A man dressed in the brown uniform of a park ranger faced Harry. Zeke held up his hand, and we stopped, moving close to the edge of the structure and peeking around the corner. I wondered why we didn’t just sneak by while the sasquatch was occupied, but then I understood. If the ranger spotted us and said hello, or worse, called us over, and the sasquatch couldn’t smell us, it would give us away.
I relaxed my eyes, sort of like trying to make a Viewmaster 3-D image come into proper focus, and caught a glimpse of the sasquatch’s glamour. He looked like one of the hair metal rockers from Poison, with a mighty mane that covered his face and draped down over his shoulders; but rather than the glam leopard-print spandex and scarves, he wore a real fur jacket, and wool leggings with furry leg warmers above his combat boots.
“I don’t see any filming equipment,” the park ranger said.
“We just rehearse,” Harry replied.
“Well, no more fireworks in a state park, understand? And if you’re going to film a rock video or whatever that might disturb the other guests, you should drop by the office and make sure it’s okay first, yeah?”
“Yes,” the sasquatch said. “Rock on.”
“Yeah, okay. Enjoy the rest of your visit.” The park ranger walked away, speaking into his walkie-talkie as he left.
Zeke motioned for us to stay put, and we waited until Harry walked back under the eaves of the structure. Then we hurried at an angle away from Kenzie Battery, and along the narrow path that led into the park. The sasquatch ignored us.
It looked like we’d narrowly escaped a hairy situation.
9
Who Can It Be Now?
We drove back to the house and I helped Mort to limp inside. Not even nine in the morning and already I wanted to crawl into bed and start the day over.
Mort dropped onto the couch. I glanced at Zeke’s blood-encrusted face and pointed up the hall. “Bathroom’s down on the left if you want to clean up.”
Pete walked in and jerked to a stop, his wide eyes going from me to Mort to Zeke. I could hear the leather creak as his gloved hands balled into fists.
“Did you do that to Mort?” he asked Zeke. His voice was soft as ever, but it trembled slightly, and there was an edge to it that made me very glad it wasn’t aimed at me.
“Nope,” Zeke said. “He did that to himself.” He moved toward the hallway, but Pete stepped in front of him.
“Petey,” I said. “It’s okay. Zeke helped save Mort.”
Pete frowned, but stepped out of Zeke’s way and looked at Mort. “Protection is my job. I am the head of security, and that’s my job. Why didn’t you take me with you?”
Mort shifted and grunted. “I didn’t know I was going to get beat up, Petey, or I wouldn’t have gone.”
And Mort didn’t want Pete or anyone else knowing he was selling off the family’s heirlooms to secure his own position running the business. I glared at Mort, but he avoided my eyes, looking instead like a petulant, pouting child staring off into space.
“Everything’s okay, Pete,” I said. “Can you call a healer to look him over, make sure nothing’s broken except his brain?”
“Ha-ha,” Mort muttered, eyes closed. “I think I need a potion.”
“You aren’t dying,” I said. Healing potions were extremely expensive and difficult to make, and largely worked by accelerating the body’s natural healing process. I’d learned from Pete that we’d managed to stockpile five of them over the years thanks to Heather being a family friend and all, but still, they were best saved for a painy day. “You can wait for a healer. Pete can even hold your hand while you wait, if you’d like.”
“Why?” Pete asked. “Where are you going?”
“To get some answers.”
Petey crossed his arms, and his face scrunched into a determined scowl. “Then I’m going with you.”
“It’s not going to be dangerous,” I said, though I had no way to be sure after the morning I’d had. I just didn’t want him involved if there was another attack. Bad enough the whole world seemed determined to ruin my life, I wasn’t going to drag my family into it, any more than they already were into it, anyway.
“I still want to go,” Pete said.
Morty sighed. “No, really, I don’t need that healer. Don’t worry about me.”
“Sorry, Petey,” I said, “but you just can’t go.”
He growled, though it sounded more like an angry dachshund than a wolf. “I’ll bite you,” he said.
“I’m calling the healer myself,” Mort muttered, and pulled out his mobile phone.
“No, Pete,” I said. “You wouldn’t bite anyone. And anyway, it isn’t up to me. I don’t think Zeke would bring you.”
“Sure I will,” Zeke said, returning at the absolute wrong time. “He looks like he’d be more help in a fight than you or your diva brother there.” I looked at Mort, who was talking into the phone as though he were a dying soldier on the battlefield telling his comrades … cough … to go on … cough … without him. “Besides,” Zeke added, “we’re not going anywhere dangerous.”
Pete beamed. I sighed. What the heck, at least I’d get to spend more time with the brother I actually liked.
“Fine. Whatever. Let me clean up and we can go.”
Mort’s phone buzzed, and he touched the screen. “Hello? What?” He sighed and held out the phone. “Finn, it’s for you.”
“Who? The healer?”
“No. It’s James Grayson. It looks like he called earlier too.”
Crap. He wouldn’t be happy I’d left the house. That thought shot a spike of irritation through me. Who was Jimmy to act like my babysitter? I took the phone. “James! What a pleasure!”
“Finn, where have you been? I thought I asked you to inform me if you left the house.” His irritated frown could actually be heard through the phone. “I can’t protect you from being arrested or worse if I don’t know where you’re at or what you’re doing.”
“Well, after I saw your snappy outfit, I realized I needed to go shopping. I mean, imagine my embarrassment that half-shirts didn’t make the big comeback I thought—”
“Finn! This isn’t a joke! I’ve put my own position on the line to protect you. And you’ve got less than three days before the enforcers start mining your brain for information. Maybe you could try to take your own life as seriously as I do?”
I sighed. “Sorry, Grayson. You’re right. I just went to help Morty with some chores, and then—” I glanced at Zeke. “I, uh, ran into Zeke. You know, the other guy who—”
“I know who Ezekiel is, Finn, better than you. He’s dangerous. Did he threaten you, or—”
“No. Not at all. Actually, he helped me.”
“Helped how, exactly?”
I hesitated and glanced at Morty. Best if Grayson didn’t know about Mort’s activities, or what happened at Fort Worden. Grayson might be helping me out, but I suspected that had mostly to do with how his association to our family might taint his reputation should I be found guilty of another crime. So while he wouldn’t allow me to be falsely accused of any crime, he would almost certainly turn Mort and me both in for any real crime to avoid being named an accomplice after the fact.
“Well,” I said. “Zeke, uh, thinks he can help me recover some memories that might give us answers.”
“Finn, don’t be foolish! That’s exactly what the enforcers want, remember? Obviously, they sent him to trick you—”
“I don’t think so. We’re not going after the changeling’s memories.”
“Once they have a seer in your head, how do you know what they’ll do?”
I glanced back at Zeke. He stared at me intently, like a dog watching someone about to step into his yard. If the enforcers had sent Zeke, then the incident at Fort Worden gave them enough reason to have me arrested and do whatever they wanted. But no enforcers were kicking in my door.
“I think I can trust him,” I said. At least, trust him not to turn me in if he thought he could get more
answers his way.
“Don’t. You need to stay safe, and stay clear of any trouble. And Zeke is trouble.”
“I can handle—”
“Listen! Things aren’t going well with the investigation, Finn. Someone was in your home when it burned, a woman, we don’t know who yet. There’s no trace of the man you say attacked the transfer. And the Department of Feyblood Management says the Króls were never allowed entrance to this country. Location spells all say the nearest Król clan member is in Amsterdam.”
“But I saw—”
“Someone with blond hair? In passing? At night? Finn—”
“I know what I saw! And I know that I’m innocent. And I’m going to prove it.”
“Finn, don’t—”
I pressed the red End button on the phone and tossed it on the couch beside Mort.
“Come on,” I said to Zeke. “Let’s go get some answers.”
* * *
We grabbed leftover breakfast burritos for the road, and piled into Zeke’s all-black Trans Am. The car looked a lot like KITT from Knight Rider. Pete took the backseat but had to lay across it sideways since even a snake would complain about the legroom.
We rode in awkward silence for well over an hour. I realized where Zeke was driving us just shortly before we arrived. The Hole.
Its official name was Haven House, but everyone called it The Hole. A mixture of hospice, halfway house, and sanatorium for feybloods, waer, and some arcana, it housed those who were not able to care for themselves, or were a danger to themselves or others. They were not criminals, or if they had committed a crime they’d served their sentence already. They were just people and beings whose magical nature made them too dangerous to let wander the streets homeless, or go without whatever special care they required.
The Hole was where my father might be right now if he didn’t have family to care for him.
I’d never been to the Hole, but I’d always imagined it was something like the mental hospital in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, add fairies and monsters.
“Wait,” I said. “You don’t plan to use electroshock or something to make me remember, do you?”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Zeke said. “But I’ll call that plan B.”
“And Plan A?” The edge of panic suddenly pressed against my chest. “Oh gods, you’re not going to let some feyblood at my memories, are you?” This was too much like going back to the Other Realm. I found my hand on the door handle, and consciously put it back in my lap.
“Just relax, fool. I don’t like feybloods no more than you.”
“So, this friend of yours, she works as a healer here?”
“No,” Zeke said in a tone that made clear the topic was closed.
“Are we going to a hospital?” Petey asked. “Do they have one of those food bars where you can pick your dessert? I love hospital pudding.”
“You love any pudding,” I said, trying hard to believe I could trust Zeke. “And who could blame you?”
“Not chocolate,” he said.
“Nope, not even chocolate could blame you.”
“No, I meant I can’t eat— Oh. I get it.” Pete rubbed his head. “I have to get used to your jokes again. Not even Sammy jokes like that anymore.”
“Well,” I said. “I guess that’s one good thing about exile, life didn’t beat—”
Zeke hit the dashboard. “There’s nothing good about being exiled! Nothing!”
I didn’t argue. What could I say? He was right.
Zeke squeezed the steering wheel like he wanted to make a balloon animal out of it, and stared ahead.
The entrance to the Haven House grounds was blocked by a black iron gate with a guardhouse. The guard recognized Zeke, and opened the gates. We passed through onto a property that was part garden, part shrubbery zoo. Pete oohed and ahhed on the drive up to the building.
The Hole itself stood on a grassy hillside, a large, blocky gray structure, four stories high in the center, with a three-story wing on each end. The windows all had bars on them.
We parked and entered the depressingly bland lobby. Zeke signed in at the reception desk. An orderly wearing a white padded jacket and gloves guided us to a stairwell that was caged in with a wire-grated security door at the bottom. Zeke stepped in front of the orderly and stopped the man with a hand to his chest.
“She’s still upstairs?”
The orderly arched an eyebrow, looked down at Zeke’s hand, and back up into his face. “Yes.”
Zeke stepped in closer, and looked down at the shorter man with a glare like Laser-Guided Screw-You-Vision. “She was supposed to be moved down here and given a proper room ’til I can take her outta this stinkhole.”
The orderly sighed. “Mr. Wodenson, your request was considered, but the doctors decided that for the comfort and safety of all, we couldn’t bend the rules to—”
“I suggest them fool doctors reconsider their decision, for the comfort and safety of their own asses, or I’ll bend more than their rules.”
“Sir, you do realize where you are, right? We have guests whose stare can turn you to stone, or make you their willing slave. So glare at me if you want, but it isn’t likely to change the rules.”
“Maybe,” Zeke said, and leaned in until his nose was practically touching the orderly’s. “But your guests are all locked up, aren’t they? Me, I can go anywhere. Even, say, your home, while you’re sleeping?”
The orderly swallowed. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll pass on your request. But you know, she is free to leave with you if you don’t want her here. Your paperwork was approved.”
Zeke jerked back. “Did you tell her that?”
“No, I just—”
“Good.” His tone held clear relief. Then he sucked in a deep breath, and his glare returned. “Because I’ll take her when I’m good and ready, fool, and not before. And in the meantime, I expect you to do what I asked, got it?”
“I’ll do my best, of course.”
Zeke grunted, and stepped out of the orderly’s way. “Stop with the dilly dally then and let’s go.”
We filed into the stairwell. As we climbed, something howled from one of the floors above us, a cry that sounded half wolf and half Lucille Ball on helium.
“What’s that?” Pete asked in a worried tone.
“Chupacabra,” the orderly said. “We’ve had a flood of feybloods addicted to some new mana drug. They’re all safely locked away on the high-security floor though. Where you’re going, the residents are much better behaved. Least, as long as you follow the rules. And here we are.”
We faced another security door. A large warning sign read:
CAUTION! SOME RESIDENTS MAY BE DANGEROUS. PLEASE WEAR THE APPROPRIATE PROTECTIVE GEAR, AMULETS, OR ARMOR AS REQUIRED FOR EACH RESIDENT.
And below that, a shiny whiteboard with a list written in marker:
Not allowed: weapons, mana, meat, music players, knives or scissors, silver, iron, Diet Coke, lentils, or monkeys.
The orderly unlocked the door and led us down a hallway lined with rooms, their numbered and windowed doors all closed. Each door had a smaller whiteboard on it with additional items listed, and faces peered out through a couple of the windows, human faces more or less. One man whose mane of white hair had been shaven at the front had a single small nub of white horn showing, and an ugly scar across his left cheek—no virgin female visitors allowed. A woman blinked at me, her pupils going slitted briefly before returning to round pinholes—no flutes, lutes, or newts for her. Another woman watched me intently from above the mask covering her mouth—no riddles or books permitted.
I couldn’t help but feel like maybe these feybloods should be in a zoo, not a facility like this, sharing space with arcanas. Mother wouldn’t be happy at such thoughts, not after all the times she’d scolded us kids for telling feyblood jokes—heck, she’d hired a feyblood au pair for her children—but she hadn’t been mindsucked by the Fey for most of her life.
We reached our de
stination, and the orderly knocked on the door. The whiteboard read: No nuts, especially peanut brittle.
“Violet?” the orderly called. “You have visitors. Your brother and two of his friends.”
“Brother?” I said.
Zeke glared at me in response.
“Let them in,” a girl’s voice called from the room.
The orderly looked in through the window, nodded, and unlocked it. “Knock when you’re ready to leave. I’ll be right outside here. Oh, and keep an eye on your stuff. She has a way of, uh, squirreling things away.” He opened the door and waved us through.
Zeke went first, glaring at the orderly as he passed, and Petey and I followed.
The room was larger than I’d expected, but it was still a small space to spend all of your time in. A bed, desk, and bookshelf filled the corners, all made of metal, and the shelves appeared to have metal covers that could be lowered over them and locked into place. A small television sat in one upper corner of the room, turned off and protected behind a metal wire cage. And a door led to what must be a private toilet.
Paintings of trees covered every surface of the room and furniture.
On the far side of the room stood a woman I might have described as a plump Valkyrie, except she looked less a warrior and more “Fragile: Handle with Care.” It was the sadness in her eyes when she glanced over at us, maybe, or the way she stood a bit hunched in on herself.
Babies of most species emanate an energy field that creates a strong and immediate sense of protectiveness in observers. Zeke’s sister gave off a similar vibe that made me want to help her somehow, even though I didn’t know what was wrong.
She wore a plain gray sweatshirt and pants, and bunny slippers, as well as a paint-stained apron and gloves. She painted the wall, dipping her brush onto a pallet and then jabbing at the surface in front of her.
Finn Fancy Necromancy Page 10