by Dixie Lyle
“Okay. Let’s just take it a little slower to start, all right? You can kick in the afterburners once I’m used to it.”
We headed down again—down being a relative term in the absence of gravity, of course—at a more leisurely pace. This time, I did much better.
But I was a little worried now for a different reason. I thought I understood what Ben had been trying to articulate.
He’d forgotten, just for a second, what it was like to be human.
Because he wasn’t, not really. He was a supernatural being, descended from a race of supernatural beings, able to travel between dimensions and control the weather. He might look like a homegrown farm boy, but there was something deeply different in his very essence, something usually hidden from the rest of the world.
But not here. Here, his true nature was free to come out.
I glanced over at him. His face was intent, his gaze steady. Like a hawk, focused on his prey. Both his arms were outstretched as if they were wings, his left hand holding mine and his right palm-down and flat, the fingers spread as wide as they could go. They reminded me of a crow’s wingtip feathers in flight.
I think our speed gradually increased, but it was hard to tell. The clouds streaming past weren’t much use as a guide, and Ben was doing something to the atmosphere around us to make it easier to breathe; I could see it sometimes as we shot through the mist, a bubble of still air enveloping us.
When our destination finally appeared, my first thought was of a circular, ruined castle, seen from above: the craggy rocks and angular branches suggested broken turrets and ramparts overgrown with redwoods and oaks over a hundred centuries. As we got closer, though, it resolved into more of a globe shape, and the contours of the imaginary castle broke up into a random maze of stone and timber—but the impression of something ancient and abandoned remained.
We slowed, then changed direction to glide above the treetops fifty or so feet away. “Where to now?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. But this feels familiar, somehow. I think…”
We veered off to the left. The terrain below, if you could call it that, all looked the same to me.
“Yes,” Ben muttered. “This way.”
I wondered exactly what was going on. Ancestral memories, coded into supernatural DNA? Guiding magic, emanating from the trees and rocks themselves? Or some kind of signal only Thunderbirds could hear?
Whatever it was, Ben seemed to know exactly where he was headed. “We’re going in,” he announced, and then we were swooping into the tangle of stone and branches.
It cooled off as soon as we were through the canopy. We dove past cliffs of granite dappled with sunlight from above, through deepening shadows and rustling reefs of leaf, the air heavy with the smell of pine and moss. Other than the leaves, the air was silent; no birds sang, no insects buzzed or chirped.
As we flew deeper and deeper, I started to see a kind of path before us, an irregular passageway without rock or branch. Nothing had been cleared away, not that I could tell—it was more like a natural feature, an invisible riverbed in the air. We followed it down to the heart of the floating forest, and though it got dimmer, the light never faded completely away; when I looked upward, I could always still see a flicker of sunlight far, far above, as if every leaf between here and there were cooperating to usher a tiny bit of illumination along with us.
Magical. In every sense of the word.
We must have flown for miles. But at last Ben said, “Here,” and we touched down on the mossy surface of an immense branch.
Before us was a vast, spherical space. If you’ve ever been in a forest of really, really big trees, you know how it feels to stand at the foot of one of them and look up; it’s like being in a living cathedral, a tiny living speck next to ancient, silent giants. This was like that, but times a thousand: immense trunks radiated like spokes in every direction, their roots gripping boulders at their bases like huge gnarled hands, the rocks forming the inner boundary of the sphere. A loose network of crooked, thinner roots joined the rocks together, but there were plenty of gaps wide enough to fly through.
It should have been dark as a tomb, this far from the sun, but I could see just fine; it was shadowy and dim, but not gloomy. And very, very still.
“Welcome to the Aerie,” a familiar voice said.
Teresa Firstcharger stepped out from behind a craggy outcropping. She stood on a boulder on the other side of the empty space, now dressed in loose denim shorts and a bright red T-shirt with a winged logo on it. Her long black hair hung free and her feet were bare.
Ben stared at her with the same kind of intensity he’d shown while flying. It was a little unnerving, so I said, “Nice place. Very … airy.”
She smiled. She had the kind of full, red lips people stab their mouths with bee venom for. “Hello, Ben. I see you brought a plus one. What, you were afraid to come on your own? Or did she insist?”
Ben didn’t take the bait. “You called this place the Aerie. What is it?”
“If we’re going to talk, let’s not shout at each other across an empty divide. Shall we meet in the middle?” She stepped out into space as elegantly as a diva onto a red carpet, holding her arms as if offering a hug, and glided to the center of the sphere.
Ben stayed where he was. “I’m fine where I am, thanks. Great acoustics in here—wherever here is. Are you going to answer my question, or do I have to ask it again?”
I thought she might come closer, but she stayed where she was, her toes pointed downward, her arms moving slightly like she was treading water. “Oh, you know exactly where you are. This is the Aerie, the meeting place of the Thunderbirds. Where those who soar alone come to meet and talk, to share news and pass along messages. And sometimes, to discuss more important things.”
“Like the Unktehila,” I said. I was pretty sure Firstcharger would completely ignore me if I let her, but ignoring me is a skill set most people never acquire. “You said you wanted us here to tell us about them. So tell.”
“You’re not the one setting the agenda here, Foxtrot,” she said. “This is a discussion between Thunderbirds, which you definitely are not. Unless you have something significant to add to the conversation, you’d be better off listening than talking.”
I smiled. My condescension shields are top-notch, too. “Oh, I have information you’ll be interested in. When you’re done sharing yours, I might even tell you some of it.”
We smiled at each other for a second. No teeth were bared, but we both knew they were there—though in Teresa’s case, a razor-sharp beak seemed more appropriate.
“The Unktehila,” she said. “The ancient enemies of not just the Thunderbirds, but everything that lived. Like us, they were shape-changers; unlike us, they preferred the water to the air, and scales to feathers. They lived in the deep ocean, and ate just about anything that moved. But a seafood diet wasn’t enough for them. They moved onto dry land, growing legs when they had to. But mostly they stuck with a serpentine form, good for moving through just about any environment. And swallowing buffalo whole.”
Ben glanced at me. “Sounds like some pretty big snakes.”
“Big and hungry,” Teresa said. “An invasive species with no natural enemies, leading to ecological disaster. They ate all the game and then moved on to eating the people. Which is when the sea serpents discovered that snakes on dry land do have a natural enemy: us.”
“So there was a war? We intervened on the side of humanity?”
She shrugged, an elegant gesture that seemed to ripple through her entire suspended body and was more than a little sexual. I’ve always hated women who defy gravity, unless they happen to be Sandra Bullock. Teresa wasn’t.
“We intervened—exactly who asked us for help is a little unclear. And we were successful. We blasted them with lightning, and when they tried to hide in rivers or lakes we boiled them alive. Water makes an excellent conductor—or so I’ve been told.” She stared straight at Ben.
Ben
stared back, his face impassive. “We both know Anna didn’t die by electrocution. But she did die in water—are you trying to say the Unktehila are responsible?”
“They have good reason to hate us,” Teresa answered. “After we drove them back to the sea, they hid and plotted. As I said, they’re shape-shifters—but they’re not limited the way we are. One of their forms is a horned serpent with a glowing crystal in its forehead, and that form has powerful psychic abilities—specifically, it sends out a kind of mental lure, one that attracts its prey.”
“Like a deep-sea anglerfish,” I said. “Sounds like they picked up a few tricks in the depths.”
“Well, they taught themselves a few more,” she said. “They learned how to do more than just send out a Come here I’m a friend signal. They fine-tuned the ability down to just I’m a friend. And then they worked on mimicking the human form. Some of their efforts have become legendary.”
“Mermaids?” I said.
“And sirens. Practicing their trust-me mojo until they got it just right. Mind-control so subtle that the one being manipulated doesn’t even realize it. Perfect for infiltration and sabotage.”
Ben took a step closer to the edge of the branch. “And then what?” he asked. I could see from his body language that he wanted to launch himself off it and into space.
Teresa tucked her legs up, crossing them beneath her as casually as I’d cross my arms. Crimson nail polish gleamed on her toes. “That part of the story is less clear. They started by spreading rumors about the Thunderbirds among the animals. They insinuated that we favored certain animals over others, that we looked down on those who couldn’t fly. That some of the messages we passed from one animal deity to another were delivered more slowly, or even altered. The Unktehila’s abilities lent the rumors weight, made people believe them. When the Unktehila used their shape-changing and persuasive powers to create a full-blown incident, the supernatural community was ready to lay blame at our doorstep. Which was right here.”
“Hold on,” I said. “That’s awfully vague. What exactly was this incident? Who was involved? What were the Thunderbirds accused of?”
She gave me an indulgent smile. “Oh, Foxtrot. So mired in the details of your busy little mortal life. This is the stuff of myth, of legend. It happened a very long time ago, and the story has been passed down through an oral tradition. That means that extraneous details change: dates, names, even events. But the central essence of the story, the truth at its heart, that remains pure. And the truth at the heart of this story is that we were betrayed—betrayed by evil—and were forced to hide ourselves among humankind to survive.”
I stared at her. She was very, very good. In one concise statement she’d relegated me to the status of a lower being, blithely dismissed little things like facts as irrelevant cultural artifacts, and cast both herself and my boyfriend as romantic refugees who needed to stick together in the fight against Evil. Wow.
“Let’s assume you’re telling the truth,” Ben said. “Thunderbirds went into hiding because of the Unktehila. But according to you, that all happened a long time ago. Why are we being targeted now? What changed?”
“We did. After many generations of remaining hidden, the Thunderbirds are returning to the world. Our true selves are reasserting themselves. Our heritage—our legacy—is coming alive once more. Look around you!”
Suddenly she was in motion, her legs straight and her arms outstretched, soaring and swooping through the air. “This is our ancestral home!” she shouted as she flew. She was skimming the inner surface of the sphere, like a marble rolling around inside a glass globe. “It’s been waiting for us all this time, a deserted castle longing for its owners. And that’s us!”
I glanced over at Ben. He was practically twitching with the urge to leap out there and join her.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Your ancient enemies, who can apparently look like anything and control people’s minds, are out for blood once more. Now’s the perfect time to stage a big, public comeback. Your entire race must have decided to abandon their most prized stronghold on a whim—and even if this place is a target, there are two of you. More than enough to defend this entire, massive structure.”
Ben frowned at me. “Can we have a little less sarcasm, please?” he said softly. “We came here for answers, not to argue.”
I shook my head. “And so far, we haven’t gotten any. All she’s done is rehash what she already told me. We need some hard facts, not—not legends.”
It was the wrong thing to say. I could see the frustration in his face before he turned away from me. “Well, that’s the problem, Foxtrot. People like us, we don’t have the luxury of history. We have myths and stories and yes, legends. I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s what I’ve got. And I have to learn as much as I can.”
He looked back and said, “I’m sorry.”
And then he leapt into the air. “Teresa!” he called out. “Hang on!”
She grinned, more at me than at him, and dove into the tangle of branches. He followed her, as she knew he would.
I sighed, and sank down on the mossy branch to wait. My boyfriend had just flown away with another woman, who might be luring him to his death. Leaving me stranded in the middle of an other-dimensional floating forest. Without the power of flight, or even cab fare.
I scowled. If she didn’t kill him, I might.
* * *
They were gone just long enough for me to start worrying about whether or not Ben was coming back, which was exactly what Teresa Firstcharger wanted me to worry about. When he did return, he was alone, and not looking nearly sorry enough.
“Well,” I said. “Did you get what you wanted?”
He studied me for a second before he answered. Trying to figure out just how angry I was, I suppose. “Not really, no. Mainly, she wanted to play hide-and-seek. I spent most of my time chasing her, and when I finally caught her she was more interested in flirting than talking. That’s when I left.”
“I can’t believe you flew off and left me here. What if this was all a trap?”
“Then I guess I did something stupid. But I told you, I had to follow my instincts.”
“Had to follow her, you mean.”
“Nothing happened. Don’t you trust me?”
“You didn’t give me a choice! You flew off without even discussing it!”
I knew that look on his face. It was his stubborn, I-don’t-give-a-damn look. “I didn’t have time for an argument. I just wanted to talk to her.”
“Without me around, you mean.”
“Well, you weren’t exactly helping!”
“What, you mean by using logic and reason instead of my instincts?”
He threw his hands wide in exasperation. “What, exactly, about any of this seems logical or reasonable? We’re in another dimension, in the middle of a big floating ball of trees and rocks!”
He had a point, but I was too angry to care. “A big floating ball of trees and rocks that you abandoned me in. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go home.”
“Fine.” He thrust his hand out at me and I took it.
I didn’t think it was possible to fly hand-in-hand with your lover through a beautiful, sun-dappled forest and be angry, but I was. In fact, all the beauty around me just made it worse, like I didn’t have the right to be angry in a magical place like this.
But I was. I was angry at him for leaving me, and angry at myself for not trusting him, and really, really angry at Teresa Firstcharger. For, you know, being young and gorgeous and superpowered and not me.
We flew out of the woods and straight into a whirlwind, which scared me until I realized Ben had summoned it before we got there. We slowed to a hover in the middle of it, stray leaves from the forest below tumbling around us, and then we were back in the graveyard on solid ground.
He tried to hold on to my hand, but I pulled it away. “Foxtrot, please.”
“Please what? Do you have any idea what could
have happened in there when you flew off? We’d just been told that big, scary, shape-changing monsters with a taste for human flesh are targeting us. What if one of them had shown up?”
I hate being powerless, and I’m not crazy about thoughtless boyfriends, either. Ben picked that moment to say just about the worst thing he could have: “The Aerie is safe—the Unktehila can’t come there. Teresa told me that much.”
I glared at him. “Fine. Tell you what—since I wasn’t there, why don’t you write down all the nuggets of wisdom she imparted to you in a nice, thick book. I’m sure your instincts will tell you what to do with it when you’re finished.”
And then I turned and stomped away. I’m not really much of a stomper, but I put some effort into it. I stomped right through a stream of gold and white ghostly guinea pigs, and they scattered like I’d kicked them. Ghosts are sensitive to extremes of emotion.
I stopped at the gate connecting the graveyard to the mansion’s grounds and used the Crossroads’ psychic-amplifying effects to braincast a message to both Whiskey and Tango: Meet me by my car. Then I left the graveyard and walked up to the house. By the time I got there I had myself under control, and the stomping had turned into striding. Self and control were two of my middle names.
Then I pulled out my phone. I called ZZ.
And I took the rest of the day off.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I am not a quitter. I do not quit.
I do, however, sometimes need a break. And while I normally schedule those in five-minute increments—of which four may be spent crying—sometimes I require a little longer.
Which is not to say I just walk away from a job undone. In fact, I made six more phone calls immediately after I talked to ZZ, making sure I wasn’t leaving anyone in the lurch. No lurch-leaving, that’s always the rule.
I wished a certain reckless cook felt the same way.
You can’t always burn the candle at both ends. Juggling all my normal duties plus taking care of the graveyard was a lot, but throw in a hidden, mind-controlling people-eating monster? I needed to regroup.