by John Conroe
-Thanks Roger. Our next story is much more disturbing. In the last three weeks, the six children have gone missing in four different states, prompting an unprecedented number of Amber Alerts. And several of these recent disappearances occurred inside the children’s own homes.-
“Dad, I can’t get the printer to work!” Ashley said suddenly from behind me. Water splashed across the countertop and on the window over the sink as I jumped at her voice. Turning I gave her a look.
“Did I scare you?” she asked with a smirk. Ashley loves to try to surprise me, but usually fails. She was loving this.
“Yeah, thanks for taking ten years off my life!” I replied. “What’s the matter with the printer?”
“Weellllll, it’s not working!” she said, still smirking.
“That’s not overly helpful,” I pointed out, wiping my hands on a dish towel. She already held her laptop, so it only took a moment to check the online status of our wireless printer. Being able to take a laptop anywhere in the house is great, but for some reason, the wireless handshake between the printer and the two computers we have gets sketchy. The strange code interactions that take place inside our increasingly complex computers had suddenly changed and the result was the printer was no longer the default choice. Since we don’t have any other printer, I don’t have a clue what would have been the default, but I didn’t have the mental energy to try and chase down that logic path. I fixed the pathway and handed her back her laptop.
“There, that should work. Getting your homework done early?” I asked.
She laughed. “No Dad, we’re printing out pictures of the football team and drawing on them.”
Then she laughed at my expression and went back upstairs.
I really wasn’t going to handle the whole boyfriend thing well.
I went back to the sink to finish the dishes, but a movement out the window caught my attention. The automatic yard light had not yet come on, but it was almost dark enough to trip it. The kitchen window looks out into the driveway and in the gloom by the base of the lamp post a tall man was standing and staring at me.
Chapter 5
He was on the old sandstone walkway, dressed in black, with white blond hair and dark skin. Looking me in the eyes through the time warped glass of the kitchen window, he nodded once. Ignoring my racing pulse, I paused to think. Both girls were upstairs, with Charm. The house was locked up and I was armed with more than a utility knife. Mr. Tall and Foreboding was standing very still, his demeanor non-threatening. Didn’t mean much. I had seen him fight; he was very, very fast.
Coming to a decision, I dropped the dish towel and moved to the front entryway, pausing to get the shotgun. Grabbing my house keys, I glanced out the window to make sure he was still there, armed the house alarm, unlocked the door, and stepped out, relocking the door behind me. The house alarm would kick on after twenty seconds. If tripped it would ring to the alarm company, who had instructions to call the police, then my father.
He hadn’t moved an inch, staying eerily motionless as I glanced around to make sure nothing was sneaking up on me from either side.
I stayed on the porch, shotgun in both hands, barrels pointing at the sandstone block at his feet.
His eyes, which were an icy blue, catalogued my every motion, and his head moved ever so slightly in what might have been a nod of…..respect?
His right hand came up, palm facing me, his other hand open by his left leg. A black heavy bracelet was wrapped around his right forearm, a carved animalistic head near the back of his hand.
“I am Greer,” he said in an even tone, his sharpish teeth flashing white against his dark skin. His accent was a soft burr, something between Irish and Scottish.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He nodded again, acknowledging my abrupt manner.
“You intervened – in the forest – when you had no need to,” he commented. It was almost a question.
I shrugged, but kept the gun centered on the walkway in front of him.
“Seemed the thing to do,” I replied.
His head tilted to one side, his expression quizzical, as if trying to understand something foreign to him.
Greer was a shade over six feet, lean, but not skinny. The term ‘whipcord’ popped into my head as I automatically evaluated him as a fighter. Dangerous and deadly fast. His face was angular, with high cheek bones, and when he suddenly shifted weight from one foot to the other, his pony tail swung into view, hanging to the middle of his back.
“It was not a logical thing to do,” he said, even closer to a question.
Part of me was getting angry that he was questioning my intelligence in helping him.
“Not logical to help a person in trouble?” I questioned.
He smiled suddenly, a real smile, making him slightly less menacing.
“Oh, don’t be thinking I’m not happy you did, because I am! It’s just not something my people would be likely to do,” he said.
The way he mentioned ‘his people’ was odd, as though he spoke of a separate race. Then he flicked his hair absently with one hand and a pointed ear poked through. Separate race indeed.
“I find myself in dettis onach,” he said, his tone and expression a mixture of disbelief and resentment.
“What?” I asked.
“It is a concept of my people – a life debt of sorts. You risked your life for mine without a logical reason to do so. We are not related, we do not work together and we have no prior obligation to each other,” he said.
“Yeah well, ‘my people’ call it lending a hand. But who are your people?” I asked.
He smiled a little at that, then paused to look at the security light, the car in the driveway and back to the gun in my hands.
“There have been many changes since I was here last,” he commented, continuing to sweep the house with his gaze. “Not here, actually, I’ve never been here. I mean here on this world.”
“Ooookay, I’ll play this game. If I had’t seen the green ape things I’d figure you for a Lord of the Rings wannabe or maybe a Mr. Spock impersonator,” I said. “So I’ll throw it out there…..you’re an elf?”
His eyes widened momentarily, then he laughed a short sharp laugh.
“Your people remember us!” he said.
“We have legends, but nobody really believes them. I’m not sure I buy it even now. The ape-lizards could just be genetic experiments and you could just be a dozen cards shy of a full deck.”
“Your ancestors would have called them goblins. We call them t’oorcs. The ones I fought belong to Summer.”
“Summer is long gone,” I pointed out, confused.
He shook his head again, smiling. “I’ve not had a conversation like this in some time. I mean that the t’oorcs, the goblins you saw belong to another faction of my world; Summer or the Green Court. I belong to Winter –the White Court.”
“And just where is this world of yours? And how did you get here?” I asked, my head reeling from the surreal conversation. Maybe the guys in white coats would show up soon to collect their escapee. But oddly, part of me wanted to believe the story.
“I don’t have the words to explain everything, I’m not a Watcher of the Veil. But our worlds are closer to each other than the others that circle your star. They are just….kept separate,” he shook his head in frustration. “We come here when the Veil that separates them thins enough. Some of my people, myself included, have enough….,” he paused, scratching the tip of one pointed ear while he tried to think of a word. “talent.....ability… to make the leap.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I had a grip on the next proper question.
“Why? Why do your people come here?”
“Ah well now Mr. Ian Moore, that’s just it then, isn’t it?” he said. “We come to gather.”
“You gather here? Like in a group?” I asked, lost.
“No we gather as in collecting,” he answered, his tone just slightly ominous.
“Children,” he said, simply.
I almost shot him right then, just out of reflex, but I managed to control the impulse. Nonetheless, his sharp eyes read enough of my body language to get a hint at my thoughts. He held both hands up quickly.
“No fears Ian Moore, I am not a Hunter. They all belong to Summer. I would not take children, that’s not my role,” he said.
“You better explain real quick and just how the hell do you know my name?” I questioned.
“Your name is printed on the metal container on the post. The one that printed messages go in,” he said, pointing back toward the mailbox at the end of the driveway. “I am a Guardian, I protect the gateways,” he said, although it seemed like he had wanted to say more but held back.
“Why does Summer take children?” I asked, struggling with the anger building inside.
“To save our world,” he said with a sad smile.
I raised my eyebrows and motioned with the shotgun for him to continue.
“We,” he motioned back and forth between us, “are related, at least enough that our people can interbreed. My people don’t produce offspring..children frequently. Not like you do. And our race is much, much older than yours. Our bloodlines have thinned, weakened. To survive as a race, we need fresh stock. So when the Veil thins we cross over and Gather new blood. The Green Court does the searching, as the talents needed to find the right children have all concentrated in Summer’s bloodline. The White Court guards the gateways and keeps Summer honest.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but he had basically confessed to kidnapping, or at least being party to kidnapping. As someone with a kid, I wasn’t fond of the concept, not one bit. Before I could properly express my feelings about that, I saw his eyes look past me and widen. I risked a fast glance over my left shoulder at the door.
Two faces were framed in the glass. I shot my head back around to see if he had moved, but he was standing still, his eyes evaluating the girls behind me.
“Ashley! Get away from the window!” I yelled, alarmed to my core.
Greer tilted his head sideways, still looking at the faces behind me.
“Dad? What’s going on? Why do you have a gun pointed at that man?” she asked. Then before I could answer, I heard a noise that scared the crap out of me. The rattle of the lock as Ashley started to unlock it.
“Ash, no!” I yelled, skipping back a step and reaching with my left hand to hold the door closed. I kept my eyes on Greer, even as I locked my grip on the twisting door knob.
“No fears, Ian Moore, I will not harm nor allow harm to come to your child. But that will not be easy,” he said. The door started to pull open and I exerted myself, slamming it back shut, twisting around to glare at Ashley. She let go with an angry look and I spun back to check on Greer. He was gone, completely. A really, really fast individual could possibly have made the trees or the corner of the barn in the short time I had looked away. Possibly, but the implications of that kind of speed were chilling.
Chapter 6
Ashley had that sullen glare thing going, the one teenagers get when they feel they’ve been wronged. I love Ashley with all my heart, but at that moment I didn’t like her very much.
“When. I. Tell. You. To. Get . Away. You do it! Understand?”
“Who was that man? Why did you point great Grandpa’s gun at him?” she sputtered, attempting to control the moment.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” I shouted. Rarely is my voice raised to my daughter, but there are times.
Both girls jumped. Lindsey looked stricken, like she would rather be anywhere then here. Ashley was still glaring but it had slipped a little, as if just maybe she had begun to realize how serious I was.
“Yes,” she said finally.
“I don’t know who that man is, but he’s dangerous! If you see me with a gun pointing in someone’s direction that should be your clue that they’re trouble,” I said.
“Grandpa says never point a gun at anyone or anything unless you are ready to kill them!” Ashley said, her tone petulant.
“Grandpa is exactly right!” I said. It took a second for her to realize my meaning. Her tan face went white.
“But who is he? He wouldn’t hurt anyone or at least he doesn’t look like he would,” she said in a rush. Something in her voice gave me pause and I replayed Greer’s image in my mind’s eye. Tall, lean, dressed in black, exotic hair, exotic coloring and vivid ice blue eyes. Crap!
“Girls, you need to listen to me. You cannot judge someone’s intentions or ability to harm based on how they look! Most serial killers are attractive, well mannered people right up until they hit you in the head, duct tape you and toss you in their van.”
Both sets of eyes were wide, both heads nodded, but deep inside a part of me was quailing at the thought of them meeting Greer without me present.
“His name is Greer, I don’t know what he wants, but he is very, very dangerous. You are not to talk to him, never go near him and never open the door for him. I don’t care how good he looks or how smoothly he talks to you. Got it?”
They both nodded again.
“Listen, he’s gone, so why don’t we put on a movie or something and get settled in for the night. Okay?”
“Alright Mr. Moore.” “ Kay, Dad.”
I turned on the tv and handed Lindsey the remote, then headed into the kitchen to make popcorn, while I thought through the last ten minutes of my life.
It took two bags of microwave popcorn to get things lined up in my head to the point where I could start to organize them. When I did, I had a list of thoughts to process.
One, I had witnessed Greer fighting with a pack(?) of vicious green apes that he said were goblins (t’oorcs).
Two, he had fought insanely well with a weapon I couldn’t begin to identify.
Three, the green goblins melted into goo when killed and reacted to steel or iron like it was acid.
Four, he said he was from another world and entered this one to steal or supervise the stealing of children.
Five, he said he owed me a life debt.
Six, something small, fast and nasty was killing animals and birds around the farm.
Seven, my dear, departed grandfather had covered every window with steel mesh and loaded his shotgun with steel shot.
Eight, there were at least two factions to Greer’s world, one green (Summer), one white (Winter).
I picked up the bowls of popcorn, a bottle of orange soda, and three cups, taking them all into the living room, where the girls were playing some teen show that Ashley had DVR’ed the night before. I grabbed Ashley’s laptop and settled into the leather chair, taking note of Charm, who was snuggled on the couch between the girls. Then I opened the browser and Googled the word ‘elves’, pausing once to glance at gramp’s shotgun where I had leaned it near the door.
***
I was up early the next morning, dressed, armed and very thoughtful as I checked the household. My sleep had been spotty to non-existent so I started a steady intake of coffee to compensate. Everything looked secure, even outside, where the sun was starting to rise on a cold, clear November morning. Frost glittered on every surface.
My research hadn’t told me much, although folklore about the Fey as some called them was extensive. The Irish had names like sidhe, unseelie sidhe, and leprechauns, while Wikipedia told me that elves were Germanic and Norse in origin. Wights, goblins, hobgoblins, pixies, fairies, brownies, dwarves, trolls, ogres, gnomes, sprites, the list goes on and on.
Every nation on earth, every race of people have legends of little people and strange, almost magical folk. Legends that go back hundreds of years, maybe thousands.
Jittery and jumpy, I left the house, locking the door behind me and checking it twice. Then I headed to the old part of the barn where the horse stalls used to be. Still are, but they’ve been modified a bit. One of the two stalls is now my weight room, having enough room for my Olympic
set and a decent bench. The other, slightly larger space has a heavy bag suspended from the ceiling. I took off my jacket and tightened my belt. I wasn’t really dressed for a workout, but my baggy cargo pants and long sleeve tee shirt wouldn’t bind me or slow me down. Plus it’s not a bad idea to train as you are, wearing what you would possibly be wearing if a street fight, mugging or other scenario developed. I left the gun on my hip as I jump roped to warm up, slightly awkward in hiking boots. After a couple wind busting sets of rope, I slipped the bag gloves on and went to work. Pounding the heavy bag is about as therapeutic as forging. You slip into a rhythm, and your brain can run free while you work combinations and footwork. I immediately started to run through what I thought I knew.
Greer had implied distrust of the Green Court, but also that there was a tenuous working relationship.
White guarded the gateways (?) which implied one was near; while Green hunted for gifted children. Gifted how? Intelligence, athletic ability, artistic? But he had also mentioned talent and gifted in relation to those of his people that could cross to this world. So talented might imply something else.
I had read enough fiction in my youth and have seen enough bad science fiction movies to make a guess about what ‘talented’ might imply.
“You move well,”
I jumped one foot up and three back, struggling to get my right hand glove off and my gun out. Greer was leaning against a post about fifteen feet away, arms crossed, with an interested glitter in his frosty eyes. He grinned at my awkward spaz attack, holding both hands up to indicate no ill intent.
I got my hand on my Sig, but stopped, as he obviously could have killed me while I wasn’t looking.