Museum of magic, p.19
Museum of Magic, page 19
She was sure it wasn’t a literal warning, but she didn’t really want to risk it. Her gaze went to Puck.
“So,” he said, watching her, “what do we do?”
Nine of Pentacles, Transposed
intrigue, deceit, and being taken advantage of
“We can’t just turn back now,” Emmi said, staring up at the protection bubble around the gate and the birds circling high overhead. She wasn’t even sure if any barrier should remain, but she was certain this one should be broken.
She was certain…wasn’t she? A pang of doubt twisted inside her. Was this just selfishness, because this gate would take her closer to the Wild Hunt, which may have her grandfather?
Above her, the birds cawed, a cry that sounded almost human.
“For what it’s worth, Castor,” Puck said, “if you can, I think it may be best to take this one down.”
“What do you mean, if?” Emmi shot him a sardonic look before turning back around to the bubble. She held her hands out, and even if the bubble wasn’t a physical thing, she felt a connection to it. A shiver ran up her spine. Her magic somehow seemed indescribably warm, but this magic seemed ice cold. Puck’s “if” felt a little more real.
Focusing her energy, Emmi reminded herself that she was a witch, and she could not only see and make barriers, she could bring them down. And while that may not be the same as Puck’s magical connection to the elements, being able to open a door seemed like a special kind of magic.
In front of her, the silvery glow of the bubble concentrated to glittering stars, light flashing in a million different sparkles that drifted down. Emmi acted on instinct, turning her palms up, collecting a hundred million stars in her open hands. The magic called to her, tentative but trusting at the same time, like a skittish kitten stepping toward an outstretched hand. The light cascaded over her fingers, strands of delicate gossamer.
Emmi squeezed her fingers closed. If she shut her eyes, it felt like nothing but a cold breeze slipping through her grip, but when she looked, she could see the magic, light vividly powerful, as real as she was.
Emmi held tight and pulled.
The bubble shattered in a dazzling display of sparkling stars bursting all at once before fading to the dark.
Emmi’s body was awash with the power, stars zinging over her skin, lighting through her blood. She spun around to Puck, and in his eyes she saw every bit of magic shining back at her.
She stepped closer to him and realized he was focused not on the spot where the barrier had been but on her. “That was, uh...” Puck breathed, unable to think of the right word. “Impressive.”
“See if you doubt me again.” Honestly, if.
“Yeah.” Puck huffed a short laugh. “Lesson learned. Don’t mess with a Castor.” He closed the short distance between them, reaching up and touching a lock of her hair that had come loose. “Your disguise is gone now.”
They hadn’t brought the Hunter’s device; Emmi could not replace the magical disguise she’d had. Above them, the birds swooped through the portal, back into the fae lands. Emmi could see shadows moving closer, and she suspected that there were more fae creatures who’d been hiding near Glastonbury Tor, now rushing to the gate to get back home. Her cover had been blown the second she tore down the barrier; there was no use pretending she wasn’t a witch if only a witch could take down that magical wall.
“You made a cute brownie,” Puck said in a soft voice, dragging her attention back to him. His fingers shifted from her hair to her neck, and he pulled her closer. “But I like this version of you better.” His words were a whispered promise on her lips.
Emmi’s heart thundered in her chest as she looked up into Puck’s eyes. They had kissed before, but when his lips pressed against hers this time, it felt different.
It felt real.
A breath escaped her, something between a sigh and a gasp, as their lips parted.
“Emmi,” Puck whispered.
“Mm?” She wanted to stay here, in the dark and magic, with him forever.
His voice held an unbroken laugh. “Open your eyes.”
Emmi opened her eyes. And she realized they were surrounded.
Fae creatures of every size and shape swarmed toward the now open portal back to the Otherworld. Sprites, their forms impossibly small and surrounded in an ethereal glow, zoomed through the night. A swarm of them encircled Emmi and Puck, swirling around their heads, humming something that Emmi could almost hear.
“What are they saying?” she asked.
Puck smiled at her. “They’re thanking you.”
Relief flooded Emmi—she’d done the right thing in calling down the barrier.
The sprites circled tighter, humming something that made Puck turn a furious shade of red.
“Now what are they saying?” Emmi asked.
“Nothing,” Puck growled. “Buzz off.” He swiped his hand through the air, and when the sprites continued toward the gate, Emmi distinctly felt like they were laughing.
Emmi’s eyes followed the sprites to the portal as they flew through. Although it was fully dark now, the sky a deep navy blue and sprinkled with early stars, through the stone gate at the top of Glastonbury Tor, Emmi could see the fae lands, lit in a twilight orange. It’s magical, Emmi thought, to see two different times of night at the same time. She almost snorted—of course it was magic.
“Let’s slip in now, with the crowd,” Puck said. Emmi noticed more creatures making their way to the doors. In the distance, something that distinctly looked like a tree with legs trudged up the hill. Cloaked figures with their faces hidden slipped through, all the other fae keeping distant from them. Puck reached down, grabbing Emmi’s hand, his grip tight enough that Emmi knew it was a warning.
Sprites were one thing, but some fae were dangerous.
“Where did they all come from?” Emmi asked as Puck pulled her away from the cloaked figures. There was a bit of a jam at the gate—not even the tiny sprites wanted to draw too near the shadowy people, slowing the mad rush to the Otherworld. “We didn’t see anything like this in Cornwall.”
“Cornwall is quieter,” Puck told her, keeping his own voice low. “Joan rules there, and she…curates which fae she allows in her realm. Those fae like to be hidden among people, like the wisps. She has made a haven for a specific type of fae.”
They shuffled closer to the door. There was a little brownie Emmi thought may be a male, if the fae had genders. But when he turned to look at her, he grinned, his teeth in sharped points, his lips curving too wide. Emmi gripped Puck’s hand, and Puck threw a protective arm over her shoulder, snarling at the brownie, who just laughed, waggling clawed fingers at Emmi before darting through the portal.
“This portal is linked to the Wild Hunt,” Puck reminded Emmi. “The creatures here are not looking for a home or a haven. They’re looking for action.”
Emmi could guess just what type of action creatures who wanted to hunt would be looking for. Especially since what they hunted was human.
They stepped through the gate, into the Otherworld. The creatures streamed out in every direction, each intent on going somewhere, but Emmi and Puck paused. Puck drew her away from the gate, near a moss-covered tree.
Emmi was about to ask where they should go next, what they should do, when Puck spun around, pinning her against the trunk of the tree, his arms on either side of her, his face close to hers. Emmi’s eyes widened, unsure of what was happening, but then she saw a glimpse of the creatures that had just entered the portal behind them.
They each wore red caps, the pointed tips darker than the brim, the hats strangely stiff and conical. They would look like comical garden gnomes, but there was a viciousness to them that was inescapable. They spoke in a language Emmi didn’t know, something that sounded almost Germanic or Celtic, a hard language that somehow was still lyrical. There were at least six of them, gleefully talking among each other, their voices rising above all other noise.
“Don’t move,” Puck whispered, his voice tight, and Emmi realized that Puck had positioned his body to cover hers, to hide her. Protect her. She shrank against the tree, the scent of the moss creeping over her.
Red caps—these creatures had to be red caps. Violent fae who followed war, dipping their hats in the blood of battle. Emmi peeked out over Puck’s shoulder and saw the nearest one reach up like lightning, his arm elongating in a way that was creepily unnatural. The red cap snatched a zooming sprite right out of the sky, cutting its life off with a little squeak and popping the creature into his mouth before its light had fully faded.
Emmi curled against Puck, but she could still hear the tiny bones crunching.
She closed her eyes, pressing her face into Puck’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, the hard muscles of his chest a contrast to the soft moss tickling her neck.
After a few moments, Puck released her. They weren’t alone, but the mad rush of fae entering the Otherworld from the newly opened portal had slowed.
Emmi let out a shaky breath. “Where do we go from here?” She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but a part of her had hoped they’d step through and simply see a sign of her grandfather.
Puck shrugged, shooting her a rueful smile. “Just because this portal is closest to the king doesn’t mean he’s sitting around waiting for us to show up.”
“Fair,” Emmi allowed. She looked around. While they had entered from the top of a high hill, this realm showed a rolling landscape that seemed gentler, older. Trees dotted the area, and the sky seemed softer, somehow, warmer. From this side, the portal looked like a golden gate with twisting, branch-like spires, and through it, she caught a glimpse of the night sky and stars. Past the portal, though, more trees, each as indistinct as the other. Emmi had no sense of north or south, could see no path to follow, and there were no truly discernible landmarks beyond the gate.
It would be incredibly easy to get lost forever in these woods.
As the thought struck her, Emmi heard a horn blowing in the distance.
“A hunting horn,” Emmi said, looking to Puck, who was clearly thinking the same thing. The Wild Hunt.
Despite her fear of getting lost, Emmi was about to risk it all and sprint toward the sound. The horn blew again, close enough for Emmi to hear the sound of baying dogs, too. At least it sounded like dogs. Or wolves.
She took one step in that direction, but then a a burst of black shot up through the trees. She yelped, falling into Puck, a blur of feathers obscuring her vision.
The blackbirds—apparently all twenty-four of them—flew up from the underbrush, soaring over the trees.
Heading in the exact opposite direction of the hunting horn.
Eight of Swords, Transposed
moving forward, breaking free, and mental clarity
Emmi knew without a single doubt in her mind that she needed to follow the blackbirds as they flew off. “Come on!” she shouted at Puck as she sprinted through the clearing after the birds.
“Wait—Emmi!” Puck raced after her, easily catching up to her head start. The birds flew straight through the sky, clearly intent on heading in a specific direction, but Emmi and Puck had to dodge trees, jump over roots, and go up and down hills. Already, the birds were outdistancing them.
Emmi’s legs pumped, her heart racing. “The song, remember? The nursery rhyme,” she told Puck between breaths. “‘Now wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king.’”
“You think these birds are going to take you to Gwyn ap Nudd?” Puck sounded doubtful, but Emmi knew her hunch was right. She had given the silver-eyed woman a coin, and the woman had given her a clue.
And hadn’t part of it come true already? The nursery rhyme started with the words, “Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.” These birds had been trapped by the witch’s barrier if not piecrust. Emmi opened the barrier, and the birds flew off—surely they were going to take her to the king of the fair folk, matching the next line of the poem.
She only wished it wasn’t so hard to chase birds in flight while she was on land.
In order not to lose them, she leapt over a bubbling brook, her ankle sticking in the muddy bank, making her slip, brown streaking up her pants leg. Emmi dug her fingers into the soft earth, leveraging her way up the bank. Puck was a little faster than her; he grabbed her elbow and hauled her up the steep side. He still didn’t seem convinced that Emmi was doing the right thing, chasing after the birds, but he wasn’t about to leave her behind.
“Thorns,” Emmi groaned as the two of them grappled through a bramble bush, tiny thorns clawing at their clothes and bare skin. Above them, one of the blackbirds cawed, the sound already more distant than before. Emmi charged forward, ignoring the pricks of pain erupting over her skin as nettles scraped her arms. Her t-shirt snagged, the material ripping.
Fortunately, the delays didn’t make Emmi and Puck lose sight of the birds. They circled overhead—all twenty-four, Emmi counted. She and Puck slowed down a little as they approached the clearing in the forest where the birds swooped.
Emmi noticed the flowers first, yellow and bright as gleaming gold. She didn’t know what kind they were, just simple, delicate flowers, enough to make the air scented with sweetness. “Flowers have meaning,” Puck muttered.
“What do these mean?” Emmi asked. She’d heard of things like that before, the symbolism of certain blooms. Roses meant love; forget-me-nots meant…remembrance, probably. She wasn’t that adept in flower lore.
Puck shrugged. “What kind of flowers are these?”
Emmi wasn’t that adept at botany, either.
Besides, the more important thing was the man standing in the center of the clearing. He was silent, looking out at the petals, his gaze unfocused, his mouth moving. Was he…counting the flowers? There were hundreds, maybe thousands, each one blooming, vying for attention in the gentle breeze. The twenty-four blackbirds did one final circle around the man, swooping down, and as they passed in front of him, they disappeared.
The man looked up. He met Emmi’s eyes across the clearing.
“Is that the king?” Emmi muttered to Puck.
“I don’t know,” Puck said. “I never met the man.”
Fair, she supposed. She’d never met the president, and only knew what he looked like from the news. Fae didn’t seem to have access to televisions.
The man stared at them, his eyes narrowing. A chill ran down Emmi’s spine.
“Use your magic,” Puck whispered.
Emmi slipped into her magic as easily as breathing. The flowers seemed to glitter, radiating a glow. But what really drew Emmi’s attention was the crown floating like a ghost over the man’s head. She couldn’t see it without her magical sight; she was certain Puck could not see it at all. But this man had a gleaming gold crown with arching spires, impossibly large, extending out like tree branches, the roots casting down and almost—but not quite—touching the man’s dark hair.
He was the king.
Before she could say anything, even to Puck, the king launched himself at her, racing through the flowers, casting yellow petals all around. He had both hands out, and with her Sight, Emmi could see dark power pooling in his palms, his fingers turning into something like claws.
“No witches in my realm!” the king screamed.
On instinct, Emmi threw her hands up, a shield of light bursting out, protecting both her and Puck. The king drew himself up short, stopping just before he hit the barrier. He glared at Emmi, pure hate in his look.
“How did you get here?” he growled. “The witch may have put up the wall around my realm, but at least she kept herself on the other side of it.”
“I tore down that wall,” Emmi said. “And I only want to talk.”
The power faded from the king’s palms. “You…you took down the wall?” He cocked his head, as if listening to something.
In the distance, so faint that it was almost inaudible, they could hear the hunting horn.
The king straightened, turning back to Emmi. His entire demeanor changed. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Take away your shield; I will not hurt you.”
Emmi wasn’t so sure of that, but she didn’t want to bring the king’s wrath on her any more, and keeping the barrier up would be disrespectful. She twirled her hands, and the protection faded. Puck took a step closer to her, touching her elbow, reminding her that he had her back.
“I have hated that wall for centuries,” the king said. “Walls are not good for hunts. We could still find ways to track our prey, of course, but the wall made things…difficult.” His eyes raked over Emmi. “You do not look like a witch.”
“My name is Emmi.”
Puck sucked in a breath through his teeth, and Emmi was reminded too late that names were important to the fae. She may not know her flower lore, but she knew the legends. Never give your name to the fae, she reminded herself. Had she or Puck mentioned her name in front of Joan? She didn’t think so. But she recalled the way Puck had talked about names limiting people, trapping them. Even queens and kings.
“I am called Gwyn ap Nudd,” the king said. “Or, I used to be called such.”
Emmi felt tension coiling inside her. It felt…treacherous to just be talking with this man. This king. Joan had been very clear about how dangerous it was to speak with her. But this king seemed more ominous now that he wasn’t attacking. She wished she could put the shield back up.
“You are a witch who takes down walls instead of erecting them. And you took down a wall I personally hated.” The king smiled, and Emmi felt her knees go weak with fear. “I will grant you a favor.”
Emmi didn’t need to be told twice. “I want my grandfather back,” she said.
Puck’s hand snaked down her arm, and he slipped his fingers through hers, squeezing them. A warning. She shook his hand away and took a step closer to the king, not backing down.
