Over the centuries he did play, and each time he lost. Every time he lost, a bit more of his humanity seeped away until gradually he became as he was now – emotionless and tired of everything.
Boredom was the greatest hell imaginable, and Mark had been bored for fifteen hundred years. Food no longer tasted of anything, pleasures of the flesh were just so much sweaty inconvenience, and nobody could hold a decent conversation with him because he knew so much more than anybody else. He was aloof and distant, part of the world and yet dislocated from it in a way he could never adequately describe.
His hatred for the fairy folk was the only passion he had left; for what they had done to him, he tracked them, and he killed them indiscriminately. No matter how many he wiped away, though, he would never be able to right the wrongs against him. He thought of Annaea, and tears threatened to overcome him again. That wound was still raw, and he knew that it would never heal.
Pushing it away and sealing it down deep in his gut, Mark dried himself and made his way to the gym.
Car theft was easy when you were an Elf.
Cam spun a net of illusion around himself and wandered up to the house. He rang the doorbell and waited. After a minute, an unshaven man in a dressing gown opened the door with a petulant expression on his face. From the bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his dried, chapped lips, the man had a worse hangover than Cam.
The householder looked around his front garden, his eyes glazing, as they passed over Cam who waited patiently in front of him. The man looked around again, his frown deepening.
‘Damn kids,’ he muttered under his breath as he turned and walked back into the house. Cam followed on his heels and sidestepped neatly into the narrow hallway as the man slammed the front door behind him. The man walked on towards the back of the house, oblivious to Cam who was looking around expectantly. He saw what he needed on a sideboard next to the stairs.
Grabbing the keys, he let himself out and walked over to a black Honda Civic that was parked on the road in front of the address. He pushed the remote button on the key and grinned as the car beeped happily, its indicators winking at Cam in welcome. Cam slid into the driver’s seat and drove off. He let the Glamour fall away, and it was like a web of light dissipating from his mind, to spill out onto the bleak winter streets beyond the windscreen.
First, he went to a hardware store and picked up something for Grímnir, and then he made his way back to the flat. He drove recklessly, weaving in and out of traffic at high speed, confident of his own reflexes. He didn’t worry about the police at all.
A speed camera flashed as he sped past it at fifty in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone. He ignored it. Usually he didn’t bother with cars – his own little world was conveniently sized and contained everything he needed within a short walk of his front door. Today, however, he needed a vehicle. The meeting with his father was arranged at a spot too far out to walk.
Engine shrieking, he skidded into his own street and tore towards his home. He slammed the brakes on, causing the back tyres to fishtail. The car shuddered to a halt and then stalled. Cam pulled the key out of the ignition and stepped onto the pavement.
The exhilaration of the fast drive seemed to have banished his hangover. He picked up the items he had stolen and then let himself in. He whistled a little tune to himself as he closed the front door behind him.
Grímnir sat on the sofa in front of the television. Cam wondered why he bothered – the big man couldn’t understand a word that was being said on the screen. Cam ambled over and peered over the top of Grímnir’s shaggy head. He was watching a children’s show. Demented puppets were running around, screaming at each other; Grímnir seemed enthralled. Cam shook his head and tossed the bag down onto the sofa next to his house guest.
‘There you go,’ he said. ‘A present.’
‘What are these crazed creatures?’ Grímnir asked. pointing at the television. ‘I have never seen their like.’
‘They’re puppets, you daft twat,’ Cam said conversationally in English.
‘Speak the True Tongue,’ Grímnir snapped.
‘They’re toys.’
‘Ah, that makes sense. I thought they were blind, the way their eyes protruded so blankly.’
‘Blind? Yeah, that was the obvious explanation for a furry, bright purple midget with a Mohawk. Nice one. Open the bag.’
‘What is it?’
‘Open it and find out,’ Cam said with exasperation. Grímnir had discovered the mechanics of zips when he had first put his jeans on. His thick fingers barely fumbled at all as he opened the bag.
Inside there was something large and lethal-looking. Grímnir pulled it out with a rapturous expression on his face. He hefted it in one hand and then swung it around a couple of times experimentally. He looked at Cam with a serious expression on his face. ‘Thank you, my friend, it is a wondrous gift.’
Cam actually felt himself blushing. Nobody had ever thanked him for anything before, and nobody had ever called him ‘friend’. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it. You’ll probably need it.’
‘Yes. How does it work?’
‘I have no idea. Let’s look at the instructions.’
The instruction manual stated that the item was a Ryobi PCN-4450 Chain Saw, with a twenty-inch blade and a 40cc two-stroke engine with zip start. ‘Whatever the hell that means,’ Cam said. ‘It’s got a fast-acting inertia chain break, an ignition module, primer bulb and choke, a silencer – which will come in handy – and a three-point anti-vibration handle.’ Cam threw the manual to one side. ‘I think you pull that thing there and it starts.’
Grímnir pulled it but nothing happened. ‘Why does it not work?’
‘I think you’ve got to put some petrol in it.’
‘What is petrol?’
‘Fire juice, my man. We’ll get some on the way to meet my dad.’
‘Where do we get it from?’
‘Don’t worry – stealing petrol’s easy when you’re an Elf.’ Cam grinned at Grímnir, a wide mischievous smile comprised of perfect white teeth.
Sam felt relaxed as he waited in the coffee shop. She wouldn’t be long: he could feel it. He had sent her a text message shortly after his liberating exchange with Tabby, and he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. Ridiculous concepts of honour and faith had chained him to one woman … he shook his head in disbelief as he sipped his coffee.
Why had he never seen it before – the sly glances, the innuendo, the teasing? It had been a flirtation, a seduction, and he had been too soft to recognise it. Well, he thought to himself with rising anticipation, the rules that had bound him had faded away, and the now incomprehensible veil of love had been lifted. Now he was going to have some fun.
The jangling of the bell above the door made him look up. Annalise walked in, looking as sumptuous as ever. Sam’s heartbeat began to thunder with barely contained anticipation. Her golden hair shimmered in the weak sunlight that slid through the blinds. She wore a pair of tight jeans and a thick winter coat, open at the front to reveal a deep cleavage. Wide green eyes dominated a face whose perfection was etched from high cheekbones, a tapered chin, and rich, heart-shaped lips. Sam’s mouth went dry even as his teeth clenched hungrily.
She spotted him, and her lips tightened as if she were angry. Sam’s smile grew wider at the look – he knew it was an act. Annalise walked over and sat down opposite him. Slipping a large shoulder bag from her arm, she put it on the table between them like a barrier. ‘What do you want, Sam?’
‘Why so hostile?’ he asked.
‘Your text said you needed to see me as a matter of urgency. I was in the middle of something.’
‘What were you in the middle of? Afternoon tea? You don’t strike me as the type.’
‘You don’t know anything about me.’
‘You’re still upset because I wouldn’t go home with you on Thursday, aren’t you?’ He reached over her bag and patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to give you a second chance.’
‘Fine,’ Sam said airily. ‘I apologise. Obviously, I misread the situation.’ His sly smile made it clear that he didn’t think anything of the sort.
‘Look, what do you want?’ Annalise said impatiently.
‘Why are you so eager to get out of here, Annalise? What have you got to go home to?’
‘Something much better than you.’
‘Then why did you come?’
‘Because I always thought you were a sweet man – harmless – and I heard about you getting attacked. I thought maybe you needed a shoulder to cry on.’
Sam laughed with genuine humour, the sound cutting through the low buzz of conversation at the other tables. ‘Harmless? Maybe I was, maybe I was … but not anymore. What have you got to go home to, Annalise?’
‘What’s wrong with you, Sam? You’re … different.’
‘I’ve seen the light. Life’s too short, and you’re too beautiful. I had to see you, had to talk to you … it was inevitable.’ He smiled at her again and saw her eyes narrow slightly, as if she were working something out. ‘You know how the company works, Annalise. You know how much Mr. Milton respects me. I am the star that I think you know you should hitch your wagon to. I’ve seen how you look at me.’ He shrugged and sipped at his coffee again.
‘This is outrageous,’ she stormed, brushing her hair back angrily as she pushed her face aggressively towards him. ‘I don’t know what you’re suggesting …’
‘Of course you do,’ Sam said blandly.
‘… but I’m not that kind of woman …’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘… and I’m certainly not the kind of woman who would ever think about hitching any part of my wagon to you!’ she spat.
‘You tried Milton, didn’t you? But he’s old and married and not interested. I bet he told you that you reminded him of his daughter. Or was it his granddaughter?’ Sam leant forwards until his face was only inches from hers. ‘I, on the other hand, am young and virile and very interested,’ he whispered.
Annalise jerked her head backwards, the corners of her mouth turning down in disgust. ‘You’re delusional.’
Sam leant back, one arm draped over the back of the chair next to him. He beamed at her. ‘Come off it, Annalise. You’re only angry because I’ve taken the power away from you. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty to play with soon enough.’
‘Fuck you, Sam,’ she said as she stood to leave.
‘That’s the general idea.’
She picked up her bag.
‘If you go,’ he said quietly, ‘that is the end of it.’
She paused.
‘Tell me, Annalise, and tell me honestly; what have you got to go home to? A cat? Some goldfish? A novel? You can go back to your lonely apartment, or you can come with me and I can make your dreams come true.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘I had my throat torn out. That sort of a thing changes a man.’ It was true. Sam had never felt so alive. His veins hummed with energy, his senses were alive to the smells of coffee and perspiration in the small shop. He could hear everything, feel the air on his skin, and he could taste the heat coming off the woman in front of him. She was attracted to power, and she could sense it in him.
‘I want you, Annalise. I don’t want your love or your respect, I just want you. To taste you, to lie with you, to fuck you. Is that so bad? And in return, I can give you everything you ever wanted.’
‘Where?’
‘How about the Hilton? Our first liaison should be done in style, don’t you think?’
She stared at him for a moment with frank appraisal. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But if you’re bullshitting me – if you’re just high or something – I’ll rip your balls off.’
‘Your hands aren’t big enough, sweetheart,’ Sam said with a wink.
Parking the stolen car some interminable distance behind them, Cam and Grímnir had walked through damp forest, across a muddy deer enclosure, and then out onto a small but steep hill with a clearing at the top. Grímnir carried his bag with the chainsaw in it.
Too much light and vegetation always made Cam feel uncomfortable. He didn’t know why – the Great Outdoors was his heritage, after all.
Maybe that had something to do with it, he thought glumly as he wriggled his toes in his damp socks; he had never felt particularly in touch with the tree-hugging side of his nature. It was probably because he was only born thirty years ago, and all he remembered was cities.
As much as he hated the urban sprawl for sucking the life from the planet, he felt comfortable amongst the steel, glass, and concrete. Large cities were killing him as much as they were killing the planet, but it was an honest thing; neither the cities nor the humans made any apologies for the death of the land. They had a new order of science and laws, and no doubt they would go on and on until they wiped themselves out in some awful nuclear apocalypse. He couldn’t blame them for that. It was their nature.
No, the humans – deluded, psychotic animals that they were – could not be held to account. His own people, on the other hand, had given up with nothing more than a whimper; he could not forgive them for that. He felt betrayed by their apparent apathy. He felt let down by the magic, too. He was going to die, and he did not like it.
Glancing over at Grímnir, he wondered if the big man had really taken in the fact that the time of the fairies was almost up. The tattooed man was obsessed with tracking down Cú Roí, which probably said a lot for his mental state. Even if the bogeyman was stalking the streets of Manchester, it didn’t matter. Cú Roí was just like the rest of them: doomed. In fifty years he would just drop dead, and that would be the end of the matter.
Sighing, Cam looked down at his feet. The water in the damp grass had soaked through his trainers with laughable ease, and his feet were going numb. He hugged his coat tighter around him, wishing that the bright sun held even the smallest modicum of warmth. He wondered where his father was. They had been here for an hour at least, and Cam was cold and miserable.
The journey from the car had been unpleasant as well. Cam hated walking in the countryside, and the bloody deer had insisted on coming over to nuzzle at him. Wild animals liked Elves. Cam didn’t like wild animals. They stank of mud and shit, and most of them had fleas. Grímnir greeted the fauna like long lost brothers, speaking to them gently in the True Tongue, until they had a merry procession of deer, squirrels, and rabbits traipsing behind them.
Eventually, Cam stopped and turned around. ‘Get lost!’ he screamed at them. The noise broke the spell, and the animals disappeared into the undergrowth.
‘Why did you do that?’ Grímnir demanded.
‘Because these days it looks a bit odd to be walking through a forest with the cast of Bambi following along behind. All we needed was Mr. Bluebird and a bloody lion, and we could have opened Disneyland Cheshire.’
‘There is nobody around.’
‘There’s always somebody around to point out how suspicious a stolen car, two men, and a petting zoo are.’
‘The car isn’t here.’
‘But we’ve got to go back to it … Look, putting aside how odd it must look, it just isn’t hygienic. The rabbits are probably riddled with myxomatosis, the squirrels are likely infested with lice, and one of those deer looked decidedly rabid.’
‘What is … myxomatosis?’
‘It’s a disease that kills rabbits. They get cancer, go blind, and then die.’
Grímnir considered this silently as they walked. ‘Where did it come from?’ he asked after a while.
‘I don’t know,’ Cam replied absently. ‘Some French guy introduced it to Europe, I think.’
‘A human caused it?’ Grímnir asked with a dangerous undertone.
Cam looked back at h
im and his anger subsided. He sometimes forgot how strange and terrible all this must be to Grímnir. ‘It’s a virus. Nobody caused it. This isn’t your world anymore, Grímnir. I wish it was, I truly do, but it’s not. It’s a brutal, unforgiving place, and innocent bunnies die of horrible diseases every day. And grown men do not wander around national parks like Dr. Doolittle, unless they’re prepared to answer some very complicated questions.
‘We aren’t the rulers anymore – the humans are. And like it or not, to survive you’ve got to fit in.’
‘The world has lost its way,’ Grímnir said stonily.
‘Amen to that, brother,’ Cam had said. ‘Come on.’
The clearing they now waited in was familiar. Cam’s father also chose to live outside The Tower. Why it was acceptable for him to do so, while for Cam it was frowned upon, was just another example of the unexplained hypocrisy that seemed to drive his people.
What Cam did know was that his father had lived in the Manchester area for the last three hundred years. He never left Miðgarðr, except for a week every year to visit The Tower. Cam had gone with him on those trips when he was a child. Now, as far as Cam knew, he and his father were the only members of the Seelie Court that lived outside The Tower.
There were still creatures from the Unseelie Court knocking about in the world, causing mischief or just eating people. Cam stayed out of their way.
The hill they stood on was covered in wet grass. Around the crown of the hill grew a ring of fat, white mushrooms. The stones that had stood here were long gone, no doubt taken to help build the Tudor mansion back in the grounds of nearby Lyme Park. The only trees growing were at the base of the hill. Their branches, made skeletal by the touch of winter, seemed to be reaching up towards Cam, and he had an uneasy vision of the twigs grasping at him to pull him down into the dirt at their roots. Shuddering slightly, Cam decided he really didn’t like it out here.
Immortals' Requiem Page 11
