A Crack in Everything (12 page)

‘That woman at the hospital … she was one of you, wasn’t she?’

Jinx shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe something worse.’

‘Not human, I mean. She was not human.’

He shrugged. ‘Everything’s so black and white for you, isn’t it? What’s
human
?’

‘Me, for one. Is she like me?’

Jinx laughed. He actually laughed. It wasn’t a particularly joyful sound but it was a laugh nonetheless. ‘Like you! Well, it would help if I had seen her. Or even knew who she might be. So perhaps she is like you and perhaps she’s just a nurse who you pissed royally off. It’s been known to happen, darling.’ The last word dripped off his tongue, honey-coated and malevolent.

‘Yeah, well, you’d know all about pissing people off, you arrogant git,’ she muttered, stumbling along behind him. The trees leaned in close over the path but as they rounded the bend, Jinx stepped off the tarmac too, into the woods themselves, into the deep darkness.

The world fell away to whispers and shadows. Izzy didn’t want to say another word for fear of what she might disturb.
Because if he was right, there would be Sídhe here as well. And other things.

God only knew what.

Izzy held on to Jinx’s hand, grateful for the contact. He might be only doing it to help her keep up with him, or even to keep her on her feet, but that didn’t matter. It made her think of Dad, the one man she knew she could rely on, the one man she really could trust.

She remembered sitting in the long grass bathed in blazing sunlight, looking up at the High Cross of Clonmacnoise. Last summer, one of the good days, one of the best. She didn’t have a job and could mooch around the country with him, visiting jobs in progress, travelling to meetings for new ones. Of course, she didn’t attend the meetings. She’d find a coffee shop and wait, sit in the car and read or whatever. But afterwards, when he’d finished they’d head off, just the two of them, and explore. It was their very own adventure.

They bought sandwiches from the little café and cans that dripped moisture down the sides and made their hands cold and wet. They’d laughed as they’d shared crisps. She’d felt both very young and an adult at the same time.

And they’d looked at the cross.

‘It’s all about balance,’ Dad said.

‘Balance.’ She squinted at the worn-down carvings on the stone. This was a replica. They’d seen the real one in one of the round rooms of the visitors’ centre. But the weather and modern pollution had conspired to make this
one look even older.

‘Balance in everything. Look at it.’ He pointed up. On top of the main column, depicting half-recognisable scenes from the Bible, the cross dominated the entire area. A circle, cut into four quadrants by the cross shape. In the centre was a figure, his arms reaching out to each side, head and feet touching top and bottom. There were other things there, just within his reach, above and below, on either side.

‘Heaven and hell,’ Dad pointed to the top and bottom. They did look a bit angelic and demonic, Izzy thought, if you narrowed your eyes so you could barely see. ‘Humans,’ he pointed to the right.

‘And what? Fairies?’ She meant it as a joke, but her laughter died in her throat when he glanced at her. A flat, unamused glance. The kind she never normally saw from him.

‘Maybe. Who knows? There are more things in heaven and earth …’

‘Oh, no, not
Hamlet
! You’re not allowed to torture me with
Hamlet
.’

That made him smile. ‘The supernatural then, how about that?’

‘Fine, Dad,’ she groaned and then drained the last of her coke. ‘So where are we in this grand scheme of yours?’

He grinned at her, like a big kid with a secret to tell.

‘That’s us in the middle, of course. Keeping it all together. Watching over the world. You and me, kiddo.’

‘Yeah.’ She lay back in the grass and closed her eyes. ‘That’s
us. Fundamental to the universe.’

‘Maybe,’ he whispered fondly. ‘Keystones.’

She cracked open one eye. He watched over her, with a funny expression on his face. He looked so out of place here, in his suit and crisp white shirt when all the tourists wore t-shirts and shorts. Like he never stopped working. ‘Not everything is about architecture, Dad.’

‘Of course it is. Balance. Harmony. Equal and opposite reactions.’

She pushed herself up on her elbows. ‘Like what?’

He closed his eyes this time, tilted his face up so the sunlight covered it. So strong, so finely carved a face. She had his eyes, and something of his nose. Where her red hair and pale complexion had come from, she didn’t have a clue. Poor Mum didn’t get a look in at all.

‘Sometimes we do things we think are for the best and terrible things happen. Sometimes …’

‘What terrible things have you done?’ She asked in jest, but suddenly it seemed a dreadfully serious question. A deep silence fell over them both as if the world was determined to listen in on their conversation.

‘Some pretty terrible things,’ he sighed, still not looking at her. ‘I’ve made my share of mistakes. A long time ago. Everyone does. But now I have you and your mum.’ His eyes opened, sharply focused on her, intense and filled with an emotion she didn’t know. It was fierce and a little frightening. ‘Good things can come out of bad. Equal and opposite.
Balance. Look at you.’ For a moment neither of them moved. Then he laughed and the spell broke. ‘You’ve got crumbs all down your top.’

Izzy still remembered it, so clearly. He’d been about to tell her something. Something important. And then, she was certain, he had chickened out. But he had tried. And somehow he’d known about the fae, about this world she now found herself stumbling in and out of. ‘The supernatural’ he’d called it.

And he’d told her that they stood in the centre of it all.
Watching over the world. You and me, kiddo
.

Not anymore. Now there was just her and Jinx. A creature, a monster. One of those things Dad mentioned that he should never have known about.

They climbed up the rough path, and into a clearing where the trees opened out. By day it might be covered in flowers, but all she could see at the moment were dark masses that could be bushes and a tangle of shadows underfoot. All along one side, a wall rose out of the undergrowth, a wall built with spaces for doors and windows. But it was not a building. There was nothing on the far side. The hillside had once been part of an estate and the owner had carried out a series of works up here, ostensibly to help the poor learn trades during the famine. But the things they built were … strange. Like this, a wall to a building that didn’t exist. Elsewhere there were coffin-like structures, sarcophagi for giants. Not to mention the Obelisk itself, a white building right on top of the hill like
a witch’s hat and a smaller one a little further off marked with the owner’s name.

And the Wishing Stone. It had come later apparently, though no one knew for sure. 1852 or something carved into the top stone on a step pyramid overlooking the sea. She’d heard stories – wild stories, of devils, black dogs and monsters, of a battle on the hilltop and fire that walked like a human. Old stories, like the Dalkey Gold Rush when the seaside town went mad, digging all over the hill until ghosts and demons drove them off. Stories that everyone laughed at now. Izzy shook her head. Why not? It suddenly seemed no stranger than anything else in the world, in
her
world anyway.

In this new world anything was possible. And that seemed both a blessing and a curse. With a fierce yearning, she wished for normality again, wished for the world where she didn’t have to think such thoughts. It had been so much simpler. And she’d thrown it all away with one wrong turn.

Jinx stopped, pulling her out of her thoughts, his body stiffening. He lifted his head, scenting something on the air. They stood on the edge of another path, one that was not man made, but worn into the stone of the hill.

‘Let go,’ he whispered.

Izzy released his hand and watched as he slid into his hound form, a pained expression flickering over his face. For a moment he just stood still, then shook from head to tail, as if he was drying himself, or ridding himself of the last vestiges of his almost-human form.

Jinx lifted his head to the night’s sky and howled.

And from the shadows amid the trees there came an answer.

Chapter Twelve

Hounds in the Night

T
hey glided through the night, black as the shadows that disgorged them. Not shades, thank the ancestors. They were like him, or almost like him. Close enough as damn it anyway. Not actually black, but a deep green just a touch away from it, the perfect camouflage for the forest at night.

Cú Sídhe.

Whatever Jinx had expected, it had not been that.

Their scents filled his nostrils – a thousand extra bits of information that his eyes would never have picked up – a pack, a community, male and female together, strong, eager to hunt and determined to protect.

So familiar.

The nearest male crept forward, hackles raised, asserting territory and mating rights, warning Jinx away as only one of
the Cú Sídhe could. Anyone else would have fled like a cur.

Damn, he’d been away from his own kind for far too long.

Izzy’s fear drenched his nose. She moved closer, trying so hard not to show it, unaware that the others could smell it from her as clearly as he could. And that scenting it, they would see her as prey.

And prey was to be hunted.

The need to protect her shivered across his skin.

‘Don’t run, Izzy. Whatever you do, don’t run.’

Her hand reached for his shoulder, fingers burrowing into his fur. Comfort, strength. Had she heard him? No, that was impossible. But somehow, she knew anyway.

‘What do you want here? This is our domain. You don’t belong.’
The nearest male lifted his upper lip in a half-snarl and all Jinx could do was lower his head. The hound was right. He accepted that. The diplomacy of Cú Sídhe was pretty basic.

And hopelessly elaborate if you didn’t know what you were doing.

‘We seek safe passage, that is all. We don’t mean to trespass.’

A female approached from the right, haughty this one, proud. Their commander.
‘Who are you? Identify yourself. What kith? What kin?’

It was a traditional challenge and all the identification anyone needed as far as Cú Sídhe were concerned. Kin, he couldn’t give them, his blood, his history, his parentage – they’d never understand or accept such a tangle of deceit. But his kith – his loyalty and sworn obedience – on the surface,
that was easy enough.

‘I’m Holly’s kith. My name is Jinx.’

A murmur ran through the pack, an unsettling sound. Jinx didn’t like it. Didn’t like the sound of it at all. Surprise. And suspicion. No. This could not be good.

‘Jinx by Jasper?’

The shock of it made his fur bristle.
Jasper
? It was a name he had not heard in a lifetime. Since childhood in fact. Holly had forbidden all references to it. The name he had thought forgotten.

‘How do you know that?’

A long howl went up from one of the pack still hidden, followed by another. Jinx edged back, bumping Izzy’s legs. Anyone else would have panicked and run by now. And she wanted to, he could tell by her scent, but she didn’t. Her fingers tightened against the skin beneath his fur.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

He growled, unable to answer her. He brought up his hackles and squared his shoulders, making himself as large and aggressive as possible. Whoever this pack was, they weren’t taking him. And they weren’t taking Izzy either. Not while he breathed.

‘Stand down, Jinx by Jasper,’
the female warned. Her voice rippled with power. But she had no power over him, not with Holly’s wards wrapped around and through him.
‘Blight, stand down. We mean no harm. Talk to us, Jinx. How did you come here?’

She shifted, one minute hound and the next woman. Izzy
gave a small whimper of alarm, but the female didn’t seem to notice.

It must look so strange to the girl, he thought, raised on a diet of werewolf horror stories. None of which were any preparation for what she now saw.

Naked and beautiful, the female approached them, her subtle markings almost iridescent on her deeply tanned skin. Not like his tattoos. Hers were natural; his were not. His had been designed to bind the powers of the Cú Sídhe. No such taint marred her skin. She was sublimely beautiful, the epitome of what a female of his kind should be.

‘I’m Blythe,’ she said. ‘And these are my kindred. Blight, my twin, Freesia, Gun and—’

‘I don’t know what the problem is,’ said Izzy quickly, ‘but I’m sure—’

Blythe glared at her, eyes flashing with the metallic stain of magic. Fae and non-human through and through. But she did nothing. She didn’t even attempt a glamour. ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’

Jinx slid back to human form, as heedless of his nakedness as Blythe. Izzy snapped her hand away from his skin and stumbled in a vague attempt at retreat. One of the other Cú Sídhe moved in behind her, growling softly – not actually a threat, not really, just a warning to a child – and she stopped her retreat.

‘Jinx …’ she whispered.

‘Stay still,’ he replied curtly. ‘Don’t run.’

‘She isn’t going to run.’ Blythe almost purred the words. ‘She wouldn’t be so silly. But what brings you both here? And
what
is she?’

‘She’s no one. Just a mortal.’

He said it too quickly, too earnestly. He knew it as soon as he saw Blythe’s gaze fix on Izzy. Fascinated. Almost hungry.

‘I see,’ the female Cú Sídhe said and smiled slowly. ‘Well, then, you two had better come with us. I afford you safe conduct until our kith leader says otherwise. I can promise no more, Jinx by Jasper.’

Jinx inclined his head in acceptance and with a series of yaps and snarls the other Cú Sídhe fell back. Only Blythe remained, watching as he gathered his clothes. When he struggled into them, a smiled played across her perfectly formed mouth.

‘Interesting,’ she murmured and strode away, naked in the night.

What a bitch
, Izzy thought.

‘Quite literally,’
that newly active and all too rational voice in her brain supplied unprompted. Izzy didn’t want rational right now. She was too scared and angry.

Story of my life since I met him
. She wasn’t expecting a reply, but she should have. Of course she should have.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t trust him so readily.’

Izzy missed her footing as it commandeered her thoughts
for a moment. The urge to just let it, to do as it said, was like a dull toothache, wearing her down. She pushed it away again, refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to believe it was real.

Jinx glanced at her, though he showed not a glimmer of concern. Oh, yes, that would be far too much to expect.

She cursed herself and her imagination as she followed him through the trees, the other Cú Sídhe herding them like sheepdogs. This was wrong. On so many levels. But Blythe … God, the way she looked at Jinx, the dismissive way she hardly glanced at Izzy herself. How could she fail to be angry?

‘You’re jealous. You’re afraid and now you’re jealous. It’s perfectly reasonable.’

Go away!
The thought roared out in her head, her own thought,
Shut up and go away!

Izzy tripped on nothing and nearly went down. She had to face the fact that sometimes it
wasn’t
her voice she was hearing; since the night when the shadows had moved, the other voice in her head had been growing stronger all the time. It wasn’t her voice at all. Too musical. Too melodic. Alien to her mind.

Oh God, now I’m going mad? Now? After everything so far?

She tried to focus on the creatures surrounding them, the hounds. The area was rife with black dog legends, she knew that much. So this could be the origin, these fae creatures up here on the hill. Another part of a world she knew nothing of until now. Another aspect to it that terrified her. One of
the Cú Sídhe brushed against her leg, a mass of warmth and muscle, and she shied away, bumping into Jinx.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, none too kindly. Like she was an irritant, a pain in the ass brat he had to look after.

‘Nothing. I just … I thought I heard something.’

‘Focus. Don’t let anything lure you off the path.’

She looked around, half expecting to see the bobbing lights of a will-o’-the-wisp or hear the cry of a banshee tearing through the silent sentinels of the trees.

‘I’m not a child, Jinx.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Snappish, petulant, asking for a slapdown.

Instead, he took her hand in his, enfolding her freezing fingers in the warmth of his. He squeezed ever so gently. He didn’t say anything though, just pulled her along beside him.

‘Listen to me,’
said the voice in her mind that couldn’t be her own.
‘You can’t trust them. None of them. They’re little more than animals. Listen to me, Isabel.’

Well, why shouldn’t she? Why not listen to the disembodied voice in her head?

Because that was never the safest option, was it? Even if it made as much sense as anything else right now.

Remember normal?
she thought to herself, wishing she could have it back.
Remember what that was like?

Once again Izzy wished she’d stayed home last night, wished she’d never gone into town in the first place the previous day. Wished, and wished, and
wished
…

By the time they reached the top of the hill, stepping from
the forest walk past two flat-topped stone structures, she was almost dead on her feet, moving like a zombie with her bleary eyes half-closed and her body aching right through to the bones.

Blythe didn’t hesitate, leading them on, with the Wishing Stone on the left and the Obelisk on the right. As they reached the foot of the Obelisk’s mound, she turned towards the sea, following a path through the gorse and stepping out onto a flat area of granite. Cliffs dropped away from dizzying heights, only a few yards ahead.

The wind whipped at their clothes and hair, a cold wind coming straight in off the sea. Blythe walked to the southern end of the flat granite where an iron ring with the remains of a massive chain and a bolt had been driven into the rock. Red with rust, they still looked formidable. Blythe knelt between them, pressed her hand to the surface and with an agonising groan the stone split open to reveal a narrow passage leading down. Darker than the night around them. Darker than anything Izzy had ever seen.

One of the native Cú Sídhe gave a sharp yap, followed by a growl. Blythe turned to stare back towards the forest, her eyes just slivers of grey.

‘Hurry up. Inside.’

‘What’s happening?’ Jinx asked, his body tensing.

‘Can’t you smell it? We have visitors.’

His hand tightened on Izzy’s, not so comforting now. Almost painful. ‘Demons?’

‘From the stench, yes, or shades anyway. Did they follow you? Inside.’

‘Wait,’ Izzy protested. It was futile. Jinx was too strong. She was surrounded by Cú Sídhe. But she didn’t want to go in there. Not into the dark. Not like this. Every instinct she possessed told her not to. Every single atom that formed her. ‘Please.’

She wished …
Wished, and wished, and wished
…

‘I remember,’
said the voice.
‘I remember this place.’

And suddenly she saw it, as if old film was playing before her, projected onto the air itself.

Monsters indeed, and a fire that walked like a woman … the Cú Sídhe attacking at all sides while men armed with pikes and cudgels tried to drive them back inside the doorway. The iron sank into the stone and the hill rocked in rage and impotent defiance.

A shadow fell over the land. Night walked, cloaked in shadows. Mankind tore stone from the hillside, and for a while it seemed that the madness fell on them all as they dug for treasure that wasn’t there.

Until the chain broke. Until the monsters escaped and brought … sanity?

Izzy turned sharply. She could only see the top of the Wishing Stone from here. A hunger deep inside her called to it, longed for it. A fire. She almost started back towards it, but Jinx’s hand stopped her. He stared into her face, searching for something. She didn’t know what. But there was something horrified in the look he gave her.