"Come on," Karen said. "I saved you a place."
Most of the folk were already on site—security and vendors had to be in their places before the doors opened, of course, but a lot of the players liked to go in together and, well, any excuse for a parade. . . .
Seamus and Donal were at the front, and at Seamus' signal, they both began to play, the howl of the pipes sounding like eleven cats in a bad mood, and the little column began to move forward: wenches, jugglers, mercenaries and strolling players of all kinds. Eric recognized a lot of familiar faces—there was Ian with his bodhran, and Linda beside him, dulcimer case slung over her shoulder as she piped away wildly on a pennywhistle; Ranulph the Melancholy Dane; Mistress Althea; a gaggle of Irish step-dancers, laughing as they tried to keep up with the procession and make last-minute adjustments to their ribbons at the same time. . . .
They passed through the Faire gates, going in among the big trees. The morning sun made slanting bars of golden light. All around him Eric saw the booths and signs of the place he'd spent so many happy hours. The last few moments before the travelers entered for the day was an enchanted time—not that Eric saw it all that often, if the truth be told—and if he had to choose a moment when the Faire was at its prettiest, he'd have to say it was now, with everything renewed, reborn . . . magic.
And he realized that he was home.
Chapter Ten:
O'Mahoney's Frolics
It was a special Wednesday evening meeting of the Inner Circle—Fafnir had the smaller group meeting several times a week now, usually after the Outer Circle met, but tonight, he had told them, was to be special, for them alone.
He had provided them a new revelation last week: an audience with the Master Guardian who lived on the Esoteric Plane, from whom the Guardian Power flowed. It didn't matter that none of them had actually seen the image in the crystal or heard the Master Guardian's voice; by now they were all convinced they had.
Eventually, he would hint them around to understanding that the Master Guardian had actively blessed the plan to kill the False Guardians, but that there was no need to worry, that it wasn't murder, since the False Guardians weren't human any more, if they ever had been. In fact, to further soothe their fears, Fafnir would tell them that the False Guardians wouldn't even bleed if you cut them, but simply vanish in a puff of dust like the vampires on Buffy, so nobody would have to worry about getting in trouble with the police.
Who knew? It might even be true for all he knew. And once they'd helped him kill Paul Kern, Fafnir didn't really care what happened to any of them anyway.
But he needed to get them to do what he wanted first. Which meant he had to completely convince them not only that the False Guardians were real—and they were fairly convinced of that already—but that the False Guardians were after all of them now, and with deadly intent.
Which required a little assistance.
He glanced over to where Amanda was sitting on her mother's lap. Such a pretty child. Fafnir's interests in her lay in quite another direction than her physical charms. However, Sarah told him that Amanda did modeling work, which was good. It meant she was already used to doing things she didn't like, and following orders.
He'd discovered that the child was a natural psychic quite by accident. The day the Eye of the Inner Planes had first been delivered, Sarah'd had the girl with her. Amanda had stared into the shining ball, fascinated, and Fafnir could actually feel the power rising off her skin.
He'd distracted her at once—no telling what she might say if she went all the way into a trance—but he'd started working on Sarah immediately, telling her how fortunate she was to have such a powerful medium in her daughter, and saying how unfortunate it was that most young psychics burned out early because of their inability to properly ground and shield, or lost their powers because no one knew how to train them. It hadn't been long before Sarah was bringing little Amanda to him for lessons.
But the only lesson Fafnir was interested in teaching Amanda was how to go immediately into trance, where her powers would be entirely subject to his control. Once he had that—it hadn't been difficult—he'd started using Amanda as a channel to mold an Artificial Elemental, using her energy, and Sarah's, and his own, to give his own imagination form and life. He'd read about things like that in books, and the directions seemed simple enough to follow. He'd been working privately with Sarah and Amanda for several weeks now.
He'd been very careful. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Amanda. He just wanted to use her.
And now that he'd laid the groundwork, the Inner Circle could add more energy, feeding his creation, making it grow until it was strong enough for him to take control of directly.
He'd been a little surprised at first to find that this magic stuff actually worked and was so easy, but then, once he'd thought about it, he'd realized there was no reason why it shouldn't be easy. These Guardian guys existed, after all, and some, or maybe even most, of what they did was handwaving and persuasion, just as it had been in Andrew's case. And as far as Fafnir could tell from his reading, magic was just another kind of software. You followed the directions, and if you'd done everything right, and hadn't skipped a step, and the hardware was working right that day, you got results.
The last of the Inner Circle arrived, and Fafnir locked the door behind them. He waited until they had all settled and taken their places, then motioned to Sarah to bring Amanda into the middle of the circle, where the Eye usually rested.
"Last week you heard the words of the Master, of how it will soon be time to bring our battle to the Ancient Enemy. But before we do, it is only right that we protect ourselves against what they may try to do to us. And so, with your aid, I will attempt to summon one of my allies of old: a Protector. But I will need all your help in this."
But they weren't going to summon up an ancient ally. They were going to create something entirely new—their energy, his direction, and little Amanda as the focus and gateway. And then, instead of the protection they thought they'd created, Fafnir would have at his command an elemental assassin answerable only to him. And when his disciples found themselves savagely attacked by paranormal forces—sent, or so he'd tell them, by the False Guardians—well, then he'd have all the cooperation from them he needed, wouldn't he? They'd be convinced that not only what he'd told them was the truth, but that the False Guardians, having discovered that Fafnir had people helping him, were going to ruthlessly and coldly eliminate those people.
And since, without knowing it, they would all have helped create the monster he'd use to stalk them, any little private defenses they might have would be absolutely useless . . . .
"What must we do?" Luke asked.
Fafnir favored them all with his most benign expression, one he'd practiced for hours in front of a mirror. "All of you know Amanda, Sarah's daughter. She has been sent to us in our hour of gravest need. She is a natural gateway to the Ethereal Realm. When I have sent her into trance, she will be able to carry our call to the Ethereal Plane, and then—I may only hope—the Protector will hear. If it hears, and comes, it will be able to offer us some small protection, for I fear that the False Guardians are very near to learning what we have done and what we plan to do."
He waited, knowing they had to sell themselves on the idea before he went any further. That was the most important part of any con job: never rush the mark. He knew he had them all hooked already, though. Six months ago half of them would have just gotten up and walked out. Now they were all looking expectant, as if he'd offered the lot of them free unlimited high-speed Internet access. After a few moments, each of them hesitantly voiced their agreement.
"You want to help Master Fafnir, don't you, sweetie?" Sarah said to Amanda. "Come on," she said coaxingly.
Amanda hid her face against her mother's shoulder.
"She is shy among so many," Fafnir said, hoping that the kid would for God's sake not make an ugly scene that he'd have to think up some way to explain away. He took h
is pendulum out of his pocket.
The weight at the end was a faceted sphere of leaded crystal. It sparkled in the candlelight. "Amanda," he said in his most commanding voice. "Look at the dancing light."
Reluctantly, Amanda did.
* * *
She didn't want to be here, but she was a good girl, and Mommy said they had to come, and that Master Fafnir was a nice man. But she didn't like him, and she didn't like looking at the dancing light. She didn't want to look at the dancing light, but she had to look at the dancing light, because Mommy said to, and Master Fafnir said to. Only when she did, everything went away, and she couldn't make it come back no matter how hard she tried until they let her, and she hated that. She couldn't cry, she couldn't move, and Mommy wouldn't understand why it was so bad.
Please don't! Amanda cried inside, where nobody could hear her. Please make it stop!
But no one listened.
* * *
Kayla actually managed to get a few hours' sleep that night, for a miracle, curled up inside a worn-out sleeping bag in a Neverland gone horribly wrong. She'd watched both Magnus and Ace turn down opportunities to go out on "dates," and watched Jaycie eat an entire bar of baker's chocolate without throwing up, so she couldn't say she hadn't gotten some entertainment out of the deal. But Eric not showing up had been a definite bummer.
She watched the three of them, taking mental notes. Even if she hadn't known that Magnus was Eric's brother and that Ace was a Talent, she'd have known there was something not right about the three of them. Something off, in a different way from the way the other feral kids weren't normal.
Take the fact that the three of them didn't talk about themselves, even to each other. The other kids did, and even if it was mostly all lies, it was still talking. Those three acted like they knew the FBI was after them, and weren't giving up the tiniest speck of information, even false information.
Was it the Feds who were after Jaycie and Ace? It wasn't impossible; she'd been on the receiving end of one lot of black-project jerks, Eric and Kory and Beth had been tangled up with two more, and then there was Robert Lintel and Threshold, which had been yet another black-ops thing Ria'd inadvertently financed and abetted, until she found out what was going on. Kayla and Eric knew who was after Magnus, so there was every reason for him to be paranoid, but who was after Ace and Jaycie? More than just parents?
Maybe the three of them would go for that "no questions asked" place of Hosea's after all. The only problem was, someone had to be around to sign the check to get them in, and that meant either Ria or Eric. And right now, Kayla couldn't get ahold of either one.
Around seven a.m.—about the time The Place started to settle down—Kayla slipped out and left. Eric had never showed up. She couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong, very wrong, but she didn't know what.
* * *
Lady Day was parked in front of Guardian House when Kayla got there.
"Hey," Kayla said, greeting the elvensteed. "Guess that means Eric's back, huh?"
The 'steed flashed her lights and revved her engine.
"Hey, cut that out," Kayla said, glancing around to see if anyone was on the street. "Somebody's going to notice. And aren't you supposed to be in the back? This is a no parking zone. You want to explain to Eric why you've been towed?"
Although the elvensteed would just Gate out of the impoundment and come right back, Kayla knew. Which would create problems of its own . . .
She started to walk past the bike, but Lady Day moved forward, cutting her off and revving her motor . . . anxiously? Could a bike be anxious? Although Lady Day wasn't really a motorcycle; she was an elvensteed, a living thing.
"Hey!" Kayla said, jumping back. "Stop that."
She tried walking around the back of the bike. Lady Day backed up, cutting her off again. Kayla swore. "I wish you could talk."
But elvensteeds couldn't talk, not in any of their forms. The most they could do was share emotions through a psychic link with their riders. Which meant with Eric, not Kayla.
"Is there something going on inside you don't want me walking into?" Kayla asked. Playing Twenty Questions with a Harley clone. I gotta be losing it.
Lady Day flashed her lights several times and rocked back and forth.
"Is that a yes or a no?" Kayla demanded, frustrated.
"What's going on?" Hosea asked, walking down the front steps of the building with his banjo slung over his shoulder. Then: "What's she doin' out front?"
"I don't suppose Eric came home last night?" Kayla said hopefully.
Hosea shook his head. "And by the look of things, his lady friend here's pretty upset about it."
Lady Day flashed her lights and growled, a deep thrum of engine.
"Just like Lassie," Kayla muttered.
"Do you want us to go somewhere with you, girl?" Hosea asked.
* * *
"Took us long enough to figure it out," Kayla shouted into Hosea's ear a few minutes later.
The two of them were sitting on Lady Day's saddle—Hosea holding Jeanette in his arms—as the elvensteed roared across town. Kayla hoped the elvensteed's elvish cloaking device was in full effect, because otherwise they were just begging for half a dozen traffic tickets.
Hosea said something she couldn't hear.
Lady Day reached Central Park, and promptly took off into the park along one of the pedestrian paths, proceeding in a sudden ghostly silence as she stopped making motor noises—which were, for an elvensteed, strictly optional anyway. Kayla guessed that nobody could see them, because riding even a bicycle through some of these areas was forbidden, let alone a motorcycle.
Eventually they reached a clearing near the top of the park, and the elvensteed stopped. When they got off, she began racing around in circles again until Hosea sternly told her to stop. She crept off beneath a tree and stood there, looking about as pathetic as a motorcycle—or an elvensteed impersonating a motorcycle—could look.
Kayla and Hosea looked at each other.
"You're the one with the magic banjo," Kayla pointed out. "Do something magical."
Hosea set down his case, opened it, and took Jeanette out, slinging her strap over his shoulder. "Any suggestions?" he asked.
"Well, if Eric was here, he isn't here now. Can you see if he was here, maybe?" Kayla asked.
* * *
Hosea slung the strap over his shoulder, slipped his picks over his fingers, and carefully began to tune Jeanette.
This looked like a perfectly ordinary—if deserted—stretch of the park, the sort of place he liked to come himself. If not for the fact that Eric hadn't been seen since yesterday morning—and the fact that his 'steed was fretting so about it—Hosea wouldn't give the place a second look. But even a suspicious inspection didn't turn up much of anything. Trees. Grass. Broken bottle glass and discarded trash.
It's up to you and me, sweetheart.
Hosea began to play.
"Mama Tried"—he'd always liked that one. Beneath the music he could feel Jeanette stirring unwillingly, looking around.
:I hate that song,: she grumbled. Then: :Not dead. And not here,: she reported brusquely.
"Was he here?" Hosea asked, still playing. He swung into "Banish Misfortune"—that was one of Eric's favorites.
Confusion and irritation from Jeanette as she looked again. Hosea caught blurred symbol images of Kayla and Lady Day from her mind—both of them were easy for her to See because of their innate Power—then a distortion as Jeanette looked in a direction he couldn't follow.
:He was here. He stopped being here. It's all very confused, Hosea. It was a long time ago.: Jeanette's mental voice was a mix of irritated and plaintive.
Hosea brought the song to a close, sighing. The dead weren't bound by time the way the living were, and Jeanette was dead in every way that mattered. But they also tended to get just a little confused by time, and be a good deal better at looking into the past than the future. Either Eric really had been here a long time a
go—and Lady Day didn't seem to think so—or something had been here since to muddle the traces Jeanette could pick up.
"He was here, but he isn't now. And we don't know what happened to him," Hosea said grimly.
"He said he was going Underhill," Kayla offered. "When he left yesterday."
"Well, that would make sense," Hosea said after a moment's thought. "Jeanette says he was here a long time ago, and that ain't right. But elves and ghosts don't quite seem to get along any too well, magically." If Eric had opened a Portal to Underhill here, the magic would dirty up the traces of his presence enough to confuse Jeanette's ghostly senses thoroughly.
Lady Day rolled over to them and flashed her lights silently several times. Kayla patted her on the gas tank. "I wonder why he didn't take his ride? That'd be fastest."
"Maybe the trip wasn't all his idea. You got any idea of how to get in touch with the Good Folks?" Hosea asked.
"Well," Kayla said slowly, "I know Eric e-mails Beth and Kory a lot. But I don't know how often they check their mail, and I know he says the Underhill servers run kinda funny sometimes. So if I e-mail them, I don't know how long it'll be before I get an answer."
"And Ah'd hate to worry someone if there wasn't any good reason," Hosea said slowly. "But maybe you'd better get in touch with them. Can't imagine why Lady Day'd be so twitchy if he'd just gone Underhill." He glanced at his watch. "Ah'd better get a move on to get to work. Why don't the two of you go on home and see what you can turn up there?"
Kayla turned back to the bike. "Does that work for you?" she asked.
Lady Day flashed her lights once, rocking back and forth unhappily.
"Look, we know he's in some kind of trouble now," Kayla told the elvensteed, "but until we can find him, there's not much we can do about it, is there? But we'll keep looking for him."
Lady Day sounded her horn in a long mournful beep.
* * *
Back at Eric's apartment, Kayla checked the phone—no new messages from anybody—and then switched on Eric's computer. Instead of sitting down, she wandered around aimlessly, picking things up and setting them down again.
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