Here Be Monsters [2]

by Phaedra Weldon

  "Uh…yah think?" He shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I have this overwhelming desire to be near you, to serve you, and to offer myself to you. Are all of those are the symptoms of a ghouling, Siobhan O'Donnell? I don't think you're supposed to make someone a ghoul without their consent—which of course I did not give."

  She opened her mouth to speak and he held up a finger. "But—I remember every nasty god-damned thing that that bitch did to me. And I remember how frightened you looked when faced with her, which tells me you didn't know what she was either. I remember you cutting me down, and trying to save my life. So…" he turned and lowered his head. "I want to say thank you."

  "Mr. Song—"

  "Call me Keith."

  "Keith—" she licked her lips. The smell of him as he spoke had grown more intoxicating. Ghouling did that to a human being—something in the blood that made them more desirable. And delicious. She'd always sort of seen it as a means of the blood of forging a bond between the two.

  He held up his hand. "I really don't think you meant to—and I've talked to the police to give an account of what happened. That you'd saved me. What I find even more interesting is that Ghouls don't seem to ping on the blood work dial. So they didn't really understand where the bleeding out point for me was since everything had healed up." He rubbed at his forehead. "Though I'm still at a low blood sugar level. Makes me cranky."

  "Rest is the only thing that will help you with the blood you lost," she finally squeaked out. "The element that has now halted your aging isn't necessarily in the blood, but a part of what makes me what I am."

  "So it's true then? The part about ghouls not aging?"

  "Afraid it is."

  "Sweet. So… as you get dressed and I look the other way, you care to fill me in on what the fuck we do now? Oh, and slip in a bit of Ghoul one oh one too. I'm afraid I'm not sure what to do with the raging reversal of my teen age hormones when I think of you."

  Siobhan blushed as she ducked behind the remainder of a retainer wall and started to dress.

  "Well first off—before I go into any lessons, I need you to tell me why that creature—Maeve—came after you?"

  "Well I thought," came his voice from a good distance away. He really had looked the other way. "That it was because she thought I was hot. And I thought she was. Though trust me—when I met her she did not look like that."

  "Like what?"

  "All teeth and…" She stepped out in time to see him shudder from the back. He was facing away. "Inky eyes. That happened after we got back to my place."

  "Glamour…" Siobhan said as she dug her shoes out of the bag and Song turned around. "That's an eleven power."

  "I would say that bitch wasn't an elf," he said and took a few hesitant steps forward. "Not with teeth like that. And the whole drinking blood thing."

  "She wasn't a vampire either," Siobhan pulled her sneakers on. The spare clothes weren't really much more than jeans, a white shirt, socks and sneakers. But there was a plastic bag of cash, cards, and a driver's license. She started putting things in all the pockets and grabbed up the vial of Aby's blood Keith had packed in the bag—though Keith wouldn't know it was Aby's. "And it wasn't an elf. I really don't know what the fuck it was. But it creeped me out." She looked at him. "What made her turn on you? Why did she un-glamour herself?"

  He shrugged. "We were talking about the local blood banks, and clubs. Particularly the one called Chimera over on East. She seemed real interested in it—but I got the impression she wouldn't go inside of it."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't know." He shrugged again. "Just…the way she said it was tainted. That something old and moldy lived there."

  Siobhan stifled a laugh. Old and moldy. That was funny. She knew for a fact that a very old vampire lived there. One that went by the name of St. Claire. Or this century anyway. She was by far the oldest vampire Siobhan knew about—and she was someone no one fucked with.

  Not vamp. Not human. And not elf.

  And apparently not whatever the hell Maeve was.

  "So where is he?"

  The question caught her off guard and she had to refocus on him. "What?"

  "Where is he? The red headed do gooder? The one the papers love." He held out his hands. "The elf with the crimson hair?"

  Siobhan smirked. Of course he was asking about Abyssinian. The boy was one of the paper's favorites. If they could get him on the cover more often, their website got more hits. "Aby's gone back home for something."

  "So you're on your own on this one?"

  "Yes." She turned her full attention on him. "What's a Winter born."

  Because of their new connection, Song was compelled to answer though she could tell he didn't want to. "They are the children born in Underhill during the only winter the realm has ever experienced." His eyes took on a slightly glazed look and she knew she had him. This wasn't the way she normally worked—but it was obvious Keith Song knew something and he wasn't going to volunteer.

  "They're called this just because they were born during the winter?"

  "Yes and no."

  Siobhan sighed. She was going to have to be specific. "Tell me everything you know about these Winter born."

  Song's eyes dilated. "When the Fallen were punished for their transgressions into the mortal realm, they cast a spell of winter over the whole of Underhill. Many of the High Court perished, though there were also many births. The Merlin eventually discovered a way to lift the spell and banish the Fallen, who fled back into the Mortal Realms and disappeared. The children born within this year were different than the others—all born with high levels of magic. It is rumored that the Winterbourne have gifts the Fallen want."

  Siobhan had leaned against the nearest half-standing wall—and was as confused as before. "Okayyy… so who are the Fallen?"

  Song blinked a few times and shook his head. "Hey…" he said as he narrowed his eyes at her. "I would have told you the truth—you didn't have to mind jujitsu me."

  "Who are the Fallen?"

  "I have no freak'n idea. That was as far as I got in my investigation." He rubbed at his forehead. "That leaves a headache you know…"

  "Shh…" Siobhan gave a slow sigh and pressed her index finger to her lower lip. "What exactly were you investigating? I mean….I've never heard of Winterbourne and I dated an elf."

  That admittance raised Song's eyebrows. "You really did date him, didn't you. I mean, I read the Sun and the locals rags. But I never thought they were true stories. A vampire and an elf? Kind of a nasty combination—if you know what I mean?"

  "I never bit him, Keith."

  "I would think not. That could be detrimental to your health." He folded his arms over his chest. "I had originally been looking into all the elf killings—you know the ones you arrested Geld for? The whole vampires draining elves bend the other agencies were putting on it—just didn't add up. I mean—come on—vampires go on a rampage to rid the world of all elves to save their bacon? Not happening. Elf blood is no good to vampires—so who is it good for? Well I thought hunters, only they're all but extinct themselves. So who else?"

  "And?"

  "Well I thought I was on to that idea—that maybe the elves were doing it to themselves? Maybe selling it to the government black ops agencies that want to keep an eye on the vamps. That's when you arrested Geld. So I thought the few leads I had left would dry up. Only they didn't."

  Siobhan watched him as he turned and leaned against one of the metal support poles.

  "I'd just about put all my stuff in the garbage when something I missed in one of my contact's emails caught my eye. It was that term, The Fallen. All capitalized like it meant something. This contact thought they had something to do with the dead elves."

  "And?"

  "Well I got hold of that contact about a month later since I'd tabled the whole thing. We met up late one night and she told me she thought the Fallen were looking for the Winterbourne. She's the one that gave me all that infor
mation I just spat out. She was an elf, by the way. Hey," he shook his head. "I was way in over my head. And I thought she was on to something because the bodies were still showing up even after Geld was behind bars. So either his cronies were still doing whatever the hell it was he wanted them to do, or someone else had picked up the idea and decided to look for whatever it was that Geld was looking for."

  "These Winterbourne elves."

  Song nodded. "Yeah—now I'm not a lover of the leaf eaters. As far as I've been able to tell they think they're better than us. But that doesn't give anyone the right to murder them and drain their blood."

  Siobhan and Abyssinian had already talked about the possibility of a third party involved in the killings. Even after he'd seen his brother incarcerated for kidnapping, Aby didn't want to believe Oberon was capable of killing his own kind, and not for their blood. From the beginning no one could understand why Geld had done what he did—elven blood held no special significance to elves? Why drain it?

  Unless someone wanted to use it to build weapons against vampires. But what killed that idea was that elven blood lost its potency after twenty-four hours.

  And then there was the question of Aby's blood, and its unique property. When Oberon was arrested she learned he'd known about his brother's blood, but he didn't know how it worked. It'd never occurred to him that a vampire could just drink it and gain the ability of day.

  Song sighed as he straightened. "So—I followed a lead my informant gave me, which took me to a local club where I met miss sawteeth." He smirked. "And you know the rest."

  She nodded slowly as she felt the wheels turning in her head. Someone was draining the elves of blood. This woman had asked about the Winterbourne. And this woman had tried to drain Keith Song of his blood. Were the two the same? Had all of the murders they'd blamed on Oberon been committed by this monster?

  Or were there two murderers working independently?

  Somehow she doubted Maeve was working for anyone but herself.

  She wanted a Winterbourne. And she was willing to kill every elf in Chicago to get one.

  "You…I smell him on on you…" Maeve had said.

  Realization struck her and she stiffened. Her hand shot out as she moved and she grabbed Song's collar. "Keith—other than strong magic, how else can you tell a Winterbourne from a regular elf?"

  "Oh…" he reached up and put his and on her wrist. "Sometimes they have strange colored eyes—but not always." He stared at her. "This is a four hundred dollar jacket Miss Vamp."

  Purple eyes.

  Indigo eyes.

  Like Abyssinian. Was he…did Oberon know… She released Keith and reached for the vial of blood. "I hate to do this—but what you're about to see—you can't tell anyone. Ever. And if you do your heart will stop." And she knew having said that, for Keith, it would be a reality.

  She was his master.

  In a really weird twist of fate.

  Song sighed as he straightened his jacket. "Yeah..well I kind of figured you'd use that kind of whammy on me eventually—"

  "No," she unstoppered the blood and drank it down. Somehow the 24 hour limit didn't apply to Aby's blood. She'd already tested it. Her eyes glazed for a second at the incredible power within that vial of blood. It was even stronger when fresh. She could smell Aby in that instant, feel him, see him—

  There were stained glass windows of purples and greens. It was dark and in that dark was a dulling pain as the colors blurred and finally vanished.

  Siobhan gasped and held out her hands to the nearest wall to brace herself. The sense of pain was overwhelming. It came from her side and she gripped it with her other hand.

  "Siobhan?" Keith was beside her, and reached out for her.

  His touch was comforting—just warm enough to ease her pain. As a ghoul's should be. She knew that was Abyssinian. And he was in pain. He was hurting. And he was in Underhill!

  "I have to see Oberon," she re-emphasized again and pushed Song aside. She made her way out of the basement with him on her heels.

  "Wait!" he called out. "It's like three o'clock out here! The sun will—"

  And that's when she opened the doors and stepped outside. The sun nearly blinded her—but that was all. It tingled against her skin as the magic worked. And she took in a deep breath as she reached into the bag he'd brought her and pulled out her shades.

  "How…" he was beside her, staring. "You're….."

  "Not another word," she commanded. And he was quiet. "I'm sure my bike's been impounded."

  Song shook his head and pointed to her right. There sat the Ducati.

  "Tell me," she said.

  He gasped and rounded on her. "Let's get something straight—I did not ask for this. And you doing that shit to me is wrong. I went back and got your bike because I felt compelled to do it."

  Siobhan felt bad and apologized. She really had no right to abuse her power over him. He'd helped her. "I'm sorry. I don't have another helmet."

  He shook his head. "No problem. You know I live nearby and they should have my place close to cleaned up by now." With a step away he pointed to her. "That stuff you drank….that's what's letting you do this."

  She nodded as she mounted her bike.

  Song followed. "That wasn't blood."

  "It was." She put on her helmet and turned the key.

  The Ducati roared to life under her. She waved to Song and took off in the direction of the Geld.

  - 8 -

  Thom watched the healers remove the iron arrow from Abyssinian's side. The prince was cold in "death," what the elves called Momento Mori. His skin took on a very pale cast, much like the snows Thom still remembered from his life in the mortal realm. Abyssinian had slipped into the coma very quickly, and now the steward of Underhill worried that he'd done the prince more damage than he intended. Abyssinian's face, though serene in mori, still bore the stress of his pain.

  His plan had been to simply hold him here until the Fallen could be dealt with and the cold iron had been the simplest way to nullify the prince's magic. But word of the prince's health came just as he sent out more scouts and the few that knew where the prince was and what had been done to him demanded Thom pay Abyssinian the respect he was due.

  As the prince lay on the surgeon's table, Thom felt a bit of pity for him. When an elf fell into the Momento Mori, nothing could wake them. Aby's own father met death this way. If the High Court knew what Thom had done to the prince—he was sure they would sentence him through the cairn.

  And if Oberon discovered this—Thom shivered at the thought.

  The healers treated the black and puckered wound. The mark was bandaged and Thom was ushered from the room by Illeië, the chief Healer and one of the oldest elves in Underhill.

  It was also rumored she was the only surviving member of Calder's original Black Guard.

  "What happens now?" he heard himself ask.

  "He will be cared for in the sick house. Even though his mind has slipped away from us, his body will still go through its usual, daily functions. We will be there to see him through."

  "You said," Thom stopped as they reached the door to the Sick House. Spring tree seeds dropped outside in the breeze as sunlight moved over the nearby lake. He could hear the song of swans outside. The wind brushed petals and leaves in through the front archway and they skittered across the floor before he looked up into the elf's bright eyes. "I've seen younger elves survive much worse wounds."

  She narrowed her eyes at him. "The iron remained inside of his body too long. Aby is UnSeleighe, Thom, in case you've forgotten. Cold Iron is most poisonous to them."

  "And there is no chance he'll wake?"

  Illeië's thin brows arched and her face took on a shadowed look. "Rhymer—I do not think I like the tone of the question. It is in all our best interest that the prince heal and wake soon. With Oberon in the mortal realm making penance, Abyssinian is the rightful King of Underhill." She stood up to her full height and crossed her long thin arms over her
chest. "I accepted your story that Abyssinian was brought into Underhill wounded, and you kept his presence here a secret as to not rouse panic among our cousins…but do not think for one moment that I believe it."

  Fear rose like bile in his stomach. He took a step back from Illeië. Her age and her power unnerved him. She was beautiful and frightening. And she was also one of the few in Underhill he feared. "Illeië—"

  She held up a hand and he closed his mouth. "You do what you feel must be done, Rhymer. But know this—if you betray my prince, or my king, I will hunt you down myself. And I will drag you back through a cairn and watch your body disintegrate with age…and turn to dust. Stay out of my house."

  With that, she turned and glided back into the Sick House.

  Thom hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he felt light headed. He took in a deep breath and turned, wanting to get as far away from the Sick House as possible. Abyssinian was taken care of. The Fallen wouldn't get to him and use his blood. He just needed to find the other Winterbourne and—

  He stopped short when he realized Xe-faun was standing in the center of the path. His skin was also white and his eyes looked haunted. Thom frowned as he approached. Had his aid discovered what he'd been up to? Did he know it was he that stabbed the prince?

  "Steward," Xe-faun stopped and bowed. "Is it true?"

  "Is what true?"

  "That the prince was injured? That he was brought here?"

  Damn. News like this traveled fast. Thom hadn't wanted anyone to know where Abyssinian was, and now it seemed all of Underhill did. "Yes. He is in the Sick House."

  But when Xe-faun started to move past him, Thom put out a hand. "Leave him. He's fallen into "death" and the healers are looking after him."

  Xe-faun's complexion paled even more. "He was poisoned with cold iron?"

  "I'm afraid so. Please," he pulled gently at Xe-faun to follow him away from the Sick House. The last thing he wanted was him to speak to Illeië. "Now, tell me what's happening in the mortal world. Do you have news?"