The Midnight Eye Files Collection

by William Meikle

  He doesn’t know.

  That gave me something to smile about as I hung there for the rest of the day.

  After a while the shackles began to chafe against my wrists. And the urge for a cigarette was growing big in my head. My body needed a certain level of nicotine to function properly. Otherwise anxiety led to trembling and headaches. I keep meaning to quit, but why bother, when there could be a werewolf waiting for me round any corner?

  None of those thoughts were particularly helpful, but they kept my mind off my current situation, for a short time at least.

  The youths around me kept up a constant string of expletive ridden chatter that mostly revolved around the fact that somebody was going to pay. After a while I tuned them out.

  My head hurt, throbbing hotly in time with my heartbeat. That throbbing went up a level when a key turned in the lock in the barn door.

  Arcand walked in and smiled at me.

  “Nice trick Derek,” he said. He raised a hand and showed me a raw red wound across his palm. “It hurts like hell.”

  “Well, at least I’ve got something to be happy about,” I replied. “Have you got any of those fancy Russian fags left? I would kill for a smoke.”

  “Oh, we can do better than that,” he said. He motioned to someone outside and two of his ranch hands came in and manhandled me out of the shackles.

  As soon as I was free my legs threatened to give out under me.

  “I must need that smoke worse than I thought,” I said as I staggered. I had to be carried out of the barn by the arms.

  “Haw Jim?” the youth with the busted nose shouted. “What about us? Do we get anything to eat or what?”

  “Don’t worry,” Arcand said. He smiled again. “We’ll be getting to the feeding soon enough.”

  They took me back to the ranch. They weren’t too gentle about it.

  Five minutes later I was sat in the same armchair in front of the picture window. It was near sunset again and the sky had taken on a golden red glow that looked like the clouds were on fire.

  Arcand put my Zippo and the black ceramic case on the arm of the chair next to the hair belt. I doubted that the belt had been moved since I last sat there.

  “Don’t I get my own case?” I said. “I like that one.”

  “Don’t push your luck Derek,” Arcand said. “That was a cheap stunt you pulled.”

  “Aye. Well, I had to know one way or the other. So now what?” I said.

  “Now we wait. He’s coming for the belt.”

  “And I’m the bait?”

  “Now you’re getting the idea,” Arcand said. He took a cigarette, lit up, and sat opposite me.

  “Where’s McBarnette?”

  “He’s organizing the reception committee.”

  “You know the Elf won’t be stupid enough to come alone?”

  “Oh, we’re hoping he brings backup. The more the merrier.”

  I lit up and sucked smoke for a while.

  “How did you know?” Arcand said after a while.

  I smiled back at him, just to show him he wasn’t the only one who could do it.

  “You gave yourselves away,” I replied. “You made all that fuss about wanting the belt, then when I brought it to you, you ignored it. Hell, you left it in my trouser pocket. You never even handled it.”

  “Ah yes. The silver clasps.”

  I nodded.

  “The silver clasps. Them, and the look in your partner’s eyes when he thumped the table. I’d seen that look before, back in Glasgow.”

  “The lad, Turner?”

  “No,” I said. “The Elf. He has the same fire, the same callous indifference to anything but his own wishes.”

  He laughed loudly.

  “Don’t let Karl hear you say that. He’ll take it as an insult.”

  “So what is this hard-on he’s got for the Elf? Do they have a history?”

  “They’ve never met,” Arcand said. “But if the Elf gets the belt, he’ll challenge Karl’s authority, and Karl will never allow that.”

  I was beginning to see some light.

  “So Karl’s the top dog?”

  I got the laugh again.

  “You could call it that. And he’s a pedigree. The Elf’s just an upstart mongrel.”

  “A mongrel with some power it seems. But you’ve got power of your own?”

  “Not so much. All we have is the change. That’s all we’ve ever had. It’s not magic... not to us. We were born this way.”

  I let that sink in for a while. I’d just about rationalized the fact that the belt could turn someone into a beast. I wasn’t quite prepared for the fact that they’d been here already.

  “Where did you come from?” I asked.

  He smiled.

  “Where did you come from? There’s as many theories as there are packs. But I’ll tell you one that I like. One that was told to me as I suckled at my mother’s teat. It will help pass the time.”

  I lit another cigarette and watched darkness descend as he started, in a lilting voice that was almost a song.

  Before the wind came there was only the Father.

  Our Father grew strong in the love of the stone and the stars. But as he grew, he too became lonely. And he sang to the sun, and he sang to the stone, but they have their own song, one that he could not sing.

  So the Father taught himself new music, tunes that made the earth move and give forth trees and herbs, fish and fowl. But still the Father was lonely, for although he loved his creations, none of them could sing for him.

  So the Father took the sound of waves crashing on beaches and wind blowing through trees. And he took the whistles from the birds and the barking cough from the dogs. And from the cats he took the crying wail, and from the wolf, the Grey Shadow, he took the howl in the night. All these noises he took, and he blew them into the stone, and mixed them with tears from his own loneliness.

  And for a whole tour of the earth round the sun he moulded the stone with his tears, and in the moulding he added the new song he had found. And slowly we his children were born, and our song with us. And in us, we held the memory of all that had made us.

  But there came the day that Samdur the wind god came in a great rush, and with her she brought the great ice. The ice covered the whole world, so that even the Father was not safe from its ravages. And the ice leeched into us and through us and separated us from the stone. For the first time we were parted from the Father, and we stood alone before the force of the wind.

  And the wind took us and blew us apart like pebbles in a stream until our people were scattered far from the Father and our souls were filled with fear.

  And still the wind blew and still our people were tossed and turned this way and that, until we came at last to rest in this place we now inhabit. For long years the wind blew and the ice grew, and many perished, but there came a time when the wind began to lessen.

  And in the darkness, as the wind abated, we could hear the cries of our Father, but we could not come to him, for he was locked deep in the ice, in a place we could not reach.

  So we gathered and we called to our Father. And our songs brought warmth to him, there under the ice. But still we could not come to him. But he gave us a gift, the change... a way for us to hunt, a way for us to keep warm, a way for us to strengthen our family bonds.

  And still the wind blew, although it was much lessened and the ice began to retreat. And from the north, where the ice was thickest and the darkness deepest, we became aware of men, men who did not know the Father. And they caught us, and slaughtered many.

  Slowly we learned how to fight them, and we learned how to kill, but every time we killed, or were killed, our souls became a little more full, and we became a little further from the Father.

  So we took ourselves out of the sight of men, and after a time our songs began to warm the Father once more.

  Since then we have walked with the wind, but we know that the day will come when we will once more be one with the stone.
To prepare for that day we empty our souls, and we keep to the old ways and we sing our songs.

  “Aye. Very pretty,” I said when he’d finished. “But what does it mean?”

  “To me, it means we’ve been around a long time,” he said. “Long enough to have a memory of the Ice Ages. That gives me comfort.”

  “Well, forgive me if I don’t share,” I said. “It gives me the creeps. How many are you?”

  He shrugged.

  “Many. There are some of us in all your cities and towns, seduced by your easy way of life. Many others, like me, prefer to stay near the wild, but have taken on some of your vices. Others still can be found in the wild places, chasing the moon.”

  “It’s hard to believe we don’t know about you,” I said.

  “That’s because prey never likes to think about the predator,” he said smiling. “And we’ve learned to be sneaky. Very sneaky.”

  “I’ve noticed. He doesn’t know about you.”

  “The Elf? I don’t think so. He’s been so obsessed with his own path that he sees no other.”

  “And what happens when he gets here?”

  “He’ll look for you, and find us.”

  “That simple?”

  He nodded.

  “We’re the hunters here.”

  We sat there for over an hour... just two regular guys chewing the fat as the sun went down.

  Arcand lounged in a chair. He looked like a contented rancher should; red-check lumberjack shirt, faded denims and cowboy boots with a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth. But he couldn’t leave the wound on his palm alone. He stroked it, he examining the wound; he even went as far as to lick it at one point until he saw me looking.

  “This is going to take weeks to heal you know? You’re lucky Karl got you out of the kitchen last night. I’d probably have torn your throat out.”

  “Why does silver affect you so much?” I asked. “Any particular reason?”

  Again he shrugged.

  “Karl says that silver has always been associated with the moon; in pagan religions, in alchemy, even by the light of the silvery moon. We too are ruled by lunar cycles. I suppose it must be something to do with that.”

  “You don’t know much about yourselves, do you?”

  “Why would we need to? We have food and we have warm lodgings. What else is there to worry about?”

  It was hard to argue with that.

  I lifted the belt.

  “This hair? It’s from one of your kind?”

  “Yes. Legend has it she was a French courtier who got taken in by a smooth talking charmer. The story goes that she was skinned, and twenty of these belts were made.

  “The others?”

  “Lost in history,” Arcand said. “Mostly destroyed when the users drew too much attention to themselves. We have learned to keep ourselves hidden, but others are not so circumspect.”

  I looked at the silver clasps.

  “And these are silver?” I asked.

  “Yes. We can’t touch them.”

  “So how come it works? Why doesn’t the silver in the clasps burn after the belt has done its whammy?”

  He shrugged and smiled.

  “Yet again you’re confusing me with someone who gives a shit,” he said. “Black magic, protective spells, who knows? All we know is that the belt works. And Karl wants to make sure it’ll never work again.”

  “And Karl always gets what he wants?”

  “Mostly,” Arcand said, and smiled. But for the first time, the smile never reached his eyes.

  I’d seen the first chink in the armor. It wasn’t enough to give me hope.

  But it’s something to be going on with.

  “You could have walked away with the money,” he said after a period of some minutes of silence. “We didn’t actually want to harm you in any way. You were just a means to an end.”

  “The story of my life,” I said. “I don’t suppose I could have a wee look at the check? Just to see what I’m missing?”

  He went to a desk, came back with a check and handed it to me.

  “I wrote it before I even had the letter sent to the bar in Glasgow,” he said.

  And there it was in front of me. Pay Mr. Derek Adams, one hundred thousand dollars.

  “I don’t suppose we can rewind a few hours?” I said, not even sure myself if I was serious or not. “Like to this time last night, just before we went to supper?”

  “Sorry,” he said, and showed me the wounded hand. “Too many painful memories.”

  I folded the check and put it in my pocket. Arcand laughed.

  “Keep it,” he said. “But I doubt you’ll live long enough to cash it.

  I agreed with him on that one.

  “You know, you’re taking this all very calmly,” Arcand said.

  I laughed bitterly.

  “You’re not the scariest thing I’ve met,” I said. “Hell, you’re not even the scariest shape-shifter I’ve met.”

  “Tell me more,” Arcand said. “After all, what else have you got to do?”

  “There’s a flight to Dublin in a few hours... I could be on it?” I replied.

  He shook his head.

  “Well, if it’s a story you’re after,” I started. “It began with an old lady that liked my whisky...”

  I laid out the Mason case for him. Norse gods, mermaids and shape-changing servants of Loki; he remained unfazed by it all. The story took a while in the telling, with frequent stops for questions and clarifications.

  When I finished he nodded.

  “We knew there were lost cousins of ours in the seas,” he said. “But you’re the first to see one in many years.”

  “And hopefully the last,” I said.

  “Who knows. Maybe I’ll pay a visit to Scotland for myself.”

  “Well if you need a guide, don’t come looking for me,” I said. “After this, I’m never leaving Glasgow again.”

  “Mr. Adams,” he said. “After tonight, you’re not even leaving here.”

  The Elf made his move at eight o’clock.

  It was several minutes before I even noticed, but Arcand had become still and silent.

  “This is it?” I whispered.

  “The games afoot,” he replied.

  Arcand rose and put out the light. For the first time I noticed the moon. It hung low over the hills, lighting the area around the ranch in silver, and casting dark shadows among the trees in the rising ground to the west.

  It took a while before I saw them, but seven figures soon became discernible among the darker shadows. I quickly recognized the man at the front; I’d know that cocksure swagger anywhere. The Elf walked towards the ranch, six of his cohorts behind him. He might as well have brought sixty... it’s unlikely the outcome would have been any different.

  He must have thought it was going well. They came across the patch of ground slowly, almost stealthily. They had no idea that something far deadlier than they were, and much more stealthy, stalked in the shadows behind them.

  As they approached the ranch the Elf sent three of them round one side, while he came almost straight for the window.

  He saw me, and waved sarcastically before turning his gaze on Arcand. He stared at the lawyer, fixedly, trying his whammy trick.

  Arcand looked at me, winked, and stared back.

  The Elf looked puzzled and moved closer to the window.

  This time it was Arcand’s turn to give the sarcastic wave. He let his jaw fall, and the teeth show as his snout lengthened. Joints popped as the waving hand stretched and grew, the talons sliding moistly from under his fingernails.

  The Elf only had time to look shocked before three shadows, gray and fast, took him down. It was over in less than a second.

  I expected the Elf to be killed, but they had other plans for him, and for me. Five minutes later I was back in the barn, trussed up beside the bruised, bloodied, but definitely alive body of the Black Elf.

  Nine

  THE MOVING TARGET />
  The leather clad youths started shouting as soon as the door closed behind the ranch-hands that had trussed us up.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” seemed to be the most common question

  What with the Elf and his six henchmen, there were now seventeen of us hanging in the barn. Any answer I had wasn’t going to satisfy them. And the Elf wasn’t in any state to talk. They’d done a number on him. His face looked like a pound of fresh minced beef. His eyes, glazed and staring blankly, were set in bruises that had already started to darken.

  I thought he was out cold, but he lifted his head and looked me in the eye.

  “See,” he said laughing. “I told you I’d find you.”

  He coughed, and spat blood.

  The hanging youths stopped shouting.

  “Hey. It’s that bastard magician,” Broken-nose shouted.

  “This is all your fucking fault,” another called. Soon they were all once more shouting, this time at the Elf.

  “For fuck’s sake shut up,” the Elf said quietly. As one, they went silent, mouths hanging open, eyes swiveling, gazing blankly into space.

  “That’s better,” the Elf said. He coughed again, and more blood came up. “I’ve got a bugger of a headache.”

  He looked over at me.

  “They make fine upstanding citizens, your lawyers.”

  I nodded.

  “They’re kind to little old ladies and babies too,” I replied. “At least, the ones that aren’t on the menu.”

  He started to speak, spat up more blood, then tried again.

  “You could have warned me.”

  I laughed.

  “Why would I? Last I heard you were trying to kill me.”

  “There is that,” he said, and laughed through blood and spittle. “So obviously they have the belt?”

  “Yes. But not in the way you think.”

  “Tell me.”

  I told him what I knew. It didn’t take long.

  There was something in his eyes I didn’t recognize at first, and it took a while to figure out what it was. It wasn’t despair, or anger.

  It was joy.

  “I always knew they existed,” he said. “And now I’ve found them. Or rather, they’ve found me.”

  “Well unless you’ve got a few more magic tricks up your sleeve, it’ll all be for nothing.”