Street Fair (Fair Folk Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Lani returned the favor to Jude, diving at the monster hound's hindquarters, throwing it off balance as it tried to lunge. Because of her interference, the snapping jaws missed, and it took a claw rake across the face, though that didn't slow it down at all. It whirled, the motion flinging Lani away, sending her tumbling in the grass. Jude got in another slash with his claws, cutting deep into the dead flesh, but it didn't show any signs of slowing down the hound.

  The falcon clipped the Count, who floundered, starting to tumble, then managed to pull back up. As the falcon dove to follow up, Ashling leapt off the Count's back, managing to grab onto one of the falcon's wings, changing its trajectory enough to make it miss. The larger bird rose again, with the pixie clinging on tenaciously, trying to buy her mount time to recover.

  "Megan, some help!" Lani yelled, backing away from snapping jaws again, as she and Jude alternately tried to keep the hound off balance. Megan started towards Lani, then paused, looking to Justin, trying to figure out whom to help, and how. Everyone was in trouble, and the quickest spells to come to mind were all either less than relevant or less than singable.

  Justin was backed up against a tree, fighting as best he could just to fend off attacks from the larger warrior, who was far quicker with the huge blade than he should have been. Still, Justin was managing to keep himself alive and armed despite the heavy blows.

  He started to stand, bracing himself against the tree, but ducked back down under a furious swing, hitting the ground as the claymore flashed over his head. Megan guessed he had hoped to bait his opponent—and maybe get the other sword stuck in the tree to create an opening. If so, the effort failed, as the claymore cut right through the tree in a single blow.

  Megan remembered one of the songs from the book: a simple one in basic C major—for practical purposes, anyway, since old-style music probably wasn’t written with modern musical theory in mind. Megan tried to focus. The point was there were no sharps, no chance at all to sabotage herself. She remembered it had worked, but other songs had worked quicker—and had easier lyrics. With so little practice, she couldn't remember the strange Gaelic words. Th-something? La-something? She tried humming, but there wasn't enough power to it.

  The falcon finally shook Ashling off, sending the pixie tumbling, flapping her tattered wings furiously to slow her fall. The Count managed to get under her, aiming his dive in time to let Ashling grab on and swing back into riding position.

  Megan had to help now. She knew whom, and she knew how—if this worked. She started to sing the most familiar words that fit the melody, and hoped that Ashling would know the tune, at least. “Thistle, Lavender, Mulberry and Mauve.” It was just a selection of pastel shades of pink and purple, but Megan sang it with passion.

  Indeed, Ashling seemed to recognize it, as she and the Count flew towards Megan as fast as they could, as the song built up. With the others continuing their desperate battles, all showing the signs of their fatigue, with the close calls getting closer, Megan forced herself to focus on her timing. The falcon saw his targets retreating towards the formerly confused girl and flew after them, picking up speed. As the Count got close enough, Megan caught the pair, holding on as she sang louder. Just as the Falcon's talons closed within inches of her face, a powerful blast of wind blasted it backwards, sending the bird spiraling towards the hound. When it hit the other beast in the flank, accustomed to the other pair attacking every time it focused, the hound whirled and snapped, clipping the falcon before it could dart away.

  "Ashling, the door! I'll keep the bird off you."

  "Megan, I told you, house windows are one thing. That thing is way too heavy for one pixie."

  "Just counteract his closing magic, or whatever. Cassia will do the rest."

  The figure with the claymore noticed the surge of bardic magic, buying Justin a moment as the wight considered Megan. Before he could rush her, Justin went on the offensive. The wight fended off the attack cleanly, clearly more than a match in pure skill for the young warrior, but worried enough about the Claiomh Solais that he couldn't ignore the attacks to go stop Megan from grounding the falcon.

  While the Count was likewise kept on the ground amidst the magical winds, Ashling was able to drop to the ground and dart towards the door, casting her best opening spells.

  The heavy door crashed open a few moments later, and an enraged Cassia barreled out of the tomb with Maxwell at her side. Lani was given a badly needed respite as the two cats teamed up on the hound, letting Lani crawl away to catch her breath and check the severity of the cuts she'd taken so far. Cassia trusted the cats to handle themselves and moved to help Justin, slashing down furiously at the wight. While his skill may have been sufficient to ward off Justin, Cassia was a different matter, and several cuts hit home. The undead shrugged most off, until she managed to lock swords with him, tying up his defense.

  A moment later, Justin took advantage, taking the wight's sword arm off at the elbow. A thrust followed, and the flaming sword buried itself in the wight's chest. The green eyes went out, then were replaced by white flames.

  With another swing, Cassia took his head off. As soon as he fell, both the falcon and the hound dropped, flesh rotting and crumbling away until both were nothing but skeletons, their animation apparently tied to their master's.

  Megan moved towards Lani, and Justin staggered over as well. Finally, they collapsed beside her. All three sat together, trying to recover their breath as Lani continued to check her injuries. The Count slowly hopped over, and the cats lay down nearby. Cassia came to check on them, showing especial concern for Jude's numerous deep cuts from the fight. Ashling set at tiny hand on the Count's wing in tired silence.

  Finally, there was a breathless voice. “'Thistle, Lavender, Mulberry, and Mauve'?” Lani asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “I didn't exactly have time to check the liner notes in the middle of combat. We don't even have the songbook with us. Anyway, it worked, so those are the words now.”

  “I can't believe a filked song worked,” Lani said.

  Ashling shrugged. “It's nothing new. Okay, sure, hers were kind of overly clean by traditional standards, but still...”

  Megan was just recovering enough to head back for the wight to collect his cloak, as they had the others, and perhaps get a better look at his sword, when she saw movement.

  At first thinking the wight was somehow getting back up, she screamed. Then she recognized the figure crouched next to the body, removing the wight's cloak.

  "Robin," Cassia spat, sounding like it was a curse word.

  "Don't worry, Cass. Just leaving." he responded with a smirk, tucking the cloak over his arm.

  "What do you even want it for?" Megan ventured, holding up a hand to try to keep Cassia from doing anything they'd regret.

  "Well, that's a complex question. Why is it wanted? Because apparently to wield sacred power, you need the sacred around—for a very, very special definition of sacred. But really, as to why I'm getting it? Just for laughs."

  "Sacred? What?" Megan tried, confused.

  "Nuh-uh, that's all the clues you get," Robin said. “Goodbye.”

  Cassia lunged, but by the time she reached him, Robin had either disappeared in a flash of tiny, sparkly lights, or appeared to well enough that the spectacle let him slip away.

  Chapter 17: Ice Cream

  The walk back seemed to take forever, though Megan's efforts to combat the fatigue with some of her magic helped. There were some efforts to discuss the implications of Robin's words, and what the Butterfly Collector might want, but most were cut off by Cassia's snarling, Ashling's wild suppositions and comments—usually pertaining to the Butterfly Collector's ancestry, preferences, and mental capacity—or, most often, by simple exhaustion.

  They emerged back into the noise of the Goblin Market, right near a drink stand staffed by a woman dressed in vines and accessorized with pinecones. As the drinkseller and Cassia exchanged grins and nods, Justin, picking up the bass case from
where he'd stashed it there, put the Sword of Light back inside. He had to stop for a minute to rest before hefting the case up over his shoulder.

  The Count perched on one of Megan's slouching shoulders while Ashling climbed over to the other. “We need to talk to the king,” the pixie said.

  “How are we supposed to find him, if he's even here yet?” Megan asked.

  “Let's try the picnic area.” And Ashling began giving rapid directions to which everyone had to catch up.

  Not far from the bazaar was a small grassy field, crowded with the oddest picnic scene Megan had ever seen. Instead of the usual wooden benches, the area was lined with heavy stone tables. The stark gray of the stone was contrasted by the brightly colored umbrellas and canopy tents, many of the latter garishly decorated with streamers, bead curtains, and personal touches that ranged from the silly to the macabre, sometimes in the same tent—such as the canopy adorned with dolls and stuffed animals... and sometimes just their heads, or the tent decorated in what first appeared to be translucent white silks, until one noticed the numerous spiders crawling around on and in the spidersilk curtains. Some of the crowd skipped the tables, settling in the grass, or on blankets, assembling in mixed groups that were every bit as odd as the wild displays.

  In the center was laid out a midnight-blue blanket, over which a handful of white-winged sprites fluttered. Megan could see that they were clutching papers, parchments, and what may have been a tiny smartphone. Sitting beneath this chattering whirl, his coal-black hair flowing down over his rough silk shirt, was the Unseelie King, quietly eating ice cream.

  “Dad?” Megan asked hoarsely.

  He looked up. “Megan! You look exhausted. Come sit down, all of you. Would you like some ice cream, dearest?” He raised his spoon. “The moonlit mist flavor is excellent, but I can also recommend the narcissus.”

  "I've never heard of those flavors. What are they?"

  "Precisely what they sound like. Moonlit mist takes a while to collect, but for those with the palate for it, you can taste Luna's favor. Narcissus is, well, less subtle, but I like it, anyway."

  Megan finally settled on the moonlit mist, while Lani stuck to strawberry. Riocard sent a couple of sprites off to place their orders, scrawled on fancy parchment scraps, while the girls settled in.

  Once she'd gotten off her feet for a few moments, Megan launched into the explanation of their adventure, though she glossed slightly over the issue of having bartered away a portion of her magically relevant musical capacity. It was embarrassing, and they had a lot of ground to cover. Cassia laid out everything they'd acquired. Ashling explained a few of her slightly more probable scenarios for what the Butterfly Collector might be up to.

  Riocard listened to all of this: the chase in the market, the half-map, Mag Tuired, the missing banner, the tombs, the grave-poem about Balor and his 'pallbearers,' the Gray Lady, the wards, the death trap, the tactical charts, Robin Goodfellow, and the stolen shroud.

  He listened but never put down his spoon.

  “Well done all around,” he said pleasantly. “I thank you very much for your work. You should go ahead and keep the shrouds, and I'll look forward to perusing all of the rest sometime when I'm not eating. Would hate to get sticky fingers on historic documents. I'll have them taken to my room, if you don't mind.”

  “And what about the Butterfly Collector?” Ashling said.

  “Let's hope he can be found relatively soon—although part of me would almost prefer that it wait until I've returned to the throne. Orlaith—or Inwar on her behalf—would probably do something unoriginal, like kill him. I'm thinking more of an oubliette.” He smiled at Ashling. “That would get him off your mind properly.”

  “But Dad, there were wights!” Megan said. “And that Robin person!”

  “Indeed. I can see the concern. I'm very glad that Cassia and the cats were there, and retaining a knight certainly seems to have been an excellent investment.”

  "Yeah, we'd have been killed without them. And there might be more."

  "Indeed there might be. Having only half a map opens up all sorts of intriguing possibilities."

  "Intriguing? This is serious, Dad."

  "Indeed it is. I'll send a couple of messages out, see if anyone has heard anything." Riocard scribbled idly on some more pieces of parchment, handed them off to messenger sprites, and returned to his ice cream.

  Megan tried a different direction with her questions. “So, the Gray Lady, do you think she might be—”

  “—No.” Her father actually interrupted her. “Whatever happened between us, she would never be interested in benefiting anyone who would interact with what's left of the Fomoire dregs. She might make many poor choices, particularly revolving around her grief, but she wouldn't abdicate her own nature by helping its source.”

  Megan glanced at Ashling. The pixie's frown suggested she wasn't any more convinced than Megan was, but she dropped the subject for now. "All right, so now that we know the wights are out there, and the Collector is out there, and Robin is doing—something or other—what do we do now?"

  "I just did it. I'll get word out, and we'll look into it."

  Moments later, the ice cream arrived. Riocard seemed far more focused on Megan's opinion of it than on the urgent topics she'd brought to his attention.

  Megan took a bite. She felt the frozen crystals brush across her tongue and, after a moment, answered her father's unspoken question with, “Yeah, it's good.” Annoyed and exhausted as she was, she had to admit it was true. “Refreshing. Of course, I'll have to check, the next time I'm walking through mist in the moonlight, to see if any sticks to the roof of my mouth like this.”

  That got a rich, dark laugh out of the Unseelie King. “Please do, and let me know. And Lani, wouldn't the ice cream go well with one of your chef friend's shortcakes?”

  Lani, never particularly eager to be called on by the king, simply nodded, and Riocard was satisfied.

  “In all,” he said, “aside from the unpleasantness you've mentioned, the market seems to be going well so far.”

  Finally, after a bit more small talk with her father, and a couple more attempts to get more urgency out of him regarding the wights, Megan thanked him for the ice cream, and the group stepped away from the picnic area, though Cassia kept glancing away from them, back towards the woman with the pinecones.

  Finally, when she decided they were far enough away from Riocard and potential eavesdropping sprites, Lani let her grumbling get a bit more audible. "Aside from the unpleasantness, the market is going well—that's sort of like, 'So, aside from that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?" Then she sighed, and fully spoke up. "Okay, so that wasn't very helpful. What do we do now?"

  Megan sighed. "We go home, clean up, and get ready for the concert tomorrow—tonight?” Megan started to get confused about days,

  "Tomorrow,” Cassia said absently. “Everybody still gets to sleep. Because of string theory or whatever.”

  “Yes, but...” Lani was staring at Megan. “So...Wait... he's got Balor's standard, there's a bunch of ancient military officers awakening, Robin Goodfellow is running around, and we only have half of the map, if that. And you want to do what?"

  "Do you have a better idea?" Megan said.

  "Than going back home? Maybe. We need to find him." Lani's comment was met with firm nods from Ashling.

  "We will, I just need to think about this. I mean, what did we do last year when we almost had the year without an Autumn?" Megan said.

  "Went back to my place and danced around to your mom's old songs," Lani admitted.

  "Right, and it worked. Cassia, can you play 'Yet Another Song About Jumping' at the concert?"

  "Done."

  Chapter 18: Bass

  Megan was dropped off in front of her house with weary goodbyes and a flustered wiping at her face once more. As she approached the house, she saw lights on in the front room, and motion from inside.

  Even though she hadn't been gone nearly so
long as it felt, Megan thought her mother might be pacing about, waiting for her to get home. She braced herself for questions and motherly concern as she opened the door. Instead, she was met by music, specifically, a familiar bassline, accompanied by her mother's voice. For a moment she thought maybe a CD was playing the opening to 'Why is it Monday?,' but there was her mother, on the couch, the orderly coffee table shoved out of the way to make room, plucking the cords on her old bass and singing.

  While she sang quietly, her voice wavered more than in the lines Megan remembered, and the lyrics didn't match the liner notes of the original.

  "Head to my 9 to 5, / Though it's really 8 to 8. / The band has Van Halen M&Ms, / And traffic's jammedtoNorthgate..."

  The end words ran together as her mother tried to make the cadence of her current job difficulties match the pace of the original song. She was wrapped up enough in the composition that she didn't even seem to notice the door open and close, or Megan staring, wide-eyed.

  She finally recovered from her surprise enough to interrupt the song, "Hi, Mom. I'm home."

  "Hi, sweetheart." Sheila O'Reilly sounded as tired as ever, but ... well, Megan was hopeful.

  "That's not how it—I mean, is that how that song goes? It sounded a bit off."

  "Oh, yeah. I was just being silly. I haven't played this old thing in forever, but I think it still has a few songs left in it."

  "You should keep working on it. I really like it." It was absolutely true. The lyrics might not match, the bass and the voice might waver from lack of practice, and the pacing might need work, but Megan loved seeing her mother like this.

  "Thank you, honey. You want to show me what you've been learning in those voice lessons?"

  Megan paused, a little unsure how to respond, since the voice lessons had been a bit of a sore topic at times, but she realized that, yes, even as tired as she was, singing to her mother's playing was precisely what she wanted. "Yeah, but you're going to need to play something I know."