Rise of the Darklings (8 page)

Black eyes set in a long, foxlike face stared feverishly up at her. The creature bared its sharp yellow teeth in a grin that quickly turned into a wince of pain.

“You’re a human.”

“So?” said Emily.
You’re talking to a faerie
, she thought.

“So this is the part where your kind usually screams and runs away,” said the creature.

A faerie. A creature from the storybooks
.

“I don’t scream,” said Emily distantly.

A creature that doesn’t exist
.

“How brave of you.”

Emily frowned. She could tell when she was being talked down to. “You’re injured,” she said.

“How observant. And all this time I thought humans were stupid.”

“And you obviously need my help, so if I were you, I’d think about being a bit more polite. Are you a faerie?”

“Bones, girl, do I
look
like a faerie?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one before.”

The creature thought for a moment. “Fair point. No, I am not a faerie. Faeries are stupid creatures with wings. Faeries are a waste of space. I am a piskie—from Cornwall. My name is Corrigan.”

Emily let this sink into her mind.

Not a faerie
, she told herself.
A piskie. You’re talking to a piskie
.

But she couldn’t be. Piskies weren’t real, either. Had she fallen and bumped her head? Maybe she was still lying in bed and none of this had really happened.

The piskie struggled to pull himself up, but his injured leg wouldn’t support him. He collapsed onto his knees and looked at Emily accusingly.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch? I’m in pain here.”

“Who did this to you?”

“I already told you. The Black Sidhe. They’re an Unseelie tribe of Tylwyth Teg piskies from Wales. They—”

Corrigan stopped talking.

“Well?” she asked impatiently. “ ‘
They
’ what?”

“They’re right behind you,” he whispered, staring over her shoulder.

Emily spun around but she saw no one. She was just about to turn back and scold the creature, when she heard a noise, the scuff of something against brick. She froze and looked slowly upward.

The piskies Corrigan had been fighting lined the roof of the building that formed the alley wall. At least, Emily assumed they were piskies. They were the same size as Corrigan, but their features were hard to make out because of the denseness of the black ink covering their skin.

Corrigan said something, too low for Emily to hear. She half turned to face him, keeping her eyes trained on the rooftop. “What?” she said softly.

“I said don’t move,” whispered the piskie.

Too late. Something stung Emily’s hand. She gave a stifled yelp and looked down. There, stuck in the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger, was one of the same arrows that was stuck in Corrigan’s leg.

She pulled on it, but it wouldn’t budge. She frowned and pulled harder. The skin puckered and stretched but the arrow stayed firmly lodged in her skin. Not only that, but she also imagined she felt it pulling back, as if it were somehow resisting her efforts. Emily tried to get a better grip, but the arrow jerked and sank deeper into her flesh.

Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She grabbed hold of the arrow again and looked up. The piskies were all staring at her. She set her mouth, tightened her fingers, and with one sharp tug, she yanked the arrow from her flesh.

This time she couldn’t stop a cry of pain from escaping. The arrow tore her skin as it came free, bringing with it a bubble of dark blood.

She looked up again. The piskies were moving, raising tiny bows and arrows.

Emily didn’t wait another second. She whirled around and swept Corrigan into her hand, hiding him beneath her coat. A small satchel fell from his shoulder as she did this. She caught it and stuffed it into one of her pockets, then turned and sprinted for the entrance to the alley.

She heard the piskies whistling to one another, obviously sending some kind of signal, but she didn’t look back. She burst out of the lane and took the first turn she came to, then another, and another, picking random passages through tenement buildings and courtyards, darting down secluded pathways and mews in the hope that she would be able to lose the creatures. When she thought herself far enough away, she slowed down to get her bearings and headed out into the main streets, which were slowly starting to fill up with people.

Emily looked around, then slipped into the recessed
doorway of a sweetshop and carefully uncovered the piskie. He looked terrible. His limbs hung limp over her forearm, and for a horrible second she thought she had suffocated him. But then he groaned and swung his long face around.

“What is it?”

“The arrow. It was poisoned. You need to take me—”

Emily’s heart leapt in her chest. “But I was hit as well! One of the arrows got me!”

“All the more reason to take me to Merrian. I’ll give you directions.” Corrigan winced and gently repositioned his leg. “He’s a bit on the gruff side, but give him respect and everything will be fine.”

“I’ll not give him respect if he doesn’t earn it,” said Emily firmly.

“You will.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s half-giant and he could crush you with one smack of his hand.”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

M
errian may very well have been a half-giant
, thought Emily, looking around the cramped bookshop, but he certainly didn’t know how to keep things clean. The front window was so dirty she could barely see through it to the street outside. Dust covered every available surface. Piles of clutter and towers of books strained up toward the grimy ceiling like flowers desperate for the sun. Emily squeezed between these haphazard piles, afraid that the slightest touch would bring them crashing down around her.

“Ring the bell,” said Corrigan. He seemed a bit stronger now that help was close by.

Emily saw a bell on the counter. It was the one thing in the shop that looked as if it was routinely polished. The handle
was pale wood and featured delicate scrollwork carved carefully into the grain. The bell itself was white and shimmered with blue highlights.

Emily gently placed Corrigan on the counter and picked up the bell. The slight movement produced a clear, high tone. Emily quickly put it down.

“Now what?” she whispered.

“Now we wait.”

No sooner had Corrigan uttered these words than the curtain at the back of the shop was torn aside and a huge man lumbered through, ducking his head to avoid banging it against the doorframe. He was bald, with a long braided mustache that trailed down to his chest. He glared at Emily.

“Who in the name of all the gods are you?” he shouted in a deep voice.

Emily stared up at the man in awe. She suddenly understood what Corrigan had meant about crushing her with one smack of his hand. “I’m Emily,” she said. “Emily Snow.”

“Well, Emily Emily Snow. What are you doin’ in my shop?”

“I told her to come here, Merrian,” said Corrigan.

Merrian looked down at the counter. His brows knitted in surprise. “Corrigan?” He stepped forward. “You’re hurt! Was it her?” He glowered at Emily. “I’ll kill her—”

“Relax, Merrian. It wasn’t her. She saved me. It was the Unseelie.”

Merrian looked alarmed. “The Unseelie? How—?” He stopped himself, glancing warily at Emily. “Who?”

“The Black Sidhe. They followed me in from Bath.”

“Did they … D’you have it?”

Corrigan nodded.

“And the others?”

Corrigan shook his head sadly. “They didn’t make it.”

“The Queen won’t be happy about that.”

“I doubt she will. Merrian, could you …?” Corrigan gestured to the arrow sticking from his leg.

Merrian bent over and examined the piskie’s wound. He sniffed. “Nasty,” he said. “Unicorn spit and …” He sniffed again. “Unicorn spit mixed with the dead flesh of a Sluagh.”

Emily, who had been listening in a state of some confusion, looked up at the huge man. “Can you heal him?”

“Aye, I think so.”

Emily held out her hand. “Can you heal me, as well? One of the arrows got me.”

Merrian took hold of her hand. It looked like a doll’s limb resting in his huge palm. He bent over and sniffed again. “Not too bad. You got it out quick enough. I’ll give you a poultice, though.”

Merrian opened a drawer and took out a tiny glass vial. He handed it to Corrigan. “Drink this while I look for the ingredients. It’ll take away the pain.” Then he moved off to
the shelves and started taking down dusty jars, muttering to himself.

“Who are the Unseelie?” Emily asked.

“The Unseelie are those who call the Dagda their King,” said Corrigan. “Our enemies. We’ve been fighting them since the last war.”

“Who’s
we?”

“The Seelie. Those who follow the Queen.”

“Oh.” Emily watched Merrian’s back as he bustled about the shelves. “Why are you fighting?”

Merrian glanced over his shoulder. “We never used to. Well, we
did
, but not on this scale. The Dagda and the Queen used to be allies, but they had a falling out. They split, and so did the fey. Those that followed the Dagda to Wales became known as the Unseelie. Those who stayed here to follow the Queen became the Seelie.” Merrian sighed. “Used to be so much simpler. Us against humans. For thousands of years, that’s how it was. Oh, don’t get me wrong. There have been plenty of wars between the fey, but
mostly
it was us against you.”

“Rubbish,” scoffed Emily. “Why don’t we know about it then?”

“Some do,” said Corrigan. “This is good stuff, Merrian. Does the job.” He turned back to Emily. “There have always been groups of humans who know about us. They form
themselves into armies, secret societies. That Mr. Ravenhill you met? He’s in one. The Invisible Order, they call themselves.”

“And what do they do?”

Merrian lined up five jars on the counter. He opened them and took out bits of bark and leaves. “They try to kill us,” he said bluntly, then stuffed the pieces into his mouth and started chewing.

“But … 
why?”

Corrigan shrugged. “It’s the way it’s always been. They don’t think we belong here.”

“So, you’re telling me that faeries and unicorns and piskies and all kinds of strange creatures live here in London?”

“Not just London,” said Corrigan. “All over. But yes. We’re just good at hiding.”

“Not that good. I found you.”

“That … should never have happened,” said Corrigan. “Our glamour was weakened. We were concentrating on the fight, you see. If you’d come into that alley a few seconds later, you probably wouldn’t have seen us.”

“But I can see you now.”

“Only because I’m letting you,” said Corrigan smugly.

Merrian spat the chewed brown mess into his hand. He scooped some up with a finger and held it out to Emily. “Here. Put this on the wound. It’ll draw out what poison is left.”