Page 9

CHAPTER 8

“ I know, I know, Ronan. It’s stupid?—”

“And dangerous. They will kill you on sight,” my best friend says as he floats by my side as I run.

For a moment, I glare at him as I try not to jostle the precious cargo in my arms. “Then it is a good job you are already dead and they cannot hurt you.”

“Shamus, if you die, I fully die, remember? I’m tied to you,” he hisses. “Is she worth the risk?”

“You tell me,” I retort as we stop before a mound of rock some miles away from Stalkers’ Rest. It’s in the ancient magical forest. We made a truce never to cross into it—until now.

Tate groans in my arms, and we glance down at her. She is covered in blood, and I can smell death on her. A minute or two later and it would have been too late. No, I cannot let her die. This is my fault. I put her in there, knowing the dangers. I thought I was prepared to accept anything that happened, but when Ronan found me, I realised I wasn’t.

Over the past few years, I have become fond of the little devil in my arms. She’s my new obsession, not just because of what I need her to do without her knowing, and I’m not the only one.

Ronan’s eyes linger on her, and I see sadness and pain in his gaze, alongside worry. The dead care for no one, but he cares for her greatly, even if he tries to hide it from me. It’s the only way we could travel to the place they kept her. He shared his powers with me, and we moved through time and space, something we have only been able to do once before, and it was under great duress—I was dying.

This time, it was for her, so yes, he cares.

“Yes, she is worth it,” he murmurs before looking up at me. “I’m just warning you. If we step through that barrier, we might not come back.”

Turning to the innocuous looking rock, I pull Tate firmer into my arms, her soul slipping away with each second. “It is a risk I am willing to take.” I step through the invisible barrier and then to the fae realm beyond.

We are instantly greeted by guards pointing enchanted weapons at us. A spear tip pokes into my shoulder, and a glowing flame sword is pressed to the back of my neck. I tilt my head, surveying the fae guards tasked with protecting their borders and upholding the truce.

The one I just broke.

“I seek sanctuary and a meeting with your healer. I am Shamus Vilaran, leader of Stalkers’ Rest, signer of the truce, and peacemaker. I come here for your help.”

They do not move, their spiked, triangular helmets only showing me their eyes, then the guards behind them part like flowing water, opening a path to a glowing, ethereal being.

“Usually begging is done on one’s knees, ghost whisperer,” the seductive voice calls.

Heather, or at least that is what we humans call her, is their leader, as well as the most terrifying and powerful being I have ever met.

“If I could, I would be on them,” I reply carefully, knowing words have power here. You cannot lie to a fae, it is a great offence, but they are very good with word games, something I have tried to learn.

The guards part until Heather stands before me, and her bright purple eyes drop to Tate. It is hard to tell Heather’s age. She is neither young nor old but somewhere in between. Her glowing hair changes from purple to grey, and her magic flows across her skin. I have to grit my teeth to stop from being consumed by it.

She is ancient and strong and not someone I want as an enemy.

Before the truce came along, she waged a war against hunters and humans, but now we live in peace—peace I have broken for Tate.

She whimpers, and I glance down at her. “Shh, hang on. You’ll be okay, I promise.” I kiss her head softly before looking to Heather. “I seek your healer. No earthly magic can save my hunter, but you can.”

“Hunters die every day. Why is this one so important that you would break a truce and risk everything you have worked for?” Heather challenges.

I choose my words carefully. “She is . . . important.”

“No human is important. You are all like stars, burning brightly for a moment and then gone, leaving only the very smallest of traces, but I know you, Shamus. You would not break this truce for anyone, not even your own life, and it intrigues me. I shall see if she is important if you’ll allow it.” She holds out her hand.

I don’t want her to touch Tate, she could do anything with one touch, but I do not have much choice and we both know it. Either I relent or they will kill me for breaking the truce. It’s a good sign I am not dead already.

Inclining my head, I hold Tate out so Heather can touch as little of me as possible. I do not want to interfere in whatever Heather has to do, and I also do not want her to touch me. I know Heather is capable of a great many things, and giving her access to my head and body as the commander of hunters would not be good.

She watches me for a moment before placing her hand across Tate’s sweaty, bloody forehead.

For a moment, Heather’s eyes glow before she pulls her hand away, looking at Tate. “Interesting, very interesting.”

She steps back, her eyes locked on Tate, and something in her gaze makes me pull Tate closer. It almost looks like hunger. She blinks and glances up at me.

“I will allow you passage to our healer. We will speak after about the repercussions of you breaking the truce and entering our lands. Come this way, but first, your ghost must be ironed. We cannot have him wandering around freely and getting into all sorts of trouble.”

I glance at Ronan to see him floating back into the weapons, worry in his eyes.

“Ronan,” I warn.

I know what this means. Iron acts as a cage to a ghost. He will not be able to float freely. His jaw jumps, an old habit, before he thrusts his arms out, allowing himself to be shackled. The iron clamps around both wrists, and suddenly his usually transparent appearance turns solid, his feet hitting the ground.

He’s almost human.

“Good, then follow me. Your little seer does not have much time,” Heather warns.

I fall into step at her side as we move deeper into the fae realm. “Seer?” I whisper.

“Answers have a price. You know that, ghost whisperer.” She peers at me. “Do you wish to pay for the answer?”

“Not now, just take us to the healer.”

She chuckles at my response, then she waves her hand and the path disappears around us. When it clears, we are inside a dark shop, the smell making my nose twitch, but I do not sneeze, since that would be rude.

Fae are big on insults.

When I was younger, I did not understand that and made the mistake of offending an older fae by mentioning their ears. I nearly ended up dead. I learned my lesson quickly.

The shelves and workbenches are covered in artifacts, herbs, and spells. Fae magic is everywhere. The roof is made of intricate stained glass, depicting the rise and fall of the fae. Those colours stream down like a kaleidoscope, providing the only light in the dimly lit room.

The magic in here is stifling and ancient.

Shuffling reaches my ears, and an older woman appears from around a corner. Her eyes narrow on me before they widen when they land on Heather, and she bows. “My queen, what brings you here? I could have come to you.”

“It was urgent, my old friend,” Heather murmurs softly, speaking kinder than I have ever heard her. “You must save this human.”

“Human? My magic is not for them,” the older fae hisses, wrinkles framing her mouth and blue eyes. Her hair is a deep blonde interwoven with grey, and it’s tied back into little plaits with bones.

“It is now, just this once. I ask it of you as your queen. Save the human.”

They share a look before the older one glances at me. “As you wish, my queen.”

“Thank you.” Heather presses her hand to the healer’s shoulder before glancing at me. “You are in good hands. If anyone can save the seer, it is our healer. I will be back to collect.” She vanishes, leaving Ronan, Tate, and me with the healer.

“Put her here,” the older fae mutters. She waves her hand, and a stone workbench is swiftly swept clean. The dark grey slab glows ever so slightly, and I hesitate. “I mean her no harm. If you wish for me to save her, then you must do this quickly.”

“Vow to me you will do everything to save her, not harm her,” I demand as kindly as I can, reluctant to let Tate go. I have this weird thought that if I release her, she will slip away from me.

“Do not mistake my agreement for kindness, human,” she hisses. “I do as my queen demands, not you. She ordered that I keep this human alive, so I will. Now quickly, before it’s too late.”

With no other choice, I step towards the glowing stone and carefully lay her down, righting her clothing, arms, and legs. She doesn’t even whimper, which worries me. She is so pale and still.

The healer bustles past me, pushing me back. I stumble into Ronan, and he catches me. I keep my hold on him, needing it as we stare at the woman who has come to mean something to us.

The healer mutters as she moves around the table, gathering things and placing them on Tate’s chest—a stone, a small animal skull, an empty bowl, and a dagger. Once they are placed, she stops across from us. She raises her hands, and they start to glow as she moves them slowly up and down Tate’s body.

Tears start to roll down the healer’s cheeks, glistening with power and pain. All her hatred and prejudice disappear. “Oh, my child, what did they do to you? So much pain and suffering. You should be dead. Your strength . . . by the old gods, your strength . . .”

“Will she survive?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer me, her entire focus on Tate. The bowl starts to fill with blood, the dagger begins to spin, and the rock glows as the healer moves her hands faster and faster.

“So much agony, so much endurance . . . You are a survivor. You will survive this. That is it, fight for me. Fight to live.”

Ronan and I stand silently, waiting like forgotten statues as the healer works. Time passes strangely as the bowl refills and drains into Tate five times. The stone’s glow slowly dwindles until it extinguishes, and the dagger stills.

The healer’s hands drop and her eyes open. She looks down at Tate, and I follow her gaze. Her chest is rising and falling slowly without restriction, and the colour is returning to her skin. She looks healthier.

That is a good sign, yes?

“Rest now, my child. You are safe,” the healer whispers before clearing the objects from Tate’s chest and heading our way.

The healer looks exhausted as she stops before me. “Her injuries are healing, but it is up to her to fight to stay in this body and world.” She turns, her shoulders slumped as she starts to shuffle away.

I wish to say thank you, but I know it is rude. Instead, I offer my gratitude the only way I can. “I am indebted to you.”

“No, you are indebted to our queen.” The healer glances back at me. “Besides, losing a soul like hers from this world . . . It would be a crime. She is needed.” She departs, leaving me unable to ask what she meant.

With nothing else to do, I hurry to Tate’s side and kneel as I grip her hand. “Did you hear that, angel? You’re needed, so wake up.”

She doesn’t move, and I watch as Ronan kneels on her other side, his expression hopeful before he looks at me. “The queen will come for you to pay the debt.”

“I know,” I murmur as I hold Tate’s hand. Her gloves are gone, which she would hate. I don’t know why that’s my first thought, but it is. “I will pay it. When she comes, stay with Tate. I do not think they would harm her, but you can never be too sure.”

“Of course. Will you be okay?” he asks.

“I have survived this long,” is all I tell him. I will not lie to my friend. I know the price will be steep, but I will gladly pay it.

They are right. Tate is important and needed.

She doesn’t know how much.

Ronan and I sit like sentries, keeping watch over our hunter, waiting for her to wake.