by Ben Meeks
The giant toad lowered his head, putting one of his electrically charged eyes in front of me.
That was a good point. He couldn’t exactly go anywhere or even move around that much without risking busting the veil wide open. It must be a miserable existence. “Any other tips for me?”
The blind faith in Thera didn’t surprise me but I wasn’t sure putting trust in someone who was prepared to kill all of us to suit her own needs was wise. I started to compile a list of the things I was good at. I was a great swimmer but demons avoid water like the plague so I probably wouldn’t talk Petra into an eight hundred meter freestyle to settle this. My claws had already proved to be useless. With Otis’s help I’d managed to arrange some form of cooperation between almost everyone in the region but I couldn’t cooperate Petra to death, or could I?
“I’m going to go fight the demon again. If I lose, she will come for Naylet,” I said. “Will you protect her for me?”
“Thanks, Walasi. I need to check on Holt. I will talk to you again soon,” I said.
I stuck my head in the tent to test the waters before diving in. Holt lay on the cot from Livy’s house and she sat on a stool beside him, putting a reddish liquid into his mouth one drop at a time.
“In or out,” she said, still annoyed. “You’re going to let the bugs in.”
It seemed safe enough so I stepped into the tent and closed the flap behind me. “How’s he doing?”
“Too early to tell. He’s a tough one, that’s for sure, but those snakes you brought me had started to turn,” she said, motioning with her head to the bag in the corner. “They’re stinking up the place good and I don’t think the antivenom is quite as strong as it could be.”
“I’ll get rid of those,” I said, picking up the bag to dispose of later.
“I’ve got a couple vials sitting on top of my kit there in the corner. Two doses of antivenom. It’s better to take it right before you get bit, but we won’t know how well it will work until we see how Holt responds, so it’s probably best to not get bit at all if you can help it.”
“That is the idea,” I said. “Do you need anything before I head out?”
“You just got here. Where are you running off to so soon?”
“I got to get back to work,” I said. “No rest for the wicked, right?”
“Be careful out there,” she said, methodically administering the antivenom.
“I will, I promise,” I said.
When I made it back outside Walasi had disappeared into the mountainside. He blended in completely, his rock skin the perfect camouflage.
Cearbhall looked up from the fire when I came out of the tent. “Ready to go?”
“I was planning to go alone. Did you want to come?” I asked.
“There’s nothing for me to do here and you might need my help. When was the last time we visited a museum anyway?” he asked, getting up from his seat.
“First time for everything.”
C H A P T E R • 21
“I’m not interested in meeting on her terms,” Cearbhall said, eyeballing the area. “We need to find out where she’s staying now and catch her off guard. Put an end to this before it gets any more out of hand. I don’t like this.”
The Museum of Contemporary Art of Georgia was tucked down a side street on the north side of Atlanta behind a collection of shops and an electrical substation. It wasn’t a high traffic area and it was easy to see why Cearbhall was concerned. For a city, it was about as secluded as a place could get. The empty parking lot gave away that they must not get a lot of business in the middle of the day, heightening the sense of seclusion.
“It will be okay,” I said, turning off the engine. “I don’t think she will try anything.”
“What makes you so sure?” he asked.
“I’m not sure at all,” I said. “Petra is unpredictable at best. There’s no telling how many people she has rattling around in her head. The thing is, one of those people is Naylet. I don’t know if she is actively conscious in there of if it’s more that they merged, but either way she’s in there and I have to believe that counts for something. I don’t think Petra will try anything here.”
He shot me a look from the passenger seat. “Am I talking to myself here? It’s a bad idea.”
“I hear you. I have no intention of meeting on her terms, but I gave my word and I intend to honor it,” I said. “Besides, our best chance of finding her is to play along for now.”
He chuckled to himself at my statement. “You gave your word to a demon, and you intend to honor it?”
“Doesn’t matter who I gave it to, my word is good,” I said, getting out of the truck.
“That’s very principled. What idiot taught you that?” he asked.
I leaned against the door and spoke to him through the window. “You did,” I said.
He cocked his head to the side in fake contemplation. “Hmm, doesn’t sound like me.”
“It was a long time ago,” I said. “You coming?”
“No, art isn’t my thing.”
The building was unremarkable from the outside, it looked like an industrial building, except for the large triangular awning over the steps leading up to the front door. Well-kept bushes planted on either side of the steps, combined with the awning, went a long way to give it a classy feel otherwise absent in the surrounding area.
Part of me was glad Cearbhall decided to wait in the car. If he went inside there’s a good chance things would devolve quickly—he’s not always good with tact. I had spent a lot of time thinking on the way down on how to handle this. I thought about both of us going in and taking our chances. Maybe we could kill her right here and be done with it. Then again, she could have a building full of demons waiting to eat us alive. Petra seemed to be sincere in her invitation, so maybe it would turn out all right.
Going through the glass doors at the top of the steps, I followed the signs in the hallway around to the entrance to the museum. I found the entrance to my left and went in. A young lady behind a counter, seeming bored, stopped typing to greet me. I paid the admission fee and listened to the spiel about the different exhibits. The last one she described caught my attention.
“In the back is our most recent addition, a selection of sculptures by Petra Von Thelan,” she said. “The artist is on site today.”
“That’s what I came to see,” I said. “Tell me the truth, what do you think about it?”
She looked past me to make sure the coast was clear. She whispered, “Honestly, it gives me the creeps. It’s a little too real for my taste, but it’s very well done.”
I thanked her and headed to the back. It was an open floorplan; most of the building was empty space. The floors were concrete painted in a splotchy brown. The walls were beige with pieces hanging every few feet with little tags describing the work. The ceiling was unfinished with pipes and beams visible but everything painted white, giving it a sophisticated industrial vibe. I heard the clicking of heels echoing from the other room. As I rounded the corner I found its source: Petra walking in my direction. She looked human again, no doubt an illusion. She smiled as she walked over to me, her head wrapped in the scarf like a cancer patient, and looking genuinely happy to see me.
“I thought I heard you, I’m so glad you could make it. I’m excited to show you my work. I think you’ll like it,” she said, opening her arms as if she was going to hug me.
I held my hand out to stop her and said, “I found Candice.”
“You knew she wasn’t going to get out of this alive. Don’t be mad at me about that, Obie, it will make me think you aren’t happy to see me. Besides, I have kept my end, haven’t I? That Candice business was before our agreement.”
I would have to play along. If I didn’t I couldn’t get her where I wanted her. “Actually, she survived. De
finitely worse for the wear, but still with us.”
“You didn’t kill her? Wouldn’t that have been the humane thing to do? I mean, the way her eye popped out I doubt she will ever look right again.” She laughed. “She’s tougher than she looks, I’ll give her that.”
Bitch.
“Are you going to show me around?” I asked, extending my arm and smiling through the disgust.
She beamed and wrapped her arm around mine. We walked to her exhibit arm in arm, which made my stomach turn. The exhibit consisted of four adults with six babies in front of them. The layout reminded me of an apocalyptic nativity scene, with five too many baby Jesuses. A closer look of the horror on their faces and I understood why the receptionist didn’t care for the exhibit. I wondered how she would feel if she knew these used to be living people, locked forever in their last moment of agony.
“They are all wonderful, Obie, but this is the one I really want you to meet. His name is Titus Ovidius Malleolus. He was a sculptor outside of Rome many years ago. So skilled and so passionate, and very attractive, don’t you think?” she said. She paused for my input.
His face was frozen in a scream, with his hands gripping at his chest as if he were still alive in the stone and was trying to tear himself out of it. I cocked my head to one side, inspecting his tormented features. “He’s all right, I guess.”
“Yes, quite all right indeed. I couldn’t resist having him. He is one of my favorite companions. I’ve used his passion ever since, all the way to my current masterpieces like baby Stephanie here,” she said, running a hand over the baby on the far right. “I used that passion in creating my most recent work, Naylet, who I hold as important to me as Titus. She is just as remarkable and has shown me so much. Having her away from me has forced me to use my passion in other ways, like the message I made out of sweet Candice Heck.” Her voice took on a decidedly darker tone. “I hope that you are receiving that message, Obie, because the truth is, all this is to say that you shouldn’t fuck with me.”
This was becoming more confrontational than I was hoping for. I thought for a moment, what would I say to Naylet in this situation? I couldn’t quite come up with it so I went for sarcasm instead. “Ladies and their drama. Is all that necessary? We were getting along so well.”
She glared at me through squinted eyes. Her gaze softened and she smiled before saying, “Obie, I wish things had worked out differently between us. I just hate that I have to kill you.”
“And I hate to have to die,” I said. Looked like the honeymoon was over already. “Are you ready to talk business?’
“I’m listening,” she said.
“It simple really, you fight Cearbhall and I, to the death. Winner take all. You win, and you get Naylet, we win, and we get your grimoire,” I said.
She considered it for a moment. “And where would this fight take place?”
“Browns Bridge outside of Gainesville. Meet us on the bridge at ten PM sharp,” I said.
“Why a bridge?” she said suspiciously.
“I know some people that can shut down the road. It will give us a nice private place to resolve our problem.”
She smiled. “And no weapons?”
“No weapons. Just the three of us fighting until someone wins,” I replied.
As she pondered my offer, she walked back to her statues. She moved among them, putting her hand on the shoulder of one, touching the face of another. I guessed that she was drawing on their experiences. Again I wondered if the people she absorbed were trapped in her, still conscious but disembodied. Was she actually speaking to them in there, or just running through lifetimes of memories to come to the best conclusion?
“How do I know I can trust you, Obie? What assurance do I have that this isn’t a trick?” she asked, turning to face me.
“I give you my word as a gentleman,” I replied using the same words I used with Naylet in hopes that it jogged some sentiment inside her. “If you agree and can beat Cearbhall and I, you will get what you’re looking for.”
“If that’s the best you can do . . .” She trailed off with a distant look as if she was trying to remember something, before coming back to the present and saying, “Agreed.”
“All right, then I will see you tomorrow at ten,” I said, turning for the door.
“Obie,” she called after me.
I turned around to see what she wanted. “Yeah?”
“It’s a date,” she said with a smile and a wink.
Back at the truck, Cearbhall was sitting on the tailgate. “Well,” he said when I came outside.
“It’s on, tomorrow night at ten,” I said.
We got in the truck. Before I could start it he said, “What’s the plan?”
“First we need some help. I’ll drop you off at the clubhouse. I need you to get Hank and have him meet me at ground zero, bottom level. I will explain everything when I get there,” I said.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I have some other friends to talk to,” I said.
C H A P T E R • 22
It’s not hard to find elves, if elves are all you’re looking for. All you have to do is take a drive into the Elvin Nation, the area covering northernmost Georgia and part of Tennessee sharing a border almost exactly with the Chattahoochee National Forest. The royal court, on the other hand, can be hard to track down. I’m not sure if it’s paranoia from the strained relations with the T.O., or if the Queen just prefers a more mobile lifestyle. Whatever the cause, the court was never in the same place for more than a few days and there was no way to tell where it would be at any given time. The only way to find her highness was to go through an elf with connections. Luckily for me, there are outposts set up on the edges of their territory to accommodate these kinds of requests. The southernmost outpost sat in the mountains just north of Dahlonega.
I pulled up a winding mountain road, barely more than a horse trail, that snaked around the mountain to the outpost on top. I drove slowly, the truck lurching into the potholes and over the occasional root. I think they kept the road in such poor shape to deter visitors, as if their general dispositions didn’t do an adequate job already. A little over halfway up I came to a small security building that looked wholly out of place in the middle of the woods. A barricade with a stop sign blocked the road. It was undoubtedly excessive, one of those things I thought the Queen did more for show than anything else. The elves didn’t get many visitors as far as I knew, and someone would have to be plumb crazy to attack them outright.
An elf stepped out of the building, taking a tactical position as I rolled to a stop in front of the barricade. Her sleeves rolled up, hands resting on the rifle attached to the harness on her vest. Her golden hair pulled back, proudly showing her pointed ears. She stood sleek and muscular, form filling the camouflage uniform exquisitely. I could see the silhouette of another elf behind the tinted glass of the security building, probably watching the feed from the camera focused on me from the roof. A window slid open, revealing the second elf, looking very much like the first except for her hair hanging lazily about her face.
She addressed me without looking up from whatever had her attention. “What’s your business?”
“I am Obie, Keeper of Thera. I need to speak with the Queen regarding a threat to the Elvin Nation,” I said.
The elf looked up, brushing her hair aside to see me clearly. Her eyes went wide, and she slammed the glass closed. The first elf stared at me as I sat there with the truck idling, not moving a muscle. I gave her a friendly nod and smile; she didn’t return the gesture. I was just starting to think I should have brought a book or some Sudoku when the elf stepped out of the building and up to my window.
“We need to search the car. Please step out,” she said.
“Do we really have to go through all that?” I asked.
She gave me a grin. “Only if you want to get in.”
I did in fact want to get in, so I got out. I was frisked, and a pretty thorough job w
as done searching the car, even going so far as to take a mirror and looked underneath for explosives. They confiscated my kit from behind the seat but otherwise I made it through unscathed.
“We will keep this at the checkpoint. You’ll get it back when you leave,” she said, walking my bag into the building.
I nodded and got back in the truck. They slid the barricade open allowing me to continue to the compound. The road corkscrewed around the mountain, ending at a huge octagon shaped house. Three stories tall with the entire top story being mostly windows. Three large wraparound porches encircled each story, giving quick access to any side of the house. There were a few vehicles in a paved parking area in front. I put my car in line with the rest and got out to see Harlan coming down the stairs to meet me. He wore black fatigues instead of the camo like the ladies at the checkpoint, with a loose fitting beanie covering his head. His blond hair, also as long as the ladies, stuck out in places making him look like a military hipster. He was the Queen’s son but, being male, was forbidden from serving in the Nations Army. Being that the Elvin males were smaller and weaker in stature, the Queen deemed them insufficient. Many were put to work as servants. Harlan, due to his birthright, achieved as much as an Elvin male could hope for.
“Obie, it’s good to see you. What have you been up to?” he said, extending a hand.
I shook it. “Oh, you know, life of a Keeper, it’s all glamour and women. What are you doing here?”
“I run the outpost now. It’s nothing to be excited about, just something to keep me away from my mother’s ears. Wouldn’t want my presence to remind her of what a constant embarrassment I am,” he said.
“She must think highly of you to put you in charge here, protecting the border with the T.O.? That’s a big job,” I said.
“I wouldn’t call protecting a border from a conflict that only lives in the minds of the elders a big job. Nothing ever happens here and even if it did, the guard could handle it without me. Hell, they already do it without me. I’m just here to greet guests and make them feel special to be greeted by the Queen’s son. So I hope you feel important or I’ve failed in my duties.”
