The Forgotten

by Bishop O'Connell

  “That’s not possible,” she whispered to herself.

  Leaning in close, she examined the collection of wards. They were still active, but the acidic taste told her they’d been tripped. She shook her and tried to puzzle out how that could be. Once a ward was tripped, it was spent and ceased to exist. A new ward was just that, a new ward. Even if it was laid over the previous, it was still distinct. She narrowed her eyes. The only answer that came to her was that, somehow, it had been tripped, then reformed almost instantly.

  “But who could do that?” she asked. Her hand went to the pocket of her battered olive-­drab jacket. She found the pistol and the weight of it gave her some comfort.

  Leaving the gun where it was, she whispered softly the words Dasher had given her to unravel the dying wards. One lesson she’d learned a long time ago was—­it’s far better to be safe than sorry. A wisp of power drifted from the doorframe and she pulled the door open.

  After a small landing, the stairs doubled back under themselves and vanished into darkness. Elaine listened for several seconds, blocking out the sounds of the world above. Water dripped somewhere, rats and other creatures skittered about, but nothing else. She inhaled deeply through her nose and smelled lingering ozone, residue from Charge’s attempt to fight off the snatchers. More powerful than that was the scent of magic. It was powerful, but, well, the only word she could think of was wild.

  She pulled the door closed behind her and the darkness gave way to shades of gray as her elfin sight kicked in. Carefully and silently, she made her way down the stairs and followed the hallway. As she walked, she traced her fingertips along the wall, and her eyes closed halfway. As she let out a slow breath, she opened her senses up to any latent impressions left behind. A series of disjointed images flashed through her mind too fast or blurry to make out.

  She shook her head. This wasn’t right. Nothing was speaking to her, not the stone, not the air, nothing. She couldn’t imagine what could hide so well but still leave such an obvious and tenable trail. It was almost as if these snatchers, if they were the cause, had overwhelmed their surroundings, the magical equivalent of a flash-­bang grenade.

  She spotted the doorway ahead and moved forward, ever vigilant and very aware of how many steps to the exit. A dozen paces away, she could see there was no door in the frame. Her hand was inside her pocket, gripping the pistol when she reached the doorway. She peeked inside and saw the door, or rather shattered pieces of it, strewn about the dank, windowless room.

  Standing in the entryway, she processed the details. Chunks were missing from two walls, likely where Charge’s bolts had hit. Dozens of horizontal scorch lines were on all the walls. The whole room reeked of mortal and fae magic. This had been a brief, but intense, fight.

  There were so many footprints on the dusty floor, and what looked like something having been dragged across it, that she couldn’t make a clear count of how many ­people had been involved. She could see where someone had hit the ground just at the entrance and slid out of the room. In the hall, she examined the wall opposite the doorway and saw a few stray hairs on the floor. She bent down, picked them up, and placed them in a glass vial etched with a preservation spell. After capping the vial, she put it in an inside jacket pocket and moved into the room.

  She stayed close to the wall as she went around the room, examining it from all angles. When the entrance was opposite her, she saw faint symbols drawn on the floor right at the edge of where the door would’ve been. She stepped over and, crouching down, examined them. They were simple barricading glyphs, strong ones at that. Hefty stuff for street slingers. They must’ve paid some serious swag for them, for all the good they did. A noise drew her eyes up to the exposed wooden beams. A rat was staring down at her.

  Elaine smiled, reached into her pocket, and drew out a single M&M. She held the candy up so the rat could see it. “Interested in making a trade?”

  The rat’s eyes moved from the candy to Elaine and back again.

  “I’ll give you this if you can tell me what you, or any of your friends, saw.”

  The rat’s whiskers twitched as it considered the offer.

  Elaine wiggled the candy. “It’s peanut butter. Good stuff.”

  The rat darted her way, and as she lifted her hand, it jumped and landed on her palm. It sat up, looked at the candy, then at Elaine.

  “No way,” she said, eyes narrowed. “Information first.”

  The rat squeaked.

  “Fine.” Elaine sighed and put the candy in its tiny, outstretched paws.

  In short order, the rat had devoured the treat and began licking its little fingers clean.

  “So, what can you tell me?”

  The rat lowered its head.

  Elaine placed a finger between its ears and images flowed into her mind.

  The room was huge, but then, she was seeing it from a rat’s eye view. Three kids—­two girls and a boy—­were eating and tossing bits to her, or rather to the rat. The scraps were salty and delicious. She felt contentment and happiness at their generosity. Then she felt cold, and her fur bristled as something approached. The kids felt it too and they moved to the far side of the room. Elaine ran and climbed to the rafters on some old pieces of wood leaning against the wall. She hurried to the safety of the den, and was sad the kids were too big to come with her. She poked her head out and tried to see, but she was afraid. There was the whispered chill of magic and panicked shouting, and then a crash as the door exploded in.

  Elaine ducked into her den and tucked herself into a ball. She heard screaming and could see flashes of light through her eyelids.

  Then, everything was quiet. When Elaine dared to peek out, she could see the kids on the ground, not moving. A single figure, tall and thin, stepped through the door and brushed itself off. Elaine focused, trying to make out details, but she couldn’t perceive any. Three more figures joined the first and picked up the kids. The largest of these new figures turned to the first and said—­

  The shuffling of footsteps snapped Elaine out of her link.

  It took a moment to readjust, and when she did, she closed her eyes and focused on the scents and sounds. She could hear heavy footsteps, and the creaking of leather shoes. Three, no, four mortals. She smelled hairspray, aftershave, and—­

  She opened her eyes and swore silently.

  This was the last thing she needed. “You better get out of here,” she whispered to the rat and set it down.

  It hurried from the room as the beams from four flashlights moved along the floor and walls outside. They weren’t more than fifty feet away now.

  “Movement,” a gruff-­sounding man said.

  “Jesus, it’s a freaking rat,” another man said.

  “Please tell me I can shoot some of the damned things?” a woman asked.

  Elaine gritted her teeth and fought the urge to grab the pistol. Instead, she moved to a corner, tucked herself into a ball, and drew her glamour in tight around her. She pretended to sleep, watching the doorway through not quite closed eyes.

  Three men and a woman stepped to the door and moved to cast their lights around the room. It didn’t take them long to find her.

  “Another damned rat,” the gruff-­sounding one said with a chuckle.

  “Wake up,” the one in charge said in a calm tone. “Slowly, let me see your hands.”

  Elaine squinted against the bright lights as she sat up. “What the hell, man, I’m sleeping. This is my squat, find your own.”

  “On your feet, but keep your hands where I can see them,” the leader said.

  Elaine put on her best derisive look and stood. The gun oil she’d smelled before was almost overpowering now. When she got to her feet, she lifted her hands. “I didn’t do nothing.”

  “What’s your name?” a short blocky man with a balding head asked.

  “Dazzler,” Elaine sai
d.

  “Christ,” the woman said. “Don’t any of these homeless punks have real, grown-­up names?” She was dressed severely in a gray pantsuit, her dark blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail.

  “Sure,” Elaine said. “There’s Screw-­You Anderson, and Go Fu—­”

  “You have any ID?” the lead agent asked.

  Elaine eyed him, a lean but well-­built man in his fifties. Something about him made Elaine uneasy. “No,” she said. “Do you?”

  The man arched an eyebrow, then reached into his jacket and produced his credentials. “I’m Special Agent Harris. These are Special Agents Kowalski, Stanton, and Gomez.” He motioned first to baldy, then to the woman, and finally to a man in his late twenties with dark hair.

  Elaine looked over the creds, then the agents. She knew right away that both were legit. “So, what do you want?” she asked.

  “We’re investigating the recent kidnappings,” Harris said. “How long have you been here?”

  Elaine sneered. “No idea, my Rolex stopped working last week.”

  “Punk,” Kowalski muttered.

  Elaine bit her tongue, careful not to let herself slip too far into her role.

  “Don’t suppose you have any information about these incidents?” Harris asked.

  “I mind my own.”

  “You need to get out of here,” Harris said. “We have to examine the scene.”

  Elaine moved slowly to the doorway. She could feel all their eyes boring into her. When she made to step through the doorway, Harris narrowed his eyes and blocked the way with his hand.

  “Stanton?” he asked. “Is it me, or does she look a lot like that art thief that’s supposed to be based in Seattle? What’s her name?”

  “The Diamond Shadow,” Stanton answered and nodded. “And I think she does.”

  Elaine froze, barely managing to keep the sudden rush of panic at bay.

  Harris met her eyes and stared hard. It wasn’t possible, but somehow she knew he was testing her glamour. Impossible unless he was—­ She forced herself to calm. After a moment, she lifted her wrists. “Damn, you caught me. I got some Monets and a lost Van Gogh in the trunk of my Aston Martin.”

  The seconds slowed.

  Harris held a card out, his face a stone mask. “If you think of anything, Miss Dazzler, let me know.”

  “Don’t worry,” Stanton said. Her eyes were cold. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Elaine didn’t ask how; she just took the card and left. She managed not to run, but just barely.

  “We need lights down here,” Harris said as Elaine headed to the stairs.

  The rat sat on the railing, waiting for her. She picked him up and put him on her shoulder. When she finally reached the surface, the sun was setting and she relaxed enough to let herself shiver, though it had nothing to do with the chill.

  “Since when does the FBI employ wizards?” she said to herself, but quietly.

  It took her less than twenty minutes, despite the circuitous route, to reach her car. The pearl white Aston Martin Vanquish sat unmolested. She got in and closed the door, sinking into the soft seats. She considered checking the trunk, but decided it could wait. She took the rat into her hand and held him up so she could look him in the eye.

  “Okay, let’s go over this again, and I want details.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “No, Fiona, honey,” Edward’s voice said through the phone. “I can’t play right now.”

  Dante smiled as he imagined the scene. Edward trying to juggle too many books and the phone while Fiona was tugging at his leg. It was a miracle he didn’t—­

  There was a loud crash on the other end of the call and Dante pulled the phone away from his ear with a wince. Fiona said something Dante couldn’t make out and then laughed.

  “Sorry,” Edward said a moment later. “You still there?”

  “I am,” Dante said through a chuckle.

  “I’ll play in a minute,” Edward said.

  “Oh?” Dante asked.

  “No, not—­”

  Dante laughed.

  Edward grumbled something and sighed. “Hold on.”

  Dante paced along the edge of the roof of the hotel. He scanned the street a dozen stories below again. A moment later, he heard a door close on Edward’s end.

  “Okay, sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine,” Dante said.

  “So, I have good news and bad news. Bad news first: I haven’t found anything definite. Just some enigmatic mentions and references to other books I couldn’t find.”

  “Well, I’m not terribly surprised.” Dante didn’t mention he was also relieved.

  “The good news is I keep coming across the same term. It’s mentioned in several texts, and I guess Nghalon thinks it’s important. I have no idea what it means though.”

  “Wait—­Nghalon?”

  “Oh, right,” Edward said and laughed. “Nghalon is the genius loci of the house, and—­”

  “Your house has a guardian spirit?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what he is,” Edward said. “I know he’s the one who rearranges my library, and he’s the source of voices I hear—­”

  “You hear voices?”

  “Yes—­well, no, not like you’re thinking. It’s more like—­” There was a long pause. “You know what, let’s have this conversation another time.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Dante said. “So what’s the word?”

  “Taleth-­Sidhe.”

  For a moment, Dante’s heart stopped.

  “I presume it’s some kind of fae, but I can’t find a definition anywhere,” Edward said.

  Dante’s mind whirled.

  “Are you still there?” Edward asked.

  “What? Yes, sorry. It’s a mortal,” he finally said.

  “A mortal? But doesn’t sidhe mean fae?”

  “It’s our word,” Dante said. “Sidhe just means ­people. It’s like when you use the words mankind or humanity. Daoine-­sidhe means noble or high one. Oíche-­sidhe means dark one.”

  “Okay, um, can I buy a vowel?”

  Dante let out a breath. “Taleth is our language. It means magic.”

  “So it’s a wizard?” Edward’s tone was dubious.

  “Something like that,” Dante said. But not like you, he added silently. He ran his hand through his hair and moved away from the roof’s edge. “It may be best if you weren’t—­”

  Edward laughed. “I’m sort of already involved, aren’t I?”

  “It’s not as simple as you think.”

  “Is it ever?” Edward laughed. “I still have some scars to remind me of that lesson. I appreciate that you’re looking out for us, but from my experience, knowledge is never a bad thing.”

  “Believe me when I say you are completely wrong.” Dante’s tone came out colder than he intended.

  “If you won’t tell me, I’ll find it on my own. I’m not putting Caitlin or Fiona at risk.”

  “They’re not at risk,” Dante said.

  “I appreciate you think so, but I’d rather err on the side of not my fiancée and her daughter not being attacked by some evil wizard thing.”

  Several long, quiet seconds ticked by. Dante considered what to tell him, what he could tell him.

  “I might be able to focus my search better if I knew more,” Edward said. “From what you’ve told me, kids are being taken and killed. It hits close to home, you know?”

  “I understand,” Dante said. More than you know, he added to himself, then let out a sigh. “Magic always strives for balance. I won’t go so far as to say it’s a sentient intelligence, but close. When the balance is threatened, a Taleth-­Sidhe is born. They are mortal, but born from magic.”

  “Wouldn’t that mean they aren’t mortal?” Edward a
sked.

  “If it helps, think of them as human. They’re powerful with a capital P, and born for the sole purpose of countering whatever is threatening the balance.”

  “How many have there been?”

  “I know of two,” Dante said. “The first was Merlin.”

  “Merlin?” Edward asked. “As in the Merlin?”

  “The same, though time has altered the legend more than a little.”

  “What about the second,” Edward asked.

  Dante drew in a breath. “His name was Seanán; and before coming into his power as a Taleth-­Sidhe, he trained with an ancient sect of wizards. These mages, as they called themselves, were betrayed and almost entirely wiped by one of their own. This bhfeallaire, betrayer, turned to a dark creature in his mad quest for power.” Dante pushed back memories. “Seanán eventually defeated the bhfeallaire, crushed his circle of dark magi, and even defeated the creature who was their master.”

  “I didn’t know any of that,” Edward said.

  “There’s good reason,” Dante said. “This creature is so powerful that merely speaking its name gives it power and a way into this world.”

  “And Seanán defeated this thing?”

  “It gained a foothold here through its followers,” Dante said. “Seanán defeated them, and banished their master. That’s the kind of power a Taleth-­Sidhe has.” And—­Dante wanted to say, but didn’t—­this one was also trained under your grandfather.

  Dante started the car and headed for the pricier side of town. It was a safe bet that Donovan’s goons would be there. He glanced in his rearview mirror. His tail wasn’t very good, or maybe they weren’t trying very hard. He was pretty sure who it was. He wasn’t happy about it, but depending on who’d they’d sent, the person might be useful in what was to come.

  Twenty minutes later, he parked the car and started walking. The sun was just setting, but he wasn’t too worried. Whoever the snatchers were, their targets were in the rougher parts of downtown. And even if Dante was wrong, he didn’t fit a snatcher’s usual profile. He hated the thought that something might happen while he was out chasing Donovan down, but he’d just add that to the considerable tab the little weasel was already racking up.