The Earl's Childe (12 page)

“Michael, we're talking about a” (several descriptive words I should never repeat) “—Unseelie faerie here. One slip-up where you look into their eyes or fall for some trap, and they
kill
you.” Mum added more colorful language to describe “slipup” and “kill,” but she wasn't done. “If they're feeling
benevolent
and merciful, they
just
kill you. Do you get that?”

Dad was silent for a moment. “It seems like one slip-up and the lord and lady faerie who share our property might just be ‘merciful' and kill us. If we don't make a deal and let them
own
us, that is.”

“No. Michael.” Mum cast me an uncomfortable look. “You don't get it. You don't
want
to know what an Unseelie will do to us, to our children, to
anyone we love
, if they're feeling even a fraction less than benevolent and merciful. And mind you, to even get an Unseelie to feel benevolent and merciful means they say ‘jump' and you say ‘how high will please you the most, O Great Master?' Is that any clearer? It means, the Unseelie comes in and says, ‘Give me your children as slaves, and I won't amuse myself by torturing them in front of you…or make you watch their faces while I torture you in front of them.' Are you getting a better idea now?”

Dad scowled at her. “So, are you suggesting we give up?”

“I'm not
suggesting
anything. I'm
telling
you to find it in your heart, for the sake of this family, to swallow your damned pride and make amends to the fey cat, so we can figure out exactly how much danger we all are in and
do
something about it.”

Dad didn't respond with more than a sour glare and a pinched face.

Mum sighed. “Look, I know it's not easy for you right now. You
know
I know…just…” She shook her head. “I don't know what else to say, right now. But
you
have to fix it this time, Michael. And you have to do it the
right
way, without putting anyone else in danger.”

His glare at Mum intensified, but I could tell it was fueled with more hurt than anger. This time, she stood and glared right back.

Neither gave in. The energy in the room started to feel hot and prickly, even though the sun was barely making it through the clouds and windows. It was getting difficult to breathe.

I cleared my throat. “Um…”

Without looking away from Dad, Mum said, “You are excused for now, Heather. And while I understand why you did it, you
are
still grounded and you are still not to leave the inside of this castle without our permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mum,” I squeaked.

“Good. Now, go see if Mrs. McInnis and Ms. Eliza need any help putting some tea together for our guests.”

“Yes, Mum.” No argument here. I wanted out of that office even more than I had when they were both mad at me for getting involved with the whole kelpie mess.

Leaving the room, though, didn't settle the sick churning in my stomach. I could
feel
the fight still going on between my parents. Making me even sicker was the thought that if I hadn't gotten involved with the kelpie and the faerie, they wouldn't be having this argument at all.

My brother Rowan joined Lily and me (me being there with permission, this time) as we fed Erwnmyr. We filled in both the kelpie and my younger brother on what had happened today. Rowan took my dad's mania better than Ermie did, which was kind of surprising.

In fact, Rowan pulled me aside while I was filling Ermie's trough. “You can't stay angry at Dad.” I could tell my brother was nervous because he spoke especially slowly and enunciated each word. “You know he didn't mean to hurt you. He doesn't know better, and he gets…like I do, when people are angry.”

I swallowed, taken aback by my eight-year-old brother's insight. “I made sure Dad knows I still love him, and I do. And he's listening to Mum. We-we're getting through it.”

Eherwnmyr, for his part, closed his mind so forcefully it almost hurt. When I sent him a feeling of a question without any words, like how he sometimes communicated to me, he paused and looked at me.

You would be angry and unhappy with what I am thinking
.

That made my already sick stomach feel even sicker. Yes, I…appreciated, if that's the right word…him not sharing his perfectly awful kelpie thoughts with me. But obviously, he
was
having perfectly awful kelpie thoughts about my dad, and I certainly didn't want Ermie to think of that at all, ever! No matter how angry I was at my dad!

I will not harm your family. You've ordered such
.

“I don't want you to
want
to hurt anyone!”

The kelpie narrowed his eyes at me.
That is unfair to desire of me. It is impossible even for you!

“I don't ever want to
hurt
anyone.”

Lily cleared her throat, but didn't look at me.

Oh, yeah.
Her
mom. Jess. The one thing Lily couldn't forgive me for was hating her mother. Her mother, who had kidnapped Lily twice, and nearly killed her, almost ruined my dad's life, and just about dragged him away from
my
mother, because of some lawsuit over Lily, back when Mum nearly died in the hospital from having Rowan.

Admittedly, hurting
Jess
was something I
had
thought of on more than one occasion. And maybe had even written about two years ago, in my journal that my teacher promised to never read but did…xand then summoned me, Lily, and Dad into a rather difficult conference.

Lily had forgiven Jess; I hadn't. I
wouldn't
. She was still making our lives miserable. Jess had made a big deal about having Lily for the summer, and then ditched out a few days after Lily arrived to be in a movie in some foreign country. Also, she was talking about having rights to take Lily over Christmas break. Christmas was my dad's favorite time of year. Yes, I was mad at him, but I knew it would break his heart to not have Lily home for Christmas.

Ermie was staring at me with far more curiosity than I felt comfortable with. He didn't ask, and I didn't feel him prying.

“Fine,” I sighed. “But I can order you to not hurt anyone, ever!”

Not even if you are under attack from…say…a monster of a daoine síth who would enjoy torturing you? Would you rather I not feel compelled to defend you and your family?

I growled. “Fine. Fine! Okay, how about not actually
killing
any people? I mean…I know you have to kill, like, fish and stuff you eat. I get that. But no, like,
people
, like you or me… or things that think and talk. And definitely no
hurting
anyone in my family.” I glanced at Lily, who was looking at me out of the corner of her eye. “Absolutely anybody. Even if I don't like them. Okay? Is that a doable order?”

He tilted his head, then gave a belabored sigh.
It is ‘doable.' I think it is a foolish, childish order, but I shall do so
. He paused.
And I will not argue because you at least had the sense to recognize I was a ‘person' without hesitation
.

I sighed as he dipped his head into the fish-filled trough, and then I proceeded to clean the buckets. Lily helped me, giving me a small smile. Rowan finished mucking (which I thoroughly appreciated!), and we headed back inside.

I'd like to say that the rest of my night was uneventful.

God, I so wanted—no, I
needed!
—the rest of my night to be uneventful!

Such was not meant to be, though. And it wasn't even faery-or monster-related. It was simple, horrible, human awfulness.

CHAPTER

6

Where I find out the worst situation…can get even worse. And I can't do anything about it
.

I felt eyes on me as I arranged myself, now in pyjamas, on the bed with Old Benson Bear. Having declined to watch the recorded
American Idol
episode that Lily just
had
to see, I was by myself, hoping to escape my fears. Fears of ghosts (because the castle was haunted, too). Fears of what was going to happen, since we clearly weren't getting any answer to Lord Cadmus and Lady Fana tonight. Fears about my dad's sanity.

Feeling as if I were being stared at was a weird, though not creepy, feeling that interrupted all my awful thoughts. But it was enough to make me jump a little, enough to lose my place in the book I wasn't really reading. I looked up.

Mum was leaning in my doorway, eyes puffy and rimmed with red, like she had been crying. Mum
never
let anyone see her cry. Well, hardly ever. She tried to hide it all the time. Her lips were pressed together.

A million awful things flew through my head. Was she going to leave Dad? Was someone else hurt or missing? Had the faerie given her a message that we were going to be attacked?

“What?” I squeaked out.

Mum sucked in a sniffle and said, “You know how your dad and I made you promise to tell us right away whenever you found out about anything awful, no matter how upset we were or what kind of day we had?”

I nodded. “What is it?”

“Come with me. You need to see this.”

I jumped out of bed, letting Old Benson and my book fall where they would, and ran to her side. She put her arm around me and led me to the family room, where Dad, Lily, and even Ginny and Anita were glued to the television screen, which showed pictures of grey streets with military cars and people running with guns.

“…and Buckingham Palace has offered no comment on the rumor that Prince Christopher and Princess Maryan, along with their three children, were visiting the Princess' family in Bahrain before the rebellion broke out. No word of the royal family's whereabouts has been given…”

“Oh, God!” I squeaked.
We
knew. Princess Maryan had told us, herself, that they were taking a holiday to go visit her family in Bahrain.

My heart stopped. It really and truly stopped. That's what it felt like. I don't remember moving, or being moved, to the couch. All of a sudden, I was squished between my parents and having to remember to breathe every so often when my lungs hurt because I'd forgotten to inhale or exhale. The cats, who normally refused couch-eviction, weren't anywhere to be seen. One of my parents, I didn't know which…maybe both or maybe they took turns…would rub my back or my braids. At my feet, I felt the bony warmth of Isis curling between our legs.

When the newscast was over, and I was still processing “rebellion” and “terrorist attacks” and “attack on a British-allied regime” and “palace and British embassy bombed in a tandem attack,” Mum rushed over to the desks and grabbed her laptop, barely keeping from falling over the dog, who started whining softly. Dropping back on the couch with a “Ssh!” to Isis, Mum started pulling up windows and tabs, faster than I could follow, about how there had been some hints of this rebellion earlier, and how people should have “read the signs” to prevent the high casualties
—casualties?

“Mum, do you think?” I choked.

“I don't know, sweetie.”

“No,” my dad said more firmly, leaning over to scratch the dog as she scrambled to snuggle near him. “No. With what they're doing, the anti-British sentiment, they'd make a big deal if…if anything happened to them.” He looked up at my sister, who was typing on her computer. “Lily! What are you doing?”

“Writing—”

“Don't write anything. Nothing about this, do you hear? It's better if
no one
knows that they're over there. Don't talk about it
at all!
You'll be putting them in danger!”

“I wasn't…” She frowned and then pressed the delete key.

“Turn it off. Now,” he said.

“But, Da-ad!”

“Lily, please.” He rubbed his eyes.

My sister groaned. I heard the logoff music, but I wasn't looking anywhere except Mum's computer. I caught bits and pieces, but I didn't read nearly as fast as she did. On her hip, where I was leaning to see better, I felt her phone buzz. We both jumped. She shoved the computer onto Ginny's lap and me off of her lap and stood, fishing in her pocket.