Mad Maudlin

by Mercedes Lackey

  Well, they'd see. After tonight, they would definitely see.

  He saw Sarah come in with Amanda, and crossed the room to her, smiling warmly. Without little Amanda, he was pretty sure none of this would work. And it had to work.

  "Sarah. Tonight will be a very special night—for all of us." He concentrated on turning up the charm. He needed Sarah to keep Amanda in line, if nothing else.

  "Oh yes," Sarah said. She was carrying Amanda, and the girl's head lolled sleepily on her shoulder. Fafnir frowned.

  "She was so fussy earlier," Sarah said apologetically. "I had to give her one of the pills her doctor prescribed. I didn't know what else to do. I would have gotten a sitter, but you said I really ought to bring her."

  "It is necessary," Fafnir said austerely. Why couldn't the idiot bitch control her own daughter? Amanda wouldn't be any use to him at all if she was asleep! And he could hardly give her a couple of lines of blow to wake her up, even though he bet Neil had some stashed away around here somewhere.

  "She'll wake up soon," Sarah said anxiously. "They're really mild."

  "Of course," Fafnir said kindly. "Sarah, you know I do not like to interfere in the sacred bond between mother and child, but those of us with the Etheric Gifts are not quite as ordinary men and women, and drugs which are perfectly safe and even wholesome for others to take can have unfortunate consequences for us, shutting down—or even forcing open—senses that we try hard to discipline through constant effort. Forgive me for speaking, but Amanda and I have worked so long and hard together. . . ."

  Sarah's blue eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Master, I'm so sorry! Forgive me—I didn't think—"

  "It is Amanda whose forgiveness you should ask, Sarah, dear, not mine," he said gently, and moved on.

  There. That should book that brainless meatbag on a nice guilt trip.

  The last two to arrive were Caity and Juliana. Caity'd tried to say she couldn't come this evening, so Fafnir had sent Juliana down to pick her up. Caity was the fat little artist who'd come to the Open Party with that enormous hillbilly, and Fafnir had no intention of letting her get away. She was generous and—up until now—had been a fervent follower.

  Why hadn't she wanted to come tonight? That was unusual, and he didn't like the sheep doing unusual things. It might mean they were trying to think for themselves. And he couldn't allow that, especially now.

  Fafnir went over to the two of them, smiling beguilingly. Juliana—as usual—melted like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Usually Caity did too. But not tonight.

  "Caity, dear girl. You look troubled." He took her hand and brought it to his lips. He would have kissed it, but she hadn't taken off her mittens yet. He settled for gazing commandingly into her eyes.

  "I've been worried, Master Fafnir," she said softly.

  "Child, you may always bring your deepest troubles to me. I will always hear them," he said. Finally he felt the last of her resistance dissolve, and suddenly he thought he could guess the reason behind her hesitation. "And after tonight, we will all be safe. That is why I wanted Amanda with us. If her mother is to be a target for the wrath of the False Guardians, how could I in good conscience leave her innocent daughter unprotected?"

  Relief flooded Caity's face. "Is that why?" she said. "I thought—"

  "You thought I would use the child as a mere tool. Oh, Caity—that is the action of our enemies, not my work," he said chidingly.

  Caity blushed a deep scarlet, and Fafnir knew he had guessed exactly right. Stupid cow.

  "Now come. Remove your outer garments, and prepare to take your places, so that the Great Work can begin."

  * * *

  In preparation for this evening, Neil had bought several cases of jar candles, and now he began setting them out around the edge of the room. Three large braziers—also bought new, to save the trouble of bringing the three up from Fafnir's apartment—were prepared and lit, and soon fragrant frankincense smoke began spiraling up toward the ceiling.

  "It isn't going to stain anything, is it?" Neil asked anxiously.

  "Shut up, Neil," Juliana said poisonously.

  "Please," Fafnir said, raising his hand. "No anger now. We face enough anger from those who wish us harm."

  His acolytes subsided, focusing all their attention on him, as was only right.

  They were gathered in three concentric rings around him and Amanda. The two of them were in the center. Fafnir was seated in his favorite chair, his back to the window. The drapes were drawn. Amanda, still a little groggy, was seated on his lap.

  On a small table before them stood the Eye of the Inner Planes, the only ritual item Fafnir had brought from his apartment. Around them were his acolytes, closely packed together, the knees of those behind against the backs of those in front of them.

  "Now, Evan, turn out the lights, and we shall begin," he said.

  One of the Outer Court acolytes in the outermost ring got to his feet and turned out the living room lights. Now the room was lit solely by the light of the ring of flickering candles. The crystal ball in the center of the circle seemed to draw that light to itself, glowing a lunar blue.

  Fafnir sat there in silence for almost a minute, letting the months of conditioned response take effect. The darkness, the candles, the incense, the sight of the crystal ball, all had their effect. The room was absolutely silent, the closely packed group of people swaying slightly as they slipped into an entranced state.

  "Concentrate, my young Guardians-to-be," Fafnir said. "Reach down into yourselves. Summon up the power that is within you. Call forth the Protector!"

  "The Protector—the Protector—" they began to chant softly.

  Amanda was drowsy enough that he hardly needed his pendulum to put her under this time.

  "Look into the crystal ball, Amanda," Fafnir whispered in her ear, under cover of the soft chanting. "See the lady in the crystal ball? Remember the lady in the crystal ball? Call her. Bring her here."

  And Amanda did.

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Battle Of Aughrim

  "Stay here!"

  Eric ran toward the Protector—hoping it was Jaycie's Protector, and not some new menace from Underhill. He needed to put a lid on this situation now.

  He stopped a few feet away.

  "Look. He's right there."

  Eric pointed. Jaycie and Ace were standing staring at a very nervous security guard, who obviously couldn't make up his mind whether they were part of the problem or innocent victims.

  Quickly Eric reached out with his magic, spreading a ring of Sleep around the immediate area. A little sloppy—Master Dharniel would criticize his performance—but it would keep anybody from getting shot. The guard—and all the rest of the emergency personnel arriving in answer to the alarms—quickly crumpled to the ground, deeply asleep.

  "Jaycie!"

  He heard Magnus shout from behind him, and heard Kayla yell in protest. Magnus ran past him, oblivious to the danger the Elven Knight presented, heading directly for Jaycie.

  She lashed out at him with her sword, striking him with the flat of the blade and knocking him skidding across the floor, and advanced on Jaycie.

  "Magnus!" Eric shouted, turning toward him, terrified. If this is what parenthood feels like, I don't like it.

  "He's okay—he's okay!" Kayla said, kneeling over him, and yanking off her gloves. "Busted rib—that's all. I'm on it!"

  Eric turned back to the Protector. "Now, look—" he said.

  Suddenly she recoiled, dropping her sword and beginning to wail.

  It was a horrible sound, a sound of death, and loss, and bereavement bordering on madness. He'd heard it before—in the Park, when he'd tried to call her. But Eric could sense no form of attack. Either it was a spell only she could sense . . . or prolonged exposure to New York had driven her mad.

  As she howled she began to change, her armor shimmering and flowing like water, turning into long flowing robes. She clawed at her face—whatever was happening to her, the Elven
Protector was obviously fighting it—and losing the fight.

  "No, no, no!" Magnus screamed. "Don't let her get me!"

  Kayla had finished her Healing, but the boy was obviously terrified half out of his wits, staring over her shoulder at Jaycie's Protector and trying to scrabble away.

  :Lady Day, come and get us out of here,: Eric thought to his 'steed. :Quietly.:

  Abruptly the Protector vanished.

  The wailing stopped.

  It was suddenly very quiet. Jaycie started to back away.

  "Stop." Eric put all the force of a Command into that one word. Jaycie stopped where he was. Ace clung to his arm, staring at Eric.

  They had to get out of here. Fast. Before more police showed up. And more to the point, they had to cover up the damage they'd done here tonight, starting with the kiosk.

  A simple spell—like Elven kenning, but one that a Bard could perform—repaired the damage to the newsstand, as he asked the kiosk to "remember" its previous condition. Next, a spell of Forgetting on everyone here to cover kids, Shadows, and Elven Knights. It wouldn't take care of everything, but they'd come up with explanations of their own. Maybe they'd put it down to a malfunction in the alarm system. Eric knew he was going to pay for this later, but that was then, and this was now.

  Lady Day rolled in down the Main Concourse.

  "Come on," Eric said.

  He gathered them all together, standing close around the elvensteed. Jaycie was still docile—thanks to Eric's Command—but the spell wouldn't hold past the Gate.

  "Take us home," Eric said.

  * * *

  "Very funny," he said a moment later. "Now go in the bedroom. I'll figure out how to get you downstairs and out of the apartment tomorrow."

  Lady Day, very meekly, wheeled herself down the hall, nudged open the door of Eric's bedroom, and slipped inside.

  Eric looked at the four of them.

  Magnus still looked terrified; so terrified, he barely noticed he'd been teleported into Eric's apartment. Kayla was holding onto him, just as she had been when she'd dragged him over to the 'steed back in the Port Authority.

  "She— That's— If you see her, you'll die," Magnus said, almost stammering.

  "Nobody's going to die," Eric said firmly. He went over and stood directly in front of Magnus, forcing the boy to look at him. "We're going to talk," Eric said firmly. "Which we should have done in the first place, except I guess I still had a little growing up to do. Magnus, I really am your brother Eric. I don't look as old as I should because I've spent quite a bit of time Underhill with the elves. Learning magic."

  "There isn't any such thing as magic," Magnus said desperately, blinking hard to hold back tears.

  Kayla moved away from Magnus over to Ace and Jaycie, putting her arm around the younger girl and speaking to her soothingly. Eric caught the words "Ria Llewellyn" and "lawyers." He wondered what Kayla was saying. He turned his attention back to Magnus.

  "Yes, there is. I've got the talent for it. Since you're my brother, you probably do, too. If that's the case, you'll have to learn how to use it properly. Or keep from using it, if that's what you want. Either way, you're not going back to Boston. Our parents don't deserve to have custody of a houseplant, let alone a child."

  "You can't stop them," Magnus said sullenly. "I'm only seventeen."

  "Oh, yeah?" Eric said. "I'm of legal age, and I'm your brother. I'll sue for custody. And you aren't going to spend another minute beneath their roof. I promise you that."

  "I hate classical music!" Magnus burst out desperately. "I want to be a drummer like Neil Peart! I never want to play the piano again!"

  "Fine," Eric said. "Just let me help."

  "And Jaycie? And Ace? Them too?" Magnus asked.

  "Yes," Eric promised. He already knew he had to help Jaycie somehow—whether by reuniting him with his Protector, or by taking him Underhill—and as for Ace, if Ria and all her lawyers couldn't do something there, Ace could simply disappear Underhill as well. There were certain advantages to having the Sidhe for friends.

  At that moment, the window opened and Greystone poked his head in, looking around. "Och, laddie, ye fair deafened me with that last blast. Is this the wee bairn, then? Faith, bucko, you've given us all a good bit o' trouble! Greystone, at your service." He bowed.

  "It's a talking mon—stat—mut—thing," Magnus said faintly.

  "No such thing as magic, huh?" Ace said scornfully. She was holding up pretty well, all things considered—but then, from what Kayla had told him on the way to the bus terminal, from using her Talent, Ace already had a certain amount of experience with what she considered "magic." She looked at Eric.

  "Greystone is a gargoyle," Eric said. "And he's my friend."

  Suddenly there was a hammering on the door.

  "Ah, that'll be Ms. Hernandez," Greystone said.

  "I'm on it." Kayla went over to open the door.

  Toni burst in breathlessly, stopping to stare at the room full of people.

  "Eric—you're back," she said. "Good to see you. First you set off a depth charge at Port Authority—at least Greystone said it was you—and then you rattle the windows here. Gotta say, you know how to make an entrance."

  "Good to be seen. This is my brother Magnus—" how odd it felt to be saying that simple sentence! "—and this is Ace, and Jaycie—"

  "Jaycie?" Toni asked, puzzled, looking around.

  "Jaycie!" Ace yelped, staring around the room wildly.

  The Sidhe boy was gone.

  Eric swore. He'd only taken his eyes off him for a second, and Kayla or one of the others would have been watching.

  But all the Sidhe possessed the glamouries of illusion, of trickery, of misdirection; hard to catch, harder to hold. As Jaycie had just proven.

  "Should have tied him up when I had the chance," Eric muttered.

  "Where did he go?" Ace demanded frantically.

  "Can't you find him with this magic stuff?" Magnus pleaded.

  "It's not that easy. But it might be possible. I bespelled him once," Eric said, thinking fast. "That might give me enough of a link to follow. Toni, you'd better get Paul and the others and follow me. I think there's something wrong with Jaycie's Protector, and if she finds him again, I might need backup."

  Quickly he sketched out for Toni's benefit what had happened at the Port Authority, when Jaycie's Protector had appeared.

  "I don't understand it," Eric finished. "She ought to have just taken him and gone home, but something stopped her. I don't know what. Nothing is supposed to come between a Protector and the welfare of their charge. They'll defy everything Underhill and in the World Above for them—and they're within their rights. It's the most sacred bond the elves know. Nothing is allowed to come before it for a Protector—not their honor, not even their life. But something's hurting her."

  "Something's hurting a lot of people," Toni said dryly. "She's killed almost a dozen people looking for this kid—if it was her."

  "And that doesn't even answer the question of why she's turning into a fairy tale," Eric said. While it was true that the Sidhe took a positive delight in shaping themselves in the forms dictated by human myths and legends—and cartoons and comic books, for that matter—generally the transformations were entirely voluntary.

  "Killed?" Ace said in a small voice.

  Abruptly Toni realized who else was in the room.

  "I'm afraid so—Ace, is it? So we'd kind of like her to stop," Toni said gently.

  "But Jaycie can't go home!" Ace said. "His folks hate him!"

  "If that's really true . . ." and Eric doubted that it was; all elves valued children, any children, and Elven children were especially precious and rare, " . . . then his Protector will guard him even from his own parents. He knows that's true—or he should. And if she can't, I will."

  Magnus looked at him doubtfully.

  "He can do that," Kayla said firmly. "And I'm coming with you. If there's trouble, you'll need a medic."

  "We'r
e coming too," Ace added. "We can talk sense into him."

  "There isn't time to argue—not if your runaway elf-boy is on a collision course with Bloody Mary," Toni said briskly. "Get going, Eric. Take your phone. Call me and give me your position."

  "Right." He went into the bedroom.

  "Come on, girl."

  He wheeled the elvensteed out into the living room again and glanced at the others before heading toward the door. It was a hell of an introduction for Magnus to the Eric Banyon life-style, but Magnus would manage. His brother was a good kid.

  * * *

  Hosea had no trouble getting into Neil's apartment building. Doorman building or not, they wouldn't stop what they didn't see, and Hosea very much didn't want them to see him. And fortunately he remembered the address from last time.

  The other Guardians had swords for occasions like this. Jimmie's sword was his now, he guessed—it still hung, in its scabbard, on his bedroom wall. Paul said that swords were strong and important weapons, both exoterically—that meant in the real world—and magically, but somehow Hosea had never felt comfortable with a sword in his hand, even though both Paul and Toni had told him it was first and foremost a symbol of his Will, his intent, and need never be used to draw blood.

  "What are you going to use, Hosea? A banjo? Bard or not, I've never met the demon yet you could exorcise with a banjo—even a haunted one," Toni had said to him once.

  Even so, Hosea just didn't feel comfortable facing down the Dark Folk with a sword instead of music. Maybe that might change after he'd been a Guardian a while longer. But for now, he simply preferred Jeanette. Besides, he'd look mighty silly hauling a sword—no matter how well disguised—all over New York. Not to mention how much it would upset people.

  He made his way to the proper floor, and hesitated. What now? He didn't have any sense of anything being wrong, though he could smell the faint scent of frankincense creeping out from under the door, so he knew Fafnir was in there and up to his nonsense.

  But nothing was actually happening.

  Just in case.

  Hosea set down the banjo case and got out Jeanette, slinging her strap over his shoulder and beginning, very quietly, to tighten her pegs.