The world below, p.1
The World Below, page 1
The World Below
OMNIBUS EDITION
VIVIENNE LEE FRASER
I want to dedicate this entire series to the people who ignited the story spark by sharing the characters they’d like to be in a fantasy story.
To Sandy, for the kick-ass girl hero who likes designer clothes; Selina, for the sneak thief; and Serene, for the witch in the woods.
From those initial characters, a fantasy world grew that kept me entertained for years.
Thank you for this amazing gift.
Contents
The World Below
1. The World Below
2. The Witch of Wimbledon
3. There Are Elves. And Then There Are ELVES
4. The Grand Plan
5. The Hag in the Bog
6. A Little Bit of Glamour
7. Goblins of Wistman's Wood
8. What Now?
9. The Phantom Cat of Bodmin Moor
10. The Owl of Mawnan
11. The Final Leg
12. The Underground Ballroom
13. Spring Court
14. A Deal is Struck
15. The Midnight Ball
The Minotaur’s Maze
1. The Morning After the Night Before
2. The Trial of the Minotaur
3. The Maze Entrance
4. A Path Once Chosen
5. I Can Do This On My Own
6. Maybe I Can't
7. It's All About Family and Friends
8. Mending Fences
9. Who’s That Walking on My Bridge?
10. Another Decision
11. Yet Another Big Decision
12. Confronting the Minotaur
13. Did We Win?
14. Saving The World
The Unseelie Court
1. There Be Dragons
2. Loch Ness
3. Welcome to Inverness Castle
4. Family Reunions
5. Family Commitments
6. The Surprises Keep Coming
7. Pleased to Make Your Acquaintance
8. Pulling It All Together
9. The Formal Appeal
10. A Brick Wall
11. Ultimatums
12. And It Changed in a Heartbeat
13. Preparing for Battle
14. Saving the Unseelie Court
15. The Battle Is Won
16. Or Is It?
17. The War Truly Begins
The World Between
1. In The Shadow of Dragons
2. Posturing
3. A Slow March to War
4. Life Lessons
5. Taking a Stand
6. Who’s Leading Who?
7. The Burdens of Being a Hero
8. Preparing for War
9. It’s Becoming Real
10. The War Drums Beat
11. After First Contact
12. War is Messy
13. All Or Nothing
14. After the Heat of Battle
15. Counting the Dead
16. Where to From Here?
17. Beginnings and Endings
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Guardians of Time
The Wizard and the Warrior
The World Below
CHAPTER 1
The World Below
Shadows darken the dappled sunlight warming my body. I lazily roll onto my back and stretch, moving out of the boy’s shadow to recapture the sun. My eyes droop closed, only to flick open as a bee gently lands on the flower by my nose. Ears twitching, I swipe and miss, scaring the annoying buzzy thing into going on its way.
I close my eyes and imagine I am on my sun-soaked cushion on the window seat. Buzzing by my ear ruins the illusion, and I am back in the noisy, busy street with the boy my mistress sent me to watch. I had argued with her, of course, but it didn’t work. It never does. I replay the argument, wondering if would I still be here had I done something differently.
‘All I want you to do is follow the boy, Snake, and report back to me each evening.’
‘Must I?’ I ask, not even bothering to open an eye.
‘It is only for a couple of days. I promised his mother I would look out for him.’
Why don’t you go do it, then? The thought pops into my mind, but I do not speak the words. Instead, I studiously lick my paw and rub it over my head, hoping she will take the hint.
‘Come, my friend. I think you have become too comfortable by that fire.’
I ignore her.
‘Please. I ask so little of you, and this is such a small thing.’ Her fingers scratch behind my ear and I lean into her hand.
When the pleasure gets to be too much, I stand and stretch my back into an arch. ‘Will I be home in time for dinner?’
‘Perhaps.’ She flicks her hand as if sweeping me outside, and I instantly find myself on the front doorstep. ‘Thank you,’ I hear her voice say in my head.
After a couple of false starts, I had found the boy waiting outside a school— Edgington Elite Academy for Girls. He has been standing across the road, half hidden by a tree, for hours. We have been here for so long, I am beginning to wonder if his mother wanted him watched because he was likely to do something unseemly to one of the girls.
I lift a paw and check for dirt. I turn it this way and that, cleaning it with swift flicks of my tongue. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the boy tense. I pause and follow his gaze. He is interested in a group of girls chatting outside the gates. I can tell which one he is here for. Her essence shines so bright I cannot bear to look directly at her.
Her power is like a magnet attracting all my attention, and the boy is halfway down the street before I realise he’s even moved. I rise to my feet, take one last swipe at the bee before creeping through the bushes lining the path as I follow the boy who follows the girl.
‘Come on, P. It's only afternoon tea to celebrate the end of school. You’ll regret it if you don't come,’ Agatha’s voice rises above the others as I turn to head home.
‘I've gotta go. Mum will make my life a misery if I miss tennis, especially as this is my last lesson.’ I fling the words back over my shoulder as I keep walking, hating having to say them, hating that my parents have never allowed me the same freedoms my friends enjoy.
‘You’re eighteen, P—time to cut the apron strings,’ Jeanna says with a sneer. She is one person I will not miss seeing after this week.
Still, she is right. I am eighteen, and after the summer holidays, I will begin university. I should be able to do what I want now, but a deal is a deal, and I did promise my parents I would toe the line until after our family holiday in a couple of weeks’ time.
The early summer sun warms my arms through my blazer. I want to take it off, but there are still three more days of the school year—three more days I need to wear this horrid, old-fashioned uniform. Then one more week away with my parents—which adds up to ten more days until I can begin making my own decisions.
As I walk along the main road, traffic crawls past me, and I chant, ‘No more tennis, no more karate, no more French, no more piano.’ Okay, maybe I would still do karate, but piano was definitely going.
I am so engrossed in my personal end-of-school celebration that I don’t notice the hairs stand up on the back of my neck until a cold shiver down my spine finally gets my attention. I pause outside a bookshop, stretching out my awareness, trying to identify what is different.
I am used to watching out for attacks. I mean, I live in London, so it is part of keeping yourself safe in a large city. And this would not be the first time someone has followed me home.
Using the window, I search for the source of my unease. All I find is a black cat across the road. It idly flicks its tail before darting under a rose bush.
The hairs on my neck still warn me that danger is close by. It is not just my parents’ constant reminders about the level of violence making me hyperaware. Someone is definitely following me. I glance over my shoulder as I straighten my straw boater, but I still see nothing out of the ordinary.
I warily continue on my journey, and when I am waiting at the crossing, I spot him. A male in jeans, a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and a hoodie has stopped at the bookshop. He appears normal enough, but there is something about him I can’t quite place my finger on. When he glances surreptitiously in my direction, our eyes meet briefly and my nerves go on high alert; if I had hackles, they would be raised.
As the signal changes, I walk briskly across the road; no Edgington Academy girl would ever run in public. I take the first left and rush the half block to the right turn that will take me into my street.
I risk a quick glance behind. The man is just turning the corner. Now I run. I reach up to hold my hat in place, causing my backpack to bounce awkwardly against my back. I run until I reach the steps leading to my house.
As I climb I let go of my hat and reach round, fumbling in the pocket of my backpack to pull out my keys. My fingers behave like they belong to someone else. The keys slip from them and clatter to the ground. Bending to pick them up, I find myself staring into two green cat eyes.
Keeping the cat in my line of sight, I slowly straighten up. At the last minute, I break the connection and shove the key firmly into the lock just as my pursuer reaches the steps next door. The lock snicks, and I yank at the knob.
I fling the door closed, and it slams behind me with a bang. Leaning my back against the solid wood, I sag with relief. Then I tense. Mum hates the door being slammed. I wait for her to s hout from wherever she is inside. The house is silent. That’s odd.
I slip my school bag off my shoulder, and it drops to the floor. I pick it up again. Untidiness is frowned upon too. I drag myself up the stairs, listening to the sounds of the house so I can work out where Mum is.
Everything is eerily quiet. No one is home. Not even Susan, my used-to-be nanny, now sort-of housekeeper.
I drop my bag on the bedroom floor and throw my straw boater on the bed. Chewing my bottom lip, I try to remember when I last saw my parents. They had left for work before I got up for breakfast today, but that is normal. In the weeks leading up to a holiday, they often work longer hours.
Yesterday? No. I had gone round to Tanya’s after school. By the time I got home, they were out somewhere, and I ate dinner with Susan and went up to bed.
Monday? Yes, I saw them early Monday morning. When I pulled the curtains, I had seen Mum opening the passenger door of the car, and watched as Dad leaned over to say something to her as she got in.
I wander along the hall to their bedroom and opened the door, scanning the room for anything that would tell me why Mum is not here. I skim my gaze over the huge bed to the right, past the two wingback chairs on either side of the window, and round to the doors of their dressing room and ensuite.
Their bedroom is immaculate, but then, it always is. As a child I wondered if they just kept this room for show, and they actually slept somewhere else. I had spent hours looking for their secret hideout, but had never found it.
Today I go left, open the door to the closet, and walk in. Mum never leaves home for any length of time without taking at least one case, and her luggage is sitting in its usual place. My brow draws into a frown. Only one pair of shoes is missing from the colour-coded shoe wall—the pair she had on when she left for work on Monday.
It is Wednesday today. Mum is always here on Wednesday to take me to my tennis lesson. I am capable of getting there myself, but Mum says she would never miss our mother-daughter time. I often tease her, saying she only comes because she fancies my coach.
I have no talent for tennis at all, but it is fun, and it is better than some of the other edifying things my parents have signed me up for over the years out of guilt because I am an only child and because they travel so often for work.
A quick check of my father’s closet, with its rows of suits, shirts, and shoes, shows nothing that would indicate he has been called away either.
As I wonder what is going on here, a loud bang jolts my mind back to the present. It is the noise made when somebody forgets to hold onto the doorknob and it swings into the table behind.
‘I shut the door,’ I mutter as I speed along the hallway, stopping just before the landing. If I closed the door, then it would have locked automatically…. I peek around the corner and check down the stairs. The front door is wide open, revealing a view of the terraced houses across the street.
It slammed shut. I heard it. How can it be open now?
On silent tiptoes I rush down the stairs and into the living room before screeching to a halt. Standing in the middle of the room is the man who followed me home. Up close he is younger than I had first thought, perhaps only around my own age.
I eye him warily. Standing more than a head taller than me, he is lean, but his loose hoodie makes him appear bulkier. As he takes a step towards me, his hand outstretched, I automatically begin assessing his weaknesses as I move into ready stance. I have learnt from experience that good looks and a friendly smile are no guarantee he will not attack me.
‘Don’t move. I’m a black belt in karate.’ Okay, I’m almost a black belt, but he doesn’t know that.
Standing still, he flicks shaggy brown hair out of sea green eyes and laughs as he raises his hands in the universal sign of surrender. ‘Don’t hurt me. I come in peace.’
‘Who are you? Why are you following me? What are you doing in my house? Wait a minute…. How did you even get inside?’ I add the last question as I remember the fancy burglar-proof lock on the door Dad is so proud of.
The guy’s grin widens. ‘Which one of those do you want me to answer first?’
Glaring at him, I’m opening my mouth to give him a piece of my mind when he says, 'Snake Fieth, at your service.’ He lowers a hand towards me as if he wants me to shake it, but my hands turn in to fists, and he returns it to its original position.
‘What sort of a name is Snake?’ I snort.
‘A better one than Priscilla Crown.’
He has me there. If there is a name worse than Priscilla, I would love to hear it.
‘You may call me Pris.’ The response is automatic.
‘I thought your friends called you Princess P.’
Hold on. He knows my name and my nickname? Who is this guy? ‘You’re not a friend,’ I spit at him.
He takes a step back and starts to lower his arms. ‘Look, I don’t have time for long introductions or—’
‘Why? You got somewhere better to be?’
His eyes widen as if he is surprised by my question. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then why did you follow me? Why did you break into my house?’ I narrow my eyes at him and try to look tougher than I feel. Blood is pounding in my ears, making it difficult to hear his answer.
‘Because I thought your parents might be here, or that you could at least lead me to them.’
‘Sorry? What? My Parents?’ My eyes narrow even more. Does he know my parents aren’t here? I eye him warily. ’Why do you want them?’
He ignores my questions, runs his hand through his hair, and glances around the room. There is something kind of desperate about him. ‘They’re not here, are they? I’m too late.’
My stomach tenses, and I frown, hoping the expression disguises the fear racing through my veins. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Are they home?’ His voice is barely more than a whisper.
‘They’re at work, but they should be home soon,’ I bluster, but my voice is uncertain even to my own ears.
His arms drop all the way down and his shoulders slump. ‘Really? I don’t think they will be.’
He raises his head, and his green eyes rake over me as if they can somehow drag the truth from me. Finally, he says, ‘I am too late. I had hoped because they were last on the list....’
‘List? What list? What’s going on here?’ I take a step forward. What game is this guy playing?
‘Your parents were taken by the…. You are not going to believe this… but there is no other way to say it. They were taken by the Bad Fairies.’
‘Bad fairies?’ I scoff. ‘You mean bad fairies of the “it was the bad fairies” fame?’
He stares blankly at me.
‘You know, like when you trip over something and your mum says, “That must have been the bad fairies.”’
As I speak, my mind is whirring. I have a right one here. A real lunatic, and I’m alone in the house with him. I plot my escape route in case things get tricky, but I still think I can take him, unless he is on drugs or something—which is a definite possibility given the way he is acting.
Snake glares at me. ‘No, not those ones. Well, yes, sort of those ones. They are like the police for creatures like us.’ He chuckles, ‘I guess they would more correctly be named Fairies for the Bad.’
