Part 18 (1/2)

”I can tell, idiot!” Syther's voice ricocheted around them. ”They have tampered with the other wand.” He kicked Dragar again. ”First, that Fae b.i.t.c.h shows up and steals my wand. Then Chilkwell kills Zubird. He will die!”

He snarled and shoved Dragar aside. ”We must continue our Wraythe's Rite of Misery, regardless of what has happened.” He bent over and picked up his wand, s.h.i.+fting it from one hand to the other as though it was hot.

Shayla crinkled her nose. Wraythes. That was the putrid smell a.s.saulting her. The Wraythes were a lesser Gnomonn from the underworld. Gagh! Shayla shuddered. The things you learn when you have to do a quick study.

Why did the White Lady want her to come here, anyway? Shayla blew on her sc.r.a.ped knee, a trick learned in her youthful days of tree climbing. Leaning back, she studied their environment. Ensconced within a cave, four black flamed torches emitted glistening light, reflecting off stalact.i.tes dropping from the ceiling. Water flowed through the cavern's center, whispering around calcified rocks on its journey through the earth.

The only other sounds were Dragar's heavy breathing through a congested nose and Syther's rapid chanting. Shayla listened as Syther spoke in an ancient language she did not understand.

Black blobs rose from the water, spinning as though a whirlpool. Four blended into two, and then slowly transformed into something resembling wet, tar-like human forms.

p.r.i.c.kles of apprehension laced her skin. She knew her reaction was a direct link to the Wraythes. One of them locked eyes with her. She hissed, unsure why she reacted that way, and held his gaze boldly, feeling relief that Syther could not see her.

The Wraythe on the left spoke with distain. ”Why do you call, human?”

Syther gave a regal bow.

”Ever the minion, eh, Syther?” Saying his name gave her a bad taste in the back of her mouth. She tried to swallow it away and shook her head in absolute disgust.

”Have you heard the news, Wadd Sapropel? Zubird has been vanquished.” Syther waited, watching the two Wraythes conversing in a language unknown to humans.

Shayla tilted her head, trying to hear. Parts of what they said made sense while others proved utterly indiscernible. Tension in her forehead grew when she understood one word, Fae.

The Wraythe on the right looked her way again. His facial features contorted.

Surprise? Fear?

Wadd Sapropel made a sound that reminded her of a flus.h.i.+ng commode. ”Why tell us?” he sneered, voice dripping misery. Eyes narrowed, Wadd raked Syther with depthless black penetrating orbs. ”We are unconcerned with human endeavors.”

Syther growled under his breath, jaw moving as through he ground his teeth. Angry silence ruled for long moments.

The Wraythe waited, unperturbed by human emotion.

Motioning with his hands, Syther insisted, ”Wraythes are most content when creating misery. You tell me this is unimportant? Zubird was your link with humans. The only reason I could summon you today is that I have his wand.” Syther pointed to the wand held tightly in a talon, hovering over the moving waters of the underground calcium spring.

The Wraythe on the left made a peculiar gurgling sound as though laughing. ”That is not the only reason we come. You are a foolish human who knows nothing of what he deals with. I suggest you give up your plot.”

”You know nothing of my plans,” Syther growled, moving forward with menace. ”I will not give up. Malvenue was the greatest magical mage in the twentieth century!”

”Fool!”

Shayla had the feeling of water cras.h.i.+ng off a steep cliff. She stood, ignoring the pain in her knee.

Syther raised his wand, threatening.

Wadd Sapropel shook his wet head from side to side. ”The Fae Princess is powerful. You know nothing of Wraythes. We honor and answer only to her from this moment forward.”

Syther roared, ”Scathergal!”

Harsh mocking laughter sounded. Wadd Sapropel remained unaffected by the curse. He began to spin with rapid intensity. In one final move of defiance, he waved his arms out, covering Syther with the darkest wet sludge from the pits of the earth.

Shayla felt the beginnings of wind that would carry her back to the Well. Determination gripped around an idea. Holding her hand out, palm up, she tried something on the spur of the moment. ”Zubird's wand.”

The wand vanished from the talon.

The Wraythes lowered back into the water, swas.h.i.+ng into fusion.

Syther screeched and turned to face her, black Wraythe sludge oozed from his hair and clothing.

She was aware that for a brief moment, he could see her. The wand felt heavy as she raised her other hand, wiggling fingers in farewell. A fast spin and she arrived back at the Lionhead Fountain.

”Shayla, where did you go?”

Head still moving in circles, she grunted relief and leaned against the alter stone. ”The White Lady took me to an underground cavern. Syther was there.” She held Zubird's wand out to Joseph. The first time she really had a chance to study it; she noticed it was wood, wrapped with leather and copper. Obsidian beads and raven feathers hung from a leather thong embellis.h.i.+ng its handle.

”Why would the White Lady take you to Syther?” Joseph asked, reaching for the wand.

James distracted her from answering. He knelt, looking at her knee.

She pulled away.

”It's all right, Shayla,” he said, with gentle insistence. ”I can heal you.”

She watched amazed as James raised his hands and held them close to her injury. Warmth and a tingling sensation similar to when an arm or foot awakened from falling asleep pa.s.sed over her. The knee healed without a trace of scar. ”Thank you,” she whispered, filled with awe.

James smiled and lowered the hem of her white robe.

There was no dirt or tear from her foray into the cavern. She sighed and looked back up at Joseph. ”Syther used Zubird's wand to call Wraythes. He was determined to use them as part of his plot.” She paused, frowning. ”Apparently, Zubird was the only one who could summon them until today?”

”Yes.” Joseph glanced down at Zubird's wand. ”I was unaware that Syther could.”

Shayla chewed on her lip, and then began to shake her head. Trust runs both ways.

Joseph Chilkwell stepped backward, eyeing her closely after her silent response.

”What is it, Shay?” Meekal asked, concern etching his voice.

”They didn't appear because of anything Syther did. Well, not really.”

”Shayla.” Meekal said gently, concern reflected in his eyes.

”They appeared because I was there. At first, I was mad that the White Lady took me there. Then, I realized it was because she wanted the Wraythes to know about me.” Shayla lifted a lock of her hair, waving it. ”They saw me and refused to obey Syther.”

”Aye, but why?” Meekal's eyes locked on the black-red strands between her fingers.

Amus.e.m.e.nt surged through her. ”Something you forgot to tell me?”

Meekal's frown deepened even as realization came to Harry expression. He snickered, earning a glare from Meekal.