Boreal and John Grey Season 1

by Chrystalla Thoma

  “Wait, Mom.” Ella struggled to swallow her anger. She dropped her legs from the table and leaned forward. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Oh, now you need my help?”

  Dammit. “It’s important. Listen, did anyone in particular monitor me when I was little? A man called Simon Esterhase?” A long shot, but you never knew.

  “Monitoring? We paid thousands of dollars to experts. You were monitored by several people at a time. How can I remember their names after all this time?”

  Ella got up and grabbed her backpack. From her wallet, she withdrew a photo. Herself and Simon, raising their glasses to the photographer a few months ago. Her throat constricted at the sight of the familiar smile. Why, Simon? “Did this guy visit me when I was little? Do you recognize him?”

  “Is this a joke?” Her mother shook her head. “He’s sitting with you. He looks your age. How can you think he visited you as a child?”

  Yep, the question of the week. “So you don’t know him?”

  “As I said, I can’t remember all—”

  “Jeez, can you just answer the question?” Ella gritted her teeth. “You know what? Never mind.”

  “Well, I’ll be going. I can’t stand all this negative energy. And I see all my worries were unfounded. You’re perfectly fine.” Her mother smiled at Finn and for a brief, heart-wrenching moment Ella wished she was the recipient of that smile. “My daughter never appreciates my concern.”

  “Oh, come on, Mom, be honest for once,” Ella snapped. “You never really worried about me, so spare me the theatrics.”

  Her mother’s dark eyes, so like her own, flashed at her, filled with such annoyance and hurt Ella regretted her last words.

  Shame filled her. How had she reverted to a whiny child when the world was ending? Shouldn’t she be mending their relationship? “Mom...”

  Opening her handbag, her mother fished out a few photos and waved them at Ella. “Here. I found them in an old box and I thought you may want to have them. It’s your grandma when she was young, and you, and...” She walked over to Ella who had sat up and pressed them into her hand. “Anyhow. Go on saving the world and whatever else it is you’re doing.”

  Turning on her heel, she walked out of the apartment. Ella stared after her, absently clutching the photos in her lap, boots smearing mud on the carpet. For some strange reason, her eyes stung. “Mom, wait...”

  The door clicked shut.

  Ella stared at its scratched white surface for a few seconds, then threw the photos on the coffee table and smashed her fist into the wood. She bent her head, breathing through her nose, trying to find a measure of calm. “Damn you.”

  “You’re angry,” Finn astutely observed.

  “My mom... brings out the worst in me.”

  “Why?”

  Ella shrugged. “How the hell should I know? Dad says it’s because we’re too similar.”

  “Similar.” Finn arched a brow.

  Right. Wasn’t obvious at first. But the mulish stubbornness and impulsiveness ran deeper than hair style and nail polish. Unfortunately. She often wished she could scrape the similarities off, shed the anger that always burned beneath the surface. But the hurt of her parents’ separation and the insults and rows and all the violence unleashed around her during their divorce fueled it with every scrap of memory.

  “She’s alive,” Finn pointed out with unfailing accuracy.

  “Uh huh.” Obviously. Alive and kicking quite hard, as a matter of fact. She really hoped Finn wouldn’t admonish her to kiss and make up with her mother or he’d have another one coming. “So?”

  But Finn just stared at the far wall for a few moments, then got up and left the room. Straining her woefully weak, human ears, she waited to hear the scrape of the whetstone on his knife, but all she heard a few moments later was the water running in the bathroom.

  She frowned. Finn was acting strange. Finn’s mother had thrown him off a cliff as a child and then abandoned him to die. Did he still love her? Was that what this was all about?

  She scrubbed a hand over her face and thought about the book she’d lent Mike, about King Sirurd, the elves and the fucked-up mess they’d left behind.

  Not interested in literature, huh? Her mother had no idea.

  ***

  “Here you go.” Ella slid into the chair next to Mike and placed the two mugs on the kitchen table. “Coffee for you, strong tea for me.” She stifled a yawn. God, she hated mornings.

  “Finn keep you up all night?” Mike asked, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Knock it off, neighbor. I slept fine in my own bed, thank you.” Ella sipped her tea and scalded her tongue. “Shit.”

  “What is he doing?” Mike nodded toward the open door leading to the living room.

  “Exercising.” Since early morning, if she had to guess. He’d been at it, sweaty and plain gorgeous, bare-chested and barefoot, his pants molding to strong legs, when she’d crossed to the kitchen more than an hour ago.

  “Maybe you should, too.” He gestured at her. “I’ve seen how you’ve been walking since the dragon attack. That leg, the one you broke a few months ago, is giving you trouble. Maybe Finn can help.” He winked.

  “Screw you.” She couldn’t help grinning back at him, though. Maybe she should exercise with Finn, why not?

  Because he was up at the crack of dawn. Jeez. “Where’s my book? Did you bring it as I told you?”

  Mike nodded and presented it to her with a small flourish. “Safe and sound.”

  Relieved, she took it. “And? Did you find anything interesting?”

  “Not sure. I read up on all I could find on these Guardians, these robots. Went through the whole damn book.” Mike gulped down his coffee and pushed his mug away. “Short and odd-looking, right? They also called them dwarves.”

  Oh, right. “Finn says they’ve changed. That was many centuries ago. The new models look entirely human.”

  “Finn says, huh?” Mike winked. Bastard.

  “Just... tell me about the Guardians.”

  “Well, it seems they required copious amounts of a mixture containing mainly fennel and lavender oil.”

  “To oil their cogs?”

  “Here, read for yourself. Page two hundred and twelve.” He pushed the book toward her. “And here’s the passage about the angle of looking at them.”

  Her fingers trembled as she sought the page. She hadn’t read that far. “The angle. So what about it?”

  “Well, if the models haven’t changed much, apparently you only need to find the right way of looking at them to see the spirals. There’s a split along one of their sides.”

  She tapped the passage with her forefinger. “Head to toe. To let the system breathe. Called a ‘seam’.”

  “You’d also notice them because they don’t change, don’t sleep, don’t eat, like the machines they are.”

  “Yeah, well.” She snorted. “I know many real life people who don’t seem to ever sleep.” Dave sort of leaped to mind; he often called her from work in the middle of the night. “Don’t they need a source of energy, though?”

  “Remember what we were saying, about psychic energy? Well.” He gestured at the book. “Sounds like these Guardians can draw energy from the Grey. Wherever the Grey is thin or torn.”

  “Jesus.” Of all the strange and terrible things she’d seen, somehow Grey-sucking machines that looked like humans disturbed her the most. “So how the hell can we tell them apart? How to see the seam?”

  “By looking at it when drunk?” Mike raised his glass. “I think it says something like it.”

  “An altered state,” Ella muttered, flipping a page. “Caused by a substance or fear.” She looked up. “And if when I see this creature I’m not drunk or scared?”

  “Well, then carry a bottle of liquor with you always.” Mike stuck his tongue out.

  Clown. Ella snorted. “Really funny. But almost nothing to go on.” Come on, Simon, were you really intending for me to see this o
r not? Were you a Guardian, here on a mission or am I going crazy? What mission could you have? And why would you need to pick up this book from the library to read about things you already knew?

  She got up and walked to the living room door and peeked in. Finn had left, presumably to shower and change, but she could picture him perfectly in her mind’s eye, half-naked and flushed, and...

  Goddammit. Instead of lusting, she should be thinking.

  She turned back to Mike. Think. Think. “Let’s recap. Duergar have a seam. They don’t eat or sleep. They suck Grey matter. They may be walking among us. One of them may have been observing me as a child, taking notes on some odd abilities I apparently had, though I don’t anymore.”

  Mike nodded. “Yes. And if Simon was one of the Duergar, then it makes sense he didn’t age over time.”

  “Right. But.” Blood and bones sticking out and gore... Why hadn’t she thought of this before? “The wolves tore him open, Mike. I saw his chest cavity from the inside, for Christ’s sake. Nothing mechanical there I could see. Besides, why would the wolves attack one of their own?”

  Mike frowned. “Because... he defected? Or maybe they were wild animals, who’d just kill anyone in sight? As for not seeing the mechanical parts — who knows how these robots are constructed? Maybe their innards look like ours. Maybe the clocks and wheels are deeper or something.”

  Right, right. One second... “I’ve seen Simon eat. All the time. He loved eating. And drinking. How does that fit in?”

  Mike slumped. “Er. It doesn’t?”

  Exactly. “Simon had no autopsy done on him because we thought the cause of death obvious. I should ask for one.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “Anyhow. Dave gave me his notes.” She pulled them out of her pocket and slammed them on the table, spread the paper, smoothed it down. “There are comments about something called a “stabilizer” but apart from that I saw things, apparently. Not a big surprise, but Mike, I wasn’t seeing Shades. Well, not only. I was seeing landscapes and people and animals.”

  “As if...”

  “...I was seeing through to the other side?” Ella sank in her chair. “Dave said so too. Nothing makes sense. Not a single fucking thing, and we’re nowhere closer to who or what John Grey is than we were a week ago.”

  Such a cheering thought.

  Chapter Five

  Smoke

  “It’s the wolf that escaped us at Wellington Square a few days ago,” Dave’s voice said over the phone, the line crackling and breaking. “It got a woman in Emerson Park and then was seen heading toward Wilson Avenue. And it’s Saturday.”

  Ella frowned as she hurried toward her car, Finn hot on her heels. “What’s the day to do with—oh shit.” The weekly street market. “On our way.”

  Finn scraped the fresh snow from the windshield before he entered the car and she passed him her gun so it didn’t dig into her hip as she drove.

  So domestic. Maybe the partnership could work out after all.

  Her amusement faded as they approached the park. She’d expected panic, but panic in a bazaar, in the falling snow, was different and so much worse, with stalls collapsing and goods spilling, people running and falling, trampled over by others in their haste to leave.

  Police were posted around, trying to contain the hysteria, but it was too late.

  Screams from her left indicated the direction of the terror. Something blinding white flashed through the snowfall, and a fresh scream died in a gurgle. “The wolf’s—”

  Finn had the door open and was out of the car before she’d even warned him. Running through the crowd, twisting gracefully among them, going against the flow, he glowed in the pale sunlight.

  “Dammit, Finn!” She left the car by the road side, grabbed her gun and burst out into the chaos. She wasn’t as good as Finn at dodging the oncoming mob but she did her best to follow him.

  She thought she saw his pale hair up ahead, but then lost him again. Squinting, she wiped the snowflakes from her eyes with the back of her hand. The crowd thinned. A body lay in the middle of the street, gutted, in a pool of blood. Gagging on the smell, she turned in a circle, gun pointed. Where was the wolf? Where was Finn?

  A scream sounded overhead. She looked up. A balcony. Wolves couldn’t climb walls — could they?

  Except this was no wolf, but something like it. She caught a glimpse of Finn scaling the side of the building like Spiderman. Shaking her head, she jogged to the building entrance and took the stairs. Her breathing echoed in her ears as she burst onto the second floor landing, pointing her gun in every direction. Another scream from above, and it was back to the stairs. She raced to the second landing and followed the noise. Growling, screeching, cries and curses led her to the end of the passage. She tried the door; it opened.

  A crash and an object flew by her head, smashing into the door. Ducking, she took cover behind a table. In the door, stuck, was one of Finn’s knives.

  She peeked around the corner.

  The white wolf lay dead in the midst of broken furniture, Finn’s other Bowie knife jutting from its side and Finn’s whip wrapped around its throat. A pool of crimson framed the animal.

  And right behind stood an open Gate.

  She didn’t know how she knew it was a Gate — but she was sure of it. None of the dark mist that was common where the Veil thinned or tore. No, this was more like sunlight reflecting on water, a rippling surface stretching all the way to the ceiling — and Finn knelt before it, his eyes wide.

  What the hell? She inched away from the table and crouched behind the sofa for a better view.

  An apparition floated inside the Gate — no, not an apparition: an elf. A woman with long silvery hair, dressed in a flowing gown. A diadem adorned her head, highlighting her slender, leaf-shaped ears. She was saying something in a sussurating language, reaching a hand out to Finn.

  Ella waited to see what he’d do, her breath catching in her throat. A moment of truth. If he was a spy, maybe he’d be now welcomed back to his world to reap the rewards of a job well done.

  The elf lady said something more, her tone soft, and Finn flinched. He shook his head. The lady beckoned imperiously, her smile hardening. “Isthelfinn,” she hissed.

  Was she referring to Finn?

  Finn shuddered. The Gate flickered. Finn gasped and jerked forward, reaching out toward the rippling image, but a black wave went through it, erasing it. He fell on hands and knees, head bowed.

  Ella stepped out from behind the sofa, gun ready, gaze flicking all around. No Shades. No wolves. No Gates. Safe.

  Except Finn hadn’t moved.

  “Who was that, Finn?” She came to stand in front of him, holstering her gun. “What did she want?”

  He shook his head.

  “She invited you back home, didn’t she? Is she your lover? Or a general of your army?”

  He sat back on his heels. Tears tracked down his cheeks but he didn’t seem to notice. “She’s my mother.”

  ***

  “This isn’t a very good time, Dave,” Ella said, cradling the phone between cheek and shoulder as she helped Finn down the stairs. The meeting with mother elf had drained all his energy and he limped so badly she worried he might fall all the way down. Yeah, she’d tried the lift. Out of order. Bad things usually happened in clusters.

  “It’s important,” Dave said, his tone clipped. “Looks like we’ve got another dragon on the loose.”

  Jesus. “Where?”

  “The Cormac Mall, right behind your new apartment.”

  “We just finished up the wolf. Can’t you send someone else?” She wasn’t sure Finn was up to it.

  “I’d love to, but you’re the closest, and let’s face it, your partner seems to know his dragons.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and Finn raised his head, seeming to come out of his daze. He then proceeded to glare until Ella stepped away and let him walk on his own.

  Back to his normal pissy self. She had to admit it was a relief;
she wasn’t sure what to do with the protective feelings churning inside her.

  “Fine. Send someone to pick the dead wolf up, will you? Before more people see it and the journalists arrive.”

  “After you see the mall, you’ll understand that’s the least of our worries.”

  Ella chewed on her lower lip, marching down the now deserted avenue. “Victims?”

  “Yes. The creature has moved on. I want you to follow its tracks and stop it.”

  Yeah, so easy. “What about the army? Can’t they lend us a helicopter or something?”

  But Dave had already hung up. Fantastic.

  The police were bent over the dead body, conferring. Finn limped fast enough to keep pace with her, glaring at the snow-covered asphalt as if it offended him. He still hadn’t spoken a word.

  It wasn’t until they were back in the car and driving to the mall that he stirred. He leaned forward, placed his hands on the dashboard, gaze fixed on something.

  She saw it too. Smoke.

  “Ella?” He glanced her way. “Is that...?”

  “Yeah, dragon.”

  He looked confused, pale brows drawn over his eyes. “Another Gate?”

  “Sure looks like it, doesn’t it?” She bit her lip as she pressed down on the gas. “You need to talk to me, Finn. Was that really your mother?”

  He clenched his jaw. “I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “Last time I saw her was long ago.”

  When she’d thrown him off a cliff. And she thought her family was dysfunctional. “What did she say?”

  “She asked me...” He glared at the smoke rising from the mall ahead. “To go back.”

  Yeah, Ella had guessed as much. The beckoning gesture had been a dead giveaway. “But why now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She didn’t explain?”

  “She said it had been a mistake.”

  Oh, yes, clear as day. “What was a mistake? Throwing you out? Leaving you to die?”

  He flinched. It had come out harsh, but if she had the woman in front of her, she’d punch her in the face. Seriously.