by Eli Constant
I do what he says. I gather everything about Mei into one small seed-shaped space and I tuck it away. When it’s no longer front and center, I take a deep breath. Mei’s still there and if I think of her I can bring her entire life to the surface. I can taste her blood.
Thanks, Liam.
“You’re welcome.”
I spin around, dropping the remnants of the tissues onto the ground. Liam walks forward, in his full human guise, and bends down to retrieve them.
“Blood’s powerful. Even when it touches the Earth, even when it has dried, it is powerful.” He stands back up and walks over to the large, unlit furnace. The heavy door cries as he opens it slowly, the hinges badly in need of lubrication. He tosses in the tissues. “You should treat it with more care.”
“I know that,” I say the words defensively. “You just startled me.”
“Did I?” Liam’s in front of me in a rush of wind, letting his fae side show. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you did,” I scoff, taking a step back. He steps forward. I step back. We dance until my body hits the back of the garage. “Liam, back up.”
His right arm snakes over my shoulder and his palm presses against the wall behind me. His left hand raises and strokes my hair away from my face. “You’re so beautiful, Victoria.”
His touch sends shockwaves up and down my body. I feel my power rising in response. It only takes seconds for me to become the white-haired, shimmering fae Blood Queen. “I’m not comfortable, Liam.”
Liam searches my eyes and I can tell that he doesn’t like what he sees. I’m trying to show in my face that I don’t want his advances, but it’s hard, because deep down I do. God, I do. And it’s not fair to Kyle. It’s not fair to anybody.
“Love is sometimes unfair.” He leans forward and I speak quickly, hoping to stay his advance.
“I’m with Kyle, Liam. I love Kyle.”
“So you keep telling me.” He inches closer until his lips are hovering so close to mine that I can imagine their touch. I can imagine what it’s like to kiss him.
Electric. Unstoppable. The kind of kiss you don’t come back from. “I love Kyle, Liam.” I press my palms against his body and I push him away. “And I want you to leave.”
“I’ve given up my entire world for you.” Liam’s his full human self again, not a hint of the fae showing. “I’m a traitor to my kind. To my court. To my prince.”
I pull my power back, feeling my hair shifting from pale to dark. When the glow is gone, my skin no longer vibrates. “I didn’t ask you to do that, Liam. I wouldn’t have asked you to do that.”
“I know how the court works, Victoria, I can help you. You don’t have to marry Prince Oran. We can change things together.”
“Liam, do you know what that sounds like?” I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. “It sounds like you’re bribing me. Hey, be with me instead, I can keep you from being forced into a marriage.”
“That’s not what I meant, Victoria.” But he’s backed away, something like realization sprouting on his face. “I’m sorry that’s how it sounded.”
“That is how it sounded, Liam. I don’t care what fae tradition says. I won’t marry someone I don’t love. Period. For fuck’s sake, what if it was the black court’s turn? The Black Prince is my damn half-brother. Would the fae be cool with that? Hey, Blood Queen, just marry your brother and procreate. No big deal. We don’t have laws against incest.”
“Victoria…” Liam’s voice trails off.
“Just go, Liam. Honestly. I can’t deal with this shit right now. I want to go back upstairs, hang out with Mei, and forget this conversation completely.”
Turning away from him, I straighten my shoulders and I tell myself not to look back. But I do. Of course I do.
And it’s a little blessing that Liam’s already disappeared when I do risk a glance behind.
Chapter Seventeen
I have to rush to change before Terrance pulls up in front of the Victorian.
Some of the family members had come back after the graveside service, wanting to go over the bill. On the day of the service. They thought I was overcharging them, even with the itemization in front of them whilst I sat behind the desk trying not to seem impatient—even though I was actually impatient, because it was Wednesday and I had a date with Bonneau’s Chief of Police and a potential taxidermist turned serial killer.
And most people only look forward to hump day because it means the work week is half over. Guess I’m just lucky like that.
After trying to work every single angle they could to get me to lower my charges, the family finally gave up.
In the end, I think what was really going on was that shipping the body had cost the family an arm and a leg and they were trying to get a few pennies back by challenging my bill. I hadn’t given an inch though. My prices are always transparent and fair. And I don’t let myself get taken advantage of… anymore. When I’d first started running the business, it hadn’t taken much for me to lower a price. Tears went a long way back then. I got a reputation for being cheap, so much so that I almost went under that first year.
Now the only tears that break me are those that belong to spirits. They deserve to cry.
“How’d the funeral go?” Terrance asks, starting to drive again before I’m even buckled.
“Business as usual.” The click of the seatbelt engaging seems to echo in my chest. There’s nothing nefarious about it, yet it fills me with dread. I don’t like it when I get feelings like that.
“I was thinking the other night—it can’t possibly be business as usual for you. Not like it would be for other funeral directors. I mean, hell, how do you get bodies ready when…” he takes a hand off the steering wheel and rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. So I help him out a little.
“How do I embalm a body when the body’s spirit is still hanging around?”
“Yeah. That.” Both of his hands are back on the steering wheel.
“Most of the time, they don’t want to go back into their bodies. Maybe they were sick and don’t want to feel the decay. Maybe they were old and don’t want to feel the arthritis. Maybe they were murdered.” I shrug, like talking about the dead so casually is something I do all the time. “So they talk to me in spirit form. Now if they’re confused, don’t realize they’re dead, then they’re more likely to go back into their bodies by accident. Like the flesh memory of skin and bones is calling to them.” I take a deep breath, look down at my hands. “Sometimes, they know they’re dead and just want to come back. Those are ones that usually died healthy in some sort of accident. I can push them back out by force or help them to realize that they need to let go of their human life. And then I bind the bodies with a salt line and a spell.”
“Salt line and a spell.” It’s not a question and Terrance murmurs something else under his breath that I can’t make out. His voice rises again. “Sounds like witch stuff.”
“Shaman stuff, actually. Quite a different ball game. My grandmother taught me.” I look out the window. We’ve passed through town already and are into a more rural section. Woods and more woods sometimes interrupted by a small, derelict house.
“Shaman stuff.” Terrance says the words with a tone of detachment, as if he’s suddenly decided to start internalizing all the odd things he’s learned about me; like he’s just going to push them down into a pocket of his body where they can be ignored until he’s actually ready to deal.
Thinking he’s pushing down the truth makes me uncomfortable and I find myself twiddling my thumbs and staring at the motion—the in and out weaving. Over and under. Under and over. It’s nearly hypnotizing. I know Terrance; I know how he faces up to reality and does the right thing. I just hope he’s not hiding from my reality because he’ll feel compelled to do the right thing… the right thing according to the law.
I look up when the squad car slows and begins to turn. The driveway is dirt and gravel, but mostly dirt, like the road had been ‘
paved’ decades ago and the stone has all but been strewn away from the many tires that have run the length of it. I wouldn’t think a taxidermist would get that much business.
About halfway up the long drive is a crooked sign that needs a new paint job. It reads ‘Louis D. Taxidermy, owner Mordecai Jones’.
When Terrance slowed to a complete stop, the tires squish and squelch in the muddy drive. It’s not snowing right now, but the clouds above are pregnant with the promise. There wasn’t another vehicle in sight and I wondered if our Mr. Jones was even here.
“No car. Think he’s even here?”
“Yeah, he’s here.” Terrance pushes open his door with a sigh, pulling a manila folder from its hiding place between his seat and the armrest. It’s thin and I want to know what it contains. I don’t ask though. “Mordecai’s always here and he always parks his truck out back.” Terrance stands and I’m staring at his holstered gun. It’s looking like a creature today, a creature of steel ready to shoot and kill. I don’t like it. I open my door and quickly get out. Terrance and I close our doors simultaneously, the thuds a dual sound that pops my ears.
The sounds of the engine have barely died, the hood of the squad car still warm against the winter chill, when who I can only assume is Mordecai Jones comes out of the dark brown building that looks like it was made out of a shipping container.
He is not at all what I was expecting. Not. At. All.
“Goodman.” Mordecai doesn’t have to crane his head back to look into Terrance eyes because he’s still standing on the porch of his business. If he stepped down the two steps and came to be on even footing with Terrance, then he would have to. Because Mordecai Jones cannot be taller than three feet. And possibly an inch or so added with the way his hair is coifed into a large swoop at the front of his face and then falling to curl around his ears in salt and pepper waves. It’s almost Elvis wannabe, but I’m sure by his air and expression that he wouldn’t appreciate the reference.
He stands like he’s a hundred feet tall though, with his broad shoulders pushed back and his head held defiantly. The deep lines along his face are so prominent that I instantly want to paint him. There’s a scar that runs across his chin and down his neck. It’s old, fully healed, just a pale line against his tanned skin. He’s a magnetic figure, standing on his porch looking at Terrance with a keen gaze. There’s something about him that makes me want to fall into a crouch, to prostrate myself at his feet. I shake my head, raise my eyes just the fraction necessary to meet his gaze.
He’s staring at me.
With ice that holds fire.
“Jones. It’s nice to see you again.” Terrance is trying to sound civil. Mordecai Jones wants nothing to do with niceties.
“Wish I could say the same.” Mordecai doesn’t move a muscle, but his eyes flick from my face to Terrance’s. Even his lips barely move as he speaks. “What can I do for you?” He flicks his gaze once more at me, this time fully taking me in with only a second’s consideration. It makes me uneasy, but also a bit pissed. I deserve a little more than a cursory glance. I’m powerful. And a freaking Blood Queen. Not that he knows that.
Still, there’s something about him. Something that takes my ‘Queen’ status and throws it in the gutter.
“Just got a couple questions, Jones.” Terrance’s voice is firm, not unkind.
“Your questions tend to lead to me spending a few nights in jail, Goodman.” There’s grit and distrust in Mordecai’s voice now.
Terrance doesn’t say anything in response. I take this as affirmation that Mordecai is speaking the truth.
I know I should keep quiet, but I don’t. I move forward, hand out. I want this Mordecai to take me seriously and I know the want has everything to do with my ego and nothing to do with my brain.
I can feel Terrance’s energy behind me, it’s literally shouting for me to keep my mouth closed and come stand back beside him. Sometimes I forget that I don’t have the protection of a badge.
The closer I get to the man standing on the porch, the more I feel compelled to fall to one knee and beg his forgiveness.
His forgiveness for what though?
“Hi, Mr. Jones. My name’s Victoria—”
“Girl, you best step away from my porch.” He steps down one riser and somehow, moving down makes him appear bigger. I realize in that instant that Mordecai Jones doesn’t have human dwarfism. He is, in fact, a dwarf. As in take-the-ring-to-Mordor, wields-an-ax dwarf. Although, real dwarfs can call upon their power to become larger. The effect doesn’t last long, it’s more an illusion than anything.
I think back to my notes in the journal I’d been filling with Liam. Dwarfs were proud, territorial. They don’t like to be challenged, especially in their own ‘kingdom’. Now, it had been nearly fifty years since the last actual dwarf kingdom fell, but I got the feeling that Mordecai Jones’ little taxidermy shop was Camelot in his mind.
What did Liam say to do if I ever met one? I wrack my brain and I feel the answer on the tip of my tongue.
Of course, I don’t have time to recollect myself because Liam’s voice comes to life in my head. Bow. Only a little. Most preternatural creatures follow an unwritten rule that dictates humans remain outside our reality. So be subtle. Don’t let Terrance think you’re doing anything unusual. And Tori, be cautious. This isn’t any ordinary dwarf.
My first instinct is to mentally shout at Liam to leave, but I can’t. I need the help right now and… I’m feeling a bit bad over him getting jailed by the light court Prince and then basically having to banish himself to get back to me. It’s dirty pool to do something like that. It makes a girl almost unable to refuse his intrusions. Almost.
I step back until I am just in front of Terrance. I keep my gaze on Mordecai’s face. His eyes are still trained on me, defiance in the hard set of his jaw. I wait until he has locked eyes with me yet again and then I bow my head, eyes closing. It is only a fraction of a moment, a fraction of a gesture.
When I lift my head though, Mordecai’s eyes are slightly more open, his jaw slightly more slack.
Now apologize. Repeat after me- ‘Mr. Jones,’
“Mr. Jones.”
I listen to Liam’s voice and I speak Liam’s words. With each utterance, Mordecai’s face grows more calm. ‘I’m sorry for invading. I don’t belong here. This is your home and I’m not even a cop. I’ve no authority in your territory.’
“Mr. Jones. I’m sorry for invading. I don’t belong here. This is your home and I’m not even a cop. I’ve no authority in your territory.”
Now say your name again, but put your power behind the words. Let it breathe outward. Let him face and feel the aura of the Blood Queen.
“My name is Victoria Iracebeth Cage.” I pause, wondering if I’ve been successful. I can feel the magic flowing through my veins. I can feel the energy prickling along my skin. But can he feel it? There’s not much death beneath my feet, within my grasp. I am relying on my fae powers now, powers that I am not keenly aware of. Can he feel it?
He can. Again, Mordecai’s eyes open further, an almost imperceptible change. I speak again, this time reaching forward until I can feel the hum of his pumping blood inside my throat. I want to caress its warmth, the life flowing within it. I pull it to me slowly, measure by measure, and his face goes from rosy tan to ash white. My eyes threaten to roll back, leaving only an unsettling white in the absence of my iris and pupil. My eyelashes want to flutter closed. I fight it.
I can feel the past in this dwarf’s blood. I can feel his lineage.
He was once a King. Not just a King of a home and a small territory, but a true King. The last dwarf King.
“Mordecai Jones, Miss Cage. Pleasure to meet you.” Mordecai’s body is slumped forward, only a fraction, as if he is fighting gravity that wants to pull him to the ground. I let go of his blood, sending it back to him in such a rush that his face goes red before calming back to his natural tan.
“Pleasure is all mine, Mr. Jones. Like I sai
d, I’m not a cop. I’m a consultant with the Bonneau police department and I own a funeral home.” I turn my body so that I can see Terrance’s face. He’s looking at me, his left brow quirked up suspiciously. “We’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay. And I promise, if I believe you’re not involved, then we’ll leave you alone to do whatever it is you were doing before we pulled up and disturbed your peace.”
“Peace.” Mordecai scoffs, some of his vim and vigor returning. Now, though, his voice is changed. There’s the heavy sound of an accent, something more suited for the highlands of Scotland than a backwater South Carolina town. “Ah can’t gie nae peace nowadays. Livin' in a toon 'at thinks I’ve dain somethin' wrang when Ah haven’t.”
“Nothing wrong recently.” Terrance corrects, his voice soft, but still strong enough to carry over to the porch. His face holds curiosity though, listening to Mordecai’s change in speech.
“Ah sauld a dizzen idiots whit they thooght was djinn ginger. It’s nae loch a murrdad someain, Chief Goodman.” He says the word ‘chief’ like it takes some effort to expel the title from his mouth. “Only reason ye caught me is 'at a body divit cam tae th' station sayin' i’d robbed heem. Which Ah hadn’t. As Ah tauld ye.”
“You sold a druggie a vial of orange juice and told him it was one of the most powerful hallucinatory drugs on the planet, Mordecai. You did rob him. And when we came here to arrest you, we found the real thing on your property.”
“But Ah didn’t seel it.” Mordecai’s voice is firm. “Ah hud it, but Ah didn’t feckin' seel it, Goodman.”
Fighting the urge to raise my hand like I’m a kid in a school room, I clear my throat and speak. “What’s Djinn juice?”
Terrance responds before Mordecai can. “Illegal substance that came on the market right after the Rising. It was quashed pretty quickly, but there’s still a few people who manufacture and sell it. Real crazy stuff. ‘Pink elephants in the room’ stuff.”