"Paris is a big city. Mayhap I can help you locate her?"

"How might you discover a woman you've never met?"

"I found you."

"But you weren't-"

"I've a location spell that may be of use."

A spell? Caution fired. "You said you are not a wizard."

"That I am not."

The last thing Gossamyr needed was to align herself with a practicer of magic. She had come to stop the damaging effects done to Enchantment, not contribute.

"But I did pay attention when His Most Magical-er, my former patron -needed to locate a lost dream or dragon."

"You practice magic?"

"Not enough to make it real."

But did his attempts tap Enchantment? And with the rift, the damage caused was increased immeasurably. Mayhap choosing to share the road with this man had been a mistake. Where was the fetch? If Ulrich proved a threat, would Shinn intervene?

Quickening her footsteps, she commented, "I fear the woman I seek be more dangerous than a fire-breathing dragon."

"You say so?"

"I've said enough. We must keep to ourselves. We've only to accompany one another to the next village."

"You're not keen on friendship, eh?"

Gossamyr shrugged. Not with a man who practiced magic.

Mince was the only friend she had ever known. Not even a good friend if one considered Shinn paid her as nursemaid. Gossamyr had been schooled and trained exclusively by her father, and kept from most situations that would see her surrounded by vindictive fee. The few times she went to market or escaped to partic.i.p.ate in a tournament were such wonders. There were food stands offering honeyed petals and toadstools carved like miniature castles, pavender creams and smoky beetles enticed. Children were rare, put few ran about laughing and playing challenging games. Women dressed gaily and men ogled them with soused grins. Brownies socialized with hobs and the curiously tall dryad would draw a lingering stare. Who could be bothered to look for a friend?

Besides, Gossamyr was ever studied from afar-like a curious bug-but rarely approached with a smile.

You are half-blooded, and that is fine. You are the daughter of Lord de Wintershinn. They know you will ascend to the throne one day, and they respect you, for you are of Shinn's bloodline. Still, the fee will never completely accept you. It is best you avoid the central markets in Glamoursiege. Half bloods, while rare, are cruelly teased.

Unless a fee was attracted to her because of her mixed blood.

You are exotic, Gossamyr.

He is a Rougethorn. They dabble in magic...

"I say-" Ulrich turned and rejoined her at her side "-that a man can never have too many friends."

"I am not a man."

"You fight like one."

"Bespell your tongue to silence," she hissed and then under her breath murmured, "Or I shall do it for you."

"I've rudimentary knowledge of magic. Would that I could bespell myself!"he called out grandly. '"Twould be akin to smiling myself into a swoon!"

But Gossamyr wasn't listening. Evening traced the atmosphere with an orange line on the horizon. Surrounding gray illumination loomed. An eyelash moon slit; the sky. Soon the countryside would be black. A unique experience, for the light bugs that populated the Spiral forest produced such illumination Gossamyr had never found herself to fright because of darkness. She sensed mortals viewed the world in a darker shade. Were there light bugs in this realm? The compulsion to cling to this final moment of spa.r.s.e light, to see all-and remember-overwhelmed. For soon she would see that darker shade, as well.

That is why you must be of haste! No time to rest this night. Leave the mortal to his foul magic and be off.

A line of fire-ravaged treetops frosted the western horizon with a macabre lace. To the right, a creaking windmill chomped on the silence, wood bearing against wood, commanded by the wind. Crickets chirred and long gra.s.ses schussed. Evening sounded much the same, and that was, as Ulrich might say, bone.

"Achoo!"

"Sneeze on Tuesday-"

"-clobber a stranger," Gossamyr finished the childhood rhyme.

"So touchy, my lady. I'd fare to wager we are strangers no longer."

"What happens when one sneezes on the morrow?"

"Sneeze for a letter. And Thursday sneeze for something better. Mayhap by Thursday you'll have shed your sparkle?" "Or even better, I'll have shed one mule and its jabbering pa.s.senger."

Jabbery? Indeed! Why the nerve of the...the...well, Ulrich wasn't exactly sure what Gossamyr was.

Feisty, fine and female. Mayhap a faery?

The woman who strode in skipping steps ahead of him by ten paces was like no woman he had ever before known. Or seen. Or dreamed of. Well, mayhap he had dreamed a tempting siren once or twice-h.e.l.l, dozens of times. But never had she been so skilled in the martial arts. Killing bogies? She had moved without thought, swinging that beautiful carved stick of hers and taking out the bogie with but one stroke. Masterful.

His rusted crossbow had been less than splendid when matched against the woman's mettle. Made him feel a bit lacking.

On the other hand, with a traveling mate of such skill, he could pay heed to that which required attention. Ulrich patted Fancy's withers and slid his hand back to smooth over the saddlebag. A certain hum, much like the throat of a purring cat, vibrated against his palm. Safe. But for how long? Would his quest be ended most violently before he had opportunity to save the damsel?

Or was it already too late? So little remained the same. It had all changed. Everything. Twenty years had been stolen!

He should have been there to save her, his sweet Rhiana. Instead, he had been...dancing. That h.e.l.lacious toadstool ring!

Ah, but he would have Rhiana back. And he would die trying.

But he mustn't think overmuch of his quest. For one brief thought-just back the road a ways-had called up the bogie. Myriad strange and malevolent evils could sense him, even-he suspected-hear his thoughts.

What should happen if he were to dip into the saddlebag and draw the thing out into view? He'd barely avoided death last eve when the wailing white ladies had followed him through the mist-fogged swamp. Not being corporeal they could not touch him, but such hadn't prevented them from flinging sticks and stones and the like at him. And finding target with each attack. Recall p.r.i.c.kled the hairs all over his body to alert. And the realization this quest was insane.

How to locate what he sought? Was this feeling-a calling that led him toward Paris-sure?

What a task, what a task.

An ally from Faery would make all the difference.

Ulrich eyed the sure, muscular form striding ahead of Fancy. She was as a man in strength and prowess but with the curves and beauty of a siren. Those double plaits of summer-wheat hair tipped in delicate bone clasps beat at her back with each lilting stride. And the clothing! Braies and pourpoint? Leaves? No mortal man or woman could fashion such. And that glimmer, it almost seemed to form a pattern under her jaw and down her neck. Did it spread across her chest?

She was a faery; he sensed it. For he could lately see the d.a.m.ned things. A gift of the dance. How to give it back?

A man should like to have a confident fighter at his side if he had set to an insane quest that would surely bring about many more a challenge.

As well, a faery would attract the one thing he most needed to find.

FIVE.

The iridescent fetch was not to be seen against the dull flatness of night. Must have twinclianed to Faery. The quiet warmth of protection Gossamyr felt whenever she sighted the dragon fly tremored for reignition. Sure, she could stand off a bogie, but...

But...she wondered now if Mince was asking for her absence. What must her maid think? Did she fear for Gossamyr, all alone in a strange land? Mayhap Shinn had not mentioned her departure. And if he had, only the facts-details were unnecessary. Surely, Mince worried.

Something so insignificant as a sigh now felt a heavy burden as Gossamyr marched along the rutted path alongside her mortal traveling companion. She kept turning to look back, thinking to spy the marble castle from the corner of her eye. She didn't like feeling this way. Uncomfortable. At a loss. For all purposes she should charge ahead, thinking only of the task. All of Faery relied upon her defeat of the Red Lady.

"All," she murmured. "That is...quite many."

So many, she wondered now if Shinn had made a wise choice.

It was not a choice! You begged.

Yes.

I hope you discover the solace to the ache that has been your nemesis.

He knew. It had been time to set her free. If only to fulfill the personal quest she sought before settling upon the Glamoursiege throne. To experience the Otherside, and to claim victory.

Ahead, torches flickered and wobbled along the path. Night had settled, completely blacking the sky save for spots of starlight.

Gossamyr skipped ahead. About a shout down the road an equipage with two armored destriers in the lead pondered slowly forth. Both carried torches. Following, a carriage and a large covered wagon behind, trailed by yet more mounted riders. Every corner of the carriage was hung with yet another torch.

"What is that?" She turned to Ulrich. "Royalty?"

"Unlikely." A bounce on his toes scanned the coming caravan. "No banners or coats of arms that I can see. It is likely a traveling merchant who has just pa.s.sed through Aparjon. We should move from the road."

Gossamyr stabbed her staff into the red clay. "Why?"

A chuffing breath preceded Ulrich's sharp retort, "Do you wish to be trampled?"

Gossamyr held her tongue. She held no position here in the Otherside. While normally her equipage would command the road, she was supposed to be lying low. Waylaying suspicion. Besides, a mule and a dancing fool could hardly be considered an equipage. A touch to her neck; she spread her fingers down over her collarbones. Darkness hid her blazon.

Leaping from the path, she landed Fancy's side and gave the mule's neck a smooth of her palm. "Will they be dangerous?"

"Not unless provoked." Ulrich eyed her suspiciously. "You, er...won't provoke them?"

Did he think her so unhinged? "Not unless they give reason for such."

"Of course. I should expect nothing less from a bogie-killer. Just...do not speak," he muttered in low tones as the equipage neared. Iron-bound wheels creaked under the load and armor clanked with the pace of the horses.

The mounted men leading the band were attired in black armor with black leather straps and polished silver buckles that glinted with torchlight. Black leather braies and boots blended with the velvet-black hide of the horses.

"Perhaps not a merchant," Ulrich whispered over Gossamyr's shoulder. "Not with an armored escort. Stand back and allow them pa.s.sage. It is safest."

Solemn in expression, the men's eyes turned to Gossamyr and Ulrich as they slowed to pa.s.s by. The lead rider wore a bascinet helmet sporting a brilliant red plume. Gossamyr looked boldly into the dark eyes of the man. A chill touched her breast. Malevolence followed her gaze, but offered not a word. Only when he had to turn away or force himself to twist in the saddle did their contact break. Not friendly, but neither did she feel threatened. They would offer no challenge so long as they were not pressed.

An entire band of mortals!

Eager to take it all in, she propped her chin on the hand she fisted about her staff and watched as the carriage approached. Filigreed iron lanterns dangling at the four corners of the boxy vehicle glittered across the highly polished wood body. Simple narrow red flags hung limp in the lacking breeze; the fabric ends were frayed and dirtied from the road. The carriage rumbled slowly, the uneven path likely joggling the pa.s.sengers inside to a jaw-jarring clatter.

Light from inside the carriage box set the heavy window hangings to an eerie glow. As a hand pulled back a curtain, Gossamyr's heartbeats quickened. A female peered out-her eyes were rimmed in thick kohl and bejeweled at the corners with glittering red stones.

"The Red-" Gossamyr choked on her declaration as she rushed the carriage.

"No!" Ulrich shouted.

A call from one of the leaders brought the equipage to a halt. Hoofbeats pounded up from the rear, drawing a half-dozen mounted men to defense.

Gossamyr gasped in the dust of the sudden upheaval as she slapped a hand to the carriage window and clung. The woman inside, not at all frightened by Gossamyr's hasty approach, stared curiously down at her. Long red hair slipped around her neck and dangled upon exposed upper curves of her pale b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"It is she!" Gossamyr cried. "The succubus!" She stretched to touch, to grope, but her reach was shortened. Someone grabbed her about the waist and jerked her away, legs flailing and staff swiping the air.

"Settle." Ulrich held her. Gossamyr struggled, but the sudden dismount of the rear guards, and the barricade they formed before the carriage- crossbows to the ready-halted her in Ulrich's arms. "What do you think to do?" Ulrich hissed in her ear. "We are outnumbered with long pointy, sharp weapons. The woman is but a bit of damask and lace."

The woman in the carriage now leaned out the window. Gossamyr saw there was not a mark of the banished on her face. A very obvious mark that no one should miss. And her hair was but a rusty shade of red, not brilliant as a ruby or the blood of a slaughtered hare.

"I diought she was the Red Lady," Gossamyr said under her breath. A foolish act on her part to approach so boldly. "She is not."

The mounted rider who had held her stare appeared at their side. The sixteen-hand destrier unnerved Fancy with a snort of warning, and the mule backed away.

The tip of a sword drew up under Gossamyr's chin. "Mean you my lady harm?"

"I plead mercy," Ulrich said with a stunning swipe of his hand to deflect the blade from Gossamyr's neck. He approached the barricade and addressed the woman in the carriage over the warning crossbows. "Forgive me, my lady, for the rudeness of my, er-"he turned to Gossamyr and shot a glance up and down her body "-my sister."

Gossamyr gaped, stepped up to defend-but was stopped by the leader's sword. Leery of mortal steel, she kept still. Two dark eyes peered out from the narrow slit on the helmet, holding her more fiercely than a blade to her shoulder.

"You see, my lady," Ulrich continued. He managed, after a bow, to gain access between two of the men barricading the carriage, insinuating himself right next to the lady's window.

The woman propped a hand on the window ledge and, fascinated by Ulrich's gesticulating confession, gave him her full attention.

"She is daft," Ulrich explained with a wide stretch of his arms to encompa.s.s the enormity of his statement. "Luna-touched. She meant you no harm. Just a little difficult to keep...calm when the light of the moon threatens her very soul."