Blood and Mistletoe (6 page)

I plunged my right hand into the ice and gasped at the cold as it burned against my skin.  I closed my eyes against the image of frozen blood touching my hand.  Seconds later, the black of my eyelids was replaced with the image of a dying faerie.  I had shifted from reality to a vision and the images were coming in full bloody Technicolor.

And the vision was coming from the perspective of the killer—oh goodie. 

Warm liquid ran over my hands from the slashed neck of a merry dancer.  I held a ceremonial knife to the faerie’s throat and whispered guttural words in a foreign tongue.  Scarlet threads of power rose from the body in radiant tendrils to twine up my legs and arms.  I felt drunk on the rush of power as I drank the faerie’s remaining life essence.

I staggered to my left, leaning against the brick wall of the alley.  I steadied my hold on the faerie and the ritual blade in my blood slick hand.  My eyes flicked down to the skeleton bundled in my cloak, resting in the shadows.

“Soon my beloved,” I whispered. 

I continued the incantation, careful to guide the stream of blood along the blade into the bottle nestled in the palm of my hand.  The crystal bottle gleamed red and gold with an inner fire and thick black and scarlet smoke rose from within to swirl around the bottle’s mouth.  The magic was working. 

Blood dripped into the bottle as I chanted, filling it to the brim.  With a satisfied grin, I used the stopper to seal the bottle tight.  But my spell was not the only thing that required blood.  It was time to leave payment for those who serve me.

I shifted the weight of the body in my arms, letting the head loll back to expose the drying wound.  I drew my blade across the faerie’s throat, making a second incision.  A small trickle of blood flowed and I held the body out to dangle above the icy ground.  Blood dripped and pattered onto the cold pavement, forming a steaming puddle.

The last drop of blood fell to the ground and I threw the body in a heap against the wall.  My minions would dispose of it later.  Holding my gore covered hands to the sky, I laughed.  My power was growing and the day of the ritual was fast approaching.  I had the tree and the blood.  All was going according to plan.

I pulled a sprig of mistletoe from my pocket and flung it at the exsanguinated body.  As if bleeding the immortal dry was not enough, the red caps would be certain to feast on its flesh before carrying the remains to the ritual fire.  The kiss of death, indeed.  I laughed again, walking jauntily away.

As the killer moved further from the blood cooling on the ground, my perspective shifted.  I was no longer looking out through the twisted killer’s eyes, but the new view wasn’t much of an improvement.

Slinking away from the congealing puddle was a beautiful female faerie.  She was obviously not afflicted by the cold as she prowled happily with bare feet across the icy ground.  Her pale limbs moved with the lithesome grace of a ballerina.  The faerie sashayed to a dramatic halt beside the bundle of bones resting on the ground. 

She cocked one long finger at the skeleton, beckoning for him to join her.  When the skeleton did not respond, because, hello, he was dead as a doornail, the faerie scooped him up into her arms.  The cloak fell to the ground as she twirled the naked skeleton in a macabre parody of lively merriment.  But the thing she embraced was long dead and the cruel curl of her lips lacked the warmth of happiness.

“Soon all shall witness your talent again, my love,” she said.  The faerie sighed, tilting her head of brilliant red hair and frowning playfully.  “You were always the most gifted of all of my human pets.  Now their art appears garish to my eyes and their music discordant to my ears.  Return to me, my sweet, and we shall create beauty together once again.”

The faerie spun a graceful pirouette, turning her face toward the spot above the blood puddle where my consciousness hovered.  I gasped.  The otherwise beautiful woman had empty eyes that seemed to radiate blackness darker than the night around us.  As she leaned in to gaze at her skeletal lover, lines of darkness spread further across her face.

Whatever spellwork she was dabbling with, it wasn’t doing her any favors. 

The faerie gave the skeleton a passionate kiss that made my stomach roil then skipped away, melting into the shadows. 

I gasped, the killer and her gruesome vision were gone, but I remained trapped within the psychic impressions left on the blood.  I was tethered to the dark, red puddle and nothing I tried would cut me free.

That, of course, was when the nightmare vision went from twisted to absolutely terrifying.

One by one, the alley filled with redcaps.  They surrounded the puddle of blood, licking their lips with worm-like tongues.  I tried again to break free of the vision and failed.

Redcaps normally live in remote locations, within the ruins of old castles and stone towers.  In the North East, they had settled along the coast in abandoned lighthouse towers and crumbling civil war fortifications.  Redcaps don’t normally live in cities, or stray far from their nest, but I had run into one last summer, literally, while walking the streets of Harborsmouth. 

My redcap encounter had been in broad daylight, another aberration since the small, dwarflike fae were nocturnal.  But that wasn’t the most unusual part of that meeting.  After wounding me, the redcap had run his tongue along his evil, black blade.  But upon tasting my blood, the creature had bowed to me and apologized, even gifting me his dagger as compensation for his actions.  He’d run off too quickly for me to get answers, but Kaye still grumbled whenever she looked at that blade.  The encounter remained a puzzle.

Redcaps shouldn’t be in the city.  But now there were a dozen of the vile creatures dipping their hats into the puddle of blood that the female faerie had left behind.  These must be her servants, though who knows what redcaps were good for.  I really didn’t want to know.

Sadly, I had a ringside seat for the show.

Once the redcaps had each soaked their hat in blood, they surrounded the merry dancer’s body.  An individual with a particularly large hat lifted the sprig of mistletoe from the corpse and dangled it in the air with a mocking grin.  Blood ran down his face, from the cap on his head, as he bent down to kiss the dead faerie.  The others leaned in as well, looking for all the world as if they were giving the deceased a departing kiss, but when they came away chunks of flesh were missing from the body.

I’d seen enough.

The merry dancer had been killed as part of a blood magic ritual and red caps were involved.  I didn’t know what it meant, but I did know now what I needed to do.  I had to find the faerie mage’s lair, and fast.

I fought against the vision, gagging as the image of feasting redcaps swam before me. 
Come on Jinx.  Get me the Hell out of here.
  The redcaps dove their heads back to the body like blood crazed piranha, and I screamed.  I fought against the vision, becoming more exhausted as I thrashed against the barriers that had grabbed hold of my mind.

It would be so easy to stop fighting, but giving in to the fatigue and despair was not an option.  Not only was being trapped in this vision my worst nightmare, but I was no use to Marvin like this.  The kid needed my help.  Oh Oberon’s eyes, I can’t give up now.

My muffled screams turned to moans and whimpers as I returned to myself.  I gagged and pulled the scarf from my mouth.  Bile rose in my throat and I took a deep breath, but my stomach continued to churn.  Heaving, I crawled away from the puddle of blood, now frozen, and vomited up my breakfast.  Oh yeah, I was never having flavored coffee again.

“Here,” Jinx said.  Jinx unsealed a sanitizing wipe packet and handed me the wipe and my gloves.  “You okay?”

I didn’t feel okay, but nodded anyway.  No sense making Jinx worry.  My friend had managed to wash the blood from my hands, helping to pull me from my vision.  I shuddered.  That was one nightmare I never wanted to experience again. 

I pulled on my gloves and put a hand to my stomach.  I waited for the waves of nausea and dizziness to pass.  The headache, apparently, was here to stay.  I’d kill for an aspirin, but my pockets were full of charms and weapons, not normal things like aspirin and chewing gum.

I stood slowly and looked around the alley.  The filthy street had returned to its pre-vision appearance.  No redcaps or crazy homicidal mages—thank Mab.

It was also damned cold.

I rubbed my gloved hands over my arms and stamped my feet against the icy pavement.  I winced as the sound echoed up and down the alley.  My head felt like it was going to split open and the sound of pixies buzzed in my ear, but we didn’t have time to waste.  Marvin was missing and I had new information on our killer.

It was time for another visit with our local witch.

Chapter 7

“
Darkness and light, girl,” Kaye said, glowering at me.  “When you get yourself into a pickle, you do so with both feet now don’t you?”  Kaye turned to examine Jinx’s injuries, a bloodied knee from a fall on the ice, frown lines deepening.  “And you, can’t you go one day without harming yourself?”

Jinx winced as Kaye roughly slapped a poultice on her skinned knee.  Jinx was always getting injured, and Kaye was a talented herbalist and healer, but the two didn’t mix well on a good day.  With Kaye grumping about what we discovered in the alley, Jinx had found herself in the hot seat.  As soon as Kaye turned her attention to me, Jinx limped away toward the hearth where Hob was pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Someone is killing faeries, and using blood magic…and Marvin is missing,” I said, tossing my gloved hands in the air.  “What was I supposed to do, go home?”

Kaye sighed, letting go of some of her bluster.  The old woman seemed to shrink with the motion, making her look tired and frail. 

“You’re right, dear,” she said.  “But Leanansídhe?  I didn’t think I’d see the day that faerie witch walked into my city.  And from what you saw in your vision, she’s the reason the redcaps are here too.”

I’d met a redcap and knew they were something to fear, especially if the evil dagger-wielding monsters came in large numbers, but Leanansídhe wasn’t a name I was familiar with.

“Who, or what, is Leanansídhe?” I asked.

“Leanansídhe is a powerful faerie who lures men with her beauty and the promise of artistic success,” Kaye said.  “The Fairy Mistress, as she is sometimes known, has appeared throughout history.  She is the perfect muse, bringing musicians and artists to new heights.”

“But?” I asked.

I knew there was a catch.  With faerie magic, there was always a catch.

“She lifts them up, but when they crash, they die,” Kaye said, nodding.  “Leanansídhe feeds off the frenzied life essence of her artist lovers, causing them to waste away.  Not that her pets wouldn’t end up dead anyway.  Her very presence makes men unstable, especially human males.  The talent of these men may burn brightly, but there is a cost to burning a candle at both ends.  When Leanansídhe tires of them, as she often does, her pets kill themselves rather than live without her.  Leanansídhe is the reason why so many rising talents die young.”

The faerie bitch sounded like a succubus, or a psychic vamp with benefits.  And now she was acting crazy, or crazier than usual, wanting to bring one of her lovers back from the dead.

“Is she a necromancer?” I asked.

Kaye bit her lip and frowned.

“Not exactly,” she said.  “Leanansídhe’s magic has always been used to improve someone else’s creativity.  But in some cases, of extreme writer’s block for example, it could be said that she brought the artist’s talent back from the dead.  If her desire is great enough, and she is fueling her magic with blood and amplifying it with mistletoe, then it may be possible.  Leanansídhe may indeed have the power to raise the dead.”

I shivered, an oily sensation swimming across my gut, as I recalled Leanansídhe slipping her skeletal lover some tongue.  Oh yeah, she had plenty of desire alright.  I shook my head and tried to remember something helpful from my vision.

“Leanansídhe mentioned ‘the tree’ and being nearly ready,” I said.  “Do you think she meant the hamadryad’s tree?”

“Yes,” she said.  “I believe the tree and the timing are just as significant as the blood she’s been gathering.  What do you know of the winter solstice?”

“Isn’t that when you’re throwing your nudie party?” Jinx asked.  Hob snickered over her shoulder.

I winced, flinching under Kaye’s glare. 

“It’s the pagan holiday that the Christians appropriated for their Christmas, right?” I asked.

“Near enough,” she said.  “The winter solstice has been celebrated by man since Neolithic times, though the fae and other immortal races have acknowledged the significance of the solstice for millennia.  It is the longest night of the year and a time of great magical power.  Many have reveled in the darkness, while others have celebrated the winter solstice as a time of rebirth, noting the ever lengthening days that follow in its wake.  Whether calling upon the darkness or worshiping the rebirth of the sun, practitioners come together as power gathers.”

“So, it would be the perfect time to use dark magic to raise the dead,” I said.  A night of power, darkness, and rebirth—sounded like a necromancer’s wet dream.

“Yes,” Kaye said.  “If Leanansídhe plans to resurrect her lover, the celestial calendar would be in her favor.  There is also the mention of the tree.  Many traditions include the burning of the Yule log in winter solstice celebrations.  This comes from a very old ritual for harnessing power.  In ancient times, a hamadryad’s tree was sacrificed to the fire. The tree would burn for twelve days, all the while a spell was cast and animal sacrifices were made, and on the twelfth night the magic was released and the spell complete.”

“Are you saying that the Twelve Days of Christmas comes from some tree burning, goat sacrificing ritual?” Jinx asked. 

Jinx rolled her eyes, obviously not buying Kaye’s story.  But I’d seen Kaye’s power and perused her library.  I believed her.

“Then the murders have all been part of Leanansídhe’s plan,” I said, putting the pieces together.  Finally the killings made sense.  “She needed their blood to amplify the spell and their bodies for the sacrificial fire.”