Heir to the Underworld

by Walker, E. D.

  "Is he coming?"

  She growled to deter further questions. "Dad."

  "Just tell me if you're dating him."

  She curled her tongue in her cheek. "We started to, but he just dumped me." She turned to face him, a brittle, burning anger settling over her body. "And hey, if we're digging into personal lives, can I ask what you and Mom were talking about in the garage the other night? Or, hey, the big question--why the two of you have always had separate bedrooms?" She clamped her mouth shut at the last. She'd gone too far. An apology jumped to the tip of her tongue, but the look on her dad's face froze her, raising goose bumps along her arms.

  He wasn't angry or annoyed. Dad was bone-deep sad, and he looked old suddenly, much older than his thirty some-odd years. The sight made her want to twist up in the car seat like a frightened four year old. Her dad's crushing worry made Freddy feel vulnerable, helpless.

  He shook his head. "Freddy, I wish I could answer some of these questions for you. You don't know how much I want that." The rubber on the steering wheel squished beneath his fingers as he clenched them. "But now's not the time."

  Freddy could read her dad's moods with enough precision to know talking to him wouldn't do any good. Not right now. Not about anything that mattered. She bit her lip and looked out the window, the familiar flash of homes and foliage blurring past her eyes, the silence in the car nearly suffocating.

  ~~~

  Freddy climbed into the old automobile and drove away with her dad as Polydegmon hid among the trees. Her dad. How interesting. He rubbed his bruised arm. Unfortunate would perhaps be a better choice of words. With Freddy gone, he plodded back to his cave to wait for nightfall.

  When the moon rose, he emerged from his hidden den to scan the woods and the sky. No night birds. No people. Nothing. Not even insects. By no means a good sign. Uneasiness itched at him, making him ill at ease, nervous. Something, supernatural or otherwise, should have been about. Owls, mosquitoes, even one of those scrawny coyotes.

  The wind churned up a heady mixture of smells--pine, pollen, dead brush and dirt that stirred a deep ache in his chest for the brave hills and fierce blue horizon of his home. Dark clouds closed together over the sky, turning the moonlight a pale gray. The air tensed with electricity, and the wind ripped through the hills. The hair on his arms tingled and rose, half from cold, half from expectation. His blood thrummed in his fingertips and temples, his mouth went dry. His heart drummed a staccato rhythm against his sternum.

  It was happening.

  The Wild Hunt was coming.

  The thought alone made Polydegmon's stomach sink with dread somewhere to the vicinity of his feet. Though he had bragged of his own prowess to Badb, now the moment of confrontation had come, he felt unequal to facing that group of supernatural cutthroats who called themselves the "Wild Hunt."

  Nevertheless, you have to find Kore. Stifling his fear, Polydegmon followed the smell of the Hunt's magic, the repugnant taint of realities changed and time distorted, something like spoiled eggs and vinegar. All things must bend to the Wild Hunt, after all. Bend or break. Even time.

  The Wild Hunt. As fickle a batch of magical miscreants as he had ever met. His family rarely mixed among the fey and fairies ruled by the Lord of the Hunt, but he knew them well enough from reputation and rumor alone.

  Grasping at the trailing webs of old spells drifting in the air, Polydegmon drew the Hunt's magic about himself in a motley glamour, concealing his own power thereby. His senses seemed dulled, colors had a washed-out, faded quality now, and the smells of the forest had flattened out, replaced by the pungent stench of the Hunt.

  Polydegmon had to be careful, and he had to be smart, or not only would he fail to recover his sister, he might find himself a captive of the Wild Hunt. And captives of the Hunt did not tend to live very long.

  He followed the trail of the Hunt's magicks over a chain link fence. A "Private Property" sign half fell as he scrambled over. The magic-scent led him deeper into the woods. The haunting, alluring music of the fey folk had begun already. He came upon a water tower and a plethora of scrubby bushes, and hid himself along the shrubbery by the path.

  Groups of fey passed him by--pixies, pookas, selkies, swan-girls, sprites, and even a stocky dwarf or two. Alas, none of them suited his need for a disguise. Too thin. Too short. Too fat. Too female. So he waited, and as he waited the Revels bore on into full swing. The music pounded against his ears, assaulted his senses. The melody of the Revels was a low, almost subliminal hum, soothing yet resonant, sliding over his senses like a thick, sweet-smelling syrup, inviting him to join in. His feet twitched, compelled to follow the music, but he managed to recall himself, and plugged his ears against the noise.

  They had strong magic indeed, if even he could be lured to their delights.

  A tall fairy lord walked down the path, chin so high it surprised Polydegmon his head did not tip off his shoulders. The fairy swung an ivory cane with a silver top and carried himself as if the entire world should lie at his feet so he might step on them.

  At last. Polydegmon stepped onto the path, blocking the way. "Hello, friend."

  The slightest of sneers curled the fairy's lip back. "Yes?"

  "I am very sorry to be troubling you, but I am afraid I require your assistance."

  "Is that so?" The fairy lord looked him over and let the sneer have full reign of his face. Dismissing Polydegmon, he tried to push past, shoving hard on Polydegmon's shoulder to knock him off the path.

  Polydegmon sidestepped him and ripped the fancy cane out of the fairy's grip. The fairy made a grab for the stick. Polydegmon laughed and held it high. Then he let his face slacken as he stared off into the distance, trying to seem arrested by some strange sight. "By the gods, what is that?"

  The fairy did not turn. In fact, he crossed his hands over his chest. "Do you really think I shall fall for that?"

  "Fall for what?"

  "If I turn around to look, nothing will be there, and you shall bash my head in with my own stick. I am not so foolish."

  Polydegmon lowered the cane and shrugged. "Well, it succeeded with that gentleman." The fairy looked to where Polydegmon pointed at nothing. A bare moment later Polydegmon broke the ivory cane over the fairy's head.

  Quite the promising start for the evening.

  Polydegmon dragged the fairy off the path and proceeded to steal the lord's clothes--the perfect disguise to earn him entry into the Hunt's Revels so he could search for his kidnapped sister.

  The garments were cobbled together of assorted bits of fur, feathers, and whatever other interesting detritus from the roads and forests the fairy had picked up, a good fit--except for the pants, which chafed. Ah, well.

  Polydegmon picked his way through the dry brush, following the music to the clearing where the Revels took place. A crowd of drunken fey filled the small valley, crushed together in a jostling, giddy crowd. The local assortment of fair folk were outdoing themselves to welcome the Wild Hunt into their midst. He wagered every bit of riffraff with a smidgen of the supernatural to his essence had come. Polydegmon was always a fan of a revel--especially ones he hadn't been invited to. I might just enjoy this rescue mission. But what could have brought the Hunt here? This backwater town would never have occurred to Polydegmon as a good place to host a Hunt.

  Although the place does have its local charm. Slow, delicious heat filled his body as he thought of Frederica. The delicate floral scent of her, the silk of her hair against his cheek, that snap in her large dark eyes, the way her charming dimples dipped in her cheeks, that wide bow of a mouth, kissable and so soft against his.

  Truly unfair the way the girl, every satisfying, delicious inch of her, begged to be kissed, and--

  He cursed himself. Now was not the time to be thinking of pretty mortals. Remember Kore, your sister, you lustful idiot?

  Turning his thoughts back to his mission, Polydegmon insinuated himself into the skipping ring of fairy revelers. He whirled one fairy lass and p
uckish spirit after another in his arms and danced until his legs trembled. Gradually, trying not to draw attention to himself, he wended his way closer to the heart of the celebration, the place where the Wild Hunt sat. If Kore was here, if the Lord of the Hunt had her, she would be among the inner circle, apart from the common rabble of the rest of the party.

  A crowd of fawning pixies blocked his path, but when they shifted, his quarry came into sight. The huntsmen and him, their leader--Cernunnos, the Ol'Stag himself, Lord of the Wild Hunt. Cernunnos stood tall and red-haired, with an appalling beard. Ruddy great antlers grew atop his head, shadowing the smug, harsh face. Utter loathing ripped through Polydegmon, making him shake with anger. If the stag had stolen his sister, Cernunnos would suffer for it.

  Polydegmon kept his head down. He had no wish to be found among the fairies. He crept around their tables while the huntsmen talked and boasted to each other, each with two or three females wriggling happily in his lap. Cernunnos watched his men drink and make merry with a paternal light in his eye, and an indulgent smile on his face. The Lord of the Hunt's lap remained empty.

  Where is my sister, you filthy beast? The mere thought of Kore as the forced plaything of the evil stag made Polydegmon clench his hands with rage. He longed to grab Cernunnos by the throat and throttle him until he gave Kore back. Such an action would not be possible, though. No one could lay violent hands on the Lord of the Hunt in the very heart of this improvised stronghold.

  Unfortunately.

  Polydegmon forced himself back to the search for his sister, looking in every corner of the clearing, even eyeing the banquet food with gut-twisting apprehension. No sign of his sister, though. Not anywhere. Several small tents sat pitched at the clearing's edge, and he made toward them.

  As he passed four of the hunting dogs tied outside one of the tents, the dogs stretched to attention and sniffed at him. He shivered. Rumors said the dogs were the imprisoned souls of the damned, doomed forever to inhuman servitude among the Wild Hunt's horrific pursuits. The creepy things unnerved Polydegmon to no end. Skeletal bodies of a chalky white, their pupil-less eyes followed him as he passed. The dogs' red-tipped ears twitched.

  One of the dogs began an unearthly keening, which the others took up.

  Panic clawing at his throat, Polydegmon staggered away from the hounds, making for the tree line and the concealing darkness beyond.

  The fairy music stopped. All eyes swung toward Polydegmon, and he froze, trapped. The damned dogs had revealed him for what he was.

  Intruder. Imposter. Prey.

  Well, I have just bungled things on a truly spectacular scale. He swallowed, ashamed of his failure. Father will not be pleased.

  A more pressing concern emerged as several burly huntsmen stalked toward him, their weapons ready. He considered revealing his identity to brazen the confrontation out, but that would have meant capture and a ransom at best. Death and his head sent home to Daddy at worst. Neither option appealed. His gut flipped unpleasantly with fear, making him nauseated, light-headed.

  But he grinned defiance at the approaching host of fairies and huntsmen, and drew his sword, concealed beneath his borrowed fairy coat. Four huntsmen tried to bar his exit from the fairy ring. He flicked a hand their way. Four bobbing daisies swayed back and forth before him in the wind where the guards had been. His vision blurred as he ran toward the flowers, the use of his powers weakening him. Lopping their tops off with one neat swipe, he plunged into the deeper woods.

  After that, the Hunt's pursuit became a game of find and fetch as the lot of them gave chase. The Wild Hunt and Fairy Host crashed and cut through the trees to trap Polydegmon, but they stayed out of his sight, probably to avoid his power--lest they too be turned to topless daisies.

  Their cries and yells to each other echoed through the forest, over-loud, abrading Polydegmon's nerves when the sound came too near. As he stumbled through the trees, the forest floor vibrated beneath his feet from the pound of the Hunt's mounts. His heart hammered hard with fear, and his breaths came in loud, rasping gulps. He snapped his head side to side, scanning frantically, trying to watch everywhere at once and failing.

  The brush crunched loudly to his left, and he stopped, bracing himself, sword held tight. A solid weight collided with his unguarded back, flattening him to the ground. The hell dog growled behind him, the sound sending his nerves crackling with fear.

  The dog's head darted forward in a strike, and searing pain erupted in Polydegmon's shoulder, so his whole back seemed afire as the dog bit down. He strangled a cry of pain in his throat and sharply rolled to toss the dog off.

  The animal was thrown from him for the moment, and Polydegmon popped up, hurling a burst of magic at the beast, trying to turn the hound to a flower, or a nice weed. But Polydegmon's power slipped right off the animal. He clenched his hand tight, and the choking panic returned tenfold.

  The beast blinked as the last traces of the magic slid over its hide, then, with a low growl, jumped for Polydegmon. Gritting his teeth against the agony in his shoulder, Polydegmon wrestled his sword into position, and the animal's own momentum spitted it on the end of his blade. Gasping, Polydegmon clawed to his feet, then pushed the animal's carcass off his blade with his foot.

  Warm blood trickled down his shoulder to stick his borrowed fairy clothes tight to his back. Frantic to keep moving, he stumbled and fell hard, scraping his palm raw, the skin burning and gritty with dirt. He swore and pushed himself up, staggering on, each movement jarring his shoulder so he hissed pained breaths in through his teeth, fighting not to scream.

  The trees thinned, and he came upon a row of squat houses. Fumbling to check his shoulder, his touch slid over the raw, torn flesh, making him wince as hot blood flowed between his fingers. His head floated, stuffed with a frothy nothing. He pinched his arm, hard, using that focused pain to center his addled thoughts. He needed somewhere safe.

  The Fitzgeralds. The house. The guard dog will have protections. Freddy. The house. Get to her house.

  He forced the simple thoughts to stay on an endless loop, holding himself by sheer will to his destination. If he didn't find sanctuary, and soon, the Hunt's pack of rapacious mutts would tear him limb from limb. Literally.

  Not quite the dignified end one would hope for.

  He ducked off the dirt road and hid behind the nearest building as hooves thundered nearby. His brain could not think, but his feet remembered the place and guided him there. He reigned in his gasping breaths, his lungs throbbing, his throat thick.

  The Hunt turned the corner on the residential street and a cold fist of fear knotted his stomach in a vise. They did not gallop down the concrete road as he had expected. They walked at their leisure instead, as if they had all the time in the world, as if this were not a dire matter of life or death.

  Well, for them it isn't. Each moment of this braced tension further drained his reserves of strength. The back of his tunic was now entirely soaked in blood.

  The hairs on the back of Polydegmon's neck rose as the Hunt picked their way down the street toward him. Against his conscious will, his fingers dug into the stucco of the wall behind him until bits of plaster and paint crumbled away. He shuffled as soundlessly as he could around the edge of the house and tried not to tread on the heaps of pine needles that littered the ground, not wishing to crash and crunch his way through the night. If he could get inside this place, there would be help, spells to hold the Hunt at bay, and he would be safe for tonight.

  Needles crunched behind him, and with a sick sinking of his gut, he wheeled around, bracing his back against the house. Three of the hellhounds slunk toward him, ears back, teeth bared. Polydegmon swallowed his fear, pushed it down far away, and straightened his shoulders, forcing himself to confront the dogs head on.

  I am a son of Olympians. I will not die a cringing coward.

  The largest dog pounced, smashing hard into his body, teeth slicing lines of fire as they sunk into Polydegmon's leg. Grunting with the effor
t, dizzy with pain, Polydegmon slashed with his sword, his arms heavy as he brought his blade up and down, up and down, each movement slow and labored. He hit the beast again and again, his sword connecting with the flesh in wet, sickening thwacks, but, though the blade sliced into its white skin, the animal only bit harder, so Polydegmon at last roared aloud from the pain.

  Cursing under his breath in three languages, Polydegmon nerved himself up and inserted his fingers between the beast's jaws. Using all his strength, he pulled the jaws apart, and with a deft twist snapped the animal's neck. He dropped the body and backed away. The other dogs walked over their comrade's carcass toward him.

  Polydegmon's chest seemed hollowed out, empty in his hopelessness, and his vision had gone blurry, forcing him to blink and blink to see the dogs clearly. He slithered back, holding his stained sword before him, his injured hand groping behind to keep him close to the guiding wall. His back slid over a lip of wood against the wall, and he fumbled for the doorknob.

  Locked.

  And bespelled. Freddy's guard dog was thorough, and had set a robust protective spell around the house. Polydegmon pushed at the wards with his power, but they were fluid, strong, and merely flowed around his efforts, absorbing his power and leaving him shut out in the dark and danger. To enter this house he would have to be invited in.

  He pinched his eyes closed, despair cascading over his head, numbing him, robbing him of hope.

  He pressed his hand to his leg. The blood oozed between his fingers. So much. Too much.

  Jaw clenched, rigid with pain and fright, he whispered a name, half-call, half-prayer, "Frederica."

  Chapter Six

  Freddy sat up in bed, jolted awake by her vivid dream of Deg. Breathless, her heart drumming in her chest, she cast her gaze about the room, almost expecting to find him under the furniture. For several long heartbeats, she lay with nerves tensed and ears strained, but the gentle chirp of crickets remained the only sound coming through the window.