Irish War Cry

by Victoria Danann

  “What?” It was clear that she didn’t follow the reference.

  “Never mind. But let me just say that, if I did sing ‘Jailhouse Rock’, you’d like it. A lot.”

  “Sure.” She flopped onto one of the long divans and drummed her fingers on her thigh.

  He cocked his head and studied her in that I-can-see-through-you way of his. “Did you sleep while I was gone?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  That was ignored because he’d become distracted with a thought. He strode down the hallway that was defined by archways so smoothly curved they looked like beach art made from wet sand.

  In a few seconds he was back. “You haven’t used the facilities either.”

  “Now you’ve crossed a line. Bathroom usage is personal. Way personal.”

  “Whatever. What was the point of having me add a bathroom if you weren’t going to use it?”

  “Oh yeah! It was so much work. Was that your fourth finger that you crooked or your fifth?”

  “Don’t hate me because I can make things happen at will and you’re a…”

  She gave him a look that said, “If you finish that sentence, you’re going to wish you were someplace else.”

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  With a flick of his wrist four arched fireplaces carved into smooth walls jumped to life. Even though there was no evidence of fuel, flames crackled and danced over glowing embers.

  “Nice trick. No. I’m no’ cold. I’m from the New Forest. ’Tis very far north which means we do no’ get cold easily.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Even without vodka?”

  Faint lines formed between her brows. “By now you should be gettin’ the idea that I’m no’ amusin’ in any way. I’m plain and borin’ and excruciatingly unentertainin’. So let. Me. Go.”

  He sat down on the divan across from where she sat. “You so underestimate yourself. I find you more fascinating than anything that’s happened to me… well, maybe ever.”

  “’Tis ludicrous. Maybe I’ll call you Ludicrous.”

  He shook his head. “My name is Lyric. And there’s already a musician named, well, he doesn’t know how to spell, but still, the idea is taken.” Sher slapped both palms to her face in exasperation. “What was that?”

  “This?” She did it again.

  “Yes. That.”

  “It means I would run from the buildin’ screamin’ at this point if only I could run from the buildin’.”

  “I can exchange you for Shi…”

  “Do no’ say her name.”

  “The interrupting is becoming tedious. Why not?”

  “Because you get this funny look on your face like you’re thinkin’ about masturbatin’. And I just do no’ want to see that.”

  He laughed out loud. “I can’t imagine why you think you’re not amusing.” His eyes drifted to the Chinese takeout cartons that sat on the large low table between them. “Is it that you don’t like Chinese?”

  She looked down at the little white cartons with wire handles and red calligraphy symbols on the sides. Sheridan was a recent convert, since she’d never had Chinese until a few weeks before, but she liked it. Of course. Everybody likes some kind of Chinese and it looked like Lyric had brought a variety buffet.

  She did like Chinese. And she hadn’t eaten for what was probably… “How long have I been here?”

  “In Loti time? Two weeks.”

  “I think that’s impossible,” she said, just realizing that she hadn’t been eating or sleeping or using the new bath facilities.

  As if Lyric really could read her mind, he said, “I’m not an expert, but I believe it’s not possible for elves to go so long without food, drink, sleep, and…” He glanced toward the hall that led to the bath, but didn’t want to offend unnecessarily by bringing up such a sensitive subject. Again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE WILD BUNCH

  One by one the hunters began to notice little changes. The day-to-day change was so minute and so gradual that they didn’t notice until the effect was smack-you-in-the-face cumulative.

  One day after a hot shower Torn swiped at the fog that had formed on the bathroom mirror. It was steamy enough in the room that it formed again almost as fast as he wiped it away. But something out of place caught his eye. He leaned in closer, turned the towel to find a drier spot, swiped again, and… there it was.

  He stepped back like he’d been stung. Then looked around reflexively even though he knew he was alone.

  There was no question about it. He was still himself, just more. In the best way possible.

  His hair had always been on the darker side of ginger with overtones of light brown, but what he was seeing in the mirror was the deep crimson color of red maple leaves in autumn. He toyed with the idea that he might be playing mind games with himself, but no. His eyes were unmistakably a new value of blue. The color wasn’t darker. Just more intense.

  His skin looked luminous, also flawless. He checked the inside of his forearm where he’d been slashed deep with a broken bottle in a bar fight. No scar.

  Likewise he ran a hand over the slightly raised scar that had run crisscross across his abs for the past seven years, thanks to a vamp with too-long nails. Raif’s wife, before she was his wife, had suggested scar-reduction cream, but he’d never really seen the point of trying to disguise the physical events that punctuated his experience. He ran his hand over his torso again.

  Moot point.

  The skin was smooth and perfect as a newborn baby. Not a freckle or pore or blemish to be found. Anywhere. Much less scarring.

  He dressed quickly and headed downstairs.

  Shy and Deck were in the breakfast room. Not eating breakfast.

  “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked.

  “What?” Shivaun said, looking over at Declan. “Why are you asking?”

  “Just answer,” Torn insisted. “Did you have breakfast?”

  “No, I…” said Shy.

  “Supper last night?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “Lunch yesterday?”

  “What are you getting at, Torn?” Declan interjected, beginning to look uncomfortable with the direction of the questioning.

  Torn turned his attention to Deck. Declan had the dark hair and blue eyes of his ancestors, the Fingal. He didn’t get much of a tan herding reindeer. And he certainly didn’t spend time in the sun in Ireland. Yet there he sat with smooth and perfect skin bearing the warm glow of tan that Torn knew was the stuff of sexual magnetism.

  “Been sunbathing, Deck?”

  “You sleepwalking, Finngarick? Your questions are…”

  “Disturbing?” Torn said.

  “I was going to say haywire,” Deck finished.

  “Call it what you want. Fact remains we’re changed. Look at your partner. Her hair has turned red in a way that does no’ happen in nature. And her eyes. She did no’ used to have those gold flecks in her eyes.”

  Torn felt a twinge in his heart wondering if Sheridan was changing as well. Would she look different when she was returned?

  Shivaun picked up a lock of hair that had fallen forward over her breast and raised it to eye level. After examining it, she turned to study Deck. “You do look more…”

  “Yeah?”

  She shook her head and made a helpless gesture with her hands. “More.”

  “I look more more?” Deck asked. “Well, now that that’s cleared up. Let’s go to work.” Deck stood up.

  “No’ so fast,” Torn said. “I’m no’ done.”

  “I say you are.”

  Declan seemed ready to change the subject. But Finngarick was determined to finish what he’d begun and let it be known, partly by the steady gaze he leveled at Deck and partly by the fact that his tone of voice said he’d made up his mind.

  “No. I’m no’.”

  “Wait,” Shy said. “Let’s have a listen. I want to hear this.”


  Deck sat back down and crossed his well-muscled arms over his abs. “I guess you have the floor, brother.”

  “You can be in denial if you want, Deck. But somethin’ has happened. We’re changin’. You’re no’ eatin’. When was the last time you slept?”

  Deck and Shivaun both stared at Torn like they were afraid of what he was going to say next. When they pulled their gaze away they gave each other a worried glance.

  “What are ye sayin’?” Shivaun asked.

  “We’re no’ sleepin’, eatin’, drinkin’, and we look different, but that’s no’ all. We’re fast.”

  “Well, of course we’re fast. Black Swan doesn’t take on little old ladies to be hunters,” Deck said.

  Torn nodded. “You have no’ noticed that we’re movin’ faster in the passes?”

  “Practice. That’s all,” Deck said. “We’re gettin’ better.”

  “Yeah. We’re gettin’ better because we’re becomin’ somethin’ else. Or maybe we already are somethin’ else.”

  Deck frowned. “Like what? Just say what’s on your mind.”

  Torn shook his head. “Nothin’ doin’. I want you to name it.”

  “Name what?”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “That’s the post fella,” Deck said.

  “Okay. Come with me,” Torn said.

  Shy and Deck both got up and followed.

  Torn answered the door. “Fine mornin’, Doo.”

  As Shy and Deck looked on the postman opened his mouth to return Torn’s greeting, but they saw Torn turn and walk back to the kitchen.

  “Hey. Where’d he go?”

  Shy and Deck looked at the postman. “Torn?”

  “Yeah. Who else would I be talkin’ about?”

  “Did you no’ see him leave?” Shy asked.

  The postman narrowed his eyes. “This some kind of practical joke? The elf was here, then he was no’. Simple as that. Did ye no’ see the same thing?”

  “Oh, yeah, we did,” said Deck.

  “’Tis a trick of the light,” said Shy. “A new toy Torn’s been playin’ with. Thought he’d have you on.”

  “Ah.” Doo smiled faintly. “Well, tell him he got me good.”

  Deck took the mail and said, “Thanks. We will.”

  When he shut the door, Torn walked into the front room with his hands in his back pockets. “See?”

  “See what, Torrent?” Deck asked. “Tell me what we just saw.”

  “Did you see me leave the room?” Torn asked the two of them.

  “Aye. O’course,” Shy answered.

  “’Tis o’course to you. But no’ to him.” Torn jerked his chin toward the door where Doo had been a minute before. “To him it just looked like I vanished.”

  He waited.

  Finally Deck said, “And?”

  “For Paddy’s sake, man. Who else do you know who’s got flawless good looks and can travel so fast he vanishes right before your eyes?”

  Shy sucked in a sharp gasp. “Demons,” she whispered.

  Torn looked from Deck to her. “That’s right. Demons. That serum did no’ just alter us a little. It altered us a lot. I think we’re demons.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Deck said.

  Shivaun looked at her partner. “We’re no’ happy about it either, Declan. But sayin’ ’tis no’ so does no’ change a thing.” She held his gaze then added, “I admit it. You look good, the both of you.”

  “What are you plannin’ to do?” Deck said.

  Torn sighed, looked down at the floor then slowly began to smile.

  “What’s funny?” Shy said.

  He looked up. “Let’s go for a test drive.”

  “What do you…?” Deck started, but seeing Shivaun’s answering smile he stopped mid-sentence and looked between the other two.

  Shy grinned. “Aye. Let’s find out what the new and improved versions can do.”

  Before Deck could protest, Torn had left the building with Shivaun right behind.

  “Do you see what I see?” Torn asked the two of them. Finngarick discovered that, if he let his eyes drift slightly out of focus, he could see slight changes in his surroundings. Like pockets of fog quickly coming and going. He had the thought that they looked something like mystic geysers.

  Shy and Deck stopped and looked around to see if they could pick up on what he meant.

  “Are those…?” Shivaun raised a finger to point.

  Finngarick grinned. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  “Aw. Wait a minute,” Deck said, but before he had a chance to make his protest heard, Torn and Shy had already stepped into one of the foggy-looking shapes and disappeared. If he hesitated, he wouldn’t be able to find them. So he followed just as that shape was fading. A second later and it would be gone.

  The two other hunters were waiting in the passes. Torn’s new inexplicable senses informed him that, if he stepped back out exactly where he’d come in, he wouldn’t find himself outside the D.I.T. house in Dublin. The grid that formed the passes was, apparently, always in motion.

  He had a momentary worry, wondering how he’d find his way back, but discovered that, as soon as he thought about the house in Dublin, he knew exactly how to get there. He knew he wouldn’t be heard if he tried to talk to the others in the passes because there was a whirring noise, like a desert wind, that would drown out his voice. So he motioned for them to follow.

  When the three arrived at their starting point, none the worse for wear, Deck said, “Okay. That was kind of trippy.”

  “You mean because it did no’ feel alien?” Shy said.

  “Yeah. I guess that is what I mean.” Deck’s eyebrows rose. “Are you creeped out? I’m creeped out.”

  “I have a feelin’ that ’tis no longer appropriate to be ‘creeped out’, brother. ’Cause we may just be the creepies now.”

  “Not sure I like hearing that,” Deck advised.

  “Why’d you bring us back here?” Shy said. “I thought we were goin’ to find out what we can do with these changes.”

  Torn nodded. “We are. I want to head over to the portal at St. Patrick’s. Find out what’s the difference between accessin’ the passes this way and that way.”

  Shivaun nodded. “Aye. Good idea. Let’s go.”

  When they stepped through the portal underneath St. Patrick’s they immediately understood the difference. Whereas the ‘geyser’ they’d entered by the house had given them access to a pass that was like a narrow hallway, the portal at the cathedral opened into a wide passageway that would be more like an avenue than a hallway. It was a hub corridor with dozens of exits, arched openings outlined with borders of light.

  Unlike the murky fog of the passes, this avenue looked more like the inside of a vast cavern with indirect lighting. It gave the impression that it was lined with shops and restaurants, but this was a mirage. In fact the openings could lead to anything; shops, restaurants or worlds only dreamt of in the imaginations of fantasy artists.

  Whereas the D.I.T. hunters’ forays through the portal had previously been fruitless, they now saw that the avenue was rather busy with all manner of elementals busily coming and going on some errand or another. Most gave the three of them, particularly Shivaun, curious looks as they passed, but they didn’t slow or stop on their way by.

  Shivaun looked at Finngarick with wide eyes that clearly said, “What. The. Hel?”

  He shook his head and shrugged. For several minutes they remained where they were, more or less fascinated by the spectacle that few, if any, other elves or humans had ever witnessed. At length, when they’d looked their fill, Torn motioned for them to reenter Loti through the portal.

  Back on the other side, in the reality that they thought of as ‘home’, Torn said, “Great Paddy. That place is crawlin’ with ooglie booglies.”

  Deck smirked. “Like you said, who are we to judge? We’re the ooglie booglies now.” He didn’t look especially happy about that. “You
think they’ve been in there all along?”

  Torn gave Deck a pointed look. “Do no’ play dumb with us, Deck. You know they were there. We just could no’ see ’em before.”

  Deck took in a deep breath.

  Shivaun said, “We need to call Rosie.”

  Torn’s eyes flicked to Shy. “Got a better idea.”

  “Somehow I already know I’m not gonna like it,” Deck said.

  “Stop bein’ such an old woman!” Shy told Declan. To Torn, she said, “What’s your idea?”

  Finngarick smiled. “We’re goin’ to show her.”

  Rosie was in her closet trying to decide what to wear to dinner in New York with her husband. It was date night and just what the doctor ordered. It had been a long week of D.I.T. administration details and being on a different schedule than Glen’s. Looking in the tilt mirror, she thought the crimson silk blouse from Bergdorf might be too low cut to wear to dinner in New York. It hadn’t looked quite so scandalous when she bought it. She didn’t remember it revealing this much skin.

  She thought she might have felt the prickle of sense awareness that other demons were nearby, but dismissed it as a sign that she needed a more intense moisturizer.

  She put the blouse back on the hanger and stepped into her bedroom wearing just underwear. It took a lot to scare a witch/demon, but when Rosie found three hunters standing in her room, she jumped and squealed. At the same time, the occupants of Jefferson Unit thought they might have felt a minor earthquake, but when the tremor disappeared so fast, they concluded it was their imagination.

  Rosie grabbed one of Glen’s tee shirts hanging on the door next to her. As she was pulling it over her head, she said, “WHAT THE MOTHER OF ALL FUCKING FUCKS ARE YOU THREE DOING IN MY BEDROOM?!?”

  She did not look pleased.

  Torn spoke up. “We’re sorry to surprise you. We just thought it would be easier to show, rather than try to explain, that there’s been a new development.”

  Rosie looked between the three of them. Having gotten over the shock of finding people in her bedroom, she was beginning to think more clearly. Sir Torrent Finngarick, Shivaun O’Malley, and Sir Declan Tikkenen were supposed to be in Dublin.

  “Wait for me in the living room.” She pointed toward the door.