Night Veil (Page 8)

“We already know what their spiders are like,” Chatter said. “But beware—the Ice and Snow Elementals are dangerous if they are bound to one such as Myst. You can’t really kill them. They’ll just re-form if you shatter them.”

“Should I have brought Rhiannon, with her fire?”

He shook his head. “She’s not strong enough to make the journey. You and Peyton are versed in fighting, and you’re both tough. Rhiannon and her beau aren’t as skilled or as physically fit.” When he said the word beau I heard a catch in his voice. Chatter had a crush on my cousin and everybody knew it, but nobody wanted to touch the subject.

“Have you ever been to the Court of Dreams?” I quickened my pace, wanting to be through the woods before afternoon.

“No, Miss Cicely. I haven’t. Grieve has, though. He went once, against the Queen’s orders. I remember he got in so much trouble.” His voice broke again, and he shook his head, as if to shake off the past. “Best not to dwell on times long gone. Even if we win, nothing will ever be the same again.”

Peyton cleared her throat. “No, they won’t, but perhaps they won’t be as dire as you think. Sometimes change brings new growth. I know that sounds like a platitude, but honestly, it’s true. When my father ran off, my mother had to change our entire way of life. I was too little to remember most of it, but I do remember we had to move out of our big house into a tiny apartment, and that suddenly, Da was gone. He never came back, and the abandonment still hurts, but we survived. We learned to enjoy life again.”

I smiled at her, shivering. “I never had a home, except for the Veil House. It’s the only place I ever carried in my heart, because it stood for stability. Heather was the only mother figure I knew. My own mother . . . Krystal was . . .”

I paused, flashing back to all the nights on the run, trying to escape apartment managers after their money, and johns who were angry because Krystal stole from them after she’d fucked them. I’d catch a snippet on the wind and away we’d run. Though my mother hated her magic—and mine—she took advantage of it when it promised to keep her out of trouble.

The only stability during those years came from Uncle Brody, who I met when I was seven and who taught me the rules of survival as best as he could, and the few months we lived with Dane, the man who had tattooed me, and who’d been in love with Krystal. But she blew that one, just as she fucked up everything in our lives, and we were out on the streets again, and Dane died from a gunman’s bullet.

I’d learned to use the wind to help me survive. Ulean warned me of danger, warned me when we needed to move or when there was an opportunity I might miss. She—and the wind—kept us alive on the margins of society.

I shook my head. “Krystal was a fuck-up. She was weak and she died because she couldn’t face reality. I’ll never let myself become like her.” A glance at the sky told me the snow was falling faster. “Come on, let’s make tracks and get to the portal. Chatter, lead the way?”

As we pushed deeper into the wood, the world faded except for the stark, barren trees, evergreens blanketed with a layer of white, and brush and rocks hidden by the snow. We must have been walking for half an hour when a noise startled me. I motioned for the others to stop.

“Did you hear that?” I kept my voice as low as I could and still be heard. Chatter could hear me if I spoke in the slipstream, but Peyton couldn’t.

Chatter nodded, motioning to our left. The noise was coming from deeper in the woods, and whatever it was, it sounded like it was moving closer. I thought for a moment. We could hurry, try to outpace it, but it sounded like it was coming in fast, and we couldn’t run through the snow. We could meet it, take the offensive, or we could wait. There was no place to hide, that was for sure—unless Peyton and I shifted and Chatter vanished. But that would require getting naked in the cold, and I didn’t fancy that.

I readied my switchblade and fan, and Peyton readied the walking stick she’d been carrying. Chatter took a deep breath and moved into fighting stance.

At that moment, the creature broke through and my heart sank. It wasn’t one of the Shadow Hunters, but what we were facing could be far more dangerous. I’d heard of them, but they usually inhabited cold mountaintops or the northern forests.

Ulean, are you ready?

I am here. Be cautious. This one is dangerous. She is old and crafty.

Chatter gasped. “A snow hag!”

She appeared to be a withered old woman, but she was far more than that. Members of the Wilding Fae, inclined toward evil, snow hags were usually magically summoned by powerful entities. Like Myst. Far more dangerous than any tillynok or goblin, snow hags wielded dark magic. And this one looked ready to rumble.

Chapter 5

“Crap!” I tripped over a root, I tried to back away so fast. Primal and feral, the Wilding ones were always dangerous, always unpredictable.

But she didn’t attack, although she looked prepared to. She eyed the three of us, one of her withered hands scratching her chin. Her limbs were long and bone-thin, and she was gaunt, with one tooth showing that curled out of her mouth and over her bottom lip. Her hair was straggled white and looked like cotton batting, and she was dressed in gray rags, with her equally thin legs bowed out, bending at the knees on large pointed feet.

“What have we here?” Her voice whistled like dry husks. “I smell Cambyra Fae on the both of you.” She pointed to Chatter and me. I glanced curiously at Chatter—I knew he was Fae but hadn’t realized he was also Cambyra, and now I wondered what he shifted into.

“But you, pretty girl . . . what are you? I smell . . .” The snow hag lifted her nose and sniffed at Peyton, a loud and snuffly sound. “Big cat. Shifter, but a Were. Am I right?” Her keen gaze cut through the snow, piercing.

Peyton glanced at me, looking for a clue. I wasn’t sure, so I held my place and watched Chatter, who moved to block the way between her and us.

“Snow hag, what are you doing here?” He stood taller and seemed more commanding than I’d ever seen him.

“You would love to know. But surely you must guess who summoned me. I am in the same clutches you are. But she feeds me meat for my services, at least. Bound I am, unless another frees me, a welcome thought.” Her eyes were glinting and I didn’t trust her, but Chatter nodded.

He turned to me and whispered on the slipstream. She’s giving us a hint. She wants out from under Myst’s control.

What can we offer her? How do you deal with snow hags? I’ve heard of them but never had any associations with them, obviously, since I lived in big cities most of my life.

When I’d lived in L.A. and San Francisco, the Fae were common but they were hot-weather Fae who had been urbanized by encroaching society. Vamps also preferred the bigger cities, while the magic-born tended to prefer smaller towns where there was more access to the wilds. But the Wilding Fae—they weren’t suited to life among others.

He nodded. Then let me take the reins, Miss Cicely.

Be my guest.

The snow hag must have known we were talking about her, but she waited patiently, not moving to attack, simply staring at us with expectant, bulbous eyes.

Chatter cleared his throat. “Someone binds you. Someone else would bind you stronger if you have the will.”

“I might, I might at that.” She snickered and I wanted to back away from that curiously large head, but I forced myself to stay put.

“Riddle me this . . . what binds a snow hag, but can be broken? Not a solemn oath. Not a blood promise.”

“No, no . . . agreed. They are too strong to be broken.” Her eyes lit up and she glanced at me.

I looked at Chatter and again sent a message along the slipstream. What are you doing?

Remember your history? Oh, that’s right—you did not learn while in the city. She cannot tell us outright. She is one of the Wilding Fae. We must guess until we find what holds her, and then figure out how to break it.

Ah, now I understood. If we wanted her help, we had to break the chains Myst had bound around her without any direct instruction from her. I nodded at him and he turned back to the creature.

“What bonds are soft enough to be broken? My guess would be a bond unwillingly placed?” He cocked his head.

“You might guess correctly on that one.”

“Then a spell, perhaps . . .” He paused and—at the wary look in her eye—added, “or perhaps . . . not a spell outright but a trick. Let me think . . . Myst is a huntress. Hunters use snares. A magical snare!”

The snow hag cackled. “You might guess correctly again!”

Chatter turned to Peyton and me. “Myst used a magical snare to gain control of the snow hag. Magical snares can be disarmed if we figure out their trigger. They’re very much like a regular snare, but if you trip the trigger, you become magically bound rather than physically.”

I screwed up my courage and decided to give Chatter’s guessing game a chance. I turned to the snow hag. “I’m guessing someone near might be newly trapped. That it hasn’t been long since they were ensnared.”

She laughed, then. “You would guess correctly, my pretty.”

“My guess it wasn’t far from here.”

“Again, a good and reasonable guess.”

“How did you know that?” Chatter asked.

“Myst is able to enchant and bewitch, but the snow hag is obviously not enchanted by her enforced host. So most likely, the snare was set out here, away from the barrow. We should look around this area. Snared or not, the snow hag is dangerous, and Myst wouldn’t want her too close, but she thought her powers too good to waste.”

We began to look around the area, the snow hag propping herself against a boulder covered with a layer of ice. She looked content, staring off into the distance, as we peeked under shrubs and behind trees. After a few minutes, Chatter held up a broken wire.

“Found it. Now to trace it back to—here we go.” He pulled out the magically inscribed peg that had held it in the ground, shaking the snow off it. “I’m not sure if I’m familiar with all these symbols, but a few I recognize.”

Handing it to me, he glanced around and, once again, whispered into the slipstream. We cannot tarry, but if we can gain her help, then we may have an ally for a long time to come.

I understand. I took the wire and examined it. Some of the symbols stood out clearly to me. Because of the way the magic of the snare spell worked, the wires and pegs usually contained the word to free the ensnared, but it would be invisible to them. I picked through the symbols, reading them as carefully as I could. But something stood out—something in the pattern of the words. And then I realized that I recognized not only the pattern of speech in the spell, but the actual etching itself.

Aunt Heather. Heather had set the snare spell for Myst. I jerked my head up to stare bleakly at Chatter and Peyton.

“My aunt. She’s the . . .” I stopped at Chatter’s quick shake of the head. He was right—if the snow hag found out who had captured her, she’d go after her. In this case, though, that might not be a bad thing. Heather could never return to her former state. She belonged to Myst. But the snow hag might also seek revenge on Rhiannon—or me—and that, we couldn’t chance.

I tucked the snare away. Heather had touched it and so it might be useful in casting a spell on her. “I know the chant to release you,” I said to the snow hag. “But riddle me this: Why should I let someone free from a magical snare?”

You never just asked a Wilding one for a favor—that would forever put you at their mercy. But if you played your cards right, you could bargain your way into a deal.

The snow hag frowned, tilting her head. “Someone might have information to share—might play double duty and keep an eye on the enemy. For there are secrets to this forest that even the Mistress of Mayhem does not understand, and there are creatures who do not hearken well to her form of rule.”

She was offering to play double agent, to give us information and quite possibly show us something that could hurt Myst.

With a glance at Chatter, I said, “We would have to have a binding oath that Myst will never find out, should someone choose to do this. Blood will be spilled.”

“Blood, blood, blood, the juice of life, the drink of the damned. Spill a little blood, spill a little secret. No harm, no foul.” Her voice singsonged over the words, traipsing like an arpeggio, a light trill on the wind.

I pulled out my switchblade. That was as close to a yes as we were going to get. “Then I would say, a drop of blood for the release word would be a good bargain. A binding oath to keep secret our presence and to tell us truths about this woodland that Myst does not know.”

The snow hag nodded. “That would be a fair trade, and a fool would not accept the deal, but one wise in the ways of the world would jump at the chance.” She held out her hand and I cut her palm, then my own, and we clasped hands. The feel of her blood on my palm was slippery, and tingled, and I wondered if she had any disease, but it was too late to worry about that now.

As soon as I pulled away my hand, I said, “To free oneself from a magical snare, it might be prudent to whisper the words, Arcanum, Arcanum, archanumist. Vilathia, reshon, reshadar.”

The snow hag cracked a wily grin and repeated the charm, and a subtle breeze swept through. I could hear the sound of magical chains breaking in the slipstream. The Wilding Fae tipped her head to and fro, then tapped her nose with one long, jointed finger.

“A bargain offered, a bargain kept. Never shirk a debt, never break a promise. Spill a little blood, now a little secret. Myst would not like this, should she know. Myst is a spider in her sleep, weaving her plans and shenanigans. But not all spiders are all-clever. Myst does not know about a subterranean pathway that lurks near here. None of her people use it. One could climb in, traipse through the Golden Wood without being sensed, if one wanted to hide.”