by Eric Asher
“Of course,” Zola said. “I’ve spent enough nights at the Pit. They buy those expensive mattresses like they’re some kind of status symbol. But they’re uncomfortable as hell. Put a terrible kink in my back.”
“If you told Vik that, he’d probably just buy you a new one,” I said.
“Ah suspect you’re right, but it would be rather rude to insult those who house me as a guest.”
“You insult me all the time,” I said, chuckling as I threw the switch to inflate the AeroBed.
“That’s different.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not.”
Zola gave me a grin and a low laugh. “Ah’ll always be a master to you, boy. Even when Ah’m not.”
It was a phrase I hadn’t heard her use in a very long time, and it reminded me of nights around the campfires at the old cabin in Coldwater. The only reprieve from the brutal training she’d put me through.
“Did you know this would happen?”
“Did Ah know if the queen of the water witches and Gwynn Ap Nudd would forge an alliance and rain hell down on this city?”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely not. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. Some of the training we did, the relentless training. Sometimes it just feels like you knew this was going to happen. Like you knew I needed to be ready for it.”
“Things always happen, Damian. And one should always be ready for them. But no, Ah didn’t know where the threat would come from. If anything, Ah thought it would be mages, or witches. It didn’t occur to me that your fate would become so entwined with the Fae.” She patted the end of the AeroBed as the mattress grew taller. “I didn’t think my days would be so tied up with the Fae either, mind you.”
“Me either,” I said, frowning. “Just flip that switch when you’re happy with the firmness.”
Zola nodded, and I headed back toward the overstuffed chairs and the leaning tower of old books stacked on top of the coffee table.
“I still can’t believe Vik let you bring some of these here,” I said. “I thought for sure they’d be locked away in some long-forgotten vaults.” I pulled the first tome closer, a garish oversized thing that reminded me of an illuminated manuscript I’d once seen in New Orleans. “How old are these things?” I opened the decorative leather cover, and read the title. The Diaries of Vassili Kurlenko, 1350 to 1400. I whistled and gently closed the book.
“You need not worry,” Zola said. “Vik only allowed me to bring that which was warded against damage. Ah can’t imagine why.”
“Ward protected these?”
“Some. Ward is not the only master of the old runes. There are others, and some of them are very old.”
“What are we looking for? I don’t see how Vassili’s old journals from the freaking Dark Ages are going to help.”
“They may not help us now,” Zola said, “but you know where Vassili lived during that time?”
“No, why?”
“He journeyed through the Americas at the time of Vikings and werewolves.”
“Did he cross paths with Hugh?”
“Hugh believes it may be possible. We may learn more, but that’s not for today.”
I slid the tome to the side and pulled down another, this one bound in a rich red leather, entirely devoid of text or notation. It was sealed with an ancient lock that had been cut away long ago—even the metal revealed by the cut showed decades of corrosion.
Zola turned off the air mattress before flopping down on top of it. “My back feels better already.”
She joined me in the chairs, opting to study some of the unbound manuscripts Koda had given me long ago. Most of them pertained to line arts and a few to wards. Some were filled with dangerous magics we necromancers shouldn’t have access to. A few of the arts remained out of Zola’s reach, though they responded to my call. Not unlike the growth magics of the Fae, they didn’t respond if called by a normal mage.
With other spells, the difference was minor. Zola could still use some line arts, though legend said no necromancer could. Koda’s manuscripts had revealed that some of what Mike had taught me were bastardized line arts. Zola could summon fire through a line art, but not a gravemaker.
“There’s nothing here.” Zola leaned back in her seat after we had poured over the manuscripts and books for another hour. Bubbles and Peanut had taken up positions like bristly loyal ottomans. I still didn’t like the fact that the coven didn’t have Peanut.
Zola pinched the bridge of her nose. “There’s nothing about other weapons we might use against undines.”
I pulled a thin blue tome off the bookshelf behind us. “What about this?” I held out the story of Leviticus Aureus and the Fall of Atlantis.
“How many times have you read this?” Zola asked.
I frowned. “Two or three?”
“And?”
I grimaced. “I don’t remember anything about other weapons besides the stone daggers, and their poisons.”
Zola rapped her fingers on her arm chair. “Ah suppose poisons might be helpful if given time, or delivered in a powerful enough dose, but that is hardly useful in the midst of a pitched battle.”
Even the poison daggers of the undines didn’t do much more immediate damage than a steel blade. It was what followed, and even then, it took hours at a minimum. Zola was right; that wasn’t helpful.
“It could be something worth asking Ashley about,” Zola said. “She’s skilled with herbs and the art of the apothecary.”
“Next time we see her, then.”
“We should sleep. Ah’m afraid we don’t have a restful week ahead of us.”
* * *
We hadn’t found much we didn’t already know. There was an interesting excerpt from Vassili’s journals, which Zola suspected might refer to the Wandering War. The time that Vassili had spent since, mired in war, with a description of bloodlust so graphic, I was surprised he had the presence of mind to write down anything. But the details were vague, and the most I could make of it was that at one time he knew the Mad King.
The journal spoke as if the War had been a long time ago, even at the time it had been written. I suspected the Wandering War had been far longer in the past than anything I could comprehend in my mortal lifespan. But if it was 1,000 years ago, millennia ago, then how old was Vassili? And how old were some of the Fae we knew who had lived through it? They might not have viewed time in exactly the same fashion as the rest of us, but none of them spoke at length about the Wandering War. It seemed to be more of an age they all longed to forget.
It was not a restful night. I tossed and turned, curled up in one of the leather chairs. Zola snored peacefully on her air mattress, reminding me that sometimes she was far wiser than I. Sleep did eventually come, but it was filled with visions of my dead and dying friends. I startled awake as the whispered voices inside my head grew louder, until a vision of the nightmare that had been Gettysburg crashed into my mind once more.
I shot straight up in the chair, half expecting to see trolls from the Burning Lands storming down the halls of the library toward me. Half expecting Ezekiel to appear, the mantle of Anubis corrupted and fractured over his mad skull. But all that awaited me was the huge furry head of the cu sith, flopped onto the coffee table and panting at me.
I sagged back into the chair and winced at the kink I now had in my neck. “I’m getting too old for this,” I muttered, rubbing the stiff muscles at the base of my skull.
I leaned forward and took two deep breaths.
The door to the rear parking lot slammed closed, the sound muted by the stairs and the books around me, but still unmistakable. I stretched and scratched Bubbles’s ruff before padding down the hallway, and making my way down the stairs.
Foster yawned as he and Aideen slowly made their way toward the Formica table, just returning from some excursion.
“Where have you two been?” I asked. “And where’s the coffee?” I grumbled incoherently.
“I could use
that, too,” Aideen said. “We went back to the hospital, to help where we could.”
“To the first question,” Zola’s unholy perky voice said from the other end of the room, “here’s the coffee.” She shuffled around and poured two full-size mugs and put a coffee stirrer in one of them. “Frank spoke to Park, and apparently these two spent much of the night healing what soldiers they could.”
“You weren’t rested enough for that,” I said. “It’s dangerous.”
“It was the least we could do,” Aideen said. “They’re our allies, an uneasy alliance though it may be. We need them healthy, and ready.”
“You’re the best healer around,” I said, focusing on Aideen. “We may need you sooner than we’d like.”
The fairy hesitated. She pondered my words for a moment before she said, “What’s done is done. I cannot rebuild that stamina through magic. We’ll need rest, and must hope healing magic is not needed so quickly.”
“With the help of the water witches?”
Aideen shook her head. “A little, perhaps. We’re still drained, and I won’t leave Foster without a wife, as he has been left without a mother.”
I frowned. “I’d never ask that of you.”
“I know. But you’re not the only one of our allies who may request our aid.”
Bubbles, apparently sensing the tension in the room, trundled over to Foster and immediately slurped him up on her tongue. The fairy vanished into her mouth, and she gave us a wolf-like grin before dashing back to the front of the store.
“Bubbles, no!” Aideen said, taking off after the cu sith. “You spit him out right now!”
Muffled shouting sounded from inside Bubbles’s mouth, and I tried my damnedest not to laugh.
Bubbles rocketed back through the saloon-style doors, and Zola managed to reach out and just catch the edge of her ruff. The cu sith came to a screeching halt, her claws digging in the floor, while she spat Foster out into the air. The fairy cartwheeled and screamed about fifty obscenities before smacking into my shoulder. He hung upside down for a moment, the cu sith’s drool dripping over his face, while he tried to peel his wings off my T-shirt.
He met my eyes and said, “Not. One. Word.”
“I hear they make great guard dogs.”
Foster made an exasperated sound before hopping over to a shelf in the utility closet and drying himself off on a towel.
“So, did you see Frank and Sam over there?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Foster said, running a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath. “It sounds like they’re going to redeploy into the Main Street area this morning. That’s probably what all that rumbling is outside.”
“Did they say what their schedule was?” Zola asked.
“All we heard is that it was supposed to be done this morning,” Aideen said. “Casper’s planning to set up on the second floor of the museum, overlooking the river. Park’s overseeing the construction of command near the arts building.”
“It’s good to know that man can listen to reason,” Zola said. “Ah’ve known worse generals who were far more stubborn.”
“Well, he’s not a general,” I said.
“That wasn’t the point Ah was trying to make,” Zola said. “Drink your coffee. There’s work to be done.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
It turned out Foster and Aideen had at least gotten some decent sleep at the hospital. That made me feel a little better, but I didn’t like the idea of our best healers being out of commission. One thing was for sure, neither one of them were sacrificing themselves to save anyone. After what Cara had done, I didn’t care what the reasons were, I wasn’t letting that happen ever again—a promise I knew I might not be able to keep.
“Ah’d take it all,” Zola said, answering my unspoken question.
I looked down at my backpack, half full of speed loaders for the pepperbox, and the extra rounds in my other hand. I shrugged and dumped the entire mess in my backpack. It was heavy, ridiculously heavy. I now had the pepperbox, the bandolier full of speed loaders, and about a dozen more speed loaders to boot.
It would’ve made more sense to strap the bandolier over my chest, but I didn’t think the police, or the commoners, would appreciate seeing a civilian walking around armed to the teeth. Another section of my backpack had the hand of Gaia and the blue obsidian disc from Nixie. There was a woefully small department dedicated to snacks, which I’d stuffed with Frank’s slightly less insane beef jerky. Zola, on the other hand, had Frank’s completely insane burn your face off jerky stashed in a satchel on her hip. I was pretty sure she’d be able to weaponize it.
“We should probably let the fairies sleep a little longer,” I said, glancing at the old grandfather clock.
“Agreed.”
I led the way to the front door. This would be the second day in a row the shop wasn’t open. I didn’t like that. We needed money from our regular customers, and staying closed was a crappy way to accomplish that; especially with foot traffic so low to begin with.
I was surprised to open the front door and find Aeros at his post on the street beside the parking lot. One of the local kids gestured at the Old God, and I wondered where his parents were. Aeros lightly tapped on the kid’s helmet and said, “Are you sure such a flimsy device can protect your head?”
The kid laughed.
Aeros raised his eyes to us as Zola and I started crossing the street. He turned his attention back to the kid. “I am afraid it is time for me to work.”
“You don’t work,” the kid said. “You’re always out here.”
“I am always out here working.”
The kid shook his head and hopped up onto his bike, wobbling a little bit before his balance was restored on the sidewalk.
Aeros watched him go before returning his gaze to us. “Good morning.”
“What’s he doing down here?” I asked.
“I do not believe some of the commoners understand the severity of the situation. The military has not evacuated them.”
“It should’ve been mandatory,” Zola said.
“To say the least,” I said. “Even with what happened to their base last night?”
“It was not Park’s decision,” Aeros said. “Or so Frank tells me.”
“How late did we sleep in?” I asked. “You’ve already talked to Frank? What about Sam?”
“Samantha was not with them. Frank seemed bothered by that.”
“That’s right,” I said, “she’s probably at the Pit still.”
“Foster and Aideen are resting,” Zola said. “If we do not return in the top of the hour, please awaken them.”
“And try not to knock down the shop,” I added with a smirk.
Aeros narrowed his eyes, his granite flesh crunching with the motion. “I will make every effort.”
Zola patted the Old God’s knee before we turned and headed south on Main Street.
It didn’t take long to see the military wasn’t sticking to Park’s plan. At the first intersection, I turned my gaze down toward the river and cursed. A small cluster of tents had been set up, tents not unlike those that had been torn to pieces and burned to the ground less than a day before. Uniformed men milled about, approaching the river and pointing downstream. I had little doubt they were talking about the Bone Sails. Graybeard’s ship was hard to miss.
“What the hell?” Zola’s grip tightened on her cane, and she cracked it against the ground in one sharp blow. “What the hell are they thinking?”
“Who knows,” I said. “Maybe it’s a ruse? Something not as obvious as standing on the riverfront and getting killed by undines?”
Zola barked out a humorless laugh. “Keep your eyes peeled for anyone we know, boy. Ah’d like to find out more, before one of these fools tangles with a creature they do not understand.”
We continued down Main, and I grew more uncomfortable with every step. The tourism had been light for a couple weeks, but now, outside of a few brave souls who remained behind in their
homes on the old historic street, all that was left was military. Most of the restaurants were closed, and some of the gardens and dining areas outside were now swarming with soldiers. The presence of more soldiers than I’d expected made me uneasy.
“It’s like they moved an entire battalion in,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t know if this will deter the queen, or entice her.”
“The queen lost witches,” Zola said. “That fact should at least give her pause. Unless she’s gone as far off her rocker as Nudd.”
We passed one of the bars and one of the few open restaurants. It looked like they were drumming up quite the business. I didn’t think I’d ever seen them serving breakfast, but a clapboard outside had “Omelets & Bacon” written in bold letters.
My eyes trailed back toward the sign, and Zola chuckled.
“Ah’m sure we can find time to stop for food later.”
“I feel like maybe I should’ve had more than a Pop-Tart.” I took a deep breath and blew it out in exasperation. “But bacon, Zola.”
“Oh my God, boy. I just flashed back fifteen years.”
I paused at the next intersection and frowned at the personnel carriers parked along the cobblestone side streets.
“Well, that’s an awful sight.”
“Look to the river,” Zola said.
I followed her gaze and cursed. Some of the wrought iron fence had been torn down or flattened. Two tanks were maneuvering on the neatly trimmed riverfront, one angling its main barrel upriver, and the other downriver.
“What in the hell do they expect to do with those?” I asked. “Don’t they realize those guns, no matter how large, aren’t going to do shit to a water witch?”
Zola slowly nodded her head. “Ah do wonder, though. If one of those tank shells exploded next to a water witch? Would it at least disorient them? Leave an opening, perhaps?”
“You let me know how that goes,” I said. “I’ll be the one in the back with the bacon.”
Zola smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling in the bright morning light. This was a place that had not seen much in the way of war. Many ghosts lingered, but they were not those unnervingly bound to their souls, rooted to a battlefield for God knows how long. But there were other things here like the werewolves, and other Fae that we saw on occasion. It made me wonder what else lurked behind the walls and stones of some of the older buildings.
