Author's Note: sorry I forgot to post this, I had dental surgery and then everything went to shit. Also I have to use the app to update now and it's super confusing, I am so sorry. Also the reason the formatting is probably janky too. I don't know how to fix it. Anyway, here is the chapter! I'm so sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy. I'll try to have the next one up by Beltaine!
The chapter title comes from the lyrics to "The Halloween Tree" in the novel of the same name by Ray Bradbury. Pretty sure I also mentioned where all my monsters come from but thanks again to Tanith Lee, Ray Bradbury, the show Ahhh!!! Real Monsters.
Chapter One-Hundred-Forty-Two
It Fills the Sky of All Hallows
that is
A Short Tale of the Witch of the Cypress Forest, Puppies Playing, Portraits, Pumpkin Slime, Talk of a Pilgrimage, Where the Glitter Came From, Shaohao's Worry, Golden Sparrow's Choice Looms, Things Bres Doesn't Like, the Woman in Black, the Dangerous Nature of Lord Moundshroud, the Midnight Fire and the Burning Bones, Healing by an Enemy, Poisonous Tenderness, a Sleeping Child, a Vow Renewed, the Concern of Friends, Talk of Leaving, Desperation, the Ties that Bind, Friends and Family, My Little Pony, Deadly Weapons from Father Christmas, Feeding the Flames, Bad Kitties, a Bean Sidhe Blessing, Azrharn's Interest, Vows to a Queen, Inquisitive Mortal Fingers, Fisher King Rules, Disney Movies, Acting Like a Grownup, Francesca Is Always Right, Interesting Mortals, Human Blood, the Ghost Tree, the Impossible Door, What Came Through It, and Bugs Bunny
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Jenny Smith was no ordinary mortal. She wasn't even an ordinary witch, like most of her less-than-mundane friends thought. Very few people knew her true identity, or the circles she inhabited when she wasn't minding her New York shop, Pumpkins and Potions. But Dylan Myers knew. That was why Dylan had called Jenny to procure a perfect autumn pumpkin for her summoning,
And Dylan had wanted to pass along a message. To warn of her calling. And so the human woman had, as the saying went, snuffed out two corpse-candles with a single breath.
Bone-cypress trees pressed in around Jenny, catching at her bruise-purple skirt and the two thick, brown braids trailing down her back. She simply blew a breath that sparked with icy hot embers of starlight and the thorny branches pulled back, opening the way through the forests of Samhain.
Jenny's black leather boots with their impossibly shiny silver buckles and murder-sharp heels made no sound as she strode through the woods, the chill autumn breeze lifting her violet-dark cape out behind her. It should have been impossible for her to walk in those boots across such uneven ground, but with every step, the earth smoothed out under her feet. It was like walking on soft, flat, carpeted flooring in any rich politician's fancy house.
Jenny Smith held power in this place, in this kingdom of abyss, bones, corpses, and death. She was one of six consorts of the crown prince of Samhain, and bore the mark of the eldritch land's lord and king at the base of her throat, a bone-white scar like a crescent moon.
Pipkin waited for her at a fork in the ensorcelled path. Jenny grinned when she saw him. Grinned again when he tossed her a bright, blood-red harvest apple. When she caught it, she saw her normally short, manicured nails had lengthened, sharpened. Turned black as midnight, black as witch hearts brimming with magic.
"The trees said you were coming, Jenny." Pipkin's sharp teeth glinted in the bone-pale moonlight. Jenny's heart did the tiniest flip. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"A summons is coming."
Pipkin's eyes were usually a dark green tinged with a blue like a summer sky just at the edges, like a whisper of that season still trying to hold on, trying to bleed its warmth and weather into fall. But now the green darkened, brown like old autumn leaves and then lightened again, turning red as mortal blood with delight at the news.
Jenny's teeth had turned sharp in her mouth. Her smile could have bled stone. The small part of her that still held her humanity sank into the ocean that was her newer, truer nature.
"Let's call the others, then, shall we, my love?"
When Pipkin took Jenny's arm and started off down the path she'd created, the bone-cypress trees and the corpse-finger mushrooms and the nightshade and hemlock bushes bloomed at his passing.
*I'm going to get it!*
Eimh and Setanta yipped softly and nipped at each other's tails as they worked to pack their mistress's things. It was easier to have the dogs pack for her, Dylan thought. Normally she might've been a bit leery, since they were only pups, but she was sitting right here, keeping an eye on them, and they were trained and magical.
So she told them what to grab - every black item of clothing she owned, every black and gold piece of jewelry, every black scrunchie, her gold-shined black silk socks - and stuff it inside a black leather journey pack. The only things she left out were a black leine, her russet velvet cloak with the golden wolf's fur lining, her black boots with the silver laces, some silver jewelry set with black stones, and her black riding gloves.
Eimh and Setanta made a game of it, racing each other to see who could get to the next piece of clothing first. The tiniest of puppy nips and catching tails in open, panting mouths was allowed, but of course no actual biting or growling.
*I am ahead! I am first, Mistress!* Eimh wagged her tail so hard, the pup's bottom almost seemed to vibrate. She dropped a pair of rolled up black socks into the open pack and woofed softly.
*Nooo!* Setanta flopped onto his side, sticking his uppermost paws stiffly into the air, and let his tongue loll out of his mouth. *Ugh! Nooo, I am defeated, argh!*
Dylan let herself smile, watching them.
She was so tired, but less exhausted in her bones than she'd felt before. She had enough energy to dress in the black and silver clothes. Pilgrimage colors, in the place she meant to go to. The simple Celtic gown of lamb's wool and silk warmed her; she hadn't noticed how cold she'd become since the cutting earlier that morning. Even her long nap under the thick blankets and furs hadn't chased the ice from her bones.
*Mistress* Setanta murmured, rolling back on to all four paws and coming up to her. He draped his warm, furry head on her knee and gazed up at her with adoring blue eyes. *Would you like to play Ball?*
She stroked his head. Scritched behind one ear. "No, thank you, Setanta."
He closed his eyes, enjoying the caress, but after a moment asked diffidently, *Are you sad?*
Dylan sighed. Canted her head just a little. "I'm worried for Nuada."
*So are we* Eimh replied, padding over. She squeezed in next to her brother and laid her chin on Dylan's leg. *But you have a plan to save him. We trust you. It will work and he will be home soon.*
Not as soon as she'd like...but yes. This plan would work. She wouldn't let it fail.
A knock sounded at the door. Dylan called, "Come in."
Guardsman Uaithne opened the door and Wink stepped in. In his outstretched hand of goblin bronze, he held the huge, gutted and carved jack-o-lantern. In his hand of flesh, he held what looked like a very fat, very long, black and white striped slug. The slug belched, and Dylan realized it was Oblina.
"Uggghhh…" The monster groaned, rubbing her distended belly. "I ate too much."
A smile curled at the corners of Dylan's mouth. "At your age, you'd think you'd know better than to disembowel an entire gourd vegetable that large with just your face."
"Alas, I have eaten the pumpkin guts," Oblina moaned as Wink set her down gently on the bed beside Dylan. The monster rolled onto her side, scuttled sideways, and curled herself around Dylan's waist. "They were delicious. So slimy...and so orange."
The mortal frowned. "Are you paraphrasing that poem about the plums in the icebox?"
"Mmmaaaybe." Oblina burped again. "Ugh. I'm so glad I'm no longer in fright school. The Grumble would have my head for belching without yanking out my intestines first."
"Oh, yeah." Dylan made a face, but couldn't stop the spreading smile. "I forget sometimes you can do that. Would you feel better if you pulled them out?"
Oblina sighed. "No. They're packed inside with yummy, yummy pumpkin slime." She patted her stomach. "I have a...what is that human phrase? A food baby. Better than a real baby; you can't eat real babies. Anyway, behold...my work."
Oblina had carved the pumpkin while Dylan slept, after Wink had informed the monster that his human charge needed rest. Dylan looked over at the vegetable just as Wink lit the corpse-candle that had been set within it.
The candle flame flickered black and violet for a heartbeat, before lightening to the deathly blue of a will-o-the-wisp. It burned there, pale as a drowned corpse, while the troll lifted Dylan's courtship knife - which had been thoroughly cleaned after the ceremonial bloodletting - and dipped the razor-sharp point into the ravenglass bowl of Dylan's blood. When the troll pulled the blade back, a single drop of scarlet blood hung from the tip. A deft flick of his thick wrist sent the blood droplet flying into the pumpkin.
The corpse-light flickered. The stink of hot blood momentarily filled the room, then faded away, replaced by the spicy autumn scent of cut pumpkin. The blue flame flickered once more, then turned the golden-orange of mortal fire. The mundane flame filled the huge gourd, giving life to Oblina's carvings.
The pumpkin was so huge that Oblina could have easily curled up inside it once she'd hollowed it out. The vast expanse of rind had given her multiple canvases to work with, and she had used every inch of the rough surface for her work.
Dylan swallowed when she looked at the first panel of the pumpkin and saw a perfect carving of Nuada's face, including the shadows of his eyes and mouth, the whorls of the Royal Scar at his temples and the delicate line of it across his nose and cheeks, even the Elven tips of his ears.
There were five faces on this jack-o-lantern: Beseecher, Companion, Ambassador, Adjudicator, and Prisoner. Nuada was the Prisoner. Beside his pumpkin portrait was Dylan's own face, complete with the slashing scars crisscrossing her features. Through shading, Oblina had even managed to capture the desperation and fatigue in her eyes. The Beseecher. Beside her, the Companion, Wink, with his broken tusk and missing eye and bristly whiskers.
The real Wink turned the huge gourd to show the final two faces on the rind. One was a boy's face, young but not a child. A youth. Freckles dancing across his face and sharply pointed ears you could cut yourself on and vicious, laughing, feral eyes burning with Halloween fire. The Ambassador.
And the Adjudicator: a thin, stretched, wrinkled face speckled with liver spots, the sharply pointed ears sporting tufts of poky hair, the beaky nose jutting toward the pointed chin, a head as bald as a skull. Flames danced in the beady, shadowed eyes and the smirk showed just the barest hint of yellowed fang.
Just looking at that face sent a wash of warm and reassurance through the human woman. This would work. Everything would work out because he wouldn't allow anything truly terrible to happen to her.
She checked her phone. Late at night now. Only an hour before midnight. Enough time, surely, to get everything ready. She had her ingredients, she had her pumpkin. Wink or Erik or Zhenjin could build her a fire in the village square - it would have to be in the village square. They couldn't risk exploding one of the recently rebuilt homes or village community buildings. She was packed. She only needed a couple more things and she'd be ready.
"Wink," Dylan said, "I'm going to need a walking stick-"
"Don't listen to her, troll," Oblina sniffed. With a groan, the serpentine monster untwisted herself from around her human friend and sat up. Stretched with a series of loud crackling pops. "I'll be her walking stick. I've always planned to make the Pilgrimage and simply never got around to it. This is a perfect opportunity."
Wink rumbled a question at them. Dylan sighed and poked Oblina in the back of one eyeball-stalk. The monster ignored her. Wink didn't know Dylan was going on pilgrimage to make this work. He didn't know any of what she planned, except she was going to summon something and then they were going to go somewhere together, the mortal and her troll. Her prince's vassal didn't see the need to know anything more; he trusted her implicitly to save Nuada. But Oblina would flap her big mouth.
"Don't worry about it," Dylan said to Wink with a sigh. "Come on, we need to go outside."
The troll and the pair of hounds followed her out of the room without question, Oblina draped across her shoulders like a shawl. The retinue of guards followed in her wake, uncertainty in every line of their bodies.
Gardenia Myers knew her twin sister Simone was often a Grade-A bitch. Most of the time, Gardenia loved her anyway. She especially loved her right now, as the cops slapped handcuffs on the Blackwood brothers and hauled them into a patrol car. They were white, rich, and well connected, so this wouldn't last long, but it was a freaking delight to watch those jerks publicly humiliated like this. And their car!
Gardenia detested automobiles. They were ugly, noisy, and bad for the environment. She detested the Blackwoods. They were disgusting, vulgar, and bad for her family. So seeing the words keyed into the bright red paint filled her with wicked joy.
The glitter and neon confetti all over the Blackwoods confused her, though.
"So...what happened?" Gardenia asked. She and Simone stood on the front patio of Simone's apartment, watching the scene unfolding on the street. Beyond the patrol car, a beat up, brown tow truck prepared to drag away the fancy BMW. Gardenia had planned to stop by for a quick visit after her yoga class and walked into the tail-end of the drama.
Simone threw up her hands in exasperation.
"They wanted to talk to Dylan and thought she was here for some reason. I told them she wasn't. Eventually they got the message and left. Then I heard giant man-baby screaming and told them I was calling the cops. Apparently they realized I was serious because they hustled into their car. Then there was more giant man-baby screaming. Whoever vandalized the car also put some water in the gas tank and some glitter-confetti bombs in the heating vents."
"Oh." That explained why Patrick and Xander were covered in sparkles and bits of lime green, bright orange, and hot pink paper. "Did anyone see who it was?"
Simone shook her head. "Street lights have been out all week. Didn't see jack. Whoever it was didn't leave prints, apparently. I heard the pigs whining about it when they inspected the car."
"Oh nooo," Gardenia drawled "How terrible."
Simone smirked as the black and white patrol car drove away.
Another tree was bleeding.
Perhaps, reflected Prince Shaohao of Dilong, bleeding wasn't the right word for what the towering oak was doing at that moment. Secreting? Oozing? Sliming? The dragon Elf didn't know and - as fat, dark drops like oily pitch dripped onto the pristine, white snow and the huge, ancient oak groaned as if in agony - he considered that perhaps it didn't matter at the moment what someone called it. What mattered was that it was happening at all.
"This is very bad, Shaohao," murmured Golden Sparrow from where she stood near the entrance to their cave hideaway. Rarely did his wife refer to him by his given name. She was the only one of his wives, concubines, and consorts to hold enough rank to dare it. "Only something terrible happening to a ruler could cause sickness like this."
He nodded. Gestured for her to approach. The last time he'd seen anything like this had been in the kingdom of Easthebury, when the current king had nearly fallen to an assassin. The very land itself had felt the terror and grief of the twelve Eastheburian princesses, and every green thing had...bled this way. That had been three centuries ago. Before that...hadn't it been Bethmoora, when Queen Cethlenn had died?
Was something wrong with King Balor?
"I must find Zhenjin," Shaohao told his favorite wife. His brother could be in grave danger.
She nodded, pursing her lips and staring at the foul sludge staining the ivory snow. "You are allied now to Prince Silverlance and the human your brother loves. You must warn them of this. And I…" The firebird trailed off. Her gaze fixed on a point beyond the tree line. "I sense...a weight. Something building. Expectation. I cannot explain it better."
But he didn't need her to explain. He felt that weight, too. That tense expectation. It wasn't magic, exactly. And it wasn't a threat. It was a wire stretched so tight that the unwary could have opened a vein by brushing too close.
It wanted something. Needed to unload onto something. And if it was the wrong person or people, whoever it was would suffer a very quick, painful, messy death. But the right person...they would have very powerful allies after.
"You will take care?" Golden Sparrow's soft voice held a note of pleading.
Shaohao turned and pulled her into his arms. Kissed the spot where a few scarlet and gold feathers ruffled near her ear, a sign of her agitation.
"I will take care," he replied softly. She melted into his embrace, pressing her face hard into his broad chest.
He loved Golden Sparrow. More than that, he trusted her as he trusted few others. She would never betray him. She would never even dream of breaking his heart as the others had - even Zhenjin and their mother. Golden Sparrow could hold back the brunt of his madness with her magic. Keep him from hurting his parents, his sons, his brothers, when his rage tried to get away from him. Most of his brothers, anyway. The ones who mattered, who weren't planning to stick poisoned knives in his back. And Golden Sparrow would never hurt him by giving him a daughter he had no choice but to eliminate.
For all these reasons, he could not bring her with him when he set out to track down Zhenjin, Silverlance, and the star cow or whatever his little dragon called the human. He would not risk her safety. He would not risk anyone but his favorite brother and the human knowing she was with him while he set the authorities a most amusing chase.
Golden Sparrow watched him leave, and wondered if this time, the first time in all their centuries together, she should disobey his wishes and follow him. She was far, far older than her husband. Had magic an Elf could never dream of. But using such power cost her. And if she used it now, she might not have it later when Shaohao's madness took him again, when he would need her to stop him from hurting someone he loved.
She looked at the tenebrous slime seeping out of the oak and a cold dread squeezed her heart. The firebird shivered and went back inside the cave.
Crown Prince Bres frowned when, for the seventh day in a row, Nuala's feathered lady-in-waiting informed him that the princess was "indisposed." What did that mean? If she was sick, why were there no healers bustling in and out of her rooms? Why hadn't that coward Balor come to see her? The spineless little slut couldn't be with child, he hadn't bedded her yet.
Snarling obscene things under his breath, Bres stalked away down the corridor. What in the thirteen hells was going on here? His spies could tell him only that the human harlot had sent a letter to the king six days ago and Balor had sent a reply back using a special herald-courier and then holed up in his suite, refusing to even come out for meals with the rest of the Golden Court. Nuala had been the same, though as far as Bres could tell, she hadn't spoken a word to her father this entire time.
Why wouldn't Nuala let him see her? Had he offended her somehow? He didn't actually care, except that his father's plan for taking Bethmoora required their marriage. Damn her. He had better things to do than coddle her. If she were truly ill, that would be one thing, but a simple case of the sulks…
The Fomorian prince stopped in the middle of the hall. Of course. That was how he could get past the lady-in-waiting and demand answers from his unwanted, unofficial betrothed. He would commandeer a healer and demand Nuala speak to them. He'd just have to get a magical grip on the healer's will so they'd have no choice but to tell him what the brat princess confided.
It took less than half an hour to catch one of the green-clad healers, a man named Conn. It took less than a breath to snare him in a noose of royal power and drag him under Bres' control, A small compulsion glamour would make him forget the brief struggle. Sufficiently tractable, Healer Conn followed the Fomorian prince back to the princess's wing. This time, although the prince was forced to wait in the corridor like a puppy that couldn't be trusted not to piddle on the rug - the feathered slut had actually sneered at him - the healer had been allowed inside Nuala's suite.
And in less than an hour, Healer Conn had brought back a disturbing report.
Something was wrong, not with the sulky and spoiled little Princess Nuala, but with Prince Nuada. He'd been kidnapped, Nuala claimed, by an old enemy of the king.
Bres might have rejoiced over the news - it served that traitor right - except the insufferable princess didn't know who the old enemy was or what they planned to do to the prince. And not knowing could interfere with the carefully laid plans of Bres and his father.
King Balor - where was King Balor? Still in residence, since his banner flew from the castle parapets. Why wasn't the old king riding out? Or sending warriors to retrieve his son and heir? Nuada was no longer in disgrace since plighting his troth to that human whore. Something wasn't right about this…
Stalking back to his own rooms, he rang the bell to summon Ciaran, Dierdre, Li Ban, and Arrachd. His four best spies and most trusted informants. If there was ought to be found out about this situation, one of them would find it. Because Bres didn't like any of this. He didn't like it at all.
John didn't quite know what he expected when he stepped out of the Drunken Dwarf close to midnight. It was late, so of course very few people were out. Only a couple of watchmen keeping an eye out for bandits returning to wreak more havoc. But he hadn't expected to see Prince Zhenjin, Prince Dastan, Princess Kamaria, Petra, Pauline, Mary, Francesca, Victoria, and Davio out there. Wasn't the crocodile guy cold? He'd thought crocs were cold-blooded. And why were the royals out there? Why were his sisters out there? Did they know something about this summoning that he didn't?
His twin's choice of outfit didn't reassure him, either. In the entire time he'd known her, he hadn't seen Dylan wear solid black and only black since he was a kid and she'd escaped the institution, except when going to a funeral or when dangerously, usually suicidally depressed.
But now she wore a black dress, black as the coldest depths of space, no color at all. Not even in the laces. Her jewelry was gunmetal gray, some kind of silver – he knew she would never wear iron jewelry in the Twilight Realm – and black stones. Onyx, maybe, or black crystal. Part of him wondered if it could be black diamonds, but where would his sister, a simple psychiatrist, have gotten black diamonds?
The only splash of color there was the ruby and gold ring and her gold Young Women's medallion strung on that silvery chain. Her coat was black wool lined with obsidian fur, her gloves and boots unrelieved black leather.
He'd never seen her…styled this way before. A plain black gown, boots, and gloves, but the jewelry like shards of obsidian ice. Her dark curly hair yanked severely back, braided tight, and coiled around her head in a chilly, stern hairdo, pinned so not a single strand was out of place. She wore makeup, but it was understated and simple. Sharp black liner at her eyes, wine dark color at her lips.
She looked…well, if John was being honest, Dylan looked like some kind of witch or something. Or like she actually was going to a funeral.
When Petra and the other Myers sisters saw Dylan's arm, and the thick white bandage around the forearm peeking out from under the sleeve when she moved, they straightened almost in unison. Mary opened her mouth. Closed it again. Pauline and Francesca went pale. Victoria frowned, looking distressed. Petra took a step forward.
"Honey, what happened to your ar-"
"I don't have time to explain it to you," Dylan said softly. There was no anger, no malice in her words. Not even any impatience. It was simply a cold, flat statement of absolute truth. She swept forward and past them with all the grace of a queen ignoring a gaggle of peasants.
John swallowed and looked to his eldest sister. Petra looked frightened. He knew the feeling, but tried to be reassuring.
"She said she needed blood, grief, and pain in order to lure a specific faerie here. An ambassador, she said."
Beside Petra, one hand on her shoulder, Prince Dastan frowned. His dark eyes grew shadowed with equal parts confusion and concern. But aloud he only asked, "Did she say what ambassador she was hoping to call?"
John shook his head.
Petra looked to Dastan, who pursed his lips before turning to include Zhenjin and Kamaria in the conversation. He asked, sotto voce, "Do you think she might be attempting to summon the Samhain Keeper?"
"Who's that?" Petra asked, some of Dastan's unease creeping into her voice.
"Mr. Moundshroud," Francesca murmured. "You know, that skinny old guy with the big nose and poky ears that came to her…oh." Cesca made a face. Face-palmed. "Duh. Right, you weren't there for that."
"For what?"
"Dylan's elevation ceremony," Victoria interjected. "When King Balor made her a noblewoman of Bethmoora. A bunch of friends of hers from other places came for moral support and stuff. One of them was this old guy named Mr. Moundshroud. Everyone seemed freaked out he was there, but Dylan acted like it was no big thing." To the fae royals, she asked, "Is he dangerous or something?"
Zhenjin, Dastan, and Kamaria all stared at her for a small eternity. Finally, Dastan cleared his throat and said, very calmly, "The man who appeared when the bandits attacked the first time we were here, in Lallybroch? The man who interceded for the bean sidhe child and forbade Balor from harming her? And killed the bandit who meant to kill her?"
Francesca cuddled closer to her crocodile man. Petra, Pauline, and Mary's eyes all widened. Victoria frowned, but nodded. John didn't like where this was going.
"You were afraid of that man, were you not?" Dastan asked.
After a long minute, they all nodded. Even John had been afraid, despite having a gun. He'd known, somehow, that a gun would mean jack diddly squat in a fight against that guy. How King Balor had had the brass to argue with the strange, dark-haired fae, John had no clue. And Dylan…she'd called him un-brother. What did that even mean?
"Lord Moundshroud is the father of that man," Dastan said. The humans stared at him. "You saw the two men who came to Dylan's wedding? The one in the white cloak and the other in the violet cloak?" When they nodded, the prince said, "Those two are also sons of Moundshroud, and nearly as dangerous as their elder brother. If Lady Dylan is trying to call any of them…"
Zhenjin shook his head. "The Samhain Keeper is fond of Dylan, or so Nuada told me. And we saw how he and his heir behaved with her at the Midwinter banquets. Not merely friendly or fond, but almost as if they considered her family. And the Keeper's three eldest children call her 'un-sister.' Perhaps calling on them for aid isn't as rash for Dylan as it would be for us."
Kamaria chewed her lip, brow furrowing.
"Perhaps not, but the Keeper is not allowed to interfere in the politics of other kingdoms unless we transgress against him first. Balor has said that no action can be taken to retrieve Silverlance. The Keeper cannot send anyone into Bethmoora to circumvent such orders."
"Then…" Petra glanced back at her sister. "Then what is she planning?"
John followed his eldest sister's gaze. Dylan stood in the center of the village square. A huge pile of wood lay in front of her, the foundation for a fire. Some of the wood looked…wrong. He couldn't explain why, just that it…it didn't quite look like normal wood. It wasn't quite the right pale white for ash wood, and it was too thin, too twisted and gnarled. He didn't know a great deal about roughing it, but Dylan had taught him some things, and Petra had taught him others. Gardenia, one of the middle Myers sisters, had taught him too. And you weren't supposed to build a fire out of wood so twisted and warped if you didn't have anything else to keep the flames going.
But he didn't interrupt his twin when she called for Wink to help her start the fire. And even though it shouldn't have worked so quickly, pretty soon they had a decent blaze going. But the fire looked wrong too. The flames were too dark, which should've been impossible since they were the source of the light. But instead of snapping, crackling crimson and orange and gold, the fire burned black and violet and silver, with just a touch of gold and orange at the heart of it.
John liked staring into fires. They were always so alive, dancing and breathing. Beautiful, welcoming, warm. But not this one. It made him dizzy, almost nauseous to stare at it for more than a moment or two. Like all the blood was pooling in his feet and then draining away into the snow, leaving him cold as a corpse.
The huge silver cave troll that had scarcely left his twin sister's side went back into the tavern for a moment, and John wondered if he ought to say something to Dylan. One look at the cold, remote ruthlessness in her face, such an alien expression, made him hesitate. Made all the Myers siblings hesitate.
Kamaria and Zhenjin did not. The Nyame princess and the Dilong prince exchanged a tense glance, then headed to where Dylan stood before that strange, dark fire. When they drew close enough, Dylan turned to them, and John saw that underneath that fierce determination on his sister's face was a thick cloud of exhaustion and terror, there for a second and then gone.
Oh, D…what's going on with you? Was it just her fear for Nuada? Or was it something else?
He didn't know, but even her guards were worried by that look on her face, because the leader of her Butchers, Uaithne, stepped forward as well.
There was no set schedule for when his enemy let Nuada see 'Sa'ti. Sometimes she was left with him for hours, and they spent the time holding tight while he coaxed the little girl to tell him everything she'd learned about the bandit community. Other times, he was allowed to see the child for only a few brief moments, just enough time to tell her what a brave warrior she was being, how proud he was of her courage, and that they would be all right.
It was like an iron dirk in his guts when Sreng or his she-demon daughters or monstrous sons or any of his other sadistic spawn dragged his girl away, her sobs echoing off the icy stone walls long after the heavy rowan door slammed behind her.
The only time Nuada was grateful for her absence was when Sreng came to him, to toy with him, to...play with him, or to punish him for the mischief the prince encouraged 'Sa'ti to get up to, though Sreng couldn't prove the prince was actively encouraging the child to misbehave. And the bandit leader couldn't punish her - his oath forbade it.
But Nuada was his plaything. Him, Sreng absolutely could punish.
The healing is the worst of it, Nuada thought, grinding his teeth until he half-feared he'd crack a molar. He swallowed the snarl of rage and remembered pain.
Sreng had nearly killed him that first time, during that very first "conversation." Nuada had felt his life slipping away, dripping onto the cold stone from the gaping slashes along his belly and chest, the wounds carved into his arms and legs, the lashes across his back. But when his heart had begun to stutter, the breath to choke in his throat, Sreng had poured raw, burning, royal magic - stolen magic - into his limp, battered body. Sealed the slices and punctures. Forced torn muscle to knit back together. Snapped broken bones back into place and repaired the fractures.
His bones had felt like spikes of molten iron spearing his limbs and he'd screamed loudest then, louder even than when the bandit captain had cut off the delicate, excruciatingly sensitive tips of his ears.
He'd blacked out under the onslaught of magic, slipped into strange delirium dreams of will-o-the-wasps, the sea, slashing brambles as clear as glass, and burning desert sands. He had awoken whole.
Bizarrely, his head had been pillowed on Sreng's lap. The bandit had been gently stroking back Nuada's wet hair from his brow with a hand still stained and sticky with the prince's blood. There had been such an odd look on the immortal's face. The feeling it had given the Elf was like a cold, iron dirk twisting in his guts.
Upon noticing the prince was awake, he'd almost as gently pushed him away and left the blood-stained room without a word. Later, he'd sent a slave to clean up the mess left behind.
The next time, there'd been the whip again, along with the blades and the vicious hands, and blood enough to leave the floor a slippery mess when Sreng had finally cut him down and let him fall half-conscious to the icy stones. He'd only been able to lie there and breathe past the agony in his chest radiating from broken ribs and the blazing pain in his flayed back.
That had been less than three hours ago. After healing him and cleaning up the blood, the wretch had at last allowed Nuada to see 'Sa'ti.
Now his little girl slept curled up against him, rolls of his new slave tunic clutched in her small, furry fists. Despite the situation, she seemed well enough. He'd found no wounds or bruising on her. She seemed well fed, hydrated. But it was late in the night when Oonagh had brought the child this time, and she'd promptly fallen asleep once they were alone.
Nuada smoothed a hand over her fur. Thank the gods it wasn't Dylan here with him as well. He didn't think he could've born both of them in danger, or A'du and 'Sa'ti, or 'Sa'ti and Nuala, or the child and his father...no. No, he could barely cope with one member of his family trapped here with him. The Elven warrior had no idea how he was going to get the cougar child out of this Hell pit. If he'd had to fear for others he loved, as well...
The little girl shifted, lightly kneading her claws into his sides as she purred in her sleep. Against all probability, Nuada found himself smiling. She was so very brave. He did not think he could have been more proud of her.
I'll keep her safe, Dylan, he vowed again. That mantra had been the only thing keeping him even close to sane over the last sennight. It was all he had to hold onto until he could formulate some kind of plan of escape. Some way to get the child out of this place. I swear to you, I won't let him hurt our little girl.
Dylan stood before the fire, staring at the strangely dark flames as the moon crept beyond the horizon and up into the midnight velvet sky overhead. Despite the slight sense of vertigo she felt whenever her gaze landed on the flames for more than a moment or two, she found them comforting. They meant her plan was underway and she was that much closer to finding Nuada.
A small, tickling sort of tug near her heart told her when Becan materialized on the wood pile a few feet away. The brownie held a black velvet drawstring bag, the draw made of silver satin ribbon. She started to turn to him, but caught sight of John, Kamaria, Zhenjin, and Uaithne coming toward her. With an inward sigh, she focused on them instead.
"Dylan-" Zhenjin began, but then cut himself off abruptly. He stared at her, nonplussed. When he tried to touch her thoughts through their mystical bond, he pulled up sharply when his mind touched not her usual warmth, but a brittle, icy cold. He swallowed once. "Dylan?"
"Yes?" Her voice was so very calm. Nothing at all to indicate that horrible cold inside her.
"What..." He trailed off, suddenly uncertain. Was this the woman he knew? Would Silverlance have even recognized his truelove in the human that stood here swathed in midnight, face pale and eyes glinting like glacial sapphire knives?
Kamaria stepped in. Unlike the men, she didn't hesitate. "What are you planning?"
Dylan bit back another sigh. Forced herself to shrug as if everything was just peachy keen. She was pleased when her voice came out strong and steady instead of thick with tears as she replied, "Calling for help. Balor won't help us and we haven't found anything, so I'm going to see if I can ask a favor."
"Ask a favor from whom?" Kamaria demanded. She didn't like the thought of her friend asking a favor from any fae who wasn't part of the cadre already here. Dylan was understandably desperate, and bargains like those had teeth.
"A friend," Dylan said. She didn't want to be more specific because she didn't yet know which friend would answer, and giving the wrong name, speaking it aloud, could negatively impact what she was trying to do. She wanted a very specific friend, but she'd take whatever she could get.
Uaithne cleared his throat respectfully and bowed his head to his charge when she focused on him. He was no prince or lord, and he did not know if the prince and princess beside him would take offense at his boldness, but he knew Lady Dylan wouldn't mind.
"Is this a safe thing you do, my lady?"
When Dylan didn't answer right away, the four gazes resting on her sharpened. This time, she didn't bother holding in her sigh.
"Let me put it this way: as far as I know at this moment, I'm not in any danger from this, but that could change. However, I know what I'm doing and this is still safer than what we've been doing the last couple months, even if the danger factor changes. Okay?"
She said this in English, which Uaithne understood perfectly but didn't speak well, because it was the language all six of them - Uaithne, John, Zhenjin, Kamaria, Becan, and Dylan herself - had in common. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and gestured to Becan, who floated the velvet bag over to her. She pulled the ribbon and looked inside. Nodded. Good; everything was ready. She just needed…
A low rumble alerted her to Wink's return. He held her packed bag slung over one shoulder. When Zhenjin and John saw the bag, they frowned at her.
"You're leaving?" Zhenjin demanded, while John yelped, "Where the Hell do you think you're going?"
Their raised voices brought Dylan's sisters and Prince Dastan almost at a run. The mortal woman bit back a scowl as everyone started clamoring at her in indignant confusion. Eimh and Setanta whined low in their throats and looked to their mistress for guidance. Were they...were they supposed to bite the other two-leggers for yelling?
Fed up and exhausted, Dylan looked to Wink.
The cave troll roared.
Everyone got quiet. Dylan waited to make sure she had everyone's full attention before holding up a hand and beginning to speak.
"Thank you, Wink. Now, I am trying to rescue my prince and my handmaiden. We need help, so I'm going to Samhain to try to get that help."
"But," John interrupted, "you said you were doing a summoning or something-"
"If you would shut up," Dylan snarled, glacial sapphire eyes so cold suddenly that they almost burned, "I was getting to that." When her twin only stared at her, wide-eyed, she continued. "You can't just go to Samhain. You have to summon someone to open the first Door for you so you can start the journey. That's what I'm doing now. I don't know precisely who will answer my call. But because I am who I am, I don't need to be scared of being eaten."
"Eaten?" Mary squeaked. Pauline shushed her.
"Anyway," Dylan said sharply, "I know how most of you feel about Samhain, and Mr. Moundshroud, and Az and the others, so I wasn't going to ask you to come. There's danger there for people who aren't me. Probably danger even for people with me. So I was going to take Wink, Oblina, and Becan, and just go, then head back and pick everyone up on the way to go get Nuada and 'Sa'ti."
"'Just go?'" Petra squawked.
Baffled, Francesca asked, "But what about the boys? Were you just going to leave them here with us?''
"Yes," Dylan tried to say.
'What about the dogs?" Victoria demanded. Eimh and Setanta pressed close to their mistress, whining softly.
Zhenjin spluttered, "'On the way to go get…' Have you lost your mind? Have you gone completely insane?"
At that last question, Dylan suddenly looked utterly drained. She let out another sigh and covered her face with her hands for a brief moment before dropping her hands, squaring her shoulders, and looking him dead in the eye.
"I am," she said with chilling calm, "terrified, exhausted, and enraged. I love you, Zhen." At that, he actually flinched. "And I love you, John-boy. Tori, Cesca, Kamaria, Pauline, Mary, Pet. But we don't have any other options, and I'm not going to wait around here while you all argue if I'm crazy to do this or not, and give that disgusting cowardly pretender to the throne time to rally his forces and stop me."
This last came out in a tense whisper quivering with fury and what might have been hatred. Tears glinted in her eyes, but Dylan didn't let them fall. She squeezed her eyes shut. Took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. Opened her eyes.
"I will not leave my prince with that monster. And I'll be damned if I abandon 'Sa'ti."
No one spoke for a long moment. Only stared at the human woman. At last, Tori piped up.
"As my students say, screw that noise. I'm coming, too."
Dylan blinked. "You…"
"You have my sword," Zhenjin added. "Did you think me so cowardly that I would abandon my friend, my brother, and that little girl?"
"I...no," she replied blankly. "I thought you'd try to make me do something else instead of this, and I just don't-"
"And we just don't have the time to argue," Kamaria supplied. "So we will follow your plan. You have resources we do not. There is no reason not to follow this plan. You are a fortunate favorite of the Samhain Keeper. And Nuada is our friend and brother. We trust you, Dylan."
Pauline nodded and looked to her sisters. Mary's cheeks were waxy, but she nodded, too. Petra bit her lip, then echoed the nod.
"The last time we didn't trust you, we were wrong, and you got hurt. I'm not making that mistake again." She cast an unsure glance up at Dastan, but Dylan read the silent plea for him to come with them. He put his arm around her and nodded at Dylan.
"Besides," said Cesca, grinning and twining her arms around one of Davio's beefy biceps, "I'd love to see Mr. Moundshroud again!"
The fae gathered there all gave her wide-eyed looks. Cesca ignored them.
Dylan stared at them all, completely poleaxed. She hadn't expected such trust, such faith, or such unswerving loyalty. But now that she thought about it, why hadn't she? These were her friends, or at least her allies. This was her family, who'd come through for her, gone above and beyond for her countless times in the last month, so why…?
She had looked upon Chuz's unveiled face, she suddenly remembered. The last time she'd been able to do that had been when she'd first met him, less than three months before Uncle Thaddeus and Aunt Niamh had convinced her to go to that rehab facility. Her mental health had been in shreds…
I'm flashing back, Dylan realized. The cuts on her arm throbbed in time with her heart. Her scarred mind, her PTSD, was telling her she couldn't trust anyone, that no one would help her save the people she loved and she'd have to go it alone, just like before. She'd known this whole thing would be the trickiest of tight-rope walks, keeping herself above the raging mental waters of the cutting and the terror and the fury, but she'd thought she was prepared, that her trauma couldn't sneak up on her anymore. Apparently not.
She'd have to be more careful, monitor herself more closely. And talk to someone. Zhenjin? Yes, Zhenjin. Her friend would understand.
But not now. Right now, she had a task to complete.
"Okay," she said. "Okay. Thank you. Well, we're tight on time. The only stuff I'm bringing are pilgrimage clothes, weapons and my cell phone, so...we should be fine. Just follow my lead and nothing should try to eat your liver or claw your eyes out or anything."
John's jaw went slack. "Eat my…"
"Don't worry about it, John," Francesca said cheerfully. "Dylan knows what she's doing. So," to her youngest sister, "whatcha doing?"
"Well," said Dylan with a sigh, turning back to the strange little bonfire, "time to pull a Witches from the Volcano of Gloom."
John's eyebrows shot up.
"You're going to throw gross crap into a pool of hot lava in order to summon a giant, purple sludge monster so you can wipe out a bunch of talking, pastel-colored ponies?"
The other Myers siblings stared at him. Petra said, "What?"
"No," Dylan said airily. "I'm going to throw a bunch of crap onto a magical bonfire in order to summon an eldritch being to open a Door for me."
"Oh," said John. "Yeah, that makes way more sense."
"Is that a Door with a capital D?" Petra asked. When Dylan blinked at her, she shrugged. "What? I remember Narnia."
Suddenly, a great deal of Dylan's tension seeped out of her. She stared at her eldest sister and could only laugh helplessly. Narnia. Of course Narnia. Through her tired giggles, Dylan said, "You know Father Christmas isn't going to give you deadly weapons on this trip, right?"
Petra sniffed. "Don't be a spoilsport. I can dream."
Zhenjin nudged John while Dylan laughed and bent to rifle through the velvet bag. Softly, he asked the mortal man, "Humans in your world know about horses with the power of spoken language?"
John's eyes widened. "What?"
The Dilong prince blinked. His eyes shifted from their magical, reptilian emerald to a warm, deep brown - their usual color when he wasn't working magic, John recalled suddenly.
"Ah," he said. John tried to figure out what ah meant. "I see. Never mind."
"There are talking horses? In real life?"
"John," Cesca said with a longsuffering sigh. "Have you paid attention at all on this trip?"
While John tried to wrap his mind around the existence of talking animals and figuring out what else he had missed on this trip, Dylan pulled the first ingredient out of the bag: a fiery red autumn maple leaf. She tossed it onto the flames. Where it burned, for just a moment the flames turned a deep autumnal green. She pulled out the next item - a russet apple, the skin a bit wrinkled. It was just a little too ripe. A windfall apple. Perfect for making hard cider.
They all watched the woman in black as she tossed the various items to the flames: a tuft of black cat fur tied with a hemp cord, a tiny bundle of dried barleybroom twigs held together with a golden chain as thin as a hair, the feathers of a snow white owl and a midnight black raven, a handful of pumpkin seeds, a handful of dried corn like little nuggets of gold, the broken tip of a haying scythe forged from goblin bronze, a piece of maple sugar candy shaped like a skull, a dark purple turnip with a face carved in it, and a stoppered ravenglass vial filled with something thick and viscous.
At last, Dylan nodded to Wink, who hefted the huge jack-o-lantern and hurled it into the fire. John and the others thought the hollowed gourd would splatter on the wood, but it didn't. It didn't burn, either. Instead it seemed to melt, like a ball of orange wax. Glowing orange and amber flowed over the twisted, bone-white wood, molding to it like flesh molding to a skeleton. Nauseated, though he wasn't quite sure why, John looked away from the fire and back at his twin.
Dylan held the ravenglass bowl cradled in both hands. Firelight gleamed strangely along its edge and across the dark contents within. She lifted it to chest-height, but before anything else could happen, Guardsman Uaithne spoke her name. Startled, she turned to him.
The other members of her guard detail had assembled behind him: Ailbho, Ailis, Fionnlagh, Grainne, Onora, and young Loen. And, to her utter shock, Tsu's'di and Adu. When her gaze fell on them, they knelt as one.
"Absolutely not," Dylan yelped. "You two can't come!"
"Why can't we?" Her young guardsman asked. "If it's safe enough for you, why is it too dangerous for us?" When Dylan opened her mouth to inform him that it was safe enough for her because she knew how to behave in a kingdom full of things that would love to crack open her bones to suck out her marrow, Tsu's'di added, "Siobhan gave us her blessing to travel the Deathlands before she left for Renvyle."
Dylan nearly dropped the bowl of blood when she choked on a sound halfway between a yowling tomcat and a strangling chicken. Siobhan, the little bean sidne, had given them what?
"Why?"
The cougar boy shrugged. "She said the Night Lord thought we'd need it sometime."
That took her aback. Had Azrharn somehow known Nuada would be taken from her? Had he arranged all this for his own sick amusement? It was the sort of thing he did when he was bored. But...but to her? Would he do something so horrible to her? Would his brothers allow it? Would Moundshroud allow it?
No. Moundshroud would never do something like that to her.
But that still left the question of her guards and her boys. She had intended to leave the two cougar shifters in the village, protected by her guard retinue. Obviously that wasn't going to fly.
Heavenly Father, she prayed, closing her eyes, let this be the right decision. Opening her eyes, she nodded to Uaithne.
"You have something to say to me, Guardsman Uaithne?"
The Butcher Guard lifted his head, but stayed kneeling, his gloved fist pressed to his heart.
"Lady...no, Princess…" He hesitated, casting his gaze around all those who stood with her. Then he cleared his throat, drew a deep breath, and said, "Your Majesty, we are your servants until our lady releases us or death takes us. We will not abandon you."
Dylan blinked, momentarily stunned. Kamaria grinned. Wink rumbled approval. Dastan and Zhenjin's brows shot up. Baffled, the Myers siblings stared at each other. Finally, Cesca poked Zhenjin in the ribs. He let out an odd, whistling sort of tea kettle noise and stared at her. A faint green blush colored his cheeks.
"Can I help you and your inquisitive mortal fingers?"
Cesca giggled. "That sounds dirty, just so you know. Anyway, what's happening? Dylan looks like she swallowed a live goldfish."
Softly, Zhenjin explained, "Uaithne has named Dylan not just the guards' charge, but their queen. He names her authority and command higher than King Balor's. He is saying, in effect, that Balor is no longer their king - Nuada is, and thus Dylan is their queen."
At that, Mary squeaked, "But...but isn't that treason?"
Grimly, the three royals nodded. But Kamaria said, "Balor is no longer the rightful king. He has turned his back on his people. The very land itself is turning from him. So it is treason in name only. Nuada is the rightful king now."
Dastan sighed, but nodded.
"The spell to make Dylan a part of the royal family, to bind her as Nuada's wife, hovers just on the brink of completion. By rights, Dylan may demand the rank due her as Nuada's wife, and the land itself will support her claim."
"The land?" Petra echoed, then nodded. "Right. Dylan explained part of this. Fisher King rules." Seeing her sisters' blank looks, she elaborated. "Like in The Lion King. Remember how when Scar became king, the game became scarce and the watering holes dried up?"
Pauline made a face. "No. I don't remember them saying that at all. It's a freaking Disney movie."
Now Francesca rolled her eyes. "'Don't try to act like a grownup-'"
"I am a grownup!"
Cesca snorted. "Anyway, yes, they say that in The Lion King. Nala says it. 'There's no food, no water. Simba, if you don't come back, everybody will starve.'"
"That's Fisher King rules," Petra said. "Without the rightful ruler, the kingdom goes to Hell. Which explains a lot if Nuada is supposed to be the king."
"Why doesn't Nuada just take the throne then?" Victoria demanded.
"Probably," her twin replied, "the same reason Dylan still talks to us after everything that happened. I may not like King Douche Breath but having to fight your dad would suck. Okay, now what is Dylan doing?"
Dylan stood in front of a kneeling Uaithne, balancing the dark bowl in one hand. Her left hand was held gently in the guard's right, her sleeve pushed back and the bandage on her forearm exposed. Some blood had leaked through the gauze, staining it with crimson and maroon. As they all watched, the Butcher Guard pressed the mouth of his helmet to her fingers, careful of the sharp, protruding beak. Then he pressed her hand to his heart and bowed his head. He released her hand. Briefly, she laid her hand on his head as if bestowing a blessing, then stepped away.
"A formal vow of fealty," Dastan murmured. "He gave it, but on behalf of them all. Possibly, it's the only way for them to safely travel with her...but I doubt it's the only reason."
Beside him, Petra said, "They love her, don't they?"
The crown prince of Shahbaz nodded. "More than that, they trust her. She inspires their loyalty through her own. Lady Dylan is a very interesting mortal."
Petra nodded, wondering just how interesting her baby sister would prove to be.
Somehow Dylan managed to keep her composure while accepting Uaithne's vow of fealty. It got a little easier when she remembered that Tsu's'di and A'du were coming to Samhain with them. She didn't want her children there, but...well, if Siobhan had marked them, more than likely Azrharn would help keep them safe from his mother. Maybe Moundshroud would do something…
It didn't matter. She couldn't leave them, when Azrharn had made it clear he'd taken an interest in them. And going to Samhain to beg an audience with its king was the only way to save her prince and their girl.
Taking a deep breath, Dylan lifted the bowl again and nodded to Becan, who floated the glistening, black bowl out of her hands and over the now-dwindling fire. A wave of the brownie's hand tipped the bowl. Dark red liquid spilled out and fell into the flickering flames.
The scent of hot human blood filled the air, meat and rust and salt. There was a soft pop, then a louder snap, and a muffled whumph!
The bonfire exploded. Gouts of ebony and orange and wisp-blue flame shot into the air. The fire writhed into a cacophony of shapes: a screaming, bristling cat, then a cackling old woman, then grasping skeletal hands, and then...just for an instant...a huge, gnarled old tree blooming with a crop of lit jack-o-lanterns nestled in its branches.
Then the fire died, leaving everyone light-dazzled for several heartbeats. When the spots faded from their vision, they looked first at Dylan.
She stood serenely, eyes closed, patiently waiting out the light show. When she at last opened her eyes, she smiled, a smile of ferocious triumph. The others turned to look.
The bonfire was gone. In its place stood a huge tree, so wide across that ten silver cave trolls standing abreast, arms outstretched so that only their fingertips touched, could not have spanned it. Its trunk was dark as hawthorn at midnight, the leaves in shades of pumpkin and moon-gold and blood and hammered silver, the limbs twisted and tortured. Balls of corpse-blue wisp light hung like fruit from the crooked boughs.
The trunk had been carved with the same portraits Oblina had etched into the huge jack-o-lantern: Dylan's face, Nuada's, Wink's. John thought he recognized Moundshroud's bald head and beaky nose, but there was something about the image that made him not quite certain. And he knew for a fact that the other face, all sharp points and hungry teeth, was no one he recognized.
Or was it? For just a moment, recognition bubbled at the back of his mind and he thought there was something familiar beneath that face, behind those horrible teeth.
The carved portraits hung above a carving of a door. It was an old sort of door, the kind a person would hesitate to open for fear of what might wait on the other side. It didn't invite. It warned. It hinted at cobwebs and creaking, echoing corridors and vengeful ghosts and the howling of wolves underneath an ominous full moon like a skull.
The whole thing - tree and portraits and door - shimmered, translucent enough that John could see the edge of the village square behind it.
Unsure now, John mumbled, "Um...what the heck even is that?"
"What have you wrought, Dylan?" Zhenjin breathed.
And then the door that was just a carving in an illusion of a tree swung open.
John stared at the odd group that came from behind that impossible door. Dylan didn't react. Had she been expecting them?
Summoning a friend, she'd said...
There were six, all told. The FBI agent peered at them, trying to pick out details. There was something about them that made it extremely difficult to focus on them for more than a moment or two at a time. He glimpsed hair as pale as a moonbeam on one young man, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles on an androgynous person, a young woman in a midnight-violet dress with her brown hair in two long braids to her waist. A chubby girl whose shoulder humped on one side; a boy so thin he looked almost sick, his bones pressing sharp against golden brown skin. All of them moved with the sharp twitches and jerky, alien grace of something that didn't have the courtesy to stay dead. But they weren't undead, so…
The tall, lanky man at their head took a step forward. On instinct, John jerked back. This one...this one was…not dead, but he was...
He'd seen this faerie before, he was certain, and yet...he couldn't remember ever meeting someone as bone-white as Nuada on a bad day, but with shocks of wild, blood-red hair and freckles like dun-gray ghosts on his waxy cheeks instead of the prince's long blonde hair and moonbeam skin.
He, this strange thing with hair like fresh blood, absolutely looked dead. Scarecrow-thin and looming like a phantom in his black-on-black tunic, trews, vambraces, and boots, his extremely pointed ears were longer and pointier than any John had ever seen. When he flicked two long, skeletal fingers against his brow in a casual salute, the accompanying grin flashed hundreds of needle-like ivory fangs.
It was the oddly familiar nightmare boy whose portrait was carved into the tree behind him.
Dylan curtsied to them.
"Hail and well met, Noble Tomas of Bone Hill; Noble Raleigh of the Barrow Dunes; Lady Janet of the Cypress Forests; Lord James of the Night Circus; Lady Willow of the City of the Catacombs…"
Each offered a bow when Dylan said their name. John struggled to put faces to names when he could barely stand to look at them for more than a few seconds at a time. Noble Tomas was the disturbingly thin person, Noble Raleigh the one with the gold-rimmed glasses. John remembered vaguely that "Noble" was the gender-neutral title for an aristocrat when Lord or Lady wasn't appropriate. The girl with the braids was Lady Janet, and the moon-blonde man at her side was Lord James. The girl with the sloping, humped shoulder was Lady Willow.
Dylan grinned and added, "Hail and well met, Crown Prince Shamhna of Samhain and Weir, heir of the Samhain Keeper."
The blood-haired boy laughed, a surprisingly bright laugh.
"Eh," he said, in a perfect imitation of Bugs Bunny, "what's up, Doc?"
And John realized who this was.
Pipkin.