Page 16 of Court of Evil

“Answers have a price. You know that, ghost whisperer.” She peers at me. “Do you wish to pay for the answer?”

“Not now, just take us to the healer.”

She chuckles at my response, then she waves her hand and the path disappears around us. When it clears, we are inside a dark shop, the smell making my nose twitch, but I do not sneeze, since that would be rude.

Fae are big on insults.

When I was younger, I did not understand that and made the mistake of offending an older fae by mentioning their ears. I nearly ended up dead. I learned my lesson quickly.

The shelves and workbenches are covered in artifacts, herbs, and spells. Fae magic is everywhere. The roof is made of intricate stained glass, depicting the rise and fall of the fae. Those colours stream down like a kaleidoscope, providing the only light in the dimly lit room.

The magic in here is stifling and ancient.

Shuffling reaches my ears, and an older woman appears from around a corner. Her eyes narrow on me before they widen when they land on Heather, and she bows. “My queen, what brings you here? I could have come to you.”

“It was urgent, my old friend,” Heather murmurs softly, speaking kinder than I have ever heard her. “You must save this human.”

“Human? My magic is not for them,” the older fae hisses, wrinkles framing her mouth and blue eyes. Her hair is a deep blonde interwoven with grey, and it’s tied back into little plaits with bones.

“It is now, just this once. I ask it of you as your queen. Save the human.”

They share a look before the older one glances at me. “As you wish, my queen.”

“Thank you.” Heather presses her hand to the healer’s shoulder before glancing at me. “You are in good hands. If anyone can save the seer, it is our healer. I will be back tocollect.” She vanishes, leaving Ronan, Tate, and me with the healer.

“Put her here,” the older fae mutters. She waves her hand, and a stone workbench is swiftly swept clean. The dark grey slab glows ever so slightly, and I hesitate. “I mean her no harm. If you wish for me to save her, then you must do this quickly.”

“Vow to me you will do everything to save her, not harm her,” I demand as kindly as I can, reluctant to let Tate go. I have this weird thought that if I release her, she will slip away from me.

“Do not mistake my agreement for kindness, human,” she hisses. “I do as my queen demands, not you. She ordered that I keep this human alive, so I will. Now quickly, before it’s too late.”

With no other choice, I step towards the glowing stone and carefully lay her down, righting her clothing, arms, and legs. She doesn’t even whimper, which worries me. She is so pale and still.

The healer bustles past me, pushing me back. I stumble into Ronan, and he catches me. I keep my hold on him, needing it as we stare at the woman who has come to mean something to us.

The healer mutters as she moves around the table, gathering things and placing them on Tate’s chest—a stone, a small animal skull, an empty bowl, and a dagger. Once they are placed, she stops across from us. She raises her hands, and they start to glow as she moves them slowly up and down Tate’s body.

Tears start to roll down the healer’s cheeks, glistening with power and pain. All her hatred and prejudice disappear. “Oh, my child, what did they do to you? So much pain and suffering. You should be dead. Your strength . . . by the old gods, your strength . . .”

“Will she survive?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer me, her entire focus on Tate. The bowl starts to fill with blood, the dagger begins to spin, and the rock glows as the healer moves her hands faster and faster.

“So much agony, so much endurance . . . You are a survivor. You will survive this. That is it, fight for me. Fight to live.”

Ronan and I stand silently, waiting like forgotten statues as the healer works. Time passes strangely as the bowl refills and drains into Tate five times. The stone’s glow slowly dwindles until it extinguishes, and the dagger stills.

The healer’s hands drop and her eyes open. She looks down at Tate, and I follow her gaze. Her chest is rising and falling slowly without restriction, and the colour is returning to her skin. She looks healthier.

That is a good sign, yes?

“Rest now, my child. You are safe,” the healer whispers before clearing the objects from Tate’s chest and heading our way.

The healer looks exhausted as she stops before me. “Her injuries are healing, but it is up to her to fight to stay in this body and world.” She turns, her shoulders slumped as she starts to shuffle away.

I wish to say thank you, but I know it is rude. Instead, I offer my gratitude the only way I can. “I am indebted to you.”

“No, you are indebted to our queen.” The healer glances back at me. “Besides, losing a soul like hers from this world . . . It would be a crime. She is needed.” She departs, leaving me unable to ask what she meant.

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