C. E. Murphy - Wayfinder

Kelly shot a look toward the living room, where the dark-haired Seelie prince sat in a meditative pose. Then her gaze strayed to Dickon, who had taken his seat in an armchair again and was trying hard not to stare curiously between Dafydd and Lara. “Maybe not. Dickon and I had a long talk,” Kelly admitted in a more credible whisper, then gave Lara a significant look. “A very long talk. You two were in there three hours! And I don’t think it’s just because you were changing clothes.”

Heat scalded Lara’s cheeks again and she glanced at herself. She’d abandoned Unseelie clothes for jeans and a T-shirt, and changed her soft-soled boots for tennies. “These are more comfortable, even if I’ll look strange in the Barrow-lands. And we fell asleep for a while, that’s all. It happens.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lara elbowed her. “It does . What did you talk about?”

“Dafydd. Reg. Magic. Me being a criminal mastermind. The whole mess. He’s not so angry anymore. Whatever Blondie there did to help Reg calmed him down a lot, so I don’t know. Maybe we’re working it out.” Cautious hope lit Kelly’s face.

“That’s fantastic.” Lara, smiling, caught Kelly in a hug. “I hope it works out, Kel. I really do. He’s a good guy.”

“He is. And I can’t blame him for all of this being too much. I meant it, you know. If I hadn’t known you for years …”

“Of course I know. Dafydd and I owe you more than I can say. We all do.” Lara gestured to the other two Seelie, then wondered, “How’s the spellcasting going?”

“I don’t know. Ioan’s been sitting like that since you went into the bedroom, and Blondie—”

“She’s not really blond, you know.”

“I know, but ‘Whitey’ sounds racist somehow.” Kelly grinned at Lara’s expression. “Okay, fine, Aerin has been standing there glowering at the bedroom door like she could set it on fire. Once in a while she checks on Ioan, but I don’t get the impression there’s much she can do to help, and she was getting more mileage out of glaring at the door. Is elf sex better?”

Shy laughter caught Lara off guard as a vivid memory of Dafydd’s featherlight touch came back to her. “Maybe a little.”

“I knew it!” Kelly smacked Lara’s shoulder in juvenile delight, then reached for the phone. “Do elves like pizza?”

“Dafydd does.” Lara rubbed her shoulder and went back into the living room, leaving Kelly to place an order for half a dozen different kinds of pizza.

“I believe the spell is ready,” Ioan said as she came into the room. He opened his eyes and gave Dafydd an apologetic glance. “You’re right in that I’m not well-prepared to make this magic. Holding the place-images in mind long enough to construct a bridge has been more difficult than I expected, but I think I have it now. If, however, we’re to wait a little longer before executing it … could someone please tell me how I came to this world?” The last words sounded plaintive and young.

“We were hoping you might tell us,” Lara confessed.

Dismay rushed over Ioan’s face. “I recall a skirmish in the hidden valley, and then very little until these past few hours. Glimpses, nothing more, as the worldwalking spell thrust me here. I saw your cars,” he said to Lara. “I think that was how I knew I was in your world at all. My thoughts have been unclear. I remember … needles, and incessant sound, and exhaustion beyond any I’ve ever known. I couldn’t so much as draw on my own magics to heal myself. Something prevented me, constantly.”

“That was the hospital. The needles they used to keep your fluids up are made of what we call stainless steel. They’re iron-based.” Lara sat in the chair she’d abandoned earlier, and Dafydd offered A hand so she could lace her fingers with his. “They couldn’t have known, but I’m sure that interfered with your magic, even if getting hit on the head didn’t.”

Dafydd said, “Even a head injury should have resolved itself by now. Our individual healing magics may be small, but they’re determined. It would have been the iron, indeed. And we believe Merrick sent you here, Ioan, as he did us. I doubt very much he meant for us to find you, but the spell will lay its own paths if they’re not firmly delineated in the caster’s mind. Perhaps the Barrow-lands themselves are working against him.”

“As they’ve chosen to work against you,” Aerin muttered.

Injury splashed across Dafydd’s face and Lara quelled the urge to kick the taller woman. “That wasn’t his fault.”

“Does it matter? He’s now hardly more than mortal, and we’re forced to rely on a traitor to bring us home.”

Lara sighed. Aerin’s forgiveness had extended only so far as Ioan’s illness, it seemed. She hoped Dickon would be less fickle, and that his newfound inclination to forge past the events of the past few weeks would prove genuine.

When she spoke, she was surprised at the steel in her own voice. “I had a vision, Aerin, of how you might turn your back on Dafydd if he couldn’t recover from fighting the nightwings in my world. If his gifts deserted him and left him mortal.” She opened her eyes, meeting Aerin’s gaze. “That vision was driven by jealousy. By the hope that I could somehow have him for myself. Maybe this attitude of yours right now is driven by the same thing, but I can promise you, it’s no way to win his heart. I’m mortal. Even if I stay in the Barrow-lands and live for centuries, eventually I’m going to die. You don’t have that certainty ahead of you. Ask yourself if petty envy and cruelty now is worth an eternity of enmity after I’m gone.”

She wet her lips and looked away, unwilling to face any of the immortal trio just then. Instead she focused on Kelly, whose arms were wrapped tight around herself and whose face was marred by distress. “Maybe you’d better cancel that pizza order, Kel. I think we need to go to the Common and get the horses and leave now, before we fracture any more than we’re already doing.”

Kelly, wordlessly, went back to the phone, but Ioan got to his feet, relying entirely on himself for the first time. “No need. With a locus, I believe I can guide the spell to the horses and then into Annwn.”

Dafydd shook his head. “That’s not wise, Ioan. You aren’t well, and there are four of us as well as the horses.”

“Five,” Kelly objected from the kitchen, and Dickon, half a breath later, said, “Six.”

Ioan chuckled, making his way carefully around the room. “Hence the need for a locus, Dafydd. Regardless of how many travelers there are, the attempt would be foolish without a connective point to focus through. But I’ve been thinking about this for the last several hours, and I believe it’s the surest way to succeed.”

A heartbeat after Lara realized what he intended, Ioan laid hands on the worldbreaking staff.

Power roared from the staff, flaring through Ioan so brightly that, for an instant, Lara saw him as he’d been: a pale creature like Aerin and Dafydd, hair whitened by the magic coursing through him. It shot upward, ripping at the ceiling with a mind for destruction, and Lara could feel the weapon’s unmitigated triumph at such an opportunity for release. The floor beneath them cracked, sending everyone but Ioan into a stagger: he was elevated just above the floor’s surface, the staff’s power wrapping him in a bubble of its own.

Wind and magic shrieked together, creating a song that whipped notes away too quickly for Lara to comprehend. Pictures flew off Kelly’s walls and couch cushions rose up to be shredded. Within seconds the weightiest pieces of furniture were sliding, called by gravity toward the downward-slanting cracks in the floor and hurried along by howling wind. Dickon caught Kelly in his arms, but not even a man his size would stand long against the magic Ioan had set free.