“Don’t go far,” Camille said.
I headed back into the kitchen to ask Iris to join us. “We don’t know what it is, but thought you might have an opinion. Camille says it feels cursed.”
“So, you want me to check it out, huh?” Iris said, but she was grinning. However, that grin stopped when we reached the door. Iris leaned over, then backed up. “Yeah, don’t touch it. That’s necromancy. I’m not sure who put it there, but I can tell you, I think it’s somebody who works with the dead.”
“Do you know what it does?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, but Camille’s right—it’s cursed. It also holds Fae magic. And I’m not talking my kind of sprite magic. Bring me some tongs. That won’t transfer the magic, as far as I can tell.”
“Do you want me to do it?” Camille asked. “Let me. I don’t want you to take a chance.”
“If you like. Just touch it with the tongs only and hold the bag. I think that’s the safest way to attempt this.” She thought for a moment. “Where are you thinking of putting this?”
“I don’t know,” Camille said. “I have to find somebody who can figure out what it does.”
“I have an idea…” Iris said, hesitating.
“Spill it,” I said. “If they can help, we need their name.”
“Her name is Grandmother Coyote,” Iris said. “She’s one of the Hags of Fate, and she lives down the road.”
I caught my breath and looked at Camille, who was staring at Iris. We had heard about the Hags of Fate. “I’ll get Menolly,” I said. “Grab your coats and let’s go.”
As we headed down the steps, I looked up at the sky. The clouds had parted and the moon was on the rise, a darkened crescent that seemed to predict both destiny and danger.
CHAPTER TWO
The Hags of Fate were neither goddesses nor were they Elemental Lords. But they belonged to the group of Immortals who wove, watched, and altered the destinies of the world. They were neither good nor evil, but they balanced out the energies of the world.
“Park here,” Iris said.
We were near the edge dividing the Belles-Faire district from the rest of Seattle. The Belles-Faire district was more rural than most of the neighborhoods in Seattle, and a little more wild and unkempt. We were near a wide section of grassland, leading into a thicket that spread across a large acreage. The snow covered everything in a crystalized blanket of white, illuminating the night under the brooding moon. Shadows played softly around the edges, and here and there I thought I could see a flash of eyeshine from some animal crossing through the forest.
As Camille parked the car on the side of the roadway and silenced the engine, the energy thickened. This was a magical place.
“Tell us more about Grandmother Coyote,” Camille said.
Iris cleared her throat. “She guards a natural portal near here. The OIA has no clue it exists, and I haven’t told them. I advise you to keep that information private. Trust me, please.”
“Okay,” Camille promised. “But what is she like?”
Iris thought for a moment before answering. “Grandmother Coyote…she watches. She observes. Sometimes she’ll read the bones for people who petition for her help. She walks through the world, keeping track of what happens. She’ll intervene on rare occasions, but only if signs lead her to be a part of the world for that moment.”
Even over in Y’Elestrial, we knew of the Hags of Fate, and had our own versions of them. But the Earthside versions of them seemed dark and mysterious, because most people had no clue they even existed.
“What kind of power does she have?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I doubt anyone knows except for her and the other Hags of Fate. She’s truly a force of nature, and yet—being Grandmother Coyote—she has a special connection to the coyote shifters. Be polite. Do not contradict her. She could probably wipe us out in the blink of an eye.” Iris found the gate leading into the abandoned lot.
“Who owns this land?” Menolly asked.
“I imagine an emissary for Grandmother Coyote does. There’s never been a house built here, nor any sort of store. I asked around when we first moved into the house, and nobody could remember anyone ever setting up shop or house here.”
Unlike Camille and me, Iris was walking on top of the snow. Menolly followed suit. While the drift wasn’t deep—only about six inches—that was deep enough for someone Iris’s size to find difficult. Except she was from Finland, the land of fire and ice, and she was born to the winters there.
We fell silent, walking across the snow-clad field, Iris leading the way. Camille walked behind her, with Menolly and me quietly following. Camille glanced up at the moon. She brought her fingers to her lips, then held them up in salute. She belonged to the Moon Mother, heart and soul. As we continued across the field, the energy thickened, shrouding us in a cloak of magic. Everything felt alive; every crack of a branch from the thicket ahead echoed in the air, and I found it difficult to even think of breaking the silence.
We reached the outskirts of the woodland, and Iris motioned for us to stop.
