The Forgotten

by Bishop O'Connell

  “Well, genius, we need to get out of here,” Shadow said.

  “Jawohl,” Fritz said. “But to where?”

  “Somewhere safe?” SK dropped his spoon into the empty bowl.

  “What, the moon?” Wraith asked as everyone slid out and headed for the door. “The bright side, I mean.”

  “I hear it’s nice this time of year,” SK said.

  “The Underground,” Wraith said, unsure where the idea came from.

  Shadow narrowed her eyes. “You sure, Stretch?”

  “Is Hawaii completely out?” SK asked.

  Wraith nodded.

  “Okay,” Shadow said. “Lead the way.”

  “What about Bermuda?” SK asked. “Tahiti? Easter-­freaking-­Island?”

  Wraith led them out of the coffee shop, and around to the back. Toto got to his feet as soon as he saw them, and, after a few ear scratches, they gathered their things and headed for the closest useable door. Wraith could’ve made one on the fly, but it was best to keep a low profile right now.

  Half an hour later, they stood in front of a battered steel door with small symbols scratched into the brick beside it. Wraith focused on the tattoos above her left wrist. It was an elaborate calculation, one that skewed the probabilities that a door wouldn’t open to what was on the other side but instead to another door somewhere else. The formula gathered around the doorframe. When the calculation reached a zero sum, there was a click and the door swung open. Instead of showing the interior of the building, a different alley stood on the other side.

  “There’s an entrance just down that way,” Wraith said and pointed.

  They all stepped through, crossing the nearly two thousand miles between Austin and Seattle in a single step, and headed for the battered stairs that led to an even more battered wooden door.

  Wraith pulled the goggles from her pocket and put them on. After a moment, the scene faded to dull shades of gray, punctuated with faint strands of trailing magic.

  “See anything?” Shadow asked.

  Most of the floating numbers and symbols faded into the background. “No, it’s clean.”

  “What about us?” SK asked.

  Wraith looked her friends over one at a time. Shadow’s aura was the usual purple equation, pulsing in time to her heart. A spot of bright orange light came from the nickel in her pocket. Next she looked over SK, finding the expected shifting red and blue numbers orbiting him. The only variance was the penny gleaming in his pocket. Fritz was the normal dancing strands of white, rigidly organized numbers; her dime was the only contrast.

  “Well?” Fritz asked after a long moment of silence.

  “You’re clean,” Wraith said, her attention back to the here and now.

  “Fan-­freaking-­tastic,” SK said. “Now, can we—­pretty please, with sugar and a cherry on top—­get out of this delightfully cheery alleyway?”

  Wraith turned the knob and opened the door. Like most of the entrances to the Underground, the stairs down were was poorly maintained and lit even worse.

  “Well,” SK said, “this is usually the part of the movie where the dumb kids venture into the darkness and get chopped up by the masked killer while the audience screams, ‘Don’t do it’.”

  “I love you,” Fritz said. “But you need to stop talking now.”

  They moved through the door one at a time and down the rickety stairs, Wraith taking the lead, goggles still on and Toto at her side. Through the darkness, she could make out the faint light of old glyphs and wards that marked the place as belonging to different factions. When they reached the bottom level, she looked around the hallway and saw an afterglow.

  “Someone’s been here, might still be,” she said. “A slinger, maybe a fifty or two, if I’m reading it right.”

  “Well, if fifties are here,” Shadow said, “the slinger isn’t a snatcher.”

  “Unless they found some willing to help with the cause,” SK said. “Or they figured out how to mask their aura.”

  “I just love your comforting American nature,” Fritz said.

  “Would you two get a room,” Shadow whispered.

  “We’re trying,” SK said.

  Wraith felt a knot of fear wriggle to life in her stomach. It began to grow, quickly. She could feel it drawing on her power, and without knowing why, knew that was very, very bad.

  “If we find anyone down here, we’ll move along,” Shadow said and urged Wraith on.

  They walked down the hallway until it split. To their right was a door and to the left the hallway continued into the darkness.

  Wraith fought the fear, but it exploded into a wave of naked terror. She almost went to her knees as she felt it draw a ton of power from her. Then it poured out of her like water from a ruptured dam, beyond her control and into the room.

  On the other side of the door, Wraith felt the darkness coalesce.

  A girl screamed.

  A boy bellowed a curse, and there was the crackle of an electrical arc.

  “Sounds like someone is in trouble,” Nightstick said from a dark corner down the hall. “Can’t just stand aside and do nothing, not considering the source of that trouble. Can you?”

  Fear gave way to guilt mixed with anger, via a bit of confusion. “No, we can’t.”

  Shadow turned to Wraith, eyes wide, “No, wait—­”

  There was no fear, only the desperate need to fight. “BANG!” Wraith yelled and blew the door in.

  A young black man dressed in dirty clothes hurled bright blue bolts of lightning across the small room. They struck a vaguely humanoid shape, seven feet tall and made of living shadow, in the chest and sent it convulsing to the floor.

  Wraith knew these creatures of the darkness were indeed snatchers. She paused for only the briefest moment, tripping over the thought that these snatchers weren’t right, that they should be different somehow. In the flash of light, the snatchers were almost translucent.

  No, that didn’t matter right now. ­People were in danger, somehow, because of her. Wraith might not know much for certain, but she did know that she had to help.

  In another flash of light, Wraith saw two girls. One was so beautiful even the momentary glimpse of her was enough to recognize it. She moved her hand in an intricate motion while the other girl, a tiny thing, huddled behind her.

  Wraith didn’t have time to see anything else.

  Eight more shadows began chanting. Symbols of deep red light appeared over their bodies and tendrils of darkness moved toward Wraith and her friends.

  Wraith was frozen in a moment of déjà vu.

  Toto barked and leapt into the room.

  “Kaput!” Fritz shouted.

  Sparks erupted from light fixtures in the ceiling and outlets on the wall. The shadows dimmed under a shower of sparks, and the room filled with the smell of burned wires and melted plastic.

  “Help her,” Shadow shouted.

  “Ferrousan!” SK yelled as he stepped through the door and into the room.

  Wraith felt the familiar tug of a gravity well, and three figures were pulled across the room and slammed into each other.

  Toto grabbed the wrist of a snatcher with his powerful jaws, and twisted, bringing the shape to the ground with an inhuman shriek.

  “Slink,” said a young man’s voice. “Get Mouse out of here, I’ll hold them off.” The order was punctuated with another bolt of electricity that arced across the room and struck another snatcher.

  Wraith focused on the formula on her left bicep. Globes of blue fire filled her hands and rocketed toward a snatcher who was gesturing at Toto.

  A hand grabbed her arm. In a rush of panic, an equation wrapped around her and she felt her magnetic field shift to match that of her assailant. The thing was tossed into the wall and she slid a few feet away.

  Toto yelped and Wraith
spun as a snatcher hurled what looked like liquid darkness at the big dog. It hit and sent him to the ground in a whimpering, convulsing ball of fur.

  Rage swelled and a long calculation encircled the floor at the snatcher’s feet. The molecules spread apart just enough to remove the field that made the floor solid. The snatcher dropped through. When his head vanished, Wraith pulled the equation apart and the molecules snapped back into place.

  Shadow shouted from behind Wraith, and the light drew to her.

  Wraith threw herself over Toto, covering his eyes and burying her face in her sleeve.

  Shadow cried out again, her words urgent but musical. Intensely bright light exploded and the room filled with high, shrill screams.

  Wraith’s eyes were useless, but she could feel the boy and two girls in the darkness. She couldn’t sense anyone else though. Ignoring the cold flutter in her stomach, she lifted her hand, pointed toward the opposite side of the room where she knew the snatchers had been, and drew as much power as she could.

  “BANG!”

  The recoil sent her back out the door and into Fritz. She deflected off her friend and smacked her head against something hard. There was a brief sense of nausea as stars burst into her vision.

  “This still isn’t working,” SK said in the distance. “They’re still getting out.”

  “We’re not giving up on her,” Shadow said.

  “I didn’t say we were,” SK said. “But how many more of these nightmares can we fight off?”

  “As many as it takes,” Fritz said. “We owe her, ja?”

  “We do,” Shadow said. “Get those three and let’s get out of here.”

  Then everything was darkness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dante saw the Public Market Center sign long before the locals and tourists crowding the entrance. He drew in a deep breath, finding the scent of Puget Sound beneath the countless other smells, and held it. He loved the water, and even in a city where its natural beauty was often wiped away, it still brought him peace.

  He glided through the tourists watching the famous fish throwing show at the Pike Place Fish Market. The men shouted to each other, tossing large fish back and forth to the delight of young and old alike. Dante was cautious where he walked, never crossing in front of the ubiquitous camera phones snapping stills and video. He stepped into the hallways lined on either side with stalls between the small shops that comprised the market.

  Whispers and glances both proceeded and followed him. The number of young wizards took him aback. They were mixed in with mortals, changelings, and fae, but it was hard not to notice them; magic fairly poured off them. It was one thing to hear about the new wizards emerging, it was quite another to see them with his own eyes. So many—­ and they were kids, all of them. The oldest wasn’t much over twenty, but most of them, changelings and wizards alike, were scarcely into their teens. Brownies, goblins, dwarves, satyrs, even ogres and trolls stood behind rickety tables hawking their wares, or they perused the offered goods with the mortal shoppers. Though the ogres and trolls mostly just stood and glared, looking imposing. Dante watched the mortals and smiled. Even after centuries of seeing it, he was still amused by how humans could stand right next to a faerie and never know it, so long as the glamour didn’t waver.

  He glanced at the goods for sale; everything from hand-­knitted hats and scarves to kitschy humorous magnets, flowers, and jewelry. Sprinkled amid their mortal counterparts were more than a few magical trinkets. They were typical charms, though the ones sold by the changelings and wizards were rough, to say the least. The items were shoddy, made from the detritus the crafters could put their hands on. Most were simple things: glamour-­piercing glasses, protection sigils woven into hemp necklaces, beaded tracking charms, simple carved wands, and talismans that did everything from keeping the user warm to helping find food. However, every once in a while, among the simple goods, Dante could see some truly exquisite items. A particularly keen-­eyed goblin caught Dante’s attention, so he stepped to the table and examined the wares.

  “My lord,” the goblin said and bowed.

  He was much the same as other goblins: green skin, large red eyes, bat-­like ears, and a sunken nose. This one had a chunk missing from his left ear.

  “I’m looking for information,” Dante said.

  “I’m but a humble peddler of goods,” the goblin said, motioning to his table. “But I will do what I can. What does the noble lord wish to know?”

  “Anything about the disappearances.”

  The goblin swallowed. “Disappearances?”

  Dante narrowed his eyes.

  The goblin cleared his throat and glanced around. When he spoke, it was a whisper. “I know very little, only that several changelings have gone missing, and some of them turned up dead. I think there were also some slingers—­or wizards, if you prefer. But I don’t concern myself as much with mortals.”

  “Don’t suppose you know anything more than that?”

  “My lord.” The goblin had a barely contained sneer. “I’m but a peasant of the court. Undoubtedly, an elfin noble like yourself would know more than I.”

  “I never prescribed to such notions,” Dante said. He bit back his frustration and fished out a silver disk from his pocket. “This is a token of favor.”

  The goblin’s eyes went wide for just a moment.

  “I’m offering it, and others like it, to anyone who can provide information or assistance in this matter.” He spoke loud enough for the others nearby to hear him. If he guessed right, in short order, word would spread all over town. Tokens of favor weren’t handed out lightly, and everyone liked the idea of a court noble owing you a favor, even if it was a minor one.

  “I’d tell you where I’m staying,” Dante continued, “but I’m sure everyone knows.”

  Countless eyes were on him, but no one said anything. He shook his head, turned, and started back the way he had come. The whispers and glances were still there, but he ignored them. As he came to a trio of musicians playing an old Irish ballad, he stopped to listen. Thoughts of a lost friend filled his mind. He could see the big Fian lost in the music, and hear his clear baritone.

  “You’ll have to excuse them for their whispers and glares,” a male voice said from behind him. “They’re not used to seeing nobles mingling with the dregs.”

  Dante smiled and opened his eyes. “It’s been a very, very long time.”

  “What’s time really?” the man asked, the hint of a chuckle to his words. “Even so, it’s good to see you again.”

  Dante turned to face Ciye. This time, he was a man in his mid-­twenties of average height, with chiseled features and infinitely deep, dark eyes. His braided hair was so black it had highlights of blue. He wore a bone choker, and was dressed in jeans and boots. Beneath his worn, brown leather coat was a tight black shirt with a picture of a coyote howling at a full moon. A familiar, cocky, but undeniably charming, smile came to the man’s face. It felt as if no time had passed at all. Dante laughed under his breath.

  “You and that damn smile,” Dante said. “No matter the shape, you always have that smile.”

  “Even I can’t hide perfection.” Ciye stepped close and pulled Dante into a hug.

  When Dante drew in a breath, the smell of the desert at dawn mixed with the scent of ancient forests in spring washed over him. The wave of emotions threatened to draw him back to a time long ago, a time when things were very different. It took some effort, but he broke the embrace and stepped back.

  “I’m glad to see you’re not holding a grudge,” Ciye said.

  “I can’t stay mad at you,” Dante said. “Besides, if you’d been different, I never would’ve fallen for you.”

  Ciye smiled wider.

  “What are you doing in Seattle?” Dante asked. “Aren’t you a little far from home?”

  “Like you, I go whe
re I am needed. Besides, you remember the stories—­I’m a familiar face to tribes across the country.”

  “I’m sure you’d happily retell the stories if I didn’t—­though as I recall, not all are flattering.”

  Ciye let out a breath and his mouth twisted into a grimace. “Yes, some of them still try to blame me for bringing death to the world.”

  Dante chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m here for more than tourism. Do you know anything about these disappearances and killings?”

  “Ever the noble looking out for his ­people. That is perhaps one of your most endearing qualities.” Ciye looked around. “Come, I want to smoke and they don’t let you do that inside anymore.”

  Dante followed Ciye out of the market and they found a spot away from casual view.

  Ciye pulled a pack of American Spirits out of a pocket and offered one to Dante, who shook his head.

  Ciye shrugged and lit up. “I know something.” he said. “There are two kidnappers. One seems focused on the wasicu medicine children—­slingers, these mortals call themselves.” Ciye’s face became like a stone mask. “The others are focused on taking your ­people’s little ones, your changelings, as well as my ­people’s spirit children. These dark ones are like shadows. They always hunt the little ones, never the warriors. They’re cowards.”

  “Have you seen them, the hunters?”

  “I don’t think anyone has, least not that I can tell. They have powerful wièhó{dec63}’a{dec63}, magic, and they are dark, like I haven’t seen in a long time.” Ciye took a drag and shook his head, his eyes down. “She was just a child. I should’ve done better by her.”

  Dante put a hand on Ciye’s shoulder. “Who?”

  Ciye looked up and listened for a moment. Dante knew the look. Ciye was talking with his fellow spirits.

  After a long moment, Ciye turned his gaze back to Dante. “I’m sorry, my friend, I have to go.”

  “Wait, what aren’t you telling me?”