Black City Saint

by Richard A. Knaak

  I seized Her Lady’s gift from the kobold even as a violent wind swiftly added his crumbling ashes to the beach. As I rose, though, I saw two of Oberon’s hoods taking aim. There wasn’t much in the way of protection between myself and them, and I knew that I was very likely going to have to rely on the dragon’s power to keep me alive. I’d been able to sympathize with the pain endured by Fetch when he’d made his body reject the bullets because I’d gone through the same sort of ordeal several times. Of course, that’d been before the advent of the tommy gun, which could fire a dozen shots into me in a single breath.

  But instead of firing, Oberon’s boys just kept their weapons trained on me. The reason became clear when Doolin raced past me, heading in the direction I’d last seen Oberon go.

  My free hand immediately went into the pocket where the teardrop should’ve been.

  It was still there. I breathed a sigh of relief . . . and then remembered I’d also need to check the other pocket.

  The card was missing.

  The dragon’s dismay mirrored mine, but I couldn’t help briefly reminding him that he was the reason the card had been brought here in the first place. He’d believed that he could control the situation and manipulate the master manipulator. It didn’t matter how ageless the dragon was; this was Oberon he’d been trying to outwit.

  Thunder rattled the area, even though at first there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Then, just as suddenly, the thick clouds were there . . . only they covered every bit of sky except where the Frost Moon hovered.

  As Doolin vanished into the darkness, I dove back to the auto in which we’d arrived. No longer needing to keep from shooting Doolin, the other hoods opened fire. Bullets perforated the auto. I heard a painful moan and knew that either Crank, the driver, or both, had been hit. Oberon had no use for those who failed him.

  I planted myself behind the auto as it continued to suffer a hail of gunfire. I still didn’t trust the dragon even so much as to demand his eyes, which kept me at a greater disadvantage than usual. The wind had grown so wild that now great waves smashed onto the shore. It also stirred up a lot of sand, which I’d been waiting for. I couldn’t do anything to stop whatever Oberon was doing at the moment, but I’d been prepared to at least make what use I could of his actions.

  The auto suddenly flew high in the air. I flung myself away as the largest tentacle yet burst from the sandy beach and sought for me. Gunmen scattered as the ruined vehicle came crashing down near them.

  Near the shoreline, I caught a faint glimpse of Oberon illuminated by the Frost Moon. Doolin stood close by. Oberon had the card raised above his head.

  And something was stirring in the water, something living.

  I couldn’t pay them any more mind; the tentacle was dropping down to crush me. I had no time to escape. Instead, I braced myself, held Her Lady’s gift upward, and muttered to the dragon, “This’s both our hides, remember that . . .”

  The sword pierced the heavy tentacle, sinking halfway to the hilt as it did.

  The tentacle struck us hard.

  I should’ve been crushed, but the dragon did his part, if reluctantly. His primal power protected us enough so that I only had a resounding headache that fortunately lasted just a few seconds.

  Weary . . .

  He wasn’t simply making a comment. I could feel his presence receding. He’d strained himself with his betrayal, and now defending us this way had put him at his limit for the time being.

  So deep inside the tentacle, Her Lady’s gift could now work its full, dark power. The size of its victim didn’t matter. The sword did as much to the tentacle’s owner as it had to the unfortunate kobold. The slick skin grayed, then started to crumble.

  I struggled free . . . just in time to get a solid knock on the jaw that would’ve broken it if not for the dragon’s fading power still protecting me for the moment. Even then, I couldn’t keep my grip on Her Lady’s gift. It spiraled into the air and landed on the other side of the swiftly decaying tentacle.

  I looked up to see Doolin looming over me, not only with the gauntlets covering his hands, but also with a short hand ax in his right hand. Its black silver head gleamed wickedly in the Frost Moon and almost as wickedly as Doolin’s gaze.

  “Don’t know why the boss thinks you’re so special,” the man mountain rumbled. “Just another chump ready for a long swim to the bottom of the lake . . .”

  He punctuated the statement by taking a swing at me with the ax. I realized Doolin had hit me with a fist just so he could have me look at him when he chopped me in two.

  It was his mistake. He wasn’t at a good angle to kick at, but he was close enough to be rewarded with a face full of sand. Doolin let out a snarl as he tried to quickly wipe the sand from his eyes.

  It wasn’t quick enough to prevent me from leaping up and crashing into him with enough force to even knock Doolin down. Unfortunately, keeping him there proved to be no easy task. I’d fought few men as physically strong as Doolin and he also had the gauntlets to magnify that strength. I’d seen Eugen Sandow at the World’s Columbian Exhibition in ’93 and suspected that Doolin could’ve held his own against Ziegfield’s famous strongman.

  Thunder shook the beach. The wind became a gale. I didn’t know what was going on beyond my fight with Doolin, but I worried about Her Lady’s gift . . . and even more about how far along Oberon was with his plan.

  Doolin got one hand on my throat, erasing any thought other than survival. I tried to call on the dragon, but it was as if he was no longer a part of me.

  I was certain that I could eventually take Doolin, but I didn’t have the time to find out if I was right. The next rattle of thunder felt like an earthquake.

  The tremor bounced us around, to my regret ending with Doolin at the advantage. He continued to try to crush my throat as he managed to get up on one knee.

  A growling form landed atop Doolin, its momentum carrying both of them from me.

  I didn’t recognize at first what fought with Doolin. It had a somewhat manlike shape, but also one more like that of a four-legged beast. Its snout was too long for the creatures it most resembled and its body too thin and wiry even for a greyhound.

  Only when he shouted my name did I understand that I was staring at Fetch.

  “Protect her, Master Nicholas!” he roared, as he tried to rake ­Doolin’s face with one paw. “And forgive me . . .”

  I didn’t know what I was supposed to forgive Fetch for and would’ve dearly liked to know, but his first words had warned me that he’d not come alone. Claryce also had to be here . . . in a place where the odds of her being killed were almost a certainty.

  Yet what I saw initially wasn’t Claryce, but rather the black bird. It soared high in the sky, visible only because the Frost Moon continued to shine through a menacing hole in the otherwise turbulent heavens. The black bird looked unhindered by the wind as it disappeared over the lake, for what purpose, only Her Lady knew.

  A painful whine rose from Fetch’s direction, but I’d already turned and found Claryce. I hadn’t known what I’d expected, but it hadn’t been to find her standing against a blurry piece of shadow with Her Lady’s gift in her hand.

  Not only in her hand but wielded very naturally.

  She slashed with the blade, cutting the shadow in half. As it dissipated, Claryce took a few steps toward the lake.

  I knew without a doubt what she hoped to do . . . and also knew without a doubt I couldn’t let her try. She wanted Oberon’s head. I couldn’t blame her, but, even with Her Lady’s gift, Claryce wouldn’t get very far . . . especially now that another shadow was forming right by her, this one wielding the silhouette of a tommy gun. The Frost Moon had grown bright enough that Oberon’s goons could use their special toys once more.

  “Claryce!” I shouted.

  She looked my direction, smiled—and then immediately ducked at my direction. The phut-phut-phut of the shadow gun was barely audible in the growing storm. The sand around Claryce expl
oded in several places, fortunately none of the spots too near her.

  I started toward her, but she pushed herself up enough to look back at me. “No! Oberon! You have to stop Oberon . . . and watch out for Fetch!”

  I was more confused than ever, but I knew she was right. None of us had a chance if Oberon succeeded in bringing this world and Feirie together. Even if it meant losing Claryce . . . I did have to do as she said. There would be nothing if he was not stopped here now.

  Before I could have second thoughts, Claryce rolled away from me and toward the firing shadow. She swung and again seemed to handle the sword as if born to it.

  I saw Her Lady’s cunning in this. She’d planned for the eventuality that the one person close to me might need the sword. Her Lady could yet prove more adaptable than her former mate . . . if we all survived this night.

  I ran after Oberon.

  To my amazement, he still stood at the edge of the lake, the card raised toward it. In the midst of the storm, Lake Michigan foamed. Even worse, the sense that something huge moved in those waters also grew harder and harder to deny.

  “Gatekeeper!” Oberon shouted, even though he still faced the water. “You took longer than I imagined . . .”

  “Sorry for the delay!”

  He peered over his shoulder, still wearing the mask of William Delke despite the critical moment. “I tried to keep you from your foolishness! I tried to scare you away using the female who keeps returning! I thought if you worried about her, you would do the sensible thing and take her far from here . . .”

  I edged closer. I didn’t have Her Lady’s gift, but I still had the teardrop in my pocket. I knew the potency of such a talisman, the potency and the danger. I’d have to use it only when there was no other choice . . . something that was likely to happen much too soon.

  “You know there’s nowhere I could take her that’d be far enough away from what you’re doing, Oberon!”

  “But it would have given you time to understand that I am doing what is best for both realms!” He finally turned around to face me, a frown much too wide for a human now across his face. “Time to understand the only true course is to remove forever the taint of cold-iron . . .”

  I sensed someone behind me, probably Doolin. This time, I wasn’t going to fall prey to one of Oberon’s tricks.

  Spinning, I struck out with stiffened fingers for where I knew Doolin’s throat had to be. The hit wouldn’t kill him, but it’d leave him choking and no more use for Oberon.

  “Master—”

  It wasn’t Doolin, though. Instead it was Fetch. I managed to steer my attack to the side at the last moment, but it was still enough to bowl the lycanthrope over.

  He lay sprawled on the ground, eyes wide with fear at what I’d nearly done. More than ever, he looked like some monstrous matching of man, wolf, and greyhound.

  “Get back to Claryce!” I ordered him, as I turned back to Oberon. “I’ll take care of—”

  With a mournful growl, he bit my forearm.

  I pulled away in shock. Fetch could’ve taken the entire lower half of the limb at that point, but instead he immediately released his hold. He stared at me with a combination of anxiety and shame. I noticed then that his back was straighter, as if whatever great stiffness had affected it had finally gone away.

  “I am so sorry, Master Nicholas . . . I . . . wish I could make you understand . . .”

  “Under—” I didn’t get any farther. A coldness that burned at the same time coursed through my veins. I knew its origins too well. Somehow, Fetch’s bite had been tinged with black silver just like a cobra’s was with venom.

  His shortened ears completely flattened. He dropped down on all fours and slunk back as Doolin stepped up from behind him. The gigantic thug grinned, no doubt at what he intended to do to me now that I was no danger.

  “I did give you every chance . . .” I heard Oberon shout over the storm. “If not for you and the female, then for you and the salamander, at least! You forced this on yourself . . .”

  I keeled over. The beach rose up and slapped me hard in the face.

  Through the rumble of the unnatural storm, I heard only two other things now. Doolin’s nearing laugh . . . and a sudden cry I knew could only be from Claryce.

  CHAPTER 27

  My body shivered. My condition wasn’t helped by a sudden kick in my ribs, courtesy of Doolin.

  Deep, deep within, I could sense the dragon trying to make himself small, unnoticeable. He was suffering the effects of the black silver, too, but that wasn’t why he was doing what he did. He was still trying to somehow keep himself separate from me, as if my death wouldn’t mean his own as well. Sixteen hundred years together and we were still two creatures in utter opposition, even now.

  I felt hands tugging at my coat. Doolin’s curse filled my ears. He was looking for something. I tried to think what it was, then remembered the teardrop. Oberon still needed it. It wouldn’t be enough for him to bring Feirie and Chicago together if he couldn’t maintain mastery over it. The teardrop was also the deadliest weapon against him.

  Despite the poison simultaneously burning and freezing my soul, I did my best to keep Doolin from his goal. When he pulled at the coat again, I let the momentum turn me over and sent my fist at him.

  “Still kickin’?” he growled. “Good! Lets me have a little more fun with you!”

  I tried to grab at Doolin, but the effort was too much. My failure was made worse by the fact that he only wore one gauntlet at the moment, the other off so that he could better check my coat for the gem.

  Somewhere in the distance, I heard Fetch’s mournful howl again. I must’ve reacted more than I knew because my expression made Doolin laugh harder. “Your mongrel’s taking care of the tomato, dope . . . pity . . . boss wouldn’t let me have her. He’s too much of a gent there, I guess, though I seen him do things . . .”

  He grabbed my throat with the gauntleted hand, apparently a preferred target for him. What little air I’d been able to draw in was cut off.

  Get your damned self here! I silently shouted at the dragon.

  But he still wouldn’t listen. So caught up in his failed dream of being free from me, the dragon was more frozen than me. He was going to die and couldn’t seem to understand that—

  Doolin screamed.

  I didn’t understand why until a warm fluid spilled over my face, and most of Doolin’s forearm, including the covered hand, tumbled next to me.

  A spate of harsh, Celtic curses escaped him as he stumbled away from me. I lost sight of him as another shape hovered over me.

  “Nick! Can you hear me?”

  Claryce leaned close. I was grateful for her presence this near to death. I only wished that somehow I could keep her from following me.

  “Nick . . . listen . . . the other bird . . . he said to take hold of the blade!”

  Barely conscious, I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, especially when what she held over me wasn’t Her Lady’s gift but rather the blessed dagger.

  “You’ve got to touch the tip to the bite yourself! It has to be you who—”

  Claryce dropped the blade atop me and pulled out of sight. A moment later, I heard Doolin’s rumbling voice. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he was certainly furious.

  Afraid for Claryce, I fumbled for the dagger. My first thought was to try to throw it at wherever he stood, but then recalled what she’d said. The black bird wanted me to touch the poisoned bite with the point. I knew Her Lady must’ve had a good reason for that, though what it was evaded me.

  Managing to grip the short blade, I slid it over to the bite. A shiver almost made me lose my hold, but I gritted my teeth and planted the tip of the dagger where it was supposed to go. At the same time, I suddenly wondered why Claryce had referred to the black bird as a he—

  I shoved aside that question and others as an intense heat swept over me. It was quickly replaced by a soothing warmth that then rapidly ate away at the numbing co
ld. I gasped with relief as my strength returned in a burst.

  My recovery was so swift that I was already able to push myself up to my elbows. That, though, gave me a view I didn’t like. A few yards away, Claryce stood with her back to me, Her Lady’s gift held ready with both hands. Doolin faced her, his one arm missing halfway down, but not bleeding at all. The sleeve was bound tight, but I could only imagine it was Oberon’s magic that kept him from bleeding to death.

  His remaining hand was once more clad in the other gauntlet. I knew that even the one glove gave Doolin the strength to rip the sword from Claryce. The murderous glare in the man-mountain’s eyes made me fight to my feet even as Claryce tried a lunge that was more designed to keep Doolin back than kill him.

  I shifted my grip on the dagger, then shouted, “Doolin!”

  He looked my way.

  I threw the dagger.

  Doolin gasped as the blade sank halfway into his chest. He staggered, started to slump . . . and then, his breathing ragged, started tugging at the dagger. Once more, even the lone gauntlet gave him the strength to survive a mortal blow.

  But what he couldn’t survive was Her Lady’s gift through his stomach. Blood spilled from the belly wound and then from Doolin’s mouth. Claryce pulled the sword free, the edge utterly clean of the hood’s life fluids.

  Doolin made a fist. The gauntlet flared. Blood staining his mouth and chin, he took a step toward Claryce just as I lunged for him.

  Doolin collapsed into the sand. Unlike me, he wouldn’t be getting back up. Her Lady’s gift’d proven more powerful than Oberon’s gauntlet.

  Claryce exhaled. I wished I could’ve done the same, but we were hardly safe. The raging storm had Oberon’s thugs momentarily pinned down by their autos, and the amplifying magic drawn together by the card evidently had most of his Wyld equally at bay.

  But in the end, all that mattered was that Oberon was in command of the situation.