Grave Visions Page 18

  So, I played the one card I had that I was sure would work. “I’m scheduled to meet Dugan.”

  “And you didn’t lead with that because . . . ?”

  Because it was my business and I didn’t want him to get any ideas about his whole breeding program plan for me. Not that I’d had any illusion that I’d have been able to get to the pocket of Faerie and meet with Dugan without him finding out.

  When I didn’t answer, my father said, “I can pick you up in thirty minutes.” Then he disconnected without saying good-bye.

  • • •

  It took my father only twenty minutes to reach the house. I had enough time to change out of the bridesmaid dress, but I was still walking PC when he arrived, his fancy Lamborghini glamoured to look like a much more mundane sedan. Good move—the sports car would have stood out in our neighborhood. I mean, the Glen, or Witch’s Glen as it was often called, was a nice area, but it wasn’t that nice.

  He idled as he pulled up to the curb, and then leaned over and popped open the door. “Get in.”

  I glanced from the open door to my little six-pound Chinese Crested. PC had visited Faerie with me once because I hadn’t had any other choice at the time. Neither the dog nor I wanted him to go on a repeat adventure, so I took him back upstairs first.

  Forty minutes later, I was standing outside the invisible line where Casey’s circle had once stood that now marked the boundary between normal, mortal reality and the chaotic space where I’d lost control of my magic and permanently woven Faerie into this small fold of space. My father watched me, his glamour down so the fae face that looked not too much older than me studied me.

  “Did you need a chaperone?”

  I frowned, but then, I guess I was lingering in doorways. “No. I’d prefer to go alone.” Or, at least I thought I would. I was off to see a Faerie prince—the prince of shadows and secrets at that. Was it safe to go alone?

  Was it any safer to take my father?

  Without another glance at him, I stepped through the doorway and across the circle line. The change was immediate. My eyesight sharpened, the air turned sweeter, as if perfumed by unseen flowers, and distant music played just at the edge of my hearing. It was annoyingly comforting. Faerie, as scary as it was, felt like home.

  It scared me because I enjoyed it.

  Shrugging off the feeling, I walked across the room, dodging the dead zones that looked washed out and decayed. Those were the places my magic had dragged the land of the dead into this reality. If I stepped through one, my very clothing would rot off. This meeting was going to be awkward enough without me showing up in tatters.

  A lone figure stood by the stone bench in the center of the room, his back toward me. He cut an impressive figure, and really did look like a prince out of an old tale. His dark hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck so it fell in a straight line down the center of his back. He wore a red cape over his black oiled armor, the material swishing around his calves as he turned to face me.

  He smiled, and it was a handsome smile, but there was no warmth to it, no sincerity. “I brought you these.” He held out yet another bouquet of roses, this time the black intermixed with deep red.

  “Uh . . .” I accepted the roses, feeling more than a little awkward. How did fae manage to interact without insincere thank-yous? Finally I said, “They’re lovely.”

  Then I had to figure out what to do with the enormous bouquet. I had no interest in holding it the entire conversation. I settled for setting it down on the bench.

  Dugan looked from me to the flowers and back. The fake smile slipped, ever so slightly, but he stepped forward, capturing my hand in his. I think, perhaps, he’d meant to lock our fingers, but he paused as he caught sight of my palm.

  I jerked my hand away, but not fast enough. I always remembered to put my gloves on before I entered the Bloom, but I’d been so preoccupied, I hadn’t even thought about it before entering this small pocket of Faerie.

  “You wear the blood of your enemies,” he said, his voice betraying what sounded a lot like impressed amazement. Which wasn’t what I was expecting. Faerie took the phrase their blood on your hands very seriously and most fae reacted with fear or revulsion. His gaze moved to where I’d pulled gloves from my purse and he frowned. “Why do you try to hide it?” He reached out and took the gloves. “That is not the way of the shadow court. We wear our blood with honor.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly proud of it.” And I wasn’t a member of the shadow court. Not yet at least. Hopefully not ever.

  Dugan didn’t give me back my gloves. “Was the kill disgraceful or unrighteous?”

  I thought back to the fight that had earned me the blood on my hands, or at least, the first blood on my hands. It had happened in this very room, on the night I’d learned I was a planeweaver and I’d first merged the planes. But I’d more than just killed the body of my enemy that night. I’d consumed his very soul in my attempt to stop him. I shivered.

  “This isn’t what I asked you here to discuss,” I said, trying not to look at the spot where Casey’s bed had been. Where I’d almost died under the Blood Moon.

  “Of course. The planebender awaits us whenever you’d like to travel to our court.” He pointed to a far corner. I hadn’t even noticed the small cloaked figure at the back of the room. Good thing he hadn’t been an enemy intending me harm. “I thought you’d bring more with you. It will be . . . complicated to return.”

  “Wait. You thought I—” I cut myself off. Had he really thought a bouquet or two of flowers would convince me to marry him? To run off and join his court? Yeah, no. Not happening. I shook my head. “I’m not going to Faerie,” I said, but when his frown deepened I added, “Today, at least. I just wanted to ask you some questions about the shadow court.”

  He studied me for a long moment before nodding. “That is a reasonable request. You did not grow up in our lands. You likely have many questions.”

  He motioned me to sit on the bench, and then joined me. While his smile might look less than genuine, his expression was earnest. He wanted to convince me to join his court—and take his hand in marriage—and he’d answer my questions if that would help. I got the distinct impression that his betrothal to me was the only reason he was the named heir and prince to the shadow throne. If I reneged on the agreement my father had made, what would happen to him? It didn’t matter. Even if he was a decent guy, I wasn’t marrying him just because my father approved of his bloodline. Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d ever marry anyone. That fact wouldn’t stop me from pumping as much information out of Dugan as possible though.

  Now to find a way to word my questions that wouldn’t offend him or cause him to cut me off. “What types of fae are members of the shadow court?”

  His brow crinkled. Not confusion, more like bafflement that I’d ask such a stupid question. “Like any court, all types of fae make up our kingdom. The nobles are of course Sleagh Maith, though admittedly, we have fewer than we once did . . .”

  “Because you lost some power when the realm of nightmares was severed from the court?”

  Again, I’d surprised him, but he didn’t look displeased that I knew this fact. “Quite so. With no physical doors like the seasonal courts, the shadow court and the light court rely directly on mortal imaginations. The shadow primarily through mortal’s dreams and nightmares and light primarily through mortal creativity and flights of fancy, daydreams. Without the realm of dreams we are . . . weaker than we should be.”

  It sounded more like they’d been forcibly crippled, but I didn’t point that out.

  “Hopefully that will be repaired soon and we will be returned to our former glory.”

  Interesting. I wanted to ask how, but we were getting off topic. Faeries were notoriously secretive. While I had him talking, I needed to keep this conversation on point.

  “Are there many bogeymen i
n the shadow court?”

  He nodded. “We tend to be an ideal court for those who like to lurk in darkness.”

  Which was exactly what I’d been expecting. Now for the tricky part. “If I described two bogeymen to you, do you think you’d be able to tell me if they are part of your court?”

  “Perhaps,” Dugan said, but the suspicion was clear in the tightness of his eyes, the thinning line of his mouth. “Why?”

  Moment of truth. If I refused to tell him why I wanted to know, he’d likely end this conversation here and now. But if I told him too much? I didn’t know. The Winter Queen was more than willing to drag me to Faerie against my will if she could claim it was for my own protection. I had some value to the shadow court and clearly to Dugan in particular. If he knew two fae had tried to kill or capture me, would he summon the planebender and haul me off to the dark halls of his court?

  “I . . . had an encounter today with what I believe were two bogeymen. One was a hobgoblin. The other, well, I’m not sure what type of fae she was. She looked like a much scarier version of a nature spirit.”

  Dugan’s eyes widened, his gaze searching my face. I worked hard at keeping my face neutrally pleasant, studying him right back, looking for some sign he might grab me and try to force me to his court. An array of small micro expressions swarmed over his face, but I didn’t know him well enough to read them. Finally he seemed to come to some conclusion and held up his hand, palm toward me so I could see the blood gathered there.

  “My oath, neither your uncle nor I sent any of our people to harm or threaten you. I know nothing of this encounter.”

  Great, he’d jumped to defensive. “I never said you did. I’m just trying to identify them. If I describe them, do you think you’ll recognize them?”

  He frowned at me. “Perhaps, but I make no promises. I may only be able to guess what manner of fae they are and not be able to name the individuals themselves.”

  That was better than nothing. Certainly more than I had now.

  I described the woman first, detailing everything I could remember from her height to her strange sludge-and-algae-filled hair to her green pointed teeth. By the time I finished, Dugan’s features had darkened, his jaw clenched, but he motioned for me to continue. I described the hobgoblin next with his peculiar dripping hat and overwide features, and even the blowpipe he’d used that had resembled a hollowed bone.

  Dugan stood and paced before the stone bench, one hand clasped on the sword hilt at his side. “What manner of encounter did you have with these two?”

  “They crashed my friend’s wedding.” I left out the fact they’d taken a shot at me.

  “I must speak to the king about this,” he said, turning to where the planeweaver waited.

  I jumped to my feet. “Do you know them? Do you know their court? Their names?”

  “Names do not have the power told of in the old legends, little planeweaver.”

  No, maybe not, but a name would at least give me more information for my investigation. It would make researching the pair easier and questioning people more targeted. I stood there, my arms crossed, my expression expectant. I wasn’t going to say please and indebt myself to him—I doubted I could afford whatever favor he would claim if I did—but I needed this information.

  He pursed his lips, one hand still on his weapon, but after a moment he said, “I cannot be certain, but most of the bogeymen are rather unique. The belief in the tales told of them reshapes them until they are unlike others of their kind. So, my guesses are likely good. It sounds like the woman is a hag known as Jenny Greenteeth, who once gobbled up small children who ventured where they shouldn’t. The other a hobgoblin name Tommy Rawhead who hid under stairways and ate naughty children. They were both once part of our court, but left after our influence began to wane. I do not know who holds their allegiance now. If you ‘encounter’ them again, I suggest you stay away. They are of a nasty sort and I do not wish to see you harmed. Now, I must return to my court. I hope that you will meet me here again.” He gave me a small bow, and with a twirl of his cape strode across the room toward the planebender, who’d already opened a darkened hole of a doorway. Both vanished a moment later.

  Well, at least I had names to work with. Now to track down a couple of bogeymen who liked to eat kids. Yikes.

  Chapter 18

  Of course, having a couple of names didn’t mean I could accomplish much tonight. By the time my father dropped me off back at home it was nearly three a.m. I all but stumbled up the stairs, my exhausted legs protesting the climb. Even PC didn’t bother to greet me at the door, just lifted his head from where he was curled up on one of my pillows, gave me a look like “what took you so long?” and then closed his eyes, going back to sleep.

  “You’re a very loyal dog,” I told him as I took off my boots.

  He snored in response.

  Right. I stripped off my pants and left them in a pile by the boots, and then, in just my shirt and underwear, collapsed into bed.

  • • •

  I woke standing in a plane of endless sand and darkness.

  “A most interesting outfit, planeweaver,” a voice said behind me.

  I whirled around. Where there had been unbroken sand before, there was now an enormous obsidian throne. A fae lounged across it, one black-leather-clad leg kicked up over one armrest and his elbow on the other, his head balanced on his knuckles.

  “Kyran,” I said, recognizing the nightmare kingling.

  “At your service, my dear.” He gave one of those elaborate hand gestures where he rolled his wrist, pantomiming a bow, even though the rest of his body didn’t move. He leered, a small secret smile at the edges of his mouth.

  The first thing he’d said, about my outfit, finally registered and I looked down. I was wearing only the shirt and panties I’d crawled in bed wearing. No boots. No pants. No dagger.

  “Shit.” I pulled at the edges of the shirt, trying to tug it down, but it was a fitted top, hitting right at my hipbones, and there wasn’t any stretch in it.

  Kyran laughed, a boisterous full-bellied sound of mirth. I glared, which didn’t quiet his laugh at all. Well, glad I could amuse him.

  “So I guess you can chalk this up to being one of those awkward dreams when you show up to work naked?”

  “Why am I here?” I asked, trying to decide which was worse, trying and failing to cover myself better, or just saying screw it and pretending I didn’t care I was in my underwear. Tugging at the shirt was gaining me nothing, so I went for the latter, crossing my arms over my chest and ignoring the heat in my cheeks—the ones on my face, that was. The other cheeks were a little chilly.

  “You’re the one who asked to see me, my dear.”

  True. But . . . “I asked you to meet me at the Eternal Bloom—not drag me off to this creepy nightmare realm.” And speaking of the nightmares, where were they? The darkness around me was unending, but nothing seemed to be moving inside it. That was good, but how long would that last?

  Kyran made a dismissive sound and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Why fuss with all that political red tape when you come here nightly?”

  Nightly? The first time I visited the realm of dreams and nightmares I’d been having trouble maintaining my shields during sleep, and as I’d already been in Faerie, my planeweaving had caused me to literally fall into a recurring nightmare, landing me physically in this realm. But, the way he’d worded his sentence . . .

  “Do you mean this is a dream?”

  “Of course. I simply pulled you out of the mundane imagery your exhausted mind typically conjures.”

  I looked around at the endless, empty landscape. “If this is a dream, that means I can direct it, doesn’t it?”

  “What, like lucid dreaming? Don’t do that. It’s annoying. You know that actually steals magic back from this place. Plain frustrating.”

&nbs
p; Which didn’t mean I couldn’t do it. And that meant I didn’t have to stand here half naked. I imagined the black pants I’d been wearing before I’d gone to bed, the way they looked, the softness of the leather. The sand crawled up my legs, which was a totally weird sensation, but between one blink and the next I went from half naked to wearing pants. Well, mostly. Something was wrong with the pants that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The way things are sometimes just off in a dream. Like I was looking at them through distorted glass. Still, at least I wasn’t half naked anymore.

  I looked up to find Kyran frowning at me. He’d taken his legs off the arm of the chair and rotated forward, focused. “Didn’t I say not to do that.”

  “What? You do. Or are you going to say that intimidating throne that follows you around isn’t made completely out of dream sand?”

  “Yeah, but I live here.”

  Point. I bowed my head, acknowledging that I was in the wrong, but I didn’t apologize. I’d needed the pants, damn it.

  “You asked for this meeting. Surely it wasn’t simply to leach away magic from my land,” he said, propping both elbows on his knees and managing to sound both annoyed and bored. I wasn’t sure if he was agitated that I’d manipulated his realm or just that I knew I could.

  But he was right—I had asked to meet. Not in these circumstances and I sure as hell would have preferred a more neutral ground, but I was here now. I looked around for a place to sit. There was, of course, nothing besides the throne where Kyran perched and the sand. I briefly considered dreaming up a chair, but I didn’t want to piss off the kingling right before asking for information. That likely wouldn’t go over well.