The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (20 page)

His witch, sashaying around camp by herself.

He spent another fruitless half-hour around the fires, his internal twitching becoming more pronounced. He knew it was at least a half-hour early, but he didn’t care anymore. It was time to meet Trina. If she wasn’t there, he would use his Gift to hunt her down.

Trina pushed into the crowd, oblivious to the people she’d been so anxious to spend time with as her anger churned a hole through her stomach.

How dare he imply I might blow it? I know what’s at stake. It would serve him right if I took this opportunity, got drunk, and played around. Danced until my feet bled! If it weren’t for the fact that I’m focused on finding clues to the tribe’s problem, I’d do it.
Screw him and his contract!

But she couldn’t let her family down.

“Come on babe, dance with us.” A rough-cheeked head-banger with multiple piercings pulled her into the dancing. She shimmied, laughed, and flirted more than she would have, looking all the time over her shoulder for Logan. But he wasn’t there to prove her point to and she halfheartedly danced a few more minutes before pulling away.

Winding her way through the throng, she stared at the orange, blue, and yellow flags of all the tribes present. Tough rams emblazoned the side of the MacBrennen’s huge bus. Sharp spears on Kearney’s. Every one of the seven tribes had come to play and parlay at the meet. All but one.

No flags with the MacElvy’s Green Man flew. No RV’s with rampant vines painted on their doors. No indication anywhere that her tribe had ever existed. Or was even missed. No questions. No suspicion. No fear.

Bitterness clogged the back of her throat as she made her way under the moon searching for the Boyd’s red dragon. No one here had had to deal with treachery and extinction. They turned their heads and pretended that if they didn’t look, the bogey behind the door would have moved on to someone else’s closet. But she knew better.

The moon had risen high in the sky and the party was a wild thing by the time she located the red dragon banners of the Boyd’s main encampment. She skirted campfires full of flirting, debating, living gypsies, ending up in front of the fires surrounding the distinctive black and red Boyd tribal tent.

Scanning the crowd for Mariella, the current head of the clan, she was welcomed and directed into the Boyd’s massive gathering tent. Just another pretty girl around the campfire with a fake face and a made-up name. If they’d been MacElvy’s and she’d been a spy, the queen would have had a heyday scything through the drunken welcoming group.

Trina stepped through piles of innocent sleeping children and made her way to the back of the tent. She recognized one of the gossiping elders and her knees weakened.

This woman was a distant relative by marriage, and she was alive.

Trina held onto a table, getting her legs to firm up and swallowing her resentment. This woman didn’t have the MacElvy blood, nor the MacElvy name. A second or third cousin by marriage, she was free to live her life here in the bosom of the Boyds.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I have a word with you outside where it’s quieter?” she asked.

The woman’s soft-aged face held no sense of recognition, just a quiet curiosity and confusion as she led the way outside.

“And what exactly is it you need to ask me, young lady? What couldn’t be said in front of Marta and Bitsy? Hey?”

“Do you think I could see Mariella tonight? I have something personal to ask her.”

“Are you sure it’s Mariella you want? She doesn’t have any one your age in her family ready for a marriage contract. Not that I can think of.” The woman’s eyes turned shrewd. She maneuvered so that the light fell on Trina’s glamoured face and examined her in a magpie fashion, head cocked, small black eyes darting from side to side. Trina did her best to keep her face relaxed and prayed to Danu that the glamour held.

“Yes, he said I should see her in private.” She kept her smile easy and convincing, praying her sweaty palms and rapid heartbeat stayed hidden.

“Well, you can’t see her now. It’s late and she’s an old woman. The council will be convening soon and she needs to rest. Do you want to tell me what this is about? I might be able to help.” The woman’s soft-lined lips pursed and her forehead creased. Her black eyes still moved side-to-side, sensing something amiss, but not finding it.

“No, he said I would need to see her. It’s inter-tribal, and delicate.”

“Oh, I see.” The woman’s face relaxed. Inter-tribal marriages did require the approval of the head of the tribe. This woman hadn’t been able to place her, and finding out she wasn’t a Boyd wasn’t much of a surprise. The truth was, no one would ever suspect her of being a MacElvy. There were none left.

The woman led Trina to a large, private RV, away from the loud party tent, and went inside. After a few moments, she reappeared, held the metal door open, and gestured Trina into the lair of the dragon.

As Trina put her foot on the step the old woman clutched her arm, sharp fingers digging into the flesh. “She’s getting on, don’t keep her too long. And if she says no, then come back tomorrow. She may just need to think about it.”

“Th...th...thank-you.” The woman’s claw-like grip relaxed.

“Ah, I remember what it’s like to want to start your life.” The woman backed away from the trailer door a few steps and smiled a sad smile before shaking her head and returning to the large tent.

Trina exhaled.

Start her life. Would she ever be able to do that? She straightened her spine, lifted her chin high, and climbed up the three steps into the RV. The opulent red living room of the leader of not only the Boyds, but also the current appointed head of all of the Seven Tribes, was a hoarders paradise.

Wind chimes festooned the ceiling. Christmas lights and sparkly strands of beads strung from corner to corner. Frames of all shapes, sizes, and eras filled the walls. Old sepia-toned photos wedged in next to vibrant oil paintings, faded greeting cards, and children’s coloring book pages. A motley assortment of tables was piled high with small wooden jewelry boxes, books, chains, and a multitude of candles flickered in colorful glass jars next to overflowing ash trays.

High atop a pile of downy pillows, on a carved wooden throne that had no place in the modern RV, sat a vibrant old woman with sharp black eyes. Mariella Boyd. She held her body upright, as if a lifetime of sitting straight would keep her alive long beyond the grave.

Her whiskey rough voice was low and graveled and smelled of cigarettes. “Come in Caterina MacElvy,”

Trina stopped, unable to move a step further into the magpie’s den.

“Did you think you could hide under that faery glamour?” Mariella cackled. “From me? Arrogant fool. I have much of the blood in me, and I can see who you are without resorting to the spells this generation has come to rely on. We, who are old, remember the hours we used to spend training our inner sight.” She stabbed a finger in the direction of Trina’s face. “You younger generations have no discipline.”

Trina didn’t know what to do, what to think. She’d told Logan she trusted this woman, but now, deep in the heart of the Boyd encampment, she wasn’t so sure.

“Hurry up now! Come closer.”

Mariella’s unblinking basilisk stare had Trina shifting uncomfortably in her too tight lacings. She edged forward, careful not to disturb the trinkets packing the RV, and bowed.

“Trying to gain some ground, are you?” the old woman laughed, running down into a final hacking cough. She took several raspy breaths before continuing. “The rumor is you’re dead, young lady. Why aren’t you?”

Trina kept her head low and respectful, her hands clasped loose in front of her. The sapphire’s heavy weight tucked in her bodice was warm and reassuring against her skin. How the hell did Mariella know who she was? As confident as she had been when she pitched this to Logan, she wasn’t sure that the other tribes weren’t on the queen’s side. Too many years spent running had made her distrustful, even of her own kind.

“Why are you here?” Mariella asked.

“I call on the protection of the meet. I call on you, as head of the Seven Tribes to keep secret I’m still alive.”

“While you’re here, you have the protection of the meet. I wouldn’t violate the rules of our people and hand you over to that woman. You are my guest.” Mariella’s thick grey uni-brow developed a deep ridge. “You’re covered in glamour.” She peered closer at Trina and sniffed. “I smell fae. Who’s protecting you?” Her bony finger jabbed out again.

Trina flinched away. “I need information. I need the name of someone who might know why the queen wants the MacElvy’s dead.”

“Your people have been trying to find that out since the first killings started. What makes you think you will find it now?”

“If I don’t find out soon, my whole family will be gone.”

“How many of you are left?”

“It doesn’t matter how many of us remain. What matters is that you’re our leader. You’re responsible for us, for making sure we survive as a people. Help me understand and I may be able to save who’s left.” Trina reached out a hand to the old woman. “Help us, we’re dying!”

Mariella snorted. “Your tribe is already dead. Now I must save the other six tribes. How does helping you do anything for anyone else but yourselves?”

“Without the seventh tribe there’s an imbalance of power. I know other tribes want to take over MacElvy territory. If we start making bids for other tribe’s territories, our way of life will become extinct. Our tribes will start attacking each other, and we’ll come to the attention of not only the Tuatha De Danann, but also the human authorities. The police. And that’s never good.” They shared a look born of a common heritage of police persecution.

“True enough. One of the things the council addresses this week is the idea that the MacElvys do not need their territory to be so large, when there are so few of you left. If there are any left.” Her thick eyebrows raised. “The world is more crowded every day. Other tribes overflow their territories and are greedy for the space. Once our tribes would have sent off their sons to marry into the MacElvy’s and the population would have equalized that way, but now the young men are hungry for opportunity. It makes for instability.”

“Please. I know you must know something. You’ve been the leader of the Tribes for over twenty years. Help me. Please.”

“Why should I help you?” She spat, a ringing hit into the brass bowl at her feet. “Your tribe is weak. You have nothing to give me, my tribe, or your people. Nothing but the attention of that murdering tyrant, the queen of the fae. And nobody wants that.” Mariella’s lip curled.

Somewhere on the wall behind Trina a clock ticked seconds off. One, two, three…

She lifted her head. “I have nothing you want. Today. But tomorrow I may know why she’s focused on our tribe. I might know if your tribe or any of the others will be singled out, targeted for murder like the MacElvys. And you’ll have nothing to bargain with then. Nothing to save you, your tribe, or your people. Nothing to save you from destruction.”

Mariella stared at her as the clocks on the wall ticked off the seconds. Trina kept her spine straight and tight. The time for bowing was past. This woman didn’t understand it or respect it.

The old woman sighed. “Very well, I’m listening. Tell me, what information do you think I have that will help you?”

“I need to know the name of the fae that tried to help my tribe at the beginning of this massacre.”

“You’re speaking of the failed negotiations that occurred, mmm… fifteen years ago? Are you sure you wish to be involved with more of the Tuatha De Danann? You already reek of their magic and one thing is sure, they won’t have your best interests at heart. We gypsies live long lives compared to most of humanity, but to the elves we are short lived creatures who multiply quickly. They will have to deal with the queen long after you are gone. Don’t forget, the fae always extract a payment, and it’s never cheap.”

“My life is short if I do something and shorter if I don’t. I’ll take the risk.”

Mariella gave Trina a long hard look. Her face twitched, the dry skin cracking into fissures as her cigarette-rough throat wheezed out a laugh. She stretched her lips into a grimace.

“Stubborn, like your mother. Like all the MacElvy’s. Surprising not more of you have survived. You’ll do.” She sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you what I can. But be warned…by coming here you may have let more demons out of the bag then you’ve bargained for.”

The old woman with the soft face and darting eyes stepped out of the shadow of the tribal RV and watched the glamoured girl slip into the dark. After making sure the intruder was gone, she climbed slowly into the vehicle, shutting and locking the door behind her, before continuing up the last of the stairs.

“Was she who you thought she might be?” she asked.

Mariella turned away from the window, her glamour of age and coloring melted away until she became her usual red haired and youthful sixty-something.

“Yes. A MacElvy for sure. And stupid. Really stupid to think I wouldn’t know.”

“The MacElvy’s blood is diluted.”

“Few in the Tribes have the strong fae blood of our family, sister.” Mariella’s eyes were still dark. “MacElvy’s are alive. That is disturbing news.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.