A Hollow in the Hills Page 10

  ‘It will be okay, Izzy,’ he whispered.

  A brief, bitter smile flickered over her lips. ‘People say that to me a lot. They’re not often right.’

  He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Stop getting into trouble then.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  She leaned forward, rested her head on his chest and her breath evened out. ‘I missed you.’ The words were a whisper, a sigh, but he knew they were real and that she had really said them. Something hard and unyielding inside him melted. Just a little.

  ‘I missed you too.’

  ‘What happened? Why did you—?’

  She was so close, so tempting. He wanted to lower his mouth to hers, to kiss her. He shouldn’t be here, with her like this. He shouldn’t be so close. But he couldn’t move away. ‘I had no choice. You belong in your world and I in mine.’

  ‘No. I’m half fae, half Grigori.’

  He had to fight for breath. ‘That’s not what I mean.’

  ‘At least tell me why.’

  ‘I can’t.’ That at least was true. The words would probably choke him if he tried to say them. And she’d probably choke him again a second later for ever agreeing to abide by them. He sighed. It was all too late now. ‘Your father will be waiting.’

  ‘My father. Right.’

  Was that suspicion? Izzy wasn’t stupid and they always underestimated her. But instead of pursuing it further, she pulled away from him and opened the door. They walked through the shimmer of the portal and found themselves stepping into a bright open-plan café and shop, the walls wood-lined like a cabin. There were mugs, postcards, cuddly toy leprechauns and a host of books to buy too. And David Gregory sat at a table with a blue and white striped mug full of tea in his hand. There was no one else to be seen.

  When he saw Jinx with Izzy, he got to his feet, his expression instantly suspicious.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Checking that there was no one else around, Jinx sketched a hurried bow. Formal. Keep it formal. It was his only defence. ‘Grigori, it is an honour …’

  ‘I asked a question. Izzy, come over here. Are you hurt? Did anything go wrong?’

  ‘Wrong?’ asked Izzy. ‘What could possibly have gone wrong with a matriarch picking through my memories for a juicy morsel, Dad?’

  ‘She what?’ He seized his daughter, pulling her into his arms and studying her face. ‘Are you okay? What do you remember? Izzy? What did she do?’

  Irritated, Izzy pushed herself free. ‘I’m fine. Just fine. I don’t know what she took, but it can’t have been that big a deal as I don’t know what’s missing. Okay? I’m fine. I remember you, and Mum, and Jinx—’

  David Gregory looked up, his eyes blazing, and Jinx wanted to drop through the ground. Pride made him put on his most arrogant face instead. He was still Silver’s emissary. That had to count for something, even with the Grigori. ‘Which doesn’t explain why you are here?’ Izzy’s father said.

  ‘Silver sent me. To investigate why the Fear are abroad. And now we have an answer. Holly.’

  ‘Holly? But she was defeated. Silver drove her out.’

  ‘It seems we were wrong. She has come back. And she is far from defeated.’ The words hung like stones around his neck. David Gregory stared at him, unwilling or unable to believe the truth. That didn’t make it less true though. Jinx knew that.

  ‘Why would Holly come back to release the Fear?’

  ‘It isn’t the Fear she’s after, Dad,’ said Izzy. ‘Or at least not just the Fear. She killed Haniel on the summit of Shielmartin Hill, on Howth. She’s after something else. It was a ritual and she made something, but it wasn’t the be-all and end-all. I know it.’

  ‘She’s always after something else,’ said Jinx. ‘And mostly it’s revenge. As to why she’d kill an angel there … I need to find out more. I’m just not sure where to go for an answer.’

  ‘Would Silver know?’ David Gregory asked.

  ‘She might. Or Brí. If they chose to tell me. The Storyteller certainly didn’t want to share. She seemed to find it all hilarious.’

  ‘She would. She’s safe locked inside her fortress.’ Izzy’s father cursed and she looked at him in surprise. ‘I never should have left you in there. She tricked me and I was a fool. She said she’d just ask you a question as the fee.’

  ‘Well, the question was, “Do you want to read my book and lose a memory?’ wasn’t it? That’s a question.’ Izzy’s voice sounded like a harsh and distorted version of itself, as if she was forcing herself not to scream in his face

  David Gregory looked furious. ‘I’ll deal with her later. And she won’t think herself so bloody clever then.’

  Jinx suddenly didn’t envy the Storyteller one bit. The wrath of a Grigori was not something to be taken lightly. This one least of all.

  Izzy opened her mouth to say something else when a rumble of thunder broke the air. The ground seemed to vibrate, the walls humming, and with a silent concussion of air, the room filled with angels.

  The Grigori moved before Jinx or Izzy could react, pushing them both behind him and standing there like a human shield, his arms spread wide.

  ‘Dad!’ Izzy screamed.

  ‘Get her out of here, Jinx,’ was all he said in reply, never looking away from this sudden threat. ‘Get her out of here now.’

  ‘We must talk, Grigori,’ intoned a golden-haired angel with a song of menace in his voice. Jinx quailed at the sound. All he wanted to do was drop to the floor and hide. But Izzy was here, and her father clearly thought she was in danger. Or at least, didn’t want to take the risk.

  Izzy knew what had happened to Haniel. And that was information the angels wanted. They wouldn’t ask nicely.

  Jinx grabbed her arm and before she could protest, he ran, dragging her with him. The door outside rattled and banged on its hinges, and Jinx ploughed through the opening, Izzy on his heels. They plunged into the night-time world of Dublin city centre and didn’t look back.

  ‘Ghosts,’ said Dylan, his fingers strumming the strings of the guitar. ‘Tell me about ghosts then.’

  Silver shook her head, her hair whispering over her shoulders as she moved. ‘Ghosts are the provision of Donn, the Lord of the Dead. Play that chord progression again. I liked that.’

  He obliged, concentrating on the music for the moment. It was working at last. But then it always worked best when she was with him. ‘This?’ He hummed along with it, the melody one that had been haunting him all day.

  Like Mari’s face. Like Mari standing outside the gates.

  ‘Yes, that.’ She smiled. ‘Do you have lyrics yet?’

  ‘No. And you’re changing the subject. Why would I have seen her?’

  ‘You … you don’t know that you really did. We all see things, Dylan.’

  He glared at her. ‘Yes. And they’re usually real around here. I know what I saw. Please, Silver. Tell me.’

  ‘I can’t tell you if she was real. If you believe it … well, then why not? Donn is Lord of the Dead, the keeper of the thresholds and the places between. He doesn’t really socialise with the rest of us. Not exactly a partygoer if you know what I mean. Play the other one again. Have you tried to combine the two?’

  The music filled the room again, reverberating off the ceiling and returning back down to them again, melody upon melody. Silver closed her eyes as it swept over her and he couldn’t tear his eyes off her face. When he finished, she sighed.

  ‘I think that’s the best so far. Although I said that about the last two. What about the gig on Halloween night?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’re just the support act.’

  ‘A performance is a performance, Dylan,’ she told him gravely. ‘Support or not, an artist must always give their all.’

  ‘The guys want me to play some of my stuff.’ Not quite true. They wanted to drop all the covers and just do his music. But he wasn’t sure.

  ‘You should. I know a scout who works out of the club. I’ll make
sure he’s there. No pressure. But do play that.’

  No pressure. He rolled his eyes and she nudged him, silently enjoying his discomfort.

  ‘Maybe it’s just for you.’

  Music, he had learned, was the one sure and certain way to get through to Silver. Play the right music and it acted on her like an opiate. It wouldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to do, but it certainly improved her mood and made her more likely to listen to him. They were still learning how they could work with each other, the way they fitted together now, her magic in his flesh, what that meant.

  ‘You’ve become quite the charmer, haven’t you? Why?’

  ‘Because I needed to know about Mari’s ghost and what might have … I know she was real. I just know it.’

  ‘And what do you need?’

  ‘I need …’ He put his guitar aside and leaned forward. ‘How do I see her again?’

  The amusement drained out of her face. ‘We don’t even need to talk about that. The living have no business with the dead. None.’

  ‘Silver …’

  ‘No. It’s too dangerous. Donn doesn’t play games, he doesn’t like visitors and he doesn’t let anyone who strays into his realm out again. Not without a price.’

  The fae always wanted something. There was always a price. Dylan knew that better than anyone. He had already paid the price. His gaze lowered to his hands resting on the guitar strings, to the light that danced beneath his skin like fireflies in the dim surroundings. He’d almost died. He’d been fundamentally changed.

  ‘What price?’

  She leaned back, stretching out her legs and wiggling her bare toes in a decidedly distracting motion. ‘Too high a price, I’m sure. Play again for me, Dylan. Please.’

  Please? He wasn’t used to hearing words like that. But her hand touched his and the light beneath his skin started dancing again. He could feel the music welling up inside him and he could barely contain it.

  ‘Silver, why would Mari come back?’

  ‘Maybe she has unfinished business. Maybe she has a reason to be unhappy. And maybe she wants answers of her own. Or perhaps she just wants to see you again, to hear you play. Your music is magical now. Perhaps it called her. Now please,’ she leaned in against him, her body almost purring in the same vibrations that underpinned her voice. ‘Play for me again. I want to hear it all.’

  ‘You miss it, don’t you?’ he asked softly and her eyes opened, thin glowing slits.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your voice. Having your voice as your power.’

  ‘I have other powers … But yes. I miss my voice. I’d give anything to have it back.’ It was the way she said ‘anything’ – the deep-seated need and desire – that made him really believe it. And that wasn’t a comforting thought.

  They sprinted down Abbey Street, along the side of the tram lines, trying not to look back, praying that no one was following. Izzy’s chest felt tight and horrible, the same awful fear that had nearly crushed her into the ground when her father had been in the coma. Now he was in danger again, in terrible danger, because how could he hold off angels, of all things? Even him. He might be the Grigori, but so was she and that didn’t seem to help.

  Jinx held her hand in an iron grip. She probably couldn’t have pulled free if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. He was the only thing real and strong around her, and she held on to him, as if he could keep her strong, keep her running. She just wanted to fall, to let the ground hit her like one of the silver trams that slid alongside them. She wanted to drop to the ground, curl into a ball and never move again. But she couldn’t.

  Jinx swung around the corner onto Capel Street and then again at the bookies, down by the old markets, red brick fronts and Victorian facades.

  ‘It’s not far,’ the Cú Sídhe yelled. He didn’t even sound out of breath, but she was already gasping. ‘Just keep going!’

  And suddenly she knew where he was heading. In one sense it was the last place she wanted to go, but where else was there? The Market might protect them from the angels. They couldn’t enter there, could they? Though open to all on the horizontal plane, there were restrictions. There were rules to be observed. The Aes Sídhe’s builders had been masters of their craft, physically and magically, and they had excluded those who might be enemies. It was a Sídhe place. It was a hollow and protected under the Grand Compact.

  And everything revolved around that. Gran could quote the thing. Dad could too, but didn’t bother. Izzy only wished she’d taken the time to learn it herself, but it had seemed so dull and boring at the time. Now she wished she’d made the effort.

  Would it protect Dad though? Would it protect him from angels? He wasn’t in a hollow, although the Storyteller’s domain was right beside him. The shop stood outside it in her world. And she had left Dad there on his own.

  ‘Jinx, I have to go back to him. What if he needs me?’

  ‘They’ll use you to get to him. He told me to get you away and that’s what I’m doing. Now.’

  Always obedient, she thought bitterly. Always the good dog.

  They crossed the wider street in front of the Bar Council building and slipped down the side where the road narrowed again and the grey stone walls loomed up over them, harsh and unforgiving. The streetlights flickered as they ran along the side of the Jameson distillery, and as they reached the end, flared to blinding incandescence.

  ‘They’re coming,’ Jinx shouted.

  But it wasn’t the angels. Izzy stumbled, trying to stop. Fog tumbled out of nowhere, swirling through the air and cutting off everything ahead and behind them. Like the bathroom at school. And in that terrible fog there were figures forming. No, not figures, shadows made of mist.

  The Fear rose all around the two of them as they faltered and stopped, back to back, trying to circle, to see it all at once, but their eyes couldn’t penetrate the fog. Terror swept over Izzy, terror that made her stomach knot and her legs seize up. Jinx gasped out a curse, and his grip on her loosened. He faced the main group of Fear full on and dropped to his knees, staring at them, his mouth open.

  The Fear bore down on them like a wave of fog. They materialised out of the miasma, laughing, their hands clawed, their eyes hungry, their teeth so sharp. Lightning leaped between them, sparkled in their eyes. Their power growing, fed by the terror rising in Izzy and Jinx.

  What had Dad said? The Sídhe rhyme … When the fog is dense and thick, when the whispers are all you hear … There ought to be more. Everything she knew about poetry said there should be more, but Dad had never said it.

  Izzy fumbled in her bag, tearing it open and digging in it for the knife. It was her only defence against the fae. Maybe it would work on the Fear too – they were still fae, weren’t they? Or the ghosts of fae – but she had to do something. It made her strong, made her confident. It slipped into her hand as if it belonged there. Looking up, she saw they were almost at Jinx, almost there. She did the only thing she could think of and screamed his name. ‘Jinx, change!’ And she hurled the knife at their attackers.

  Jinx shuddered, quivered and transformed. In a moment he flowed from one form to another and the knife sailed over his head, spinning in the air.

  But there was nothing for it to hit on the other side. The Fear flowed around it, laughing as they did so, their bodies lithe and supple, made of mist. The knife clattered onto the stones. Useless.

  The great green and black Cú Sídhe scraped steel-sharp claws across the road surface. His fur stood in hackles and he snarled at the figures dancing on air towards them. Izzy tried to shuffle back and came up against a wall. Nowhere to go. Rubbing her shaking hands together, she tried to conjure fire as she had in the school, but nothing would come. She swore and tried again while they slowly drove Jinx back towards her. Even in hound form, their fear infected him. One touch and he’d be lost.

  One touch. And they’d be inside his head.

  Just as they’d been in hers.

  A single member o
f the Fear horde stepped forward and Jinx snapped at him, teeth closing on teeth as the creature flowed away, parted like fog, and then reformed, seizing the scruff of his neck. It brought him down with a yelp of rage and terror, pinning him to the ground, and raised its long fingered hand.

  ‘Well, Daughter of Míl? Is it time yet? No, not yet …’

  ‘Let him go,’ she whispered, dredging her voice from the depths of her.

  ‘Is he yours? Then I’ll take him. I’ll take them all. All that is yours should be mine. You should be mine … But he’s already marked, already another’s. Don’t you see it?’

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘Want?’ He laughed and dropped the Cú Sídhe. Jinx thudded to the ground as the ghostly figure swept over him. The features reformed, resolving to a handsome man, his eyes glowing an eerie green. Strongly pronounced cheekbones defined his face, and his mouth curved in a strangely sensitive way. But the eyes told her all she had to know. Cruel, heartless eyes. ‘I want what I am owed, what I was promised. I am the king of my people. And I was promised much. I was cheated.’ He reached out to her, his hands stretched out towards her like those of a skeleton, reaching for her. ‘But here you are now.’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘You will be mine, Daughter of Míl. By the cross on the head, by hellfire at Samhain. You were promised.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  ‘Well, then …’ He stopped, turned back to Jinx’s still form. ‘I’ll take another tribute instead. For now. If you don’t come, I’ll take them all.’

  ‘No! Let him go!’ Izzy didn’t know where her voice came from, but it shook the air. She felt the magic in the air all around them and fed on it. Flames lit up her fingers and she hurled the fire towards them. Suddenly energised, she lunged forward, throwing her other arm around Jinx. ‘Get up and run. Please, please, please, get up and run!’

  He staggered to all fours and they took off again, the hound leaping alongside her sprint. She only paused for a second, ducking down even as she moved to snatch the knife from the ground.

  They skidded into the plaza at Smithfield, moving on blind instinct, running because there was only one place they could run from here and they needed to make it or die. Together, they plunged into the gateway to the Market, tumbling as they did so, skidding down the steep incline on feet that could barely keep up with their forward momentum.