Chapter Twenty-Eight
Interlude
Everybody in the congregation of the Christian Church of Truth said that the pastor's daughter, Charity, was the best-behaved little girl to come along in a while. They all said as much so when they patted her head and added a "bless her heart." They also knew that her mother was a whore, a godless witch who left a good and godly man, no doubt chasing after some sweet-talking fancy man, three months after giving birth to Charity.
Her daddy and her Aunt Sophia raised her to be a good girl--but because she had the taint of her mamma's blood as her aunt reminded her over and over, her loving aunt needed to keep a constant watch for the evil that was surely deep in her nature. Any sass was met with a belt beating. Aunt Sophia gave out a lot of those.
Swift and severe punishment was the road to redemption.
When her daddy and auntie died in a car wreck, Charity didn't miss them much, but she was lonesome -- real lonesome until the day she found Dolly in one of her adventures in the attic of the group home where they sent her to live.
She finally had a friend. She spent hours talking to Dolly and listening as well, of course because Dolly had many interesting secrets to tell.
When she was nine years old, a boy snatched Dolly from her and he wouldn't give it back. He just kept laughing at her and jumping away every time she grabbed for it.
"Awww, are you going to cry big baby," he taunted, as he swung the doll over his head by the hair.
"Stop it! Give her back! You're gonna hurt her!" she cried out at him, lunging again to get her doll back.
Finally, she managed to get a grip on the dolly's legs. The boy pulled back. Between the two of them, Dolly's neck could not take the stress and snapped. The little girl fell backward into the dirt, holding the headless doll in her hands.
She cried piteously, mourning her only friend.
The boy laughed as he threw the head into the dirt and walked away.
Unfortunately for him, Dolly had schooled little Charity well.
"A curse on your head I place..." She pricked her finger with the silver needle she'd been given to get some blood and sang/chanted the words she'd been taught.
The boy was laughing and doing the mocking dance for his friends atop the low stone wall when he lost his balance and fell on a big rock. He gashed his head open and there was lots of blood and the ambulance had to come.
Charity felt a flicker of remorse. The fall looked like it hurt something terrible, but as Dolly whispered, he deserved it.
For the first time, deep down, a dark part of little Charity exulted in the power. Another part of her, the part that the folks who worshiped in her little country church would have named her soul, called out dire warnings, but the other part flush with the satisfaction that comes with justified anger tamped it down.
It wouldn't be the last time in her life she got a little payback on those who should know better than to be mean to her.
The funeral was a nice one, everyone said so. Little Charity sat in the back with a secret smile on her angelic face. Beside her, although no one could see him was a faerie and his help was acid that ate at the soul.
For the first time, Little Charity realized she had talent. She never forgot the rich sweet syrupy taste of it in action. As a result, when the Aunties from Emory came with their promises to "rescue her" she went eagerly. She was sad that her dolly had to go away, but happy when dolly left careful instructions to keep dolly a secret and all the ways she could call her back when she needed her by using some blood and simple spells.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Charity Babbitt stood outside the meeting hall at Sisco Heights more than a little alarmed. Her mind was slipping. She stood in the parking lot and for the life of her, she couldn't remember her name. The last few weeks have been like that. Whole stretches of time seemed to fade from her grasp. Blackouts. Increasingly she was having trouble maintaining her shields that disguised the taint of the blood magic. What was more worrisome was that she sometimes forgot why she needed them. She had such glorious power she wanted to show them all.
She did remember that she had to call the Druid and inform him of the meeting as well as her failures. She had initiated the call in a high state of anxiety and not a little resentment.
It wasn't her fault.
She was starting to hate that damned Lachlan Quinn. Three times she had tried to kill him, and three times she had failed. She could see why her sisters feared the Keeper's Boy. He was just too powerful.
"I expected this," the druid said. "Your incompetence is rapidly diminishing your value to me."
Surprisingly and suspiciously, he didn't seem all that upset.
"You have two main tasks now. Two simple tasks: The first--since you failed to end the boy, I have had to retain the Brotherhood. They will select a being to come and take care of things. Follow the boy, set up an ambush site somewhere out-of-town then perform the summoning to bring the assassin across the Thinning. I assume you have the strength for that?"
Charity nodded, but she wasn't at all sure that she could. It took a huge amount of power just to summon the faerie.
"The second is the shifter girl. Use that faerie you have hanging around you to lure the girl to you--use some imagination for once instead of brute force. Meet me at the Keeper's cabin when you get her. She is the only one, besides the boy, who can get me into the house. I have to have that book."
"I'm going to need something to call in the assassin," she said.
He tossed her a coin. "Use this and hand it to whatever they send when it finishes its task. Don't forget."
She wasn't worried about getting the shifter girl, she was terrified about failing to bring the assassin across. Where was she going to find the power to do that? She remembered how he punished mistakes and decided she would call up the faerie for help.
She needed to get back to her house to summon it just as soon as she could remember who brought her here, she didn't see her car in the parking lot
.
Chapter Thirty
The next morning, Quinn arrived at Anna's to find the place in chaos. Her carefully tended garden looked like a tornado had passed through. Row after row of carefully tended lavender was uprooted and scattered, as were the vegetables and tomato plants. He found her kneeling beside a stand of lilies that were smashed flat.
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and pointed. A Thumbelina-sized sprite lay broken among the lilies.
"They killed her. She tried her best to protect her lilies, poor thing."
Saria is not going to take this well. The sprites were her kin.
"Who did this?"
Anna ignored the question. "They had no call to do this," she said dully.
He asked again. His voice was harsh and cold as ice. "Who did this Anna?"
"Two mother-damned boggles. You can see their tracks all over the place. Something must have stirred them up. They are like weasels. When the frenzy strikes--they destroy for the joy of it."
A
nna cocked her head, then strode to the ancient lightning-struck cedar. Her arm shot out as quick as a snake and came up with a small hob dangling from her right hand.
"Look what I found stalking here. This hob is a spy for sure."
she sang in fluting low-alfar,
"it can't keep its nose out of other people's business. It will get its nose cut off someday. Might be today. Might be it is the being that did all this damage."
"Not spy,"
it piped and squealed as she gave it a shake.
"Did not do this bad thing. Curious about the new Keeper is all."
"
Good morning Singer and Song bless you, Master Hob
," Quinn sang politely.
"Do you ken what I am?"
The elf peered at him with near-sighted eyes, then his greenish-brown face filled with terror. He nodded jerkily in Anna's grip.
"
Yes, Master, you are the Vísdómur's Shadow Walker. Please, Master, don't kill me."
"Talk truth then, O Hob, and tell me. Have you seen the interlopers who violated this place?"
