Music to My Sorrow

by Mercedes Lackey

  Ace didn't say she could take care of herself. If there was one lesson she'd learned far too well in her seventeen years of life, it was that there were a lot of things out there that were bigger and stronger than she was, and some things that were smarter. She could use all the help she could get.

  "Are you really going to go back and talk to Parker Wheatley?" she asked.

  "Ah'd rather not," Hosea said surprisingly. "Ah'd rather not ever go near that place again. But let's see what Jeanette has to say."

  Hosea went off to his room and brought back the banjo case, sitting down on a chair. Ace settled down on the bed to listen. She loved Hosea's playing, no matter what the circumstances were, and maybe listening to him would help her to think of something.

  * * *

  From his vantage point outside, Jormin felt the unfamiliar magic he'd sensed before, much stronger now. What was it? As a half-trained mortal Bard, Hosea Songmaker's power was no match for his own, he knew, and though the Sidhe were as susceptible as any to Heavenly Grace's Talent, she had not yet come into the fullness of her strength—and, he knew from his Master, she did not wish to use her Gift.

  He hesitated, wondering if he should alert Prince Gabrevys, but whatever the apprentice Bard was doing, it did not seem to pose any threat to him.

  At last the web of his spell was set tight, past any undoing. It would follow them wherever they went, feeding on their hopes and fears, keeping them from either leaving the immediate area or seeking outside aid.

  Oh, he would have to return in a few hours of the World's time to reinforce it again and make sure it was running as it should, but for now, his work here was done. . . .

  * * *

  :Well?: Jeanette demanded instantly.

  Hosea told her the most important things first—Eric and Magnus were missing, and that there was a Black Bard fronting one of Gabriel Horn's bands. He went on to tell her all he'd told Ace, trying to bring his sense of wrongness into focus.

  But it was still as if he couldn't think clearly—or couldn't think of the right questions to ask.

  "Ah didn't find that Unseleighe magician you told me to look for, sweetheart, but Ah didn't get a chance to meet everybody in Billy's organization. And after today, Ah'm not all that sure Ah want to go back. Galilee knows me for what Ah am, you cain take that to church."

  Jeanette made a rude noise, for once not even bothering to object to the hated endearment. :Oh, you think you didn't see any Unseleighe, farmboy? I'd bet you dollars to doughnuts—assuming I had any dollars, or any use for doughnuts—that your Judah Galilee is an elf-boy. And I'd double that bet and say Gabriel Horn is holding his leash, which means you've got another one, because Sidhe don't truckle to mere mortals.:

  "Elves?" Hosea said, feeling utterly stunned. How had he missed that? "Both of them?"

  :Did you look?: Jeanette demanded. :REALLY look? Or were you just too distracted for some odd reason to ever use your mage-sight on either of them?:

  Hosea thought back. There'd never been a really good time to take a close look at Gabriel Horn, and he'd known Judah Galilee would know what he was doing, so he hadn't tried using the Sight on him. But maybe he should have been a little more aggressive about trying.

  Maybe he should have been a lot more aggressive.

  :The timing works,: Jeanette went on. :Billy's a ratbag, but his snake-oil show apparently didn't really start to go to capital-H Hell in a handbasket until Brother Gabriel showed up. And in a very short time it's bigger and sleazier than ever before, with a big influx of money from a source nobody can quite put their finger on, even your money-laundering girlfriend Ria with her pocketful of lawyers. Want to bet Gabriel's the funding source? I bet he's got big nasty plans for Fairchild Ministries. And if you're still thinking that Eric's disappearance is a coincidence, I've got to say, you're even dumber than you look.:

  "What would the Sidhe want with a televangelist?" Hosea asked blankly.

  :The Unseleighe like to break things,: Jeanette answered bleakly. :And Fairchild Ministries would make a nice big hammer.:

  * * *

  Ace could see Hosea's lips moving, and knew he was talking to Jeanette, but she couldn't hear him over the sound of the music. From the expression on his face, though, Jeanette was giving him quite an earful, and nothing that he liked. At last he set aside the banjo, and sighed.

  "Jeanette has a theory," he said.

  * * *

  The more Hosea talked, the more it all made a kind of awful sense: how everything had gotten particularly bad at home just after Gabriel Horn had shown up, how Daddy would never even think of hearing a word against him—and Billy Fairchild was a man who hated competition as much as he'd loved his own way.

  "But . . . Bards are human, aren't they?" she asked, confused.

  "Some are," Hosea agreed. "But just like Healin', it's a Talent that shows up extra-strong in particular elves, too. Eric said the Elven Bards are the most powerful magicians the Sidhe have, the ones who make the Gates, and anchor the Nexus-points to the Node-groves to anchor an Elfhame to the World Above."

  "Sounds like physics, not magic," Ace said dubiously.

  Hosea smiled faintly. "Paul says that they're pretty much the same thing when you take them far enough. Ah wouldn't know. What Ah do know is we've got us a fine mess here—and all our big guns are on a huntin' expedition somewheres else."

  "But maybe we don't need them," Ace said slowly, thinking it out. "You said that Gabriel Horn doesn't like Parker Wheatley. And Ria said he started out hunting elves, and whatever he's calling them now, it looks like he's still doing it. If I can get to him, and tell him that Gabriel Horn and Judah Galilee are "demons," he'll use his bag of tricks on them—if just to prove me wrong. But I won't be." I hope.

  "Besides," she continued, "I bet Mr. Wheatley doesn't like Gabriel Horn any better than Mr. Horn likes him. I bet he knows good and well that Mr. Horn doesn't want him around. And I bet he's thinking he'd like Mr. Horn out of the way, and maybe take over in his place. If he can do something to get rid of Mr. Horn, you know he will!"

  "And what if Jeanette was right about the other thing, too, and Wheatley's working for another Unseleighe?" Hosea said.

  "I don't get the feeling any of those guys like each other very much," Ace said, remembering what Ria had told her. "And Mr. Wheatley's just showed up. Maybe Gabriel Horn doesn't like him because he thinks he's poaching on his territory. Maybe Mr. Horn doesn't know about the other Unseleighe, if there is one."

  But Hosea was frowning at her. "It's too dangerous," Hosea said.

  "No it isn't," Ace said, excited now. "I can just sneak in to the building, get into Mrs. Granger's files, and find out everything I need to about Mr. Wheatley, including where his office is and his home address. Hosea, if anybody sees me, it's probably going to be somebody I've known all my life and grew up with, and from what you've said, Daddy's told everybody I'm away at Bible College somewhere, so why shouldn't I come back for a visit?" She took a deep breath. "And if I get into real trouble, I can sing my way out. You know I can. If we can start Mr. Wheatley and Mr. Horn fighting with each other, that would be good, wouldn't it? And if we could get our hands on some of those "demon hunting" weapons that Mr. Wheatley has, that would be better."

  * * *

  The more Hosea considered the matter, the more he thought she was right—not because he wanted to go back to that unhappy place, but because he couldn't leave something that dangerous alone.

  Judah Galilee and his band would be playing before an audience of several hundred people—at the very least—Friday at noon, and Hosea hated to think of what the Black Bard might do with the energy he could raise off such a crowd.

  He wasn't sure that either Judah or Gabriel were Sidhe—Jeanette was only guessing, after all—but if they could get Parker Wheatley to turn his elf-hunting obsession on Fairchild Ministries, it should convince Billy Fairchild to get rid of one of the two. Either he would convince Billy Fairchild that Gabriel was a demon, wh
ich would rid them of Gabriel Horn, or he would so outrage Billy that Fairchild would throw Wheatley out on his ear. And that was the worst that would come out of it.

  And at best, it might solve a large number of their problems. Horn and Wheatley might actually lock horns and destroy each other, and it might happen in a public enough forum to bring down Fairchild Ministries as well.

  "All right," he said reluctantly. "But we'll wait until we're sure everybody's out of the offices for the night. And you be as quick as you can."

  "I will," Ace said soberly.

  * * *

  They'd gotten the call that afternoon. Fortunately, Michael didn't have classes that day, and they'd been able to fly down immediately.

  Fiona was both pleased and a little irritated that the call had come so soon. She couldn't precisely decide where the source of her irritation lay; perhaps this seemed too easy? In her experience, nothing worth having was obtained easily, and if bringing Magnus and Eric to heel could be done so quickly, then the implication was that it was something that she and Michael could have accomplished themselves.

  They would see.

  Once more—for the last time, she told herself—they drove to the offices of Christian Family Intervention. When they got there, the girl had already left for the day, but Director Cowan was waiting for them in the reception area.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Banyon. Do come in. It's wonderful to see you again, and on such a happy occasion for us all. I'm sure you remember Mr. Horn?"

  "Yes, of course," Michael Banyon said, holding out his hand.

  * * *

  Gabriel smiled as he took Michael's hand, regarding the Banyons with deep satisfaction. The woman fairly seethed with haughty impatience, as if she wished nothing more than to snatch her plaguish brats from his hands and flee. But he had no desire to return her children to her just yet. No, in a few hours he would go and explain to the Bard what a treat lay in store for him, and then give him a few more hours to savor the anticipation of it. The feeding pen was quite secure, as were his bindings. There would be no escape for him, only horror. In the morning, well before the concert started, he would send the Bard and his brother off to their new life. Meanwhile, he would have the parents as further hostages, should the necessity arise.

  "I'm sure you're both anxious to see your sons. Believe me, nothing gives us greater joy than the opportunity to reunite a family." He smiled again, broadly, at Fiona's reaction.

  "Sons?" she asked sharply. "I thought—"

  "Ah, I know you had not anticipated recovering your eldest, Eric, yet we have managed to convince him how misguided he has been," Gabriel interrupted, unctuously. "They're both here in the building right now, and looking forward to their reunion with their parents. Truly, the Prodigal Son returns to the arms of his family. We're just taking care of a few last-minute details, our legal staff is making sure that all of the legal mess poor Eric instigated is cleared up so that you won't be bothered with any of it anymore. Just getting all of the niggling details tidied away, then you can see them. It won't be long. Why don't you have a seat while you're waiting?"

  Looking skeptical, Michael seated himself on the couch that Gabriel indicated, and, reluctantly, Fiona followed his lead. As they settled themselves, the prepared spell was triggered. Their faces went slack, their eyes closed, their bodies settled limply against each other.

  "Good," Gabriel said with satisfaction. "You do excellent work, Toirealach."

  Toirealach O'Caomhain bowed to his liege-lord. It was a fine thing, to have competent underlings. That was one mistake that altogether too many Unseleighe didn't understand. One needed to keep an iron fist yes, but in a velvet glove. If your underlings could not be sure of reward, they would not serve you without overmuch supervision. "They will slumber here until they are waked, and they will have no sense that time has passed. A bit of meddling with their memories will convince them that they came on the morrow instead of today, and all will be well."

  "Then there is nothing more for you to do than hold yourself ready for the pleasures of the coming day," Gabriel said.

  Toirealach rubbed his hands together. "Ah, what a grand feast you spread before us, my Prince! Blood and pain, and the deaths of children! Truly, you are the greatest of the Dark Court!"

  Not yet, perhaps, Gabriel thought. But I will be.

  Chapter 7:

  My Father's House

  Ace had left Hosea parked on the road outside and walked in, because Margot's pink showboat was just too darned noticeable. Fortunately the casino was doing a booming business even at this hour, and that had covered her approach.

  Getting into the building wasn't a problem. It might be Atlantic City instead of Tulsa, but Daddy hadn't changed the locks. He still used numerical key-pad locks, and the access codes were various Bible verses. The one for the elevator was still John 4:13—the elevator was locked down for the night, but she typed in "5646413," and the elevator began to move. It played Muzak versions of praise-songs softly through its speakers. She shuddered at the banality of it.

  She reached the top floor—of course Daddy's offices would be in the penthouse. The doors didn't open, and she punched in "628848," her mind automatically supplying the citation: Matthew 4:8. Again the devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and sheweth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them.

  The doors opened. She stepped out into the corridor, listening hard, but everything was quiet.

  She'd never been here before, but the place had a creepy similarity to her father's offices in Tulsa—not that it looked like them, because it didn't—rather, it looked like what he'd wanted them to be like. As if this place were the realization of a dream. It was easy to know where to go, and where everything ought to be—this was just the old Fairchild Ministry World Headquarters, redone and enlarged, but designed by the same mind just the same. She wondered what those men who'd suggested he leave Tulsa—Ria had told her about that—would think if they could see where he was now.

  If they were smart, they'd be wondering where the money had come from.

  At the end of the hall was a set of big mahogany double doors touched with gold leaf. The doors were closed now, but during the day, they'd be open, she knew. There'd be a big outer office and reception area, with Mrs. Granger's desk in the middle of it in front of another set of big mahogany doors, and behind those would be Daddy's private office and personal study, the one that would be in all the publicity photos.

  She hurried up to the doors and punched in the keycode, automatically reciting the Bible verse in her head. The light on the lock went from red to green, and Ace eased the door open.

  It was darker in here than it was out in the hall, and she risked using the little LED flashlight she and Hosea had picked up on the way over here. It put out a lot of light for its size, but the beam was really small, and probably wouldn't be seen from outside so long as she didn't shine it at the windows.

  The room looked very much as she'd expected it to—larger and grander than the one in Tulsa, of course. There was a big oil painting of Daddy on the wall, and the same large glass cases holding some of the trophies and awards he'd gotten over the years. There were large silver bowls of fresh flowers on the side tables, though. That was new.

  Ace shuddered again. The place reminded her of a high-class mortuary.

  If this was a dream in realization, it was one that had died and been mummified.

  She moved quickly over to Mrs. Granger's desk. There was nothing on it; as always, everything was locked away for the night, including her Rolodex. The desk was locked, of course, but for as long as Ace had known her, Mrs. Granger had kept the desk key under her blotter, and Ace found it easily.

  She held it in her hand, hesitating. Mrs. Granger had been with them ever since Ace had been a little girl. She'd been one of the first people Daddy'd hired. She'd baby-sat Ace when Mama'd gone to the beauty parlor, and helped Mama pick out Ace's dresses when the money started to come in. Breaking into Mr
s. Granger's desk seemed almost more wicked than breaking into the building.

  I have to do it. I won't mess anything up, I promise. She took a deep breath and put the key into the lock.

  She found the Rolodex quickly, but to her dismay, the card for Parker Wheatley only showed a Maryland address. He couldn't still be living there, could he? There was no office listed, or internal phone number, but he had to have an office in the building if Daddy was having him launch the crusade she'd seen on television. She kept looking.

  The card for Gabriel Horn gave his home address as this building. Ace frowned. Was that possible? It gave his office, too: she memorized that as a place to stay away from.

  She quickly checked through the file folders in the desk. Nothing useful.

  Her neck ached with tension as she considered her options. This should have been easy; it wasn't. All right, then, it just wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought it should be. That didn't mean it was going to be hard.

  Ace eyed the doors behind the desk nervously, working up her courage. I have to go in there. Daddy would want Mr. Wheatley where he could keep an eye on him. The Ministry ran on paperwork; she knew that much. If Mrs. Granger didn't have the file, it had to be in there.

  She knew it was perfectly safe. It had to be, at this hour. Everything was dark in there. Daddy would be at home, wherever that was now. She could find out where Mr. Wheatley's office was, get what she needed, and leave.

  She quickly put everything in Mrs. Granger's desk back the way she'd found it, tucked the key back under the blotter again, and headed for Billy Fairchild's office.

  * * *

  He'd actually been thinking of getting an apartment at the Tower lately—not that Donna wasn't still an everlasting helpmeet and joy, praise the Lord, but with Heavenly Grace still gone—and thankfully he'd taken Gabriel's advice not to burden Donna with all of this nonsense about the girl living right there in New York City and refusing to come home—Donna seemed just a bit peaked these days. With as much as he had to do at the Ministry, he didn't want to tax her with its problems when she was feeling so poorly. Not everyone had his natural vitality, Lord knew. It wasn't fair to ask it of her. Maybe putting in an apartment just off his office wouldn't be a bad idea. On late nights like this, Donna wouldn't sit up, worrying about him until he came home. He could just call her and let her know he was going to stay overnight, and she could just relax, and have a night on her own. Maybe watch one of those old romantic movies she doted on so much. And when Heavenly Grace came home again, they could have a Girls' Night again, pop popcorn and watch the old Shirley Temple movies she used to love.