Fire & Water

by Alexis Hall

  “Your whole generation,” she murmured half to herself, “got no values no more. You want everything handed to you on a blooming plate. I brought Arty up different. He’s like me. Worked for everything he’s got.” She rested her hands on my shoulders.

  I twisted away, stood up. I was a good deal taller than Nana King, but right about then it didn’t matter.

  “And if you think,” she went on, “that we’re going to stand back and let you and that black bitch you serve take it all away from us, you’ve got another think coming.”

  Okay, that crossed a line. Not a cold-blooded slaughter line, but a line. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but we already took it all away from you. Years ago.”

  “That was a battle. This is the war.”

  And she was right. It was a war. I stabbed her.

  She looked like she genuinely wasn’t expecting it. Over my years of dealing with angels, vampires, mad faery lords, and ninja zombie nuns, I’ve got pretty damned good at moving fast and striking hard when I have to. Almost without thinking I’d grabbed the iron spike from my jacket and—just as I’d been instructed—thrust it through her heart. My own heart quickened, and in the Deepwild I felt my mother’s approval. Somewhere in a sick part of the edges of my soul, I felt other creatures watching and smiling. I was starting to think I’d been played, and I really wasn’t sure who was doing the playing.

  There was blood. Most of the creatures I’ve fought over the last decade and a half don’t have regular biology. The undead barely bleed, and weird things from other dimensions might be full of yick and ichor, but that isn’t the same as showering an elderly woman’s kitchen with hot, red, decidedly human blood. I’d had to do it, she’d probably deserved it, but I was still going to be sick.

  Doing my best not to leave bloody footprints and, worse, fingerprints everywhere, I found Nana King’s downstairs loo, washed the worst of the mess off my hands, and threw up violently into the toilet.

  I’d murdered an old lady who really, legally existed and was protected by the laws of the land. If I was wrong about Patrick and Sebastian’s abilities to scrub crime scenes, I was going down for a long time. And I was guessing that prison was nowhere near as much fun as that one Netflix show made it look. I fumbled the phone out of my pocket and rang Patrick.

  He picked up instantly. “Well? What did you find out?”

  Oh right. That. “I don’t have the full picture yet, but I think there might be something up with him. But look, right now I—”

  “What? What’s up with him?”

  “Patrick, I really need your—”

  “Katharine, we are talking about a young girl’s life.”

  “I’ve just killed somebody, Patrick. I need whatever contacts you still have, and I need them now.”

  The phone went quiet.

  “Patrick?”

  Still silence.

  “Are you even there?”

  Another moment. Then: “I am sorry, I was thinking how innocent you once were, how I changed you, and how I fear I shall now—”

  This was too much. I screamed, and then immediately regretted it. “Fucking listen to me you fucking narcissistic fucking patronising fucking egotistical fucking stalker fucking bastard. I am in a house with a dead woman, who I stabbed and I need your help, or Sebastian’s help, or somebody’s help to get me out of it, or I will die in prison. Do you understand me, you fucking manchild?”

  Yet more silence. “There is no need for such language, Katharine.”

  If I hadn’t super needed my phone, I’d have smashed it against the sink. “Just please, please get somebody to take care of this.”

  “You may rely on me.” He rang off.

  The next hour was a good contender for the longest of my life. I could have run, but I figured that was a bad plan. Then again, hoping that my douchebag ex-boyfriend would handle this situation competently was not up there with the greats either. When I finally heard a polite knock at the door, I wasn’t sure whether I was finally saved or totally fucked.

  I sidled into the hallway, doing my best not to give away more than I had to.

  “Miss Kane?” A crisp, assured voice from outside. The Prince of Wands. “Daylight limits my abilities, but I can still hear your thoughts. It would be best if you let me in.”

  Ah yes, there was the whole telepathy thing. Great. I opened the door.

  In the late-afternoon sunlight, Sebastian Douglas looked positively cherubic, all golden hair and bright blue eyes, immaculate in white linen like he was on his way to Lord’s. He handed me a case that might technically have been a valise. “Get changed. You can’t leave here covered in arterial spray.” He signalled through the doorway, and a pair of grey-looking figures in overalls came in behind him. “These gentlemen will deal with the physical evidence. My servants and I shall deal with the witnesses as any arise. You may be assured that the matter is dealt with.”

  Something about his calm, unflinching efficiency was weirdly reassuring. I took the valise back into the downstairs loo and got changed. He’d brought a suit that looked more-or-less like what I normally wear, and that more-or-less fitted. I still felt pretty shitty, but the whole thing had taken on a dreamlike quality and I decided to go with that.

  When I was done, the Prince of Wands led me quietly outside to a nondescript car that was waiting at the kerb. He put me in the back, and climbed in the other side. It wasn’t until we were well on our way that I realised I wasn’t completely sure where we were going.

  “I am simply taking you home,” he said. Fucking mind readers.

  “Great. Umm. Thanks.” I could never quite work out how I felt about Sebastian Douglas. There was something about him that put people at their ease, and that made me uneasy. Being good at getting people to let their guards down was a skill you mostly found amongst hostage negotiators and serial killers.

  He gave me a knowing look. “Think nothing of it. I said last year that it was not in my interests to allow you to be executed. Nor is it in my interests to allow you to be incarcerated. You are, after all, an ally in our current fight.”

  Well, that was comforting. I suppose being a useful pawn was better than being—actually I’m not sure what it was better than being. An enemy pawn, maybe? And I definitely didn’t want this guy as an enemy, even if I didn’t think I wanted him as a friend either.

  The car pulled up outside my flat, and we both got out.

  “If I might, Miss Kane.” Sebastian crossed the road with me and followed me to the doorstep. “I believe that it would be safest for all concerned if I were to remain with you for the moment. While we can conceal your actions from the mortal authorities, we cannot conceal them from Mr. King, and I suspect that the next day, perhaps the next few hours, will be critical.”

  I gave him a suspicious look. I thought it might be best to play along, but it was a bit pointless to play along with somebody who could read your mind. “And you think it’s more important to stick with me than, say, literally anybody else?”

  “You are the only point of contact between my kind and the Witch Queen. If she reaches out to you, I would like to be present.”

  “Yeah, the way she reaches out to me isn’t necessarily the kind of thing you can sit in on.”

  He smiled.

  Oh, right, psychic.

  “So you’re going to...what? Hang around all day in case something comes in?”

  “I was intending to wait until the evening. Then I believe my power will have returned sufficiently that, if your queen does not approach us, we shall be able to approach her. With your approval, of course. This is, after all, surely a development about which she would wish to be informed.”

  It was. But I really didn’t want the Prince of Wands there when I informed her. On the other hand, it didn’t quite look like he was giving me a choice. And something told me I shouldn’t push this one.
What was I going to do? Tell the ancient telepathic vampire with the library of occult knowledge who had just casually demonstrated how little power the law had over him that he wasn’t welcome in my flat? I wasn’t sure what good that would even do. Perhaps I should send Elise out to buy some long spoons.

  Upstairs, Elise and Lisbeth were still in the front room. It might have been my mind playing tricks, but it looked like they’d barely moved since I left. I wondered if Elise felt more comfortable like that. Having somebody to talk to who shared her—what? Nature? Background? Exact physical shape and tendency towards motionlessness?

  “Miss Kane?” It took me a moment to work out which one was speaking. At least I’m pretty sure I worked it out—it was Elise, right? It didn’t help that she seemed to have lent Lisbeth some of her own clothes. “And Mr. Douglas, I believe? We met at Mr. Knight’s dinner last year. If I might make the observation, you look healthier than when I last encountered you.”

  For about a nanosecond, a shadow crossed Sebastian’s face. “Thank you, Elise.”

  “I take it,” she continued, “that the deed is done?”

  I was really bothered by how casually my assistant seemed to be taking the murder of an old woman. Then again, last year she’d been pretty bothered by how casually I took the idea of scrapping my car. I guess we just all identify with different things.

  “It’s done,” I said. Then I immediately did my best to stop thinking about it.

  Sebastian settled himself on the arm of my sofa, hands folded primly across one knee. “I see you have two of them now.”

  It took me a second to work out what he meant. “It isn’t really a having type situation.” I glanced at Lisbeth. “And no offence but I’m kind of assuming you’re not staying forever.”

  She turned to me. Now I was settling into it, it was much clearer who was who. She had way more of a still-made-of-rock vibe than Elise did. “I fear I had not made definite plans.”

  “She will take up very little space,” offered Elise.

  “That’s what you said when you moved in. Now we have two juicers. I got by for years with zero juicers.”

  “I enjoy machines, and my salary is mine to spend as I wish.”

  Perhaps it was what TV psychologists call displacement activity, but right about then I really needed inane flatmate talk. And talk inanely we did. Elise, Lisbeth and I discussed the ins and outs of Elise’s collection of pointless gadgets, my habit of storing pans in overhead cupboards, and the necessity of bananas for the healthy functioning of biological humans. The Prince of Wands was mostly silent, watching the whole thing with a smug air of detached amusement that I’d have bet money he’d spent literally centuries practising.

  Before I really knew where the time had gone, it was after sunset, and quick as a light goes out, Sebastian was all business again.

  “Moonrise, Miss Kane. Now if you will excuse me I rather feel it would be best if we spoke to your queen.” He stood up, and moved swiftly towards me.

  “Hey there one minute. What is your actual plan here?”

  He stopped. He had that perfect control over his body that made vampires so creepy, going from motion to stillness with none of the hesitation that you got from living beings. “I apologise, perhaps I have not made myself clear. My duty for the past several centuries has been to delve into whatever arcane secrets might pose a danger to our kind, and since my discovery of the Witch Kings and Queens, long before the rise of your current mistress, I have made an especial study of the Dream. I would now like to use what I have learned to—how best to put it?” He gazed off into the middle distance a moment, then turned his attention sharply back to me. “To tap into your connection to the Witch Queen. I will then take the opportunity to tell her not only of the recent events involving the unfortunate Mrs. King, but also the results of my researches into the Tears of Hypnos.”

  I did my best to give him a suspicious look, but honestly, every look I gave him was suspicious. What was it Julian had said? Just when you thought you’d worked out what he was going to do, it turned out he’d already done it. And right now it wasn’t like I had much choice but to go along with his plan, whatever it was. Chances were good that Arty King would be coming for me and everybody associated with me right the fuck now, and if the Prince of Wands could find a way to give Nim a heads up and the backing of a powerful magic vampire then I kind of had to go with it. I gave him a nod, and waited.

  He laid his hand on my face, and I fell into the Dream.

  * * *

  The Dream of fire raged in the Dream of streets. The Dream of a storm tore the Dream of the sky. Nimue, windswept and rain-lashed, stood at the apex of a great glass shard that towered above the city. A thought, and I was beside her.

  I hoped it was my thought.

  I’d seen bits and pieces of Nimue’s wars in the Dream before, even been involved with them, back when the Morrigan was rising in the city and bringing shadows with her. But I’d never seen her in full fight, all the mortal shell stripped away leaving nothing but the icon, a living embodiment of the sea and the sky and the primal concept of rulership. This right here was what Arty King was fighting to become, and that scared the shit out of me.

  Not entirely willingly, I turned my attention towards the Prince of Wands. He was pretty much ignoring me, watching Nimue with the kind of naked, animalistic hunger that you had to be an apex predator to do properly. Despite the storm, sunlight and shadows played around him in a strange, shifting pattern. I began to really regret bringing him.

  Rule 33: never show a megalomaniac a source of ultimate power. It always ends badly.

  The storm surged, and the fire answered and then, just for a moment, there was calm.

  Nimue turned towards us. I tasted the sea on the wind. The rain stung my face. And between the fire in the streets and the sunlight out of nowhere it was hot, unbearably hot. I tried to meet her gaze, but there was something terrifying in her eyes, something lightless and ancient.

  “Nim,” I tried, “we need to talk.”

  A charge like static built in the air. My skin—or the Dream of my skin—prickled. I didn’t think there was a single woman in my life who hadn’t shown me, at least once, precisely how easily she could kill me if she wanted to. Looks like today it was Nimue’s turn.

  Gradually, I felt her gathering inwards. Like some fantastically complicated piece of origami, or a volcano in reverse, the raw elemental force that was the Witch Queen of London somehow came back together into the woman I knew. And her eyes were Nim’s eyes again, even if I couldn’t quite unsee what had been behind them.

  “Kate?” She seemed surprised I was here. She was never surprised.

  Sebastian stepped forward and bowed with what looked like genuine courtesy. “Majesty, I am Sebastian Douglas, Prince of Wands. I come with information.”

  Lightning sheeted across the sky. “Speak, but speak fast. Things are changing, and I am losing control.”

  “Yeah,” I began, “I think I might be able to explain why that’s happening.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Explanations & Excuses

  I told Nimue everything. The deal with Mooncalf, the other deal with the Green Lady. I tried pointing out that this was kind of a war, and that killing our enemies was—when you got right down to it—pretty much the deal. I wasn’t sure if that last part was for her benefit or for mine.

  “You’ve made him angry, Kate.” Nim usually wasn’t quite this into stating the obvious. I guess she really was rattled.

  “Angry people make mistakes.”

  “And when powerful people make mistakes, innocent people get hurt.”

  It was probably disrespectful what with her being a mystical sovereign to whom I had sworn eternal fealty, but I facepalmed. “Nim, we had to make a play. Your plan seemed to be to sit back and die, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

&
nbsp; “That wasn’t your choice to make.”

  I was really sick of people telling me things like that. “Yes, it was. You pulled me into this, and now I’m in it. So I made a call, and I’m sorry if it doesn’t line up with the mystical master plan you haven’t let me in on, but hey: that’s what you get for not letting me in on it.”

  “If I might.” Sebastian raised a hand. “I think I can be of some help here.”

  Nimue glared. I wasn’t sure if she was more upset at me for going off book, him for crashing the Dream, or me for helping him do it.

  “The death of Vera King has robbed both parties in this conflict of time. Whatever your enemy was planning, those plans will accelerate. Crucially, I think it very likely they will accelerate to the point that he will seek confrontation before he has unlocked the power of the Tears. This gives us an opportunity.”

  I was six different kinds of unconvinced. “Why the hell would he do that?”

  “Do try to remember which of us has centuries of occult knowledge behind him.” It was nice to know that Sebastian was exactly as smug in Dream-reality as real-reality. “Unlocking the Tears of Hypnos is a blood ritual, a variety of magic in which I have a rather obvious vested interest. Previously Mr. King had three options: using his own blood, the blood of one of his lieutenants, or the blood of some other being. His grandmother’s personal army of tractable demons would have provided a useful and potent sacrifice. The loss of two of his captains has almost certainly put a strain on his forces, and so he cannot afford to sacrifice one of the two who remain. He could sacrifice himself, and if his urge for vengeance is strong enough he might, but everything I have heard tells me that the man is too selfish. He needs blood, and I strongly suspect he will want yours, or yours.” He indicated Nimue, then me.

  Nimue looked at Sebastian the way a sheep looks at a tattered sheepskin draped loosely over the body of a vicious carnivore. “You seem to know a lot.”