The Master (23 page)

Before she entirely understood what this message meant, Zee slipped into another dream. She was walking naked through the desert night, and a vivid red moon appeared from behind a dark cloud. Down reached a crimson beam, which twined itself about her. She wanted to run away, but the light was so beautiful, so soft and warm on her skin. And the blood moon loved her, too, claimed her—all of her; the human, the goblin and the fey—as its child. It told her that she had a purpose.

Zee fell back on the soft sand. Slowly, the light traveled her body, growing brighter as it pinned her down forced her arms and legs wide. Finally it reached inside her, touching something in her womb, and making all her muscles clench in something like a climax. A voice spoke in her mind.

You shall be the mother of the great union. Through you, there will be compromise and peace among races
.

Zee trembled in her sleep because, though the light was beautiful and wondrous, it also was the marker of some dark destiny that was laying claim to her. She tried to sit up, but her muscles would not obey. She tried to wake, but the dream would not free her.

She was trembling and moaning when Chloe came to wake her.

“Nick, I admit that I'm curious about your situation. How do
you
feel about Zee being part goblin? Being raised human, do you have fewer prejudices about her mixed blood than a fey might?” Jack pushed a platter toward Nick; Nick wasn't sure how it could be, but the mild fruit upon it was as satisfying as a medium-rare steak and a baked potato.

Well,
do
you have fewer prejudices?
the ghost asked curiously.

Nice of you to finally turn up again,
Nick thought back at his specter, sipping his wine to buy himself time.
You know, you've missed rather a lot of backstory.

I heard it. Now, answer the man. This should be fascinating. It's always fun to watch intellectual idealism meet up with cold reality. I mean, how many weeks did it take you to admit that I'm real?

Nick ignored the jibe and tried to organize his thoughts. He had so many questions that needed answering before he could reach any informed decision. The bottom line was, everything hinged on understanding magic of one kind or another— magic he hadn't known existed, though it had apparently touched his past, colored his present and now overshadowed his future. And he knew nothing about it. He was in its heart, a place where he breathed it in, would sleep it—assuming he ever got his nap. It shimmered in the air around him. It whispered in his ears and teased his skin, yet it remained as mysterious and impossible as any foreign god. What was it? What was he? This wasn't something that had troubled him before; it wasn't a question he had ever asked. And now these strangers wanted to know what he thought about Zee.

Never mind your brain and its endless questions—you spend too much time in your skull anyway. What does your gut say?
the ghost prompted.

“I . . . I feel one thing but sometimes think another,” Nick admitted out loud. Though the silence had been long, he was glad it hadn't been uncomfortable. Jack seemed to understand that he needed time to formulate an answer. “Intellectually, I'm having trouble with the concept. She and the children look human. And you have to understand that I'd never seen a goblin until the one in the gas station tried to shoot me. I've got to tell you, even without the gun, that thing didn't look very friendly. And a part of me is wondering how that violent, disgusting creature can have anything in common with Zee or the children.”

Jack nodded slowly.

“Zee is here. So I don't think she has anything to do with the goblins—not anymore. You may not be able to understand this, but for Zee to leave her hive . . . Well, it would be like a human renouncing his citizenship and committing treason. As for that thing that shot at you, I didn't see it, but those from the old hives aren't real friendly to outsiders these days so, don't take it too personally. Goblins shoot at feys almost as a matter of routine.”

“And
I am fey,
” Nick said slowly, reminding himself. He shook his head. “At least partly. And that thing could tell just by looking at me. How? I don't look fey. I don't—” Nick gestured at Jack, indicating his silvered hair and eyes that shone like highly polished metal. “I don't look the way you all do. I'm so average-looking, so . . . human.”

“But you're not on the inside. And, yes, it could tell. Probably by smell. It wasn't just a goblin, you see. It was a troll goblin cross-breed. Cross-breeds are trackers used by the New Orleans goblins mostly, sort of like bloodhounds. Quede, the former king of that hive, was into genetic experimentation and hybridization. These troll crosses are his little gift to posterity.”

Nick shook his head. “Swell. Are there many of them around? Am I likely to bump into one every time I visit a convenience store?”

“Let's hope not. We already have plenty on our plate, and lots to think about without this added complication. . . . And how about you, Nick?” Jack asked abruptly. “How do you feel about being part fey? Being descended from pixies is recent news for you, isn't it?”

“Very recent.” Nick smiled a little. He repeated his earlier reply: “I feel one thing but think another. Intellectually, I'm having trouble with the concept. How the hell can I be ‘part pixie'? I'm a doctor, a man of science . . . and human. Pixies are . . . well, cartoon characters that wear green and twinkle. And they're usually girls.”

Jack smiled back. “Believe it or not, many of us had trouble with the notion of being magical, at least at first. I wasn't thrilled being called faerie as a teen, you know. And Cyra, who's also a doctor and who was raised human, certainly had a rough time. Imagine finding out that you're a shape-shifting selkie and conjurer elf when you're thirty. She hadn't a clue until the goblins started doing psychological experiments on her. She doesn't look fey, either. Just like you.”

Nick nodded. The women here, except for Io, did look more human.

“What kind of fey are
you
—besides faerie?” Nick asked, hoping this wasn't a rude question. “I mean, most humans have heard of Jack Frost, but you don't seem anything like the song or the drawings I saw as a kid.”

“That was my father, actually—a colorful guy who had a gift for conjuring cold weather. I'm what they call a death fey—just like Dad—only stronger than he was. It's all in the practice, I suspect,” Jack answered. He stopped smiling.

“Talk about having trouble with the concept. I was still a child when I found out that my magical gift was to be a bringer of death, to help people cross over. My first casualty was my pet cat. She'd been hit by a car. I didn't want to let her go, and I inadvertently prolonged her suffering because I didn't want to lose her. Finally, my dad made me see that I had to let her go. But it was hard stopping her heart and watching her soul leave her body. Frankly, it hasn't gotten any easier. If I had been able, I might have walked away from my destiny.”

“I can't even imagine what it would be like having that sort of power as a child,” Nick said. He felt intense sympathy for the boy Jack had been but didn't know what to say to the cool adult before him; never had anyone looked in less need of sympathy.

“Do you have any siblings?” Jack asked, changing the subject.

“A sister—Lydia,” Nick answered. “But she isn't . . . If anything, she's more ordinary than I am.”

“No psychic twinkles?” Again, Jack smiled.

“No twinkles at all. At least, not yet. But I was a bit of a late bloomer, myself, so I suppose it's possible she will be, too.” Nick's brow furrowed. “Or her kids.”

“Give her some time. Though, you should be prepared for her never to show any signs of magic at all. Some kinds of magic favor certain genders. She may not have any latent powers, or she may simply be a carrier for future generations.”

“Carrier. This sounds like a disease,” Nick said uncomfortably. “I'm not sure I want to think of it that way. It's bad enough being a different sub-species.”

Thomas Marrowbone spoke up, for the first time in ages. He had been busy fiddling with a portable PC, his brow knitted in concentration. “Maybe that's what magic is—very special germs.”

“But what vectors would transmit it?” Nick asked, glad of the distraction. He didn't want to think about his sister's children, his niece and nephew. “This would have to be an inherited condition.”

Roman spoke from across the room where he was sharpening a sword on a giant whetstone. “Exactly. You don't get it by inhalation or through sex, or a lot of humans I knew would be in trouble.” He grinned. Then he sobered. “It's a thought, though, isn't it? Magic as a disease. You can transmit certain things through the blood, after all, why not this?”

“A disease, though?” Nick asked. “Isn't it more likely a simple genetic trait?” He wondered what a fey DNA strand would look like. The thought made his pulse beat faster.

“Well . . .” Roman and Jack exchanged a long look, then Roman continued. “Yes and no. Lyris and I probably won't have another child—and it isn't because we're fey and thus can't conceive.”

“Wait,” Nick said, intrigued. “Conception among fey is impossible?”

“Yes,” Jack answered. “Without magic. But that isn't a difficulty here. Inside Cadalach, conception is possible.”

“I see,” Nick said. He didn't, but the news relieved him slightly. His carelessness with Zee on Christmas Eve still had him kicking himself. He turned back to Roman and asked, “So, why can't you have children?”

“Because I
won't
. I was attacked by a vampire—a goblin vampire with a lot of psychic ability. In fact, he was the one who designed the goblin crosses that chased you. As Jack mentioned, unlike most goblins, he was very into high tech stuff, like genetic engineering. He engineered changes in himself. Now, Quede's bite doesn't seem to have affected me much—feys can fight off most things viral or bacterial—but his vampirism is somehow still floating around in my blood. In my magic. I can feel it, like cold black ink—and we are uncertain what it may do to my children. It might cause some permanent change that will be in their blood line forever, a bad change that could be visited unto the seventh generation and all that.”

“You're talking about germ cell alteration—from a bite,” Nick murmured. “A permanent change that will be passed on to successive generations from a vampire bite. A magical disease. Can that be?” He didn't bother asking if vampires really existed. Of course they did.

“That's what Zayn called it: germ cell alteration. So this mutant strain of vampirism may not end with me if I have another child, and who knows what will be created.”

“But there are in utero tests and therapies—”

“For this? Get real.” Roman spoke impatiently but not angrily. “And it's worse than you know. The physical symptoms are bad enough, but waiting for other charges is worse. You have to understand that, when he died, Quede was a fruitcake with a double helping of nuts. He was out to destroy all life. Human, goblin, fey—he didn't care. Not at the end. And I think that it was his mutant vampirism that made him insane, not natural goblin sociopathy, which oddly enough has limits. Anyhow, he turned himself into a super virus and planned to infect the world by an army of carriers.”

“You see,” Jack interjected, “most of Quede's goblins were engineered to be latent virus carriers like himself. Some were small and cute, like puppies. He was going to market those as pets. Many were these troll crosses—stupid, mean, tough bastards to kill.

A huge portion of the goblin population of New Orleans was affected, and they had to be dealt with very . . . carefully. But it didn't end there. Unlike in the movies, the death of Quede didn't mean liberation from his scheme. The crazy son of a bitch even introduced vampirism into several strains of orchids he was breeding. We spent a lot of time and resources helping the new master of the New Orleans hive—Lobineau—seek out the carriers and eliminating them.”

Nick shook his head. Vampiric orchids? He began thinking about pathogens that could infect humans, feys and plants, too. It was enough to make his head swim, and he began to worry about possible infection from the goblin darts that had struck him and Zee. He also wondered what he could do to help if Roman was truly carrying some form of DNA-borne insanity that could be communicated to his children.

“What happened to them—the infected goblins? What symptoms did they show?” Nick asked.

“Extreme sensitivity to the sun—even more than usual—and eventually they went crazy with a kind of bloodlust that made them act like they were strung out on PCP,” Roman answered. “Some even turned cannibal. They had to be killed and then incinerated. There wasn't a hospital in the world that could deal with them when they turned—not even the one Quede built. Besides, who could risk the infection spreading into the population outside the city? Even Lobineau isn't that crazy, I don't think. Although, most goblin kings have warped brains, so it's hard to know where their limits are. See, there's no father-to-son inheritance in the goblin world. Every hive has battles for leadership when a leader passes on, and may the most ruthless psycho win. Frankly, it worries me that Lobineau survived Quede. One wouldn't guess it to look at him, but that's one clever son of a bitch.”

Nick felt himself blanch, his brain stuck on the word
cannibal.

“Are you sure this didn't start out as something viral? That would be far worse. Genetic engineering takes trained personnel and special equipment to reproduce, but a virus . . . But, no. It can't have started that way. In spite of your precautions, it would surely have spread everywhere by now. Actually, this sounds like some sort of psychosis brought on by a form of phencyclidine—a drug. That's far more likely. Quede was—”