Her Lady’s gift cut a swath across the Wyld’s torso . . . only the torso twisted back as if independent of the rest of the creature. As that happened, from the Wyld’s sides emerged two more arms . . . both ending in hands wielding black silver blades as long as mine.
Gatekeeper . . . it greeted with mockery.
I ignored its attempt to taunt me, aware that words were as much weapons to Feiriefolk as swords. Her Lady’s gift met one of the black silver blades. Instead of the clang of metal against metal, there was only a dull beat, as if from a dying heart.
The other weapon closed on me. I managed to deflect that, too, but this Wyld was a swift, skilled fighter. Whichever member of the Court had been one of his parents had evidently decided to take the mongrel under his or her wing and teach it some skills.
You will not take me back to Her . . .
I appreciated that it was kind enough to give me some glimpse as to its background. So, whatever its Court parent’s status, it’d made the mistake of angering Her Lady.
Fetch had yet to make an appearance, even though I saw at least one window through which he could’ve crashed. Whatever the reason for his absence, I had to fight on.
Twice more, I struck with Her Lady’s gift. On the last attack, the enchanted blade proved the superior of one of the black silver weapons. The heartbeat sound was this time followed by a wicked cracking noise.
The top third of the black silver blade went flying to the side. My foe reacted immediately by tossing the ruined sword at me.
The awkward projectile was easy to dodge, but it gave the Wyld the opportunity to charge me . . . which it didn’t.
Suddenly I knew why, despite the glamour, this mongrel had been so glaringly evident.
I tried to turn as the second Wyld poured down from the ceiling and on top of me. It was akin to one of the things I’d fought days earlier, but that didn’t help me at the moment. Its cold, cold body wrapped around mine, and I immediately felt a lethargy I’d only truly known once before. That’d been the moment of my death.
But even as I struggled against the second Wyld, I knew with certainty that the first was moving in to finish me.
Let Eye loose! Let Eye loose!
I didn’t want to. I didn’t dare to, even with our growing rapport. Still, a part of me began giving way to him as I felt the world fading away—
A shrill cry rose all around me. I vaguely realized that it came from the shadow creature devouring my life. It recoiled, once again revealing the cellar.
My strength flagged. My knees buckled. I had no idea what’d happened to the second Wyld, but sixteen hundred years of honed instinct warned me where the first had to be.
I turned Her Lady’s gift behind me and thrust with all my remaining might. At the very last second, I felt the dragon add his own strength to my desperate jab.
This time, a hiss reached my ears, a dying hiss. Even aware that I’d managed to strike true, I continued to press Her Lady’s gift hard into what I imagined had to be my opponent.
And then, when my legs couldn’t hold me up any longer, I collapsed.
I never felt myself hit the floor. I did hear the voice in the distance, though. Claryce’s voice. She called my name over and over, but I couldn’t find a mouth with which to answer. I wanted to warn her to stay far away, in case one of the Wyld still lived.
Hearing nothing from me, she continued repeating my name. I heard her desperation. I wanted to answer.
Instead . . . the dragon spoke for me.
CHAPTER 24
“Take us from here,” the dragon told her.
I saw the world through my eyes—his eyes now—and beheld Claryce as if from all the way across the cellar, even though she leaned down right in front of us.
“Nick?” she asked tentatively and rightly.
“We are,” the dragon replied. “Help us up.”
Claryce raised her left hand, revealing the blessed dagger. I knew now how the second Wyld had perished and was both grateful and worried for her. She should’ve stayed upstairs, now more than ever.
Claryce wisely pointed the dagger at us. “You’re—you’re the dragon.”
“We are . . .” He stretched a hand—my hand—to her. “Help us up.”
Keep away from her! I managed to warn him.
You are weak. Let Eye command the body for now! Remember, she is destined to be killed! Like all the rest of her . . . and perhaps imminently . . . Eye can help . . . take her where she will be safe . . .
The thought of him being her only hope somehow urged me to struggle harder. More and more I became a part of the world again . . . and at the same time, he lost his grip on my body.
Eye am stronger! Eye will protect her!
No . . . I will. I—thank you—for your concern . . . but I’ll take care of her better . . .
There was a hesitation and then he acquiesced. Yes . . . you will . . . you always will . . .
I seized control of the hand, bringing it back down and using it to slowly push myself to my feet. Claryce kept back. She couldn’t yet know just who was trying to stand.
“It’s—it’s me,” I managed.
“Nick!” She let the dagger drop with a clatter as she rushed to take hold of me. “I saw your eyes switch back and forth! I saw them finally become normal . . . but I still couldn’t be certain it was really you at that point.”
I was grateful for many reasons for her arms around my waist. Foremost happened to be the fact that I could barely keep my balance. “Where—where’s Fetch?”
“Here . . . Master Nicholas.” Fetch emerged from behind Claryce. His hangdog expression made me forget most—not all—of my anger. “The only entrances I could find all had things piled in front of them! I finally deemed it better to come back through the front and down the steps if I was to aid ye in any manner . . . I am sorry . . .”
“Never—never mind.” I looked for Her Lady’s gift. It lay undisturbed to my right. Still wavering, I reached down for it.
That was when I saw the damaged edge.
I’d thought nothing could harm her creation, but I should’ve realized that black silver might be the one exception. I noticed that the weapon had now also lost much of its sheen. Worse, I couldn’t feel the immense energies that always flowed through it.
Against Oberon, I knew I’d need the sword more than ever. I really had no other choice. I had to do the one thing I dreaded most.
“How long’ve I been here, Claryce?”
“You were unconscious maybe a half an hour . . . and then he started talking. I knew it was him, not you. He just couldn’t sound . . . sound as if he had a soul.”
“He . . . he meant well in this case,” I offered.
“I suppose.” Claryce’s tone indicated she doubted it.
I suddenly noticed her shaking and recalled that, with everything else going on, I hadn’t spoken to her about what she’d been forced to endure. “You were supposed to stay upstairs.”
Her brow arched. “A good thing I don’t listen all the time.”
I decided not to respond to that fact. “Did that Wyld touch you in any way? Can you remember? Even a glancing touch?”
“No . . . nothing.”
I took some relief from that, at least. Things of Feirie could live on by such simple acts as a light touch against another creature. I was beginning to think that somehow Oberon had accomplished that fact during the Fire. Maybe the original Delke.
A matter to worry about another time! The reprimand wasn’t the dragon’s, but my own. I was still trying to delay what I had to do.
“Get me to the Packard,” I ordered Claryce.
“Are we done here?”
I looked around but saw no trace of either Wyld. Even the weapons of the first had already faded away. One aspect of my job at least had some benefits—the fact that shadow folk and their tools often melted away once the former was dead made cleaning up easier. “We are. Let’s go.”
Claryce plucked up the da
gger. I gently took it from her, studied it for dangerous traces, then handed it back. “Keep this.”
“I don’t exactly go around with a sheath at my side like Douglas Fairbanks usually does.” When I said nothing, she finally slid the dagger through her skirt belt. “Something bad’s happening, isn’t it?”
Instead of directly answering her, I looked at Fetch. “The sword’s damaged.”
He whined. “Nay, not the lake . . .”
“There’s no choice.”
Claryce looked caught between annoyance at my ignoring her to growing fear over what I’d just said about Her Lady’s gift. “That sword is damaged? You know someone who can fix it fast?”
“I do . . . the one who created it.”
“He means Her Lady,” Fetch, of course, had to add.
“Her—Nick!” Claryce’s eyes grew wider. “You’re not letting her into this world . . .”
“No,” I tried to look much stronger than I felt. “No . . . I’m going to hers.”
I tried reaching Cortez before we left the O’Reilly house, but no one answered at the station. If I’d been in better mental shape at the time, I’d have probably been suspicious. As it was, I chalked it up to the late night only having a skeleton crew that now had to deal with breaking up some illicit party of half-drunken flappers and their sugar daddies. Wouldn’t have been the first or the hundredth time that’d happened some Chicago night since the Eighteenth Amendment and the Volstead Act had first been enforced.
It was my intention to drive, but the first turn I made leaving my client’s home nearly had us cross paths with a lamppost.
Seizing the wheel in time, Claryce helped me guide the Packard to a halt. “Nick, you can’t do this! Even if you get to wherever you need to go by the lake, how can you possibly face her . . . there?”
In answer, I slid out of the driver’s seat. “You’d better drive.”
“I will not!” She folded her arms in defiance.
I started walking in the general direction of Lake Michigan. I wasn’t quite sure at the time whether I was calling her bluff or actually thought I could make it there on foot, but fortunately Claryce surrendered to the fact that I intended to get there one way or another.
Pulling up beside me, she muttered, “I’ll take us there . . .”
It was eerily quiet on the streets as we drove. I even took a look up at the night sky to verify that the full moon wasn’t already upon us.
What was upon us was a strong wind that magnified as we neared an area just north of Municipal Pier. The rising wind had guaranteed that there was no longer anyone in the vicinity. I began to suspect that the wind hadn’t originated on the lake but rather from somewhere just out of sight near it.
Claryce stared out at the darkened waters, then at me. We’d naturally had our coats on when we’d headed to Desmond O’Reilly’s, but the cold, moist wind already had her clutching herself tight. “You’re not going to take a boat out on those waters, are you?”
“No. I don’t need a boat.”
“Then how—”
Eye will not take us there! Eye will not!
You don’t have to, I bitterly reminded him.
Stepping out, I walked to the shoreline. With the hungry waves just managing to lap at my feet, I drew Her Lady’s gift and held it sideways high above my head.
Behind me, I heard Claryce gasp and Fetch growl low. Inside me, I felt the dragon withdraw to the deepest recesses of my mind.
And ahead of me, a portion of the turbulent lake seemed to first rise, then freeze. Any icy path formed, a path leading higher into the sky over Lake Michigan.
I took a step onto the path. My foot slid a little, but then held.
Open the way, I ordered.
The few faint stars visible in the sky suddenly fell from their usual spots. They gathered in a ragged arc far above me.
I tried to summon the dragon’s eyes, but he refused me. Despite his defiance, I began walking the path.
The stars shimmered. They melded together, then stretched to form a more defined yet still ethereal arch.
It was not the Gate in its full glory, but I didn’t need to see it so to enter. I took a few more steps over Lake Michigan . . . and then planted a foot in Feirie.
Where it’d been night, it was now dusk. It was almost always dusk in Feirie. I’d never actually seen the sun set or rise here and wasn’t sure if it really did.
The twisted oaks greeted me everywhere. I felt like Hansel and Gretel . . . or maybe Papa Johnny when he’d taken a “vacation” down to Hot Springs, Arkansas, right after O’Banion’s murder. The sensation that there might be something sinister lurking behind each tree wasn’t mere fantasy, though. The shadow folk would sense my “outside” presence immediately.
The Feirie of Her Lady’s “bubble” had been a cramped thing and in some ways so was the real Feirie. True, I could walk forever and ever without finding my way to the Court if she so decided, but I doubted that Her Lady would play that particular game. As a matter of fact, I was pretty certain even before the forest literally parted before me that she’d rush me to her.
Spectral lights floated around the clearing as the Court formed. Shadows that hadn’t been there before suddenly clustered on each side of the clearing. I began to hear whispering in my head, whispering that might’ve snared my mind if I’d been a normal human being.
There was a flutter of wings, a shaking of cloth, and suddenly a figure that could’ve been Kravayik’s twin—at least his twin if he’d never left Feirie—shaped before me. He stood tall and too thin, but radiated a deadliness that his dark, forest green armor and cloak only hinted at.
The sword is demanded by her . . .
I drew Her Lady’s gift and without a word turned the hilt toward him. His narrow black eyes stretched in surprise at my willingness to disarm myself here. He and everything else could detect the lack of the blessed dagger on me. In the Court’s eyes, I was now defenseless. It wasn’t true, but they didn’t know that.
And yet, no one tried to take me. They knew better. I walked beside Her Lady’s seneschal—at least that’s what I assumed he was—and kept pace despite his longer stride.
Small creatures barely seen ran from our path. They also served Her Lady, making certain that the Court was always immaculate. Feirie always retained an image of elegance, even when executions were taking place.
Without warning, the seneschal again became a shaking of cloth followed by a flutter of wings. I was left alone. I didn’t miss a step as I waited for Her Lady to make her presence known.
The oaks at the end of the clearing became even more gnarled. Some of them bent over. Their downturned crowns formed the base of what quickly became a towering throne atop a tall dais. Once again, there were three perches atop the throne, but on only one did a black bird alight this time.
A second black bird landed before the throne. It twisted and grew, becoming the seneschal. I saw no sign of the sword, though.
But what I did see was the slim yet curved shape that grew from the shadows over the throne. Her Lady sat primly yet somehow seductively as she first surveyed her Court, then her seneschal . . . and then, finally, me.
Her Darling Gatekeeper . . . she expected to see you before long . . . but not because of her ruined gift to you . . .
“Black silver must be of little value anymore,” I responded. “Certainly seems enough of it going around to ship to the other side.”
There was an unsettled rustling from the shadows that made up her Court. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught glimpses of faces showing dismay and fear. The fear was focused on Her Lady, who appeared to have lost her humor.
Her trust was broken by one with ambition who has been replaced . . . and the one replaced has been . . . educated . . .
The seneschal rose and faced me. He spread open one side of his cloak.
Mouth agape, the ravaged head of a male of the Court stared back at me from where it hung inside the cloak. The dark beauty inher
ent in all the members of Feirie’s highest caste had been replaced by a monstrousness created by extreme torture. What made the sight even more hideous was that I could see that the traitor’s spirit remained trapped in the head. Her Lady wasn’t done “educating” him yet.
With the hint of a grin, the seneschal pulled his cloak tight around him again. I gathered that the traitor had been his predecessor.
“Did Oberon order him to do this?” I asked, ignoring the way the gathered Court tried their best to lean farther and farther away from me just in case their former Lord paid attention to my use of his true name.
Her Lady noted their reaction. The oaks rustled violently. Black birds cawed everywhere, though there was only the one to be seen.
The warning was effective. The Feirie Court once more resumed its false semblance of utter confidence in its mistress.
She will find the truth of that . . .
“I doubt we’ve time. You’ve probably known all along that he’d try to make use of the Frost Moon.” I was greeted with silence. When it dragged on longer than I cared, I continued. “Fix the sword and I’ll be on my way . . .”
The granting of this gift was not a simple one . . .
“Nor is facing Oberon with secrets being kept left and right by those I should have at least a little trust in. We might not’ve had to deal with this situation as it stands now.”
I could tell that my defiance wasn’t going over well with the assembled shadows. Most no doubt expected my head to be hanging next to the old seneschal before long.
Instead, Her Lady rose. Immediately, each of the shadows dropped to one knee.
Leave . . .
She only had to give the word and the entire clearing emptied save for Her Lady, myself, and the new seneschal. Head down, he continued to kneel.
Her Lady took a step down . . . and then stood before me. Having witnessed them so long and seen them for what they were, I’d long become unimpressed with Feirie tricks. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve had my hands around her throat the moment she’d materialized so close. Of course, she knew that, too.
Black City Saint Page 29
