Flicker (53 page)

“Stray sod,”
he explained. “It’s
like an
insect
. They camouflage themselves as grass, and disorient anyone who steps on them. The effect lasts for hours. Turning your clothes inside out is a charm against their magic.”

Lee hurriedly turned her coat.
Then, together, they stepped into the field.

The waist-high grass seemed to shiver as they waded through it, and Lee distinctly noticed several tufts moving away from them.

They were well into the dark evergreens when Nasser paused and extended his arm, stopping them. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

“What is it?” Lee asked.

“I think this is it,” he replied slowly. “Do you feel it?”

At his words, Lee and Filo paused. She closed her eyes and strained her senses, trying to feel something. Then, slowly, it came to her: A faint pulsing mag
ic in the air,
nudging her,
firmly suggesting she turn back.

“I feel
something
,” Lee said. “But w
hat
is
it?”

“Bord
er magic.
It’s meant to keep humans away
, but our Sight keeps it from affecting us
.
Your locket is helping you resist it.
”

“Let’s fan out,” Filo said. “Look for any sort of line or barrier. Anything that seems just a little out of place.”

She nodded and they turned in different directions, combing slowly through the tall grass, their heads bent toward the ground. That
border
magic was still pushing at Lee, even with her necklace on, and she was finding it difficult to concentrate. But when she spotted it, she knew.

Lee called the boys over and pointed toward
the line of fat toadstools at her feet. The line extended left and right, as far as she
could see through the
shrubbery.

“Faerie ring,” Nasser said
, bending to inspect the corpse-pale toadstools
. “It probably circles the whole ceremony area. Must be huge.”

She shifted uncertainly. “We
just step over it
? Is that all?”

“That’s all,” Nasser assured her. “Don’t be so nervous. It’s only a step. We’ll go together on ‘three.’ Okay?”

Lee took a slow, deep breath, then nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Good.” Nasser set his shoulders. “One
…
two
…
three.”

Chapter Twenty-One:

Crossing Over

As she stepped over the line of mushrooms, time seemed to slow. Lee’s vision blurred
, and she
felt as if she were passing through a semi-solid object.

Then, as if she’d been shoved from behind, Lee toppled forward, landing hard.
The boys had apparently fared better; they were standing nearby, watching her.
As she picked herself up, Lee noticed that the grass beneath her hands was soft and green. Birds
ong filled the trees. The air
was cleaner than any she’d ever breathed
, dizzying in its swe
etness. It was high summer here—in
Otherworld,
she reminded herself.

“
This is amazing
,” she marveled
. She could feel the magic in the air, a faint tingling warmth against her skin
that made her limbs feel oddly light
.

Lee shrugged
off her coat
, feeling immediately more comfortable in the lightweight shirt she wore underneath,
and stowed
the coat
beneath some nearby shrubbery, as Filo and Nasser had done
.
Maybe they could swing back around for their winter wear after they’d found Jason—assuming, of course, that they ever made it back this way. Lee swallowed hard.

“I think we should split up
for now
,”
Filo said matter-of-factly as he peeled off his sweater, revealing a
dark
T-shirt beneath.
He tossed the sweater on the ground and kicked it beneath a bush.
“Keep to the edges
of the revel. See what we can find.”

Apparently taking their silence for assent,
Filo turned, his shoulders slightly hunched, and started away. Nasser touched Lee’s shoulder, and, nodding grimly, she followed him in the opposite direction.

* * *

Creeping toward the tree line and peering into the revel,
Lee stared. Sprinkled among the faeries were humans. Here, in what she’d assumed was a fey-only event. Of course, she realized slowly, even at such an exclusive gathering, faeries required entertainment.

Nearby, a trio of mortal women
in green dresses
played fiddles and flutes with wild abandon while faeries whirled over the grass. The humans’ hair was lank with sweat and their faces glistened from standing so long in the heat, but they never slowed or stopped playing, as if they didn’t n
otice at all.

Just beyond them, a young man and woman
wearing
elaborate
scarlet
costumes
danced.
They spun and leaped, bursting with energy, but their eyes were glazed, their faces empty of any joy. They
danced
with effortless grace—despite their feet, which were cut and bleeding.
Around them stood a
wide
circle of faeries,
all
clapping and shouting in time with the music.

In the shade of a willow tree, a middle-aged man sculpted the face of a posing faerie knight from red clay.
Smears of clay and paint covered
the man’s
indigo outfit.
A line of faeries had formed behind the knight, waiting to have their like
nesses coaxed from the clay. The man’s
hands were gnarled and raw from endless sculpting. Yet his face
showed no discomfort. H
is expression was somewhat vacant, as if he were sleepwalking.

That was me once,
she thought dimly. A sick feeling settled in her chest and stomach. She reached for Nasser’s hand.

“That’s what they’ve g
ot Jason doing,” he murmured. “He’s playing music for them
. Somewhere.”

Before she could respond, a chill ran up her spine and she whirled around. Beside her, Nasser did the same.

And ther
e was Byrony, smiling serenely
, her colors reflecting the forest around her
.
Byrony’s
hair and wings were green again, and her skin had taken on its former
warm brown. Beside her, a tall faery with a long, forest-green ponytail stood—a knight, based on the armor he wore. The knight’s hand rested on the hilt of a blade strapped to his hip, and his
mulberry-colored
eyes were narrow and severe.

“S
ee, Marcan?” Byrony sneered.
Even her eyes were green now, cycling through a dozen shades.
“I
knew
I heard the rustling of intruders in the brush.”

“I see, Byrony,
” Marcan replied, sounding almost bored
. “Next time you drag me from my post with a ridiculous claim, I will not doubt you.”

Almost instinctively, Lee went for her pack—but froze when she discovered the keen edge of Marcan’s blade was pressed against her throat.

“Move,” Marcan told her, perfectly calmly, “and I will split y
ou wide open.” His dark eyes flicked toward
Nasser. “And if
you
move, boy, you’ll have the knowledge that you caused her death.” As if to prove this, he pressed the blade a bit harder against her throat. It flashed silver in the patchy sunlight.

“Nasser?” she asked, glancing toward him.

“Do whatever he says, Lee.”

“But—”

“
Just do it
.” Nasser raised his hands in surrender.

Lee raised her hands and tried to slow the wild thumping of her heart.

“Good,” Marcan sa
id. “Now, both of you,
remove your packs.
Slowly
.”

They complied, dropping their bags on the forest floor. Never taking his eyes off the two humans, Marcan scooped the bags up and hooked their straps around his free arm. Then he removed the blade from Lee’s throat.

“Turn around,” he instructed, gesturing with the sword, “and walk until I tell you to stop. If either of you tries to run, you’ll find a blade between your shoulders. Understand?”

“We understand,” Nasser told him.
Even now, his voice was perfectly even.
“May I ask where you’re taking us?”

At that, Marcan snorted. “To the place where we keep all the undesirables and intruders.” Then he prodded them with the point of his sword. “I told you to march.”

“Wait,” Byrony said. “Marcan, it is important that I bring in the human gir
l myself. Might I borrow a blade
while you concentrate on the boy?” Before the knight could decline, she added, “I will owe you a large boon, Marcan. After today, it will be in my power to grant whatever you ask—but only if you let me take the girl myself.”

Marcan lowered his voice. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Feronia’s quest?”

“Perhaps.”

“So
this
is the girl,” Marca
n mused. “She’s a
wfully small for such a big fuss.”

A long moment passed. Then Lee saw a flash of silver as Marcan drew a second blade from his belt and passed it to Byrony.

“We’ll walk there as a group,” he
announced
. “But until we reach the spot, this girl is your responsibility. You found her and held her. I can attest to that. It’s enough.”

Lee almost
heard
Byrony grin. “Start thinking of what you desire, Marcan,” she said sweetly, as she laid the blade against Lee’s neck.

* * *

If life with
Morgan
’s temper had taught Filo anything, it was how to slink around without catching the eye of more powerful beings. He wove
carefully
through the shifting crowds of fey—eyes down, shoulders hunched—skirting the edge of the revel
as much as possible.
But once he passed
beyond the tree line, it was harder
to
keep track of his location, and he found himself wandering deeper and deeper into the revel.

As he slipped past a crowd of dancing faeries, Filo froze.

On a raised stage made from a large tree stump, holding a beautifully-crafted faerie guitar, stood Jason.

The faeries had dressed him in a loose-fitting white tunic, an embroidered green vest and matching pants
—
identical to all
the
other musicians
.
In revels, human entertainers were dressed to make them easily identifiable: musicians in green, dancers in red, artists in blue
, and so on
.

Jason’s expression was blank, detached. His gaze slid over the crowd of faeries, but he wasn’t really seeing them.
Beside him, a similarly-dressed fidd
ler stood with a defeated posture
, his empty eyes fixed on his feet
.
The fiddler was tall and elderly-looking, his white hair raying out around his weathered face.

One of the faeries began to clap—a loud,
fast
beat
, indicating the kind of song the faeries wanted to hear
.
Instantly, the fiddler livened up, tucking his fiddle beneath his chin and sawing the strings.
His hands were large and knobby,
but infinitely dexterous
.
A moment later, Jason joined him with his guitar,
and together they played a
fast,
spirited reel
. Faeries whirled over the grass with the music, leaping and spinning and trading partners in a complicated dance.

But Filo didn’t watch the dancing fey. His gaze was
riveted on the two musicians. If the
fiddler was talent
ed,
Jason was transcendent
. He d
idn’t reach for notes; he eased
effortlessly
into
them, as if they came into being simply because he wanted them to. Each chord traveled
along Filo’s nerves, calling
him
.