Here Be Monsters [2]

by Phaedra Weldon

  - 6 -

  Abyssinian had no idea of how long he lay on the ground. He was only vaguely aware of things crawling around him, and over him. The stone was cold against his cheek and felt good against his fevered body.

  Thom had made the gravest of mistakes.

  He'd poisoned an elf with Iron.

  Within the laws of the Seleighe—this was a crime worth punishment. And sometimes death. The only problem Aby could see with this was that no one knew.

  He was in a room beneath the castle—that much he could tell by the sounds. The dripping water. The scurry of creatures. And the distant sounds of singing. Aby tried to call out once or twice but the the act of pulling in a lung full of air was met with a pain that immediately robbed him of breath.

  The arrow was still in his side—burrowed deep and festering. His wrists were chained behind him to prevent him from pulling the arrow out himself. He was helpless and powerless. The Iron negated his magic.

  Thom and his guards had interrogated him—always the same questions—who else has tasted your blood. Did you make Siobhan McDonnell a day walker? He answered truthfully—and yet Thom seemed to find pleasure in pushing the arrow in deeper as he sat helpless chained to a chair.

  Sleep came unbidden—but it was a welcome escape. He only hated the moments like this where he was awake, and hungry, and thirsty…and in pain.

  He'd not expected to hear the door hinge creak. There was no click of a lock—there was no need of one. The UnSeleighe prisoner was incapable of moving as long as the arrow remained in place.

  Abyssinian didn't hear the step of a boot on the stones, but what sounded more like the patter of bare feet. He struggled to shift his position—but the act of moving only aggravated the wound and he blacked out.

  When he came to again, he felt a cold, wet, soft towel over his face. He was no longer on his stomach but had been moved onto his side. With the wounded side up the pain seemed less intense—either that or he'd lost all feeing in his body. The towel disappeared. He heard it dunked in water, wrung out and again applied to his face.

  Aby cleared his throat but kept his breathing shallow. "Who..." He managed to croak out, unable to see anything. It was the first time he realized he was blindfolded.

  "Shhhh," came a female's voice. "Don't talk. Just listen to me."

  Aby didn't want to be quiet—he wanted to know who she was and would she pull the arrow from his side. But a finger on his lips kept him from speaking.

  "Prince you must listen to me."

  She knows who I am!

  "Rhymer's faithful guard tried to capture the Fallen—but they stopped when they realized your vampire was with her."

  He listened quietly as she cooled his forehead. His fever was worse. And if the arrow wasn't removed soon, he knew he'd lapse into a coma that very little could pull him from. Elves poisoned too long with Iron became like iron themselves. Cold. Hard. Unmoving.

  A living dead thing.

  "They found a Fallen, dear Prince. Something that your brother had fought long and hard to eradicate in order to save our people. They said the monster was torturing a human and your vampire saved him—unfortunately the police arrived at that moment and assumed the carnage left in the building—the damage done to the human—was caused by her. He'd been drained of blood."

  Drained of blood? Oh god and of course they'd suspect a vampire. The humans had no knowledge of the Fallen. He nodded to her, hoping she would go on.

  "As far as I know—they didn't identify who the vampire was—but the Rhymer knows now there is a third player in the game. Someone else who knows of the blood and is seeking out a Winterbourne, draining the elves dry until they find it."

  "I thought…" he said and his throat ached. "Oberon had—"

  "No. Oberon knew only half of what was happening. He knew there were bodies—elven bodies drained of blood. And he knew the vampires would be blamed. He only just discovered the truth when your vampire filmed him. And out of context—he appeared guilty. Oberon sits in a human prison—but the real murderer is still out there." She paused. "And so is the monster."

  There was really a Fallen in the Mortal Realm.

  "I need to be free…" he said and hissed as his movement set the arrow in motion. "I—I can't stay here—"

  "You have to stay here for now," the woman said. "Whether you believe this or not—you're safer here. Here the Fallen can't get to you. The few of us that know what the Rhymer has done are working on a way to free you from this.." And he felt cool lips on his cheek. "A Prince should not be treated as such. But we believe the Regent is afraid. Of the monster. And of you—or of what your blood could do to it."

  "I don't…I don't understand."

  "If it takes a single drop of your blood, Abyssinian Geld," the woman's voice grew soft. "Merlin's curse will be nullified, as is the magics worked into the Winterbourne. And if the Fallen can gain access back into Underhill, there is nothing that will stop it from attacking us and destroying everything. But it's not just us in peril, Abyssinian. The human realm cannot battle a creature like it—something so filled with the contrary of nature that it cannot be contained."

  He cleared his throat and tried to speak clearly. He needed water. "Is there no way to kill it?"

  "The sun of both realms will destroy it," she said and he felt her shift as she moved away, and then returned and pressed something to his lips. "Drink this."

  It was spring water. Cold and delicious on his parched throat. He drank as deeply as he could before he noticed the aftertaste. He stopped and turned away but not before his head grew heavy and his limps numb. "What…what did you do to me?"

  "It's only a small drug, Prince. It will simulate the final state of the poisoning. If Thom believes you are no longer a threat to him—he will remove the arrow." She touched his forehead. "Just relax and sleep."

  But he didn't want to sleep. Not now. He needed to get to Siobhan and protect her. Without his blood, she was as vulnerable as any other vampire. He tried to fight the blanket of darkness that pulled itself over him…and failed.

  The Underhill Regent, Thomas Rhymer, read the reports handed to him on parchment. Some were typed on white bond paper—printed out on computers in the Human Realm. It didn't matter to him how he gleaned the information, he just needed to know what was happening.

  His man at arms, a High elf named Xe'Faun, stood at attention near the table. Since Thomas learned of the possibility of a Winterbourne still moving about in the Human Realm, he'd commandeered the parlor room as his office and filled it with the old tomes he'd had brought out from the archives. All the legends of the Winterbourne, those of the Fallen, all the things Oberon had tried to silence—Thom brought them back to life.

  What surprised him above everything else was that the very Winterbourne he'd been searching for these two years was under his nose the whole time. Abyssinian Geld. All records of his being born during that year had been altered—possibly by Oberon's hand.

  The former High King had know what his brother was—and Thom had learned he'd even tried to contain his brother for a time.

  Why?

  What had Oberon been up to? Really?

  And who was it that was killing the UnSeleighe in the Mortal Realm if it wasn't Her.

  "And you're sure Siobhan O'Donnell had nothing to do with what happened to Keith Song?"

  "Yes my lord," Xe'Faun said. "We came upon the same scene she did at the same time. With the same surprise. She'd been with Abyssinian previously and then at the station. It's our belief she has no idea what it was she encountered—but it engaged her, and if didn't appear as if it intended to do her harm."

  "Yes," Thom nodded slowly as he re-read another report. "It no doubt sensed she was kin in a way. And she spoke of Winterbourne?"

  "Aye sir." Xe-Faun start to speak again.

  When he didn't, Thom leaned toward him in askance. "What is it?"

  "It's—" he swallowed. "It's the Prince my lord. We've not been able to find him s
ince he rescued that human child. We had reports he'd returned here to Underhill on your summons—and a few say they've seen him here."

  "Yes he came here," Thom said as he watched the elf's face. He knew loyalty to the House of Geld was strong. Loyalty to Oberon was still very high, and many of those in the court did not see Thom as a real leader, but only as a temporary replacement.

  And even though Abyssinian was UnSeleighe—he was still a Prince—and if Oberon did not return then a good many of the Council would vote to bring Aby in as High King.

  To do such a thing rankled Thom. He'd always believed that there were two factions to the Sidhe—two courts. If an UnSeleighe became King he believed it would destroy the cohesive need for the unseen enemy to exist. They would join as a single peoples again and be weaker than before.

  The UnSeleighe's blood was what the Fallen wanted. And if the vampire community at large in the Mortal Realm learned about the properties of his blood—they would clamor for it. They could even attempt to invade Underhill to retrieve it. Or set up traps at any known cairn portals to the human realms. Thom had to know which Winterbourne lived. And so far he had only found two.

  Abyssinian.

  "My lord?"

  Thom looked up at Xe-Faun, all worry about the elf's loyalties vanishing. "How far have the police gotten in discovering who is killing the UnSeleighe? I know they blame Oberon—but the killings continue."

  "I'm afraid not very far—they suspect the culprits are elves—Seleighe battling UnSeleighe. That they are making the deaths look as if the vampires are going after them. Blaming another race." He sighed. "I'm afraid they'll stupidly redirect their search on vampires again and not focus on the real—"

  "Good."

  Xe-Faun stopped and pursed his lips. "Good? Sir? I thought you would want the attention on the dead elves to move away from the vampires—"

  "And focus on us?" Thom barked out. He'd not meant to be so loud, but he was frustrated and ill tempered. He'd gotten nothing from the Prince and wasn't sure what else to do with him. He couldn't keep him wounded and chained indefinitely.

  "Sir," Xe-Faun said meekly. "I don't mean they should look at us—but what if they suspect Miss O'Donnell? What if she discovers your covenant with—"

  Thom had his hand around Xe-Faun's neck in seconds. It was one of the few times he'd caught an elf off guard. Xe-Faun looked shocked, and Thom knew if Xe-Faun thought about it, he could easily overpower the human. But he was a loyal elf, and Oberon had given strict orders to follow the regent. "We do not speak about that in these halls—did I not make myself clear?"

  Xe-Faun nodded, but his eyes were dark.

  Thom released him and apologized. "I worry—that's all. Let the police chase after ghosts. It is my belief that another group learned of the legend of the Winterbourne," he watched Xe-Faun's features. He wanted that realization to sink in—what would that mean? "And they are killing off the UnSeleighe in order to find one."

  The truth? Thom knew the truth of the ever-mounting dead bodies. Somehow the vampires had learned of the Winterbourne and were killing indiscriminately trying to find one. It meant they only had the rumor, and not the legend.

  "But…they can't believe it's true."

  "For a vampire, even a hint of the possibility could override common sense," Thom said.

  "Yes I understand—but to just kill elves and taste their blood? I've seen what happens when a vampire drinks our blood. They can't be just…sampling it?"

  "How would be know either way?" Thom half smiled. "If they did taste it—there wouldn't be any body left as evidence."

  Xe-Faun nodded.

  "But no matter—there are vampires out there killing our kind. We have to find them, and stop them. Can you do that, Xe-Faun?"

  Xe-Faun came to attention, bowed and left the room.

  Thom sat back in his chair.

  He wanted things the way they'd been when Titania had been the Queen, and Oberon her King. He wanted that simpler life again, before the opening of the Cairns. Before….

  Before the ugliness of his true home stepped in.

  Underhill was changing. Emptying out into the Mortal Realm, a little every day. It was elven magic that kept it alive, that kept it in existence, but as their population dwindled here, Underhill had started to turn gray and then black along its borders.

  Thom had never known it to have borders. But he'd seen them. And they grew closer ever day.

  Even as the human world regained a bit of its magic. If even one Fallen returned to Underhill with the magic of a Winterbourne's blood in its belly—there would be no stopping it. It would destroy everything in its thirst for revenge. Thom learned of Oberon's cover ups—of how he'd gone out in the world to be a detective in search of justice, when all he'd really been about doing was finding the Fallen and killing them to protect his brother.

  Thom had to stop it. And to stop it he had to make sure there were no other Winterbournes alive. He had one. And he still searched for the other one, hiding in the Mortal Realm. Once he had both—he would destroy the cairns, destroy the Winterbourne, and restore glory and power to the High Court.

  - 7 -

  Siobhan found shelter from the day a few blocks from where she'd left Song and the police. A few of the bullets had grazed her and the flesh over the wounds had healed, as had her throat. The muscle beneath them still smarted. She'd slept for five hours, buried in the basement of one of the numerous abandoned warehouses in the neighborhood. But then she'd come awake during the daylight hours. It didn't happen often—only when she was in need of blood.

  Or when she was uncomfortable where she was or sensed danger. And being shoved into an abandoned waist high freezer in a crumbling building on the wrong side of town made her really uncomfortable. She liked the security of her own place behind her walls.

  Kids came and went somewhere upstairs. A few had even ventured down below exploring. But she'd been able to put off enough of an angry vibe of menace that many of them ran off quickly.

  Aby had always said he could sense when she was in a bad mood a mile away.

  Abyssinian. Where was he? He was always appearing when she got into a spot. But last night there had been no sign of him. Not even a whisper. Had he even made it back from Underhill yet?

  It's official—I'm worried.

  There were more pressing concerns that weighed on her as she sat in the darkness of the basement. Like…what the hell was that thing? It called itself Maeve. It felt like an elf—but had the outer workings of a vampire. It drank blood. It had fangs—sort of—and it'd been proven that an elf could not be turned. The process always killed it. And any vampire that tried to drink and elf's blood usually impersonated a pipe bomb.

  The second problem she thought over was the weird elven S.W.A.T. team on the roof as the police came through the front door? She'd felt the elves behind her earlier in the night—heard their heartbeats. Why had they been following her? And when they knew where she was—why had they hung back?

  Were they just observing?

  They had to have been there because of that thing. Or were they tracking Maeve and not me? Whoever they were—Maeve was afraid of them. Or cautious.

  Och…so many unknowns. And somehow Song had been at the heart of it. Everyone converged on him, including Maeve. She'd gotten to him before anyone. Gotten to him…and tortured him. And he hadn't given Maeve what she wanted.

  After what Siobhan had seen—that fact alone impressed her about Song.

  "You play a dangerous game, daughter of Bralewyn."

  Maeve had known Siobhan's maker. But how? She'd never even discussed her past with Abyssinian. Was it something Maeve had plucked out of Siobhan's mind? She'd called them sisters.

  Sisters?

  Not likely.

  And she'd insisted several times that Song wouldn't tell her where the winter born were. Winter born. That wasn't even something that remotely sounded familiar. What the hell was that? And what did she mean by—

  F
ootsteps straightened her up from where she'd slouched against the freezer. She stood and slipped behind a wall. To her, the blackness of the basement was darker than a room illuminated by a dim bulb. But to a human—it was ink black.

  She saw him descend the stairs and pick his way around the debris of over turned desks, laundry baskets and then past the rusting hot water heater. And he moved as if he could see as well as she could, though he held a large silver flashlight in his hand.

  When he neared—

  "Yeah…I figured this is where the pull would lead me."

  It was Keith Song.

  He looked perfect in her view. His lips were completely healed as was his body. Dressed in a white sweater, leather jacket, tight jeans and sneakers, he looked…

  Her stomach growled.

  Song stood a few feet from her in the darkness and offered her a bag. "I got these from your place. Somehow I knew where everything was. Just like I knew where you were." His mouth pulled to the side in a smirk. "You care to tell me what you did to me?"

  Uh oh.

  She'd forgotten she'd given him her blood. And a lot of it. And he'd had a significant blood loss prior. He wasn't a vampire—turning was a whole other complicated process.

  No… he was a…

  "Ghoul," and her voice echoed in the basement.

  He pursed his lips and nodded. "I was afraid of that. You know…I've read all about it. Even did a few feature articles on the process—the pros and cons of it. I never thought I'd become one."

  She'd made…a Ghoul. Not intentionally. And without thinking of the consequences.

  Keith Song—the most annoying, patronizing, and strong willed reporter in the city, in essence now belonged to—

  Me.

  Abyssinian hated Keith Song.

  "Uh…" she said and took her travel bag from him. It was already pre-packed with her emergency kit, including clothing, brush, makeup, sun block and a vial of Aby's blood. "This is going to be awkward."