Queen of the Dark Things

by C. Robert Cargill

  “Is this about . . . is this about Beatriz?”

  “Of course it’s about Beatriz. What else have you been up to tonight?”

  “That’s between her and me.”

  Austin shook her head. “There isn’t a her anymore. Now it’s just you and me. You may want to be the sheriff of this town, but you ain’t the sheriff of this town. There’s only one sheriff. And she might have to ask you to leave if you can’t get your shit together.”

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You knew about her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What she was up to?”

  Austin nodded, the joint six inches from her face. “Yeah.”

  “And you were just going to let those kids die? You would have let that thing drown them?”

  “Of course not,” she said, slightly offended. “Vincent and Taylor are wonderful boys, both with bright futures. More important, their mother is a sweet, wonderful woman who would do anything for them. I wasn’t going to let Beatriz harm a hair on their heads. I couldn’t do that to Carol.”

  Colby took a sip of his beer and glared at Austin. “And just how did you plan on stopping her?”

  “They’re still here, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, but not because of you.”

  Austin grinned. “Really? How did Carol find you again?”

  Colby leaned forward pensively, his eyes narrowed. “She said a psychic told her, but wouldn’t say who.”

  “Mother Ojeda. Nice woman. Has the gift. But not quite like you. She hears things sometimes. Sometimes it’s mild schizophrenia mutating shit she heard on TV. Sometimes it’s me, telling people what they need to hear.”

  “So what you’re saying is that you brought Carol to a psychic and the psychic told her where to find me because you knew I would show up and kill Beatriz.”

  Austin did the mental arithmetic, tracing her work on the air with a single outstretched finger. Then she nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly how it happened.”

  “And you’re pissed at me?”

  “I know it doesn’t make sense, Colby. But I don’t have to make sense.”

  “Why? Because you’re a woman or something?”

  “No, idiot,” she said. “Because I’m a god.” She paused for a moment, eyeing him up and down. “Or what you call genius loci.” Then she smiled. “Like I said, I’ve read your books.”

  “But why did you just chew me out for stopping her after you set it up so I would?”

  “Because we needed to meet. We needed to have this conversation.”

  “I can’t believe this shit.”

  Austin killed the last few swigs of her beer and slammed it down on the table. Then she took another toke of her dwindling joint. A waiter appeared with a beer for both of them, setting them down on the table.

  “Hey,” he said to Austin. “You mind if I hit that?”

  “Be my guest,” she said. “Don’t bring none unless you want to share.”

  “My kind of lady.” The waiter took a few quick tokes, holding them in, then gave a wave on his way back to the bar, exhaling just before walking inside.

  She smiled. “That’s Brad. He was having a rough night earlier. Nice guy. There’s a girl a few streets over named Felicia. Her ex called her fat in the middle of their breakup. She’s not taking it well. I’m going to let her stagger over this way and she and Brad are going to have a very nice few hours together.”

  “A drunk hookup?”

  “He’s gonna consider the night a good one, she’ll wake up remembering some cute bartender couldn’t keep his hands off her, and even though they’ll most likely never see each other again, it will put them on the path they need to be on. But you wanna know the kicker, Colby?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not making either of them do anything. I just know them. Intimately. I know the mistakes they’ll make when they’re presented with the options. And by manipulating a few traffic lights, breaking a high-heeled shoe or two, and distracting someone long enough to run a stop sign, I can put two people in each other’s arms in order to change their lives for the better. But it’s not always about hookups or good times. Sometimes it’s about murderous spirits. Sometimes it’s about wizards who think it’s their job to patrol the streets to keep the night safe for children.

  “What you did the night the fairies came for Ewan was your business. They made their bed. You did what was just and right for you to do in that situation. I’ve got no beef with that. And until now you’ve been all talk. I’ve certainly got no beef with that. But tonight you crossed the line from tough talking to instigating. I played my part, which is why we’re talking over beers and a joint—and really, you should try this, it’s really good shit—instead of having it out in the mud behind Carol’s house.”

  Colby finished his beer and then grabbed the other. “So why exactly did we need to talk?”

  “So I could tell you never to do that again. I don’t care how you go about defending yourself. But the vigilante act ends tonight.”

  “I’m sure you’re telling everyone that Austin is back on the market and the buffet is open, then?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m not saying shit. I love that those prissy Limestone Kingdom pricks are staying where they belong out in the woods. I just can’t have you gunning them down in the streets if and when they do come to town.” Austin took one last hit from the roach, finally cashing in her joint. Then she looked at Colby with soft, gentle eyes. “Like I said. I don’t have to make sense.”

  Colby shook his head, a hand to his temple.

  Austin stood up and slammed down the remainder of her beer. “Besides, it’s rare that I get to share a beer with a man I don’t have to pretend around. Know what I mean?” She winked, then shook her head. “Because I’m a woman? Jesus, dude. You are not single by accident, that’s for damn sure.” Then she vanished from where she stood, leaving Colby confused and alone on the patio, fumbling for the words to apologize.

  “Damnit,” he muttered, thinking about how hard his heart was pounding. “That’s inconvenient.”

  CHAPTER 11

  ON GENIUS LOCI

  AN EXCERPT BY DR. THADDEUS RAY, PH.D., FROM HIS BOOK THE EVERYTHING YOU CANNOT SEE

  As discussed earlier, dreamstuff accumulates, giving birth to creatures born of whim or, in extreme cases, transmuting a creature’s dreamstuff from one form into another, as in the case of a dying human turning into a spirit, a shadow, or a fairy. But not all things created as such are conjured directly out of the imagination of those nearby. In many cases, as with the genius loci, dreamstuff coalesces into a form representative of the area around it. These creatures become arbiters or wardens of the area they inhabit, embodying the very essence of the land itself and the people who live upon it.

  The name genius loci comes from the Latin, which originally described local gods, specifically household gods, or those that governed over small towns or islands. Greeks and Romans often recognized these genii as godlike beings, telling and retelling the stories of their governance or misadventure as part of their oral history. As was the case with many cultures of the day, the stories would be absorbed into other communities and ascribed to their own genii. Thus rose the tales of the Greek and Roman pantheons, which in all likelihood were based on the accumulated tales of hundreds of different beings and creatures.

  A genius loci can take many forms, from the green men or living trees of the forests, to leviathans of the sea, to dust devils of the desert, to creatures that look and act every bit like the human beings they represent and protect. Each locale creates the protector it wants or needs, whether or not they know what they’re asking for. But once born of dreamstuff, the genius loci possesses a mind and will of its own and thus can affect its surroundings just as much as its surroundings affect it.

  Often, as is the case with fairy communities, the genius loci will interfere directly with the events transpiring around it. This can involve acting in the place of a king or govern
or, as a knight or protector, or in some cases, simply overseeing a council of the beings it represents. Other genius loci, like those representing large cities or particularly powerful locations—like castles or islands—tend to act indirectly, skulking in shadows or amongst the populace, gently manipulating the area around it with small, imperceivable changes. This can be as subtle as gifting a person with sudden inspiration or causing a car to stall, delaying them or forcing them into an unplanned encounter, or as obvious as an earthquake or large-scale riot.

  Most large-scale cities tend to create people, albeit people with an extraordinary amount of control over their surroundings. The personality of this being tends to be entirely representative of the culture around it, looking, sounding, and acting in the purest, most common, easily recognizable fashion. The genius loci of Manhattan, for example, embodies the essence of the true New Yorker, while that of Seattle is much more subdued.

  Unlike most beings of dreamstuff, however, genius loci have incredibly short life spans, some living as long as a few decades while others live only a few short years. As the culture around it changes, the genius loci too begins to change, and as it shifts from one era to the next, it must re-create itself, becoming something entirely different from what it was before—something more representative of the new era. For example, the genius loci that oversaw Manhattan was very different in the sleazy Times Square era of the late sixties and seventies from what it is in the family friendly, commerce-minded era of the time of this writing. While a genius loci might keep many of the same traits, enough of it changes through each incarnation that it re-forms as a different being. Look, style, demeanor, and even gender might change as a result of its ever evolving surroundings.

  Genii should always be treated with the utmost respect, as they are creatures to be feared. When encountering one you must always remember that you are on their turf, playing by their rules. When destroyed they will re-form, and when they do, they will remember exactly who wronged them.

  CHAPTER 12

  BACK TO THE CURSED AND THE DAMNED

  The Cursed and the Damned was as lonely a place as there was at this time of night. For all its business, it might as well be out in the mists of the moors or well off the highway in the barren Arizona desert. It was in the dead center of downtown, in the middle of everything, but there were few beings inside Austin left across the veil to enjoy it.

  The only reason Yashar even kept it running at all was as a silent eulogy to Old Scraps. He stood there all day, most days, staring over the cheap, depressing innards of the place—its bulbs dangling uncovered on long cords from the ceiling, its gray concrete walls, mismatched tables, boxes and barrels in place of most chairs—occasionally wiping the counter out of habit, thinking about what this place used to be. Every once in a while he’d be reminded that some things just needed to be put down or left alone long enough to die. And every time that thought crept in, he thought about the times he and Colby spent drinking themselves into a stupor, the smell of Bill’s smoke from the back corner, the sound of drunken angels laughing and falling out of their chairs, having to be hoisted back upright before ordering another round.

  And in that moment he remembered why he was serving as life support for an ailing friend, keeping it alive long enough to see the last few good days it had left. This would prove to be just such a day.

  Colby threw back the whiskey as if he was putting out a fire. In a sense, he was. He was still shaken, rattled, his heart pounding, gut lurching, fists clenched tight. All the color had drained from his face and he trembled—just a little—reeling from his encounter with Austin.

  Yashar leaned over the bar from the other side, bottle at the ready, leather jacket and dangling baubles clanging on the countertop, eagerly hanging on Colby’s next words. “Well,” he said, as Colby lowered his glass. “What’s got you so spooked?” he asked, pouring Colby another few fingers of whiskey as he did.

  “I met her,” said Colby.

  “Who?” asked Bill the Shadow, looming darkly in the corner of the bar.

  “The girl of your dreams?” asked Yashar with an interested smile.

  “Worse,” said Colby. “Austin.”

  Yashar leaned in a little closer. “Austin who?”

  “Austin.”

  Yashar sighed, deflating. “Oooooh. It’s about time you met her.”

  “Yeah, Colby,” said Bill. “How the hell have you gone this long without running into her?”

  “She’s cute—,” said Yashar.

  Bill nodded, interrupting. “Yeah, she is.”

  “But she’s nothing to get in a twist over.” Yashar recorked the whiskey. This wasn’t a story warranting the good stuff.

  Colby slammed back the whiskey once more, shook his head. “She’s pissed at me.”

  Yashar eyed him suspiciously. “And how did you manage that?”

  “I killed Beatriz.”

  Yashar and Bill traded troubled, disbelieving glances. Then Yashar slowly uncorked the bottle and walked back over to Colby. “Say that again?”

  “I killed Beatriz La Llorona. And Austin wasn’t too happy about that.”

  Yashar poured Colby another glass of whiskey, filling it almost to the top, then looked at him darkly. “Did she have it coming?”

  Colby nodded. “Yeah. She had it coming.”

  Yashar nodded in return. “Bill? You knew her, right?”

  Bill nursed a beer, nodding. “Yeah, I knew her.”

  “And?”

  “And the kid’s right. She had it coming. Crazy. Half starved. Damaged from the moment she showed up. She never gave the world a damn thing except drowned kids. The river is better without her.”

  Yashar shook his head. “Then why the hell would Austin be pissed at you?”

  “Because I’m not the sheriff of this town,” said Colby. “She is.”

  “And she asked you to leave town?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Colby took a deep breath. “Like you said. She’s cute.”

  “Aw, hell.” Bill groaned.

  “Damnit, Colby,” said Yashar.

  “What?”

  Yashar put the cork back in the whiskey. “I thought this was serious.”

  “This is serious. You’ve been telling me for years that I should find a girl. I finally find one and not only does she threaten to kick my ass out of town, but she’s also powerful enough to do it. To make matters worse, she’s the reason I ended up killing Beatriz to begin with.”

  “Wait. You’re going to have to explain the last part,” said Yashar.

  “Yeah,” said Bill. “I’m a little lost as well.”

  Colby sipped from his glass. “A woman came to me for help. Said she was being plagued by La Llorona. She got my name from a psychic.”

  “Mother Ojeda?” asked Bill.

  “Yeah,” said Colby. “How’d you know that?”

  “The billboard psychic. One of the only legit working spiritualists in town. She’s exactly who Austin would use.”

  Yashar’s eyes grew wide. “Shit, Colby. You got played.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “And that . . .”

  Colby shot a longing glance across the bar. “Intrigues the hell out of me. Never met anyone before who could play me, put me in my place, and make me feel like I deserved it.”

  Bill laughed and sipped his beer. “Kid’s in trouble all right, Yash. Let the whiskey flow.”

  “Colby,” said Yashar. “Did she threaten you?”

  “Directly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. It was more of a warning against future endeavors.”

  Yashar nodded. “So she got what she needed out of you and that was that, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then you’re in good shape. Austin is good people. That’s her thing.”

  “Her thing?”

  “Yeah. Every loci I’ve ever met has had a thing. An ethos. A sense of purpose d
riven in one direction or another. It’s what they impart to their people. For some it’s progress. For others it’s war. Some want isolation, others celebration. For years Austin was a bit of a party girl. She likes her beer and she throws amazing parties. But she’s mellowed. Her thing has become less about the fireworks and more about the company, if you know what I mean. She wants her legacy to be a town where everyone feels welcome and nobody messes much with anybody else.”

  Bill lit a cigarette. “Yep. She once told me that she wanted this city to feel like the buzz before the drunk. Laid back and worry free.”

  Colby grimaced. “That doesn’t sound like the girl I met at all.”

  “Really?” asked Yashar. “And where did you meet your dream girl?”

  Colby hesistated a moment. “At a bar.”

  “Was she pissed?”

  “No. She . . . she was actually kind of flirty.”

  “Uh-huh. Was this the easiest piece of ass chewing anyone’s ever given you?”

  Colby stared down at the bartop, nodding.

  “Then it sounds exactly like Austin.”

  “S-so, then . . . ,” Colby stammered a little, swallowing hard. “H-h-h-how do, how do I . . . how do I tell her . . . ?”

  “Oh, sweet merciful Christ,” said Bill. “This is happening.”

  Yashar pointed a stiff finger at Bill. “Cut him some slack.”

  “Nope. Not this time.” Bill took a drag off his cigarette then drenched it in the backwash at the bottom of his beer. He stood up and put a firm hand on Colby’s shoulder. “She’s loci. She knows. Don’t be such a bitch about it.” Then Bill faded into the shadows, vanishing from the bar.

  Colby and Yashar sat in silence for a moment, each taking turns sipping their whiskey.

  “He’s right, you know,” said Yashar. “She knows.”

  “Well, then, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Nothing. You don’t do anything. You’ve dealt with loci before.”

  “Yeah. I’ve fought with them. Argued. Made peace. Avoided them when I’ve had to.” He paused, cocking an eyebrow. “Blew one to pieces. But I’ve never asked one out on a date.”