Azuri Fae (10 page)

A tingle passed over his skin. “There’s someone here,” he said.

Eilidh glanced back, her eyes shimmering green. “I know,” she said. “A Watcher.”

It felt almost like a ghost had passed, and fear tickled Munro’s spine. His senses grew sharper, and gradually, as though the moon shone brighter, he could see the outline of the trees. He thought he caught a glimpse of someone nearby, but the shape faded into the surrounding forest, and he couldn’t be certain anyone had been there at all.

The deeper they went, the more he noticed a rich, loamy smell. It triggered a memory he’d forgotten, his mother working in the garden when he was little, planting strawberries around a path border out back. He’d learned from Frankie that he must have inherited his magical abilities from his mother. According to Frankie, women carried it, but only boys manifested druidic talents. He wondered if his mother had any clue. Did the earth magic give her even the slightest affinity? It hurt him that the more time that passed, the more difficulty he had remembering much about her beyond flashes and glimpses that felt like dreams.

“We’re close,” Eilidh said, still holding Munro’s hand.

“I know. I can see.” He put his hand in front of his face and wiggled his fingers. It was pitch black out, but the darkness had receded. Colours had grown soft, and he could see his surroundings sharply now. It was like using night-vision goggles, but without the strange green tinge. Ahead, he could make out a glow. The pair walked forward together and came to an immense arching gate made of pale light. It stood nearly fifty feet tall and had intricate scrollwork, as though it was etched into invisible stone.

Munro reached out to touch one tall pillar, and when he did, it gave light resistance before his hand passed through. The gate stood open, but beyond it, Munro could see only darkness.

“We must hurry,” Eilidh said. “Prince Griogair will be waiting on the other side. He assured me you would be safe, but we shouldn’t linger longer than we have to.”

“You’re afraid,” Munro said.

“Humans do not pass through these gates. I’m not sure what will happen.”

Munro nodded in the darkness, knowing she could still see him better than he could see her. “Let’s get it over with then.”

Eilidh went first, and Munro followed. They hadn’t gone four paces past the gate before he let go of her and dropped to his knees, hands flat on the earth in front of him.

She darted back, crouching beside him. “Quinton?” He looked up, smiled, and breathed in deeply. “Are you all right?” she asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

Munro touched the ground, fingering a tall blade of grass in front of him. The landscape on the fae side of this gate looked very much like it had in the borderlands, but there was no mistaking one world for another. The moon hung large and low and cast a blue light. Fireflies danced in the air, and plants glowed with vitality.

“You must get up,” she said. “Can you stand?”

He nodded and she helped him to his feet. “I feel stronger. Lighter.” He breathed in again. Every time he inhaled, he drank in life itself.

“Come. We can wait for Prince Griogair nearby.” Eilidh seemed suddenly worried and wary, but Munro’s mind surged with robust confidence. In fact, he’d never felt better in his life. He’d never done drugs, not even in his teens, but he couldn’t help wondering if this was what it was like. He believed he could take over the world. “I thought he would be waiting for us.”

Eilidh shook her head. “He said he’d come if he could, but if he ran into trouble, he probably won’t come at all. We’ll go wait. He’ll find us when he arrives.”

“I thought he was the top man. What sort of trouble could he run into?”

“I think,” came a voice from the trees, “she means my mate, the queen.”

A faerie that could only be Prince Griogair came walking into the clearing. He didn’t wear a crown or any type of uniform or decoration, so Munro wasn’t sure how he knew. Munro found all faeries haughty and full of themselves, and so it wasn’t the prince’s bearing that gave away his status. But the instant Munro laid eyes on him, he felt a pull, like it would be difficult
not
to stare at him.

The prince, on the other hand, looked only at Eilidh. She had changed into the illusion of that same brown dress she’d showed Munro. The prince seemed amused when he noticed it, but less so when Eilidh curtsied. “Didn’t we talk about this?” he asked, taking her hand and bringing her to her feet.

“Your Highness,” she began.

He rolled his eyes. “Griogair.”

“Your Highness,” she said firmly. “This is PC Munro.” It amused Munro that she used his rank and last name, but he would be the first to admit he didn’t know anything about faerie politics.

Only then did Griogair turn his attention to Munro. The prince had the strangest eyes, even more remarkable than Eilidh’s, Munro thought. Perhaps it was the night that made them glow purple, but they locked on Munro and held his gaze for a good, long while, with neither man speaking.

“Quinton,” Eilidh said, seeming quietly distressed, as though Munro were being frighteningly rude. “This is Prince Griogair, consort to the faerie queen.”

Munro held out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said, knowing faeries didn’t shake hands, but wanting to see what the prince would do. He hadn’t planned to be confrontational, but he suddenly felt as though he’d completely lost the upper hand. He had to get it back if he was going to get a read on this guy.

The prince looked at the outstretched hand, then met Munro’s eyes. He knew what Munro was doing. He put his hand in Munro’s, copying his grip and movement exactly. “So, you are Eilidh’s druid. A human with earth magic. You’ll have to forgive me for staring. I never thought I’d see such a thing.”

Munro smiled briefly. “Neither did I.” Then he switched into cop mode, approaching the prince as he would anyone who filed a missing persons report. “Eilidh tells me you want my help finding your son. Is there someplace we can sit and talk?” Munro didn’t like to admit it, but the rich air of the Otherworld made him a little lightheaded. “You can invite your friends to join us.” He gestured to the trees, beyond which he sensed at least four, possibly five others. He wasn’t sure how he sensed them, but in the strange night air, he decided to go with it.

Griogair tilted his head. “They are fine where they are, thank you.” His tone revealed amusement. “Don’t worry. They are trusted companions.” To Eilidh, he said, “Can he run?”

Before she could answer, Munro said, “I can.”

Griogair became a blur, and he moved silently away. Munro watched as though in slow motion. He stepped after the prince, running easily behind him. He felt Eilidh follow, but he kept his eyes on the prince’s trail. The prince’s companions went with them, keeping just far enough away to stay hidden.

When they stopped, they were in a small glen next to a shimmering river. The moss became a rich, soft carpet under their feet. They stood beneath an enormous tree, whose roots formed perfect steps that led up into its boughs. Munro looked at the water, at the stones that made it sparkle. He stepped toward it and reached in. The water was icy, a cold that went down to his bones. He picked up a rock, but it was no ordinary rock. It was a solid piece of quartz, but it had a blue tint like he’d never seen. When the water passed over the stones, they sung.

Munro felt his earth magic surging and realised that was what was making him feel so strong. His magic fed on the air. His primary element of strength was stone, which was perhaps why these rocks called to him. The air and the water seemed rich and beautiful, but not alive.

The quartz melted in his hand like putty. He saw a shape forming within it, as though it was the rock’s true form. No rock of his own world responded to him like this. For just a moment, his mission faded to the side, and he lost himself in the beauty of the stone. As he had when crafting the rose for Fluranach, he tried something a little different than when he made his talismans at home. He focused on the prince’s powerful presence. Unlike when he worked with the child, here in the Otherworld, he didn’t even have to touch the prince to feel his essence.

Neither Griogair or Eilidh said a word. They watched in silence as Munro teased the rock, pulling it like taffy. Its tips became sharp, and he guided the mass into the form of a star with razor-like edges. The crystal lost any clouded imperfections. When Munro finally finished, it was beautiful, with life shimmering within. It sparkled in the strange moonlight of the Otherworld, resting in the palm of his hand, perfect in its symmetry, lovely, and yet deadly.

He held it out to Griogair. “For your hearth,” he said, suddenly remembering the faerie tradition of giving a gift when invited to another’s home. It wasn’t a tradition he understood the nuances of, but he remembered how Oron reacted when Munro crafted the rose with his granddaughter. He figured it would be a decent gift.

The faerie prince looked at Munro carefully and then inclined his head. “I misjudged you, PC Munro.” He whispered a word and a gust of wind surrounded Munro’s hand, lifting the blue star out.

“Wait,” Eilidh said. Munro could feel her focusing her magic on the talisman as it hung in the air between the two men. She glanced at Munro. “This is like none of the other talismans I have seen you make. I can feel Prince Griogair’s own essence much more strongly since he touched it with his power.”

The fae always seemed entranced by the things he made, but Munro felt frustrated that he didn’t understand the process better. He just hoped he wasn’t passing out weapons of mass destruction, now that he thought about it.

“Fascinating.” Griogair watched the star carefully as he used air flows to lower it into a leather pouch. Once the star was out of sight, Eilidh seemed to breathe easier.

“Come,” Griogair said finally. “Let us sit upstream.”

He led the pair up a mossy path to another clearing, where swing chairs fashioned out of roots and leaves swayed in the low boughs of a willowy tree. It took Munro a moment to get comfortable as the other two sat. He wasn’t yet used to the strange furniture faeries favoured. For some reason, they didn’t seem to like anything too stable, where he preferred to feel himself solidly on the ground.

“I don’t know all the rules and protocols,” Munro said. “And I don’t want to offend you or anything. So if I say the words wrong, or speak out of turn, I’m sorry in advance. But your boy is missing, and I know what that does to a family. Tell me about him, and I’ll do what I can to help. Let’s start with when and where you saw him last, all right?”

Griogair leaned forward, his expression intent. “Very well.”

Eilidh had watched Munro craft the star and present it to the prince. She felt proud of him and noticed how silent his mind became when he worked with the stone flows. The Otherworld agreed with him, but it still worried her, even more now that they had travelled away from the gate. She had to trust Griogair could protect them and ensure they hadn’t been seen.

“The last time I saw Trath was the night before the Glade Festival,” Griogair said.

Munro looked at Eilidh expectantly. She felt flustered. Human clocks and calendars had never made much sense to her. “The Glade came to its peak one hundred and seventy-four nights ago.”

“Jesus,” Munro muttered and reached for his wallet.

Both faeries watched him with some curiosity. He pulled out a small white card with blocks of numbers on it and stared for a while, counting the lines. “So, mid-August.” He glanced at Eilidh, as though expecting confirmation, but she could only shrug apologetically. She hated to confess her ignorance, especially on such a small matter. She realised their new relationship meant she had a lot more to learn than just astral magic. They were going to have a busy century ahead.

“What were the circumstances?” Munro asked.

Griogair leaned back in his seat. “He’d been talking with his mother. He came to me. He was not in the best of moods.”

“What was their argument about?”

“Quinton,” Eilidh hissed. Munro cast her a warning glance, but she ignored it and said, “You cannot ask such questions.”

He turned to Griogair and repeated his question. “What was the argument between Trath and your wife about?”

The prince shrugged slightly. “There was no argument.”

Munro stood. “Okay then.” He turned to Eilidh. “Let’s go. There’s nothing I can do here.”

“What?” Eilidh didn’t move. She was too stunned. She’d known he was jealous of the prince, and he hadn’t been happy about the deliberate rumours that Eilidh was Griogair’s lover. She hadn’t expected Munro to allow those feelings to get in the way.

Munro shrugged. “Missing persons cases are hard anyway. Not to mention that the best chance of finding someone is within forty-eight hours of his disappearance. A trail several months cold? Nearly impossible. Add the secrecy involved, that I’m not allowed to talk to the boy’s mother, that I have to do this with no support from other police, forensics, and no back-up. All of that I’d accepted. But when the one person I
can
talk to lies to me…” His words trailed off.