Hexes and Ohs Page 8

  But Thomas' presence didn't make my heart skip the way it usually did.

  And that was mainly because he wasn't alone.

  "This is Ghillie," Thomas said, gesturing towards the tall young man beside him. "He's also with PRoVE."

  Ghillie stretched out his hand. I instinctively shook it, but I regretted it almost instantly.

  This slender young man with the clear blue eyes and oddly strong grip was not human. The willowy frame moved with too much grace. The well-cut black clothes were a little too perfect—particularly for a PRoVE member. The teeth were a little too sharp.

  Two elves in one night. What were the odds?

  The question was, did Thomas know what his companion was?

  "Nice to meet you," I said, a polite but neutral response. Then I turned to Thomas. "What can I do for you?"

  Thomas looked uncomfortable. "We're here to ask you a few questions."

  I raised a brow. "We?"

  Thomas motioned to Ghillie, who sighed and stepped back to browse around the store. I couldn't help but notice that he made a beeline for the Celtic broadsword hanging on the wall.

  Déjà vu.

  Thomas took out his smartphone and typed something in. "We had some interesting search results this past week."

  I frowned at the gadget. "You know I try my best to avoid technology."

  I was several thousand years old and I'd spent most of them inside this shop. Every couple of weeks, the shop tried to tempt me by manifesting a screen or a tablet, but so far I'd stayed strong.

  "No worries," Thomas said, his finger sweeping across the screen. "I'm just going to show you some screenshots. This, for example, appeared on an auction house website that we monitor."

  He showed me the phone. The picture on the screen was an online posting of some sort. It requested "a yellow or amber-colored vessel with matching stopper purporting to contain a love potion." The ad noted that the artifact need not be from a particular time period and that price was no object. All bottles were to be sent to Dora Pendragon at 612 Main Street, Banshee Creek, Virginia.

  The shop, it appeared, was a lot more technologically savvy than me.

  Thomas swept his finger across the screen again. "This one was on Craigslist."

  It was the same ad, now on a white background with different typography.

  Thomas swept his finger again. "This one was received by an antiques dealer in Boston. He's a friend of ours."

  Same ad, but on what seemed to be a printed letter.

  I bit my lip. "How many of those have you found?

  "Around five hundred," he replied.

  I sighed. That meant more than a hundred bottles were on their way to the shop. We would need a bigger storeroom.

  "Payment is made by check, credit card, wire transfer...you name it." Thomas turned the phone off and crossed his arms. "What is going on, Dora?"

  I rubbed the back of my neck, as this conversation was giving me a headache. How much should I share with Thomas? I could tell him that it was a new promotion for the shop, but the purchases added up to millions of dollars. PRoVE would never believe that a dinky little store like mine had that kind of money. The Sotheby's bottle alone was worth two hundred thousand smackaroos. No one sold six-figure items in Banshee Creek. The tourists revolted when Patricia, the owner of the Banshee Creek Bakery, hiked the price of coffee fifty cents. They organized an online petition and everything.

  And, of course, there was the fact that Thomas knew about the shop. The promo story wouldn't fly.

  I finally threw up my hands.

  "I don't know." I glanced around the shop. "It wants the bottles, but I don't know what for."

  "Five hundred of them?" Ghillie asked.

  I hesitated.

  Ghillie's eyes narrowed. "Or just one?"

  I drew a shaky breath. The elf knew. He likely knew more than I did.

  But could I trust him?

  "He came for it," Ghillie said, rubbing his chin. "Didn't he?"

  "Already?" Thomas exclaimed, looking alarmed.

  That did it. I drew a sigil in the air and mouthed the Greek word for "speak," όνομα.

  The elf tensed as my magic washed over him. I felt him draw his power, ready to fight me.

  "Just tell her your name," Thomas muttered. "We don't need this right now."

  The elf frowned, but he let his magic fade. He waited, tapping his foot in annoyance as my spell wrapped around him.

  "I am the Ghillie Dhu," he said, not trying to fight the magical compulsion. "They call me the Lad of the Forest, the Green One, the Guardian of the Wild—"

  Thomas rolled his eyes. "He's Peter Pan."

  I suppressed a smile. The children’s book character was based on the ancient legend of the friendly wood elf, but no self-respecting faery would want to admit it.

  As I expected, Ghillie drew himself up, offended. "I am not. I am a warrior of the Sidhe. The literary character is a foul oversimplification.”

  "Deal with it, Ghillie," Thomas said with a smile. "You're a flying elf dressed in green."

  "It's battle camouflage," the elf grumbled.

  The repartee ran hard and fast, but I was not amused. The Ghillie Dhu was, by all accounts, a beneficent creature. As far as I could recall, it lived in the forest dressed in leaves and branches and led lost children home.

  But it was still Sidhe, and I'd long ago learned not to trust the gentry-folk.

  "Are you also looking for the bottle?" I asked.

  The Ghillie Dhu laughed, a tinkling sound full of charm and merriment, and only the slightest threatening edge.

  Thomas chuckled. "No, we are not."

  Ghillie raised a brow and leaned back, as if expecting something. Thomas sighed and pushed a hand through his shaggy dark hair. He seemed to be conflicted as to what to do.

  "He's already hunting for it, Tam," Ghillie said. "You know how he is when he hunts. He can't be stopped."

  Thomas nodded. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and took something out.

  It was a small glass heart—barely the size of an acorn—with a tiny gold stopper. The glass was a light amber color, like wildflower honey. The stopper had an intricate leaf design and a delicate chain attached it to the glass heart.

  I felt the objects in the shop turn towards the bottle. The whole store seemed to focus on it, tiny beady eyes and empty sockets riveted onto the new arrival. Cursed objects can be jealous like that.

  It was lovely and delicate, like a piece of jewelry, but it was clearly a bottle.

  And it was half-full.

  Maybe Kat would get her potion containers after all.

  4

  "NO," I said firmly. "I'm not accepting it."

  Ghillie tilted his head. “You can’t do that.“ He turned to Thomas. "I didn't think she could do that."

  "She can't," Thomas replied confidently, implicitly admitting that he knew more about the nature of my store than he let on.

  But Thomas’ confidence was misplaced. The delicate silversmithing and petite size gave away its Sidhe origins. This had to be the bottle the dark elf was looking for.

  And I really didn't want him to get it.

  "There's a first time for everything," I said, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. "So you can turn right around and put that back in the PRoVE storage vault or wherever you got it from. It's safer there than here."

  I wasn't an expert on faerie lore, but Sidhe glamour was no laughing matter. The faerie could make dry leaves look like gold coins and life-sucking crones appear like beautiful maidens. Sidhe magic was strong kung fu.

  If this bottle contained faerie glamour elixir, it was too dangerous to fall into the dark elf's hands.

  Thomas sighed. "Dora, I don't want to do this any more than you do—"

  I crossed my arms. "Then don't."

  Ghillie chuckled. Thomas glared at him, but the young elf just grinned.

  “You’re not helping,” Thomas grumbled.

  “I’m not trying to help y
ou,” Ghillie said. “I like her.”

  "You would," Thomas replied. "You like all kinds of dangerous things."

  "Then maybe he should keep the bottle," I mused.

  Ghillie took a step back and raised his hands. "Nope, not my circus and not my monkeys."

  "Thanks for the support," Thomas muttered.

  I aimed a suspicious glance at Ghillie. "Actually, the guy who came around looking for it was definitely one of your circus monkeys."

  Ghillie's eyes flared. "Do not compare me to the sluagh. I left the mounds centuries ago and Dark Host holds no power over me."

  That was reassuring, as it meant that I could trust Grille somewhat, but…the sluagh? The Wild Hunt that tore through the dark skies hounding unfortunate souls? That's what I was dealing with?

  This was way above my pay grade. The store's wares usually went to woebegone individuals—cunning people looking for success and riches and willing to trade their lives for them, or naive souls who didn't know better.

  The Sidhe sluagh was different. It was an army of nightmarish creatures that delighted in chasing and torturing humans.

  "You still listen to the Bee Gees," Thomas noted.

  Ghillie's eyes cleared and his mouth twisted into a half-smile. "Maybe it still has a little hold on me."

  "The sluagh like disco?" I asked.

  "Of course they do," Thomas replied. "They're evil aren't they?"

  I tried to picture the threatening dark elf who had visited my shop boogieing down to "Play that Funky Music,” but my brain couldn’t quite make the cognitive leap.

  ”It doesn't make a difference," I told Thomas. "Take the bottle and keep it safe. Once it's in the shop, I won't be able to stop him from taking it. Who does the elixir affect, anyway?"

  Thomas' mouth tightened. "Humans."

  His eyes grew haunted and his voice practically dripped acid. Ghillie gave him a concerned look.

  I'd long felt that there was something odd about Thomas. He was fully human, but he knew too much and his guesses were too good. Old forgotten verses popped into my head—enslaved human...following the Sidhe wild hunt...rescued by a maiden...

  "Tam?" I asked, as understanding dawned. "Tamalane...Thomas Lane."

  Thomas didn't answer.

  "I do like her," Ghillie laughed. Then he started to hum.

  A pained look crossed Thomas' face.

  "For I forbid you, ladies fair," the elf sang in an otherworldly voice. "That wear fair gold upon your hair. To come or go to Caternaugh. For young Tam Lin is there."

  Thomas blushed. "Must you?"

  Ghillie stopped singing, but kept smiling. "Hey, at least you didn't lose your shadow in some daft girl's house and then had to ask her to sew it back for you. You got a cool song, so be thankful for small favors."

  Thomas frowned at him. "I was a slave for centuries."

  "You were the Queen's favorite," Ghillie scoffed. "I was a minor earth spirit and my glamour was limited to hiding in the bushes. Basically, I was the tiny brown earth-spirit fox in their hunt. I was running cover while you were being fed bonbons and honey wine."

  "I would have preferred the fox hunt," Thomas muttered.

  His words held a world of pain.

  "How did she...?" My voice trailed off as he raised the golden bottle.

  The small vessel glowed as it was struck by the light. I rubbed my arms, warding off a sudden chill.

  I knew all too well what slavery felt like—boxes, bottles, it made no difference.

  "Then why..." I struggled to find the right words. "Why are you bringing it here?"

  I stretched my arm, showing off the interior of the shop—the unicorn skeleton, the shabby haunted teddy bear, the creepy Victorian dolls. I noticed Thomas' glance lingered a bit too long on the Celtic sword hanging on the wall, but other than that, he seemed unimpressed.

  Which made sense. My dimension-hopping shop was pretty badass, at least in the magic department, but it probably paled next to the treasures in the faery mounds.

  "I can't keep it safe," I explained. "When the items leave, they just...go and they wreak havoc somewhere else. I can't stop them once they are called. You've seen that. It happened with the doll and the mask."

  I pointed to the shelves where those items used to be. Shelves still crammed with hundreds—no, thousands—of other objects just waiting for some unsuspecting mortal to come by and pick them up.

  "Yes," Thomas said. "They left the store."

  "Exactly," I exclaim. "I can't keep them here, particularly not if the shop is intent on delivering an elvish glamour potion into the sluagh's hands."

  "True," Thomas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But you know what was curious about the doll and the mask?"

  "They were both creepy and odd?" I asked. "But not nearly as frightening as a potion that turns humans into slaves?"

  "No," he replied. "Though that was not a terrible guess. What is interesting is that those situations didn't turn out badly."

  Ghillie nodded. "We've been looking into your shop since you arrived."

  I frowned, but I wasn't surprised. Like I said, PRoVE was more than it seemed. If a paranormal curiosities shop opened in their own backyard, they would definitely look into it.

  "Your shop," Thomas said, "has appeared in Banshee Creek three times since the town was founded."

  I nodded. Actually it was a bit more than that, but PRoVE records would only go as far back as the town’s first years, and I did not intend to fill in the blanks. During it’s first sojourn in this location, the shop manifested as a cave full of strange drawings lined with baskets of beads and bone tools.

  Banshee Creek had come a long way since then.

  "The first Magical Curiosity Shoppe story we found dates back to colonial times," Thomas said. "A young Jack Jouett purchased a stamina charm for his horse. The horse died during a wild midnight ride, but thanks to the charm, Jouett managed to warn the city of Richmond that the British army was headed that way."

  Ah, yes. The horse charm. I'd forgotten that. The steed now haunted the town tavern, so there was a happy ending, of sorts.

  "The second shop sighting occurred during the Civil War," Thomas continued. "A handful of people reported purchasing healing elixirs and protection charms. PRoVE believes that one of the charms was bought by a soldier whose ghost currently haunts the library, Sergeant Atwell."

  I shrugged. A scared soldier purchased an immortality ring. The results were predictable.

  "That particular purchase was chronicled by Ambrose Bierce in one of his short story anthologies. He catalogued quite a few tales about similar shop encounters. They all ended tragically."

  I put on an innocent expression. I remembered Bierce. The author had become obsessed with the Magical Curiosity Shoppe and had followed us to Louisiana, then Mexico...

  And then somewhere else.

  "But he was puzzled by the fact that Sergeant Atwell's ending was not enshrouded in darkness. He died, yes, but he was thrown off his horse as he took aim to shoot a Union soldier." Thomas paused. "The soldier was his brother."

  Ghillie nodded sadly, as if that scenario were painfully familiar.

  "And now he haunts the library," Thomas concluded. "Happy as a clam, or rather, happy as a bookish soldier who did not have to kill his kin."

  "I'm glad," I said simply, wondering where this was going.

  "So Ghillie and I have been thinking—"

  "Don't bring me into this," the merry elf replied with a laugh. "It's your bottle and your idea."

  "We can't fight the sluagh, Ghillie," Thomas said sadly. "If I could keep this safe, I would, but I can't."

  "PRoVE has a lot of firepower," the elf replied.

  Now that was interesting, since we were suddenly talking about Sidhe monsters and elven armies. I opened my mouth to ask about the newly-disclosed PRoVE arsenal.

  But a sinister laugh echoed loudly in the shop, interrupting me.

  I looked up. The dark elf who had visited the shop earlie
r was now in the shop with us.

  We didn't hear the door open. The doorbell didn't ring. We didn't notice the tall figure, clad in expensive gray clothing, standing next us.

  Elf glamour could do that.

  And now the dark elf was here with us.

  "Tam and Ghillie," he growled. "I should have known you two would be lurking around." His sharp-toothed smile grew wider as he lifted his right hand and reached behind his back. "You think you have sufficient might to take me, Peter Pan?"

  My jaw dropped as a large black sword appeared on his hand. It was the twin of the blade hanging on the wall. He flipped it expertly until the sharp pointy end hit the floor.

  I heard the Victorian dolls shriek and hide. Yaavik, the haunted teddy bear, slid under a cabinet.

  The elf leaned on the sword and smirked.

  "Well, you don't, little ones," he whispered. "You truly don't."

  5

  "I SEE they let you out of the pound, Cú Sith," Thomas said calmly.

  I wasn't nearly as calm. The Cú Sith was the hound of the Sidhe, a wolf-shaped creature as big as a bull that roamed the night hunting for lost souls. Apparently, he also had a humanoid form, which he used to wander into small shops, looking for perfume bottles. This didn't make him or his obsidian weapon any less deadly.

  Years of mystical shop keeping had given me a keen appreciation for life-sucking items. I knew them when I saw them and I was staring at one right now.

  It wouldn't affect me, as my soul had been tied to the shop for millennia.

  I have, of course, contemplated whether my curse, and the resulting immortality, could be revoked. After all, it wasn’t my magic that kept me ageless. It was the shop’s interest in keeping it storekeeper. The Hound wouldn't be able to damage the shop, either. This place was impregnable. The Cú Sith was strong, but it wasn’t that strong.

  But it was strong enough to hurt Thomas.

  The Hound of the Sidhe smiled. "The veil grows weak here, human. The magic grows stronger and the Shining Ones can once again hunt in this plane." He aimed a scathing glance at Ghillie. "At least those of us who can hunt. It’s now a matter of time. We are all coming back." He extended a finger and pointed straight at me. "Just like her."