Hound

by Caleb James

  What they came upon, slumped on ruined mattresses stained with char and body fluids, was unexpected and sad. A group of three, a seven-inch-high silver-haired pixie and two fairies, a fair male like Cedric and a female with hair that caught the light with reds and golds. The two sidhe had had their ears and teeth surgically altered to make them appear human.

  Dusted to the gills, they barely noticed her approach.

  “I am the mother of kings….” She grabbed for the edges of sanity and managed to pull out a cogent statement. “I am Marilyn Nevus. Help me.” She swallowed and planned her next words. She bit her lip and drew blood. The pain helped clear her thoughts. “Please help me… I need to find my children.”

  Twenty-Three

  REDMOND’S THOUGHTS were dark as he flew up and into his chamber window. I have been a fool. His focus was riveted on the dust bunnies. Exhausted, frightened, and confused, he resisted their pull. It would be nice to… check out. No May, no Hound. Maybe just a little….

  Are you insane? You think you can do a little? You never could. What’s changed between today and the several thousand other times you said you’d do just a little? A war raged inside him between his rational mind and the promise of the drug’s quick, albeit ever-too-short, bliss.

  Why did he kiss you?

  He spoke aloud. “It’s what she said. He is a hound and sniffs at everything and everyone. It meant nothing. Stop acting like a child. It was a kiss and nothing more. If it meant so much to you….”

  No, do not say the thing that plays around your lips. If you want love, go out and find it.

  He shook his head, and his gaze came to rest on the cabinet where the bunnies awaited. “No,” he said with force. “No.” His feet edged closer to his stash.

  Waves of exhaustion clouded his eyes. He stopped and ran all the reasons why he shouldn’t get dusted. He ticked them off:

  It will slow my thoughts.

  It will make me less able to battle a threat that could kill us all.

  It will leave me with a dustover like a vise around my head.

  Once I start, I will not stop.

  It hurts my body.

  It kills my soul.

  But like a gremlin buried deep inside of him, a single reason to gobble dust gurgled forth. It will make you forget. Forget him, forget the kiss that still burns on your lips, and most of all, forget the danger you have brought into this house, a house you built to defend and to protect.

  As if it were someone else’s body, Redmond watched his hands rip open the drawer, pull out the carved chest that lay within, open it up, and…. Two of them. I’ll just do one.

  The gremlin inside nodded and chuckled. Yes, one now and one for later….

  His fingers landed on the soft, sticky ovoid lozenge. The first touch of flesh to drug blew away any resistance as the potent narcotic seeped through the pores of his skin even before it found its way to his lips.

  When he’d first experimented with dust, it had been a mystical experience with candles and an obsidian orb. There was a cult of dust that venerated its properties and not just its high. Back then, he’d savored the scent and the heightened senses and abilities that came with the waves of its rush, as though his every molecule was open and connected to the Unsee. Now, as he popped it without ceremony into his mouth and under his tongue, there was none of that. Just this one, he thought, hating the lies he told himself. The fey don’t lie.

  “But addicts do,” he said aloud. “And that is what I am.”

  But true to its dusty promise, the pit of self-loathing fell away with the drug’s first kiss.

  If I could but sleep.

  As the elevator rush of dust hit, he stared longingly at the chest where a bunny remained.

  You said just the one.

  How many times have you said that? Just the one, and then… I’ll be done. Maybe if you finish the last one, that will be it.

  Even high, the war for Redmond waged. You said just the one. But that’s not enough.

  His disgust returned. Not even the dust was giving him what it promised: release, forgetfulness. A hundred years clean and it’s like it never happened.

  He turned from the chest, aware that he would eventually give in and not only gobble the last bunny but pursue more. A hundred years clean… gone.

  He turned toward his curtained-off sleeping chamber, and letting his clothes fall as he went, he lay down. What have I done? He stared at the star-painted ceiling and tried to remember why he had fought so hard to get sober. He remembered the first two weeks of detox, like being gutted and turned inside out. All the while hiding it from his friends, his colleagues, and his students. The fey don’t lie. And we sure as hell don’t tell the truth.

  Dust sweat oozed through his pores as sleep overtook him. His last thoughts before going under were of Finn’s lips on his and the hint of a minor victory… I just had one. I just had one.

  He fell into dust-fueled dreams. White stallions stampeded through the ruins of the capitol, trampling all under hoof. He realized that only he could control the berserk beasts. Though it wasn’t exactly control, as they would not do as he commanded, but they did stop their destruction. He ran after the most magnificent of the horses, and the dream’s tone shifted as he turned in bed. He groaned aloud as the stallion, no longer exactly an animal, with silken fur and deeply corded muscles, begged to be stroked and kneaded.

  The dream shifted, and he was in bed with the beast. As a lucid dreamer, Redmond’s analytic mind watched from a hazy vantage point and marveled at the symbolism. What does the beast represent? My addiction? The patients at the Center? But it… he… I am aroused. This is hot. He is hard. I am hard.

  In the twilight between wake and slumber, sensations intruded, as though the dream had leapt the rails of one realm and… his fingers tangled in soft fur, and there was something against his cheek, like the pelt of an animal not yet full-grown.

  His eyes blinked open to sun streaming through the window. And to a large redheaded man, naked and hard in all senses, in his bed.

  This is still a dream. He rolled into the strong man with his tousled mane of red and silver. Horse… mane, he mused, noting the weird ways dreams pulled and played with words and puns. A beautiful dream.

  But so much heat… must be the dust. So warm, so… firm… so…. He put a hand on… Finn. He traced his fingers over a firm abdomen and held his breath. This is one solid dream, and Finn is in my bed. What does this mean?

  Finn growled. It reverberated up Redmond’s arm.

  No dream. He held his breath and watched Finn… is he even still Finn Hulain, or is he the Hound and Finn is no more? A sad thought, as while it was just a kiss, it was the best of his life. He stared at Finn’s face as his lips curled into a smile.

  Redmond whispered, fearful that perhaps it was a dream or possibly a dust hallucination, though he was not prone to those… at least not in the past. “I thought you were betrothed to her. That she was yours and you hers.”

  Finn did the unexpected. “Morning, cupcake.” His strong arms pulled Redmond close. “Now is no time for talk, Redmond Fall. I am Finn Hulain.” His tongue flicked over Redmond’s forehead.

  He shivered at the touch as Finn’s words cut through his fears.

  “And I am the Hound that lived thousands of years ago. You do not know my side of the story.” He placed a finger under Redmond’s chin, lifted it up, and kissed him.

  If this is a dream, Redmond thought, his mind and body on fire with desire, may I never wake. He did have one strange and not fully formed thought before giving in to what would be the best sex of his life. I should be dusted over. I’m not. Odd….

  Twenty-Four

  MAY FUMED in her new cell. She reeled from the revelations, both those made explicit by the Hound and by what she’d reasoned out with her handsome, albeit nosey, doctor. He is of some use… and I will kill the Hound. The pain of his betrayal both then and now had shifted to things more familiar and comfortable… rage and bloo
dlust. What will his magic taste like?

  Though even that brought memories. The feel of his flesh against hers, the stroke of his fingers, the certainty of their lovemaking. The oblivion and rapture of being in his arms. Lies! It was all lies. Unfaithful dog. They played me. And even still their magics cloud my thoughts. Damn them.

  At least now she had the truth and the cause of her prior failures. How could I not have seen this? A central tenet of the Unsee is that to rule you must be whole, and she was not. And not in the manner she’d earlier thought. It was them all along. Like ripping through dense layers of webbing, the truth emerged. She tilted her head and spotted tiny filaments of shattered blue-and-pink magic. Her mouth twisted in disgust. “My sisters. My sisters.” She spat fire to the floor and immolated a footstool. “They conspired against me.” I can believe nothing and no one. I am alone. His love was false. The Mist…. Goddess protect me, how could I have believed her? It was all a fairy tale. The Mist that just appeared, that took our parents. It was her. It was her all along. It is she who wants to rule. Moves and countermoves from the distant past returned, and she realized that all the times when she’d thought she’d been the one in control, her sisters had been steps ahead of her, dropping crumbs that she had followed.

  “Enough,” she said aloud, hating the maudlin cling of self-pity. “I may not be whole, but I know what needs doing. I am Queen May. I will make them pay. They shall taste my fire. They will burn. They will all burn. But first….” She looked around her cell and then to the heavily bolted and warded door. “Help me,” she cried out loud enough to be heard by the guards on the other side. “Something’s wrong!”

  “Tell the problem,” an ogre grunted back.

  “I must see the doctor. Please, bring me Dr. Fall.”

  “Tell me the problem,” the ogre demanded.

  Morons. She tossed a glamour over the two of them, uncertain if it would penetrate through the cell door. “I can’t tell you, but I can show you.”

  “We’re not supposed to enter.”

  “I’m in pain.” She pressed her magic. They are warded. She doubled her efforts. “I am helpless against ones as strong as you.” She twisted the glamour and played with their testosterone-riddled egos.

  She heard them argue on the other side, and like a fisherman playing out the line, she let the shimmer and want of her glamour reel them in. The lock turned.

  And as she readied her escape, she thought to stop and thank the doctor. But first, a quick snack. In a well-practiced move, she turned, and with razor-sharp talons sliced each of her guards open from the notch of their necks to their navels. They were dead before their brains could even register the need to scream. The air hissed and filled with blood scent as she unhinged her jaw and in six decisive bites—head, torso, legs, head, torso, legs—devoured two full-grown ogres.

  She belched. Much better. With a closed fist, she tapped below her sternum several times and belched again. Much, much better. She pulled her face back together, and free from the cell’s wards, her feet lifted off the ground, and following the curve of the stairs, she wafted up and out.

  Twenty-Five

  MARILYN TRIED to follow the rapid prattle of the three dusted expats as she held tight to Adam’s hand. It took all her will not to grab him and bolt out of the cellar that reeked of dust and desperation.

  “She can’t be trusted.”

  “She’s the hafflings’ mother.”

  “She’s off her rocker.”

  “Poor kid.”

  “She won’t know about her daughter.”

  “We shouldn’t, but we can’t leave them here.”

  “If she’s here with the boy, the queen won’t be far.”

  “Good point, I’m out of here.”

  And where there were three, now stood a lone female with auburn hair and a tiny silver-haired pixie with the wings of a monarch butterfly. “I’m Sabina, by the way, and this is Peony.”

  She listened to the clamor of her companion as he hustled up the stairs and out of the building. She shrugged her shoulders. “Males, pretty but craven.”

  “I heard you call Daddy that,” Adam said. “Tell me what it means.”

  Marilyn nodded and tried to smile. It came out as a grimace as she fought to conceal the addled porridge of her thoughts. Not letting Adam’s hand go, she followed Sabina and Peony out of the burned-out basement and back onto Third Street. Are they helping? I am the mother of…. This could be a trap.

  “Murray Hill,” Sabina said. “That’s where you’ll find your children and the changeling copy of you who raises them.”

  “No. Not anymore,” Peony chattered as she flitted around Sabina’s shoulders. “Murray Hill burned, burned, burned.”

  “Right. Peony is correct.” She looked at Marilyn. “I know,” she said with compassion. “You are broken, and you try to hide it. There is no need. For we too are not right.”

  “Dust,” Marilyn managed, careful to not say more as phrases and rhymes swarmed her thoughts like angry bees.

  “’Tis true. Your son Alex will not be glad to see us.”

  Marilyn’s breath caught. “You do know of him.” Not certain if they’d been leading her on and had some ulterior motive. After all, what might May pay for the last of the haffling children and his mother?

  “Of course. Alex is hope.”

  Marilyn stared into the beautiful sidhe’s dust-enhanced eyes. They were hazel with flecks of gold, red, and blue. Years in the Unsee had taught Marilyn much, including this fey’s lineage. “You are a Fall.”

  “Yes, my family is Fall, and my story is not for today. Today we find your children. They are not in Murray Hill.” Her tone was kind, almost like that used when talking with a child… a very slow child. “I was mistaken.”

  “It’s okay,” Marilyn said, sensing a depth to Sabina’s admission she could not fathom.

  “It’s Gramercy,” Sabina said. She stopped in front of a subway entrance and scanned the numbers and letters of the available trains. “We can get there from here.”

  Peony looked wistfully at the cars and cabs whizzing up and down Avenue A. “There’s always Uber,” she suggested.

  “Show me your credit card,” Sabina said with an edge.

  “Dusted,” she admitted. And then to Marilyn, “I did have one. It was my Visa.”

  “Yes… dusted.” Sabina shrugged as tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes.

  “Tell me,” Marilyn said.

  “Mommy, no.”

  She looked down at Adam. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t ask, Mommy. It makes them feel bad.”

  Peony flitted to Adam and hovered in front of his nose. She glanced from him back to Sabina. She alit on his shoulder. “Special boy,” she chattered. “Haffling for sure but something extra.”

  Marilyn shuddered both at Adam’s pronouncement and the pixie’s words. Did he break?

  He can’t break. He’s a haffling. They don’t break. Not like eggshells. I must walk on them.

  Sabina nodded, wiped back her tears, and produced a poker hand of well-worn MetroCards from the sleeve of her stained blouse. “Come.” And as a train shook the ground, they headed down.

  Voices whispered in Marilyn’s head. We go around and around, we find the little girl, and we bring her hey nonny down. She focused on other passengers. A couple made eye contact and then quickly looked away. What must I look like? Mad Marilyn, mother of kings. Shut up. Eggshells. Walk on eggshells. Try not to break them. Shut up. She blocked her ears with her hands. It did not help. Shut up.

  A club girl dressed in black with glittery makeup and purple streaks in her hair looked at Marilyn, was about to say something, and then… “What the hell is that?” She pointed at Peony perched on Adam’s shoulder. She jabbed her companion, a thin dark-haired man with kohl-lined eyes. “Do you see that?”

  He narrowed his gaze. “What am I supposed to see?”

  Marilyn gripped Adam’s hand and tried to tease apart the convers
ation. Something’s different. Something’s not right as rain.

  “It’s since the fires,” Sabina explained. She smiled at the girl and her companion and pressed a faint concealment charm across the aisle.

  “They see… saw, Marjory Daw,” Marilyn hissed. “Yes… some do. Most still don’t. And some do.”

  “Things are breaking.”

  “It appears so.”

  “I’m a bit broken,” Peony added.

  “Just a bit,” Sabina said.

  “But I’m still pretty.” She smiled at the darkly dressed duo who could no longer see her.

  Sabina rolled her eyes. “Yes, you’re a beauty.”

  “Thank you.”

  They got out at Twenty-Third Street and headed northeast to Gramercy Park.

  Marilyn held tight to Adam’s hand as he stared wide-eyed at a new world with needle-thin high-rises and streams of cars that stopped and started with the rhythm of green, red, and yellow lights. For her part, it overwhelmed her. Jangled rhymes skittered in her head as she tried to make sense of burned-out and demolished buildings. “What happened? So many. It wasn’t like this when I left it.”

  “May happened,” Peony said. “Mad, bad May, and now some can see us. The walls cracked.”

  “Eggshells,” Marilyn said. “We walk on them.”

  “Not a problem,” Peony said. She played with a lock of Adam’s hair. “I can walk on eggshells all day. But the rest of you… it won’t go well.”

  “It rarely does.”

  “Yes,” Peony replied. “You’re broken.”

  Marilyn said nothing as they headed into the quiet streetlamp-lit block of Gramercy Park. Even here beautiful turn-of-the-century buildings had been destroyed. “Was there rhyme and reason?”

  “Us,” Sabina said, and she stopped in front of a redbrick apartment building. “She came for us.”