“Uh, Nick,” Paul interrupted, absently rubbing the back of his neck, “this is my associate. You know. My associate.”
“Oh,” he replied, and then mumbled, “Oh,” again as the light of recognition dawned in his face. “This, um…this is—”
“Yes.”
The bishop stood, but he kept his chair between us. “I…was expecting someone—”
“Older?” I volunteered. “I’m eight hundred and twelve, and we can discuss this later. Paul, have you seen any news out of Rigby this morning?” I asked, ignoring the flabbergasted bishop.
“No.” He folded his arms. “No, I’ve not even checked my e-mail today…why, did something happen?”
“See for yourself.”
With a brief flash of impatience for my evasiveness, he beckoned me into the office, then flipped open the laptop on his desk, shoved a pair of reading glasses into position, and began his work. I’d just taken up a comfortable spot on the wall when he exclaimed, “Good Lord, what the hell is that?”
“Mantis wolf thingy?”
He looked up over the screen and nodded. “What have you done?”
“Stopped them, actually. We were able to do a little cleanup, but you forget how many damn cameras there are nowadays.” I shrugged against the plaster. “Look, Paul, I think our daughter’s out to get Meggy and me. Those things didn’t show up in Rigby by chance, you know. I’ve already pulled a few people over for safekeeping until we settle this. Even Greg’s offering help, but—”
The priest pushed his glasses down his nose. “You think I’m in danger?”
“The day I first took Moyna to her mother, I told her where I’d gotten the information. She might not remember you, but if she does, and if she’s trying to get to me…”
I left the thought unfinished, and Paul snapped his computer closed. “Do we have a time frame?” he asked, then bent with a grunt to pull a well-worn duffel bag from beneath his desk.
“Not as such, but hopefully not long. And you really don’t need holy water, man.”
“One can never be too careful,” he replied, slinging the bag onto his shoulder, then turned to the nervous bishop. “If Colin says it’s time, then it’s time,” he told his guest. “Sorry to cut this short, Nick. I’ll call you when I return.”
Before the bishop could raise a fuss, I opened the gate, and Paul stepped through without a backward glance. I followed him, and Doris barged into the office in time to see me close the rift behind us.
Even with all that followed, I look back sometimes on her puffy face and its perfectly round O of shock, and I laugh.
On my return, I found that my office was no longer quite as I’d left it. There were more couches, for one, and they had been rearranged into a semicircle around what appeared to be Meggy’s television, which had somehow been mounted on the stone wall. Its power and cable cords disappeared into a micro-gate below it, and I recognized the Virginia Beach morning news team on the screen, all looking slightly ashen and worse for wear. I supposed they had been held over past noon, as the station appeared to have forsaken its daily schedule in favor of continual coverage from Rigby. I heard snippets of commentary as I surveyed the laden buffet table and collection of dirty glasses on the bar—explosion, chemical agent, hallucinogenic, terrorist. Catching me standing by the door, Slim hurried over and murmured, “We’ve got people in D.C. running interference on the media snoops. It helps that they’re more willing to believe that al-Qaeda is sending suicide bombers to a little beach town than they are that we were attacked by monsters from somewhere outside the known universe.”
“Militants are easier to work with than Cthulhu,” I replied, then nodded to Paul, who looked about the room with wide eyes. “Rick Matherson, Paul McGill.”
“Slim,” Rick amended, gripping the priest’s hand. “I’m his bartender.”
“Exorcist,” Paul replied, giving Slim a careful look. “I knew he had a thirst, but—”
“And I’m also a crafter for the Arcanum.”
“Ah, gotcha. And Joseph!” he called, releasing Slim to meet Joey’s embrace. “My goodness, son, look at you,” he said when he pulled back, then held the younger man at arm’s length. “When were you planning on a haircut, eh?”
Joey ran one hand through his admittedly shaggy scruff and grinned. “Eventually. Here, Father, look outside,” he said, leading the priest toward the window. “There’s someone I want you to meet…”
I turned around until I spotted Valerius, who remained on guard near the door, silently watching my guests come to terms with the situation. “How bad are things?” I muttered once he was within earshot.
Val sighed quietly as he made his calculations. “Lady Meghan remains inconsolable,” he began, cutting his eyes to the central couch and the small knot of people glued to the television. “Toula has been with her of late, but…”
“But it’s not Olive?”
“Precisely. And the other woman, Eunice—she’s been a calming influence, I believe. How do you—”
“Former neighbor,” I replied. “Meggy’s current neighbor. Once bested Robin and some of his people with a steel kettle.”
Val grimaced at that. “Good to know. And her companion, the one with the, uh…circlet?”
I followed his finger to the far corner of the room, where Stuart had taken up a position on a lonely window seat and stared out at the garden. “He’s had a difficult morning.”
“He’s also had three glasses of wine.”
“Very difficult.” I saw Aiden approach Joey and Paul—and on his heels, Helen. “When did she—”
“Shortly after you left,” said Val, following the direction of my stare. “Toula departed to update the grand magus about the situation, if I recall correctly, and Helen returned with her. Under the circumstances, I thought it prudent not to make a scene.”
“Good choice.” I glanced around again, taking a mental headcount, and came up short. “The last two, Vivi and Hal…where did they go?”
My captain tapped the door behind him. “It seems she thought the time was right for a private talk. I don’t know the topic.” His eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “She understood me. I know she did—her eyes gave her away—but she’s feigning ignorance. Why?”
“Because her parents are half fae,” I replied quietly, “and he doesn’t know that yet.”
Val’s confusion deepened. “And she is—”
“Mortal, as far as anyone knows. No talent whatsoever. Works with Slim,” I added, nodding to my bartender—who, perhaps for lack of a better idea, had fallen into old habits and taken up a place behind my bar. “He’s the Arcanum’s go-to craftsman. Witch-blood.”
“And you trust him?”
“As much as I do anyone. Toula’s quite fond of him,” I said, watching Joey lead his old mentor to the bar. Paul’s face had become animated, and though I couldn’t make out his words over the general babble and the blaring television, I surmised that Georgie had made camp in the garden. “You heard about the message?” I muttered, looking back at Val.
He nodded. “A challenge. And, I would assume, a trap. You can’t win in the Gray Lands, Coileán.”
“Unless,” I replied, glancing at Aiden and his sister, “I can bring the magic with me.”
Val studied them for a moment in silence, then muttered, “He’s very young.”
“I’m aware of that. He has the ability—”
“You’re certain?”
“I’ve seen it! You’ve seen it. Why the sudden doubt?”
“I don’t doubt, I just…” Val struggled before managing, “I fear that you’ll ask too much of him, and he won’t want to disappoint you. That’s all.” He paused to watch Aiden again. “The boy has a gift, yes, but what does it cost him to employ it? My concern,” he hastened, seeing my eyes shift back to my brother, “is that if you try to storm the Gray Lands, Lord Aiden will either injure himself or fail when his strength leaves him. He’s never been tested in conditions like t
hese, has he?”
He was right, and my guts clenched. “He’s our only conduit. No one else can pack the stuff.”
“I know. But I…” His thought ended abruptly, and Val took a deep breath. “My lord, may I be perfectly frank?”
“Please,” I replied, fighting my rising sense of dread.
“Let Moyna go,” he murmured, barely louder than a whisper. “Let the lords and ladies go. Fight them later if they show their faces, but for now, let them go.”
“Val,” I protested, “I can’t just—”
“Is it worth the risk?” he pressed, drawing closer to me in his urgency. “I assume the plan is as before—Lord Aiden packs the magic, the rest of us at arms, yes? But who goes on this mission? You and me? Lady Meghan? My sister? And all for what, to drag Moyna back and imprison her until she learns to tolerate her jailers? Is that worth the risk?” My face began to work, and he sighed. “Coileán, I realize she’s your daughter. I understand the delicacy of your arrangement with Lady Meghan. But this is a fool’s fight. Take my advice, withdraw and wait, and the enemy will tire and come to you. Moyna is many things, but she is not patient.”
“I know, and you’re probably right,” I admitted, “but Meggy—”
“Is also very young.”
“And is likely to go after Moyna herself if I don’t help her,” I retorted. “She wouldn’t last five minutes in a real fight, even if she had a source of magic. I can’t let her do that alone.”
He regarded me sadly. “You love her, boy.”
“I do.”
“And that,” he said, shaking his head, “is the problem.”
Half an hour later, Meggy took my decision not to immediately charge into the Gray Lands about as well as I’d anticipated. “You don’t know she’s the one who left you the message!” she protested, shouting over the continual Rigby coverage. “It could have been anyone! And there’s no telling what that Geheret kid is doing to her while we’re twiddling our thumbs—”
“Probably nothing,” I replied, fighting to keep my temper in check in the face of her angry tears. “She went willingly, didn’t she?”
She sputtered, then spat, “That is my baby! You can help me, or you can get out of my way. What’s it going to be?”
“That’s not your baby,” said Toula. Meggy wheeled on her, fists half-raised, but Toula held her ground. “Megs, honey, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Monya hasn’t been a baby in a long time. Whatever she might have been…that’s gone. You don’t grow up at Titania’s feet and come away unchanged. Come on,” she said, reaching out to take hold of Meggy’s taut arms, “I sat there with you all weekend, and I know what hatred looks like. You’re not going to win this one.”
Mrs. Cooper, who had made camp one couch to the left, nodded emphatically. “I could have told you months ago that Olive was trouble waiting to happen,” she interjected. “It’s nothing you did, dear—there’s no fixing some children. And once you realize that, you can either keep fighting a losing battle, or you can stand back, admit you did your best, and let go.”
But Meggy was unappeased, and she pushed Toula aside to glare at me. “I thought you loved me, Colin,” she said, her voice trembling with rage. “You told me you loved me.”
“I do, Me—”
“Then bring her home! Why are you stalling? We can get her…”
I looked from my furious girlfriend’s swollen eyes to Toula, who stood behind her with tight lips and folded arms. “Not tonight,” I said quietly. Meggy began to yell a reply, but I held up my hands and spoke over her. “I’m concerned, too, but I’m not going to ask my people to face unnecessary risks every time Moyna runs away. We’ll get her when we’re prepared.”
“Aiden’s had time to run his numbers! We know where she is! There’s no need to wait, and if he finds out what she told us…” She clenched and unclenched her fists in her distress. “He’s going to kill her this time, I know he is, and you won’t get her back. Why won’t you get my baby back?”
I tried to placate her. “It’s just like last time. We have a better shot of making it back in one piece if we put a plan in place, and I don’t want to lose you because we were rash. Give me the night at least, let me get organized, and then we’ll see about Moyna. I promise you, Meggy, we’re going to find her. Give me time.”
She stared at me, silently accusing me of an unknown multitude of sins, then swiped at her eyes and raised her chin. “You’re a coward,” she said, taking care with every syllable, “and you’re cruel. Just like your mother.”
“Meggy, please,” I tried, reaching for her, but she swatted my hand aside and brushed past me. After screwing her eyes closed in concentration, she ripped open a small gate onto a familiar sunlit shore. Val moved to grab her, but I held him back and shook my head, and Meggy left without another word.
When she had put a few yards between us without looking back, I closed the gate and looked at my silent companions. “An aide will take you to your rooms,” I muttered, wrestling against the urge to punch a hole in the nearest convenient wall. “For your safety, please remain within the palace. Val, Toula, Helen, Aiden, Joey…if you’d stay for a time, I’d appreciate it.”
The other six filed out—Hal, who’d returned shortly before, had his arm around Vivi—and when the door latched behind them, I sank onto a convenient couch and buried my head in my hands. “Someone tell me how to fix this,” I mumbled into my palms. “Anyone. Suggestions.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Joey, “but did Meggy just go to Red’s?”
“Yes.”
“And we can all guess how well that’s going to play out,” Toula sighed, flopping onto the cushion beside me. “Oberon’s not going to help her.”
“Hell, he might kill her for bothering him,” I said, pressing on my eyes to distract me from the building headache. “Harshing his vibe or whatever. Do people still say that?”
“We get the gist.” Toula patted my back until I uncovered my face. “Pull it together, Gramps,” she said, not unkindly. “It ain’t over until the dust settles. Now, do we have a plan, or are we going to sit around and nurse hurt feelings all evening?”
I turned to look at Aiden, who nodded. “I’ve been going over my data,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Got some sense of how much juice you need.”
“And?”
“And,” he muttered, “I don’t think I can pack it for you. You need too much, and I can’t manually compress magic past a certain density. That said,” he hastened, “I’ve got an idea.”
“A feasible idea?” Val asked.
“Depends on how good your aim is,” he retorted, then looked back at me. “If you were to open a gate into the Gray Lands, could you zero in on a target over there? Say, Moyna?”
“A moving gate,” muttered Val. “Yes, it’s possible…”
“Then once you get close to her, you go through,” Aiden continued. “I stay on the edge and keep pumping magic across. Kind of like a fire hose, see?”
I looked at the others, who began to slowly nod. “It’s risky,” said Toula, “but with a little practice…how fast can you pump? You can actually pull off Simon Magus’s trick?”
“So I’ve been told, but I don’t know what my rate is,” he replied with a one-shouldered shrug. “If I could have time to get my feet wet, so to speak…”
Helen’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her peace, and I stood. “You’ll have all the time I can give you,” I told Aiden. “Tell me what you need.”
What Aiden needed, he explained, was a space devoid of magic. “I need a clean slate for testing purposes,” he said, sketching a cube in a little notebook he’d pulled from his back pocket. “Someone goes in”—a stick figure appeared in the box he’d drawn—“and I stand at the door, pumping.” He added a second stick figure, then lines radiating from the figure into the box. Clearly, Aiden was never going to be an artist, but I nodded along. “The guy inside cranks up the enchantment,” he continued, “
and that way, we can tell whether I’m getting enough power to him. See?”
The trick, then, was finding an equivalent of Aiden’s magic-less cube. For that, Val came to my assistance and led me to Mother’s “special” prison cells, which I’d given serious thought to incinerating. Ignoring my discomfort—fifty years of solitary confinement is an eternity, regardless of whether one is mortal or fae—he described the wards around the rooms that prevented large-scale enchantment. “Prisoners can feed themselves, remove waste—”
“Writing material,” I muttered.
“Small comforts,” he agreed. “But the wards block most magic, so anything larger than that is impossible.”
“Kindly refrain from reminding me, hmm?” I pressed my palm against the invisible barrier and felt the wards hum. “It’s a starting point.”
I had to give Mother credit—she’d constructed her wards well, and they took my additions with little trouble. By the end of the dinner hour, when Aiden came around to check on me with an enormous sandwich in hand, I’d strengthened the wards to not only block magic, but also to actively repulse it. The wards extended backward in a tunnel from the door, culminating in a hole that was roughly the size of my brother. As he could actually see what I’d been doing by touch and smell, he directed the fine-tuning, then stepped into the breach and tested himself against the wards. After a few preliminary thrusts at thin air, he wiped his brow and stepped out of the unseen tunnel. “It’ll do,” he declared, then took half my sandwich back and devoured it in three bites. “What?” he asked when he caught my incredulous stare. “This is hungry work, you know!”
“That was the size of your face.”
“I’m fifteen,” he protested. “And growing, theoretically, so if it’s not in someone else’s mouth already, it’s fair game.”
Over the long night, Aiden demonstrated the true depths of his stomach, downing at least half a dozen more sandwiches before dawn. Helen kept him plied with snacks while Val, Toula, and I took turns in the cell—the wards of which, for safety’s sake, I’d rebuilt with two-hour time-out locks to prevent anyone being trapped inside. There was by necessity a limit to the types of large enchantments one could pull off in a small room, but the hours the three of us spent in practice gave us an idea of what it would be like to pull magic from a concentrated source—and it gave Aiden a sense of how hard he had to work. By breakfast, the boy’s shirt was soaked through under the arms and down his back, and his sweaty hair had dried against his scalp in uneven clumps. He swore he was feeling fine, but his face had flushed crimson, and he fell asleep on his crooked arm at the breakfast table.
The Faerie King Page 35
