’t a good space in which to scry, but I pulled out the unicorn horn. Eriskel would probably bust my butt if he knew where I was with this, but it occurred to me that I might just be able to use the Elementals locked within the horn to find out more about Chase.

I took a quick look around, then settled myself against the trunk of a tree. “You keep your eyes open. When I’m communing with the horn, anything could sneak up on me and I wouldn’t know it. I don’t trust this place.”

I held the horn in my hands, the cool crystal resonating through my body with a satisfying tingle. Here was magic I understood, magic that I knew. Of course, at first it hadn’t been that way—I’d been scared spitless when I realized that I was being given possession of the artifact. But now . . . I guess we learn and grow and adapt.

Closing my eyes, I took a long, slow breath and felt myself spiral inward, into the horn, into the energy, into the core. A dark chasm opened up and I fell, deep and long, diving inward. Down I tumbled, head over heels, spinning in a vortex of spiraling silver and gold. The winds raged around me as I aimed for the center star—a single shining point on the horizon. As it approached, I held my breath, hoping to land softly.

Thunk. I hit with a shudder that raced through me like thunder. And then, standing, I glanced around and found myself in the little room where I had first discovered the secret of the horn. A table and two chairs sat in the center, much like a garden patio set, and on each wall was fastened a large mirror, like a picture window.

On the south wall was a mirror reflecting a bronze desert, and there, in a flowing dress fashioned of molten lava, with hair burgeoning around her like hardened black pillow lava, stood a beautiful woman whose skin glowed with the color of sunset. She bowed.

I curtsied in return. “Mistress of Flames.”

Against the west wall, the mirror showed a watery ocean rippled with cresting waves, and their roar echoed out of the picture as a merman rose out of the depths, leaping like a silver flash through the air, then back into the water. He rose again, shook his long mane of kelp-colored hair, then turned jet black eyes on me and inclined his head.