A Hollow in the Hills Page 4

  Of course he knew. The fae barely tolerated relationships with fae from different castes. His own parentage – Cú Sídhe and Aes Sídhe, the lowest and the highest of the Sídhe hierarchy – was proof of that. Human and Sídhe? They didn’t mix at all. Not unless they had to. Like Brí and David Gregory, a union that had produced Izzy and nothing else of any good. The fae hierarchy was strict and unyielding. Those who flouted it were punished and so were their children and their children’s children. Human and fae … it never ended well. And he knew it more than anyone.

  Stay away or else.

  Jinx looked up at the huge stones jutting from the barren landscape. He wasn’t even sure where he was anymore – if he was still in Dublin, or in Dubh Linn or somewhere else altogether. They might have been the gates to the hollow, or portal stones to take them there, or simply a warning to others to stay away. The stones were a matt black, unnaturally smooth. They made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

  ‘Come on then,’ said Mags. ‘He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’

  Beyond the black stones, a cairn of white stones rose, gleaming in the afternoon light. In the front there was a gap, like a mouth waiting to swallow him, darkness beyond. Pie went first, stepping through the half-seen shimmer and vanishing. Mags waited, watching Jinx. Taking a resigned breath, Jinx followed. What choice did he have?

  He didn’t have to like it, but Silver had named him her emissary and this was his job now. Running around, a representative, guarded by the Council’s word and available to all who wanted Silver on their side. He was safe enough while Amadán and the others wanted to play nice. While the Council, such as it was, still remained intact. An illusion of safety perhaps, but it was all he had. So long as everyone played nice. It was a crappy job.

  The darkness of the hollow closed over him and the world changed.

  He’d expected something dark and primal, like Brí’s hollow on Killiney Hill or perhaps the barely governable chaos of the Market. He’d expected grim customs of the past, the blood of enemies painting the walls, enslaved humans or a throne made of bones.

  But while the walls wore the traditional lining of bronze, there was a thick, emerald-green carpet underfoot instead of packed dirt or cold stone. Mahogany dressers, occasional tables and bookshelves lined the corridor, interspersed every so often with a comfortable-looking leather chair. It felt like stepping into some kind of mothy old gentleman’s club out of the nineteenth century. It looked like the set of a Sherlock Holmes movie.

  From the distance Jinx could hear music, a harp being played with skill and ingenuity, a lively tune that echoed down the halls.

  Be careful, he warned himself. It was too easy to fall for the Amadán’s friendly façade. Nothing could charm like the trickster, and nothing was as dangerous. Wolfish teeth lurked behind every single smile.

  The Magpies stopped at a wooden door, the surface so highly polished that they were reflected in it. They knocked, waited, fidgeting. Mags lifted one foot to rub his shoe on the back of his trousers, a perfunctory attempt to shine it. The door opened slowly, and a butler stood there, with a Jeeves-like look of efficiency, everything about him trim and elegant.

  Pie sniffed loudly and then wiped his nose along the length of his sleeve. The aura of disgust rolled off the man, though his face betrayed nothing at all.

  ‘The gentlemen are here, sir,’ he said in a voice that carried with stiff formality. ‘Along with your guest.’

  ‘Send them in, Rothman. Send them right in. This can’t wait.’

  The Magpies preened as they swept by the butler. Rothman looked as if he’d willingly snap both their necks given half a chance, though once more he said nothing.

  Human, Jinx realised. The man was human, but he clearly knew what his employer was, and all about those who served him. Rothman wasn’t in the least bit surprised, nor was he enthralled. No trace of magic lingered around him, neither to compel him nor bind him. He was here willingly.

  The Amadán sat in another of those leather chairs with a high back and wings, though this one, Jinx thought, was bigger than the others. It had been placed in front of a period fireplace with a roaring fire, though where the smoke was going to, Jinx didn’t like to imagine. He had a large glass of brandy in one hand and an unlit, fat cigar in the other. With an expansive gesture, which made Jinx wonder how much alcohol he’d already consumed, he motioned towards the other chair and it took a moment for Jinx to figure out it was here for him. He sat down, trying to appear more relaxed and at ease than he really was.

  ‘Have a drink, Jinx by Jasper. Rothman will get you whatever you want.’ Jinx, however, shook his head. He didn’t want a drink, nor did he need anything that might addle his brain right now. The Amadán might like to play at being the gentleman of leisure, but he was a skilled player of the Council’s games. Though Holly might be gone, those games were far from over. Only an idiot would think that and Jinx, while not the brightest star in the Sídhe galaxy, was not an idiot.

  ‘How can Silver help you?’

  ‘Ah, that’s the question, isn’t it? That’s what she wanted you to ask. And there’ll be a way I can help her, no doubt.’ He waved the unlit cigar at Rothman and the Magpies. ‘Off you go, all of you. This is just for young Jinx and myself.’

  They all obeyed at once. Jinx had never imagined that the Magpies even knew how to be obedient, let alone were willing to do it, but they went without a murmur, without a word of complaint or even a snide look. Rothman closed the door behind him with a discreet click.

  ‘A butler?’

  ‘Palace-trained, I’ll have you know. I picked him up about a hundred years ago. So long as he doesn’t leave the hollow, he’s fine. And he wouldn’t. Devoted to me, is Rothman. And I for one wouldn’t be without him. Now, that drink? Would you prefer whiskey?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Even for one of the Sídhe, taking food or drink in someone else’s hollow was fraught with danger. Poison was the least of the threats. ‘Can I cut to the chase and ask why you invited me here?’

  ‘They were meant to ask politely. I hope they did. That’s the trouble with Suibhne Sídhe – bird brains. But no harm done.’ Jinx wasn’t so sure, but decided to let the matter lie. He waited while Amadán drained his glass and refilled it from the crystal decanter on the table beside his chair.

  ‘You felt the disturbance last night, I presume? Indeed, who among us could have missed it? That much power, rolling over the city. Even the humans picked it up. They might make the wrong interpretations but their scientific instruments don’t lie. An earthquake, they said. Did you ever hear such a thing? Do you know what that means?’

  ‘Shaking earth.’

  ‘Yes. And I fear it shook with reason. Very good reason. Come with me.’

  He rose from his chair so swiftly that Jinx had to scramble to his feet and follow. Amadán stopped at a small and unobtrusive door on the far side of the room, rather than the one by which he had entered. Jinx’s eye had glanced over it for a cupboard, but as Amadán undid a series of locks, he grew doubtful.

  The room beyond was carved from solid granite, cold as a freezer and very dark. Amadán entered first but stepped back to usher Jinx inside. It was more than a store room, but less than a room. At first Jinx wasn’t sure what he was looking at. In the centre was a large block of stone. It was only when he recognised the swollen shape lying on it that he realised. It was a morgue. Although what Amadán was doing with a morgue adjoining his study was a question he knew instinctively not to ask.

  Her skin looked pale and grey as if colour had been leeched from it by an extreme drop in temperature. It had left her puffy and bloated where she should have been bird-like, delicate. But that wasn’t the worst thing. Her face had been clawed away, bleeding holes where her eyes should have been. Blood covered her hands and stained her blue and brown striped hair. She’d done this to herself. The way her muscles had stretched, ratcheted with terror and agony, the way her jaw stretched far too wide and wouldn’t close �
�� She’d been terrified. So terrified she’d scratched her eyes out before she had frozen to death.

  ‘Who is it?’ he asked.

  Amadán circled the slab, his hand stretched out as if he wanted to touch it, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. ‘Her name was Jay. She worked for me. A beautiful singing voice, like a songbird. And she could dance. She’d hypnotise you when she danced. So understand, I am most put out.’

  It was stomach-churning. No one sane could do this. Jinx could think of a few possibilities who might think it was the most hilarious thing ever, but most of them were thankfully dead. Or Holly.

  But someone – or something – clearly had been amused, because why else would one of the fae terrify someone like that to death?

  ‘I don’t—’ Jinx’s voice caught unexpectedly in his throat and he had to cough. For one desperate moment he thought he might throw up, but he pressed down the nausea. Because that would go down brilliantly, wouldn’t it? So professional. ‘I don’t understand, Lord Amadán. You can’t believe I did this?’

  Amadán’s eyes widened in utter surprise. There was no guile there. ‘You?’

  Jinx felt instantly foolish. If Amadán had thought that, he’d probably be dead already, or, if he was really unlucky, wishing for death.

  ‘No,’ said Amadán and his voice grew bleak again. ‘You couldn’t do this. No Cú Sídhe would, not even if he was rabid.’ He looked back at the corpse. ‘I know what did this. The trouble is, it’s impossible. They’re gone. Thousands of years gone.’

  ‘What are?’

  ‘We called them the ‘Firshee’. Like the banshee in a lot of ways. Sometimes they were known as the Fir Bolg. They target girls for preference, the younger the better. They feed on terror. You can see the result.’

  He’d often wondered about the banshee. Bean Sídhe in the old language. It meant ‘woman of the Sídhe’. Always women. Their voices could kill. Hell, everything about them could kill but it was the voices they were known for, their weapon of choice. One of them had killed Dylan’s sister – just to get at Izzy, or because Izzy wasn’t there – out of pure spite. Holly had always kept a few on as assassins, but mostly the rest of the Sídhe avoided them. He had always wondered, if they were the women, where were their men? He had only asked once, when he was very young, and Holly had ordered them all to beat him, all the banshee in her service. They’d done a thorough job. They’d enjoyed it. But he had never found out. Now perhaps he had an answer. Albeit a cryptic one.

  ‘Jay sings in town,’ Amadán went on. ‘In the pubs, on street corners, for her own amusement as much as anything. A busker half the time, a travelling performer. Distinctive looks, colouring … the tourists think it’s face-paint and hair dye. They can’t get enough of her. Her voice would put angels to shame, I swear it. She’s much sought after. She was … We found her this morning, out by the docks. Right out of town as we know it. Further than she’d willingly go. She was beautiful, Jinx by Jasper. I am not amused.’

  Who would be? But again, Jinx’s mind supplied some answers. Holly for one. Why couldn’t he get his mind off his sadistic former mistress? She haunted him, lingering on the edges of his nightmare. Yes, Holly would have been highly amused. And maybe, if Jay hadn’t worked for him, Amadán would have been as well. What did he use this room for? There was a smell of blood to it that was ancient and deeply ingrained. Not just Jay’s blood. So much more than that, so much older.

  Jinx’s mind lurched away from that prospect and back to the question at hand.

  ‘Firshee. I’ve never heard of them.’

  ‘Haven’t you? Think back to your earliest childhood. When Brí’s people had you rather than Holly. Holly knew all this but she didn’t allow talk of it. No time for old lore. She wanted to think ahead, or so she said. Although I suspect she didn’t want anyone else knowing the things she knew. But that’s beside the point. Think back to the nursery rhymes and ghost stories your pack told. I know they do. Cú Sídhe love their bogeymen and their songs. They love howling away together.’

  Nursery rhymes. Every race had them, songs and ditties which carried warnings and made sure every child knew the real dangers from the moment they could sing. Warnings of monsters in the dark, hiding in the shadows beneath the bed or behind the door, bogeymen … Fir bolg.

  ‘Fir’ meant ‘men’, but it sounded like the English word ‘fear’ and given what they did, given that they could drive their victims insane with terror, it had stuck and become their name for good. The Sídhe loved to play with words, break them, abuse them, put them to other uses. They liked to do that with many things.

  ‘Bolg’ meant ‘bag’ because of the lives they stole away, as if they packed them into bags and carried them off. ‘Bolg’ meant ‘belly’ because of their ferocious appetites. He wasn’t sure which meaning applied here. Maybe both. Something about the shadows in a nursery …

  The rhyme came to him, echoing through his head like a mocking echo.

  Whenever the fog is dense and thick

  When the whispers are all you hear

  They’ll feed on your terror, freeze all your hope

  Try to outrun—

  ‘The Fear,’ Jinx whispered. He sucked in a breath and looked at the Old Man, no longer doubting. And yet still needing to ask questions. ‘But the Fear are a nursery rhyme, a made-up monster.’

  ‘Not made-up. Defeated. Long ago. When we first came here we defeated them and locked them away. Someone has let them out.’

  ‘Where did you lock them away?’

  ‘In a prison that was already here, in the earth itself. Like that thing on the hill Brí guards that you found out far too much about last summer. We made use of what we could find and tossed them all inside. We sealed it. Now someone has released them.’

  ‘And what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Stop them, of course.’

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘Well, you see Jinx by Jasper, you have a certain in with the only people who can hope to do it. David and Isabel Gregory.’

  ‘You’re wrong. Not anymore.’

  ‘A lovers’ tiff, lad?’ The mocking tone faded to sharpness. ‘Go and buy her some flowers or something. This is more important than your adolescent emotions. If the Fear are loose, who knows what else may be set free. There are things imprisoned on this island we cannot afford to have running around, if you know what I mean. The Fear are only the first step to something much worse. And they can do damage enough. They know nothing of temperance. They have no self-control. They’ll fall on the human world when Samhain lets them take physical form, and then what? Eh? What will humanity make of that?’ Jinx made to answer, but Amadán raised a hand to silence him. ‘Don’t say anything. I know what you know.’ He pointed upwards. ‘Our celestial cousins wouldn’t take kindly to us using their toys, if you know what I mean. It never ends well for us. They can’t be allowed to find out about this. Or they’ll destroy us all.’

  Amadán beckoned Jinx to him, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, the hand that was still holding the unlit cigar gesturing expansively as he turned them both around and headed back towards the door. ‘If they find out about this they could decide to eradicate us all, just to be sure.’

  Dad strode out of the principal’s office as if he was looking for something to dismember and had to remember he didn’t have the right to do that here. Izzy waited in the hall, Clodagh beside her.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Clo, seeing his expression. ‘See you later.’ She faded into a group coming down the corridor before he reached them.

  ‘Would you like to explain how the fire alarm went off?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Some sort of malfunction?’ It was worth a try. That was what she’d said to everyone else.

  Dad looked far from convinced. ‘Sure. And the girl just collapsed.’

  Izzy lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘That wasn’t me. There were things in the mist. I couldn’t breathe. I only managed to drive them off with—’

  He he
ld up a hand in a combat gesture calling for silence. Training made her comply at once and she hated him a bit for that. But his voice softened. ‘Not here, love. Appearances and all that.’ And he gave her that quirk of his lips just for moment. He believed her. She had that much at least. Relief made her sag on her feet. ‘I’ve spoken to your headmistress and she’s checking with the fire brigade but it does appear that the sensors malfunctioned, picked up heat where there couldn’t possibly have been fire, if you see what I mean. Okay?’

  She nodded solemnly. ‘So are we going home?’

  ‘Sure. We have to pick up your mum first though. She was at a meeting in town so she wasn’t too thrilled when the school rang her, especially as they’re only meant to ring me these days. But someone thought of your mum first and so that happened. She had a good rant to me about casual sexism. She probably enjoyed that anyway. Train is in ten minutes. Come on.’

  Mum was coming up the steps from the platform as they pulled up outside the little redbrick station. She glared at Izzy and got into the car beside Dad.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I believe Izzy encountered something impossible.’

  ‘Impossible.’ Mum looked at Izzy through the vanity mirror in the sun visor. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Must be a day ending in a “y” then.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ Izzy grumbled.

  ‘You weren’t careful enough.’

  ‘Those … those things would have killed Charlotte.’

  ‘The Fear,’ her Dad said, his voice taking on that tone of preachiness she was beginning to dread. It was his teaching voice. He could go on for hours and hours when he started. ‘A fae fairytale. A myth and a monster, the male version of the banshees. What do they say? When the fog is dense and thick, When the whispers are all you hear … something like that. And yes, they would have killed you both.’ He sighed heavily and rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen up taut muscles, uncurling his fingers from the steering wheel and stretching them out. Trying to calm himself down. The idea that Dad was shaken by the thought of what she’d seen wasn’t comforting. ‘You actually did a remarkably good job considering.’