by Doty, J. L.
“And Cloe, what about her?”
That hole was even deeper and darker, and he had trouble getting the words out. “Couple months later, hit-and-run, right outside her school.”
Colleen reached out and put a comforting hand on Paul’s shoulder. “What about Suzanna’s parents?”
“She was an orphan, didn’t really have any. She’d spent a lot of years in foster homes, but never more than a few years in any one place, not long enough so anyone really thought of her as their daughter. She grew up surprisingly normal, for all that.”
They both sat there in silence. The pilot announced their final approach into DFW. The attendants picked up the trash, the plane maneuvered around a bit, then settled into the long, straight path to the runway. The plane jerked and the wheels screeched, and the plane coasted to a stop at the end of the runway. The engine pitch rose again and the pilot taxied toward their gate.
“Paul,” Colleen said. “There’s something I’ve suspected about Suzanna for some time now. And I think you just confirmed my suspicions.”
Paul felt anger swelling up within him as he looked sharply at Colleen and said, “I don’t want to hear anything bad about her. She’s gone, so leave it at that.”
Colleen shook her head. “No, Paul. It’s not bad. I just think she was a Sidhe foundling.”
“What’s a foundling?”
Colleen hesitated. “Your apartment had the scent of long-term Unseelie habitation. Not the kind of scent you’d detect with your nose, but rather an arcane residue. It’s considerably diminished, which would be consistent with the fact that Suzanna has been gone for more than a year, but it’s unmistakable.”
Paul’s patience had shredded. He tried not to sound angry as he again demanded, “What’s a foundling?”
“I’m guessing a Sidhe woman of the Unseelie Court took a mortal lover, bore a child, was pressured in some way to give up the child or wanted to hide the birth, left her here as an orphan in the Mortal Plane. Possibly never had contact with her again.”
“But Suzanna never had any Sidhe powers.”
“All Sidhe have extraordinary powers in Faerie, but one must be a mage, a wizard or a witch, to have powers here in the Mortal Plane. If Suzanna was merely half-Sidhe, but not a mage, then however powerful she might or might not have been in Faerie, she would have been quite normal here.”
Paul stared at the back of the seat in front of him as the plane pulled up to the gate, the chime sounded, the passengers stood and began gathering up their possessions. Colleen stood, then leaned down close to Paul’s ear, “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
Paul stood, and as he did so Colleen smiled at him and said, “By the way, you held your shields nicely while talking about Suzanna and Cloe.”
~~~
It would be rather easy to learn where they lived, the little Mexican boy and the pretty Mexican girl. He’d just follow them home, but he’d do so carefully. He couldn’t follow behind them in his car, barely moving along at two or three miles an hour. That would be pushing the limits of the spell that hid the car. And it would be far too dangerous to walk behind them; they were just ambling along and he’d have to walk too slowly. No, much too obvious. But he’d done this before, and it was easy.
After the bus dropped them off he waited and watched them walk up the street, the engine in his car idling. As they approached the corner he backed out of his parking place and drove slowly across the mall parking lot. He pulled out on the road just as they turned the corner and walked out of sight. He drove slowly down the street, and by the time he turned the same corner, they were just reaching the next corner, and by the time he passed them they had walked straight without turning. He continued on and didn’t look back. Patience. It required patience to do this right.
The next day he approached them from the opposite direction, saw them continue to walk straight for another block. The next two days he stayed away, and the following day he confirmed the next turn in their walk home. Now it was time to stay away from the entire neighborhood for a while. He’d come back in a few days, a long enough absence to insure that some observant parent didn’t spot a pattern and take notice of his car.
He now knew the pattern of their day, knew the school they attended, the route the bus took to bring them home and the bus stop. Eventually, he’d watch each of them walk right up to their front door as he drove past.
Soon, the voice said. Soon.
Chapter 4: The Hunt
Salisteen sent a chauffeured limo for them. The passenger compartment—back seat really didn’t do it justice—had two seats facing each other, with plenty of leg-room for all. Paul and McGowan sat in a seat facing Colleen and Katherine. The limo also had a wet bar, TV, the works.
As the limo drove out of the airport Colleen and Katherine were quietly discussing something, so Paul asked McGowan, “I take it she’s loaded.”
“More than me, kid.”
“Are all top practitioners loaded?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why?”
“Better to have money than not.”
Paul tried a different approach. “I guess I really mean how? Do you predict the future or something and invest in the stock market? Something like that?”
McGowan frowned and considered Paul’s question carefully. “It’s pretty hard to predict the future. Only some of us can do it, and then only to a limited extent. I can teach you a couple of incantations, the same ones good old Nostradamus used, but the results are always vague and subject to wide interpretation. That was his big problem, eventually drove him nuts trying to figure out what the results meant.”
McGowan looked at Paul carefully. “But that’s not what you’re really asking. Is it?”
“No. I’m just wondering if you game the system in some way.”
McGowan shrugged. “Most of us don’t need to. We tend to live rather long lives, and because we are practitioners, opportunities do come our way. But if you wanted to game the system and make some money, you’d have to be careful what you did. You might spell some dice and win big at the casinos, and they’ll let you win once or twice then cut you off. And a couple of them—though they don’t realize it—employ practitioners as heads of security. Practitioners are good at spotting anyone trying to beat the system. And they consider it cheating, so you might end up with your legs broken.”
McGowan looked at him pointedly and frowned. “You want to get rich?”
Paul shook his head adamantly. “No, not that, I’m just trying to understand the rules.”
McGowan pursed his lips and thought carefully. “There aren’t many. I suppose the big one is: don’t bring mundane attention to your abilities, or those of others. There was a time when strong practitioners were respected, and often employed as royal advisors and counselors. But then we went through that nasty time when they burned witches at the stake, and that left us all a little shy about notoriety. You want to murder someone, you want to use your power to do it, that’s between you and the law, as long as they don’t find out about your abilities, though I personally don’t like criminals and might just choose to see justice done. On the other hand, you start leaving a string of bizarre, unanswered killings behind you, and there’ll be no maybe’s about it. There are several of us who will definitely step in and stop you, permanently.
“Say you figure out an alchemical spell for turning lead or iron into gold. Go ahead, make yourself rich. But don’t make so much gold that you start affecting world financial markets. That might prompt someone to start asking the kind of questions we don’t want asked. We’ll step in.
“And you already know about setting a demon loose in this life, either purposefully or by accident, we’ll step in. We’ll get rid of the demon, then sit down and have a talk about how we can be certain you won’t do it again. And if the talk doesn’t reassure us sufficiently, you probably won’t survive it.”
McGowan kept referring to we, as if there was some organization. “Who’s we?
Is there some group, or council or something?”
McGowan shook his head. “There’s about a dozen of us worldwide that are in a league all our own. There’s me, Karpov and Colleen. You’re about to meet Salisteen. Then there’s Charlie Stowicz in New York, three or four in Europe, three or four more in Asia, couple in South America, one in Australia. We’re a pretty stubborn, contrary bunch that, by and large, don’t usually get along well. But there are certain things that’ll make us band together.”
McGowan chuckled, laughing at some private joke. “That Russian wants us to get organized, write down rules, have an executive council. We’d have rank based on power; the more powerful you are, the higher your rank. All that kind of stuff.”
Paul grimaced. “And I suppose Karpov wants to be the head of this executive council?”
“Exactly,” McGowan said, shaking his head sadly. “Though the rank-power relationship thing already exists in a de facto fashion. It’s only natural.”
“Where would that put you?”
“I’d be up there, kid. I’ve been at the top of the feeding chain for a long time.”
“And me?”
McGowan looked at Paul as if appraising him carefully. “Too soon to say, kid. Clearly you’ll be well above the middle ranks. But how much above, only time, practice and experience will tell. And you are unique.”
“The necromancer thing?”
“Ya, the necromancer thing?”
“Sounds like there’s a bunch of factions. What faction are you part of?”
McGowan shrugged and grinned. “You might say I’m one of the leaders of the anarchist faction: no organization, no committees, and we already have enough rules.”
Paul thought it through carefully. “So you help me out, you teach me, I’m the sorcerer’s apprentice and all that, and I’ll naturally feel indebted. So you’ll probably gain a supporter, and who knows how much rank I’ll be able to put behind that support.”
McGowan threw his head back and laughed loudly. “Well, you ain’t stupid, kid.”
“What about the Sidhe? How do they play into this?”
“Good question. The Sidhe are enormously powerful in Faerie, but weaker here in the Mortal Plane. With a few exceptions, here they’re more like mid-level practitioners. If they can control one or more of us, then that gives them strength here.”
“And how would they control me?”
McGowan’s focus drifted away for a moment, and he smiled as if at a fond memory. “The Sidhe of the royal blood can be quite beguiling, and that is probably the only capability they have that isn’t weakened here on the Mortal Plane. When they want to be, the men and women both are the most beautiful beings you have ever seen. They can turn it on and off like a light switch. I’ve seen mortal men without the slightest homosexual tendency, become so obsessed with a Sidhe male they destroy themselves with the compulsion. But more than that, if you’re not prepared, they can make you want them, desire to please them, willing to do anything to make them happy. You become a virtual slave without even knowing it, obsessively, compulsively needing their constant approval.”
The limo pulled into a large U-shaped driveway in front of an enormous McMansion, easily twenty thousand square feet. Paul gawked like a country bumpkin when McGowan said, “This is Highland Park. Lot of money in this neighborhood.”
~~~
Anogh waited well down the street from the mansion of the powerful witch. Hidden within a simple glamour in the shadows of a large tree, he watched the limousine pause at a wrought-iron gate. After a brief delay the gate swung open and the large car pulled forward onto the grounds of the estate. He watched the druid, the Old Wizard, his daughter and the necromancer emerge from the limo and disappear into the mansion.
He also watched Cadilus’s two young mages stalking the periphery of the mansion’s grounds. Both had shape-shifted into small falcons and flitted back and forth on drafts of warm air, careful to remain beyond the mansion’s wards. Shape-shifting was difficult magic for a Sidhe mage on the Mortal Plane, so both were clearly powerful and dangerous.
A sharp cry broke the quiet of the afternoon, and a large red-tailed hawk swooped down out of the sky. Much bigger than the falcons, its attack was unexpected, and it nearly impaled one on its talons, but the smaller bird dodged at the last moment and escaped without damage. Outmatched by the larger bird, the two falcons fled into the distance, while the hawk landed on the wall surrounding the compound of a neighbor.
A mortal might think the little drama quite ordinary, predators contesting their hunting territory. But the cry of the hawk had an arcane quality to it Anogh recognized.
How had the black fey come into this? he wondered. But more importantly, why this particular being, this most dangerous of beings?
~~~
Salisteen met them just inside the front door of the McMansion in a foyer larger than Paul’s apartment. It had curved staircases winding both left and right around a massive crystalline chandelier, both leading up to a second floor landing.
She was a tall, elegant black woman, African-American, looked like a retired model a bit past her prime, but still quite good looking. She wore a knee length dress, long legs ending in tall, spike heels, curly, brown hair cut in a very short afro. When McGowan introduced them Paul extended his hand. Salisteen beamed at him gorgeously and smiled, gripped his right hand in hers, but reached out with her left hand and took hold of his elbow, then pulled him toward her to within a distance that bordered on intimate. “Paul,” she said sensuously, their faces only inches apart. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She had an accent that could only be described as Texas elegant, every vowel articulated carefully. The word pleasure came out like a promise, and Paul grew aware of some very attractive cleavage not far below his chin, though he was careful not to look down and stare at it.
She stepped back from him and released his hand, but she paused and looked him up and down carefully, as if examining her next meal. Her smile broadened, and in a slow drawl she said, “This should be very interesting.”
Katherine said, “My dear, Paul is not an appetizer for dinner.”
Salisteen turned and looked at her. “Of course not, darling.” She glanced back at Paul. “I think he’d be an entire meal all by himself, including desert. And I am in the mood for desert.”
She turned and walked toward the interior of the house, spoke as she walked, “Come with me. The servants will take care of your luggage. I have rooms prepared for you.”
Paul noticed there was a preponderance of rather good-looking young men among Salisteen’s servants, some runway-model caliber, all rather weak practitioners. They wore simple white coats that ended just below their waistline. There were also a few individuals dressed in business suits, male and female, all good looking but nothing like the runway-model servants. The suits were further distinguished from the servants in that each had a little curly, flesh-colored wire running from an ear into the collar of their coat, and also each was a much stronger practitioner. No one needed to tell Paul the suits were security.
Salisteen led them to a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a patio and an enormous lawn. Waiting in the office was a fellow that looked like a dockworker, short, stocky, a little overweight, heavily muscled. He had the kind of dark, black hair that left a five-o’clock shadow ten minutes after shaving.
“Charlie!” McGowan said, obviously surprised to see the man there. “What are you doing here?”
“Walter,” the man said. To all outward appearances they were two old friends, but there seemed an element of tension between them. “Salisteen asked me to come and help too.” He spoke with a thick New York accent.
McGowan made introductions, and Paul learned the fellow was Charlie Stowicz. That meant they had four of the five most powerful wizards in North America present in the room. McGowan’s uneasiness put Paul on edge. Whereas Salisteen wanted to eat Paul for desert, Stowicz looked at him like he wanted to hang him fro
m the nearest tree. Colleen confirmed Paul’s suspicions when she leaned close to his ear and whispered, “The only reason Charlie would be here is to see you. And I’m not sure if that’s good.”
~~~
Dinner was a casual affair, a simple help-yourself buffet. Katherine would have enjoyed it more, but when that cougar Salisteen heard Paul had never tasted Texas barbecue, she personally introduced him to every dish on the table. The slut never lost physical contact with him: a hand on his elbow, her hip brushing against his. She was probably spelling him, and Katherine considered checking his aura.
What am I doing? Katherine asked herself. First I avoid him like the plague, then I turn into a seething bag of jealous hormones? She had no claims on Paul, and if he wanted that over-sexed, middle-aged trollop, he could damn well have her.
They sat at picnic tables on one of the many patios. Katherine sat opposite Paul while Salisteen carefully chose a seat next to him, her hip brushing up against his. The conversation immediately turned to the demon kills. “It seems to have progressed to about one or two victims a month,” Salisteen said. “And it’s careful, never strikes in the same municipality twice, at least not without waiting several months between victims. Only strikes in larger communities that deal regularly with unusual deaths. The victims are all young girls about eight or nine years old. But other than that, no set pattern to victim type: white, black, Hispanic, blonde, brunette, rich, poor.”
Paul asked, “But wouldn’t someone connect the dots on a string of murders like that?”
Stowicz lifted his napkin to his face and wiped a bit of sauce from his chin. “No sign of trauma, right?” He looked to Salisteen for confirmation and she nodded.
He turned to Paul. “No sign of trauma, no drugs in the system, no needle marks, nothing that’ll show up on an autopsy. Medical examiner just chalks it up to natural causes, sometimes of unknown origin, sometimes they take a guess.”
Salisteen added, “And the greater Dallas/Fort Worth area has a population of well over six million. They deal with thousands of deaths from all causes every day.” She stared at her food for a moment, used her fork to push it around the plate without tasting it. “This one’s careful. But I don’t think it’s ventured outside the Dallas/Fort Worth area.”
