Still Not Dead Enough , Book 2 of The Dead Among Us

by Doty, J. L.

  Paul asked, “And what did his message mean?”

  “That’s the interesting part,” McGowan said. “I think he’s telling us the oath’s that bind him to the Winter Court have some loop-holes. He can’t betray the Winter Court to the Summer, but since we’re not Summer Court, maybe he can betray Winter to us. He could be an enormously helpful ally.”

  “Be careful, old man,” Colleen said. “It sounds like he can help us. But has he? And will he? Don’t forget he’s Sidhe, and with them nothing is ever as it appears.”

  Paul still couldn’t put Anogh’s face out of his mind. “Can either of you help me bring back a lost memory?” He looked at Colleen. “Maybe like you did with Judy, or something?”

  “What kind of memory?” McGowan asked.

  Paul explained about Anogh’s face, the way he’d obsessed about it all night, yet couldn’t make any headway.

  “I might be able to help,” Colleen said. “But I need a small mirror.”

  McGowan stood. “I’ll get one.” He disappeared down the hall, came back a minute later carrying a small hand mirror.

  “That’ll do nicely,” Colleen said. She took the mirror, stood and sat back down in a seat directly opposite Paul, held the mirror up so he saw his reflection. “Look at your own image, Paul. Try to clear your thoughts, then think carefully of Anogh’s face, think of each little detail.”

  He had no problem recalling Anogh’s face; he’d obsessed about it since last night: long, dark, shoulder-length hair, strong jaw, the eyes shadowed by a dark sorrow. Colleen muttered something in the background, but it didn’t distract Paul’s thoughts from the beautiful Sidhe warrior. In fact, if the hair were shorter, cut more like a typical college student, the eyes a little less shadowed, less haunted, take off a few years, and remove some of the incredible beauty, he could be any handsome, young college student in the country. And then it hit him. He knew! He knew! Paul gasped out, “Summers Knight.”

  “You remember?” Colleen asked.

  “Yes. Yes. A friend from college. His name was Summers Knight. Didn’t really know him well, more a friend of other friends, ran into each other at a few parties.” It all came rushing back to him. “My god,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “He sort of introduced me to Suzanna. It was a party, at his place, lot of students there, some with dates, some without. I was without, and so was Suzanna. It was just a quick, casual introduction. Paul, this is Suzanna, that kind of thing. And she and I hit it off from there, never looked back.”

  “Summers Knight!” McGowan said with almost reverent awe. “The bastard’s been mucking in your life for quite a while, Paul. He must have known Suzanna was a foundling.”

  McGowan was clearly stunned. “Anogh is playing at his own game. He may or may not be an ally, or he may be an ally now and an enemy later. But never forget he’s setting something up here. And the only thing we can be certain of is that if it goes his way, it will be to his advantage. Perhaps not to our detriment, but certainly to his advantage.”

  McGowan and Colleen spent the rest of the afternoon grilling Paul on Sidhe Court etiquette. He listened, heard what they said, nodded politely here and there, responded a bit with a word or two when necessary, but a piece of him could not leave the issue of Anogh and Suzanna. Anogh had said, The love for which you grieve must be avenged.

  Avenge! Why would anyone avenge an accident? You don’t avenge accidents unless you’re a nut case. Or unless it was not an accident.

  “Paul,” Colleen snapped. “Pay attention. This is important.”

  “Yes. Yes. Sorry.”

  And when you learn of love’s betrayal . . . Suze would never have betrayed him. It had to mean something else. But then there were so many things he had not known about her. He would never have believed she would betray him. But back then he hadn’t been dealing with Sidhe. Betrayal was in their nature, and she was half Sidhe. Betrayals, innuendo, subtle deceit, the Sidhe were not Sidhe without such. Did that mean Anogh had murdered Suzanna, for some strange reason Paul could not fathom? If so, then the only thing left for him in this life would be to avenge her death. Yes, give Anogh his due, in spades.

  Chapter 19: Pass-Fail Time

  As instructed Paul dressed that morning in a dark business suit, though since gunpowder didn’t work in Faerie, he left the firearms behind. But a few weeks ago, on his own initiative, he’d gone to a sporting-goods store, purchased a good-sized hunting knife made of quality steel and had a sheath made to conceal it under his arm like a gun in a shoulder holster. He also packed a small duffle with a couple changes of clothes and toiletries.

  McGowan wore a hooded, floor-length robe made of heavily brocaded satin, almost oriental in appearance, though the lightning bolts embroidered on his sleeves made Paul think again of Gandalf. The image would have been complete if McGowan had sported a long beard, with hobbits scampering under foot. Slightly open at the neck with the hood thrown back, Paul saw that McGowan also wore a conservative business suit beneath his robe.

  McGowan looked him over carefully, nodded his approval and handed him a large bundle of fabric. Paul shook it out. It was another wizard’s robe similar to McGowan’s, including the lightning bolts on the sleeves. “The traditional, formal attire of a mage when attending a Sidhe Court,” McGowan said. “You armed?”

  Paul opened his coat to display the knife in the underarm sheath.

  McGowan nodded his approval, asking, “Cold iron?”

  Paul said, “Good steel, which has plenty of iron.”

  McGowan grinned. “You’re learning, kid.”

  The old man helped him put the robe on, then handed Paul a wooden staff about five feet long. It was plain and unadorned. “It’s not a true staff. It’ll take a few years to properly imprint one, but appearances will be important today. So carry it any time you wear the robes.”

  McGowan picked up his own staff, like Paul’s about five feet long, but with sigils and runes and strange figures carved down its length. Paul noticed it also had some scorch marks here and there. “Do we really need the hardware?” he asked as McGowan turned toward the back of the house. Paul followed.

  “Nah,” McGowan said. “Not with the protections we’ve been granted. But as I said, appearances are important, and a show of strength, and the message that we’re watching out for ourselves regardless of any promises, is part of the package.”

  Devoe joined them just before they emerged from the back of the house. He wore fairly casual clothing, slacks, long-sleeve shirt, lightweight, waist-length windbreaker. Paul had seen its like in Devoe’s gun shop, advertised as good for concealing a weapon, or maybe two or three, if he knew Clark Devoe at all.

  The Sidhe warriors were incredible, seven of them arrayed in the garden behind McGowan’s house, all wearing splendid armor inlaid with silver, mother of pearl, precious stones, with proud, beautiful faces framed in open helms. Each wore a silver rapier at his side.

  McGowan introduced Paul to Captain Dergindaal as the young mage. Dergindaal was polite, and like Paul he did not extend his hand. He looked at Devoe, said to McGowan, “I see you bring the weapon.” There was a slight emphasis on the word weapon.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  Dergindaal shook his head. “You always surprise me, Old Wizard.”

  McGowan smiled. “Lady Armaugh should be joining us shortly. No doubt, she wants to make an entrance.”

  “Ah, Old Wizard, but when the Lady Armaugh makes an entrance, we all fall subject to her mercy.”

  When Colleen emerged from the rear of McGowan’s house, gone was the dress that appeared to be a jumble of vary-colored scarves attached haphazardly to her from neck to ankles, and in its place she wore a gown of silken brocade. The hippie aspect was still there, still all earth-colors, and the gown must have had a thousand folds. Paul had the momentary impression her hair had changed color subtly. But as he looked closer he realized that, where it had been red before, it was now flaming red, literally, with little motes of fir
e dancing through the wild disarray of her curls. The charms plated into her hair were still there, but she’d added dried flowers here and there, even simple bits of straw. And her face glowed with vigor and vitality. She was still past middle age, perhaps in her early sixties, but she easily rivaled most younger women when she wanted to.

  “Paul,” McGowan said. “Your mouth is hanging open.”

  She descended the few steps carefully, one step at a time, with Jim’Jiminie and Boo’Diddle hopping and bouncing about her feet. She approached Dergindaal; he and his warriors dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. She extended a hand. Dergindaal kissed it elegantly and looked into her face. “Lady Armaugh, the Summer Court has been blighted like a winter frost in your absence.”

  She remained cold and aloof. “Captain Dergindaal, you are kind to an old woman.” He stood, and his warriors followed suit. She indicated the leprechauns. “Jim’Jiminie and Boo’Diddle have graciously offered to escort me.” The two leprechauns gripped each other in a sumo-wrestler’s hug and rolled around in the grass. “I do hope you’ll extend to them the courtesy of the Court.”

  Dergindaal nodded solemnly. “I have been instructed by Her Majesty to extend to you and the Old Wizard, and your chosen retinues, all of the protections and courtesies of the Seelie Court.”

  He turned away, but she caught his arm lightly. He turned back to her and she said, “It is good to see you again, Dergindaal.”

  He flushed. Paul thought, I just saw a fucking captain of Sidhe warriors actually flush.

  Dergindaal merely smiled, but his eyes lit up. “I hope, My Lady, you’ll have time to visit with an old friend, catch up on old times, as it were.”

  “I shall try, my lord”

  Dergindaal’s eyes lit up anew. He turned to McGowan. “Are we ready, old man?”

  McGowan said, “I believe so.” They then all took up positions as they had discussed previously: Dergindaal in front, McGowan and Paul behind him side-by-side, Colleen behind them with her leprechauns dancing about her skirts, Devoe last of all, around them all the six remaining Sidhe warriors. “We’re ready, Captain,” he said.

  Most fey could execute a crossing from just about any point in either Realm, but the presence of mortals made it much more difficult, and a boundary or ley line helped immensely. Without warning there came that weird spiral shift in reality, almost as if Paul saw down a strange, yet simple, path. There came no draw of power, no need to force anything, and again it felt to Paul as if one merely needed to choose the right door, then open it and walk through it, as simple as that. And there they all stood, in a large hall tiled in some sort of glistening, white stone. Stone pedestals lined the walls every few feet, and on each rested the bust of someone who was probably famous, though since they were now in the Seelie Court, it was unlikely they were famous for anything Paul had heard of.

  In front of them stood two, large, wooden doors, ornately carved from some dark wood. The figures on the door to the right were of a beautiful Sidhe race, with an aura of kindness and compassion emanating from their incredible faces. The figures on the door to the left were of an equally beautiful Sidhe race, but the aura that emanated from them was one of cruelty and malice.

  Paul nudged McGowan and whispered, “Let me guess: Seelie to the right, Unseelie to the left.”

  “Very good,” McGowan whispered back. “Only a mage would see the auras beyond the shapes in the carvings. But don’t forget, this is a Seelie representation of the virtues of Seelie and the depravity of Unseelie.” He straightened. “Eyes forward, kid.”

  The two doors must have each been thirty feet high and a good ten feet wide, and yet they swung slowly inward without a sound, revealing a large room filled with a few hundred people and the buzz of an untold number of quiet conversations. The noise slowly dissipated into utter and complete silence as everyone turned to look upon the new arrivals. The crowd parted carefully, without bustle or commotion, revealing a woman in the distance seated upon a throne that rested upon a dais above them all. From the time Cadilus had kidnapped him and Katherine, Paul thought of her as the mad queen. Cadilus stood at her right hand, and at the base of the dais to either side stood two Sidhe warriors in full ceremonial armor. She quietly uttered, “Enter.” She hadn’t raised her voice, and was at least a good hundred feet away, but Paul heard her as clearly as if she’d been standing next to him.

  “You’re on stage, kid,” McGowan whispered. “They’ve all seen me and Colleen before, so it’s you they’re interested in today.”

  As they walked through the massive doors their honor guard peeled off to the sides, and Dergindaal alone led them toward the Summer Queen. Paul steeled himself to display an utterly calm demeanor he didn’t feel. McGowan had warned him of this, told him he was free to glance to either side as long as he did so without any obvious excitement or emotion. “Mustn’t appear to be a gawking peasant brought to Court,” the old wizard had said, “and a bored glance or two to either side, nothing extreme, will only enhance your reputation.” Paul tried to look uninterested as he glanced ever so slightly at the courtiers to either side of them, and he marveled at how there could be a race in which every single one of them was runway-model gorgeous.

  Colleen had told Paul ordinary Court fashion could apparently be somewhat casual, more like conservative business attire, though the style might be from any of a dozen centuries, depending upon the whim of the wearer. But now, in the full regalia of the formal Seelie Court, the women all wore floor length gowns of embroidered brocade silk in a riot of colors, most cut low with a polite but enticing bit of cleavage visible, their hair arranged carefully atop their heads, studded with precious stones and flowers and ribbons. The men tended toward pants and waistcoats with high collars in an almost nineteenth century style.

  Dergindaal stopped about ten feet short of the first step on the dais, dropped to one knee, bowed and looked up to the Queen. Magreth stood above him haughtily, green eyes that sparkled like emeralds looking down upon him, flame red hair disturbed slightly by a non-existent breeze. Strange little shadows danced about her head as she looked from Dergindaal to Colleen, to McGowan, then finally Paul. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, met her gaze squarely, and flames danced in her eyes.

  “Your Majesty,” Dergindaal said, his voice resonating throughout the hall.

  She didn’t look away from Paul as she said, “Thank you, my dear Captain, for bringing the Old Wizard safely into my presence. You are free to go about your own affairs now, though I always find it a comfort to have you near.”

  Dergindaal stood, bowed from the waist. “I shall remain so, Your Majesty,” he said and stepped to one side.

  She finally looked away from Paul and looked at McGowan. “Old Wizard,” she said and nodded toward Devoe. “I see you brought your weapon.”

  McGowan smiled. “He and I have worked together for a long time. He can be of considerable aid when the situation gets interesting.”

  The flames in her eyes disappeared and were replaced by a glint, as if laughing at some inner joke. “Old Wizard, life is always interesting when you’re involved.”

  McGowan bowed from the waist. “Your Majesty,” he said. He had warned Paul that since they were not her subjects, they should not bend the knee. But a deep, formal bow, eyes down, was appropriate. And to everyone else, he’d warned Paul, don’t bow as deeply as you do to the Summer Queen.

  “Old Wizard, you attract chaos as a flower attracts bees.”

  “The chaos is merely as circumstance dictates, Your Majesty.”

  McGowan turned back to Colleen, and Paul stepped aside as she stepped between them. “You know the Lady Armaugh, I believe.”

  Colleen curtsied deeply, bowed her head, then rose.

  Magreth’s smile warmed. “It pleases me greatly that you chose to accompany the old man.”

  Colleen said, “I try to abate some of the chaos that, as you so correctly pointed out, seems to always accompany him.”

  Magreth
chuckled. “We all thank you for that.”

  Jim’Jiminie and Boo’Diddle burst between Colleen and Paul, rushed up the dais to Magreth, shouting, “Magreth. Magreth,” like little children, all sense of decorum completely forgotten. She actually smiled, something Paul hadn’t thought possible. McGowan had warned him leprechauns were horrible at formality, but tolerated just as one might accept the eccentricities of a favored child. At the top of the dais, both attempted to bow formally, doffed their hats and kissed Magreth on the hand. Boo’Diddle then tackled Jim’Jiminie, and they rolled down the steps of the dais, wrestling all the way.

  Magreth turned her eyes on Paul; the smile disappeared, and the warmth in the room went with it. “And this must be the young mage I’ve heard so much about. The necromancer.”

  Colleen took a step back, a dance they’d carefully orchestrated beforehand. McGowan said, “Your Majesty, may I present my apprentice, Paul Conklin?”

  McGowan had warned him they all knew his name, but it gave them no power over him unless he gave it to them himself. Paul bowed deeply, said only, “Your Majesty.” He straightened, and as he’d been taught, waited for her to speak to him first.

  “So, young man,” Magreth said, and again the look on her face and the tone of her voice could have chilled a hot, summer day, “this is your first visit to Court. What think you?”

  McGowan had told him the Sidhe loved flattery. “The beauty and majesty of the Seelie Court is incredible,” Paul said, “or so I thought until I set eyes upon you, Your Majesty, and I now know that all else pales in comparison.”

  She smiled just a little, as if the smile had forced itself upon her, looked at Colleen. “Lady Armaugh, does the young mage speak with the tongue of the emerald lands?”

  Colleen chuckled. “No, Your Majesty, he does not hale from Ireland. And no, I believe he speaks from his heart. He’s much too serious a young mage to speak the blarney.”

  “Well that is a shame,” Magreth said, and the chill in her voice warmed slightly. “Perhaps the Seelie Court can teach him to take more joy in life.”