Smells Like Finn Spirit

by Randy Henderson

  “Come to gloat?” Alynon asked. “For never have you held me in favor, I know.”

  “I come to offer you the chance to regain honor, and serve your people,” Anansi replied.

  Alynon snorted. “Apologies, dear friend, but ritual suicide went out of fashion generations ago, and you know I do nothing out of fashion. I’m afraid you’ll have to exile me.”

  “If you stay, you will die. If you go to exile, you feel it is death, but that is feeling only. So you may as well go forward, for that is the path to new things my friend,” Anansi said.

  “La, I have so much to look forward to.”

  “Perhaps you do. I have come with a way you might turn this into an opportunity, not a punishment.”

  Alynon blinked in surprise. “You are the last I would have thought on my side.”

  Anansi shrugged. “I am not entirely convinced of your guilt. I know something of trickery, after all.”

  “And what would you have of me?”

  “That you truly work as an agent of the Silver while in the human realm. We have much work to do, much power to gather.”

  “You wish to challenge the arcana?” Alynon asked, surprised.

  “Not unless necessary. But should there be another Bright-Arcana war, it would be best that we defeat the Shadows and their allies without the aid of the arcana. For as much strength as the arcana lend as allies, that alliance also makes us appear weak and disloyal in the minds of many Demesnes.”

  Alynon frowned in thought for a second, then said, “What would you have me do?”

  “Help to strengthen our web of contacts and resources there.” He smiled. “And help us develop our own magics in that realm.”

  * * *

  Blur—

  * * *

  Alynon danced shirtless in the club—in Finn’s twenty-something body—the heat of the crowd making the place feel virtually steamy. The Fastbacks were blasting through their last song, and a band named Alice in Chains were up next. A tightly packed crowd of young men and women in T-shirts and denim and flannels jumped and bumped against each other in front of the low stage, but Alynon stayed back, close to the crowded bar.

  Alynon pounded back the last of his Zima and pushed through a heavily-tattooed couple to set the empty bottle on the bar. He’d become practically addicted to wine coolers—he was convinced that Bartles and Jaymes were in truth mighty alchemists—but few of the clubs in Seattle carried the delicious concoctions.

  While Zimas were a poor substitute, beer tasted like bitter puddle water to him, and few other things mixed well with absinthe in his system—as he’d learned after an amnesia-riddled night spent with another Silver changeling who’d looked like a Viking biker; a night whose events were only hinted at by a blurry Polaroid, running mascara, a stack of empty whipped cream cans, and a boa constrictor hungrily eyeing the live chicken flapping about his apartment.

  A night that had, apparently, also left him with a magical butt tattoo.

  Alynon resumed head-banging to the rapid-fire joy of the music, and his eyes were drawn to a woman standing beside a pillar to his right. She perfectly filled a black lacy dress that left little to the imagination, and her hips wove a figure-eight pattern as she danced to her own internal beat. She watched the band, but Alynon could tell she watched him as well from the corner of her eye, her bangs swishing lightly as her head moved side to side. A slow smile spread across her bright red lips, and Alynon guessed—or perhaps hoped—it was because she’d noticed him watching her.

  The song ended, and the audience applauded.

  Alynon made his way over to the woman. The PAX forbade any actual relationships or sexual contact with humans, but Alynon had discovered that he quite liked the flirtation part at least, the thrill of the hunt. Perhaps he had absorbed something of his brother’s nature somehow.

  “Greetings,” he said. “This may seem an odd question, but are you Wiccan?”

  She smiled. “I’d say more wicked than Wiccan, why?”

  “You look amazingly like that Wiccan photographer in the new Doors movie. Have you seen it?”

  “No,” she said. “Why go watch a fiction of magic when the world is full of real magic?”

  Alynon’s smile froze on his face.

  Pox! Another glance down confirmed that she didn’t wear an arcana ID ring. But if she were from the magical world and recognized him as a changeling, or recognized his host body, he could be in real trouble. He was well outside his assigned area. The ARC had threatened to stick him in a trailer out by Forks, far away from anything resembling civilization, good food, or fashion, if he were caught violating the PAX rules again.

  Alynon casually pulled his black T-shirt from the back pocket of his leather pants, and eyed the path to the exit.

  “If you leave now,” the woman said, “you’ll miss a great band. And an even better offer.” Her hand reached out and grabbed his crotch.

  Alynon jumped, both at the unexpected action, and at his human body’s reaction to it, and said, “La! … oss is mine, I guess.” He winced at the clumsy recovery. Maybe he shouldn’t have had the absinthe after all. He needed all his wits about him now. “But sadly I must leave.”

  “That’s a shame,” she said, “I have a proposal I think you would most enjoy, changeling.”

  “Changeling?” Alynon said, stepping back so that her hand fell away, and he was able to slide on his shirt. Double pox!

  “You are Alynon Infedriel, former First Knight of the Silver Court. And I am Jehnna te’Loki, ambassador of the Shores of Chaos. And should you help me, I can get a message from you to Velorain te’Uriel.”

  Alynon froze, hope welling in his chest. But he did his best to not let that hope show on his face. “I know not what you’ve heard, but I will betray neither my Demesne nor my family for Chaos.”

  A recording of Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” began playing over the speakers as the Fastbacks removed their equipment from the stage.

  “Who said anything about betrayal?” Jehnna said, and slid up close again. “All I wish is for you to sleep with me.”

  “What?” Alynon was certain he’d misheard over the music. “Why?”

  She laughed. “Because it feels good? At least, the toys do, and I’m optimistic about the actual deed.”

  Alynon’s eyes narrowed. “It is too great a risk just for good feelings. What other reasons?”

  “What better reason to take risks than good feelings?” she asked. “But in truth, I had a thought. Know you the way that necromancers seek to ensure their child is born with the Talker gift?”

  “No,” Alynon said.

  “They have the woman possessed by a spirit during conception. And I thought, well, here we are, both in the bodies of necromancers, and technically both bodies are possessed by spirits. What might we create?”

  Alynon stared at her a second, then said, “You wish to branch—I mean conceive—an arcana child? The ARC would never allow it!”

  “The ARC would never learn of it. Should you accept my offer, I shall have a public and untimely death soon after, at least where the ARC is concerned.”

  “Your Demesne would have to pay a significant fine,” Alynon said, surprised. “And would not be allowed new changelings for quite a while. Arcana do not take the death of hosts lightly.”

  “We feel it an acceptable … investment.” She stepped closer, and Alynon could smell the scent of apples. “But that is our concern.” She traced a finger down his chest, to his stomach, and continued in a tone most often murmured in late-night promises, “For you, it will be no burden at all. That, I can promise.”

  Alynon grabbed her hand before she could go any lower, but shivered slightly at the feelings of pleasure that rippled out from her touch. “Why not do this with another Chaos changeling, then?” he asked, and cleared his throat, embarrassed at how husky his own voice had become.

  “None are currently in the bodies of necromancers but me,” she replied with a bit of a pout. “Plus the na
ture of our branching in Chaos raises concerns that any offspring might be … unstable. You, however, were branched in similar fashion to a child of Chaos, a true spirit like ours, yet not of Chaos. If any two might breed a child of human flesh and True Aalbright spirit, not some brightblood half-breed, it is us two.”

  “To what end?” Alynon asked.

  She raised her hand in his, and placed one of his fingers in her mouth, while she grabbed his other hand and placed it very low on her back. “Mmm,” she said as he slid his finger free. “Whatever end you like.”

  Alynon’s leather pants felt entirely too tight just then.

  He pulled back both his hands, and said, “I mean what is your goal? How would you use such a child?”

  “We have no plans to use the child in any way that would harm you or the Silver, if that is your concern. Though I am surprised if it is, given the nature of your exile here. Betrayed by your own family …” She gave a sad shake of her head.

  “I was not betrayed by my family. It was a … misunderstanding, and they acted only to protect our Demesne.”

  “And yet your brother took your love from you,” Jehnna said.

  “He acted only out of his nature, and he would not be with Velorain but for the actions of others.” Alynon spoke as much to try and focus his thoughts as to answer her question. “I do not blame him. Not any longer, at least.”

  Jehnna shrugged, the lacy dress shifting to offer new hints of what lay beneath. “Well then, what I offer is a chance to help them, not harm them.”

  Alynon gave her a dubious side look. “How exactly will conceiving a child of Chaos help my Demesne?”

  “La, consider, if we might have true children in the mortal realm, what need to take possession of arcana bodies? What need to invade this realm in yet another war that would divide our Realm, and cost countless Bright spirits? Why, Alynon Infedriel, you could very well save the world by fucking me.”

  Alynon laughed. “That is the best offer I’ve had in a while,” he said at last. And Anansi had wished him to find new ways of advancing the Silver’s cause in the mortal realm. “But I still fear it to be unwise.”

  “Then do not forget my offered payment. I shall get a message from you to Velorain.”

  Alynon stopped smiling. “How? She is surely long wed to my brother by now, and after what happened, I should think neither she nor my family would allow a Chaos agent anywhere near her.”

  “I give you my word, we may get a message to Velorain te’Uriel. I would not have offered else.”

  The next band introduced themselves, and launched into a growling, grinding tune as the lead singer shook his head side to side, his dreadlocks whipping around in a halo under the stage lights. The mosh pit started up again, pushing some people back into Alynon and Jehnna, but he barely noticed as he struggled with his choice.

  He had asked several times to be allowed a message to Velorain, or at least for news of her and of his brother, but had been refused every time. He yearned to know if she still believed he had betrayed her. He wanted to tell her the truth at least, even if he had agreed not to deny the charges against him openly.

  He ached to tell her that he loved her still, that even the gulf of time and worlds had not dulled that flame in his heart.

  And in truth, the restrictions against changelings having sex seemed, well, just cruel. To stick them in these bodies flooded with hormones and hot blood, bombarded with constant images and promises of sexual pleasure, but not allowing them to act as their bodily nature demanded? May as well forbid them to eat, or sleep, or drink wine coolers! He could sleep with Jehnna and screw over the ARC at the same time, and that appealed to the rebel in him.

  Yet should such an act be discovered, such a collusion with Chaos, he might lose all chance of returning with any honor to his home some day, of proving himself innocent of any former collusion.

  “What say you?” Jehnna prompted. “Would you speak with your beloved?”

  * * *

  A final blur, and the memory projection faded.

  * * *

  I blinked, looking around the Counsel chamber at Dawn and the Silver Fey, feeling off balance from more than the memory projection, or the weird sensation of actually being someone else.

  Alynon, did you sleep with her? I asked, the very thought that I might have a child out there—at least, a child of my body—more a shock than anything else I’d experienced in the Other Realm.

  *Of course not,* Alynon replied.

  I felt relief and, oddly, a touch of regret. But my eyes narrowed.

  You hesitated before answering, I thought back. A pause no longer than the space of a heartbeat, but it had been there.

  *Finn, I have just relived many painful memories. What would you have of me?*

  I’m sorry. I just—sorry.

  “I call a vote,” Blobby said. “Do Alynon’s memories satisfy Proof that he did not hold on to sufficient cause of Revenge, Selfishness, or Jealousy to kill his brother?”

  Justitia said, “Three causes were charged, and three proofs given, what say the Counsel?”

  Ecne said, “Proven without cause.”

  Lao-Tzu said, “Proven without cause.”

  And the rest echoed the response, until the queen said last, “While it fails to prove that they had no hand in the prince’s murder, I do not believe they would have done so willingly, not for any motive we have ascribed them. Alynon is innocent of the causes laid against him by this Counsel.”

  Justitia gave a bow of her head. “Heard, and witnessed. The crime of murder against Prince Apollo may not be pressed again upon Phinaeus Gramaraye nor Alynon Infedriel lest some new and convincing cause or evidence is presented.”

  “So … I’m free to go?” I asked, hope rising in me despite being certain of the answer.

  Marduk’s lips pressed thin, then he said, “You are proven innocent of the motive for murder of the prince. But you still have come here in physical form against the rules of the PAX, bearing a forbidden weapon, and having fled murder in the Forest of Shadows. You are not free.”

  “Indeed,” the queen said. “We must call for the Shadows Proxenos now, that we may—”

  The entrance archway flashed, and through it appeared a hallway with a knight literally flying down it. When he reached the chamber, his feet hit the marble floor and skidded to a halt.

  “My lords and ladies,” he said. “The Shadows Proxenos is dead.”

  “Oh come on!” I said.

  26

  THINGS THAT MAKE YOU GO HMMM …

  Queen Ma’at stood as the other Silver Fey lords and ladies muttered around the half-circle table. “Murdered?” she asked. It did not escape my notice that several eyes looked to me when she said that, despite the fact that I’d been standing in front of them this entire time so couldn’t possibly have done the act.

  “No, majesty,” the knight replied. “It appears to be suicide.”

  The queen sat, a look of horror on her face, and placed a hand on her chest, over her fan-like gorgerine.

  “What did he do?” Dawn whispered to me. “Sing himself to death?”

  “I—You know what?” I said. “I don’t know.”

  How would a Fey commit suicide?

  *Not easily. And not prettily,* Alynon replied, his own tone disturbed.

  “Why?” Frigg said. “He was eager to address us but a moment ago.”

  The queen frowned. “Perhaps he feared what we would learn from our questioning of the arcana and Alynon.”

  “Gramaraye was found with the Shadows dagger,” Shamash said.

  Once again, suspicious looks were tossed my way like side glances in a suddenly smelly elevator.

  “Or,” I said, “the person really behind the attack is covering her tracks. Where is Lerajie te’Uriel?”

  Zarlîk gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “That is your claim? The Chaos Proxenos departed during brightfall, before even the prince’s murder.”

  Crap. Could Lerajie hav
e somehow controlled all of this without even being here?

  *Doubtful. There are too many protections and barriers against willing any but the simplest of changes within the Silver Court, especially from outside the walls. It took the cooperation and combination of all those here just to change the nature of this room to enforce truth telling.*

  Then someone else in the Silver Court is in league with my grandfather’s allies?

  *I am loathe to believe it,* Alynon replied.

  “Noble Aalbrights,” Blobby-Wan Kenobi said. “If we have no reason to charge these two with the murder of the prince, and none present who may lay further charges against them, might we not be rid of them entirely? I propose we send them back to their ARC to face whatever punishment the arcana wish to mete.”

  “Yes, please!” Dawn said. “Or, I mean, please, no, anything but that!”

  Frigg pursed her lips to the side. “The fact that the Shadows Proxenos is dead does not mean the Shadows charges against these two are dead. And offering them to the Shadows may dim somewhat their coming suspicion at their Proxenos’s death. Perhaps we should consider it is time to place our relationship with our fellow Aalbrights in the Shadows above our relationship with the arcana.”

  A couple of heads nodded, and Ecne said, “’Tis true, we have some small favor of the Colloquy in this time, and the advantage over the Shadows. ’Tis better to reach out and foster ties from a place of strength and advantage, when our actions will appear most noble rather than done out of fear or weakness.”

  Lao-Tzu pursed his lips, then said, “And we might also send the exiles tithed us from the Shadows back to them, claiming it as compense for the death of their Proxenos. If Gramaraye speaks true, and these exiles are some form of weapon, then the Shadows may well refuse them, thus proving Gramaraye’s claims in this matter at least.”

  Great. Not exactly the way I’d hoped my warning would be used.