Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free

by Randy Henderson

  The steading’s main building was like a giant dorm or barracks house, room after room with basic amenities. The air smelled of animal sweat, blood, and dirty socks. Chore charts, house rules, and curfew times were posted, and it was clearly the job of a few of the more powerful brightbloods to keep the others in line. There was an uneasy tension in the air that felt like it went deeper than our presence. With so many Shadows brightbloods being predatory or violent in nature—ghouls, redcaps, waerwolves, trolls, lindworms, wendigos, unicorns—it was not surprising.

  We finished our sweep of the steading building without any luck. Many of the brightbloods were out roaming the woods or working whatever jobs they’d been permitted. The only thing we learned from the ones we met was our jorōgumo’s real name: Hiromi. And every feyblood we spoke to said the same thing, that Hiromi had never been around much, and she disappeared entirely several months ago.

  I also learned enough to confirm that I never wanted Pete or Vee to pledge to the Shadows.

  We walked back to the driveway, where Kaminari still jumped rope.

  “Thanks for coming, wizard boy,” Kaminari said. “Being hassled’s always a joy.”

  Reggie grunted. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back if I find out this is all somehow a Shadows game.”

  “Eat you later, alligator,” she replied, and stuck her tongue out at us.

  “Come on,” Reggie said, and we left. Reggie walked backward with his hand still on his baton until we were a safe distance from the jorōgumo, then turned to walk beside me.

  When we reached our vehicles, I noticed a piece of paper had been slipped beneath my wiper. I looked around, surprised, and pulled it out.

  “What’s that?” Reggie asked.

  “A note,” I replied, and showed it to him just in case anyone was listening. It asked us to go to the Japanese American Exclusion Memorial.

  Reggie frowned. “It could be a trap, or a game. Or could be someone doesn’t want little Miss Rhymes back there to find out they spoke to us.”

  “Are we going?” I asked.

  Reggie smiled. “Of course. Worse that happens is I get to vent a little on someone’s head.”

  * * *

  The Japanese American Exclusion Memorial sat nestled in the woods near the island’s original ferry dock, the spot where nearly three hundred local Japanese-American men, women, and children were forced from their homes and shipped off to internment camps by the U.S. Army to join thousands of others. Not one of the brightest moments in American history. Or arcana history for that matter—few had fought to protect their Japanese brethren; most were too afraid of exposing our world to the mundies, and just as susceptible to the fears and prejudices of the day.

  The entire area had been turned into a memorial park, with raised wooden pathways winding through the forest to the dock site, and a small mock village at its heart. Curved wooden walls above river stone bases displayed art that captured the memories and feelings of those who’d been imprisoned. Fear and regret had left their marks on the spiritual resonance of the land. The place felt no more haunted than most to my necromantic senses, but I knew that sorcerers with strong empathic ability avoided the area.

  Reggie and I moved cautiously along the wooden path, the slanted streamers of evening light casting the trees in stark profile.

  As we neared the final bend before the memorial village, something hissed at us from the trees.

  Reggie’s baton extended in a flash.

  “Don’t attack, arcana,” a voice whispered from the shadows, and two yellow eyes blinked. “I claim Pax truce.”

  Reggie lowered his baton. “Step forward. I won’t attack.”

  Ferns and huckleberry branches shifted, and a man stepped out beside the path, looking furtively around him and sniffing at the air. He was sturdily built, with a beer gut, a buzz-cut mohawk, and a goatee of copper-colored hair almost lost in the stubble surrounding it. He wore a Kingston Lumber T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and blue jeans covered in paint splatters. His feet were bare.

  “Who are you?” Reggie asked.

  The man replied, “Ned. I’m Hiromi’s boyfriend. She’s being set up.”

  “Yeah? By who?” Reggie asked.

  Ned leaned in and whispered, “I think the Bright Lords sent her on some kind of suicide mission.”

  “To do what?” Reggie asked.

  “I don’t know. She got a message from them, and next thing I know, she’s leaving the clan.”

  “Maybe your Archon kicked her out?” I suggested.

  *Never happen,* Alynon said. *Shadows don’t go free, they disappear.*

  “Never happen,” Ned echoed. “The Archon liked her. I know. He had her doing some kind of secret mission for the past two years, so she was hardly around. But these last orders, they came from the Bright Lords, not the Archon.”

  “What was her mission?” Reggie asked.

  Ned growled low in his throat. “Wouldn’t tell you if I knew, Enforcer.” He looked down, and flinched as if suddenly pained. “But she would come home smelling of sex sometimes, and human sweat, or cedar. When she didn’t come back this time, I worried maybe she’d left me for another woman, but then I heard she was in trouble, and realized it had something to do with that message.”

  “Another woman?” Reggie asked. “I pegged you for a waer, not a full shifter.”

  Ned shrugged, and I could tell this was a topic that had brought him discomfort in the past. “My wolf spirit and form is a she.” He looked up. “You should understand, Enforcer. I saw your show at Le Fey Faux once.”

  I looked at Reggie with raised eyebrows. “Show?” I asked.

  Reggie just shook his head.

  “Yeah,” Ned said. “He did a pretty good Tina.”

  “We’re not here to discuss me, or get chummy,” Reggie said. “Where is Hiromi now?”

  Ned looked around him again. “Well, to be honest, I kind of hoped she’d show up here. This is like sacred ground to her, she used to come here a lot to be alone and think and stuff. Her foster parents were taken away, left her and her sister alone when Hiromi was just a teen. She pretends it don’t bother her anymore, but, well—”

  Reggie lifted his baton, his eyes scanning the forest warily. “If she’s on a secret mission, she wouldn’t likely come back to someplace familiar.”

  “Don’t know,” Ned said, and waved at us, “I thought if she knew you guys was here, she might show. She wouldn’t be happy she finds out her enemies were tromping around this place.”

  I felt suddenly exposed on all sides. “You invited us here as bait?”

  Ned shrugged unapologetically. “That would be wrong,” he glanced sideways at Reggie, “and possibly illegal. I knew you were looking for her, and she was looking for you, and I thought I’d just help you all out. But it don’t matter. She didn’t come.”

  Reggie scanned the trees above us. “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yeah, I’d smell her. But you’re here, so I’m asking you to help her.”

  “Excuse me?” Reggie asked. “Why would we do that, exactly?”

  “Because you’re all about justice and protecting your precious ARC and all, and Hiromi can help you a lot, figure out what’s really going on before more folks get hurt.”

  “Gee, I never knew a Shadows feyblood to care if an arcana got hurt.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of us’d be fine with every one of you being corpses or changeling puppets. But me, I don’t want to lose Hiromi just to see that happen. If I lost Hiromi, well, that would suck the joy right out of my world, whether you were alive or dead.”

  “Aw,” Reggie said deadpan. “That’s so sweet.”

  Ned growled. “Don’t mock me, arcana. Your kind take enough from us, you have no right to mock what little good we have.” Ned’s fingernails grew half an inch and darkened at the tips.

  *He has a point,* Alynon said. *Several of them, in fact.*

  As if your kind treat them any better.

  *‘My ki
nd’? How rude. I’m one of a kind, don’t you know?*

  Uh huh.

  *But if we Aalbrights ruled this world, all brightbloods would benefit.*

  My level of discomfort jumped higher than a Super Mario Brother on the moon. It was bad enough to have another being inhabiting your head. But it was easier if I could just think of him as annoying and forget that a large portion of his race wanted to use us all like meat puppets at worst, or slaves at best. Alynon usually complained about his poor treatment at the hands of his Fey kin rather than speak as one of them.

  Reggie flicked his baton in Ned’s direction. “How about you put away the claws, and tell us how we might find your girlfriend?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t need you,” Ned said. “Hell, if I even thought she might return a year from now, I wouldn’t so much as talk to you. But I’m … scared she ain’t coming back from whatever the Bright Lords have her doing this time. If you do find her, don’t kill her, arcana. She’s just following orders.”

  “Everyone has a choice,” Reggie said. “But I won’t kill her unless forced to. Not because you ask, but because that is Pax law.”

  *And because sometimes a dead brightblood can’t be interrogated.*

  “Well, guess that’s about the best I could hope for from an arcana,” Ned said.

  “You ever try luring me into another trap, and that’s the least you can hope for,” Reggie said. “Now why don’t you just stay right there where I can see you until we’re gone.”

  Reggie waved me back, and we retreated back down the wooden walkway. Reggie didn’t put his baton away, even when we passed an elderly Japanese couple going in the opposite direction. They skirted nervously around us.

  “What next?” I asked as we walked.

  “Next, we find this jorōgumo and figure out what the hell the Shadows Fey are up to. I have a bad feeling about this whole thing.”

  “You have a bad feeling? I feel like John McClane being called to a disturbance at the Empire State Building on Christmas Eve.”

  “Well, prepare to feel worse. I’m afraid Ned had the right idea.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Like I said before, spider woman seems to have a thing for you. We can maybe use that to draw her out. The trick will be making sure she gets the message. And keeping you alive until then.”

  “Uh, I hope you plan on keeping me alive after then, too.”

  “Of course,” Reggie said.

  “So are you planning to call in some DFM reinforcements, then?” I asked hopefully.

  “I could,” Reggie said. “But you and I both know the risks.”

  “Frak. Right.” If whoever was behind all of this had ears inside the Department of Feyblood Management—guys like Cousar, and maybe Vincent—they might warn off Hiromi. Or ambush our ambush with their own reinforcements. I sighed.

  Reggie slapped my shoulder gently. “It’s your butt on the line. I’ll let you make the call.”

  “Yeah. Great.”

  *I vote against poking the angry jorōgumo with a stick. Just inform your ARC, that changeling Zenith, and the Silver Archon that Silene was set up, and I’m certain someone shall clear her.*

  You know better than I do how unlikely that is. And if whoever’s behind the jorōgumo sends her after me in the meantime to eliminate Silene’s one witness? Or after my family to make me back off?

  *You hole up at home behind your wards.*

  That’s not going to help Pete and Vee’s situation. And I can’t keep my entire family locked up at home for who knows how long. Better to go on the offensive, and take on the jorōgumo on my terms.

  *Sure thing, Rambo. I don’t suppose you’d reconsider exorcising me first?*

  Sorry. But if I’m going up against a jorōgumo, I’d kind of like to have my brain intact and working and all.

  *Why? That hasn’t stopped you before.*

  “All right,” I said. “I think I may know how to ‘leak’ word to Hiromi about where I’ll be. Here.” I stopped by the exit from the path to the parking lot, where two stone lanterns stood near the path like mini gray pagodas. I turned to the one on the left, and glanced around to make sure we were alone before saying, “Konbanwa, Burabura.”

  Two eyes blinked open on the lantern, beneath the shade of its hat-like top.

  “Konbanwa,” it responded.

  I had sensed the spiritual resonance in the lantern as we passed it. A burabura was a type of Tsukumogami, a race of objects that had come alive. Like the Port Townsend Post Office, the object had gained something of a ghostly resonance after years of attention by human owners, but unlike the post office, this object had then become a kind of simple brightblood, possessed by a sprite-like Fey spirit from the Other Realm who was too weak to bond with a true living being.

  Thankfully, it took at least a hundred years in most cases for an object to gain the kind of spiritual resonance that allowed possession, and modern societies rarely kept objects around for more than a decade or two at most. I didn’t even want to imagine gangs of animated New Kids on the Block action figures running rampant in the streets.

  “Can you get a message to the local gnomes?” I asked the lantern.

  “Hai.”

  “Excellent.” Tsukumogami tended to be helpful creatures, eager to feel useful. Except Bakezōri—living sandals—who usually just complained about being walked all over. I patted my pockets. “Uh, Reggie? Do you have a pen and some paper?”

  Reggie produced a small flip tablet and a pen.

  I wrote two messages, one for Sal and one to Silene, and an offer of payment for delivery.

  Contacting Silene would get the jorōgumo’s attention, I felt pretty certain. Hiromi had infiltrated Silene’s steading as Romey, and seemed to still be tied in to whatever was going on with Silene. And by getting Silene and the jorōgumo together in one place, I figured I’d get some straight answers from both of them about what the heck was going on, one way or another.

  As for Sal, well, much as I trusted Reggie to watch my back, I’d had enough adventures these past few months to know that things rarely went as expected, and it never hurt to have a friendly sasquatch around if things went south, or went any direction but home safe, for that matter.

  I requested that they both meet me out at Fort Worden at dawn the next day. That seemed as safe a place as any, at least any place the jorōgumo might show herself: neutral ground, with plenty of escape routes—or ambush spots.

  I carefully tipped the stone lantern back, causing it to giggle, and placed the notes underneath as I explained their contents to Reggie.

  “That should work,” Reggie said as we walked to our vehicles. “The trick will be to capture the jorōgumo alive.”

  “The trick will be not getting anyone killed in the process, especially me,” I replied.

  “Sure thing,” Reggie said, and grabbed his helmet off of the back of his hog.

  “So, Tina, huh?” I asked. “As in Tina Turner?”

  *La!* Alynon said. *He is clearly the type to start things easy, then finish rough.*

  “Let it drop, Gramaraye,” Reggie said, sliding the helmet on.

  “I’m just hurt you haven’t invited me to one of your shows, is all.”

  “I haven’t performed in years,” he replied, his voice slightly muffled. “It was a different time in my life.”

  “Because you wanted to be a private dancer?” I asked.

  “Because I just don’t wear the mail well anymore,” he said as he put his key in the ignition and flipped up the kickstand.

  “Oh!” I nodded approval. “So you were Thunderdome Tina.” Everyone made a big deal about Leia in her slave bikini, but I’d always thought Tina in her chain mail was the hotter, hands down.

  “Obviously,” Reggie said, “you don’t think I’d go up on stage in front of a bunch of feybloods and other strangers without armor, do you?” He pressed the ignition button, and the motorcycle roared to life. “See you at dawn,” he shouted. “Stay s
afe until then.”

  Reggie rode off.

  *Speaking of Dawn,* Alynon said. *If you want to stay safe, you won’t tell her you’re going to play bait for a deadly trap. I’m pretty sure she asked you exactly not to do something that stupid.*

  Oh. Shazbot.

  17

  It Takes Two

  It was just past nine and the sun fully set when I reached home. I entered through the side door, and made my way to the dining room.

  The entire family sat around the table, eating ice cream: Father, Mattie, Mort, Pete and Vee, and Dawn as well.

  And Barry “ear massage” McSchmoozy sat at the table next to Dawn. He grinned up at me with his perfect charming smile when I entered. “Hey, brah!”

  Pax Laws and necromancer ethics be damned. I reached out with my spirit senses to see just what, if anything, Barry was besides the mundy he appeared. I didn’t trust this pretty boy with his—

  “Hey!” Dawn said, and stood to give me a hug and kiss, breaking my concentration. I tasted sugary sweetness on her lips.

  There’s just some things that make life bearable, particularly after a really crappy day. Fresh baked cookies. A long hot shower while blasting your favorite music—well, when you aren’t terrified of water. And the embrace of someone who loves you. I let myself fall into that embrace, into the warmth of her kiss, and wished I could just stay there a while.

  “Get a room,” Mort said.

  *Yes, please!* Alynon added.

  I sighed through my nose, and then leaned my forehead for a second against Dawn’s.

  “Tell him your news!” Mattie said to Dawn as we stepped apart.

  “News?” I asked.

  Dawn shrugged, but I could tell it was more an embarrassed shrug than an indifferent one. “Sheila Weisman from V1lvur Records heard my last show, and messaged me. She wants to hear more.”

  “What? Oh my god, that’s awesome!” I said. “I mean, it is, right? Is V1lvur a good record company?”

  Barry patted Dawn’s back. “They’re great,” he said. “And obviously they know groovy music when they hear it.”