I didn’t know what that meant, but he had
basically confessed to kidnapping, or at least being party to
kidnapping. As someone with a kid, I wasn’t fond of the concept,
not one bit. Before I could properly express my feelings about
that, I saw his eyes look past me and widen. I risked a fast glance
over my left shoulder at the door.
Two faces were framed in the glass. I shot my
head back around to see if he had moved, but he was standing still,
his eyes evaluating the girls behind me.
“Ashley! Get away from the window!” I yelled, alarmed to my
core.
Greer tilted his head sideways, still looking
at the faces behind me.
“Dad? What’s going on? Why do you have a gun
pointed at that man?” she asked. Then before I could answer, I
heard a noise that scared the crap out of me. The rattle of the
lock as Ashley started to unlock it.
“Ash, no!” I yelled, skipping back a step and
reaching with my left hand to hold the door closed. I kept my eyes
on Greer, even as I locked my grip on the twisting door knob.
“No fears, Ian Moore, I will not harm nor
allow harm to come to your child. But that will not be easy,” he
said. The door started to pull open and I exerted myself, slamming
it back shut, twisting around to glare at Ashley. She let go with
an angry look and I spun back to check on Greer. He was gone,
completely. A really, really fast individual could possibly have
made the trees or the corner of the barn in the short time I had
looked away. Possibly, but the implications of that kind of speed
were chilling.
Chapter 6
Ashley had that sullen glare thing going, the
one teenagers get when they feel they’ve been wronged. I love
Ashley with all my heart, but at that moment I didn’t like her very
much.
“When. I. Tell. You. To. Get . Away. You do
it! Understand?”
“Who was that man? Why did you point great
Grandpa’s gun at him?” she sputtered, attempting to control the
moment.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” I shouted. Rarely is my
voice raised to my daughter, but there are times.
Both girls jumped. Lindsey looked stricken,
like she would rather be anywhere then here. Ashley was still
glaring but it had slipped a little, as if just maybe she had begun
to realize how serious I was.
“Yes,” she said finally.
“I don’t know who that man is, but he’s
dangerous! If you see me with a gun pointing in someone’s direction
that should be your clue that they’re trouble,” I said.
“Grandpa says never point a gun at anyone or
anything unless you are ready to kill them!” Ashley said, her tone
petulant.
“Grandpa is exactly right!” I said. It took a
second for her to realize my meaning. Her tan face went white.
“But who is he? He wouldn’t hurt anyone or at
least he doesn’t look like he would,” she said in a rush. Something
in her voice gave me pause and I replayed Greer’s image in my
mind’s eye. Tall, lean, dressed in black, exotic hair, exotic
coloring and vivid ice blue eyes. Crap!
“Girls, you need to listen to me. You cannot
judge someone’s intentions or ability to harm based on how they
look! Most serial killers are attractive, well mannered people
right up until they hit you in the head, duct tape you and toss you
in their van.”
Both sets of eyes were wide, both heads
nodded, but deep inside a part of me was quailing at the thought of
them meeting Greer without me present.
“His name is Greer, I don’t know what he
wants, but he is very, very dangerous. You are not to talk to him,
never go near him and never open the door for him. I don’t care how
good he looks or how smoothly he talks to you. Got it?”
They both nodded again.
“Listen, he’s gone, so why don’t we put on a
movie or something and get settled in for the night. Okay?”
“Alright Mr. Moore.” “ Kay, Dad.”
I turned on the tv and handed Lindsey the
remote, then headed into the kitchen to make popcorn, while I
thought through the last ten minutes of my life.
It took two bags of microwave popcorn to get
things lined up in my head to the point where I could start to
organize them. When I did, I had a list of thoughts to process.
One, I had witnessed Greer fighting with a
pack(?) of vicious green apes that he said were goblins
(
t’oorcs
).
Two, he had fought insanely well with a
weapon I couldn’t begin to identify.
Three, the green goblins melted into goo when
killed and reacted to steel or iron like it was acid.
Four, he said he was from another world and
entered this one to steal or supervise the stealing of
children.
Five, he said he owed me a life debt.
Six, something small, fast and nasty was
killing animals and birds around the farm.
Seven, my dear, departed grandfather had
covered every window with steel mesh and loaded his shotgun with
steel shot.
Eight, there were at least two factions to
Greer’s world, one green (Summer), one white (Winter).
I picked up the bowls of popcorn, a bottle of
orange soda, and three cups, taking them all into the living room,
where the girls were playing some teen show that Ashley had DVR’ed
the night before. I grabbed Ashley’s laptop and settled into the
leather chair, taking note of Charm, who was snuggled on the couch
between the girls. Then I opened the browser and Googled the word
‘elves’, pausing once to glance at gramp’s shotgun where I had
leaned it near the door.
***
I was up early the next morning, dressed,
armed and very thoughtful as I checked the household. My sleep had
been spotty to non-existent so I started a steady intake of coffee
to compensate. Everything looked secure, even outside, where the
sun was starting to rise on a cold, clear November morning. Frost
glittered on every surface.
My research hadn’t told me much, although
folklore about the Fey as some called them was extensive. The Irish
had names like
sidhe, unseelie sidhe
, and leprechauns, while
Wikipedia told me that elves were Germanic and Norse in origin.
Wights, goblins, hobgoblins, pixies, fairies, brownies, dwarves,
trolls, ogres, gnomes, sprites, the list goes on and on.
Every nation on earth, every race of people
have legends of little people and strange, almost magical folk.
Legends that go back hundreds of years, maybe thousands.
Jittery and jumpy, I left the house, locking
the door behind me and checking it twice. Then I headed to the old
part of the barn where the horse stalls used to be. Still are, but
they’ve been modified a bit. One of the two stalls is now my weight
room, having enough room for my Olympic set and a decent bench. The
other, slightly larger space has a heavy bag suspended from the
ceiling. I took off my jacket and tightened my belt. I wasn’t
really dressed for a workout, but my baggy cargo pants and long
sleeve tee shirt wouldn’t bind me or slow me down. Plus it’s not a
bad idea to train as you are, wearing what you would possibly be
wearing if a street fight, mugging or other scenario developed. I
left the gun on my hip as I jump roped to warm up, slightly awkward
in hiking boots. After a couple wind busting sets of rope, I
slipped the bag gloves on and went to work. Pounding the heavy bag
is about as therapeutic as forging. You slip into a rhythm, and
your brain can run free while you work combinations and footwork. I
immediately started to run through what I thought I knew.
Greer had implied distrust of the Green
Court, but also that there was a tenuous working relationship.
White guarded the gateways (?) which implied
one was near; while Green hunted for gifted children. Gifted how?
Intelligence, athletic ability, artistic? But he had also mentioned
talent and gifted in relation to those of his people that could
cross to this world. So talented might imply something else.
I had read enough fiction in my youth and
have seen enough bad science fiction movies to make a guess about
what ‘talented’ might imply.
“You move well,”
I jumped one foot up and three back,
struggling to get my right hand glove off and my gun out. Greer was
leaning against a post about fifteen feet away, arms crossed, with
an interested glitter in his frosty eyes. He grinned at my awkward
spaz attack, holding both hands up to indicate no ill intent.
I got my hand on my Sig, but stopped, as he
obviously could have killed me while I wasn’t looking.
“What the fuck!” I demanded, mad and
embarrassed in equal parts.
“It was not my intention to alarm you. You
were lost in thought and I might have some blame for that,” he
said. “I thought to talk some more.”
My heart was jumping damn near into my
throat, adrenaline racing through me, but I managed to get a grip
on myself and avoid getting smacked by the heavy bag as it swung
back at me.
After a moment he pointed at the bag and
commented again.
“You move well for a human. Heavy on your
feet, but with power.
T’oorcs
fight like that, although they
are fast,” he supplied, moving around the bag as I moved opposite
him, keeping the bag centered between us.
“My people are built lighter than yours, by
and large. Our fighting techniques favor speed, agility and
flexibility,” he lectured. “Many of my people would tell you it’s a
superior method of fighting, but the better fighters know that
there is no best way. My partner, who is without a doubt the best
fighter of our generation, feels that warriors need to train in a
way that maximizes their strengths and strengthens their
weaknesses.
“Partner?” I asked.
“Guardians generally work in pairs, each pair
assigned to a portal. Summer’s Hunters work in triads,” he
explained.
“So there is a portal nearby?” I asked.
He nodded, pointing up and behind the
house.
“On top of Bear Mountain?” I guessed.
“It is a smaller node, off the path of the
larger, more established portals. Which was why my partner
questioned our placement here,” he explained.
“So you are saying there’s a backwater portal
atop the hill behind my house? And you and your partner feel
slighted?” I asked trying to grasp the situation.
“Slighted? Maybe not slighted. Puzzled might
be a better term. Neeve and I are considered the first team among
Guardians. We are usually sent to the biggest, most important
nodes,” he said. “We wondered what was different about this
one.”
“You said ‘wonder
ed
? Like you’ve now
figured it out,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
He nodded. “Hunters seek children of Talent.
These children are interspersed between the two courts and bred
back into the blood lines. Guardians protect the portals, but
mostly we seek to maintain the balance between the courts.
Occasionally a child is found who is gifted to such an extent that
it would throw off the balance between the courts. As Summer’s
hunters invariably find these children, Summer would most likely
benefit.”
I held up my hand to stop the flow of
words.
“What are these Talents you refer to? Just so
I’m clear,”
“Millennia ago, your species hunted to
survive and were in turn, hunted. As an animal, you were
handicapped by using two feet instead of four. Your natural
weaponry was pathetic, and your senses weak. Yet you thrived. Why?”
he asked.
“Our brains?” I answered.
He nodded. “Your intelligence allowed you to
modify your environment to better your odds. My people did the
same. However, while we chose to modify the living forms of our
environment, you chose the nonliving avenue, fashioning weapons and
tools from wood, stone and hide. You still faced the problem of
senses, one that we overcame by improving our night vision,
olfactory and auditory abilities through our ability to manipulate
the code of life. But your people didn’t. Yet they were able to
detect and avoid predators, find or lure game, coordinate hunts to
take down large prey. How?”
I shrugged, figuring he would answer quicker
if I kept quiet.
“Your ancestors developed and used abilities
that have gone latent in most of your population.”
“Like what? Psychic powers? ESP?
Telepathy?”
“I think you refer to powers of the mind that
are beyond the normal senses?” he asked. I nodded and he continued.
“These mental abilities gave your people the edge they needed to
outwit predators and find prey.”
“And you and your partner think there is such
a child here? In Groton Falls?”
“There is,” he said with a grimace.
“And?” I asked, waiting for the other shoe to
fall.
“She is your daughter,” he said.
Shoe? More like a giant’s boot.
“What?
“I don’t know what her abilities are, but
even I can recognize the signs of raw talent. Plus there is the
mystery of the pucks.”
“Pucks? What the fuck is a puck?”
“You may have noticed them, small very fast
fliers with big teeth. They are part of the White Court, just as
the Green Court has what you might call ‘pixies’ or maybe ‘bug’,”
he said with a slight smile.
“You know the word bug?” I asked.
He looked puzzled. “Yes it is an old word
from your ancestors’ lands.”
“My ancestors? You mean the Irish and the
Scots?”
“’tis a Gaelic word. But the point is they
are also fliers, but smaller and green with lighter legs,” he
said.
“Oh, the big hornets?” I asked. He nodded.
“Okay, so what about the pucks? I have noticed something is eating
animals around here,” I added.
“The pucks serve my Court, yet the ones here
on your farm refuse my orders to leave. They tell me they must
guard, but they are very….limited. They can’t or won’t tell me what
they guard. Now I have figured it out….they guard your
daughter.”