The Violent Fae

by Phil Williams

  For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the wide-mouthed goon was going to keep pushing. Obrington focused on the road, and said curiously, “You’d lay down your life for this city, would you?”

  “Any day of the week,” Casaria said. Hadn’t he already proved that, saving Pax and the civilians? Ready to take their secrets to the grave, toe severed while tied to a dentist’s chair? A knife in his gut? A shield for Pax when she faced the grugulochs?

  Obrington was quiet. Hopefully thinking the same.

  A short distance down a hill, they pulled up next to a red-brick mansion, square and tasteless, the grass and bushes of its large open driveway trimmed so neatly it could’ve all been artificial. “This is it, isn’t it?”

  The car rocked as Obrington heaved his weight out the door. Casaria exited the other side, pulling his jacket closed over his gun. He studied the road, quiet. Obrington looked unimpressed. “Where’s the others got to, then?”

  “Sam Ward is very strict on the rules of the road,” Casaria suggested, checking the car in Monroe’s driveway. A gleaming black Porsche, most likely belonging to a trophy wife half built of plastic.

  Obrington had his phone out, dialling. No answer after a long wait. He grunted and tried another number, with no answer there, either. With the third call, he said, “Tori, anything from Ward or Landon?”

  “I thought they were with you, sir?” the receptionist chimed back.

  “Evidently not.”

  “So you’re not calling about the Bartons?”

  Obrington mouthed a disapproving curse to Casaria. “Why would I?”

  “They arrived a few minutes ago – insisting that –”

  “Arrived in our office?” Obrington said.

  “Yes. I thought –”

  “For crying out loud, who’s running that place?”

  There was a muffled disagreement on the other end of the line, and Tori urgently came back. “Sorry, sir, would you mind speaking to her?”

  “To who? This is a bleeding –”

  “Mr Obrington.” Holly Barton announced her presence sharply. “I’ll have you know that there are problems under Ordshaw that you are clearly too short-sighted to understand. You know that Ms Ward enlisted our help for a good reason, don’t you? Thanks in no small part to Pax’s involvement.”

  Obrington paused at her brusqueness. “Mrs Barton. I’m not sure you fully understand the situation with Kuranes.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s a damned sight better situation than you were in a week ago,” Holly said. “Have you even asked why Pax might keep things from you? Perhaps because your blundering management have already screwed this city so successfully for so long? Touch a hair on that woman’s head and you’ll have a city to answer to.”

  From the set of Obrington’s shoulders, he was not happy about being undermined yet again. Casaria twisted away, to give himself space to smile. “Mrs Barton,” Obrington said. “It’s not a question of what Kuranes has kept from us, so much as what she’s done. Though perhaps you’d like to share exactly what you think I should be upset about?”

  “Is Sam with you now? Frankly, it’s time she explained it to you herself.”

  Obrington looked at Casaria, then Monroe’s mansion, and finally the car, his mouth open in thought. He was piecing together the deception. Pax’s connection to the monster, everyone lying to him. Sam Ward not here now. He drew a slow conclusion, and said, simply, “Huh.”

  Sam was not aware of making a conscience choice to subvert the chain of command, but the moment Obrington’s car had turned out of view she advised Landon that they would not be going to Monroe’s family home. Landon watched Sam with many questions in his eyes, unhappy about changing course for the warehouse district without telling their colleagues. He asked only, “We planning on arresting her or helping her?”

  Sam said she wasn’t sure, and he segued into comments about his new Ministry-issued car, to change the subject. A Mercedes. He was pleased about its MPG, engine size and various electronics. Aware that Sam didn’t care, but trying to demonstrate two things: he appreciated that Sam had once shown an interest in upgrading his car, and he appreciated that she didn’t want to talk about their current situation.

  In truth, she was terrified that meeting Pax would mean coming head to head with the very criminal Obrington expected to confront in West Farling. But she was even more frightened about the very shaky ground regarding Pax. She shifted in the passenger seat. Her instincts, her gut, said trust the woman. It was too crazy and dangerous for her to have orchestrated such a mess, with herself at the centre. But doubt crept in from all angles. Casaria’s kidnapping and the way he had been swayed further against the Ministry. These illicit meetings with the Fae . . . what had Pax been getting up to? What were they walking into now? Pax wanted her alone, might she be planning something heinous?

  What was Sam even doing out here, she belonged in the office – telling others where to go, analysing data. Even if Pax was to be trusted, they had field agents to follow up on it.

  “You’re not carrying a gun,” Landon said, his mind in a similar place.

  She gave him a wan smile. Of course she wasn’t carrying a gun. Having an energy weapon in the Sunken City hardly helped. It had been years since she last used the Ministry’s firing range.

  “There’s a spare in the glove compartment. You’ve had basic training?”

  Sam let her eyes answer the question. Yes, she could shoot. No, she didn’t want to.

  “I’ll take the lead,” Landon said. “It’s just in case.”

  14

  Letty expected to find Edwing’s war room empty. Newbry should’ve jumped ship the same as Smark, but Flynt insisted it was the place to go. If they were to have any hope of thwarting Val’s citywide disaster, they needed help. He barely said anything else, retreating into his misery once the destination was established, with no discussion over exactly what use an abandoned comms station would be. The basement dwelling wasn’t abandoned, though. Newbry was there, sitting amid a heap of wires and computer monitors, and he wasn’t alone: in the little remaining space were Deidre and one of the Stabilisers from the Bloodtooth Bar.

  “The fuck are you all doing here?” Letty asked, surprise coming out hostile. “The man’s gone, shouldn’t you be, too?”

  “It’s because –” Deidre started anxiously, higher than she intended. She tried again: “It’s because we’ve lost Edwing that we’re here. Flynt . . . I can’t imagine.” She half-raised a hand in consolation, but didn’t come closer. Flynt nodded quiet appreciation.

  Letty asked, “Do we know how it happened? How it really happened?”

  The Stabiliser offered his input. “Near as I can tell they’ve reported the truth – our people weren’t the first on the scene. They’re hiding the fact we lost men, too, though.”

  “What?” Letty said. “How?”

  “Only heard rumours,” he replied. “Stabilisers got an anonymous tip to be there, but the first ones on the scene got taken down – three of ours. I don’t see a human pulling that off, unless it was the Ministry, but why would Valoria hide that?”

  She wouldn’t, but she might downplay Fae involvement to keep the focus on Pax. Letty worked through that. Pax had other Fae friends? Who would intervene to help her? She asked Flynt, “Your people?”

  Flynt shook his head. His scouts had been locked down with everyone else. No, it was stranger than that. If they set this up, the Stabilisers should’ve been prepared for trouble. If there was another Fae involved . . . Suddenly it hit Letty. “Fuck, it’s her again, isn’t it?”

  Deidre asked, “Who?”

  “Lightgate,” Letty said. “Why the hell wouldn’t it be? I knew I shouldn’t have waited on Edwing’s war of words and this shit – and you lot” – she pointed at the Stabiliser – “don’t have the first clue about stopping her, do they?”

  “Lightgate?” he replied. “We couldn’t find –”

  “I’m telling you it’s her. She saw
him vying for peace and that’s the worst thing in the world to a psycho like her. Val didn’t need to kill him, she could’ve connived around it, but Lightgate revels in this kind of brutality, fuck. Give me your armour. I’ll get out, go –”

  “No,” Flynt cut in.

  “What? You listening to me, your brother –”

  “Can wait.” He closed his eye at the pain of having to say this. “Whether Valoria pulled that trigger or not, she’s taking advantage of it. She meets the Council in under an hour. We have to stop her using this to do even more harm.”

  “How’s that?” Letty said. “Storm the Council, put one in her head? The FTC doesn’t matter.”

  “No,” Flynt repeated, determinedly, “with the vote she’ll be pushing retaliation, segregation. It’s more important than ever we stand up for what Edwing believed in. Lightgate wants us to fight; we need to be voices of reason.”

  “Edwing wanted human support,” Deidre said. “Without that we have nothing.”

  “We know what she’s doing,” Flynt said. “Planning to force her demands through by threatening the humans.”

  The Stabiliser said, “They’ve been moving something, Val’s closest men.”

  “We know,” Letty huffed. “It’s a poison.”

  “I can tell Valoria no,” Flynt said. “Make the Council see sense.” Emotion bubbled into his voice. Desperate to do this. “It’s what Edwing would’ve done. Stayed the course.”

  “I . . .” Deidre struggled. “What would we say? I don’t know –”

  “I’ll do it,” Flynt said. “I got a right, don’t I? As a community leader – as his brother. I’ll say what he would’ve. It’s not right, Val’s way forward.”

  Deidre joined the rest of the room in looking to Letty for a decision.

  “What? Why ask me? You think you can actually make a difference?”

  “I can argue for peace,” Flynt said. “For calm, measured justice.”

  “And we can record it,” Newbry said. “I’m set up. Even if the Council votes in Val’s favour, we can expose the details to the FTC.”

  Letty tried to picture it. A Council meeting where they managed to make a lot of angry Fae question Val’s corruption. Throw in the message about her disregarding the Sunken City and the Dispenser, they might have something. At least delay what she had going on. Flynt wasn’t the orator his brother had been, but it was better than busting heads. Letty asked, “You’re up to this?”

  He nodded, with the determination of a kid about to jump in water for the first time.

  “Alright. But it’s not enough. This one’s right” – Letty indicated Deidre – “we need that human element. Can you get me another outside line?”

  Newbry turned to a second computer. “Already on it.”

  At the ring of her phone, Pax felt a pang of stupid guilt. She still hadn’t tossed it, inviting trouble. A tracking device in her pocket. Come get me, lock me up, shoot my knees off, whatever. And now another Unknown Number. She answered, “Yeah?”

  “You sound down. Been wrongfully accused of murder or some shit?”

  “Letty!” Pax jumped to attention. “Thank fuck! How –”

  “You’re in the shit,” Letty cut in. “We are, too, for what it’s worth. An hour or so and Valoria’s gonna make contact like this completely impossible. So we gotta talk quick. First, some good news: our weapons can get rid of the berserker – your fucking minotaur.”

  “Great. Can they take out Lightgate, too?”

  “Shut up and listen – this thing’s still a clusterfuck and we need your help. Specifically, you, because you’re always finding answers to questions no one’s asking. I’m hoping for an answer to stop our people kicking the world in the balls. Point one, the Dispenser wasn’t never some unique, mystical weapon. Like you fucking thought, our energy’s all connected, and my people already know that. They baulked at it because the buck doesn’t stop at the berserker. The Dispenser worked, but the berserker came back.”

  “Came back . . .”

  “That’s their excuse for giving up and going with whatever the hell Val wants. Our Council’s meeting in an hour and Val wants to draw a line we won’t come back from. She’ll threaten your people with some fucking poison. But if you can give us a solution – if we can resolve the Sunken City, put serious faith in humanity – then we avoid disaster.”

  Pax said nothing. Not panicking, or creasing up at the responsibility. Calm, strangely, like it made sense. For once, she wanted to be needed. “I’ll do it. I’ll be there.”

  “At the meeting? No, that’s –”

  “I mean I’ll figure something out. If I’m not dead by then.”

  “Get your Ministry mates to earn their keep, they can hold off a few Fae.”

  An engine grew louder as a shining black car pulled into the road. The sleek heartless vehicle of government spooks, not Sam Ward’s Honda. Tracking the phone call?

  “Yeah, about that,” Pax said quietly.

  “What about that? Pax –”

  “Let’s both of us just try and stay alive. Speak soon, okay?”

  She hung up as the car got nearer. Through the windscreen, she saw Ward, giving her a wave, but she wasn’t alone. Behind the wheel was the older, overweight agent she’d crossed a few times now. Landon. Pax didn’t run. It was what it was.

  They pulled up and got out, Landon checking the sky, Ward holding back, watching Pax. Dreading the answer, Pax asked, “What’s he doing here?”

  “Whatever I tell him to,” Ward said, with forced confidence. Having satisfied himself with their surroundings, Landon turned to her for instructions. There was a dark look on her face. “Obrington wants your blood. And the FTC got in touch.”

  “Saying I killed someone and you should hand me over, I guess?” Pax said. “Did they suggest I single-handedly took out the Fae hunting me, too?”

  “I don’t know.” Ward hesitated. “The others are on their way to Monroe’s house, thinking we’re behind them. It’s just us here.”

  “They’ll trace us before long,” Landon added. Prompting a decision. Pax gave him an uneasy look; thinning dark hair dusted with grey, badly dressed and an overall picture of lazy tiredness. She could see why it was this one, in particular, Ward was able to control.

  Ward held Pax’s gaze, looking like she wanted to ask something, anything, that would make everything clear and easy. Rather than speak, Pax spread her hands openly. She had invited them there, trusted them this far; it was on them now. Ward took a deep breath and shook her head, going with a feeling that her logic was raging against. She said, “We might not have much time. What are we going to do?”

  “Alright.” Pax fought down a relieved smile, and raced quickly on. “Monroe and his boys, they think I’m their mate. They’ll give me the time of day – I want to talk to them. Figure out how Lightgate got to them, maybe see a way I can prove it wasn’t me. At least to satisfy you. But these are career criminals. If things get ugly . . .”

  “We’ll have your back,” Ward said.

  “I’ve got the impression,” Landon said, “these men don’t much respect the authorities.”

  That raised another question. Pax asked, “What happened in the tunnels?”

  Landon checked with Ward. She nodded and he said, “They were looking to move contraband under the city. Prepared to kill over it, it seemed.”

  “And they had help,” Ward elaborated, “disabling our alarms. Their interference probably caused our more widespread problems, letting some of the creatures through our sensors. It was pure luck they missed one.”

  “Lightgate could’ve got that info,” Pax said. Pinning this on the fairy would mean the blue screens weren’t conspiring as actively as they feared. To convince herself, she continued, “She has connections. She saw me with these guys, knew we were . . .”

  Friends? Bees and Jones had almost killed Casaria, after she’d shared years of banter at the poker table with them. Bees, with his rambling trivia, as close
to a friend as Pax had. She asked, “The men down there? Big guys?”

  “One big one small,” Landon said. “The grey-haired one was at your apartment. He got shot.”

  “He . . .” Pax averted her gaze. Shot meant dead. Just like that. Bees. She didn’t know what to say. This whole damned affair. That little maniac fairy. Well, if Lightgate was here, they would trace a path back to her. Create a gap between the lies and deceits to see a way through. She said. “Come with me, but stay out of sight.”

  15

  In the dim mid-afternoon, Stacey Monroe’s dentistry office was lit from the inside, with at least one light on in the opposite warehouse, where his men did their work. Pax had taken grotty alleyways to the back of the small building, rather than risk the direct route, but she might be noticed walking between the buildings anyway. Fine, just as long as there was no sign of Ward and Landon.

  She knocked at Monroe’s door and waited. There were voices inside, the low chatter of two men. No response to her knock, so she tried the bell. It didn’t ring. Pax opened the door, unlocked, and crept in. Through the reception hall, listening for conversation.

  “Not what I agreed to, was it?” Monroe said, chewing someone out. “2009 was a good year. The best. Snobs in glass towers write poems about it. 2007 was a year you could wipe your arse with. Understand? I ask for a Jag I don’t want to see bloody Peugeot on the bonnet, do I?”

  The scolded person mumbled a response.

  “You got something to say, say it, but it better be fucking good.”

  “Sorry, boss. Won’t happen again – I promise.” A man used to servitude.

  “Can’t happen again, can it? There’s no one else offering eight fucking crates of 2009 Pomerol. The question is how you’re gonna make up the difference.”