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She flipped it open and held the pen above the paper, jabbering. “Is there a connection between Scottish lycanthropes and other legends? Almost every culture with a native wolf population has—”
“Oh-kay.” Mara poked her head in between Emmett and Fern. “I can see that I’m about to lose the both of you to the pursuit of knowledge. Perhaps we should hit a few more of the key points, hmm?” She directed her question at Emmett, who sobered slightly and pulled back.
“That’s probably best,” he looked at Fern with a smile. “I’ll be happy to answer all of your questions later.”
Fern grinned, elated. She got the distinct feeling that her genuine curiosity had passed some sort of test with Emmett; it must have if he was comfortable enough to agree to talk to her later.
Fern knew from her limited research with the world’s other magical communities that talking about one’s power and identity could occasionally be a taboo subject. She was giddy at Emmett’s offer.
“For now,” Mara took control of the conversation again, “you remember that this information stays private.” She looked at Fern with both a serious and pleading expression.
“I agreed to that,” Fern chewed on her lip, “but can I ask why? There are a multitude of magical communities that exist all over the world. Why keep this private? Are you the only ones?” She was getting overexcited and was starting vomiting questions again. “And what of Dr. Welsh—”
Mara held up a hand. “We’re getting there.” She sighed deeply, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath. “You’ll have to bear with us. This part is more painful to relive.”
“Of course, take your time.” A stab of guilt went through Fern as she sipped her beer, waiting for either Mara or Emmett to continue. A few moments of silence passed between them as they fidgeted and tried to get comfortable. It surprised Fern when Emmett spoke.
His voice was rich, almost melodic in a deep and gravelly way. It had the same soothing tone that had carried in the faculty lounge. As he spoke, the boisterous pub melted away.
“There was a time when Scotland’s magical society was just as public as the vampires or the elves. It was part of this country’s identity. All of that changed at the Battle of Culloden.”
Fern grimaced. She was aware of the infamous battle; it was one of Scotland’s last stands against the British occupation. It was widely regarded as the day that clan life died in the Highlands. The Jacobite uprising was demolished. From that moment forward, clan associations were outlawed, and there was a bloody and strict anglicization of the country.
However, it was a human conflict. Fern had never heard of a magical perspective.
“There was a large concentration of Unseelie living in England. Avalon was the seat of their court.”
Fern couldn’t keep her fingers from twitching as questions burst out of her. “Avalon is smaller these days, but it’s an active magical community. Is every fae in Avalon a member of the Unseelie?”
It was Mara who answered her.
“It’s not that simple. Avalon is the heart of the Unseelie court. At the time of the Battle of Culloden, the seat of Seelie power was at Inverness. Before you ask, nowadays, it’s much more mixed. There are small courts scattered all over.”
“But not in Scotland…” Fern trailed off, and Mara nodded. Emmett made a small, discontented noise, and they turned their attentions back to him.
“Thank you. Yes, Mara is correct. Now, from what I’ve gathered in your human legends is that you assume there is a great divide between the Seelie and the Unseelie.”
Emmett held up two fingers to illustrate his point, fully slipping back into lecture mode. Fern took notes, unable to keep her pen from jotting down everything he said. “This is something the legends have wrong. The two courts are like siblings—they can fight viciously, sometimes for a decade or longer, but there are no stronger allies.”
“Let me guess…” Fern chewed the end of her pen. “They were also fighting during the Battle of Culloden?”
Emmett nodded. “Exactly. It was a brutal fight, too, one of succession. Those tensions have a way of bleeding into the soil, especially a magical conflict of that magnitude. It soaks into the earth and poisons water.” Emmett looked pained. “It further tainted the hearts of men and escalated the conflict that led to the Battle of Culloden.”
“What happened to the fae courts at the battle?” Fern hedged, leaning closer to Emmett.
He suddenly looked nervous, as if he had said too much, and he turned to Mara with a panicked expression. She rubbed his shoulder and faced Fern.
“There was a Pictish witch, one of the most powerful witches in an age, who saw in her divinations that the Battle of Culloden would be disastrous. She went to the Seelie prince and begged him to see reason, but it was too late. His pride was wounded. He would go to war. In order to prevent catastrophe, she cast a spell—”
“A curse,” Emmett interrupted.
“She cast a spell to bind Scotland’s magic temporarily, until the country was independent from the British and the fae courts, both in Scotland and England, were at peace. It would limit unnecessary bloodshed and give cooler heads a chance to prevail.”
Mara fell quiet, and a sick feeling churned in Fern’s gut. “I’m assuming that didn’t go according to plan?”
“It worked too well and bound all of Scotland’s magic, even from itself. As soon as she cast the spell—”
“Curse.”
