Witchery: A Ghosts of Albion Novel
Chapter Ten

Ye know we’s not welcome,” the little creature said, fluttering her wings, a shower of purple dust sparkling around her. “They means us ill, that’s sure.”
Tamara frowned and looked at her closely. “I could find it on my own from here, you’re right about that. I can sense it. But I’d feel much better if I had you with me. And you may rely upon me, my friend. I’ll not let any harm come to you.”
For a moment, the little sprite lowered her head. Then she perked up, smiled, and beat her wings, flying up into the air with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “As ye say, Tamara. As ye say.”
Serena darted toward Farris, kissed him on the cheek, then gave a musical little giggle as she flew toward the woods, calling to Tamara to keep up.
“You’ll remain here?” Tamara asked.
Farris nodded. “For two hours, as instructed. If you haven’t returned by then, I’m to go back to the inn and await you there. And if you have still not appeared by nightfall, I shall ask Bodicea to fetch Master William from London.”
“Excellent,” Tamara said. She smiled at him. “It sets me at ease, having you along, Farris.”
“Thank you, miss. Can’t say I’m at ease, however. What with you goin’ off into the woods on your own.”
“I’ll be all right. Not to worry.”
Farris nodded. “As you say.”
“Back soon,” Tamara promised, and she lifted a hand to wave as she turned and strode into the woods after Serena. She didn’t worry that she would be observed, for there were no other travelers on the road this morning. Not this road.
The moment she stepped in among the trees she was embraced by the deep shadows of the forest, and a chill went through her. Tamara shuddered. The heat of the day was forgotten. She had expected it to be cooler, but the difference in temperature seemed greater than could have been accounted for by the shade alone.
A bead of sweat trickled down between her breasts, a remnant of the sun’s heat, but it cooled and dried almost immediately.
“Serena?” she called into the darkness.
There came a slight whisper of a sound, the distant trill of a harp, and the sprite darted from the branches above her to flutter only inches from her face. Serena crossed her arms sternly.
“Got to keep up, lady fair. Can’t keep coming back for ye, s’true.”
Tamara nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Serena hesitated a moment, as though something in the forest frightened her. Then she appeared to muster her courage, and she set off, darting through the trees and whirling around branches, barely rustling a leaf. The only thing that marked her passage was the trail of tiny sparkles that she left in the air. Here in the semidarkness, they glowed a faint lilac.
Tamara followed.
Though the forest was thick and the branches above intertwined in what looked to be an impassable tangle, the undergrowth grew thinner and thinner the farther she went from the road. Several times she lost sight of the sprite, but a light, musical trill in the air or a fine dust of sparkling light upon the air would lead her.
In truth, however, she discovered that she really did not need Serena to lead her. For with each step she felt the magic of the fairies more acutely and more unpleasantly. By the time an hour had passed, knots of pain had formed in her head and gut, and they increased the nearer she drew to the Fairy stronghold.
How much easier it would have been to walk another way, to turn from her current course. But that was their protective magic working on her. Anyone else would have bent to this manipulation without truly being aware of it. Tamara would not be turned away.
Her jaw was tight, teeth gritted together. Another quarter mile and her head was bent, eyes defiantly raised so that she could find her way through the trees. Despite the strangely cool air in the woods, a line of sweat slid down the back of her neck.
Then there was music in her ear and she glanced to the left to see Serena, fluttering about in a mist of magical light, the tiny, beautiful face crumpling with worry.
“You all right, lady fair?”
Tamara nodded once. “I shall be. Let’s continue.”
Serena shrugged. “Nowhere to continue to. We’s here, isn’t we?”
Three steps later, Tamara emerged into a clearing in the midst of the forest, and the weight of the fairy magic lifted from her. With a relief that weakened her legs and nearly caused her to fall over, she glanced around the large clearing. At first, there was nothing there beneath the sun.
And then she blinked.
The sight of Stronghold made her stagger backward a step. Though she was Protector of Albion, she and William had not held that title for very long and there were so many things they had yet to experience. The majesty of the fairy stronghold was one of those things, and it made her wonder if her heart could withstand the grandeur of Faerie itself, should she ever set foot into that other realm.
Stronghold was made of stone that had the gleam and grain of marble, but was as white as ivory. Where human structures clearly showed the cut of every stone, however, the fairy outpost looked as though it had been carved whole from a single block. It stood perhaps eighty feet high and four times that in width, rounded and tapered upward so that its peak was the pinnacle of half a dozen or more arches. The windows followed that design, as though the whole thing had been teased upward, or stretched like blown glass instead of stone.
She thought of her brother. William’s first love was architecture. You should have been here for this, Will.
From her vantage point, perhaps thirty yards away, Tamara could not see the lower portions of Stronghold. The structure was at the center of the clearing, and all around, obscuring her view, there grew a line of trees so closely set as to be impassable. Their upper branches twined together, and the trees themselves bent in toward Stronghold, tops twisted one to the other to create a kind of defensive canopy.
Beside her, Serena whistled.
“Pretty magic, that,” the sprite said in her high, singsong voice. “That’s new to us, so it is.”
New, Tamara thought. Defenses they’ve only just erected. They’re frightened, all right.
Now that the pain in her head and stomach had abated, she lifted her chin and strode directly across the clearing. There was a gap between two trees that seemed almost wide enough to pass through. As she approached, she saw figures crouched behind the trees. Lithe, like wraiths, three of them slipped through the narrow gaps between tree trunks, their gossamer gowns all shades of green and blue, of forest and ocean.
An arrow struck the earth inches ahead of her. Tamara gasped, and stopped. She glanced up into the branches of the trees that shielded Stronghold and saw a tiny archer withdrawing behind a covering of leaves. A brownie or some other mischief-maker, she thought. The fairies of Stronghold must have enlisted strange allies in these treacherous days.
“You are not welcome,” said the tallest of the fairies as she approached. She was a towering, thin creature whose every motion was like a dance. Her eyes were a staggeringly bright blue, gleaming with vibrant color in the sun.
All three of them were beautiful, of course, but there was a terrible cruelty in the beauty of fairies that those who fell under their enchantments never saw until it was too late. Tamara had encountered such creatures before, and had no illusions.
“I am Tamara Swift,” she said regally, matching their haughtiness with her own. “I am the Protector of Albion. I have come to speak to the Council of Stronghold, who command this outpost, on matters most dire. And I would be admitted now.”
The three fairies seemed almost to float toward one another. If they whispered together, shared their thoughts, Tamara could not hear them. Their mouths seemed to move, but did not form any words she understood. After a moment, the tallest one came forward again, halving the distance between them. She was a head and more taller than Tamara, and looked down upon her.
“We know who you are. Your arrival was expected, and your interference is unwelcome. You will go. First, however, you shall turn over the sprite Serena to us for punishment.”
Tamara scoffed. “I’ll do no such thing.”
The fairy blinked as though Tamara had slapped her. “You had best watch your tone in our presence, girl.”
An unnatural wind blew up suddenly and whipped at Tamara’s hair. Anger and magic churned within her and she raised both hands, clenched into fists. Power crackled around them, a golden light that swirled with flashes of brighter silver.
“And you in mine,” Tamara said evenly. “Albion is my realm, my responsibility. You and yours are guests here. Perhaps you ought not to forget that.”
Uncertainty touched the face of the fairy for the first time. Then there came a flicker of a smile, though no amusement reached the creature’s eyes. She inclined her head.
“We do not require your assistance, Protector,” she said with derision. “We are more than capable of protecting ourselves. This is not the business of humans.”
Tamara crossed her arms. “You haven’t done the best job of protecting yourselves thus far, I’m afraid. And this business does involve humans. Girls from the village have been attacked and have vanished, quite like what’s happened here.”
The fairy frowned doubtfully. “The sprite is a fugitive. Serena must answer to the council for bringing you here, for speaking of Stronghold without permission, and she will be questioned about the disappearances themselves.
“It is thought that perhaps she has not told all that she knows.”
Ever since the fairies had appeared, Serena had been nowhere in sight, but now she darted from the trees across the clearing and sped toward Tamara and the three sentries.
“A dirty lie, it is! Aine is our greatest friend. We loves her!”
Shadows seemed to gather around the three fairy sentries, but the darkness did not come from the trees above. The angle of the sun was wrong. It was just the grim cast of their hearts that brought this darkness. Tamara didn’t think they were evil, but they were afraid and angry and suspicious because of the disappearances. And she knew there was a cruel streak in the nature of fairies to begin with.
The sprite alighted upon Tamara’s shoulder.
“This is foolishness,” Tamara told the sentries, lowering her hands, the magic dissipating around them. “Regardless of how I was summoned, I have come to offer my assistance in finding those you have lost and in punishing whoever is responsible. Surely you recognize the value— ”
“For the last time, your assistance is not required. Go home, sorceress.”
The words were cold. For the first time, she noticed that the fairies’ teeth were sharp. No wonder their smiles could be so unsettling. She glanced past them, wondering what would happen if she attempted to force her way into Stronghold, if she fought them for the right to address the council.
“What could she have done that engenders such fury in you?” Tamara demanded. “What is it you think she can tell you?”
Still they said nothing.
“All right,” Tamara went on, frustrated. “Know this. The sprite Serena is under my protection. Any attempt to harm or accost her or to interfere with her in any way will be considered an attack on Albion itself. My brother and I will respond accordingly.
“Now, then, as Protector of Albion, rightful defender of this land, to which you have no claim, I demand to speak with the Council of Stronghold!”
Tamara lifted her chin defiantly.
The fairy who had been speaking all along, whose eyes gleamed deepest blue, inclined her head in a gesture of modest respect.
“I am Sibille, of the Council of Stronghold, my lady Protector. We are well met, but the council does not wish your assistance. You have no business here. See to the humans in the village, as is your true duty. Leave us to attend to our own ways and laws.”
Tamara stared at her. So she had been speaking to a representative of the council all along, and hadn’t realized it.
“I’ve just told you, Stronghold and Camelford face equal peril, and we must work together. I fear that time is wasting with our every word. I know one of your own has been murdered. At least one village girl has suffered the same awful fate. But those who have vanished are still alive, I’m certain of it.
“There is a young man, you see, whose sister is among the missing. They share a deep rapport, a bit of magic in them. He can feel her life waning with each passing day, and he is absolutely certain that whatever her condition now, she and all those who have been taken will be killed during the solstice, which is but days away.”
Sibille bared her sharp teeth. There was nothing beautiful about her.
“That is as may be, but you are no more welcome here because of it.”
The fairy councilor raised a hand and arched one finger. There came a grunt from behind the trees, and up in the branches half a dozen brownies appeared with arrows nocked in their bows. The two sentries on either side of Sibille began to gleam with a greenish light that spilled from their eyes like a kind of damp smoke.
“Begone, Protector of Albion. Fairy matters are not your concern.”
Tamara let out a ragged breath of frustration and nodded once. “All right. Fools must be left to their own fate.”
The fairies bristled, but did not attack.
The sprite gasped and hid herself in Tamara’s hair, wrapping it around her like a curtain.
“But Serena comes with me. When you are willing to have me stand at her side while she hears the charges against her, then she will come to council. Until then, should you trouble her in any way, it will be war between us, and under the present circumstances, that is something neither of us can afford. But do what you will.”
“Oh, lady fair, what are you doing?” Serena’s tiny voice squeaked in her ear.
Tamara only stared at the fairies.
Sibille looked as though she wanted to eviscerate her on the spot. “You do realize that you would have no chance. Even if you were to kill some of us, our numbers are too great. You would not survive.”
Tamara smiled, hoping her expression matched the fairy’s in cruelty. “Perhaps. But I would most certainly kill you, Sibille, as well as the two with you, and several others. But which others?”
Again the Protector raised her fists, and once more they crackled with power. “So if it’s to be war, have at it.”
Sibille lowered her hand. The archers and the bogie withdrew, and so did the other two who had come out as sentries. After a few moments, Sibille herself slid between two of the trees and disappeared toward the fairy stronghold.
Tamara also backed away, slowly, not willing to turn her back on the place until she had reached the woods. When she was a comfortable distance away, she exhaled loudly and then began to hurry, moving through the trees as quickly as she was able.
The sprite took to the air, tiny wings making frantic music as she darted along beside Tamara.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said. “But what now, lady fair? What do ye plan?”
Tamara did not respond. She could feel the time passing, the seconds ticking away toward the summer solstice. If Richard Kirk was correct, and his sister and the others who had been abducted were to die on that night, there was not a moment to spare. She had not expected the fairies to reject her help, and without their knowledge, Tamara would have to investigate the entire mystery on her own.
No, not on her own. She had Serena, and Farris, and Bodicea. And now she had Richard Kirk as well.
She would find the truth, and she would find those girls, before the solstice arrived. The fairies didn’t want her help, but they were going to get it anyway.
THE BROOM LAY ON THE GROUND in front of the cottage, cast aside. Ellie Kirk sat on a wooden bench that her brother-in-law, Norman, had brought over just for this purpose. She had been sweeping out the cottage but the numbness and lethargy that had plagued her since Sally’s disappearance had come upon her again, forcing her to rest.
Her little girl was gone.
The broom was forgotten now, and Ellie just sat on the bench and stared at the trees, hoping that her daughter would emerge as though she had never been away, and the whole family— the whole town— would laugh and be so relieved to have her home.
The summer sun was unforgiving today, yet Ellie did not move from the bench in search of shade. She only stared at the trees.
When she saw movement in the branches, her heart leaped. She tensed, ready to stand. Then a hound dog trotted out of the woods, followed by a second and third, all of them covered in brown and white fur, snuffling the ground like pigs in a sty. And last of all came Peter David, who offered his services to travelers who wished to hunt on the moors or in the woods, and trained the dogs himself.
Peter was a kind man, a friend, but Ellie’s heart ached at the sight of him. She was crestfallen as he approached, his jaw set grimly and his eyes full of sympathy.
“Hope I didn’t startle you, Mrs. Kirk,” he said, stroking his graying beard. With a whistle, he called his dogs to heel and all three of them trotted to him and sat by his feet. “The boys need to eat and rest a bit, and then we’ll go back out.”
Ellie nodded. “It’s kind of you, Peter, to spend so much of your time this way.”
So many of the people of Camelford had volunteered their time to help search for Sally, and for the Newcomb girl, but none had been as good a friend to the Kirks as Peter, nor as useful. He had been out for hours each day with his dogs.
“We’ve all got daughters or sisters, Mrs. Kirk,” he said solemnly. “I’ll help as I can, and pray to get your Sally back safely. Your husband and his brother are still searching, along with Mr. Price from the inn and a few others. I’ll rejoin them in an hour or two, once the dogs are fed.”
They would have said goodbye, then, but their attention was drawn by the clattering of hooves and the rattle of a carriage that came round the corner and along the narrow road. Clouds of dirt rose behind it, and Ellie and Peter watched as the carriage came to a halt in front of the cottage.
The driver climbed down, a stout man, but powerful looking. He came round the side and lowered the steps, then opened the door and offered his hand to a most oddly dressed young lady. She wore a pretty blouse beneath a long coat, and a man’s trousers cuffed over boots that must have been too large for her. Ellie had never seen the young lady before, but she was far stranger a sight than the typical traveler who passed through Camelford.
The driver stayed by the carriage, hands behind his back, all right and proper. The young lady— Ellie saw that she was little more than a girl, no older than twenty— came up the walk toward the cottage.
“Pardon the interruption, but might this be the home of Richard Kirk?”
Ellie frowned as she stood, Peter by her side. The hounds sniffed the ground in the direction of the new arrival and one of them whined softly as it watched the girl.
“It is,” Ellie replied. “Richard’s my son. I’m Eleanor Kirk. And this is Mr. David, our neighbor and friend.”
The oddly dressed young woman stopped a few feet away and inclined her head. “I am Tamara Swift, Mrs. Kirk. My apologies for the intrusion. And I hope you will forgive my attire. I climbed to Roughtor this morning, and had not brought the proper clothing for such a hike.”
Ellie smiled. An odd girl, trekking up to the tor herself. The thought made her smile fade. It was all too dangerous for a girl on her own in recent days.
“I know this must be a difficult time for you to greet visitors, so I shan’t stay but a moment. I had hoped to speak with Richard, if he’s at home.”
Polite, at least, Ellie thought. A Londoner, by her voice.
“Our Richard’s not here, I’m afraid. He’s gone to town, I believe, to speak to folk about ” She paused and took a breath to calm herself. “About Holly Newcomb. You may have heard— ”
“Yes,” Miss Swift interrupted, saving her the pain of completing her thought. “I’m aware of what’s befallen both Holly and your own daughter, ma’am. And the unfortunate girl found in Market Square. I spoke to Richard yesterday afternoon, and as I’m going to be in Camelford at least a week, I thought I ought to offer what little assistance I may.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow. The dark dread in her heart did not prevent her from feeling suspicion.
“I mean no offense, miss, but what sort of help could you provide? I don’t imagine you’ll be traipsing through the woods with a hound or two.”
The girl smiled, and suddenly Ellie felt her suspicions dissipate. The kindness there was unmistakable. Also, in those clothes, and willing to climb Roughtor herself, the girl might in fact be willing to join the search party in the forest.
“My family owns a bank, Mrs. Kirk. Swift’s of London. And I’m quite certain that my brother— at present the president of the bank— would happily provide a reward note to be posted in neighboring towns and villages for information leading to the safe return of the two missing girls.”
Ellie felt like weeping; her hands trembled.
“That’d bring an army into the wood, searching for the girls,” Peter said, crouching to rub one of the hounds behind a floppy ear.
The traveler gave him a look of earnest concern. “Is that going to be a problem for your hounds, Mr. David?”
Ellie looked down at Peter and saw regret in his eyes.
“I think not,” the man admitted as he stood once more. “The pups found a trail on the first night, Sally’s scent. Led us a merry chase, but then it ended, nothing left to follow. Might’ve been the river, I suppose. Peculiar thing, though, a scent so strong and then no trace at all. Almost like she flew away.”
The words echoed in Ellie’s ears and she closed her eyes a moment, hating to hear of it. It truly was as though Sally had just disappeared— as if she had been spirited away.
When she opened her eyes, she gazed at the girl before her. “Miss Swift, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“There’s no need,” the girl assured her. “I only hope it helps us find the two missing girls. When Richard has a spare moment, please ask him to call upon me at the Mason’s Arms, and I shall make the arrangements with him. If I am not in, he might ask for my driver, Mr. Farris.”
“Three,” Peter said abruptly.
Ellie glanced at him, confused. “What’s that, Peter?”
The man stroked his beard again. He was normally quiet and now as he looked at Tamara Swift, he seemed awkward. “Well, it’s just the young miss keeps saying two girls, but we believe it’s three now, don’t we?”
“Three?” Miss Swift asked. “Who is the third?”
“No one’s sure of it yet,” Ellie noted. “The daughter of a farmer named Raynham turned up missing the night before Holly did, but her parents supposed she’d run off with a boy from the moors who’d taken a fancy to her. Now, though, with all that’s happened, I’ve heard the Raynhams are wondering if their daughter didn’t elope after all.”
“I see,” the girl said. Her expression was troubled. “That’s dreadful news. I only hope we shall find them all still in good health, and soon. I’ll take my leave, now, ma’am, Mr. David. I wouldn’t like to take any more of your time.”
“Thank you again, Miss Swift,” Ellie said, a spark of hope igniting in her.
“Not at all,” the traveler replied. She started back toward her carriage, but paused after a few feet. “Mr. David. Out of curiosity, the place where the trail disappeared where the hounds lost the scent where was that, exactly?”
The man frowned, and Ellie understood why. What good would such information be to a wealthy girl from London? It wasn’t as though she could do any tracking herself, or had hounds to do it for her.
“At Slaughterbridge, miss,” Peter said finally. “The west side of the river, twenty paces or so from the bridge, at the edge of the wood.”
Tamara Swift thanked them again, bid them farewell, and returned to her carriage. Ellie and her neighbor watched as the carriage rattled away and listened to the horses’ hooves thumping the road. They were quiet for a full minute after the last sound had died away.
Even the hounds were silent.
WITH RICHARD KIRK UNACCOUNTED FOR and Bodicea still exploring the spectral planes for further signs of the ghostly knights she had seen the previous day, Tamara decided that her best course for the moment was to return to the inn and hope that young master Kirk sought her out there. As loose and comfortable as her borrowed trousers were, it would be a relief to be dressed in a lady’s clothes again.
The reward she had suggested to Richard’s mother had been a last-minute bit of inspiration, invented on the spot to assure that the young man would seek her out, but despite its origins, she was very pleased with the idea. It was possible that the increased number of people searching the woods around Camelford would turn up some new clue.
At the very least, it would likely infuriate the fairy council, and Tamara did not mind that at all.
She hoped that Bodicea might provide some new information upon her return. Meanwhile, she knew that the only place to inquire about Holly Newcomb was right here at the inn where the girl had worked. The Mason’s Arms was host to many well-to-do travelers passing through Cornwall, and Tamara had been pleased to discover that this had led the innkeeper, Roger Price, to open a makeshift tearoom in a small parlor off the dining room.
It was half past three when Tamara, in a lovely butter-yellow dress, ensconced herself in a chair in the tearoom. She sat by a window that gave her a view of the river that ran behind the inn, and the stone bridge that spanned it, leading out of town. Serena was flitting about somewhere, probably out in the stables, since Farris was seeing to the horses. Tamara had asked him to take the opportunity to speak to the farrier about the Newcomb girl. Farris had already discovered the man had been quite fond of her.
The only other people in the tearoom were a naturalist from Madrid and his wife, both of them on the threshold of old age. She passed a pleasant word with them, but otherwise kept her silence and enjoyed the view of the river as she sipped her tea and ate half a blueberry scone.
Guilt whispered in the back of her mind. To have this moment of peace, of pleasure, seemed somehow wrong when so many people in Camelford were even at that moment tormented by fear and anguish.
When the girl came to pour her a fresh cup of tea, Tamara smiled at her. With her reddish hair and the light spray of freckles across her nose, the bosomy thing drew a great deal of attention at the bar, which was her usual station. Tamara had noticed her the previous night as they went through the inn.
“Thank you,” Tamara said.
“Not at all, miss,” the barmaid said. Her smile was open and friendly. “Anything else you’d like? The scones are a bit dry, I’m afraid. There’s a lemon tart that’s— ”
“No, no, I’m all right, thank you.”
The girl nodded and turned to go.
“What’s your name?” Tamara asked.
The barmaid paused and studied her. She seemed pleased to be asked. “Christine, ma’am. Christine Lindsay.”