Dervishes Don't Dance: A Paranormal Suspense Novel with a Touch of Romance (Valkyrie Bestiary Book 2)

by Kim McDougall

  The golem fell, and the cop raised the sword for the killing blow.

  I jumped between them and held up my hands. “It’s a girl! Just a girl! Someone turned her into a golem. We have to help her.”

  The cop checked his swing, but didn’t lower his sword. He pointed it at my throat. Behind me, the golem moaned and struggled to sit up.

  “You are interfering with Hub business,” he said. “Stand down or I’ll have you arrested.

  I stood my ground. “You can’t kill her! She’s a citizen of Montreal.”

  “It’s a monster.”

  We glared at each other, and I had choice words about who the real monster was.

  “Hold!” came a stern voice. Detective Kesik stepped through the crowd that had gathered. I looked around. At least a dozen Hub officers stood with weapons ready. Kesik had taken me seriously after all. Several neighbors also watched. And Betsy stood by the patio door, guarded by an officer.

  Kesik bent over Maeve, who had given up the struggle and lay on the grass moaning faintly.

  “It’s a golem?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Sort of. I didn’t know how to put my suspicions into words. This creature was more than a golem but less than a gargoyle. It was some twisted hybrid of the two. At least Kesik was finally listening.

  “There.” Kesik pointed to the symbol on Maeve’s forehead. “That’s the only way to kill it.”

  Before I could react, the officer drove his blade through Maeve’s forehead.

  I screamed.

  *

  Betsy had stopped shaking. We sat on the front porch, and I’d wrapped her in a blanket. She took the news about Maeve’s spirit being trapped in the golem as I expected, but her tears were exhausted now and we sat in silence, watching the Hub team carry the massive body away and pack it into a van.

  My arm hurt and I cradled it in my lap, though I thought it was only sprained.

  “She was just trying to come home,” Betsy said in a small voice. I didn’t agree or disagree. I didn’t know enough about golems to understand Maeve’s motivations. She could have been working on pure instinct, returning to a place that was familiar. Or the person who twisted her magic into the monstrous being could have sent her. One thing was certain; Maeve had been dead long before she made it home.

  “I promise you I will find whoever did this,” I said. Betsy just nodded and I felt like a phony. I couldn’t save Maeve. I couldn’t find her killer either. This wasn’t my job. We had police and detectives for this stuff.

  And it was obvious to me that Gerard Golovin was behind this. Maeve’s golem was too similar to the gencrew. Hopefully, Kesik would figure that out when he examined the body.

  One of Betsy’s elderly neighbors arrived with a thermos of hot coffee.

  “Why don’t you come stay with me tonight?” she said to Betsy. I handed the girl off, thankful that there were still a few good people in this city.

  “I’ll go with them,” Gabe said. He’d been sitting in the shadows at the end of the porch, and I’d forgotten he was there. “Make sure they get inside safe.” He followed the two women across the road.

  Rage burned through me. I found Detective Kesik talking to the techs who were scanning for magic residue and intercepted him as he left the yard.

  “You knew about the takers,” I snarled. “You knew, and you did nothing about them. And now you’ve killed an innocent girl.”

  Kesik paused, looked me up and down and took in my flared nostrils and accelerated breath.

  “I killed a monster. There is no evidence that the golem was once human.” He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm.

  “Your scans will prove it. And then what will you do? Hide the proof? Ignore it like you’ve ignored all the other missing fae?”

  He frowned at my hand gripping his arm. “Remove your hand or I will have you arrested for assaulting an officer.”

  I hung on for another fraction of a minute. “We both know who is behind this. The question is, are you brave enough to bring him to justice?” I let him go, just as he yanked his arm away. He was expecting resistance, and I was childishly pleased when he stumbled backward.

  Kesik left me fighting back tears of anger and sorrow. I surveyed the backyard. It was a mess of churned up grass. Broken glass littered the patio and the furniture was scattered. The Hub sirens were silent, but the flashing lights still announced to the world that we stood at a crime scene. Hub techs took pictures of everything as they made their report—a report that I suspected would be buried.

  A young girl was dead because of political machinations. I wanted to scream and cry and stamp my feet at the unfairness of it.

  Suddenly two Guardians landed in the grass. The gargoyles spread out, checking the perimeter of the yard. Then Mason was there, running up the driveway with Angus half hopping, half running behind him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “No.” I sniffled. I really wasn’t.

  “Jesus Christ in a hand basket,” Angus said from behind me. “What happened here?”

  Mason’s face was pinched in a frown as he surveyed the patio with the smashed window. I braced for another lecture about butting my nose in where it didn’t belong. Instead, he opened his arms, and I flew into him as my sobs finally broke free.

  ValkyrieBestiary.com/golem

  Golem vs. Gargoyle

  (November 25, 2080)

  No, we aren’t doing a gladiator show where we pit golems against gargoyles. But I want to have a serious discussion about the distinction between the two. This is a topic close to my heart for many reasons, and something we should all be aware of. So here goes.

  What is a gargoyle?

  Gargoyles were first created in the Renaissance era by gifted alchemists who carved them from stone and gave them life through a complicated alchemical procedure. In a nutshell, the alchemist stole a fae spirit and stuck it in stone. For more about gargoyles, see the Archives.

  What is a golem?

  Golem is a generic term for any automaton animated through magic. Usually, this magic involves exhaustive rituals and rune work, often carved into the golem itself. Though golems need a strong power source (like a ley-line battery) for continued animation, the spell caster may initially spark the golem to “life” with a bit of their own magic, which enables a link between the two. Through this link, the spell caster can control the golem.

  Golems generally don’t have any capacity to think for themselves. They aren’t sentient. The magic that animates them is purely mechanical, while a gargoyle takes on a spirit of its own once animated.

  Breaking the spell will cause the golem to de-animate. Usually this can be done by destroying the activating rune tattooed onto the golem or destroying the fetch that acts as a magical link to the spell caster. Gargoyles are much harder to kill and often outlive their makers by generations.

  Golems are neither good nor evil. They cannot be reasoned with. Their only purpose is to complete whatever task the spell caster set for them. If you get in their way, they will kill you. But in the end, they are tools of the spell caster that created them. Gargoyles are living beings, with hopes, dreams, and a spirit of their own. They can be good or they can be evil, just like the rest of us on this planet.

  Golems tend to be faceless and haphazardly put together. I believe this is because of their limited use. They aren’t made for a long life. A spell caster creates a golem for one purpose—whatever that may be. When done, the golem will be deactivated and returned to its natural elements. For this reason, they are often made of clay or other easily disposable material. The original gargoyles were works of art even before being animated. The care that went into their carving was part of the ritual of creating life. Each gargoyle I’ve met has been beautiful in his own way.

  So what is the point of this discussion? Well, recently I came across a crea
ture that seemed to be a hybrid gargoyle-golem. It looked like a golem—large and vaguely humanoid, like an impatient child put it together with clay. It even had a rune cut into its forehead. In fact, I’ve seen several of these creatures. Most were docile and acted like you would expect a golem to act. But one was…alive. That’s the only way to describe it. It was sentient. And angry. It wore a rune on its head, but it was unclear to me if that rune was its animating force. I’m guessing that thaumagauge testing would prove it had an inner source of life-magic.

  My biggest fear is that someone has found the lost knowledge to create gargoyles again. But then why do they need the rune work?

  I’m sending this to you, my loyal peeps. Has anyone heard of such a thing?

  Comments (3)

  Never seen one of these, but could the rune be a way to control the gargoyle?

  alkeminator2000 (November25, 2080)

  That’s a great theory. Yes, it’s quite possible that the spell caster was controlling the golem-gargoyle with the rune. The depravity of humankind never ceases to amaze me.

  Valkyrie 367 (November 25, 2080)

  ——

  I am fascinated by gargoyles. I like your take on golems too. A hybrid would be really cool.

  DaddysGirl (November 25, 2080)

  Chapter

  22

  The anger coming off Mason was palpable as I stumbled through the details of my encounter with the golem. Angus watched me intently, but I left out our theory about Gerard Golovin and his bag of tricks. For now.

  When I got to the part about the cops stabbing the golem through the head, I stopped and closed my eyes, seeing the death again in bright detail. Mason caught me before I realized that I’d nearly fallen over. He turned to the Guardians who’d come with him.

  “I’m taking Kyra home.” He didn’t let go as he spoke, and I sank into the feel of his arm around me. “Stay here and patrol. There may be more golems.”

  Angus nodded, but his eyes lingered on me, questioning. Was I going to tell Mason the whole truth? I nodded and he seemed satisfied.

  “Aye, aye, bossman. Golems in this neighborhood will stick out like a sore throat. We’ll find ‘em.”

  I didn’t think there would be more. Betsy was probably right. Maeve was trying to come home. Even if Golovin had other golems stashed away, they’d have no reason to come here.

  Mason tucked me into the passenger seat of his car. My hands had stopped shaking, but I felt boneless, as if I might dissolve into a puddle.

  “Gabe!” I suddenly remembered. “I should tell him I’m leaving.”

  Mason pointed to where Dutch and Gabe were already getting into Gabe’s car.

  “Dutch will take care of him. Now let me take care of you for once.” Mason put the car in drive and zoomed around the Hub van with its flashing lights.

  Traffic snarled on the backstreets leading away from Talon, which was always busy, night and day. Once we hit the old highway, the roads cleared. We drove westward in silence. Mason held my left hand in his right, his thumb circling mine, restlessly.

  His car smelled new and the console was lit with dozens of gadgets.

  “This is one of those driverless cars, isn’t it? Why do you still drive it manually?” I asked, more to fill the empty space between us as we hurtled through the night.

  He glanced at me and frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well, you like your tech so much. I thought you’d want the latest and greatest.”

  “Latest doesn’t always mean greatest.” He let go of my hand and gripped the steering wheel as if to emphasize his control over the metal beast. “Cars were meant to be driven, not to drive themselves.”

  I thought he was taking me home, but we didn’t slow down as the exit to Morgan Road zipped by. I didn’t complain. We had a lot to discuss and needed privacy—something that was in short supply at my place.

  Mason slowed to tap his widget to the guard’s at Gallop Bridge. The guard nodded and let us through without question. When he turned into Dorion Park, I opened my windows to let in the night air.

  “Smell the trees,” my Nana Greenleaf used to say, as if the magic of growing things could mend any hurt.

  The house was dark as we pulled up. With its turrets, sweeping staircase and pillars holding up a balcony that overlooked the drive, the manor could have been the scene for a haunted house movie. But I sensed no ghosts here, only the pure magic of the forest with its myriad little lives.

  Inside, Mason settled me on the couch before the hearth and lit a fire, even though the night wasn’t chill. He left and returned with two glasses of red wine.

  “Fortification,” he said, then paused before handing me the glass. “Do you need something stronger? Whisky?”

  I shook my head. “Wine is comfort food. Thanks.” I sipped the velvety vintage while sorting my thoughts. Mason waited. He was perceptive enough to know that I hadn’t told him the entire story. We also had two nasty fights and one hot kiss lingering between us. There was a lot of baggage to unpack. I started with business.

  “Do you have any new leads on Cyril’s murder?”

  “Wait.” Mason held up his hand. “I know we have a lot to talk about. This attack tonight. Cyril. But first I want to clear the air.”

  “Okay.” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

  “You accused me of stringing you along. My ‘shit,’ as you put it. That wasn’t my intention.”

  “And what was your intention?”

  He looked me right in the eye. “To never fall in love to begin with.”

  I stared at him. He just put that out there. Right between us, like some shiny star full of sharp edges and sparkly allure.

  “You know about my first wife. That didn’t end well.” He opened a wooden box on the coffee table and pulled out a small framed portrait.

  “This was our daughter, Brigitte. She lived to be eighty-four. I nursed her through her last years.” He paused, smiling at the image before handing it to me. I saw an older woman with blond hair braided in an intricate knot. She had Mason’s eyes.

  He took out another small portrait and handed it to me. “This was Amaya, my second wife.” She was a beautiful dark-haired woman of Indian descent. “Of our eight children, three survived to adulthood. Those were good stats back then.” He smiled sadly, and I wanted to hug him. Instead, I held the portraits of his dead family carefully. These were probably the only mementos he had of them.

  “And this was my last wife, Jeanne. We were happy for a time.” This portrait was a black-and-white photograph of a pretty woman with long straight hair, wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and cut-off jeans. “She was barren, and I was okay with that. I didn’t want to outlive any more children. But when she aged past me and realized that everyone would always wonder why that young man was with an older woman, she left me.” He paused and stroked the side of the image with his thumb. “She died of cancer a few years later. I would have cared for her, but she didn’t want a nursemaid.”

  I shut my eyes. It was so easy to forget that other people had histories. They had joys and traumas too. My pain and angst, my past relationships…they weren’t unique. They were only mine. And these were Mason’s. I felt honored that he shared them with me. Honored and a little ashamed that he felt the need to explain himself.

  I tucked the precious images back in the box. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want you to understand why I’m so bad at this relationship stuff. I’ve avoided it for over a hundred years.”

  “So why now?” Maybe I was fishing a bit, but maybe I needed to hear it again.

  “Because you’re easy to love.” He leaned in and kissed me, soft and hesitant. Then he pulled back just enough so he could look into my eyes. “I tried not to, but you’re brave and kind, and beautiful.” His hand found the wisps of hair that had es
caped from my braids at the base of my neck. “So here’s my promise. I’m going to do better. Whatever’s coming, we’ll face it together. Agreed?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  “That means no more running into the night to fight monsters without me.”

  “Okay.” It came out in a squeak. I sat back, cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ll fight by your side, whatever is coming, but I can’t promise not to face a few monsters alone. It’s my job, after all.” I thought about the knockers and the grubber. I wouldn’t call Mason every time I had vermin bigger than a rat to contend with.

  He considered me. This was an old-world man, probably used to submissive women who stayed home to care for the kids while he went out and did manly man things. I braced myself for a fight. I wouldn’t give up my career. I was good at pest control. I understood fae monsters of all sizes and didn’t even mind the blood and slime. If I was honest, I enjoyed it.

  “Agreed,” he finally said. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your job. Not unless you asked. But this is different. Something bigger is happening in Montreal right now and I have a bad feeling it’s all linked to that damned bloodstone.”

  “I think you’re right. Even Cyril’s murder.”

  He rubbed a hand across the nape of his neck. “You know something.”

  “Not really. Only that it’s somehow tied to that body we found. Lorraine’s.”

  Mason nodded. “Angus confirmed that they were close.”

  “I think that Lorraine saw something she wasn’t supposed to and panicked. She went to Cyril for help, and they both died for it.”

  “Maybe. But that doesn’t tell us what she saw.”

  “No. But I know what I saw.”

  I explained to him about visiting the GenPort site and the golems I found there masquerading as automatons.

  “Are you sure they were golems?”

  I considered this. The difference between an automaton and a golem was slight, but significant. Mason understood these shades of difference better than I did.