Spirits White as Lightning

by Mercedes Lackey

  "It isn't enough."

  It was Hosea who spoke, coming to the center of the room and looking down at Jeanette with a stern expression on his face that Eric had never seen before. "I'm not sure who you are or what you've done, ma'am, but Miss Llewellyn seems to think it's something pretty bad. You can't wipe out something like that with one grand gesture and a quick death. It's gonna take a power of effort and time—a lifetime of doing good, and more."

  "I don't have a lifetime," Jeanette said, looking at him. "And I suck at social work. If you can think of any way around that, I'm open to suggestions." She shook her head, looking away. "I did have, once. All the time in the world—a lifetime to use however I wanted. But I pissed it away and you don't get a second chance, so be happy, Ria, because I'm going to fry in Hell for a thousand years." She closed her eyes, gathering her resources. "Here's what you need to know. Aerune found where I was hiding. He sent Elkanah, one of Lintel's Threshold ops, to bring me to somewhere he could get his hands on me. He's got most of my stash of T-Stroke, but it doesn't work on elves."

  "Elkanah? Elkanah Youngblood?" Toni demanded in amazement. "Jimmie's brother?"

  Jeanette stared at her. "Maybe. How do I know? People in our line of work aren't that free with last names and home addresses, y'know?" She took a deep breath. "Elkanah didn't know he was working for Aerune until the end—neither of us did. I thought he was going to kill me, so I dosed both of us with T-Stroke. The higher the dose, the more time you have—maybe if you take enough, you get to live, I don't know. But Aerune came. He took me Underhill and left Elkanah behind. I don't know what happened to him, but he's dead now, for sure. At least I know he deserved it," she added quietly.

  "Most of what happened then isn't important. But this is: Aerune has human help—a guy from this side of the Hill. Parker Wheatley. They're working together—planning to start a war between humans and elves so Aerune can get us to bomb ourselves back to the Stone Age. I get the idea Aerune found a bunch of government elfchasers and gave them a little help. Wheatley depends on him now. If you can't stop them, they're going to drag all your precious secrets onto the front page of The New York Times, and then what I've done is going to look like a wet firecracker next to a neutron bomb. They were talking about . . . internment camps for witches. Crazy stuff."

  Even insulated as she was, Jeanette was still painfully weak, and delivering the message had cost her a lot. She hung her head, breathing hard. "There's a lot more to tell you, but I don't think I have time."

  Eric knew she was right. His spell couldn't hold, even reinforced with Ria's power. In a few minutes, it would fade away, and time would run normally once more. And a few minutes after that, Jeanette would be dead.

  "You could have." Hosea spoke again. "Time."

  Jeanette looked up at him, hate and hope in her expression. "Yeah? And how do you figure that?"

  "Your body has to die. You don't. Instead of going on, why don't you stick around and clean up some of your mess?" Hosea said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

  "Become a voluntary ghost?" Paul said doubtfully. "That has certain drawbacks, you know. Once a spirit has chosen to tarry, for whatever reason, moving on becomes a rather ticklish proposition. And you'd need an anchor to hold the spirit in place."

  "Like a building," Toni said. "But I don't want her haunting Guardian House."

  "It could be a physical object, not a house," José said. "A sword, or a mirror, as the old tales say. Or a harp."

  "We're a little short on any of those objects right now," Paul pointed out, looking around the room. "Even if the lady agreed."

  "And we don't have a lot of time to discuss it," Eric said tightly.

  "Hey, so you don't have a harp. You've got this," Kayla pointed out, holding up Hosea's banjo. "Will this work?"

  Paul took the instrument from her hands and studied it carefully. "If Hosea consents, and Miss Campbell does as well, I think this will do nicely. But I warn both of you: though we can hold her here, we can't set the terms of her imprisonment, and I do know one thing—if the banjo is destroyed without Jeanette's spirit being released from it, she will be dead in this world and the next, with no reprieve possible."

  "I'm game," Hosea said, and looked at Jeanette.

  "A choice between Hell and bluegrass," Jeanette said. "I'll take bluegrass—if you'll have me, Hosea?"

  "This isn't right," Kayla said. "I saw— When Jimmie— Shouldn't she go on and find what's waiting for her?"

  "No, thanks," Jeanette said briefly, and shuddered. "I think I've seen it."

  "Everybody deserves a chance to fix what they broke," Hosea agreed. "If you do right, Miss Jeanette, I'll do right by you."

  "Folks—" Eric said urgently.

  "Come here, Jeanette. Take the banjo. Eric, when I give the word, release your spell and let us cast ours," Paul said. "I warn you, Miss Campbell, this isn't going to be pleasant for you. Keeping a spirit from passing over is a terrible thing, painful for both the spirit and the enchanter, even when full consent is involved. You may wish we hadn't."

  "Just do it, for God's sake." Jeanette crawled to the center of the room and sat, reaching out to take the banjo and cradling it in her arms. The Guardians formed a circle around her, even Hosea, who looked very unsure of himself.

  "Call this your baptism of fire," Toni told him.

  "I can't—" Eric said, just as Paul said: "Now."

  With a pang of relief, Eric stopped feeding power to his spell and felt it uncoil and vanish. Time rushed back into the room like the incoming tide filling a sea cave. Jeanette gasped and fell over on her side, groaning and clutching the banjo tightly.

  Light surrounded the five of them, like an egg of multicolored opal. Ria reached out for Eric's hand, and he took it.

  Eric wasn't sure he believed what he saw happen next. He saw Jeanette—a ghostly, different-looking Jeanette—climb to her feet, stepping over the slumped body on the floor. She gazed around, frightened, shaking her head, obviously looking for a way out. But there was nowhere to go. She beat against the walls of the egg, crying out silently in frustration.

  Kayla jerked forward.

  "No, Kayla," Ria said. "Her choice, right or wrong." Ria coaxed Kayla to sit down again. The young Healer's face was a mask of frustration. "You don't know," she repeated.

  "Jimmie went to what she deserved, after a lifetime of service and self-sacrifice. Do you think Jeanette wants to face what she deserves?" Ria asked.

  "How can you be sure you're right?" Kayla demanded.

  "I don't have to be," Ria said austerely. "All I have to do is let her make her own mistake."

  Slowly, the egg of light shrank, keeping Jeanette imprisoned within it despite her struggles, dwindling until it surrounded the banjo alone, forcing her down with it.

  Then the light was gone.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, we have created the world's first haunted banjo," Paul said wearily. "And I wish I felt better about doing it."

  "You did what you had to, Paul. We all did," Toni answered.

  Hosea picked up the banjo from where it lay against Jeanette's dead body. One of the strings promptly broke, and in the faint ringing Eric thought he could hear the echo of a human voice.

  :Bluegrass . . . :

  "Feels heavier," Hosea said, hefting the instrument. He began to detune the banjo, taking the tension off the remaining strings.

  "Well, this has been a hell of a night," Ria said.

  "Look," Kayla said. "The sun's coming up."

  And it was. The sky outside the living room window was gray with dawn.

  "What now?" Eric said.

  "We need to make plans," Toni said, "but first things first. We all need sleep. And then . . . Hosea, I guess Jimmie's apartment is yours now." Her eyes filled with tears as the reality of Jimmie's death hit her anew.

  "Eric, you should warn Misthold about Aerune's plans. I don't know much about Underhill politics, but maybe there's something they can do about him from th
eir side," Ria said.

  "Yeah." Weariness—healthy weariness this time, and not Aerune's spell of despair—overwhelmed Eric, and he dropped into the nearest empty chair. But I doubt it. Aerune's too clever to give them an excuse to move against him, and by the time I convince them he's a real threat to Underhill and the World Above alike, it might be too late. Elves don't do anything in a hurry, and nothing much excites them. Kory's the real exception there, and he's young. The others just won't listen—or if they do, they won't do anything.

  "But that's a matter for another day," Ria went on, seeing his face. "Come on, Kayla. It's time to get you home and settled in."

  "No way. I'm staying here." Kayla got to her feet and walked to the middle of the room, glaring at Hosea and the other Guardians. "You people need a keeper, you know that? If I hadn't blown the whistle on Aerune, he woulda slurped you all up like a Coffee Coolata—and where'd you be then? You're great at taking care of everyone else, but who's taking care of you? You need me, and I'm staying. End of discussion."

  Her speech took the Guardians by surprise. "You?" Toni asked.

  "You see anybody else applying for the job?" Kayla shot back.

  The Guardians looked at each other, and back at Ria, who shrugged, looking almost as tired as Eric felt.

  "I'm not her mother. And I think it would be okay with Elizabet if Kayla lived here, so long as someone was keeping an eye on her."

  "I think we can arrange that," José said, with the ghost of a smile. "And I think I speak for all of us when I say that your offer is most welcome, munequita."

  "Well, good," Kayla said. She'd obviously been expecting more of an argument, but by now Eric was used to the speed with which the Guardians made decisions. And as for Ria, having seen Kayla's taste in clothes, he was pretty sure Ria was a little relieved not to have Kayla on hand to redecorate her Park Avenue apartment.

  "Then it's settled. I guess you can have the basement apartment, now that . . ." Toni said. She took a deep breath and went on. "Why don't you go home with Ria tonight, and tomorrow we can see about getting you settled in. And there will be the . . . funeral arrangements for Jimmie. She died in the line of duty. There will be a Department funeral, I think. I'll have to check."

  "That can wait," Paul said, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Now it is time to rest, and to gather our strength. There will be time enough to say our proper good-byes."

  But how much time was Aerune—and his unknown allies—going to give them? Eric wondered.

  TWELVE:

  CELTIC HOTEL

  "Welcome to Glitterhame Neversleeps—and the Tir-na-Og Resort Hotel and Casino! I'm your friendly neighborhood VIP greeter, and you two are certainly VIPs."

  Beth blinked, looking around herself as the Portal dissolved behind her. She and Kory stood in the center of a pristine greenwood of towering oaks—a Node Grove—and beneath her feet, the ground was covered with thick emerald moss in which violets and tiny blue starflowers bloomed. But beyond the trees she could see neon in every shade of the rainbow, and the light overhead was filtered through the glass skylight of the casino atrium, ten stories above.

  "I'm Geraint mac Merydydd, but you can call me Gerry—Meredith, as it were. Prince Arvindel told us you'd be coming. It's November, the temperature is a balmy 50 degrees Fahrenheit, and sunset is at 4:33 today to be followed by a waxing moon. Please adjust your calendars and watches and return all tray tables to an upright position before exiting the heartwood."

  Though two days ago it had been August, Beth's time, in the world two months had passed, as she and Kory had used the Gates at Everforest and Neversleeps to arrive both when and where they wished to. In essence, it was time travel, though the elves rarely used the gates in that fashion, and Beth's mind had been boggled the first time she'd understood that it was possible.

  "But why don't you use it? Go back in time and change things that went wrong? You could keep Perenor from buying the Node Grove, keep Susan from building the Poseidon machine—"

  "The web of the world is woven as Danu wills," Kory had told her, "though we may affect some small threads of Her weaving, we dare not unravel the design. I am but a Magus Minor, with small gifts, and so I do not perfectly understand the why of these things. Our wisest Adepts could explain, though they might not choose to. But it has always been so."

  "But how do you know when `now' is?" Beth had asked, frustrated. "If there's no time in Underhill, and you can go back and forth in the time of the World Above as you please, how do you know?"

  "And what else is a Node Grove for, but to anchor the hames into the `now' of the World Above?" Kory had answered, smiling. "And that anchorage is vital if we are to come and go between the two worlds in safety and ease. There are worlds as real as your own, places in the World Above, where there are no Node Groves, no Portals, and no Elfhames. Such worlds are difficult to reach, and easy to become lost in forever, nor does magic work so well in such worlds as it does here. And so we accept time as the precious gift it is, and do not make light of it."

  "After all, it does keep everything from happening at once," Beth had quipped, and let the subject drop. As far as she could figure, the Sidhe used time the way humans used magnetic north: as a useful aid to navigation, but something they could ignore if they chose. Still, they were in November now, and in a day or so they'd go back Underhill, and if she stayed there long enough, everything would sort itself out. So long as she didn't think any more about it, her head wouldn't hurt. And meanwhile, there was their host to consider.

  Gerry Meredith looked as if the description "lounge lizard" might have been invented just for him, and his glamourie made him look human—though far more handsome than any human had a right to be. He was wearing a white sharkskin suit with the casino's logo—a Celtic dragon coiled around a tower—embroidered in gold over the suit pocket, and a black satin shirt open to the waist. His short black hair was slicked straight back; he wore an ornate gold hoop in one ear, a host of gold chains around his neck, and jewel-studded rings on every finger.

  "We're, uh, pleased to be here," Beth said, taking the proffered hand. Gerry's smile broadened into a conspiratorial grin.

  "Quite a shock, isn't it? We like to think of our little casino as a teensy bit of home here in this great big desert—and where better to hide something than in plain sight? The tourists think that the Grove is just part of our lovely Celtic ambiance, and with the trees indoors instead of outside, we aren't disrupting the local ecology either—which is more than I can say about some people, with their seventy-five-thousand-gallons-a-day-lost-to-evaporation waterfalls. Well! No point in weeping over what can't be mended, is there, dear ones? Let me get someone to take your luggage, and we'll show you to your suite. If there's anything you've forgotten, you can probably find it in one of our tragically-trendy concourse-level shops. All on the house, of course. Nothing too good for our honored guests."

  He snapped his fingers, and two bellhops dressed in tights and doublets arrived. Gerry pointed at the two small bags—Beth and Kory didn't plan to be here very long, but each had brought a few things just in case. "Those go to the Lady In The Lake Suite in Tower Four," he said. Each man picked up a bag and walked off through the wood, and Gerry turned back to Beth and Kory.

  "Now if you'll come along with me, you can see a bit of the casino on the way up to your rooms," Gerry said. "I understand you'll be attending Comdex along with 250,000 other lovely people? A very busy time of year for us. We have your passes and badges all taken care of—we can pick them up along with your keys when we get to the desk—but of course you'll be wanting to take care of all the teensy details yourself—we don't pry. Discretion is our watchword here at Neversleeps—after all, if we told everyone simply everything, what would there be left to gossip about?" Still chattering, Gerry ushered the two of them through the little greenwood.

  Beth could see that there were colored floodlights ringing the base of each tree—the place must look amazing at night—and in the dist
ance she could hear the splashing of a small fountain.

  Neat. They can use magic practically openly, and the mundanes'll think it's just another special effect. Nobody ever really expects to be told the magician's secrets, now, do they?

  At the edge of the heartwood a red velvet theater rope marked off the trees from the rest of the casino floor and discouraged casual wanderers. There must be five acres under this roof, Beth marveled, looking around. When Kory had told her that elves were running a casino in Las Vegas she hadn't been sure what to expect, but she sure hadn't expected . . . this.

  The motif here in the main casino was Celtic kitsch—as if Liberace'd had a heavy date with the cast of Riverdance, with a lot of Camelot and some Robin of Sherwood thrown in. The carpet beneath their feet was a multicolored Celtic knotwork pattern, dizzying to look at for very long. Half the wait staff wore kilts and poet shirts and looked like demented Highlanders, while the other half wore diaphanous—and very short—glittery togas with sequined Celtic motifs and sparkly "fairy" wings.

  The air was filled with sound—piped-in Celtic music (rather good, to Beth's surprise, and not the potted Muzak one usually heard in public buildings), the ching! of slot machines and the clatter of jackpots being paid off, the low calls of the croupiers, the hum of a thousand conversations, and over it all, the ring of other bells and chimes she couldn't begin to guess the reason for. Despite the fact that it was broad day, there were plenty of customers, both at the banks of gleaming slot machines and clustered around the tables. Las Vegas was a true 24-hour town. "Neversleeps" indeed. For once, that Sidhe quirk must come in really handy, Beth thought.

  While the table games were pretty standard—poker, blackjack, baccarat—even the slot machines carried out the theme of the casino, with leprechauns, pots of gold, rainbows, castles, and dragons prominently displayed on the faces. But the wackiest thing, in Beth's opinion, was the twelve-foot-high vertical roulette wheel that towered over the rest of the casino floor, prominently captioned "Arianrhod's Silver Wheel of Fortune." It promised a $100,000 payoff on double zero, and the most frequent payouts on the entire Strip.