by AM Riley
“And a lighter pocketbook,” said Buzzimess.
Daer’s dark glance flashed. “It would have been worth it to him.”
Buzzimess raised his eyebrows. “You prize yourself highly.”
“Shouldn’t I?” Daer’s impudent grin reappeared. He spun on his stool and scanned the room. More than one human returned his appreciative gaze. “No matter, the room is thick with fresh trout tonight.”
“And the streets are thick with Folk. Magic is afoot this Eve.” Buzzimess lay coin down and bought them both a drink. “Take care whom you bewitch, sir.”
Any other Fey would not have dared say such a thing. Daer’s eyes flashed once, but Buzzimess was not just any Fey. Daer snatched up his glass, instead and sketched him a bow. “To beauty,” he toasted.
“Hmmm,” said Buzzimess. He drank contemplatively. “You usually invoke “luck” Daer. Trying to forget?”
“Forget?” said the elf, lightly. He let his eyes play with a boy’s across the room, licked his lip and saw the boy’s breathing falter.
“Maeebsef has returned to O’Grady,” said Buzzimess. “But of course you would have heard.”
Daer rolled his eyes. “Oh that.”
Buzzimess gave him a knowing look. “Well, I’m pleased that you’ve survived.”
“Of course,” said Daer, shrugging. “One fresh face is very much like another. Excuse me,” and he slid in a fluid dark motion off his stool, heading toward the blue eyes across the floor.
Buzzimess watched him go, thoughtfully. “Of course,” he said.
***
Finbar and Riley were hock deep in drunk people wearing stupid hats. Every mounted policeman in New York City was on duty this night. Parker and Seamus had been stationed near a Broadway roadblock, the stream of revelers already becoming insistent and sometimes belligerent as they tried to get close to Time’s Square.
On foot, officers allowed persons through a narrow gated area and one man attempted to circumvent that and crept over the fence.
Parker put Finbar in the man’s path. “Back the other way, sir,” he said in a loud even voice. The man looked up, wavered. Finbar stamped his foot once and Seamus saw Parker’s knees tighten just a little where he sat. Then the man, assisted by one of the patrolmen, clambered back over the gate.
Riley snorted approvingly. “Yeah, I know,” said Seamus. Parker was nervous as hell, but he was doing okay. His propensity for allowing citizens to come close and pet his horse like some kind of zoo animal had vanished the moment he’d seen the mob on Broadway.
Seamus peered down the noisy street, watching the stream of human traffic. Riley pranced a bit and Seamus' gaze shifted almost as if the horse had spoken. There, in the shadow of a dumpster, was a reveler that Seamus suspected the foot patrol could not see. He let Riley trot over.
“Good evening, ma’am,” Seamus was anticipating the mutual bows, so had no trouble staying seated. The sprite looked up at him. Her little tinsel hat was askew and her sparkle had a smudged look to it.
“Lost?” guessed Seamus. She nodded, wide eyed. She looked quite young, even for an eternally youthful Fey and Seamus guessed the excessive amount of humanity had confused her. He frowned and looked up and down the street. No other faeries that he could see. No Folk to take her home.
“What are you doing out this late?” Didn’t faeries have some kind of curfew for their kids?
The little one pointed her finger at him. Apparently the negligent parental types did teach them to go to the cops when they were in trouble. Figured.
“What do you say, boy?” He stroked Riley’s neck. Riley’s head bounced once in a nod. Seamus sidled up to the little faerie. “Hop aboard, sweetheart,” he said.
Parker didn’t see the tiny green faerie sitting behind him when he road up, of course. “This seems to be going well,” he nodded toward the controlled stream of traffic.
“Yeah.” As if on cue, the transmitter at his ear spat static. “Code eight, shots fired,” said dispatch, rattling off an address two blocks away.
Riley whirled before Seamus could even react. Every patrolman nearby look at each other as they got the call. Finbar leapt under Parker’s knees and he and Seamus were halfway down the block while Seamus was still transmitting that they were responding.
The street they entered was a madhouse. Sirens screaming, music pumping from every pub, TV viewers overhead pulsing with color and sound, and the populace like a river of live mud that they had to work their animals through.
The tiny arms around his waist held on like knotted wire as Seamus leaned forward in his saddle, wishing that the desire to move faster could make it happen. He could see cruisers and officers on foot trying to push their way in the same direction.
Well, whatever held them up would also limit the person or persons with the gun that they pursued. That could aid them in capture, but wouldn’t be so great if the dirtbag decided to fire again.
As if fate heard his thoughts, Seamus heard the zing and crack of a bullet near enough by to make him duck. Riley lept immediately behind a truck. “PARKER!” Seamus craned his head to spot his partner, but Parker was already behind a corner. Good man.
Riley scanned the crowded streets. Didn’t appear to be any injured citizenry.
A police helicopter appeared from above, dipping around the skyscrapers, its blades adding to the commotion, and Seamus heard a bullhorn crack and spit forth commands to cease-fire and come out.
A dangerous situation became suddenly more dangerous when, as one mind, the local citizenry realized what was happening, and the several thousand strong mass began to push violently away from the scene.
A barricade nearby leaned, swelled and toppled, people surging so hard and fast behind it that the front two rows of citizens were pushed to their knees.
“STOP!” Riley waded in, hoofs high and careful. Seamus unclasped his stick and pointed at a young man, taller than the others and pushing, “STOP!” The kid looked up at him eyes wide with fear and shock.
Seamus literally pointed him down. Eyes fixed on him, not blinking. The kid stopped pushing, even when someone behind him gave him a nudge.
But all around them, thousands of panicky people kept pushing forward. Riley snorted, his eyes rolling, head jerking back and Seamus cursed as he actually FELT the force of the mob pushing he and his mount backward.
“Look!” said the high buzzing voice of the little sprite who still clung to him, and Seamus looked up and saw a troupe of brightly clad people separating the crowd like neon sheep dogs.
“What the hell?”
Iridescent costumes lit up like glow wands, the Folk encircled groups of citizens, keeping them in controlled small groups. Seamus watched, mouth hanging open.
“BRADY!” Parker’s voice. Seamus turned and saw Parker pointing down the side street, gesturing as if he wanted Seamus to follow him.
Fuck, the shooter.
The bullhorn blasted static again. Seamus’ peripheral vision picked up the cruiser trying to push through the bodies, further down a couple of guys leaping and working their way AWAY from Times Square.
Riley clattered down the street behind Parker, but was brought up once again by a mob of people. Seamus and Parker circled, both their mounts champing with frustration, when a slender young man with long sparkling hair appeared directly in front of them and grasped a citizen's arm.
“Excuse me,” he said very politely, and heaved the surprised girl out of the way.
Before Seamus could protest, he saw a path of brightly dressed Fey appearing before him, muscling persons aside with polite words and determined manpower.
Holy shit they were opening a path for them to ride through.
Riley and Finbar surged forward, Parker glanced over at him, eyes all whites. Seamus waved to him to follow as they burst through the last of the revelers and opened their gait to a trot, hoofs clattering on the cement sidewalk.
Within a few seconds they were at the end of Broadway, the shooters stil
l a ways ahead of them. As if they had planned it, the men veered right, appearing to run straight at a brick wall. And disappeared.
“What the FUCK?” Seamus heard Parker yell. They cantered up and their horses rubbed shoulders as they stared down a three-foot wide alley. Seamus could hear a distant crash and figured the guys were literally climbing over trashcans. Then he heard an unearthly howl.
“What the hell?” Parker looked up at the sky.
“WAAAAOOOOOH EEEEEEEEEE!” Parker’s hands clapped to the sides of his helmet as if to block the sound, the horses’ ears twitched too and fro. Seamus grinned. “O’Grady you old Banshee,” he said, smiling. He heard screams and more crashing.
“GET THEM OFF ME!” One of the suspects came out of the alley and almost ran into Riley and Finbar. He stared in horror at the horses and screamed again.
Then he fainted.
Seamus spied three young elves coming around the corner, all dressed in parti-colors, their limbs flashing white as they ran, laughing as they went. There was another ear piercing scream. And they all howled with laughter.
The elves saw Seamus and stopped long enough to make elegant bows, wicked grins on their faces. Christ, thought Seamus, what had they done?
Parker dismounted Finbar and started putting the suspect in restraints while he was still coming to, babbling about demons.
Down the alley, O’Grady’s howls were becoming more distant, the sounds of crashing less frequent. Seamus thought he had a good idea of where the alley would come out and nudged Riley in that direction.
They made their way around, ducking under construction scaffolding.
On the other side of the building, the streets were almost empty. Barricades had closed off every corner and the bars and restaurants were closed because of the construction.
Seamus slid from Riley’s back and crept up the street, close to the buildings. He was standing to one side of the alley opening when he heard panting breath, footsteps and the man burst out, running.
Seamus raised his gun, hand braced on wrist, feet squared to keep himself steady.
“Halt, throw down your…” The man spun about, white faced. It was the man Seamus had been tailing all week.
In the millisecond of shock in which Seamus hesitated, the man raised a gun. For a hairsbreadth, Seamus stared down the barrel of the same gun that had killed his partner, and then there was an unearthly scream, a shadow of black, hooves dancing in the air and the man yelled.
Riley came down in front of him, stomping, his eyes wild. Seamus looked up and saw the tiny green faerie, Riley’s black mane clenched in her hands, little pointed shoes sticking straight out to either side.
He jumped aboard the animal, and surged forward. The suspect had jumped on a motorcycle and from the ease with which he started it Seamus assumed it had been left there by the two men on purpose. The suspect roared down the empty street, taking the corner in a wide leaning curve, like someone who road regularly.
“I’ve got him,” Seamus heard the words in his head as clearly as if his deceased partner were speaking them. Riley quivered underneath him, chomping at the bit and snorting.
“Okay,” said Seamus, and let Riley have his head. The horse ran, hooves ringing on the streets like a blacksmith's hammer on a sword, his breath huffing as he ran. Before them, the man slipped through a gap in the stone gate. Riley did not even hesitate, but ran straight for the wall and jumped.
Fuck it must have been eight feet, thought Seamus, hanging on for all he was worth and waiting for the impact.
It never came; Riley seemed to almost slide to the ground, still running, hooves flashing fire against the pavement. Distantly, Seamus could hear police sirens and Parker shouting.
Central Park loomed in the foreground, he could see the silhouette of the man before him and beyond him hundreds of Folk, their clothing iridescent and bright against the snow.
Seamus couldn’t have said if or when the suspect saw the faeries. He was riding over a bridge, seemingly unaware of the dozen elves running toward him. But when they pulled him from his motorcycle, sending it over the railing, and threw him to the ground, he was screaming. Seamus galloped across the snow covered lawn and drew his right rein out to steer his horse around the enclosing wall, but Riley ignored him and took the wall in an easy leap. Seamus ducked down and held on again. Another effortless landing and they were clattering across the bridge. A crowd of Folk separated as they rode up.
Seamus jumped from his horse like a steer wrestler, restraints in hand as he went. He pulled the man’s hands behind him, trussing him up as he recited the Miranda code.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
A shy little boy, with eyes like Maeebsef’s came up holding out the man’s gun, gingerly, by its rubber grip.
“Lay it down over there, hon,” said Seamus. “There’s a good faerie.”
The suspect under his knee was sobbing and laughing. Seamus knew how that was.
“You have the right to speak to an attorney,” he said, rolling the man over with the help of a few who looked like they worked part time for Snow White. “… and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense.”
Lyre’s long fingers were holding the man’s arm down. Seamus eyes met his.
Parker was there finally, face red, breathing hard. “You okay, Brady?”
“Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”
The suspect gibbered and moaned.
Lyre’s face was inches from his own.
Seamus jumped up. “I’m okay Parker.”
The little sprite slid down from the saddle, chattering a mile a minute gesturing and pointing. And a hundred faerie hands took Riley’s reins, petting him.
Lyre was looking up at him. “Thanks,” said Seamus.
“Jesus, what for? Man, I’ve never SEEN anybody ride like that.” Parker stared down at the guy. “This is the one, isn’t it?”
Lyre stood as well, dusting off his hands. “You are welcome.”
Seamus hands were shaking, so he stuffed them in his pockets. “So, what happened?”
Lyre shrugged.
“They say he just pulled out a gun and started threatening citizens,” said Parker.
Seamus looked down at the suspect, who still was babbling about ‘witches’ and ‘devils’. The cherries of the wagon were flashing across the snow, now, as it made its way along the park road.
“What an interesting story,” he said. He looked at Lyre meaningfully.
“Apparently your criminal was threatened by monsters,” said Lyre, frowning in mock puzzlement.
Seamus looked up at the crowd of Folk who stood around them. “Thank you,” he said. En masse, they bowed.
Seamus bowed back. I mean, what else could he do?
“What are you doing?” asked Parker, stepping back so the wagon boys could wrestle the suspect off the ground and into the truck.
“Thanking the faeries,” said Seamus. He slapped a riding glove against one palm and took Riley’s reins from the hands of his little green sprite friend. “Let’s go back; it’s been a long night.”
When he looked back, Lyre was still standing there, watching him ride away.
***
Lyre wondered if there were enchanted mice in his enchanted apartment now. He had heard of such things. Mice who turned into horses. Mice who wove straw. He heard a thump and the whisper of their feet and scratching at his door and wandered over to open it.
“Hey.” Seamus lounged in his doorway. Leaning against the jam, his head lowered, eyes almost shy as they peered up at him.
Lyre was stunned. “How… how…”
“Fucking weird elevator, there.” Seamus shrugged nonchalantly. “Seemed to remember me.”
Seamus saw Lyre trying to absorb this. He could tell
Lyre didn’t know what to do with the information. Didn’t know what to do with him. Well, he could relate.
“Invite me in,” he said.
Lyre was going to protest, to refuse. Seamus saw that.
“Isn’t that how it works? I mean…” Seamus jumped in there, before the guy could make up his mind to speak. “I’ve seen those vampire movies.”
“Vampire movies?” Lyre’s eyebrows bent in puzzlement. It made a cute little crease appear just above the bridge of his nose. “Seamus, don’t be ridiculous. There is no such thing as vampires. That is a tale for children.”