The Master (17 page)

But—

Heads up now. We're coming to another town. I'll talk to you later. I need to have a look around while you get some gas. I don't like the feel of things.

You can look around?
Nick asked, shocked, but the ghost was already gone.

The ghost was also right; the Jag soon reached the edge of the next settlement. Nick saw a gas station through the trees and slowed down for the turnoff. It wasn't snowing yet, but a cold creeping fog hung in the trees at the side of the road, looking to Nick's fevered imagination like the spirits of dead wood nymphs.

What? Regular ghosts aren't bad enough?
a distant voice asked, but no image of Nick's ghost appeared in the glass.

Don't blame me. You're the one who put all this woo-woo stuff in my head
, Nick replied.

What he didn't add was that the outlandish proposition he was part fey had begun to feel comfortable. In the past twelve hours his brain had been rearranged, and he suddenly had a bit more room for things like a half-goblin girlfriend and a pixie grandpa. And a ghost.

I appreciate that. Things were kind of cramped and narrow in here at the beginning,
the ghost joked.

“We're stopping?” Zee asked.

They didn't desperately need gas yet, but places to fuel up were few and far between in the mountains and would become sparser once they hit the desert floor. Also, he really needed some fresh air and coffee.

“We should get some gas. Is anyone hungry?” he asked, hoping he sounded normal. He was getting used to the idea of talking to ghosts but wasn't quite ready to spring his idiosyncrasy on a new girlfriend—though if anyone would believe him, it was probably Zee.

“Can we get more dog cookies?” Hansel asked as the car stopped. “The box is almost empty.”

“Dog cookies!” Gretel clapped her hands.

“You don't need to eat dog cookies now,” Nick said gently, turning around in his seat. “There are lots of tasty things to try. How about some granola bars, or real cookies? I bet you'd like Fig Newtons.”

“But I don't know Fignewts and I like this dog's cookies,” Hansel said, holding the cardboard box to his chest. “He has good cookies—not like the ones from the big droolie dog.”

Nick didn't want to ask. “Well, I like Christmas trees, but that doesn't mean I eat them,” he said instead, using fractured logic. Suddenly he felt exactly the way his mother had predicted he would when she'd threatened him with children of his own.

Hansel's face fell.

Nick sighed and glanced over at Zee, who was suppressing a smile. She shrugged, offering no suggestions.

“I'll see if they have dog cookies,” he finally said, surrendering to the greater will.

“
These
dog cookies,” Hansel insisted, holding up the box with the grinning terrier on the front and thrusting it toward Nick.

“Okay.” He shouldn't worry so much. A preferred diet of dog cookies was probably the least of the children's problems. “Zee, how about some coffee?” he asked.

“That would be wonderful. With lots of sugar, please.”

Something else occurred to Nick.

“Um . . . there are restrooms around back, if anyone has any need to wash up or . . . uh . . .” He stopped, feeling stupid. He was a doctor! Why the devil was he stuttering over the mention of normal bodily functions? Surely Zee and the children had normal bodily functions. . . . Of course they did. His brain really was in a meltdown. He finished with, “I'll be back in a jiff.”

Irritated with himself, Nick headed for the tiny mini-mart with steamed-up windows. From what he could see, the interior was as gloomy as the facade. He shivered but ignored the buzz of alarm that traveled up his spine. Maybe the owner was trying to save on electric bills.

Nick half-feared that the gas station would be closed and the mini-mart abandoned, but that was not the case at all; the double glass doors opened easily with a push. “Ho-ho-ho,” said a voice behind the counter as Nick stepped inside. The air was chill, and something about the voice raised the small hairs on his nape and forearms. Nick turned slowly to face the attendant.

What the hell? was his first and only complete thought.

Nick's brain stuttered as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Three things about the apparently sexless being that addressed him were alarming. One was the rifle held casually in its claws. Another was the fact that it had four hands, each attached to an individual arm that connected to its oddly elongated torso. Lastly, and perhaps least important, it wasn't wearing any clothes on its greenish skin—except for a bright red Santa hat on an overly large head that seemed filled with teeth.

A part of Nick realized that he was probably seeing his first full-blooded goblin. It was huge and hideous—worse than he'd ever imagined.

“This is all I need,” Nick said to the ghost who had urged him to stop here, but his friendly Christmas spirit wasn't there.

“And it'sss all your going to get,” the goblin hissed back, suddenly less jovial. “Sssay good-bye, human. It'sss my payday, cuz I'm going to collect the reward.”

The creature raised its rifle.

ER doctors understood sudden death and were practiced at avoiding it—at least, at helping other people avoid it. They often had to think fast, assess risks and make split-second decisions in order to save lives. Nick did just that.

His first encounter with the lutin world brought the dismaying discovery that he didn't like goblins. His first reaction to this dislike—also dismaying— was to hurl his car keys into the lutin's face. And since his car keys were part of a chain-gang with his house keys, office keys, desk keys and assorted other things like a Swiss Army knife and a video rental card, the mass had some real weight behind it.

He was fairly certain that he heard the lutin's nose break, and he knew for a fact that the creature's shotgun discharged—fortunately into the ceiling. Nick dropped into a crouch, then sprang for the door. And though he didn't actually enjoy the goblin's sudden howl of pain, he couldn't honestly say that he was sorry for what he'd done.

Nick somersaulted out the door of the mini-mart, already shouting for Zee and the children to get down, but his words were drowned out by Zee's own shouts. Seeing her violent and alarmed gesture, Nick dove left, toward the shelter of an ice machine.

Another blast from the goblin's shotgun shattered the glass doors behind him. The bleeding lutin leapt through the metal frame, taking aim at Nick as he tried to hide, but before the monster could cock his gun, he was buried under a hail of rocks hurled by Zee and the children. The stones hit the goblin's body with dull thuds until a particularly large one struck his skull with a definitive splintering sound that reminded Nick of a snail shell being stepped on. The lutin dropped to the ground, doing further damage to his head on the concrete curb. It didn't matter, though, because he was dead—at least a quarter of his brains were on the pavement.

“We got him!” Hansel crowed, jumping up and down. “Did you see that, Nick? We got him!”

Nick slowly got to his feet. He looked around quickly but didn't see any other danger. As a rule, he didn't show much fear because he didn't feel much fear. Terror would only cripple him, make him slow in situations where speed and clear thinking were critical. But he felt consternation. And dismay. And, on occasion, anger. At that moment, he was feeling all three. The anger especially, and it almost blinded him.

“Get under cover. We need to make sure that he was alone,” Nick said. Surprising himself, he picked up the shotgun without checking on the goblin.

“He's alone,” Zee said as she hurried to his side.

She touched his arm lightly, her eyes examining him. “I can't smell any others.”

“What the hell was he doing here, anyway?” Nick asked. His nose was finally registering the faint smell of ammonia that rose from the goblin corpse. He automatically wrapped his arms around the children as they rushed to his side, though Hansel at least seemed more excited than distressed. “And why shoot at me? Do you know this—this—person?”

“I don't know him and I don't know why he attacked you,” Zee said. Her voice was troubled. “Maybe because of helping us. There aren't any goblin hives around here, though. It's why I thought we'd be safe. We're almost to fey country, and this area is supposed to be patrolled by a dragon. Goblins usually keep away.”

“A dragon?” Nick repeated. His voice didn't sound as incredulous as he felt. “There's a dragon out here? And
The National Enquirer
doesn't know? I'm skeptical.” He shook his head.

“I know it sounds crazy, but that's what I hear. It's a dragon that eats only goblins. The fey turned it loose near Las Vegas after that hive was flooded and it migrated north.”

Migrating dragons—now he'd heard it all. Nick shook his head. His ears were ringing from the shotgun blast. Belatedly, it occurred to him that Zee had saved his life, and in the process, she had been forced to kill one of her own people. Maybe it wasn't someone she'd known personally, but one of her kind. Her race.

That thought brought him to a stuttering halt. These monsters were Zee's people?

Only partly, he reminded himself. She was nothing like this creature. But a part of him was still appalled.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, trying not to let his distaste show. “You saved my life, you know. I'm so sorry that you and the children had to do this.”

“Nick, you saved ours first. If we hadn't left that cabin when we did . . .” Zee shivered and then leaned into his body. Nick didn't have a free arm, but he kissed the top of her head. Her hair was soft and wonderfully human. She was nothing at all like the creature on the ground. Nothing! he thought fiercely.

“Don't think about it,” he said.

Zee shook her head. “I'm trying not to, but it's hard. I've tried to keep the children away from violence, and now I've done this in front of them.”

Nick kissed her again, knowing the gesture was inadequate but not sure what else to do. “The example you set was to be brave and resourceful and to protect the ones you . . . you care about.”

Zee raised her eyes to his. “Do you think that's what they learned?”

“Yes. That's exactly what you showed them. Now listen, I know it's gruesome, but let's go back inside and get some supplies together while we're here. And I'll fill up with gas if I can figure out how to turn the pumps on. I don't want to stop again until we find this faerie stronghold. There's no point in giving those . . . those people any chance to waylay us again.” He was also going to get his keys and look for ammunition for the shotgun. Nick had never owned a gun before, but he had shot skeet. And he had just realized that a firearm might be a very handy thing to have.

The children wriggled away from his tightening embrace. They didn't seem particularly troubled by the killing, though Gretel was quieter than usual and had a firm grip on her bear, which she held close. Nick shook his head, wondering if the children were used to violence, or whether they didn't see the goblin as a person. Did they even understand that they were part-goblin? Perhaps not. They didn't look anything like this creature. Maybe the ugliness hadn't touched them.

Or maybe it was something simpler—perhaps they didn't understand that the goblin was dead. Many human children of such an age wouldn't be able to understand the concept; they assumed real life was like television and that dead people got up when a violent scene was over and acted in some other show the next week.

Nick didn't believe in lying to children about life's largest lessons but, on the other hand, he saw no point in trying to explain what had happened when it could only cause distress. He'd already stretched the truth for Zee; he'd just stretch it a little more.

“I'll get the dog cookies!” Hansel said, dashing for the door of the mini-mart. Gretel followed more slowly.

“Be careful of the glass!” Nick warned, but he didn't try to stop them from going inside. The children had just helped kill a goblin. They had escaped from a hobgoblin and from their mother's hate-filled husband. They were tough. Zee was, too. He was learning not to fuss so much.

“I'm going to use the bathroom,” Zee said, looking around. He watched her draw in another breath of air, her nostrils flaring slightly as she sniffed the space around her. “Then we should leave. I don't smell anything bad, but I still don't feel safe here. It's too quiet. Some magic is at work.”

“I agree,” Nick said, looking once more at the dead goblin. Its arms didn't joint like human elbows. It looked like an insect—one that carried a gun. It was something out of a nightmare that had come to life. Nick doubted he'd ever feel entirely safe again, especially if he started thinking paranoid thoughts about how this ambush looked like a trap laid just for Zee. He didn't like such an idea for many reasons. What would have happened if he were out of the picture and they'd been forced to travel on foot?

“I'll watch the kids while you're in the bathroom,” he said. He didn't add that she should hurry, but Zee nodded as though reading his mind.

When she returned and they were all in the car, Nick turned the key and nothing happened. “What's wrong with the engine?” Zee asked nervously.

“I don't know. It's like we've run out of gas. But that can't be right—I just filled her up.” Nick scanned the dashboard for warning lights and ran down the checklist of usual Jaguar quirks. He came up blank. “I guess it might be a clogged fuel line. Or something with the ignition. I'd better take a look.”

He opened his door and everyone piled back out of the car. They watched while he popped the hood.

“What the devil?” Nick stared in consternation at the nest of torn insulation and wiring that was heaped on top of the engine. “Those are my sparkplug cables—and my ignition wiring,” he said in a hollow voice. He saw something move. “What the hell is that? A packrat?”