The Ghoul Vendetta

by Lisa Shearin

  “That sounds reasonable,” Rake conceded. “What’s your theory?”

  “That taking Ian was necessary to whatever this plan of his is.” I paused. “Meaning Ian is still alive because Janus needs him.” I resisted the urge to kick something, mainly because everything around me belonged to Rake and was outrageously expensive. “We really need to find out who this guy is. Do you know of any things that are thousands of years old and can change appearance like the rest of us change clothes?”

  “On this world, the longest lived beings are dragons, and while they can glamour and have been known to be fond of human flesh, they aren’t known shapeshifters.”

  “How about your world?”

  “Our dragons aren’t as large as the ones here, and true immortality hasn’t been attained. However, people have been known to live extremely long lives while under the influence of certain objects of power. There was a goblin who had lived over a thousand years, and would have lived longer had he not severely misbehaved and angered the wrong people, one of whom drained the life from his body, leaving him a dried husk. Good riddance.”

  When we got close to where Ian had made contact with the merpeople, Rake cut the engine and let the tide pull us in the rest of the way. Then he dropped two anchors, one at the bow, the second off the stern. I hoped neither hit any merfolk on the way down, but I imagined they had plenty of experience getting out of the way of falling anchors. Hopefully.

  “Sorry,” I whispered over the side.

  I pulled the chain and pendant from under my shirt and over my head, then looked around for the best place to try to make contact.

  Rake had the bench seat open at the back of the boat, and was rummaging around inside. He came up with some kind of floatation device on a stout rope.

  He held it out to me. “Put this on.”

  “I’m not going swimming.”

  “I didn’t say it’d be your idea.”

  I quickly stepped back from the side. “Good point. Just because the Fomorians seem to have gotten everything they wanted, doesn’t mean they can’t still be around here.”

  I wondered if merfolk and Fomorians were like dolphins and sharks. If you saw dolphins, there weren’t any sharks nearby. Just because I didn’t see any Fomorians didn’t mean they weren’t there, and the only way I’d know if the merfolk were nearby would be to call them—if they answered. I glanced down at the pendant. If it had just as much to do with the person doing the dipping as it did the pendant itself, we were screwed.

  “So if a Fomorian or a kraken grabs me, you’ll play tug-of-war with them.”

  Rake grinned in a flash of teeth. He held the rope in his now glowing hands. “I won’t be playing. Plus, I’ve got a nasty surprise if they try to take what’s mine.”

  I didn’t quite know what to say to that. Under normal circumstances, I would have had a comeback ready to let fly. Right now I was concerned about free-range kraken and non-communicative merfolk. I turned my attention back to the water over the side of the boat—that is, after I’d put on Rake’s life-jacket-on-a-rope.

  Ian had never spoken after he’d submerged the pendant in the water, so I did the same. I’d never asked whether he mentally did anything to call them. Right now, I just hoped the pendant would enable me to speak mind-to-mind with a mermaid as it did with Ian. If not, we were pretty much screwed.

  I decided to go with “I’m Ian’s friend, he’s in trouble, and I really need your help.”

  Minutes passed, and my arm was staring to go numb from lack of circulation. The way I was leaning over the side wasn’t the most comfortable position, but I wanted to keep as much of me as possible inside the boat.

  “How long has it been?” I asked Rake in a bare whisper.

  He glanced down at his watch. “Five and a half minutes.”

  “That’s all?” I let my shoulder sag. “It took Ian less than a minute.” I had a thought. “Could merfolk be afraid of goblins?”

  Rake gave me a flat look.

  “Sorry, but there’s a lot of people who have problems with fangs.”

  His dark eyes glittered. “Do you?” he asked playfully.

  “They’re teeth, I’m not afraid of teeth.”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up a little. “It’s all in how you use them.” Suddenly the smile vanished, and his eyes went to a point beyond my shoulder. “Tail fin, twenty yards.”

  By the time I turned, it was gone, but the ripples were still there. I went back to projecting my thought message and leaned out a little farther. I trusted Rake’s goblin eyes to be able to distinguish a mermaid from a Creature from the Black Lagoon.

  Less than a minute later, the same mermaid Ian had “spoken” with two nights ago surfaced just beyond where the pendant dipped into the water. She glanced past me at Rake, her dark eyes regarding him with steady suspicion.

  “I’ll be over there,” he said.

  I kept my eyes on the mermaid. “I don’t know how to talk to you. Can you understand me?”

  The mermaid’s lips curved in a kind smile as she held up a webbed-fingered hand with a questioning expression. She wanted to touch my hand like she had done with Ian. I nodded once, and she drifted closer, placing her green hand over mine.

  The contact was immediate, though not jarring or invasive. I recalled everything that had happened with and to Ian since the last time we’d come here.

  The mermaid’s eyes went wide, and the gills on either side of her throat fluttered as if her breathing had quickened. She let go of my hand and submerged with a splash, and even I could see the wake she left as she sped away.

  I plopped down on the seat behind me. “That could’ve gone better.”

  “What did you say?” Rake asked.

  “I showed her what happened to Ian with my memories, and that the same things that took Bela Báthory also took Ian.” I looked out over the now calm water. There was no sign that the mermaid had ever been here, or was coming back.

  “Either I scared her away, or she got the message. Either way, we need to wait.”

  Rake smiled and lifted a padded bag he’d brought on board with us. “Then it’s a good thing I brought sandwiches for us.” He unzipped the bag. “While we wait, we can eat.”

  Naturally, the mermaid returned when I had a mouthful of turkey on whole wheat. I nearly choked when her green-haired head popped up over the side. She held on to the side of the boat with one hand, and beckoned us with the other then pointed out toward the middle of the river.

  I nodded to her as I hurriedly rewrapped my sandwich. “I think we’ve just received a royal summons.”

  Rake started the boat and we followed at a good clip. One thing about merfolk was similar to dolphins—their speed. The mermaid could swim as fast as a dolphin. She would breach the surface occasionally to allow Rake to see her, then dive and speed off again.

  The last time, Queen Sirene had come to us. This time, we were being led to where she was. I wondered if the presence of the Fomorians had forced them to move to a safer location. If there was a hungry kraken swimming around my neighborhood, I’d make myself scarce. The mermaid led us around the northern point of Inwood Hill Park, under the Henry Hudson Bridge and into the Spuyten Duyvil Creek. It was definitely shallower here. Maybe the merfolk’s reasoning was that a kraken couldn’t fit here.

  It was now fully dark.

  Rake had to slow the boat, and the mermaid surfaced and indicated that we wait. Rake anchored and we did. I wanted to finish my sandwich, but I wasn’t about to be caught with my mouth full when the queen arrived.

  When she surfaced a few minutes later, she looked disheveled and her majesty was not amused. Hopefully that was directed at the cause of the dishevelment, and not at our visit.

  I remembered that Ian had bowed his head before the queen had approached him. I did the same, but since this lady didn’t k
now me from Adam’s house cat, I left my head down a little longer. Hopefully that was considered merfolk good manners.

  Sirene swam closer, but not close enough for contact.

  “Narema told me of Ian’s plight,” she said.

  “Oh, thank God, you can talk.”

  “Yes, I can speak as you do. It is not easy, but it is important that we understand each other since I assume that you will be taking my words back to others.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “For our safety, we were forced to come here. I would usually lead my people to the open ocean, but it is blocked by more of the Old Ones.”

  “Fomorians?”

  “That is a name I do not know.”

  “The kraken with many tentacles, hydra with many heads, and men with scales and webbed fingers and feet.”

  “Those are a few of the Old Ones.”

  “Few? There are more?”

  “Many more, many larger.”

  That was not good news.

  “Upriver is not safe. Our path to the ocean is blocked. We must remain here until the danger has gone. All sea creatures are frightened. The Old Ones that have not been seen in many generations are coming up from the deep places. Rather than feeding and then returning to the depths, they are remaining close to the surface, hunting with impunity.”

  “Impunity?”

  “They are forbidden to swim the oceans’ upper reaches. Some are even defiantly walking on land like the ones you have encountered.”

  “Forbidden by who?”

  “The ancient gods who defeated them and drove them into the seas. The Old Ones were placed under a curse never to approach or roam the land again. That they were allowed to live was only by the gods’ forbearance. The curse is eternal.”

  “Sounds like someone got tired of waiting,” Rake noted.

  “It appears it’s been broken,” I said. “Or at least cracked.”

  “Not yet,” the queen said, “but the Old Ones are restless, joyously so. They sense their bondage is at last coming to an end.”

  I half turned to Rake. “Any experience extending supposedly eternal curses?”

  “The one who could help has been taken,” Sirene said.

  I froze. “Excuse me?”

  “The one who could help. Our friend Ian.”

  “How?”

  Sirene indicated the pendant with a nod. “You carry the symbol of his ancestors’ authority.”

  “His ancestors? Who?”

  The queen of New York’s merfolk seemed baffled as to why I was even asking that question. “The ancient gods, of course, the Tuatha Dé Danann—and the Old Ones, the Fomorians.”

  23

  “IF Ian had known, he would have told me,” I said. “But how could he not have known? You’d think knowing you were descended from Irish gods would’ve gotten passed down.”

  Rake steered the boat back out into the Hudson. “You’ll have to ask Ian.”

  “And I plan to.”

  Sirene hadn’t been able to tell us anything more, and she had never heard of anyone named Janus. Regardless, that one bombshell more than made the trip worthwhile.

  My brain was officially boggled.

  My partner was descended from both the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorians. At least that was what Sirene believed, and it went a long way toward explaining why Ian could communicate telepathically with merfolk. It also provided a clue as to why the Fomorians would want to get their hands on Ian. It had something to do with breaking the curse that was keeping them exiled to the oceans. But figuring out how that connected to the contents of vampire safe deposit boxes and Janus was going to take more brain cells than I had right now.

  I’d tried calling Alain Moreau, but I couldn’t get a signal, and neither could Rake. Once back at the marina, that shouldn’t be a problem. We needed to get a photo of the pendant to Amelia’s Irish professor friend Conor Delaney.

  I had my hand clenched around the pendant. The Hudson wasn’t exactly what’d you’d call smooth this evening, and there was no way I was going to risk dropping it overboard. I held on to the side of the boat with my other hand. I’d already taken pictures of it from every angle with my phone and Rake’s, and I had my phone in its waterproof pouch strapped by its cord to my wrist. I’d taken every precaution I could, but we couldn’t get back to the marina quickly enough for me, though Rake was going as fast as he safely and legally could.

  That a kraken wasn’t presently terrorizing the Manhattan shoreline confirmed that Ian was still alive. The curse was still holding.

  When Rake pulled the boat into his slip and tied it off, we tried calling Moreau again from the marina. I didn’t want to risk being the only holder of information that could help us find Ian. A lot could happen between the marina and headquarters.

  We both had a strong phone signal. While I called Moreau and told him what we’d learned from Sirene, Rake e-mailed the photos from his phone. Moreau listened to me without interjecting any theories of his own. When I’d finished, he told me to have Rake bring me directly back to headquarters—and to come in with me.

  It sounded like my boss decided to accept the help of a dark mage. I was glad. If we were going to have to fight an ancient race of godlike sea monsters to get Ian back, we needed as many dirty tricks up our sleeves as we could get.

  • • •

  By the time Rake and I had arrived at headquarters, Moreau had texted me for us to meet him in his office.

  My manager’s office was even more imposing than Vivienne Sagadraco’s, which was no small feat. Ms. Sagadraco’s office had one glass wall that looked out over SPI headquarters’ five-floor atrium and down into the agents’ bull pen. There wasn’t even a window to the atrium in Moreau’s office, let alone a glass wall. I guess when a vampire wanted to make a room nap-time dark, he didn’t fool around.

  When Moreau had ushered me and Rake inside, he closed the door behind us, and even the door became a part of the wood paneling.

  I had a thought I tried to ignore but it wouldn’t go away, and neither would my heebie-jeebies. I wondered if Moreau liked all the carved wood paneling because it reminded him of coffin lids, because that was the spooky vibe it was giving me.

  Other than that, his office was how one would imagine an office in an English gentlemen’s club would look. Though I’d never say that out loud, considering that Alain Moreau was French.

  There were more chairs than usual in his office.

  Rake and I had no sooner arrived than there was another knock at the door.

  Three doctors—one psychiatric, two academic.

  Noel Tierney, along with historian/mythologist Amelia Chandler, and bladed weapons expert Harald Siggurson.

  Moreau introduced Rake around, and none of them seemed in the least surprised to see one of our world’s most notorious dark mages not only in SPI headquarters, but in what was looking like a high-level meeting in the acting director’s office.

  Rake gave no outward sign of unease, but then this was Rake. Unease wasn’t in his emotional repertoire. He was, however, curious and most definitely intrigued.

  Alain Moreau noticed, but then this was Moreau, and he was a vampire. Whether a raised heart rate and quicker breathing from a human, or suppressed emotions from a goblin—nothing slipped past him.

  “Lord Danescu, Madame Sagadraco believes that you are eminently trustworthy,” he said. “I don’t believe I would venture so far in my estimation. However, she has never been mistaken in her assessment of an individual’s moral character. So in the interests of rescuing Ian Byrne, I am setting aside any personal reservations I have.”

  Rake slowly inclined his head, bowing as much as he was able from a chair. “Madame Sagadraco honors me.” The goblin raised his head and his dark eyes met Alain Moreau’s ice blue ones.

  “We will need your
help,” Moreau continued. “Not only now, but in the rescue mission to come. This Janus is a master of portals, and we have witnessed the size and power of just a few of the Fomorians from around our world. I have no doubt Janus will have more than ample allies at his disposal to stop us from retrieving what he considers to be his.”

  “You’re saying you’ll need more than my help,” Rake said quietly.

  “I believe it would be prudent to be prepared.”

  “Understood. I will see what I can do and make arrangements.”

  Rake understood, I didn’t, but neither man was forthcoming with more information. I wouldn’t ask now, but I’d be cornering Rake later.

  Moreau turned to our weapons expert. “Dr. Siggurson, you have a report on that spearhead?”

  “That I do. I e-mailed you the technical details, but I assume that’s not what you want me to say here.”

  “I do not.”

  “You want the good stuff.” Siggurson appeared to be nearly as excited as Amelia Chandler had been yesterday.

  Moreau nodded once.

  “The spearhead is much older than it appears. While there are many intact Bronze Age weapons, I have never seen nor heard of a spearhead in this condition. It’s mint. As if it were fresh from the battlefield, cleaned, and put away. It’s quite possibly the most astonishing example of Early Bronze Age weaponry in existence.” He smiled. “That being said, it’s not Bronze Age—at least not human Bronze Age. Human hands did not make that spearhead. It has the scrollwork and detail of a ceremonial weapon, yet it’s incredibly strong. The purity of the metal, and what initially appeared to be scrollwork up and down the length are in fact words, though not in any known language of the time. It’s Tuatha Dé Danann.”

  “Has it been translated?” Moreau asked.

  “Yes, I did it myself,” said Amelia Chandler. “They’re spells of strength for the wielder of the spear, and speed and accuracy for the spear itself.” Chandler paused and slowly smiled. “And there at the base of the blade was the name of the man for whom it was forged, which in turn became the most well-known name of the spear.”