Mad Maudlin

by Mercedes Lackey

  Suddenly he heard—faintly, through the door—a young child's high scream of terror. Hard upon its heels, drowning it out, came the sound of breaking glass.

  * * *

  He needed to find Rionne. Everything was all wrong here in the World Above, and somehow he'd hurt Rionne. He'd never meant to do that. She was the only person who cared about him—not his father's rank, not the politics of the Court of Elfhame Bete Noir. When he'd seen her again in Port Authority, he'd been afraid at first, thinking she might be angry with him, but that was wrong. Rionne was never angry with him, no matter what he did.

  Why had he run from her? He'd been afraid. He'd thought she wouldn't understand. But when he'd heard her scream, seen her fighting the Shadow Pack—he'd realized that the Prince his father's wrath must have fallen upon her.

  He had to find her. He had to fix things. He had to make things right. For her.

  He'd gone back to the Port Authority. The trail there was easy to follow, thick and foul with the evil alien magic that had claimed her will and forced her from his side—more proof, not that he'd needed it, that magic was a terrible and frightening thing, to be avoided at all costs.

  He hid in the shadows—the place was filled with police, all talking about the mysterious malfunctioning of the security system less than half an hour before. He didn't linger. Now that he'd found Rionne's trail, Jachiel didn't need to. He knew where he was going.

  Rionne had saved him many times.

  Now he had to save her.

  He pulled a can of Coke from his pocket and drank it quickly as he hurried from the bus terminal. It was warm by now, but he didn't care. It made him feel better.

  He would go, he would find Rionne, and he would tell her that neither of them ever had to go back Underhill.

  * * *

  Once Eric was away from the apartment, he tried summoning Jaycie's Protector back again. It was risky, here on the Upper West Side, but with Lady Day's help, he thought he had a good chance of stopping her before she did more harm.

  But this time she wouldn't—or couldn't—come when he called.

  Next he sent a Seeking spell after Jaycie. It homed in on the residue of his previous Command spell and found the boy easily. He was heading Uptown, moving fast enough that he had to be in a cab or a bus. Elves hated the subway system—all that iron—and he doubted Jaycie was an exception to that rule.

  He sent Lady Day in pursuit—linked to his mind, she could follow the spell trace as easily as he could—and pulled out his phone.

  For a moment he hesitated about making the call. Kayla had looked exhausted when he'd caught up to her, and he hated the thought of dragging Ace and Magnus into more danger.

  But he needed Toni and the other Guardians for backup. And Ace was right; Jaycie might listen to her and Magnus.

  He made the call.

  "Toni? I've picked up the trail. Jaycie's heading north. He might be going into Central Park—I found his Protector twice there before. I'm heading over to Sixth—I think he's in a cab. If I can spot it, maybe I can catch him before he gets where he's going."

  "Right, Eric. Stay on the line. Give us landmarks," Toni said.

  "Gotcha." Fortunately, he didn't need to hold on to the handlebars—or really drive Lady Day in any sense of the word. The elvensteed did all the work. All Eric needed to do was follow Jaycie's trail.

  But though he followed the trace as fast as he could without overrunning it, the few minutes' head start Jaycie had gotten was enough to keep him ahead of Eric.

  Suddenly a thunderclap of magic—Elven magic—rocked the night. Eric clutched at Lady Day's handlebars, nearly dropping the phone. Something big had just happened.

  "I've got to go," he said tersely.

  "Never mind," Toni said, sounding shaken. "We can follow that."

  Eric shoved the phone into his pocket. Without any urging, Lady Day stretched herself to the utmost.

  He didn't know who—or what—had just caused that enormous magical disruption he'd felt, but there was no way he could ignore it.

  * * *

  A few moments later he was outside one of the luxury high-rise apartment buildings that dotted the Upper West Side. Magic radiated from one of the upper floors, as though a meteor had struck it. Eric flung himself off the elvensteed and ran inside.

  A quick encouragement to Sleep took care of the doorman and the security guard.

  Which floor was the disturbance coming from? He could tell approximately, but to search several floors would take too long.

  No sign of Jaycie in the foyer—but to Eric's dismay, he realized that the Sidhe boy had in fact come this way, and only minutes before. Whatever disaster lay ahead, Jaycie must be in the thick of it.

  Mage-sight told Eric which elevator he'd used. Once inside the car, Eric was able to tell which button Jaycie had pressed. That gave him the floor he needed.

  The ascent of the elevator to 20 seemed to take forever.

  When the doors opened, even his ordinary senses could tell Eric there was trouble. The whole hallway smelled faintly of incense, and he could hear screams.

  Eric ran.

  * * *

  Though she fought it desperately, the foul sorcery of this place had its way with her yet again. In the moment that should have been her triumph, when Rionne ferch Rianten gazed upon her Jachiel's face once more, saw him sick and terrified—but alive, alive!—she felt the demon call reach out to her, enfolding her with the evil magic she was powerless to resist.

  Somewhere, there was a child in danger.

  But not my child! Not Jachiel!

  In vain she fought against it. She was too weak. Her battles against the Seleighe Court Bard and the Shadow Hunt had both drained her, and she had no energy left with which to resist this call. The magic to which her kind was particularly vulnerable—that of imagination, of will—enfolded her, drawing her away, reshaping her in the image of its own desire.

  And she came as she had been called.

  * * *

  Fafnir hadn't been expecting much. Maybe for the room to go cold, or the candles to blow out. Maybe for some glowing lights to appear and some of his more suggestible sheep to throw some nice hysterical fits. Maybe.

  Not this.

  Amanda began to scream and cry. It was embarrassing, but Fafnir didn't have long to be embarrassed. Seconds later, Neil's big picture window exploded inward in a shower of glass. It was safety glass, so all of it that wasn't caught in the curtain starred the floor like diamonds. The curtain had come down with it as well, lying on the floor in a puddle of dark fabric. Immediately, the icy winter wind began whipping into the room, blowing out most of the candles.

  There was a woman there as well. A monster. The woman he'd seen—he'd thought he'd seen—just for a moment—in the crystal. She wasn't shadowy or insubstantial at all. She was as real as anyone else in the room.

  She was tall—at least six feet—and wearing some kind of long flowing blue draperies that fluttered in the icy wind. And her face . . .

  Where her eyes should have been, there were nothing but dark gaping holes. Bloody tears streamed down her face.

  "We're under attack!" If he hadn't memorized the line, and been thinking about it all along, he never would have managed to say it. What he was thinking was: Jesus, this is REAL.

  Even without eyes, she somehow seemed to be able to see. Her face turned toward him. She took a step toward him.

  Reflexively, he clutched Amanda even tighter. The kid was screaming like a siren now, but so were a lot of other people. He got to his feet, still holding the screaming, struggling child by the arm.

  Should he command the woman to stop? Would it do any good? Why was she just standing there? He wished everyone else wasn't making so much noise. It made it really hard to think.

  :Freddie. Freddie Warwick.:

  Oh, god. She'd said his name. His real name. Had everyone heard her? He didn't dare look around to see. Everyone else had scrambled back out of the way, huddling in t
he corner of the room—except Sarah, who was cowering at his feet, too scared to either grab Amanda or retreat.

  :Come to me, despoiler of children.:

  "Wait. No. You've got it wrong." He didn't care any more what he sounded like to the others. He didn't even care that he was talking in his Freddie voice, not his Fafnir voice. He didn't care about anything but keeping that thing away from him. He'd never been so scared in his life.

  He held out his hands, trying to show her that he was harmless, to push her away. To do that he had to let go of Amanda. As if the blue woman had been waiting only for that, she took a step forward, smiling.

  Her smile was the most terrible thing Freddie had ever seen. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. He would have given anything to be able to run away, but somehow he could do nothing but gaze into her ruined face, unable to think, unable to breathe, as the pain became numbing agony, radiating down his arm and up into his brain.

  He tried to scream, and could not.

  He dropped to his knees.

  * * *

  Bloody Mary gazed at the room full of cowering acolytes.

  :All of you. Despoilers and endangerers of children.:

  * * *

  Hosea burst into the room just in time to see Master Fafnir fall to the floor at the feet of an apparition that matched the shelter children's description of Bloody Mary exactly. The floor was covered with glittering glass and shards of mirror, and the picture window had been completely shattered. A few feet away a woman knelt clutching a screaming child. Bloody Mary turned toward her.

  She's going to kill everyone here unless you can stop her.

  You've got one chance. If you've guessed right.

  If he had, he knew her Secret Name, the one that would turn her from Bloody Mary into the Blue Lady, protector and defender of all children instead of their murderous avenger.

  If he'd guessed wrong, they were all going to die.

  He swept his hand down over the banjo's silver strings and began to sing, putting everything he knew of magic into the words.

  "When Joseph was an old man—An old man was he—He married Virgin Mary—The Queen of Galilee . . . He married Virgin Mary, The Queen of Galilee—"

  He felt the power of the good holy words of the old song sweep outward, clashing with the power that held the creature in thrall through the terror of the people gathered here in the room and the spell Fafnir had cast. Poor demon—as much a victim as anyone here, if the Secret Stories were anything to go by.

  The Virgin Mary—who else could it be? She who had lost Her child—a loss which God had not prevented, and who was Queen of Heaven—who else?

  As the first notes of music sounded, the woman stopped, as if spellbound by the music. That was right. The old story-songs spoke of how you could enthrall—even trap—one of the Good Folk with a song if you played well enough. And some old tales said that fallen angels and the Good Folk were one and the same.

  But Hosea wasn't here to trap anyone tonight. He was here to set someone free.

  Bloody Mary stopped in the act of reaching for the mother and child huddled together on the floor and straightened up, staring straight at Hosea as if listening intently. He swept into the second verse:

  "As Joseph and Mary walked through an orchard green, There were berries and cherries as thick as may be seen— There were berries and cherries, as thick as may be seen—"

  Now she took a step backward, raising her hands to her face. Her hair paled from red to blonde, the terrible wounds on her face healed. She became a beautiful young woman surrounded by a pale blue glow. Her fluttering draperies stilled, became less tattered, became a simple blue robe only blown as much by the wind as the clothes of anyone else in the room, not whipped by an eldritch gale.

  "Amanda!"

  The little girl tore herself free from her mother's arms and ran to the glowing stranger, who knelt to take her in her arms.

  "Rionne!"

  A boy came tearing into the room, through the door Hosea had left open. The boy ran through the huddled mob of terrified acolytes, straight to the robed woman, too fast for Hosea to stop him.

  And the woman began to change again.

  Where an image of the Virgin Mary had stood a moment before now stood a fully armed and armored Elven Knight—as dangerous in her own way as Bloody Mary had been. She thrust both the children behind her and raised her sword.

  Hosea stared for a moment in shock. This was no part of the Secret Stories. He'd been expecting one transformation—not two.

  But this was no time to sight-see. The Elven Knight raised her sword, and Hosea lunged forward. He reached Sarah—from Caity's descriptions, it must be her—just in time to drag her to safety as the sword flashed down where she'd been. From the look of her, the Elven Knight was as willing as Bloody Mary had been to slaughter all of them. It was a good thing Hosea didn't have a sword. That would mark him as an immediate enemy.

  "Oh, shit . . ." Eric said very softly, at his shoulder. "Jaycie, tell her to let the little girl go."

  "Oh, my baby," Sarah whimpered, clinging to Hosea's arm. "Oh, please, don't hurt her!"

  "She would harm the child," the Protector said grimly, speaking aloud at last.

  "No," Eric said desperately. "She's been very foolish, but she won't do anything like this ever again. She didn't mean to do anything that would hurt Amanda. Truly. I tell you this—" Hosea heard Eric's voice strengthen, and the Elven Knight blinked and straightened from her fighting crouch, "—I swear you this, by my name as Bard. She was led astray by sweet words, but never thought harm would come to her child from them."

  "Let her go," the boy—who must be Jaycie—said, tugging at the Elven Knight's cloak. "Rionne, please. It was you they wanted to hurt, not some Earthborn babe. All because of me! I never meant to hurt you!"

  * * *

  Eric walked cautiously forward toward the Protector, putting himself between her and everyone else in the room. The whole room was a soup of conflicting currents of magic—both the spell Hosea had cast and the one Fafnir's circle had accidentally cast, and all around him the people that Fafnir had gathered were starting to react to it—badly. He could hear moans and sounds of retching, and forced himself to ignore them. He could not afford to be distracted now.

  Somehow Jaycie's Protector had provided the power for whatever spell Fafnir had been trying to cast, becoming the focus for the toxic imago the shelter children had created and becoming tangled in it, and then being bound to Fafnir's circle in turn. Ill as Jaycie was, he was probably the picture of health next to his Protector—Eric wasn't sure how much she understood about where she was or what was going on, but he did know that she'd do anything to protect Jaycie—and the other little girl—from anything she saw as a threat. Things could turn deadly in a heartbeat.

  Jaycie was clinging to her, weeping, talking to her in a voice too low for Eric to hear. And finally, after what seemed like forever but what was actually only a minute or two, she released the little girl. The child ran past Eric to her mother. Hosea quickly swept them both out of harm's way.

  Eric looked directly at Jaycie, knowing that he, at least, would understand what Eric was saying. "I am Eric Banyon, Bard of Overhill and Elfhame Misthold, and I offer you both the protection of Elfhame Misthold in Prince Arvin's name."

  "The Bright Court!" Jaycie drew back in horror.

  Eric stared at him in shock. Jaycie was an Unseleighe Sidhe? Then his own people had been hunting him . . .

  This was worse than he'd thought.

  "Even so," Eric said gently, bowing slightly. "I give you my word as a Bard. The sanctuary of Elfhame Misthold. For both of you."

  "Why did you run from me, my heart?" Rionne said sadly, sheathing her sword and putting her arms around Jaycie. She ignored Eric completely.

  Jaycie simply shook his head, clinging to her.

  * * *

  Toni had wanted the kids to stay in the car, but nothing short of handcuffs was going to keep them there. At l
east Eric had a head start on them.

  And to her relief, by the time they got there, the shooting part of things seemed to be over.

  "You want to stay out here, querida?" she asked Kayla. The young Empath's face had gone white as they reached the half-open apartment door, and she swayed on her feet.

  "I'm just peachy," Kayla said, gritting her teeth.

  "Then stay behind me, at least," Toni said, easing the door open and walking in carefully, sword in hand.

  She was no Empath, and her psychic senses were the result of Guardian Powers rather than inborn Gift, but even she could feel the sludge of unexpended magics that filled the living room and foyer of the apartment. The room was dark, lit only by the light of a few flickering candles in jars, and the city light coming in through the hole in the far wall that had once been a nice picture window.

  The room was icy cold.

  Silhouetted against the shattered window was a tall armored figure with her arms around a boy in street clothes. Eric was standing in front of them, his hands spread. Between Eric and the knight was a body—no doubt of that—and the rest of the room was filled with almost two dozen people in various stages of backlash shock. Besides Eric, the knight, and the boy, Hosea was the only one on his feet. She realized Hosea was playing softly, spreading the equivalent of a psychic Band-Aid over the scene. It wouldn't hold for long, but it did explain why there wasn't a full-scale riot going on now.

  "Shut the door," Toni said in a low voice. Contain the scene. That was what Jimmie had always said; the first rule of crime scenes, magical and otherwise. They had to keep all these people from going anywhere until they could get this sorted out. At least things were quiet right now, and Paul and José would be here soon to provide as much backup as she needed.

  Behind her, she heard Kayla close the door.

  "Jaycie," Ace whispered.

  As if he'd heard her, the boy looked up. His eyes glowed green in the dim light of the room. If that was Jaycie, then he was the Sidhe-child Eric had spoken of, and the armored knight must be both his Protector, and the specter the Guardians had been tracking.