Harvest of Holidays (8 page)

Carson smiled. It was weak, but it was there. “He would, at that.”

Tally threaded her hand into his. “Our place,” she said. “A rowdy ruckus that will have Mrs. Washinsky thumping on the door, screaming at us to shut it down. It seems only fitting.”

* * * * *

The face of the mine was a square cut opening in a massive rock formation, and Oscar approached it warily, looking over his shoulder constantly. But the area was abandoned and had been since the 1970s. Oscar had been involved in one of the unsuccessful attempts to have the whole area recognized as an historical heritage site, and knew that no one came here anymore, especially at night. It was thirty minutes after sunset. Greyish light clung to the treetops, but it was completely dark down on the ground among their boles.

Oscar walked in through the massive opening and squinted in the dark. There was a rustling noise further inside and the clink of a stone, then a soft splash as if the stone had been dropped into water. The old mine was filled with pools of water and abandoned equipment from the last century, when cement had been hacked out of the stone and carted away to make buildings and structures like the Brooklyn Bridge. Then Portland Cement had grown more popular, as it was cheaper and more abundant, and that had been the start of a steady decline in this mine that had lasted another sixty years.

Oscar was familiar with the mine from when he had done walk-throughs during the negotiation process with the government to have it declared a heritage property. Vast caverns had been carved out of the rock, with pillars of stone that flared at foot and top, holding up the roof.

But Oscar couldn’t see anything in the dark, now. He waited six feet inside the entrance, where there was a glimmer of light from the fast-departing day outside, his heart thudding so hard he could hear it echoing in his head. Something was moving, away in the dark.

There was a scrape of stone, not far from where he stood. Then a pair of eyes appeared. They glowed from within.

The creature stepped closer and the little light available allowed Oscar to see it, as it stepped and slid over the shale-covered floor. Remarkably, the long claws on each foot made no sound against the stone.

It was the little one. Valdeg. “Ye have courage, coming here,” it/he said. His words were thick and muffled, like he was speaking through a mouthful of cotton wadding. The massive jaw moved unnaturally and the thick, yellow fangs behind the lipless mouth flashed.

“Why? Because you did not say I could?” Oscar said sharply. “It was imperative I speak to you.”

“We have nothing to speak of. The deal has been concluded.”

“You killed him!” Oscar cried, his horror and deeply roiling guilt pushing the words out of him like a geyser. “I didn’t say to kill him!”

There was another slither of stone on stone, and a new pair of eyes glinted in the dark. Larger eyes.

Lirgon lurched over to where Valdeg squatted, moving awkwardly in the low cavern. His head nearly brushed the roof, even though he stayed hunched over. He settled next to Valdeg, making the stunted one look miniature and weak in comparison. Even Valdeg’s head was smaller.

Lirgon spoke, in the series of throat-clearing rumbles and hisses that made up gargoyle speech, while Valdeg listened. Then the little one translated. “The first among us says ye are a lawyer and should be more cautious with your words. Ye said ‘deal with him’. We did.” Valdeg spread his leathery wings, ruffled them and tucked them back behind him. It was a contented gesture. He was crowing.

“I never said kill him!” Oscar protested. “That was never part of the agreement, and if you think reasonably for one moment, you’d know that I wouldn’t have asked for that.
Never
.”

Both of the massive creatures studied him, their faces expressionless. They were always expressionless, but Oscar sensed that at this moment, the stoic features were accurate. They really didn’t give a damn.

“He was the enemy,” Valdeg said simply. “He would have killed us. He
did
kill Doroth.”

“And you left him behind! How stupid could you be?” Oscar replied.

“We knew the hunters would deal with him,” Valdeg said.

Oscar swallowed. He had been suffering a low level nausea since the moment Donna had stumbled into the house on Christmas morning, her eyes swollen, and whispered to him that Jimmy was dead, before turning and sweeping the girls into her arms and carrying them to the waiting Christmas tree, exclaiming over the enormous pile of presents beneath.

Now the sick feeling leapt, making him break out in a cold sweat and his heart to lurch with an alarming flutter. “Don’t contact me ever again,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I won’t help you. Not with paperwork, not with
anything
. This is over.”

Valdeg hissed and growled at Lirgon, who answered, rearing up so that his head almost hit the roof again.

Valdeg looked at Oscar, his inner eyelids rolling down over his eyes, then back up again. It was like a slow-motion blink. “Your wife is a hunter.”

The hot sickness congealed in his chest, as Oscar stared at them, trying to pretend he didn’t understand. But he
did
understand. He was a damned fine negotiator, and he had decades of experience reading body language and implications behind words, across the negotiating table. He
knew
, but didn’t want to. “Leave Donna out of this.” The words came out in a squeak. He couldn’t speak louder. His throat had closed over.

They spoke to each other again.

Valdeg’s tongue rolled out, pitch black and moist. “We will not consider her an enemy while you do our bidding.”

Bidding
? Oscar stared at them, unable to find words that would sound strong, that would reverse this terrible moment. “You said our deal was concluded.” It was a pathetic protest.

Valdeg didn’t bother conferring with Lirgon. “This is a new deal,” he said.

Oscar couldn’t think of anything to say or do. These…creatures were not being reasonable. They didn’t even think like humans. A human would never have lied so bluntly to him when he had first suggested they had mutual interests that could be serviced together. There were nuances and subtleties that these
things
did not seem to understand.

Of course they don’t think or behave like you expect. They’re not human
.

Valdeg’s tongue lolled out again and Oscar had the strangest feeling that he was laughing at him. “The map you used to find this place. You must use it again.”

“For what?” Oscar asked tiredly.

Valdeg told him.

* * * * *

After the human had left, taking his stink with him, Valdeg settled in front of Lirgon, staying low in respect. “Would it not be better to go after the Natalia? The stronger one?”

“The Natalia is weak right now, carrying the bairn,” Lirgon said, using the phonetic sounds that represented the human word for off-spring. It came out as a “parrrgh” sound that Valdeg recognized only because Lirgon always used the human word. He refused to use the gargoyle name for off-spring when referring to humans. “The Connor is its nest guardian. Without the Connor, the Natalia will be weaker.”

Valdeg hissed his agreement. The first among them had always understood humans better than any of them.

Lirgon extended one middle claw, lengthening it so that it curved. He waved his foot sideways, making a sweeping motion, so the claw sliced through the air. “What is this, that humans do to their food when they gather a meal?”

Valdeg considered the slicing swish of Lirgon’s claw. “Cropping,” he suggested. Then he remembered the right word. “Harvest,” he added, sounding out the human word. There was no gargoyle word for food that stayed where it was, growing right out of the ground.

Lirgon spread his wings and resettled them happily. “Yes. Harvest.” His rendition of the word was a heavy exhale and a hiss. “This will be a very good harvest for us.”

* * * * *

Everyone turned up for the party, even hunters and their kin that they had not seen in years. Word had passed. They filed silently through the gate and up the steps into the brightly lit house. No one felt even remotely like celebrating anything. It was reflected in their faces and their eyes, and the hard set of their jaws.

Carson gathered everyone around the dining table, while Tally and Connie and Joy carried every glass in the kitchen out to the table, along with jelly jars, teacups and what looked like a small soup bowl. Carson cracked the seal on the Jim Beam and poured a dash into every vessel.

The drinks were handed around silently, until everyone had one in their hands.

“To Jimmy,” Carson intoned, holding the soup bowl up in the air.

“Jimmy,” they all murmured and drank.

Tally sipped hers then poured the rest into Carson’s bowl with a grimace. Others were also gagging and coughing.

“This is rot gut!” Joy declared. “How could anyone drink it?”

“Jimmy always said that after the first bottle, it tasted like the smoothest blend in the world,” Carson pointed out.

“Only a shitload cheaper,” Miguel finished.

A weak smile flashed around the room.

Tally moved over to the record player and dropped the needle onto the record there. “All is quiet…on New Year’s Day,” Bono warbled.

“That’s a fucking understatement!” someone shouted over the top of it.

Abruptly, everyone began to speak at once. The party had started.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Carson was in the kitchen, mixing up an emergency dip out of cream cheese and dehydrated French Onion Soup mix, which took a surprising amount of muscle power, for the cream cheese was a solid block. Tally had always made it look easy.

Nick leaned against the edge of the counter next to him and crossed his arms over his chest, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “You look very domestic,” he observed.

“Might as well get used to it,” Carson replied.

“Then you do mean to go through with this?”

“Giving up hunting?” Carson nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“That’s what you said when you married Tally.”

“It’s all part of the same thing,” Carson said.

“I agree,” Nick replied.

Carson raised his brows. “Nicholas Sherwood agrees with me. I think hell just froze over.”

Nick grinned. Then his grin faded. “You do know that Damian and I will always be here, don’t you?”

Carson grinned. “I’ve always known that.”

“But you failed to ask us to help.”

“Deliberately. I thought about it, but…” Carson frowned, trying to put into words what was still a nebulous concept for him. “It’s important that I do this. Tally was raised by you, and she’s…well, I’m biased, but I think she’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, and I know that’s your influence at work. But it also leaves its mark.”

Nick drew in a breath. “She’s not quite human,” he said softly.

“Yes. That’s exactly it,” Carson said. “Not that it’s a bad thing,” he added. “But it does make it difficult for her to relate to humans
as
a human, sometimes. That’s why it’s better that I give up the hunting. This kid is going to grow up with one foot in the strangest world imaginable. If I can offset that, just a little….” He shrugged.

The kitchen door swung inwards and the music leapt in volume. Tears For Fears was playing now. Jimmy would have approved mightily of every record on the turntable, so far.

Donna slipped through the swinging door. “You’re here. Good.” She dug in her jeans pocket.

Nick straightened up and turned to face her. “Oscar is right behind you,” he said softly.

She glanced at him, startled, then looked over her shoulder as the door swung once more, the volume jumped, and Oscar came in. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-through shirt, but he still looked out of place in their humble kitchen. He looked, well,
groomed
. It was something Carson had only ever been able to aspire to. Sartorial elegance took money he had never had. Not that he cared. Tally didn’t mind, after all.

Donna considered Oscar for a second then shrugged and dug into her pocket again. She extracted a folded sheet of paper. “I was going through Jimmy’s things and I found this.” She held it out toward Carson.

Oscar was staring at the paper like it might grow fangs and bite if he looked away. Then he stirred and lifted his head to look at Donna. “
You
found it?”

Donna looked at him steadily. “Yes.” Then she turned back to Carson as he unfolded the sheet. Nick moved around the corner of the table to look over his shoulder.

It was a photocopied section of a map of the lower half of the state. Just north of Poughkeepsie, there was a small circle. It had been made with a felt-tipped pen, bright blue among all the greys.

“Where is that?” Donna asked Carson. “It means something, doesn’t it?”

“There’s an old mine just around there,” Nick said. “The Widow Jane Mine. They dug cement out of it for decades, but it’s been closed down for nearly ten years.”

Carson looked at him. “A man made cave. All the comforts of home for them.”

“Yes.” Nick flicked the sheet with his nail. “Although why would Jimmy have had it? Why didn’t he share it?”

“Perhaps he meant to, but ran out of time,” Oscar said.

Carson folded up the sheet and held it out to Donna. “I’m retiring,” he said firmly. “You should check it out.”

Donna pushed his hand back toward him. “I got into this business because of demons,” she said. “Now I’m going to go back to that side of it.” She held her hand out to Oscar, who hesitated, then took it. There was agony in his eyes, but a small smile played around his mouth. His grip tightened.

Donna looked back at Carson. “The gargoyles are Tally’s project, but she’s going to be busy for the next few weeks. You should check it out. For her. If it is their nest, then you could get rid of the last of them just as your baby is born.”

Carson held the map in mid-air, looking at it. He could see where the felt-tip had gouged a tiny furrow in the paper, and the ink had soaked through to the opposite side. “Miguel will want to follow up. I’ll give it to him.”