Into the Woods: Tales from the Hollows and Beyond(98)
Author: Kim Harrison

Trent’s smile faded, and he pushed himself into a faster pace, hunched as he fought both the rising incline and the lowering ceiling. "Ellasbeth didn’t tell me Lucy existed, even after her birth. I found out through a mutual ‘friend.’ "

It had been Lee, and the anger he’d felt at the time rushed back, as bright and shiny as the day he’d found out.

"You sure she’s yours?" the pixy said dryly, and Trent eyed him. "Sorry. Okay, you’re bitter. I get that, but what are you going to do if we get in there, and she’s holding the baby? You’re not going to kill her. Right?"

As Trent tightened his grip on the light, his thoughts went to the sleep charms in his pack. "Of course not," he said, but it took longer than it should for the words to pass his lips. "Lucy is my child as much as hers, and Ellasbeth won’t share. Believe me, I tried." A chunk of harder rock made a curtain of pink and red, and he slipped around it, having to turn sideways. "It’s not just Lucy, it’s the voice of the people that Ellasbeth won’t let go of."

The tunnel past the rock curtain was smoother, and he picked up the pace, the light bobbing wildly. "You lost me," Jenks said, a stable spot of light flying beside him.

The weight of the cliff pressed down on his thoughts more than he had anticipated. "Lucy is the first elf born without the demon curse destroying her genetic integrity. I would’ve given the cure freely, obviously, but Ellasbeth stole it, hoping that I’d not know about Lucy until it was too late." Again the bitterness rose, thick and choking, and he carefully pushed it to the back of his mind to brood over later. Anger would cause him to make mistakes. He could be angry after it was over. "As the first elf born free of the demon curse, she represents our future. Whoever has custody of her will be listened to, and things need to change if we are going to survive the resurgence of our numbers."

Jenks frowned, his brow furrowed. "How can more babies be dangerous? I don’t get it."

"Neither does Ellasbeth," he muttered, then took a breath to collect his thoughts as he jogged uphill. "No one likes a minority suddenly becoming prosperous. Especially the vampires," he said softly, and Jenks’s dust shifted to a startled gold. "The more elves are born, the more obvious it will become what we are. Without a public species awareness, we will be divided and not survive the increased attention our rising numbers will bring." That, and they needed the endangered species protection laws to keep the vampires from picking them off one by one as they had done to the banshees. "If Lucy remains with the Withons, nothing will change and we will die even as we are poised to recover. Besides," he muttered, checking his watch, "if we come out of the closet, I won’t have to kill so many people."

For a moment, Jenks was silent, then he said, "You could just come out."

Trent nodded wearily, recalling the hours he’d argued this with Quen. "I could on a personal basis, yes, and I intend to, but no one will follow me unless . . ." Steps slowing, Trent aimed the flashlight deep into the rising tunnel. "I need to prove myself," he said, embarrassed. "Not to myself, but everyone else. Everything I’ve done is on the coattails of my father."

Jenks’s wings were almost silent, and the pixy landed on his shoulder, clearly cold. "Elf quest. Right. I got that part. You have to steal a child before you can have one."

Trent shifted his head as he jogged forward, trying to see the pixy, failing. "No. That’s not it. You pixies have your own right of passage. If you can’t make it on your own, you die."

"Yeah," Jenks said matter-of-factly, "but that’s because if we don’t, it’s because we’re stupid and shouldn’t pass on our genes."

A quick glance at his watch, and worry spiked through him, pushing him back into a faster pace. "Or unlucky. Stealing children is a tradition that once kept our species alive, rightfully abandoned when my father found a way to arrest the degradation of our genome. I’m not proud of it, but traditions die hard, and stealing an infant, especially a royal infant with extended protection, will prove to the remaining elves that I will see us all through the next hundred years or so." He slowed, feeling the ground start to level out. There were cobbles worked into patches, and the ceiling was higher. Almost he could walk upright. They were close, and his fingers tingled. "It’s an assurance that my decisions will be made to benefit everyone else before myself, that I’ll risk my safety for the health of our species as a whole."

The image of the man dying in the woods flashed before him. And how considerate was it to tear Lucy from her mother and grandmother? He liked Mrs. Withon. Liked her a lot.

A flush of guilt warmed him, and he slowed to a walk, breathing hard and legs aching from the angle of climb. What the hell was he doing here, forced to rob a cradle in order to see his own child?

"Even if you have to kill someone to do it," Jenks said as if reading his thoughts.

Grimacing, he checked his watch again. Jenks was right. The agreement he had entered into had forced him to use ultimate resolutions. Perhaps he should grow up and call it what it really was-murder. He could’ve worked harder to arrange a joint custody, but he’d been angry with Ellasbeth. She hadn’t been thinking responsibly, either, and it was hard not to fight when both people feel betrayed. He needed to learn the art of setting his personal feelings aside. This could have been avoided. Somehow.

Jenks’s wings hesitated, and Trent watched as the pixy dropped several feet, his dust seeming to flicker as he caught himself and rose back up again. "Listen!" he said in excitement, eyebrows arched high in the dim light. "Do you smell that? I’ll be right back."

Trent took a breath to stop him, but Jenks had darted off, and Trent changed his motion, stopping altogether and breathing deeply, ears straining. Nothing. But pixies were said to have the best senses in Inderland.

The air felt warmer, and figuring they’d found the end, he slipped a finger into his belt pack, finding his spelling ribbon and looping it around his neck, tucking it behind his collar and shirt. His cap was next, and he reached out to touch his consciousness to the nearest ley line, wincing as the energy flowed and his head felt as if it had been clamped in a vise.

"Bless it back to the Turn," he whispered, easing his hold on the slightly greasy feeling line tasting of broken rock and lightening until his headache eased. He could do the doppelganger charm. Fast magic was out, but invoking the spell in his pocket was a definite possibility, even if it did hurt like hell.

Relief cascaded over him, strong enough to make him feel foolish. Face reddening, he looked down at the cap and ribbon in his tight grip. He didn’t know if he believed in the Goddess his magic called on, even if he had seen what had to be her touch in his magic, felt her laugh at his clumsy attempts to achieve the impossible. There in the dark, buried by broken mountains and surrounded by shattered lines of power, he closed his eyes, desperate.