The Master (22 page)

“I . . .” She hesitated. “I don't have any proof. But I believe he means to sacrifice them. It wouldn't be enough, just kidnapping, to make the humans go to war. And I think that's what he wants.”

“Would he do that?” Jack asked Abrial. Nightdemon had slipped into the room a few moments before. “Would he kill hundreds of human children to start a war?”

His face grim, Abrial looked down at the baby he held in his arms. It was Roman's child, Innis. He had been practicing his parenting skills in anticipation of his own baby's birth, and was getting pretty good at handling these tiny bits of the future contained in such small bodies.

He raised his head and then nodded once. His voice was soft. “Yes, I believe he would.”

Innis stirred, and Abrial handed the child back to Roman as though not wanting to risk contaminating the baby with his darkness.

“Okay, then.” If Jack was shocked by Abrial's answer, he didn't show it. “The next question is, which hive he would choose to take the fall for this deed? If we know that, we have a place to concentrate our search. He must have a ritual site chosen by now.”

“King Carbon's nest is his first target,” Abrial said without hesitation.

“Carbon's dead,” Jack reminded him. “And those goblins have started moving their operations north.”

“Yes. But the L.A. hive betrayed him. It's also very aggressive with its effort to become mainstream. That's where Qasim will begin—with a known hive that humans can target.”

“Then that is where we need to begin as well,” Jack said. “I'll send out scouts immediately. Cyra and Io can travel together. And I want Lyris back from San Francisco.” Zee recalled that Lyris was Roman's wife. They hadn't met her yet. Jack continued, “She can begin checking records and hitting up her human sources. She's better than any ferret when it comes to finding things. And Thomas—”

“Follow the money trail,” Thomas answered. “I'm on it. But don't expect much. It's unlikely that Qasim has been using credit cards. It's much more his style to take what he wants and just kill anyone who gets in his way.”

“I know. But you've got those computers, do what you can.”

“You don't think Nyssa will find those children in the dreamlands?” Abrial asked. He obviously had a lot of faith in his pregnant wife. “Qasim likely has them entranced. She should be able to spot them—so many entranced minds all grouped in a small space in the desert should leave an obvious signature.”

“If anyone can find them, Nyssa will. But Qasim may know how to hide himself and his words. After all, he managed to disappear months ago without the slightest trace. And we need to be ready to physically intercept him at the sacrificial site, just in case worse comes to worst. I'm not letting you and Nyssa face him alone.” Jack nodded once, again communing with someone or something unseen. “That's enough for now. Zee needs to rest, and we need to plan.”

“Qasim's using
Mabigon's
heart?” Roman asked Abrial after Io had taken Zee and the baby Innis off to bed; as soon as the men were alone, they had got down to a council of war. Jack poured out more wine for them, and Lyris, just returned from San Francisco, had brought a tray of fruit before also retreating. Nick wondered if this was standard sexism, or if the women were taking care of some other aspect of this crisis. He couldn't imagine that the men would try to keep the women in the dark about what was happening—not if the women were being used as scouts. He certainly had no intention of lying to Zee about what they were doing, and he would make that clear.

“That would be my guess,” Abrial answered, “and it has probably given him access to some of her nastier powers.” His expression was distant. “Still, I think we've got the better end of the deal. I'd rather the heart be in Qasim than Mabigon. Even dead, she was a threat. He did us a favor putting that bitch down.”

“You speak of her so fondly,” Roman commented.

“She must have been a real pleasure to know.”

“Be glad that you never had the pleasure. I've never seen a more selfish, ruthless creature.”

“Mabigon?” Nick asked. “Who is she?”

“She was the queen of the Unseelie Court—a queen of black magic, you might say,” Abrial explained. “She was also the living example of the old maxim about absolute power corrupting absolutely.”

“Fair enough. But Qasim is no Boy Scout. What makes him especially scary is that he has no human or fey moral checks and balances,” Thomas said. “Why would he? He isn't human after all—and not much fey. It's like dealing with a psychopath who isn't crazy. The son of a bitch can reason, and he's had centuries to plan his comeback.”

“How's Nyssa taking all this?” Jack asked Abrial. “I can't tell from our conversations. She's wrapped pretty tight these days.”

Nightdemon spread his hands. “She's distressed. In spite of everything that was done to her by Qasim and Mabigon, a part of her wants to believe that her father isn't capable of murdering children.”

Abrial's words stunned Nick. Qasim was Nyssa's father? He'd met Bysshe, Nyssa's mother. That made Qasim Bysshe's . . . what? Not husband, surely.

“She is also considering destroying Qasim's heart,” Abrial went on. “The only thing that has stayed her hand is that she and Bysshe think it might be a bargaining chip that we have it. I see her point, but I don't think we can offer a trade. He's dangerous enough with the Dark Queen's heart— he'd be unstoppable if he had his own back. And I think we can see by his recent actions that he hasn't become a responsible lamb to be welcomed back into the fold.”

Roman snorted. “Like
you're
a good little sheep,” he said.

“Abrial, where do you stand in this coming battle?” Jack turned fully to face his friend. When the nightdemon didn't immediately respond, Jack clarified: “Does Qasim having your old Queen's heart mean that you won't be able to fight him?”

Abrial hesitated. “I don't know. I think as long as I don't go after the heart directly, I'll be all right. After all, he stole it from Mabigon. Theoretically, my job should be to get it back—even if she is dead.”

“We have to hope that Qasim doesn't realize your handicap. We'll be in trouble if you're sidelined,” Thomas said. His voice was grim. “You know he won't do the honorable thing and excuse you from conflict.”

“Indeed,” Abrial answered. “However, I think we may be able to get some backup from the dreamlands, in the event I can't attack Qasim psychically. He can help with the children, too.”

“Your Uncle Farrar?” Jack asked. “He's been useful in the past, but is that wise? We are dealing with children this time.”

“Children and the Pied Piper of Hamelin—great combination. Let's just crawl out of the frying pan and into the fire.” Roman rolled his eyes.

Nick blinked again. The Pied Piper of Hamelin? Maybe it was the wine, but he somehow wasn't as surprised as he might be.

“They're dead children if we don't stop Qasim, and soon. Pick your evil,” Abrial answered.

Jack didn't argue, probably because Abrial looked clearly no more enthused about calling the Pied Piper than he did.

“You know, the more I listen to you all, the more nervous I get,” Nick said slowly. “I'm not a coward, but this sounds like a really bad situation that's getting worse all the time.”

Roman nodded. “Smart man. It's about as bad as it gets—at least for those kids. And for the goblins, too, if Qasim succeeds. You know, some days it feels like we get stuck dealing with every Asshole of Evil the underworld ever vomited up. When do we get to the fun stuff—that's what I want to know? When's the endless music and dancing and feasting going to begin?” Roman's words were plaintive, but his voice was not. But then, Nick had noticed that Roman always managed to sound jovial, regardless of the situation.

“Assholes of Evil?” The usually sober Thomas Marrowbone started laughing, which made Nick feel slightly better. Could things be so bad if Thomas was laughing?

“Yeah,” Roman said, “you know what I mean. The ones who should have been strangled in infancy by civic-minded mothers, or poisoned by farsighted classmates. Or struck by lightning from a caring cosmos. But that never happens. And they never do the right thing themselves and drop an electrical appliance in their bathtubs, or plow their cars into embankments at a hundred and twenty miles per hour, or O.D. on goblin fruit.”

“I think spectacular car crashes and overdoses are reserved for rock stars. I like the TV in the bathtub, though.” Thomas continued to chuckle. “Do you think Qasim is a bubble-bath-and-soap-opera kind of guy?”

Roman shook his head. “Glad someone thinks this imbalance in the universe is funny.” He looked over at Nick. “So, pixie, got anything to add? You

may as well speak up, since you're in this, too.”

Was he in it? Yes, Nick supposed he was.

“I don't have much to say,” he answered, wondering if anyone had even thought to prescribe medication for Roman's mood swings. Some human pharmaceuticals might be effective. “Usually I'm in favor of non-violent solutions. But this monster has taken children and means ill by them—Zee is sure of that. And having recently run into some of the . . . er . . .”

“Assholes of Evil?” Roman supplied, grinning. “You can say it. It's okay. We're all adults.”

“Chronologically adults,” Thomas corrected, and Roman gave him the finger. Both men were still smiling.

“Yes. Well, I'm fine with loosing some mayhem on Qasim—and on those nasty goblins chasing us, too,” Nick added. “Although, I still don't understand why they were after us. Shouldn't the goblins
want
Qasim stopped? Why get in our way?”

“Loosing mayhem? Would that be like opening a can of whoop-ass, pixie-boy?” Roman asked.

“Don't mind Roman,” said a new voice. It was Zayn, who had just entered the room. The slender fey was Cadalach's medic, or so Nick gathered, and Nick was looking forward to talking fey medical specifics with him. There was a lot he wanted to know about fey and goblin physiology. “He's a pooka,” Zayn went on. “We just keep him around for comic relief.”

Roman's smile broadened.

“Oh, well, that's okay then,” Nick answered, hoping he didn't sound as ignorant as he felt. What the hell was a pooka? It was one more question to add to the long list of things he needed to learn.

Jack spoke up, saving him. “The thing to understand about the goblin situation is that their political terrain is as tricky as any in the Middle East. The hives should unite, but mercifully they don't get along. And our dear Qasim has found a goblin ally in New Orleans who would be only too happy to help him screw over some of the other hives— Father Lobineau. Of course, what Lobineau hasn't figured out yet is that if you sleep with dogs you'll wake up with fleas. Or worse. He will never be able to control Qasim, and the hobgoblin will surely end up killing him.”

Father Lobineau?
Father
, as in a priest? Nick was about to ask for details, but Thomas spoke up.

“What about Zee?” he asked. “She has some role in all this. The shian definitely wanted her here.”

“It will become clear,” Jack answered. “But she and Nyssa must be kept safe while we deal with Qasim.”

Nick breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want Zee anywhere near the monster that terrified her so much. He hadn't realized how affected she was; but just seeing Qasim from a distance had caused her to faint, and had left her with hideous nightmares that the creature could apparently invade at will.

“Why?” Roman asked Jack. “I mean, beyond the obvious.”

“Don't you get it? Have you all forgotten the prophecy?” No one spoke up, so Jack reminded them: “Gofimbel's curse. That his precious lutin empire would be brought down by a half-breed child. That could be Zee or her siblings. It could also be Nyssa's baby. Think about it: There's a reason the
tomhnafurach
brought these women here, something that hasn't been revealed to us yet. And so we must keep them out of harm's way—out of sight completely—until we know their part in the plan.”

Zee slept on a bed of glass between two skins of softest fur, and while she did, she dreamed. The dream was like no other she had ever had. She did not see anything at first; instead, a deep voice whispered in her ear as she floated in the warm darkness.

 

Suddenly, an image of a creature bloomed in her mind: a hobgoblin, shrouded in somber chains of tarnished silver that burned into his flesh. Beside him stood the goblin king, Gofimbel.

Neither creature spoke, but hatred shone in the captive's eyes. Still, when the king gave him an ax, the hobgoblin accepted it. Then the hobgoblin turned away, dragging his chains behind him, and mounted the steps of an altar.

The terrible image faded away and was replaced by another. This image reassured Zee. She saw Cadalach as it had been when still inhabited by feys. It was stunning, full of wondrous gardens and light—a striking light brilliant but kinder than the sun or moon, because it came from the enchantment within and around every being who lived in the faerie mound.

Again a voice whispered in Zee's brain, conveying with words and random images that it had not been humans, with their weapons of cold iron, but rather the sun itself that had grown poisonous and driven the feys away from the planet surface. The same sun that had driven the goblins underground. That was when the bitter rivalries and wars had started. Before the drought, magical races had lived together under the sky—and someday, the shian hoped those races might live together again. It was free will that made them war now, not the Goddess, not the magic of the earth and air and sky. And thus there was no reason for Zee to be at war with herself; her many parts could co-exist—if she willed them to.