Forest Moon Rising (13 page)

“Because you don’t read science fiction or fantasy. You live it. So does your girlfriend. I saw her check in, but not since.”

He shrugged as if disinterested. “It’s none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business.”

“You threw me out. It’s none of your business why I’m here or who I’m with. Jealous?” He flashed me a cocky grin.

“This con is my turf too. I intend to protect the normals that love this con and only came for a good time so they don’t get mauled and maimed by your pet Kajiri. Like the ones who killed my friend, Bob.”

“You’re wasting your time and mine. I always come to this con to promote Halfling Games. You should have gone to bed hours ago. Do you need help getting to your room?”

“I’ll take her,” Squishy said from deep inside the bar.

I hadn’t known she was there. Or why.

“Tess, you need ice on that foot again.” Squishy wrapped an arm around my waist and propelled me in the direction of my wing. “I’m sticking close to you until I know more about those tree kids and what they’re up to.”

Donovan didn’t follow us.

When I looked back he remained where we’d left him, a puzzled frown on his face.

“Is he one of the bad guys?” Squishy whispered when we were out of earshot.

“That changes from day to day, hour to hour,” I replied.

“One of those,” she snorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Read some of the gaming manuals from Halfling. Shape shifters and tricksters. Sometimes they are your best ally, sometimes, your worst enemy. A roll of the dice says which. In real life we don’t get a roll of the dice to tell us ahead of time which side they’re on.”

“I feel like a stalker,” Allie whispered to me Saturday afternoon as we elbowed our way through the crowd in the wake of the only teens wearing store-fresh, stiff jeans and Tees.

“We are stalking prey,” I replied. My ankle ached. I’d been on my feet all day. When my foot was swollen, the cast fit snugly. After icing and elevation, every time I stood up, the cast slid down, banging on the injured tissue. Each time felt like Scrap was playing tic tac toe on my foot with one of his lit black cherry cheroots. Today it had swollen up again. No more banging, but now the cast was too tight, threatening to cut off circulation to my toes.

“You should sit down. Better yet, go back to the room and take a nap. You look like a zombie. I know how to follow suspects discreetly,” Allie continued.

As much as possible, we’d followed the Nörglein teens. I still hadn’t fathomed why they’d come to the con since they spent the majority of their time in role-playing games, the tabletop variety, not the live action.

I wished I dared take Allie’s advice and sit. Truth be told, this was the first time in a year and a half I felt a stirring of my old self. I’d grown into the science fiction/fantasy community through conventions. My first professional sales had been short stories to editors I met at cons. I loved playing with colors and textures to create my own costumes. I was at home among these seriously weird folk.

“If I look like a zombie then I should fit right in with the other costumes. I wonder why the kids haven’t gone into dark elf mode. Not just the people competing in the Masquerade tonight are dressing up,” I said.

To prove my point, a Green Man—he looked benign like the fanciful plaques and medallions for sale in the vendors’ room rather than evil like the faces I’d seen in Forest Park—clothed in swaths of fake oak leaves and acorns strode past us toward the grand ballroom where the costume competition gathered. A hefty woman with dozens of black braids, wearing a bikini made of chain mail and rabbit fur that didn’t cover near enough of her, scurried behind the Green Man. A troop of preschool girls in wispy pink and fairy wings added to the festive mood.

“Maybe the elves are behaving themselves because they have Donovan calling the shots,” Allie said. From her perspective over the top of most of the crowd, she had a better view of the grand picture. At five foot two and hampered by the cast, I saw mostly the backs or chests of the increasing crowd.

Scrap was useless. He swung from chandeliers, nearly drunk on excitement and gorged on mold. I suspected he’d taken a side trip to the Citadel with his lover only a hundred miles north of here.

“Donovan’s still here?” I craned my neck seeking a glimpse of the familiar black braid with silver slashes in the shape of wings at his temples. “Usually, he sticks to me as if he owns me. I haven’t seen him at all since Friday night.” More like Saturday morning. “But then he’s got his girlfriend, Doreen, stashed in a room somewhere.”

“I’ve seen him all over the con, usually not too far from the forest children.” Allie angled our path to the right toward the gaming rooms instead of the ballroom.

And there he was, standing tall and grim at the head of a long library table filled with cards, miniature figures, oddly shaped dice, and other arcane equipment important to the players. I’d never indulged in gaming so I didn’t know how to use those bits of junk. I knew more about my aunt’s herbs and elemental symbols for ceremonial magic than this stuff.

Donovan kept his hands locked behind his back and his chin high, supervising initiates. As if he knew I watched, he turned and flashed me that magnificent smile that turned my bones to pudding and my will to thistledown blowing in the wind.

The elf children scurried into the room bearing nachos and pizza for a large group. They settled in with another group of teens. I wanted to back away from the thick odor of day old pizza, unwashed teen bodies, and spilled soft drinks.

“L’Akita, you should be resting before you jump into charades.” Donovan flowed to my side and took my arm. Gently, he steered me away from his charges.

“You know my schedule better than I do,” I replied, digging in my staff to balance against him. That cast wasn’t moving until I willed it, which was my decision, not his.

“You are my priority here, Tess.” A complete reversal of his previous attitude. Another reason not to trust him.

“I thought controlling the junior Nörglein was your prime purpose for being here. No, wait, you said you needed to promote Halfling Games. What is it you truly want, Donovan?”

He frowned. “Not so loud. They might hear you.” He jerked his head toward the five forest children.

I couldn’t tell if the greenish cast to their skin was natural or an aspect of the flickering fluorescent lights.

“So you did follow me here to supervise them.”

“I don’t need excuses to come to my local con.”

Liar
! Scrap proclaimed from the crystals dangling from the light fixture.
You’d only been to one con before meeting my babe—and that was dressed as a bat surrounded by cousins and nieces and nephews. You haven’t been to a con since we battled the hellhound and lost a dear friend to a knife wielded by one of your Kajiri charges.

I kept my face bland, pretending to believe Donovan.

“Are you going to challenge those children to a duel?” Donovan looked at my cast and staff with stern disapproval.

“If I have to. Or I may call for help.” I forced myself to look away from his beautiful face and body and watch the five teens. This was the first time I’d been close enough to really study them. Three boys and two girls ranging in age from about twelve to fifteen. But being otherworldly in nature, they could have lived a hundred years to reach this level of maturity. I knew for certain that Donovan had “fallen” fifty years ago and gone to live with his foster family with the appearance of a teen. He could pass for late thirties, maybe forty now, even with the silver hair at his temples.

All of the junior elves had brown hair that tended to stick out in tufts, in shades ranging from cedar to oak bark. Their skin, minus typical teenage acne, was uniformly two shades lighter than the hair with just a hint of green. The girls had the appearance of short and slender saplings or sturdy vines. Their faces had angles and hollows, brown eyes tilted slightly up. The boys had more muscle mass similar to fast growing trees. Their noses and jaws were blunter and their heavy-lidded eyes barely opened.

“Tess.” Allie dragged my attention away from the Nörglettes’ quick and furtive glances as they wrapped their hands around their paper plates, protecting nachos and pizza from thieves. “Do you see how they’re eating?”

“They are shoveling greasy junk food into their maws like they haven’t eaten in a week and are afraid someone will take the food away before they get their fill.”

“Yeah, I know a lot of teens have the manners of a troll. But these kids are really enjoying that food, as if they’ve never tasted anything like it. And they’re smiling and talking to the other gamers.”

“Your point would be?”

“They are redeemable. I deal with gang refugees all the time. These children need education and socialization, but there is hope for them.” Allie sounded truly excited. Her face took on an expression of crusading glee.

I’d seen her in the same mode when she tried rehabilitating an aggressive pit bull rescued from a dog-fighting ring. Amazingly, she’d succeeded and found a home for the beast guarding chickens from coyotes on a farm. Rumor had it the dog babysat the children with loyal and gentle protectiveness.

I had little hope of convincing my friend of the inherent evil in the minions of the Nörglein until she watched them kill or rape. Even then she’d order therapy for them before going into battle.

“Donovan, the filk circle begins at nine in the executive meeting room. Bring them.” I turned to retreat to the cooler and fresher smelling lobby.

“They won’t want to come.”

“You can make them listen to you. Do it. For me. I have a theory that might save them from their upbringing.”

T
HE NÖRGLETTES HAVE BARELY BEEN BACK to their room for two and a half days. While my babe entertains friends and fans on a panel discussion of etiquette for first contact with aliens, the forest children obsess over the gaming table. I’m going to check out their digs.

There’s hair in the shower drain and on the bar of soap, so I guess they know about basic hygiene. The cute little triangle folded at the end of the TP roll by the maids has been mangled and the seat is up, so they know what a toilet is for. The two queen beds have not been slept in. Dirty underwear spreads across the floor in distinctive patterns. I’m reminded of a dog peeing to mark his territory. The guys are doing it with their discarded clothes. The girls too. Boxers in three of the piles, white cotton panties for the girls—high waisted and low legged preferred by older women, not the scanty and silky stuff of modern teen girls. No bras. Didn’t notice if the two girl trees are well enough stacked to need them.

Fresh, unopened packages of underwear lay neatly in the dresser drawers. Five sets. I count two in each of the five piles on the floor. The kids are wearing a set. They plan on staying one more day. They’ll leave the con when Tess does Sunday evening.

They haven’t changed their jeans and Tees. The ones they are wearing begin to crumple enough to look normal.

Where’d they get the money for clothes and transportation, lodging and food? Someone in this family has a job or a trust fund. That could be the link to Cooper’s Furniture Store.

Hmmm, if all these clothes are brand spankin’ new, I wonder what they wear in the woods? Anything more than skin? Or do they live in bark?