by Mel Sterling
Tess paused at the fountain, listening to the splash of water and waiting for her heartbeat to slow. No need to frighten herself further. All the same, she kept her eyes on him. She fished in the outer flap pocket of her bag for a stick of gum, feigning nonchalance.
Her fingers found Thomas's beach stone instead and flinched back as if she'd been burned.
"I don't believe in magic," she whispered, but she was trembling.
Maybe you should. You can't explain how Thomas looked the way he did, not with any science, not with any college degree, not with anything you know except hallucinogens, and you weren't taking anything, not even caffeine.
"A rock is just a rock." Even so, she pulled the little stone from her purse and tucked it into her jacket pocket, keeping her hand closed around it loosely.
The young man straightened from the pillar as she walked away from the fountain. Tess pretended not to know him, not even to see him, but remained aware of him all the same. It was Thomas she sought, not a charmer who would tell her what he thought she wanted to hear.
The blackness under the bridge seemed to bulge from beneath the structure, beckoning, mocking. She could see people milling—more than she remembered from previous visits—as she approached. The burn barrel glowed, and the men stood around it, their faces lit from beneath. The fortuneteller sat at her tiny table, hands leafing through her deck, though no one came to have their fortune told. Tess put her back to a bridge support pillar, clutching her bag close, feeling more uneasy than she'd ever felt around street people. Thomas's claims had stuck in her mind, and the past two sleep-deprived, guilt-ridden nights had taken their toll.
Her gaze traveled over the market area, scanning for Thomas's broad shoulders and long coat. She didn't see him right away, but that didn't necessarily mean he hadn't made it safely home. She decided if she didn't find him in five minutes, she'd start asking questions. Nearby, two men haggled over the cost of a soft hat, just one among many strewn over a plaid wool blanket the seller sat behind.
To her left, the fortuneteller had half turned away, shoulder lifted, shutting out Tess. The hanging edge of the dark cloth on her small table rippled in a slow breeze that Tess could not feel. That disparity triggered something in her subconscious, and she scooted back into the shadows, out of easy view.
The rock was heavy in her pocket, slowly warming to her skin. She turned it in her fingers, feeling the hole in its center.
This is ridiculous. I'll just...I'll prove I'm right. Thomas worked a trick of some sort.
Tess brought the stone to her right eye and looked at the fortuneteller through the hole. But she wasn't the fifty-something woman with gray hair. She was a squat, hook-nosed crone with hair like forest lichen, and a cluster of moths clinging to her clothing, creeping slowly over her, wings vibrating, antennae sweeping back and forth like exotic fans. The deck of cards was no longer a familiar tarot. It was a collection of brown leaves, dried petals, torn butterfly wings, and what looked like sheets of translucent skin.
Tess turned away, stifling a gasp. Her heart jolted into her throat. She heard ragged breathing and tried to calm herself.
Laughter and a shower of sparks at the burn barrel caught her attention, and she lifted the stone once more, looking at the men who, to her naked eye, seemed to be pulling apart paperbacks and phone books for fuel in the rainy night. The creatures surrounding the barrel—what had Thomas called them, during his two minutes of recitation at the seaside—redcaps?—were squat manlings, not as tall as her shoulder, with teeth like tigers' and eyes the same red as their fire. Suspended above their burning barrel was a battered cauldron, bubbling away with something darkly viscous. They would probably have dyed their caps in your blood just for speaking to them. They were dunking what looked like wool beanie caps in the cauldron, and watching the fabric drip.
Tess's gorge rose.
"Thomas," she squeaked. "Oh, God, Thomas."
It was easier with the stone away from her eye, and yet ever so much worse at the same time. Better to know, or better to remain ignorant of what the market truly was, here in Underbridge when the humans had departed? She turned away from the redcaps and looked across to where someone was shaking out a blanket. Through the stone, she saw an incredible, prismatic net like a bedewed spiderweb lofting through the air, shaking free glinting dust like Sunday-school Christmas glitter art and leaving behind petals and butterflies. The creature doing the shaking was spindly as a birch sapling, and as pale, with hair like silver twigs and eyes as blank and luminous as drops of dew.
A fat toad at the creature's feet sneezed and hopped out of reach of the slow-falling sparkle. A man squatted just a few feet away, staring upward in adoration. Traveling sparks of slow, bluish light worked their way along the seams of his clothing, but otherwise he appeared human.
Without the stone, she saw a street woman and her waddling little dog, and a man wrapped in a rough coat made from a blanket.
Such horror, and such delight.
"Now, where'd you get a clever toy like that one, sweetling?"
The drawling voice startled her, and the guilty need for secrecy made her thrust her hand behind her back. Her head flicked to the voice, and she found the slouching, handsome young man again.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Tess took a firm grip on her purse and shouldered her way past him, intending to return to her Jeep. She needed a safe place behind locked doors to process what she had seen, and the prickles that rose on her skin at the sight of the young man urged her to hurry.
He pointed with his chin as he wrapped his long fingers around her upper arm. "That toy, there. Your little spyglass. Why don't you let me take a look through it, too, see what you were seeing. Must have been something special."
"Let go of me." Tess fought the pull of his hand as he began to drag her arm from behind her back. She broke away and put distance between them, glancing behind her but not taking her eyes off him longer than a second. Swiftly she transferred the stone to her other hand, and brought it to her eye. I have to know, I have to...
Like a double exposure of nightmare sandwiched over sweet dream, Tess saw something lanky and animalistic—legs like a horse's, even to the hoofed hand that somehow could bend to grip her upper arm. The thing was a dark, wet gray, with streaks of black through its hide, and a white shock of hair like a forelock falling across a shifting face. Her eyes fought for dominance—young man, horseface, long nose, white teeth, drowsy sexy smile—all streaming with water that shone like slime in the glow of the streetlight.
Protruding from the bluejeaned pelvis and horse hip was a nightmare phallus. It bobbed erect, knobbed and immensely long, a collar of dank waterweed dangling from its midpoint.
Screaming Thomas's name, Tess ran, heedless of the direction. She knew without looking that the thing was following her, and it was fast. She dodged like a rabbit, dashing across the blanket full of hats, wondering with a terrified thrill what the hats actually were.
"Catch her! Catch the human girl! She can see us!" The horse creature called to the rest of the market. Heads turned as Tess raced, gasping and sobbing, through Underbridge.
The whispers sounded like the dry rasp of autumn leaves scudding over pavement. She can see us. Sees us. She can see! Catch her, stop her, damn her eyes, damn her very bones! People closed in on every side, directing her terrified flight into a spiral that curved back through Underbridge and toward the redcaps and their barrel.
"I will have her teeth for my dice," said a wet, hungry voice to her left.
"And I her toes for my necklace," said a different voice.
"And I her hair, to make nets to catch the fat pigeons!" gloated a third.
Tess felt panic, beyond bone-deep, settling into her, as the spiral of people—creatures—tightened and became a circle with only one exit...the glowing barrel. She halted, facing that ominous gap, her breathing harsh and rapid, teeth bared. She plunged her hand into her shoulder bag and fished for the pepper spray, h
olding it out like a talisman.
Still the circle tightened. Some of the people were smiling, but some twisted their mouths in rage. Even worse were the faces that were eager and hungry. She felt tears on her face, but now was not the time to focus on that. Tears only revealed weakness, the last thing she wanted to show.
But it was only herself and a single can of pepper spray against so many. The ring shrank further, driving her toward that exit, where the three men waited, teeth bared in awful smiles. Someone darted forward and made a snatch at the stone in her hand, but she thrust the rock down her shirt and felt its cold weight settle against the skin of her stomach where her shirt tucked into her jeans.
Now she couldn't see them as they truly were, but perhaps that was for the best. Why ask for her mind to shatter at the horrors they represented? Wasn't it enough to be hunted like a hare? Her gaze settled on the languid young man, flanking one side of the exit. He was smiling, beckoning with his long fingers, but all Tess could think about was the double horror she'd seen, horse and human, denim and hide, crowned by that eager phallus.
"Please let me go," she said. "I didn't see anything. I won't tell. I promise."
"Hark at her!" said a tiny little woman dressed in a muddy bathrobe and rubber boots. "You'd best hand over that stone. And we'll think about letting you go."
"Speak for yourself, Nelly Long-Arms," grunted a fat man, wheezing up behind the woman in the bathrobe. "Give her to Sharpwit. We've lacked for meat these past weeks."
There must be thirty of them around her now, all staring, all angry. A tall man in a flannel shirt stepped too close, and Tess, shrieking, sprayed him in the face. He made an unholy squawk and growled, covering his streaming eyes. She sprayed again wildly in all directions, and the circle loosened just the slightest.
"Her little can won't last for long," said the languid young man. "And then we'll have her. She's mine, though. I touched her first."
"I can see your slime on her coat," said Nelly Long-Arms. "You'll share?"
"When I've done with her. I'm hungry. It's been long and long since I tasted such a one."
"A week." The fat man snorted. "We know you. We saw what's left of your last meal. You left it out where the humans could've found it. Sharpwit had to clean up after you. We ought to take you to the Queen. She'd have something to say about your mating and eating habits."
"We ought to take the girl to the Queen," suggested someone behind Tess. "Let her decide what to do with the human who can see us."
There was a rumbling murmur, half dissent, and half agreement. Tess wondered who the queen was, and if it was the same one Thomas had mentioned on the beach. She decided to try negotiation.
"I'm just looking for a friend. I came here to find him; I think he might be hurt or lost."
"And who would that be?" asked Nelly Long-Arms, rocking forward in her wet slippers. The hem of her bathrobe had trailed in mud and something brown-green.
"His name is Thomas—"
There was a collective intake of breath around the circle, and a few uneasy foot-to-foot shiftings.
"Knew I'd seen her before," said someone.
"Thomas? He'll be angry if we eat her."
"We can deal with Thomas."
"He has the Queen's ear."
At that last comment, there was a brief silence. Then the fat man said, "I ain't afeared of Thomas. I say we kill her now and let Sharpwit make a stew—"
The man's voice broke off when two big hands wrapped around his throat from behind and squeezed. To Tess, it looked like someone from the bizarre world of professional wrestling had joined the crowd. He was tall, with low-set, pointed ears, and a standing stripe of hair down the center of his large, otherwise hairless head. His nose was fat and bulbous, like someone had smashed it one time too many. There were cuts and bruises on his forehead and cheeks. He bent to the fat man's ear and whispered, as if to a lover, "Not afeared of Thomas? And why not, Will Cunning?"
Tess was riveted by the voice and the long black oilcloth coat. Could it be? Was it Thomas? Though she'd tried to block the image from her mind ever since, it looked very much like the creature she'd seen when she first looked through the stone at the seaside.
"Thomas?" she gasped, and knew for certain when his eyes, the beautiful Thomas eyes, flicked over her once. "Oh, Thomas, I—"
"Shut it, you," he said to her. "You've made more than enough trouble tonight." He tightened his grip on the fat man. "You owe me an apology, Will, and maybe even a little restitution. I've got an iron nail in my pocket that's for your neck if you don't."
Will Cunning lifted his fat, pawlike hands. "I was kiddin'. You know what a joker I am. I wouldn't have give her to Sharpwit, honest. We're just trying to make sure she don't go tellin' what she's seen. 'Twouldn't be good for anyone."
"You know our Queen has made me the law here. You should have brought the girl to me in the first place." Thomas gave one last squeeze and leaned hard on Will Cunning, who fell to his knees when Thomas let go.
Nelly Long-Arms coughed a short, sharp laugh. "How were we to know she belongs to you? You've not set your mark on her. The only mark is the kelpie's."
Thomas gave a growl, and Tess felt tears starting anew. "That wet slug knows full well what he's doing. Trying to charm what's not his to charm."
Thomas muscled his way through the circle of people and set a clawed finger at the base of Tess's throat, where she could feel her pulse beating frantically. His eyes met hers, and she felt a strange calmness, almost like cool water, pour over her. The claw moved slightly against her skin. He licked the claw-tip, and she knew he had drawn blood. She clapped a hand over the spot, watching as Thomas's eyelids drooped as if he were savoring her salt-copper taste. The crowd gave a collective moan that made Tess shudder in renewed fear. Was this how the turkey felt, just before its trip to the oven?
"We could all have a lick, just a taste..." whispered Nelly Long-Arms. "It wouldn't take much, she's got salt to spare!"
"You see my mark," muttered Thomas. "I will take her to the Queen myself. Because you're correct, the Queen needs to know what's been going on in her own market." He gave them all a slow, significant look, and with a mutter the crowd trickled away, abashed and slinking.
"We didn't mean nothing," said Will Cunning, from his position at Thomas's feet. "We was just hungry."
"Speak for yourself," said the kelpie. He moved into Thomas's path. "Nelly spoke the truth. My mark is on her."
"And I have tasted her blood." Thomas loomed over the young man, who stood unflinching. "I have the greater claim."
"But mine is the oldest." The kelpie spat at Thomas's feet. "You humans...you never forget where you came from, do you? Not even when it would be in your best interest."
Thomas's broad smile, a shark-like note in his damaged face, gave Tess chills. "Never," he agreed, and towed Tess out of what was left of the circle, shouldering past the kelpie and glowering at the redcaps, who had been thwarted in their search for new dye.
"Be sure you do tell our Queen this news," the kelpie said. "For she will surely hear."
Thomas growled in answer, dragged Tess closer, and swung her body over his shoulder despite her flailing and shrieks.
Oh God, out of the frying pan...
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THERE WAS ONLY ONE PLACE secure and private enough to be while Thomas controlled Tess's reactions to the new horrors she had experienced. His own home, the trow-hold inside the Burnside Bridge.
He didn't want her there.
He longed to have her there.
They were ruined. After the disaster at the market, there was no way he could keep her from the Queen. Too many little telltales had too much to gain by exposing Thomas and his pet human to the Queen. He guessed they had perhaps as much as two hours before the Queen came calling. He hoped it would be enough to get Tess calmed down and somewhere safe.
There was no way he'd simply hand her over to the Unseelie Queen. He needed time to think up a plan
, find a way to hide her. Or maybe hide them both.
There was just the little problem of the Queen's band around his arm.
Thomas sprinted through the market at top speed, still in trow-form. He dodged through the chain link fence at the pumping station, hearing Tess yelp as some of her hair snagged on the fence. Thomas leapt high to the girders of the bridge and swung up onto it with Tess hanging over his shoulder, struggling and squawking in mingled fright and fury. Even the thick paint over the steel didn't stop the iron burn. His muscles still ached from the snap-back crash landing of the broken ley, making this awkward task even harder.
"Be still," he growled. "Or I'll drop you in the river. You don't want that." He adjusted her so that she was more centered on his front. Her legs were getting in the way, and he maneuvered them around his waist, his hand beneath her ass. At any other time, this would have seemed ideal.
"Oh God," she wailed. "Please, just let me go. I swear I'll never come back here. I won't go to the cops, I—"
"Be. Quiet." He needed concentration to negotiate the web of girders.
Tess craned her neck at the Willamette running dark and ominous beneath them, and screamed again. Thomas ignored her noise, stretching far. "Hold on to me, or you'll fall."
"Oh God." Her voice was a frightened squeak, but she locked her legs around his waist and clutched at his neck with her arms, burying her face in the collar of his coat. Several more acrobatic swings ended with them teetering on his perilously narrow doorstep, and with a push of his big hand, raw from the iron, they were through the door.
Thomas released Tess immediately, putting his back to the door so she couldn't run out and fall into the river. Still panicking, she flung herself against the far wall and groped with both hands along the concrete.
