by P. R. Frost
“Have you lost your mother, Tess? I can’t let you two out of my sight for a minute,” said Allie Engstrom on a chuckle. She’d been my best friend since kindergarten.
“Not really lost her, just misplaced the Québécois June Cleaver and replaced her with Auntie Mame,” I replied.
“Wow! That must be some weekend getaway.”
“You wouldn’t believe half of it.” Well, maybe Allie would believe half of it. She’d helped me out with some pesky garden gnomes with teeth last month and knew about Darren being a demon. “What’s up?”
“Do I still need to pick you up at midnight in Providence?”
“Gosh, Allie, sorry, I forgot, I’ll be staying over an extra day or maybe two.” Picture me pounding fist to forehead.
“What about your mom?”
“Well, actually, she’s not coming home.”
“Did you kill her?” Only half a joke. I’d threatened to strangle my mother upon occasion. She’d frustrated me beyond words until last Wednesday night when she broke free of her chrysalis.
“No, Mom has taken a job as a lounge singer. She’s moved in with an ex-hooker, and I think she’s found a new boyfriend.”
“That’s the premise of your next book, right?”
“No. That’s what really happened.”
“Wow! And what about you? How are you handling this?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m happy for her, but I’m still processing the changes. Gollum is helping.” I winced. After tonight Gollum might not be around to help. Too much unknown about us to tell at the moment.
“You finally did it!”
“Yeah, we did.” I started melting a bit. I could talk about anything with Allie. We knew everything about each other, right down to the inflection of voice that said more than words.
I could cry with her and find a balance as well as exult with her over my one night of joy.
“How was it? Is he as gentle and caring as he comes across? Or is he secretly wild and abandoned?” she asked breathlessly.
“Both!”
We laughed out loud together. Remember the good times. Hold them close against the pain to come.
Make decisions when the emotions are under control.
“Maybe I need to come to Vegas to change my life,” Allie finally said a bit wistfully.
“I really wish you were here right now.” How could I convey the depth of my need for her friendship now. Telling her everything over a cell phone wasn’t enough. Wasn’t right. I needed her to hold my hand and offer her shoulder for me to cry on when the truth spilled out of me.
I needed her to help me work through the dilemma of Julia.
Scrap came back and rubbed his cheek against my hair. I’d never be truly alone. As much as I missed Gollum already, Scrap would comfort me. I slipped the ring off the key chain and back onto my hand where it belonged.
“Anything I can do to help, long distance?”
“Not really.” I reached up and tweaked Scrap’s tail affectionately.
I didn’t need to talk to him. He knew everything and understood my hurt.
I didn’t dare tell Allie about Lady Lucia pretending to be a vampire. She’d be on the next plane. She loved vampire fiction and secretly longed to meet one.
“Say, remember last month when you asked me to do a background check on Breven Sancroix?”
I paused in the middle of the sidewalk. The sun beat down on my neck and head, reminding me I hadn’t put on sunscreen or worn a hat. That’s how stupid and distracted I was after Gollum’s confession.
I moved to the shade of a cottonwood overhanging someone’s yard. “Did you find anything unusual?”
“Not much. He’s lived quietly for the most part on a farm in western Pennsylvania for about twenty years. The deed is held jointly by him and Gertrud—no e on the end—Sancroix née Jarwoski. What flagged my interest was that, before then, neither of them exists—she still doesn’t. No birth records, no Social Security number, no driver’s license. Nada. Nothing. And no one has ever seen her.”
“You said he lived mostly quietly.”
“Except for periodic reports of violence—taking apart a bar that didn’t have his favorite beer, road rage, and shooting a trespasser on his land. Luckily, he didn’t kill the teenager breaking into his barn. And since the kid was high on drugs, his parents got him into rehab and didn’t press charges.”
I shuddered. Would I become so used to killing demons with the Celestial Blade that I let it spill over into ordinary life?
For the first time I truly understood Gollum’s vow of nonviolence.
Oh, God. Gollum!
“That’s what made me think he had a prison record under a different name,” Allie continued, unaware of my mental digression. “If you could get me a sample of his fingerprints I could cross-check.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” We chatted a few more minutes and said our good-byes with promises of a long catch-up chat when I got home. My mind had already jumped ahead into more useful patterns than crying over my lost lover.
Breven Sancroix had an imp. Therefore, he had to have spent some time in a Citadel. And that’s where his wife Gertrud Jarwoski had holed up for just as long. Hence the blank spot before the farm in Pennsylvania. His conversation led me to believe he’d lived in the Citadel quite a while. Longer than I had. Fortitude had a lot of warts earned in battle. Scrap kept losing his due to some strange law of impland so that I couldn’t tell how many he was supposed to have, or if an imp gained some of those beauty marks in the normal aging process.
My deductions led me to believe that Sancroix had battled more than a few demons since living in the real world. (Citadel life is quite surreal.)
By this time I’d looped around the block and returned to the hotel. I hurried back to my room. Then I hid the ring inside my computer bag. I also turned on the shower and the television. I didn’t want any eavesdroppers, mundane or magical.
I’ll keep a lookout, Scrap promised and flew back out to the hallway.
With as much privacy as I could manage surrounding me, I hit my speed dial for Gayla, leader of my Sisterhood.
Chapter 45
Of the men who died building the Hoover Dam, the first and the last were father and son.
“SISTER SERENA?” I queried the voice that answered my call. I hadn’t expected the Sisterhood’s physician to pick up the landline.
“Tess, so good to hear from you,” she cried. A moment of rapid exchange in the background. I could well imagine a half-dozen women gathering around for the thrill of an infrequent phone call. Those who chose the Citadel life didn’t have much outside contact.
I made small talk for a few sentences, heard about this Sister’s ailment, that Sister’s retirement, and the ongoing pressure against the portal they guarded.
Tonight, of all nights, they needed to prepare for battle in a good mood, with reminders of what they fought for and why. The good times among themselves, and the innocents outside their walls.
Tonight, when the moon waxed one quarter full, demons were at their strongest and portals at their weakest.
Tonight, when I fought to get innocent faeries through a rogue portal, my Sisterhood would fight to keep a stable portal closed.
“But you do not call to gossip,” Serena said quietly. “Our imps can pass that information back and forth.”
“Yes.” I wondered why Scrap hadn’t acted as messenger very often. But then, as the runt of the pack, and gay at that, he hadn’t made friends among his kind. Until recently. I remembered a certain glow about him and the name Ginkgo on his mind.
“About a month ago I requested help from any other rogue Warrior you could contact.”
“I remember that.” Serena sounded thoughtful. “Did someone come?”
“He came too late to help. I managed on my own. With the help of some friends.”
“Oh, Tess, you haven’t violated your vow of secrecy,” Serena said, disappointment dripping from her words.
<
br /> “Not really. My friends are either involved in our lifestyle or figured it out when I got attacked in broad daylight by the Orculli trolls.” I almost laughed at that. King Scazzy of the garden gnomes with teeth, was actually the prison warden of the universe. He’d been on a mission at the time. No one had thought to clue me in until after we’d exchanged blows and blood had been drawn. MoonFeather’s blood. I was still hard-put to forgive Scazzy for that.
“I called to find out what you know about the rogue Warrior. Breven Sancroix is still hanging around.”
“Sancroix?” Sister Serena paused a moment. She probably drummed her fingers on her thigh, a habitual gesture—she had to constantly work the fingers of her right hand to keep them supple after a demon tag. “Sancroix! I remember him from long ago. He and his Brotherhood visited one Summer Solstice. It was quite a party. I’d just come back from my residency. So I got to deliver a bunch of babies around the Vernal Equinox. Gert had a boy, I think, and sent it to Sancroix for raising once he’d been weaned.”
Junior was too old to be that baby, perhaps thirty-five. No reason he couldn’t be the child of a previous Solstice celebration, though. Unusual that Sancroix referred to his nephew as Junior.
“No wonder Sancroix remembers Sister Gert quite fondly,” I prompted.
“Gert’s not here at the moment, or I’d ask her.”
“Where’d she get to?” As if I didn’t know.
Sister Gert had a lot invested in maintaining the status quo. A status quo outdated about one hundred years ago.
“Um.” Serena dropped her voice to a barely audible whisper. “She’s talking about going rogue, something about a farm in Pennsylvania.”
Uh-oh.
Did I say I don’t believe in coincidences?
I needed to keep an eye on Sancroix and Gert. The best way to do that was to include them in tonight’s activities—let him burn off a little of his reported violence constructively. I had no doubt that Gregbaum had a dozen or more minions guarding both the dormitory and the portal at Goblin Rock. Two extra Celestial Blades would help.
I’ve got better ways to glean the truth from gossip. Time for a quick trip to visit my lover Ginkgo.
Imp memory goes back a long way.
He’ll know everything there is to know about Juniper, companion to Sister Gert. If the good sister did give birth to a kid or two by Sancroix, then her imp probably loosed a couple of litters by Fortitude.
Once I know Fortitude’s character, I’ll know a lot about Breven Sancroix.
I don’t trust either one of them. Interesting to find out if anyone else does.
More interesting to find out why Sancroix left his Citadel. Did he go voluntarily or was he kicked out?
Sunset came late, around seven thirty. Moonrise was scheduled for nine fifty-seven. Not a lot of time to break into the Dragon and St. George, free the dancers, get them on a bus and drive them for a full hour out to the Valley Of Fire.
Timing was everything.
The moon awakes from a little sleep. It becomes a key held in the arm of a . . . a Guardian who is also a monster. The words of the Paiute bartender’s vision quest came back to me.
That part had to refer to the waxing quarter moon rising behind the Rock Goblin.
It opens a path to twilight lands of peace and plenty, lands that a warrior may glimpse but never enter.
That part had to be Faery.
Only one warrior will rise above the ties that bind him to this earth to walk between.
And that meant me. And this happened only once in every ten generations.
Gulp. Tonight or never. In a few hours when the moon rose.
My hands trembled. I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans. This had to work. We only had one chance, one very small chance in a narrow margin of time.
The dancers did not perform on Monday or Tuesday night. By Wednesday when Lucia took over, no one would miss them.
Except Gregbaum.
Breven and Fortitude prowled the casino, gathering up any stray dancers. He refused to take Fortitude into the Valley Of Fire but seemed more than willing to help at this end of the operation.
Junior remained at The Crown Jewels, wringing his hands. I didn’t want him broadcasting anxiety around me when stealth was the key to success. I suspected Lady Lucia kept an eye on him, though she didn’t say where she’d be tonight.
Sister Gert supposedly had gone back to Pennsylvania. And if you believe that I have some oceanfront property in Arizona I’ll sell you.
Gert and Juniper are giving Junior a serious talking to. She’s really upset with him, Scrap said, flitting about, seeking shadows within shadows.
Fortitude has problems. Big problems. Don’t trust him, Scrap continued curtly. He listens to Junior more than to his Warrior. Junior is the one who dragged them down the current path of violence and total disregard for rules and the well-being of others. That’s why Gert’s giving him a hard time. Juniper is leaning toward Junior now, too. He disappeared when I tried to get specifics from him.
Great. My allies were an angry faery changeling, a fellow rogue Warrior and his imp who had anger management problems, and a demon masquerading as a vampire crime boss.
Gollum and Mickey wandered around outside with a compass and GPS, setting tiny smudge pots at North, East, South, and West. Candles got tucked into crevices in between the pots. They’d both been unnaturally quiet all afternoon.
Donovan drove around and around in an oversized van. A tight fit for our crew and the dancers, but the most inconspicuous vehicle he could find on short notice that suited us.
I was just as glad he kept his sullen countenance away from me.
Me? I stayed hidden between the deserted backstage and access to the dormitory. Scrap did my scouting for me.
“This is too easy,” I whispered to Scrap. My internal clock told me the sun dipped below the horizon.
I can’t find Gregbaum anywhere, babe, he growled, coming in for a landing on my shoulder.
“What about his guards?”
Missing in action as well.
“Do you think Donovan warned them about our operation?”
Scrap shrugged and took off again. All twenty faeries present and accounted for in the dormitory.
“Time to get this mission going.
My phone vibrated—no way I was taking a chance on a ring tone alerting the bad guys to my presence.
“The sun just hit the horizon. I’m lighting things up,” Gollum hissed through the phone. “We’ve got to do this the exact opposite of when Lucia set the spell.”
Sancroix came around the corner, looking tired. Fortitude looked like . . . well like Fortitude, gray-green skin darkened with age—more charcoal than green—wings held high, ready to flee in a heartbeat. He avoided looking at me or at Scrap.
Seconds later, Gollum and Mickey skidded to a stop in front of me.
“Is it working?” Gollum asked.
Nothing yet, Scrap replied.
“Try the dormitory, Scrap.”
He mumbled and grumbled as he popped out and bounced right back in. Still in place, babe.
“What are we going to do?” I began absently turning the diamond ring on my right hand.
Mickey sniffed. “Something different . . .”
The magic smells different!
Fortitude nodded acknowledgment and spread his wings until they formed a curtain behind Sancroix. His skin grew darker, flushed with the barest hint of red. Sancroix winced as his imp’s talons gripped his shoulder tighter.
Something was wrong between them. I could sense when Scrap did the same thing; he never hurt me.
Scrap flashed from gray to pink to red in an eye blink.
“Bad guys,” I whispered to one and all.
“Where?” Sancroix turned in a circle, automatically extending his hand for Fortitude to land there and begin transforming.
I did the same for Scrap.
Scrap was still elongating when Fortitude’s tail and ears cur
ved into blades at opposite ends of a shaft.
I’d never seen an imp morph so quickly. He seemed a bit too eager to taste blood.
No time for questions. No time to think.
Fifteen black-and-red Faeries dropped from the flies above the stage, blued broadswords drawn and swinging.
Chapter 46
The Las Vegas Hard Rock Hotel & Casino uses only recycled metal, glass, and paper products
“GOLLUM, MICKEY, GET the dancers out now!” I yelled.
Before Scrap had a chance to fully sharpen, I twirled the blade over my head, at the level of the black-and-red faeries’ throats.
Flurries of movement all around me.
No rules. No confining fencing strip. No honor. We fought all out; to the death.
In the movies the bad guys politely wait to attack the hero one at a time. Real demons aren’t so nice.
Fifteen armed bad guys against two Warriors of the Celestial Blade. “I’ve seen worse odds. Seen better ones too,” I mused.
Scrap vibrated with agreement and a need to taste blood. The viler and blacker the better.
Sensing that my lack of height and reach made me the weaker prey, eight mutants descended on me, swords extended and slashing. Sancroix faced seven of the monsters.
I might be vertically challenged, but I’m fit and trained.
One opponent on my left caught the full curve of the blade across his middle. He stood staring and gasping as the wound gushed black blood. Before he could collapse, I’d taken out the guy on my opposite side with a backhand. He caught the tines of the outside curve in his throat.
Two down. Six to go. Sancroix had wounded but not taken out one of his attackers.
I didn’t have time to gloat.
Three more black-and-red faeries landed between us.
Where were they hiding? Where did Gregbaum get so many goons to do his bidding?
I almost believed he recycled them back to life, like something in a science fiction novel.
We really needed some help.
Where the hell was Donovan when I needed him?