by Brie Tart
Yoel thrust his bowie knife into a shimmering spot with the same stance Helen had taught him a couple weeks ago to give his strikes more power. Another screech broke through the air. A young man flickered in and out of focus before slumping to the ground in a smoking pile.
That leg wound left Helen hopping into her next swing as a red-hot glow started across her limbs. Her chest became a pressurized tea kettle ready to sing. Her next strikes came faster and faster, one after the other. Another slash into her side. A scream. A woman dressed in old-timey clothes collapsed at the edge of the pool. Did that make four or five shriveling bodies around them? She panted as she pushed herself into the next clump of new glistening shapes.
Helen cut into another one that thrashed into the water. Why were they coming one at a time? Were they trying to tire her out? Were they stalling for someone else?
A glowing crack formed in the air over the pool. One by one, reflective figures funnelled from the light. Ten more? Twelve? Fifteen? She charged at each that passed, but they flitted away from her. She vaulted toward the fence. The line spread out around her. What were they playing?
Yoel watched that luminous sliver in the fabric of space as Helen played whack-a-mole with the line. It hung there, ominous and waiting. He edged toward the gate. The Hidden Folk herded him back into Helen.
They were boxing Yoel and Lucy in, while keeping just out of Helen’s reach. With their numbers, they stood a chance at overwhelming Helen if they wanted to kill her. Instead, they waited.
Helen huddled against Yoel and caught her breath. A bigger fish had to be on the way, a puppetmaster behind it all. “What is that thing?”
“A portal of some kind by the looks of it, but not to their home.” Yoel grimaced at the Hidden Folk. “I’m guessing it leads to a Light Elf master’s estate in Álfheim.”
“They’re like Sìth, right?” Helen vaguely remembered something about Light Elves being part of the ruling class of the Seelie court.
“Yes. And they tend to be more powerful because they don’t interbreed with humans as much.”
“I-I want Mam.” Lucy clawed at Helen’s arm with desperate, shaking fingers. “P-piggyback.”
Someone cast a shadow across the light from inside the crooked portal.
“You know any Welsh?” Helen asked.
“I’m better at Gaelic,” Yoel replied. “Why?”
“Try talking Lucy down with it. That’s what her dad does when she’s fussy.” Helen glanced left of them, toward the street. “Follow me. First opening you get, run.”
“Mam!” Lucy whined louder.
That shadow loomed into a tall shape.
Helen charged toward the fence and the wall of Hidden Folk.
They parted for her as she swung her machete in a wide arc. While she swiped through open air, Yoel’s light footsteps came running toward the gap.
The Hidden Folk went to close back around them.
Helen snapped out with the machete. Sizzling blood filled the air as they ate cold steel.
Yoel ducked under the blow and vaulted the fence.
A couple of the shimmering shapes advanced over the fence.
Helen slashed into them.
Four more shrieks pierced the mid-day air. Four more smoking, shriveled bodies dressed in antiquated clothes collapsed to the ground.
One or two made it out of Helen’s reach. They streamed after Yoel and vanished.
Helen hopped the fence, but the shapes descended on her. One dove from her right, another from behind.
She stumbled back and rolled out of one’s invisible grip. As soon as she jumped to her feet, the red haze overwhelmed her vision. Her little girl was gone with someone she trusted. If she was stuck with those fae, she’d make them regret it.
The unnatural speed and strength fueling her limbs erupted on the mob advancing on her. Their bodies became a blur of gray, blood, and smoke. They were monsters, and she was the monster made to exterminate them. Slash, kill, elation, repeat. Some got in stabs here and there, one even missed her heart by a hair. The red haze numbed all sensation but the slaughter.
“Cease the assault,” a harsh, Germanic voice called. “This capture is mine.”
A bright flash erupted behind Helen as she swiveled around for another hit. She squinted against it, fumbling back.
The fully visible men and women around her scrambled away, all with sizzling cuts on some part of them.
Helen panted, trying to see into that light. She picked out a white robe, bronzed skin, gold everywhere else. The voice sounded familiar, like someone who had spoken up at the Tomcat Cafe. Someone coming for the bounty?
She blindly dashed toward the figure, leaping at whoever they were with her machete aimed high.
A wet blob careened into her.
Cold rushed over her and flowed inside her wide open mouth. Chlorine burned her eyes and the open wounds all over her. She inhaled through the liquid filling her lungs. Any momentum she had stopped as she floated, suspended inside a mass of freezing water.
Helen flashed from rage to panic, from vicious clarity to suffocated mud. The red haze tinting the world faded as she stared into the bright figure. The sharp point of their ears and smooth curve of their features became as murky as everything else. Her lungs burned for oxygen, but found none until she passed out.
CHAPTER 19
Helen’s chest hurt. With every inhale and exhale, the air seeped under her lungs as a marrow-deep cold. She couldn’t keep her muscles from contracting, her jaw from chattering. Someone had thrown her, soaking wet, into a pile of snow and pinned her there. Why couldn’t she go back to sleep? The blackness had been empty, but numb. How was she awake, let alone alive?
As much as she wanted to move, to get her blood pumping again, her arms and legs were too numb to respond. She flopped upside down on someone’s shoulder with fine chains biting into her wrists and ankles. Draping white fabric flowed in front of her face over what she guessed was her captor’s backside. Under that, green blades of grass and deep brown soil on the ground.
Chills slithered up her neck and rattled her concentration.
She had to pay attention and take in the details of where she was. Spasms crawled through her muscles, and her stomach sloshed something fierce. They felt like that when she walked through Yoel’s wards, and when Ailpien had tried putting a spell on her at Hank’s Burger Pit. The bright fae bastard had put magic on her.
Icy fingers closed around her brain, fuzzing her thoughts.
She strained to see beyond the person carrying her. There were thick roots sticking out of the ground, and some yellow and orange leaves had fallen around them, which meant trees. Probably a forest or a park of some kind. There was enough light to see by that it had to be daytime, still.
Helen focused on forcing air through her frozen lungs. It came out as puffs of condensation.
What did her captor look like? She made out what she could from her foggy memories: a lot of light, smooth features, and pointy ears. The voice she’d heard had a resonating masculine energy to it. For the moment she assumed they were a guy and a Light Elf.
She managed to swivel her neck enough to see from another angle. A small retinue of men and women dressed in old folk clothes followed behind him. Hidden Folk. They snuck glances at her with a mix of fear and loathing. She’d carved quite a gap in their force, the best she’d felt all week. That satisfaction helped take the edge off the cold as it warmed her chest. But more frigid energy grew over it, leaving her disoriented. If she got mad enough, maybe she could burn through the spell.
Eventually they stopped, and she bumped into the small of her carrier’s back. The line of Hidden Folk halted too. If only Helen could peek at what they walked her into.
“Here is your prize, Lord of Far Seeing Owls,” a bored Germanic voice said as its owner patted Helen’s ass.
“Of course, Lord Havard,” said an all too familiar scumbag, Ailpien. “I and my guards will take the Hellhound from here to quest
ion her. You have done your race a great service this day.”
A line of taller, glowing fae came behind the Hidden Folk bunch. Helen counted three. The one directly in the back was a big lady with an even bigger sword. The other two flanking the Light Elf’s party were less imposing: a regal woman with a crescent moon and antler headdress, and a scrawny guy in a simple blue robe.
“I shall not give her to you without settling the reward first.” Havard’s robe lit up in Helen’s face. She buried her eyes in her arm.
“The abomination has awakened,” Ailpien’s head-dressed fae announced in an airy tone.
The Hidden Folk shimmered and clumped away from Helen toward the giant chick with the massive sword.
“She is restrained,” Havard said in his monotone. “Let us discuss payment, Lord Ailpien. I long to return to my abode. This world is too dull. It is beyond me why you chose to gather here, rather than somewhere in your Otherworld.”
“And risk that one escaping to run wild across Alba? The mortal plane is far safer. Before any oaths are made, I must inspect your catch to make sure you aren’t playing any tricks.”
“Of course.” Havard sighed as he lifted Helen from his shoulder and stood her in front of him.
The frosty ribbons under Helen’s skin intensified until they seemed to wrap around her bones and bind them in place. Bile climbed up her esophagus as she stood there, forced to face Ailpien’s smug face. Helpless.
“I did wonder if she was the right target myself.” Havard held Helen’s wood machete grip by the tips of his fingers. If Helen could only move, she could reach it. “She proved to be a force against my inferior troops. Yet instead of a fine onyx blade, she wielded this artless piece of steel.”
“I’ll consider requesting that her majesty compensate you for the losses of your household.” Ailpien grabbed Helen’s jaw and turned her head like somebody inspecting a horse. His fingers were too soft, like somebody who hadn’t even typed, let alone worked a day in his life.
Helen’s pulse picked up with Ailpien so close. A spark of fire ignited in her belly that even the cold spell couldn’t snuff. Finally. Now to stoke it.
Ailpien whipped out a silver dagger from thin air and slit the tie holding Helen’s bun. Her inky hair fell into her face and he brushed it away from her eyes. Havard’s spell rushed in thick, but Helen’s heat burned inch by inch against the figurative ice. It spread over her torso.
“She’s mighty pissed at you, boss,” commented a gruff, feminine voice behind Helen. It must’ve come from the chick with the sword. “Her red’s coming out and everything.”
“Aye, isn’t it fascinating?” Ailpien showed a pleased slip of teeth. “Perhaps she’ll even break out of her bonds.”
“No welp of darkness can overcome my power,” Havard said with his first sign of irritated inflection.
The cold lanced through Helen’s gut. Her fire retreated deeper, taking refuge and lying in wait.
“Do cease stalling.” Havard’s flash of personality vanished as fast as it came. “We have a boon to negotiate.”
“Yes, yes. What is it you would like from me?”
“The council will vote on a proposal when the moon next renews itself,” Havard explained. “My kinswoman will present a request for our clan to be granted a certain territory within the province called New Hampshire. In exchange for the Hellhound, you will cast your vote in favor of it and persuade the High Queen to see it granted.”
“I suspect I know the area you speak of.” Ailpien folded his fingers together. “It is one of the few sites of power on this half of the world that has not been exploited. That is quite a large favor.”
“You said you would grant the one who delivered the Hellhound to you an open request of their choosing. There were never limits put upon it.”
“You speak true, Lord Havard. Yet you were the one who carelessly established that we should negotiate.”
“Very well,” Havard replied, his jaw tight. “Let us begin.”
“First, pray tell, how did you find the Hellhound?” Ailpien took a few strands of Helen’s hair and twirled them around his finger. Idle fidget or intentional provocation, her supernatural rage built either way. “Was she alone?”
“No. She was accompanied by two others. One aided her for a time, and the other was a young child, little older than a babe.” Havard glanced over his shoulder. “Do you confirm witnessing this?”
A collective “yes” came from the cluster of Hidden Folk.
“And you didn’t catch them in as well?” Ailpien asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Your bounty did not call for any companions, only the Hellhound herself.” Havard flicked behind him at the Hidden folk. “Regardless, two of my guard will deliver them to me soon enough. Then they may be added to the bargain.”
“Very well. Once they are fetched, I will be willing to grant you a favor of that magnitude.” Ailpien met eyes with Helen as he continued. “They’ll provide leverage that will aid in questioning her about the imposter queen’s motives.”
Helen overrode her instincts. The heat skyrocketed through her whole body, shredding through whatever cold it passed. Ailpien knew damn well who one of those two was. She clenched her jaw and curled her fingers. Almost there. She pushed harder against the magic trying to override her movements.
Ailpien lit up with evident delight as he circled Helen. “Fascinating.”
“This aura is different than one of the imposter queen’s other Hellhounds.” Havard’s blank face minutely shifted, his eyes widening infinitesimally. “It doesn’t even seem to be connected to her.”
“The difference is very subtle,” the scrawny guy in the back remarked. “It would take more than a second glance to tell Nicnevin’s signature apart from who truly made this particular Hellhound.”
“Too smart for your own good there, Lord Havard.” The giant lady grunted as if lifting something heavy. “My claymore’s never tasted Light Elf before.”
“May you and your troops bless this earth with your tribute of blood.” The woman in the horned headdress raised her hands high, like a pastor in the throes of worship.
“This is a meeting on neutral ground between two lords.” Havard showed a range of expressions now as he glared between Ailpien’s agents. He sliced his hand through the air. The Hidden Folk vanished into sun shimmers, easily lost among the forest’s foliage. “Lord Ailpien, leash your guards. They act out of turn with these threats.”
“If only I could.” Ailpien offered a solemn bow.
“We pledged oaths of peace. You cannot break your word!”
“They offered different sorts of oaths to her High Majesty that override those.” Ailpien shrugged as the first screams from the Hidden Folk rang through the woods. Something hacked into meat behind Helen. Electric charges made the air around them static as some energy flashed in her periphery. “Anyone else who stumbles upon the secret of this one’s origins mustn’t be allowed to live.”
Havard twirled around and beams of light flew off of him. He dropped Helen’s machete into the grass. Flashes of hot and cold erupted behind Helen alongside the screams. Ailpien shielded his eyes in his elbow.
The cold keeping its tight grip on Helen’s bones slackened. Helen yanked her inner fire out from its hiding place with image after image of grabbing her machete and stabbing it into the vulnerable Ailpien. She bent her knees and rolled her shoulders. A surge of strength burst through her limbs and she snapped the delicate chains holding her ankles, then her wrists. She charged for her machete.
The moment her fingers touched the handle, red haze overcame her vision. That burning instinct took over her limbs and turned her toward Ailpien. No thoughts of running back to Lucy and Yoel existed. Only the sweet kill of accomplishing her vengeance. Helen leapt at Ailpien with her machete bared and hungry.
Ailpien dashed aside as Helen reached him. She turned into her next charge and swung again with superhuman grace that made it as easy as breathing. He backed out
of the way, but not fast enough. The machete tore into his side. Blood dribbled from the cut and sizzled. A wave of bliss filled her. She had to go for another blow, a killing blow. She had to see his tissues shriveling and his pretty jaw full of black blisters.
A woman chanted something like a prayer.
Ailpien’s glow turned a soft amber, and he zipped away clean. He grabbed Helen’s forearm. Electricity passed from his hand into her, pure and raw. It pierced under her heat and fried everything it touched. Helen howled and dropped into a limp, twitching heap. She hung from Ailpien’s grip like a doll long after it subsided. Her machete fell still in the grass, a monster shot down.
The bright light from Havard flickered in Helen’s periphery. A blade came down on something like a cleaver, making it crack and splinter. Havard’s light blinked out.
“That was a lovely demonstration,” Ailpien said through gritted teeth.
The woman in the horned headdress glided over, a layer of wet red staining her gown’s hem. She set her glowing hands on Ailpien’s wound. His jaw relaxed.
Helen hocked the biggest loogie her dry mouth could manage, even with a rubbery jaw. It landed lower on him than she aimed, his chest instead of his face.
“Irreverent bitch, isn’t she?” The chick with the big sword lumbered over, bits of gore and intestines dangling off her long blade. “Should I show her some respect, m’lord?”
“No need, Rhona.” Ailpien gestured toward the woman healing him. “Morag aided me in handling that well enough.”
“I’d better get a chance to show her something before you’re done with her.” Rhona leveled her sword with Helen’s neck. “You’ll pay for what you did to Ewan.”
All Helen managed in reply to the threat was a weak laugh. Oh how long ago that was, and how she wished she’d gotten rid of that bastard’s corpse properly for all the trouble it caused her. If the tank chick wasn’t hellbent on doing awful things to her, and a fae, Helen might like her.
“Cailean, restrain her.” Ailpien called. “Rhona, Morag, you two clean up.”
