Smells Like Finn Spirit

by Randy Henderson

When a guy has his finger on the nuclear button, it’s not the time to tell him that people don’t trust him.

  Silene raised a hand signaling for a pause, and said in a calming tone, “Why don’t you tell us why you want to go to California. I’m sure there’s a better way to get there than war.”

  “I am sick of the rain!” he shouted. “I am sick of the moss growing on everything, creeping across everything. I am a sphinx, for Bright’s sake! I want the desert!”

  “There’s eastern Washington,” I suggested.

  “Fa! It isn’t the same,” the Archon said. “No Archon can rule this region from there.”

  “So you don’t just want to be in the desert, you want to rule the region?” I clarified.

  Dawn leaned close and whispered, “He thinks he is the Kwisatz Haderach.”

  “It is what I deserve!” the Archon said.

  “Oh gods.” Sammy sighed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Topanga is near Universal City and all the game shows,” Sammy said to the Archon. “Right?”

  Ah. Of course. Dry heat and shows filled with riddles. Where else would a sphinx want to be?

  “Where’s Mattie?” Sammy asked suddenly. “Mort, where the hell is Mattie?”

  “What?” Mort looked at her.

  “I said, where’s Mattie?”

  He stood a little straighter, defiant, and said, “She is safe, far from here.”

  “She’s not with you?” Sammy snapped. “You ass. She needs to be with family right now.”

  “She is,” Mort said.

  It took me a second, and then I said, “Gods, no. Not Grandfather. Mort, he’ll kill her!”

  “He gave me his word he would protect her,” Mort said.

  “He freakin’ kidnapped her before, have you forgotten?”

  “No, he took her to keep her safe.” He glanced sideways at the Archon, and said in a careful tone, “It’s the safest place she could be.”

  Sammy stepped toward Mort, her hands in fists, shaking. “And of course it didn’t hurt that he gave you a shiny promotion and the pat on the head you’ve been chasing all your life.”

  Four of the brightbloods stepped down off of the dais to form a line between Sammy and the Archon.

  “Mort,” I said, putting as much conviction in my voice as possible, “Grandfather will either use her as a hostage, or steal her body. I swear I’m not lying about this.”

  “Where is he?” Sammy said.

  Mort pursed his lips and shook his head, then said, “Did it ever occur to you that if you had just helped Grandfather instead of fighting him, maybe all of the bad stuff you’ve been complaining about would never have happened?”

  “Dude,” I said. “You do remember he’s the one who sent me into exile? He’s the one who killed Felicity, and drove Father mad?”

  “Nice try, Finn, but he told me why he sent you into exile.”

  “So he could get at the raw magic through me?” I said.

  “No, because Father saw that you were going to become a dark necromancer!” Mort practically spat.

  “What?” I said. “That’s crazy! That’s not what—”

  “Crazy?” Mort said. “So you didn’t use dark necromancy within months of being home?”

  Shit.

  “I was not going to turn into a dark necromancer,” I replied, as much to convince myself as him. “Grandfather admitted everything to me. He killed Felicity. He used Mother’s ghost to—”

  “Merlin’s balls! Just stop with the lies, Finn!” Mort said. “Seeing visions of you killing with dark necromancy is what drove Father mad. That’s why Father, Grandfather, and Felicity all worked together to send you into exile before you could hurt anyone and destroy our family, destroy our business, destroy everything.”

  “Oh come on,” Sammy said. “You’re going to believe that?”

  “Just ask Father,” I said. I looked over to where Father stood with Verna, watching the argument as if watching a tennis match. “Father, please. Focus. Tell Mort that Grandfather is lying. Tell him what really happened.”

  Father looked from me to Mort, and the left side of his face began to spasm. After a second, he blurted out, “Ring around the rosies. Poison’s in the posies.”

  “You see?” Mort said. “And you’re the poison, Finn.”

  “B-bright flows right,” Father said, his face seriously spasming now. “Death flows left.”

  “Bright” was the Fey term for magic, among other things. Father was speaking of Grandfather’s ritual, I felt certain.

  We were running out of time.

  I looked back at Mort, and opened my mouth to speak, but Dawn grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t bother with your brother,” she said. “The levels of cognitive dissonance in that man’s head could shield him from Death Star strength blasts of the truth. Nothing you say is going to get through.”

  I sighed, but she was right. “Archon,” I said. “The Arcanites are going to poison the Other Realm. If we don’t stop them, now, your patrons are all going to die.”

  “And I should believe a criminal dark necromancer, why?” the Archon said.

  “Well, uh—” I said.

  *Why does your tongue only work when you are being a smart ass?*

  “Because,” Silene said. “You clearly will not get our help fighting the Shadows. And this entire mess will not look good to our patrons.” She waved around her. “I have met Oshun, do not forget, I have her ear, and she did not grant these two the role of Vice-Archon lightly. Do you truly believe exiling or killing us all will earn you the reward you seek?”

  “Right!” I said. “Yeah! But just imagine if I’m telling the truth, and you help stop a plot that would have killed all of the Bright Lords and Ladies? I’d say they’d pretty much give you whatever reward you asked for, right?”

  The Archon visibly pondered this for a minute, stroking the wavy ringlets of his beard. Then he said, “Upon careful consideration, I have decided that the best thing to do is to let you all go in the custody of this ARC representative.” He motioned to Mort. “Guards.”

  Two of the fauns flanked Mort, while the other brightbloods formed a kind of corridor from Mort, to us, to the exit.

  “Wait!” Mort said to the Archon. “You can’t make me leave with them! They’re going to hurt me, torture me, or worse!”

  “I’m so sorry,” the Archon said. “I cannot hear you.” He sat back down, and replaced his headphones.

  Mort reached us, goaded by the fauns, and we all left the light and heat of the library for the chill, faded hallway. Our guide and two guards escorted us along a different route than we’d come, and we climbed up and out into the basement of the Archon’s house and property in the woods. We were led up concrete steps to a back door, and out into the wooded property.

  Cool night air and the chirping of crickets greeted us, the bright moon overhead illuminating the park-like forest around us.

  As soon as the fauns had retreated back into the house, Sal grabbed Mort by the collars of his nice suit and lifted him from the ground.

  “Youself try to kill us all!”

  32

  ONE

  Mort tore and beat at Sal’s hands and arms as his toes dangled and kicked above the ground. I knew from experience that trying to tear at a sasquatch’s arms was like tearing at stone covered in steel wool. Mort fumbled at his jacket pocket, and pulled out the family’s revolver.

  Sal slapped the gun away with his free hand. Sammy grabbed it up from the dirt, and blew off the dust.

  Mort shouted, “Let go, sasquatch, or you will regret it!”

  I could see Pete anguishing over whether to help. He knew what Mort had done, knew we were all in danger. But Mort was family, and Pete might actually fight Sal to help his brother.

  I was more worried about Mort’s threat to Sal, however. Mort may not have been able to Talk to spirits like I could, but he was still a necromancer with far more years of experience and training than I had.
He might just be able to rip Sal’s spirit out of his body.

  “Sal!” I said. “Please put him down.”

  Sal gave me a dubious look, but grunted, and opened his hands, dropping Mort to the ground.

  Mort hit the dirt and fell back onto his butt.

  “Now,” I said to Mort, “tell us where Grandfather is, so we can save Mattie and prevent a war. Pretty please.”

  He shook his head. “This is what you do. You just keep coasting along like an evil Ferris Bueller, somehow making everyone your friend, making everyone do what you want, getting your way, and then next thing you know we’re all going to be dead because of you and you’re going to just order a pizza and play your stupid video games on our graves.”

  I raised my eyebrows, and stared at him a second. “Wow. Okay. Putting aside the fact that it would be completely ridiculous to set up a game system in a graveyard, I am very sorry you feel like Ferris Bueller’s sister. First, you aren’t nearly as cute as Jennifer Grey, and second, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Now.” I looked around at the others, then back to Mort. “I promise, you tell us where Grandfather is, and we’ll let you go. Once we save Mattie, she’s still going to need her father after all.”

  Mort looked past me, then into my eyes. “You really think Mattie is in danger?”

  “Yes.”

  He bit his lip, then said, “Fine. There’s nothing you can do to stop Grandfather anyway. He’s at the library.”

  I didn’t need to ask which one.

  The main branch of the Seattle Public Library sat on top of a natural portal to the Shores of Chaos Demesne. Libraries were often built on chaos sites, since knowledge was one of the strongest weapons against chaos. But because this was a particularly strong and volatile site, the library had been built as a kind of geometric wonder of alchemically treated glass supported by a latticework of iron and steel in order to handle any leakage of chaos or magic.

  If Grandfather really had formed some kind of Faustian bargain with the Chaos Demesne, then it made sense that he would be there.

  The problem was, it was about a two-hour drive away. And the nearest fairy path exit that I knew of was in Discovery Park, which would still put us too far to get there by foot in decent time.

  “Shit,” I said. “We have to leave now, and hope we’re not too late.”

  “Fates?” Sammy said. “You okay?”

  I looked over. Fatima swayed beneath an evergreen tree, sketching with a stick in the needle-covered dirt.

  Dawn and I walked over to her while Pete helped Mort to his feet.

  Fatima had drawn what looked like a dolmen: a simple, square tomb structure made of upright stones for walls, and a flat capstone for a roof. When made with the proper materials and rituals, they greatly eased a necromancer’s ability to reach spirits beyond the Veil, and reduced the drain on the lifeforce of Talkers when speaking to the spirit of anyone entombed inside.

  In the sketch, someone appeared to be trapped inside the dolmen, hands stretched out between the stones as if reaching for help.

  Next to the dolmen loomed a set of standing stones. Much simpler than Stonehenge, the thirteen tall fingers of stone had an oval drawn at their center—a portal, I guessed—and Fatima had drawn a skull and crossbones within the oval.

  “What—?” I asked.

  I recognized the structures, or close enough, because they were only a short ferry ride north from Port Townsend—on this same island, in fact.

  “That’s the Earth Sanctuary, isn’t it?” I asked.

  Fatima swayed, and fell back into Sammy’s arms. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice heavy with exhaustion and slightly slurred. “I was just thinking of Mattie, trying to remember what I’d drawn at Bumbershoot, and”—she waved the stick at her drawing—“I think she’s there, now. And she—” Fatima passed out, and a small trickle of blood dribbled from her nose.

  “Oh my god!” Dawn said, helping Sammy lower Fatima to the ground. “Is she okay?”

  Sammy’s hand trembled as she used the sleeve of her hoodie to gently wipe away the blood from Fatima’s nose, then she jerked off the hoodie and rolled it into a pillow.

  I put a hand on Dawn’s shoulder. “The closer to the present a seer tries to see, the harder it is on them,” I explained gently.

  Silene joined us. “I can help soothe whatever ill was done,” she said, and knelt beside Fatima, placing one hand on Fatima’s forehead, and the other on the roots of the nearby tree.

  Fatima moaned softly, then sucked in a sharp breath, and opened her eyes. They took a second to focus on us.

  “Fates?” Sammy asked. “You okay, honey?”

  “Yeah,” Fatima said. “A bit of a headache, but I’m okay.”

  Sammy let out a long exhalation of relief, then stood and stalked back to Mort, wielding the family revolver.

  “You fucking asshole. You lied to us!”

  “Wait—” Mort said, raising his hands.

  Sammy knocked his left arm aside and in the same motion whacked him across the face with the gun handle.

  Mort tumbled back as Sammy advanced on him, falling again to his butt.

  Pete grabbed Sammy’s arms from behind, practically lifting her off of the ground. “Sammy, stop!”

  Mort held the side of his face, and waggled his chin. “I think you broke my jaw!”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Dawn said. “You couldn’t talk like that with a broken jaw.”

  Sammy tried to kick Mort, but Pete pulled her back just far enough that it missed. “Come here and I’ll break something for sure, you lousy excuse for a human being!”

  “Sammy!” I said, running up to her. “Save something for the real fight.”

  Sammy stopped fighting against Pete, but continued to glare at Mort. “This bastard was going to send us running all around Seattle while Grandfather sacrificed his daughter! He doesn’t deserve to fucking take another breath!”

  “This has to be some kind of trick,” Mort said, whether to us or himself I couldn’t tell. He stared at Fatima. “You planned this to trick me.”

  “You’re the mistake!” Sammy said. She shook her arms. “Damn it, Petey, let me go. I’m done with Mort. For good.”

  Pete hesitated a second, but let her go, and stepped back flinching as if she might hit him, too.

  Sammy rotated her shoulders, gave Mort a disgusted look, then strode back to Fatima.

  Vee joined Petey, taking his hand.

  I looked from Vee to Mort. Gods, I wished Vee still had access to her sorcery gift. I could just have her share with Mort my memories of what Grandfather had done to me, to us. But the ARC had blocked Pete and Vee’s arcana gifts and even the memories of how to use them once they were officially declared brightbloods.

  “Mort,” I said. “I know we haven’t had the easiest relationship.”

  Mort barked a laugh.

  I took a deep breath and continued, “Please believe me, I am not your enemy. I just want to save Mattie, and Petey, and everyone else from what will happen if Grandfather succeeds.”

  “You’re a dark necromancer,” he said, the words coming as if by rote. “You brought a witch curse and waerwolves down on Petey. You got Dawn almost killed. You—” his voice broke as he said, “You sent Brianne to the Other Realm, to who knows what fate.”

  “Mort, I will help you get Brianne back. I swear it. Once we’ve stopped Grandfather.”

  He stared at me for a minute. “You’re just saying that because you want me to betray him.”

  “No. I want you to believe me, so we can save Mattie together.”

  “And who’s going to get hurt this time?” he asked. “Which of us is going to suffer because you’re determined to play hero yet again?”

  “Mort, come on, man. Is it really worth risking Mattie’s life if you’re wrong?”

  Sammy called over to me, “Come on! Why are you still talking to him? We need to go!”

  I looked over my shoulder at her. “Because Matti
e is his daughter, and he won’t be able to forgive himself if anything does happen to her.”

  “Who cares? Let him stew in his fucking guilt,” Sammy said.

  I looked back to Mort. “Dude,” I said. “Help us, please. I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Like that solves everything.”

  I sighed. “Come on. I love you, man. You’re my brother.”

  Mort stared at me a second, then began to cry. I blinked in surprise, and stood there uncertain of what to say.

  After a minute, Mort said, “I worked hard, you know. I worked hard, and all I wanted was to finally get some reward for it all. I wanted Mattie to respect me. But it was like my whole family was against me, and—”

  I heard Sammy make an exasperated noise of disgust. I had to hold my own reaction back, and just said, “Mort, I understand, man. You had to deal with a lot. But right now, we need you to help us. Please.”

  Mort nodded. “Okay. Okay, fine. How?”

  “I need to know anything you can tell us that will help. How many Arcanites there are, what they have planned.”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t know,” he said. “Grandfather didn’t tell me. He just said that if you did show up to send you to the library, he had a surprise.”

  “Wow, Finn,” Sammy said. “So glad you made us wait to get that golden turdnugget of info.”

  “Hey,” Dawn said. “Ease off, Sam. We all want to help Mattie.”

  “Whatever.” Sammy pulled her hoodie back on, then stuffed the revolver into a pocket. “I’m heading for the car. Anyone want a ride, be there in five or get left behind.”

  Dawn watched her leave, then said to me, “She’s not wrong, you know.”

  I sighed, then said to Mort, “You should go with Sammy.”

  Mort scrambled to his feet, and wiped at his face. “Screw that. She wants to kill me.”

  “You joining her to save Mattie will go a long way to fix that, I think.” I hoped.

  “What about you?” Mort asked.

  I looked at Pete and Vee, Sal and Silene. “If we take the fairy paths, we can get there much faster than driving.”

  “Wait,” Dawn said, grabbing my arm. “I thought you said the fairy paths drove people mad.”

  “Unless the person’s bonded with a Fey spirit,” I said. “I was able to walk them before, with Alynon.”