J.L. Doty - Dead Among Us 01 - When Dead Ain’t Dead Enough (17 page)

“Safety! You feel the need to protect me. No one can harm me in my own realm.”

“How true, Your Majesty. And yet, there have been  . . . unusual occurrences surrounding this young mortal mage. I would counsel  . . . caution, until we know more.”

She said nothing and stepped aside.

Cadilus turned and stepped through the portal into Paul’s study. Paul and Katherine stood facing each other, frozen in time like two statues, he with a wry frown upon his face, she with her shoes dangling from her fingers. Cadilus looked about, turned to the portal. “It appears to be safe, Your Majesty.”

Magreth stepped through the portal, looked about the room for a moment, then walked past him and into the other room, the bedroom. He followed her. She scanned the room carefully, stepped briefly into the bathroom, then returned and walked back into the study to look upon the two mortals standing motionless.

“I see nothing unusual here,” Magreth announced, “other than that you seem to have been somewhat generous with your accommodations.”

“But I have not, Your Majesty.” Cadilus strolled about the room, indicating various pieces of furniture and other accoutrements. “I placed him alone in a bare stone cell with a small cot, and a chamber pot beneath it.”

She spun about, looked more carefully at the contents of the room, and the flames appeared in her eyes. “Then how came this?”

“The young mage conjured it all.”

Her voice hardened as she demanded, “Conjured?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. With merely a thought. A thought here, a thought there, conjured it all with such ease one might think he was Sidhe. I didn’t anticipate this so I didn’t really resist him. He hasn’t been able to penetrate the bounds of our circle, though he’s tried repeatedly. But inside the circle, it appears he can conjure almost anything.”

“And the girl, how did she get here? He didn’t conjure her.”

“No, he transported her here, with no more than a whim. We constructed the circle so we might enter or leave, which allowed him to pull her into it, though he can’t send her out. It’s as if he’s more powerful here than on the Mortal Plane.”

“Impossible.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I concur. He is mortal, so here in Faerie he must be less powerful. But that means on the Mortal Plane his power must rival that of the Old Wizard.”

Magreth walked carefully around the two young mortals, looked at each in turn, looked carefully. After completing a full circle she said, “It’s almost as if they’re lovers.”

She hesitated and looked closely at the young girl. “She is a lovely creature. See to it no harm comes to her. The Old Wizard’s wrath would be  . . . dangerous. We’ll return her to him as a favor.”

She stepped back, looked at the young fellow from a distance, as if he was a wild animal and she dare not get too close. “But as to the young man  . . . let’s not take any chances. Kill him and be done with it.”

Cadilus bowed deeply. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

This once, McGowan had chosen to not wear wizard’s robes in the Seelie Court. Magreth would have to receive him in modern mortal attire, sport coat, tie and slacks, not the long flowing robes that made him look like something out of a Tolkien novel. His casual street attire would irritate her, and that was just fine with McGowan.

Two Seelie warriors in ceremonial armor swung back the great double doors of the throne room as he approached, and beyond them he saw dozens of courtiers huddled in small groups. When he stepped across the threshold, one of the warriors announced, “A mortal wizard, Your Majesty,” and the buzz of dozens of inconsequential conversations died abruptly. Announcing him that way had been an open insult. He paused for dramatic effect, focused on Magreth who sat upon her throne at the far end of the room.

She’d been speaking to Cadilus, with her head turned to one side. But now she took an infinitely long moment to turn her gaze slowly toward McGowan, looking upon him with those intense, green eyes. Had he been following protocol he would’ve waited for her to invite him to approach. Instead, he immediately began marching toward her, and the green of her eyes turned to flame. Had he been following protocol he would’ve stopped a goodly distance from her. Instead he marched right up to the base of the dais. Had he been following protocol he would’ve bowed deeply. Instead he stood there, facing her angrily.

All present felt her power rising as her anger grew, so the old man summoned his power and let them feel a taste of it. At that moment he did bow, but only a slight nod of the head, as one equal to another. “Your Majesty.”

The flames in her eyes blossomed, and her anger became a palpable presence. “Old Wizard,” she said, conceding to him his title.

He allowed a tight smile to touch his lips. “We haven’t spoken in quite some time. Shall we stand here, snarling at each other like two hissing cats?”

She stared at him silently with her flaming eyes. Then slowly the flames disappeared and once again she looked upon him with those beautiful green eyes. Almost human eyes, if one could ignore the cat-like vertically slit pupils. “I do owe you a daughter, don’t I?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It would save us both a great deal of trouble if you returned her unharmed.”

She eyed him carefully. “And what of the young wizard?”

“Return him as well.”

“Return,” she said. “That word implies you had possession of him, and wish that possession reinstated. But you did not. He was on his own. Do you have some claim on him? Is he of your blood?”

“No, not of my blood.” McGowan considered lying, claiming Paul was his apprentice. But Magreth would sense the lie, or at least suspect it, and that could endanger his ability to get Katherine back. “He’s a friend of my daughter’s, and therefore a friend of mine. And my mortal colleagues and I will not take it kindly if you abduct our mortal friends. The Mortal Plane is not your playground.”

She gave him an unkind grin. “Your daughter will be returned. But the young wizard  . . . we’ll have to consider that further.”

Katherine leaned in close to Paul, a mischievous glint in her eyes, her lips a fraction of an inch from his. “Give you a kiss for a pair of Fendis.”

“What are Fendis?” he asked stupidly.

“They’re a girl’s best friend.” Her lips touched his, brushed them lightly, barely made contact, wouldn’t have passed muster as a love scene in some movie. But while it almost didn’t qualify as a kiss, it was still very sensual.

She leaned back a few inches, scrunched her nose up and said, “Oh, this just won’t do.”

She hit him with a curl-your-toes, grand-slam, hit-it-out-of-the-ballpark kiss that backed him up a step. She put her arms around his neck and stayed with him. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close, and as their tongues danced she pressed her body against his. When she leaned back and their lips parted she didn’t pull out of his embrace, was breathing as heavily as him.

“Whoa!” he said. “Whatever they are that was worth a whole store full of ‘em.”

She gave him a Cheshire-cat grin. “Shoes. They’re shoes, and you say the nicest things.”

“What do I get for a pair of those Kristine Labootins?”

She laughed, shook her head sadly. “Actually, Mr. Conklin, my kisses are not for sale. You got that one simply because I wanted it myself. And you’ll get this one for the same reason.”

She started to close the few inches between them, but a familiar voice said, “It’s sad, Boo. Both of them have their minds in the gutter.”

Paul and Katherine jumped away from each other like little kids who’d been caught smooching behind the garage.

Jim’Jiminie sat on top of the dresser Paul had wished into existence, while Boo’Diddle sat on the desk.

“Children, children, children,” Jim’Jiminie said sadly, shaking his head. “Can’t you be behavin’ yerselves? Especially when the young man’s life is at stake.”

Katherine turned on him. “What do you mean, his life is at stake?”

Boo’Diddle answered her, which forced her to turn about to face him. “Right this moment your father’s making arrangements for your release, lass.”

Jim’Jiminie continued, and Katherine spun back to face him. “But the lad here, he has them scared. So they’re going to kill him.”

“Kill me,” Paul said. He stepped back so he could look at both little men at the same time. Katherine stepped back to stand at his side. “Why would they want to kill me?”

Boo’Diddle said, “You escaped from the Netherworld.”

Jim’Jiminie said, “And you did it with all the finesse of a thunderclap on a clear, cloudless day. So we’re here to save you, me and Boo.”

They both jumped off their perches and headed for the bedroom door. “Follow us.”

Paul and Katherine followed them through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Paul demanded, “I didn’t do anything. It was old man McGowan got us out of the Netherworld.”

Boo’Diddle marched up to the bathtub, pulled the shower curtain aside, said, “They don’t know what you are, don’t understand you, and the Courts fear what they don’t understand.”

He turned back to Paul and Katherine. “They have you locked in a circle.”

Katherine said, “We can’t break a Sidhe circle.”

Paul demanded, “What’s a circle?”

“A circle of power,” Katherine said. “It can both contain and protect. And it’s impossible to break.”

Jim’Jiminie said, “Not if it has a hole in it, lass.” He pointed at the bathtub drain. “They didn’t think of that. We’ll leave that way.”

Paul didn’t try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “You mean I’m going to squeeze myself through the fucking bathtub drain?”

Neither leprechaun caught the sarcasm. They frowned and said in unison, “Of course.”

Paul looked at Katherine. “They’re serious?”

Her eyes widened and she said, “This is Faerie. I guess they are.”

“Come on, lad,” Jim’Jiminie said, tugging on Paul’s hand. The two little men climbed into the bathtub.

Paul reluctantly joined them there. Katherine started to join them as well, but Boo’Diddle held up a hand. “Sorry, lass. You won’t be coming with us. Your father’s made arrangements for you.”

Katherine shook her head angrily. “If Paul’s life is in danger, then I’m staying with him.”

“No, lass,” Boo’Diddle said. “We’ll get him back. Your father’ll get you back. And then you and he have to start the lad’s training.”

The two leprechauns made Paul stand over the drain. Boo stood behind him, Jimmie in front, and they wrapped their arms around his ankles. “Hold on, lad,” one of them said, “It’s gonna be a fun ride.”

Paul looked at Katherine, couldn’t hide his apprehension. She said, “It’ll be ok. Just trust them.”

The room started to spin, very slowly like the second-hand on a clock. But then Paul realized it wasn’t the room, but he and the two little men who were spinning. They picked up speed slowly, each revolution just a bit faster than the last, and for a moment Paul wondered if he might puke, which would make a real mess while spinning like this. Faster and faster they spun, each revolution picking up more speed until the walls of the bathroom blurred into a dizzy streak of colors. Then the leprechauns shouted, “Weeeeeee,” and suddenly there was nothing beneath his feet. Paul and the little men plummeted downward, he flashed past the bathtub drain into darkness, and when he looked up the last thing he saw was a round circle of light above him dwindling farther and farther away.

Chapter 11: On A Whirlwind

Fucking purple grass and pink sky,
Paul thought. Not basically green grass with a few purple hints, and not a blue sky shading a bit toward pink, but bright purple and vivid pink.

“Hurry, mortal,” a nearby flower said.

Oh ya, and fucking talking flowers!

The flower tilted its bright yellow bloom to one side angrily. “You watch your language, young man.”

Paul lurched after the two leprechauns. Somewhere along the way he’d surrendered his sanity card, decided at this point he was just bug-fuck nuts. But as he trudged along he kept thinking of Katherine’s kiss, though thinking about it made him feel guilty since Suzanna and Cloe were trudging along beside him.

Don’t worry about it, Paulie-boy. I’m the past. And anyway, I like her.

Yes, daddy, she seems real nice. If mommy wasn’t my mommy, I’d like to have her as a mommy.

For two little men with such short legs the leprechauns kept up a grueling pace. Paul shouted ahead, “Where’re we going? And why the hurry? We’re out of that fairy castle.”

Jim’Jiminie looked over his shoulder. “If we’re within the bounds of the Seelie Court when they discover you’ve escaped, they’ll scoop you up in seconds. And Magreth gave orders you’re to be killed.”

Paul felt a sudden spurt of renewed energy, quickened his pace and caught up with the two little fellows. “So where’re we headed?”

Boo’Diddle answered breathlessly. “When we cross into the territories of the non-aligned fey, you’ll be safe.”

“Now, Boo,” Jim’Jiminie said, “I wouldn’t go that far. Some of the non-aligned might want him dead too.”

“But not all,” Boo said. “So maybe he won’t be completely safe, but surely safer. And then there’s Katie’O’girl.”

“Aye, Boo, you got a point there. I’d wager even Magreth would think twice before risking the wrath of our sweet, dear Katie.”

Paul didn’t even want to think what kind of monster this Katie’O’girl thing was, not if she could put fear in the mad, white queen.

Katherine watched Paul and the two leprechauns swept up on a swirling tornado of magic, watched as they stretched and spun, and were pulled down through the drain of the bathtub like something from a Saturday morning children’s cartoon. This must be hard for Paul. It had only been a few days since the Russians had shot up his apartment, and in that time he’d been attacked by demons, dragged into the Netherworld, faced down a real doozy of a demon there, been kidnapped into Faerie and forced to stand before Magreth, which was a scary thought for any mortal.

Katherine turned away from the bathtub and wandered back into the bedroom. She decided to explore the place further, was about to do so when the wall opposite her began to fade. She felt reality shift for a moment, and then her father and Cadilus stepped into the room out of nowhere.

Her father smiled and said, “Katherine.” He crossed the room and wrapped her in his arms, and she felt his power probing at her. She knew he had to be certain she wasn’t some illusion or glamour, some sort of avatar dreamed up by the fey. It would be just like the Sidhe to try to pawn off a chimera instead of the real Katherine.

She whispered in her father’s ear. “Rather dramatic entrance, eh?”

He released her and stepped back. “I’m just a guest here, a passenger, as it were. I’ve secured your release.”

She knew she had to stall, buy Paul and the leprechauns as much time as she could before Cadilus found out he’d escaped. “What about Paul?”

Her father frowned unhappily. “I wasn’t able to secure his release.”

“Well then I’m not leaving without him.” She looked at Cadilus. “Not while Magreth has ordered his death.”

McGowan stiffened, then turned slowly to Cadilus. “His death? You didn’t tell me about that. Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

Cadilus shrugged. “Her Majesty does as Her Majesty pleases.”

Cadilus looked toward the study. “Where is the young man?” He took a step toward the door, but paused. “I don’t sense him here. That’s not possible.”

He looked at Katherine, looked through her with his cat eyes, and she knew he could sense the lie implicit in her demeanor. He blinked out of existence.

Her father asked, a bit of wonder in his voice. “Paul escaped from a Sidhe circle?”

She smiled at him. “He had a little help.”

“How much farther?” Paul asked.

“Exactly the distance from here to there,” Jim’Jiminie said. “No further, no less.”

He’d been trying to get them to give him a distance, a length, some measure of how much farther they needed to trudge through this alien landscape. But the fey didn’t seem to think in such absolute terms, and he was beginning to think when it came to time or distance, there were no absolutes in Faerie. He was pondering that, trudging along, when he sensed that dark presence again, the same ferocious rage he’d sensed in the throne room. It crawled up his spine an instant before the horizon began to churn and boil with angry black clouds. Jim’Jiminie and Boo’Diddle both stopped and looked at each other. “Owe!” they said in unison. “Magreth’s wrath is upon us.”

Jim’Jiminie said, “Now we have no choice.”

Boo’Diddle agreed. “Aye, I’m afraid you’ve the right of it.”

Paul demanded, “What?”

They ignored him. “It won’t be nice. Not with the Seelie Court resisting us.”

“No, it won’t.”

“The lad’ll pay hell.”

“Yes, he will.”

Paul pleaded with them, “What’re you two talking about?”

They turned toward him, wrapped their arms around his ankles the way they’d done to flush him down the bathtub drain, and said in unison, “This.”

The wind started blowing, picking up leaves and twigs and bits of dirt and sand. It stung Paul’s eyes, and the three of them began to spin again like the tornado in the bathtub. Paul steeled himself to be flushed down something, but instead they lifted, rose high above the ground spinning wildly.

They were the center of a tornado that began picking up things far larger than a few leaves and bits of dirt and sand. A small rock bashed Paul in the side of the head. A tree limb slammed into his ribs with crushing force. He knew they were travelling rapidly across the countryside, leaving a trail of destruction behind them in a nauseating spiral of destruction, the spinning ground far beneath them. And then he was falling, like in a falling-nightmare, but there was no waking up from this, no sudden gasp in the night to awake with the comforting thought it was only a dream.

He thudded into the muddy turf on his stomach, rolled over and vomited all over his clothing. He gagged a couple more times, then laid there as the spinning and nausea receded, which allowed him to give his full attention to his other aches and bruises.

He sat up slowly, a trickle of blood running into his right eye, half blinding him.

“Ye daft fools,” a little female voice said. “You could’ve killed the poor mortal.”

A little female version of the two leprechauns stood over him, or rather, in front of him. He was sitting in the mud, and he was still taller than her. She wore a bright green dress, with a white apron and a deep red shawl. Her grayish hair was tied back in a bun, and her ample bosom jiggled as she unleashed her anger, “The Morrigan would’ve been sore displeased if you’d killed the fool.”

The two little men winced. “But Katie—”

“Don’t you
But Katie
me. You’ve—”

She was interrupted by the call of a hunting horn, and she turned to look toward the horizon.

Paul climbed slowly to his feet, made a half-hearted effort to wipe the vomit and mud off his clothes. They stood on the banks of a small river, and arrayed on the other side was a troop of Sidhe warriors in brightly colored armor, all mounted atop magnificent chargers, with Magreth in their midst in pure white armor on a pure white steed. And even from that distance Paul could see the flames in her eyes.

One of the warriors raised a bow in which he’d knocked a black arrow, and Paul had no doubt the fellow was aiming at him. What does one do when an immortal Sidhe warrior aims an arrow at you? Run? Hide? Paul suspected there would be some magic involved that meant there would be no hiding from that arrow.

Jim’Jiminie hit him low and Boo’Diddle high. He went down in a tangle of little limbs. As he struggled to get up Katie’O’girl hit him upside the head with her hand, a little teeny hand that sent his senses spinning. “Stay down, ye fool.”

“Ok,” he said, thinking the little people must know a thing or two. “Ok.”

She turned toward the hunt on the other side of the river, stood defiantly between Paul and them with her hands on her hips. Apparently, they’d have to kill her to get to Paul, and he was reminded of Katherine’s words about a hundred years of bad luck.

No one moved for several seconds, then, without warning, Magreth, in her white armor on her white charger, simply disappeared. Then one-by-one the entire Sidhe host vanished.

Katie’O’girl turned on Paul. “You’re a sorry excuse for a wizard. But we’ll get you back.”

Paul awoke about four feet above the floor of his living room. How he got there he really couldn’t say. But he had an infinitesimal instant to realize he was four feet above the floor of his living room, prone, in midair, with nothing to support him. And then gravity kicked in.

He hit the floor with a thud that hurt like hell. He groaned and rolled over, curled up into a fetal position on his side, laid there for a moment catching his breath.

He was in his apartment. He had to believe everyone who was looking for him would look first in his apartment, so he knew he didn’t have time to lay there and nurse his wounds.

Getting to his feet was a struggle. He felt like an old man climbing a steep hill, but he managed. He was covered in mud and bruises and blood, had left a bloody, muddy smear on his living room carpet.

He stumbled into the bathroom, stripped off his clothes, found he still had his wallet and cash and keys. Such things probably meant little to elves and fairies, so they hadn’t bothered to take them.

He left his clothes in a pile on the floor, turned on the water in the shower. He probably had a short window of time before they came here looking for him, so he just rinsed the mud and blood off, then toweled off quickly. The towel was a bloody mess when he dropped it on the floor.

He limped into his bedroom , put on fresh clothes and crammed a baseball cap on his head. He grabbed a duffle bag and frantically stuffed clothing, toiletries and his small notebook computer into it, was out on the street less than ten minutes after landing on his apartment floor. He walked rapidly, looking over his shoulder continuously. It was really the first time he’d been on his own since the bat-shaped nasties and the Russians and McGowan had invaded his apartment.

He considered going to the police, but then he thought about the story he’d have to tell, knew full well after he blabbered about wizards and witches and demons and leprechauns, if they didn’t lock him up, they’d certainly write him off as a nut case and take no action. He zigzagged randomly through the streets for several minutes, didn’t see any signs of pursuit, didn’t see any invisible elves pushing people aside behind him.

He didn’t know if McGowan could trace him through his credit cards and ATM withdrawals—the man certainly had resources—so he decided to do as much as he could with cash. If he hit ATMs that weren’t near where he was hiding, or hit one just before leaving the area, they could look all they wanted and he wouldn’t be nearby. So he took a paranoid, zigzag path to the nearest ATM, withdrew more cash, paused for a moment at a newspaper stand and noted the date on the paper. He was surprised to learn it had been just a little more than seventy-two hours since McGowan and his Russian thugs had busted into his apartment. He headed for a nearby BART station and caught the train for the east bay.

At the Castro Valley BART station he caught a cab to his parents place. Actually, it had been his place since his mother had died three years ago, but he never could think of it that way. And right now it was an excellent, if temporary, sanctuary. McGowan was clearly a wealthy man, had considerable resources, but it would take him time to connect Paul to his parents old home. Paul figured he had at least a couple of days, and he needed that time to think, to regroup.

He’d kept his parents old car, a twelve year old Chevy, kept it in the garage at their house. Several times a year he and Suzanna and Cloe would come out, take the car up to Tahoe or down to Carmel or over to Yellowstone for a long weekend or a nice vacation.

He climbed into it, drove to a nearby grocery store, bought a cheap bottle of red wine, stopped at a pizza place and carried out a pizza. But he didn’t need the pizza. Suzanna showed up and cooked dinner for him, and she and Cloe kept him company while he ate.

Paul needed some means of defending himself. If the police happened to be on the scene when some bug-eyed hoodoo came out of the shadows, maybe they could help. But after thinking it through carefully he knew he’d probably be long dead before they got there, so he couldn’t depend on them.

Paul’s father had raised him hunting and fishing, so a gun wasn’t something that frightened him, unless it was aimed at him, something that had never actually happened until recently. But guns weren’t themselves inherently frightening. And while Paul hadn’t owned or used a gun in years, and hadn’t felt the need to have one around, a lot had changed in the last few days.