Storm Warned (The Grim Series) (23 page)

Her words stung him, as if he was an insensitive creep, and not someone being asked to accept the impossible.
I wish I could believe you. I really do.
That’s what Liam wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. The most he could do was put his hand over hers, and he was supremely relieved when she laced her fingers through his.
She wasn’t kidding when she said it wasn’t going to be easy for us.
He had no idea how they’d survive something like this. It wasn’t like they had different religions—it was more like they had different realities.

“My husband, Rhys, and my friend Aidan became death dogs as well,” added Morgan. “They were lucky to escape the spell that bound them. And luckier still that they weren’t killed outright by the Fair Ones.”

Not just faeries, but
homicidal
faeries? This was just getting better and better. “Oh now, come on. Since when do they kill people? I don’t remember reading any books like that when I was a kid.” He’d actually read superhero comics more than anything else, but that was beside the point.

“You weren’t reading the ancient stories, the
real
stories like the ones my Welsh grandmother told me,” said Morgan. “The faeries you see in books and movies now are sanitized and diminished versions of the real thing. Frankly, the real thing is usually big and terrifying.”

“Most of the Tylwyth Teg are amoral. Many, like this Maelgwn guy, exhibit sociopathic behavior,” Jay explained. “It’s very apparent that they don’t think like we do. In fact, it’s safest to treat them all as extremely dangerous . . .”

“
Enough with the damn faeries, you guys!
I’m still not hearing how any of this connects to the storm.”

Morgan jumped up and started to pace. “Look, if you’ve ever picked up a mythology book, you’ve heard of the Wild Hunt, right? It’s a classic theme.”

Why did that sound familiar? Liam frowned and was rewarded with a fresh burst of pain, but he soldiered on. “I dunno, I think it’s some story the Norse used to tell. The god of the dead led a hunt of dark horses and hounds through the sky or some damn thing.”

“Close enough. Well, Maelgwn and his gang of Tylwyth Teg ran a rogue hunt right through your farm. About forty or fifty riders came through this region and damaged every farm in their path between Pullman and Cheney. It was a helluva big storm, yes, but the thunderstorm is just a side effect of the light whips the riders use.”

Riders . . .

Stunned, Liam fell silent. How could he have forgotten? He thought he’d seen a dark band of riders along Finger Ridge. In fact, they were the very last thing he saw before that damn crystal vase knocked him senseless.
No, wait—I saw something else. There were streamers of lightning snaking upward.
But that was a natural thing, right? Just a charge reaching up from the ground to connect with the lightning coming down from the clouds . . . except the phenomenon was very short-lived and rarely seen. And there had been not one but
many
streamers. They’d all been in the very midst of the riders, lingering long enough to illuminate the horsemen to Liam’s incredulous gaze.

There was that feeling in his gut again, the sensation of truth.
What the hell is going on?

“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough for one day,” he said finally, with one hand cradling his head. “I’m tired and I have one helluva headache. If someone will give me a hand up, I definitely have a date with the couch.”

Jay sprang into action as Morgan tried again to explain. “Look, I know how all this sounds, I really do. I used to think the fae were just make-believe too,” she said, as Liam was helped to his feet. “But that’s before they tried to kill Rhys and me one night. They’re as real as we are, and their realm is right beneath our feet. Where geologists perceive nothing but rock and earth, where our damned
instruments
detect only rock and earth, the fae have enormous ancient kingdoms that dwarf everything we’ve ever built above ground.”

“It’s true. I’ve seen them. I’ve been there.” Caris looked up at him, her face grave. “The Fair Ones existed long before mortals walked the earth, Liam Cole. And some of them still remember that time.”

The woman he cared for—
ah hell
, he loved her and knew it—was telling the truth. His friends were telling the truth. Liam could see it in their faces, and worse, his gut confirmed it.
But that only means they believe what they’re saying, right?
He’d heard that members of cults could pass lie-detector tests. But how did three intelligent people—two of them medical professionals, for chrissakes—get caught up in such a wild tale?

The sun had dipped behind the hills, leaving only a glow in the sky. Jay stayed quiet as he drove the quad slowly along the cleared path leading back to the house. Liam was thankful for that—he didn’t think he could take in one more word about faeries, or anything else for that matter. But that didn’t keep him from thinking about the strange things he’d been told. His head and heart and gut were arguing over the details of course—but the conclusion he kept coming to was: “Morgan and Jay are my friends.” They’d come all the way out here to help him, and help him they had.
Caris too, when she barely knew me
. In fact, if you really wanted to talk about magic, the trio had pulled off nothing short of a frickin’ miracle with his house alone, never mind taken excellent care of his animals. All three had gone above and beyond for
him
.

No matter where the truth lay, Liam felt he owed his friends more than a dismissal of their words. Somehow he had to try to understand. He owed that and more to Caris especially, and the future he’d like to have with her—but how? Where the hell did he begin?

The vehicle slowed to a complete stop about forty yards short of the house, startling Liam out of his thoughts. “Hey, J-man, can you please pull up to the steps? I don’t think I’m steady enough to walk this far.”

Jay, however, was staring straight ahead. “Um . . . there seems to be a party in the way.”

“A what?”

Liam stared too. Between the quad and the house were dozens of canvas canopies in every bright color imaginable. Beneath their shade sat low round tables, not even a foot high, formed of smooth cross slices of tree trunks that had been polished to a high shine. Thick squat candles burned brightly in the twilight. And every setting boasted a rough-carved mug and a copper trencher laden with breads, meats, and cheeses of every kind, not to mention a cavalcade of pickles.

But the guests were the most startling of all. Seated all around the groaning tables appeared to be every last one of Aunt Ruby’s beloved gnomes . . .

That’s not possible.

Not pausing to consider his throbbing head or his flagging energy level, Liam slid from the quad and shuffled slowly through the bright panoply, bending a little to fit under the canvases. His last straw of hope—that somehow the local Ladies’ Garden Society had arrived with emergency replacement gnomes for their beloved sister Ruby—dissolved almost before the desperate thought could form. He
recognized
most of these gnomes, having had to move many of them countless times so he could mow and trim and weed around them as a teenager. Large and small, fat and thin, cheerful or frowning—every last one had been painstakingly glued back together!

The cracks were tiny but apparent, giving some of them a faint Frankensteinian air. And definitely creeping him out.
This is crazy.
No one could ever have found and gathered up all the fragments from all over the property. No one could have sorted them all out, glued them back together, and then arranged a goddamn party in—he checked his watch—
barely a couple of hours!

Feeling his strength slipping, and possibly his mind, Liam ducked under a vivid blue canopy with some of the bigger gnomes, where a tree stump afforded him a seat. These gnomes definitely had a sports theme going, with a large TV screen showing a baseball game in progress. There was a new gnome in the bunch, most likely one of his aunt’s more recent acquisitions. Maybe even an antique, since it looked more like some kind of weird forest spirit than what his aunt usually collected. Even more peculiar, it sported an authentic Blue Jays cap.

“Not the Jays,” Liam muttered aloud. “Anything but the damn Jays. Aunt Ruby is strictly a Mariners fan, for chrissakes.” During one game, he and Uncle Conall had actually feared she’d have a stroke when it looked like Toronto might beat her favorite team.

The “gnome” suddenly turned to look at Liam with fire in its bright blue eyes. Indignation quivered in every word as the bizarre little creature demanded: “And just what, pray tell, d’ya think is wrong with the Blue Jays?”

TWENTY-ONE

C
an you hear me? Come on, buddy, you gotta wake up.”

It was dark, and Jay Browning’s voice sounded a long way away. Couldn’t be talking to him, surely. He just wanted to sleep . . .

“Liam! Liam Cole, you gotta wake up now.”

Okay, maybe he
was
being addressed. “G’way,” he muttered without opening his eyes.

“Here,” said another voice. “Let me wave this under Mr. Mariner’s nose.”

The pungent scent of vinegar and garlic assaulted his senses, penetrating his sinuses with acrid fumes and kicking his brain wide, wide awake. Liam’s eyes flew open, and he gasped for air but got only more of the powerful aroma. At first, all he could see was green, as an enormous dill seemingly the size of a fence post was being brandished in his face.

By a gnome wearing a Blue Jays hat, sitting on his chest.

“What the hell?” Liam tried to bat it away and scramble backward at the same time, which not only didn’t work but also set off Klaxons of pain in his beleaguered head. “Ow, dammit! Get away, get off me!”

The strange woody creature sniffed and got up with great dignity to stand beside Liam, one hand on his hip and the other pointing the pickle at him like a weapon. “I’m not a bug fer ya to be shooing away, dontcha know.”

Jesus H. Christ, I’m in a coma.
What else could it be? Liam had heard of people not only dreaming but hallucinating while deeply unconscious. Maybe he was still in the hospital . . . Hell, maybe he was still lying in the guest room, with Aunt Ruby’s vase next to his bruised skull. Or maybe he’d never been hit with the vase at all; maybe it was lightning, maybe the house was destroyed by the tornado, and maybe, just maybe, he was frickin’
dead
.

Jay leaned into his field of view, using his thumb and forefinger to move Liam’s eyelids around to stare into his pupils. “Had me worried there, dude. Morgan and Caris would both have my ass in a sling if I let anything happen to you.” Glancing at his watch, Jay checked the pulse in Liam’s wrist. “Solid and steady,” he announced. “A little rapid, but that’s to be expected.”

“I . . . I passed out, right? I mean—shit, I don’t know what I mean.”

“Lemme guess.” Jay helped him to sit up against a tree. “You’re a little worried about your sanity?”

Liam could see the gnome creature behind Jay. He was taking great smacking bites out of the pickle. And all around him was the scene Liam remembered last, the giant crazy gnome party beneath the colorful canvas canopies. Bright cheerful candles illuminated everything. “Christ, I’m not sure what to worry about
first
.”

“Let’s try some introductions. Liam, this is my friend Ranyon.” The young vet turned to the strange being and gently bumped fists with him. “Ranyon, this is my friend Liam.”

Ranyon didn’t seem terribly impressed. “So, Mr. Mariner, you’ve never seen an ellyll before?”

“Why are you calling me that?” asked Liam, genuinely perplexed. He turned to Jay. “And what’s he saying about an eel?”

“First question:
baseball
,” explained Jay. “You cast aspersions on his beloved Toronto team.”

Okay, he could wrap his head around that much. “I’m sorry about that, er,
Ranyon
. My aunt’s totally crazy for the Mariners. I just assumed someone had played a joke on her by dressing up one of her gnomes as the opposing team.”

“Ya watch baseball yerself?”

“Not often enough to have a favorite team. I like a good game no matter who’s playing, but I’m mostly a football kinda guy. Seahawks fan.”

“
Hmpf
. Well, at least yer honest.” The little man finished the pickle, licked the tips of his fingers, then folded his spindly arms in front of him. They resembled knobby tree branches more than anything, and so did his skinny legs. Maybe they
were
branches, since there were leaves sticking out of them here and there. Ranyon’s face certainly looked like weathered wood, and his hair was filled with leaves as well. Despite the bright T-shirt and ball cap, he could easily be mistaken for an ancient shrub. Only his lively blue eyes said differently.

Jay continued. “Second question: he didn’t say
eels
. He said he was an
ellyll
. That’s a type of fae, an elemental, from the Nine Realms.”

“Lately of Spokane Valley,” Ranyon added proudly.

“Okay. Sure. Well, good to meet you.” Not knowing what else to do, Liam offered his hand to the little tree man. After a moment, Ranyon took it, and Liam’s eyes widened. Those long, twiggy fingers were damn strong.

And very, very
real
.

Holy-o-shit
. He was seeing, hearing, and
touching
an honest-to-God faery. He nodded at Jay. “I guess I oughta apologize for not believing you.”

The man just shrugged and grinned. “Hey, we all knew how far-fetched it sounded. When I first met Ranyon, it might have been a little easier for me because I already half believed in this kind of stuff anyway. I
wanted
to believe, you know? But your reaction was totally understandable. Most people aren’t very receptive to having their reality shifted.”

Liam nodded at the description. His reality had definitely been shifted—
like a damn earthquake shifts tectonic plates.
And like all seismic events, he knew the change was
permanent.

The Great Way yawned open, a shimmering gateway suspended in the air between Lurien and the queen. Her proximity to the phenomenon had him poised on the knife-edge of alertness—they were scarcely a handsbreadth away from its reach—but Gwenhidw was never one to avoid risk.
Safer that she should pet a fanged warth
, he thought grimly. Crystalline motes of pure power floated out of its maw, wafting to the rocky ground beneath his feet and vanishing like snowflakes, but Lurien knew the mountain had simply absorbed the energy.

Within the Way, a vast tunnel of spun starlight stretched away as far as even his sharp eyes could see. It was undeniably breathtaking in its beauty—and like all things associated with the Inbetween, it was also dangerous beyond imagining.

As Lord of the Wild Hunt, he had now braved the bright and winding course a score of times, with the full force of his magic before him and the strength of his battle-hardened followers at his back. And still, creatures seen and unseen had attacked them from every side. He and his band were compelled to fight their way through each time—only to discover the return journey just as difficult. He’d lost two good hunters, a horse, and three white hounds on the last sortie alone. It still left a bad taste in his mouth: he wasn’t accustomed to losing, not with the skills and powers he’d worked so hard and so long to master.

Lurien commanded a considerable wealth of magic, far more than most of the Fair Ones could imagine. And unlike many of them, he didn’t rely on stones and relics and other amplifiers—he considered the practice to be both lazy and foolish. As a hunter and a fighter, he knew too well that weapons could be lost or taken. Instead, he had painstakingly honed his powers over the eons until he
was
a weapon.

He still believed in caution, however. The distant sound of fae horses stamping and blowing attested to the presence of the Wild Hunt on the shoreline below. As
llaw dde
, Lurien was bound to protect the queen from any and all dangers. He would use every tool at his disposal, including his own heart’s blood, to keep her safe.

As well as her own ability.

After the assassination of King Arthfael, Lurien had insisted that Gwenhidw no longer rely solely on any protector, including himself. She had already been proficient in magics and spells, but with his guidance and encouragement, she’d developed her powers to the point that they now surpassed his own. He was proud of her for that. Though her royal lineage entitled her to every artifact of power housed in the vast treasure rooms of the palace, and although she commanded the loyalty of numberless beings,
she was dependent on none of them
.

Except tonight.

They would all be depending on each other tonight, as Lurien and Gwenhidw combined their magics with the varying powers possessed by the assembly of envoys. But would the combined result be sufficient to tame the Great Way?

Lurien surveyed the envoys, all committed to the plan to claim Tir Hardd. Only Gwenhidw could bring together such diverse beings with such long-held misconceptions about each other and so many genuine grievances against each other and persuade them to work as one. They had practiced together in the courtyard innumerable times. They had succeeded in gathering samplau and preparing them for the journey through the Way—and after the explosion at the palace, they had replaced all the ones that had been destroyed.

Their biggest accomplishment, however, had been the enlargement of first one, then several, of the small ways. Yet the tiny conduits could be stretched only so far, and not one had grown big enough for anything larger than a coblyn to walk through. Only the Great Way could provide what was needed—but were they ready for it?

They stood atop the faery kingdom’s highest mountain, Mynedfa, the only peak that actually burst through the fae skies into the human realm. Mortals called it Holyhead Mountain, though in their world it was little more than a seaside hill whose sheer rock walls flanked Anglesey Island, where the druids had once made their home. Since that time, humans had forgotten how much magic resided in the mount. And not even the druids had known about the massive Way that Arthfael himself had discovered there.

Night had fallen in the mortal realm, its sky clear and filled with stars. The moon was full and round, echoing the shape of the glittering portal, but unable to compete with its glory. At the queen’s direction, a circle had also been formed by the delegates of the Nine Realms. Large and small, they stood on the broad flat mountaintop in utter silence. Seventy-nine envoys, plus Gwenhidw and Lurien, made nine times nine. A goodly number for magical workings, he knew, even though he had fought hard to make certain that the envoys numbered seventy-eight.

Lurien had spent hours arguing with an infuriated Gwenhidw, advocating far greater precautions. No evidence had yet been found of who or what was responsible for the terrible explosion, and therefore
everyone
was suspect. With innumerable examples of Draigddynion crimes against the monarchy in the past, surely it was best that Aurddolen remain imprisoned for the time being. And perhaps the enlarging of the Way, the seeding of Tir Hardd, should be postponed until the current conspiracy was uncovered. Gwenhidw argued that there were those within the realms, even among the Tylwyth Teg themselves, who would not be above such a horrific deed, and he had to concede the point.

In the end, he was compelled to concede to her wishes regarding Aurddolen as well. Citing diplomatic necessity, the queen had insisted that the Draigddynion envoy not only be freed but also rejoin the envoys. Lurien had been ordered to apologize as well, but
that
he would not do. He would never be sorry for trying to protect Gwenhidw. And since the queen was doubly determined to go forward with her plans as quickly as possible, Lurien not only tripled the guards around her; he also set six guards on Aurddolen day and night.

As furious as she was certain to be, the dragon woman had neither looked at Lurien nor spoken to him. Not once. A pity, but he had made his choices, and he would live with them.

So far, they had been successful in sending several dozen samplau through the glittering Way, all of the ones that would fit its present dimensions. There remained, however, massive spheres like great ships, containing precious portions of the mighty Silver Maples forest, the Rainbow Chasm, and many more amgylcheddau, one-of-a-kind environments that provided shelter to numberless creatures unknown in any other world.

This is what we practiced for.
The time had come to enlarge the Way.

Many of the delegates seemed mesmerized by the splendor of the bright tunnel.
Those with any sense
, thought Lurien,
should be awed by their queen
. Clad in a white gown that seemed created from moonlight itself, she wore the silver baldric of her royal office over one shapely shoulder. From it hung the sword of her ancestors, Deiliad Golau. The sword’s name meant “Bearer of Light,” and it seemed to Lurien that the queen embodied that name far more than the ancient weapon did. In the pommel of the faery-forged sword, however, rested the largest-known bwgan stone in the Nine Realms. By the glittering light of the Great Way, green fire leapt to life within the smooth black stone. Perhaps the assembly thought that the queen was using its magical properties to hold the Way open, but Lurien knew that she was unaided by anything but her own honed ability. He had agreed with her reasoning that she should demonstrate her power, so that the envoys would have full confidence in her—and therefore have confidence in her plan. But he also understood how much energy it took from her.
Hurry
, he thought silently.
We must do this now, while you yet have all your strength
.