by August Li
Blossom acted like we were on our way to a garden party. Fucking faerie cunt. “So, these enemies of yours,” the fey said to Dante in a cheery voice, “how are we planning to kill them?”
“Fast,” Dante said.
“But that isn’t any fun! And the possibilities are so numerous. Why, once I went to war with one of my enemies. I defeated him and claimed his lands and estates. Then I made the walls of his own castle melt and swallow him and his people up to their necks. When I held balls in his former great hall, my guests and I would throw things at them: rocks, spears, lit candles, arrows…. Ah, those were the loveliest parties.”
Dante’s hands were white on the steering wheel. “That’s fucked-up, Blossom. It’s impressive, I guess, if you can really do things like that. Fuck, I feel like I’m in a nightmare. Like I’m going to wake up in the hospital and find out I got hit on the head. It would be a relief too. But, but if you can do that shit, does that mean you’ll have my back in there?”
He wouldn’t. I knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t give a fuck what happened to Dante or Ros. If the little girl died, he’d get what he wanted. I couldn’t let Dante walk into this mess thinking otherwise. “Make him swear to it, Dante. Make him make you a bargain. And be careful how you phrase it, mate.”
“Oh, Inky.” The faerie shook his shiny hair around, making the truck’s musty cab smell like fresh-cut grass. “I thought we were friends.”
“You thought wrong. I think you’re the worst cunt I’ve ever met. Now make the kid a deal. Promise him he’ll walk out of this alive. And Ros too.”
Blossom leaned forward, eyes glittering behind his squinted lids. I didn’t need my skills to see his desire, his avarice. He was nearly slobbering with it. “And what do I get in return?”
“Anything you want if my sister is safe,” Dante said without looking away from the road.
“Very well.” Blossom started to reach across me for the kid, but I caught his wrist and squeezed the lissome bones. He could turn me to stone or into a fucking toad or whatever, but I wasn’t going to let him do to Dante what he’d done to me.
“No. No way, you devious knobhead,” I said. “You fucking specify. You tell him that him and his sister will live to a ripe old age, and you tell him exactly what he’ll be giving in return.”
The faerie was flustered. There was even a stripe of pale pink across his marble-white face. “Maybe I’ll just forget the whole thing. It hardly matters to me.”
“Got your knickers in a twist ’cause I outsmarted you?” I pushed. I knew it was dangerous, making him mad, but I wanted him thinking about his pride above all else.
“You did not! I’m just not interested in playing this game. It’s an awful bore.”
“Please,” Dante said softly. “Just tell me what you want.”
Blossom lifted his chin. “Very well. I swear you and your sister will live a hundred years from this day so long as it is within my power to ensure it, and you will agree to go on a quest for me. This deal will be void if I am killed or incapacitated, of course.”
Yes! I wanted to shout and punch the air.
“What quest?” Dante asked.
“Well I don’t know!” Blossom spat. “I won’t know until one comes up, will I?”
“It’s all right,” Dante said. “I’ll do it. Do we have to shake or something?”
“No,” Blossom said. “The bargain is struck.”
I could finally gloat, and you bet your plump peachy arse I was going to. “Nice to know little Rosalind will have nothing to fear—even if she summoned you but is unable to dismiss you.”
I expected anger, but he just laughed. “Yes, and nice to know you can rut until the stars drop out of the sky to no avail, demon. Since your bargain involves me returning home.”
Blossom’s storm apparently hadn’t extended much beyond the city, because when we left it, the roads were clear, snow only a few inches deep beside them. I stared out at the woods, thinking. What would happen to me if I couldn’t feed? I didn’t think I would die; I’d just always be hungry, never sated, and that was scarier. I’d also never been crafty, never been one to play games like the one I’d just played. My mind didn’t lean toward tricks or manipulation. I certainly didn’t get off on outfoxing people, fucking them over with bendy words—at least I never had before. Fuck me, what if I was becoming what he desired? With no one else to influence me, I might be twisting to what he found appealing, and it was plain to see what he found appealing was himself. No. I didn’t want to be someone who amused himself by burying people in fucking walls and throwing things at them. I had to get away from this wanker, and fast. My only chance was to find the little girl and hope with everything I had that she could send him packing.
I SAT in my study, staring at my phone. I swore I had been talking to Dante Mayfield, but it felt like that had been days ago. I felt like I had when I’d been a much younger man and had too much to drink, waking up sometime later with no idea whether hours or days had passed. The first time it had happened, my brother had found our mother’s bottle of rum, and we’d finished it while watching Saturday Night Live in our tiny living room. But it had been over a decade since I’d had more than a few glasses of wine in the evening. The hangover wasn’t worth it at my age. A cup of espresso sat on the desk near my elbow, and when I picked it up and took a sip, it was still hot enough to burn my mouth. That meant I had made it recently, so I had probably spoken to Dante recently too. For some reason I couldn’t remember what we had discussed, and my memory was normally very good.
Dante had been so upset last night, collapsed in the snow outside his home. He’d sobbed against my chest, and I’d held him, the snow covering us. I’d promised him I would make everything all right, because I couldn’t stand watching his pain and fear tearing him apart. I wanted so much for that young man to be happy, to be safe…. I wanted to make sure no one would hurt him….
I pulled up my recent calls and saw that I’d spoken to Dante just over twenty minutes ago. I tried to call him back three times, but each time my call went to voicemail. That was unlike him. He’d always been flawlessly dependable. Only his sister’s welfare would cause him to even think about refusing anything I asked….
His sister. He would do anything for her, and….
Oh no.
I picked up the letter opener from my desk, ran up the stairs to my bedroom, and threw my back against the antique Spanish four-poster bed, grunting and heaving with my thighs until I managed to reveal the hidden panel in the floor. Using the letter opener, I pried up the boards. Few knew it, but I’d had good reason for doing the renovations to this house myself—beyond the fact that I liked the work and trusted few others to do things to my standards. I entered my code into the electronic safe, and then I waited the required ten minutes and entered it again. Though I didn’t do business out of my home—or even out of my neighborhood—I was not enough of a fool to leave myself empty-handed should an emergency arise.
The safe contained a few hundred thousand dollars in cash, a military-grade Kevlar vest; a Tavor TAR-21 assault rifle with a few of my own custom modifications, including a Nikon scope; dozens of magazines worth of ammunition; a .300 Win Mag sniper rifle with a Nightforce scope; and two 9mm Beretta combat pistols. As I picked one of them up, I remembered Dante begging me to replace his gun. I could’ve given him one of these. Looking back, I wished I had. I wouldn’t have even cared if he’d learned about my emergency safe, because I knew I could trust him. He had no ambition to take my place, and he certainly wouldn’t steal from me. But now was not the time to analyze the intricacies of Dante Mayfield. I spent too much time thinking about him already.
I stripped down, put my vest on over my undershirt, and then slid a plain long-sleeve polo and a pair of jeans over the top, followed by my shoulder holsters for the pistols. Hopefully an extra wool sock over the brace on my right ankle would keep the metal from growing too frigid against my skin. I put the two rifles in a gym bag and made sure to
replace everything. No matter the sick feeling eating holes in my stomach, I couldn’t afford to be hasty or sloppy. Being fastidious and methodical had earned me everything I currently had.
I walked slowly as I left my home, even stopping to check the mailbox. It wouldn’t do to arouse suspicion. When I reached my Jeep, I set the duffel bag carefully in the back seat. I didn’t exceed the speed limit on my way to Dante’s house, even though I wanted to.
It was quiet on Dante’s street, and in this neighborhood, I had little to fear from the authorities. The greater danger was my car being broken into, so I hurried into the building and up the stairs. I opened the door with the key I’d had made, and I couldn’t believe the mess: the coffee table in splinters, broken glass in the kitchen. Dante’s mother snored happily nearby; she’d likely slept through whatever had happened. Ignoring her, I checked Ros’s bedroom, which Dante had tried to imbue with as much normalcy and cheer as he could in a place like this. I shook my head. If only I’d offered Dante the Center City apartment sooner. In his room, I found the bed unmade and the safe I’d given him open—empty of ammunition. I ran my hand along the cool cloth of his blue checkered pillow, wondering when he had last slept. Once again I tried to reach his phone, unsuccessfully.
I knew he was going after the skinheads. Hazily I remembered telling him about the hideout Moirin had discovered. It wasn’t something I would have ever done, but with an icy shiver moving down my back, I knew I had. I also knew, beyond any doubt, that he wouldn’t survive. Even if he’d been rested, even if he’d been armed with more than his little .38, he didn’t have a chance. Neither did I. My only hope was to intercept him before he reached the Nazis, and that would take a miracle.
And I still had to take precautions.
I drove to a storage garage in a nicer part of Germantown where I kept two alternate vehicles, ones that I switched out frequently and wouldn’t be tied to me. Given the conditions after the storm, I chose the Nissan Rogue. It was a dependable car and not expensive enough to draw attention. I transferred my bag to its back seat and wished for the phenomenal luck I would need to save Dante’s life and avoid further involvement with the filth calling themselves the White Liberation Front. My mother would have certainly told me to pray, maybe to appeal to Saint Rose of Lima.
But I’d ceased wasting my time with such nonsense long ago, back when I’d learned virtue not only went unrewarded but often tempted tragedy. No, I would depend on myself as I had been doing for many years.
Chapter Fourteen
A LITTLE dirt road, not even cleared of snow, dead-ended about a half a mile into the woods. I left the truck there and told my—I didn’t even know what to fucking call the faerie and the guy with the horns. Crew?—we’d be walking the rest of the way to the compound.
“Look, mate, I’m not especially adept at the forestry gig,” Inky said.
I stopped and turned around to look at him, and once again, my mind rejected what my eyes were telling it. He had the lightest skin I’d ever seen, almost as white as the snow out here in the country, untouched by dirty boots and exhaust fumes. It had a pearly shimmer, sort of like the powder girls used on their faces, and the shadows held a purplish tint. His perfect lips, full but still with a distinct bow shape, looked almost artificial, and the lavender color added to it. His eyes, big and round, gave him a trustworthy quality even with the weird color. And the horns. I didn’t even want to think about them. The long silvery hair I could handle, but every time I looked at him, I prayed the horns would be gone.
“Aw, afraid of getting your feet wet, demon?” Blossom’s voice was like music, and every time he spoke, I smiled even though he scared the piss out of me. Looking at him freaked me out worse than looking at Inky, which sucked because he liked to lean in close to my face when he talked to me. His hair was a wild tangle of white-gold, and his lips were pouty but narrow, like a little heart. His eyes were almond-shaped like mine but bigger, slanted more drastically, and the kind of green I hadn’t known existed until I saw them. Right then, he was walking on top of the snow without even breaking through the crust. I shoved the heels of my hands into my eye sockets because… just fuck.
“Fuck you, you twat,” Inky hissed. “Not everybody likes dancing around in the woods. And look! You’ve forgotten your little pan flute anyway.”
I rubbed my eyes as they continued to argue. God, I was tired, tired like I’d never been in my life, like I could’ve laid down right there in the snow and slept for a week. Every step took an effort. I was dizzy, and my vision blurred. Maybe I was hallucinating all this bullshit. Maybe I could sit down for a minute, close my eyes. And maybe when I opened them all this would be gone.
But then I thought about my sister, and as soon as I pictured her face, I pictured everything that could be happening to her while I stood around being a pussy. Considering where I had grown up, I could picture it only too fucking well. Every minute, every damn second, mattered. I turned back to Inky and Blossom. “Come with me or don’t, but at least shut the fuck up. We don’t want these assholes to know we’re coming.”
Surprisingly, they listened to me and followed in silence until we reached a slope overlooking the cabin. I crouched down behind some hemlock trees to watch and hopefully get an idea what we’d be dealing with. The place was nothing special—long, single-story, built from a combination of gray blocks and washed-out wooden siding. A porch ran the length of the front, and some vehicles—an old station wagon, an SUV, and a pickup truck—sat in the gravel patch near the steps leading up. Some smaller buildings stood out back, storage sheds most likely. It was quiet—no signs of life.
“Well what are we waiting for?” Blossom hissed. “Let’s go inside.”
“We can’t just walk in,” I told him. “We’d be dead as soon as we opened the door.”
“Not if they don’t see us,” he said.
“You can do that?”
“Of course!” He stood and sort of glided down the hill, feet barely seeming to skim the surface of the snow. When he reached the flat patch at the bottom, he went up the porch steps, opened the door, and walked right inside.
I expected to hear shouts, gunfire, but everything stayed quiet. I wished I had binoculars or something so I might’ve seen more than shadow beyond the door Blossom had left hanging open. I turned to Inky. “Do you trust him?”
“Hell no,” he said softly. “But he is very powerful.”
I took a deep breath, held it a few seconds. “Okay. I’m going down. You don’t have to come with me. I understand if you would rather stay here.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “The truth is, I’m worth fuck all in a fight, but I’m not letting you go in there alone.”
I nodded. It was hard to imagine why he would care what happened to me—experience told me he probably wanted something—but it still felt kind of good to have somebody watching my back, so I decided not to look too hard at it.
Trying to utilize the cover of the trees and then the vehicles as much as I could, I made my way to the porch steps. It was still quiet in the house. All I could make out were some subdued voices, probably a radio or TV. No footsteps. I hurried up the three steps, pressed my back to side of the building, and peeked around the edge of the door. It was dark inside, gloomy due to the heavy curtains covering the few small windows. The place seemed like one big room—wood floors, some bunks against the walls, an old woodstove with a beat-up couch and some folding chairs around it, what passed for a kitchen off to the left. I could smell the smoke from the fire, BO, and mustiness, like the place had been closed up for a while before these jerk-offs moved in. In the center, Blossom stood looking around, a sort of soft glow coming off his hair and skin. As I took a shaky step inside, I noticed a couple of guys sitting at a table, some empty beer bottles, papers, and boxes of ammo between them. Their attention was focused on a small TV that was playing an old Stallone movie—Rocky or Rambo or some shit. Their backs were to me, but I froze, ready to shoot. I could probably ge
t both of them—Raf always said I was fast—but the noise would bring everybody else in this hole out. With three cars, I was willing to bet there were more than two guys here.
Blossom walked over and stood between the guys and the TV, cocking his head to the side and crossing his arms. “Well, they’re certainly ugly, and they smell terrible, but they don’t strike me as especially dangerous.”
Holy shit. I stuck the .38 in my pants. “They really can’t see us?”
Blossom rolled his eyes. “Few of your kind can see much of anything.”
“I’m going to look around.”
“I’ll help,” Inky offered.
It didn’t take us long to realize there wasn’t much to see. A big mountain of a bastard slept on the couch by the stove, a couple others in the beds. They had cases of beer stacked against the walls, some liquor on a shelf, and about a dozen hunting rifles leaning in some of the corners. An old blanket concealed a shitter and sink, along with more boxes of shells. If it wasn’t for the Nazi flag thumbtacked to the wall, anyone would’ve thought these six assholes came out here to spend a week getting drunk.
There was no sign of Ros.
“Dante.” Inky motioned me over to where he crouched by the couch. He pulled a laptop from underneath it and looked up at me with his rose-colored eyes.
It was weird to sit on the floor and lean my back against the sofa where the big fucker with the bare hairy chest snored, snuffled, and farted out cabbagey clouds, but I did. The computer wasn’t password protected, and as soon as it booted up, I saw something that looked like a messenger conversation, except weird and outdated—squarish green letters on a black background.