The Violent Fae

by Phil Williams

  Pax reached the underpass out of breath again, after her short dash down a road empy besides occasional old cars. Scanning the sky for anything birdlike coming to shoot her. Mind racing: not just at the disaster of being marked for assassination again, but hell, plunging back into the labyrinth? It had shaken off the Fae last time, but she’d barely survived. And the trip down with Ward hadn’t made her feel better about it, knowing even the empty rooms were disturbing. Every new thing she encountered in the Sunken City made life worse.

  A grim set of steps led to a maintenance panel, exactly as the little shirted man promised, with big screws at each corner, rusted in place. After making sure she was alone, not even the two gunmen for company, Pax reached towards the first screw.

  Her phone rang.

  Pax prayed for Sam Ward’s name – but Unknown Number glowed big and bold. Letty? She answered hopefully, “Yeah?”

  “It’s me,” Casaria said. She winced. Of all the lifelines. “Are you alone?”

  “I am,” Pax said. “And kind of mixed up in something.”

  “Whatever it is, this is more important.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Your gangster friends found a way into the Sunken City. Someone helped them get past our sensors. The new bastard in charge at the Ministry wants you for it.”

  “Fuck – hell – whatever. If you can get the bloody Fae off my back, I’ll come. Casaria, I’m about to break into the Sunken City myself, otherwise I’m toast.”

  “What? No – don’t go near an entrance. Don’t even breathe on it.”

  His tone made Pax freeze, eyes on the panel. “Three fairies came shooting at me, and more are on the way. So unless you’ve got some kind of Fae-proof shield you can wire me through the phone –”

  “You touch that entrance, the alarms will go off and our people will scramble to you. Aren’t you listening, we had a Sunken City breach. The boss” – he spat the word – “just killed one of your friends.”

  Killed her friend? Pax’s heart jumped in her throat. Had this hit the Bartons? “Which – what friend? Tell me you’re not talking about –”

  “Are you listening? I’m calling to warn you: he’s out to get you.”

  Pax backed away from the maintenance panel. Her reckless escape plan was shot. Her tenuous alliance with the only people who could protect her was shot. “Who got hurt?”

  “One of the thugs – and they’re claiming you played a game of poker with his boss, just last night. What am I supposed to say?”

  Not the Bartons – something to do with Monroe. And the MEE knew she was with him? “Do they know I met a Fae there, too?”

  Casaria paused. “What’ve you been doing, Pax? Criminals, those vermin –”

  “Seriously?” Pax answered with acid. “Considering the nature of this call, you fucking blame me?” She checked the entrance to the subway. No indication if there was a threat far away or just around the corner. “Help me out. Turn off the sensors so I can lie low in these tunnels – at least long enough to give the fairies the slip.”

  “Sensor interference is exactly what they’re after you for. Where are you?”

  Far away, was the answer. A taxi would take as long as a bus, out here. What could she do? Wait for Sam Ward, who might already have orders to snag her? Run for the nearest tributary to the River Gader and swim underwater to avoid detection? Could fairies swim? Bloody hell, what kind of idea was that, she could barely swim herself. Pax said, “Is there anywhere else the Fae can’t go?”

  “Only places we protect.” A loud voice spoke in the background of the call: Obrington, returning to Casaria. Casaria covered the mouthpiece and replied, “She’s coming in, voluntarily.” Obrington responded with something unfriendly, and Casaria placated him with obedient responses before unmuffling the call. “They saw your faeometer alert, Pax. There’s already a car on its way.”

  “No,” Pax squeaked.

  “Stay put,” Casaria said, his tone suggesting she needed to do the opposite. He hung up as Obrington started again.

  “Serves you right for trusting those Ministry bastards,” the miniature thug in denim said, drawing her attention upwards. He was perched on the tip of a caged light beneath the underpass, something sticking out the side of his mouth. A little waft of smoke came out, distracting Pax for a brief moment of wonder. He was smoking? Fresko was sitting next to him, leaning on the large rifle upright between his legs, watching her carefully.

  “I can’t go in there,” Pax told them, pointing at the maintenance panel.

  “Nah,” Fresko said. “But you’ve drawn those Ministry pricks out here. Stabilisers won’t mess with them. You’ll only have to deal with one side or the other, depending on who gets here first.”

  “Unless Lightgate’s still around,” the other one added.

  Though her eyes rested on them, Pax could no longer focus. Even if the Fae and MEE shot one another, and Lightgate, they’d only add bodies to the pile without setting her in any way free.

  “Of course,” Fresko said, “there’s always that car we passed.”

  “Oh sure,” the other added. “Old model, no electric key shit there. Shame if someone took it.”

  Pax glared. “You’d better be able to hotwire a car, because I sure as shit can’t.”

  Sam stood alongside Holly gazing into an empty chamber, soaking up its queer atmosphere. A cube hollowed out of the surrounding stone, so perfectly square as to appear unnatural. The stillness was palpable, at the same time unsettling and impossible to resist. With it came a weird serenity, pushing away fears of Duvcorp and anxiety over Sam’s lateness in meeting the Fae. Here, she could be at peace.

  Until her ringtone shattered the atmosphere. Both women nearly jumped out of their skins, retreating and slamming the door as though the noise might offend the room.

  Sam gave Holly an apologetic look as she answered. Obrington barked, “Finally, Ward. Wherever in bleeding hell you got to, grab that woman, now.”

  “Um, you –”

  “Grab Kuranes! We’ve got a situation, in St Alphege’s. Drag her here by her teeth if you have to.”

  “I’m not with her, sir –”

  “You’re what?” It was almost possible to hear him steaming down the line. “You went off following her cock and bull story and you let her out of your sight?”

  “I had to brief our volunteers in –”

  “That was an hour ago!” Obrington exploded. “Call her. Tell her we want to talk.”

  “What’s happened, sir?”

  “I’m being led to think your judgement’s been way off, that’s what.”

  “I don’t –”

  “Are you anywhere near her, at least?”

  “I’m in New Thornton, I could catch up to her in about twenty minutes.”

  “Bleeding Christ and damnation. Forget it, leave it to the professionals. Come straight here.”

  “Where –” Sam tried, but he ended the call. She held the phone away from her ear in disbelief. The pendulum had swung back to where the Ministry wanted to capture Pax? Why? And she’d been here an hour? She hadn’t been on hold to Tycho Duvalier that long – what had they been doing? Was there something hypnotising about these black spots? She caught Holly watching with shock, having heard the call.

  “It sounds like that man is not on our side,” Holly said, cautiously.

  “Must be a misunderstanding,” Sam said. “I’ll clear it up.” She brought up Pax’s number. Damn, this had to have compromised the Fae meeting. But she could get Pax to come in to the Ministry office and sort things out from there. Thinking out loud, she said, “We should probably all go in together.”

  “Like hell,” Holly said.

  “What . . .” Sam ventured, then paused. “We don’t know what the situation is, and it’s best to co-operate, to avoid confusion.”

  “In my experience,” Holly said, “your organisation’s idea of co-operation is a one-way street. I think it’s best you go alone. I’ll find
out what hellish trouble Pax has got herself into myself, thank you.”

  “Without –”

  “Diz!” Holly shouted down the hall. “Get over here, we’re leaving!”

  Sam tried to think fast. Obrington sounded mad and she had to get moving fast. Not to the lido, it was too late. And she’d seen enough unhinged Ministry retaliation in the last week, she couldn’t let that happen again.

  Holly took her own phone out as Sam held her gaze. This was a moment, Sam sensed, that was going to define their relationship moving forward. She couldn’t very well force them to come with her, definitely not with Darren Barton bearing down on her. And if Pax had any resistance to coming in, she might be more likely to answer the Bartons’ call than Sam’s. Sam lowered her eyes. “I’m not part of the problem. If she won’t hear it from me, you tell Pax that. You can find your own way up?”

  9

  Letty was hunched over some cards on a wine cork table, failing to learn a game Flynt called cuttle, when the knock came. Three sharp raps, and Letty jumped up, hoping to see Edwing so they could finally get to work. Flynt went to the door with his hand on his pistol, less optimistic.

  “It’s me,” Smark announced.

  “About fucking time!” Letty said. “We’re ready to bust some heads.”

  “Oh,” Smark answered apprehensively. “You’ve heard, then?”

  Letty and Flynt exchanged a concerned look. Letty waved a hand, let him in, and Flynt stepped aside, peering out for trouble. Smark entered sullenly, and reading their postures decided no, they had not heard. He gestured towards the TV. “It’s on the news, story broke as I was on the way over.”

  As Flynt closed the door, Letty said, “Val’s responded?”

  Smark gave her an uneasy look. He turned on the television himself. “It’s hell. I’m sorry.” He addressed Flynt: “So sorry.”

  The channel was broadcasting a speech from Valoria Magnus, in all her resplendent glory. Talking over a podium again. “– put his trust in beliefs that experience has taught us to doubt. We did our best to find the councilman, but he was determined to go alone. An admirable thinker, and a friend –”

  Flynt gave Letty a sideways glance. “What’s going on?”

  Smark grunted, reluctant to say it. “It’s unclear – all we’ve got is her word.”

  “The young amongst you,” Valoria continued, “may not remember the coup. We’ve moved beyond those violent days. Edwing, certainly, had moved beyond that. But without a crusade to fight, some still seek trouble. And, of course, the influence of that monstrous human cannot be understated. It’s a great loss.”

  “They showed photos,” Smark said. “It wasn’t pretty. The Stabilisers claim they tracked him down, to protect him, but what they found – they were too late.”

  On screen, Valoria continued, “She knew exactly how to isolate him. Playing on his hopes. Now, I appeal for calm and understanding – do not blame our dear colleague for his folly, nor his family, nor friends. One Fae alone is responsible. Her and the humans.”

  A headline scrolled at the base of the screen. Chair of Information, Edwing, Murdered By Human. No. Fuck. That righteous idiot got himself killed? What about Pax?

  “Who? How?” Flynt said, horrified. “You said he was safe – Val wouldn’t –”

  “The truth,” Valoria said, “is that Letty has been looking for ways to draw the FTC and humanity into a war for decades, even before she left us.”

  “I fought for you!” Letty shouted. She spun on the other two, Smark edging towards the door. “You know this is bullshit, right? She’ll do anything to spite the humans!”

  Smark was about to answer, but Flynt’s anguished look gave him pause.

  “Letty will be punished,” Valoria continued. “The human will be punished. All that is left is for me to appeal to Edwing’s people – those of you that believed in him. Hear me. I am as dedicated to resolving our differences with the humans as he was. I feel his loss as deeply as you. I only ask that you work with us. Help me deliver justice for this tragedy. Smark – our Waste Chief – Flynt, our Chief of Scouts, his dear brother – if you are listening, please be careful. Letty has fooled many in the past.”

  Flynt’s eye shifted to Letty.

  “This,” Smark said carefully, “is a time to step back. I don’t believe it, but if –”

  “Pax would never have hurt him,” Letty spat. “I know her –”

  “She grabbed him,” Flynt said. “Tossed him in a pocket like a toy.”

  “You murder your toys? She grabbed me, it doesn’t mean a thing.”

  Smark took another step, into the doorway. “Letty, you see how it looks. What if –”

  “Fuck you for suggesting it,” Letty flared back.

  “Anyone,” Valoria continued, “with any information about Letty’s whereabouts…”

  “We need to lay low,” Smark said. “If I come forward – say I was mistaken –”

  “You bloody idiot! Let her win? She’s probably flicking herself silly at her luck; no Edwing, no opposition. I warned him this would get dirty.”

  “Did you get my brother killed?” Flynt asked, quietly.

  Letty froze, looking at him sideways. He didn’t move.

  “I’m leaving,” Smark decided.

  “Don’t you fucking –” Letty twisted towards him, and Flynt shot into action. He shoved her, hard, both hands on her chest, hitting her bruise with enough force that she stumbled. Then he sprang at her. Letty’s body took over: she deflected the attack and ducked to the side. He flew up, gaining the advantage of height as she rolled under him. She took one blow to a forearm before grabbing his wrist. She twisted it around and leapt up at the same time, hooking his arm into the crook of her elbow as she rammed her forehead into his nose. With a crack and a cry, Flynt fell, but Letty held him up by the arm, swinging her other fist in. Her arm was caught and she was twisted into a bearlike grip. Smark’s face was terrified and apologetic, one hand on her wrist, the other arm around her waist.

  “That’s enough!” he shouted, fearfully. “He lost his brother for crying out loud!”

  Letty shoved free of him but released Flynt, breathing deep. He collapsed at her feet, sobbing and cursing. Letty told him, regretfully, “You’ve got balls and no fucking brains. I didn’t hurt Edwing, I didn’t set him up, and Pax sure as shit didn’t either.”

  Smark said, “You’re – I can’t stay –”

  “Fuck off then,” she snapped, “but give me what you promised.”

  Smark shook his head, forgetting himself entirely. Letty glared until he remembered. With hurried nods, he searched his pockets and took out a security card. He tossed it over with a hushed address: “Penthouse 8. And my guy, he hasn’t been involved, but some Stabilisers, they’ve been up to something. Something else. For – for what it’s worth.”

  With that, he hurried out. Flynt lifted his bloody face to Letty, single eye filled with hate, the eyepatch askew and showing a twisted, scarred hole. He spat blood. “Edwing . . . he . . .”

  Letty gave him a sympathetic look. Not the first time a good man got beat, nor died. She held out her hand. He took it, limply, and she pulled him to his feet. Pulled him further, into an embrace, and he let it out. Slumping into her arms. Sobbing into her shoulder. He tried to form words, slowly, painfully. “What – what – what are we going to do?”

  Lips set in firm defiance, Letty patted his back and didn’t answer. Didn’t need to, seeing as it was obvious. He already had the right idea, he’d just chosen the wrong target. We’re going to fucking well fight back.

  10

  Pax’s nerves were tightening by the second – murder, attempted murder, framing and fleeing were bad enough. Trying to remember how to work a clutch was salt in the wounds. The car moved in starts, something scraping in its pipes every time she changed speed. Christ, did cars have pipes? How the hell did you even describe this mess. All with two fairies giving mad instructions mostly formed of curses. Enjoying it.r />
  “Double shift, for fuck’s sake!” the denim one roared from his spot on the mirror.

  “Pissing double shift yourself!” Pax shot back, whatever that meant. They jolted onto a long, straight road where Pax could finally relax after what seemed like an eternity of snaking little lanes. She glanced at Fresko, mulling over her phone on the passenger seat. She’d missed a call from Holly Barton, and she didn’t dare stop to call back, but the fairy was making little progress doing it for her. Part of her wanted to toss the phone, in case it was being traced, but a bigger part wanted reassurance that the Bartons were safe. Pax said, “There’s like three numbers on there, what’s taking you so long?”

  “I got it, I got it,” Fresko grumbled, slapping the touchscreen. It did nothing.

  “Turn right, dullard!” the denim one shouted, and Pax hit the brakes. The phone flew into the footwell, fairy with it. When Pax gunned the accelerator again the car shuddered to a stop and went quiet. She stared wide-eyed ahead, thankful that the nearest other car was a long way off.

  “Sort it out, Mix, for fuck’s sake,” Fresko snarled, flying back up to the seat carrying a phone that dwarfed him.

  The denim one, Mix, flew down past Pax, complaining, “Amateur.”

  As he played with the wires to restart the engine, Pax tried to slow her heart.

  “You want the clutch totally disengaged when you’re moving that stick,” Fresko said, almost without malice.

  As the engine coughed back to life, Pax said, “How do you guys know this? You’ve got cars like ours?”

  “Ha, hear that, Fresko?” Mix flew back up to the mirror. Unless barking angry commands, he had a hard time addressing her directly. “Thinks we’re driving about in toys or some shit?”

  “We’ve got wings, lady,” Fresko told her, deliberately obvious. “Just pays to know your big tools.”

  Slowly moving the car on again, Pax recalled exactly who she was dealing with. This pair of maniacs had kidnapped Grace using a car, hadn’t they? She had no idea how, but it didn’t surprise her that they were capable of it. “So has one of you bright sparks got a plan?”