by Vance, Ramy
Sarah’s song, as emotionally devastating as it was, did serve to get us out of our funk. So much so that, when Jarvis suggested ice cream, we cheered. Well, most of us did. Freol and Jack kept their ever-silent vigil.
Strawberry, vanilla and chocolate were distributed in bowls, and we all started munching away, our moods lifted.
Jack was standing alone by the freezer, and I walked over. There was something I wanted to ask him without anyone overhearing. I climbed onto the metal counter next to him so that I was just very short beside him as opposed to nearly invisible. “Gleipnir chain?”
His eyes widened in surprise, questioning how I knew.
“I dated an elf. But that’s a …”—I put a finger over my lips—“shush.”
“Shuush.” Jack imitated my gesture with a smile and a wink.
“My ex-boyfriend—the elf—he told me all about Gleipnir chains. Forged by dwarves because the Norse gods needed a leash strong enough to hold Fenrir the Great Wolf. They made it from six impossible materials: the spittle of a bird, the sinew of a bear, the beard of a woman, the sound of a cat’s footfall, the roots of a mountain and … and …” I couldn’t remember the last one.
Jack made the gesture of a fish swimming, and then cupping his mouth, let out a heavy breath.
“Yeah, of course—the breath of a fish. My elf boyfriend also told me that the fae only wear one of these in atonement for a great failure.” I reached out to touch the silver rings, looking at the giant to see if it was all right to touch them.
Jack nodded, and placing my hand against the rings, I could feel their heavy nature. “These rings symbolize the burden the wearer feels, and are imbued with the force of gravity itself,” I said. “They are of the exact weight their wearer can manage. And as the wearer’s strength increases, so too does the weight of the rings.”
Jack nodded.
“There’s one more thing about these rings,” I said. “The wearer chooses to bear them. In other words, no one forced you to put these on. Whatever you did—”
Jack shook his head.
“Then failed to do?”
The giant nodded.
“OK then—whatever you failed to do must weigh heavily on your heart?”
The giant with the Gleipnir chain winced as if the memory of what had happened slapped him.
“I see. Is that why you do not speak? Is that part of your penance?”
Again the giant nodded.
“I understand burdens well,” I said, pulling back my sleeve and revealing a tattoo of two rings that looked like his. “I got these after the gods left. A reminder of the penance I must pay for something I did.”
Jack gave me a knowing look.
“I know the interviews are over, but I wanted to ask you something off the record, something I’m not obligated to write down in our shared notes. Which brings me to my question: Oighrig End’s death. Does that have anything to do with these?” I touched the links again.
The giant shook his head, but I swear I saw his eyes flicker almost imperceptibly at my question.
I was considering pushing it further when Snap scampered up the giant’s clothing with the kind of speed that would have made the Flash green with envy.
He whispered something in Jack’s ear and, as he spoke, the giant became visibly angry. Jack cracked his knuckles, and the sound that came from his hands was thunder.
Chases and Mirages
Jack stomped out of the kitchen and toward the walk-in pantry down the hall. Rather than walking, I jumped on the giant’s back and went for the ride.
The giant was too large to enter, but I wasn’t. Jumping off him, I walked into what looked like a perfectly normal pantry. There was nothing unusual about it.
Crackle was on the third shelf where mostly beans and canned corn were stored. He frantically pointed at a stack of tuna cans, his high-pitched screeching at a near frenzy. I looked at the side of the can and saw green blood.
There was a ring of green from where the abatwas had moved the cans. Next to it was Pop, holding his leg. Crackle had used some thread that might have once served as his belt to make a tourniquet for Pop’s severed leg.
Someone had dropped a can of tuna on his leg, severing it from his body. Pop had mercifully passed out.
The others were gathering, but Jack wouldn’t let any of them into the pantry.
“Who did this?” I asked. That’s when Snap jumped onto a safety map hanging on the pantry wall. He slammed his hand onto the back storage room behind the kitchen.
Without a word, Jack and I ran to the back.
“Where are you going, milady?”
“Out, Deirdre. You stay here and make sure no one leaves the room.”
↔
The area wasn’t very big, and given how snowed in we were, there wasn’t really anywhere for—who? The killer? The abatwa maimer? Whoever—to go. We hustled down into Douglas Hall’s basement, which was really just a long hallway running along the sections of the large mansion. Several doors sat on either side of the hall, but unlike Gardner Hall, they weren’t accommodations but a variety of rooms, from the boiler to storage rooms.
Since there was no easy way out, we had the luxury of going down the hall, investigating each room one by one as we tightened the net.
But there was a problem: Jack was so big he hardly fit into the hallway. He hunched over so his massive shoulders scraped against the ceiling. And with every step he took, he clogged the hallway so no one could run past us. It also meant that no one could come in from behind us, either. If someone from the group wanted to head us off, they’d have to enter the basement from the upper levels.
Since Jack was too big for the hallway, he was way too big for the rooms. That meant I’d have to go in alone, and if there was trouble, I’d face it on my own. Sure, I could always tell the killer that he (or she) would be up against a giant when they eventually had to leave the room, but that wouldn’t necessarily stop the killer from taking me out while one of the strongest beings in existence stood outside, powerless to help me.
Sometimes being small sucks, I thought as I walked into the first room. It was an unlocked pantry with two freezers, shelves of canned goods and no killer.
The next two doors were storage and, after breaking the lock (something I was sure would be taken out of the FSA’s venue deposit), both rooms were empty. The next one was the boiler room, also empty.
We continued down the hall until we came across the middle room door with a padlock on the outside. “Probably not in there,” I said, jostling the padlock.
Jack shook his head and made a gesture that reminded me of Harry Potter using his wand to cast a spell. Harry Potter, or Mickey Mouse in Fantasia. Take your pick.
“True,” I said, sighing. “He could have gone in and locked it from the outside using magic.”
Jack nodded, pleased with my Charades skills, and crushed the metal lock between his finger and thumb like one might pop bubble wrap. With the door open, he made an after you gesture.
“Great, let the lady walk into the dark room alone with no backup. I’ve never seen this scene play out before.”
Except usually I’m the one hiding in the dark, I thought—quietly.
I walked into the room that was filled with pipes and large vents. So this was where everything came into the building: electricity, gas, water. Everything but sewage, though I was confident I would find a manhole somewhere, too.
Because Montreal was one of the coldest cities in the world, with an annual snowfall rivaling Siberia, water and other things that flowed through pipes and into our homes needed to be below the frost line. Six feet (I wonder if that’s where six feet under comes from. Don’t want to freeze and preserve the dead forever).
Also, since we were on a mountain—well, technically an inactive volcano—buildings on the slope tended to be even deeper. And this utility room did not disappoint, its slope pushing further into the ground.
As big as this room was, there was only so far one could go
into the place before you met actual walls that only the pipes and vents could get through.
I scanned the room, looking for any indication that someone was here. I saw nothing, and looking at the undisturbed dust on the ground, knew that no one was here.
Another dead end, I thought, turning to leave.
That’s when I heard it: an almost imperceptible breath, probably the killer letting out a sigh of relief as I turned. So he must have used magic to not only lock the door from the outside, but also cover his tracks.
Since the room was dark—and as pretty as my eyes were, I couldn’t see in the dark (not anymore, at least)—I had one chance to see him. Gauging where the sigh came from, I fished out my phone from my pocket and thumbed on my flashlight. (And yay me for doing that one-handed and without looking. Then again, the fact that I could do that meant I spent way too much time on my phone, so bad me. Bad.)
I turned, pulling out my phone and flashing it over whatever was inside. And what I saw was a blood-covered dark elf who growled at me. And before I could say “fee-fi-fo-fum,” pounced at me.
↔
Dark elves, the Sith of the fae world. Powerful, smart and mean, few cross swords, fists or pretty much anything with one of these guys and lives. And this one was going to crash into me. No human reflexes could stop that. But what I did have time to do was position my body so that when he tackled me, we would tumble out of the room.
My plan worked—sort of. He hit me so hard the breath was knocked out of me when we hit the back wall. I had just enough sense to move my head three inches so that the fist he followed up with hit the wall instead of me.
He pushed against me with bone-crushing strength. “Come on Jack,” I said. “Any second now.”
But Jack didn’t move, and from the corner of my eye I could see him staring at us, his face wearing some sort of surprised shock.
“Jack,” I cried out again, but the giant didn’t move. The dark elf was grabbing at my shoulder, and I knew exactly what he was trying to do: turn me around and grab me by the neck so he could snap it.
I wasn’t about to let that happen.
Interesting note: many Others do not share the same anatomical placements as humans. Many, but not all. Some, despite all their strength and abilities, are made up exactly like humans.
Elves were one of them.
Bringing my knee up as hard as I could, I kicked him where his anatomical weakness hung. He cringed in pain as his grip loosened. I kicked again and then a third time, when he punched me so hard in my side I saw stars.
Shake it off, girl, I thought, lowering an arm in case he wanted to hit me in the same spot again.
He pulled his fist back and was about to unleash another star-inspiring hit when someone came up from behind and hit him with a hockey stick.
Seeing that it was two against one (it should have been three with Jack, but the useless giant didn’t move), the dark elf ran. I wanted to take a second to thank my savior, but he was already running after the elf. From the back, though, I could have sworn it was Justin.
Never mind that now, I thought, and had just started after him when a powerful hand grabbed my ankle.
I turned to see Jack holding my leg. Not crushing it, not trying to hurt me, but holding me back nonetheless. “Jack, what are you doing?” I said, and that’s when things got really weird.
My vision blurred as the world around me started to spin. I felt like I was very drunk—worse than drunk—and as the world started to fade, I fell face-first onto the linoleum floor. I had just enough sense to see that Jack was also down.
Poison, I thought, and wondered if I would ever wake up again.
And as the world faded to black, the emptiness within me spoke up, asking a comforting question: if you were to never wake, would that be so terrible?
No, I thought as the peace that only a deep darkness can offer enveloped me. No, it wouldn’t be so terrible at all.
End of Part 2
Part III
Intermission
Have you ever loved someone so much that just the thought of them makes it hard to breathe? That’s what was happening to Justin: he could barely breathe when he thought about Katrina dumping him.
She was going to leave him, and he was sure of it. His worst nightmare was coming true, except it wasn’t a nightmare because he wasn’t asleep. It was a nightmare that plagued him all the time, an obsession he harbored. And the weirdest part: it seemed the more he obsessed, the more he worried, the harder the snow fell. Like his heart somehow controlled the weather.
And as he watched Katrina hug her changeling roommate and run down the hill, his heart squeezed as if trying to expel every drop of blood in it, never to beat again. But it did beat, and with its thump, more snow fell.
Justin followed Kat as she ran, careful to keep a distance between them. The worst thing that could happen now was Kat catching him. He needed to be careful. After all, if Egya had noticed him following her, she could, too.
I need to be smart about this. And what was smart? Then it hit him. Stop following her and talk to the changeling. She’d know something, perhaps provide a clue as to what the future had in store for them.
Running, he caught up with Deirdre, and before he could even say hello, she excitedly told him about her and Kat’s Christmas plans.
An event. Three days in Douglas Hall. Three days over Christmas.
Three days when he would be worrying and suffering at home with his parents. He couldn’t bear it, and then a thought struck him with such viciousness he almost questioned if it came from him. Sneak into Douglas Hall and join her for Christmas.
Now that was a plan. A plan with hope written all over it.
Waking the Death
But I did wake up. In the kitchen. With Jack.
Of all the mysteries that needed solving, how we wound up back here was a big one. How I got here, not so much. A strong eight-year-old could drag me across a football field. But Jack wasn’t just a giant—he was a giant wearing a Gleipnir chain. Whoever dragged him back here had to be Hercules strong.
From where I lay on the cold linoleum floor, I could see that everyone else was down, too. Even Tiny.
I pulled myself onto a nearby chair and sat up way too fast. Whatever took me down wasn’t totally gone, and I put my head down on the cool metal counter to stop the world from spinning. As soon as my flesh touched stainless steel, I felt better, as though its still surface was anchoring my spinning brain.
And from where I rested, I saw Snap, Crackle and Pop huddled together. They were also starting to stir, and Pop, his left hand expertly bandaged, gave me a tiny thumbs up.
Whatever had knocked us out wasn’t poison. Poison strong enough to take down someone of Jack’s size would have killed these little guys. It was something else. Magic, maybe? I didn’t know, but that was also on my growing What the Hell is Going On? list.
One thing was clear: whoever roofied us probably wasn’t one of the downed fae in this room. And I doubted it was the dark elf. If he’d known it would only be a matter of time until the drugs kicked in and I dropped, then why risk a fight?
Which meant there was someone else snowed in with us. Yay! More suspects.
We all slowly got to our feet, my head pounding worse than any hangover I’ve ever had the displeasure of living through.
“What—what happened?” Sarah asked.
“Welcome to the seedy underworld of college. We were roofied,” I said. “But given we’re all alive, I’m guessing the drugger didn’t want us dead.”
“And since we’re all here,” Remi said, “seems that exonerates us from being murderers. Even you, dear changeling.”
Deirdre nodded her thanks, wincing in pain as she did.
If I didn’t feel so lousy I might have said something snarky like, “No shit, Sherlock.” But as it was, I was glad someone else was voicing their conclusions.
“Then there is an unknown quantity out there who killed Oighrig End?”
“A lone killer,” Jarvis added. “Do you think he will strike at us next?”
Remi shook his head and immediately regretted it, rubbing his temples. Through the obvious disorientation, he did manage to get out, “I doubt it. The killer could have ended us all, and he—”
“Or she didn’t,” I added, not wanting to be sexist.
Remi sighed in agreement. “Or she didn’t. All that said, I think we’re safe.”
“I don’t know,” I said, my head still on the counter. I was starting to feel better, but didn’t want to risk any side effects from sitting up. “I hate to rain on your drug-fueled parade, but Jack here was a naughty, naughty boy.” I pointed at the prone giant.
Jack growled in protest, and then grabbed his head in pain.
“Allow me, big fellow,” Remi said, growling at me. “I believe that’s giant for, ‘Am not.’ ”
“OK, then defend this,” I said, looking at the giant. “When that dark elf was trying to squeeze the life out of me, why didn’t you do anything?”
“Dark elf?” Sarah said.
“Yeah, dark elf,” I said. “And before any of you comes at me with an ‘Are you sure?’ or a ‘How do you know?’—I know. I was attacked by a dark elf covered in human blood, I might add, and when he ran away and I tried to chase after him, Mr. Inactive Giant over there suddenly sprang to life and grabbed my ankle. I want to know why.”
I purposefully didn’t tell them about the guy with the hockey stick who had saved me. Despite who I thought it was, I knew better: Justin was with his parents, probably trashing me over cranberries and mash. It was the drugs coupled with who I had wanted to see that made my savior look like him.
So if it wasn’t Justin who saved me, then it might be someone in this room. Which meant that one of us wasn’t drugged and that person, or rather fae, may or may not be working with the dark elf.
GoneGodDamn it! Jessica Fletcher, I am not.