Hallow Point

by Ari Marmell

  “You’re just gonna have to fork it over if you get it, y’know,” Grangullie gloated, albeit weakly.

  “Not really,” I told him, offering a sweet smile. “You told me this whole task was a sham, that it’d never really had anything to do with my debt, remember? If you wanna go fetch Eudeagh so she can call in her marker again, you go right on ahead and be my guest.”

  The redcap howled. And maybe that was the signal we’d all somehow been waiting for, ’cause everyone broke at once.

  I swept out with the L&G, not at Grangullie or Raighallan, but at Ramona. Felt a little rotten about it, but it made the most sense. A quick jerk on luck’s strings, and she tripped over the crawling Fae’s legs even as she tried to step over him, her ankles getting tangled up in his. She toppled forward with a sharp gasp, slowing the both of ’em down for…

  Oof. Ouch.

  Well, slowing herself down for a moment, and Raighallan more or less forever, seein’ as how she landed on the knife hilt still jutting from between his shoulders. Bone cracked, the blade scraped on the floor beneath him, a fine red mist sprayed from his mouth’n nose, and then he shuddered and went still.

  My whole gut went cold, not like ice so much as dull, heavy rock. No matter what he’d done, or planned to do, I couldn’t celebrate the death of another aes sidhe. So many centuries of knowledge, sensation, sheer life, stolen from the world, just like that. And there’s so few of us left, compared to what we were…

  Regret didn’t stop me moving, though.

  Grangullie’d been farthest from the fallen spear, and he wasn’t at his swiftest, not after the pounding I’d given him. So even after my belated start from dealing with the two Rs first, he was a good couple paces from the damn thing when I tackled him, once more stabbin’ with my wand.

  Yeah, I don’t got the same issues with redcaps dyin’ as I do certain others.

  Gotta give it to him, though, he was a tough little fucker, even compared to most of his people. I’d pumped enough pain and misfortune into him over the course of the evening to kill a troll. But Grangullie was still kickin’, still fighting—as a solid sock to my temple and a small chunk bitten outta my arm made all too plain. Woulda been a lot more’n a small chunk if I hadn’t pulled away so quick. As it was, the sleeve of my coat now perfectly matched the gaping rents in the back.

  Funny the details that occur to you while you’re shaken by a good smack to the brainbox.

  I heard running from behind me. Ramona was back up.

  I spun away from Grangullie, who wasn’t in any shape to try’n stop me, and dove for the spear.

  But I’d left it too late. Ramona was just that extra step closer’n I was, and I could see right off that that’d make all the difference…

  Sealgaire appeared behind her, pretty much outta nowhere. Ramona jerked hard to a stop with a sharp yelp as a big frickin’ meathook snagged her by the collar.

  My own mitts closed around a long haft of ancient wood…

  Fire. The conflagration that ignited in my head, searing the edges of memory, blackening every thought to cross through, was brighter than the ambient lighting by a hundred-fold. A thousand years of civilization and restraint burned away to ash; pride and hatred and wrath flared high, pillars of flame reaching to the farthest vaults of mind and soul.

  I don’t remember makin’ a choice. I don’t even remember having an urge. All I remember is seein’ the hall through a haze of rippling hatred, hefting the Spear of Lugh, and shouting something harsh and awful in a language that was dead before the first of you discovered writing.

  The lightning flared, tiny flames rippling along the sides of the snapping, flickering bolts. Grangullie danced, twitched, spasmed, dangled on the strings of a puppeteer having a seizure. Smoke poured from his nostrils and ears, his eyes bubbled and boiled in their sockets. His skin blackened, cracked open, revealing only the glow of the lightning, painting horrid pictures in brilliance and shadow.

  Then he was gone.

  A pile of ash, the metal soles of his boots, and a fedora slowly curling and shrinking as it burned.

  He was gone, and I was me again, gazing sickly at the ugly death that was the reason I’d come to my senses. Wasn’t that I’d killed Grangullie, savvy? I’d been more’n prepared to do that already.

  It’s that I’d rubbed him out without thought. Without conscious decision.

  Casually.

  I hadn’t been that casual about killing since before I… For a long time. The notion of goin’ back to that, to giving as much thought to ending a life as I do to tossing out a newspaper? Not even the Spear of Lugh could make me okay with that.

  I got no idea how Ramona’d reacted to my magic redcap-ending tantrum. By the time I turned back to her’n Sealgaire, she wasn’t even lookin’ my way anymore.

  Tryin’ to calm down, I took a gander around, a few deep breaths. Looked at the huge mess, the broken displays, the shattered artifacts, the scorch marks, and snorted. They’d close for a few days to clean up, give the newshawks some innocuous cover story, and that’d be that. I’d done enough tonight; wasn’t about to worry about the clean-up.

  “I thought you were just observing!” Ramona snapped at Sealgaire, drawing my attention back right quick. “That you weren’t going to interfere!”

  “That’s about the size of it, ma’am. This wasn’t interfering. This was me makin’ things right after gettin’ in the way.”

  “What on Earth are you talking—?”

  I broke in. “How did you know I’d be here, Ramona?”

  “The little lady’s been on your trail like a bloodhound since the cemetery, son.”

  Since she looked too busy snarling to expand on that, I turned Sealgaire’s way. For a short spell, at least, I was too beat-up, too tired, and too Spear-of-Lugh-having to be afraid of him.

  “I been real careful,” I told him, “to lose any tails every evening. I’d have either noticed her or lost her.”

  “Oh, you did. She was getting right frustrated with it, too. Always picked you back up the next morning, lost you again come sundown. Ain’t nobody loses me, though. I’m afraid tonight I slipped up good. Let her spot me following you, and let her follow me. Right careless of me.”

  Ramona stomped away, muttering angrily, and I couldn’t really blame her. It’d be easier to tail me to Avalon than to tail Sealgaire from bedroom to kitchen. She was only just now getting wise that she’d been bamboozled, that he’d led her here in time to help me keep the others from winning the prize, then corrected his “mistake” by stopping her from snatching it up herself.

  Which left only…

  “So why’d you want me to have it?” I asked him.

  He looked hard at me, and there was nothin’ even vaguely human about the expression he half-hid behind those cheaters.

  “Because, boy, we got no pressing desire to hunt your city, and you the only one in this mess who might have the brains to make the right decision.”

  “The right…?”

  “’Bout what you’re gonna do with the thing now you got it.”

  And you know something? He was dead right. No way either of the Courts could get hold of Gáe Assail: the result’d be chaos. Even worse if it was some random Joe, whether human or Fae. I didn’t much care for the idea of Herne throwin’ the cycles of the Wild Hunt outta whack, let alone taking enough control to bend the Hunt to a personal agenda. And I sure as hell didn’t wanna keep the thing! I had no notion of how to destroy it, and wouldn’t have even if I could, not this big a piece of our legacy.

  Which meant I hadda find someone not involved in the politics of the Court, someone who wouldn’t care about wielding the spear’s power, and who wouldn’t be a whole lot worse with the damn dingus than they already were without it.

  Sound at all familiar?

  Actually, I was glad I had a good reason for handing it over. ’Cause see, if I hadn’t? Either he’da made me, or I’d have killed him with the damn thing and had the Hunt on my ass for
the rest of my real short life.

  I turned my wrist, holding the spear perpendicular in fronta me. Presenting it, basically.

  “Take the fucking thing outta my town,” I told him.

  Ramona barked something that was probably a protest, but I wasn’t listening.

  Sealgaire reached out and took the relic about as casual as if I’d been passing him a cuppa Joe. Then he smiled, and I got pretty good view of wolfish fangs that I know hadn’t been there the last time he opened his trap.

  “Smart move, boy. Much obliged.” He tipped his hat, made to step away, stopped again. “Keep an eye on the girl, too, or you’ll wish you had.”

  I glanced at Ramona, but Sealgaire shook his head.

  “Not that one. Adalina.”

  “What? What?”

  He was already walkin’ away. I followed.

  “What does the Hunt know about her? Why does the Hunt know about her?”

  He kept walking. And I basically forgot who I was talkin’ at, or else stopped caring that I didn’t have the spear to back me up anymore. I reached out for his shoulder, good’n ready to make him stop and answer some questions…

  And he was gone. Between one step and the next, a sudden blur of motion—and I mean blur, so that even I couldn’t make out a damn thing—and then nothing.

  I didn’t take it real well.

  “I don’t even know what some of those curses mean,” Ramona said as I finally drifted to a stop.

  “They weren’t all in English.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think I even got all the ones that were. Why’s this Adalina so important?”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I already told you I can’t tell you that, Mick.”

  “And I can’t tell you about Adalina.”

  “I’m bound by magic not to. What’s your excuse?”

  “I’m bound by not wanting to tell you.”

  She blinked twice, then laughed. It was almost musical. I wish I’d been in a better mood to enjoy it.

  “I suppose that’s fair.”

  I didn’t much care for the softening in her tone. Or rather, I cared for it a lot, which is what I didn’t much care for. I turned my back; it didn’t much help. Don’t get distracted, not again. Gotta figure out what Queen Mob’s endgame mighta been. Gotta go check up on Adalina. Gotta—

  “We should talk,” she continued.

  “Don’t got a lot to say, doll.”

  Petulant as it may’ve been, I not only didn’t turn around, but stuck my hands deep in my pockets.

  Her hand, which just sorta appeared on my shoulder, didn’t help—though it mighta been more effective if I didn’t hurt like hell at the lightest touch.

  “I think we do.”

  “Never do run outta lies, do you?” I grunted.

  “Mick…”

  Don’t believe the hitch in her voice. You can’t afford to believe it.

  “It wasn’t all a lie. It was supposed to be, I guess, but…”

  “You manipulated me. I’m impressed, but that don’t make me square with it.”

  “Yes, goddamn it!” She hauled me around so I had no choice but to look at her. “Yes, I manipulated your feelings. I had no choice.”

  “Tell me another—”

  “But I didn’t create them, Mick! Not all of them!”

  She gazed up at me, expression wide and open. I thought I might break in half with conflicting needs.

  “I am not in love with you,” I insisted, even though part of me—the part she still had her mitts on—woulda argued that.

  “I know.”

  Okay, not the answer I’d expected.

  “But you could be,” she continued. “And you do care about me. What do say, Mick? Can’t we give it a shot?”

  I was leaning in before I knew it, got so close I could taste her lips on mine even though we never… quite… touched.

  All the travail and effort of that night, and the hardest thing I did—without contest—was turning away again.

  “Why?” She kept the quaver out of her voice; I heard it anyway.

  “Because I can’t trust you, Ramona. I’d never really know how mucha what I felt around you, for you, was bunk. Something you’d foisted off on me. If I wanted that back, I’d go home to Elphame.”

  “I can try to turn it off…”

  “How would I ever be sure? No. Maybe… Maybe someday. Not now.”

  My shoulder got real cold as her hand slipped from it.

  “Maybe. I guess… I’ll see you around, Mick.”

  I swore I wasn’t gonna say anything more. She’d about reached the stairs before I changed my mind.

  “Wait a minute. At least tell me what you are!” ’Cause I was damn certain now the answer wasn’t “human,” no matter how well she looked the part.

  I dunno if she’d just put her mask back on, or if the last few minutes’d just been another performance. But she not only smiled again, she threw me a look so smoldering, it mighta washed out the Spear of Lugh itself.

  “If you tail me long enough, maybe you’ll find out.”

  I was still deciding what I could possibly say to that when the stairwell door slammed shut.

  FAE PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  Áebinn [ey-buhn]

  aes sidhe [eys shee]

  Ahreadbhar [ah-rad-bawr]

  bagiennik [baig-yen-nik]

  bean sidhe [ban shee]

  boggart [boh-gahrt]

  brounie [brooh-nee]

  Claíomh Solais [kleev-soh-lish]

  coblynau [kawb-lee-naw]

  Credne [kred-naw]

  cu sidhe [koo shee]

  dullahan [dool-uh-han]

  dvergar [dver-gahr]

  Elphame [elf-eym]

  Eudeagh [ee-yood-uh]

  Firbolg [fir-bohlg]

  Gáe Assail [gey ahs-seyl]

  gancanagh [gan-kan-aw]

  ghillie dhu [ghil-lee doo]

  Goswythe [gawz-weeth]

  Grangullie [gran-gull-ee]

  haltija [hawl-tee-yah]

  Hruotlundt [hroht-loondt]

  huldra [hool-druh]

  Ielveith [ahy-el-veyth]

  kobold [koh-bold]

  Laurelline [Lor-el-leen]

  Luchtaine [lookh1-teyn]

  Lugh mac Ethnenn [lugh2 mak ehn-nen]

  Oberon [oh-ber-ron]

  phouka [poo-kuh]

  Raighallan [rag-hawl-lawn]

  Rusalka [roo-sawl-kuh]

  Sealgaire [sal-gayr]

  Seelie [see-lee]

  Sien Bheara [shahyn beer-uh]

  Slachaun [slah-shawn]

  sluagh [sloo-ah]

  spriggan [sprig-uhn]

  Téimhneach [tey-im-nach1]

  Tuatha Dé Danann [too-awt3-huh

  de4 dan4-uhn]

  Unseelie [uhn-see-lee]

  Ylleuwyn [eel-yoo-win]

  1 This sound falls between “ch” and “k,” as in the word “loch.”

  2 “Gh” pronounced as “ch,” but more guttural.

  3 This “t” is almost silent, and is separate from the following “h,” rather than forming a single sound as “th” normally does in English.

  4 Strictly speaking, these “d”s fall somewhere between the “d” and a hard “th”—such as in “though”—but a simple “d” represents the closest sound in English.

  MOBSTERS OF CHICAGO

  While none of the characters who appear in this series are historical figures—at least thus far—a great many of those referenced are. If you’re at all interested in learning more about them, this ought to be enough to get you started.

  BATTAGLIA, SAM: A typical (but successful) Chicago gangster, Battaglia joined Torrio and Capone in the Outfit in the mid-1920s. After Capone’s era ended, Battaglia remained a member in good standing of the Outfit, and went on to hold substantial power in the organization.

  CAPONE, ALPHONSE GABRIEL “AL” (ALSO “SCARFACE”): Perhaps the most infamous gangster in American history, Capone rose from
being a small-time hood to a lieutenant of John Torrio’s, and eventually succeeded Torrio. A member of the Outfit, Capone was actually never “in charge” of the entire city, as many people believe, but as the man behind what was arguably Chicago’s largest—and certainly most violent—gang, he might as well have been. Capone was eventually imprisoned in 1931 for charges stemming from failure to pay taxes on his criminal profits.

  MORAN, GEORGE CLARENCE “BUGS”: One of the biggest Irish gangsters of Chicago, Bugs Moran ran the Northside Gang from 1927 to (roughly) 1935. Violent and hot-tempered, Moran himself was one of the main causes for the constant conflict between the Northside Gang and the Outfit.

  MUDGETT, HERMAN: Also known as H. H. Holmes, Mudgett wasn’t actually a gangster, but was in fact one of America’s earliest serial killers. From 1888 to 1894, Mudgett murdered an estimated 200 or more victims. Many of these were killed in his “Murder Castle,” a hotel with secret rooms where victims could be suffocated, asphyxiated with gas, or tortured to death, before their bodies were disposed of in the sub-basements through careful dissection or submersion in lime pits.

  NITTI, FRANK “THE ENFORCER”: One of Capone’s lieutenants, Frank Nitti went on to serve an important role in the Outfit after Al’s arrest: specifically, that of a figurehead. While he did have some voice in the running of the organization, he was primarily a mouthpiece for the “Board of Directors.” Although often portrayed in fiction as a chopper-toting psycho, Nitti was actually a bookish, white-collar criminal who rarely, if ever, got his hands dirty with violence. His nickname came from citing and enforcing Outfit rules at various meetings and sit-downs.

  NORTHSIDE GANG, THE: A largely Irish gang based in Chicago’s north side (obviously), this group was often at war with the Outfit over territories, routes, and the like. Capone’s infamous Valentine’s Day Massacre was targeted at Northsiders.

  OUTFIT, THE: The hub of organized crime in Chicago, the Outfit was the organization/syndicate to which Capone (among many others) belonged. After Capone’s time, the Outfit’s leadership took on a very corporate form, with a Board of Directors and no single person in charge. The Outfit frequently cooperated with the Commission (a similar organization, based out of New York) and other Mafia organizations.

  POPE, FRANK: A member of Capone’s organization, he eventually went on to manage many of the Outfit’s gambling interests on behalf of the Board of Directors.