Page 81 of Crown of Wings and Whispers

“Still believes, does he?”

“Why not? After all he’s seen, the idea of Santa Claus isn’t a stretch at all.”

“I see what ye mean.”

Rinky started gathering up the extra plates, and Persi snapped, “Leave them!” She apologized quickly, then explained, “You never know who might show up, right?”

Kitch, bless him, turned to Flann and asked what Persi wanted to know. “Have ye tried to contact Lennon this mornin’?”

“Aye. I tried. Nothin’ on the other end.”

Silence settled around the table again while they waited for Alwyn to join them. Kitch gave conversation another try. “It’s quite nice to have just the small house and the original crew. I was a mite surprised when so many Muirs chose to return to Muirsglen to help rebuild, what with Orion still undefeated.”

Urban stole a pinch of stuffing and nodded. “We may never ken how many were lost. Or how many Orion took for questionin’ and never returned. But that witch, Jezebel, is determined to make a list so they’re remembered. She’s gone back as well.”

A roasted turkey on a platter came flying from behind Urban, carried by Alwyn, and was slammed on the table. The chef glared at the Highlander and spoke through clenched teeth. “Smile, damn ye! Tadee, we’re countin’ our blessin’s. Tomorrow, we can count our dead.”

Enforced cheer brought a welcome improvement to everyone’s mood, and soon the room filled with chatter and even some laughter. Wickham appeared in the doorway and grinned. “Happy Christmas!”

Persi gestured to the empty chairs. “We may not have waited grace on you, but we’ve saved you seats.”

Wickham sighed. “I was sent to retrieve one of Alexander’s games, and alas, I will be dining on pigs in blankets and clootie dumplin’. Remind me, next year, not to allow the lads to choose the menu.”

The idea of being together in another year, still fighting Orion, made Persi feel slightly ill. She was only too glad to get up from the table and follow Wickham to the doorway.

“I thought of something,” she said, stopping him in his tracks. “I know how to call Orion when you’re ready for a showdown.”

“Aye?”

“Even though Soni no longer had her power, a drop of her blood on the ground brought him and his monsters to her wedding. Fairies are tied to the earth, right? So, you know, if he’s so in tune—”

Wickham’s eyes widened in horror. “Nooo!” He disappeared.

Urban jumped up from the table. “Arm yerselves! We dinnae ken what he’ll be bringin’ back with him!”

* * *

Wickham poppedinside the tunnel and wished he’d brought a torch so his eyes wouldn’t need adjusting. He laid his hand against the wall and became one with the tunnel once more, trying to sense who had last trod that path. He sensed no one but himself.

With little need to feel his way, his feet took him where he wanted to go. He might have popped directly to that spot, but he was leery of leading others to it. If someone followed him to the tunnel itself, they would have no way of knowing what lay in the ground beneath, and any digging would be random. One could dig for weeks and miss the jars.

Once again, he examined the footsteps in the dirt—his own footsteps where he’d tamped the soil back into place. If Orion had sensed the powers buried there, he couldn’t have dug them up without a trace. He couldn’t.

Unless.

Wickham fell to his knees and clawed up the packed earth. He found the top of the first jar he’d buried, the one containing Rowena’s power of Life and Death. As he exposed the lid, he thought of the lives that had been restored. Seventy-nine by Soni. Some by himself. All good people. But if Orion wielded that power, it wasn’t the souls of the good he would raise.

All Wickham had to do was open the lid to know if the green mist still lay within. But fear made him hesitate. Fear convinced him he should free the shoulders, pull out the jar…buy himself another minute’s peace.

He removed enough dirt to expose half the container. The time was at hand. He closed his eyes and bolstered his courage with one last breath, then pulled. The jar came easily.

The same jar, the same, undisturbed dirt. The power should still lie within. But his gut told him it was gone. There was no need to open the lid. Mindless now, he ran his hands over the ceramic surface, noted the gaps in the sealant. His fingers found the hole in the bottom.

Fairies, earth. What need had they of tunnels?

With his chest heaving, his stomach churning, he dug out the other jars, knowing what he would find. Holes in the bottom of each. He flung the useless things against the wall, shattering them.

Porous. If nothing else, thebottomswere porous.

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