The mental exercise of matching Death Glare Ninja Assassin against Buzzsaw Beast was distracting enough that he managed to stave off the tight, itchy feeling of desperation that showed up whenever he did nothing for more than a few minutes. Being powerless to hurry things along was maddening.
His mortal combat daydream only lasted about five minutes, and his finger-drumming rendition of Ring of Fire barely got him through five more. Eventually he couldn’t hold back the brooding any longer, and he started playing out what he would do when he finally caught up to Richard. That got pretty dark, pretty fast, and so it was fortunate he finally saw movement coming from the direction of the apartment complex. He peered out the windshield to behold Mallory, weighed down by two duffle bags and several rectangular objects that looked suspiciously like rifle cases. And there, trotting in front of her like some sort of honor guard, was Sir Kipling.
“Why you little...” Sebastian glared at the pair of them as they approached. Disgusted, he slouched in his seat and crossed his arms.
That stupid cat got away with everything.
Sebastian did not get out to assist Mallory. He simply tossed her the keys and let her load her own blasted equipment.
“Finally,” he grumbled when they were both in and situated. “Took you long enough. We’ve got seven hours of driving ahead of us and who knows how many hours of recon to do before—”
He stopped at a tap on his shoulder. Turning his ill-tempered expression toward Mallory, he saw her jerk a thumb toward the backseat. With a huff, he twisted around to behold golden letters hanging above Sir Kipling’s head.
WE SHOULD GO TO YOUR LODGINGS NEXT.
“What? What for?”
YOU SMELL.
“Oh for heaven’s—”
ALSO, FAIRIES ARE DESECRATING YOUR ABODE.
“What?! How do you know—”
STOP TALKING AND DRIVE, HUMAN.
Gnashing his teeth, Sebastian twisted around and started the car, then tore out of the parking lot in a grinding of gears and squeal of wheels that would have gotten him turned into a newt if his aunt had been present to witness it. As it was, she probably wouldn’t notice a little extra rubber missing from her tires.
Probably.
***
Luckily for Sebastian’s sanity, he didn’t live terribly far from Cabbagetown, and morning traffic wasn’t nearly as hellish as it could have been. Still, it was a nerve-wracking journey of running stop signs and scaring the bejeebus out of innocent drivers who were unlucky enough to get in his way.
When he finally screeched to a halt in front of his apartment building, he only spared a hurried “stay here,” to the other occupants of the car before jumping out and sprinting for his front door. He knew before he got there that it was going to be bad—he could hear the drunken squeaks and shrills of delight a good ten feet away. If a choir of chipmunks, angry frogs, and hummingbirds on crack got together and sang at ten times normal speed, then they might approach what it sounded like to have a full-blown pixie party in your house.
Flinging scandalous curses at the front door, Sebastian fumbled with his keys, got the door unlocked, then burst into his apartment to a scene of absolute bedlam. Papers covered the floor, obviously torn from the walls and tables where Mallory had so meticulously organized them. What few magazines and comics he’d had on his bookshelves were scattered to the four winds. Trash pulled from the garbage cans lay tangled among cushy piles of stuffing ripped from the couch pushed up against the wall—the couch which looked like a pack of wolves had been gnawing on it. Mallory’s TV monitor was on the floor, its screen cracked and covered in something green and slimy. The chairs and tables were overturned and similarly decorated and—wait, were those his boxers hanging from the ceiling fan?
Zipping about among it all in a rainbow of crazy twirls and loop-de-loops were over a dozen pixies. They lobbed bits of couch fluff at each other, rode on makeshift paper airplanes, and used his window blind drawstrings as bungee cords. To top it off, he noticed several piles of trash moving across the floor of their own accord, and realized why the couch looked like it did: a clutter of brownies had joined the party.
Aaaand that was why he never cleaned his apartment.
Or bought nice furniture.
Or nice clothes.
Or anything nice, really.
Sebastian waded in, shouting and waving his arms. As angry as he was, he still moved carefully. Pixies and brownies were fast and could take care of themselves, but judging by the smell in his apartment, most—if not all—of them were completely plastered, and the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally hurt one of them.
“Get! Shoo! Out of my apartment, you blaggards!”
The little fae scattered in all directions with drunken giggles of delight, dodging his careful attempts to disperse them as if they thought it was a new game. He made it all the way across the living room to the kitchen entryway before he finally spotted the worst part.
Glass decorated the floor and counters like a snowy field of glittering destruction, and about five-hundred dollars’ worth of alcohol covered everything in sticky, multicolored pools of liquid gold. The pixies had obviously found his stash and, lacking any humans present to open the bottles for them, had taken matters into their own hands.
Sebastian gripped his forehead, stunned into silence. He could see the shattered remnants of his meager collection of liquor glasses scattered among the bottle shards, as if the fae had attempted to get the glasses out in an effort to, what? Pour alcohol into them? Perhaps between four or five of the creatures they might have lifted a bottle, but such coordination was not exactly in the nature of pixies, especially not drunk pixies. The brownies might have managed it, had they been inclined to, but somehow he suspected the destruction had already been well on its way by the time they’d shown up. Among the low fae, brownies were definitely of a more responsible and orderly sort than pixies, but only until you ticked one off. Brownie revenge was terrifying to behold, and rather than risk it, he’d always steered clear of making bargains with the little beings.
This wasn’t revenge, of course, this was just plain old fun. If any of the fae had been seeking revenge, he was more likely to have returned to a burned-out husk where his apartment had once stood.
A noise behind him—well, a noise other than the shrill giggles currently filling his apartment—made him turn to find Mallory and Sir Kipling standing at his open front door, staring at the destruction with raised eyebrows. Well, Mallory’s eyebrows were raised. If Sir Kipling had possessed eyebrows, they would have been raised, but since he didn’t, he simply twitched the tip of his tail. Being a smart cat, he was not crouched in ready anticipation at the sight of so many tasty morsels running about in a tempting fashion, though there might have been a glint of predatory yearning in his yellow eyes.
Hoping to contain the damage, Sebastian motioned angrily at them to go back outside and close the door, and then he returned to yelling at the drunken trespassers, for all the good it did him. When the pixies started yanking at his hair and one of the brownies tried to tie his shoelaces together, he finally lost it.
“Qif, qif! Ism a’Kali’elal, QIF!”
Instant silence followed his commanding shout.
Sebastian felt a pang of relief. It’d been rash, invoking Kaliel’s name, the fae queen of growth. He’d only met her a few times, but knew enough about her that he was relatively sure she wouldn’t smite him on the spot for daring to speak her name. Her duality, Kaliar, would not be so forgiving. And Thiriel? It was better not to make her any angrier at him than she already was.
A sudden crash made him jump, and Sebastian whipped his head around to see Pip hovering over the lamp that normally lived on the little table by his door—a lamp which had, hither-to, miraculously escaped the destruction. So much for that.
“Pilanti’ara. What. Is. The. Meaning. Of. This.”
The pixie’s rapid reply went from petulant to angry and back again as she zipped
over and stabbed a minuscule finger perilously close to his eye.
“What do you mean I broke our bargain? I was going to pay you, you crazy little smellfungus! I’ve been busy trying to save Lily! Remember Lily? That nice wizard who is under the mistaken impression that you are a cute, helpful, loyal little pixie who doesn’t take advantage of her friends the moment they fall on hard times?” Sebastian was roaring again by the time he finished. It was fortunate most of the residents of his apartment complex either worked eighty hours a week or were likely too drunk or high to notice this little debacle.
A sharp pain pricked his ankle and he kicked out, throwing the brownie that had bitten him across the room. “Stay out of it, Junibeli’ara, this has nothing to do with you.”
Apparently the brownie disagreed, because she was back in a flash to attack his leg again, and only the thick material of his slacks saved him from more bites. The little brownie was one of Pip’s frequent drinking buddies, and a real firebrand. He danced and kicked, no longer worried about hurting the hellion and hoping the rest of the fae didn’t decide this was an invitation for a free-for-all to attack him as well.
It might very well have come to that, if not for the timely intervention of a certain silver, four-footed ally.
You know, I was sent to put a stop to this embarrassing spectacle, but upon further consideration I think I might just sit back and enjoy the show.
All right, so maybe not an ally.
“Call them off, you stupid fox!”
Your attitude is not exactly inspiring me to action, l’a’nitan, Yuki said, sitting down on a comfortable-looking pile of couch innards and cocking his head.
The pixies began divebombing him. Normally, he could have used his gifted fae magic to impose order on the lesser fae. Being Qem’nathir had actually given him a rank in their hierarchy, and they never would have misbehaved like this if he’d still been in Thiriel’s good graces.
But he wasn’t. Not anymore.
“Lily could be dying right this instant, you mangy excuse for a thrift store throw rug! Now stop wasting time and call them off!”
You know, I can hardly blame Thiriel for banishing you, even if it was a bit harsh. I would have too, had you called me names like that.
“Ya’ilarbuki’arak!!” It was hard to yell the fox’s full name while still shielding himself from pixie attacks and kicking away any foolhardy brownie that made a dive for his legs, but it seemed to do what his furious insults had not.
Fine, if you insist. QIF! The fox’s magical cry froze all the low fae in their tracks. I will eat the next one of you who attacks this human. I have just come from a demon hunt, and I am happy to consume as many of you as necessary to put an end to this so I can return to my task.
The fox hadn’t even finished speaking before the pixies and brownies scattered like frightened mice.
No, not you, Pilanti’ara.
In typical fae fashion, the fox was across the room more quickly than the human eye could track, and once he had caught his prey, he used one paw to hold down the furiously fluttering pixie.
Explain yourself, Pilanti’ara. You know the rules. This human is now l’a’nitan, you should not be here.
No longer under attack, Sebastian took a moment to brush himself off and survey the new damage while Pip tried to justify her actions in a tirade of noise reminiscent of the Chipmunk song on rewind. His thick leather jacket had protected him from most of the attacks, which meant that it was now pockmarked with holes and had several long tears in it. Sebastian swore under his breath. He liked that jacket. The loss hurt him far more than the few scratches and pricks on his hands and Jun’s well-placed bite on his ankle.
No, Yuki was saying when Sebastian started paying attention again. A time limit that is merely customary is not binding, as you very well know. It is certainly no grounds for this blatant violation of hospitality rules, much less an unprovoked and unjustified attack upon a human. You have broken our laws, Pilanti’ara. You will return to your overlord for judgment.
At the fox’s words, the pixie squeaked in distress and shuddered beneath the canine’s paw.
“Wait, what?” Sebastian said. “What do you mean judgment?”
Justice must be served and order restored. The fae are charged with the care of this world, and those who rebel must be destroyed and made anew. You invoked the name of Kali’elal, and she cannot overlook so obvious an infraction. Pilanti’ara is clearly out of control.
A high-pitched wailing came from the tiny pixie and Sebastian’s temper began to ebb. “Hey, now, give her a break. Pixies get a little overexcited when they party and I do usually pay her more promptly than this. There’s no need to”—Sebastian swallowed the word “execute” and kept going—“do anything permanent. She could just do community service or something, maybe clean up my apartment and owe me a favor for the broken stuff? I’m sure she’ll behave better from now on. Right, Pip?”
The little fae gave a weak peep, as if she were afraid to do more, and Sebastian’s anger was further dulled by a familiar ache for his loyal friend of old. He knew this Pip wasn’t really the same pixie. That pixie had given her life to protect them in their fight against Morgan last fall, and all that was left of her was her name. But it was hard to keep that in mind sometimes. As for Yuki, the fox was strangely silent, as if he didn’t know what to make of Sebastian’s human sentimentality.
Her fate is in the hands of her overlord, the fae fox finally said, but I will pass on your words. Now, we must be going. The rest of her compatriots will be disciplined as well. They will plague you no longer.
The fox bent and picked up Pip in his teeth, though he must have been careful not to bite down, for the pixie did not squeak in distress, only submitted with a shiver and a mournful droop of her wings. Yuki turned away and trotted toward the back of the house, his paws not disturbing the detritus on the floor as he began to fade into the Twilight.
A desperate longing tore through Sebastian, and he suddenly felt every frayed, bleeding edge of the gaping hole in his chest that he’d been trying to ignore.
L’a’nitan. The word echoed in his mind. Cursed. Cast out. Alone.
“Wait!” The protest leapt unbidden to Sebastian’s tongue, and he was unprepared when Yuki paused and looked back at him.
“Um...” Sebastian scrambled for something to say. “How’s the demon hunt going?”
The fox’s fathomless stare held him, and its weight made him shrivel inside.
It is going. Most of the beasts have been tracked down and destroyed, but one still eludes us. It has killed two humans, an elderly male living alone and a girl child who wandered away from her mother. Demons always prefer the weak and the helpless as prey, and this one will continue to hunt humans until we find it.
As much as he had feared and expected it, Sebastian still wasn’t ready for Yuki’s answer. It struck a blow directly to his soul, leaving a black mark that he wasn’t sure could ever be washed away. His knees trembled and he swayed, grateful Mallory wasn’t there to witness his shame.
I must go, the fox said, then paused, as if he wanted to say more. But instead he simply dipped his head in farewell. Goodbye, son of Man.
Then he was gone.
Sebastian stood in the middle of his desecrated living room, sick to his stomach and aching with bitter regret. Guilty thoughts wrestled pointlessly with each other in endless circles. What could he have done differently? Nothing in his long life of screwups would have really made things better, except perhaps his first mistake—the mistake that had killed his parents and started him down this path...
No, that wasn’t his fault. At least, that’s what everyone said. But it didn’t feel like it.
Knowing he was wasting time, Sebastian forced his numb legs to move. His bedroom was wrecked beyond recognition, but he managed to find a change of clothes free of alcohol stains and green goo. He grabbed a few other essentials and threw it all into a bag from his closet—it and the bathroom had been merci
fully protected behind closed doors, which his fae intruders had either been too drunk or too distracted to open. Then, with one last look at the wrecked shambles of his apartment—a fitting metaphor for his life—Sebastian left.
He had one, and only one, thing left worth doing. And by the heavens and whatever was in them, he wouldn’t fail this time.
2
Spelunking and Other Exploits
The drive north was long and boring. Mallory spent the entirety of it on her laptop “doing research,” though at least she’d deigned to sit up front with him this time. Sebastian was more of a seat-of-the-pants kind of guy, but if overpreparing made her happy, then more power to her. He figured she would tell him anything important he needed to know, like when to duck and where to hide. Everything else was just window dressing. He’d snuck into many places before with nothing more than his wit and irrepressible sense of adventure for company.
The worry that plagued him for the whole drive wasn’t how to infiltrate John Faust’s hidey-hole—it was whether or not they could do it in time.
About halfway there, Sir Kipling started acting strange again, just like he had in Sebastian’s kitchen the day before. He went from sleeping peacefully in the back seat to crouched on the floorboards, alternating between growling at nothing and panting. Sebastian got off the interstate and pulled over, worried the cat was having some sort of bizarre seizure. But before he could unbuckle and reach the cat, Sir Kipling had given himself a vigorous shake and jumped back up onto the seat. When Sebastian refused to start driving again without some kind of explanation, the cat only said that Lily was in trouble and they needed to hurry.
The sun was setting by the time they crossed the outer circle of Interstate 265 that surrounded Louisville much the same way Interstate 285 encircled Atlanta. Sebastian had done a fair bit of traveling in his time, but most of it had been between magical realms, not across state lines. He’d never been to Kentucky before, but he’d always been grateful it existed because it was the birthplace of his favorite food: Kentucky Fried Chicken. It also produced a lot of horses and bourbon, but he’d never ridden a horse and was more of a rum sort of guy, so those qualities didn’t register on his list of “reasons to visit Kentucky.” Currently, that list consisted of: rescue Lily, roast Richard slowly over a bed of hot coals, and eat fried chicken.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity Page 25
