make these?” she asked.
“No. They are Druid work,” Miach said. “The stones form a door, usually the entrance to a temple mound.” Like the one in which the Druids had imprisoned him. So long ago, yet he still bore the scars.
She scrutinized him. “You’re the one who looks pale now,” she said. “Paler.”
“They are not happy memories,” said Miach. “And I doubt that your assailant is putting this gate together out of archaeological interest. If it’s correctly sited, and I’ll wager it is, then the application of the right magic will open a gate and free the imprisoned Fae.”
There were few beings alive who could apply the right magic, of course, but one of them, Beth Carter, worked in this building. Only a few months ago, the Prince Consort had kidnapped Beth and tried to force her to open one of the gates. The clever little Druid had turned the tables on the Queen’s lover by opening the gate in one direction only—and hurling him through.
And the Prince Consort had only managed to abduct Beth because she had become separated from Conn—and because Miach had been trying to kill her, not protect her. Now things were different. It would be next to impossible to spirit Beth Carter away, to drag her to a temple mound and force her to use her magic. She was learning to use her own power, and even if she lacked complete control of it, she had allies like Conn and Miach to protect her while she mastered the craft.
But it would be all too easy to ambush her here, in this remote chamber.
“I’m afraid that your Fae antagonist has been preparing a surprise for Beth Carter. Clever, really. It would be difficult for any common Fae to kidnap her and bring her to a solstice gate in situ before Conn ran them to ground. Few can carry a human with them when they pass, like the Prince Consort. But this Fae, he was planning to lie in wait for her down here, a place she would presume was safe.”
• • •
H elene felt a flash of white-hot anger. It obliterated, for a second, the helplessness she had been feeling for weeks. This creature who had been tormenting her, stealing hours of her life, had been plotting to ambush her best friend.
There had to be something she could do about it.
“These stones must have been down here for decades,” she said. “The crates are marked with the old catalog system. We haven’t used that since the twenties. How did this Fae even find out they were here?”
“Your museum has an online catalog now, does it not?” Miach asked.
“Yes.” She had secured the funding for it herself, two years ago.
“So anyone,” said Miach, “anywhere in the world, could search your collections by keyword. Beth Carter has been drawn to Fae relics her whole life. It’s part of her Druid heritage. It’s why she studied our remains, how she chose her profession, and even how she ended up working in this museum. You have one of the best Celtic collections in the world. One sure to contain at least a few objects of power. And a Fae who was looking for something powerful, for a weapon to use against Beth Carter, would soon discover that you owned not just a few ensorcelled blades or trinkets but a complete—or near enough to work—solstice gate.”
“Would it still work,” she asked, “if that stone”—she pointed to the lintel, with its frenzy of geometric carvings—“was broken?”
“No,” said Miach.
“Good.”
She knew how to run the forklift, because it was all hands on deck when an exhibit was running behind and an opening date loomed. She swung herself up into the cab, found the keys, got the engine running, and raised the platform to the height of the lintel slab. She drove the lift forward, until the fork was touching the lintel stone, and then she stepped on the gas pedal. The stone groaned as the lift pushed it forward, grinding against the blocks below. Then it fell, a good eight feet, to the concrete floor below.
The lintel struck with a loud crash,
“No. They are Druid work,” Miach said. “The stones form a door, usually the entrance to a temple mound.” Like the one in which the Druids had imprisoned him. So long ago, yet he still bore the scars.
She scrutinized him. “You’re the one who looks pale now,” she said. “Paler.”
“They are not happy memories,” said Miach. “And I doubt that your assailant is putting this gate together out of archaeological interest. If it’s correctly sited, and I’ll wager it is, then the application of the right magic will open a gate and free the imprisoned Fae.”
There were few beings alive who could apply the right magic, of course, but one of them, Beth Carter, worked in this building. Only a few months ago, the Prince Consort had kidnapped Beth and tried to force her to open one of the gates. The clever little Druid had turned the tables on the Queen’s lover by opening the gate in one direction only—and hurling him through.
And the Prince Consort had only managed to abduct Beth because she had become separated from Conn—and because Miach had been trying to kill her, not protect her. Now things were different. It would be next to impossible to spirit Beth Carter away, to drag her to a temple mound and force her to use her magic. She was learning to use her own power, and even if she lacked complete control of it, she had allies like Conn and Miach to protect her while she mastered the craft.
But it would be all too easy to ambush her here, in this remote chamber.
“I’m afraid that your Fae antagonist has been preparing a surprise for Beth Carter. Clever, really. It would be difficult for any common Fae to kidnap her and bring her to a solstice gate in situ before Conn ran them to ground. Few can carry a human with them when they pass, like the Prince Consort. But this Fae, he was planning to lie in wait for her down here, a place she would presume was safe.”
• • •
H elene felt a flash of white-hot anger. It obliterated, for a second, the helplessness she had been feeling for weeks. This creature who had been tormenting her, stealing hours of her life, had been plotting to ambush her best friend.
There had to be something she could do about it.
“These stones must have been down here for decades,” she said. “The crates are marked with the old catalog system. We haven’t used that since the twenties. How did this Fae even find out they were here?”
“Your museum has an online catalog now, does it not?” Miach asked.
“Yes.” She had secured the funding for it herself, two years ago.
“So anyone,” said Miach, “anywhere in the world, could search your collections by keyword. Beth Carter has been drawn to Fae relics her whole life. It’s part of her Druid heritage. It’s why she studied our remains, how she chose her profession, and even how she ended up working in this museum. You have one of the best Celtic collections in the world. One sure to contain at least a few objects of power. And a Fae who was looking for something powerful, for a weapon to use against Beth Carter, would soon discover that you owned not just a few ensorcelled blades or trinkets but a complete—or near enough to work—solstice gate.”
“Would it still work,” she asked, “if that stone”—she pointed to the lintel, with its frenzy of geometric carvings—“was broken?”
“No,” said Miach.
“Good.”
She knew how to run the forklift, because it was all hands on deck when an exhibit was running behind and an opening date loomed. She swung herself up into the cab, found the keys, got the engine running, and raised the platform to the height of the lintel slab. She drove the lift forward, until the fork was touching the lintel stone, and then she stepped on the gas pedal. The stone groaned as the lift pushed it forward, grinding against the blocks below. Then it fell, a good eight feet, to the concrete floor below.
The lintel struck with a loud crash,
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