by Lily Silver
He stopped beneath the tower to look around them. Adrian and Mick suggested he take some time returning home by stopping about Paris to walk and then switch buses a couple of times so they could make sure they weren’t being followed.
As they lingered beneath the tower, he lifted Gisele’s chin with his thumb. He kissed her, right there in public, knowing it was a bit brash and crude in Victorian society.
Well, they were about to be married, damn it, if the world didn’t end first.
Riley was good at his craft, Tara observed a few hours later as she and the other men watched him cook down an inch of the sample from the expo booth. He heated a glass vial using energy from his hand, not a lamp flame as she assumed would produce the heat. The blue energy pulsing from his palm made the liquid sizzle and bubble until it was quickly evaporated into a green paste. Tara was a little jealous of the way he could control his energy flow by conjuring just enough to boil the liquid without breaking the flask. She reminded herself that he’d been using his gift for centuries, not days.
She wondered last night how he was able to process the Pernod Fils so quickly after she returned from the dance club. Now she knew, it was magic, not science. He had the gift of the healer and could identify herbs and chemical substances with ease.
Riley scraped some of the mushy goo out of the vial with a small pocket knife, and then spread it on the plate with the other three samples he’d processed previously. They had the two bottles from Bellow’s apartment, the Pernod Fils from the nightclub and now the sample from the booth at the fair. He flicked some of the goo onto his finger and tasted it, closing his eyes as he rolled it around on his tongue for several moments.
It was like watching a wine connoisseur breathe in the fragrance, inhale deeply, swirl the glass and taste the concoction by swishing it through his teeth to determine underlying flavors.
“This sample is not tainted. It is the same blend of herbs as the Lune Nuit label, however. I taste wormwood, anise, fennel, a hint of lemon balm … and sugar to mask a bitter flavor that would come through with the addition of the poison.”
“The sample from the fair is clean?” Dan asked with surprise. He picked up the Lune Nuit bottle and studied the label. “So, the stuff handed out at the fair is just a new blend with sugar in it? If that’s the case, how would someone become addicted and want more?”
“No, the sample is exactly the same formula as the Lune Nuit, save one key ingredient. Our enemies are clever enough to not put the poison in samples they’re handing out to the public at the expo.” Riley set the plate down and wiped the remains of the goo from his fingertip with a towel. He lifted that same finger in the air as a signal to give him a moment to respond as he read his notes from his journal.
The open notebook he was studying contained a watercolor sketch and some notes written in fine black ink script. It appeared to be a personal herbal made by Riley over the centuries. He tapped on the open page. “This flower originates from ancient India but is widespread in Europe. It’s the secret ingredient in the tainted Absinthe.”
Tara moved closer to stare at the drawing, as did Adrian and Dan behind her. She saw a white flower with the petals attached to one another like a Morning Glory.
“This is a Tatula flower, also known as Devil’s Snare. Taken in pure form it produces a strong delirium, bizarre behavior, sensitivity to the sun that can last for several days—making those ingesting it wish to remain indoors until sunset. It also creates pronounced amnesia that can last from twenty four hours to nearly two weeks—all from a single ingestion of this potent herb, again, in its pure form. Combined with wormwood, an herb known to produce visionary dreams and mild euphoria, it is a lethal mixture that will destroy the mind of the victim due to its addictive properties.”
Riley handed Tara his herbal journal and took the bottle of Lune Nuit from Dan’s hand. He held it out by the base as he spoke. “I detected the additional herb in this very bottle you found at your friend’s house.” He tipped it back and forth for emphasis, swirling the enticing green liquid. “There is just enough Devil’s Snare in here to create a pleasant euphoria if you have just have one glass. Drink more than one at a time it will produce some strong hallucinations. The addition of sugar in the formula masks that bitter tinge that would put someone off when the toxic herb is added.”
“So the free sample is appealing because of the sugar, like the soda everyone drinks and then craves more of in my time,” Tara put in.
She looked at Dan, who nodded and added, “Yep, good old fashioned Coke.”
Studying the illustration, Tara traced the five triangular points at the center of the flower to form a five pointed purple star. “Everyone drinks soda in the future, because the combination of the sugar and the carbonation bubbles make people crave more. It’s a huge industry.”
“So the fair attendants gathering from around the world taste this new brand free of charge, with just the sugar in it,” Dan continued. “And then they order cases of it with the bad stuff in it to take home, becoming addicted to a drug that makes them psychotic and forgetful all in one punch. So they keep drinking this wonderful new brew over time …”
“And slowly lose the enlightened, moral element of their humanity, becoming easy targets for the Darkling Fey,” Riley added. He put the bottle on the table, and stepped back from the plate of green pastes. “I suspect they have been handing it out freely to the poor artists and the derelict among us to test its potency before the fair opened. Remember that paranoid man who attacked our dear Tara in the woods?” Riley stepped close to her and lightly stroked the side of her head with affection. “If they give it out to the poor in Montmartre as well as the gifted intellectuals flocking here from around the world,” he cocked his head at their sleeping guest, Mr. Bellows. “And are gearing up for worldwide distribution through their exhibit at the world’s fair, then their plan to enslave humanity could be achieved in a few short years. Their plan is brilliant. It has the advantage of crowds from every nation flocking to the tower.”
“It’s the frickin’ tower of Babel all over again,” Dan thrust up his hands in frustration. “With evil fairies instead of a Hebrew God crushing mankind on the eve of a bright new age.”
“With a plant called Devil’s Snare,” Adrian murmured, “how appropriate.”
Chapter Thirty
“The Green Fairy appears at Le Coq Bleu—the Blue Rooster,” Adrian translated as he read the morning newspaper. “Eighty six patrons of the dance club were present when a beautiful woman with vibrant red hair and a long flowing green gown appeared among the crowd for a brief moment … one witness said she identified herself as Artemisia, the Latin name of the herb wormwood used to produce Absinthe… “
He was reading the article aloud for Tara and Dan’s amusement as they sat in their small parlor corner together. Gisele was in her apartment one floor below, cooking a wonderful dinner for the four of them. The Paris Journal had given a full front page spread to a report of Tara’s mischievous appearance at the dance club the night before.
“It’s not just a news article, it’s a frickin’ advertisement for the proprietors. Isn’t that a clever way to cash in on a rare sighting of the muse?” Dan said between chuckles. “The Green Fairy approves this cabaret above all the others. Go to the Blue Rooster folks, and maybe you’ll have the good fortune to see her again. And while you’re here, plunk down a nice pile of cash at our card tables or peek under the skirts of our dancers for a cheap thrill.”
Adrian was amused by Dan’s running commentary as he read aloud.
Tara was leaning against her husband as he read the French article to them. Her legs were tucked up beneath her on the sofa and Adrian’s arm was snug around her waist. She admired the artist’s drawing in the center of the article depicting a shapely woman in a flowing gown with dainty butterfly wings on her back. Mick’s words returned to her as she touched the little wings with the pad of her forefinger. He spoke of weight and wing strength, and
said insect wings would be impractical. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful illusion.
A crowd of adoring men in suits and top hats surrounded the fairy woman, all of them drawn with wide-eyed expressions of wonder. The image of Tara was a side view, the better to see her imaginary butterfly wings, she supposed.
It did give her a little thrill to look at the drawing, knowing she had inspired it. “Keep this,” she tapped the illustration in the center of the article.
They were staying inside again tonight, at Mick’s insistence. He said the protective sigils all over the building would hide them from the dark ones. The plan was to set out tomorrow to find the still and set fire to it before full dark when the dark fey would be lurking about.
Gisele came in wearing a white linen apron tied about her waist and pinned over her bosom. She was in her stocking feet. It was a curious domestic version of the beautiful cabaret dancer surfacing. “Dinner is ready. There is enough for your brothers and Mr. Bellows, too, Lady Tara.”
“My brothers won’t join us, they rarely do.” Tara untangled herself from Adrian’s embrace and put her feet on the floor. She, too, had shed her shoes. “Do call me Tara, please. We’re about to become family.”
They followed Gisele downstairs to her apartment. A lovely table had been set for her guests. Candles lit the center of the table and the warm glow of globe lamps circled the room. It was a welcome scene, this domestic family dinner by candlelight—a slice of normal in the midst of doom. Tomorrow afternoon, they would confront the darkness.
“We’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Adrian said as he packed the dynamite sticks into a leather satchel. He’d acquired the explosives through the blacksmith’s underworld connections.
Today, his pockets were full of hand-forged silver bullets for his new revolving chamber pistols that held six shots each. A bow and quiver of shiny new lead tipped arrows hung on his back. After breakfast this morning he’d picked up the munitions he ordered the day before. The old fashioned blacksmith had certainly earned his wages.
Dan was armed as well, but instead of pistols he had the military rifle he’d bought yesterday. Mick and Riley waited in the hallway to accompany them to the distillery. The fey brothers seemed innocuous without their wings out in full display. Adrian didn’t understand how they could absorb the massive things into their bodies at will and have only the ink tattoo on their backs visible to the naked eye.
Fey magic.
There was so much more to the fey than the old legends he’d been told as a child. There was so much more to his darling wife than he’d realized when he convinced her to marry him.
Tara stood near the door waiting for them. She was dressed in a pair of trousers and a jacket from Mr. Bellows’ satchel, along with a knitted wool cap pulled over her hair.
Why she was being included was beyond him. He argued against it, and was chagrined to find Mick supporting his sister’s side instead of Adrian’s. Dressed like a man, she looked like a thin adolescent who had not yet reached the age to shave. The ivory lace up ankle boots were the only flaw marking her as a woman. Fortunately, the trousers were long enough to conceal all but her toes.
Adrian and Mick agreed it was best to go to the distillery after it closed as the human workers didn’t need to be put in danger during the destruction process. The plan was to sneak in a back door or window, blow up the stills, set fire to the place and to the warehouse he imagined would be next door with the crates of Absinthe ready to be shipped out to worldwide consumers. The brothers would try to draw out any lingering fey at the complex so Dan and Adrian could do their work of setting up the explosives. Tara was to accompany them merely as a lookout, Mick insisted, and as a last line of defense for Adrian and Dan if the fey brothers fell.
Gisele was given the task of sitting with Mr. Bellows until they returned. He felt sorry for the woman as she’d been mesmerized and told to forget things too many times in the past days for his liking. He wondered if Tara or Mick had done that to him without his knowledge. He’d have to ask Tara, later, when they returned successfully from their mission.
If they returned.
The distillery was located outside of the city, down river many miles south of Notre Dame Cathedral. It was quite a walk from Montmartre. The omnibuses were an option to get them to the edge of the city but they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves with all their weaponry strapped to their bodies, looking as if they were going off to rob a bank.
Tara was to transport Adrian with translocation magic while Mick and Riley agreed to carry Dan with them in winged flight, a suggestion that had the big man anxious before they even reached the rooftop of their apartment.
The sky was sunny and clear. Not a cloud visible. It was just past five in the evening. It wouldn’t be dark until nearly nine. The plant closed a half hour earlier, so they shouldn’t need to worry about the workers being harmed.
Tara hugged Adrian to her, and thought about the address she’d been given for the distillery. The whoosh of air as they left solid ground never failed to startle her, but it happened so quickly she soon forgot her unease as they arrived just outside the plant in the back, near the river.
The windows facing the river were dark. Together, she and Adrian walked up to the building and peered inside. It was the packaging room. Long rows of green glass bottles with the Lune Nuit label were set up on rows like soldiers on a battlefield on the center counters. Along the wall they noted crates at the ready to pack the bottles for shipment to various areas.
The sudden thud behind them made Tara and Adrian swing around in surprise.
Mick, Riley and Dan had arrived. Dan was pale, and looked as if he were about to toss up his cookies. He’d confided to her before that he didn’t like air travel.
“Have a care, sister. Wait for us to check the perimeter before you proceed,” Mick sternly advised. “Riley,” he nodded to his sibling and the pair of them leapt into the air and took flight. Tara watched them for a brief moment, amazed by the gracefulness of their movements.
“Are you well, Dan?” Adrian moved to their companion and peered at him with amusement. “You’re looking a little green there, my friend.”
“Never been carried somewhere by flying … fairies.” He looked at Tara as he said it.
She knew what he meant to say but didn’t; flying monkeys. She smiled and nodded at him. Good call. For once he had the grace to not let his mouth get ahead of his brain. No need to insult his ride, as they had to get out of here quickly once the explosives were lit.
The brothers returned to the ground. “I detect no protective sigils here,” Mick said.
“They set this up a few months ago,” Riley added. “They would not have been worried about us or any other fey finding their still.”
“Yet, they did put them up at the fair. Why?” Mick thought out loud.
“But that’s a very public place with crowds swarming in from all over the world,” Dan countered. “Some fellows, like my buddy here, marry a fey, who might in turn detect the dark ones presence and interfere with their plans to make humans stupid and psychotic.”
“I don’t like this,” Mick murmured. “It could be a trap.”
“Let’s get to work, the sun is going down.” Adrian was the one to bring the men into focus. Tara was amazed by his ability to take charge of men bigger than himself. She forgot he was a militia leader and led a group of rebels against a common foe in Ireland.
They found a side door and broke in. The brothers spread out with wings retracted tight against their backs. Each one went a different direction, keeping close to the walls and lurking before a doorway, like marines securing a stronghold of an enemy.
Dan and Adrian searched the rooms to find the stills. Tara followed them. She kept turning about as she walked, surveying the area, trying to detect the presence of a dark one.
They passed an office. Tara called out to them softly, and they paused to follow her inside the small, cluttered factory office with a win
dow overlooking the river. There were hand written shipment schedules on the walls. And ledgers filled with herb acquisitions, wormwood, anise, fennel, prices per kilo and supplier information. She moved the ledger aside and discovered a handwritten list of names and addresses of customers they intended to ship their product to in the next months. The distribution list was comprised of numerous pages, and lay amid scattered milk bottles that were nearly empty and emitting a sour smell.
Milk. They liked milk, just like Riley.
“Holy shit,” Dan’s voice rumbled behind her. “It’s a who’s who list for 1889. They’ve got Queen Victoria’s sons listed here, Princes Albert, Alfred, Arthur and Leopold. There’s President Harrison of the United States, G. Daimler, T. A. Edison, A. G. Bell, Pope Leo XIII, Samuel Clemons—hey, I know that name from somewhere.”
“Mark Twain,” Tara informed him. She looked over the list with him. There were leaders and dignitaries from countless nations, famous industrialists, inventors, businessmen, and intellectuals as well as Catholic Cardinal, Anglican priests, various dukes, earls, counts from European nations, generals and diplomats. This was their target distribution list. Start at the top of society and bring civilization down.
It was a brilliant plan, one they could not allow to succeed.
With disgust, Tara placed the sheaf of papers in the metal ash pail and set it aflame with an energy ball, the better to warm herself up with a little practice shot. The acrid smell of burning paper filled the room, overcoming the sour odor of rancid milk.
“Let’s move on,” Adrian directed. “We have to destroy the product and their stills.”
They wandered down the dreary corridor. The sun was on the opposite side of the building, casting the eastern side in shadows.
They found packed crates in one large warehouse room inside of the building instead of in separate building as they expected. The crates were marked with stamps foretelling the destinations of the potent, mind altering poison. New Orleans, Shanghai, Athens, Venice, Madrid, Prague, Vienna, New York, Istanbul … it was mind numbing to see so many place names on packaged crates ready for shipment.