Hunted: A fae fantasy romance (Fae Magic Book 1) Page 15

  It was good fortune to have the camouflage of a group surrounding him. He’d have less trouble this way.

  Logan returned the barracuda smile. “What the hell.”

  “We’re heading for the main loop, over by the track. Some friends of ours are hanging over there.”

  They moved off in a ragged group. Jenny and the other girls watching him with hungry, mascaraed cow eyes. He let Jenny latch onto his arm, testing his shields, relieved when they held. Despite Rafe breathing heat down his neck, Logan began to relax.

  They moved from group to group, showing him off and drinking hard. He let himself be drawn along until he spotted what he’d been looking for. He disengaged from Jenny, gave a curt nod to a still-angry Rafe, and eased into the cluster of old folks tucked around a fire pit made out of a battered industrial oil can. Taking the proffered camp chair, he settled in, and wished he’d brought some liquor to share. Nothing like bringing a six-pack to grease conversation..

  They were drunk enough not to ask who he was, and old enough to be happy about having new blood for the gossip mill. Rumors of the MacElvys ricocheted around the fire.

  “I heard they’re all dead, the entire tribe. The queen, you know.” Several of the oldsters shot Logan nervous glances. Someone offered him a beer. He leaned back and sipped, letting them know he wasn’t going to get mad at the conversation’s trend, letting them get comfortable again.

  “Well, I’m sad about it, but the territories were getting too full. Nowhere to roam anymore without bumping into someone. We can spread out now.”

  “We’re all next, you know.”

  “I remember Theresa MacElvy and her sister.” A grizzled old man waggled to his musical memories, the camp chair creaking from side to side as he mimed a dance. “Ah, Theresa could really shake it.

  “Where are Theresa and her sister?” Logan took a sip, blocking the mouth of his bottle with his tongue so only a few drops of beer leaked through.

  “You should know more than me about that.” The old man glared at him. “You being an elf and all. Your queen’s the one who’s marked them for the last twenty years.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve been out of circulation. I’ve missed the story.”

  “Well now, we aren’t really sure what went on.” The old man exchanged looks with his compatriots around the fire before settling back in his chair. “It seems like Lady Aoife tried to find out, but I don’t think I’ve seen her around since that time. Darn shame, too. She used to like to come to these things, and she was a lot of fun! But, of course, she hung out with the MacElvys.” The old man took a swig of beer and smacked his lips, settling back with a sigh. “And they don’t come anymore.”

  Logan took another pretend swig. If he was correct, he knew of an Aoife, a member of the Gold King’s court. He wasn’t welcome in Oberon’s court, never had been, even on his few visits with Kian. He wasn’t sure they’d let him in without the prince, Black Court bastard that he was.

  “What happened to Lady Aoife?”

  “Well now, I’m not sure.” The geezer took another swig, and seemed to forget the question. Logan restrained himself from shaking it out of him.

  After a few more sips, his patience was rewarded.

  “You know,” the oldster finally said, “Aoife wouldn’t let the MacElvy thing drop. Just kept after the queen, trying to get her to stop.”

  “I haven’t seen her since, oh, must be ten meets gone.” A woman added.

  “She might just have retired beyond the veil. Anyone known to be helping the MacElvy’s is fair game as far as the queen goes. Remember when Olaf tried to help...”

  Logan tuned out the old man’s ramblings about the unlucky Olaf. He didn’t care about Olaf. He had more urgent concerns. Dismemberment, torture, death.

  His witch—sashaying around camp by herself.

  He spent another fruitless half-hour around the fires, his internal twitching becoming more pronounced. He knew it was at least a half-hour early, but he didn’t care. It was time to meet Trina.

  If she wasn’t there, he would use his Gift and hunt her down.

  TRINA PUSHED INTO THE crowd, oblivious to the people she’d been so anxious to spend time with as her anger churned a hole through her stomach.

  How dare he imply I might blow it? I know what’s at stake. It would serve him right if I took this opportunity, got drunk, and played around. Danced until my feet bled! If it weren’t for the fact that I’m focused on finding clues to the tribe’s problem, I’d do it. Screw him and his contract!

  But she couldn’t let her family down.

  “Come on babe, dance with us.” A rough-cheeked head-banger with multiple piercings pulled her into the dancing. She shimmied, laughed, and flirted more than she would have, looking all the time over her shoulder for Logan. But he wasn’t there to prove her point and she halfheartedly danced a few more minutes before pulling away.

  Winding her way through the throng, she stared at the orange, blue, and yellow flags of all the tribes present. Tough rams emblazoned the side of the MacBrennen’s huge bus. Sharp spears on Kearney’s. Every one of the seven tribes had come to play and parlay at the meet. All but one.

  No flags with the MacElvy’s Green Man flew. No RV’s with rampant vines painted on their doors. No indication anywhere that her tribe had ever existed. Or was even missed. No questions. No suspicion. No fear.

  Bitterness clogged the back of her throat as she made her way under the moon searching for the Boyd’s red dragon. No one here had had to deal with treachery and extinction. They turned their heads and pretended that if they didn’t look, the bogey behind the door would have moved on to someone else’s closet. But she knew better.

  The moon was high in the sky and the party was a wild thing by the time she located the Boyd’s main encampment. She skirted campfires full of flirting, debating, living Travellers, ending up in front of the fires surrounding the distinctive black and red Boyd tribal tent with its dragon flag flying.

  Scanning the crowd for Mariella, the current head of the clan, she was welcomed and directed into the Boyd’s massive gathering tent. Just another pretty girl around the campfire with a fake face and a made-up name. If they’d been MacElvy’s and she’d been a spy, the queen would have had a heyday scything through the drunken welcoming group.

  Trina stepped through piles of innocent, sleeping children and made her way to the back of the tent. She recognized one of the gossiping elders and her knees weakened.

  This woman was a distant relative by marriage, and she was alive.

  Trina grabbed onto a table, getting her legs to firm up and swallowing her resentment. This woman didn’t have the MacElvy blood, nor the MacElvy name. A second or third cousin by marriage, she was free to live her life here in the bosom of the Boyds.

  “Excuse me, do you mind if I have a word with you outside where it’s quieter?”

  The woman’s soft-aged face held no sense of recognition, just a quiet curiosity and confusion as she led the way outside. “And what exactly is it you need to ask me, young lady? What couldn’t be said in front of Marta and Bitsy? Hey?”

  “Do you think I could see Mariella tonight? I have something personal to ask her.”

  “Are you sure it’s Mariella you want? She doesn’t have any one your age in her family ready for a marriage contract. Not that I can think of.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. She maneuvered so the light fell on Trina’s glamoured face and examined her in a magpie fashion, head cocked, small black eyes darting from side to side. Trina did her best to keep her face relaxed and prayed to Danu the glamour held.

  “Yes, he said I should see her in private.” She kept her smile easy and convincing, praying her sweaty palms and rapid heartbeat stayed hidden.

  “Well, you can’t see her now. It’s late and she’s an old woman. The council will be convening soon and she needs to rest. I might be able to help. What’s this about?” The woman’s soft-lined lips pursed and her forehead creased. “No, he said I would
need to see her. It’s inter-tribal. And delicate.”

  “Oh, I see.” The lines in the woman’s face relaxed. Inter-tribal marriages required the approval of the head of both tribes. This woman hadn’t been able to place her, and finding out she wasn’t a Boyd wasn’t much of a surprise. The truth was, no one would ever suspect her of being a MacElvy. There were none left.

  She led Trina to a large, private RV a short distance from the loud party tent, and went inside. After a few moments, she reappeared, held the metal door open, and gestured Trina into the lair of the dragon.

  As Trina put her foot on the step the old woman clutched her arm, sharp fingers digging into the flesh. “She’s getting on, don’t keep her too long. And if she says no, then come back tomorrow. She may need to think about it.”

  “Th...th...thank-you.” The woman’s claw-like grip relaxed.

  “Ah, I remember what it’s like to want to start your life.” The woman backed away from the trailer door a few steps and smiled a sad smile before shaking her head and returning to the large tent.

  Trina exhaled.

  Start her life. Would she ever be able to do that? She straightened her spine, lifted her chin high, and climbed into the RV. Her eyes widened in shock.

  The red living room of the leader of the Boyds, and the current appointed head of all of the Seven Tribes, was a hoarders paradise.

  Wind chimes festooned the ceiling. Christmas lights and sparkly strands of beads strung from corner to corner. Frames of all shapes, sizes, and eras filled the walls. Old sepia-toned photos wedged in next to vibrant oil paintings, faded greeting cards, and partially filled-out children’s coloring book pages. A motley assortment of tables was piled high with small wooden jewelry boxes, books, and chains, and a multitude of candles flickered in colorful glass jars next to overflowing ash trays.

  High atop a carved wooden throne, on top of a pile of downy pillows, sat a wrinkled old woman with sharp black eyes. Mariella Boyd held her body upright, as if a lifetime of sitting straight would keep her alive long beyond the grave. And who knows? Maybe it could.

  Her whiskey-rough voice was low and graveled, and smelled of cigarettes. “Come in Caterina MacElvy,”

  Trina froze, unable to move a step further into the magpie’s den.

  “Did you think you could hide under that faery glamour?” Mariella cackled. “From me? Arrogant fool. I have much of the blood in me, and I can see who you are without resorting to the spells this generation has come to rely on. We, who are old, remember the hours we used to spend training our inner sight.” She stabbed a finger in the direction of Trina’s face. “You younger generations have no discipline.”

  Trina didn’t know what to do, what to think. She’d told Logan she trusted this woman, but now, deep in the heart of the Boyd encampment, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Hurry up now! Come closer.”

  Mariella’s basilisk stare had Trina shifting uncomfortably in her too tight lacings. She edged forward, careful not to disturb the trinkets packing the RV, and bowed.

  “Trying to gain some ground, are you?” The old woman laughed, running down into a final hacking cough. She took several raspy breaths before continuing. “The rumor is you’re dead, young lady. Why aren’t you?”

  Trina kept her head low and respectful, her hands clasped loose in front of her. The sapphire’s heavy weight tucked in her bodice was warm and reassuring against her skin. How the hell did Mariella know who she was? As confident as she had been when she pitched this to Logan, she wasn’t sure that the other tribes weren’t on the queen’s side. Too many years spent running had made her distrustful, even of her own kind.

  “Why are you here child of the MacElvy?”

  Trina raised her head and faced the most powerful woman in all the tribes. “I call on the protection of the meet. I call on you, Mirella Boyd, as Head of the Seven Tribes, to keep the secret I’m still alive.”

  Mirella inclined her head in acceptance. “While you’re here, Trina MacElvy, you have the protection of the meet and are my guest. I wouldn’t violate the rules of our people and hand you over to that woman.” Mariella’s thick, grey uni-brow developed a deep ridge. “You’re covered in fairy dust.” She peered closer and sniffed. “I smell an elf. Who’s protecting you?” Her bony finger jabbed out towards Trina’s chest. “Do you bring danger to us?”

  Trina flinched. “I need information, Mirella. I need the name of someone who might know why the queen wants the MacElvy’s dead.”

  The old woman snorted and leaned back in her throne. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave Trina an eye-roll. “Really? That’s rich. Your people have been trying to find that out since the first killings started. What makes you think you’ll find it now?”

  “If I don’t find out soon, my whole family will be gone.”

  “How many of you are left?” Her black eyes gleamed with interest.

  Her teeth clenched, Trina answered, “It doesn’t matter how many of us remain. What matters is that you’re our leader. You’re responsible for us, for making sure we survive as a people. Help me understand and I may be able to save who’s left.” Trina stretched out a hand to the old woman. “Help us, please. We’re dying.”

  “That’s old news.” Mariella snorted. “Your tribe’s already dead. Now I must save the other six tribes. How does helping the MacElvys now do anything for anyone else but yourselves?”

  “Without the seventh tribe there’s an imbalance of power. I know other tribes want to take over MacElvy territory. If we start making bids for other tribe’s territories, our way of life will become extinct. Our tribes will start attacking each other, and we’ll come to the attention of not only the Tuatha De Danann, but also the human authorities. The police. And that’s never good.” They shared a look born of a common heritage of persecution.

  Mirella nodded. “True enough. One of the things the council addresses this week is the idea that the MacElvys don’t need their territory to be so large. There are so few of you left—if there are any left besides yourself.” Her thick eyebrows raised in question. Trina kept quiet and after a long weighted moment, the old woman continued, “Once our tribes would have sent off their sons to marry into the MacElvys and the population would have equalized between the territories, but now the young men are hungry for opportunity and that empty land makes for instability.”

  “Please.” Trina went to her knees. “I know you must know something. You’ve been the leader of the Tribes for over twenty years.” She raised her hands out in supplication. “Help me, Mirella. Please.”

  “Why should I help you? Your tribe is weak.” The Head of the Seven Tribes spat a ringing hit into the brass bowl at her feet. “You have nothing to give me, my tribe, or your people. Nothing but the attention of that murdering tyrant, the Queen of the Fae. And nobody wants that.” Mariella’s lip curled.

  Somewhere on the wall behind Trina a clock ticked the seconds off. One, two, three...

  Trina rose to her feet and lifted her chin. She’d tried crawling, now, she’d try something else.

  “I have nothing you want—today. But tomorrow I may know why she’s focused on our tribe. I might know if your tribe or any of the others will be singled out, targeted for murder like the MacElvys. And you’ll have nothing to bargain with then—nothing to save you, your tribe, or your people. And, just like the MacElvys, you’ll face destruction.”

  Mariella stared at her as the clocks on the wall ticked off the seconds. Trina kept her spine straight and tight. The time for bowing was past. This woman didn’t understand it or respect it.

  The old woman nodded. “Very well, I’m listening. Tell me, what information do you think I have that will help you?”

  “I need to know the name of the fae that tried to help my tribe at the beginning of this massacre.”

  “You’re speaking of the failed negotiations that occurred, mmm... fifteen years ago? Are you sure you wish to be involved with more of the Tuatha De Danann? You already re
ek of their magic and one thing is sure, they won’t have your best interests at heart. We of the tribes live long lives compared to most of humanity, but to the elves we are short lived creatures who multiply quickly. They will have to deal with the queen long after you’re gone. Don’t forget, the fae always extract a payment, and it’s never cheap.”

  “My life is short if I do something, and shorter if I don’t. I’ll take the risk.”

  Mariella’s face twitched, the dry skin cracking into fissures as her tobacco-rough throat wheezed out a laugh. She stretched her lips into a grimace.

  “Stubborn, like your mother. Like all the MacElvys. Surprising not more of you have survived. You’ll do.” She sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you what I can. But be warned—by coming here you may have let more demons out of the bag then you’ve bargained for.”

  THE OLD WOMAN WITH the soft face and darting, black eyes stepped out of the shadow of the tribal RV and watched the glamoured girl slip into the dark. After making sure the intruder was gone, she climbed slowly into the vehicle, cursing her arthritis. She shut and locked the door behind her before continuing up the last of the stairs.

  “Was she who you thought she might be?” She pushed aside a pillow and sank down into a chair.

  Mariella turned away from the window, her glamour of gray hair and wrinkles melting away, until she became her usual red haired and youthful sixty-something.

  “Yes. A MacElvy for sure. And stupid. Really stupid to think I wouldn’t know.”

  “The MacElvy’s blood is diluted.”

  “Few in the Tribes have the strong fae blood of our family, sister.” Mariella’s gaze was dark. “MacElvys are alive, Vanora. That is disturbing news.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

  “She’s not far.” Vanora leapt to her feet. “I can send someone after her. She won’t be alive for long.”

  “No. I can’t violate the peace of the meet.” Mariella stared out the window, seeing something Vanora could never see. “MacElvys still alive, damn it! This affects what I was hoping to accomplish in the council meeting tonight. And I suspect she’s not the only one. She tried to cover it up, but the stupid slut slipped. There are at least a few more survivors.”