Fey 02 - Changeling (97 page)

"We're willing," Coulter said.
 
His grip on Adrian had loosened.
 
The fly had left the crumbs and landed on Coulter's leg.
 
He didn't brush it away.
 
Adrian saw that as a good sign.

"We'll listen," Adrian said.
 
"But if there's trouble, we'll leave."

"There hasn't been trouble here in years," Scavenger said.
 
"I loathe trouble."

"So do I," Adrian said, wishing he had never seen the Fey in the first place.
 
"So do I."

FIFTY-THREE

Gift pressed his back against the wall of his cabin.
 
There was no mist in Shadowlands, nothing to hide in.
 
His mother stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder.
 
Even that didn't comfort him.

His grandfather was angry.

He had stood outside the house and asked for Gift to come out.
 
Niche had brought Gift out against his will.
 
He had stopped at the door when he saw his grandfather.

His grandfather had always looked bigger than the other Fey.
 
Not that he was.
 
Gift had seen other Fey who were taller, but his grandfather had presence — a way of looking at the world that made him scarier than anyone Gift had ever known.

He looked very scary now.
 
His cape was draped over his shoulder, his shirt laces were undone, and his boots shone.
 
His hair flowed loose around his face.
 
Gift had never seen him this disheveled, but that wasn't what scared him.

It was his grandfather's eyes.

They flashed with a dark anger that coursed through Gift's dreams.
 
A blackness surrounded his grandfather, a blackness Gift had always seen, but had always attributed to the cloak.

But not today.

"I haven't seen him," Gift said, knowing his grandfather would ask about Coulter again.

"I know that," his grandfather said.
 
"But I want you to find him."

His mother's hand tightened on his shoulder.
 
Her face was still gray with pain.
 
Her wings weren't healing well and she had to work harder with his father away.

"I don't want Gift to leave Shadowlands," his mother said.

"I'm not talking about Gift leaving," his grandfather said.
 
His gaze was still trained on Gift.
 
It was as if his mother didn't even exist, as if only he and his grandfather were having the conversation.

"I don't know where he is," Gift said again, knowing what his grandfather was asking, but preferring to ignore it.

"You could though," his grandfather said.

Gift pushed against the building.
 
The unfinished wood bit into his back.
 
He couldn't move any farther away.
 
"Mom doesn't want me to leave."

"You're not that dumb, boy," his grandfather snapped.
 
"You know what I want."

"I can't ask for Visions," Gift whispered.
 
His grandfather wanted to hurt Coulter.
 
He knew that as clearly as he knew his own name.

"I'm not talking about a Vision.
 
I'm asking you to look along your Link.
 
He Enchants, right?
 
And he Linked the two of you.
 
Look through the Link and tell me what you see."
 

His mother's hand tightened on his shoulder.
 
Her fingers weren't very strong.
 
"Perhaps we should go inside," she said.

"He can do as well out here," his grandfather said.

"But you might want privacy," she said.

They already had privacy.
 
The Fey were hiding in their cabins.
 
No one was outside.
 
No one at all.

His grandfather shook his head.
 
He was too impatient to go inside.
 
He wanted Coulter now.
 
Gift could feel that.
 
He could feel and see it in the blackness surrounding his grandfather.

His grandfather reached for Gift, but Gift slid away.

"Find the boy, Gift," his grandfather said.

Gift shook his head.
 
Coulter had saved his life.
 
They all knew that.
 
If Coulter thought it best to hide from his grandfather, Gift wasn't going to question it.

"Gift," his mother said, "it might not hurt."

"Look," his grandfather said.
 
"The Islander servant stole Coulter from Shadowlands.
 
It's not safe out there for us.
 
He'll die."

"He's not Fey," Gift said. "He told me."

His grandfather sucked in a breath.
 
He frowned for a moment, then the expression disappeared from his face.
 
He crouched in front of Gift.
 
"It's still not safe.
 
He's never left this place.
 
He doesn't know the world."

"He's strong," Gift said.
 
"He can take care of himself."

"Gift," his mother said.
 
"Your grandfather is only asking for help to find him."

With both of them against him, Gift couldn't fight.
 
At least not directly.
 
"I don't know how to find him," Gift whispered.

"Sure you do, boy," his grandfather said.
 
"You're Linked."

"He may not, Rugar," his mother said.
 
"He did come to his talent very young."

The frown was back, but so small his mother probably couldn't notice it.
 

"Maybe the Shaman could help," Gift said.

His grandfather slid out a hand so quickly that Gift couldn't get away.
 
The touch sparked Gift's Vision, like it did before.
 
Gift saw all the Links:
 
the one between him and his mother, three others leading out of Shadowlands.
 
Those Links were all white.
 
But a fifth Link appeared, black and ugly, and faded.
 
It had clearly been severed.

There was no Link between him and his grandfather.
 
None at all.

That lack gave Gift courage.

"I think," he said quietly, "the Shaman should help."

His grandfather let go of him, apparently unaware that Gift's Sight had changed.
 
The blackness was rolling around him, as if it were ready to explode.

"I won't see the Shaman," his grandfather said.
 
"You will find him.
 
Now."

"I can't," Gift said.

"Gift," his mother said.
 
"Your grandfather has been very good to us."

Gift didn't agree with that.
 
His grandfather only came by when he wanted something.
 
He squinted at his grandfather.
 
"You don't have the magic to make me," he said.

"Oh, but I do," his grandfather said.
 
He grabbed Gift by the shoulders, and his touch sent waves through Gift's body.
 
They were bound somehow.
 
Not Linked, but connected through their magic.
 
His grandfather's magic was gone, long gone, but enough remnants remained to trigger something within Gift.

For a moment, Gift clung to his grandfather.
 
Then Gift's consciousness slid down one of the white Links leading out of Shadowlands.
 
Gift could feel Coulter's terror along that Link, and he saw bits of light as he traveled, protective light.

"Good," his grandfather said.
 
His eyes were wide.
 
Gift pulled himself away, stumbling against the wall, but it felt too late.
 
His mind was still traveling along the Link.
 
If his grandfather touched him again, his grandfather would see Coulter's trail as clearly as Gift did.

Gift closed his eyes, touched the wall, and felt very far away from his body.
 
He concentrated as hard as he could, and when the Links merged in the Circle Door, he jumped from Coulter's Link to another.

The Link Gift landed on felt old and familiar.
 
He skidded down it fast, his mind traveling along the pathway as it had done a thousand times before.

But never consciously.
 
He never remembered doing this journey.
 
He only knew he had done it.

If he looked back along the Link, he could see the Circle Door closing, and farther beyond that, he saw his grandfather and mother crouching over his collapsed body.
 
His grandfather was about to touch him as the Door closed.

Gift suddenly found himself in a room made of stone.
 
Everything was bright here and warm.
 
He was leaning against a woman who held him tightly, crooning to him.
 
He felt as big as he did at home, too big to be held, but it felt good nonetheless.
 
There were square holes in the walls, and someone had placed fabric on those holes.
 
A crib stood in the middle of the room, and in it, a baby girl cooed.

His sister.

He remembered her.
 

He patted the woman's hand and walked to the crib.
 
He was about to peer down when he felt another presence in his body.
 
His grandfather's consciousness pushed him aside.
 
Gift's head swiveled and he toppled over, landing with a thud on the floor.

The woman cried out something in a language he did not understand.
 
A cat came over and sniffed him.
 
His grandfather made the body recoil.
 
The cat had a cool expression on its face as if it saw something it disliked.
 
It made a whoofing noise through its nose, then backed away, hair rising on its neck.

His grandfather cursed.
 
Then he grabbed the part of Gift that had traveled down the Link.

Take me to Coulter.

Gift shrugged.
 
The body responded, shoulders scraping on the floor.
 
I thought he was here.

You lie, boy.
 
I'll find him.
 
His grandfather slid along the Link, heading toward the Circle Door, toward the place where Gift had split away.
 
Gift closed his eyes and stretched out on the floor.
 
His grandfather would not find Coulter, not without Gift's help.
 
And for the moment, Gift wasn't leaving.

He knew this place.
 
He had been here before.
 
It had been safe here.
 
He used to come here in dreams.
 
It was his secret place.

Now his grandfather knew about it.