Bounty: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Solumancer Cycle Book 3)

by J. C. Staudt

  “A few weeks, I think. What’s going on?”

  “He’s not himself. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s depressed. Possibly even having suicidal thoughts.”

  “No way. Not Quim. He’d never do that.”

  “Call him, Cade. Talk some sense into him before he does.”

  Chapter 2

  I suit up the following morning with an ominous feeling looming over me. Not only am I still shaken up from last night’s attack; I’m worried about Quim and nervous as can be about my audience with the Fae Council. This is my only chance to get Calyxto released from his imprisonment and thereby fulfill the promise I made to him. After his obsession with a human girl named Helayne got him landed in fairy jail, Ersatz negotiated a temporary release so he could prevent me from being mind-controlled by the vampire who’d taken me as a thrall. In a roundabout way, I owe the half-fiend my life.

  “How do I look?” I ask.

  “Like a brown-nosing schmuck who’s about to pucker up to the buttcheek of the Fae Council,” Ersatz replies.

  “Achievement unlocked, I guess. Just trying to put my best foot forward. You know how long it took me to get an appointment with these jackasses.”

  “I do, and I suggest you use it wisely. The fae are not to be trifled with.”

  “I’ll try not to take Tinkerbell’s name in vain.” I give myself another look in the mirror, modeling the brand-new black suit I bought myself last week. Most of the clothes in this apartment are fitted to Arden Savage’s measurements, so I needed a Cade-sized one for today.

  “See that you don’t,” Ersatz advises. “Saying Tinkerbell to a fairy is like telling a troll it ought to dye its hair pink. Pop culture references are never a wise idea.”

  “Thanks for the pointer. Anything else I should know?”

  “Many of the fae are diminutive in size. Don’t let that fool you. You should never underestimate the ability of a very small thing to create very large problems.”

  “You’re evidence enough of that.”

  He gives me a flat look. “Also, the Council won’t like you.”

  “But I’m King Cadigan’s son.”

  “You’re also not an othersider.”

  I take the Mas uptown, dialing Quim on the way but getting no answer. I arrive at company headquarters ahead of schedule, turning onto the main driveway of what amounts to a campus covering four city blocks. A stacked-stone sign welcomes me to the Gryphon Media Complex, Where Your Voice Meets Our Future. I prowl the four-story parking deck for a spot, only to end up in one half-covered in shade and adjoining the open roof.

  Gryphon Enterprises owns every ad agency, TV station, newspaper, and radio station in the city. The layperson would never know this thanks to an assortment of subsidiaries and shell corporations structured to hide the media conglomerate’s monopolistic stranglehold on the news outlets of New Detroit. When I found out the fae controlled and vetted most everything I’d ever watched, heard, or read, certain things started to make sense. Like the number of times I’d seen stories about murders, vandalism, robbery, and assault whose explanations rang presumptuous at best. If an entire news media is structured around keeping a particular secret—like the existence of othersiders—you can be sure they’ll do a well-coordinated job of it.

  Good thing I got here ahead of time; the place is a maze of buildings with identical silhouettes and little to differentiate between them aside from the signs posted out front. It reminds me of a college campus, though I never went to college and visited friends there seldom enough. There’s an air of creativity about the place, the sort of vibrant energy you only find at tech companies with forward-thinking management and unique productivity methods like letting people take naps in lounges full of giant beanbag chairs.

  I bumble my way to the correct building, where the pixie receptionist gives me a glittery high-five and a pass to the ninth floor for receiving. The glass elevator takes me past a water tank spanning several floors in which merfolk swim like otters in a zoological exhibit. I take a wrong turn off the elevator and wind up in the accounting department, where a line of spriggans in gray-walled cubicles peck away on ancient print-roll calculators. When I ask for directions to the council chambers, they all point the wrong way on purpose. I enter the hallway and bump into a two-foot-tall clurichaun in a tricorne hat. He’s the leprechaun’s surly drunken counterpart. He excuses himself before ambling drunkenly up the wall and through a doorway on an adjoining ceiling panel.

  In folklore, tales of the fae are rife with mischief. Most of them are said to exist solely for the purpose of leading travelers and other unsuspecting humans astray. That’s what Gryphon Enterprises excels at; making normals believe we aren’t living in a world full of myth and magic. They exist to provide secrecy to creatures whose well-being would be threatened if their existence ever went mainstream.

  By the time I make it to the council chambers, its six minutes past nine. I’m late. Heads turn as the heavy door creaks open. I slip into an end seat along the back row, hoping I haven’t missed my turn to testify. Around the wide U-shaped table at the front of the room are seated an assortment of fae to make any mythologist cream their jeans. Among the assembled races are puca, pixie, elf, djinn, fury, nymph, sprite, rusalka, brownie, selkie, and even banshee. I’d hate to be in here when someone makes her cry.

  At the center of the half-circle, the sidhe Elona Anarian presides in a raised seat wearing a dark ceremonial frock. She is a woman of exceptional beauty with long white-golden hair, gleaming emerald eyes full of cunning, and a countenance which shines with its own light. By no fault of my own, I’m captivated from the moment I lay eyes on her.

  Cases proceed in alphabetical order, which puts Cadigan toward the front of the line. It’s only a few minutes before my name is called and I approach the podium at the front of the room to face the long curved table where the members of the legendary Fae Council await my testimony. It’s here that Calyxto’s fate will be decided.

  Elona Anarian speaks to me first. “Cade Cadigan. You are today present to plead on behalf of the prisoner Calyxto, a creature of the infernal realms accused of violating an honorbound pact.”

  A murmur ripples through the audience. An honorbound pact, like the fae themselves, is not to be trifled with.

  “Seth Sildret Wilder,” continues the sidhe, “a fairy of our own employ in good standing with this council, cites the half-fiend’s improper dalliances with a normal human woman as grounds for his indefinite banishment from the mortal realm. Am I to understand that you, Mr. Cadigan, as a human born of this world yourself, wish to furnish evidence to the contrary?”

  She’s putting me in a rough spot before I’ve said a single word. I guess you get pretty good at nailing people to the wall when your job is to sit around judging them all day. I clear my throat into the gooseneck microphone, which gives a brief squeal in reply. “What I’ll be presenting today is more observation than evidence,” I begin. “The issue at hand, as I see it, is that an honorbound pact must be enacted in good faith by all parties involved. I would argue that since Sildret forced Calyxto into making the pact, due to what I understand was a sort of romantic rivalry between them over the affections of the woman, that the pact itself is invalid. Her name’s Helayne, by the way.”

  “The name of the human is irrelevant to these proceedings.”

  “Um, okay. So yeah, it wasn’t Calyxto’s choice, therefore he should be released and the pact should be dissolved.”

  The sidhe stares at me. “You are the son of a ruler of men. Isn’t that right, Mr. Cadigan?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

  “It is the business of this council to consider all matters which may be pertinent to its final decision. Will you begrudge the council of knowledge they’ll use to reach a determination?”

  “I would never do that. Yes, my father was King Glendon Cadigan of Tolmyr.”

  Only a few in the audience seem to recognize the name.


  “You would not appear in these chambers at the risk of besmirching your family name.”

  I’m not sure how to answer that. Was it a question? I lean toward the microphone, but I’m lost for words.

  “It is a brave human who would come into this place to testify on behalf of a creature of the underworld to whom he owes nothing,” the sidhe clarifies. “Yet from what I know of your father, he was just such a man.”

  “I’m not here to throw my father’s name around. I’m here because I owe Calyxto my life.”

  The crowd livens with chatter.

  Elona sits motionless while her gavel floats up from her desk on a swirl of sparkling dust and raps hard on it three times. “Order. I will have order.” The crowd quiets. “Mr. Cadigan, you bring an unprecedented claim before us, accompanied by an unprecedented request. How can it be that a creature of singular purpose, bent on ensnaring the free will of mortals, saved the life of a former slave such as yourself?”

  “It was his domination that saved me. His control over me, stolen from another.”

  “Go on.”

  I explain how Calyxto’s mark prevented Gilbert Mottrov from commanding me as his thrall, thereby allowing me to defeat him. Several times the crowd stirs, requiring Elona to rap her gavel without lifting a finger. By the time I’m done, the sidhe looks ready to Vader-choke a few of the room’s more vocal occupants. I’ll bet she could, too. Instead she thinks for a moment.

  “Midsummer approaches, Mr. Cadigan. It is at this time of year when the veil between worlds is at its weakest. It is the duty of this Council to safeguard the minds of humankind from knowledge which would do them harm. We believe it is in the best interests of mortals to remain unaware of the true nature of things, so that we who hail from the otherworld may be afforded lives of safety in this one. Rulebreaking of the sort exhibited by the half-fiend Calyxto jeopardizes the boundary we all must maintain. Should we forfeit our secrecy, our kind will enter an era of untold suffering. It is mankind’s endless curiosity, and his neverending quest after the mysteries of the universe, which will prove to be our undoing, should we unleash it upon ourselves. It is up to you, and all of us, to prevent such tragedy. You are as yet a rare breed, Cade Cadigan. A normal human of hybrid birth, conceived of two disparate realms, awakened to both and thus made to straddle the line between them. You pose a greater risk to all of us here in this place today than you may know. The same is true of the risk we pose ourselves. Surely you understand we cannot allow breaches such as these to go unpunished.”

  “I do understand that, yes. I don’t know a whole lot about the terms under which Calyxto serves his overlords. But I will tell you he’s more than just a fiend. In some ways he and I are alike. We operate in the same state of limbo—a mother from one world, a father from another. He’s half human. You don’t have to spend long with him to see the human side. It doesn’t stop with him and me, though. Each one of us in this room is a whole composed of two halves. Members of the Council—have any of you been asked to deny half of who you are? To play by a set of rules that don’t fit the whole you’ve become? Whether or not Calyxto’s actions were in keeping with a code he can’t possibly keep, he deserves another chance. A chance to experience the life of safety you’ve described.”

  “No matter how distant one’s infernal ancestry, one is prone to fall victim to its maleficence. A fiend will always return to his roots.”

  “You can’t honestly believe that.”

  “I speak from experience, not mere conjecture.”

  “People can change. They can overcome their pasts.”

  “People can, Mr. Cadigan. Fiends seldom do.”

  “So you’re going to leave him to rot in a cell because he might do something wrong later.”

  “The Tylwyth Teg wish to maintain peace between your kind and ours. To fulfill this mission, we will exert our influence over the collective consciousness of humankind in any way we deem necessary. We are protecting Calyxto not only from others, but from himself.”

  “You’re stealing his life because of one mistake. You claim loyalty to othersiders, yet they’re the ones you’re punishing to further your goals.”

  “Our dominion does not extend to the world of men, so we do what we must within the limits of our reach.”

  “You shape human opinion every day through the skewed news stories you blast all over the TV and the newspapers. You’re telling me you have no control over humans?”

  Elona gives me a thin smile as the chamber resounds with righteous indignation from fae who can’t believe I would speak to her like this. “Do not confuse the Fae Council with the many subsidiaries it oversees. It is true, the branches of this tree are quick to provide shade to the minds of those who need it. But they are willing, not compelled. Humans want to be deceived.”

  She has a point. I wish I could say humans as a race were action-oriented go-getters with an unquenchable desire to throw tradition to the wind and embrace new realities they never imagined. But aside from those isolated conspiracy theorists who want everything bad that’s ever happened to be the government’s evil plan so they have someone to blame, and the truthseekers who’d rather spend their time studying aliens than interacting with people, humans are a rotten mess of lackadaisical spectators wrapped in modern comfort. “You say we’re curious but misguided. We want truth, but we’ll settle for the status quo. Sounds to me like you’re afraid one will eventually win out over the other.”

  “Movements capable of inspiring the many are borne on the backs of the few.”

  “Calyxto did nothing that would add to the risk of a mass human awakening. His powers allow him to grant minor wishes at a steep price. He was working well within his jurisdiction when he sought out Helayne. Do you disagree?”

  “I do not. Yet he violated an honorbound pact to do it.”

  “Fiends have no honor,” someone shouts from the crowd.

  “So what is this really about?” I ask. “Are you charging Calyxto because he violated the pact, or because you think by doing so he put the supernatural world at risk?”

  “Both,” says the sidhe.

  “Then your argument holds no water whatsoever. I’ve already explained how Calyxto was forced into the pact and why it was unfair. If you choose to enforce the pact, Calyxto’s debt is to Sildret, not the Council. We’ve also agreed he was well within his jurisdiction to mark Helayne and take her as his servant during the agreed-upon time period. If he violated any of the terms of his employment as a soulbroker, then it’s up to his overlord to dole out punishment. Again, this is outside the Council’s purview. So it’s clear to me that what you’re doing here is profiling Calyxto as an agent of the underworld. You can’t control the infernal realm like you control the humans, so you’re looking for an excuse to lock up one of its servants. And who knows; maybe this is part of a more widespread operation to expand the Tylwyth Teg’s power over the other realms.”

  “That is a preposterous suggestion to make.”

  I shrug. “Is it? You’ve clearly demonstrated your aversion to the truth throughout this conversation. The disagreement in question is a lovers’ spat; nothing more. Yet you’ve made it a witch hunt. You in the news media know what this smells like—sensationalism at its finest. By sticking Calyxto in a category with those you think are dangerous to your mission of secrecy, you’re refusing to acknowledge that he, like the rest of us, is capable of good deeds as well as foul ones. You have no right to hold him a second longer, and frankly you should reimburse him for the time you’ve stolen from him. Let him pay his debts to Sildret for violating the pact. Request that his powers be limited or stripped away for a while, if it’ll help you live with this. But you know this will never stand up to scrutiny. The Lords of the Underworld will see it as a slight; or worse, a challenge to their authority. In a civilized society, every supernatural domain punishes its own unless offered express permission by another. You don’t want to start a war with the underworld. You’re in the business of
concealing supernatural events, and that makes war bad for business. You start fighting demons on the streets of New Detroit and you’ll find yourself with more cover-ups than you know what to do with. So the way I see it, you’ve got one option. Let him go. Do anything else, and you don’t have a leg to stand on.”

  The room bursts into shouts and hand-wringing.

  Elona sits in silence, her gaze never leaving me. If she weren’t so beautiful, I’d swear I could see steam coming out her ears. I meet her stare and refuse to break it. By the time she raps her gavel, I can tell she’s got something good loaded into the chamber to fire back at me. Something that’ll make her and her sham of a council seem less like the outright bigots they are. “Because of your family name, and because of the praise with which I’ve heard your father spoken of, I will motion for this Council to grant your request. On the condition the half-fiend Calyxto agrees to pay penance to his debtor and abstain from exercising his abilities in any capacity for a period of seven moons, he will be granted freedom without further restrictions.”

  I don’t want special treatment because of who my father was. But if she wants to use it as an excuse to do the right thing, I’ll take it. I bow my head to her.

  That’s what I thought, bitch.

  Chapter 3

  “I can’t use my powers for seven months? That’s the best deal you could get me?”

  “The winter solstice is in seven months. The Fae Council is strongest then. They’re putting you off while their power wanes toward the summer solstice next month.”

  “This is unreasonable. I demand a renegotiation.”

  I massage my temples. “You’re already making me regret this. Freedom carries a price tag, Calyxto. Be happy it wasn’t higher.”

  “So I’m basically human. I can’t trick anyone into lending me their soul, I can’t teleport, and I can’t use telekinesis. How do you live like this?”

  “It’s easy. I suggest you start off by not being a dick.”

  The half-fiend covers his eyes against the sunlight as we exit the building and cross the Gryphon Enterprises campus to where the Maserati is parked. Spring is verging on summer, and the sun is sending us the message. “You mean I have to ride around in this thing?”