Ghostly Echoes (Jackaby #3)(48)

“Then how can you be certain?”

“If a native Parisian told you that France was a real place, would you doubt him? I’ve met residents of the Annwyn, Miss Rook, many times. Call them immigrants or visitors or whatever you like—there are a great many beings in our world who hail from the Annwyn. The craftsmen who reconstructed my third floor were from a domain of the Annwyn that the Norse call Alfheim. Here we know them as elves.”

I blinked. “You had elves do your remodeling?”

“Can you think of a more practical way to fit an entire functional ecosystem in a single story of a New England colonial?”

“I really can’t.”

“The duck pond on the third floor is much deeper than the ceiling on the second,” he said. “They overlap without either losing any space. It’s a neat trick.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that.”

“Well then. The Annwyn works in a similar way,” Jackaby said. “It’s here, all around us, but mere mortals like us can never pierce it. The Seelie Court has taken it upon themselves to maintain the barrier at all times. The portals are theirs alone to open.”

“What exactly are they protecting behind their barrier?” Finstern asked.

Jackaby came to a stop at last. We were looking at a great grassy mound in the earth. It was nothing more than a rather geometrical hill, as though an oversized globe had been half buried and then covered in sod. “Us,” Jackaby replied, setting down the satchel. “They’re protecting us.”

“How are they protecting us,” Charlie asked, “if they’re the ones who can come and go as they like and we’re the ones locked out?”

“Not every creature can come and go,” Jackaby answered. “The Seelie Court are peacekeepers by nature. The Unseelie Court are . . . not.” He glanced to Owen Finstern, who was circling the mound, transfixed. Lowering his voice, he added: “Your own ancestors, Mr. Barker, were born of a marriage between humans and Seelie fae. Werewolves, in contrast, were born of a marriage between humans and the Unseelie. That might be part of what makes you an exceptional officer of the law and what makes them monsters. It’s the nature of the beast.”

“So the barrier keeps all the bad creatures inside?” I said. “It doesn’t work very well then, does it? We’ve got redcaps and vampires and all sorts of things running around New Fiddleham.”

“The barrier is not perfect,” Jackaby said. “It is to be expected that a handful of creatures slip through each year. Too many recently, it’s true—but a fraction of those that lie beyond. It is the duty of the Seelie Court to seal the cracks as they occur. Think of that pond suspended above your bedroom on Augur Lane. Those creatures are like the tiniest drips beginning to form. They are nothing compared to the deluge that would await should the whole barrier ever collapse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel especially comfortable about our poking about here,” I said. “Or about my sleeping arrangements, for that matter.”

“I—I can feel it!” We all looked up. Finstern was nearly at the top of the mound when he flew back as though slapped by a giant invisible hand. He tumbled gracelessly, head over heels, until he landed, half-dazed, at the bottom of the hill.

“Mr. Finstern?” I rushed to his side.

“Observable phenomenon. Measurable reaction. Quantifiable.” The inventor sat up, swaying slightly. He was smiling madly. “It’s real.”

My employer clambered up the mound. It was not overly large—ten, perhaps fifteen, feet from its base to its highest point. He stood where Finstern had been and felt the air all around him.

Nothing happened.

“I can’t feel it. I still don’t see anything.” He looked down at the inventor with a critical eye. “Your father,” he said. “What did your mother call him again?”

“Her magic man.” Finstern sneered. “You can’t feel it? It’s in the air. I can feel it from here. It’s humming like a generator.”

Jackaby slid back down the mound. “No,” he said. “I don’t feel it. This mound is both a door and a lock, but neither one is meant for me. You, on the other hand . . . Whoever your father was, Mr. Finstern, I do believe the barrier exists to thwart his kith and kin.”

Finstern pushed himself to his feet. “You’re saying my father was part of your Unseelie Court?”

“I’m sorry,” Jackaby said. “He may have been your mother’s magic man after all; just not necessarily a good one.”

“Good. Bad. Subjective,” said Finstern coldly. “He made a bastard of me and left my mother ruined. You don’t need to apologize to me for calling him a monster. How do we get inside?”

Jackaby nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder,” he said. “Charlie, do you feel anything?”

Charlie stepped forward. “I don’t know what I should be feeling, sir.”

“Why don’t you give it a try? Just there.”

Charlie pulled himself up the grassy slope, reaching out in front of him as he climbed. Finstern’s eyes narrowed as he watched. “I don’t feel anything,” Charlie said. “The Om Caini have always been neutral, sir. I’m sorry, but I don’t think—” Charlie’s outstretched hand suddenly vanished up to the elbow. He pulled it back abruptly. “Mr. Jackaby?”