by Eric Asher
“You’ve come to tell me about Damian.”
The warmth in Vicky’s chest, that feeling of coming home, fled in a heartbeat. Her grip tightened around the warm mug, trying to recapture some of that contented feeling, but it was gone. At least she still had the warmth of the hot chocolate. She took a sip, savoring the smooth rich flavor. “It’s not good.”
“I think it’s the best hot chocolate you can find in Missouri,” the innkeeper said, raising an eyebrow.
Vicky laughed despite herself. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know dear. Damian’s knee-deep in a shit storm.”
Vicky’s eyebrows drew together. “He … merged with Hern. I can’t explain it. But the thing he’s walking around as, it’s like the Old Man. But it’s bigger, taller.”
The innkeeper flexed her fingers on the table. “It is a risk for every son of Anubis. But for Damian to walk the same lands as Leviticus … it brings a sadness to my heart.”
“What can we do?” Vicky asked. “Damian said to bring you the backpack.”
Both of the innkeeper’s eyebrows rose at that. “He … spoke to you? Even in his current state?”
“To me,” Terrence said, drawing the innkeeper’s attention. “Vicky touched my arm on the battlefield, and that woke me up. That’s the only way I can put it. I was following the other ghosts blindly, with only flashes of self-awareness. But she broke whatever spell it was.”
“Did you hit him with a soulart?” the innkeeper asked.
“You mean stab him with a soulsword?” Vicky asked. “No. Would that work on a ghost?”
She eyed Terrence, and the ghost fidgeted.
“That’s not the kind of thing we try out on our friends,” the innkeeper said. “What happened then?”
“I followed him,” Terrence said. He shrugged, as if not knowing how else to describe it. “There was a golden light on the back of the colossus, on Damian’s back. I followed him and when I reached that light I had another vision. That’s when he told me to get the backpack to Vicky. To tell Vicky to get the backpack to you. And so we’re here.”
“Let me see,” the innkeeper said.
Vicky slid her the backpack, cut straps and all. The slowly drying fabric left a damp trail behind it.
The innkeeper methodically unzipped each pouch and glanced inside. “Moon pies,” she muttered. “Beef jerky! What is wrong with that boy?” She whispered a few more colorful things under her breath before she unzipped the main pouch.
A crease formed in her brow and she turned the pack to Vicky. “Would you be a dear and take Gaia’s hand out for me?”
Vicky nodded and grabbed the gray flesh. She set it on the table next to her cocoa before taking another sip of the warm drink.
The innkeeper pulled out a handful of speed loaders, some stray bullets, and Damian’s pepperbox. It didn’t have the holster, which meant he must still be wearing it, or at least it was still with him, buried underneath that mountain of gravemakers.
The thought made Vicky shiver, and she was glad for the warmth of the hot chocolate.
“There’s not much here,” the innkeeper said. “Just Gaia’s hand …” The innkeeper narrowed her eyes at the gray flesh.
“What is it?” Terrence asked, obviously picking up on something Vicky hadn’t noticed.
“The hand. He wanted you to bring the hand here.” The innkeeper took a sip of her drink before pulling a flask from an inside pocket of her denim shirt. Instead of answering, she took a long swig and grimaced. Her words came out in an exasperated drawl, “He’s mad.”
Before Vicky could ask why she thought Damian was mad, or what she thought Damian had cooked up, the crack of a branch against the rear window behind the table echoed through the room. The innkeeper gestured and the window slid open.
That was new. Vicky hadn’t seen the innkeeper use that kind of magic so casually before. Beyond the window crouched Stump. Only his face was fully visible, the rest of his body outside of the window frame.
“Someone approaches,” Stump said.
“Friend or foe?” The innkeeper asked.
“Hard to say,” Stump said, tapping the edge of his vine-formed beard. “He has been both, and he rides upon a reaper. Older than Jasper, and perhaps as ancient as the horned Beast of Gorias himself.”
“Drake.” The innkeeper stood up, took another swig out of her flask, and angrily screwed the top closed. “Let’s see what the bastard wants.”
“Don’t attack him,” Vicky said. “He still … He’s still our friend.”
“Girl,” the innkeeper said, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life here, it’s that you don’t attack a knight riding a reaper.”
The innkeeper grumbled about needing to get another mug because she’d only planned on one guest that evening. She gestured at the cupboard and the glass door slid open before an old terra-cotta mug floated down to the counter.
“I’ll feed that fairy some sugar. We’ll see how that goes.” She muttered something else under her breath as she stomped down the hallway, but Vicky couldn’t make it out.
She exchanged a glance with Terrence, and the ghost blew out a long breath before looking around the room. “This place is amazing.”
“I guess it is,” Vicky said.
The quiet squeak of one of the door’s hinges reached them before Drake’s voice echoed through the house. “Is she here?”
Vicky didn’t hear the innkeeper’s reply, but the footsteps coming down the hallway were distinct. Two people, one armored. Vicky wondered what the innkeeper would do if Drake’s boots scratched the floor. The thought of watching that exchange pulled her lips up into an evil grin.
“… she safe?” Drake asked before they rounded the corner.
“Of course, of course,” the innkeeper said. “She came here with her reaper, and the ghost. And a hand.” The last phrase she said with an ominous undertone to the words. “You could have sent her through the Ways. The same way you got here. Through Columbia and she could have flown the rest of the way. Why didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Drake said as they rounded the corner. “That would have been my suggestion if the wolves hadn’t interfered.” There was a tightness in his brow, a concern that Vicky hadn’t seen very often. It loosened when he saw her, and the rigidness of his back relaxed a fraction.
“You’re safe.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You had doubts?” Vicky asked.
Drake’s expression fell. Something warred across his face. The relief he’d shown when he first entered the room turned darker, angrier.
“What were you thinking?” Drake snapped. “Using the hand of glory? Taking the word of that werewolf?”
Before Vicky could so much as respond, the innkeeper held up her free hand as she finished pouring. She picked up the now-steaming mug from the counter and thrust it into Drake’s grip. “Drink this before you say things you’ll regret.”
Drake eyed the innkeeper.
“Sit down or I will sit you down.” The innkeeper’s easy but firm manner crossed over into something else. It was a warning, of that Vicky had no doubt.
Drake hesitated for a moment, and then slid a chair out at the table and sat down in his full-size form beside Terrence. “The hand was too much of a risk.” Drake set his mug down on the table with a click. “It could have killed you.”
“There are a lot of things that could have killed me,” Vicky said. “Some of them did.”
“Are you really willing to put your parents through that again?”
Vicky felt the anger welling up in her gut. She wanted to scream at Drake, tear him up one side and down the other, but the rage kept the words from forming. Instead her hands turned into fists and she started to rise out of her chair.
“That’s enough,” the innkeeper said. “You two are casting barbs at each other, but that’s not why we’re here. That’s not why Damian sent you here, and that’s certainly not what your friends need out of
you.”
“Too big of a risk,” Drake muttered.
“A calculated risk. But she’s here, and she’s alive, and you need to better learn how to control your emotions.” When Drake and Vicky both fell silent, the innkeeper continued. “Now then, that wolf, as you so casually called him, is Wahya. He’s one of the oldest werewolves I know of in this country. Perhaps the world. I suspect Hugh is one of his few elders. So while yes, Wahya may have only had a theory, a hypothesis, it was founded in centuries of experience. If not millennia. Wolves do not live that long a life without a level of cunning few can understand.”
If she was baiting Drake with that comment, he didn’t rise to it. Instead he sipped from the mug, picked up a marshmallow from the center of the table, and plopped it into his hot chocolate.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Vicky said.
Drake raised his eyes to meet hers. “Me? I was never at risk.”
“Never at risk?” Terrence blurted out. “That horned dragon you were fighting looked like it could tear your own beast in half.”
“She’s not a beast. She’s a reaper.”
Terrence shook his head. “As you say, but that was a full army in the skies behind us. And that dragon could’ve run you down.”
Drake twisted the mug between his hands and took another sip.
“He’s right,” Vicky said. “You know he’s right.”
“You shouldn’t have taken your reaper away from that battle,” Drake said, anger seeping into his words. “The entire thing, this ghost,” he said, gesturing to Terrence, “your flight from the battle. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I didn’t want me, Sam, and Damian to die,” Vicky snapped. “I was thinking Damian has a plan to fight this and I need to help him.”
The shadow in the window moved, and Stump spoke. “She is young, but she is wise. Even a Demon Sword can see that, blinded as he may be by his own confidence and loyalty. Which begs the question, where do your loyalties lie?”
The innkeeper watched Drake, and Vicky almost missed the slight raise of her eyebrows. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who was surprised Stump had so bluntly questioned Drake’s loyalties.
It was Vicky who answered. “He’s my friend. He’s saved me more than once. I trust him.”
“Let the fairy answer for himself,” the innkeeper said, offering a small smile.
Drake leaned forward in the chair, his wings flexing as he rested his forearms on the table. “For many years, I was loyal to the king, and only the king.” Drake stared into his mug as if the dark liquid were showing him memories he might not care to have. “We masked the king’s descent into madness as long as we could. Hid the murders and mad machinations like you can’t imagine. But the king always cared for his inner circle. So even in the end, when his personality fractured, and he concocted an insane plan, we supported him.
“It wasn’t until Gettysburg, until Falias was ripped from Faerie. When he brought the city here to kill countless commoners, and the disregard for the Fae who remained in the city was a nightmare to behold. But I don’t think I need to tell you the rest. I don’t think I need to tell you about the girl who sits across the table from me who pulled those Fae through the Abyss. Who saved the lives of thousands, even as our king, our protector, was willing to sacrifice every last soul.”
“And what’s in it for you?” the innkeeper asked. “Redemption?”
Drake slowly shook his head. “I do not need redemption. I served my kingdom well. As it should be. But even if that was my goal, I know I will not find it. So I will help who I can, to secure the future of my people, and hers.” He said the last with a nod toward Vicky. “But it’s hard when my closest allies flee a pivotal battle.” Drake locked eyes with Vicky.
Vicky squeezed her mug. “I’m not going to apologize for that. You always taught me to seize an opportunity when I saw it, and so I did. Damian reached out through Terrence, through me, and that’s why we’re here. I couldn’t have planned it because I didn’t know it was going to happen.”
“Plans are shit once they meet the enemy,” Terrence said, and the cadence to his voice made it sound like he was recalling a long-forgotten quote.
“A sentiment shared by the Fae,” Drake said, crossing his arms. “Be more careful when you can. If you, or Samantha, or Damian do not survive this … I will not be the one to face Zola if that happens.”
At that a wicked grin crossed the innkeeper’s face. “At least you learned something in the last few years.”
Drake’s armor started clicking under the table when he unfolded his arms. Vicky leaned over to see him bouncing his knee like her dad tended to when he had a bit too much coffee. The sugar was getting to him, and she suppressed a grin.
“Shut up, kid,” Drake growled.
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“He handles it better than Foster,” the innkeeper said.
“No doubt,” Vicky said. “Did you hear what they did in Damian’s coffee cup?”
“That’s not something I care to dwell on.” The innkeeper held up her hand. “Yes, I’ve heard the story. I prefer not to remember it.”
“What?” Terrence asked.
“Don’t ask,” the innkeeper muttered. “Just be glad it wasn’t any of the mugs we’re drinking hot cocoa out of.”
Drake frowned at the innkeeper for a second and then took another sip of his drink. Terrence remained silent. Apparently he’d been around the supernaturals enough to know when he should listen to their advice and when he shouldn’t.
Jasper rolled down Vicky’s arm and plopped onto the table next to her mug. He vibrated and purred, sending ripples through the hot cocoa.
“Why send us here?” Vicky asked. “Why did Damian want me to come here? And bring you that?” she said with a nod to the backpack.
“Because he’s mad,” the innkeeper said. “But he might be right.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Drake frowned and glanced between Vicky and the innkeeper. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Damian has come up with a plan. As compromised as he is, he’s trying to save his sister, Vicky, and whoever else stands in his way. I believe the reason Damian sent you here is because of that.” The innkeeper gestured toward the hand of Gaia.
“This?” Vicky asked, picking up the hand of glory. “For what? All this does is let you walk in the Abyss. What can Gaia do?”
Drake cursed.
The innkeeper nodded. “She can do exactly what you said. Gaia can walk into the Abyss, but it is not the only thing she can do. She can also pull people into the Abyss, transport them to other places, other realms, or trap monsters in an eternal darkness.”
The pieces snapped together in Vicky’s mind, and judging how the innkeeper looked away from her, Vicky hadn’t hidden her expression of horror at the thought. But would it work? Could she convince Gaia to pull Damian into the Abyss?
“You want to lock him away?” Vicky said.
The innkeeper shook her head. “It’s not me. This is Damian’s idea. And it might work. If he’s trapped in the time loops of the Abyss, the channels his powers have carved through the Seals should be enough to keep you and Sam alive.”
“Alive for what?” Vicky asked. “He’ll be trapped in darkness. That’s monstrous.”
“And he’ll be locked away with monsters,” Terrence said. “You saw the things in there, didn’t you? That wasn’t just something I saw as a ghost?”
“You saw the leviathans of the Abyss?” the innkeeper asked. “That is not an unusual vision for the dead to have there I would think. Leviathans are flesh and bone, and there are darker things hidden in that place: Old Gods, and older things, and gateways for the eldritch.”
“You really think it’s possible to trap him there?” Drake asked.
The innkeeper frowned. “The fact that it is possible doesn’t mean it is likely to work for long. The exposure to the powers inside that place, inside that nothingness, may be the end of
him. But there is more to consider. It is not only Damian, Sam, and Vicky who would be put at risk. It would put Gaia’s life at risk to drag that kind of power into the darkness, to lock it away into the Abyss, and pin it down where it can do no harm.”
“That could kill you,” Stump said, drawing their attention back to the open window. The vines of his beard shifted, and the branches that formed his face drew into a frown. “You are our last tie to the goddess. We cannot lose her and you. Our people are already fractured, and hope is sparse in these dark times. Do not extinguish that light.”
The innkeeper almost growled. “You say too much. But what is the alternative? Leave the boy to die? Leave him in Nudd’s hands? To carry out whatever madness he intends?”
“We still have the Old Man,” Drake said. “Perhaps he could …”
“Perhaps he could what?” the innkeeper snapped. “Perhaps he could kill Damian? And kill Vicky in the same blow? We lose the alliance with the vampires if Sam dies, and that is no small thing. You’ve seen enough war, enough empires fall in your long life to understand where this ends.”
Drake’s bouncing foot stopped. He almost sagged into his chair, the tips of his wings curling over.
“What did Stump mean this could hurt you?” Vicky asked.
The innkeeper’s jaw flexed. She frowned, lines deepening on her forehead before she took a deep breath. “Think of me as an anchor for Gaia in this realm, for the body of the Titan buried beneath this home. I am bound to her, and she to me.”
“Is that why you never leave the mansion?” Vicky asked.
“I leave sometimes,” the innkeeper said.
“But I’ve only ever seen you on the grounds,” Vicky said.
“The grounds aren’t technically in the mansion.”
Vicky grimaced at the innkeeper. “That’s a technicality.”
“As you get older, you’ll find technicalities are quite important.”