Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free

by Randy Henderson

  “Ware, brightblood,” Zenith said, her tone dangerous.

  “I’m just speaking truth here,” Minerva replied, and looked at Petey. “Dig. She told you right out you wouldn’t be welcome among the Silver. Yet she dangles your woman there like a fat bloody steak over a trap, trying to tempt you to throw away real happiness and freedom for a mongrel’s life of bitterness and regret, and makes you actually beg for the privilege.”

  Vee’s face grew red. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means if Pete goes with you to the Silver he’d be treated with suspicion if he’s lucky, or like some feral dog if he ain’t, and he’d never truly feel part of that clan anyways. With the Shadows, he’d be free to follow his wolf nature, be among his own kind, know the joys of running and hunting and … bonding with the pack.”

  Pete shook his head. “I don’t want to let the wolf out.”

  Vee nodded, putting her hand on his arm. “And I wouldn’t be any more welcome with the Shadows than you say Pete would be with the Silver. Or safe.”

  “Maybe,” Minerva said. “And that’s why you should each go your own ways now.”

  “Excuse me?” Vee said.

  “No!” Pete said at the same time.

  “That’s your offer?” I asked. “You’re not exactly making it tempting.”

  Minerva shrugged. “I’m just speaking the truth, even when it ain’t pretty, which is what you’ll always get from the Shadows. You both say you want the other to be happy. Well, you’d each be happier with different patrons. If you pledge together, then one of you will be placing your own happiness over the other’s, while one of you will be sacrificing their happiness. You really think that’ll lead to a long and happy relationship?”

  “I’ll be happy so long as I am with Petey, period,” Vee replied.

  “Seriously?” Minerva asked. “How long would you really be happy seeing Pete all miserable if you both go Silver? Or how long you think before you get all bitter and resentful about sacrificing your happiness if you both pledge the Shadows? Better to end it now. You have no children, no bond of marriage or even of years between you.” She shrugged. “But should you be determined to stay together, the Shadows will of course welcome you both. Pete, you would be honored for your strength. And I’m sure we could find some arrangement for the squirrel-bright to keep her … safe.”

  Pete and Vee looked at each other, their expressions troubled.

  *She’s right. They’re both right,* Alynon said, and his voice sounded strange. *Most waerwolves declare for the Forest of Shadows. Pete is not likely to be welcomed with open arms by the Silver.*

  So what does that mean? I asked.

  Alynon was silent for several seconds, then said, *It means I will help you as I may, where their fate is concerned at the least.*

  I blinked in surprise. I refrained from asking what made him suddenly willing to help. I didn’t want to jinx it.

  How? I asked instead.

  *I will put in a good word for Pete with the Silver Court,* Alynon said. *For whatever that is worth. And help as I may otherwise.*

  I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what swearing loyalty to a Demesne actually means? What do the Fey really get out of it? How do you enforce loyalty?

  *That I may not do, no,* Alynon responded.

  I sighed. As much as we were stuck together, Alynon remained a Fey in the end, with Fey interests first and foremost in whatever passed for his heart.

  “Well,” enforcer Vincent said when it became clear Minerva had finished. “There you have it. And now, Mr. Gramaraye and Miss Wodenson, you may make your case to either of the representatives here as to why you feel they should accept you, or you may ask questions of any of us.”

  Pete and Vee both glanced at me. Vee cleared her throat. “I think we just need some time to think about it all. We—” She paused, and looked at the empty seat beside her for a second. She was, I knew, listening to Sarah, her Fey squirrel spirit. Or an imaginary projection of Sarah, nobody really knew for sure. She said in a low voice, “Why? We don’t need—” She shook her head. “Fine.” She looked across the table again with an embarrassed expression, and said, “I’m sorry, Sarah really wants to know if we would have easy access to peanut brittle?”

  A frown passed across Zenith’s face, and a smirk across Minerva’s.

  Enforcer Vincent sighed. “I’ll answer this to save time. Every Demesne has feybloods who live as wild, or as close to civilization, as their desire and nature allows. As you clearly have no problem blending in and dealing with the human world, and the ARC would not consider you an exposure or safety threat, I’m sure you would be allowed to live in whatever housing they maintain within town limits, and would have access to all of the amenities you are used to.”

  Sure, and prisoners have free food and television and recreation yards. Doesn’t make prison a resort spa or mean the prisoners had freedom. And I noticed he didn’t look at Pete when he said that, regardless.

  Both Zenith and Minerva nodded agreement with Vincent’s assurance.

  “Okay,” I said, standing up. “Well, thank you all for coming, it’s been lovely. Now if you’ll excuse us, Pete and Vee have a lot to think about.”

  Enforcer Vincent ignored me again and looked between Pete and Vee. “Do you have any further questions or arguments for the representatives?”

  “No,” Pete said, and Vee shook her head.

  “Very well.” Vincent stood, and everyone joined him with the sound of several chairs scooting back across the wood floor. “It is just short of ten a.m. now. You have until Tuesday at ten a.m., three days from now, to make your decision. Should you fail to declare loyalty to a Fey Demesne at that time, you will be classified as rogue feybloods by the ARC.”

  Nobody said anything in response. Vincent pulled a stack of envelopes out of his briefcase, which I assumed were the offers from the other Demesnes, and tossed them onto the table. Then I led him and the representatives back to the front door, leaving Pete and Vee holding each other, their heads leaning together.

  Vincent exited last, and as he stepped out onto the porch he paused and turned back to me. “Look, arcana to arcana, of course this sucks for all involved, but in the end the Laws exist for good reasons. Do what you can to encourage them to declare loyalty to a Demesne. I’ve seen what happens to most rogue feybloods, and trust me, whatever they think of feyblood clan life, it’s better than the alternative.”

  “They’re doing just fine here,” I said. “Maybe you’re just not used to feybloods having supportive families.”

  Vincent shook his head. “Whether pledged or rogue, their arcana gifts will be blocked, and their memories of training in those gifts removed. If they stay here, what purpose will they have? What kind of life? They will not be arcana, and they will be feybloods unable to express their feyblood natures. Let them go, Gramaraye, for everyone’s sake.”

  *He has a point.*

  Not now. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

  “Uh huh. And one more thing. I agree that they should think about splitting up, declaring for separate Demesnes. It will be better for them in the end. Especially her.”

  “What the frak does—”

  Vincent turned and followed after the feybloods to a minivan parked on the road.

  *I don’t think he likes waerwolves.*

  You think? I responded. I shut the door, and returned to the dining room.

  Pete and Vee still sat holding each other, his round baby face pressed into her white-blond hair. Mattie stood behind them now, a worried look on her face.

  “Hey guys,” I said. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll talk to Reggie, and—”

  “Thanks, brother,” Pete said, looking up. “But I think we need some time to think about stuff. And aren’t you supposed to be helping that sasquatch?”

  “You two are more important than finding Sal a girlfriend,” I replied.

  “Pete’s right,” Vee said. “There’s nothing you ca
n do here right now. You shouldn’t pass up this chance to finally get your business going. We’ll be okay.”

  I sighed, and glanced at my watch. Ten minutes to ten. “Okay. I can call Reggie on the way to Elwha, see what he can do. In fact, do you guys want to come along? Sal said there was a Silver Court steading in the area. It might help you make a decision one way or the other.”

  “No, thanks,” Vee said. “We’ve visited several steadings already.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised. “Oh. Well, uh, if you guys need anything—”

  “Thank you,” Pete and Vee both replied.

  I nodded, then headed upstairs to where most of the bedrooms were. I needed to change into my Woodland Adventure Finn outfit.

  The hairs on my arm stood up, and I felt a familiar tingling between my eyes, resonating from down the hall.

  A spirit was being summoned in Mort’s bedroom.

  4

  Wanted Dead or Alive

  I tried the doorknob to Mort’s bedroom, but it was locked.

  “Mort!” I pounded on his door. “What’s going on?”

  I heard a muffled curse, and then Mort replied, “I’m busy. What do you want?”

  “I wanted to talk for a minute. Did you—are you summoning in there?”

  Silence.

  Then, “No. What do you need?” His voice sounded scratchy, and he began coughing.

  I knew what I’d felt. There had been a disembodied spirit in Mort’s room, and given recent events, I didn’t trust it was a random haunting or visitation. Either Mort had summoned the spirit, or someone had summoned it and sent it to Mort, possibly to possess him.

  I tried the knob again. “This is stupid. Open the door so we can talk.”

  “Piss off. Go play with your girlfriend or something.”

  Well, that sounded like Mort. Which meant he probably wasn’t possessed, at least. Just a dickhead.

  “Mort, open this door or I’m going to break it in.”

  “Who died and made you Merlin of the world?”

  “Who died and made you a douche? Gods, dude, I’m just trying to help.”

  “Well, if I need help, I wouldn’t ask the guy who doesn’t even know what Wi-Fi is,” he replied.

  “You know what? Screw it. You’re clearly not possessed, or being attacked, so have fun playing necromancer with yourself. And don’t come to me if you need someone to shave your palms.”

  I strode off. Mattie would be disappointed, but there was only so much I could do when it came to Mort. If anything strange started happening outside of his room, I’d do something about it. But I didn’t have time right now to deal with Mort being stupid on his own time and energy.

  I changed into the steel-toed boots, Carhartt pants, and leather jacket I’d bought before our assault on the EMP sanctum a few months ago—the closest thing I had to armor—then stopped down in the basement. I retrieved a couple of items from the padlocked case near the stairs: a hex amulet to protect against witch curses, a pair of specially coated women’s sunglasses to protect against stone gazes, and then grabbed Zeke’s silver-coated steel baton, which Dawn had returned to the safe.

  I reluctantly left the revolver behind again. The Pax forbade civilian arcana to use guns outside of home defense. There were exceptions, of course, especially for enforcers or their assistants, but one of those exceptions was not, unfortunately, simply going into feyblood territory. In fact, guns were doubly restricted there to protect feybloods against poaching or hunting. But those same rules forbade feybloods from having firearms at all, so it was to everyone’s benefit they not be given the excuse for an arms escalation.

  Besides, sasquatches could smell gun oil a mile away, and I didn’t want to spook Sal’s love before we got close enough for them to meet.

  I loaded the Kin Finder into the back of the hearse and headed out.

  I turned onto Washington Street and stopped to let a family of deer cross the road. The waterfront of Port Townsend spread out below me and to the left, where a steady stream of people moved along the row of brick and stone buildings. Tourist season was in full swing, people attracted by the artsy small-town charm, countless Victorian buildings, and wooden boat culture. I still wasn’t used to how much the town had become focused on the tourists. Gone were the days of community barter and families gathering at the tavern every evening.

  Even the arcana families seemed more worried about their property taxes or running small businesses than improving the world through magic; they ordered their magic supplies online and interacted more through cell phones and the Internet than meeting in local moots or forming circles. They barely celebrated the Wheel of the Year, where once we could count on large house or beach parties at least four times a year.

  I’d certainly wanted to get out of necromancy and chase my own mundy dream once, and so I found my own reaction to all the changes even more confusing.

  Maybe it was just that I didn’t really have anyplace else to call home. And if Pete and Vee were taken away, it would feel even less like home.

  As if reading my private thoughts, Alynon said, *You must face that your brother is no longer arcana. Sooner or later, he shall need help related to his waer spirit, the kind of help you cannot give.*

  I turned on the radio rather than respond. It was set to the “oldies” station. Before my exile, the oldies station played classics from the ’50s and ’60s. Now, it played the music of the 70s, 80s, and even 90s, music I’d grown up with, the music that defined my teen years and music that would have defined my early adulthood if I’d been around to hear it. I tried not to think about that too deeply, and changed to an empty station. I pushed play on the iPod that Dawn had given me.

  “Love Shack” by the B-52’s started playing over the radio.

  “Seriously,” I said. “How amazing is this thing? There’s, like, hundreds of albums worth of music in here!”

  *Yeah, amazing,* Alynon replied in a less-than-amazed tone. *A few clever thaumaturges have begun moving human experience from physical objects into a virtual cloud, where experiences are only given form when manifested through choice and action and a bit of power. Hmmm, I wonder where they got that idea from? I mean, it’s not like there’s an entire Other Realm that works something like that?*

  “Whatever,” I said. “At least I don’t have to keep a pencil around to rewind the cassette every time it tangles.” Our hearse’s cassette player had eaten tapes with the enthusiasm of Slimer in a hot dog factory.

  *Indeed. And soon, your infomancers will have control over everything you own and are.*

  “Paranoid much?” I asked.

  *Clueless, much?* Alynon responded.

  “At least I have an excuse,” I replied, and turned up the music.

  I had twenty-five years of history and pop culture to catch up on, everything that happened between my exile in 1986 and 2011 when I returned. At Dawn’s suggestion, and with her help, I was doing it chronologically. We’d started at 1987, the year after my exile, and each month we moved to the next year. We watched movies and television shows of the time, and highlights of the year on YouTube. And she made me playlists of all the best, or at least most popular, music from that year.

  Dawn promised it would get better around 1991, but that was a whole two months away.

  Not that I wasn’t already exposed to stuff from later years here and there of course. And wild horses couldn’t have kept me from watching Lord of the Rings. But despite wonders like hand-held computers and the Internet, the world itself hadn’t really changed much. The Russians had never invaded or started World War III, no doubt daunted by the prospect of facing Rambo and the insurgent Wolverines. We weren’t driving fusion-powered hover cars or teleporting, thanks, in Dawn’s opinion, to oil corporations; and we weren’t able to transport into virtual computer worlds, or create computer-generated lovers by wearing bras on our heads and hacking NORAD Satcom (which was actually a good thing, probably).

  So taking time to truly grok eac
h year seemed like a decent plan, especially if I wanted to be able to talk as if I’d been there, and really understand pop-cultural jokes. Which, when hanging around people like Dawn’s friends, seemed an important skill to have.

  * * *

  It took an hour and a half to drive from Port Townsend to Port Angeles along the northeastern edge of the Olympic National Forest, and from there up into the Elwha River campground. Early summer sunshine glistened off the melting snowpack of the Olympic mountains, and a light breeze caused the spruce and cedar trees to sway gently.

  I parked and made my way along a hiking trail to the viewpoint for the Elwha Dam, a small hydroelectric structure of concrete and great steel tunnels that spanned a choke point in the narrow river ravine and filled the air with a deafening whirring sound.

  I left the main hiking trail, and made my way up to a hidden path that paralleled the river.

  Sal stepped out from behind a giant cedar tree, his red-brown fur matching the color of the tree’s bark, his head brushing against branches I would have to stretch to touch. “Youself late, Finn-mage.”

  “Sorry, Sal. I had a bit of ARC trouble. Ready to go find your soul mate?”

  “Iself ready to try.”

  “Cowabunga!” I held up the map and compared it against what I could see of the river’s path. “It looks like we should find your true love about two bends up the river.”

  Sal nodded. “That is near Silver steading.”

  “Okay then. Shall we?”

  I put on the saucer-sized women’s sunglasses of Protection Against Stonegaze, despite the −5 hit to my Charisma, and we hiked upriver, leaving the man-made trails and the whirring of the dam behind. I followed Sal, who better knew how to find those feyblood trails invisible to the untrained or, in some cases, unmagical eye. Whenever our path brought us close to the river’s edge, my stomach began to churn, my knees felt a little wobbly, and I walked as far from the water’s edge as possible. Ever since I’d drowned while escaping my grandfather’s underwater super-villain lair, I’d had difficulty with large bodies of water, or the thought of being submerged.