Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

  His body stopped convulsing when I removed the blade. His eyes regarded me with fear. Which was remarkable in and of itself—most people would have been out cold, or at least non-functional. I tried to read his aura, but it wasn’t anything I’d encountered recently. As such, the exact signature escaped me.

  “I knew you’d come back one of these days. I can’t believe they let you go.”

  Blood dripped from the deep gash in his ankle over a white throw rug. I put my boot down hard on the wound and gave him a wicked smile. He shuddered.

  “I’m touched you remembered me after all these years,” I said, reaching down to touch his cheek. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  He recoiled. “Fuck you. I won’t tell you anything.”

  “I think you’ll be singing a different tune shortly,” I said, tossing the bloody knife up and then catching it. “But that’s okay. I like to play rough.”

  His face went ash white as I swung the blade toward his eye.

  9

  “Wait,” Jameson screamed, voice breaking. “I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

  The glowing blue blade quivered about a quarter-inch from his retina. I was tempted to keep going, but it had all been a bluff, anyway. Killing him wouldn’t explain why Harcourt Leblanc, a Fae with a bunch of screws loose, wanted me to complete the list.

  If anyone knew the connection, it would be Jameson. Guess I’d find out soon enough. You know the old saying about curiosity. Kills cats.

  And maybe Realmfarers, too.

  “How do you know Harcourt?” I asked, moving the blade back a few inches. I also removed my weight from his ankle. Jameson audibly sighed in near-orgasmic relief. Seeing his pain lessen twisted my heart. I’d watched him shoot Pearl right in the head—and enjoy it. Glancing out at the desert vista, I had to admit that it looked like a good place for a grave.

  Then again, this ostentatious apartment was equally suitable, as far as I was concerned.

  But vengeance could wait for a few more minutes. Until I had answers.

  With a rough grip, I dragged him by the collar of his bathrobe into the living room. He weakly protested, but didn’t really resist otherwise. I dropped him near the perforated loveseat. Then I flicked the blade off and wiped its bloody edge on the expensive furniture.

  I jammed it into the ruined loveseat and sat down, crossing my legs.

  I surveyed him with a stern expression. He glared back in meek defiance.

  “I can jam this back in your leg.”

  “I’d heard the rest of them kicked it, you know,” Jameson said with halting breaths, the robe slipping off his pale shoulders. “Figured it was you.”

  “And yet you didn’t bother to upgrade the security.”

  “I thought the lockdown would be enough.” His eyes fluttered slightly. From the blood pooling at his feet, I’d hit an artery. He had minutes at most. His skin was already taking on a ghostly pallor. “I should’ve known you better.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve been watching me from your ivory tower.”

  “The things you’ve taught us.” Jameson laughed and weakly rubbed the stubble on his chin. “All those tests in the dark room. Studying you. Watching what made you tick. You have no idea.”

  I reached for the knife. I adjusted the tight dress, noting that my boots were streaked with his blood. Not my cleanest job. “Then why don’t you give me one?”

  “They wanted to know how to traverse the Realms.” Jameson coughed, his eyes half-shut. “And you were the key.”

  “Why do they care about the other worlds?” The rest of the Realms were dangerous shitpiles, even when you took into account Earth’s current state. No real reason to wander through them. But I believed him, recalling the Howler Vine in Carrie Sanderson’s apartment.

  “Because it’ll allow us to reach the source.” Jameson smiled cruelly. “And you led us right there.”

  Not like I had a say in the matter. But it made sense: all the poking and prodding. Studying what allowed me to travel between worlds, while other species remained tethered to Earth.

  “Harcourt Leblanc.”

  “That name supposed to mean something?” Jameson’s blank expression showed no sign of recognition. The wisps flitting around his head told me that he wasn’t bluffing. Another dead end.

  “What does MagiTekk want with the Tributary?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Jameson’s eyes flashed open, fear running through them as he realized the end was near. He tried to stand up, bet tumbled to the expensive hardwood, landing with a sticky splash in the pooling blood. “The profit potential is limitless.”

  “If it’s real.”

  “Believe what you want, Ruby.” Jameson’s voice became faint. “Either way, you’re responsible. How does that feel? Today? That’s just a taste of what’s to come.”

  “Tell me how to stop Malcolm.”

  But no answer came.

  And my vengeance ended not with a bang, but a silent whimper.

  10

  Hour 7

  Jameson hadn’t known Harcourt, but the same couldn’t be said about my Fae nemesis. After Jameson had expired, the wisps had led me to a garish painting of a park hanging in the kitchen. Upon popping it out of the frame, I’d found a note in Harcourt’s trademark script affixed to the back.

  After the list is finished, meet me at a park time forgot. Then you will receive your information. – HL

  After conferring with Alice Conway, we’d both agreed that a park deep in Old Phoenix was our best bet. I’d made a quick stop at Kendrick’s bar to clean up, change back into my old clothes, and grab my belongings. Then I’d headed out to the meeting spot.

  A gentle rain trickled down from the gray sky, pattering into the dust. I stood on the cracked sidewalk, staring at the empty benches, looking for Harcourt. This part of Old Phoenix was shockingly green, given the dilapidated surrounding buildings.

  By green, I meant there were a few stalks of grass struggling to survive in a dirt pit.

  An electronic billboard—one of the few in this section of town—advertised a new fragrance from Eden Marshall called Paradise.

  Because everyone deserves a vacation.

  She beamed, her blemish-less face and glowing smile indicating that she’d found her own little sliver of paradise. But I had to wonder how easy it was to recover after being stuck in shifted form for seven years. Living like a wild animal.

  There was no sign of that on the perfect billboard. But it had to take its toll.

  Call it experience.

  A woman threw a tennis ball to her lumbering Bullmastiff in the chalky dust. Otherwise, the place was deserted. Probably why Harcourt chose it for a meeting spot. I stared at the dog, in its serene and ignorant bliss, and contemplated what it would take for me to reach a similar state. Even if someone could wipe my memory down to the neurons, true serenity would ever settle within my bones.

  All the things I’d seen.

  All the things I’d done.

  I watched the fuzzy ball arc through the air, disappearing in the sun. Hands in my pockets, I walked to one of the peeling benches and sat down. The wood groaned under my weight.

  “You look deep in thought, dear Ruby,” an aristocratic voice said. Its smooth edges had been sanded away by the passage of time, replaced with the grit of old age.

  I whirled around. Familiar tarnished copper eyes stared at me, still bearing that gleeful anarchical glint. But they were set in a craggy face of jowly flesh and bone, skin flecked with pockmarks and the scars of dangerous living. Harcourt’s neat three-piece suit was faded, hanging off his worn body.

  He walked around to the front of the bench with a marked limp. Man, the Fae aged like shit. His embrace of chaos hadn’t helped matters. Harcourt looked worse than an exhumed rock star.

  With a tremendous groan, he sat down. “No greeting, after so much time apart?”

  “I wish I’d killed you thirty years ago.”

  “It was more than that if I r
ecall,” Harcourt said, flashing a quarter-grin. I’d seen that expression many times during our day together. I’d grown to hate it, wishing that I could wipe it clean off his face. But it’d been impossible—even with a shotgun down his throat.

  Striking fear into a man’s heart who feared only boredom was an impossible task.

  “You have something for me,” I said.

  “You must allow things to unfold at their own pace.”

  “Isn’t waiting a little boring for you?” I asked, shooting him a mean glare. My fingers begged for me to reach for the shotgun beneath the bench, and just finish him off. The things I’d seen this prick do were unspeakable. That he’d escaped was simply a matter of choosing a shit sandwich over a double-decker one.

  Rock and a hard place didn’t quite describe it.

  “Did you cause the chaos I asked?” His expression told me that he already knew the answer. But he wanted to hear me say it. Admit that, on some level, I shared something with him.

  I reluctantly engaged. “How’d you know about my list?”

  “Pay the right people, break into the right places.” Harcourt waved his gaunt hand in the bright air. “Does it matter?”

  “It does.”

  “After I returned from the Fae Plains a few years ago—”

  “Why did you return, anyway?”

  Harcourt gave a huff. The bony fingers reached for his red pocket square. He mopped his deeply wrinkled brow, staring at the dog playing in the gentle rain.

  “I was banished, dear Ruby.”

  “Again?” I stifled a bitter laugh. Not that I should’ve been surprised. “No one wants your ass around.”

  “And what a shame that is, love,” he said, the quarter-grin returning. “But after I returned to Earth, I kept tabs on you.”

  “Why?” I asked, feeling creeped out. I was torn between reaching for the gun, or simply sliding away and hightailing it out of there.

  “Because you’re my only friend, dear Ruby.”

  I almost gagged. Instead, I said, “So you stalked me.”

  “That is not what friends call watching out for others.”

  “We’re not friends, jackass.”

  “What else do you call one who saves another’s life?” Those tarnished copper eyes looked deeply into mine like he was serious. I didn’t have an answer ready, so I just glared back. With some small measure of satisfaction, I realized that his nose was still broken from where I’d smashed it in all those years ago.

  He was right about one thing. Our fates were intertwined. Ever so slightly, perhaps, but enough to leave me wanting to hop right in the shower.

  Teeth gritted, I said, “I finished the list. Killed all three.”

  Harcourt pounced on this admission with unbridled glee. “We are similar, you and I.”

  “We’re nothing alike,” I said.

  “Would she do such a thing?” Harcourt pointed toward the woman and her dog. Suddenly, a bad feeling settled in my stomach. Like he’d done something—poisoned the scraggly grass, rigged a spell to explode that would blind the woman when she left the park.

  Before I knew it, my hands were on the shotgun.

  “You don’t touch her, you son of a bitch,” I said, pressing the barrel to his temple.

  “I had no such plans, dear Ruby.” Harcourt slipped the thumbs into his suit jacket, returning with a folded piece of parchment. “As agreed. This is the map to the Tributary.”

  “And how did you get this?”

  “I stole it for you,” Harcourt said, like the answer was obvious. “And for that, I was banished.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought you might need it on a rainy day, love.” Harcourt looked pleased with himself.

  “But why?” I nudged his head with the gun. If he gave me some best friends forever nonsense, I was going to have a hell of a time not pulling the trigger.

  “Because you saved my life.”

  That was worse. “Not this time.”

  “I would be disappointed if you let me go. Then I would have misjudged you.”

  “What did you tell Roark?” I asked.

  Harcourt peered at me, glee dancing in his eyes. “Where he could find the truth.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “The Tributary can fulfill any wish. Show any truth. Grant untold power to those who drink deeply from it.” The quarter-grin returned. “Including knowledge of what might have happened down in the Underworld.”

  “What happened?”

  “Tick tock, dear Ruby. Is that a question you need answered?”

  I racked the slide and said, “Have it your way.”

  “I should warn you, however.” Harcourt looked unperturbed by the shotgun still pressed against his weathered skin. “I have sent the directions to everyone.”

  “Everyone knows about the Tributary.”

  “It would not be chaos, otherwise.” Harcourt flashed his quarter-grin. “But you are the only one who can take that route. The others must find a different path.”

  “How generous.”

  “Five hours before the entrance closes once more, dear Ruby. I would hurry.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “A final gift. From an old friend.”

  I pulled the trigger, the boom reverberating across the placid park. The dog yipped twice and raced back to its owner, leaving its ball behind in the mud. The woman stared at the source of the sound, our eyes locking at a hundred yards.

  Then she fled like the hounds of hell were screaming at her heels.

  I wiped the blood off my cheek and flipped open the folded parchment. If he wasn’t screwing with me, then the Tributary was accessible through the Fae Plains. And the nearest entrance to the Fae Plains was about forty miles south, in the Arizona desert.

  I peered at the paper, making sure it contained no hidden enchantments. After a close inspection confirmed it didn’t, I turned the map over. On the back, written in an elegant, sprawling hand, was Harcourt’s final message.

  Thank you, dear Ruby, for finally fulfilling your bounty.

  “Figures.” I didn’t glance back at his body as I rose from the park bench. The Fae rarely lived past fifty. If anything, I’d done him a mercy. Shotgun braced against my shoulder, I sprinted away from the park.

  It was time to learn what fate had befallen Roark.

  11

  Hour 8

  Forty miles outside of Phoenix, the stolen truck began to smoke and bounce. I eased my lead foot off the accelerator. But I’d push it too far, too fast. The vehicle died in a plume of thick black exhaust, coming to a stop in front of a large divot in the highway.

  I checked the map. As good a place to head out on foot as any. If Harcourt was right, the entrance to the Fae Plains was around here somewhere. Black storm clouds hovered above, rain sprinkling the desert. I pocketed the map and scanned the gray horizon for marauders.

  Nothing. I leaned against the truck’s rusty door and took another booster shot. Only two left. Too bad Harcourt hadn’t cut to the chase. Or Roark hadn’t seen fit to invite me along. Hell, a heads-up from Pearl would’ve sufficed.

  I could’ve shaved a bunch of time off this deal.

  But things were never easy. Malcolm was threatening the world with a display of power. Roark had disappeared into the desert. And MagiTekk had reverse-engineered my abilities to allow themselves passage among the Realms—including the Tributary.

  Staring at the bleak, empty landscape as the shot took effect, I didn’t like my options. Checking the Realmpiece yielded nothing. The wisps were all over the place, some headed west, others hanging around the truck. I had to assume they were wonky because I was running close to E.

  “Where the fuck are you Roark?” But I got no answer except the patter of rain against the broken road. I held the phone up to the sky, but reception out here was nil. At least it confirmed that Roark had likely been here.

  There was one final option. It would sap energy I didn’t have, but
I couldn’t walk around the desert blindly for the next four hours. I had one shot at entering the Tributary. Like an eclipse or comet, I suspected such opportunities were rare.

  Miss this one, and I’d be screwed.

  So I closed my eyes, channeling a vision. It wasn’t my best-honed skill, but I’d managed to trigger one during the loop. A glimpse into the future, enough to know that Roark would survive. Hopefully, this one would give me a similar insight.

  Pain flared through my temples, but I fought through. A single image came through: smoke drifting from a dilapidated wooden shack, alone in the rain-streaked dust. Then it was gone, and I was on the ground, gasping, the smell of wet pavement filling my nostrils.

  The wisps coalesced, drifting past my nose to form a line to the northeast. Guess the vision had been enough to calibrate my intuition.

  Body aching, I rose stiffly and walked across the lonesome desert. Twenty minutes later, the road just a memory behind me, I spotted the same crumbling shack on the horizon. Flooded with adrenaline, I picked up the pace. The shotgun bounced in my hands as I jogged across the empty plains.

  Just like I’d seen, smoke trickled from the cabin’s makeshift chimney, suggesting someone was home. Pushing against the creaky wood as quietly as I could, I peered into the darkness.

  A growl greeted me, and I stumbled back.

  Racking the shotgun, I said, “I’m just looking for the Fae Plains.”

  There was a shrill bark. Then, a familiar voice said, “Ruby?”

  A dappled black-and-white snout poked out from the crack, sniffing the wet air. I lowered the shotgun and said, “Argos?”

  The dog nudged the door open and hauled ass across the soggy desert, leaping into my arms. His tail pounded like a metronome as he licked my face.

  “It’s been too long.” The border collie wriggled, tumbling out of my grasp. Slightly embarrassed—his behavior unbefitting for the man of wealth and taste he aspired to be—Argos settled for darting around my legs before finally coming to a panting halt. “What are you doing out here?”