Holes in the Veil Read online

  It didn’t take long for Tristram to catch up and walk beside him. “Dewhurst gave me the money to buy your land.” Before Aidan could ask, he continued. “I’ve been in debt these past three years, Aidan. My estate was about to be foreclosed on. I had nowhere else to go.”

  Aidan stopped where he stood. “All right, I’m listening.”

  Tristram drew in a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. He explained about the blood oath he had made to Dewhurst to save his estate, about the clause he had missed that put him at the wicked man’s disposal.

  Though unsurprised, Aidan was disgusted. Only Tris would have missed something that important when signing for a loan.

  “When he found out about your request to sell your estate, he pounced.” Tristram showed Aidan a mark on his hand, a faint old scar, one where blood would have been drawn for an oath. “The Roma fortune-teller was meant to keep you there that day, but she wasn’t playing her part right. I was relieved, as it seemed she was trying to lead you away from the trap.”

  “Larkin,” Aidan murmured. He had never trusted the seer, another Blest, a person with special abilities thanks to one of the magical Goblets Immortal. There were six Goblets in total, each of them imbuing those who drank from them with a different magical ability. Larkin had the ability to tell some of the future, thanks to the fact that her mother had drunk from the Seeing Goblet. Aidan and Slaíne had left the seer in Abbington when they’d made their escape from a superstitious mob a week or so prior. If Tris was to be believed, the woman might yet prove an ally in their quest to kill the mage Meraude. Aidan looked at Slaíne, who was worrying her lower lip, then turned back to Tristram. He was about to question him, but felt four new Pulls approaching, not half a mile off. “Quickly, Slaíne.”

  She did not hesitate or ask what he had sensed, but helped him up the hill to the house. Tristram was fast on their heels.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Aidan gave him a withering glare and kicked in the battered front door. “You know well, old friend.”

  If he was found here, he would have to either lie about his identity or fight his way out. There would be no Dismissing himself into Nothingness like he had done the last time he was trapped. He could only Dismiss himself, and if he left Slaíne, the curse that bound her to him would be triggered. The curse had been put on her when she was a mere child, and it bound her to whomever she called master. She could only travel so far away from that person before the curse caused her excruciating pain. He would gain an hour if he Dismissed himself, but he would most likely return to find her dead and himself captured. Aidan Summoned Slaíne’s blade and led her inside.

  “Is someone here?” Tris asked, his voice squeaking. He cleared his throat. “You hide, I’ll send them on their way.”

  Before Aidan could stop his old friend, Tristram was already heading out the door. This was not a good plan, but what choice did he have? Aidan knew himself to be in no shape to fight; he hadn’t the energy or the stamina just then. They could sneak out the back, but he heard voices and knew it was too late. He hurried into his uncle’s old study, wincing as the boards groaned beneath his feet, unable to mask the noise. Once inside the old workspace, he ran to one of the only hiding spots he could find: the rotting wood desk in the corner. Slaíne crawled behind the sheet-covered sofa. If anyone found her, they’d just think she was a vagrant, not an accused murderer like Aidan.

  The Pulls were growing closer, and Tris was going out to meet them.

  Slaíne’s Pull had moved. There was a scraping noise, and then a short silence followed by voices and several bangs that echoed within an out-of-tune pianoforte in the adjoining room.

  Aidan all but held his breath as footsteps sounded in the antechamber, and he strained to hear the conversation taking place. His breath had kicked up a fistful of dust, which tickled at his nose and made his eyes burn. He staved off a sneeze by licking the roof of his mouth and praying.

  “Can’t have gone far,” said a rough voice belonging to a man. “There’s a reward. A big one, innit?”

  Tristram’s Pull moved toward the other end of the house. “Yes, a big reward indeed,” he was saying. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  A third voice chuckled, an unpleasant nasal sound, followed by an almighty fit of coughing. Once he had recovered, the man spoke. “What is a good fella like you doing in this godforsaken place? It’s said to be haunted these days.”

  “I was looking around.”

  Something was said too softly for Aidan to hear. “That’s right,” said the second voice. “I’m in debt as well, as thou well knowest.”

  “Care to split the reward?” Tristram asked.

  Aidan bared his teeth in silence. His hand clutched the sword so tightly it was going numb. He could not fight off several men, even with his ability to make objects disappear and reappear at will, and Slaíne with her ability to fly, not in the tired and mentally exhausted state he was in. If Slaíne weren’t bound to him by a curse, she could run away from there right now without raising too much suspicion. There was no helping that at the moment, though. Breaking an old curse was the least of their worries.

  There was more laughter. “You know where he is, do you? And you’d be willing to split the reward money, just like that?”

  “Of course. I am a gentleman, after all,” was Tristram’s cool response.

  “Well, then, show me to him,” said a fourth voice, a woman’s.

  Someone cleared their throat. “Show us to him. And no betrayals. I’ve got the law on my side.”

  “After Dewhurst’s death, the law is scattered.”

  The woman said, “Ah, but after Dewhurst’s murder, the reward went up several hundred.”

  Better and better. Should he catch them by surprise now and at least kill Tristram and maybe one of the others? He swallowed hard at the thought. Killing Tris would buy him some time, but how to co-ordinate an attack with Slaíne without being able to openly communicate? If he moved from where his side was cramping, Aidan would be sure to make some noise on the unsteady floor, and then he would be caught for certain.

  “I don’t want my wife to get in trouble,” Tristram said, taking his time with his words. The others were silent. Aidan frowned and stilled his breathing so he could better hear. “She doesn’t know, but….”

  “But what?” asked the woman, only to be hushed by the others.

  Tristram let out a sad laugh. “I hid him overnight in our coal cellar. If he’s true to his word, Aidan Ingledark is still down there, waiting for me to bring him rations.”

  Aidan didn’t dare trust the words. The slippery rat could be saying one thing aloud for Aidan’s benefit and pantomiming what he meant the others to do. But if it wasn’t a trap, it was a terrible lie; no one would truly believe it.

  “Wherefore are you telling us this?” asked one of the men. “You could have kept the reward money for yourself.” A Pull moved nearer the study. “Ingledark’s got to be hiding here or somewhere nearby.”

  The flesh of Aidan’s shoulder prickled uncomfortably cold, and the strange presence lingered nearer in the back of his mind, offering help if needed. But Aidan shoved the presence aside for the moment. The possessor interfered with Summoning and Dismissing, and he had the beginnings of an idea forming, an idea that would require full use of Pull manipulation.

  “Why would I lie?” Tristram was insisting, obviously trying not to sound desperate. “Besides, this place is falling down around our ears.”

  “Then what’re you doing here?” the woman demanded.

  Tristram laughed. “I was an idiot and bought the place off him. I thought I’d stop by and check on my investment.”

  There were some murmurs, and then a rumble of laughter. “You’ll excuse us if we don’t take your word for it, Prewitt.”

  “If you want to look around, be my guest. Just be car
eful. I think this place might indeed be haunted.”

  Aidan felt and heard the reward-seekers separating, spreading out as they began their search of the house. The study was likely one of the first places they would look, so Aidan needed to act quickly to keep them away. Most often when he Summoned an object, it would land within a close distance of himself, as that was what took the least amount of mental strength. This would be difficult. Closing his eyes, Aidan Dismissed a tin cup on top of the desk, concentrated, and Summoned it to a spot at the other end of the house. It clanged a few rooms over, on top of what sounded like more metal.

  The person who had been approaching the study hurried off in the direction the noise had come from. “Someone’s here, all right,” one of the men shouted, and the others’ Pulls joined him at the far end of the house.

  Exhausted and near-hallucinating, Aidan laid his head down on his arm and tried not to drowse. This wasn’t over yet. As soon as he was certain they all were inside the far room, he tugged at the door’s Pull and was satisfied to hear it slam shut.

  “Stop playing games, Prewitt.” The door creaked open, and Aidan gave it another firm tug with his mind. Again the door slammed shut, and the small company began to shout. The force with which Aidan had made the door close had caused what sounded like a disturbance in the room’s structure. The house groaned and shook, and there was a deafening thud followed by a scream.

  “The house is collapsing.”

  “Let us out!”

  “She’s hurt.”

  The front of the centuries-old house was shifting on its foundations, causing boards to loosen and fall from the ceiling. The screaming in the other part of the house grew louder, and the company’s Pulls hurried away, though one was moving more slowly than the others.

  As the ceiling began to collapse in the study, Aidan used his last reserves of strength to Dismiss it, and then promptly fainted.

  Chapter Two

  Aidan

  Aidan was standing in the middle of the parlor, which was fully intact and immaculate. He was alone for the moment, though he could sense a few human Pulls nearby. “Hello?” he called out. The aroma of baking bread met him as he wandered through the doorway.

  “We’re in here,” a distant voice called.

  “Who are ‘we’?” Somewhere in the conscious realm, Aidan knew someone was trying to shake him awake, but he ignored their attempts and continued into the back part of the house and down the servants’ staircase. He marveled at the coldness of the metal rail beneath his hand; it felt so real.

  “It is real,” said a familiar voice from behind him.

  Heart racing, Aidan turned and prepared to Summon Slaíne’s sword. When he saw it was the man who had been taking over his body and thoughts, he swore. “It’s you.”

  “Yes, friend. It’s me.” The two men stared at each other. “Auntie’s making bread. It should be done shortly. Care for a smoke? Something to drink?”

  Aidan shook his head. “Where am I?”

  The other motioned for Aidan to join him in the parlor. The man sat down on the white satin settee, the one Aidan’s father and mother had always scolded him away from as a small child, and put his feet up. “You can sit. No one here will harm you.”

  “I think I’ll stand.”

  The man shrugged and lit his pipe. “Do what suits you.” He puffed in silence for a moment, ignoring Aidan’s pointed stare.

  “Where am I?” Aidan repeated.

  “Oh, I heard you the first time. I just – I don’t know how much you really want to know. Sure you don’t want some liquor? It’s not as good as the stuff in Existence, they say, but it isn’t anything to turn one’s nose up at.” Still he did not rise from his seat to pour himself a glass, but sat there, puffing, and tapping his fingers on the seat.

  “So this isn’t reality?”

  The man laughed. “It is my reality, Aidan. As you might have guessed, I’m dead.”

  Aidan swore. “Who – why are you so familiar?”

  That caused the other to sober. “One question at a time, please. To answer the first, this is the Beyond.”

  “Beyond what, exactly?”

  “Beyond life.” He pointed at his chest. “I am one of the magical dead. The Beyond is where all magical beings go after they die.”

  Aidan shook his head. “How am I here, then?”

  “Oh, you’re not exactly. Your soul can come here when your defenses are low. I’ll have to teach you how to control that. And before you ask, yes, Nitchoo is responsible.”

  Aidan stared at him without comprehension.

  The other man put out his pipe and placed it on the glass table next to where he sat. “The ice blade that the nymph queen stabbed you with. Nitchoo. Very powerful, complicated spells went into its making. The queen used her last bit of strength to…well, to make it possible for your soul to come here and for me to talk to you.”

  “And you’re dead.”

  “Yes and no.”

  This was too much. Aidan could feel a powerful headache coming on, and it had little to do with his head hitting against a board in Existence. What were they doing to his body in the land of the living, he wondered? “Yes and no? How is that possible?”

  “It depends on your perspective. Now, tell me, if I could convince the elves to return the maps to you, what would you do?”

  Aidan shook himself. This had to be some weird dream that he would soon wake from. “Maps? The ones that disappeared from Nothingness?”

  The man looked at him like he had lost his mind, which might not have been entirely far from the truth. “Yes. The maps. The ones you took from Dewhurst and then Treevain took from your cache. The maps to the Questing Goblet.” When Aidan didn’t respond but continued to stand there, dazed, the strange fellow sighed and got to his feet. “Right. Maybe you’re not ready for them.” He walked past Aidan, bumping into his shoulder, nearly knocking him to the floor. “Ooh, sorry about that, Aidan. I still forget my own strength sometimes.”

  Aidan ignored the man’s offered hand of assistance and backed off a few feet. “I have need of those maps, sir.” If even just to burn them. “And I am willing to go to great lengths to get them.” He braced himself, but the man just laughed.

  “Sir? Aidan, you always were formal, but this is going entirely too far. It’s just S-Salem. Just call me Salem for now.” He looked guilty about something, but shook himself like a dog and changed the subject back. “Tell me why you want the Goblets Immortal.”

  This felt more like an interview for a job than anything else, but Aidan knew more was riding on his answer than he wished to consider. “Meraude is dangerous,” he began carefully. “She shouldn’t be allowed.”

  “Allowed to…?”

  “Exist.”

  Salem, if that was really his name, clapped his hands together and smiled at Aidan. “Good answer. Very good answer. One that we were hoping to hear.”

  “We?” Aidan looked around, hoping to be enlightened. They were still alone.

  “That mage has too much power, Aidan. And she’s using it to kill much of magical kind.”

  Aidan nodded. “That much I know.”

  “The Goblets are the best way to defeat Meraude. You must find as many as you can if you are to confront her. Especially the Questing Goblet. That cannot be allowed to fall into her hands. Think of what she might do with it.” Salem seemed ready to say something else, but stopped, squinting at Aidan. “It looks like you’re about to leave. Say hello to the redhead for me; and tell her to eat something. She’s far too light.”

  The room grew bleary, and things began to spin and fade to gray. Aidan tried to hold on to the settee, but it was no use. He was ripped out of the Beyond, and his soul landed back inside his body with a great wheezing sound.

  “He lives,” said Tristram’s voice. “Fetch him some water, Slahva.”


  “Fetch it yerself. And it’s Slaíne; I ain’t no toad. Get the water yerself.”

  That caused Aidan to laugh, albeit weakly. He blinked, and the room came into focus. The ceiling, he noted, was partially missing, and he could make out a bit of detail of the above floor. So that hadn’t all been a dream…though perhaps parts of it had been. “How long have I been unconscious?” Aidan blinked and tried to sit up, but it felt like his brain was going to leak out of his ears, so great was the headache that flared.

  Slaíne helped him lie back down, propping his head on a musty-smelling pillow. “Easy, sir. Afraid Tristan dropped you at one point.”

  “It’s Tristram,” Tris retorted, but he did nothing to refute her accusation of his having dropped Aidan.

  Aidan noted that he was laid out on the settee in the parlor, the same one Salem had lounged on in the Beyond – if that vision were even to be believed. It had felt so real, yet not quite as real as this.

  “To answer your question, you’ve been unconscious for one and a half days,” Tris said, causing Aidan to groan and try to cover his ears. “Too loud? Sorry.” He didn’t sound as sorry as Aidan would have liked. “The reward-seekers ran off and haven’t been back. They think this place is haunted.”

  Slaíne snorted. “Near soiled themselves, I imagine.”

  Between the two of them, Tristram and Slaíne gave him a short summary of what had transpired. The unwanted company had fled the premises and hadn’t returned, though Tris had been keeping watch on and off again. They had needed to move Aidan while he was unconscious, because the remainder of the ceiling looked ready to collapse in the study. Some had collapsed in the room where they stood now, bits of wood and dust and paint scattered about. The one and a half days had gone by without much excitement.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware, but you Summoned a few things while you were unconscious,” Tris said, raking a hand through his hair before pointing to a small pile on the floor. “A map to goodness knows where. It all seems rather absurd.” He studied Aidan a little too intently for Aidan’s liking.