Page 49 of Twisting Twilight (Homesteader Hearth Witch #9)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A child’s cry drifted down the spiraling staircase.
It was more persistent than the wails and more maddening than the whispers. At the manor, if a colicky child had been carrying on like this, it would’ve gotten a mouthful of fennel and chamomile tincture by now. Even as the sound sawed at my calm, empathy rose.
Now that I was convinced these shadows were souls caught in a horrible purgatory, I cut through every one I could find. Flurry after flurry of black butterflies took to the sky and petals rained to the ground, but the child’s cries continued.
The southeast tower wasn’t the kind found in a fairy tale, despite being located in Elfame.
It wasn’t a narrow tube of spiraling stairs that emptied out into one large room at its tippiest top.
After each half turn, an archway interrupted the stairwell to provide access to a single hallway with rooms on either side.
I didn’t explore them, but I assumed they were living quarters since this was the tower where Beryl’s personal room was.
And being so close to the sea, it would be a waste to purpose them for anything that couldn’t take full advantage of the view.
Since the fae were tall individuals, a “story” to them was more like eighteen feet instead of ten.
Which meant a heck of a lot more stairs, which meant my thighs were burning after four stories of them.
Not to mention I’d had to balance here and there to slash at shadows.
Stumbling through the archway onto the fourth floor, I took a moment to brace my hands on my knees and hack for air.
While I did get the air I needed and my magic oak tree soothed away the ache in my legs, I did not get the full peace I’d been searching for.
The crying child sounds had increased.
All the legends said that faelings were precious, so somewhere someone was mourning the loss of this child greatly. Maybe even more than a single someone. I could— would —steal the moment to release it from purgatory.
Hurrying, I moved from room to room, opening each door and confirming there was no shadow lurking right in the doorway before sticking my head inside to listen.
As I suspected, each of these were personal rooms and suites, and all had seen the ravages of time.
No cribs so far, and no sea chests either.
I was beginning to think that the child’s cry was elsewhere and just drifting up here from a trick of the acoustics, but when I opened the sixth door, there was a cradle. And a sea chest.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight of the shadow in the cradle. It was silky black, just like the shadow bound to the diadem. And just like Muriel’s shadow, this one was bound to something too, for it mounded over something in the bed of the cradle like a swaddling blanket. Or a funeral shroud.
Color flickered along its edges—the purest gold. What it could mean, I had no idea, and no bottle of Riesling could encourage me to investigate further. Not this time. I didn’t need gold butterflies to join the black ones.
The cries I’d heard calmed immediately, as if the little shadow bundle sensed the relief I wielded in my hand.
Directly next to the cradle was a tall black shadow, positioned to block the view of the nearby window.
Was this Beryl? Had she seen the Blight coming across the sea and had only a moment’s time to shield her baby with her body before the plague consumed them both?
Tears welled in my eyes, but I shook them free. With a swift cut, I severed the shadows and turned away from the eruption of butterflies. I didn’t want to see these ones dissipate into nothingness, flying away from a young life not lived.
With a vicious stomp I shattered the weathered metal lock of the sea chest. It clunked hollowly on the decrepit rug, which was more rotten thread than anything else.
Inside, the contents of the chest had seen the degradation of salt air and time.
Gowns had compressed into wafer-like gauze, trinkets had crumbled away, but the Wandering Mirror gleamed like virgin silver and fresh-wrought glass.
It hummed with magic and purpose and sent a thrill of power and excitement through me when my hand closed around the handle.
While exceptionally decorative, it wasn’t what I’d expected.
This artifact was no larger than a lady’s hand mirror.
But from what little I knew of In-Between spaces, it did not need to be large to facilitate communication or even movement between the realms. Arcadis hadn’t called the Samildánach the Eternal Door for no reason.
And as I now knew from the bleached rainbow tourmaline, immense power could come in tiny packages.
I slipped the mirror into my pack and made for the door.
I didn’t look back.
“I got the mirror,” I told Sawyer as I raced down the stairs.
When the archway leading onto the little lip of crumbled eastern battlement appeared, I stepped out onto the landing and turned left to exit through another archway that emptied onto the southern wall.
This one was fully intact, and I raced along in the dying light of the day, slashing through any shadows in my path.
“Did you hear me?” I asked when he didn’t reply. The bond didn’t have that muted sensation to it, so I knew he wasn’t blocking me out. He was just choosing not to reply.
Curious, I paused on the crenelated ledge I’d climbed. My intent was just to hop over the side into the courtyard with the aid of an air current, but I couldn’t command that finicky magic and concentrate on Sawyer at the same time.
Focusing on my familiar, I sent my magical perceptions deep through our bond until I encountered the heart of my little cat. He was dumbstruck with awe and wonder, his mind completely empty of thought.
Filling his consciousness was a warm, seductive golden aura I knew all too well.
“SAWYER,” I thundered, channeling primal magic hot and fast through our bond.
Faraway, I heard him yowl.
In the next instant, shadows enveloped me.
Not ones rooted to the castle, but those bursting from the tattoos.
One second the butterflies lifted from my skin and the next, black vapor swirled around me and encased me in darkness.
A third second, the shadows fell away and I was standing in the courtyard.
A sudden coolness, like rubbing alcohol evaporating from swabbed skin, washed over my forearms, and I dared to think there were fewer butterflies inked there than before the transference.
Phrases like teleporting and shadow daddy —the last one coming from one of Shari’s romantasy audiobooks—flitted past my mind like racing hummingbirds. They were all forgotten as Sawyer’s groggy mind fought through the vestiges of the golden haze.
I bolted from the castle of the Twilight Court and kept Faebane tight in my fist. Abandoning caution, I uttered the Rabbit Step Spell and flashed across the Field of Black Stars at the head of a plume of glittering dust.
My friends came into view after only a few minutes, and they weren’t alone.
Kian knelt on one knee, head bowed and shoulders trembling; Flora’s gaping mouth was so wide she could’ve caught moths, let alone flies; the fur along Thistle’s spine stood half-erect, though there was no sight of her wings.
A high fae held my cat, and the last one who’d done that had thrown him in a river to drown.
Sawyer shook off the dregs of the golden haze and perked upright in the fae’s arms as I raced over the boundary into the trefoil meadow.
“Misty,” he cried. “It’s alright. I’m alright.”
“You were enthralled,” I barked. “No way is that ‘alright.’” Lifting the iron rapier, I settled a glare on the fae who had the audacity to stroke her fingers along his striped back.
Her face. Her hair. It was like looking into an ancestral mirror. In fact, she was a spitting image of Lilac if my cousin was twenty pounds heavier. Except for the greenish tint to her skin.
“Oh my Green Mother,” I whispered.
“Hello, child,” the high lady of the Green Court greeted, inclining her head.
From where it perched on her shoulder, a female bullfinch with rich mauve feathers gave a courteous chirp.
“I am not that one, though the title is acceptable. But unnecessary.” In one fluid movement, she set Sawyer gently on the ground and straightened.
“You have crossed the Field of Black Stars with no ill effect, proving this junior scholar’s theory sound. How wondrous.”
The Green Mother opened her arms, her gown of a hundred different verdant threads shimmering. “Put that sword away and embrace me, Niece. I have waited centuries to meet you.”