“Have a heart, Cass!”
I held the bottle up and shook it, letting the amber liquid slosh against the sides. “Get off your backside and help me with Tomas and maybe I’ll give it to you.”
“There’s a pub in the town where we’re headed,” Marlowe said mildly.
“How do you know where we’re going?” I asked suspiciously.
“Because we aren’t spoiled for choice.” Billy was regarding the vamp as if he’d just announced that he’d won the lottery. “Beer, pretty girls—of a sort—and excellent music, as I recall.”
Billy jumped up as if propelled out of a canon. “Where’s that poor unfortunate, then? We should get the lad somewhere safe so he can rest and heal,” he added piously.
“What town?” I asked Marlowe.
“The local village and castle are populated by Dark Fey, a few of whom have done favors for my spies in the past. That has primarily taken the form of intelligence gathering—they spy on the Light Fey and my contacts among the Light spy on them. But occasionally they have helped out agents in distress—for a fee, of course.”
“You spy on the Fey?” I asked in surprise.
Marlowe smiled. “I spy on everyone. It’s my job.”
“Discuss this later,” Pritkin said, poking his head in through the curtain. The golem stood next to him calmly enough, but it flinched when the curtain brushed against its arm. “If the Dark Fey find us before we come to an understanding—”
“Point taken,” Marlowe murmured. Together, he and Billy got Tomas out from under the table and into a makeshift sling made out of the cot blanket. I didn’t believe Marlowe
when he swore the Fey sun didn’t harm vampires, but Mac backed him up. Since Tomas didn’t burst into flames when the beams leaking through the ruined roof fell on him, I had to assume they were right.
Billy took one end of the sling and Marlowe picked up the other. His cooperation made me apprehensive enough to walk alongside the bearers to ensure that he didn’t harm Tomas when no one was looking. I’d have preferred another helper, but there weren’t a lot of options. I doubted I could carry even half of Tomas’ weight for any distance, especially not weighed down by fifty pounds of ammunition. Mac was bringing up the rear and his hands needed to be free for weapons. And Pritkin, at the head of our motley group, had his hands full keeping his servant from freaking out again.
The poor golem was shaking and looking about wild-eyed, jumping at every breath of wind, chirping bird or Billy singing “I’m a rover and seldom sober,” until Pritkin threatened to make him a ghost again if he didn’t stop. It was like the golem had never seen any of it before—which I guess he hadn’t, at least not through human eyes—and wasn’t sure what was benign and what was a threat. I don’t know what they rely on for senses, but based on his scream when a cloud of airborne dandelions brushed against his bare chest, I don’t think it’s the same five we humans use.
We finally made it to the tree line, but even I could follow the path of trampled grass in our wake. Anyone with tracking experience wouldn’t even break a sweat following us. I stared at the dark woods ahead and hoped someone had a plan.
The next hour was a nightmare, slogging through a forest that, while amazing, was also intensely creepy. For one thing, it made the centuries-old trees that had surrounded Tony’s farmhouse look like saplings. We passed two giant oaks going in, each of which had a trunk large enough to have driven a car through had they been hollow. Of course, that would have required building a ramp first, because the trunks started well above my head, resting on a massive root system taller than most houses. They were positioned like sentries at a castle’s gate, their mossy arms raised as if in salute—or warning.
The tangled tree roots all seemed to stop at the same point, forming a rough path towards who knew what. Something brushed my shoulder as we pushed our way into the sea of brambles and tangled underbrush. For an instant I thought I saw a gnarled hand with bulbous knuckles and unnaturally long fingers reaching for me. I jumped before realizing it was nothing more threatening than a low-hanging branch, the moss on it damp and clammy against my skin.
Even worse was the way the place smelled. The meadow had been warm and fresh and flowery, but there was no pleasant green scent here. The forest was dank and mildewed, but below that was something worse—sour and faintly rotten. I thought about it as we plodded along, and it finally hit me. It was like being in the presence of a terminally ill person. No matter how good the hygiene, there is always a faint odor clinging to them that doesn’t smell like anything else. The forest reeked of death—not the quick, red-clawed end of a hunted animal, but the long, lingering sickness of someone death has stalked for a very long time. I vastly preferred the meadow.
I pressed closer to Tomas, who was thankfully still oblivious, and tried not to look as spooked as I felt. But there was something unnatural about these woods. It was in the murky light that made it instantly twilight, and in the age, which pressed down like gravity had somehow increased as soon as we left the field. I couldn’t even begin to guess how old some of the trees were, but every time I thought they couldn’t get any bigger, they managed. And my tired brain kept seeing faces in patterns in the bark—old, craggy ones with mushroom hair, lichen beards and shadowy eyes.
Marlowe tried several times to start a conversation, but I ignored him until he gave up. I had other things to think about, like how I was going to find Myra and what I was going to do with her when I did. Now that I was here, I understood why she’d chosen to hide in Faerie. It was an entirely new playing field, and one I knew nothing about. Getting close enough to spring the trap was going to be difficult if my power was unreliable, and I had no idea how many allies she had. After seeing what happened to Mac’s wards, I wasn’t as confident about the Senate’s weapons as I had been. What if they didn’t work in this crazy new world?
My mood wasn’t improved by more mundane considerations, like how heavy the damned coat was getting, how much I could really use a bath, and how badly I wanted to see Mircea. The craving hadn’t diminished, and although it was bearable, it wasn’t fun. I felt like a three-pack-a-day smoker at the end of a twelve-hour flight. Only, for me, there was no relief in sight.
We finally stopped for a breather. Wind rustled the tree-tops, but down at ground level, there wasn’t so much as a breath of air. Billy, who had been bitching about Tomas’ weight the whole way, swore we’d been walking for a day, but it had probably been only an hour or so. I stripped off the lead-lined torture device Pritkin had stuck me with, and it helped a little, but no breeze hit my soaked clothes.
I was bent over, panting and exhausted, sweat running off my face to drip onto the leaf-strewn forest floor, when I saw it: my first proof that this really was an enchanted forest. A tree root, covered in bright red lichen like a scaly arm, reached up from the path to position itself on the ground under my nose. I shied back, giving a surprised yelp, then watched as it sucked dry every leaf that held any of my sweat.
"W-What is that?” I pulled back a leg as the root came closer, rummaging through the leaves like a pig after acorns. It couldn’t see me, but it knew I was there.
“A spy.” Marlowe’s resigned tones came from above my head. “I knew we couldn’t avoid them, but I was hoping for a bit longer than this.”
“A spy for whom?”
“The Dark Fey,” Pritkin answered, coming alongside. “This is their forest.”
“Very likely,” Marlowe concurred. “But I should reach our allies before—”
“You aren’t going,” Pritkin interrupted. “Give me a token and I’ll do it.”