A Sacred Magic Read online

  We pushed through the glass doors into the main lobby, and found ourselves in what felt very much like a hotel. The lobby was wide, with a reception desk, a sitting area, doors leading to what I suspected were a gym and other amenities, a stairwell, an elevator, and a café. Whatever they were cooking in there smelled good and my stomach rumbled, loud and clear, demanding something to eat.

  “We’re not stopping for lunch,” Raven muttered, glancing at me.

  “All right. Let’s just get this over with and then drive on to Navane.” I rubbed my head, grumbling. “I don’t want to do this, Raven. I really don’t,” I said in a low voice as we approached the elevators.

  The car was quiet, spacious, and again, reminded me of some conference-hotel. It all felt oddly generic, and yet not quite familiar. The wallpaper in the elevator was a dark blue, with pale blue and lilac patterns that made me think of spatter paintings. The metal surrounding us in the car was bronze.

  The second floor was set out in a square surrounding the elevators, the hall running in a complete circle. The hallways were carpeted in deep blue, and the walls were painted an antique ivory. Art studded the walls, but it was less generic than I was used to—pictures of white horses racing over rolling plains, and scenic landscapes that looked just off enough to feel alien.

  “Here we are,” Raven said, pointing down the hall.

  To the left of the hallway was a door with “214” emblazoned in bronze on it. I caught my breath, steeling myself. Finally, I knocked first once, then again. Another knock and we could hear shuffling coming from behind the door. Somebody was home, and I hoped it was my great-uncle. The last thing I wanted was to have to explain to some unwary family member as to why I had shown up on their doorstep.

  The door swept open and there, in front of me, stood a man who looked like the spitting image of my grandfather. His hair was shorter, just past his shoulder blades, but it was the same rich brown sprinkled with silver, and he had the same green eyes that mirrored my own. He looked somewhat younger than Farthing had, but that was relative, given my grandfather hadn’t looked much older than me. But he had felt old—ancient, to be exact—and his brother had the same feel to him.

  “Are you Sharne?” I had barely known my grandfather had a brother. None of Farthing’s family had contacted me when he had been killed, and I suspected that Saílle hadn’t told them how he had been dispatched. Otherwise, I was pretty sure that I could have expected a blood debt hanging over my head.

  “I am.” He looked me in the eye, then inhaled sharply. “Ember?”

  “Yes, I’m Ember.” I waited to see what he would do.

  After a moment, he stepped to the side and ushered us in. “To what do I owe this visit? I’m sure we haven’t scheduled some family reunion or other oddity.” His tone had that same regal, aristocratic note that my grandfather’s voice had held, but he was watching me curiously, as though he were waiting for me to perform a trick.

  Raven and I followed him into the apartment, which was clean to the point of sterility. It felt oddly out of place, so minimalist that I wondered if he ever did anything here other than sleep or stand out on the balcony, against the far wall. There were two doors, and while one could have led to a hall, I had the feeling that this was just a very small, ultra clean, apartment.

  “If you’re looking for anything material from your grandfather, you’re too late. The queen had his place thoroughly dismantled and most of his belongings were confiscated.”

  “I don’t want anything of his. No, I’m coming here because Morgana ordered me to. I’m pledged in her service and I follow her command. Otherwise, nothing on this wide, wild planet could drag me here.” I paused, then added, “You do know my grandfather tried to murder me?”

  Sharne paused, then motioned to the sofa. It was immaculately white and I was afraid to sit on it, but Raven marched over, sat down, and patted the seat next to her. I followed more slowly.

  “You are one of the Ante-Fae, I surmise?” Sharne said, turning to Raven. He held out his hand, gracefully.

  “Raven BoneTalker, and yes, I am.” She stared at his fingers for a moment. “You haven’t yet taken your great-niece’s hand, so you don’t get mine.”

  He blinked, then cleared his throat and extended his hand to me. “Ember, welcome to my house.” His tone was civil, and he sounded sincere.

  I blinked. I had expected surliness, or disgust, but never anything like genteel civility. I slowly—very slowly—accepted the handshake. His grip was firm, but not annoyingly tight. He also didn’t grimace when he touched me. After he had shaken my hand, he turned back to Raven and she graciously held out her fingers. He gave her a gentle shake of the hand and then joined us, sitting down.

  “What can I do for you?” He seemed so straightforward that I felt my guard slip a little, but then I quickly walled myself back off. I didn’t know what to think about him, he seemed so like my grandfather, and yet so unlike him.

  “Morgana says you have something that belongs to me, by right of birth. It’s a bow.” I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure which bow she was talking about, but she said you would know.” I glanced around the room. It seemed ridiculous that Sharne would have any need for a bow, not in the city, and not with a home that reminded me of something out of a house and garden magazine.

  He pulled back, a look of surprise washing over his face. “The bow,” he said, his voice low. “So that’s why I was given it.”

  “What bow, and what do you mean? I know very little about family matters, given the circumstances.” I didn’t bother to hide my irritation. Once again, the memory of my parents, dead on the floor, filled my thoughts and I could still remember the silence of the house, the sound of my own screams, the smell of the blood that was coagulating around them, and the panic when I realized exactly what I was seeing.

  Something must have shown on my face, for Sharne hung his head. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. My brother and his wife were…they did not handle change well, but the world will change and there’s no getting around that fact.”

  “Yes, well, tell that to Saílle and Névé. They could shift the tide if they chose to. Instead, they flog on the hatred and…” I paused to stop the sudden rush of words coming out of my mouth. “What I wish is neither here nor there. I’m simply here to gather the things Morgana told me I needed to ask for.”

  Sharne gave me a long nod, then stood. “Please wait. I’ll be right back.” He exited through one of the doors and we heard a few thumping noises.

  I turned to Raven. “This isn’t going the way I expected it to.”

  “You thought he would turn you out, or argue with you?”

  “I halfway thought he’d try to finish what my grandfather started. I don’t trust any of these people, Raven. They don’t like my kind and generally want us either gone or dead, whichever is more convenient for them. I can’t figure out what his angle is.” I didn’t feel guilty for suspecting him of having some ulterior motive. My grandfather had been nursing a doozy of one.

  “I hear you. But see where it goes. If things get too awkward, we can always leave and you can blame me if Morgana comp—” she stopped as Sharne entered the room again. He was carrying a bow. It was a pistol grip crossbow, made out of what looked like yew wood, polished to a high sheen. The bow was shimmering with a faint nimbus and I blinked as he held it out to me.

  “I think she’s talking about this. It belonged to your great-great-grandmother. She was killed in a raiding party long ago. Her daughter inherited it—your grandfather’s mother—and she passed it on to him. Your grandfather was supposed to pass it on to your father but he refused to. This, along with a couple other personal items, were all I was given when Queen Saílle confiscated his property.”

  I hesitantly reached for the bow, feeling the cool wood slide into my hand with almost a soft hush. It felt right, like it belonged to me. I held it up, looking down the scope. The bow was level and brilliantly made. The scope almost seemed magi
cal—I could see so clearly through it. I held it for another moment, and then—as I was about ready to ask Sharne what he wanted for it—something whispered so loudly it startled me.

  Finally, a huntress worthy of my make.

  “Say what?” I blinked, pulling back. “Who said that?” I looked around. Raven hadn’t said anything, and the voice hadn’t been Sharne’s.

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t hear anything.” Sharne glanced around the room. “I don’t see anybody here.”

  “No ghosts around,” Raven said, looking equally as confused. She paused, then snapped her fingers. “If you heard something, my bets are on that bow. It reeks of magic.”

  “The bow?” I looked down at the bow, confused. “But neither of you heard anything, right?”

  Sharne cleared his throat. “I think your friend is correct. There are family stories that the bow can make itself known to some members of the family. I believe Grandmother used to tell us that during some of the raiding parties, the bow helped her chase down her quarry by giving her directions on where to shoot. I think everybody thought she was just being…poetic?” He smiled, then, and his face suddenly blossomed out. For a brief moment, I saw my father’s face, smiling and laughing. The sight sucker-punched me in the gut and a rush of loss swept over me. I burst into tears.

  “Ember? Are you okay?” Raven was at my side immediately. She took the bow out of my hands and gently set it down, then pulled me onto the sofa again, wrapping her arms around me. “What did you do to her?” she asked, whirling to look at Sharne.

  He blinked, and through my tears, I saw what looked like sincere consternation. “I don’t know—Ember, what did I say?”

  I stammered, trying to calm myself. “You… It wasn’t…” I fell silent, furiously trying to wipe the tears out of my eyes. I looked at Raven. “He looked like my father for a moment,” I mouthed.

  She caught her breath and glanced at Sharne, who was looking more and more confused.

  “It wasn’t what you said,” I told him, managing to find my voice. “Just, for a brief moment, you looked like my father.” I prayed that he wouldn’t throw my father’s choices in my face, that for once someone in my family would behave in a decent manner. And for once, my prayers were answered.

  “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” Sharne hung his head. “While my brother was alive, I kept out of things. He was the eldest and I had no real standing in the family. They wouldn’t listen to me. Now, I’m one of the few left of our generation. I have no children. This branch of the family will die out with me, except for you.”

  “Maybe it’s better if it just disappears,” I said hoarsely.

  “No, hear me out. I want to apologize—for your grandfather. For what my brother and the others in the family did to you and your parents. I know that my apology can never mend the wounds, but I just need you to know that I had nothing to do with the plans. I spoke out against them, but I was overruled. I was a coward. If I’d been courageous enough, I would have warned your parents. But I was worried about my brother disowning me. I wish now that I had just gone ahead and done it. I have no excuses. I’m just so very sorry.”

  I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. My entire world was spinning. This shouldn’t be happening—it made no sense to me.

  Sharne hurried to the kitchen and brought me back a glass of water. I sat there, sipping it, trying to sort out my feelings. I had thought I was over my parents’ deaths—at least, as far as anybody could ever be over trauma like that. But seeing Sharne’s smile had sent me right back to my childhood, to the two people who loved me like no one else ever could. It reeled me back to a time when I felt carefree and happy. Regardless of the way others treated me, my parents and Angel had been there. Sharne had known they were going to die, but he’d done nothing to stop it. But where did the spiral of blame end?

  Sharne hadn’t killed them. Sharne had—according to his account—tried to talk them out of it. Maybe it was time to let some of the anger go. Maybe it was time to let Farthing slip into the past. I still had to face my grandmother, who had helped Farthing with his murderous plan, but Sharne said he hadn’t been part of the conspiracy, and I believed him. In the core of my heart, I knew he was telling the truth.

  Slowly, I set down the glass and leaned forward. Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and said, “Sharne, I can never forgive my grandfather for what he did, but you… I believe you. And I forgive you for not warning my parents.”

  And with that, I felt like I could move forward toward the future.

  Chapter Six

  After that, the atmosphere in the apartment felt lighter, and I felt much more relaxed. Sharne handed me the bow again.

  “This is yours. It was supposed to be your father’s, and so it belongs to you. I would have sent it to you, but Farthing kept it. One way or another, it’s now back where it belongs. You say you think it spoke to you?” He seemed genuinely curious.

  “Yes, I do.” I slowly turned the bow over in my hands. “It’s beautiful. Who made it, do you know?” The workmanship was incredible. It was obviously hand carved. Every mark on the bow had been made with decision. I couldn’t find a single flaw, even though I knew it was extremely old.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “The bow’s at least a thousand years old. My mother inherited it, and she passed it on to Farthing, since he was the eldest. As I said, it should have gone to Breck, but Farthing refused to give it to him. And he wasn’t about to pass it to me. For one thing, I have no children so the line ends with me. And for another, he didn’t approve of my liberal ways.” Sharne gave a little shrug.

  I paused, then held out the bow. Morgana may have wanted me to have it, but I felt like I had to offer it to Sharne. “Do you want it? It seems like it should go to you.”

  He stared at the bow, then softly shook his head. “The bow’s not mine to claim, and I have no use for it. I’m a black sheep in more than one way. I don’t have the hunting instinct of our forebears. I just…don’t. You know what I do?”

  “What?” I placed the bow on my lap, one hand on the grip. I was relieved he had said no. I felt a kinship with the bow, and had offered it out of what seemed right, not what I wanted.

  “I’m a tailor. I make clothes. I’ve always had a love for fashion and cloth. But that wasn’t respected in our family.”

  I suddenly remembered what Angel had asked. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of that embroidered lace the Fae Courts are so famous for? In green? My roommate and best friend would love to have some.”

  He laughed then, and his eyes seemed to dance with joy. “Yes, I do. Let me get you some. It’s the least I can do.” Before I could say anything, he jumped up and disappeared through the door again. When he returned, he handed me a bag. In it was about three yards of the most exquisite lace I’d ever seen. “I wove that myself. Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, in awe. “Thank you. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you for this?”

  Sharne shook his head. “No, it’s a gift—a peace offering, from me to you.” After a pause, he added, “Do you know what your grandfather did?”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Farthing was a favorite in the Court, and he was also an agent for Saílle when he was actively working. He retired many years ago, but he still managed to ferret out dirt on members of her Court that she suspected of being disloyal. And he would turn them over for punishment.”

  My heart sank. Of course Farthing would do that—what else could he do? It was his nature, and no wonder Saílle had done what she could to cover up his death. I wondered if Sharne knew how he died. And if he’d been fed a line, should I illuminate him?

  “Do you know what happened to Farthing at the end? Did they tell you?” I forced my voice to remain neutral.

  He held my gaze for a moment. “The official line is that Farthing died of a heart attack. That he was out visiting someon
e and died in their house.” He paused, then added, “If you have a differing version, best leave it outside the walls of TirNaNog. Never question Saílle. Never contradict her. I gather her agents are widespread in the city, and they don’t discriminate between friend or foe when it comes to turning in dissidents.”

  I caught my breath. “Do her agents work outside of TirNaNog? Do you know?”

  “That I can only speculate on, but I would say it’s best to be cautious around any member of the Dark Fae. I’m certain Névé must have a similar setup, so I’d go so far as to say, be cautious around any member of either Fae Court. You never know where your enemies are going to be hiding.” Once again, he held my gaze, his eyes flickering with a warning light.

  It suddenly occurred to me that, even though he claimed to be a tailor, perhaps Sharne himself was an agent. A sudden wave of paranoia washed through me. Finally, I pushed the fear down and sat back, staring at the bow.

  “Now that I have what I’ve come for, I should let you get on with your day.” I stood, motioning to Raven. “Thank you, though, for your kindness. And for…talking to me.”

  Once again, Sharne seemed to be what he claimed he was: a simple tailor who looked relieved that he’d done the right thing. “You are welcome in my home at any time, my great-niece. And perhaps I’ll one day chance a visit to you, with your permission.”

  I wasn’t sure how far I trusted him, even though I had decided to forgive him. But I nodded and said, “Yes, do come visit. Text me first, or call—here’s my number. Thank you, Sharne. For being honest with me.”

  And with that, Raven and I returned to the taxi, the bow firmly in hand. Sharne had found the case for it, and as I carried it out to the cab—which was still waiting, miracle of miracles—I wondered how I’d manage with my grandmother. Part of me dreaded the visit, because I wasn’t sure I could keep my temper around her. And yet, I kept thinking about how Sharne had seemed so different than Farthing. Maybe my grandmother wasn’t what she was made out to be. Maybe killing my parents had been her husband’s idea. Maybe another miracle would happen and I’d find another relative willing to accept me for who I was.