Then I opened the small safe, pulled out an extendible steel baton, and handed it to Dawn. A wizard’s weapon, the baton had once belonged to Zeke, an arcana enforcer, and would inflict at least some pain even to a sasquatch.
“And a healing potion?” she asked.
“Still out,” I replied. Unfortunately they were crazy expensive, and nobody in my family had an alchemist’s ability to activate the magical properties of potion ingredients. In fact, of the five human branches of magic—alchemy, wizardry, thaumaturgy, sorcery, and necromancy—alchemy was the only one that hadn’t manifested somewhere in our family bloodlines.
“What about you?” Dawn asked, eyeing the revolver that still sat in the open safe.
“Bullets tend to bounce off sasquatch fur,” I replied, and closed the safe. “Worst case, I’ll threaten to rip out his spirit.” And hope he wouldn’t call my bluff.
Soul destruction was the ultimate necromancer threat, but I felt neither powerful nor skilled enough to actually do it—one of the drawbacks of having missed twenty-five years of necromancy training and practice. But I could at least give him one hell of a headache by trying.
Dawn tapped the small silver artifact hanging by a chain around my neck. A spirit trap. It looked like one of those metal puzzles where you have to figure out how to twist the pieces apart, except these were forged together. From its center peeked a tiny mouse skull covered in runes. “What about this thing,” she asked. “You’ve been ‘charging it up’ for weeks. Isn’t it supposed to trap souls?”
“Disembodied spirits,” I said. “I can’t use it as a weapon against someone living.”
*Not true,* Alynon said.
True enough, I replied.
Actually, it could be used to tear the soul out of a living being, but to do so would require the destruction of a spirit already trapped inside it, creating a kind of spiritual vacuum, and that would be one of the darkest forms of dark necromancy—the destruction of another being’s spirit to fuel my magic.
I led the group up the stairs: myself, Pete, and Dawn, with Mattie trailing last. We emerged into the mud room without incident. Gray Washington daylight glowed through the back-door window. On cloudy Pacific Northwest mornings like today’s, the sun was more a pale fluorescent apology than a glowing engine of warmth and life. Never mind that it was June.
“Okay,” I whispered to Dawn and Mattie. “You stay here, please.”
Dawn crossed her arms, the baton dangling at her side, but didn’t argue.
Pete and I tiptoed our way to the library, where I grabbed the silver-coated sword from the wall above the fireplace. At least the sword made for good show without the danger of accidentally hitting my brother with a ricochet; and better the sasquatch grabbed for the sword than my throat.
We continued to the front entryway, and the closed double doors for the viewing parlor. The sasquatch would most likely be just inside, near the ring of folding chairs where Mort liked to sit and do his business with prospective customers. Those chairs would make handy projectiles for the sasquatch.
I opened our home’s front entry door quietly, the better to flee through, and took a deep calming breath of the chill morning air before returning to the parlor doors.
“Ready?” I whispered to Pete, worried at the look on his face. Pete began to pant, and held his hands to his chest in shaking fists. His eyes went from dark brown to pale blue.
“Don’t wolf out on me, Brother,” I whispered. “Let’s deal with one problem at a time, okay?”
“I—I’m trying,” Pete whispered back, his voice harsh. “But I can smell the sasquatch, and—” His nails began to elongate. “No no no!” He shook his head. Tears sprang to his eyes. “I don’t want to change. I don’t want to go wolf, I don’t want to hurt people.”
Crap. “Breathe, Petey, just breathe,” I said.
He closed his eyes, causing twin tears of frustration to run down his cheeks, and he took several deep breaths through his mouth. The nails receded.
“Maybe you should sit this one out,” I whispered.
*You really are no fun,* Alynon said.
I ignored him as Pete replied, “No. I’m not going to let that sasquatch hurt you.”
“I’m just going to lure him outside, and I’ll run around to the side door and come back in before he can lay a finger on me. The house wards will keep him out until enforcers arrive.”
Pete looked dubious.
“Look,” I said. “You go back down the hallway a bit, keep him from heading toward the girls, okay? Keep them safe.”
My heart broke at the puppy dog look of hurt and frustration on Petey’s face as he nodded and shuffled off down the hallway.
Damn.
I really would have felt better with Pete watching my back. I eyed the front door. I could do this.
I counted to three, then threw open the parlor doors and gave a challenging shout, sword raised.
The sasquatch leaped up from a folding chair—nine feet of red-brown hairy muscle wearing combat boots and wielding what looked like bodkins or some other thin blades carved from wood. He let out a horrible … yelp?
“Is youself crazy?” the sasquatch shouted.
2
Looking for a New Love
As I stared at the sasquatch, I realized that a bit of cloth dangled from one of his thin blades and a tail of yarn ran down into a satchel propped up by the chair.
They weren’t blades. They were knitting needles.
“You’re, uh, not here to attack me?” I asked.
The sasquatch sighed, and sank back down on the chair. “Arcana be crazy. But Iself even craziest.” His head hung down, and he blushed. “Iself came here heart-hoping for love.”
I lowered my sword slowly. “Oh. Sorry. Let’s … talk.” I moved cautiously into the parlor, but remained standing.
The parlor contained rows of cushioned pews facing a slightly raised stage, which held the casket platform, speaking podium, and projection screen. During a viewing, the open area in the back where we stood held tables with pictures, artifacts, clan banners, or other meaningful items, but right now it held a half-dozen folding chairs and one sasquatch.
This was definitely the same sasquatch who’d worked for my grandfather. Not only was his coloring and face familiar, with that stripe of black that crossed the tiny black pearl of his right eye, but he was the only sasquatch I’d ever seen or heard of who wore boots. I’d nicknamed him Harry, but didn’t know his real name.
The sasquatch stuffed the knitting needles and yarn back into his satchel as I said, “What shall I call you?”
“Iself be named K’u-k’a Schken’ah Saljchuh,” he said, or as close as I could tell, making clicking noises as he pronounced his first name. He looked at me as though he expected me to make some comment. When I didn’t, he said, “Youself not talking words of Klallam firstmen?”
“No. What does it mean?”
He looked down at his booted feet, and his ears turned bright red. “Not important. Youself can call me Sal if youself want. Everyself call I Sal. Except youself’s clan-kin, Grayson, always calling I ‘Squatch’ and ‘boy.’” He growled. “Iself no like Grayson-mage.”
“Uh, yeah, I had my problems with him, too, as you know. That isn’t going to be a problem here, though, for us, is it? What happened before, I mean? I am very sorry about your … loss.”
“Sistermine was drinking Grayson’s badbright juice; made her crazy.”
I winced. My grandfather had apparently used some kind of mana-based drug to secure the loyalty of his feyblood mercenaries, both before and after stealing the body and identity of his apprentice (and bastard son), Grayson. Another black mark on the Gramaraye family name.
“Again, I’m very sorry.”
Sal shook his head. “Sistermine always trouble-looking.” The sasquatch’s voice thickened as he continued, “All of lifelong, Iself trying to keep her happy-safe. But herself in Great Forest now, beyond-beyond. Herenow, Iself can start ma
king the happylife for I.”
“So … you really want me to help you find your true love, then?”
“Yes.” His ears turned red again.
“Okay. I can do that! If you want to wait right here, I’ll just need to gather some things. My brother Pete can grab you some water or something while you wait. Hey Pete!” I called. “It’s okay. Can you give me a hand?”
Pete peered through the doorway, then stepped into the room.
Sal sniffed. “Yonman is brightblood changer.” He seemed to expand in size as his fur fluffed up. “Shadow-sworn.”
“Yes, he is waer, and he does have a wolf spirit,” I said. “But he hasn’t aligned with the Forest of Shadows or any Fey demesne.”
“Wolf changers always go shadow-sworn,” Sal said. “Theyself always want a pack, and wolf-changer packs always go shadow-sworn.”
Pete shook his head. “My family is my pack,” he said. “And my girlfriend, she’s got a squirrel spirit.” Squirrel spirits tended to align with the Islands of the Blessed, not the Shadows.
As if on cue, Vee walked in through the open front door.
Violet Wodenson looked like a Viking warrior woman: not the Barbie-in-horned-hat variety, but a tall, broad-shouldered woman who could row a boat and pillage a village with the best of them. Or at least, she did in those rare moments when she wasn’t hunched in on herself, giving off an air of vulnerability, like now.
Vee took in the scene in the parlor with red-rimmed eyes. She blinked at Sal, but didn’t react to him beyond that. We’d had plenty of other feybloods come through here seeking our necromancy services, some more frightening looking than Sal. Particularly with the damage to our family’s reputation, first with my being accused of dark necromancy, then with Grayson/grandfather’s plot, we’d had to take some of the riskier clients just to make ends meet. But Vee did frown at my sword, and when she looked at Pete her face filled with worry. “Dear heart, are you okay?”
Pete nodded. “Fine.”
“You look … worked up. Perhaps we should take you out to your room and have some tea?”
Pete frowned. “I should be taking care of you right now.”
Vee waved a hand. “I’m okay. It was good, helping to finalize Zekiel’s display for the wake, especially after all of the ARC’s stupid delays to ‘debrief’ his spirit.” She sighed. “And as for ‘should,’ we take care of each other, kjære, that’s what partners do.”
Sal sighed. “Youself good mate,” he said to Vee. “I heart-wish I had mate like you.”
Pete growled, and the hair at the base of his skull actually stood up. “She’s taken,” he said.
Vee grabbed his arm. “Come on. You need to calm down.” She looked past him at Sal. “I’m sorry, he’s still adjusting to his wolf. Please excuse us.” She dragged Pete away as he ducked his head like a puppy caught misbehaving.
A throat cleared from the hallway. “Finn?” Dawn called. “Okay if I come in?”
I glanced at Sal. He did not seem to be in a dangerous mood, for the moment anyway. And Dawn’s enthusiasm for all things magical rang clear in her voice. “Yes, come in.”
Dawn poked her head around the corner, peeking through the plastic Six Million Dollar Man head. She opened her other eye, then let the toy head drop when it was obvious she could see Sal without it.
“Sal,” I said, “this is Dawn. She’s an Acolyte.”
“Greetings,” Dawn said. She waved, grinning like a six-year-old who’d just said hello to Mickey at Disneyland. One of the silver rings on her right hand held a ladybug suspended in amber. The ring was courtesy of Lila Drake Jewelry, the traces of spiritual and magical energy that charged it were courtesy of me, and together the amber and energy marked her as an Acolyte, a mundy with accepted knowledge of the magical world. But most feybloods would go to extremes not to be seen by mundies, Acolyte or not.
I watched Sal warily. He hesitated, sniffing at the air, then bowed his head. “Greetings, Dawn.”
Dawn stepped fully into the room. She held a plate with a slice of banana cream pie in one hand, the other hand behind her back—holding the baton, I assumed. “I took a peek in your catering book,” she said to me. “We didn’t have much that a sasquatch would like, but I had this.”
Sal sniffed at the air like a dog picking up a scent, and his fur fluffed up again, though this time he also made a kind of purring sound.
Our family’s catering book covered the diets of most common feyblood species that lived in the area, in case we needed to throw a wake or reception for any of them. I knew from memory that sasquatches enjoyed salmon, and pinecones, and mushrooms, and apparently could digest bark pretty well. But if you wanted to make a sasquatch happy, nothing worked better than banana cream pie. It was like catnip to cats, or brownies to brownies, a sure way to put them in a happy trancelike state.
Sal dropped his satchel and crossed the distance to Dawn in two steps. She didn’t even flinch, but just handed him the plate. “Enjoy.” Sal ate the pie in three fast bites, and began licking his hands and the plate.
“Big heart-thanks to youself, Dawn,” Sal said between licks.
“You’re most welcome, Sal!” Dawn said in a tone that said she was totally psyched to be talking to a sasquatch. “Killer boots. Do you have to wear them because of all the broken bottles and crap people leave in the forests? Or are they so you don’t leave those footprints everyone’s always making casts of?”
Sal’s ears glowed red yet again. I winced, and stepped between him and Dawn. She had a habit of talking to everyone like they’d been lifetime friends, no topic off limits. Most times, I was amazed at how she instantly bonded with them. But sometimes, it got her in trouble. In this case, trouble could flatten us with his fists. “Dawn, can you do me a favor and ask Mattie to bring the Kin Finder?”
Dawn arched one pierced eyebrow at me, and a second later Mattie wheeled in the Kin Finder 2000. At least, that’s what I called Father’s invention. About the size of a microwave, it looked like half clockwork slot machine, half distillery, and half of a Transformer’s innards, three halves that somehow made a single whole.
“Uh, thanks,” I said to Mattie. Even at sixteen she was far more organized than I.
“No prob, Uncle Finn. I’m going to check on Dad and Grandpa G. Shout if you need anything.”
“Right. Good. Will do.” Way more organized.
“So,” I said to Sal as Mattie left. “Let’s find your true love, shall we?”
Sal picked up his satchel. “Iself am not having much for paying, but—”
I shook my head. “This one’s free, Sal. I owe you for what happened with my grand—with Grayson.”
And one thing I had learned from our family business was that word of mouth made the best advertisement. If I could find true love for Sal, him being a sasquatch mercenary and former enemy, then hopefully word would spread that I could find love for anyone.
Before Sal could argue, I went to work setting up the Kin Finder 2000. I moved the cart to a spot on the floor marked by a small piece of electrical tape, a set home-point from which the results could be accurately measured, and aligned the machine to true north using the compass on its top.
“What does itself do?” Sal asked as I next extended a mechanical arm and adjusted it to the right extension and height.
“It uses the spiritual resonance between two living beings to locate one using the other,” I said. “Normally, we use it to locate next of kin. But I can also use it to locate a person’s soul mate.”
“Soul mate? Iself have heard speak of this. Itself is being human brightstory.”
“Brightstory?” Dawn asked.
“Myth,” I translated, and slid a pen into a small ring at the end of the mechanical arm.
Dawn smiled at Sal. “Well, they say you’re a myth, too, right, Sal?”
Sal shrugged. “Some say Iself are myth. Some say gods are real-real. Some not always be true-right. Dawn, has Finn found youself’s soul mate?”
I looked up from the machine. She’d said it in a joking manner, but a note of something more serious had crept in. “Hey, that’s not true,” I replied.
Dawn gave a quick shake of her head, as if admonishing herself, before her mischievous smile returned. “Well, maybe you should explain to Sal here just what it means to find your soul mate…?”
I raised my eyebrows at her. She raised a single pierced brow back. I sighed.
“Well, for one, it doesn’t guarantee instant love,” I said. “You’ll still have to get to know your soul mate, Sal, and fall in love. But it should be easier with the … being who is your soul mate than anyone else, and once you find love it should last forever. Well, as long as you don’t take it for granted.”
“Should, huh?” Dawn asked, and crossed her arms.
Sal appeared to waver for a second, as if a heat wave passed in front of him. Like many feyblood creatures, sasquatches had a natural glamour that shielded them from mundy view, and could even mask them from casual arcana sight. To the unaware, they might appear as bears, or heavily bearded woodsmen, or death metal band members.
“Dawn,” I said, “I think we’re making Sal uncomfortable.” He probably wasn’t even aware the glamour was activating, he’d just picked up on some subtle threat.
I wouldn’t mind knowing why it had activated, either.
“Well,” Dawn said. “We wouldn’t want to do that. I think we’ll go fix us second breakfasts.” She looked to Sal. “Sorry if I really did make you uncomfortable, Sal. With Finn and me, joking’s just how we show our love. Which is one of the many reasons we’re perfect for each other: nobody else could stand us—right, oh love of mine?”
Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free Page 2
