by Butcher, Jim
“He doesn’t want to.”
“No,” I said, “but he needs to.”
Thomas looked from me to the fire and nodded. “It’s your show.”
I watched Mouse mosey over to his bucket-sized food bowl. He sat down by it and waited expectantly until Mister prowled over to him. Then he bent down to eat. My cat stalked up to Mouse and promptly swatted him on the muzzle with one paw. Mouse opened his jaws in a doggy grin and walked a couple of steps in the direction Mister had swatted him.
Mister regarded Mouse with lordly disdain, then ate part of a single piece of kibble. Then he slapped at the bowl of food, scattering bits over the kitchen floor, and walked away. Once he was done, Mouse padded back over, patiently ate the spilled food, and then resumed munching on the bowl.
“Remember when Mouse would slide all the way to the wall when Mister did that?” Thomas asked.
“Heh. Yeah.”
“Do you think Mister realizes that the dog is about twenty times bigger than he used to be?” Thomas asked.
“Oh, he realizes it, all right,” I said. “He just doesn’t see how it’s relevant.”
“One of these days Mouse is going to disabuse him of the notion.”
I shook my head. “He won’t. Mister made his point when Mouse was tiny. Mouse is the sort to respect tradition.”
“Or he’s scared to cross the cat.” Thomas’s eyes drifted to my bandages and he nodded at my leg. “How bad is it?”
“I can walk. I wouldn’t want to go dancing.”
“Is that your next move, dancing?”
I leaned my head back on the couch and closed my eyes. “I’m not sure what to do next. How are you as a sounding board?”
“I can look interested and nod at appropriate moments,” he said.
“Good enough,” I said.
I told Thomas everything.
He listened, taking it all in, and the first thing he said was, “You have a date?”
I opened my eyes and blinked at him. “What. Is that so hard to conceive?”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “Christ, Harry, I thought you were going to spend the rest of your life as a hermit.”
“What?”
He rolled his eyes. “It isn’t like you’ve gone looking for women,” Thomas said. “I mean, you never hit any clubs. Try to get any phone numbers. I figured you just didn’t want to.” He mulled it over for a minute and then said, “Good God. You’re shy.”
“I am not,” I said.
“The girl practically had to throw herself into your arms. My sister would laugh herself sick.”
I glowered at him. “You are not a spectacularly helpful sounding board.”
He stretched out a little and crossed his legs at the ankle. “I’m so pretty, it’s hard for me to think of myself as intelligent.” He pursed his lips. “There are two things you need to know.”
“The book,” I said, nodding.
“Yeah. Everyone is hot and bothered over this Erlking thing. You read it?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “And nothing. It’s a collection of essays about a particular figure of faerie lore called the Erlking.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s one of the high sidhe,” I said. “And he isn’t part of Winter or Summer. He’s a wyldfae.”
“Powerful?”
“Very,” I said. “But just how powerful he is varies depending on who was writing about him. Some of them ranked him among the top faerie nobles. A couple claimed he was on par with one of the Faerie Queens.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s some kind of hunter spirit,” I said. “Associated with all kinds of primal violence. He’s apparently one of the beings who can call up and lead the Wild Hunt.”
“The what?” Thomas said.
“It’s a gathering of some of the more predatory beings of Faerie,” I said. “They appear in the autumn and winter usually, usually along with storms and rough weather. A gathering of black hounds the size of horses with glowing red eyes, led by a hunter with the horns of a stag on a black horse.”
“The Erlking?” Thomas asked.
“There are several figures who can lead the hunt, apparently,” I said. “None of them are particularly friendly. The Hunt will kill anything and anyone it runs across. It’s major-league dangerous.”
“I think I’ve heard about it,” Thomas said. “Is it true that you can avoid being hunted by joining them?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anyone who met the Hunt and survived. Could be that they won’t hunt what they think of as another predator.”
“Like sharks,” Thomas said. “It’s all about body language.”
“I wouldn’t count on nonverbal cues to protect you from the Hunt,” I said. “Assuming you ever saw them. It appears maybe only once every five or six years, and can show up almost anywhere in the world.”
“Is it the Hunt you think the Kemmlerites are interested in?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I can’t think what else it would be. The Erlking has a reputation as a being that preys upon children, or at least one that heralds their deaths. A couple of wizards even peg him as a guardian who ensures that children’s souls aren’t harmed or diverted as they depart dying bodies.”
“Sounds like there is a mixed opinion on this Erlking guy.”
“Faeries are like that,” I said. “They aren’t ever quite what they seem to be. It’s hard to pin them down.”
“But why would a gang of necromancers be interested in him? Is there anything in the book that makes sense?”
“Not that I saw,” I said. “There were stories, songs, lectures, accountings, bad sketches, and worse poetry about the Erlking, but nothing practical.”
“Nothing you saw,” Thomas said.
“Nothing I saw,” I confirmed. “But these lunatics would hardly be this serious about the book if it wasn’t there somewhere.”
“Do you think it’s connected to this Darkhallow that Corpsetaker was talking about?” Thomas asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “What’s a Darkhallow?”
We listened to the fire crackle for a minute before Thomas said, “I hate to say this, but maybe you should contact the Council.”
I grimaced. “I know I should,” I said. “I don’t know what they’re doing. And these necromancers are strong, Thomas. Stronger than me. I don’t think I can take them in a straight fight.”
“Sounds like a good reason to call for help.”
“I can’t do that,” I said. “Mavra would torpedo Murphy.”
“I don’t think Murphy would want you to get killed over this, Harry,” he pointed out. “And what’s going to happen if the Council hears that you knew these folk were around and didn’t report it to them? They aren’t going to be happy.”
“I know,” I said. “I know. But at the moment it’s my choice, and I’m not going to choose for my friend to get hurt. I can’t.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected the answer.
“Plus there’s one more reason not to call in the Council,” I said.
“Why?”
“Right now, Cowl, Grevane, and Corpsetaker aren’t working together. If I call in the Council it gives them a common enemy and a reason to cooperate.”
“They have a common enemy,” he pointed out. “You.”
I laughed, and it came out a little bitter. “They aren’t worried about me. Hell, I can’t even figure out what’s going on.” I rubbed at my eyes. “You said there were two things I need to know. What’s the second thing?”
“Your car.”
“Oh, I got it back,” I said. “It’s out front.”
“No, dummy,” Thomas said. “Whoever trashed your car did it deliberately. They were trying to tell you something.”
“It might not even be related to this situation,” I said.
He snorted. “Yeah. It just happened now, out of all the
times it could have happened.”
“Whoever was sending the message, it’s a little obscure. You think it’s one of the Kemmler crowd?”
“Why not?” he said.
I thought about it for a minute. “It doesn’t seem like something Grevane would do. I bet he’s more like the kind to send undead minions to deliver his messages. Corpsetaker would send a nightmare or a forced hallucination or something. She’s big on the mind magic. Ghouls don’t really send messages. They just eat you.”
“That leaves Cowl, his buddy, and Grevane’s buddy with the liver spots.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I almost feel like there was something familiar about Liver Spots,” I said. “I’m not sure what. I might be grasping at straws.”
“What about Cowl and Kumori?”
“I don’t know, man,” I said. “They were just a couple of people in cloaks. I never saw their faces. If I had to guess from the way they talked, I’d bet that they were Council.”
“That would be a very good reason to cover their faces,” Thomas agreed.
“There’s no point in chewing this over and over,” I said. I rubbed at my eyes. “Bony Tony’s numbers mean something. They’ll lead to the book, somehow. I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe a locker number?” Thomas asked.
“Too many digits,” I said.
“Maybe it’s some kind of cipher. Substituting letters for numbers.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a thought.” I dug the folded piece of paper out of my pocket and passed it over to him. “Stay here and work on it. See if you can make any sense out of it.”
He accepted the paper. “Now I feel like James Bond. Suave and intelligent, breaking all the codes while looking fabulous. What are you going to do?”
“I think the Erlking is the key to this,” I said. “And the Erlking is a faerie.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Meaning?”
“When you want to know about faeries,” I said, “it’s best to ask a faerie. I’m going to call up my godmother and see if she knows anything.”
“From what you’ve told me, isn’t that kind of dangerous?”
“Very,” I said.
“You’re hurt. You should have some backup.”
I nodded. “Watch the fort,” I said. “Mouse.”
The big dog lifted his shaggy head from the floor, ears perked forward, serious eyes on me.
“Come on,” I told him. “We’re going for a ride.”
“Oh, Harry,” Thomas said.
“Yeah?”
“Before you go…would you mind if I, uh, helped Butters out by getting his polka contraption loaded up into your trunk?”
“What. You don’t like polka?”
Thomas’s expression looked strained. “Please, Harry. I like the little guy, but come on.”
I rubbed at my mouth with one hand to cover up the smile. “Sure. Probably safest for everyone that way.”
“Thank you,” he said, and collected the polka suit and brought it up the stairs behind me as I prepared to take a chance on a conversation with one of the more dangerous beings I knew.
Chapter
Twenty-one
Mouse and I took the Beetle out of Chicago proper, following the lake north out of town. For once I wished I had an automatic transmission. Driving stick with only one good hand and one good leg is not fun. In fact, it’s the next best thing to impossible, at least for me. I wound up using my wounded leg more than I should have, and the discomfort intensified. I thought about the painkillers in my pocket, and then blew them off. I needed to be sharp. When all of this was over, there would be time to muddle my head with codeine. So I drove, and swore under my breath at anything that made me change gears, while Mouse rode along in the passenger seat with his head usually sticking out the window.
By the time I was far enough from town to start calling out to my godmother, the sun had set, though the cloud-veiled western sky still glowed the color of campfire embers. I pulled off onto a side road that was made of old gravel and stubborn weeds that kept trying to grow up in the road’s smooth center. It led down to a little dead end where some kind of construction project never went through. It was a popular spot for local kids to hang out and imbibe illegal substances of one intensity or another, and there were empty beer cans and bottles scattered around in abundance.
Mouse and I left the car up on the road, and walked maybe fifty yards down through trees and heavy undergrowth to the shore of the lake. At one point on the shore, a little spit of land formed a promontory only ten or twelve inches higher than the surface of the water.
“Wait here,” I told Mouse, and the dog sat down at the end of the spit of land, watching me with alert eyes, his ears flicking around at all the little sounds. Then I walked out onto the spit to its end, and a cold wind off the lake swept around me, blowing my coat and threatening my balance. I grimaced and leaned on my staff, out at that point of land where earth and water and sky met one another, and focused my thoughts, blocking out the pain of my leg, my fears, my questions. I gathered together my will, then lifted my face to the wind and called out, quietly, “Leanansidhe. An it please thee, come hither and hold discourse with me.”
I sent my will, my magic coursing into the words, and they reverberated with power, echoing from the surface of the lake, repeating themselves in whispers in the swirling wind, vibrating the ground upon which I stood.
Then I waited. I could have repeated myself, but my godmother had certainly heard me. If she was going to come, she would. If she wasn’t, no amount of repetition was likely to change her mind. The wind blew colder and stronger, throwing cold droplets up from the lake and into my face. One gust of wind brought me the sound of an airliner overhead, and another the lonely whistle of a freight train. Distantly, somewhere on the lake, a bell rang out several times, a solemn sound that made me think of a funeral dirge. Beyond that, nothing stirred.
I waited. In time, the fire faded from the overcast sky, and only the darkest tones of purple were left on the western horizon behind me. Dammit. She wasn’t coming.
After I thought that but before I could actually turn around, there was a swirling in the waters near my feet, and a slow spiral of water spray spun up from the surface of the lake, a bizarre sight. The spray rolled up and away from a female form, beginning at the feet, bare and pale, and rolling up over a medieval-style gown of emerald green. The gown was belted with a woven silver rope, and a slightly curved, single-edged knife of some dark, glassy material hung at an angle through it.
When the spray rolled up over the woman’s face, I expected my godmother’s blazing wealth of copper and scarlet curls, her wide feline eyes of amber, her features that always made her seem smug and somewhat pleased with herself, in absence of the animation of any other emotion.
Instead I saw a long, pale throat, features of heart-stopping, cold beauty, canted eyes greener than any color to be found in the natural world, and long, silken hair of purest white, bound within a circlet of what looked like rose vines surrounded in gleaming ice, beautiful and brittle and cruel.
Behind me, a deep-throated snarl burst forth from Mouse, back on the shore.
“Greetings, mortal,” said the faerie woman. Her voice shook water and earth and sky with subtle power. I felt it resonating through the elements around me as much as heard it.
My mouth went dry and my throat got tight. I leaned on my staff to help me balance as I cast a courtly bow in her direction. “Greetings, Queen Mab. I do beg your pardon. It was not my intention to disturb thee.”
My head shifted into panicked, quick thought. Queen Mab had come to me, and that absolutely could not be good. Mab, monarch of the Winter Court of the Sidhe, the Queen of Air and Darkness, was not a very nice person. In fact, she was one of the most feared beings of power you’d find short of archangels and ancient gods. I’d once used my wizard’s Sight to look upon Mab as she unveiled her true self in a working of power, and it had come perilously close to driving me ins
ane.
Mab was not some paltry mortal being like Grevane or Cowl or the Corpsetaker. She was far older, far crueler, far more deadly than they could ever be.
And I owed her a favor. Two, to be exact.
She stared at me for a long and silent moment, and I didn’t look at her face. Then she let out a quiet laugh and said, “Disturb me? Hardly. I am here only to fulfill the duties I have been obliged to take upon myself. It is no fault of thine that this summons reached mine ears.”
I straightened up slowly and avoided her eyes. “I had expected my godmother to come.”
Mab smiled. Her teeth were small and white and perfect, her canines delicately sharp. “Alas. The Leanansidhe is tied up at the moment.”
I drew in a breath. My godmother was a powerful member of the Winter Court, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Mab. If Mab wanted to take Lea down, she certainly could do it—and for some reason the thought spurred on a protective instinct, something that made me irrationally angry. Yes, Lea was hardly a benevolent being in her own right. Yes, she’d tried to enslave me several times in the past several years. But for all of that, she was still my godmother, and the thought of something happening to her angered me. “For what reason have you detained her?”
“Because I do not tolerate challenges to my authority,” she said. One pale hand drifted to the hilt of the knife at her belt. “Certain events had convinced your godmother that she was no longer bound by my word and will. She is now learning otherwise.”
“What have you done to her?” I asked. Well. It didn’t sound like a question so much as a demand.
Mab laughed, and the sound of it came out silvery and smoother than honey. The laugh bounded around the waves and the earth and the winds, clashing against itself in a manner that made the hairs on my neck stand up and my heart race with a sudden apprehension as I felt an odd kind of pressure settle over me, as if I were closed into a small room. I gritted my teeth and waited the laugh out, trying not to show how harshly it had affected me. “She is bound,” Mab said. “She is in some discomfort. But she is in no danger from my hand. Once she acknowledges who rules Winter, she will be restored to her station. I can ill afford the loss of so potent a vassal.”