by Scott Duff
“Billy, do you know either of these people by name?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” he said mildly. “They do appear to be the gentlemen in question.”
“Tell me, Mr. Marchand,” I said, sending the Day Sword home and passing my thanks for the help as it went. “Were you aware of the happenings at the school today?”
“That’s why I’m here,” he growled. “Felix Cahill called me at home barely an hour ago.”
“Mr. Murrik, would you step over to this side of the car, please?” I asked the other man. There was a bus coming down the road that would need the driveway soon. He moved around the car, suspicious. This man was much thinner than Marchand with darker hair and eyes. A rather hawkish face with sunken cheeks, he was not a pretty man.
I opened the gate and waved them through. “I was quite serious about taking the wards, Mr. Marchand. I will be more than happy to hand over control so that I may go about my business. But that person must be able to handle the wards and that person has to ask. You know, simple courtesy.” Before either of them could answer, I moved the car off the road by shoving a portal around it, dropping it on the front end into the ditch across the road. It made a nice, loud noise as it landed.
The timing couldn’t have been better as the big diesel bus pulled into view, slowing noisily for the turn into the school. It stopped just before the gate with me right at the door. The door opened wide to show me the driver.
“John!” I called and bounded happily up the steps. “Good to see you!” I extended my right hand to shake with him because it was good to see a friendly face right then. Looking back over the bus, there were about thirty men and women on board, mostly those who worked the farms of the castle grounds but certainly people I would want on my side of a fight.
“Good to see you, too, Seth,” he said, shaking my hand briskly. “Is that Marchand steaming out there?”
“Yep,” I answered. “These our relief crew?”
“Part of them, yes,” he said. “There are more coming from other provinces. The headmaster of the school should be back in a few hours with the head of Council Security.”
“Well, let’s get these guys settled in, then,” I said cheerfully. “I’m sure Gordon and Martin are ready to get home. It’s been a long, rough day for us and we’re all exhausted.”
“I’m sure Marchand expects you all to stay well into the night,” John said with a smirk.
“I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t going to ask him then, huh?” I responded. “You got two guys we can put on the gate right off? Billy’s been up here for hours by himself. I know he could use a break to eat, use a bathroom…”
“Too right,” he said, looking in the mirror overhead and picking out two men, “Damon, Mark, you take gate duty to start.” I ducked back out the door to see Marchand and Murrik aiming for the bus.
“Billy,” I yelled. He was still standing in the middle of the road, barely outside of the swing of the gates. “You’re relieved!”
“Oh, thank God!” he yelled back, then took off for the trees on the far side of bus at a run. “Gimme two minutes.” Damon and Mark jumped off the bus to meet with me, staring off into the woods after Billy with odd looks on their faces. “Make that four minutes,” yelled Billy. They broke out laughing when they realized what Billy was doing behind the trees. That man must have had a bladder the size of Manhattan.
Marchand and Murrik climbed aboard the bus while I connected Damon and Mark to the gate control structures. After that, I leaned through the bus door and explained to John where to go with the bus and where to meet up with the rest of us.
“You’ll want to give the groundskeeper’s house a wide berth, though,” I warned him. “It’s… unbelievably gruesome.”
John stared hard at me. “I’ll do that,” he said, but something about the way he said that meant he wouldn’t. Maybe it was his newest passengers, who’d managed front row seats and managed to clear the opposite side, presumably for Billy and me.
“See ya there, John,” I said with a smile and disappeared with Billy in tow.
We reappeared beside Peter. “That was the smoothest ride I’ve ever felt,” said Billy, gruffly. Everything Billy said sounded gruff.
“Is Marchand who he says he is?” I asked Billy. Peter turned to us from watching the soldiers move around in their cages, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, he is,” Billy said. “Total prick, too, but you caught on t’that quick enough.”
“What’d he do?” Peter asked Billy cautiously. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking, but Billy did.
“First he killed their car,” Billy said, the hint of a grin starting on his face, “by driving one of his swords into the engine block. Then, very politely mind you, threatened their lives if they tried to take the wards from him again. Told them to start minding their manners and dropped their dead car in a ditch. All in about three minutes flat.”
“Well, they were rude to Billy and he didn’t deserve it,” I said defensively. “And they were rude to me.”
Peter and Billy both started laughing at me, attracting the attention of the Cahills and the Ferrins. On the story’s third and final retelling the busload of people crested the hill with John in the lead. Marchand and Murrik were lost in the crowd somewhere, but all of them were disturbed in some manner. Most were paled, clearly horrified by the experience. Others were angry. John was difficult to read. I understood the spectrum of emotions I saw, but I’d been there already, seen newer, fresher horrors.
“I seem to have forgotten which side of the road the groundskeeper’s house was on,” John said sedately as he walked up. He took control of the situation quickly and quietly, directing two of his men to Peter’s cell and two to Gordon’s. I watched carefully as the four men slowly took control of the interlocking fields of the soldiers’ cells and how they amended the shapes into something they could control. I hadn’t realized that Peter and Gordon were exerting that much effort until I watched four men fight to maintain the same function.
“Are there any buildings that we should see to first?” John asked me as Marchand stalked up behind him.
“Well,” I started, thinking, “I’ve only been in the underclass dorms, which you walked past, so I assumed you saw the bodies outside? There are more inside, on the third and fifth floors. Then there’s a dead elf on the auditorium stage and the remains of one in the conference room on the first floor of the auditorium building. There’s a truckload of bombs in that room, too.”
“Did you say elves?” Marchand asked, brusquely, pushing his way into the conversation.
“Yes, two of them,” I said.
“Winter or Summer,” he asked.
“Neither,” I said.
“That can’t be. They have to be one or the other,” Marchand asserted.
“And yet they weren’t,” said Peter. “There are also some cages on the stage of the auditorium that should be dismantled and destroyed immediately. Don’t even consider studying them. They’re quite deadly.”
“You just don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Marchand.
“How many times have you met with the Queens of Faery, Mr. Marchand,” I asked him, moving directly in front of him.
“What?”
“Hard of hearing? How many times have you met with the Queens of Faery?” I asked again. “It’s not a difficult question.”
“I’ve never had the distinction,” he answered, drawing himself up tall.
“I have. Twice. It’s not something you forget. As a result, I can safely say that these two elves did not belong to either Queen of Faery. Am I making myself clear to you?” I asked sternly. He nodded and remained silent. “Good,” I continued, “Now let’s be preemptive in any further relations you and I might have. You stop being a prick and I’ll stop putting you in your place. How’s that sound?”
No, he wasn’t getting my point. He was getting angry with me, the arrogant little snot. Billy and John rescued me. Or him,
depending on the point of view.
“They brought food,” said Billy from my right, while John approached Marchand from his left, speaking quietly to him in French. My attention to John and Marchand fell away instantly as Billy played snake charmer to my cobra, leading me up the terrace in the shade of the oak tree where a table was set up with food and water. I sat down to eat in the grass between Gordon and Ferrin, with Peter a couple of feet in front of me, and watched John ordering his men about. It didn’t take long before the four men holding the cells up and John were the only men left outside the auditorium.
I was only listening vaguely to the women talk and plan how they were going to cook and provide for the next meal. These were Cahill’s people so I chimed into the conversation, telling them which kitchens were untouched and usable, which buildings weren’t horror-filled and could be used for bedding the crews for the night. John was about to run them off but Gordon interceded. I’d offered information, after all, and their questions were innocuous. Calming, really, as they gave me something mundane to think about. All too soon, the world would intrude again.
“Marchand is trying to decide who was still here when the attacks started,” John told us. “To notify the families of the deceased.”
“That’s good,” I said. “At least he’s trying to be useful. There’s another busload of help coming through the gate now. And… cattle trucks?” For a moment, I thought the wards were malfunctioning. “Why cattle trucks?”
“We have to move ‘em somehow,” Billy said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the cells.
“Where?” I asked.
“Not our problem,” muttered Gordon. John chuckled at him.
The bus stopped beside the first and I felt a slight tickle through the wards as someone touched them, seeking the controller. Finally, someone was being polite.
“Be right back,” I said. Taking my empty bowl for a refill of the stew the Angels from Heaven were serving us, I walked up the hill to meet the bus. Cresting the top of the terrace, I was treated instantly to a far more military bearing from this group than John’s group of farmers. These men had driven too close to the house, too, but they were steeled against it. They used those feelings and images of horror to build higher walls. I wished they were here hours ago.
The men followed one man in loose formation around him. When he stopped, they spread out around us. It was kind of eerie. The leader was a tall man, well built but his clothes hid the fact. He, like the rest of his group, wore a uniform made of a dull, black material that bore no insignia, though near the ground the material did begin to take on the color of the grass slowly. The uniforms bulged in a number of places that I assumed were pockets.
“Mr. McClure?” he asked once we were close enough. I nodded trying desperately to swallow. He smiled patiently at me and waited a moment.
“Sorry,” I said, wiping my hand on my pants then reaching out to shake. “I’ve only just had a chance to eat. It’s been a long day already.”
“No problem,” he said mildly. “I am Thomas Bishop, head security for the European Council. I’m here to take some of the pressure off of you. From what Felix said, you’ve done nearly miraculous rescue work here today.”
I mulled that over while taking another spoonful of stew. “Gentlemen,” I said loudly, addressing the men surrounding us, “Mr. Bishop and I will meet you at the prisoners’ cells at the bottom of the next hill.” I shifted us back to the shadow of the Oak tree. Pointing to Ferrin, I said to Bishop, “That man was here visiting his brother. At the start of the attack, he hid three children from the Fae magic that collapsed the wards then tried to take them on by himself. He survived a torture cage for hours when he shouldn’t have survived minutes. That was miraculous.” I pointed to Martin. “That fourteen-year-old boy powered and held Ferrin’s veil while caught between two power drains. The oscillations between the two amulets were frying his brains, but he held that veil because he had his friend with him and his friend was depending on him. That was miraculous. There are five boys at a hospital someplace that were beaten within an inch of their lives. They watched three of their classmates be raped, and along with eight others, mutilated and dismembered. It will be a miracle if they survive. And there are still bodies to find, Mr. Bishop. If there are heroes in this, if there is any miracle here, it’s the Ferrins, the Cahills, Jeff, and Jacob, not me. All I did was kill a bunch of people.”
Bishop smiled ruefully at me. “Felix isn’t one for exaggeration, but I thought in your case, he had. Would you like for me to take the wards on now?”
“Very much so,” I said quickly, the relief of the idea settling in fast. Peter made a quick hand signal behind Bishop’s back and our group slowly began standing, stretching nonchalantly, including the Ferrins. Bishop’s men streamed in around us, heading first for the cages. Bishop quirked his head to the side.
“I’m not sensing the controls,” he said to me.
“Those were damaged,” I said, following his power leads. “I assume by the initial Elven attack. Here…” I dumped the wards on top of him, letting him have complete control immediately. Then I sent everyone to the Cahill castle. Opened portals for everyone right through the wards, easy as pie. The wards didn’t see my power for some reason, though I suspected it was because it didn’t see my aura, even when I was connected to it. The relief of releasing the school’s wards was a tide of cold water rushing over me.
Bishop was reeling. Literally flailing his arms around trying to cope with the tremendous amount of information the wards were giving him. I wondered briefly if the “areas of interest” that I had kept in the forefront of the wards would stay in the forefront with Bishop, but like Gordon said, “not our problem.” He took a few minutes to get settled, then concentrated on me again.
“Bombs?” he asked. “Marchand is here already?” I nodded, grinning. He had the wards under control. “What did you do to these wards, man? They’ve never been this strong.” I just shrugged, still grinning. As far as I knew, they were the same.
“If you don’t need me, I’m gonna go take a nap. It’s been a long day,” I said.
“Oh, no, feel free,” he answered, distracted.
I wondered idly if he felt me port out of the campus. I also wondered if he knew I took the Colonel and the captain with me… but not too hard.
Chapter 44
“Go back! We are not leaving him there!” Ferrin shouted at Peter.
I thought that took some guts, especially considering the shape Ferrin was in. I mean, I was sure Peter could lay a damn good smackdown on Ferrin when he’s in good shape, but as he was now, Ian might be able to take him down.
“Leaving who where?” I asked as I walked up the steps to the front door.
“You at the school,” Peter said mildly as Ferrin whirled around to face me, relief washing through him. “I’ve been trying to tell him you’d be here shortly but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Oh, well, thank you, Ferrin, I appreciate the concern, but I don’t think that Peter could open a portal into the campus through those wards,” I said. “I know I can’t. Getting out is much different. Where is everybody?”
“Enid and Felix pounced on Gordon and Martin the second we got here,” Peter said with a smile. “They thought the soldiers were tough, now they’re dealing with worried and relieved parents.”
“And you let Ian go with him?” cried Ferrin. “Can’t trust you for nothing. I have a hard enough time with the lad as it is without giving him a mother.”
“Aw, dude,” said Peter, grinning and turning for the door. “You so don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Come on,” I said, following Peter inside, chuckling. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m afraid that suit’s seen better days.”
“Cripes, me best suit, too,” he muttered from the doorstep. “A bleedin’ secretary, that’s what he wanted me to do. Can you believe that? Ian had me dress for a job interview as a bleedin’ secretary. Refused to tell me anything ab
out it till I got there. Prolly some ol’ codger, can’t wipe his own bum.”
“Would you have taken it?” asked Peter from the stairs. “If it was offered to you, anyway, through that charming personality.”
“I can be charming when called upon,” he said defensively. “And, yes, probably. That school was expensive, scholarship or no. Christ, what am I gonna do now?” He stopped on the stairs, lost in thought.
“About what?” I asked from the top of the stairs. “Come on, Michael, or we’ll never get there.”
“Yon, what am I gonna do about Yonnie?” he asked, holding out his hands like he was lost in the dark. “He needs this school. I can’t afford to put him in another one, especially midterm.”
“Michael, the sun hasn’t even set on the attacks at the school yet,” I said sitting down on the top stair. “They may just shift everyone to another school or they may just close certain buildings. There’s a lot that can happen. Let’s just give it a few days to see. But I will say this, if all you’re worried about is keeping Ian in school, I’ll pay for that. Now come on, I really want a shower.”
He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously and started back up the stairs slowly. Peter was waiting midway up the next set of stairs. “What do you mean you’ll pay for it?” Ferrin asked.
“I mean when y’all decide what y’all want to do let me know and I’ll give you the money to keep Ian in school,” I said, getting up and continuing up the stairs. “It’d be good for him, though, if you could be close to him. He idolizes you, y’know.”
“Huh, silly little git, idn’t he?” he muttered. “What do you get out of this? And where are we?”
“A slightly lower bank account?” I suggested. “And we’re at the Cahill’s home. As guests, so we’re minding our manners. That’s the family’s quarters that way. Ian’s down there with Martin. We’re this way.” We turned down the main hall toward our rooms.
“Pixie alert!” Peter barely got it out before Shrank hit us in dizzying loops of color and high-pitched chittering. Shrank had both Peter and me so disoriented we were reaching for the walls to steady ourselves. Peter ended up laughing so hard that he fell on his butt, flushed and gasping for breath. Ferrin had stepped back and was ready to swat at the pixie.
