Once a Fae

by Tom Keller

  I put the key in the gate's lock and turned it a full circle until I heard the lock cycle, then pushed on the two doors. The thick doors glided easily to the fully open position. Inside was a hard packed red crushed gravel driveway that led to an exterior garage. I stepped inside and looked around. The gate and driveway were on the far side of the property and I had to walk around the open gate to see the house and grounds. Huh, I thought. Robert may not use magic at home, but it certainly seems like it's being used here. The yard was well landscaped and large trees hid much of the wall. There were several rows of bushes and flowers all surrounded by a lush freshly cut lawn. There was a large fountain made of white stone in the center of the yard with water cascading over the sides until it met a large pool at the base which helped cool the place. From there, a path led from the front to the back and around the yard. I suppose there could be a caretaker that kept the place up. It would cost a fortune but it was possible. Personally, I suspected Garden Faeries. Of course, if they were here, they'd made themselves scarce, and being human I'd never see them unless they wanted me to. Then again, if they thought I was the other Robert, who knew what they were expecting. I suppose I could cheat and use one of my work tools to see if they were here, but that would take all the fun out of it. I went back to my car and drove through the gates, getting out and closing them behind me so I could continue to investigate the place in private.

  I decided to take a systematic approach in how I was going to check things out so I figured I might as well start out with the garage. I walked over and pulled open the door. Well, well. What are you doing here? I asked myself as I placed my hand on the hood of the '57 Corvette. Except for the plates, which weren't personalized like mine were, it looked exactly like the one Gaea had given me. Go figure. I opened the driver's side door and got in, pulling the ring of keys out of my pocket as I eased into the driver's seat. Unfortunately, it wasn't here. I checked the glovebox. Sure as shit, the key was inside, along with an old registration showing it'd probably been a few years since he'd driven it.

  What the hell, dude? Where did you get this and why would you leave it out here all by its lonesome? I ran my hand over the leather passenger seat before getting back out. I'll admit, his personal car was a nice ride, but we were gonna have a serious discussion about owning a classic if I ever met my doppelganger in person.

  Next to that was another classic. This one was a green Willy's Jeep Utility Wagon with knobby tires. The old school equivalent of an SUV. Like the Vette, this one was a museum piece too, although not as noticeable. I found the keys in the visor. Either Robert had one hell of a mechanic hidden away somewhere or there was a touch of magic in use, I didn’t even have to pull the choke to get it to start up. Unlike the Vette, the interior was spartan as hell, but for travel in the off-road desert, this would probably do just fine. Of course, you might have to hold on to something if it got bumpy, the vehicle didn’t have seatbelts.

  The rest of the yard was as manicured as the front. The large wooden covered patio and pool old style coping looked as new as if they had been built yesterday. The flowers and bushes that grew all around had the grounds looking like they belonged anywhere but the middle of the desert. There was also a garden, with fresh tomatoes and vegetables that looked eerily familiar to the ones you would find in my own backyard. I knelt down and pulled a cherry tomato from the vine. It burst as I bit into it and I savored the flavor as I wiped a few seeds from my lips. No doubt about it, this was the work of Garden Faeries. I knew it! I stood up and looked around the grounds. Why would anyone let this place stay empty? Just what are you running from Robert?

  I walked toward the far end and saw that the trees were set back from the outer wall about eight feet. These were pines and ash, there were no oaks here, with the spacing between them allowing for privacy but still gave a person on the second-floor balcony of the house a view of the city to the front and mountains behind. As to the wall itself, the arrow slits were evenly spaced along the entire perimeter with an offset series of blocks about three feet up that one could stand on to look through, or fire a weapon at an enemy, for that matter. I had to shake my head at what it all meant as I made my way on the crushed gravel path that led back to the front of the house.

  I passed through one of the arches that led into a small courtyard and then walked up the stones steps and stopped at the double doors. They were made of solid wood with a latch type handle and a separate lock. I pulled out the keychain and found the one that fit, twisting it and pulling down on the latch to get it open. If there were wards protecting the place, they either were turned off or recognized me, so I stepped inside to look around. There was a hallway that led toward the back with a living room and dining area immediately inside.

  The place had a European flavor to it, with a large leather couch and chairs. Everything looked antique, the coffee table had lion's feet and several of the chairs had a lion's head at the end of each arm. The dining room table and chairs were solid wood, heavy, but elegant and comfortable looking. I walked into the living room, stopping in front of the fireplace. For the most part, the walls were empty, but I could tell that pictures had been hung at one time. Above the wooden mantle, one painting remained. I'd never seen it before and my heart skipped a beat as I stared up at it.

  The painting depicted my grandmother and grandfather in front of a fireplace. She was sitting in a chair not unlike one in the room, wearing some type of riding outfit. My grandfather stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. But that's not what interested me. What did was the large dog on his other side. It looked like Charlie, or was it? The markings on his face were similar enough, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Whatever the case, it was close enough to make me remember how much I missed the big dog.

  I shook it off and explored the rest of the downstairs. It seemed obvious that no one lived here as all the knick-knacks had been removed along with the paintings and pictures. But everything else was clean and there wasn't a speck of dust on any of the surfaces. There was a modern kitchen and a family room with more comfortable furniture and on the other end, a closed door. That one led to an office that featured a huge desk with a bookcase behind it that took up the entire wall. Because most of the books looked old, I decided to save it for later. I wanted to see what else was here before I got sidetracked.

  I took the circular staircase I'd passed in the hall up to the second floor. The master suite was to the left and took up a good third of the second floor. A four poster bed and sitting area were to one side as I walked in, the bathroom with a huge clawfoot tub and large separate shower was on the other. Checking out the walk-in closet, I noticed that it was empty. I went back through the bedroom and walked out through another set of double doors to a large patio that encircled the entire top floor. As I'd noted earlier, from here you had a bird's eye view of the area around the house as well as the city to the front and the mountains to the rear. I had to imagine that the view at night must be spectacular, as long as you weren't thinking about armed attackers, of course

  I went back in and moved to the bedroom across the way. This one must have been Roberts at one time. Although the walls were as bare as downstairs, it just felt like his. The room had a masculine feel but the box with several old books, stuffed with authors like Tolkien and TR Harris was a dead giveaway. I'd read their works myself when I was younger. Working my way to the back of the house I found more empty rooms, that is until I walked into the one directly behind the master. Now I knew where everything that seemed missing in the house was stored.

  Paintings were stacked against the walls and there were boxes of pictures, both framed and unframed on the floor. There was also a box of knick-knacks and several statues on the floor. I'd seen some of this stuff before, including one bronze of a naked man that was supposed to depict what the perfect male physique looked like. There was also the painting of a schooner fighting the waves off the island of Crete. My own grandmother had brought those and several of the others I recogn
ized to the States with her when she'd moved here.

  A chill went down my back as I knelt and started going through the pictures. Most of them were of Robert when he was younger. The kind you'd find in frames around the house or maybe on the refrigerator door. There's something crazily wrong with seeing pictures of yourself in places and backgrounds that you knew you'd never been to. That's what I was seeing here. Even the ones that looked familiar were different. Graduation pics from high school, college, the police academy... There were also several of me in my army uniform, including a few sitting around a table with other soldiers. I only recognized one other person in those. That was Michael from the Neptune. I hadn’t known we'd served together. Then again, that hadn’t happened in my world so why would I? I stood up and arched my back. I'd had enough of this. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but without context, sometimes all you get are scrambled letters. I stuffed a couple of loose pics I wanted to look at again in my back pocket and then headed downstairs.

  What the…? I asked myself as I pulled an old volume from the bookshelf behind the desk in the office downstairs. It was a book dating back from the 1600s written by one Sebastian Michaelis, a Grand Inquisitor with the French Inquisition. Perusing the shelves I found more books on Witch and Demon hunting, many more. Almost everything here was related to Witches or Demons in one way or another. There was Binsfields' Treatise on the Confessions of Evildoers and Witches, Remy's Demonolatry, and a host of others including general texts on Demons as well as a copy of the Codex Gigus, also known as the Devil's Bible and Johann Weyer's Praestigiis Daemonum. There were some I'd never seen or heard of before. A lot were written in old German script and even I had a hard time deciphering the titles. To make matters even more interesting, almost all were old and worn, as if they'd been much more than just displayed. Well… Robert did kill Demons for a living, but if he'd used these for work, why were they here instead of at his house downtown? I stepped back and scratched my head; something wasn't adding up here. I looked around the room and took another step back. That wasn't the only thing that wasn't adding up, but it took me a minute to figure out what I was seeing.

  The room didn’t look right. It was off somehow. It almost seemed like it was too small. That had to be it. I left the room and paced out the family room, then did the same in the office. It was a little over three feet too short. Examining the edges of the middle bookshelves, I searched for a latch or something that I thought might be there. I eventually found it behind an old German book of the Hermetic Arts. The wood behind it was slightly discolored and when I pushed against it, it slid open to reveal a circular metal ring. I pulled the ring and the entire center bookshelf rolled forward. Pulling it out the rest of the way and swinging it open I saw that it led into a small vestibule. As I stepped in I saw the staircase that led down to a hidden basement. Not finding a light switch, but not willing to go back and grab a flashlight from my car, I carefully made my way down and into the dark.

  I almost banged into the wall when the stairway made an abrupt turn. Continuing further down, I tripped on the last step, stumbling and hitting the light switch as I tried to regain my balance. There was a moment of confusion as the bright lights went on, then my jaw dropped. Holy shit! They'd hidden an armory under the house! But it wasn't just an armory. It was a Demon slayer's paradise.

  The walls were covered with shelves containing all sorts of implements. There were swords, guns, and other weapons of every type imaginable. Manikins were draped with various types of clothing and leather armor and harnesses. A large table in the center of the room held tools used to modify what was here, including books of spells and weapon making. Many of the items, including a signet ring made of what looked to be gold, bore the same symbol. It was an upright pentagram inside of a circle. In the center of the first pentagram was another, also within a circle. Except for reminding me of a badge, I guess it wasn't that unusual if it were some kind of mark to signify Demon Hunters. Pentagrams and hexagrams had been used as a symbol of protection against Demons as far back as the Seal of Solomon, and most of this stuff wasn't new. Some of it dated back multiple centuries.

  Picking a random shelf, I opened a wooden carrying case to find a vest type harness folded up inside. I pulled it out and laid it on the table in the center of the room. It was crafted of Fae leather, with an assortment of throwing knives kept in slits down the front and sides. I pulled one out to examine it. It was made of simple iron engraved with religious symbols, with a blade shaped almost like a wedged arrowhead.

  This was old school tech, and nasty. Each blade was one-time use. The iron was fragile between the handle and the blade. Designed that way so that it would be weakened as it was pulled and thrown and then break off when trying to remove it from the body. There's an old wives' tale about the ability of iron to instantly kill some Demons and Fae. While it's true that iron can hurt them, it's not like it makes them explode or anything. With knives like these, if you didn’t throw a headshot or hit a vital organ, the magic infused within the iron poisoned them and kept the wound from closing. In addition to slowing them down, it also greatly affected their magical powers. Aside from killing, a weapon like this was designed to reduce the fighting ability of your enemy, requiring the injured to seek help from others. If you were tracking a single enemy, it made them easier to stalk if you didn’t get a kill shot on the first throw. Like I said, it was a nasty weapon. These days, iron was only one of many metals used in anti-magic weaponry. I placed the harness back in its case and continued to examine the rest of the room.

  Based on the gun collection, I was guessing that nothing new had been added here in quite a while. New meaning in the last 20 or 30 years. The M-16s on the shelf still carried the old iron sights without the slide rail found on the more modern versions of the weapon. Although a few of the sniper rifles were of a military version I knew had been developed in the '80s. There were also a variety of silencers and suppressors, some accompanied by magazines of what purported to be specific magical loads, each custom made and labeled for various weapons. The age of the guns didn’t bother me, I preferred the stuff I'd grown up with. Call me old-fashioned, but this was shit I could operate. Besides, everything here was in perfect condition, well-oiled and looking like it was manufactured yesterday.

  I moved to the sword wall and then found a shelf with small glass objects the size of golf balls that had been placed in egg carton like racks on the shelves. I picked up a few and examined them. They were like giant clear glass marbles with deep colored centers that came in a variety of colors In front of these were two mannikins with Fae leather vests that had open pouches sewn into them that would allow them to be carried securely. Only one would have fit me, the other was cut more to a woman's size. There were also several suits of Fae armor in assorted sizes. Where had all this come from?

  I didn’t wonder for long who they had belonged to. Leaning against the shelf next to me were several more paintings. The top one was of a very young looking woman astride a horse on a woodland path. It was an image of my grandmother. This time she was alone, wearing leather armor and cutting through Demons that stood in her way with a flaming sword. The sword carried the same dual pentagram symbol on its pommel. I picked up the smaller vest and held it close to me as I leaned back and laughed. You gotta be kidding me Gaea! No wonder Robert had been so good at hunting Demons. He'd learned it all from her. On this world, she'd been a Demon slayer long before he was born!

  Of course, in my world, my own grandmother had been a Queen of the Fae. But I had only learned that later. All I knew then was that she'd given up a lot to raise me and that she was as tough as they came. But my own memories of her were more of the loving type. Bandaging a skinned knee or baking cookies and putting food on the table that was all made from scratch. Still, she'd been the strongest woman I'd ever known, and although I'd never seen her wield a sword, I'd seen what she could do with a cane, although that's a story for another day.

  All that aside,
I realized there was enough magical and anti-magical ordinance in this room to start a war. Which was something I really hoped Gaea didn’t want me to do. I slumped down on the floor next to the painting. I needed to think about this. Okay, so my grandmother hunted Demons. Still, none of the articles I'd read mentioned anything more than her being a philanthropist from an aristocratic family. Yet here I was sitting in a Demon Hunter's personal weapons room. One which, I might add, her grandson, who I knew was a Demon Hunter, apparently seldom visited, yet kept available enough munitions to equip a small army.

  Robert, Robert, what the hell is going on here? Did anyone else here know what she was? Probably not, I thought to myself. At least not as far as saying it would have been general knowledge. Chances are she'd hunted more than Demons in her day, especially in Europe. Faeries weren't always considered friendly and there were plenty of references to them as being evil in old manuscripts. Which might explain the fortress she'd built, although she'd clearly not felt that way about the majority of the Fae. If she had, she would never have stayed here to raise me, at least I didn’t think she would have. Besides, if she hated them all, there'd be no Garden Faeries, and I was still betting they were hiding in the yard.