The line stalled at the door of the plane while people struggled to find compartments for their carry-on luggage. I finally made it on board, and, juggling my rolling briefcase and cell phone, I staggered back to my seat.
“Linnet, I’m just not buying it. Qwendar is here to protect Álfar interests. Why would he endanger that by having them commit murders? It doesn’t make any sense. I think it was a bizarre coincidence, and you overreacted because you are overtired and stressed. You’ve had another horrific experience. You’ve seen John and his brother, which can’t have been easy”
“Stop patronizing me! I’m tired, yes, and if being really, really pissed off qualifies as stressed, then I guess I’m stressed too, but I am not overreacting. Qwendar was angry when you intervened. I saw his face.”
The plump-faced flight attendant was staring at me. “Miss, you need to turn off your phone now.”
“Look, we’re about to take off. I’ve got to hang up. We’ll talk about this once I’m back in LA.”
I turned off my phone, put it away in my purse, and closed my eyes. It was going to be a long night. I thought about Kerrinan in his prison cell, and Jondin, presumably in another just like it. What if I could prove Álfar magic was behind the killings? Would the courts accept that as a defense? Had John been under a spell when he treated me so shittily? Where did David go on that one day? And what was with him and McGillary? Why was Shade nervous about David? And how had Jolly known I was in New York?
At some time while wrestling with these thoughts I fell asleep and didn’t wake until we landed in Denver. Then there was a mad dash to catch my next flight, only to discover it was delayed forty minutes. I turned aside into a sports bar, to get something to eat and treat myself to a margarita. I had eaten half my burger when there was an announcement that my flight was leaving in twenty minutes instead of the anticipated forty. I threw money onto the table and ran for the gate.
Sleep eluded me on this leg of the trip. I ended up watching the in-flight movie, which was a low-brow comedy filled with young men behaving badly and lots of fart jokes. It was terrible, but at least it kept me from endlessly chewing over the problem of the Álfar.
As I rode down the escalator toward the baggage carousels, I turned on my phone. There was a message from Maslin, and he sounded excited.
“I found something on Human First. Call me.”
I reached the ground floor and looked for a familiar figure. Instead I was surprised to see a burly man in a dark suit holding a sign that said ELLERY. I had had a half notion that David might have picked me up but realized that was a bit too thoughtful for a vampire. But apparently he had sent a car to pick me up. I walked up to the man.
“Linnet Ellery?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Do you have luggage?”
“Yeah. Just a small bag. It was a quick trip. Just one night,” I continued and I wondered why I always had this tendency to say more than was necessary.
Amazingly my bag was one of the first out of the chute. The driver grabbed it in one massive hand and we headed outside. It was a clear night, with a full moon fighting Los Angeles light pollution and mostly winning. We crossed the street and into the parking structure. He led me to a black Lincoln town car and put my luggage in the trunk. He opened the back door, but the dome light didn’t illuminate.
“Hey? Where are you?” the driver asked incongruously.
Something in the tone more than the words erased my exhaustion. I tensed, my body wanting to flee, but I paused to look back at him to determine if the flight response was appropriate. My mind should have listened to my body. There was a shimmer in the air as someone moved out of Fey. Among the concrete pillars and the bulking shadows of the parked cars there was a disconcerting view of a meadow. It vanished and Qwendar walked toward us. My stomach was suddenly filled with a cold, aching lump, and my knees began to shake.
I was in trouble, big, bad, deep trouble. I tried to bolt, but the driver grabbed me by the hair before I took two steps. His hands, hot and rough, slid down my arms and gripped my wrists with bone-grinding force. He wrenched my hands behind my back, and I felt the bite as plastic cuffs were slapped onto my wrists. Then I was flung violently into the back of the car.
“Be careful, fool. There mustn’t be a mark on her.” Qwendar’s voice came out of the darkness.
“Where the hell were you?” the driver grunted.
“Establishing my alibi,” Qwendar snapped. “Get control of her!”
I tried to thrash and kick out, but the big thug was too quick. Glancing over my shoulder I saw him rip off his belt and wrap it around my ankles. Feeling like a trussed goose on its way to market I lay on the backseat, my cheek pressed against the cold metal of the seat belt. The seat next to me shifted as Qwendar got into the backseat. He patted me on the hip. I jerked trying to get away from him. I heard the driver’s door slam, and then we were in motion.
At first my mind was awash with panic. There wasn’t a coherent thought anywhere in sight. I drew in several deep breaths and forced myself to think. We were in a parking garage. There would be someone in the kiosk to take their money. I would scream. Police would come.
“He has an E-ZPass,” Qwendar said, as if he’d read my thoughts. “He waves a card at a reader. No stopping. No paying. No rescue. I do so love technology.”
“Except when it fucks you,” I said. I managed to lever myself up to a sort of sitting position. My arms were already going numb. “You thought I couldn’t see you.”
“True. It was a mistake on my part.”
“David knows everything. We’ve talked.”
“But where’s the proof, dear Linnet? And after you’re dead, no one will believe the ravings of one obsessed girl forcing her attentions on a man who has clearly said he doesn’t want her.”
Fear has a taste like bile and rancid oil. Panic made my gut feel loose, and I found I couldn’t draw a full breath. Qwendar turned to gaze out the window, indicating our conversation was over.
“Why, Qwendar? Why are you destroying your own people?”
“You humans had a saying from your Vietnam War: ‘We had to destroy the village in order to save it.’ That’s what I’m doing. I’m saving my people from your kind. Your world and your kind have become seductive to the Álfar.” I couldn’t help it. I let out a sound of derision. “I know it seems absurd. To me, too. Humans are constantly warning their children against Álfar charms, but your world of gadgets and ease has its allure too. Add to that, all of you humans attract our younger people. You are so short-lived, and as a result you live with such intensity and verve. Instead of understanding that you are chattel and playthings and nothing more, our youth are marrying you, living by your rules and values.”
“So you’re trying to turn us against the Álfar.”
“Yes. Once I can force a sufficiently violent and retaliatory incident against the Álfar, I will be able to convince the Council to order all of us back to our realm. That will give us a chance to recover our past glories and inculcate our youth in their true roles and nature.”
I shook my head and gave a bitter laugh. “God, I bet if I dig deep enough I’ll find out you’re one of the major funders of Human First.”
“Yes, you probably would. I have your measure, Linnet, and you are tenacious and very bright. I can’t risk it, and so I’m sorry to say you must become a casualty.” He sighed. “Sad, but such are the fortunes of war.”
He settled back into the corner of the seat and closed his eyes. It was clear our conversation was at an end.
I studied the wide neck of the driver. Maybe I could appeal to our shared humanity. An obvious ploy, but God knew I had nothing to lose. “Why are you doing this? Working for an Álfar. You heard him. He’s going to kill me. Are you really going to let that happen?”
“Yep.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “When the pay’s this good, I don’t care who dies.”
“Wow, are you really this stupid?” Thug Boy took
a one hand off the steering wheel and cuffed me across the ear. It was like a love tap from a rhino.
“I told you, don’t leave any marks on her!” Qwendar was obviously paying attention even while pretending to be asleep.
Desperate, I tried again with the driver. “Look, do you honestly think he’s going to let you live after you help him with this?”
“He’s taking me back to Fey with him. I can’t leave. Problem solved, and I avoid a few legal problems here.”
The car accelerated onto the freeway. We were heading north. I wondered where they were taking me. My mind ran in frenzied ferret circles. I tested the cuffs. They didn’t budge. My only hope was outside intervention. I needed CHiPS. So I needed Thug Boy to do something that would attract the attention of any passing cop or have a concerned citizen call the police.
I glanced over at Qwendar before I risked another remark. He was watching me and listening with an indulgent smile.
“Legal problems, huh? What kind?”
His laugh had all the humor of boulders rolling down hill. “Why you want to know? You gonna represent me, Counselor?” He laughed again at his own wit.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I can guess. Bet you played football in high school. Probably the highlight of your life. Dated a cheerleader. Probably did a little date rape action on prom night. Beat up the queers and the geeks. You weren’t good enough to win an athletic scholarship, and then suddenly you had graduated and discovered you were too damn dumb to get into college.”
“You lose. I was in school selling blow, so I didn’t have to take out student loans. You think you know me. You don’t know anything.”
Illuminated by the glare of headlights I watched his knuckles whitened as he took a harder grip on the steering wheel when a merging car cut us off. The car swerved into another lane to pass a slower car, and Thug Boy didn’t slow down once we were past. I had to get it right. I cast around desperately. Then I noticed the lighter skin on the fourth finger of his left hand. Wedding ring. Gone now.
“So, what happened to your wedding ring? Your wife get sick of carrying the family because you didn’t graduate and couldn’t get a job?”
“I always had to work for cunts like you. Having it in for me.” The car jackrabbited forward as he smashed his foot against the accelerator. I was thrown against the door and felt the handle dig into my back. I thought briefly about trying to lever it open, but being thrown out of a moving car onto the 405 freeway would kill me just as surely as Qwendar and his knuckle dragger.
“Yeah. I’m sure. Well, maybe if you had an IQ above 80 you wouldn’t have lost out to all these smart women. How you doing on that child support? Behind? Of course you are, because people like you always are. Big man. You can ejaculate, but you sure can’t follow through. Although men as fat as you usually have problems in that department. Your wife find somebody who could satisfy her—”
“SHUT UP! Shut the fuck up or I’ll come back there and gag you.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Qwendar drawled, while not opening his eyes. “She’s baiting you. Don’t fall for it.”
The back of Thug Boy’s neck was brick red. He hunched his shoulders, his hands closing spasmodically on the steering wheel, but he started to slow down. “I’m not an idiot. I’m not stupid,” he said.
I started to open my mouth to respond, but lightning quick Qwendar thrust his handkerchief into my mouth and tied it in place with his tie. I fought the sense that I was choking and forced down vomit. Aspirating on vomit was not going to make the night better. Eventually they would have to get me out of the car. That would be my only chance, and I had to be ready for any opportunity that might present itself.
* * *
From the 405 we changed onto the 101 freeway. Sometime during that drive my cell phone began playing “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” which was the customized ring tone I had for David. Great—now he calls. Not that calling earlier would have made any difference to my situation. During the drive I had time to consider my every contact with Qwendar, and a lot of his statements now took on a whole new meaning. One changeling brought back to the fold. I think you might be the face of the future. A human who accepts and is comfortable with the Powers. A thing that some view with great disapprobation. Perhaps he has remembered who and what he is.
Headlights flared on the green and white overhead sign for the 134 freeway, and I realized we were going to the Equestrian Center. That added a whole new terror. What if they were going to hurt Vento, too? Images from The Godfather played in my head. I managed to get a glimpse at the clock on the dashboard. It was 1:23. Maybe a horse would be sick, I thought hopefully. But no lights beyond the safety lights burned in the barn, and there were no vet trucks parked out front.
Thug Boy parked. Qwendar got out and pulled a briefcase from the trunk. They pulled open my door, and I nearly pitched backward out of the car since my back had been resting against that door. The human managed to catch me before my head bounced on the pavement. I was flung unceremoniously over his shoulder and carried into the barn. There was shifting in the stalls and a few experimental nickers that seemed to say, Is it morning yet? Is it time to eat? When no hay was forthcoming the horses settled. I was deposited in the breezeway in front of Vento’s stall. The stallion’s long head was thrust over the stall door. He gazed down at me and chuffed, his breath ruffling the hair on the top of my head. I started to cry because I was scared and because I’d never get to ride him again and because I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.
The briefcase landed on a nearby tack truck with a thud. Qwendar opened it and removed a pistol, a legal pad, and a pen.
He turned to face me. “And now, Linnet, you are going to write a suicide note.” It was then the fact that he was wearing gloves really penetrated. “An angry, ranting note about how your boyfriend rejected you, and how he’ll be sorry now that you’re dead. He’ll realize how special you were. How you came out here to die with the only thing that loves you.”
Vento had begun to paw in the stall, his hoof hitting the door with echoing thuds. “Yeah. Fat chance,” was what I tried to say but it emerged from behind the gag like a series of grunts and squeaks.
“Untie her hands,” Qwendar ordered. The muscle complied. My hands began to tingle and ache with returning circulation. “Chafe them. It’s fine if the handwriting is shaky. It adds to the sense that she was distraught and furious.”
Qwendar came over and grabbed one of my hands. He drove a pin into the ball of my thumb. I yelped behind the gag. I tried to pull free, but Thug Boy pressed his hands down on my shoulders effectively nailing me in place. Qwendar carefully wiped the oozing drop of blood onto a mirror. “Soon you won’t have to hold her,” he said to the driver. He squatted down so his eyes were level with mine. He then pricked his own finger and mixed his blood with mine on the surface of the mirror. He gazed intently into my eyes. I tensed, preparing for him to bust out with some kind of Álfar shit. Nothing happened. I watched a frown begin between Qwendar’s white brows and slowly spread to encompass his entire forehead. Minutes passed. A bead of sweat trickled down the old Álfar’s temple and lodged in his sideburn.
“Is something supposed to happen?” the thug asked.
Qwendar slowly stood up. “It seems we are going to have to do this with less finesse. You’re a very strange human, Linnet. In all my long years I’ve never met a human who could resist me.” He continued to regard me, and he even stroked his chin with the air of Emperor Palpatine regarding Luke Skywalker. I had an insane desire to giggle that I knew was born out of sheer, bowel-loosening terror. “It does explain how you cheated death when Jondin was spraying bullets all about. Even a wretch as pathetic as that girl should have been able to have hit you.” He fell silent again. “But Charles was able to truss you up without incident. Perhaps your lover gave you some kind of protection against us. I wish we had more time to figure out exactly how you are doing it. But alas, I don’t. I think I will leave it to
Charles to finish the job. It’s a shame about the note. I doubt we could persuade you to write one without doing violence to your person, which would undermine the theory I’m providing for the police. Charles, do you have gloves?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Excellent. Then please see to it that Ms. Ellery shoots herself in the head. Through the temple, I think. Women are known to be squeamish about shooting themselves in the mouth.”
“I could slit her wrists.”
“True, but they tend to do it in warm baths with candles all around them. And someone might find her before she bled to death. No, I want to know she is dead. But wait until I am gone. My presence might lead to another unlikely escape on her part.”
“But you’ll come back for me and take me with you?” Charles asked
“Absolutely.” Qwendar packed up the pen and legal pad, handed the pistol to Charles, and walked to the end of the breezeway. In the doorway of the barn he vanished into Fey.
Charles pressed the gun into my hand. Some feeling had returned to my hands, and I waited for the moment when he was studying the side of my head, pushing the hair back behind my ear. Then I struck out and hit him hard on the hinge of his jaw. He yelled and lost his balance as he squatted in the dirt and sawdust of the breezeway. I scrabbled at the dirt, pulling myself away from him. There was a pitchfork resting against the side of a stall across the breezeway from me. The glow from the lights glittered off the sharp tines. If I could reach it … I pictured driving it into Charles pendulous belly. Could I do that? Hell, yes, I could. But I didn’t get even halfway. The thug landed hard on my back. I felt a rib crack and cried out in pain, though it was muffled by the gag. He was a crushing weight, his breath hot and reeking of beer and garlic puffed against my ear. It was like being smothered.
“Fuckin’ bitch!”
He jerked me up and dragged me back to Vento’s stall. Dirt and sawdust from the breezeway filled my shoes, and my skirt was rucked up around my waist. He grabbed my left hand in a crushing grip, forcing the gun into my hand, and my forefinger through the trigger. His thick finger pressed mine painfully against the metal of the trigger. With his free hand he gripped my chin, keeping my head still. I fought him, but I was no match for his bulk or his strength. The barrel of the gun approached my temple. At least he had picked my left hand, I thought in what were my final seconds. John would have known instantly that it was murder since I was right-handed. Maybe someone else would make the connection. David?
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