Witching Fire: A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 16 Page 2

  “The place looks wonderful,” I said, smiling. “Good job! Raj really helped Kipa out. And yes, Raven brought food. Raven’s mother should be here soon, so Raven’s very happy that the house looks good.”

  Raj grimaced. “Will Raven please stop Phasmoria from making Raj try to sit at the table for dinner?”

  Last time she was here, my mother had gotten the idea that, since Raj was actually intelligent and not a pet, he should sit properly at the table during mealtimes. I had let it go a couple times until it was obvious that Raj was uncomfortable. I had promised next time she tried to make him sit in a chair with a napkin tied around his neck, I would put a stop to it.

  “Phasmoria won’t make Raj sit in a chair anymore when he’s eating,” I said. “Remember, Raven talked to her about that several weeks ago? If Phasmoria forgets, Raven will remind her.”

  “Raj thanks Raven.” He went back to watching his show. He had switched loyalties from Acrobert and the Alphas to Captain Ghost—a cartoon about a ghost sailor superhero who sailed the oceans, helping people avoid pirates. Raj had a deep, abiding love for cartoons and comics. They made him happy, and that’s all that mattered. He didn’t like opera or ballet, which suited me fine. I liked The Nutcracker, and I would occasionally watch a play, but I had no love for opera or the symphony.

  Kipa carried in the groceries. “Everything look good?”

  “Everything looks perfect,” I said. “Thank you.” I followed him into the kitchen and started putting away food as he brought in the rest of the bags. As I was debating on whether to put the apples in a crystal or a china bowl for the table, I suddenly felt dizzy. It was as though something blew past me so fast that it spun me around.

  “What the hell?” I muttered, looking around. I closed my eyes and reached out to see if any ghosts had come through, but my wards were strong and nothing was in sight. I kept the house and my car heavily guarded, given the run-in I’d had with Pandora.

  While the Elven therapist I was seeing had helped me move past the PTSD, I remained wary. The chaotic goddess was still out there. I had thwarted her plans and her fun by escaping her torture chamber. While I wasn’t sure she’d be out for revenge, I didn’t want to take any chances on leaving the door open for her to waltz in.

  But there was no sense of a spirit, nor of anything out of the ordinary. Frowning, I went back to putting away the food, but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling something big was barreling my way, and I was right in the center of the road.

  Chapter Two

  I spent the next half-hour making the chowder. After it was done, I poured it into a slow cooker to keep it warm. The extra time would blend the flavors even more. While I cooked and simmered, Kipa sliced the French bread loaves in half, buttering them and then wrapping them in foil. He stowed them in the fridge, then made turkey and provolone sandwiches for lunch. We cleaned the kitchen again, together, and had just finished when the doorbell rang.

  I glanced at the clock. “Three p.m., precisely. That’s my mother.”

  Phasmoria was seldom late, but she never overstepped her boundaries when it came to my privacy. She rang the bell, knocked at the bedroom door when she stayed over, and didn’t try to snoop in my mail.

  Beyond that, I knew that she was always a step ahead of me. But I didn’t mind because she was on my side, and that was the one place you wanted the Queen of the Bean Sidhe.

  I opened the door.

  She was leaning against the doorpost, clad in black leather—both jacket and pants—with knee-high platform boots. Beneath the jacket, she wore a blood-red tank top. Her hair was perfectly straight, falling to the curve of her lower back, and it was black, streaked with silver. My mother was a little taller than me—at five-eight—and far more muscled. She looked like a classy biker chick, and was tougher than any biker you’d ever meet. Her fingernails were painted blood red, and her lipstick matched both her top and her nails.

  She swooped me into her arms for a quick hug. We weren’t a demonstrative family, but Phasmoria and I had gotten chummier over the past few years and we now willingly exchanged hugs when we met. I had noticed that, ever since Pandora had abducted and tortured me, my mother had kept a closer eye on me.

  “You’re looking good,” she said, eyeing me up and down. “How are the memories?”

  I shrugged. “They’re there, but…I’m all right. Wary, but okay. I’m having a lot fewer flashbacks.”

  “Good.” Phasmoria sighed. “I’m glad that you’re feeling better, because I have some news, and…you’d better sit down for this one, because it’s big.”

  A shadow passed over her face. For her to look so concerned made my blood run cold. The Bean Sidhe weren’t afraid of anything except their goddess. As I walked her to the living room, I wondered if Pandora was on the move again. And if so, was she gunning for me?

  * * *

  So, I’d better start with an introduction. I’m Raven BoneTalker, one of the Ante-Fae—the predecessors to the Light and Dark Courts. While my mother eclipses me, I’m definitely developing my own style. I stand five-seven, and I’m curvy in a plump sort of way with big boobs and big hips. Humans call me goth, though it’s truly just my nature.

  I’ve got long brown hair streaked with purple—all natural—and my arms, torso, and back are covered with scrolling birthmarks that look like intricate tattoos. I’m a swirl of curls and spirals, and the markings on my back are wing-shaped. My amalgamation of birthmarks are from my mixed parentage. As I said, both my parents are Ante-Fae—my mother is Queen of the Bean Sidhe, and my father is the Black Dog of Hanging Hills.

  And me? I’m a bone witch. I walk with the dead, and I’m a priestess of Arawn—Lord of the Dead—and Cerridwen—Keeper of the Cauldron. Mostly, I work fire and death magic, read fortunes, exorcise houses, and clear out the dead who should not be lingering. My mother has hinted that I have other powers that haven’t manifested yet, and so I wait, not pushing the envelope because when you encourage Fate to move too quickly, it usually implodes.

  I’m hundred-plus years old, barely legal in my world, in love with a god, and trying to help out my friends who are on the front lines of a war against the dragons. If I were to encourage Fate to intervene again, I’d be dumping one too many things on my plate.

  And of course, the moment that thought crossed my mind, I realized I had just jinxed myself.

  * * *

  Phasmoria glanced around, spotting Raj. Before doing anything else, she walked over to plant a big old smooch on his head. “How’s Raj doing?”

  “Raj is good. How is Raven’s mother?”

  I wasn’t sure why, but he seldom called her by name. He was wary of her because my mother treated him with the same buck-up attitude she treated everybody else. My mother was hard to ignore when she told you to do something.

  “Phasmoria is doing well, but she needs to talk to Raven alone, so would Raj please go play in another room?” She turned to Kipa, whom she had a grudging respect for. She wasn’t thrilled I was dating a god, but she also had seen him stick by me during a very rough time, and she respected loyalty. “Kipa, hello, and would you go with Raj? We can all chat afterward, but I need to talk to her right now; and what I have to say needs to be said in private, at least to start.” She shooed them off the sofa.

  “Raj and Kipa will go watch TV in the bedroom,” Kipa said, motioning for Raj to accompany him. He had a worried look on his face, though, and he glanced back once, frowning. As soon as they were in the bedroom and the door had closed, Phasmoria turned back to me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “What’s happened? Is Da all right?”

  “As far as I know. Sit down, Raven. As I said, this is…concerning news.”

  Wondering what was going on, I sat down on the sofa and she joined me. “Is this about the dragons?” We were in the middle of a war against Typhon, the Father of All Dragons. Or rather, the gods were going up against him. Those of us who were puny and easily crisped by dragon br
eath were taking care of the collateral damage, which included a massive number of dead rising, and all sorts of delightful fallout like that.

  But Phasmoria shook her head. “No, actually it doesn’t. Did your father ever tell you about the Banra-Sheagh?”

  The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard of it. “No, I don’t think so. What…who…are we talking about?”

  She took a deep breath. “I wish your father hadn’t been so remiss in his duties. Granted, he’s one of the Exosan, like you, but he owed it to you to tell you more about your heritage.”

  “My heritage? You mean his family…your family?” I was confused now. If we had a relative named the Banra-Sheagh, I’d never known about it.

  “Not exactly.” Phasmoria paused, biting her lip. “All right, do you even know that our people have a queen?”

  That was a new one. “Nope. I thought that we Ante-Fae are mostly…anarchists, so to speak. We don’t have a ruling government like the Light and Dark Fae do.”

  “Yes, we do, though some of the youngsters like you don’t know about her because you’re being brought up in a human world. The Banra-Sheagh is Queen of the Ante-Fae. She’s ancient—far beyond reckoning. Like Arachana, she’s almost a goddess.” She paused, still looking troubled.

  “What’s going on? Why does this matter to me?”

  “Because the Banra-Sheagh has commanded you to come before her.” When Phasmoria grimaced, I realized this wasn’t exactly a good thing.

  “Me? How does she even know about me?” I was thoroughly confused now. I knew the Light and Dark Fae—who had evolved from the Ante-Fae and were technically our descendants—had their twin courts. But I had no clue about a governing council of the Ante-Fae.

  “Unfortunately, your grandfather—Dougal, Curikan’s father—still communicates with the court. I believe that he put the bug in her ear.” My mother leaned back, crossing her legs. She swept her hair back into a ponytail and wrapped an elastic hair tie around it. “I’m not as much of an Exosan as your father, but even I believe we’ve outgrown the monarchy.”

  “What could the Ban… What’s her name again?”

  “The Banra-Sheagh.”

  “Thank you. What does the Banra-Sheagh want with me?” I had no clue why an ancient queen would be interested in meeting me.

  “I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about this, Raven. You can’t ignore it. To do so would be suicide. The Queen can execute any member of her court who pisses her off. So you have to travel to Reímseil-Tabah, the realm in which she lives, and go before her.”

  I could sense Phasmoria’s worry, and when my mother was worried, there was always a good reason. She wasn’t the type of woman—or Ante-Fae—to be scared of anything. I tried to think of every possible reason the Queen might summon me, but couldn’t come up with any. I kept to myself for the most part, and yes—I was Exosan, meaning I liked the human world and hung out with humans—but there were plenty of Ante-Fae who were Exosan now.

  “Maybe it has something to do with Pandora?”

  “I don’t know, child.” Phasmoria bit her lip—a gesture alien to her. “I met the Banra-Sheagh one time when she summoned me to court. She wanted to congratulate me on being promoted to Queen of the Bean Sidhe. The meeting was short and to the point. I walked in, knelt before her. She bade me rise, said a few words of how I was making the Ante-Fae proud with my actions, and then boom, the guards escorted me out again.” She shivered. “I can tell you, even that short a time was creepy as shit.”

  “That doesn’t bode well. When do I have to go?”

  “I’m not sure—she’s sending an official escort. I’m friendly with one of her personal guards and that’s the only reason I know about this. He told me what he could get away with. And now you know everything I know. He did mention that the Banra-Sheagh wasn’t in a good mood when she gave the guards their orders. You’ll probably get the summons tomorrow. I’ll go with you, of course. I’m not letting you walk in there without me.”

  Grateful once again that my mother was who she was, I stared at the floor. “What’s she like?”

  Phasmoria hesitated for a moment, then said, “I don’t want to scare you, but… She…reminded me of an insect. She was round. Not fat—not in the way you’d think of being fat—but…round. She’s probably seven feet tall, and reminded me of an odd mix of humanoid and a scarab beetle. I can’t explain it any better than that. When I try to think back to our meeting, my mind can’t pin down an image to go with it. It has to be her glamour. Which, by the way, will work on anyone except the gods.”

  “That makes me even more nervous. How do I get there?”

  “She’ll send guards to accompany you. They’ll pave the way.” My mother took my hands. “I’m going to stay here until you get the summons because otherwise she might sweep you away without warning. I refuse to let you stand before the Banra-Sheagh without me there to help.” She brought my hands to her lips and kissed them lightly. It was right then that I realized I might be in big trouble and that, if I was, there wasn’t much anyone could do.

  * * *

  Phasmoria offered to help finish cooking and decorating for the party. I had set up my Yule tree in the corner the week before Thanksgiving, and it had managed to withstand both Raj and Kipa and retain its beauty. The tree was exquisite—a shimmering vision of white and blue and silver and clear crystal. I had bought an artificial blue spruce that was eight feet tall, and with the tree topper—a blue faerie figurine—it came close to brushing the ceiling. Kipa and I had decorated it, though more me than Kipa, who preferred to sit back and watch me hang the ornaments.

  While we were finishing preparations, I turned on Frosty the Snowman and several other seasonal shows for Raj. I had to interrupt at one point when he decided to twirl around the living room. To avoid a major disaster, I switched channels to a cookie baking competition, and now we could hear him shouting at the TV. Shouts of “Cinnamon! Peggy shouldn’t use so much cinnamon or the judges will yell at her!” and “Doesn’t Evan realize that he put the cookies in the oven too late? They won’t bake in time!” echoed from the sofa.

  Phasmoria broke out into a big grin. Lowering her voice, she said, “He’s quite the character, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he definitely is.” I began arranging cookies and pastries on several trays.

  Kipa, who was stirring the chowder, asked, “What power does this Banra-Sheagh have over Raven?”

  Phasmoria paused from organizing vegetables on a crudité platter. “The Banra-Sheagh—that’s her title and name—has the power of life and death over any of the Ante-Fae. She can order any one of us to be executed, though those who work in service to the gods are exempt to that. Which means since Raven is an official priestess of Arawn and Cerridwen, the Banra-Sheagh can’t take her life. But she can order punishment of many kinds. She can also reward those she feels deserve it.”

  “Can she order the Ante-Fae to go to war?” I asked. Now that I knew we had a queen, I wanted to know everything she could force us to do.

  “I doubt it. She could try but given how spread out we are and how…different…we all are, that’s not a likely scenario. The Banra-Sheagh seldom speaks out anymore, since a good share of the younger Ante-Fae still live in this realm. A large segment of the ancient Ante-Fae moved over with the Queen when she withdrew, but they’re even less likely to obey if she tried something like a war.” Phasmoria finished setting up the tray of vegetables and dip and moved on to slicing the tortes.

  By five we were ready. Right on time, the doorbell rang. I went to change while Kipa answered it. I found Raj sitting on my bed, looking worried, his limpid brown eyes looking glossy as though he’d been crying. I sat down beside him and put my arm around him. He was sitting in the Scooby-Doo position, upright, with his back legs sprawled out in front of him, and his front legs bracing himself up. As I hugged him, his leathery gray skin felt smooth and cool. He leaned into my hug, resting his head on my shoulder
.

  “What’s wrong with Raj? Why does he look so sad?”

  Raj let out a long sigh. “Raj is worried about Raven. Raven’s mother says Raven has to visit a queen. That sounds frightening.”

  “It will be all right. Raj doesn’t have to go with Raven, so he’ll be safe here at home.”

  “Raj isn’t worried about Raj…Raj is worried Raven’s in trouble. Did Raj do something to get Raven in trouble?”

  I bit my lip. “Oh no, sweetie. Raj did nothing to get Raven in trouble. Raven’s not sure why she has to go visit the Queen, but it has nothing to do with anything that Raj said or did. Raj isn’t to blame himself. Does Raj understand?”

  Raj looked bewildered. “Raj understands, but he’s still worried about Raven.”

  “Raven’s worried about Raven, too,” I said. “Raven’s not sure what to expect and she doesn’t like that feeling. But…she’s going to be brave about it, so Raj needs to be brave, too. Can Raj be brave for Raven?”

  He nodded again. “Raj can do that. Will that help Raven?”

  “That will help Raven a lot,” I said, giving him a kiss on the top of his head. “Raj is a good boy. Now if Raj would go out and help Kipa, Raven’s going to dress for the party.”

  Raj obediently trundled off the bed and headed for the door, shutting it behind him. I watched him go. Raj had picked up my mood, that was for sure. I wasn’t certain what the Banra-Sheagh wanted with me, but it had to be something big.

  Sighing, I picked out my party outfit—a black velvet circle skirt over a red petticoat, a red plaid corset that zipped up the front with black buckles and silver chains on it, and red and white striped tights. I added a silver fascinator, pinning it to my hair to keep it in place, and then a silver necklace that Kipa had bought for me. It had a ruby hanging from the chain that was as big as my thumbnail, and set into platinum.