She sniffed, but stayed silent. I could see she didn’t like being called a child. Conrad shook his head violently. “I didn’t kidnap her. The Brownies did.” He looked around, guiltily.
“The Brownies brought her to you.” I had gathered that from Mbwasho’s account of her night crossing of the gate to Underhill.
He nodded. “I didn’t ask them to find her.” He said firmly. “Didn’t even say I wanted a woman. But,” he shrugged fatalistically, “Now she’s here, I want her to stay.”
A sept of Brownies had crossed the veil between worlds, kidnapped a girl I was fairly sure wasn’t old enough to drive in the United States, although probably long in the tooth for marriage in the Masai culture, and given her like a gift to their favorite pet. I rubbed my face with both hands, looking with the Sight while I did so. There were Brownies everywhere, I was surrounded. I dropped my hands.
“Mbwasho, do you want to be here?”
“Yes, I do. It is so easy.” She nodded eagerly, her necklaces and earrings flashing.
I could imagine it was, to a girl who’d had a life of hard physical labor. Masai culture dictated men not marry until they were elders, so the age difference – which wasn’t obviously as great as it was in human years – wouldn’t bother her. I’d had very little to do with Africa, the magic there was eldritch, weird, and didn’t bother the locals the way it did in more civilized-in-name areas. But the Masai as a group interested me, and I had spent some time with them at one point, learning their legends and hunting enough to impress them. That was long before this child was a twinkle in her mother’s eye.
There was another factor. Like the sprites, the tiny Brownies were a race to be cautious around. One at a time, they were insignificant. But they would swarm you, and six would die willingly so that one could slash your hamstring. I couldn’t see them with my eyes, but I’d seen their lifeglows, and there were more than enough of them to take me out. I had other things to do, and better ways to die.
“I will talk to the Queen. I think your pardon will be granted.”
Mbwasho squealed and jumped up and down, clapping her hands. I raised an eyebrow at Conrad, who blushed, a trick with his ruddy complexion. “Thank you,” he said simply.
“Can you look at the paper now, please?”
He unfolded it carefully, then turned it right side up. Mbwasho leaned over his shoulder and pursed her lips. “Ugh. This thing is…”She shivered and crossed herself.
Conrad got up, leaving the paper on the table. Mbwasho slipped around the corner of the table and looked in my cup, which was mostly empty.
“Do you want more?” she asked sweetly. Conrad was mumbling under his breath and running a finger over the spines of books. This could take a while.
“Sure.” I watched as she got it. She knew where everything was. I wondered just how long she’d been there, and why the Brownies were importing breeding stock. A smile quirked my lips. They liked their pet, evidently. She came back with the mug.
“Thank you.” I wondered if Conrad would relax with the shotgun now that he wasn’t being so protective. I’d like to bring Bella to meet Mbwasho. They would have even less in common than Bella had with the Fae women at first, but I thought Bella would like the girl. And it might give Conrad some relief to not have his little hen pecking at him all the time.
Conrad stumped back over to the table, his arms full of books. I helped him get them stacked up neatly, and Mbwasho retreated. I didn’t think she was illiterate, the crossing motion spoke of a missionary education, but she wasn’t sure of me, as hard as she was trying to be polite.
“I have an idea,” he told me. “I am cryptozoologist, you know this.”
I did, but let him think out loud at me without breaking into his stream of thoughts. This was part of his process, I’d learned, talking it all out.
“I can believe the unbelievable, study the impossible. It is my gift. Is why God sent me here.”
He flipped open a book, then closed it with a grunt of disgust. Without pausing he went on to the next one in the stack. “I have all the records, even of the things they say cannot be. This one…” He stabbed a thick finger in the direction of Bella’s sketch. “This one is physiologically improbable. But so are centaurs, and minotaurs.”
I blinked at that bland assertion, and opened my mouth to ask if they were real, then closed it again. I didn’t need to know, right now, I had other fish to fry. Maybe another time.
Conrad rolled on, not paying me any attention while he flipped through the stacks of books. “So, I say to myself, must be magical. Like fairies, who can fly, along with bumblebees, when science says no, is no possible.”
I blinked away the mental picture of Bella as a bumblebee, and the memory of her reaction to her wings. She had not been a happy lady, and had let me know that in no uncertain terms. Besides, we already knew it was magic, it had left traces of that on the bodies. Conrad picked up a book, flipped a few pages, stopped talking, and flipped a few more.
He set the book down flat, rotated it so I could see, and folded his hands one over the other, flat on the table. I knew that look. It meant he thought he knew the answer. I leaned over to see the pages he was showing me. There was no illustrations on them, just crabbed, ancient handwriting in a language I couldn’t read. Or maybe that was really bad handwriting, in bleached-out oak gall ink, it looked like.
I looked up at him. “What does it say?”
“Doppelganger to the Germans. Ka to the Egyptians. Vardoger to the Norse. Etianen to the Finns. Ankou to the Cornish and Normans. My research shows they have been around for a long, long time. And only ever spotted by those most alert. Do you ever know what a shapechanger's natural form is? Or what happens to those they replace?”
Shapechanger
I had been hoping for something definitive when I left Conrad’s shack, not a will’o the wisp chase. Instead of having a direction to look in, I had the idea that he’d either slipped off the deep end entirely, or I couldn’t trust anyone. If a true shapechanger existed, how would I know? The Sight might tell me, but I could hardly walk around Underhill with my eyes closed until I spotted something strange.
I weighed my options. It had been months since I’d contacted any of my friends in Low places. With the death rate Alger and Lucia had reported, it seemed likely that many would be gone, and if I did find one, it would put them at a higher risk. My lack of magic hadn’t been a vulnerability in the past, as I’d had enough to trigger premade spells supplied by others, and an itchy trigger finger to back them up. If I walked into a dive now, with the rumor I’d lost all magic… people would die. I wouldn’t be one of them, but it could cause ripples that would interfere with the patterns I was looking for.
Which meant I could return to High Court, and take the subtle path of watching and waiting. I knew at least one of the members of the High Council was corrupt, and connected to the Low Court. A promise of more power with the consolidation, or revenge, or… the possibilities were endless. Everyone has a price.
I went to find Sean, instead. This was no time for subtle waiting. Passively standing there watching the tide roll in was not my style, and it seemed like a good way to lose everything. Given time, and warning, we could channel the tide, harness the power, and divert it off harmlessly.
Sean’s favorite drinking hole was a real oddity, Underhill. A century ago when the gates were more open between worlds than they were now, humans had unknowingly exploited one. Thinking it was just an inconspicuous location that kept the police from raiding their speakeasy, they’d built not only a nightclub, but an entire warehouse to hide the hooch. The industrial chic styles in some parts of the club contrasted starkly with the decadent art nouveau of the central barroom.
The veil had rippled, as it did every so often, the gate vanished in an instant, and some of the guys and gals bellied up to the bar had never quite clicked that their world was gone. The neon sign, which had to be powered by magic now, although I’d never asked, blinke
d slowly in the neverending darkness of this pocket of Underhill. Eat – At it said in small letters, and then in a flash of glory, JOE’s lit up the sky.
Joe’s was neutral ground, and I nodded at the bouncer as I walked through the double doors. He grunted an unintelligible greeting, and the gold rings around his tusks glinted as he looked down at me. The only ogre I’d ever not killed on sight, Terrence was the height of civilized Fae. What the stranded humans thought of him, I had no idea, although I’d seen one stagger up to him one night and politely address him as Mister Howard. Ten feet of muscle covered in olive drab skin, I’d seen him throw a misbehaving dwarf through a wall, and it was no mock-up Hollywood wall.
Past the door ogre, I looked around, squinting a little. Joe, wherever he was, rest his soul, had evidently believed that light was a tool of the angels, so forbade it from being flung profligately around in his place lest it attract too much good. It was quiet, but not empty. Joe’s was never empty.
I strolled toward the bar, contemplating a quiet beverage whilst I waited for my quarry. The barmaid intercepted me as I slid onto a stool. Rubbing a soft cloth unnecessarily over the shining zebra wood of the bar counter, she asked in her charming accent, “What’ll you have, Lom?”
That accent… might be Russian, might be European… I’d made the mistake of asking her, once, and Terrance had come and loomed over me while she shouted that she ‘vas Amerikan, by Bob!’ at me. I’d apologized profusely with a weather eye on the frowning troll and the other one watching her hands fiddle with the hilts of various… several… more than I could keep track of... knives. I’d bought her a few shots of Devil’s Cut bourbon and promised to never bring it up again.
“Black ichor of the gods,” I told her, and she smiled. She knew what I meant. There was a contraption in the corner that made ominous noises and glows when it was in operation, but the liquid it produced was divinely coffee. She added the measure of Irish I hadn’t asked for, and slid it to me.
I sipped, slowly, and sighed. “Hits the spot.” I looked around the nearly empty place. “I haven’t been in here for too long. Who’s around?”
She shrugged and went back to polishing the wood. That wasn’t a good sign. If she were happy, she’d pull up a stool on her side, pour a shot, and plunk both her elbows down for a good gossip fest. I took another slug.
“Do me a favor,” She was talking to the bar, not me, but I got the message. “Have your coffee, and go down the road. I don’t need no troubles.”
Oh, hell. Not here. “Yah, I hear you,” was all I said aloud. I looked sadly into my cup. Joe’s was supposed to be the one place where your affiliations were left outside, and no one talked politics or religion.
I took another swallow. No point in looking like I’d been run off. I turned away from the bar, and saw Sean walk through the door. There was no missing the big wolfman. He stood upright, for one thing, a head taller than me, and for another, the were had the worst taste in suits I’d ever seen. His chartreuse zoot suit was from the wrong period entirely for Joe’s, but no one seemed to care or even notice. Terrence was beautifully attired in white tie and tails, red cummerbund. The barmaid favored flapper dresses in red with nets of jet beading. But Sean strutted in the zoot, cuffs tight to ankles, black and white shoes custom fit to long wolf toes… and the hat. The hat with the holes for his furry ears.
I gave him a look, and twitched my head toward the outside as I stood up. I went on out, and waited. The alley was appropriately atmospheric, dark, and filled with fog. The effect of the neon colors flashing overhead was nice to look at, without providing actual illumination. I leaned up against the wall, feeling the chill of the bricks soaking through the leather and sheepswool of the bomber I was wearing. Sean was a smart wolf, he’d give it some time, and a drink at least, before he followed me.
It was several minutes before he came out, and he walked toward me without looking at me, like he was just happening to head in this direction. I pushed off the wall and melted in a few steps behind him, knowing how long it would take for the mist to obscure us from the side entrance… and then I bubbled us both.
An instant later we were standing in a sunny meadow. Well, I was standing. Sean, who’d still been walking, stumbled badly. He whipped around and growled at me. “You could have warned me!”
I grinned disarmingly – I hoped – at him. “More fun this way.”
“You and your sense of humor. Going to get us both killed.” His tail wasn’t wagging. This was one very unhappy wolf below his flippant façade.
I shook my head. “I didn’t want to involve you. But I need answers.”
He pulled the hat off and scratched one ear. “I get you. I got answers. But they might not be the ones you want.”
I shrugged my jacket off, out here in the sun it was making me sweat. “Margot Mulvaney.”
“The pixie chick?” He cocked his head at me. “You have the same last name.”
“She was my sister.” I didn’t believe he hadn’t already known that. He was stalling.
“The Blood Queen ordered it.” His ears flattened as he said that, and he looked around nervously, then again, with one eye closed. He was looking for a magical signature near us, but I already knew we were alone. Even a hijacked animal would still have a tell-tale trace. Besides, no-one could have known where we would wind up talking. We were as safe as it was possible to be.
“A source told me it might be a shapechanger working for her.”
Now his ears were back flat to his skull “Damn, man, that’s scary shit. You wouldn’t see one of them coming, could be your best friend and skkkzzt…” He drew one long claw across his throat fur.
I stepped closer and reached up, grabbing that throat. “Tell me straight, or I really will make good about that promise to turn you into a fur rug.”
He gargled a little. I wasn’t holding tight, but his efforts to get free were bouncing right off me. A nice magical shield was handy. Would have been nice to have in years past. Oh, well, you use what you got.
I mused out loud. “Your mangy hide might actually look good, all flat in front of my fireplace. Firelight’d bring out your highlights, way it flickers.”
He coughed as I let go and stepped back. “Talk, wolf.”
“Would…” he gasped and rubbed his throat “Would you at least have sex with that hot wife of yours on me?”
I burst out laughing. He was irrepressible. Sean’s ears perked back up, a tell-tale sign he was feeling better about the situation.
“Look, man. No hard feelings. But there’s some bad shit going on down at Low. I can’t go back in there, my hackles go up, I can’t get ‘em to lie down, and I get funny looks.” He shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t hear anything about a shapechanger.” He shuddered. “That’s scary…”
“Shit, I know.” I finished it for him. “I’m not asking you to go to Low.”
He looked relieved.
“I just want you to hang around Joe’s, keep your ears open. Not your mouth, you mangy mutt, just ears.”
He nodded, and I fished a small leather bag from my pocket. It clinked, and his eyes brightened and the ears were all the way up. I held it out to him. “You send me a message, you hear anything. Kapish?”
He took the bag and made it disappear somewhere into that voluminous suit. One thing I’d say about his style, plenty of room for pockets.
“I got it, boss.” His eyes narrowed and he looked me up and down. “Something different about you.”
“Yeah. There is.” I bubbled him and sent him back to the alley, still standing in the meadow alone. I finished my thought after he was gone. “I’m back, and this time I’m all here.”
I stood there alone in the sunlight, thinking, for a long time. Out here it all seemed so far away, and my day had been frustratingly empty of productive answers. Time was trickling faster toward another death, and I couldn’t stop it. Time to do some legwork.
A Darker Side
They say
violence answers nothing. I’d say a man with a gun is a great leveler, and a gun in the kidney gets a result. Magic makes that a bit more reliable than it does Above, of course. It’s not without pitfalls, even so. When you want someone to say something bad enough, they can and will say anything, doesn’t make it true.
Except I know that. And I know how to tell if they mean it. I dug the gun into his hide a little harder. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know that he was scared, or that he was lying. I could hear that in his voice.
“Where’s the Blood Queen’s enforcer?” I asked him again.
He gobbled, a curiously high-pitched noise from a ghoul. I waited. He was breaking, I could smell it now. Came close to gagging me, that flush of sweat driving his fear out through his pores along with his diet of rotting flesh. The ghouls were always on the fringes. No one could stand to be around them for long, to begin with, and you always felt like they were just waiting for you to die so they could chow down.
“She’s gonna kills me.” He moaned, finally, sagging. I pulled back a little.
“Kills?” I wanted to know if that was just his bad education, or if it had meaning.
“You know. Kill me. Then kill me again. Maybe kill me again after that.” He shivered, I could feel it. “Ghoul’s gotta live, y’know.”
“And you can’t do that if you keep getting killed.”
He nodded so hard I had fears for his scrawny neck. “Prezackly. Ain’t gonna be no zombie, not when her… her thing gets to you.”
“So what will you be?” I felt like we were getting somewhere, now. He didn’t turn around, even though I’d mostly stopped jabbing him with the long barrel of the revolver I’d chosen for this task. Mentally I promised myself, and it, a good cleaning afterward.
Dragon Noir (Pixie for Hire Book 3) Page 5
