Hollow: Isa Fae paranormal romance (Fallen Sorcery Book 2) Page 9

  “Sure. Slaves are annoying. You have to feed them, or they tend to fall over. Food is expensive. I’m anti-slavery, pro-sensible investing.”

  Figures a fae would be anti-slavery because of the benefit it would give to him. “Lady Greymouth also fought to keep the fae out of the human realm. I’m certain many of your kind would have died by her hand.”

  “I like her even more,” Niall insisted, grinning wickedly. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” Despite herself, Aisling couldn’t help but be swept up with Niall’s enthusiasm and curiosity. Leading him around the house made her see it through fresh eyes, to catch the beauty and mystery of the place, amidst the horror of what it was becoming.

  She swung open the door to the library, inviting him inside. As Niall’s gaze swept around the room, taking in the shelves piled with books, Aisling gauged his reaction. He’d seen a glimpse of it yesterday, but today she’d told him it was her favorite place in the house, so now he was seeing it in a different light. He drank in the drafting table by the window where the blueprints of the house were pinned in place, the chintz chairs by the heavily-draped bay window – the stuffing tumbling from the gashes made by Widdershins’ claws, the dusty scientific instruments lined up above the fireplace, the old-fashioned bright-red dial phone still sitting on the corner of the desk. His icy eyes danced, the corners of his lips turned up in delight, and she knew she had him.

  He really was the boy in her dreams, for the boy in her dreams loved this room just as much as Aisling did.

  “I usually sit here.” Suddenly nervous, Aisling patted the less-battered of the two chairs.

  “Oh, don’t let me stop you,” Niall murmured, as he moved along the shelves, his finger rubbing along the spines of the books. His lips moved as he read the titles to himself, his eyes widening as he gorged on the knowledge to be found within.

  “We don't have many books in Scitis,” he said.

  “That makes no sense. Is it not a city of scientists?”

  “Exactly. The university controls all reading material. They believe knowledge should only be given to the correct sect. That’s why the Quaesitors have access to all the scientific knowledge, while the only book I was allowed was a manual on weaponry.”

  “You had no books in your home? No stories?”

  “Fae do not tell stories, we are the stories,” Niall said, his voice hard. His hand dropped off the shelf, and flopped to his side. Aisling wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what, so she let the silence drape awkwardly over the room.

  Aisling picked up the first of her books from the table, where she had placed it on top of her ledger, and opened it in her lap. The words danced in front of her eyes, but she couldn’t discern any meaning from them. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Niall moved around the shelves, his eyes darting over the titles. His thick shoulders strained against his shirt as he reached up to inspect a title on the highest shelf. What book will he choose?

  You shouldn’t care, she reminded herself. She turned the page, starting from the top, moving her lips over the words, reading them without comprehending them.

  “Where are the magic books?” Niall interrupted her.

  Aisling dropped the book in her lap. “Why?”

  Niall shrugged. “I’m sure a family of witches has an interesting collection of spellbooks. I want to read them.”

  “Again, why?”

  “Because I’m interested in your family, and this house. Because I’ll find some clue to stop Odiana and help us both get out of here.”

  “There’s nothing, trust me. I’ve pored over all those books, and so did my mother and grandmother.”

  “I’d like to read them, anyway.”

  Aisling stood up, and led him to a shelf in the corner. She indicated the two rows of leather-bound books on the bottom shelves. “By all means, knock yourself out. Here they all are.”

  Niall selected an old grimoire that had belonged to her great-grandmother Ama, who had been an experienced herbalist. The pages were filled with complex diagrams of plants and flowers, along with recipes scrawled in Ama’s loopy, unreadable script. He settled himself on a chair by the window, and opened the book, his eyes darting hungrily over the pages. Aisling peered at him from over the top of her book. It almost seemed as though he was looking for something …

  Niall’s eyes flicked up, and he grinned at her. Aisling snapped her chin down toward her book. I’m just reading, nothing else, she told herself, but her pounding heart and quickened pulse betrayed her. How am I going to be able to live in the same house as this fae? How will I resist him?

  As Aisling found her page again, her eyes darted back to Niall. He had turned the page, his finger running over one of the diagrams, engrossed in the magical notations. A flicker of doubt passed through her.

  Why does he want to see books on magic? Is there something he’s not telling me?

  “I’m bored,” Niall announced, throwing down his book.

  “How can you be bored?” AIsling looked up from the page she’d read twenty times already. It was so hard to focus with him sitting across from her. “We’ve only been reading for half an hour.”

  Maybe I was wrong to doubt him. Maybe he was just curious about my family magic. If he was really planning something devious, he wouldn’t give up so easily.

  Unless he was trying to trick you. Her mother’s voice drummed against her skull. Maybe the whole story is a trick.

  It can’t be. He dreams about me. He couldn’t have made that up.

  “Half an hour? Really? It feels like longer.” Niall swung his muscular body out of the chair. “Let’s do something fun.”

  “What?”

  Niall tapped his chin for a moment, his head tilted as he thought. Aisling’s heart skipped a beat as she wondered what Niall’s version of “fun” might be. Would he put her in another position like he had last night and this morning, where she’d have to summon all of her resolve to resist him?

  “I’ve got it!” Niall grabbed her hand and yanked her into the hall. “Let’s go!”

  “What are you doing? Let go of me!” Aisling yelped. Niall laughed as he dragged her down the hall, and she couldn’t help but laugh, too. The energy spread up her arm and through her body, making her feel giddy.

  They stopped in front of Niall’s room. Aisling readied herself to refuse another invitation to go to bed with him, but to her surprise, Niall dropped her hand. He ducked inside and returned with his bow and quiver.

  “What are we doing with that?”

  “Target practice.”

  “You’re going to teach me how to fire a bow?” Aisling looked at the weapon in concern. How many people have these arrows killed?

  “It’s a useful skill to have, you know. In case something one day comes through the doors that’s from your nightmares, instead of your dreams.”

  “But we’ll have to go outside, and it’s freezing. The arrows won’t even penetrate the garden wall—”

  “We’re not shooting at the garden wall, and we’re not going outside.” Niall gestured to a shelf of dog ornaments on the side table in the hall. “You’re telling me that none of these creepy statues deserves to die a horrible death.”

  Aisling stared down at the ugly dogs, with their huge eyes and dopey faces and comically large bones. Aisling’s great-great-grandmother Celeste loved dogs. She’d owned seven fox-terriers, which had left their own mark on the house in the form of several small dog-flaps between rooms, and a wall of canine portraits in the east bedroom wing.

  Grandmother June also collected ceramics, and she had tables and shelves filled with gilded otters and garishly-painted teddy bears scattered all over the house. The dog ornaments were some of Aisling’s least favorite.

  She couldn’t believe she was considering it. These statues had been in her family for generations, and many of them were cast in gold and inlaid with precious stones. They could be worth a fortune. Never mind that when she was small, Aisling once sp
ent the whole day hiding in the closet to escape their creepy faces. Come to think of it, why did she still keep them out? This was her house now. When Grandmother June inherited the house, she’d installed a popcorn machine in the portrait gallery, and added a foot spa to her bathroom. If Aisling hated the dogs, then why did she still keep them?

  She grabbed the tallest, ugliest dog, and thrust him at Niall. “Let’s do it!”

  Aisling darted through the house, picking out her least favorite ornaments – a leering monkey holding a banana in a suggestive way, a fat fairy with garish pink wings, and several of the worst dog figurines. Niall set up a small potting bench at the end of the hallway, just in front of the boarded-up dining room door. They lined up all the figurines along the bench, and backed up until they were standing in the entrance to the grand hall.

  “Have you ever used one of these before?” Niall asked, handing the bow to Aisling. She marveled at how light it felt in her hand. It was hard to believe something so flimsy could be so deadly. She ran her fingers along the sinews, over the smooth limbs inlaid with precious woods.

  “No. I’ve never held any kind of weapon. It looks complicated.”

  “It’s really not. I’ll show you.” Niall stepped behind her, and placed his arms around her waist. Her back rested against his hard stomach. Energy sizzled around them, wrapping Aisling in shimmering cocoon. Don’t think about it, she told herself. Concentrate on the bow.

  Niall laced his fingers between hers, placing her fingers against the string. “Do you feel this little bump in the string? This is the nock point. You hold the string between these fingers.” He adjusted her hand, his breath brushing against her ear. Aisling’s body stood rigid, too afraid to move and spoil the moment.

  “You notice the V-shape carved into the arrow? To nock an arrow, you rest the arrow against this wooden peg, then shove the string into the V, just above the nock point.” She did this, and he patted her arm. “Now, draw the arrow back. If you find it difficult, it can help to push the bow forward while you pull.”

  Aisling drew the string back toward her ear. The bow creaked as it tightened. Her arms ached from the pull of the string.

  “That’s good,” Niall said. “Is the weight okay?”

  “It’s okay if I can let it go really soon,” Aisling said through gritted teeth. Her arm wobbled.

  “Line the arrow and the sight up with your target, and let her go.”

  Aisling let the string go. The arrow flew from the bow, zipping down the hall before embedding itself deep into the wooden panel of the door.

  “Not bad,” Niall grinned, handing her another arrow.

  “Not bad? I missed completely.”

  “Hey, at least you got in the general vicinity of the targets.” Niall grinned. “The first time I tried to shoot, I ended up with six arrows in the ground about ten feet in front of the targets. It took me ages to get the hang of it. My instructor was so frustrated with me, he threatened to post me to the Ignisti.”

  “The what?”

  “The army’s explosives division.” Niall grinned. “They have a pretty high mortality rate. Go on, try again.”

  Aisling nocked her second arrow, pulled back the string, and let it next arrow fly. It smashed into the dog statue, shattering it and scattering broken porcelain across the hall.

  “I got it!” Aisling jumped with excitement. Niall grabbed her arm, causing another wave of heat to course through her.

  She fired the next four arrows, managing to shatter the fat lady statue. Her enormous head rolled across the floor, and Aisling kicked it against the dining room door with glee. It bounced against the wood and came to rest against the foot of the bench.

  “How do we get the arrows back?” she asked, staring at the shafts sticking from the wood like porcupine quills, the red fletchings gleaming in the low light like droplets of blood.

  “Just grab them at the base of the shaft, and pull. They’ll come out eventually.”

  She tweaked the nearest shaft. It seemed pretty stuck in there. “But … have they penetrated the door? What if the tips are inside the void?”

  “It’s fine.” Niall drew up beside her, and with a flick of his wrist, dropped all the arrows on to the floor.

  “You’re strong.” She couldn’t believe the way he just dropped those arrows out of the wood. He’d scattered wood chips over the thick carpet from where the wood had splintered. She couldn’t describe what staring at those wood chips made her feel, kind of giddy and lightheaded.

  “These arrows are fae arrows,” Niall said, his icy eyes meeting hers. “They’re enchanted to return to me. But yes, I am strong. Maybe that will come in handy in this house.”

  “Oh yeah? You going to move furniture for me?”

  “Honey, I can move worlds for you.”

  Aisling snorted. Niall frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  “You are.” She grinned, and thrust the bow into his hands. “Your turn, Super Fae.”

  “Watch, and learn from the master.” Niall’s fingers moved lightning fast, as he nocked an arrow and drew back the bow. Just as he let the arrow fly, Widdershins careened around the corner of the entrance and scampered across the hall. Aisling screamed as the cat darted into the bathroom just as the arrow flicked past his tail, missing him by a few hairs.

  Niall sank against the wall, his face stricken. “I’m so sorry.”

  Aisling darted into the bathroom and scooped up her cat, but he was too freaked out to accept a hug. He drew a deep scratch across her arm, and jumped down, disappearing into the bathroom again. Aisling sank to her knees, clutching her chest as her heart rate returned to normal. From on top of the bathroom vanity, Widdershins yowled with rage, his tail puffed up in agitation.

  “He must be terrified,” Aisling said, staring up at her cat with trepidation. “I’d better go get him a treat.”

  “Yeah.” Niall gulped. “Aisling … I’m … really sorry.”

  I know, she thought, as she looked over his face. But I don’t understand why.

  Niall is fae. His race take great pride in their cruelty, their remoteness. Any other fae would have deliberately aimed the arrow at Widdershins, and then skinned him and made him into a delicious stew. But Niall jerked the arrow away. And he looks genuinely upset. It’s the second time he’s apologized to me in as many days.

  Is he different? Is the dream boy really the boy of my dreams?

  Letter shoved through mail slot of the Hollow

  Dear Odiana,

  The ray doesn’t work. So thanks for that.

  Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. There’s a witch living in here, Aisling. We’re getting on okay, as much as can be expected. She has yet to succumb to my infinite charms.

  There’s a whole library of magic books, including many written by the witch who bound her atern to the Hollow. I know the answer is in them somewhere, it’s just going to take me some time to find it. I’ll let you know when I do.

  Don’t do anything rash. Visit my brother, would you? I think he’d appreciate the company.

  Niall

  8

  Niall

  Niall’s days continued in the house, one blending into the next.

  Every morning, he woke Aisling with some kind of culinary masterpiece (although he had learned to ration a bit better), and they explored the house together, finding their own fun in the strange and altered rooms. They bounced ping pong balls off the wobbly wall in the billiards room, and made a fort out of the replicated cushions in the upstairs lounge. Sometimes, Widdershins trailed around on their heels, and sometimes, he had already vanished into the depths of the house, hiding in the places only a cat would dare go.

  After their explorations, they read in the library or played games together in the drawing room – he grew quite good at chess, although never good enough to beat Aisling – and they talked.

  Niall never tired of talking to Aisling. He told her about growing up in Scitis, about his father’s death and the loss of his fo
rtune. She asked him questions no fae had ever asked him, not even Odiana. How did his father’s death make him feel? How was he coping?

  Sadness, grief, fear … the words rolled off Aisling’s tongue as she described her own life. She wore them so easily, badges of identity. The words were poison to Niall, denied by his fae upbringing, by his life of soldering. And yet, as days passed in the house, he felt himself beginning to succumb to them. When he looked at Aisling, he did not see the weakness his kind would expect – he saw instead a woman of great courage, a warrior in her own right.

  When she spoke to him, her eyes would often drift away, the irises circling the room, checking the walls, the ceiling, searching for the cracks that would signal the approach of the creeping void. Her body would tense up involuntarily, and she’d shrivel into herself. When her gaze eventually settled on him again, her body would unravel, relax. Occasionally, he even caught the glint of a smile, a rare diamond that filled him with a terrible sadness.

  For years she’s been trapped inside this prison, watching the walls collapse around her, knowing it will eventually take her with it. Niall balled his hands into fists, rage flooding his body. She shouldn’t have to live like this.

  You’re not supposed to care, a voice burned in his mind. You’re here for your brother, and that’s it.

  That wasn’t it, not anymore. Aisling kept up her practice on the bow, and she begged him to teach her to use the sword. Niall refused, but for what reason, he couldn’t say. Aisling was a practical, measured person. She would make a fine fighter. Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of giving her the means to kill him, should she discover his lie.

  Every night, Niall stood in the hallway of the west wing, trying all different combinations to get the ray to work. When that failed, he would retreat to the library, and squint at the books – his only light the flashing lightning of the void beyond the window. There has to be something in here, something that would get the ray working again.