J.L. Doty - Dead Among Us 01 - When Dead Ain’t Dead Enough

by J. L. Doty

  “Probably more than you.”

  Paul agreed with a shrug. “You got a point there.”

  He stepped aside, let her step forward to stand beside him, though she had to walk on her toes to keep the stiletto heels from sinking into the dirt road. Erik would’ve insisted on the macho thing, would’ve demanded she be the weak and submissive woman so he could handle the tough stuff, had always relegated her to that second-class citizenship, and she liked the way Paul didn’t do that.

  “No names,” she whispered. “Not until we know more.”

  She’d never before met a Sidhe, but her father had trained her carefully and she knew not to look into its eyes until she’d had time to prepare the proper protections. “Who are you? And why have you brought us here, to Faerie?”

  He gave her a patronizing smile. “I am Cadilus, High Chancellor to the Seelie Court. And I didn’t bring you here.” He nodded toward Paul. “I brought him, and you stumbled into the vortex of his possibilities. Rather foolishly, I might add.”

  “Then why did you bring him?”

  The mage looked at her and his eyes narrowed. “He is a curiosity. He is more than he seems . . . and less.”

  He looked her over carefully, assessing her. “And I begin to think you are more than you seem. But enough of this. Her Majesty grows impatient.”

  He waved a hand in a wide gesture, and both Paul and Katherine took an involuntary step back. Katherine forgot about the heels and she stumbled as one of them sank into the road. Paul caught her by the elbow and she leaned on him. “Conklin,” she said angrily as she bent down to remove the shoes. “You are shoe-hell personified.”

  “What?” Paul pleaded, frustration dripping from every word. “What’d I do?”

  She pointed the heel of one of her shoes at him like a wand. “That little shoot-em-up in the hospital cost me a beautiful pair of Pradas. This better not cost me these Louis Vuittons.”

  “Silence,” Cadilus shouted.

  The magic in his words struck her like a whip, and that infuriated her.

  At the mage’s shout Paul was struck dumb, couldn’t have uttered a word if he’d wanted to, knew it was some sort of magic thing he was powerless to resist. But Katherine was apparently unaffected by whatever the mage had done. Her eyes flashed with anger, she turned and marched up to the mage in her stocking feet, waving one of her stiletto heels at him like a sword, the air about her crackling with some sort of power. The mage stepped back warily, almost fearfully, as she snarled, “Don’t you dare attempt to command me. My father trained me well, and your voice has little effect.”

  A woman’s voice, regal and haughty, said calmly, “And who is your father, child?”

  In a heartbeat they’d gone from standing on a dirt road in the middle of a vast moor, to standing in the middle of an immense hall built of pale yellow stone. Tapestries covered the walls, depicting images of knights hunting unicorns, and flaming sconces lit the room with flickering light and dancing shadows. It was all very medieval.

  Paul and Katherine both turned toward the woman’s voice. They were now standing beneath a dais upon which rested a massive throne made of what appeared to be hundreds of bleached-white human skulls. Or maybe they were Sidhe skulls; Paul wouldn’t know the difference. But the throne was as nothing compared to the woman seated upon it.

  Her stark white hair had been piled atop her head in an elaborate coif decorated with gems and silver trinkets. She wore a gown that shimmered with a rainbow of colors and changed constantly with the dancing shadows. The skin of her face was pale white, stretched over an oval face with high cheek bones. She had a small, delicate mouth, with lips the color of dark, reddish-brown blood. Had it not been for her eyes, she’d have been the most beautiful woman Paul had ever seen. But her almond shaped eyes were filled with fire, angry flames that burned into his soul when she cast her gaze upon him.

  Behind him, Paul heard Katherine say, “Your Majesty,” and any anger or challenge had left her voice completely.

  He turned toward Katherine, who was now gowned in something from an eighteenth century European court. She curtsied, did a better job of it than any courtesan might.

  “Rise,” the queen said.

  Paul prayed this wasn’t going to turn into an Alice in Wonderland thing with a mad queen shouting insane commands at them. He looked down at his clothing, really didn’t want to find he was wearing a doublet and hose from the eighteenth century, took some comfort in the fact he was still wearing his jeans and sneakers.

  “Why is he not attired properly?” the mad queen demanded.

  The mage responded with, “I know not, Your Majesty. Perhaps he resists.”

  She turned her fiery eyes upon Paul. “You insult me by coming before me dressed as a common huckster.”

  Paul knew he was totally out of his element. He wanted to say something like, Fuck you, bitch, but he suspected that wouldn’t go well. No, think of some movie, some period piece, and try to mimic the courtiers. “I didn’t come before you, Your Majesty. I was taken against my will, and brought before you without my knowledge or permission. If you dislike my attire, or you find it insulting in some way, perhaps you should look to this . . .” He turned toward the mage. “ . . . this Cadilus fellow.”

  The mad queen looked from Paul to Cadilus to Katherine, then back to Paul. If she’d had real eyeballs, instead of just pits of fire, the gaze she turned upon him would have been angry and hard. But it was just fucking fiery. “You mock me, mortal?”

  Something dark and really scary suddenly emerged in the hall, and Paul knew he was on the edge of oblivion with this mad queen. He bowed from the waist, did his best imitation of an eighteenth century courtier, held the bow and said, “No, Your Majesty. I merely, humbly, speak the truth. And I pray you judge me on that.” He held the bow and waited.

  The dark something that had invaded the room suddenly disappeared, though a hint of it remained hovering in the background, like a dangerous beast brought to heel at the foot of its master. “You may rise, mortal mage.”

  Paul straightened slowly, though some instinct told him to keep his eyes downcast.

  The queen lifted a hand, waggled a finger at Katherine and said, “Come forward, girl.”

  Katherine advanced with the soft hiss of swirling petticoats, stopped at the base of the dais, bowed her head and said, “Your Majesty.”

  “There is the matter of your father, my dear.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The queen leaned forward, and if flaming eyes could be said to narrow, hers did. “His name? Though I begin to suspect I know the answer.”

  “Your Majesty, in Faerie he’s known as the Old Wizard.”

  The queen leaned back on the throne and nodded. “As I thought.”

  She lifted her gaze to Cadilus. “You should have been more careful, High Chancellor. This does complicate matters.”

  One moment Paul stood before the mad queen, and in the next heartbeat he stood in a box of a room with walls, floor and ceiling all made from the same pale, yellow stone. There was an elaborate writing desk and chair that must’ve come out of some expensive antique shop somewhere, a soft bed against one wall, but no doors or windows. The old Paul would’ve spent some time wondering how he could get into a room with no way in or out, but the new Paul had come to accept these things.

  He explored the room carefully, which didn’t take long, because it was just a box. Walls, floor, ceiling, desk, chair, bed; really just a prison cell. At least it wasn’t some dark dungeon.

  There was nothing he could do so he laid down on the bed and tried to sleep. He lay there for quite some time, but sleep eluded him. He did need to piss, wasn’t sure what he was going to do about that, sat up, wondering if there might be a chamber pot beneath the bed. But now there was a door in one wall, a door he knew full well hadn’t been there before.

  He approached it warily, tested the knob and it opened easily. Beyond it he found a modern bathroom not unlike that in his a
partment. He used the toilet, and as he was washing his hands his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten anything since before his trip into the Netherworld, and now that he thought about it he was famished.

  When he returned to the main room he found a tray of food had appeared on the desk. It was Suzanna’s famous pot roast. He sat down on the bed, buried his face in his hands and cried like a baby.

  Suzanna sat down beside him, threw a comforting arm over his shoulders. Don’t worry, Paul. It’ll be all right.

  Yes, daddy, Cloe said, standing in front of him and tugging at his sleeve. Everything’s gonna be all right.

  Paul found, through simple experimentation, that merely wanting something made it appear. He took a hot shower, needed to change the bandages on his cuts, found supplies of gauze, bandages and medication waiting for him in a cabinet that had suddenly appeared in the bathroom. There hadn’t been a razor and shaving cream before, but when he wanted them they appeared. And he could make things go away as well, like the dirty dishes from his meal. Just a thought, with desire behind it, that’s all it took. A clock on the wall to keep time, a dresser with changes of clothing and underwear, a book to read. Little by little he furnished the room, turned it into a comfortable bedroom. He even desired, and received, a separate room furnished more like a study where he could sit and read one of his books.

  These spooky fairy people must have a direct conduit right into his brain, knew every thought, whim or desire, were willing to give him almost anything he wanted, anything but an exit. He tried for a way out, a door, a window, anything. He wished for it, desired it, did everything but shout out a demand. Nothing. No, these pointy-eared people had definite limits on what they’d allow.

  He thought about desiring the presence of the mad queen so he could ask her some questions, decided even if he could make her appear, that really wasn’t a good idea. And then he thought about desiring Katherine’s presence, and blink, she appeared right in front of him, now wearing her modern business suit and standing in her stocking feet, still holding her stiletto heels dangling from one hand.

  She started, said, “Paul!”

  Her eyes blinked rapidly, she turned about slowly and took in her surroundings, turned full circle until she came back to him. “Where are we?”

  “My prison cell.”

  She looked about the room again. “Doesn’t look too much like a prison.”

  He explained about the room, how everything appeared or disappeared with merely a thought, everything but a way out.

  She frowned. “How long have you been here?”

  He wasn’t sure his watch, or the clock on the wall, were keeping accurate time. “I’d guess about a full day. I read a book for a couple of hours, ate a couple of meals, got a good night’s sleep. Why? Where’ve you been?”

  They were standing in the study, and with a dazed look on her face she turned and walked into the bedroom. He followed her there, watched her look about, open a drawer in the dresser, peer at its contents for a moment, then close it. She walked to the bathroom, stopped in the doorway and glanced around quickly, turned back and started across the bedroom.

  He followed her as she walked into the study, looked around again, then turned and faced him. “Only a few moments ago I was standing in the throne room next to you listening to Magreth tell Cadilus I was a complication.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  The dazed look disappeared, was replaced by determination. “No, this is Faerie. I’ve never been here before but my father told me time doesn’t operate the same here. Said it isn’t linear, whatever that means.”

  She looked at him carefully and he could tell her thoughts were racing. She walked up to him, still dangling the stiletto heels from one finger. “So, whatever you want, you just desire it . . . and it appears?”

  “Ya, basically.”

  She moved in closer, traced a finger along his chin and cocked her head coquettishly. “Do you think you could desire some Pradas? Maybe some Fendis too, and some Christian Louboutin’s.” Her eyes brightened and she continued almost breathlessly. “And the matching purses. And some Vera Wang dresses. And some pant suits. I still have to hide the bruises on my legs . . .”

  She suddenly hesitated, frowned, looked at Paul side-long and grimaced, continued in a more subdued tone, “I kind of lost it there . . . for a moment, didn’t I?”

  Paul raised an eyebrow at her. “Yuh think?”

  She gritted her teeth and pleaded, “Maybe just the shoes?”

  “Your Majesty,” Cadilus said carefully, cautiously. “I believe we may have made a mistake.”

  Magreth turned emerald green eyes upon him. “How so?”

  “Indulge me, Your Majesty, if you will.” Cadilus opened a portal into Paul’s apartment. Magreth turned to step through it, but he stepped in front of her. “Please, allow me to precede you, as a matter of safety.”

  “Safety! You feel the need to protect me. No one can harm me in my own realm.”

  “How true, Your Majesty. And yet, there have been . . . unusual occurrences surrounding this young mortal mage. I would counsel . . . caution, until we know more.”

  She said nothing and stepped aside.

  Cadilus turned and stepped through the portal into Paul’s study. Paul and Katherine stood facing each other, frozen in time like two statues, he with a wry frown upon his face, she with her shoes dangling from her fingers. Cadilus looked about, turned to the portal. “It appears to be safe, Your Majesty.”

  Magreth stepped through the portal, looked about the room for a moment, then walked past him and into the other room, the bedroom. He followed her. She scanned the room carefully, stepped briefly into the bathroom, then returned and walked back into the study to look upon the two mortals standing motionless.

  “I see nothing unusual here,” Magreth announced, “other than that you seem to have been somewhat generous with your accommodations.”

  “But I have not, Your Majesty.” Cadilus strolled about the room, indicating various pieces of furniture and other accoutrements. “I placed him alone in a bare stone cell with a small cot, and a chamber pot beneath it.”

  She spun about, looked more carefully at the contents of the room, and the flames appeared in her eyes. “Then how came this?”

  “The young mage conjured it all.”

  Her voice hardened as she demanded, “Conjured?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. With merely a thought. A thought here, a thought there, conjured it all with such ease one might think he was Sidhe. I didn’t anticipate this so I didn’t really resist him. He hasn’t been able to penetrate the bounds of our circle, though he’s tried repeatedly. But inside the circle, it appears he can conjure almost anything.”

  “And the girl, how did she get here? He didn’t conjure her.”

  “No, he transported her here, with no more than a whim. We constructed the circle so we might enter or leave, which allowed him to pull her into it, though he can’t send her out. It’s as if he’s more powerful here than on the Mortal Plane.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I concur. He is mortal, so here in Faerie he must be less powerful. But that means on the Mortal Plane his power must rival that of the Old Wizard.”

  Magreth walked carefully around the two young mortals, looked at each in turn, looked carefully. After completing a full circle she said, “It’s almost as if they’re lovers.”

  She hesitated and looked closely at the young girl. “She is a lovely creature. See to it no harm comes to her. The Old Wizard’s wrath would be . . . dangerous. We’ll return her to him as a favor.”

  She stepped back, looked at the young fellow from a distance, as if he was a wild animal and she dare not get too close. “But as to the young man . . . let’s not take any chances. Kill him and be done with it.”

  Cadilus bowed deeply. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  This once, McGowan had chosen to not wear wizard’s robes in the Seelie Court. Magreth would hav
e to receive him in modern mortal attire, sport coat, tie and slacks, not the long flowing robes that made him look like something out of a Tolkien novel. His casual street attire would irritate her, and that was just fine with McGowan.

  Two Seelie warriors in ceremonial armor swung back the great double doors of the throne room as he approached, and beyond them he saw dozens of courtiers huddled in small groups. When he stepped across the threshold, one of the warriors announced, “A mortal wizard, Your Majesty,” and the buzz of dozens of inconsequential conversations died abruptly. Announcing him that way had been an open insult. He paused for dramatic effect, focused on Magreth who sat upon her throne at the far end of the room.

  She’d been speaking to Cadilus, with her head turned to one side. But now she took an infinitely long moment to turn her gaze slowly toward McGowan, looking upon him with those intense, green eyes. Had he been following protocol he would’ve waited for her to invite him to approach. Instead, he immediately began marching toward her, and the green of her eyes turned to flame. Had he been following protocol he would’ve stopped a goodly distance from her. Instead he marched right up to the base of the dais. Had he been following protocol he would’ve bowed deeply. Instead he stood there, facing her angrily.

  All present felt her power rising as her anger grew, so the old man summoned his power and let them feel a taste of it. At that moment he did bow, but only a slight nod of the head, as one equal to another. “Your Majesty.”

  The flames in her eyes blossomed, and her anger became a palpable presence. “Old Wizard,” she said, conceding to him his title.

  He allowed a tight smile to touch his lips. “We haven’t spoken in quite some time. Shall we stand here, snarling at each other like two hissing cats?”

  She stared at him silently with her flaming eyes. Then slowly the flames disappeared and once again she looked upon him with those beautiful green eyes. Almost human eyes, if one could ignore the cat-like vertically slit pupils. “I do owe you a daughter, don’t I?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. It would save us both a great deal of trouble if you returned her unharmed.”