Druid Bond

by Brad Magnarella

  But what if she is here?

  The thought sent a clammy wave of uncertainty through me. I was debating whether to knock a third time when something zipped past my ear.

  “What the—?”

  I spun around only to be buzzed by something going past my other ear. The flying things left contrails of glittering light, one peach colored, the other meadow green. When high bubbly laughter reached my ears, I groaned inwardly. Relaxing the arm that had been preparing to draw my sword, I showed my hands.

  “I’m Everson Croft,” I said. “I come in friendship.”

  “We know you, Everson Croft,” they said in unison so that it sounded like a sweet, taunting song.

  They twirled around one another, creating a mesmerizing column of spilling lights. Sure enough, these were pixies, Faerie’s most annoying creature. And, just my luck, they were somehow connected to the townhouse. But though irritating and silly, pixies could be flattered into lending aid. That would mean cranking up my charm. Pixies considered anything below a nine an insult, and my charm points were presently two.

  Gathering myself, I bowed low and swept an arm out elegantly.

  “I’m flattered to hear such,” I said, rising again. “But I have not had the pleasure of meeting you. If you would cease your flight long enough that we might be introduced, I would be most pleased.”

  I struggled to fashion a fake smile around the fake phrasing.

  The pixies giggled and circled my head several more times. Though their laughter was light and infectious, I remained on guard. When they joined hands, a trail of pixie dust spilled over me. The magic might have been meant to dispel my powers or cast me into a sugar-plumb slumber, but like the fae magic over the door, it didn’t penetrate my protection. I gave grudging credit to Gretchen for teaching me the potion.

  At last, the pixies hovered a couple of feet from my face where I could see them.

  I gasped and touched a hand to my chest. Except for their disparate colors, the one-foot beings were nearly identical: butterfly-like wings, cascading autumn hair, and cherub faces that appeared innocent, enchanting, and powerful at the same time. Gossamer garments fluttered in the wind from their wings.

  My gasp had been a stretch but not much of one.

  With appropriate reverence, I whispered, “Never have these eyes beheld such exquisiteness.”

  The pixies tittered some more and clasped one another’s arms. It took me a moment to realize one was female and the other male. They appeared pleased with me, anyway. The meadow-green female returned a petite bow.

  “I’m Pip,” she said in a high voice.

  “I’m Twerk,” her peach-colored twin followed.

  “And we bid you greetings, Everson Croft,” they said together.

  “You must be wondering what errand brings me here. I was—”

  “Oh, we know your errand, Everson Croft.”

  I faltered. “You do?”

  Pip hovered closer until I had to look at her cross-eyed. “Of course we do, silly poo.” She touched a playful finger to my nose. Though my protection blunted her magic, I could sense the promise of flower-strewn meadows, moonlit feasts, and a wonderstruck bliss that only the luckiest knew in their childhood. A part of me was tempted to thin my protection, to allow a little more of the fae magic in.

  “Got it!” a pixie voice cried.

  I snapped back to attention. “Huh?”

  Distracted by Pip, I hadn’t noticed Twerk duck below my field of vision until he’d snatched Caroline’s letter from my pocket. I swiped for it, but my hand broke through his peach-colored contrail. Twerk’s sister joined him as they rose, twirling, beyond my reach and opened the letter. It took every ounce of self-control not to shout for them to give it back or to blast them with a force invocation.

  Twerk secured the envelope while Pip drew out the letter.

  I called up pleasantly, “The correspondence you hold is in fact my reason for coming, fair beings.”

  The envelope fell to my feet, and I stiffened as the pixies unfolded the letter, each one holding a side, heads joined in the middle. When I saw they had it upside down, I relaxed. Most pixies were illiterate. They giggled anyway as they pretended to read the type. Suppressing a sigh, I stooped for the empty envelope. The only thing to do now was wait until they lost interest, which probably wouldn’t take long.

  “Everson Croft has a troubled mind,” the pixies sang. “He needs her help, ’cause he’s in a bind.”

  I looked up sharply, but the letter remained upside down. Then it occurred to me that though the pixies couldn’t read the words, they could still feel the emotions and memories I’d grappled with during the composition. They were siphoning them up like sugar water, and it was making them giddy.

  “Croft loved her once, and she stomped his heart,” they sang with even more glee. “She wed her prince, and he fell apart.”

  “I didn’t fall apart,” I muttered.

  “Then lo she’s back, like a wayward dove; Croft swept her to bed where they made sweet—”

  “Hey!” I called.

  My protest sent them into gales of laughter. They were referring to the night Caroline had come to my apartment unannounced. Her transformation underway, she was scared, confused, and in need of a friend from her old world. Someone who understood the woman she had been and the being she was becoming. That night had marked her crossover to her fae life. I’d felt it even as we were making—

  I broke off the memory and glared at the pixies, all of my fake charm spent. “Getting a little invasive, aren’t we?” I growled.

  Eyes and cheeks glistening with tears, the pixies collected themselves long enough to continue their maddening song. “Now Mister Croft has a brand new flame; so why does this note bear the old one’s name?”

  I jumped for the letter, but the pixies darted higher, raining more dust and laughter down on me. That did it. I palmed the cold iron amulet in my pocket, ready to cast through it, when a distinguished voice spoke.

  “That’s quite enough you two.”

  The doorway was open now, a slight, silver-haired man in butler’s attire standing inside it.

  “Oh,” I said in surprise, releasing my amulet again. “It’s … you.” Though I’d encountered him twice before, I’d forgotten his name. Jasper? All I knew for sure was that, appearances aside, he was a powerful fae being.

  “Return the letter to Mister Croft,” he told the pixies calmly. “And tell him you’re sorry.”

  The pixies’ laughter thinned away, their winged bodies sagging as they descended. They held the letter toward me.

  “Here, Everson Croft,” Pip said in a sulky voice.

  “We’re sorry,” her twin said. “We were only having fun.”

  “Sure,” I said tightly. Accepting the upside-down letter, I refolded it quickly and replaced it in its envelope.

  “Very good,” the butler said. “Now back inside.” He snapped his fingers.

  Pip and Twerk took off like shots, their glittering contrails disappearing into the dimness beyond him. I managed to glimpse a parquet entrance hall, too big for the narrow townhouse, before the butler stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

  For the first time, he leveled his gray eyes at me. “I apologize for the nuisance. Now, how can I be of assistance, Mr. Croft?” His voice betrayed no surprise. In fact, he sounded as if he’d been expecting me.

  “Is Caroline in?”

  “No, she is not.”

  “Well, I, ah, I have a message—a letter, actually—that I was hoping to give to her.” When I caught myself glancing around and fidgeting like a school boy, I straightened and cleared my throat. “That is, I have an urgent communication.” I held up the letter. “Is there someone I can entrust to deliver it to her?”

  The butler’s eyes didn’t shift from mine. Though his face remained placid, I sensed dangerous undercurrents. My protective field must have looked as formidable to him as a layer of cellophane.

  “I believe
there was an understanding,” he said at last.

  “An understanding?” I lowered the letter again.

  “Yes, involving you and Mrs. Caroline?”

  I realized he was referring to the battle for downtown Manhattan when I was trapped in Arnaud’s vault and Caroline had helped save my life. More accurately, the fae had allowed her to help save my life. In exchange, she had forfeited her remaining feelings for me. Typical fae bargain.

  “Oh yeah, that.”

  “Very good.” He nodded. “Was there anything else?”

  “What do you mean? What does that have to do with my letter?”

  “Mr. Croft,” he said patiently. “There is nothing of Mrs. Caroline’s that should concern you or vice versa. Your lives no longer overlap. Not in the slightest. Indeed, it would be most prudent for all concerned if we forgot this visit.”

  His dismissiveness made my face burn. “Well, listen here, Jeeves,” I hissed.

  “The name is Osgood.” He adjusted his bow with a pair of white-gloved hands.

  I faltered. “I thought it was Jasper.”

  “I go by many names, Mr. Croft.”

  “Well, anyway, I was making a joke. Listen, I’m out of Caroline’s life and vice versa, so you can relax. This message deals with something much bigger.”

  “Be that as it may—”

  “Is Caroline a prisoner?”

  Osgood blinked once in what appeared mild surprise, but I couldn’t tell whether it was from being interrupted or what I’d asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It’s a simple question. Is Caroline a prisoner?”

  “No, Mr. Croft. She most certainly is not.”

  “Is she free to make her own decisions?”

  “Naturally. She’s quite influential, in fact.”

  “Then why is the butler playing gatekeeper?”

  The edge of Osgood’s mouth turned up in a way that suggested he knew that I knew he was much more than a butler. There was nothing dangerous in the look, only the mildest amusement. Which told me just how powerful he really was.

  I held up the letter again. “It’s important. All I’m asking is that it be delivered to her. She can decide what she wants to do with it.”

  Osgood opened the door behind him and stepped back over the threshold.

  “Wait,” I said, moving forward. I stopped, though, wary of the potent defensive energies covering the doorway.

  “Good day, Mr. Croft.”

  “Please,” I said.

  The door swung slowly to, enshrouding Osgood’s silver hair and knowing eyes in dimness, then clicked shut. Fae protections grew back around the frame, sealing it tightly. I swore and slapped the letter against the palm of my hand.

  Only the letter was no longer there.

  I looked from my empty hands to the steps, then to the closed door. I smiled. That son of a gun. There was no telling why Osgood had taken the letter, but he’d taken it. Whether he would give it to Caroline was another question.

  “Thank you,” I called anyway, and trotted down the steps.

  I had done all I could on the fae front.

  20

  After trying Vega again, and getting her voicemail again, I took a cab to the safe house in Brooklyn. In the common room downstairs a woman from the synagogue was reading to a group of children in the far corner. Tony wasn’t among them. I went to their small apartment and knocked. Camila answered.

  “Tony is doing his afternoon nap,” she explained, stepping outside.

  “And Ricki?”

  “She went to work around lunchtime.”

  I wondered if Vega hadn’t told me because she knew I would try to talk her out of it. In fairness, I hadn’t told her about going to Arnaud’s penthouse, and for the same reason. Fine, but why wasn’t she answering my calls?

  Either her brother reached her first, or she’s wrapped up in something.

  “Everything all right here?” I asked Camila.

  “Yes, Mr. Croft.”

  “Good, just be sure to stay inside.”

  She nodded as if she didn’t need reminding, but I’d told her at least fifty times to call me Everson, and that hadn’t taken. And after the story Carlos had shared about Arnaud…

  Shit, I was being too hard on her. Tony had been abducted under her watch. Camila understood the dangers better than anyone.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked her.

  “No, Mr. Croft. We have everything we need.”

  “All right. Thanks for all your help, Camila.”

  I worried about her going and coming, but I didn’t think Arnaud would target her. Camila provided him no advantages. If he turned her into a blood slave, or even charmed her with his vampiric powers, the safe house would bar her entrance. Plus, I was getting the same feeling as when I’d spoken to Carlos. Arnaud was gunning for me, not Camila. She was too far from the bull’s eye.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Oh, to the police station to check on Ricki.”

  Which was to say, to face the music.

  I hesitated. Camila had been Tony’s sitter for years. Long enough to have known his father? When I started to open my mouth, she looked back at me expectantly. No, I decided, shutting it again. Not this way. I had already violated Vega’s trust once today. If I started snooping around her past, where would it end?

  “Thanks again,” I told Camila, and left.

  I knew the officers who manned the security around 1 Police Plaza well enough that they hardly glanced at my ID as they waved me through. I would need to talk to Vega about that. There were enough supernatural types who could impersonate me or her—mages, doppelgangers, dark fae, the list went on—but right now I was too preoccupied with having to tell her I’d blabbed her pregnancy to Carlos.

  I was actually palpitating as the elevator rose toward the eighth floor. She was not going to be happy. When I arrived, the elevator door opened to reveal Detective Hoffman stuffing his shirt tail into his polyester pants.

  “Good timing,” he said, hustling inside and placing a meaty hand against my chest. “We could use you.”

  “Wait, what’s going on?”

  “Vega’s bringing someone into the Basement.”

  “The Basement?” I echoed as the elevator descended. The basement level held the two cells I’d reinforced with circle traps and powerful wards.

  “Yeah. One of yours.”

  Vega went out and collared a supernatural? And without asking for my help?

  “Vampire,” Hoffman said, digging a finger into his wreath of brown curls. “Or so they say. She answered a ten-fifty-four over in the Bowery. Found the body. Also found a couple of vamps hiding nearby. Well, not found them. The vamps rushed her and the officers at the scene. But then the vamps freaked and tried to run.” Because of the stored power of the safe house in the coin pendant, I thought.

  “Vega shot one through the back,” he finished.

  When the elevator door opened at the basement level, I could already hear the commotion. Pulling sword from staff, I sprinted to the holding area. I found Vega standing apart from the four officers wrestling a wiry man toward an open cell. She stood in a wide-legged stance, service pistol aimed at the detainee.

  The vampire’s greasy hair thrashed as he jumped and kicked. Red-rimmed eyes seemed to shoot in every direction at once above a muzzled mouth. I noted the exit wound in the center of his shirt at chest level, steam drifting up. Fragments from the silver round must have only nicked his heart because even with his hands secured behind his back with reinforced cuffs, he was still putting up a good fight.

  “Just get him inside,” Vega snapped. “Don’t worry about the door.”

  Hoffman arrived beside me, heaving for air, but I showed him a staying hand.

  The officers shoved the vampire into the cell. All in a second, the vampire recovered and flung himself at the open doorway. The officers flinched back, but my ward met the vampire with a violent flash, and he staggered back.
Screaming behind his muzzle, he threw himself at the doorway again. This time, the ward knocked him into the far wall and he fell on his ass. He peered around, smoke rising from his body. Rather than try for the door a third time, he eyed us with crazed hunger and pain.

  Probably recently turned.

  The largest of the officers stepped forward now and closed the heavy alloy door—steel, iron, copper, traces of silver—until the vampire could only be seen through a window above a feeding portal. I double-checked to ensure the protections were fully charged and functioning as they should.

  They were.

  “Good job,” Vega said, holstering her pistol.

  “I’ll say,” Hoffman grunted, prompting her to turn.

  When our eyes met, I tried to read her face for signs of wrath, but she looked pleasantly surprised.

  “I was coming down to help,” Hoffman said. “But Mr. Chivalry here told me to back off.”

  “They had it under control,” I said, still not believing they’d managed to collar a vampire.

  Vega gave me one of her dry looks. “So we passed?”

  She knew me too well. I had wanted to see if they could handle the creature before intervening. I also wanted to make sure the cell was up to snuff. I wasn’t always going to be around to help.

  “With flying colors,” I said. “And you’re all right?” My gaze inadvertently dropped to her stomach.

  “Fine. The boys did the heavy lifting. Something up?”

  I thought about all that happened since we’d last spoken. Arnaud’s penthouse, the infernal skirmish inside, the time catch, the meeting with the Upholders, my visit to the fae townhouse to deliver Caroline’s letter. But mostly I was thinking about my meeting with Carlos and my stupid blunder.

  “Do you have time to talk?” I asked in a lowered voice.

  “Sure, but let’s take it upstairs. I’ve gotta start the paperwork on this guy.”