I heard someone knock on the door and I answered it, still wearing the toweling robe. A woman was standing on the other side of the door. I stared at her, shocked. She was wearing a dark dress, with a hooded cloak. She was the only person I'd seen, in this world, who was shorter than me. She bobbed a curtsy as I stared at her.

"I'm here to help you dress, milady," she said. Her voice was soft, and breathy, and high pitched, like a little girl's. I thought then that she was a child, and that that was why she was so short, compared to the other Fae. I stepped aside, letting her come in. She held a large, bulky parcel in her arms. She put it down on the bed and started untying the string which bound it together.

"Who are you?" I asked. Her clothes and body bore a remarkable resemblance to the woman in my dream, but her voice was so different I knew she couldn't be the same person. Still... "Could you take your hood off?" She froze, her hands becoming still against the parcel's strings.

"As my lady wishes," she said. She raised her hands to the hood and pulled it back. She had her back to me so I couldn't immediately see her face. She had closely cut, feathery brown hair, that looked like it would be soft and fluffy to the touch, like a Yorkshire Terrier's coat.

Her shoulders were hunched, and her head was down as she turned to me. She turned very slowly, like it wasn't something she really wanted to do. I almost told her that she didn't have to show me what she looked like, if she didn't want to, but I didn't. I wanted to see her face, had to see her face. I had to know if she was the woman from my dreams.

She finally finished turning enough that I could see her face, but she kept her eyes downcast. She had very long, thick, dark lashes. Her eyes took up almost half of her face and I was glad that she hadn't turned them on me straight away. The size of her eyes alone would have marked her as strange, by human standards, but there was more. Her mouth was small and tilted upwards in the middle, like a cat's, and her nose seemed almost entirely absent.

It was the nose that made me realize what she was. I'd seen a picture of it as a little girl. Catriona gave me a book on faeries, for my birthday. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten about it. The brownie was one of the most fascinating creatures in that book, with its small sepia sketch of a face that looked like a skull with skin. The nose was hollow, only the indent of the nostrils showing that a nose was there. I remembered being fascinated by that picture because the brownie looked so fearsome, but by all accounts, they were sweet.

I couldn't help feeling that brownies were like me. I knew that I was a good person, but my parents hadn't been able to see past what they thought was monstrous. So it was with the brownie.

"You're a brownie, right?" I asked her.

"I haven't heard that term in a long time, miss," she said, turning her huge, darkly luminous eyes up to me.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to cause offense. Is there a proper name for what you are?"

"No," she shook her head, "brownie is as good as any other term, and better than some." She turned back to the parcel and continued to untie the strings. "They said that you didn't know much of the Fae's world."

"I don't," I said. "Just fairy tales."

"Faerie tales?" she asked.

"Like children's stories."

She looked up at me in abject horror. "I wouldn't want to tell my children about the doings of Faerie," she said.

"You have children?" I asked, surprised. She looked back down, away from me.

"No," she whispered. "They weren't really mine. I just cared for them, and the family."

"Like a nanny?"

"A nanny?" she asked, frowning. "I suppose you could say that. I used to live mostly in Ireland, back before the gates were closed to casual travel. We were the Tuatha de Danann there. The children used to call me simply Nann."

"How old are you?" I asked.

"I don't know, exactly," she said, shaking the creases out of the fabric that was in the parcel. "I stopped counting centuries ago."

I had to sit down. I felt faint. She was centuries old. Centuries. I wasn't even two decades old and I was talking to someone who'd been alive for centuries. I sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Nann, and put my head down, between my knees. I breathed deeply, and carefully, in and out, trying to keep my breathing measured. Eventually, the blood stopped whooshing through my ears and I felt like I could sit up.

"Are you all right, miss?"

"Yeah," I said, leaning against the bed head, "you just gave me a bit of a shock there, Nann."

"I did?" she asked, sounding strangely pleased with herself.

"Do you know how old Zephan is?" I asked, bracing myself for the answer. "And Kieran?"

"Oh, they're not even forty apiece yet," she said, dismissively. "The so-called 'higher orders,' pfft. They die younger than we do, you know."

"Do they?" I asked. My voice sounded like it came from a long way away.

"Well," Nann said, "I suppose you're in the same boat, aren't you? Being of the Deadly Aristocracy."

"And humans," I asked, "where do they fit into all this?"

"Stand over here," she said, holding a white slip. I moved to wear she pointed and let her take my robe. The slip felt like the finest silk. I knew I'd never be able to afford fabric like that. "Humans..." she said, tugging different items of clothing, which I'd never worn before over my body. "Well, they don't live nearly as long, do they? But no one's claiming they're a higher order, are they? Just because some of them are a little taller than average, it doesn't mean they're better."

"So, I'll live longer than humans?"

"Oh, nearly twice as long, I'm sure," Nann said, pulling a lace tight.

"Almost everyone I know is human," I said, quietly.

"I was like that once," she said, her hands pausing letting the laces fall loose. "Now, they're all dead."

What do you say to something like that? Silence filled the room between us. The kind of silence you get when you think about the dead, like the minute of silence on Remembrance Day. Her silence was doubtlessly for the long dead, the mostly forgotten dead, people she'd known in another world. Mine was for the dead to come. I realized that there were people who hadn't even been born yet that I would watch go to their graves. It was a cold and lonely thought.

"So," Nann said, resuming her tug on the laces of the overdress. "You must be excited about this ball."

"Not really," I said, accepting that our moment of silence was over. "I'm a bit worried that somebody - Zephan, actually - will try and make me do some complicated, poncey, formation dance."

Zephan came to collect me from my room, like he said he would. That should have been comforting. My burgeoning trust in the Fae prince should have been restored upon gazing on his fancy splendor. Instead, something about his appearance made me feel uneasy. It wasn't until we reached the Great Hall that I realized what it was that was making me feel uncomfortable.

Zephan draped my hand over his arm and we stepped into the Great Hall together. The crowds parted around us and I saw a mirror had been set up along one side of the hall. Ordinarily a mirror like that would look like they were trying to make the room look bigger but I suspected it was actually there so that the Fae could marvel at their own grandeur.

Zephan led me across the room and I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I paused, horrified. We matched. Zephan's black britches, black coat and black cummerbund were set off by a bright silver embroidered cream shirt so that it matched his hair. What I hadn't noticed until we stood in front of the mirror, was that the black of his outfit was coordinated to match my hair. Likewise, the visible cream underskirt on my dress and the entwined embroidery matched Zephan's.

"How did you have this made in time?" I asked, disbelief momentarily overcoming my shock.

"That's what servants are for," Zephan shrugged. His arrogance was undeniable, but murder? That seemed beyond his capabilities.

I found myself inadvertently searching the hall for Kieran. I found him leaning against the mirror at the end of the room. His eyes met mine across the distance. I felt a dark and eminently touchable anger come off him in waves. His posture was tightly coiled and tense.

He looked like someone who could do murder. A shadow passed behind his eyes and his anger seemed to intensify. I thought he might have caught the thrill of fear that passed through me at the thought.

I felt Zephan move closer to me but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Kieran. Was it really possible that he had murdered his grandfather? What motive could he have? Other than to make a bid for the throne. Or revenge at his grandfather having disowned his mother... but Kieran didn't like his mother, did he? Unless that was a lie, an attempt to bond with me over shared misfortune.

If Kieran had taken the king's life though, would he have asked for a necromancer? Unless he knew that I couldn't raise the king. Then it would make perfect sense, to divert suspicion.

"How did the king die?" I asked, realizing I'd gotten ahead of myself. It was possible that I'd just dreamed the entire thing and the king died of natural causes.

"He went in his sleep," Zephan said. I fixed his eyes with mine, searching for the truth.

"Was there anything that would make you think that he was murdered?" I asked. His eyes didn't shift from mine.

"There was no magic involved in hastening him from this plane," he said, blandly.

"But you checked?"

"Of course," Zephan looked across the crowd. "It is standard procedure." He saw someone in the distance and gave them a nod. "If you'll excuse me," he said, "I've seen someone that I really must talk to."

"Of course," I forced myself to smile. I watched Zephan weave his way through the crowd. He stopped to talk to a scarred, older looking man, with a shaved head. He seemed out of place in the extravagant surroundings.

Jack was suddenly at my side.

"Nice dress," he said.

"Thanks."

"How'd Zephan get you draped over his arm?"

"He locked me in a room for three hours," I said, glaring up at Jack. "Thanks for getting me out."

"He locked you up?" He sounded genuinely horrified.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "Sort of. I'm not sure he realized I didn't have a key."

"I am," Jack said, quietly, "sure, that is." He frowned.

"You really don't like him, do you?"

"I don't."

"Can I ask why?"

"I've known him since he was a child," Jack said. "He's cruel. He's always picked on those without protection, anyone he sees as lesser, in any way. That's not the kind of person we need as our king."

"Jack?" I leaned closer to him, trying to make my words as quiet as possible. "I need to talk to you."

"In private, I'm guessing," Jack said, glancing towards the end of the hall.

"Absolute privacy," I said, firmly. Jack glanced down at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Well, there's really only one place, isn't there?"

Jack took me into a huge library, before wrapping his arms around me. We fell through the darkness together, clinging to each other to keep from getting lost. We ended up standing in my bedroom.

"You're getting better at that," I said, stepping away from Jack. I only felt a little bit dizzy, this time. It was like that feeling you get when you stand up to quickly and the world seems to fall away from you.

"Thanks," Jack sat on the edge of my bed. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I think the king was murdered," I said, bluntly.

"Really?" Jack's eyes narrowed. "And who do you think did it?" I shook my head.

"Have you ever heard of the wild hunt?" I asked, instead of answering his question. The colour seemed to drain from his face, leaving him painted in a kind of grey-scale.

"What do you know about the wild hunt?" he breathed the words into the suddenly tense atmosphere of the room.

"Why don't you tell me," I said, crossing my arms and deliberately keeping the question out of my voice.

"You don't want to know," he temporized.

"But I do, Jack," I knelt in front of him, taking his hands in mine, and staring up at him, earnestly. The heavy skirts of my dress cushioned my knees. "I need to know." The fact that Jack not only knew what the wild hunt was but that something about it struck fear through him made me think that the woman in the cloak of darkness was a true vision, and not just a dream. She was the embodiment of the spirits of the land, the resultant combination of millennia of dead, and she wanted me to start this wild hunt thing. I had to know what it was that she was asking me to do. "How do you start the wild hunt?" I asked.

"No," Jack said, gripping my hands tightly. "Please tell me that you're not planning on invoking the wild hunt."

"Why? What is it?"

"It's unpredictable, uncontrollable."

"Wild?"

Jack nodded like it hurt him to move his head. "But it's more than that," he said. "The wild hunt acts as judge, jury," he swallowed. I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down with the force of it, "and executioner. It judges against its own brand of morality. The morals of the land made manifest. Only there's no way of knowing what those morals will be, what they'll think is right or wrong. People have called on the wild hunt, only to have it turn against them. It's dangerous, Laurel."

"Okay," I nodded. "I understand that." Jack seemed to sag under the weight of his relief. "But I still need to know how it's done."

"Don't do this," he said. "Please." I stared into his dark, pleading eyes, and couldn't push it further. I stood up.

"I really need a cup of tea," I said, rubbing my eyes. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." Jack stood up and followed me downstairs. Tyler didn't seem to be here, and I was glad that he was out so that I didn't have to explain about Jack, or what I was wearing.

"I have to tell you something," I said, handing Jack his cup.

"You mean you didn't just bring me here to grill me for information?"

"I'm sorry," I offered lamely. Jack nodded. I took a sip of tea, feeling suddenly awkward in the silence that passed between us. "I really have to tell you this," I said.

"So tell me," Jack lent against the bench.

"Zephan showed me the hall of the dead," I began.

"I suppose he thought that was romantic," he snorted, "wowing you with his ancestry."

"This is important, Jack." I stared at him until the jovial façade he'd reassembled slipped at the edges and his serious face peeked out. "When I was in the hall of the dead, I let out a line of energy." Jack's posture shot up straight and a look of panic passed across his face. I held up a hand. "I didn't raise anything," I said, watching him visibly relax at the news. "I don't think I could have, even if I wanted to."

"What?"

"There wasn't anything there," I tried to explain, "nothing that responded to my power, anyway."

"Lady save us," he said in a way that made it sound like a curse, rather than a prayer. "He's stolen the ashes."

"No," I said, "I don't think they've been stolen."

"But you just said there wasn't anything there," he frowned.

"Nothing that responded to me," I repeated. "Sometimes, I can't raise the dead, like if they've been gone for a really long time. I think it has something to do with physical decomposition, or the spirit moving on properly, or something." I shook my head. "I don't know. But there was something about those ashes, like the ancient dead, something that makes them feel," I frowned, searching for the right word to describe how they'd felt to my magic. The thing is though, there wasn't anything that I could feel. It was a sensation more remarkable because of its absence than because of something I'd observed.

They'd been empty. That was it.

"Empty," I said, out loud.

"Is that true?" My mother asked. I was washing up our cups while Jack went to the bathroom. It was gratifying to know that the Fae had normal bodily functions.

"What?" I asked.

"About cremation."

"Yeah," I said, scrubbing the bottom of a mug.

"So if we'd... I mean with Hamlet," she said. "If he'd been cremated –"

"Instead of buried in the backyard?" I asked.

"Would you have... things would be different, wouldn't they?"

"It wouldn't have been Hamlet," I said. "Some other neighborhood pet, maybe."

"But I thought. Didn't he," she scrunched her nose up thoughtfully, searching for an appropriate phrase, "wake up because you missed him?"

"That's why I called him from the grave." I pulled the plug from the sink and watched the suds curve down the drain. "Subconsciously. I really didn't do it on purpose, you know." I got a tea towel out of the drawer and dried the mugs, turning them over and over in my hands, just to avoid looking at her. "But dreaming about Hamlet wouldn't have done anything if I couldn't already do it." I grimaced. "You'd probably have been freaked out, no matter whose cat it was."

"I'm sorry, you know. For overreacting." She came closer to me. I suppose she was reaching out. "I did care about Hamlet."

"Yeah, well," I turned to put the cups away, "you still got rid of him and kicked me out of home." Bent down to put the cups away, I didn't see how she reacted to those words, missed the fleeting expression that slid across her face. When I looked up, her features were very controlled, as if making up for some prior betrayal.

"It was only meant to be temporary," she said. "We thought Catriona would teach you to control it in a couple of weeks." She looked down at the floor, where my shadow fell through her feet. There was just my shadow on the kitchen floor, slant ways from the light over the bench. Regardless of how close the dead stand, they cast no shadow for human eye. "We never imagined it would take years."

"You never asked."

The darkness receded, revealing the library around us. Jack let me go and sat down in an overstuffed armchair. I was a little surprised to see it, an old, squat, leather thing in the middle of the Great Court library. You'd expect something a little more, I don't know... dignified?

"Don't mention it," Jack said rubbing his face. "I mean really, don't. Not to anyone."

"Okay," I put my hand on Jack's shoulder. It was meant to be comforting but I'm afraid it would have looked ridiculous. I doubt I would have been able to reach his shoulder if he hadn't been sitting down.

"I just," he let out a long, shuddering sigh, "need time to process this."

"Yeah," I said, stepping back to give him some space. I turned to look at the bookcase behind me.

"I've been looking for you," Zephan said, stepping around the bookcase. "What are you doing in here?"

"Just," I pointed at the books.

"History?"

"Yeah," I said, scanning the titles. "Thought I should learn more," one of the titles caught my eye and I pulled the heavy bound volume down from the shelf. The Last Diaries of the Deadly Aristocracy.

"I should have thought of that," Zephan said, taking the heavy book from me. The cool, warn leather slipped reluctantly from my fingers. He opened the book, scanning through its pages.

I watched his long, thin fingers caress the corner of the pages and wanted to snatch the book from his grasp. I actually reached for the book, before I managed to stop myself.

"I suppose," he said, handing the book back to me, "that you should keep that."

"Really?" I asked, unconsciously hugging the book to my chest.

"It is, after all, a piece of your history." He gave Jack a look that I couldn't understand. Then he led me back to the ball.

------------------------

What do you think will happen? Will Laurel invoke the Wild Hunt? Is Jack trustworthy?

ALSO, I was thinking of updating this twice a week. What days would be good for ya'll? I'm trying to get a system going so everyone knows when to expect a new chapter.

Dont forget to vote and comment if you enjoyed! Please and thank you :)

Til next time,

x zuz