Page 36 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

“Start with the púca and the redcap,” Drystan says. “Maybe it’ll trigger something and she’ll be able to locate them. Goddess knows, we could do with her full Guard right now.”

“Start with whatever Drystan is,” I retort.

The male in question stiffens, letting me know I’ve made a big mistake. “I’m not an under fae,” he growls, his voice deadly quiet.

Oh… I assumed… “Then what are you?”

“Nicnevin, that’s not something you generally ask…” Jaro trails off. “With under fae, it’s obvious whether you’re talking to a troll or a goblin. With high fae, they might be a shifter like myself, or they could simply be a high fae and nothing more.”

But Drystan changed into something when he fought those armoured lizards. So what was it?

Jaro pretends not to notice my blatant curiosity.

“Redcaps, on the other hand, are pretty easy. They’re named for their hats, which they have to dip in blood regularly to survive.”

I grimace. “They have to?”

“Yes, if the hat isn’t regularly dipped in fresh blood, they die.”

“Doesn’t that… I mean, surely the smell would be…?”

Jaromir snorts. “You’ll probably see for yourself when we find your redcap Guard, but no. The hat absorbs the blood like dye. There’s no smell. It’s a part of them, and they can change it to suit their needs. I met a female redcap once who had the daintiest little top hat she wore on a ribbon around her head. Watching her pull a small armoury out of it was mind bending.”

“They can store things in their hat?” I frown as I try to picture it.

“Glamour,” Jaro reminds me gently, and I huff as I realise I’ve let it drop completely. He continues explaining as I work to rebuild the image of brown eyes in my mind. “I’m not sure exactly how it works, you’ll have to ask your redcap, but it's magic, just like the brownie used to make your clothes.”

I sigh as I feel the strange, tingling sensation I’m coming to associate with the glamour sliding into place.

“They’re also insane,” Drystan growls. “Don’t forget to mention that.”

I look to Jaro for confirmation, and he sighs and nods. “Redcaps… do tend to be a bit unhinged. I suppose it comes with the territory…”

“And púcas?” I ask.

“Púcaí,” he corrects, gently. “They’re shape shifters, of a sort. They’re born with an animal tattoo which they can summon in part or in full. A few have two animals instead of one, which makes them more powerful.”

“What do you mean, in full?” I ask, trying to picture a person half-shifting into a wolf and failing.

“They can either take on the attributes of their animal—like the eyes of an eagle, for example, so they can see better—or they can call the animal forth until it exists separately from their body, like a companion.”

Oh, that makes more sense. It also sounds like a wonderful gift to have. Like a pet, but more intimate.

“They develop more tattoos as they age. Not animals—they only have what they’re born with in that department—but they can form other marks, and what they choose usually tells you a lot about them as a person.”

“Like instruments,” I whisper, blinking as a vision of a masculine ribcage fills my vision for a second, overlaying the fields around me. “A harp, a panther, and a knife.”

He’s so thin, the bones standing out starkly against his tattoos.

Jaro grins. “Yes! That’s your púca. Hold on to that feeling. Can you follow it?”

But I blink, and the image fades.

“How do I get it back?” I ask, straining to reach him again.

“Picture those tattoos in your mind,” Jaro suggests.

I try to do as he says, but it doesn’t work. My shoulders sag as disappointment floods me. “I’ve lost it.”

Drystan huffs in annoyance, but I can’t even summon the energy to be angry at him.

“There’s plenty of time,” Jaro consoles me. “Besides, you know what it feels like now. You can focus on it next time and try to stabilise the connection.”

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