Soul of Fire tp-2

by Laura Anne Gilman

  The speaker danced in front of Jan now, girlish and loose limbed, but the smile on that face was filled with sharp green teeth, and her eyes were pools of solid black that matched the inky hair flowing past her shoulders.

  “Jenny Greenteeth,” Jan said, more than a little worried as she identified this particular super. There wasn’t any water bordering the house or running through the trees that she’d noticed, walking up... No, wait, there was the creek that bordered the town that they’d driven over coming in. It was large enough to have at least one water-sprite, probably more, although Jan would have hoped for one with a...less evil reputation. Surely Martin would have said something? But they hadn’t been able to exchange even a word since he’d shown up, and—

  “Relax, human,” the river spirit said, still grinning, leaning in to sniff at Jan’s hair in a way that was deeply disturbing. “I’m no brownie-man, to begrudge you your place in the court. We all come here for our own reasons. She uses us as she will, and we take what she gives.”

  “And what is she giving you?” Jan asked. They’d known, back at the Farm, there were supers following the preter queen willingly, but not why, not beyond vague guesses and suspicions. The brownie had talked about expanding their interests, whatever that meant, but...

  “Entertainment,” Greenteeth said, her slim form still dancing around Jan, forcing her to turn in order to keep the super in sight at all times. “I am not of her court, not me, but I watch. It will not be dull while she is here. Allies and enemies, plots and plans, whispers and hisses.”

  “Your very own reality show?”

  “Yesssss...” Those black eyes sparked with something deep in the pupils, and Jan knew she should be disturbed, maybe even frightened, but suddenly Greenteeth seemed less frightening than, somehow, endearing.

  “Jenny. Are you englamouring me?” Jan tried to sound stern, but her voice cracked on the last word.

  “Heeeee. Human who smells of kelpie and witch-spell knows better. I don’t have to try. You’re already halfway there.” The greenteeth leaned closer and pressed her lips to Jan’s, a warm, wet tongue darting out to lick her once quickly, before the super had danced away again.

  “That’s sexual harassment!” Jan yelled after her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, but she was laughing despite herself. The river sprite made her think of Martin again—terribly dangerous and yet charming, disarming.

  Like drowning, she thought. A terrible way to die, and yet she’d read somewhere that it was easy, too. All you had to do was let go.

  “Not an option,” she said and started walking again, keeping the tree line to her left. She could feel Jenny—or something—watching, but she refused to acknowledge it. She hadn’t had a chance to walk the borders of the property yet, and it might be something that would be useful later, knowing exactly where, when, and what might come out of those woods. And it kept her out of the house, until she could face the queen again with her besotted mask in place.

  * * *

  The human, Tyler, could sing. Not professionally, no, but he had a good voice, a clear tenor, and apparently an inexhaustible recall for songs, because he hadn’t repeated anything yet, and the preter had him singing all morning.

  Martin leaned against her chair enough that she was aware of him, but not so much that he was off balance or too far into her personal space in a way that might have appeared to be presumption. It was a constant recalculation and one he was not adept at, but so far she had not reacted badly. The main room was filled: half a dozen of the house-brownies clustered in a group and shooting him dirty looks even now; two fire-wisps that stayed near the fireplace, occasionally ducking in when they got too cool; and a handful of individual supers, most of whom he didn’t recognize without AJ there to coach him.

  And the humans, of course, the two artists and another he had not been introduced to, on opposite edges of the room as though they did not trust each other and trusted the supers even less.

  If so, that was the first wise thought they’d had since falling under the preter’s spell.

  Jan had slid out of the room much earlier; the queen did not seem to notice that she was gone, but Martin suspected that she had noted and simply did not care to make a fuss about the defection. The queen seemed to have no goal in this morning’s gathering, merely enforcing her will on them, reminding them that they were hers, here solely to dance attendance on her. Nalith was flighty, spoiled, bloodthirsty, and casually cruel; exactly what he had expected, after seeing the preter court she had left behind.

  And yet, she had left it behind. Not come as the vanguard of an invasion, not even as a conqueror might. She took all sorts into her court and seemed almost, oddly, content in this place, without any significant luxuries or adulation. As queen, she could have commanded an entire world. Here—much less, and she did not seem particularly eager to change that immediately. She had, in fact, run before discovery, rather than striking out in battle.

  He still was not fool enough to trust her or dismiss the threat she posed. All preters, in the end, wanted one thing: control.

  Supernaturals—and naturals—were not inclined to give that up without a struggle, even under glamour.

  “Kelpie.” Her hand had lifted gracefully to shoulder height while he was thinking; she was summoning him. Martin dragged his attention back to her, worried that he had missed something, something important. “The gnomes return.”

  The moment she said that, he could feel it, as though the air rippled against his skin, bringing the feel of thick, sticky fingers, like tree frogs clinging to everything. He scanned the room, catching Tyler’s eye and trying to send a warning, but the other man had no experience with turncoats, didn’t know what he would be facing. He hoped that wherever Jan was, she was out of their path, could avoid them entirely. They might have no connection to the ones who attacked her, but they couldn’t take that risk.

  “They have been my weapons, until now,” Nalith said. “But now I have you.”

  Martin didn’t pretend to be any sort of champion for morality, but he would rather beat every gnome in existence into the mud with his hooves than work with a single turncoat.

  “I am but one,” he said, trying to sound honored by her words, rather than nauseated. “And they are many. Together, we will best serve you.”

  Chapter 11

  Tyler had heard the queen’s conversation with Martin, the whispers that followed. His expectations of supernaturals at this point had faded into a wary and weary acceptance: unlike the preters, none of them had tried to hurt him, and some of them had seemed almost decent. Martin...

  Martin had helped bring him out of the Other Place. Martin and Jan were friends. Maybe something more than friends, which should have pissed him off, but who was Tyler to judge at this point? He had been dumb enough to go with Stjerne, thinking with his dick instead of either his brain or his heart.

  Martin kept Jan safe. That was more than he had been able to do, ever.

  The thing was, overall, he didn’t mind supernaturals, not back at the Farm and not here. So, while the whispers about the return of the gnomes made him cautious, he wasn’t prepared for what came in.

  They were not small, not like the brownies. He had thought they would be. Their skin was the greenish-yellow of moss, the kind that probably glowed under black lights, and it looked too slick, too damp, as though they were amphibious. Maybe they were. Their heads were bald, their arms too long, and Tyler thought that he was hallucinating before he realized that, no, their bodies were changing as they walked, expanding and contracting, seemingly unrelated pulses, fingers lengthening, bodies hunching, thighs expanding and then contracting down to sticks.

  There were four of them, he determined, walking in tight formation, a cadre that seemed to have only one awareness, allowing them to move together that way.

  “We are returned,” one of them said when they stopped in front of Nalith’s chair. Martin had taken a step back, away from the throne, and was watch
ing them the way you might a dog you weren’t sure was rabid or not.

  “So you have,” Nalith said.

  “You promised us rewards,” the lead gnome said. It stepped in front of the other three and seemed to rise in height—not much, but enough that it could look her in the eye. Its face was more defined now, but that only meant that Tyler was aware of its mouth, oval shaped and filled with too many teeth. Like a suckerfish crossed with a shark, and that thought wasn’t at all relaxing. Nor was the next one, driven by way too many hours watching Animal Planet reruns. These things were not just meat eaters; they were carrion eaters. No wonder everyone had taken a step back. He suspected they didn’t much care what flesh they gnawed on.

  Then one of them slewed its head around and looked directly at him, its eye red-black and glittering, and Tyler amended that. They might not care but clearly thought human was the most tasty. He reached for the sachet the witch had given him, tucked into his pocket. It didn’t bring him as much comfort as he’d hoped.

  “You were rewarded enough in your actions and the pleasure you took in them,” Nalith said, and while her face was still calm, Tyler heard the warning in her voice. So, too, apparently, did the gnomes, because they shifted their feet but did not say anything more.

  “Return to your campsite,” Nalith told them. “You are not suited for this room, and this room is not suited to you.”

  There was a pause as everyone tried to figure out who had been insulted the most, and then the cadre of gnomes turned and headed back for the door. The supers who had filled in the space behind, the better to watch the show, now scrambled to get out of their way, as though afraid one of the four might reach out to touch them.

  Tyler understood that fear. He had seen more terrifying things. He had been strapped into a chair of thorns and had his will torn from him. He had become nothing but a vessel for another’s will—and even he would not willingly suffer one of those creatures to touch him.

  There was evil, and it was a sometimes beautiful, bitter thing. But gnomes were not evil, nothing that pure. They were sheer selfish greed, of the sort that could be nothing but ooze and blister.

  “You should not let them back, my lady.” One of the supers spoke first into the silence after the gnomes left, after the slam of the door said they had gone outside.

  “I should not?” Nalith’s tone was gentle, almost amused, and Tyler’s knees trembled, remembering again the sweet bramble of Stjerne’s voice as she told him to give in, to relent, to be nothing but hers. Every nerve, every atom of his body screamed anger, screamed at him to run, to hide, to stay very still and pray that he wasn’t noticed. Every nerve and atom except the ones deep inside, in the darkest, coldest place of himself, that told him to give in, to accept what he was, what he would always be.

  “My lady.” The speaker tried to dig himself out. “I—”

  “I will not be defied,” she said, her voice still soft, gentle. “Kelpie.”

  Tyler had seen Martin transform before. Or rather, he hadn’t seen it, his eyes forcing themselves shut and opening again only when the man was gone and the beast remained, but he knew the feel of magic pressing on him. He had not realized it could be done so swiftly, though. Nalith had only just given her order when the kelpie struck, gleaming black hooves staving the super’s skull in like a pumpkin after frost.

  “Fuck me,” someone murmured, more awed than horrified, and Tyler swallowed back the bile that had risen in his throat. The show of strength, of indifference, was all that had saved him before. He would not break now. He would not let this preter break him, when others—Stjerne, his memory whispered. Lovely, cruel Stjerne—had failed.

  Martin had not changed back, standing four legged in the cleared center of the room, his victim underneath him, as though waiting for another challenge to appear, another order to be given.

  When none came, he snorted, cold amusement clear in the sound, and stepped backward until he paused by Nalith’s chair, hooves picking delicately across the hardwood floor. His eyes were bright yellow, his mane caked in blood, and there was nothing gentle or tame about him at all. Even Nalith did not dare to rest her hand on his neck or touch that shoulder. The kelpie killed on her order, but it was no pet, no tool to be picked up without caution.

  Tyler exhaled slightly, remembering the Martin who had stolen a car and driven them here, who had gone Under the Hill with Jan to bring him back out. The Martin who held Jan’s hand, as if it gave them both comfort. Not tame, no. But not a danger to him here now.

  It was just everything else he needed to worry about.

  * * *

  The music was loud, the bass thumping deep enough that hearts regulated themselves to its meter, blood pulsed to its rhythm, bodies swaying in unison throughout the club. Despite that, Harry could hear every word the blonde said, as though they were alone in an empty room.

  “You are sweet.” The woman leaned in, her finger tracing the line of his jaw, her nail short but sharp against his skin. Normally being called “sweet” was the kiss of death to your chances, but the way she said it implied less kittens and teddy bears and more tangled sheets and hot wax. His pupils expanded, and his body leaned toward her, drawn by some unseen thread.

  “Yeah, I—”

  “Stop playing with him, Erini,” a voice interrupted. “Either take him or be done.”

  “Hey.” Harry turned to face the intruder, more upset at another male coming near this hottie than what the man had actually said. “The lady and I were talking.”

  “My apologies,” the guy said, showing too-perfectly-white teeth in something that wasn’t really a smile.

  Harry blinked, his normal reaction utterly derailed. He wasn’t gay, but the guy was seriously hot, too. In fact, he had the same narrow, high-cheekboned face the woman, whatever her name was, had, only on him it didn’t look delicate at all. Metrosexual, yeah, that was the word. Same huge eyes, too, greenish, with those same weird pupils.

  “Huh.” He looked back at the woman, considered the two of them, then shrugged, giving them both his best “I’m a good guy” smile. “Your sister, huh? I promise I’ll take good care of her.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will,” the guy said, and Jesus, that was a creepy-ass smile that made Harry start to reconsider if he wanted to go anywhere with anyone related to this guy, no matter how much his dick was urging him on.

  “Indeed,” the woman purred, and her finger left his face, scraping along his chest, lingering just above his belt, an implicit promise of what could happen if she went farther. The fog drifted back into his brain until he forgot everything else, all his concerns.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked. “Step away from all this, be mine, and I will be yours? All you need to do is come with me, here and now.”

  “Yeah. Sure, why not?”

  With a triumphant smile, she took his hand and he let her lead him out of the bar, abandoning his buddies, his drink, his jacket, all lost in the musk-scented fog that had engulfed him.

  Behind them, the man remained in the bar, casting a jaded look around the room and seeing no human he felt the urge to charm. He fondled the cell phone in his coat pocket, the unfamiliar tech-magic a talisman of sorts, a reminder and a promise that this exile was a temporary one.

  Only hours through the portal, and already he wanted to return home. But he could not, not until their mission was completed.

  Before they were sent here, the consort had gathered them together, courtiers and their human pets. It had been an honor and a warning: do not fail. They had expected the consort to speak. Instead, it had been Ylster who’d stepped into the moment. The adviser had not spoken in the court since the queen had disappeared, spending all his energies in finding and tracking her, the strongest of them stretched too far and too thin to waste any energies on something as pointless as speech.

  All faith is magic, Ylster had said, his gaze far beyond what they could see. Belief is power. The stronger the humans cling to their faith, the mor
e vulnerable they are to us. This has always been so. They have merely changed their focus, and it has taken us a while to catch up. But now they put their faith in tools, in things that may be manipulated...and controlled.

  We will use their faith to power ourselves, and they will thank us for it. Their need for us has always been greater than their desire to be free. Remember that, and do what you must.

  One human per hunter was enough to bring them to this world, to open a portal large enough for them to enter and depart at will. But that was merely a step, not the goal. The consort had commanded them to enter this realm, to englamour all they could, to ensure that the portals remain open.

  More humans, emptied and bound to the portal-magic, using their faith and desires to tie them to both realms. That was their purpose here, so that the queen would be returned, the consort satisfied. But Erini was hunting because she enjoyed the hunt, going after difficult targets rather than those already half-englamoured by their own desires and dreams.

  He shook his head, a gesture he had adopted from this world. He had no interest in human prey; they were soft and easily distracted. Better to go after the others he could smell, circling them mere hours after they crossed through the portal. Not human: the otherfolk of this realm, the so-called supernaturals. Lesser creatures, not useful to the consort’s plan but still dangerous. The supernaturals had already interfered on several occasions, interfering with the acquisition of humans, interfering with portals, and most notably in stealing a portal-keeper from the very court itself.

  He had not been there for that, but hearing of it later had made him laugh. Stjerne had lost control of her creature and been punished for it. He would not make that mistake, no matter how many he took in his string.

  More, he would not make the error of thinking of humans as anything other than tools. No, he would obey the consort in this as in all things, especially if it hastened their goal, but not for personal enjoyment. The sooner this was done, the sooner they could go home. Unlike Erini, unlike their missing queen, he did not like this realm. There was too much noise, too much...fuss here. The sooner they could subdue it and return, the more pleased he would be.