Modern Magic

by Karen E. Taylor, John G. Hartness, Julie Kenner, Eric R. Asher, Jeanne Adams, Rick Gualtieri, Jennifer St. Giles, Stuart Jaffe, Nicole Givens Kurtz, James Maxey, Gail Z. Martin, Christopher Golden

  “Aideen,” I said. “I don’t think you needed to–”

  Cara held up a hand to silence everyone and jumped onto the shelves beside Zola. Cara’s face sobered and her eyes locked on the book in Zola’s arms. “What do you have?”

  “Nothing good,” Zola said as she drew the thin metal plate from the back of the old book, an empty smile on her lips. Bubbles growled as the plate slid free of its cover. It chimed as Zola sat it on the display case beside the register and slid it toward the fairies.

  Cara jumped down from the shelf of dried herbs she was on and squatted beside the gray plate. She ran her hand down the etched metal. “This … this we can make something of.” Her wings opened and closed slowly.

  “There is much evil in that iron, Cara.” Aideen grimaced and moved closer to Foster.

  “We can make a fairy bottle.” Cara nodded to herself and flattened her hand against the metal plate. “It will be a powerful bottle indeed.”

  “Dangerous,” Aideen whispered, “but yes, it would be powerful.”

  “How powerful?” I said.

  Foster shrugged. “It depends. We won’t really know until it’s made.”

  Aideen leaned against Foster as he nodded and glanced between me, the metal plate, and Cara.

  The elder fairy met my eyes and said, very quietly, “We won’t really know until it is used.” Her eyes trailed back to the metal and she paced along its length. “There may be enough material for two bottles. Look at the design in the center. It is perfectly halved.” Cara sat down on the edge of the display case. “We’ll worry about the bottle later. I have grave news to share, but I believe it gives us a better understanding of what’s happening.”

  “And that would be?” Zola said.

  Cara sighed and folded her legs beneath her. “It seems to be an old group of vampires. Most of the Pits call them timewalkers. They’re an obsessed lot, ancient and certifiably insane by any standard.”

  Zola cursed.

  “You’ve heard of them?” I said.

  She nodded.

  “What makes them so bad?”

  “Damian,” Cara said, “most vampires look at timewalkers the way commoners look at cults. It’s a devoted group, devoted to a fault, to demons of all things.”

  “Are you kidding?” I said as I shook my head and gestured at nothing, images of the zombie horde flashing through my mind, memories of the lives destroyed. “Are you kidding? Demon-worshipping vampires? What the hell kind of crap is that?”

  Cara could have maimed me with a stray thought. Instead, she just glared at me.

  I cringed. Oh, you would have too.

  “Mind your tongue, young man.” Her voice quickened and rose in heat. “This comes from a very reliable source. My friend, you know him by the name Glenn.” She paused. “I know him by the name Gwynn ap Nudd.”

  “Shit,” Zola and I said together. My jaw gaped open in disbelief. Never underestimate the Fae. They probably know someone who could wipe you out in a blink. Or worse, wipe you out over a long, slow, horrible, slow, stretch of time. Like Gwynn ap Nudd, for example, Lord of the Dead, sometimes leader of the Wild Hunt, oh, and King of the Sidhe. You know, Glenn, the cheery fellow I had in my store yesterday. I blinked, I think.

  Cara sighed and then placed her hands on her small stomach and threw her head back in laughter. It was a beautiful ringing, and it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. She quieted and wiped her eye with her right hand. “Oh Damian, sometimes I forget why Foster likes you so much.”

  I frowned, trying to decide what she meant by that before my mind jumped back to Glenn a moment later. I raced over everything he’d said to us, and shock turned to rage in a heartbeat.

  “That son of a bitch sent us into that mess. He sent us into the middle of a goddamn zombie horde! What the hell?!” I pounded my fist on the door frame to the back room. “He could have wiped out the gravemaker without a second thought and he sent us down there to die.” I snarled in frustration and kicked the door.

  “Gravemaker?” Cara said. Her eyes were wide as Foster nodded. Aideen paled and she squeezed Foster in a fierce hug.

  “Yes, mother, and did you catch the other part?” Foster said. “We had to fight our way out of a zombie horde.” He threw his arms wide and Aideen narrowly ducked his flailing limbs. “A bloody horde!”

  “Queen save us,” Cara whispered. “They’ve already done it.”

  “Done what?” I said.

  Her lips quivered. “Glenn would have warned us if he had known. There’s only one thing in this world that could raise a gravemaker and a horde without the Sidhe knowing. They’ve already brought a demon over.”

  Zola inhaled sharply. The room fell silent except for the faint tick of the grandfather clock and an old car rumbling by on the cobblestones outside.

  I glanced at Zola and her eyes were wide. “So that’s it? You’re sure Glenn would have warned us if he’d known?”

  “Yes,” Cara said.

  My master nodded and slid her hand along the edge of the glass counter before she collapsed onto the stool behind it. “Gods save us. That’s how the vampires are creating puppets. Philip started this.” She closed her eyes and her knuckles whitened around the old book. “Philip’s the only one who would know.”

  Cara nodded. “Others could know. You know, and you know who else knows.”

  Zola shook her head. “They aren’t here. Ah haven’t seen the Old Man in a lifetime, and Ezekiel … this is not his work. He was never a subtle man.”

  “There’s a demon among the mortals,” Cara said as she turned to me.

  “But is it corporeal, or just living in a host?” Zola said. “If it’s corporeal already, Ah don’t think we can face it alone.”

  “I know,” Cara said. She sighed and leaned against the register. “I am sorry you were ambushed, Damian. We had no idea they’d come so far.”

  “It’s … okay. We all made it.” My rage flickered and died as a twisted knot of dread drowned the fire in my gut. I leaned back and banged my head on the wall. “This sucks.”

  “I’m afraid there is more.”

  “What else?” I muttered.

  She didn’t smile; she simply turned to Foster with a flat look. My heart skipped a beat as she put a hand on Foster’s shoulder. I stood up ramrod straight.

  “It’s Colin.”

  Foster’s brow furrowed and he slipped away from Aideen’s arm. “What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, son. He was attacked by a vampire. He didn’t make it.”

  Foster’s face quivered and reddened as rage and sorrow warred for dominance. “Who?” His voice was choked, ragged. “Who killed him?”

  “Karen, from Sam’s Pit, she was there. She came by to tell me about Colin. It was an outsider. She said he had a runner’s body with long black hair. Not too tall, five eight or so. The vampire attacked her outside the Pit. Colin stepped in to help. He never got a chance to step back. She didn’t know anything else. But … but she saw him die as she got away. I think the shock of seeing Colin’s death was all that distracted the other vampire and saved Karen.”

  “Nudd be damned!” Foster yelled as he drew his sword and stabbed it into the edge of the counter. He closed his eyes and shook for a moment, the quiver running through his wings exaggerating the motion.

  “Leave us for a moment, Damian, Zola.” Cara’s voice was flat and her eyes didn’t leave the thin sheet of metal.

  Zola nodded once and stepped toward the door.

  “Ah,” I shrugged and glanced at Foster. He nodded once. “Okay. When should we come back?”

  “You’ll know,” Cara said.

  I frowned at her, left the shop with Zola, and locked the door behind me.

  We drove down to the gas station and filled Vicky up. Zola waited in the car, and after grabbing a bag of beef jerky and a Mountain Dew, we headed back toward the shop.

  I turned off the radio and pulled into my usual spot just outside the Double D.

&n
bsp; “I guess we’ll wait here for now,” I said.

  Zola nodded a moment before a huge flash of light erupted from the front windows and my heart skipped a beat. Half blinded, I dropped the jerky and drew my pepperbox in one motion. Zola moved behind me as we jogged to the door and unlocked the two deadbolts. Nothing looked out of sorts as I made my way down the aisles. The small gray flasks in the center of the front counter caught my attention immediately. I stared at them for a second. I could tell they weren’t flasks at all when we stepped closer.

  Zola sucked in a sharp breath. I glanced at her, but her eyes stayed on the counter.

  I recognized the etchings on the small bottles. They were both crafted from the iron and Magrasnetto plate. I reached out and touched the cool metal.

  “Done already?” I said. “So that’s a fairy bottle, huh?”

  “They are not simple fairy bottles, Damian,” Foster said. “They are dark bottles.” He landed softly on the other side of the bottles and laid a hand on the nearest one. His sword was still stuck in the edge of the counter. His finger traced the pattern of runes and interlocking circles etched into the metal. “These will hold evil souls.”

  I mulled through the meaning of Foster’s words and asked, “How evil?”

  “Ah reckon it will hold good souls, too.” Zola’s voice was sour.

  Cara sighed and looked away. She gave only a tiny nod in response to Zola’s comment. “They will hold anything short of an arch-demon, Damian.”

  “And if you bind a demon in one?” I said as I raised my eyebrows. “What then? Can we destroy it?”

  Zola shook her head as Cara said, “Not with the bottles.” She paused and narrowed her eyes. “Although if the bottle itself was destroyed with enough power, it could destroy a demon … it is a possibility.”

  I picked up one of the gray flasks and rubbed my thumb over the etchings. “Well, I’d rather not gamble on a possibility.”

  “It is a horrific torture for an aura or a soul to be ripped away and trapped in a dark bottle,” Aideen said. “It is consciousness in oblivion.”

  Cara was silent, her only motion another small nod of her head.

  Aideen slid her arm around Foster’s waist as they both sat down on the edge of the counter. He put his arm around her shoulder.

  “What do we do now?” he said.

  I didn’t answer with words. I walked to the front counter and opened the display case. The demon staff was heavy in my hands as I laid it across the top of the glass. I pulled all the Magrasnetto out of the case to my left and set it beside the staff. My hand lingered on the metal and rock.

  “Let me do this for you,” Cara said. I took a step back when Cara flashed into her full size and started gathering the Magrasnetto in her arms. She managed all of it with her left arm and picked up the staff with her right hand, leaving the second fairy bottle alone on the counter. Her wings trembled as she moved. I wasn’t sure if she was shaking from the effort of creating the bottles, but it seemed like a safe bet.

  “Go home,” she said. “Come back tomorrow night. I’m going to pay a friend a visit.” Her face hardened as reality folded around her in a flash of white light and, oh so briefly, I glimpsed the dark star fields of infinity. Then she was gone.

  “Well?” I said as I looked at Foster. “Ready to go sleep?”

  Foster glanced toward the back room and the grandfather clock with an obvious expression of longing. He sighed and his face hardened as he turned back to me. “I have a vampire to kill, Damian. Colin was a good friend.”

  “I rather thought you might say that.” I picked up an old brown bowler Frank had given me not too long ago and plopped it on my head. “Let’s go hunting.”

  Foster snorted and stared at my head. “Yeah, you’re all ready to inspire fear and distress in the undead. I can tell.”

  I grinned.

  “Be careful, love,” Aideen said.

  Foster kissed her lightly, pulled his sword from the wood, and sheathed it. He placed his hand on the center rune of the dark bottle beside him and it snapped into a size small enough to slide easily into the pouch on his hip. I offered him the other as well.

  “Keep the bottle, Damian,” Aideen said, waving me away from Foster. “You have a use for it now.”

  I shivered at the thought, but slid the bottle into my pocket anyway. “Aren’t you coming?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Colin was Foster’s friend. Vengeance is his duty alone.”

  “Ah, is it alright if I drive, then, or does that conflict with duty?”

  She and Foster both laughed.

  “Yes,” Aideen said. “I’m sure tradition can withstand the presence of one lowly necromancer.”

  “Lowly?” I said sharply.

  Zola laughed and made her way to the back room. “I’ll be here with Aideen if you need me, boy.”

  Aideen smiled and launched herself after Zola as Foster and I left. I turned and locked the door to the shop once we were outside.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Can I ask you something a little, well, uncomfortable, Foster?” I said as I walked toward Vicky. The old car sat on the cobblestone street, as silent and brooding as the fairy hovering at my shoulder.

  Foster nodded once.

  “Why would Colin’s death distract a vampire?” I said.

  “You don’t know?” Foster’s eyes widened and his wings slowed down, causing him to list away from me.

  I paused with my key in Vicky’s door and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Right, why else would you ask?” He blew out a tiny breath and swooped in through the open window. “Fairies are pure fae, you know that, right?” he said as I sat down and buckled my seatbelt. “And I mean fae as in ley line energy, not Fae as in Sidhe.”

  “Yeah, Zola’s told me a little bit about it, and I’ve read a few references to it, but I never really gave it much thought.” I backed out of the parking space and started the short but bumpy trip to the highway.

  “Don’t feel bad. We never really give it much thought either until one of us dies.” Foster jumped up on the dashboard, hung his legs over the edge, and rubbed his eyes as I pulled onto Fifth Street. He sighed and said, “It’s pretty horrible. Not the kind of thing I’ll ever get used to. The body gets dissolved into the nearest ley line.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It’s worse than it sounds,” he said in a low voice.

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I’ve only seen it a few times in battle, and some of our elders.” He moved his hands like he was kneading dough and said, “The skin and wings get pulled from every direction at once, stretching to grotesque lengths.” I could see him shiver out of the corner of my eye. “Then it all gives way, and you can actually hear their substance rip apart. The muscles bulge, and the blood, and organs, and …” he stopped and shook his head. “It’s horrible until the end. Once the body is torn apart and spread out, the entire being just breaks down into a dull rainbow of light and flows away into the nearest line. Much like our waste is absorbed back into the lines.”

  “Like poo?” I said seriously.

  Foster smiled, just a little. “You didn’t think we had indoor plumbing in your clock, did you?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “I never really thought about it.”

  “Death is a violent end for all Fae, even those of us who pass on in our sleep.”

  I glanced at Foster. “So that’s how Colin’s death could have distracted the vampire?”

  “Yes, because Colin would have died at his proelium size, not what you see of me now,” he said as he gestured at his own diminished wingspan. “There’s also some debate as to whether or not the dying feel their body being torn apart. Some scream, some don’t.”

  I thought about a human being like that, shredded and disemboweled before they lit up like a snowy Christmas tree. The thought of being able to feel it as it happened? I grimaced. Envisioning a small fairy was bad enough, I couldn’t even imagine the mess a s
even-foot-plus body would make.

  “Fuck that, Foster.”

  He snorted. “Yes, I think you win with the whole roasting on a funeral pyre or dying and slowly rotting away thing.”

  “Never thought I’d agree with a comment like that, but you are absolutely right.”

  Foster’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Where are we going to find the vampire?” I said. I didn’t see any reason to specify which vampire.

  “If I know my bloodsuckers, he’s going to come for Karen again.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and it won’t matter who gets in his way. He’ll be too excited about the game.” Foster spat the word game, disgust obvious in his voice, as he rubbed his right hand over the lower edge of his wings. “Where does she work?”

  “I think she works at Chesterfield Mall,” I said.

  “That’s where we’ll find him.” Foster’s eyes narrowed and his fingers drummed on the hilt of his sword.

  We pulled onto Highway 40 from Highway 94, headed toward the Chesterfield Valley. Once it had been nothing more than a flood plain. Now it was a thriving shopping center, miles long, with everything from Wal-Mart to a Lamborghini dealership. Only problem is, it’s still a flood plain.

  Foster was silent until we crossed the bridge over the Missouri River. He pointed out the window toward a small island.

  “Is that Howell Island?” he said.

  “Yeah, I think so.” It was a decent-sized island in the middle of the river, normally covered in trees and green leaves at this time of year, but I couldn’t really tell in the dying sunlight.

  “That’s about the thinnest disguise I’ve ever heard of,” he said as he waved his hand in a sharp dismissal. “The Midwest wolves of war are based there.” He paused again.

  I kept my eyes on the road as my heart accelerated a few beats.

  “Did you know that?” Foster said.

  “Nope.” I glanced at Foster as I signaled to change lanes and let a semi pass.