Zee compressed her lips at these words, and Chloe looked as if she was worried she’d said too much. Zee shoved back the covers from the bed and got up. Her body was vibrating with fury.
“Where’s Nick?” she asked. “I want to talk to him.”
“He’s with Jack. But maybe you should wait a little while to—”
“I’ve waited long enough,” Zee interrupted. Then she added to herself, “I just hope that I haven’t waited too long.”
Chapter Sixteen
“We’re still modifying your shotgun. In the meantime, try this. It’s a Heckler & Koch MP5SD—with a few additions from Jack,” Roman added. He twirled the gun like a sideshow cowboy before slapping it back on the table. Nick could only hope the gun was unloaded. “Just point and shoot, and admire how it can influence a bad guy into seeing things your way.”
“Modifications? What kind, exactly? I was just getting the hang of that shotgun.” Nick was wary. He kept a grip on Hansel’s shoulder, keeping him back from the weapon when the boy’s tiny hands reached for it. True to his word, he had refused a nap, and Nick hadn’t had one either. Of the two, only Hansel was happy with the situation.
“The gun itself won’t be physically altered. Not much. The ammo will be magicked,” Thomas explained, laying a handgun on the table. “Like these guns here. Jack’s a death fey. Almost anything these rounds touch will die.”
“Almost anything?”
“Well, we aren’t entirely sure about Qasim. That hobgoblin has some special-circumstance magic going on.”
“Oh, yes. Mabigon’s stolen heart,” Nick guessed. He’d heard the description of Nyssa’s rough-andready heart surgery from Zayn, how she’d taken her father’s heart as her own, and was still appalled. He also found it worrisome that they hadn’t destroyed the hobgoblin’s heart; that seemed like daring the Devil.
“Among other things,” Thomas agreed. “We’re finding that hobgoblin has some strange immunities. He doesn’t react the way goblins do.”
“You worry too much, Quiet Man,” Roman said, looking down the edge of a giant sword carved with runes before sliding it back into its scabbard. “This is a Pampers-type situation.”
“Pampers?” Nick asked. He tried to imagine another meaning to the word but couldn’t think of any beyond the obvious.
“Yeah. As in, really shitty but fully disposable.”
Hansel giggled at the use of a forbidden word. Nick stared hard at Roman, and heard himself saying, “Little pitchers have big ears,” sounding like his grandmother. He winced.
Roman shrugged in apology. “I forgot he was here. We need to pull on his ears and make him taller.” The pooka offered a hand to Hansel, who giggled again at the ear-pulling suggestion, and led him a little way off. There he asked, “So, little man, how would you like to take a pony ride while Nick and Thomas finish up in here?”
“You have a pony?” Hansel asked, his eyes getting big. “In here?”
“After a fashion. A very large pony. A pooka pony.”
Next to Nick, Thomas opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“What?” Nick asked in a whisper. “What’s wrong?” He couldn’t imagine Roman would harm the children in any way, or let them do something dangerous. He’d seen the man with Innis and knew that he was a good father. Still, fey notions of safety might not match human ones.
“Nothing,” Thomas murmured. “All our children like to take rides. They do it all the time. Hansel will be fine.”
“I would like to take a ride, too,” said Gretel, suddenly stepping into the room. She had apparently eschewed her nap, and had followed her brother. She had also apparently been hovering outside the door, too afraid or unsure of her welcome to enter. In spite of her shyness, she looked bright-eyed and ready for action, and Nick began to wonder if he was the only one who wanted sleep.
Roman looked pleased. “Well, certainly, little lady. Let’s saddle up and hit the trail.”
Nick wasn’t surprised when Gretel added, “Maybe we could find the dragon. He would give us a ride, too. Unless he needs to look at the guns as well.”
That decided Nick. Whatever happened, it would be better than having the children around a bunch of weapons. Or a dragon. Especially Gretel, who was too gentle, and who had been far too quiet since the goblin attack.
“Okay, why don’t you both have a pony ride?” Nick agreed. “I bet it will be fun. And I’ll be finished here soon.”
“Should we ask Zee if she would like to come, too?” the thoughtful Gretel asked. “I think she’s a little sad and might need a ride to cheer her up.”
Roman’s eyes began to twinkle, but Thomas said no—immediately and emphatically.
“Killjoy,” Roman murmured. He took the children by their hands and led them out of the room, asking, “So, do you two know any really good cowboy songs?”
“What are cow-boys?” Hansel asked. “Do they have horns?”
“What does a cow song sound like?” Gretel asked.
Roman didn’t answer. Instead, he started singing “I’ve got spurs that jingle-jangle-jingle,’ ” in an exaggerated Texan accent. There was a shuffling of fading footsteps, and Nick had no trouble imagining the pooka dancing a jig.
“Okay,” Nick said, still half-distracted by Gretel’s assertion that Zee was sad. “Spit it out. What’s up with the pony? Is it really a savage unicorn or something? Is that why you don’t want Zee to see it?”
“You don’t know what pookas are, do you?” Thomas asked. He sighed. “They’re animal spirits— mischievous ones that can take many forms, including that of a river horse—which are usually good with children but have a bad habit of running off with women. Not that he would . . . Well . . .”
“And you have one of—Oh,” Nick said, recalling an earlier conversation. “Roman actually turns into a horse?”
“Sometimes. Only during the full moon, when he’s outside. But he can shift at will inside the tomhnafurach.”
That was the most bizarre thing Nick had ever heard. “It must make him popular with the children,” was all he could think to say.
“Yeah, real popular.” Thomas grinned. “You’re adapting, Nick, you really are. Remind me to tell you someday about my animal half. It makes Roman’s pony seem quite tame.”
“You have an animal half?” Nick asked. Then another thought occurred to him: “We don’t all have animal halves, do we?”
“No, you don’t. And, yes, I did. And boy, was I glad to get rid of him!” Thomas put down the rifle he’d been examining. “Okay, this baby is ready to dance. Shall we take it out for a waltz?”
“Sure.” Nick was dubious, but he didn’t refuse. He was going to fight a monster for the lives of two hundred children; he wasn’t going unarmed. Still, even with this super-weaponry, he was feeling dubious about being the Goddess’s lightning rod. In the first place, he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with a new female divinity that everyone here believed was real and an active participant in their lives. Secondly, he was pretty certain he didn’t belong in the heavyweight division with the men of Cadalach, all of whom seemed to have spent their adult lives battling goblins and other creatures. Still, that was the thing about divine intervention—avoiding it was all but impossible. All one could do was prepare and hope.
“So, you’ve been bitten by the love bug?” Thomas asked as they walked down a long corridor lit by urns full of luminous blue water. Nick found that his eyes had adapted to the low-light situation, and they were functioning without difficulty in places where he should have had eyestrain. There wasn’t even the standard diminishment of color perception. That made him wonder about the composition of fey eyes. Could they be made up of something other than rods and cones? He’d have to run some tests on himself when he got back to the hospital.
“How would I know? Are the symptoms obvious?” Nick asked, wondering idly if Thomas literally meant he’d been bitten by an insect. Anything seemed possible now.
The man shrugged.
“No,” Nick answered. He added slowly, “I mean, yes. I am . . . with Zee, at least. In spite of not planning on this. And the waters are deep. Really deep.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But come on, you can drown in a bathtub. Really, I’m in no more danger here than I was outside . . . am I?” he asked, when Thomas looked dubious. “I mean, this can’t be as serious as going off to fight a hobgoblin, can it? What’s going to happen? I won’t change into some monster, will I?”
“Well, yes and no—I mean about things being dangerous,” Thomas hedged, not reassuring Nick at all. “This kind of love can be quite precarious— it’s the wild wedding of our blood, you see. Outside, there is natural attraction, a strong pull among our kind. Here . . . Well, in the tomhnafurach these days, the stakes are higher than you’ve ever imagined. And we are all so different, so many cross-breeds, that it is difficult to know what to expect when we become intimate. Mixed magic makes some really weird things.”
Nick was about to ask what Thomas meant when they were interrupted by Abrial’s arrival.
“Have you managed a hack into Lobineau’s files?” the nightdemon asked. His long back hair was drawn tight and secured with a piece of silver cord. He still didn’t look at all tame.
“CID, man,” Thomas murmured.
“CID?” Nick asked.
“ ‘Consider it done,’ ” Abrial translated. He gave a slight smile. “These computer geeks love their acronyms.”
“I left the program running while I took Nick here for some target practice,” Thomas explained. “It should crack the code soon, if not by now.”
“I’ll do the weapons check,” Abrial volunteered. “Go back to your computer. I’ll work with Nick while you find a way to foil the Father’s finances. I think Lobineau needs a stern warning about what happens to people who don’t keep faith with us.”
Thomas looked at Nick; he apparently sensed Nick’s reservations about having Abrial as a teacher.
“Do what you feel is best,” Nick forced himself to say. “I’m sure Abrial can check me out.”
“And then some,” Thomas agreed. To the night-demon he said, “Take him to Jack when you’re done. I think he wants them to have a private talk.”
Nick almost groaned. Was he never going to get his nap?
“Days, nights—they can be nothing,” Jack said to him sometime later. “But sunrise and sunset, now those are always exciting. I love watching the sun claw its way into and out of the sky.”
Nick sat down on the slab of stone beside Jack and looked at the approaching sunrise. The sky was still a dark blue; she had lost her moon but not yet found the morning sun. It should have been a moment to relax and savor, but Nick felt too tightly wound to settle down. The smell of cordite clung to him and his ears were still ringing from the gunshots. It had been a useful session, though. Abrial had been a good teacher, and it turned out that Nick had an aptitude for target-shooting. But he still didn’t like it—any of it. Doctors did not shoot guns at people.
“Jack, what does it mean to be fey?” he asked bluntly, he spreading his hands wide. “Somehow, I didn’t think it would involve so many guns.”
“Being fey? That’s a tough one, Nick. I think we all have different experiences of it—and our experiences change as we do.”
“I’ve got some time,” Nick answered. “And I’m more confused than ever. Please give it a shot.”
Jack nodded. “Thomas could give you a more mystical answer,” he warned, “but I’m not sure it would help a man trained to the sciences.” He considered the lightening heavens. “Let’s put it this way: We’re carbon-based life forms—most of us— but we’re something more, too. You were talking earlier about DNA. Think of us as having some extra DNA beyond humans, and that gives us the capacity to hold magic.”
“Magic,” Nick echoed. “Yes. But being fey means something else, too, doesn’t it?”
“Lots of things. For instance, I bet you’re allergic to cashews,” Jack said. “But not other nuts.”
“I am,” Nick admitted.
“It’s because cashews are a member of the poison ivy family, and those are hard on feys of all types.”
“Jack,” Nick interrupted in frustration. He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up but not caring. “Look, this isn’t helping. I need some straight answers. My universe has been upended and bits of gastronomic trivia won’t help. I want some Newtonian-type laws to restore order to the world— something that explains all these weird gifts and feelings. Something that explains pookas and dragons and why after a mere day or two of acquaintance I am so attracted to Zee that I can hardly think straight.”
“Okay, sorry. I . . . I just don’t think you’ll like the answer, and I worry that we’ll lose you if you get it all too fast.”
“Lose me? Why? How?”
“Why not? After all, you are already party to another social contract—an important one to which you have devoted your life. In your shoes, I might well try to walk away. Unfortunately, like it or not, you have entered into another bond. You didn’t sign any papers or have a chance to read the fine print on the—I was going to call it an agreement. But it isn’t even that. You have, in essence, been hijacked. What it means to be fey, in this day and age, is that you are a soldier. You have been conscripted for a war. In our defense, let me say that we—the fey and magic itself—are fighting for our very existence. And we have never been so close to extinction.”
Jack’s silver eyes shone eerily, and suddenly he didn’t look even remotely human. “Our enemies are everywhere, and we are very few in number— there are probably only a couple dozen of us left in the entire world, thanks to the solar pollution that caused the Great Drought. And none of us is pure-blooded. Few of us were raised understanding what we are. We are having to learn our powers as we go, and we are being sniped at by enemies all the while. The learning curve is steep and we’ve had casualties.
“It would be different if more old ones survived, but our storytellers—the seanchai—were also wiped out. Of course, bits and pieces of our legends survive in human fairy tales, but in the end, we are each left to make a spiritual pilgrimage back through the blood of our ancestors. We are on our own in this quest to discover who we are—and who are our friends and foes. The picture is frustratingly fragmented because each of us carries only a small part of the ancestral memory. But it will have to sustain us until one of the seanchai is found.”
“The goblins are the foes?” Nick asked, though he guessed that was the case. “They’re the ones who are hunting the fey?”
“Yes, but it isn’t that simple. Not all goblins are enemies. And many humans hate us, too. The old superstitions and fears about our kind are very much alive in the human population. There are whole organizations and religions devoted to stamping us out. Our best defense is that most humans don’t believe in us. Unfortunately, the goblins believe—it’s just lucky for us that they have their hands full these days, dealing with the humans and Qasim. It’s bought us some precious time to prepare. But eventually they will turn their attention our way again, and we need to be ready.”
“But how can they hurt you? You’re all so powerful and, from what I’ve hard, long-lived. Hell, you have a dragon. You can fight back.”
“Against whom?” Jack shook his head. “You can’t see the problem, can you? Most of us are at least part human. Some of us are part goblin, or even part troll. But that doesn’t help. Shall we war on our kin? Nick, we’re strong and we live long times, but we are hopelessly outnumbered, and the hate and treachery of lutins and many humans is neverending. We’d have to kill them all to be truly safe. Every last goblin, every last man, woman and child. Would you really have us commit genocide? On
two entire races? Could the planet endure that much death without dying itself? I don’t think I could face it— and the cumulative karma would kill someone like Bysshe or Nyssa.”
Nick was chilled. “What do we do?” he asked. He didn’t notice using the word we, but Jack did, and smiled grimly.
“We do what we’ve always done,” Jack said quietly. “We walk the tightrope. We balance the power. We keep the humans and goblins from going to war with each other, and we don’t let either side get too powerful. And we regain our strength and numbers, keeping in mind that any failure—or setback could be the end for us. The consequences of failure are final—for everyone on the planet.”
Nick nodded tiredly, suddenly wearier than he’d ever been in his life. “Okay, I can accept that. I don’t like it, but I get it. Saving lives is what I’ve always done. But what did Thomas mean, saying that loving Zee was both safer and more dangerous than loving someone else? Did he mean the magic? Or the goblins? Why is being here with Zee different than being with her outside?”
Jack looked at Nick for a long time, clearly debating what he should say. “It isn’t like Thomas to bring up something like that. He tends to keep to himself.”
“Well, he did bring it up, whatever the reason. So, what did he mean? Was it a warning—because Zee is part goblin?”
Jack slowly nodded, apparently making up his mind. “Nick, let me ask you: How did you come to the decision to help Zee? It wasn’t a trivial matter, after all. It required you to believe some pretty wild things, to abandon your family at an important holiday and drive off into the desert with three strangers.” Jack stared at him intently. When Nick didn’t answer, he went on. “Did you analyze the situation and then decide? Did you break it down into irreducibles and come to a decision—logically— that you needed to give Zee your aid?”
“No,” Nick admitted. “I just . . . I just decided. I know it sounds impulsive. . . . I guess it was impulsive. My sister certainly thought so when I called to say I wouldn’t be coming home after all. But it just felt like the right thing to do. However weird their story, I couldn’t leave Zee and the kids stranded. I had to help them. . . .” Nick paused. “And you don’t look the least bit surprised to hear this.”
The Master Page 19
