by Eli Constant
“I was raised in this world, Mordecai. Humans aren’t all bad. There are some who are very, very good.”
“Good,” he snorts. “Bad. Shades of grey in between. They’re all cannon fodder when next the supernatural world claims flesh. You ought not get attached, Ms. Cage.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree, Mordecai.” I clear my throat and lean back in my chair. “Now, you wanted to see me about something… something to do with the fires and the murders?” I hazard a guess, unsure what else he could possibly want that’s associated with the police.
He nods slowly, also settling back in his chair. I hadn’t realized he’d continued to stand as I’d sat. I probably shouldn’t mention that his height played a role in that. “Yes,” he further confirms. “My land is home to a fair few creatures looking to stay hidden from both the worlds you belong to, human and supernatural. They want nothing in this world save quiet living. I am here on their behalf.”
I’m surprised that Mordecai hasn’t dropped into his natural brogue accent now that Dean has gone, but realize the forced neutral of his voice might be so habitual that he only drops it when he needs to call the reality of his power, rather than the whisper of it he’d used on Dean.
I wait for him to expand. When he doesn’t, I speak. “Okay, and what do they need exactly?”
“The land is in upheaval, Ms. Cage. It cries. The ley lines are a switch and they’ve been turned on too long for any good to come of it.”
“Aren’t ley lines always ‘on’ so to speak? They’re veins of power, humming beneath our feet. They don’t turn off and on like a light switch.” I cross my arms, curious what he means.
“Aye,” he says, finally saying something that feels more naturally him, “but when the power is tapped, it surges through the land. Think of it as ripples in a lake. One stone drops, the wave of the ley line courses through the ground then settles back down. It is but a tickle against the skin of we creatures in tune to the great mother. But, say, many stones are dropped, one after the other. The ripples go on and on, never ceasing. That builds and builds. A crescendo through the soil. A scream of magic that burns hot as hellfire.”
“And it… hurts you? You and the supernaturals that live on your land?”
He nods again. “Aye, Blood Queen, but what’s more… it hurts the world. It hurts the world and she do cry from the pain of it. And it won’t be long before her mouth do open, wide and gaping, to let in all manner of buried darkness. The God Stones quake, Blood Queen. They vibrate and they bleed from the hurt of it.”
“All manner… of buried darkness,” I repeat slowly. “That sounds ominous, Dwarf King.”
“Aye, ‘tis. A Hellmouth. And a great deal worse than those you humans dreamed of in your Anglo-Saxon arts.”
My lower lip falls, and I sit there mouth gaping. “You’re joking,” I half laugh. “I mean, that’s something out of a television show. That’s buff the vamp slayer, for heaven’s sake.”
“I’ll give the humans one thing,” Mordecai says standing, “sometimes they glimpse our side of the world better than they should.” He moves to my office door, but turns around before opening it to leave. “The wayward souls that hide on my land deserve peace. The great mother deserves peace. The stones demand it. You’ll not find the dark coven who has violated this land, hearts gone and spirit trapped, but you will find the leaders who pushed them to their bitter ends. It will take two in the end, to represent the originals. Woman. Man. Witch. Warlock. Find them at the heart trail. Spill their blood to break their connection to the ley lines.”
“And what happens if I can’t find them and kill them?” I ask seriously, brow furrowed. I didn’t want to end someone’s life, not even the wicked witches of Bonneau.
“Then look to the center of their spell, the pentagram soul. Look to where the Hellmouth will open to ruin the human world you so love. And say goodbye.” With that, Mordecai exits, leaving a wake of shadow and fear behind him.
I run out of the office and bolt for my apartment stairs. Dean tries to get my attention as I move, but I ignore him.
When I’m upstairs, phone in hand, I call Terrance. “Hey, can I come to the station? We need to talk.” I must sound frantic, because he’s at home with his family but says he can be there in thirty minutes. I’d have asked him to come to my house, save me the trip, but the nervous lightning-bolt energy is back. And I need to move.
As I’m walking out the door, boots on this time, because… yeah… I’d gone down to meet Mordecai with no shoes on—which was brilliant, sort of like those ‘go to school naked’ dreams, but not quite so traumatizing—I call Liam. He doesn’t answer, so I leave a message with the briefest summary of Mordecai’s warnings possible. I figure he’ll find me when he can, if he wants to. I wonder how many more times he can see me run into Kyle’s arms before he finally gives up.
Though, in my heart, I don’t think he ever will.
***
“Please don’t give me shit today, Andrea, I really can’t handle it.” I’m staring at the police department secretary, who’s looking more prim-and-proper than usual as she holds me hostage at the desk.
“I told you that Chief Goodman isn’t here today, Ms. Cage. I’ll take a message for you and give it to him tomorrow.” Her voice is at its most infuriating, all high-pitched sweetness and she’s obviously enjoying giving me the run-around. She’s like… a pitcher of supposedly sweet tea. Ice cold, condensation running down the glass. Inviting. Glorious.
Then you take a sip and you realize that shit’s sugar-free.
“And I told you that Chief Goodman is coming. He’s on his way.” I lean against the desk, cradling my head in my hands. An ache is building right above my right eye, which usually means a migraine is imminent.
“I’m not going to explain this to you again, Ms. Cage, because you seem willfully determined not to understand me. He. Is. Not. Here. Today.”
As soon as Andrea says ‘today’, the bell jingles to announce a newcomer to the station. “Morning, Andrea,” a familiar voice rings out. Immediately, a little color drains from Andrea’s face and I can’t help but give her a small smile. “Tori, why aren’t you waiting in my office? You know you could have gotten comfortable. Sorry it took me a little longer than expected. The kids didn’t want me to go and the baby threw up on me.”
“No problem, Terrance. Andrea and I were just having a pleasant chat about the weather.” I roll my eyes at him to emphasize the sarcasm.
“Ah,” he says, nodding. “Well, you head on into my office. Andrea, would you be a dear and get us two coffees from the break room? Should be a new stack of to-go cups under the sink.”
Now, the color floods back into her face and I can tell she wants to protest. But when your boss asks for something… you do it with a smile.
“Sure, Chief Goodman. Coming right up.” She throws me a sneering glance before heading back to the breakroom. I chortle as I walk, and I know Terrance, for his part, is grinning a little behind me. Andrea really needed to learn to pick her battles. And I wasn’t the war she was ever going to win.
When we’re settled in Terrance’s office, steaming coffee in hand and a sour-faced Andrea departed, Bonneau’s Chief squares his shoulders and looks me pointedly in the eye. “So, what’s going on, Casper?”
I cringe at the nickname. He teases me with it now-and-again, but there are others on the force who say it in a derogatory way. I’m their own personal ‘spook’ squad, though only Terrance knows the truth about me.
“I had a visit from our old friend Mordecai today.” I play my fingers against the smooth surface of the to-go coffee cup. The ridge where the thick paper wraps over itself to make a cylinder feels like a scar on the surface, and reminds me of Mordecai. I’ve wanted to ask, more than once, about how he got the scar on his face.
“Jones left his land,” Terrance says, his interest piqued. “Must be something big for him to do that.”
“It’s sort of... unbelievably big,
Terrance.” I take a sip of coffee, but realize it’s black without sugar, which makes me cringe. The pain in my head’s subsided though, with the absence of Andrea.
He waits, patiently, for me to expand. I bite my lower lip, and realize nothing I say is going to be any worse than the day I admitted to him that I was a necromancer. I mean, if he could believe that, then ‘hey, there’s going to be a giant portal for demons in the middle of town if we don’t stop this arson-happy warlock and witch who killed the rest of their coven to tap into a crazy amount of ley line power’ probably wouldn’t even make him hesitate.
So I told him everything Mordecai had said, and warned.
And he just sat there, taking it all in like a man who didn’t just hear me talking about Hell coming to Bonneau. I didn’t care what Mordecai said. It did matter if a human was good, bad, or a shade in between.
And I’d fight for the good ones, the humans who looked me in the eye and called me friend even though I was everything their species feared, until my last breath.
Chapter Thirteen
“No, Liam.” We’re a western standoff in my apartment. Kyle’s still not come home, I don’t even know if he is coming home tonight, but I don’t think it’s smart to have Mr. Fairy here teaching me necromancy tricks and supernatural trivia in case he does walk through my door looking for peace… instead of the reminder that another man… being… magical thing wants my affections too. “I’ve brought you up to date on what I’ve found out. I told you every syllable Mordecai uttered. Now you can leave. I don’t have the energy for anything else right now. You know more than Kyle at the moment. Isn’t that some sort of little victory you can go celebrate?”
“We’ve not practiced in some time, Victoria. You must be prepared for what’s ahead.” Liam breaks away from our duel and heads towards the sofa. He folds himself down onto the cushions, as pretty as a picture, sitting like we’re not arguing and he hasn’t got a single care in the world.
“Prepared for what, Liam? You say that, but you never tell me what I’m preparing for—am I just becoming a better necromancer for the sake of it, or is some big bad evil coming my way?” I don’t relinquish my high ground. He’s going to relent, and he’s going to leave.
“You are Blood Queen, Victoria. A necromancer so powerful that I’d suspect no one’s ever rivaled you, or will rival you. Do you not wish to reach the edges of your destiny? To touch the corners of the power that races through your veins?” He speaks so casually, one leg crossed daintily over the other. Yet, his words are like that speech in the movie Independence Day—a string of words that lights faith and action up inside of a person’s psyche. Well, I have news for Liam. He’s no Bill Pullman.
“Yes, I’m a Blood Queen. And I’m going to be Queen of a fae court on top of that, if Frodo and his band of white court Keebler elves has any say in the matter. But there is no reason, no absolute fucking reason, why we have to practice supernatural bullshit tonight.” I point at the door. “So get out.”
Liam smiles, that slight, frustrating, fetching smile that makes him look roguish and juvenile delinquent. The smile that says ‘I’m looking to be slapped by a beautiful woman. If you do it, I’ll enjoy it’. “If you’re going to insult my court, and my king, you could at least be accurate. Frodo is a hobbit. And it is the Light Court, not the white court. Not that I mind you being less-than-friendly towards Oran and his flock. I was imprisoned at their hand, after all.”
“Okay, Liam. I’m done. I don’t want to argue anymore.” I turn around and get a mug to fill with cold coffee from the pot. My microwave isn’t the newest thing in the world. I have to guess whether it’s going to superheat at thirty seconds or still be ice cold after two minutes. I go with caution, as per my usual, and punch in forty-five seconds, a happy medium.
“Wonderful, then. I, too, would prefer not to fight with you anymore. So it’s settled.” He stands and heads towards my door. I take a deep breath, thankful that he’s seen reason. “I’ll be back in a moment with your grandmother’s journals and your notes. We’ll pick up where we left off, reviewing sacred rituals of the courts. Then we’ll try spirit location. You were too tired the last time.”
I brace myself against the counter, my knuckles going pale from gripping so hard. I hear my apartment door creak open. He doesn’t close it. Because he’s just going downstairs to the basement storage area to grab what we need to practice. God help me.
***
We’re two and a half hours into studying, and an hour of that has been on the funeral practices of the fae—they commit their bodies to Earth in a burning ceremony called Kir-shava-ley—it creates the ancient fae fire, a rage of blue sparks that imbues the entire court with the power of death and rebirth. The sparks do not burn what they touch, but they leave the memory of a mark on the skin. The palest of blue freckles, only seen under the light of the harvesting moon. Because the fae do not die often, Kir-shava-ley is considered the most sacred of ceremonies.
I can barely keep my eyes open, despite three cups of coffee. Kyle still isn’t home. I don’t think he is coming home.
I think back to his words in the woods, as I helped him struggle towards the Victorian. To take him home, that wherever I was, was home. Yet he isn’t here. He hasn’t texted. Whenever I’ve let myself think about the future of our relationship, I’d always seen Kyle leaving out of fear of me, but now he’s pulling away out of fear of himself.
Neither option is one I want to entertain. Neither option is something I’ll accept.
Liam is droning on. I’m sat on the couch; he’s pacing between the kitchen and living room. I tilt my head back, letting the back cushions cradle my head. It’s mere seconds before I’m caught up in that light sort of dozing where you can hear everything going on around you, but you simply don’t have the will to lift your head and look around.
“Honestly,” Liam’s exasperated voice is fuzzy. Then, suddenly, my entire body is fuzzy too. Tingling, from tip of my scalp to tip of my toes. I open my eyes and realize quickly that my body is no longer cradled by the sofa. I’m floating several inches above the surface. It made me think of middle school and an impromptu game of ‘light as a feather’ in social studies when our regular teacher was absent and our sub was high as a kite.
“Holy crap!” I yell out. I try to remain calm, but every fiber of my being wants to flail about wildly because I can’t, point of fact, fly. So being lifted up into the air, held strong by absolutely nothing, isn’t an entirely settling feeling. “Are you doing this, Liam? Put me the hell down!”
I’m still trying to remain still, my arms and legs are splayed out wide, waving a little up and down, like I’m lying on a balance beam rather than walking across one, trying desperately not to pitch to one side or another.
“Are you awake then? Shall I put on another pot of coffee?” Liam is his glowing fae self, all long silver hair and translucent, lovely skin. Power slips from his pores, reaching towards me, surrounding my body. He is the unseen thing that keeps me lifted.
“Put. Me. Down,” I growl. Maybe Kyle isn’t the only one that can beast out.
Slowly, the magic pulls back, the glow of Liam’s skin begins to fade, and I fall with a thump, missing the couch and landing with one leg on the coffee table and the rest of me on the hard floor. Anger wells up in me. “Liam,” I say carefully, sitting up and pulling my leg off the table, rubbing behind the knee where I’m certain a bruise is going to sprout later. “Isn’t there some rule about… you know… not injuring your queen?”
“I’m fairly sure there’s some clause that allows for it when the queen is being particularly hard-to-handle.” He turns away from me to the kitchen table, where grandmother’s journals and my scribbled notes are strewn about in no particular order. I used to hide everything in a random place out of sight, no real security. Liam convinced me to install a safe, which felt overkill. I look over the pile once more. “You’re going to have to work on your penmanship too, you know.” He holds up one of my noteb
ooks, open to a page filled with chicken scratch. “You can’t sign official decrees like this.”
“Liam, if the white court cookie mongers want me, they’re going to have to take me—warts and all.”
He sighs. “I’m not sure cookie mongers is preferable to Keebler elves.”
“You know what would be great. Let’s just skip over some of the ‘how to bury a fairy’ shit and do something fun. Spirit location. Sounds like Mardi Gras compared to listening to you lecture.” Standing up, the back of my leg really hurting now, I get my empty coffee mug and take it to the sink.
“All right,” he says slowly. I make more coffee whilst he’s gathering up all the notes and books into neat piles—except for one tome. The large faded tan book. The creepy human skin one. A font of necromancy knowledge… in a vessel that couldn’t be any more perfect. He can’t see the words in the book when he opens it. It’s a spell, gifted to my grandmother a long time ago to protect the knowledge inside. A favor, for her helping in a spiritual matter. I walk over and open the book for him. Instantly, he hones in on the words, and begins to flip pages.
“We’ll begin with a living spirit. It’s easier.”
“Easier than a dead spirit?” I ask slowly. “That makes no sense. I mean, living spirits are in living bodies.”
“And a living body has living blood coursing through it. For you, a necromancer with blood magic, you are doubly connected to the living rather than singularly connected to the dead.” Liam is starting to pace again.
“Liam, stop moving around. You make me nervous when you do that.” I go back to sit on the sofa, yet another cup of coffee in hand. “So, basically, because I can connect to blood and I can connect to the little deaths in a person’s still-alive body—the soil in the lungs of smokers, the decay in an alcoholic’s liver—then locating a living spirit is easier than a dead one.”
“Exactly,” he confirms.
“You know that sounds like a load of crap, right?” I can’t help but smile when I say it. Most of what Liam says sounds like a load of crap, but I take it as the God’s honest, because he admittedly knows way more than I do.
