by E. A. Copen
I didn’t want things to progress beyond friendship between Sal and I, no matter how I felt. There are times when I hate my stupid feelings. By moving away, I’d sent a loud and clear message, one I hadn’t bothered with before. I’d been leading him on all this time. It was time to stop.
Sal stopped short and recovered awkwardly, cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head. “You take care of Chanter and that elf until I get back.”
“Will do,” I said with a tight lipped smile.
He let me go and called to Hunter. “Come on, kid. We’ve got places to be.”
I felt a little guilty as I watched them pull away, but I kept it to myself. My head had to be in this case if I was going to make it out alive.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A short while later, Chanter and I opened the doors to the shed. Mara had Leo in her arms and I had the fold-up playpen. Outside, it was a warm, comfortable and clear night with a light breeze. The moon was big and full in the sky, giving us plenty of light. Still, Chanter brought out an old oil lantern and placed it in the corner of the shed, casting shadows over Creven.
The elf’s cheeks were pink. His chest rose and fell with the rhythms of sleep, but he didn’t stir when we came in. An IV drip was still going, though the bag was almost empty. Chanter pulled it down and swapped it out for another while I set up the playpen.
I watched him intently after snapping everything in place. “Everyone around here sure knows a lot about medicine. I’m not sure I could sew up wounds and change IV bags.”
“You pick things up,” Chanter said in a flat tone. “Werewolves like to fight. That means we also have to patch ourselves up.”
Mara couldn’t stop staring at the heavy bandages over Creven’s stomach, even after she lowered Leo into the playpen. “Holy shit. What happened to him?”
“Impaled with iron thanks to a giant,” I said quietly.
“A giant?” Mara whispered in a breath.
“Yeah, and he looks better than the first few victims.”
“Get those lawn chairs, girl,” Chanter said, pointing to some old green folding chairs. I pulled them down off the wall and handed them to Mara, who set them up at the entrance to the shed. Chanter sank into one and asked, “How many are dead now?”
“Let’s see,” I answered, sitting next to him and leaving the one on the end for Mara. “Harry Continelli, the vampire, Annie Cox—”
“Annie?” Mara put a hand over her mouth.
“Did you know her?” I asked turning to Mara.
She nodded gravely. “I mean, sometimes I still go in there, to Aisling. I remember. She was pretty. Always asked for ID so I had to drink virgin when she was working.” Mara directed her attention forward into the empty street. “I can’t believe someone I know is dead…”
“More than just her now,” I added. “There were also three bodyguards and a whole company of private security. It’s got to be over a dozen people now.”
“And you mentioned you thought it was fae,” Chanter said. “What makes you think that?”
“He gave me three chances to stand down. He also said he was under oath to kill Kim. Took it pretty seriously. When I stood in its way after the third warning, that’s when he attacked. He was almost pleasant, except for the part where he tried to kill us.”
“Kim,” said Chanter in a voice that told me he was deep in thought. “You mean Kim Kelley?”
“Creven works for her,” I said, gesturing to the elf behind us. “I thought at first he was behind this considering he’s a pretty powerful practitioner and that he’s fae as well but…”
“But why would it attack its master?” Mara asked.
“Once some fae creatures are bound by honor to complete a task, nothing short of death can stop them,” Chanter answered. He checked the oxygen tank nearby and adjusted it before lighting a cigarette and puffing on it. “Oaths are binding in a magickal sense. There are likely consequences if he fails. The creature’s honor is on the line.” He turned to me. “You keep calling it a giant. How big was it?”
I shrugged. “Twenty, twenty-five feet tall. What do you know about the connection between giants, supernatural cold and zombies?”
Chanter sat back in his chair, mouth turned down in a deep frown. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Leave nothing out.”
I told Chanter everything I knew about the case, beginning with what I had seen at Aisling. When I got to the part where it attacked us at Kim’s mansion, he sat forward, pursing his lips and resting attentively on his elbows.
“Why Kim?” Chanter asked after I’d finished.
“I understand about Harry,” Mara said, wrinkling her nose. “Guy sounds like he deserved what he got.”
“Annie didn’t deserve it,” I pointed out.
“If Kim and Harry were both targets, then it stands to reason whoever has bound the giant to his oath holds a grudge against both parties.” Chanter stroked his chin in thought.
“Right,” I continued. “But the pool of people who knew both Harry and Kim is pretty shallow. Harry was a foreigner. Outside of Crux and Crux’s blood slave, he barely seems to have interacted with anyone outside of Aisling. That’s got to be the connection. Someone at Aisling is holding the giant’s leash.”
“What about Robbie?” Mara asked. “You said he thought he was being cut out of a deal. If he felt like he was being cheated out of money…”
“Robbie wouldn’t do it at Aisling. That’s too close to home. He wouldn’t wreck his business, not after he went to the Stryx to save it even after Kim wouldn’t.”
“A foreigner…” Chanter said, still in thought. “From where?”
“Well, Crux is from Italy. But I don’t think he lives there anymore.”
“And this blood slave of his, where is he from?”
“I’m not sure it matters,” I answered. “Crux has him under his thumb so tight, he’d barely talk to me. And when he did, Crux beat him for it.”
I found myself clenching my fists at the memory of it. Sven had such fear in his eyes…I’d seen people like him before, victims of years of mental and physical abuse, so broken they ceased to have their own identity or will. He was a slave, in every sense of the word now.
“The more and more I hear you talk,” said Chanter, shifting in his seat. “The more and more I hear about Sven and Crux. Sounds like you’ll need to talk to them again, Judah.”
“Have you ever heard of anything like this, Chanter?”
He puffed on his cigarette in thought. His answer was a thoughtful grunt.
Mara pulled out her phone and started furiously typing into it. “So, you think these undead things are actually, what? Some kind of super zombie?”
“I guess,” I said with a shrug. “Why?”
Just then, a loud howl pierced the night followed closely by a chorus of more. I couldn’t tell where the voices were coming from but I could guess at what they meant. The werewolves had caught the scent of something. The hunt was on.
Chanter stood, tucked his hands into his pockets and paced a few feet forward without the use of his cane, his figure haloed by the full moon. “The internet will not have the answers you seek, child,” he said, kicking some discarded sidewalk chalk.
Mara lowered her phone.
“Do you know what this is?” I asked him.
“Many people around the world spoke of giants that inhabited the Earth in the time before men. But there is only one I know of that spoke of what you describe.”
“Well, what is it?” asked Mara on the edge of her seat.
He knelt and began to draw with the chalk. I rose from my seat and went to watch him write. When he was finished, he took a step back and looked at me.
I paused as I leaned over the letters he’d drawn. Not all of them were letters still in use today. Had I been anything other than a linguistics major in college, I wouldn’t have been able to pronounce it at all. Even with my background, th
ough, I stumbled through the unusual letters and their strange combinations. The name felt awkward in my mouth. “Hrimthursar? What’s that?”
“A creature from the Icelandic sagas. The revenants you are dealing with sound like draugr,” said Chanter, looking down at me.
“But it is fae, right?”
“Old fae,” he answered gravely. “Powerful fae with terrible magick.” He looked at me and added, “You’re going to need more than iron to deal with this one.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Chanter knelt and scratched the name out with more chalk, working at it until the big piece was just a powdery stub. His wrinkled and leathery shoulders shook with effort as he lifted himself back up. I didn’t know exactly how old or powerful Chanter was. My only source was what I could observe in his aura. When I first met the man, I took a peek and found he was surrounded by the swirling, pulsating power of an aura that rivaled any I had ever seen.
Yet, he wouldn’t speak the creature’s name nor would he allow it to remain on the sidewalk for fear it would draw its attention. He was afraid. After what I had seen at the Kelley mansion, I didn’t blame him.
“Chanter,” I said, my voice barely a whisper on the light breeze. “What is this thing?”
“I can’t be sure that’s what it is. There are still pieces that don’t fit. The energy I felt infecting your ankle, for example. It was definitely fae but not like I have ever known.”
He started for his chair and then paused, coughing so hard he doubled over. I rushed to Chanter’s side, holding him up and helping him back to his chair. In a shaky rush, I worked to get the oxygen tank running while he kept on coughing and gasping. Leo began to stir in his playpen and, against the low whine of an angry one-year-old, Chanter spat a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. I paused in getting the oxygen tank up and running, deciding whether this fit warranted further medical treatment. He would refuse it, I knew, so I just finished prepping the oxygen and helped him slip the tubing over his face and ears.
It took him several minutes to recover but, when he did, he tossed his cigarette out on the driveway to smolder. Then he leaned over toward Mara and said, “And that, dear girl, is why you shouldn’t smoke.”
Mara shifted her weight away from him.
I leaned down to pick up Leo. The kid was heavy for such a little guy but, somehow, I managed to get him comfortable in my arms, rocking him back and forth as I paced.
Chanter settled back into his seat. “Fae politics,” he said. “What do you know of it?”
“I know there are over a hundred different sub-types of fae,” I answered. “It’s only natural to assume they don’t all get along.
“A disagreement in Faerie is not like one here. There’s a difference. You see, all over the world, the old people spoke of elves and sprites and gnomes…Small folk. The lesser fae. But not all are members of the court. You and I may quarrel but that is different than if, say, Pakistan had a disagreement with India about who should be in charge of both countries.”
“Sounds complicated,” Mara said.
Chanter turned his head to her and nodded. “Very. The ruling bodies are split in two, one being the Seelie and the other being the Unseelie.”
“Light and dark fae. I read about this.” Mara nodded.
“That’s an over-simplification,” I said. “Just like saying there are democrats and republicans and those are your only choices.”
“Then what’s the difference?”
“The difference is,” Chanter answered in my place, “the school of magick they prescribe to. The Seelie Court governs protective magick, healing, that type of thing. If you’re looking for the dark arts, look no further than the Unseelie. They are masters of battle magick, necromancy, curses. Now, magick in itself is neither good nor evil. Even necromancy can be used for good, but the cost of such magick is often blood, will or some other thing humans tend to hold dear.”
Mara frowned. “If you’re a werewolf, how do you know so much about Faerie?”
Chanter smiled back at her. “I asked a lot of questions growing up, much like you. And I have met one or two in my time.”
“Right, but what’s all this got to do with the giant?”
After a long beat of silence, Chanter answered, “Do you know what the word Ragnarok means?”
“It’s like the Viking end of the world,” Mara said.
“That is a naïve understanding of the word,” Chanter said, closing his eyes. “It is the death of the gods, the battle to end all battles. The world will be set aflame and then drowned. Everything will die. The Eldjotnar, or giants, play a pivotal role in the end of things for the Norse. Those would be, in layman’s terms, fire giants.”
“Fire giants?” I said. “There are freaking fire giants? And they’re real?”
Chanter nodded. “You are playing a dangerous game with the kin of things the Norsemen foretold would end the world.”
“I still don’t see a connection,” Mara said, leaning back.
“The giants aren’t beholden to a side,” came the dry, cracked voice of the elf behind us. I jumped at the sound of Creven’s voice and turned. He was awake but hadn’t made any move to sit up. “Neither Seelie nor Unseelie,” he continued. “They can be drafted to serve either.”
Rising out of my chair, I handed Leo off to Mara and went to Creven’s side. “Do you know something about that thing?”
Creven nodded weakly. “Legends and stories. My kind don’t speak much of the Old Ones. They come from a time before.”
“Before what?” Mara asked, eyes wide.
“Before us.” Creven swallowed. I grabbed a bottle of water from a package tucked in the corner of the garage, undid the cap and helped Creven get a drink. “Thanks for that, love.”
“Creven, I need to know everything you know about this giant.”
He took in a deep breath and winced. I checked his bandages. They were holding, though some blood had soaked through.
“Magick,” the elf managed after the pain subsided. “They live behind an unbreakable barrier of it. My people tell stories about the foolish men who tried to climb the mountain range where the giants live. All were struck down only to rise again, forced into servitude, protecting the mountains. They’re slaves to the cold giants, an army of undead, unsleeping hungry slaves whose only purpose is to protect their masters’ treasures.
“They say the giants walk the mountains, using the peaks as stepping stones. In the high mist, they look down with spite, remembering a time when all of Faerie was theirs, and wait for the day it will fall from the hands of the Seelie to be reclaimed. When the giants argue, they shout so loud their breaths blow the clouds down out of the mountains. The thunder is the boom of their voices, the lightning their flash of temper. And when the rains flood the lowlands, my people say it is the tears of the giantesses.” Creven swallowed and stifled a cough, grimacing.
“Can they be killed?” Mara asked. “Like, with iron?”
Creven shook his head back and forth. “The only story I know speaks of a magick blade, forged by master dwarves in the fires at the center of the earth and doused in the blood of a dragon. According to the stories, the blade is more evil than your giants, though. It kills all who wield it.”
“But that’s a myth,” Mara said in a shaky voice. “Dragons aren’t real.”
“Aye,” said Creven gravely. “Dragons are real enough, love. The sword is probably fiction. But it can be killed. When we come here from Faerie, we have to abide by the laws and rules of your world. Anything that stops the signal from the brain to the heart should work. The test is getting close enough to do it.”
I sat down on an overturned crate, resting my elbows on my knees. “What’s it doing here? Could someone have summoned it?”
Creven tilted his head and raised one shoulder as if in a shrug. “Opening a portal to Faerie is no small task, even for us fae. And no human has yet accomplished it, or so I’ve heard.
But you’d have to do that and you’d have to find one of the giants who felt compelled to help. I can’t imagine one taking an interest in a human. They’re barely interested in most fae, as far as I can tell. I thought they was a myth until one tried to smash me to bits.”
“But say someone could do all that. The creature would be bound to its word?”
“Aye,” said Creven, nodding. “Once we give our word, it can’t be broken except by death. If this giant does owe a debt to a human somewhere, he isn’t going to stop until his debt is paid.”
“The only way to stop it is going to be to kill it and I’m not sure I can get close enough to do it. Dammit.” I raked my hands through my hair, trying to think.
Chanter held out his arms and Mara passed Leo to him. Leo stirred a little and then snuggled into his grandfather’s shirt. “I will call some people, see if I can’t find some information about ice giants.”
I swallowed. “And if it comes back before we have something that works?”
Chanter nodded. “Then the easiest thing for you to do to prevent more death is to give it what it wants.”
I stood up. “I’m not just going to let it kill Kim.”
“Sometimes, those are the decisions we must make,” said Chanter, patting Leo gently. “Killing one to save many.”
Creven tried to sit up but I pushed him back down. “You’re not healed yet, Creven.”
“I’m not going to lie here helpless while you two sit and talk about killing my mistress.” He fought against me, throwing my hands off. It took some effort but he finally managed to raise himself into a sitting position, leaned against the wall behind him. “I gave her my oath of protection and I’ll see it through. I can’t stand aside.”
“Nobody’s killing anybody,” I snapped. “And you, quit moving around before you tear your stitches.”
“It’s a nice sentiment, girl, but the bodies are piling up around you.” I turned back to Chanter, who had now locked gazes with Creven as he spoke to me. “Before the end of this, you may have to make a decision you won’t like, a hard decision.”