I notice Darla leaning back against the wall behind her, her eyes vacant and wide. She remains upright, so I am not overly concerned about her. The witches standing near her seem to have their eyes on her. As a Seer, this may be a normal occurrence.
Niven’s magick crackles with intensity. I can feel it rushing from him into the fae. “Did you or other Malefic Folk have anything to do with the deaths of Whitt and Estelle Mayweather?”
The fae’s many voices cackle loudly, the echo bouncing off the walls unnervingly. “We take great joy in disrupting the Whispered Folk. If one was nearby, it surely would have tried and succeeded. How many poor unfortunate Whispered Folkhave lost their lives in tragic ways? Oh, I would start looking back to seek out the patterns. They are sure to be there,” the fae answers enigmatically.
Niven motions for his assistants to contain the fae again, so I yank away its remaining magick and direct it into the chunk of clear quartz on my wrist. The amount of magick it holds from these sessions is already substantial. It is not yet full but will be soon.
Darla is coherent, though she is now pacing, swaying on her feet a bit. I offer my arm to her. She takes it to keep out of the way of the team as they restore the robust wards around the fae.
When they finish up, she turns to address the room, though her eyes still look glazed. “Apologies for my reaction. It took me a while to snap out of it. My vision showed me a frost-mailed warrior journeying against the bitter, blustery winds with tools of salvation on his back. Two items so rare, their values are incalculable and matchless in this realm. It is you, Norrell. You must find them,” she says at a sluggish pace at odds with her urgent tone.
She must still be recovering from her Sight. One of the other witches runs a hand a few inches away from her form, murmuring almost silently. Darla looks steadier and offers the witch a hint of a smile.
Niven’s eyes, now returned to normal, search mine. “Do you know what that means?”
I nod hesitantly, still contemplating everything the fae and Darla have said in this session. “Mayhap. There are a few other yeti clans with mountain ranges in their territories. It would not surprise me if a clan kept these artifacts hidden away in a mountain cave if they arehigh in the skywhere wild magick is stronger,” I conjecture. I find myself absently scratching at the pelt on my chest and force my hands down again.
“I take it your clan wouldn’t know for certain?” Niven questions. His expression matches the grim undertone of his words.
A mirthless laugh pours out of me. “No, we would not. Our clans are nearly as secretive with each other as we are with other Whispered Folk. It is why we always had a self-contained settlement. As a rule, our kind are extremely distrusting if you cannot tell.”
“Can you make contact with them?” he asks.
“Yes, my clan will be able to. Whether they respond is another matter.”
As soon as I step outside the constabulary, I call my brother. I do not expect anything has changed since I last spoke to him. The elders are stonewalling both of us. Clearly, they have no interest in helping a witch, even on my orders. But now it is clear that a clan somewhere holds the key to Ada’s survival.
“Brother, how goes your days with your mate? I hope she fares well,” Elgar greets me.
“She does for now, but I can see her growing more tired every day. Have you learned anything from the elders?” I ask, trying not to let on my desperation.
“Nothing. It is impossible to get those old fools to focus on anything but themselves. They are proving themselves to be a liability to our clan. They only act in their own best interest,” he grunts.
“They have become noticeably more self-absorbed since our uncle joined. He is still bitter over his loss of power. He grows more out of touch with reality with each passing year and seems to be bringing the rest of the elders with him,” I gripe.
“Have you learned any more from the fae?” He knows all that has come to pass in the other sessions.
“We did. I have a lot to tell you. And even more to ask of you.” I sigh, readying myself for the long story. As I recounteverything the fae divulged and the vision it sparked in the Seer, he anticipates where I am going with it.
“Say no more, I will accompany you wherever these artifacts are located. I will call an emergency meeting with the elders first thing tomorrow so we can start searching for them. I will let you know the time so you can call in and order them to act like the doyens they purport themselves to be,” he promises.
“Push those pompous old fossils to get answers. The time to play nice is over,” I growl.
Elgar grunts in agreement. “Their insubordination and secrecy make me fear that the treachery within Monstera Bluff is not so rare an occurrence.”
Those elders better not hem and haw for too long. We need to reach out to the other clans as soon as possible to find out where these tools of Ada’s salvation are located.
I call my uncle, cousin, and a few elders who seem more level-headed than the rest, none of whom pick up. I send more text messages, pressing the issue, but I doubt this will sway them to care. None of my other communications to them in the last few weeks have. They always have the same excuses.
When Niven meets me outside a few minutes later, we agree to debrief while eating lunch at Midnight Mystic. We barely walk a block before there is a wave of confusion in the streets. As if choreographed, witches near us in the street freeze or stumble, all affected by some unseen force. Then they whirl around as if looking for something. Several more stagger out of storefronts.
One of them spots Niven, yelling, “It’s the ward! It’s under attack!”
Another witch jogs over to us. “All of us who feed our magick into the ward are able to feel it, but it’s never grown this intense before.” He pants as he holds his head in pain. It is a small mercy that Ada cannot feel it right now.
We jump in Niven’s borrowed automobile. I take the wheel, peeling down the road, taking us as close as possible to the location where the witches say they felt it. Niven barks orders over the phone to his teams, both the investigators and the trackers.
I drive the automobile as far offroad as possible, until we run into marsh. When the tires struggle on the softening ground, we abandon the vehicle and continue on foot. Murky, muddy ground slows our steps, slurping noisily at our feet. Niven curses as he nearly loses a shoe.
