The Outcast Page 10

  Would. Not.

  “Don’t push us, Sydlynn,” Aoilainn said.

  Oh no, she did not. “I’ll push you so hard your whole realm falls to pieces around you.” Okay, so I snapped. Sue me. “I’ve saved your sorry Sidhe asses how many times now? Deal with your mess. Or I’ll deal with you. Permanently.”

  Syd. Temper.

  Even Odhran didn’t like that so much. “While we owe you, it’s true,” he said, leaning back in his throne as their stupid magic tried to destroy the floor under me and Galleytrot stomped one step closer, “you have not earned the right to order us in our own realm.”

  Shut. Up. I could feel the vein in my forehead throbbing, the need to leap through and show the two of them just what I thought of their arrogance so powerful I was shaking. Or was that the damned floor again? Hard to tell.

  Galleytrot saved me the trouble. He bent his now massive, boulder sized head and glared through the tiny gap at the pair of Sidhe monarchs.

  “Bring us home,” he rumbled, the pressure of his voice blowing Aoilainn’s hair back, rattling the dishes on the elaborate table where they sat, tearing one of the gauze curtains behind the queen almost in half. “Now.”

  Odhran opened his mouth to speak just as a tall, Goth-like Sidhe stormed into view. She spun to face me, expression furious, spiked black hair vibrating. Though when Queen Niamh of the Unseelie spoke, I knew it wasn’t me she was angry with.

  “Sydlynn Hayle,” she said, dark rimmed eyes as black as Galleytrot’s, “ignore these fools. Send the Wild Hunt home. They were our problem when they were first created and we will take responsibility for them once again.”

  They were what? “I thought the Wild Hunt was created to cleanse this plane?” That was what I was taught, what the pair of frowning but slightly guilty looking monarchs behind me had just said. Don’t tell me I’d been lied to all this time.

  I would not be happy.

  Even Galleytrot seemed confused. “I know not what you mean, great queen of the Unseelie,” he boomed.

  She sighed, cocked one hip, fist resting on the shining, skin tight leather hugging her tall, lean body. Niamh gestured with the other, a dark sprite who reminded me more of a rock star than a Sidhe queen.

  “You wouldn’t,” she said. “Great hound, you were added to the Wild Hunt a century after Gwynn ap Nudd went mad and we were forced to remove him and his supporters from our realm.”

  Went mad? Shaylee gasped in my head. “Over my death.” She spoke through me, but Niamh must have known it was the former Sidhe princess. Killed by her people over the supposed blood magic attack on her sister, Cydia. A lie, a jealous untruth on Shaylee’s wedding day that ended her life.

  “They made the story all pretty, over time,” she said, glaring over her shoulder at her fellow monarchs. Her husband looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Convinced themselves it was their design originally. But I was there when they worked together for the first time in the history of the Sidhe.” Her tone softened, face, too. “Shaylee, when you died, Gwynn blamed himself. His grief was so powerful he gathered a group of fellow Sidhe, Seelie and Unseelie, and created the Wild Hunt himself as a punishment for the Sidhe for destroying his true love.”

  Well, how do you like them apples?

  “Send them home, Syd,” Niamh said. “It’s time.”

  Good thing she thought so. Because Gwynn ap Nudd chose that exact moment to surface.

  The floor cracked at last, sending shards flying everywhere. I did my best, my demon assisting, to shield the family as a giant hole opened in the floor. Galleytrot turned, a mournful howl rising from him when a huge black horse, eyes flaming red like the hound’s, burst from the ground. The tall, blond Sidhe on his back rode forward, the Wild surging after him, though the space could not contain them. A handful of hounds, like Galleytrot but of much smaller stature, loped out of the ground to stand at their master’s feet.

  I breathed a soft sigh of relief at the muffled feeling of the Wild Hunt. Even they were being controlled by the power of the wards, though the moment it began to rain, a soft, miserable drizzle over all of us, I knew Gwynn wouldn’t allow such controls to keep him and his people contained for long.

  “Shaylee.” His voice sounded hollow, as though coming from a great distance, face blank and cold.

  “My lord,” Shaylee said. “My love.”

  His eyes shifted to Galleytrot. “We were meant to rest,” he said. “Has the time come so soon?”

  “No, my lord,” the big hound said. “We are to be freed at last.”

  Gwynn’s whole body twitched, the hounds at his feet whining softly as his black steed stomped one fore hoof. “Explain.”

  I drew a breath, let Shaylee take over. “Your time here has come to an end,” she said, slowly approaching him, forcing my body into calm though I fought her a few times and my demon snarled her worry. “Your hurt and pain have gone on long enough, my love. Surely you are ready to return home?”

  Gwynn’s expression finally altered. I could see now the line of riders waiting in the hole behind him, the Wild Hunt ready to rise and destroy at his calling. But even some of those looked suddenly hopeful, where once only darkness held their terrible beauty in thrall.

  “How is this possible?” His face crumpled. “You are gone and I have nothing.”

  “You have your life,” she said. “A life everlasting. And your punishment has gone on long enough.” She pushed us forward again, to press one hand to his thigh, the hounds sniffing around us, shivering flank of his horse next to our cheek. The scent of a summer thunderstorm and the zinging touch of coming lightning almost broke her hold, but she clung to him and I clung to her, hoping she knew what she was doing. “Darling Gwynn,” she said. “Your rest is ended. Life must begin again.”

  “I would remain with you.” Hope blossomed in his eyes and the entire power structure of the Wild Hunt sighed, what little made it through the wards. The rain stopped, a faint mist rising as the temperature warmed to a summer’s afternoon.

  “You must go to the realm,” she said with gentleness I would never have been able to muster. “And I must abide here.”

  At first I was sure he was going to flip out and go on a stormy spree of destruction. But he finally sighed, looked up and past Galleytrot. To Niamh and Aoilainn and Odhran. He saluted, his horse snorting. “My queen,” he said, voice full of sorrow. “I would come home again.”

  And that was that, right? I turned, stared Aoilainn down. She could ruin everything, with one selfish word. But her face twisted in sorrow of her own as she bowed her head.

  “Return, Gwynn ap Nudd,” she said. “Reminder of what I have lost. And be welcome.”

  I stepped back as Gwynn’s horse pranced past me, to one side. The coven remained tucked against the walls, staring as, one by one, the riders of the Wild Hunt, their faces now glowing with joy where once they’d held only the desire to destroy, passed through the gap in the veil.

  The hounds followed, panting, heads down, leaving, at last, only Gwynn behind. Galleytrot shrank in size as the procession passed him, until he was again just the big dog I knew so well. My heart tore as I realized setting free the Wild Hunt meant he would most likely be going with them.

  What would I tell the kids? I crossed to Quaid and my children, Ethie’s arms wrapping around my neck, weeping. They’d lost their home and what stability they knew. Their little hearts would shatter to lose Galleytrot now.

  “He’s leaving, isn’t he?” She buried her little face in my shoulder before bravely looking up, watching as Gwynn dismounted from his horse and approached Galleytrot.

  The big Sidhe fell to one knee before the hound, gold armor clanking on the stone as he did. Oversized, the pair of them, a knight of old and his faithful dog. My throat tightened and I kissed Ethie’s forehead, ready to say goodbye to my friend.

  “Galleytrot.” Gwynn’s hand settled on the hound’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you in my sleep, faithful one.”

  “And I you, my
master,” the big dog said. “But I’ve had comfort with these witches,” he nodded toward me, “and their children.”

  Gwynn glanced sideways at me, eyes widening at the sight of Gabriel clinging to Quaid. “A Gateway?”

  That shook me. “How did you know?”

  Gwynn sighed, stood, one hand on Galleytrot’s head. “Keep him safe,” he said, sorrow in his tone. “He will be the savior—or the downfall—of all.” The big Sidhe saluted my son. “Think well of me, from time to time, Lord of the Gateway. Gwynn ap Nudd will always be at your service.”

  Gabriel saluted back, bowed his head, face grave.

  Gwynn paused one more moment, eyes locked on mine. “Farewell, Shaylee,” he said. “I will wait for you. But you are right.” He looked down at his gauntleted hands. “I’ve been too long in despair.” He strode for the edge of the veil, Galleytrot at his heels, head hanging low, not looking at us.

  I cuddled Ethie close, not wanting her to watch, only to see my son wriggle from Quaid’s arms and run for the hound. He grasped Galleytrot around the neck, looking up at Gwynn who towered over Gabriel like a statue.

  “Please, sir,” my son said in his sweet voice. “Can’t he stay?”

  Gwynn’s face broke into a smile, shocking me. “Galleytrot,” he said, a hint of happiness in his voice. “Is this what you wish as well?”

  The big dog shuddered slightly, sank to his haunches. “You know I was once a terrible man,” he said. “With a heart as black as any you’d encountered.” Gwynn nodded. “But this life you’ve given me, as a hound, has served its purpose. Even more so since my time spent with the Hayles.” The big dog turned to look down into Gabriel’s eyes. “I’ve grown to love this family,” he said, massive voice quiet for once. “And though if you needed me I would go with you, I would ask instead you grant my boon to guard them as I guarded you, my lord.”

  Gwynn nodded, a real smile on his face. “Then,” he said, “like I, dear hound, you are free.”

  Without another word, Gwynn crossed over the veil and stepped into his realm for the first time in millennia.

  Niamh nodded to me. “Be well, Sydlynn Hayle,” she said. And sealed the way between us.

  Silence met the closing of the veil, and for a long moment no one said anything or moved, as a boy and his dog hugged in the fading mist, the only sound the soft panting of the hound and the quiet weeping of my son.

  ***

  Chapter Sixteen

  I left my children in my parent’s capable hands, with a good scratching for Galleytrot and a quick hug.

  Thank you. I sent it directly to him, worried he might not hear me.

  No, his big mind reached mine even through the wards. Thank you, Syd. For the first time in my life, I have a home. And I didn’t want to give it up.

  More tears, damn it. I wiped at them and took my husband’s hand. “Let’s go home ourselves,” I said.

  The veil welcomed me, and I it, the shivery membrane hugging me tight as Quaid and I traveled the short distance to our house in Wilding Springs. I stepped out into the basement and immediately shuddered.

  Empty. All of it quiet and dark and lifeless. The family magic was gone.

  It took me a moment to remind myself all that power was safe with the coven, back in the cavern. That this house that had been our home was just a shell, now. A place of wood and concrete, filled with stuff but without life. Is this what normal’s houses felt like? Of course it was. I’d been in enough I knew that was true. Still, I shivered. How could they stand it?

  Because they didn’t know any different.

  Quaid’s power reached for mine and from the way his face visibly eased from tension I knew he was embracing his magic’s return as much as I was. Shaylee was quiet, and I hardly blamed her, the other two egos comforting her as I wrapped us in shields and headed for the north corner.

  And froze at the mess before me. The Brotherhood—or someone—had been here, torn apart boxes and scattered china still packed after years. Shard of glass threatened my feet before Quaid caught my arm, pulled me back.

  We circled around, found a few boxes, also ripped wide, but bearing old clothes we’d meant to send to charity. It felt good to slide into a pair of jeans, to slip on a fresh t-shirt and scuff my feet into a rather wretched—but still comfortable—pair of discarded sneakers.

  My toes were immediately happy with this change of events.

  I would have used magic to clear away the destruction under normal circumstances. Instead, Quaid and I, he now also dressed in a shirt I remembered from before we were married and jeans with a giant hole in one knee, had to pick our way through the slivers and chunks of broken china. Bits rang as my feet shoved them aside, searching the dark with my demon’s eyesight, rendering the space almost lit like daylight despite the growing night outside the basement windows.

  We worked in silence, pulling free broken hunks of furniture, Quaid heaving an old rug out of my way. It felt so still here, so oppressive, I didn’t want to break the quiet with words and I suppose he felt the same way.

  By the time we reached the back corner, I realized two things. One, the cement block protecting the cache hadn’t been discovered. So a big phew moment. At least, until understanding number two hit me like a freight train doing a hundred miles an hour on fire.

  The marker for X marks the spot had vanished.

  Batsheva Moromond’s mummy was gone.

  I think Quaid must have made the realization the same moment I did, because he stared at the spot with his mouth open. I reached out and tapped his chin, his teeth clicking together as I sighed and shrugged.

  My fault. I should have put the old bitch out in the sun when I had the chance instead of leaving her down here, gathering mold. She’d tried to kill me multiple times, it seemed only fair to make her suffer. And now, she was out of my control again, likely in the hands of the Brotherhood.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  Whatever. I’d deal with her later. For now, I bent over the concrete floor and fished around for what we really came for.

  This took a little subtlety. I had to use magic to unseal the hidey hole, just a breath of it, carefully shielded. Quaid kept watch over his shoulder, though I felt him moving away from me, possibly searching for anything valuable he could take to the family. More blankets, old clothes, pillows. Our lives now revolved around the barest creature comforts, so I hardly blamed him.

  Pale blue flames flared around a square of floor before lifting gently into the air and settling beside the hole with barely a rattle. I breathed a sigh of relief before reaching in a liberating the large black, square can inside. I’d left the key in the lock, not even thinking someone would stumble on it. And good thing they hadn’t. There was maybe only five thousand dollars and a small sheaf of personal bonds, but it should be enough to keep us going for a while.

  I stuffed the wad of bills into my jeans, the bonds sliding under my t-shirt and into my waistband at the back. Maybe I should have resealed the hole, but whoever had been here came up empty already and there wasn’t anything left to take.

  The stairs creaked behind me. I turned, watched Quaid going up, though he didn’t look any more upset or worried than normal, so I followed him. Ran into him at the top of the steps, looking around his wide shoulder at the destruction in the kitchen. More broken dishes, the table on its side, cracked down the middle, chairs shattered into kindling. We’d spent so many hours at that table, since I was sixteen years old. Memories flashed through my head, eating cookies with Mom, helping Meira with her homework. Talking to Alison for the first time. Planning the salvation of the Universe with all my friends waiting and ready to help. My life revolved around this house.

  And the Brotherhood tried to destroy it.

  At least the walls were still standing, even if the cupboards were ripped from the studs, the front door glass shattered. Quaid moved to the hall, me trailing behind him, one of my fingers hooked in his back pocket. The living room was a flurry of stuffin
g, the sofa and chairs all shredded, giant holes in the walls. As if Belaisle took our escape out on our things when he couldn’t have us. My sneakers squeaked on the first step as we climbed to the second floor. I winced at the state of Ethie’s bedroom, though I went inside anyway, her pink chandelier—mine, once—in a shattered mess in the middle of her torn mattress. The contents of her closet were strewn on the floor, some of her things wrecked, but I managed to find one of her little backpacks and fill it with clothing for her.

  I met Quaid in the hall. He was just leaving Gabriel’s room, a bag of his own in his hands. Great minds. Yeah, right.

  We paused outside our bedroom, looking in, and for the first time I let out a little cry of hurt. This was Mom’s room before I became coven leader. It still vaguely smelled like her, lilacs lingering. But we’d made it our own when we got married. I loved this room, the feel of it, the way Quaid’s and my power mingled here.

  Empty now, like the rest of the house. Our beautiful four poster he’d made with his own hands and magic was crushed and broken on the carpet, the mattress tossed against the far wall. Both end tables were upside down, drawers emptied out. I ignored the little things, just stuff. But the sight of the antique dressing table Quaid had given me for my birthday four years ago shattered, the mirror in shards scattered as far as the bathroom tile, for some reason finally broke me.

  I turned with a sob and clung to my husband. His arms pulled me tight to his wide chest, voice soft as he whispered words I didn’t hear into my hair. This was our home. Where we lived and loved and had our family. Where I grew up finally, after trying my hardest not to.

  I thought it would always be home. Fooled myself, really.

  Time to let it go.

  I finally pulled back from him, sniffling, wiping at my running nose. He bent and handed me a tissue from a box lying crumpled at our feet and I blew aggressively into it.