Ghost Light

Chapter 31

I stayed with my mother at the hospital while the doctor set her finger. X-rays indicated the finger was broken, as I’d guessed. After setting the bone, the emergency room doc wrote out a script for pain meds and told my mother to ice the finger for twenty-minute intervals to control the swelling. I nodded and smiled standing at my mother’s side, but I was covered in cold sweat.

Hospitals are one of my least favorite places. Aside from the obvious harried staff, frightened patients, and unpleasant smell of industrial cleaners, the place is filled with objects tainted with painful visions. I kept my hands in my pockets, hoodie and jacket collar up, and shoulders hunched. When the doctor said my mother was set to go home, I nearly ran to the exit.

I passed a banshee on my way out the door. The faerie wailed and moaned and pulled out clumps of her own hair as she hovered around a family who were huddled in the waiting area. In my peripheral vision, she looked liked a particularly distraught woman in her eighties with gray hair, pearls, and a business-casual, white dress stretched over a sagging chest and a pot belly. When I looked at the banshee directly, however, she had the telltale appearance of a death omen.

The banshee was dressed in a long, flowing dress stained with the blood of the soon to be deceased. The cute elderly woman was replaced by a fierce faerie hag with long, disheveled, gray hair and red eyes. A banshee is often loyal to one bloodline, foretelling the death of the eldest son with her keening cries. Judging by the banshee’s behavior, this family was about to get some whopping bad news.

Since a banshee does not bring about death, only foretells it, there was nothing I could do for the family. I skirted past the waiting area and sprinted for the exit. Glass doors swished open and I sucked in a breath of city air laced with greasy food odors and exhaust fumes. After the antiseptic smell of the hospital, it smelled like heaven.

My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d skipped breakfast in my haste to question my mother. I turned down Mercy Ave and headed toward Congress Street, the jewelry box in my pocket thumping against my side with each step. I needed to get off the street to somewhere safe and private where I could examine the contents of the box. I could also use some food and caffeine.

I knew just the place. I was on the west side of town, not far from Fountain Square. At Congress Street, I took a shortcut through a parking garage over to Temple Ave. I held my breath against the mingling scents of sweat and urine and nodded to the ogre parking attendant. Whether it was aware of it or not, the city of Harborsmouth was an equal opportunity employer.

Once on Temple, I scooted into the Old Port quarter and followed the brick and cobbled streets to The Emporium. I owed Kaye my thanks for patching me up and nursing me back to health after the cemetery battle. I couldn’t help it if that thanks was going to be followed by more questions about my father. I just hoped that Hob could spare a cup of tea and some toast.

Humphrey guarded the door from his perch on an old, stone drain spout. I waved to the gargoyle and ducked inside. It was business hours and Madam Kaye’s Magic Emporium was open. No special invitation, or security escort, needed.

“Hey, Ivy,” Arachne said.

The cute apprentice witch stood behind the counter removing plastic wrapping from lengths of knotted rope. The blond girl’s hair was streaked with red instead of the purple she’d been fond of the past few months and she wore a bright, puffed-sleeved, button-down shirt to match.

“Hi, Arachne,” I said. “Slow morning?”

“You have no idea,” she said. Arachne slipped a decorative noose around her neck and tilted her head to the side, tongue hanging out of her mouth. The image was grisly, and disturbing. I hoped I never saw the teen witch like that again. The image hit too close to drawings in Kaye’s books of the Burning Times. “It’s totally dead in here today. Get it? Dead.”

I forced a smile and tried to sound lighthearted, but I’m pretty sure I failed. Death was no laughing matter, especially where my mortal friends were concerned. I sighed. Maybe I was becoming too serious. I was having a harder time shrugging off death now that I’d been at its door more than once.

“Is Kaye around?” I asked.

“In the back,” Arachne said.

Arachne let the rope drop, wearing the noose like a macabre necklace. I pulled my gaze from her neck and turned my attention to the merchandise underfoot. I made my way through the constantly shifting maze of magic ephemera to the back of the shop.

At the door to Kaye’s spell kitchen, I took a calming breath and raised my hand to knock, but a noise from within made me hesitate. I listened at the door, hearing what sounded like a muffled incantation. Kaye could get cranky if I interrupted one of her spells, not to mention the unknown effect my barging in would have on a powerful casting. I decided to wait for Kaye in her office. I don’t like waiting around, but it’s better than being turned into a toad any day.

I loped further down the hall and let myself into the office. The room was small and crowded with Kaye’s occult library, but it would provide a place to wait the time and examine my mother’s jewelry box in private.

I climbed over scattered papers and random spell components, careful not to touch anything. I judiciously placed my booted feet in the rare bare spots scattered throughout the room, the trip to the one chair in the office becoming a challenging game of Twister. Thank Mab this game didn’t demand Jell-O shots or I’d be ass deep in centuries of visions. And not just any visions, but the visions of madmen.

I am always careful when handling any of the books in Kaye’s arcane library. This comes from a healthy dose of paranoia and a desire to keep my sanity, something the original owners of these scrolls and spell tomes often failed at. Magic, especially powerful magic, has a price. Immortals aren’t the only ones who become unhinged over time. Witches who use too much magic, or who dabble in the dark arts, tend to go stark raving mad.

I eyed the towering stacks of books and shuddered. The information in these documents was invaluable to my investigations, but Kaye’s filing system sucked. I wished she’d consider something safer, like glass-fronted bookcases bolted to the walls. The books were piled one on top of the other, some cover to cover and others end to end, making the act of retrieving a book a game of potentially deadly Jenga. Thankfully, I wasn’t here for research. I just needed a place to sit and study the box in my pocket.

I squeezed behind Kaye’s desk, a stack of books towering precariously at my back. I cautiously held the front of my jacket close to my body as I passed around the tight corner. Too bad I hadn’t thought to remove the stakes at my belt.

The wood scraped and caught on something and the entire stack of books wobbled. I froze, holding my breath. I turned my head to see where I was stuck. The end of one of my stakes had become wedged into the curve of a leather binding. I bent my knees and slowly shifted a half-step, dislodging the wood. I let out a shaky breath and rested my gloved hands on the desk in front of me. That had been close, too close.

I leaned forward and slid the stakes from my belt. I sucked in my stomach to make myself as small as possible and pressed my body against the desk. This time I made it past the tower of books unscathed.

I dropped down onto the desk chair and wiped the back of my glove across my forehead. I had no idea how my witch friend navigated the office with her swirl of layered skirts and shawls. Knowing Kaye, she probably used magic.

I pulled the jewelry box from my pocket and upended the bag my mother had sealed it in. The box was made of silver and the lid was engraved with flowers and vines which twined around the corners, framing a picture set into the center. From beneath the glass panel, a happy couple smiled up at me. It was a picture of my mother and father.

My parents had been so young. Or rather, they appeared youthful. My father, an immortal fae and king of the wisps, had likely been hundreds of years old at the time the picture was taken. But to all appearances he looked to be a human in his very early twenties.

Blue eyes stared out of a heavily freckled face. Will-o’-the-Wisp was striking with pale skin, long, red hair that fell past his shoulders, and full lips most women would kill for.

In the photo my father had his arm around my mother and his head tilted back. My mother had her face resting on his chest. Flowers were braided into her hair, which was blond at the time of the photo not gray, and she looked like she was dressed for a renaissance fair or perhaps one of the Shakespeare festivals the city holds each year down in the park.

I traced their smiles with a gloved finger. I had so few memories of my real family. My father had sealed away the memories I had of that time with his spell. I knew that he was trying to protect us, but I longed for the years that I’d lost.

I slid my gloved fingers to the sides of the box, finding a flower with larger petals than the others. I pressed the center of the flower and the box unlocked with an audible click. I don’t know how I knew the secret to unlocking the box. It could have been magic keyed to my proximity to the box, or the remnants of a faded memory.

I bit my lip and lifted the lid. The box was lined in purple velvet and contained only one item, a beautiful silver key.

“Looks like your father left you the keys to the kingdom,” Kaye said.

I flinched and bit my tongue. I hadn’t seen or heard Kaye enter the room, but now she stood behind me hovering over my shoulder. Either I’d been too engrossed in my examination of the box and its contents or Kaye had used magic to gain entry without my notice. I flicked my eyes to her multi-layered skirts trimmed in tiny bells and the metal bangles at her wrists. It was unlikely that my friend had entered the room mundanely without making a sound. My bet was on a clandestine spell.

“What?” I asked.

“The key you have there,” Kaye said gesturing to the box. “It was left to you by your father, yes?”

“Um, yeah,” I said. I swallowed hard and closed the lid to the box. Kaye was eyeing the box like she was a supermodel and the key was a sandwich. “What do you mean by keys to the kingdom?”

“I mean that both literally and figuratively,” she said. “If I am not mistaken, that key leads to the wisp king’s demesne in the Otherworld.”

“You mean this key grants me entry into FAERIE?” I asked.

I boggled at my friend’s suggestion. The pathways to Faerie had been sealed, hadn’t they?

“Yes, dear,” she said. “Apparently, your father was unsure of his eventual return and entrusted the key into safekeeping until you matured into your powers. With your father gone, you now rule the wisps and that key gives you access to his power base. You are now the proud owner of the wisp court.”

My father had left the key in my mother’s safekeeping in case he could not return. That told me two things; my father had not yet broken the demon curse and he now needed me to rule in his stead.

“Wait,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought the roads to Faerie were sealed.”

When I’d first come to Kaye with questions about my fae heritage, I’d wondered if a trip to Faerie might be necessary to get the answers that I needed. She’d frowned and declared Faerie closed to visitors, even those with fae blood like me. I’d been relieved that a trip to Faerie, a realm rumored to be filled with all manner of monsters, was impossible.

Now I had a way down the rabbit hole, whether I wanted to go or not.

“Yes, that’s partially true,” Kaye said. “When Mab, Oberon, and Titania abandoned their courts, they barred the pathways into Faerie. The king and queens of Faerie sealed the land against the invasion of outsiders then disappeared. Some say that they have gone on a quest for true power, while others claim they continue to rule from afar preferring a less direct role in events. But whether out searching or in hiding, Mab, Oberon, and Titania did not leave their borders undefended in their absence. They locked Faerie away from the other planes, but left gateways that could only be opened with a special key. These keys were given to select kings and queens who ruled beneath them.”

“And I have one of these keys,” I said.

“Indeed,” she said.

I had possession of a key to Faerie. No wonder Kaye’s eyes gleamed when she looked at it. I gripped the box and started to sweat beneath Kaye’s piercing gaze, but I couldn’t leave yet. I still needed information. Now that I knew what the key was for, a question gnawed at my brain like a starved zombie.

If the key led to Faerie, then where was the door?

“How do I use the key to enter Faerie?” I asked. “Do you know where the entrance is?”

“That, my dear, is a closely guarded secret,” she said. “I suggest you try your contacts in the fae community if you wish to discover the gate’s location in the mortal world.”

I sighed and sagged in the chair, letting my head hang down. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing was ever simple when it came to the fae.

“Okay thanks, I’ll ask around,” I said.

I wrapped the box in the plastic bag and tucked it into a zippered jacket pocket. I took a deep breath and pushed myself to my feet. It was time to probe my fae allies for information, and I knew right where to start. I strode toward the exit, books moving out of my path. Navigating the office was much easier with Kaye’s magic at hand. I turned to wave goodbye and the witch raised a tattooed hand.

“A word of advice?” she asked. “Use caution when making your inquiries. Divulging the location of the gates to the wrong person, such as a human friend and business partner, could be construed as treason, and the very existence of the keys is a closely guarded secret. If you manage to locate someone willing to talk, keep in mind that the key in your possession is extremely valuable. There are some, mortals and fae, unscrupulous enough to kill for access to Faerie.”

Great, just my luck. I’d have to keep the key secret from Jinx, or risk being labeled a traitor. That was just what I needed, another reason for the faerie courts to order my execution.

As if lying to my best friend wasn’t bad enough, I might get myself into hot water trying to learn the location of the door to Faerie. If I mentioned that I had my own key to the wrong person, I was as good as dead. There was nothing like carrying around an artifact that could fetch big bucks on the black market to encourage a knife in the back. I might as well paint my enemies a target.

My footsteps as I stomped out of the office were matched by the chiming of a clock. A chill ran up my spine; the sound reminded me of church bells tolling the dead.