Blightmare (The Marnie Baranuik Files Book 5)

by A. J. Aalto

  The Blue Sense finally loosened its stingy grip on my Talents and what blossomed under my ribcage like a thousand velvety petals was hope. Elyse had hope. She believed in herself. I blinked in surprise and, frankly, awe. I wondered what it must be like.

  I asked, “What are you going to do? Wolf-out?”

  “Run.” She didn’t react to my lycanthrope comment, just continued to flip pages. “Shadow walk. Shield myself and run. Like I did last time. Like I’ll do the next time he hunts me down. I don’t know how he’s been tracking me, but he’s got to give up at some point.”

  Running, not fighting. Defensive magic, not going on the offense. White magic, not black. Deep down, she wasn’t eager to stay on the left hand path any more than I was. I felt a fresh kinship with Elyse, saw in her my battle-weary expression, my attempts to remain tough even as my walls were crumbling. What I needed to do was get her out of here safely, dodge whatever trouble was in the yard waiting for us, and then figure out how to mend her shadow and mine. If Chapel could find enough criminal activity for a court to stick Beau in ye olde Greybar Motel for twenty-five to life, Elyse could live here, or back at the carnival, or wherever she damn well wanted. Step one, Marnie: escort Elyse to safety.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” I said, dropping to all fours and crawling to unplug the lamp. The room went dark, and I heard more than saw her crouch near me. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course not,” she whispered sharply, because sometimes the dark makes people whisper, and because she had approximately zero reason to trust me, and there was still some goon lurking outside. “Listen, you can’t talk this guy down, Beau or Bob or whatever… he doesn’t hear you. He only hears what he wants to hear. He's like that poster of the UFO Agent Mulder had over his desk, but he doesn't just want to believe, he's convinced himself what he believes is the truth.”

  “We’re not going to talk Beau down,” I said. “We’re not going to talk to Beau at all. And we’re not going to talk to this goon, either.”

  Elyse’s voice was guarded but hopeful. “Okay, what?” And then, “I can’t shapeshift, if that’s what you—”

  “No,” I said softly. “It would be better if you didn’t.” For both of us.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Finnegan Folkenflik. It only rang twice and when he answered, his voice was choppy, like the cell reception wasn’t great. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t start with small talk.

  He said, “Do you need us?”

  And I knew if I said “yes,” that Farstrider Lake was his next destination, and that he would bring the whole skulk-gang. I felt a little conflicted over asking for back-up from them again, considering I was still fighting the idea of being infected, hoping like hell that I wouldn’t become one of them, privately nervous around Elyse herself, though she’d given me no reason to worry. I wasn't in the habit of asking to be rescued, either.

  But there was no hiding the fact that something unfriendly was doing a slow, burning circle around the cabin. And it definitely wasn’t Beau. My instincts had been dead on, and I was quite convinced that whatever was out there, it could take us; a single werewolf who was also more accustomed to running than standing and fighting and a bumbling psychic detective with none of her witchy supplies with her probably didn't stand a chance, even if we were both armed.

  Finnegan Folkenflik was in my ear. “If you can’t speak loudly, whisper. I will hear you. Do you need us?”

  “I need you, Finn,” I said low. “But don’t come alone.”

  “Text me where you are,” he said, and then he was gone.

  We waited with bated breath, Elyse and I, crouching against the door, feeling the goon — whatever it was — move outside, approach and then retreat, testing us, tasting us, our power. I knew it felt both of us in here, and I didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t human.

  We hunkered down, and waited. And waited. And waited.

  My butt went to sleep, so I tried to do some of the static stretches Harry and Hood had shown me. Elyse didn't look too impressed, but she was obviously stiffening up, too, so I gestured that she could maybe crawl around and check the windows while I went the opposite way.

  “Why are we gesturing?” she asked.

  “I don't know what's out there, or how good its hearing is,” I whispered back.

  “It's not like it doesn't know we're in here, though.”

  I couldn't really fight that kind of logic, so I rolled my neck and stood up, well away from the window. “Good point. I get the feeling that it's just out there doing recon, not, like, getting ready to huff and puff and blow the door in, but it might be.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Big Bad Wolf references, really? Rude.”

  “Hey, I'm, uh, well, shit.” I gave her the rundown on my bite, and my visit to Delacovias, and my time with the Folkenflik skulk, and even the fake turning Harry and Wes had teased me with, as we kept our guard up and circled the cabin like koi in a shrinking pond.

  “You getting anything?” she asked, after we'd both made ten laps without so much as an ominous silence in the rain and wind outside.

  I pursed my lips and exhaled. “No, and it's kind of pissing me off. What's it doing out there, jerking off? I hate this. I feel like bait. Or a goddamned Jack-in-the-box."

  "Pop goes the were-ferret?"

  "You're not funny, Elyse."

  ******

  The skulk showed up less than an hour after my text went out.

  We had spent the time in worried, hyper-vigilant near-silence, checking and re-checking our guns and lines of sight, trying to catch glimpses of who-or-whatever it was lurking outside, and never got more than a vague sense of expectant impatience and the occasional snapping branch or half-glimpsed form in the rain. It was worse than The Blair Witch Project, because we didn't even get any spiffy twig art out of all our anxiety.

  They arrived in pairs, as loudly as last time, their headlights spraying harsh white lights through the slats of the blinds, lighting up the smoky air. They spread out around the property, flushing twilight shadows from corners and illuminating the evening. Elyse and I shuffled to the window, watching them fill the yard, surround the Buick, crowd the front door. I craned up to peek at the sky, though I could have told you the moon was no longer full just by the comfort I Felt in the yard. The skulk dismounted; some had flashlights with which they made the front door a stage for Finnegan, whose features were lost in the glare.

  “We’ll be okay now,” I promised Elyse, but I didn’t have to. The Blue Sense had reported her surprise followed quickly by a sense of elation. Werewolves don’t travel in family groups, Folkenflik had told me; werefoxes did. Elyse was thrilled to be suddenly surrounded by lycanthropes, regardless of their kinship.

  I opened the door for Finnegan, and he handed Elyse a helmet without a word. We gathered her things and closed up, hurrying through the darkening, headlight-dappled yard, feeling watched but no longer alone and certainly no longer in immediate danger. There must have been thirty bikers, their motorcycles filling the evening with noise and exhaust.

  Elyse had never experienced the protection of a pack before. The Blue Sense told me she liked it.

  As I settled behind the wheel of the Buick, I realized that I did, too. That was the moment I not only stopped fighting the thought of becoming one of them, but invited the virus to take me, to be what it was going to be, to flood me with whatever shape or form it had planned. There would be no more dismay. There would be no more battle from me. If I was becoming anything like Finnegan Folkenflik and the members of his skulk, surely that could only be a good thing.

  Embraced, the virus performed a slow roll through my veins, woke slowly, slid from her hiding places. She no longer scared me. I followed Finnegan’s bike as he paused for traffic before merging onto the Interstate, and filled my mind with thoughts of gratitude and warmth. We were headed in the direction of Shaw’s Fist. Beau’s goon might follow us, but probably wouldn't try anything with the skulk present. I felt the
overlapping aegis of both parts of the preternatural circulating in my blood; Harry would rise soon, and I was surrounded by the pack until I got home. I was confident that Elyse would be safe with the Folkenfliks until I sorted this out.

  And Beau? Beau and his goon were going down.

  But first, I really needed some coffee. And clothes that didn't smell like the dankest nugs this side of a Washington dispensary.

  Chapter 30

  The Ten Springs Motor Inn was never going to be an easy place for me to visit, I realized, no matter what they called it. I parked in front of room number four, just to show the universe I wasn’t afraid of the ghosts of my past. If the universe was impressed by my lady-balls, it was playing it cool. Turning off the car, I sat there for a long minute, listening to the spring wind in the aspens behind the motel. Directly behind the office was a stand of them that grew several yards up a steep rise before they could no longer latch onto the rocky cliff.

  Finnegan Folkenflik had taken Elyse to stay in Boulder until he and his skulk headed north to their home range; I hadn't asked where that was, exactly. I didn't want any specifics as to where Elyse might be, at least not yet. If Beau, Thug, or Harmony (I kinda hoped they had a third member of their crew who liked to hum) asked where she was, I wouldn't have to lie before I laid the smack down. I’d given her the trumpet and refused to let her give me the money the pawnbrokers had paid her for it.

  She was starting to look healthier when I saw her off. Finnegan had some ideas for helping a lycanthrope deal with human-borne illnesses. I had no way of fixing her shadow, since I was still struggling to hunt down and staple on the rest of mine, but I gave her my card and told her to check in if the problem didn’t solve itself by staying clear of the left-hand path for a while. Maybe by the time she talked to me again, I’d have answers.

  I'd texted Umayma to let her know I was picking her up after dive-bombing my cabin for caffeine and a quick change of clothes. She patted my gloved hand on the steering wheel, and when I looked at her, she gave me an inquisitive are-we-doing-this nod; she was down for it if I was. How she could juggle losing the doubtlessly-horrid comfort and ownership of her vile revenant, changing homelands, changing purposes, going back to school, learning to sign, getting a new job, managing an unruly employee like me, and still be up for facing whatever was in Beau’s wretched little room was beyond me. Some people had their shit entirely too together. I was insanely grateful.

  I made sure my gloves were snug before swinging out of the car and dragging my backpack with me. I still had the spyglass, and I’d taken my own grimoire with me, in case I should need something new. Beau’s car wasn’t in the spot for room 3. After ascertaining that neither Beau nor his driver were there, we charmed the manager into letting us into Beau’s room by implying one of us was his female companion for the day. The manager swiped us in and retreated discreetly, dubiously eyeing us like we were the least sexily-dressed hookers he’d ever seen. There were probably entire sections of the internet into chicks wearing sneakers, jeans, and hoodies, but it didn't really feel like the right time to get educational.

  We didn’t get three feet into the room before it was abundantly clear that we were in for a bad day. A strobe of blue light flickered in the darkness, creep-on-cryptid porn playing on three screens. Beau’s pale, scrawny ass bounced up and down, saggy balls slapping. “Oh. Oh!” For a second, I clapped my gloved hands over my eyes. Then I gestured wildly at the screens and looked at Umayma for confirmation that this was nuts. “No!” was all I could say.

  Umayma signed, “Fuck no.”

  “I’m fucking done!” I yelled, pointing at the laptops. “This is fucking bullshit. Who wants to see this?” I boggled, searching for words, dragging my fingers through my hair. “What is my life? I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do it anymore. I have to draw the line somewhere.” My arms flailed above my head and I felt like I was having a Kermit the Frog moment. “It’s true. Elyse and Tari were right. He’s a goddamn monster fucker. What did they call him?”

  Umayma gave a full-body shudder of disgust and signed briefly.

  “Right. A pig with a podcast. And he’s my client? Look at what we’re dealing with, Maim.”

  Umayma nodded rapidly, her eyes wide as moons, and signed, “Together. End.”

  “We have to ask ourselves, ‘Is this the kind of client we want?’ Not fucking this, Maim.”

  Umayma echoed my upset by miming putting a finger down her throat.

  “Exactly.” I stormed around the room wrenching the blinds open, throwing the curtains wide to let the daylight spill in. I slapped the laptops closed, stopping the annoying sights. I had to go back and reopen one of them and hold down the power button because it hadn't just gone to sleep or hibernation or whatever laptops do, and the sounds of Beau's frenzied dicking kept wafting out of its tiny speakers. I was suddenly incredibly grateful that I had my gloves on. Then I texted Chapel with my location and a request. “There’s no way he’s pulling all this tail on his own,” I told Maim. Hesitantly, I considered that; yes, at least one of his partners had had a tail in the videos. “No way. Not even with money. There’s something else going on here.”

  I pulled out Elyse’s demon-spotting spyglass and peered through it. After doing a quick scan of the bedroom and, much like the bad news an ultraviolet light would have doubtless revealed, there were telltale spatters of red demon-taint present, I trailed the demonic influence to the bathroom, specifically to the shower drain, where a long streak of black sludge jiggled ominously against a wad of hair and congealed soap scum. Okay, maybe the goon had been jerking off. Ew.

  I dropped the spyglass away from my face and called, “Yo, demon. You here?” I heard nothing, smelled nothing, and heard nothing. More importantly, I sensed nothing. Disappointed but relieved, I sighed.

  Umayma began knocking rapidly in the bedroom on a cheap piece of furniture and I hurried back in.

  Beau arrived in a slowing shuffle of caught-out steps as he approached the wide-open door to his motel room. His face said uh-oh, but his mouth said, “Can I help you, ladies?” His eyes darted to the closed laptops.

  I turned on him with deliberate slowness. “Why did you hire me?”

  “You know why,” he said, digging out his comfort jar of peanut butter. “I told you why.”

  “Because your ex-girlfriend is…”

  “One of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.” His bottom lip quivered around the spoon.

  “And who’s Giana from Vegas?”

  He stammered and then spat out, “They’re both Horsemen of the Apocalypse!”

  “Funny, Giana looks an awful lot like a gargoyle to me.”

  “They’re dangerous. They’re gonna get me.” He choked on peanut butter and his spittle was brown. “They’re out to get everyone.”

  Umayma and I crossed our arms over our chests and stared him down in unison. The tears started flowing down his cheeks, crocodile tears, fat and convincing.

  “That’s the story you’re stickin’ with?” I asked sourly.

  He sobbed through a mouthful of peanut butter, smacking and goobering. When his tongue was clear, he made noises that sounded like words but I had to shake my head, not comprehending. He tried again.

  “Ridiculous methods I have to go to, I admit, but I’m trying to save the world,” he wailed. “It’s not all about meeeee. You don’t know what I’ve had to go through. I’m a hero, is what I am!”

  I wondered if my face was displaying my rage; I was trying to keep it disinterested. “Are you?” I opened one of the laptops, bringing the monitor to life. A harpy wearing a strap-on was really givin’ it to a chubby, pink-faced dude from behind. “Are you ‘saving’ this guy, or are you just kind of a harpy pimp?”

  Umayma shot me a look that clearly said, is harpy-pimp a thing? I nodded once, confident in my opinion.

  “Here’s my problem,” I started, opening the other two, flicking on the other screens. “While gross, to me, this all looks fairly�
�� consensual. The harpy, I’m assuming, is Faylene, right? I’m not going to wonder about the legalities of cryptid prostitution or exploitation. However, I happen to know that some of these participants are missing. I will pass along this information to the authorities.”

  “But you caaaaaaaan’t,” he said, his voice a whiny wail once again.

  “I already have, you piss-faced puke,” I assured him. It took the fight out of him instantly. He wilted with dismay.

  “My problem, Beau,” I said, “is that little miss Horseman is neither a danger to society, nor is she interested in being found by you. I’m not going to help you stalk a cryptid, no matter what she is, to coerce her into a life of porn. She’s done with you. She wants to get well and move on with her life.”

  “But I love Elyse,” he rasped. “I truly do. You don’t understand. This was all her idea. All of it. Her business model, her connections. I just funded it.”

  I frowned; an earlier version of Marnie might have bought that, but I was still running the cynical upgrade of Marnie 3.0 and his words made me feel stabby. “You love her,” I repeated, my voice dripping venom. “Love.”

  “Love will extinguish her hatred,” he declared, abandoning his jar on the grubby couch.

  “Yeah?”

  “Love melts the coldest, hardest heart,” he assured me.

  I rolled my eyes and made a disgusted noise. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Here, here,” he said, rushing to his coat and grabbing a box from the pocket. “Show her I have this.” A ring, white gold, with a diamond that looked to be about a carat.

  “I doubt she wants it,” I said.

  “You can’t speak for her,” he spat. “I’m not proposing to you.”

  Nobody ever will, I thought bitterly. “She’s not going to marry you, Beau.”

  “She has to. I don’t want anyone but her,” he said, as though this would change my mind, and therefore hers.

  It doesn’t matter what you want, I wanted to say, if she’s not interested. But I could see froth building in the corner of his mouth, and hesitated.