Nettle King by Katherine Harbour

Author:Katherine Harbour
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-02-25T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

They live a mysterious life on the edge of real life, but their world remains fully mingled with ours, and as soon as night falls, as soon as the living . . . give themselves up to the temporary sleep of death, the so-called dead again become the inhabitants of the earth.

—THE FAIRY-FAITH IN CELTIC COUNTRIES, W. Y. EVANS-WENTZ

The Sleeping Beauty. It was a fitting name for the forlorn house that had once belonged to the Tredescants. Built in the early 1900s, it resembled a Tudor and slept behind a barrier of ivy and briar roses during the warm months.

As Christie parked his car behind a silver Mercedes, the Sleeping Beauty’s windows glowed with light. He could hear jazzy music crackling faintly in the air. He’d promised to meet Phouka here to begin his training in what she unsettlingly referred to as the “art of Endor.”

He and Sylvie had agreed to keep their encounters with Oberon and the Morrigan under wraps for now—the experience seemed too private to share with anyone else. And Phouka might not appreciate Oberon warning Christie about her.

As Christie was moving up the stairs, Phouka appeared in the doorway of the Sleeping Beauty, her silky summer dress seeming a little sophisticated for magic lessons. Her eyes, lined in kohl, reminded him of a cat’s. “Christopher.”

“Phouka. If that is indeed your true name.” He stepped past her.

“It isn’t.” She shut the door and led him across the green marble floor, past glass cases displaying fossils, antique medical equipment, primitive statues, pinned scarabs, and Stone Age weapons. He narrowed his eyes at one cabinet filled with wax dolls in costumes. The jazz music tripping faintly down the hall was spectacularly unnerving, reminding him that this was not a girl leading him into the illusion of a grand house, but something that had probably been around when jazz was invented.

She’s a fairy. Don’t forget that.

She looked over one shoulder and arched an eyebrow at him. “The original Tredescants—Tradescant, back then—were gardeners for Queen Elizabeth the First. They became collectors of the eccentric and fantastic.” Her fingers drifted across a glass case displaying what looked like the remains of a mummified mermaid.

“Does all this”—Christie scanned the salon with its red coral candelabra and crimson velvet love seats—“disappear when the sun rises?”

“Of course. Most of this exists somewhere else.”

He peered into a glass case displaying beaded jewelry and realized the beads were made from teeth, animal and human. “So what’s with the teeth? Why were they so important in the Ghostlands? And why did that psycho Caliban once shoot one into my leg?”

“Teeth contain human DNA. There’s a connection to their former owner’s memory or personality.” Phouka walked backward as she explained. “In primitive mortal cultures there were strict rules regarding the disposal of teeth. What Caliban did when he shot that tooth into your leg was create an entrance so that he could later possess you.”

Christie experienced a flood of nausea. The thought of Caliban’s nastiness anywhere near him made him want to bathe in antibacterial soap.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.