Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae (20 page)

That faerie couldn’t attack Eilidh directly because of her personal power. Someone very much wanted to hurt Eilidh, if not kill her. Munro had seen people murder for money and for love. Oddly, those who killed for love included those motivated by jealousy, spite, and good old-fashioned revenge.

He pretty much discounted money as a motive, although he couldn’t dismiss power. Who would believe they would get Eilidh’s power by her removal from the picture? Would anyone hurt her for jealousy, spite, or revenge? The only name jumping out at him was that of Cadhla, the former queen. She fit every one of those motives a hundred times over. She’d hated Eilidh and been jealous of her before they’d even met because Eilidh’s popularity grew after she killed Cridhe.
Great
, Munro thought.
One concrete suspect, and she’s dead.

At least his thought process brought him to the conclusion the attacks must be personal more than political. Someone had what they believed to be a good reason to hate Eilidh. According to Eilidh’s own investigation, the killer had astral powers strong enough to confuse those Watchers and subconsciously convince them they had seen Munro just before the killing. The conclusion let Griogair and Tràth off the hook, much to Munro’s relief.

Besides, Griogair hated Cadhla and had planned to kill her, so he wouldn’t seek revenge for his former wife’s death. Tràth was more complicated. He had every reason to despise his mother, but relationships between family twisted sometimes. Tràth might have resented Eilidh for taking the throne that should have passed to him. But Leith’s killer had been gifted with astral magic, the realm of the mind. Tràth had no ability in that area and had never exhibited even the smallest hint of ambition.

During the last miles to the castle, Munro worked to clear his head of the buzzing theories. He touched his connection with Eilidh. Her emotions mirrored his own anger, worry, and doubts, so he did his best to steady his resolve, to give her a firm foundation, and let her sense his love. His efforts might not amount to much, but they were all he had to offer.

At the last minute, he made a detour to the druid’s villa. He’d promised Eilidh he’d talk to them about her offer, but even more pressing, they’d probably heard about Rory by now.

The villa stood in quiet darkness. Munro walked to the back room where Flùranach had her accident with Tràth. He remembered the last time he’d seen her as a little girl. She’d been sweet and playful. He’d thought of her as family. All that came to an end when she attacked Rory. As a cop, he’d witnessed kids going out of control, drinking, hanging with a bad crowd, getting into drugs, and stealing to pay for them. Too often, the parents said they didn’t see it coming. He’d rarely believed them, but now he wondered. Should he have seen this coming?

A breeze made the curtains flutter, and the loss loomed. There would be no going back to the musical family mornings they’d shared in this room.

He turned to go, and had just reached the front door when Aaron and Phillip approached from the direction of the castle. They looked as sad as he felt. He raised his hand in greeting, and they acknowledged him with grim smiles.

“How’s Rory?” Munro asked.

“Better,” Aaron said. “He seems to have come through the shock, and Oron and a couple others are helping him with the pain.”

“He’s still in pain?” Munro was surprised.

“He said it’s like wearing a shock collar all the time,” Phillip said. “If she gets upset or angry, it gives him a jolt. I guess she’s pretty much continually upset.”

Aaron looked at the villa. “I’d started to like it here.”

“You’re thinking of leaving?” When Munro first met the druids, Aaron had been the de facto leader of the group, the one the others looked to. If he left, they might follow.

“I dunno.” Aaron shook his head and ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Nothing is the same anymore.”

Munro didn’t know what to say. He’d been thinking the same thing, yet he didn’t want them to go. “There’s more you should know,” he said.

“You look different. Has something happened?” Phillip asked.

He started to answer just as Douglas came down the path, deep in conversation with Prince Tràth. They were rarely apart since they bonded.

“Hey,” Munro said, nodding to them both.

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asked, looking serious. “Something about Rory?”

Munro shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. But I’ve learned something about us.” He glanced at Tràth. “The druids.”

The young prince raised a dark eyebrow. “Shall I excuse myself?” he asked with a glance at Douglas.

“No,” Douglas said. To the others he said, “Anything we say, I’ll tell him anyway. If you don’t want him to be a part of the conversation, you’d best leave me out as well.”

Munro considered. He wasn’t sure what Tràth would think about what he learned in the Halls of Mist, but he understood Douglas’ position. Munro would have a difficult time keeping secrets from Eilidh. Even if he didn’t tell her something, she always suspected when he was holding back. “Okay,” he said finally. He glanced at the house and thought of Flùranach. “How about we go down by the water?”

The others seemed relieved at the suggestion, so the five of them walked the short distance to the wide, blue river. The stone wheel they’d worked on lay nearby, discarded when tragedy struck and their attention had been called to their friend.

They sat on the grassy banks, and Munro watched insects skipping on the water’s surface. They looked like a cross between grasshoppers and dragonflies, but more spindly, with iridescent purple wings.

He told the others about the Killbourne Wall and the tale written there, about the male and female druids who made a portal to a new place they named the Otherworld.

“Humans built the first gate between the realms?” Douglas asked.

“There’s more,” Munro said. Rather than just tell them, he turned to Tràth. “Tell them why you’ve been wary of me ever since you arrived tonight.”

Tràth tilted his head, and Douglas glanced at him. “I noticed something was wrong,” Douglas said, “But I thought he was worried about Rory, about all of us and what we’re going to do.”

The prince studied Munro. “You have the aura of a faerie,” he said.

“That’s because we aren’t just druids, we are what the fae call
draoidh
.”

Tràth’s blue eyes widened. He glanced at Douglas as though half-expecting him to transform before his eyes, then back at Munro. “The draoidh died out thousands of years ago, before the oldest living faeries’ parents were even born. What proof do you have of the claim?”

“I touched the Source Stone,” Munro said quietly. “It’s druid-made.”

“What is a
draoidh
?” Phillip asked.

“They were sorcerers,” Tràth said. “The most feared and powerful faeries in any realm. Even queens strove to curry favour with them. They could claim any land, any property, any mate. Some were tyrannical, but most were not. For all the power they wielded, they were notorious for keeping to themselves, mostly staying apart from faerie society. In every story I’ve ever heard, they were ancient. No one ever encountered a young sorcerer.”

“Sorcerers?” Aaron said and gestured to the stone wheel beside the water. “We can barely get a rock to do what we want. Except for making magical trinkets and the ability to grant the one azuri fae we bond with some extra powers, what can we do that is such a big deal?”

Munro stared at the large stone and longed to touch it. His gift beckoned him often, but the calling had grown even stronger since his encounters in the Halls of Mist. Instead of going to the stone, he picked up a smooth pebble from the river’s edge and rolled it between his fingers. Otherworld rocks were like putty, wanting to be shaped to his whim. He’d never understood the difference, until he read the Killbourne Wall.

“The draoidh didn’t just build a portal to this place. They created the Otherworld with magic—magic like ours. Magic of water, stone, fire, air, blood, spirit, thought, and time.”

“If we found druids with all eight powers, we could create another world?” Phillip’s eyes shone in the darkness. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Munro said. He held up the pebble in his hand. He had shaped it as he talked, unconsciously giving the rock the form of a small tree-frog. Ever since he’d first created his talismans, he understood some element of the process was missing. Now he knew what. With his thumbnail, he carved a rune onto the frog’s back. He breathed intent into the lines. As he finished, the rune melted into the little creature’s back. When the animal jumped out of Munro’s hand, the other druids jumped back. “I don’t know,” he repeated, “But I’m planning to stay and find out.”

“What about Rory?” Aaron asked.

“We’ll find a way to help Rory,” Munro replied. “When word gets out that we’re draoidh, at least we won’t need to worry about anyone else trying what Flùranach did.”

“Are you sure?” Phillip asked.

Tràth interrupted. “He’s right. This news changes everything.” He picked up the stone frog. The creature hadn’t gained flesh or begun to breathe. It was still a pebble, but one imbued with power. He handed it back to Munro with reverence.

“What about Flùranach?” Aaron said. “I liked the kid as much as anyone, but she’s changed, and what she did to Rory…” He paused, obviously having difficulty saying the words out loud. “Even if the other faeries keep their hands off us because of this
draoidh
thing, we can’t act like nothing happened. They’re talking about executing her. I’ll be the first to say I’m not thrilled with the idea, but her death might break this slave bond she forced on Rory.”

“We need her,” Munro said with a sigh.

“Why?” Aaron said, his voice tight with anger. “She attacked him, stole his bond, and now he’s more like a zombie than any of us wants to admit.”

“Because as far as I know, she’s the only one who can find more of us.” He told them about Huck and that both she and Rory were confident she could find more.

“Eilidh found you,” Aaron countered. “Maybe she has the same gift.”

Munro shook his head. “She found me because our bonds are compatible, a one in a million chance. Cridhe told me his father had the same ability as Flùranach.”

“So there might be others to do what Flùranach can?” Douglas asked.

Munro shrugged. “Maybe. Either way, we have to make sure Flùranach is kept alive.”

“Why’s that?” Aaron said.

“If they execute her, they may well kill Rory too. I honestly don’t know. So many things I was told about druids were wrong. I’d always thought we were only male, that we could only have one of the four earth powers. I will say this much, if Eilidh died, I…” He didn’t know how to put his fears into words. His mind rejected playing through the possibilities.

“He’s right,” Douglas said, looking at Tràth. “If Flùranach’s bond with Rory is anything like ours, executing her would undo him, even if it didn’t kill him.”

“Maybe that would be better than this though,” Aaron said. “Go talk to Rory, Munro. See what she’s done and tell me you wouldn’t rather be dead.”

Before leaving, Munro pulled Tràth aside. “Can you tell me anything that will help me understand what happened to Flùranach?” he asked. “Would this time thing put her out of her right mind? Did she realise what she was doing when she attacked Rory?”

Tràth watched Munro thoughtfully. “You wish to help her?”

“Of course I do. She’s been like a kid sister to all of us. Yeah, I’m angry, but if some outside force compelled her to act like this, that changes everything.”

“Time,” Tràth began in a measured tone, “is not a hallucinogen or an intoxicating influence, if that’s what you’re asking.” He paused with a frown. “But encountering time would overwhelm most anyone. I wish I could show you.”

“No thanks,” Munro said.

Tràth chuckled. “Wise of you.” He shifted slightly. “I understand what you want me to say, but I can only tell you I have seen the time stream every moment of my life since I was born. The experience has not made me violent.”

Munro’s hopes fell. He’d wanted to convince himself Flùranach hadn’t attacked Rory of her own free will.

“But remember, even to your own people, she’s a child. To ours, she’s an infant. A gifted, remarkable infant.”

He’d put into words what troubled Munro the most. Even Scottish law didn’t hold small children responsible for crimes.

Tràth went on. “I know what people say about me. I’m strange, difficult, distant.” He caught Munro’s expression and chuckled. “More than most fae, that is. I can’t say if what they believe is true, but I do wonder. If I didn’t hear the constant roar of passing time, would I be different? Would I understand peace and happiness?” He took on a vacant expression for a moment. “I think if I hadn’t bonded with Douglas, I would’ve gone mad eventually.” He glanced across the room where his druid stood with the others.

Munro followed his line of sight and caught the reassuring nod Douglas gave, even though he couldn’t possibly overhear the conversation. “Thanks, Tràth,” Munro said. The prince’s words gnawed at him.

He’d run into a lot of domestic violence where the abuser blamed alcohol or drugs and later showed remorse, swearing not to do it again. Every case made him angry, and yet, he remembered what a sweet little girl Flùr had been a mere few weeks before. He, of all people, should understand what a sudden influx of magical influence did to a person. He touched the stone frog in his pocket. He was lucky. What if the Source Stone had exposed him to something dark and dangerous? A year ago, a magical ritual had turned the faerie performing the rite into a serial killer. Of course, Munro hadn’t met Cridhe before and doubted he’d ever been a bundle of sunshine. Still, the event reminded Munro not all magic was benevolent.

Regardless of what she’d done, they needed her. Not a single one of the other hundreds of azuri or the hundreds of thousands of earth fae in Caledonia had shown any signs they sensed druid magic. If the druids wanted to learn the truth and explore their abilities, they would have to use her to increase their numbers.