Banished (9 page)

I look over my shoulder at him but he’s studiously bent over his plate, lifting crumbs with his finger, not meeting my eyes.

‘All Fae must avoid coffee,’ he says after a small strained silence. ‘It has . . . an effect on us that could spell trouble for humans if they are around us if we somehow
imbibe the stuff.’

Imbibe, really? I lift my eyebrows. ‘Will you die from it?’

Thorn looks up and colour is blooming on his cheeks. ‘Coffee works as a stimulant,’ he says, his voice strained. When my look is still clueless he has to spell it out for me.
‘It makes us amorous. It works far too well on the Fae, something to do with our higher metabolism. Its use is controlled in Alba. We import the stuff from the Frontier in small quantities
only.’

Thankfully I manage to keep control of my face. I just about prevent myself from laughing, but the information that coffee is basically faery Viagra just totally took the wind out of my
sails.

‘Oh.’ I make a show of looking through the cupboard. ‘So, erm, herbal tea it is then.’

There’s a muffled sound from Thorn and I look over to see his shoulders shaking. And when he looks up I see tears running down his face. And the next thing I know, I’m laughing with
him, deep belly laughs that shake me so much I have to hold on to the counter. I certainly felt better as the tension of the last twenty-four hours was finally released.

‘Well, that will definitely teach me to pay attention when Jamie gives us lessons about the differences between humans and Fae.’

Thorn wipes the tears of laughter from his face. ‘I think it will be beneficial if you do.’

‘Phew, now we’ve got that little problem over with,’ I say as I put down his tea and my coffee, keeping it far away from him, ‘what do we do?’ I ask him, when I sit
back down again. We sit facing one another like we did earlier this morning. ‘Are we trying to get you back to Alba or are we staying here?’

‘I need to get back home, but I don’t think I’ll be able to. Not from here, anyway.’

‘You mean the redcaps?’

‘Not just the redcaps. I should have been here days ago. Every gateway we reached had been destroyed. Every single one, for three days’ hard ride through Alba. It was pure chance
that we tried the gateway we stumbled across in the Otherwhere. One of my bodyguards knew of it . . .’

‘Convenient.’

His grimace tells me he has already thought about it too. ‘So I’m not sure the gateway that brought me here can send me back.’

‘Okay,’ I say, standing up. ‘What weapons can you use?’

‘Sword, dagger, bow.’ Thorn was frowning at me. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘We are going to tool up. You’ll like this, I promise. Come with me.’

I fish a key from the ugly ceramic bowl of keys in the library and lead Thorn downstairs into the house’s basement. I flick on the lights and can’t suppress the shudder that goes
through me as the size of the basement is revealed in the glare. Too many horror movies have given me the creeps for our perfectly safe and rather mundane basement. Part of it is given over to the
Manor’s garage, where a range of cars, including Lolita, stand gleaming, waiting for Megan’s delicate touch.

In the furthest corner, away from the lights, is Uncle Andrew’s wine cellar, housed behind iron bars that form a deterrent to mischievous Fae, who have tried to break in several times in
the past to steal some of the antique bottles of faery mead he’s been given as part payment for work.

I lead Thorn to a part of the wall near the wine cellar. I stand quietly and count the bricks. Seven down, eight across. I press my palm to the brick and it slides back with a grating sound.
There’s a
thunk
and ratcheting noise and the wall slides cleanly to the side, allowing us access to a high arched wooden door inlaid with heavy steel bars. I show Thorn the key –
it’s as long as the palm of my hand – and slide it into the keyhole.

The door opens and we step into the armoury. The lights come on automatically and I watch Thorn’s face as the darkness steadily gives way to the light, revealing rows of weapons, suits of
armour and glass cases housing axes, flintlock pistols, gauntlets and every other bit of armour and man-made weapon for hurting another person, all of the highest workmanship.

Thorn lets out a soft whistle. ‘My brother Kieran would go crazy if he ever saw this. He’s visited all the Frontier museums where they have exhibits of arms and armour. It’s an
obsession with him.’

A wave of nausea hits me out of nowhere and the hairs lift at the back of my neck. Before I can even wonder what’s going on, the ground shifts beneath my feet and I grab hold of the
nearest cabinet. Thorn looks at me in alarm as a loud groaning noise emanates from somewhere far, far below us. Beneath my feet the floor looks normal: large industrial tiles that can withstand
heavy loads, and no sign of cracks or anything peculiar, just this terrible moaning sound.

‘Earthquake?’ Thorn raises his voice over the noise but all I can do for a few seconds is shake my head.

‘Earthquakes are rare in the UK,’ I tell him, doing my utmost to sound less panicked that I feel. ‘I mean, it could be one, but, you know, it’s pretty unusual.’

My heart thuds against my ribs and I quickly direct him to collect whatever weapons he’d like to take with him.

I help him measure arrow shafts against his arm and he quickly packs a few into a quiver that he slings over his shoulder.

The noise and the shaking stopped almost as soon as it started but I’m not prepared to take a chance. I collect a brace of throwing knives, plus a spare stab-proof hoodie for Thorn. I
agonize for a second over my favourite pair of duelling pistols. I am far more accurate with them than I have ever been with the bow, and there’s no way I’m going to break into the gun
safe. My magic is too random and unpredictable when it comes to using modern guns but these eighteenth-century Italian pistols work well for me. They are also only one-shot weapons, but whatever I
fire at will be guaranteed to go down. I strap the belt Megan helped me fashion around my waist. The holsters are low-slung and comfortable and I check the pistols over before I slide them into the
holsters and tie the ammunition and pre-measured ampoules of powder to my belt.

I look up to see Thorn walking towards me. He picks up a Tuareg dagger and flips it in his hand, checking the balance. It goes into his belt, next to another more modern-looking blade.

‘We need some modern armour,’ I tell him. ‘The Kevlar stuff is over there.’ I lead him to a tall metal cabinet and pull out two normal-seeming waxed jackets that look
like traditional Barbour jackets. I pass the bigger one to Thorn, who, after taking the quiver and longbow off, pulls it on.

‘It’s bulletproof and stab-proof but looks like normal everyday wear.’ I punch him on the chest. ‘We don’t know what’s going on, so we aim to be
prepared.’

He nods and hefts his gear onto his shoulder once more. I lock the door behind us and the panel hiding the room slides shut.

A very loud boom shakes the house around us and dust drops down from the ceiling. I duck instinctively and pull Thorn along behind me but he stops halfway up the stairs, a look of concentration
on his face.

‘We have to go now,’ I tell him, watching in alarm as the lights below us in the basement swing wildly from side to side. ‘We need to get upstairs and get our stuff so we can
leave.’

‘There’s something here, Kit.’ He turns and walks back down the stairs and I consider screaming at him. Now was not the time for him to go on a mini-adventure.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Someone is attacking the house.’

‘No. Not that. Something very old, very magical.’ He smiles apologetically as I tap the banister impatiently. ‘I think I know what it is. It’s something that can help
us.’

I throw my hands up in the air. ‘What?’

‘Your mirror.’

I feel my mouth form the letters WTF but nothing comes out. He drops all his gear and starts looking rapidly around the basement area.

‘Tell me what we’re looking for,’ I ask him. ‘I can help.’

‘Your mirror – you must have one. I didn’t even think about it until just now. I can feel it. Can’t you?’

I shake my head. ‘Honestly? No. All I want to do is get back upstairs and check what’s going on. What mirror? We have hundreds of mirrors all around the house. Can it be any of
them?’

‘No. It’s here. I can hear its song.’

I’m now wondering if I’ve brought a crazy boy into the house. He can hear the mirror’s
song
? Maybe he had a severe head injury and I didn’t know about it.
I’m tempted to leave him to it so I can figure out what’s going on upstairs and who’s attacking the house and how they’re doing it.

No one can get past the magic shield protecting the house – that much I’ve been assured of by Uncle Andrew and Jamie. The spells are part of the house and have been for hundreds of
years. It has withstood physical attack in the past and magical attacks too, or so the books in the library say. It all happened a very long time ago now.

‘What’s in here?’ Thorn pushes his shoulder against an old wooden door. ‘Any idea?’

‘Uhm, I don’t know. Old bits of furniture we don’t use any more.’

‘Help me.’

I go over and together we charge the door with our shoulders. The door flies open and I grab Thorn by the arm before he goes headfirst into a broken antique sideboard. The place is thick with
dust and cobwebs but now I can feel the slipperiness in the air too and I know this is what Thorn meant when he said he could sense the mirror.

I walk into the main garage area and come back with one of the torches that Megan uses when fixing cars. The light isn’t the best but Thorn wades into the mess without a backward glance.
He shifts some chairs around, pushes a piano with no keys to the side and eventually brings out a large four-foot shape covered in thick black cloth.

‘Got it!’ He backs out of the room holding onto his prize.

‘What is it?’

Thorn frowns at me. ‘I told you, it’s your mirror.’

‘You keep saying that but I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

Another boom rattles through the basement and I grab Thorn’s arm as the ground beneath us heaves upwards briefly before settling down once more. I push him and his bloody mirror up the
stairs, pausing just long enough to collect his bow and arrows. We rush into the room beside the kitchen and I slam the door to the basement shut, locking it and dropping the heavy wooden bar
across it.

‘Help me put this somewhere,’ Thorn says, his voice straining. ‘It’s heavy.’

I guide him into the main living room and he props it onto one of the sofas. I worry that it’s too heavy and might tear the leather but then, really, what do I care? The house is under
attack and a tiny tear in a couch is the least of my concerns.

‘Listen, I need to go grab some stuff, okay? I’ll be right back.’

I leave him faffing with the mirror and run up the stairs to my room. I grab my go-bag, already packed with toiletries, changes of clothes, a spare knife and some of the loose cash we all have
in case of emergency.

I ghost up to my window and pull the curtains aside, wondering if I’d see anything from here. The gardens lie serene under a blue sky, basking in the late morning sun. Beyond the gardens
and the smooth lawn are the standing stones, and past them is the curve of the forest. It lies verdant and green and quiet, looking for all the world like a scene from a nature programme.

Nausea grips me again and I lean forward, supporting myself against the windowsill. The house rumbles around me, like a giant creature reluctant to get up. From the ground floor I hear glass
breaking and the sound of the crystal chandelier hanging in the entrance hall shaking itself loose.

Where are they attacking us from? I run from my room and race across to the east wing of the house where Uncle Andrew’s rooms are. The forest is much closer to this side of the house and
that’s where I spot the probable cause of our problem.

A man dressed casually in jeans, shirt and waistcoat stands just within the shadows of the forest. Lined up behind him I see around a hundred goblins, redcaps and some Fae arrayed for battle.
They keep to the forest’s shadows and only venture slightly into the harsh sunlight to shout and jeer at the house.

I look around the room and spot a pair of binoculars on the bedside table. I grab them, focusing them on the attacking force. As I watch, the man turns to speak to someone behind him and I take
the opportunity to pull my mobile out again.

There is no signal now, none at all. I leap at the telephone on Aunt Jessica’s side of the bed and pick it up. There is a dialling tone and I quickly look up Megan’s mobile number.
To my relief the phone rings.

I hold on until voicemail picks up.

‘Megan, it’s Kit. The house is under attack. I’ve got the youngest Prince of Alba here with me. Long story, but it’s looking bad. There’s a lot of bad guys out in
the forest and it looks as if they are preparing for a siege.’ I draw a breath. ‘We’re going to leave soon. Head for London. I’ll call again later.’

I ring Marc and Kyle and leave the same message. I have no idea what time it is in New York but I find Uncle Andrew’s number and ring that too. It goes straight to voicemail. I swear
vehemently and leave an even terser message.

I turn back to the window in time to see the guy at the front of the mob of Fae creatures step into the sunlight. He lights up like a flare when he does. He brings his hands together above his
head and in an overly exaggerated movement – it almost looks like a martial arts move – he brings his arms back down and thrusts them towards the house.