Faerie Tale by Nicola Rhodes Page B

The bloody needle was pointing at these.’
     As they approached, they saw many more of the same type of large rocks arranged in a rough circle.
    ‘What’s a bloody Stonehenge doing in the middle of a wood, anyway?’ said Stiles.  ‘What a waste of time.’
    ‘No,’ said Tamar. ‘This is it all right. This is what she didn’t want us to find. I wonder why?
    ‘But what the hell are they?’ she wondered wandering around the nearest one and feeling her jewellery tugging toward it. 
    ‘They are the Portal Stones,’
    It needn’t be said that this was not Stiles’s voice.
    Tamar knew without turning round that it was the gypsy king.
    ‘What are they then?’ she said trying to sound casual, although she felt as if she was on the brink of finding out something crucial.
    ‘They guard the portal to the Faerie realm.  They’re there to keep them out – or in – however you want to look at it.’
    ‘They failed then, didn’t they?’
    ‘They held her back for a thousand years,’ he said defensively.  ‘I never thought she would get back again.’
    There was something about the way he said this that made Stiles’s radar twitch.
    ‘You know her then?’ he said on a hunch. 
    Tamar thought this was silly – how could he?  But as it turned out, Stiles was right.  
    ‘Oh, I know her all right,’ he said.  ‘I’ve known her for a thousand years.’ 
    * * *
    She was beautiful Denny supposed from a certain point of view.  But, from another point of view, she was just – nothing.  This was, Denny decided, because he was, in fact, seeing two of her at the same time.  The real one and the one she wanted him to see.  Had he been under her thrall, he would only have seen the beautiful image that she was projecting.  As it was, it was confusing and a little nauseating. 
    The folk tales had said that the women of the Sidhe were hollow at the back; Denny was beginning to see what they meant.  Onagh had no substance, only image.  What you see from the front looks real, but from behind, you could see that there was nothing there.  And Denny could – to coin a phrase – see right through her. It was hurting his eyes to look at her.  His eyes kept straining to see what his brain was telling him was not there. 
    She would come in between torture sessions to gloat over him. She would stroke his bloodied and bruised face gently, almost lovingly, although Denny got the impression that it was the blood and pain she was fond of, rather than himself.  She was never there when the torture was going on, although Denny had the idea that she had been watching.  ‘She probably has a special gallery,’ he thought wryly.
    Despite the fact that she was well aware that he was not under her control, she seemed to have no idea that he was not seeing her exactly as she wanted to be seen.  It might be the reason that, although when she came to him, she was sweetly seductive, (no doubt the point of which was to show him the alternative to the torture he was undergoing – what he would have if he capitulated) she nevertheless seemed to pay scant attention to her attire.  It was a supreme self-confidence that even Tamar could not equal.  Even Tamar did not act as if she could get away with wearing just anything and still look good – even though she probably could.
    This latest was interesting, Denny thought.  She seemed to have picked up on the general idea but …
    ‘You do realise that negligee is on backwards?’ he said.
    * * *
    The King bowed elegantly, disregarding their shocked expressions.  ‘Finvarra, High King of the Gypsies, Guardian of the Stones,’ he said.  ‘Sorry about that, by the way,’ he added.  ‘Can’t think how she got past me.’
    Stiles thought he knew how.  Not the details, of course, but the general theory.  Guarding something gets dull, especially after a thousand years and especially when you believe in your heart that what you are guarding is safe anyway. The Key Stones