Lonesome Paladin

by S. M. Reine

  “The gods are dead,” Lincoln said.

  He dropped those four words to make spectacular silence.

  The iron stove expanded with the heat of its fire, ticking softly.

  Cèsar looked between them, Lincoln and Sophie. There was fresh tension in the air.

  “I mean, yes,” Sophie said after a long moment. “Of course the last pantheon is dead. But the new gods are bound by similar rules and will be similarly difficult to predict by the nature of omnipotence in this world.”

  Lincoln finally pulled out his chair and sat down. “How do you know there are old gods and new gods?”

  “Ooh.” Sophie smiled at them over the rim of her teacup. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Not terribly. Rules are rules, though! How do you two feel? Are you a little more settled in now?”

  “We’re not here to settle,” Lincoln said.

  “The operation trying to build a base here seems to argue with that. I’ve been watching their attempts for days.” She exhaled, drooped against the table. Regret darkened her eyes. “I should have been watching closer. I missed when the doppelgängers attacked. Those are the particular breed of sidhe that killed them: doppelgängers, who acquire the visage of their victims.”

  “Seems that we should be thankful you watched when you did today.” Cèsar emptied his teacup and held it up. “More?”

  “Of course.” She poured steaming water for him.

  “We didn’t start out coming here to rescue you, but I think we should,” Cèsar said. “We can use the cabin, and you can return to Earth. I’m sure there are people missing you.”

  Sophie’s shoulders tightened. “No.”

  “No family?”

  “No, you can’t use the cabin,” she said. “I was put here for a reason. Further, as you weren’t sent by Omar, I will not leave the Summer Court with you. Also, I will not tell you who Omar is, just as I will not tell you why I know so much about the gods, and you will nonetheless show me proper respect and gratitude for choosing to share what I already have.” Her eyes caught on Lincoln’s face, and she got thoughtful. “Unless...hmm.”

  She reached across the table to touch Lincoln’s face. He recoiled, but she seemed totally unaware of his reaction. Her fingertips traveled over his cheekbones to his temples, and then she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead as if to check for a fever.

  Lincoln looked to be thinking about decking her.

  Cèsar said, “Ma’am, I think you should back off.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She’d already withdrawn and fluttered away. “Just had to determine something.” Sophie gathered the teacups, taking them to a basin with a couple inches of murky water at the bottom.

  Lincoln glared murder at her back as she scrubbed the cups clean.

  They might not have overstayed their welcome with Sophie Keyes, but Lincoln was gonna pop long before Cèsar’s magic at this rate.

  “We’ve gotta find Alfheimr,” Cèsar said. “Thanks for the tea.”

  Sophie dropped her dishes into the basin. “I’ll come. I can show you how to reach the fae city.”

  “You just said you’re not leaving,” Cèsar said.

  “Not the Middle Worlds, no. But I do believe I’m specifically here for a reason.” She was staring at Lincoln with laser-sharp focus. “You need me. I’m going to get you both to Alfheimr.”

  While Sophie prepared for their travels, Lincoln stepped outside. The forest appeared normal to an unsettling degree. The wards on his jacket were working.

  The hill sloped down to the redoubt and sharply upward in the opposite direction. He trudged higher to get a better view of the valley, his wary eyes on the trees. When he looked at them directly, they were normal. Out the corners of his eyes, they seethed.

  He was nearing the upper ridge when he felt the humming. It shook against his ribcage, lodged on the inside parts near his heart.

  Lincoln massaged the heel of his palm into his breast as he turned, searching for the source of the vibration.

  A narrow column appeared between two trees. It was a rock. A tall, lonely rock right at the apex of the ridge. For some reason it was vibrating. And for some reason, Lincoln couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

  He knew that rock from...somewhere.

  Or something inside of him knew that rock.

  “That’s the Destiny Stone,” Sophie said, stepping up beside him.

  Lincoln snapped out of his reverie to give her a disbelieving look. “It’s what?”

  “Lia Fáil. Gaelic for Destiny Stone.” She had pulled her braids back into a wrap and carried an enormous backpack. “Iterations of it have appeared throughout each genesis.”

  “What is it?” Lincoln asked.

  “In this context, it demarcates the boundary line between the Summer and Autumn Courts, so I don’t advise stepping beyond unless you’d like to risk tripping into another of the Middle Worlds,” Sophie said. “The Veil is unpleasant for mortals to pass through unprepared.”

  “The Veil,” he echoed, turning back to look at the stone again.

  It was arched at the top, with a hole in the middle. When Lincoln looked through the hole, he saw dead trees on the other side. Shriveled golden leaves. Tangled vines growing squash.

  Lincoln felt cold looking through that hole. He made himself look away. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I am.” Her eyes skimmed over Lincoln. “Are you?”

  “You suggesting something?”

  “Not at all. It’s an idle question, which I understand to be a key element of small talk with strangers.”

  God, this lady was weird. “Is pawing a random guy’s face key to small talk too?”

  “I thought I saw something inside you,” Sophie said. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

  Shadows rippled beyond the hole. It looked an awful lot like Elise walking past the other side.

  Lincoln tensed.

  “What do you see?” Sophie asked. “You did see something, didn’t you?” There was no way she could know what Lincoln had been hallucinating.

  “Have you heard of NKF?” Lincoln asked.

  She tilted her head with curiosity. “NKF?”

  “A god in Alfheimr. At least, I’ve heard claims that the sidhe in Alfheimr have got a god in residency. Don’t understand the name myself. Not sure I put much stock in the rumors either.”

  “I’ve heard no such thing. I’ve yet to engage the sidhe in meaningful conversation, however. The nearest I’ve gotten is in fighting off any one of the Ard who attempts to invade my home.” There was too much intelligence in Sophie’s eyes. Felt like she could see right through Lincoln’s skin. “If this god named NKF is in Alfheimr, then what will you do when you find him?”

  The cabin door swung open below them. Cèsar stuck his head out to shout at them. “What are you guys doing? Daylight’s burning!”

  “I’m coming,” Lincoln called back.

  He didn’t have a choice.

  Sophie was still looking at him, seeing too much. And now she was smiling. Lincoln didn’t like how that felt at all.

  “I’m coming,” he said again, and he walked away from Sophie, trying to ignore the itching along his spine that said she somehow knew about Elise.

  CHAPTER 9

  Even though they’d left Earth in the middle of the night, it was soon sunset in the Summer Court. The runes on Cèsar jacket gleamed brighter at the sunset. Violet silk ribbons fluttered from a gemstone horizon, setting leaves on fire, turning dew to diamonds. Orchids breathed perfume as they opened to moonlight. It was the scent of a woman’s sweat at the cleft of her thighs lingering on Cèsar’s upper lip after a night of passion. It was the brine of the distant ocean.

  It was home.

  A shoulder slammed into Cèsar’s from behind, and he stumbled to alertness as Lincoln strode past.

  “Less staring, more moving,” the deputy said.

  Cèsar rubbed his shoulder as he followed. L
ingering iron burn meant it hurt, but he was grateful for the sharpness. For the focus.

  “I know of an excellent spot for us to camp tonight,” Sophie called. She was even further ahead than Lincoln, unbothered by the weight of her pack. “We’ve perhaps another hour to walk! Do try to keep up with me, lest we get separated in the confusion of twilight!”

  They’d already been keeping up with Sophie for a couple of hours, which was harder than it should have been. She never paused—not even to eat or drink—and that meant her pace was relentless despite the fact her legs were so short.

  “How long did you say we are from Alfheimr?” Lincoln asked.

  “The distance spans two days’ hiking from my cabin,” Sophie said. “We’ve already covered much ground, so it’s far less by now! You’re not getting tired, are you?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “We should keep going through the night. The faster we’re there, the faster you’re done with us.”

  She threw a grin over her shoulder. “And hurry to rid myself of the only companionship I’ve had for weeks? I think not!” Sophie sped even faster, to the point where Cèsar’s sludgy innards couldn’t work up the energy to keep pace.

  Lincoln lingered between the two of them. “You need a break, Hawke?”

  “I’m fine,” Cèsar said.

  This was a lie.

  Even if he hadn’t felt like his skin had caged an animal that was trying to shred him from the inside out, he wouldn’t have been fine.

  The long trudge through darkening forest was physically rigorous but mentally idle, giving him nothing to think about except Fritz on the ground, turning pale as Cèsar’s claws sank deeper into his chest. He kept getting surges of chilly-edged fever, and the responding blaze of light from the OPA runes was painful. Cèsar felt branded every time they restrained his sidhe magic anew.

  Control dangled on a thin wire, about to snap.

  “So what’s with you and Friederling?” Lincoln asked, as if he’d read Cèsar’s mind.

  Friederling.

  A warm summertime breeze brought the promising kiss of rain over his skin, slithering down the collar of his shirt. “You mean my boss? The guy who hired me to work for a government agency?”

  “Yeah. What else is up with you? I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “No, we were all born about a month ago,” Cèsar said, and then he laughed at his own joke. The forest laughed along with him.

  Lincoln didn’t think it was funny. Clearly he had a terrible sense of humor. “You guys are homosexuals, aren’t you?”

  Cèsar laughed again, and when Lincoln scowled harder, Cèsar could only keep laughing. “You ever met a kopis and aspis before?”

  “Sure,” Lincoln said, looking wary. “Kopides are demon hunters. Humans born extra-strong to fight preternatural bad guys. Aspides are witches who bond to them for protection.”

  “That’s what they used to be, yeah. Genesis wiped out kopides and aspides. Most kopides Rebirthed as mundane humans. Before Genesis, Fritz and I were kopis and aspis.”

  “So you are homosexual.” The word was venom on Lincoln’s lips.

  Cèsar felt that self-consciousness again. The awkwardness. Saying goodbye to Fritz with a warm embrace had felt natural at first—substituting physical closeness for the spiritual closeness that Genesis had taken from them. As soon as Lincoln had walked up, Cèsar had felt guilty, just like he did now.

  “Kopides and aspides aren’t always gay,” Cèsar said. “A kopis and aspis bond is more fatal than family, more permanent than marriage, closer than the oldest friends. It’s an unbreakable lifelong contract.” Or at least it used to be.

  “The kopis and aspis I knew were in love. Dangerously in love,” Lincoln said. “They just about destroyed the world whenever they got into fights.”

  “I’ve heard that happens with rogue kopides. The OPA never had problems with bonded pairs clashing, though. We were careful with the matchmaking process. Psych profiles, counseling, all that stuff. They picked the perfect pairs and it worked out fine. Me and Fritz, we worked out as well as anyone else.”

  “But you’re not Fritz’s aspis anymore,” Lincoln said.

  “He’s still my friend.” Cèsar swallowed to wet a throat gone desert-dry. “I do have a girlfriend.” He patted down his pockets and came up with a thin leather wallet, which had been in the bag packed for him.

  He flipped it open. Handed it to Lincoln.

  Cèsar’s pre-Genesis driver’s license was on one side. The other side was a picture of Cèsar, sweaty and laughing, in a UCLA tee. His arm was slung around a short woman.

  “That’s Suzy,” Cèsar said. “She used to be an OPA agent too, but she’s got an attitude problem. Didn’t fit in with them.”

  “She’s pretty.” Lincoln visibly relaxed at the sight of Cèsar with a woman instead of the secretary. The approval was as uncomfortable as the disapproval. “Too pretty for you.”

  “I agree. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  “Congrats.”

  “Don’t bother congratulating me yet,” Cèsar said, waving him off. “Suzy’ll reject me. She’s not the marrying type.”

  “Then why bother asking?”

  “Because I want to marry her,” he said. “Just want her to know that, I guess.”

  “I don’t know if that’s the nicest or most pathetic thing I’ve heard in my life,” Lincoln said.

  If Cèsar was pathetic for caring about Suzy, fine. He’d rather be pathetic than whatever Lincoln Marshall was. “What about you? Got someone special in your life?”

  “Yeah,” Lincoln said. “And no.”

  “Complicated?”

  “Something like that.” He took off his hat, scrubbed a hand through his hair, put it back. He pulled ahead to walk alongside Sophie, leaving Cèsar in back with the dragonflies and the music of sunset.

  Another hour of hiking passed without conversation.

  “This is it,” Sophie said eventually, stopping on the edge of a cliff.

  A river sprawled below them. The trees on the far banks were little more than ridged figures through the morganite fog fizzing over the water. Its shore was packed with reeds, oversized lily pads, and shells as big as Cèsar’s head. Diamond swans paddled in the shallows.

  “Where do we cross?” Lincoln asked.

  “Here,” Sophie said. “I’ve studied the full length of the river and this is the only place the sidhe have deemed safe to cross, and I trust the sidhe to know their territory best. Once we cross this river and go over that hill, we’ll find Alfheimr.”

  “Then let’s go.” Lincoln took off.

  She held up a hand to stop him. “We can’t cross the river when it’s dark, I’m afraid. The ferryman will return shortly after sunrise.”

  They weren’t far from the landing for the ferryboat on this side. It was connected to the opposite bank with a thick rope, where the boat itself was moored.

  “How have you been watching the ferry from your cabin?” Cèsar asked. They were a long way from her cozy cabin.

  “In the Middle Worlds, most reflective surfaces operate as scrying devices,” Sophie said. “I do it in pots of water. It’s a fun game to play, but difficult to control. Given the option, I’d prefer to watch more interesting sidhe than the ferryman, believe you me!” She laughed rudely, and then cut off quickly. “Not that I deliberately spy on anyone. I would never.”

  Cèsar couldn’t help letting his mouth fall into a slanted smile. “Of course you don’t.”

  “So we sleep here,” Sophie said, flustered. “I’ll build a fire.”

  “Didn’t you bring a jar of the green flames?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t burn long enough to protect us throughout the night,” she said. “I’ll need to get a proper campfire going! Won’t that be fun? Where is my flint? Ooh, and I’ll need some wood that isn’t too damp, I think…”

  She wandered on without waiting for feedback from anyone, leaving the men staring.

  “You t
hink she’s crazy?” Lincoln asked.

  “She’s something,” Cèsar said.

  Sophie tromped through the bushes. He’d been wrong to think of her as short-legged just because she wasn’t tall. The woman had a lot of legs in those snug pants, and a nice round butt under her jacket’s tail, and skin like the velvety nighttime sky.

  Lincoln gave him a look. “You like her.”

  “I’ve got a soft spot for women who can handle themselves,” Cèsar said. And women in general. Anything with two boobs—sometimes less. He was flexible. “But, you know, I’ve got a girlfriend. So if you’re interested...”

  “I’m not.”

  “If you were interested, I wouldn’t be getting in the way, is what I’m saying,” Cèsar said.

  “I don’t find Blacks attractive,” Lincoln said.

  Cèsar’s eyebrows got so high on his forehead he was surprised they didn’t fly off into space. “You should have stopped with ‘I’m not interested.’”

  “Why?”

  “Saying you’re not attracted to Black people is, uh…” Cèsar tried to think of nice words and failed. “Look, it’s racist.”

  “You’re the one making it about race, so if anyone’s racist here, it’s not me,” Lincoln said with the defensiveness of a man who knew exactly how racist he was. “I just don’t like their looks and I’m not going to pussyfoot around it. Like I said, I’m not PC.”

  “Right.” Getting into an argument in the middle of deadly sidhe territory while he was barely controlling his powers wasn’t a great idea. “Yep, okay, so I’m gonna make sure she’s okay. If you wanna stay here. Hold the fort.”

  If the former deputy had any complaints, Cèsar didn’t hear them. He’d already dropped his backpack and hurried after Sophie.

  She had already gathered an armful of broken branches. If Cèsar didn’t look close, the branches seemed to be slithering.

  Another branch snapped under his heel.

  Sophie whirled, lifting a hatchet.

  “Whoa,” Cèsar said.

  “Oh, goodness, my apologies,” she said, stepping back quickly. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that. This thing is very sharp, you know.” It was also iron, Cèsar wagered. He felt nauseous looking at its crudely shaped head, and only some of the nausea was left over from Lincoln. “How can I help you, Mr. Hawke?”