What Man Defies

by Clara Coulson

  I ran my tongue across my lip, trying to formulate a response that wouldn’t tip an intoxicated Odette into a tantrum. But before I could say a word, Christie cleared her throat.

  “I, uh, may have a solution to the arm issue,” she said.

  “How so?” I asked, suspicious.

  “Well, you see…” She scooted over to the edge of her bed and reached for her nightstand. Her coat, littered with broken thorns and dirt stains, had been left sitting on top of the plastic bag where the nurses had stored the rest of her clothing. The coat was folded in an awkward way, more of an uneven rectangle than a neat square, which tipped me off to the fact that Christie had done the folding herself instead of a nurse. During my stay at her house a few weeks back, I’d noticed all the laundry was folded in a similar way.

  Christie stuck her hand underneath the coat and glanced at the door warily, like she expected a nurse or doctor to barge in at the exact wrong moment. Then, with a puff of breath, she yanked an object from beneath the cover of the fabric.

  It was Nuada’s arm.

  “Ta-da!” Christie waved the arm at me. “I salvaged this.”

  For about thirty seconds, I could do nothing but gawp. Finally, I sputtered out, “How the heck did you sneak that past the Seelie soldiers?”

  Christie’s cheeks turned pink. “I may have pretended to be slightly more injured than I was.”

  I rewound back to our trek to the exit and immediately figured out what she meant. From the moment Christie had gotten up in the fortress to the moment she had shuffled into the portal circle, she had been hunched over, clutching her side. I thought it was because she’d broken her ribs or sustained an injury to some organs when she was fighting Bismarck. But she hadn’t been that injured at all. It was a fake-out. Christie had hidden the conduit arm in her coat and then bent over to create enough space and wrinkles in the fabric to hide the bulge so that the soldiers wouldn’t spot it.

  Christie had stolen a priceless and powerful relic right out from under the noses of the sídhe. I was as impressed as I was troubled. If they’d found her out, they could’ve justified punishing her for trying to smuggle the arm out of Tír na nÓg instead of turning it over to the “proper authorities.” Challenging the sídhe like that was an incredibly boneheaded move, and older, more experienced fae would’ve seen right through the ruse. Luckily for Christie, they’d sent kids to corral us.

  “I can’t believe you took that,” I said. “And you call me reckless?”

  “Hey, I thought we deserved a trophy for all the shit that banshee lady put us through.” Christie eyed the shoulder socket of the arm. Bits of the banshee’s torn flesh was still attached to it. “You know how many people she hurt with this arm? She smacked us all around with it the whole time we were working through those freaky ‘games’ in the cavern. She punched me in the face with it, twice. And she hit some poor girl so hard it knocked out two of her teeth.” Her grip tightened around the wrist of the arm. “The smallest bit of karma that bitch deserved was losing the arm to the people she victimized. I hope her ghost noticed me stealing it. I hope she knows she lost it to me. I hope it bothers her for eternity. And I don’t regret taking the damn thing. Not one bit.”

  I couldn’t come up with a sensible rebuke to that declaration. Mostly because I agreed with the sentiment, even if Christie’s decision had been risky. The banshee had deserved to lose the arm, just as she’d deserved to lose her life. Bismarck had taken care of the latter issue, as a matter of pragmatism and her disdain for failure. It was only fair that Christie, as a representative of the victims, had handled the former. Still though, I hoped the theft didn’t come back to haunt her. The faerie queens were not the most forgiving sort when it came to slights.

  “However,” Christie continued after chewing on an idea for a moment, “I think we may have a better use for the arm now than just hanging it on a wall and slapping a celebratory plaque underneath it.” She looked to Odette, who was staring at the arm with no small amount of wonder, then finished, “If the banshee bitch was able to attach this to her body and use it like a regular arm, it stands to reason that another person could do the same thing, right?”

  A light bulb flickered on in my head—now there was an idea—and I let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, actually. It does.”

  Odette’s mouth dropped into a lopsided O as comprehension slowly washed through her drug-addled brain. “Isn’t that whole thing a conduit?”

  “It sure is.” A wide grin crept across my face. “I believe you’re familiar with using conduits, no?”

  Despite the morphine glaze hanging over Odette’s eyes, I didn’t miss the sharp gleam of ambition. “I do have a little experience in that field. Certainly wouldn’t hurt to expand my expertise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The healing conga line proceeded smoothly, and by seven o’clock, all the survivors were ready to go home. A lot of them still looked shell-shocked, so Saoirse and I thought it would be a good idea to escort them to their homes and drop them off with a family member. That way, they wouldn’t have to walk around Kinsale alone after dark.

  The exception, of course, was Christie, who said she’d sucker punch the next banshee that tried to get the better of her and dismissed our offer of assistance. She left us at the hospital entrance with a quick wave and jogged off back to her teashop, which had been left unattended since her “unexpected departure.”

  Mallory and Granger elected to join us on guard duty for the rest of the survivors, though I tried to convince them to take an early night and get some rest. They both looked weary and weighed down, and I knew they were struggling to process the nightmares they’d experienced in the cavern. When they rebuffed my objections, however, I gave in and let them tag along.

  They were cops. Tragedy was only two steps from routine. At some point, you had to learn to keep walking no matter how heavy the burden on your shoulders, for the benefit of the people you were charged to protect. I respected that they wanted to prove they were up to snuff.

  It turned our the banshee had largely targeted four different neighborhoods, none of which were too far from downtown, or each other, so I mapped out a simple route that would take us in a circle ending near the market, and led the procession down the icy sidewalk. We made good time on the first leg of the trip, and I stopped in front of an apartment building where two of the survivors happened to live. Another lived less than a block farther down, and I could see the front door from here, so I figured I could drop all three off in one fell swoop to save time.

  I called out for the residents to head on in. As they approached me, Saoirse, standing nearby, handed them plain white business cards with her work number scrawled on them. She told them to call her immediately if they had any more issues with paranormals, or humans that might be working for paranormals in a criminal capacity.

  When Saoirse finished her spiel, someone at the head of the group cleared their throat. As Saoirse and I turned, Rebecca Shriver stepped forward and addressed me. “Mr. Whelan, I just wanted to let you know that we all discussed your…status when we were in the hospital.”

  My chest tightened at the mention of my secret sídhe lineage, which I’d exposed to the survivors back in the fortress of thorns in order to fight the banshee. I hadn’t forgotten I’d done that, but I’d been vainly hoping the survivors would decide to ignore it as a matter of convenience.

  “Yes,” I replied warily, “and did you form some kind of opinion about my ‘status’?”

  Rebecca nodded. “As a group, we’re of the opinion that it would be in the best interest of Kinsale to keep your true identity under wraps for the time being. Obviously, this Abarta man and his thugs are going to be an ongoing problem, one the police can’t handle on their own.” She glanced at Saoirse. “No offense meant, of course, Lieutenant Daly.”

  Saoirse waved her hand. “You’re right to criticize the PD. We aren’t prepared. It’s a serious problem we need to rectify. I’m going to try my hardest t
o grease the wheels, get our policies and procedures moving in the right direction. I’m not promising I can make any sort of immediate progress, but things will change in time. If I have to change them all myself.”

  “I’m glad to hear someone in the PD really cares. Thank you.” Rebecca smiled at me. “That being said, however, we feel much better knowing that there’s already someone out there who’s able—and willing—to fight back against these powerful threats and protect the people of Kinsale. You risked your life to come save us, Mr. Whelan, even though you had no obligation to do so as a private citizen. You somehow even managed to rally the sídhe to help you get us out of there, which is incredible. We didn’t know that could be done.”

  I could’ve pointed out that I had nothing to do with the Seelie soldiers showing up, but I kept my lips zipped.

  “Point is,” she continued, “we owe you a lot for leading the team that brought us home. It’s the least we can do to keep your secret. Right, everyone?”

  One by one, the survivors nodded and began to speak in agreement with Rebecca’s gratitude. A low chorus of thank-yous for my efforts and apologies that I got hurt trying to protect them. Several of them smiled and actually made eye contact.

  Though I could tell they were still uneasy in my presence, that the power I possessed as a half-sídhe intimidated them, the mere fact they were willing to call attention to themselves and talk to me in a civil manner instead of giving me furtive glances and speaking in hushed whispers, that was…I hadn’t expected that.

  Warmth blossomed in my chest, and I returned their smiles with a poor imitation of my own. With so many people now aware of my secret, it was bound to slip out to the public eventually, one way or another. But at least it would hold a while longer, and I could enjoy the status quo while it did. “I really appreciate that,” I said to Rebecca.

  “I really appreciate being able to go home to my son.” She offered me her hand.

  I took it, and we shook. “Then let’s get you home. There’s still time for a reunion dinner, I think.”

  The next hour and a half passed in relative ease as we dropped off all the survivors, until finally, only the exhausted rescuers, minus Odette, remained. Watching the last man knock on his front door, which was opened by his wife, who basically tackled him in a desperate hug, the four of us spun around and continued down the street, back toward the market square. Mallory and Granger had been fairly quiet for the whole trip, while Saoirse had frequently spoken to the survivors, giving them her cards and her best reassurances. Now, all three trudged along in silence, contemplative.

  I hated to break the first moment of peace they’d had all day, but we had things to discuss.

  As we swung a right to head toward Flannigan’s so we could fill O’Shea in on the “events,” I cleared my throat and said, “There’s some stuff we need to clear up about what happened today.”

  Saoirse cocked her head to the side. “I’m glad you said so. Because I’ve got some questions.”

  I peered over my shoulder at Mallory and Granger, who were walking just behind us. Both of them were more timid around me than they’d been before, as the survivors had let slip the truth about my heritage while they were “gossiping” to each other in the hospital. (Not that I blamed them for it. They couldn’t have known the detectives were out of the loop.) I didn’t want to spook the duo further, so I was careful with the way I phrased my next words.

  “I’m sure it goes without saying,” I began, “but don’t repeat anything we discuss in the next ten minutes to anyone that isn’t Saoirse or me. I would tell the two of you to skip out on this discussion altogether, so the knowledge doesn’t put you in more danger, if this was a mundane matter. But we’re obviously far beyond that. If you’re going to continue working as backup for Saoirse in paranormal matters, and I assume you are since you were brave enough to volunteer the first time, then you need to know what you’re up against.”

  Mallory said, “I understand.”

  Granger hesitated, but ultimately nodded.

  I took a deep breath to settle my stomach, which was trying its best to do a cartwheel in my abdomen. Then I told Saoirse and the two detectives the whole truth. I recounted my meeting with Tom Tildrum last month, where he’d revealed that Mab was aware of Abarta’s machinations but was obfuscating her attempts to stop him by using a proxy—me—due to some factors I was still unaware of. After that sank into their chilled skin, I walked through my revelations about the Seelie soldiers and my realization that the Seelie queen was also in on the game.

  “I can’t even begin to guess what’s going on in the upper echelons of the courts that would warrant this level of secrecy concerning an attempt to stop Abarta from awakening the Tuatha,” I finished, “but you can be sure the queens aren’t acting this way for a trivial reason. The hearts of the faerie courts are the origin points of long and tangled threads of intrigue and manipulation, some of which run back centuries, but those mostly concern games that the fae play among themselves. They’re usually more direct in their attacks against serious enemies. Until now…”

  No one spoke for almost five minutes more, until we were half a block from Flannigan’s.

  Saoirse blew hot breath through her teeth, white on the air. “Well, I’m disturbed.”

  “You’re disturbed?” I replied. “You aren’t the guy who had an army of cats in his yard.”

  “That’s so creepy,” Mallory whispered. “How’d he make them all disappear?”

  I shrugged. “He’s a cat sídhe. Among the most mysterious of the fae. I’m pretty sure most of the other sídhe don’t even know how he operates.”

  Granger, who was looking green around the mouth again, murmured, “So, I mean, what exactly are we supposed to do about this situation?”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Saoirse asked.

  “Honestly?” I ran my fingers along the cracked brick façade of Flannigan’s front wall. “No. I could attempt to refuse to play their game, but then what? I just sit by while Abarta wreaks havoc? The whole point of M-A-B tipping me off to Abarta’s schemes was that she knew I wouldn’t let the guy get away with it. You heard Abarta when we were down in that basement. The Unseelie keep close tabs on their half-bloods. They know who I am, what kind of person I am, where I used to work, what I used to be and in some ways still am. I’m the ‘hero sort’ who feels driven to protect the innocent and maintain the peace. I was a perfect pawn to place in Abarta’s path.”

  “So we keep on trucking? Is that it?” Mallory kicked a chunk of ice into the road. “We stay on the lookout for Abarta’s next move, stop him if we can?”

  “I don’t see what else we can do.” Saoirse grabbed the handle for the bar’s front door and pressed down the latch. “We can’t go gallivanting around the Otherworld, or even around Earth, in search of Abarta’s base of operations. We can’t bring the fight to his front door. We don’t have the firepower, or the manpower. I’m not sure we can get those things either, given that Abarta is practically some kind of god.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “I can’t beat him in a fight. Those Seelie soldiers we met couldn’t take him either, even as a team. It would take an old and powerful sídhe to match him in a one-on-one fight. The Tuatha Dé Danann aren’t lightweights. That’s why the sídhe fought multiple wars with them before they finally won, and the last battle waged on for months.” I sighed. “The fact that we even survived our direct encounter with him, Saoirse…that was nothing but luck, and Tom Tildrum’s good timing.”

  “Then we play it as it lays?” Saoirse asked as she yanked the heavy door open. “We don’t bring the fight to him, but if he brings it back to us again, we bite him as deep as our teeth can reach?”

  “We fight like the wolves fight,” I quoted. “Because they fight to the bitter end.”

  Those were the lines we’d used back in the day to describe a situation where we were outgunned or out-financed, or both, by the criminals we were pursuing in a high-profile case. />
  “Works for me,” Saoirse held the door and motioned for us to enter. “I always planned to go down swinging. And it’s not like I have anything better to do. My timeshare condo in Florida got wiped out by the Miami nuke.”

  Mallory cracked a tiny grin. “My favorite vacation destinations are all craters, so I guess I’m in for the long haul too.”

  Granger, who was staring at the dirty ice in front of his shoes, closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said, “Count me in for the Kinsale Defense Squad also. As long as I can get a bigger gun next time.”

  I patted Granger on the back. “I’ll do you one better and make you a shield.”

  His expression brightened. “Like a magic shield? Really? That would be sweet.”

  “Swing around my shop sometime. I’ll make you one on the house. Consider it recompense for that pike you took to the hip.” I looked to Mallory. “I’ll make you one too. A shoulder injury also qualifies for a payout from the Vincent Whelan Personal Injury Insurance Plan.”

  Mallory’s grin widened. “I’ll keep that in mind next time an evil elf throws a sword at me.”

  We all entered Flannigan’s with the echo of laughter in our throats, though the situation with Abarta and the mysterious motives of the queens lingered like a dense fog around us. O’Shea was at his usual station, but at the sight of us entering the bar, he grabbed Ricky and put him on bar duty, gesturing for us to follow him to the back. We all ended up jam-packed into O’Shea’s office, where we proceeded to tell him what had gone down in Tír na nÓg. O’Shea was relieved we’d brought at least some of the victims back alive, but I could tell he was perturbed about an aspect of the story.