(It is recommended that you read TME Volume 2, Chapter 20, Part 1 prior to reading this installment.)
The bookstore was across the city, in a quieter, older part of town not too far from the fairy community area. As we got out of the car at the bookstore, Sorrel suggested stopping at the fairy gardens when we left, if I wanted. I think he was under the impression I’d probably not seen fairy gardens before, but I’d been all over the world and seen a lot of things. Still, fairy gardens here were likely slightly different from others I’d seen, so it never hurt to see them.
I got quite wrapped up in the bookstore, though. Old books, some about supernaturals – the store was run by a grumpy-looking gryphon who looked ancient, but maybe that was just because it also looked like he hadn’t moved quite possibly in years.
While I was running my eyes over the covers, looking for books of interest, Sorrel started finding random books with funny or strange titles and bringing them over to show me, sharing his amusement over the titles or, in one case, the cover illustration which looked like the artist had likely been high – and definitely not lucid – when designing it.
When he returned for the third time to show me a couple of books, I had one for him, too.
Sorrel raised one eyebrow when he read the title. “Farey Fakes: How Fareys Deceive Us All?” He flipped open the book and had to set the other books down to cover his mouth before he laughed out loud. “Chapter 1 is called ‘Fareys Aren’t Real’? Also, side note, the author has no idea how to spell ‘fairies.’”
“It appears,” I informed him in my calm, emotionless tone, “that you are actually not a real supernatural and only pretending to be one.”
Sorrel laughed out loud, then quickly clamped his hand over his mouth as the bookstore owner glared at us, Sorrel’s eyes still brimming with mirth. “I’m almost tempted to get it just to find out how we’ve been deceiving people for centuries,” he murmured in a lower voice.
I nodded once. “It may be worthwhile so you know what crimes to charge yourself with.”
Sorrel muffled his laughter again, but to my surprise actually did keep the book. I’d only intended to show it to him for the amusement value, but maybe it would actually be an entertaining read, too, seeing what some old grouch had against fairies to the point they wrote an entire book claiming they were fake.
I eventually decided I needed to stop browsing and we made our purchases – Sorrel’s Farey Fakes book and a couple of books I’d found on old supernatural history that I hadn’t read yet – and left the books in the car while we walked towards a nearby restaurant to grab some food.
Sorrel was telling me animatedly about one of his patients that week and how the owners were so paranoid they were bringing it in for basically tripping over its own legs while playing, when something in me set off warning bells.
I didn’t know what it was, exactly, that triggered the sense of alarm, because I couldn’t see anything in particular along the nearly empty street – this wasn’t a popular hangout area on the weekends – that should have made me feel worried, but I knew better than to ignore that feeling.
I stopped abruptly, looking around sharply, and Sorrel pulled up mid-step, looking back at me.
“What’s wr – ”
He didn’t finish his sentence as something hit him, hard, knocking him across the street at the same time some sort of magic seemed to hit him. He was left gasping, on one knee, blood starting to trickle from a shallow gash in his side.
I had been standing there, in full view of him, and had seen nothing attack him. Nothing at all. He had simply responded as if something had attacked him, and was left with a sharp blade wound for his troubles.
My mind instantly put the pieces together, and almost before he came to a complete stop, I was standing in front of him, ice stretching out around us along the ground, the air cold.
“What – ” Sorrel started to say, grabbing at his side.
“The construct is here,” I interrupted.
The construct. The one which was trying to kill fairies. It was here, now, trying to kill Sorrel.
Sorrel’s phone started to vibrate, and I heard him curse low and then answer it. I almost told him this wasn’t the time for that, but then I heard what he was saying.
“I’m okay – for now. It’s the construct, Dad, don’t come. If you do and it gets you, we’re all in trouble. No, I know – I’m not alone. Just don’t come. I love you.” The he hung up, glancing back towards his car, then at me, then the ice around us.
“You think the ice will stop it?” He whispered softly.
Part of my brain was still processing the fact that his father had known he’d been injured almost instantly and had called him. That spoke of one thing – a protection mark. I couldn’t see one on him, but then, some powerful beings could hide theirs, and Adair was one of the most powerful fairies in the world, so. But his mark wouldn’t work here, not when his mark was fairy magic and this thing was designed specifically to counter fairy magic.
But the other part of my brain was in high gear, focused on trying to anticipate our opponent’s next move. Ice – no, ice probably wouldn’t do much. Slow it down, maybe, make it harder to approach, but even reducing its speed could be valuable.
I heard the slightest whisper of something and turned my head, trying to locate the sound, when something crashed into both of us, knocking me to the side while it focused on attempting to crush Sorrel.
It did not expect me to spin around and slam right back into it with all the force of a leopard leaping onto the back of a goat. I could hear cracking against the ice as it scrambled, then it was silent again.
Cursed invisibility made an object silent, but…I could hear it against the ice after all.
I quickly determined Sorrel was still alive. “Fly out of here,” I warned him. “It can’t follow you into the air.”
“Can’t,” he gasped. “I can’t – can’t fly, it did something to me.” He looked almost panicked as he realized. Almost, then he swallowed down that feeling and tried to get back onto his feet so he could run if needed.
I felt approval for his ability to handle himself in a fight, but concern about the idea that it had grounded him. Of course, though, a construct designed to hunt fairies would have to have a way to take care of their ability to fly or it could never catch them. That first bash of magic had likely affected his flying abilities.
I hoped the effect wasn’t permanent.
I heard the slightly sound of ice crack and shoved Sorrel abruptly, making him slide across the ice a few feet and out of the way of the incoming attack.
“Silence,” I told him. Then I closed my eyes.
I’d trained like this at times. Dampening one sense to heighten others. In this case, my eyes were working against me because I would never see the construct anyway. I wouldn’t hear the construct itself, but I could hear it against my ice, ice I was now spreading all around us as far as I dared without getting so far that humans might notice the entire street freezing.
I listened, intent, then the faint sound of ice and I swung out my hand with a wall of ice and freezing rain.
I heard it hit the construct, heard almost an echo of something, then silence again. Another creak, from another direction, and again, a wall of ice so thick and rapidly growing it had to slice through it to avoid being caught by its feet and trapped in the ice. Twice more, more ice, more rain, more snow, more wind – and each time it responded, I learned just a sliver of new information.
It tried a new tactic now, leaping into the air like it had before to try to leap across the ice and slam directly down into me, the closer target. I calculated the leap when I heard the movement of the ice and slipped out of my spot at the last moment, ramming it as soon as it landed and knocking it back into the wall of one of the buildings.
The wall itself cracked with the impact, and then there was silence.
Too much silence.
I opened my eyes. “I think it left.”
Sorrel’s eyes widened a bit, but he accepted my hand when I moved to help him to his feet, wincing a little with the movement.
“I think it’s mostly just bruises,” he told me, but limped a little as he walked back towards his car.
I followed him, alert, ice still spread, but not another crack was heard.
The construct wasn’t designed to deal with my magic and likely the witch controlling it wouldn’t want to risk it getting injured. To her, it make more sense to withdraw when it was clear I might actually be able to harm the thing rather than risk it to kill a single fairy. Retreat made sense for her here, more than staying. Still, I kept my guard up until we were in the car, me at the wheel this time.
Sorrel gave me directions and then leaned back in the passenger seat before remembering to get his phone out again.
“Dad,” he said as soon as his call connected, “I’m okay, it left, but it’s in the city. We miscalculated where it might approach from. You need to warn people. What? Oh, not badly, just bruises mostly and one cut. You and Honey can fix me up in minutes or I can do it myself. Yeah, we’ll be there soon.”
He hung up and glanced at me, his face looking drawn. “Sorry, not exactly what I was planning on for today.”
“I don’t believe you’re required to apologize for an ancient magic attempting to kill you while we happened to be together,” I informed him.
Sorrel chuckled softly, then winced. “Yeah, well, lucky for me we were. Given that the construct is designed to kill fairies, I doubt I’d be alive now if you weren’t there.”
Sobering, but so was his observation to his father that the construct was in the city. If something that large – albeit invisible – was moving around the city, it would be a lot harder to place the magic boundary alerts and have them work accurately since there would be enough people within the city moving across the markers to set them off for the wrong reason.
It might have just gotten harder to know when the construct might be close to the fairy community.
With that cheery thought, I pulled into the driveway of the address Sorrel had given me, a three-story building with a large backyard that I assumed was his house.
Sorrel started to limp towards the front door when he was met by a fairy who, based on his facial similarities but age difference, I assumed was his father, Adair.
“Son!” He quickly gave Sorrel a very quick once-over before sliding Sorrel’s arm over his shoulders to help him inside. Sorrel accepted the help and started in, glancing back at me and kind of motioning for me to come along.
I hadn’t been sure if I was supposed to, but since I’d now been given the cue to do so, I followed after them through the flower shop in the front to the clinic in the back, where Adair let his son rest on one of the beds in a patient room that seemed oddly alive – maybe because the walls were made of actual, living trees.
Sorrel briefly explained his injuries as his father carefully removed his shirt and checked the gash on his side, which was about even with his elbow.
“I think it’s mostly bruises and this isn’t that deep,” he pointed out, but he looked really tired – more than just bruises would account for. “And, well, I can’t fly. I couldn’t use my wings.”
That made Adair pause, but before he could answer, a woman appeared in the doorway and came almost running across the room to grab Sorrel’s face between her hands and start peppering it with kisses.
“Baby, you’re okay? Adair said you’d been attacked by the construct and I thought I’d lost you! I can’t – I can’t keep almost losing my children!” She started sobbing quietly and Sorrel gently rubbed her arm, giving comforting words in a low voice.
On her heels was another fairy woman, younger, likely his sister, carrying a young baby I assumed was his daughter.
“Sorrel!” She exclaimed, running over, too. She hadn’t been expecting to hand the baby over, apparently, but when Sorrel reached for her she immediately surrendered her, and then Sorrel let his daughter snuggle up against his neck, looking decidedly more relaxed now.
“Dad,” the younger fairy woman said, her face taking on a more focused look, “what do we need to do?”
She was a doctor, too, as I recalled, so she likely planned to help heal Sorrel. Good, that would help him out – presuming that the issue with his wings was able to be healed. That was my main concern.
Then the younger fairy woman noticed me standing there quietly, watching them, leaning against the wall without saying a word.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize – who are you, exactly?”
“Elizabeth,” Sorrel interrupted tiredly, “this is my dad, Adair, my mom, Violet – you can call her Vi – and my sister, Honey. And this,” he looked down at his daughter with a soft smile on his face, “is Claire. Everyone, this is Elizabeth. She’s the reason I’m alive now.”
That earned me brief attention from all of them – but the baby – a moment before Violet came rushing over to give me a hug.
“Thank you, thank you,” she sobbed all over me. “If it weren’t for you, I can’t – I can’t – ”
I kind of just stood there, awkwardly, not really responding to her hug but not pulling away, either. It wasn’t that it made me uncomfortable and this fairy woman seemed to be rather demonstrative, especially when she was under emotional strain like this, so it wasn’t that I disliked it – but I didn’t know her that well, either, so this was a little…awkward.
“Mom, let her go,” Honey said after a moment, apparently noticing how I was standing there without moving a muscle. “Not everyone’s okay with you squeezing them to death. But I do agree,” she met my eyes, the slightest bit of tears present, “thank you.”
Sorrel laid back on the bed, careful not to let Claire drop, then looked over at his dad. “The bruises and cut aren’t that big of a deal – do you know what to do about my wings? We know the fairies he’s killed, their wings were gone – did he…did he take mine, too? Permanently?”
Adair paused. He looked fairly calm, really, like he was just contemplating something of minor concern to him, but the slight tightness to his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed, and the tiniest of trembling to his fingers told me otherwise.
Adair didn’t know what to do, and it scared him.
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