The Conspiracy of Unicorns

by Michael Angel

  “It’s good to have you back,” I said, as I let him go. “Destry, you have no idea how much you’ve been missed. Or how much has happened since you left. Or…”

  My voice trailed off as I stepped back to take a better look at him. The yard was dimly lit, but the ambient light from the street and neighboring houses was just bright enough to see by. The pooka had always possessed the sleek lines of a Thoroughbred, yet his features looked gangly now. His frame had lost a cushioning layer of body fat.

  I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he’d been starving, but there was a rangy look about him that said: It’s been a long, hard road.

  “I know how I must look,” he said, while nickering aloud. “I appear to be a bit ‘stretched’, no?”

  “No,” Esteban said. “I mean, ‘yes’. Well, sort of. I’m still trying to get over the whole ‘telepathic demon horse’ thing.”

  Destry huffed a very Gallic sigh. “Take all the time you need, mon ami.”

  “Where have you been, Destry?” I asked. “The last postcard I got from you came from a remote island in the South Atlantic!”

  “I have been many places. Dayna, might we go somewhere else? Someplace I can see better? And perhaps where there is more thinking going on, for I am hungry indeed.”

  “Hungry for ‘more thinking’?” Esteban asked, surprised.

  “My kind exists on the energy of thoughts,” Destry explained. “Much as sunlight allows plants to grow.”

  “Of course you can come inside,” I reassured the pooka, as I motioned for him to follow me.

  Esteban fell into step beside Destry. “You know, there’s a local college down the street, surely they could help your…hunger?”

  The pooka gave a dismissive snort. “Thoughts that come from a school are so monotonous! It would be as if you sat down to gorge on a tub full of plainly cooked oatmeal. Besides, I cannot travel at night.”

  “But aren’t you some kind of ‘night mare’?”

  The pooka shivered. “Alas, I have a…disability. Also, I am not a mare.”

  “I’m sure that you’ll be able to stay here for the night,” I said reassuringly. The door back inside was much too small for the pooka to get through. Destry shifted back to his ethereal form with the soft sound of a muffled exhale as he followed me inside.

  The sounds of running water and pots being scrubbed greeted me as I returned to the kitchen. Shelly stood before a steaming sink of dirty dishes, humming a tune under her breath. Her arms were elbow-deep in a frothy mass of suds, but she glanced at me curiously as I came in.

  “Need a refill on your drinks?” she called over. “There’s more in the fridge, help yourself. I’d get it for you, but I’m a mite busy with the steel wool right now.”

  “Um…” I began. “Actually, I was wondering if we could put a horse friend of mine up for the night.”

  “Did you say a ‘horse’ friend?” Shelly nudged the faucet with her elbow, shutting off the flow into the sink so she could hear better. She let out a laugh. “Sure, I suppose I could move Honeylemon out to the curb, so we have stable room. I might have a spare bale of hay stashed away in some cubbyhole.”

  “It’s not like that, not exactly.”

  I stepped to one side. Destry stepped forward into the light, revealing his full ebony stallion glory.

  Shelly let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a yelp.

  “It’s okay!” I said, as Esteban came around to my side. “This is Destry, you’ve actually met him before. You examined him back at the OME, only you don’t remember it.”

  “Oh, my stars,” Shelly gasped, as she leaned against a nearby cabinet. “That nearly made me pass away right then and there.”

  “He does have that effect on people,” Esteban remarked sourly.

  I went to Shelly’s side and helped her stand upright. “I’m sorry, I guess I’ve just gotten used to seeing him. He is a little scary at first sight.”

  “Oh…oh, horsefeathers,” she replied sullenly. Then she set her jaw. Shelly pulled off each of her rubber dish gloves with a snap and set them aside on the counter. “Dayna, is this the pooka that…you know.”

  I nodded. “Yes, he is.”

  Destry bowed his head slightly. “Oui, I am he that you speak of.”

  My friend moved past me to stand before the pooka. “Can you turn solid-like for a moment?”

  “But of course,” he said. “Just as I did so for Dayna, I can do so for you.”

  With a whoosh, Destry blinked back into his corporeal form.

  Shelly moved to stand on her tip-toes.

  Then, she slapped him full across his equine nose with a crack.

  “That’s for messin’ with my mind, you swaybacked oat-muncher!” Shelly yelled. She stabbed a warning finger in his face. “Y’all try that again and I’ll send your sorry four-hoofed ass to the glue factory!”

  Esteban’s jaw dropped. So did mine, probably, but I hurried to get between the two, cursing my lack of foresight. Leave it to Dayna Chrissie to mess up a near-perfect evening.

  “Shelly, wait! Wait!” I cried.

  In corporeal form, Destry must have weighed in at eight or nine times Shelly’s mass, but he staggered back at her blow. Then he stood, shaking his head as if to clear it.

  “No, Dayna,” he said, in a pained voice. “That was very much deserved.”

  “Destry, you don’t have to–”

  “Yes. I must.”

  To my amazement, the big black horse stepped back up to where Shelly still glowered at him. He lowered his head before her in supplication.

  “I must beg your forgiveness, Madam Richardson,” he said humbly. “I did what I could before to help my friend, Dayna. You have suffered as a result. I am young, and lack the experience to wield my powers properly. This excuse is très mauvais, I know.”

  Shelly’s gaze remained angry, but her lower lip quivered. I’d seen Galen’s hunky physical form and courtly expressions work a certain charm on her. Destry’s words were having a similar impact. The pooka went on, in the same humble tone.

  “As I said, I am young. I have not fully come into my power. My whole quest in life has been to understand the sorcery that animates me, to understand why I was fashioned this way. To understand why my parents created me. For I am fatally flawed, as you found out.”

  Shelly blinked. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? I looked you over, you’ve got night blindness.”

  “Even so. For that reason, my mother felt that my creation, my life, should be undone.” Destry hung his head even lower. “If I cannot fathom what power I have, power which is needed in this time of reckoning, then I have failed. And if I fail, then perhaps it is better…that I not exist at all.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Shelly’s anger vanished in an instant at the pooka’s desperate words.

  Perhaps it is better that I not exist at all.

  Destry hadn’t been angling for sympathy points. It was the truth, one that I’d stumbled upon during my investigation into the Codex of the Bellus Draconum. As best I could tell, his people, the pouquelaye, had created Destry to be a weapon. A weapon that could delve into minds, read surface-level thoughts, and even bend people’s wills.

  But all that power against the Dark was limited by Destry’s birth defect. His inability to see in the darkness, the time when creatures’ minds were at their most vulnerable.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Shelly crooned, as she touched Destry’s face again. This time, she gently rubbed the side of his neck as she said, “Darlin’, you look stretched thin, and you’re still the most handsome thing ever. You don’t bother with this ‘Mes-dames’ business, okay? Just let Shelly get you a sugar cube or something. You can eat that, can’t you?”

  “I need thoughts for sustenance,” Destry replied. “I am getting what I need from all three of you, right now. But some water would be nice. And a cube of sugar…that would be très bon!”

  “Well then, you just wait right there. I’ll have it for you
in a jiffy.”

  Shelly went to her walk-in pantry, opened the door, and began rummaging around in one of the pullout shelves. As Destry turned to watch her I caught sight of the bags the pooka had slung across his back.

  Technically, I suppose that made them saddlebags. But these were a lot different than the ones Galen typically wore when on our travels. Destry’s bags were smaller, flatter, and made of fabric, not leather. The panel stitching wasn’t as precise and tight as on the Wizard’s bags. Instead of a buckle, the cover flaps were held in place by straps of sinewy fiber threaded through a metal ring.

  Destry’s bags weren’t a subdued green or brown. Instead, they’d been dyed the wild purple of a jungle orchid. The eye-frying shade wouldn’t have looked out of place on a psychedelic black light poster.

  “I see that you have noticed my new gear,” the pooka said. “It is quite the fashion statement, is it not?”

  “That’s one way to put it,” I admitted. “It’s pretty wild. Where did you get these?”

  “Oh, it is quite the story. Nothing dramatique, but amusing all the same.”

  Esteban held the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling a yawn. “Well, I hope to hear it sometime. But I’ve been pulling long hours on stakeout duty for the last few days, and I think I need to get back before I run out of juice. I’m on duty again before dawn rolls around.”

  “We’ll be right back,” I told Destry. He gave a quiet nicker of agreement, and I followed Esteban out the front. The night had finally fallen, and the smell of night jasmine hung thick in the warm air. Alanzo fished his keys out of his pocket before leaning against the door of his Barracuda.

  He let out an amused grunt. “It’s funny, you know.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I never thought that I’d actually be able to sleep after this.” He gestured towards Shelly’s house where the windows cast a buttery glow into the night. “After the most interesting dinner party I’ve ever experienced, I mean. I got to meet a talking owl…and a living, breathing nightmare! Or night…stallion, I guess. But now, I feel like my power plug’s been pulled.”

  I moved into the warmth of Alanzo’s arms as he folded me into him. “Well, being up all hours of the night for a few days will do that, right?”

  He considered. “Maybe. But I think I’m going to sleep better because now I’ve seen some of the creatures…well, some of the people who’re on your side.”

  “Our side,” I corrected him, as I stole a quick little kiss. “Actually, there’s something else that I find funny.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I didn’t get to talk to you about something I wanted to discuss with you tonight. Destry’s arrival sort of interrupted us.”

  “Oh, I can pick up where we left off,” Alanzo husked, as he pulled me up against the hardness in his jeans. “I think we were about here–”

  That made me laugh, though inside I was starting to feel giddy again. I did want to melt into my man, right then and there. I sternly reminded myself that we were putting on a show for two of the LAPD’s finest, sitting out there in the darkness.

  “I’m serious,” I said, though I didn’t exactly untangle myself from his embrace. “Today…McClatchy actually put a scare into me.”

  Esteban stiffened. To be exact, his whole body stiffened, instead of just one special part. “If that pendejo so much as touched you–”

  “McClatchy didn’t touch me,” I said quickly. I was shading the truth here a little, as McClatchy had definitely crossed into my personal space. “It was what he told me. He said, ‘It’s going to be time soon. Time to bring it all to an end.’ That sounds final, Alanzo.”

  He grimaced. “That sounds very final. And he’s not the only one. You said that your wyvern friend told you something similar.”

  “Yes,” I said, and my mouth felt dry. “Nagura’s very presence means that now is the ‘time for reckoning’. Whatever’s happening is drawing closer to its end. We don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, only that it’ll be big. So, I wanted to know…”

  “Go on,” he urged me.

  “If McClatchy isn’t removed by the IA investigation, is there a future for you at the LAPD? Everyone knows about our relationship. I put you at risk.”

  “It’s no more than I’m used to, Dayna. We’re adults. I know what I’m getting into.”

  “But, how can you?” I untangled myself from Alanzo’s embrace, though I didn’t move away from him. “Things are different now, what with Cohen’s murder, with Isabel’s death. I feel like my bad luck is finally spilling over onto you. Your fellow officers don’t exactly like me. How long before you have to watch your own back?”

  Esteban let out a breath and straightened up himself. The loving man I knew, that I shared a bed with when our lives permitted, looked me right in the eye. He spoke slowly, as if to make sure I heard every word.

  “My tía has this saying,” he began. “Mantén la cabeza alta. When things are darkest, you stick your chest out, keep your head up. And you handle it. Because things have a way of turning when you least expect it.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so. We never thought that McClatchy would lose his allies at Crossbow, did we? We didn’t expect that he’d have his hands tied by an IA detective, either. That counts for a lot, in my book.”

  “But aside from Bob...the men you work with, they’re all against me. Like Dietrich, that cop you punched out when he pushed me–”

  Esteban made a gentle shushing sound. He let me sputter to a stop before he spoke again.

  “Officer Dietrich came by my office the other day. To apologize.”

  “He did?”

  “It’s what men do, Dayna. And he made sure to tell me that he had nothing against you, not really. His emotions got the better of him, that was all. And as for the rest of the LAPD being against you…yes, you have some detractors. I can’t coat that in sugar for you. But I’m not surprised about Jackson and his partner being out there.”

  “Why not?”

  A wispy grin blossomed on Esteban’s face. “Because Ollivar came to see me this afternoon. Just after you had your run-in with McClatchy. You know what he told me?”

  I shook my head. That strange little smile remained in place as he spoke.

  “Luis told me about how his wife made him breakfast.”

  That got a frown from me. “I don’t get the joke, Alanzo.”

  “It’s no joke. Ollivar told me how much he used to hate how his wife made breakfast. Ever since he had his heart attack last year, Maria’s been making his chorizo con huevos with low-fat turkey sausage. He kept on complaining to her, but she didn’t really listen. Or so he thought. Then, a couple weeks ago, she served him the same breakfast. Only this time, she made it with tofu chunks and moruga scorpion peppers. He ended up running screaming from the house.”

  “How does this relate to me?”

  “He told me that he didn’t realize how good he’d had it before. And that’s when he told me about assigning some new people to keep an eye out for you.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Luis isn’t much of a talker. A lot of men aren’t. They have trouble coming out and saying what they’re thinking. Ollivar was telling me that he still doesn’t like you. But there are some new ingredients added to the stew he’s swimming in. Ingredients like Archer. Harrison. Nathan Gavitt. And he dislikes those people a lot more than he dislikes you.”

  Alanzo’s wispy grin spread to my face. I put my arms out and drew him in for one more kiss. “I think your tía would say that something just turned in our favor. And just when we least expected it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Esteban backed his Barracuda out into the street, swung it around the curve of the cul-de-sac, and prepared to pull out into traffic. I blew him a kiss and waved in the general direction of the officers on duty before I went back inside.

  I could make out Shelly’s Southern twang an
d Destry’s response in his own distinctive Gallic accent. But that wasn’t the only contrast. Shelly’s voice tickled my ears, the sound muffled by the walls between us and the distance to the kitchen. But Destry’s words popped clearly into my head as if I’d been tuned in to a nearby radio station.

  “…of course I have had it before. C'est délicieux!”

  Curious, I entered the kitchen to find Shelly placing a plate of freshly cut pineapple chunks out on the table. She’d already laid a shallow bowl filled with larger chunks on the floor for the pooka. My friend indicated the open seat with the motion of one hand.

  “Your neighbors might not be all that ‘neighborly’,” she said, “but they chose a couple of perfectly ripe fruit. Have a bite.”

  I quickly took the seat. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Fork in hand, I stabbed one of the chunks. Juice dripped from the edges as I popped it in my mouth. The sweetness burst against my taste buds and made me curl my toes. I followed that chunk up with two more as Destry eagerly chowed down on the bowl Shelly had set out for him.

  “I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth,” I said to the big black horse.

  “Perhaps I developed one in my travels,” he admitted. “They have been many, and over long stretches of land and water. As far as I could reasonably go while the sun was up.”

  Shelly let out a tsk. “I wish we could’ve done something about that night blindness.”

  Destry rolled his shoulders in the equine version of a shrug. “It is of no matter. As a bringer of bad night dreams, I have been and always shall be sans emploi. As my people could not see a use for me, I sought space in which to think. I learned to balance my desire for silence with my need for sustenance.”

  “That makes sense,” I observed. “You want quiet, so you want to be around fewer people. But without someone around to do the thinking, you’d starve.”

  “Even so. I split the difference by picking my travels. Sometimes to remote parts of the globe.”