Trueheart (Portland After Dark Book 1)

by Mel Sterling

  She pointed southwest, still staring up into the superstructure.

  "Don't keep looking at him. He'll notice."

  Tess averted her eyes, but she could feel the pull of the amorphous figure, making her want to glance back and yet dreading to. She was like a rabbit chased by a wolf, needing to look behind to reassure herself she had enough distance between herself and Hunter, yet knowing that to look behind would be fatal. Another burst of pigeons fluttered out of the bridge, and under cover of their noise and activity Thomas broke into a run, towing Tess with him.

  They sprinted south along Naito Parkway, staying close to the buildings. Thomas looked behind them every few seconds. He did not pause, even when crossing intersections. There were no cars on the street, which Tess found extremely odd for that neighborhood at that time of the evening. There should have been traffic. As far as Tess could see, no one from the market had followed them, and she began to wonder exactly how much of this nightmare was real.

  A few moments later they turned west and slowed, well south of the market and the Jeep. There was still no traffic, and Tess whispered to Thomas, even though there seemed to be no one around.

  "Where are all the cars? Where is everyone?"

  Thomas's expression, there in the dusky shadow next to an older building with lime-stained brick, was ominous. "Hunter has that effect," was all he said, before continuing west.

  "Who is he?"

  "Better ask 'what is he,' but better still not to talk about him. He has a way of knowing when he's the subject and turning up. Believe me, we don't want to meet him tonight."

  "You're scaring me."

  "Good. Maybe now you'll take this seriously. How far to your car?"

  Tess took a long, shaky inhale. "It's a couple of streets south of the Skidmore Fountain."

  "Too close to the market."

  "Well, how was I to know? I parked where I found a space. Believe me, if I'd known how crazy tonight was going to get, I'd never have come looking for you, no matter how guilty I felt."

  "It would have been better." Thomas's tone was grim.

  She yanked her hand out of his and stopped. "Why are you bothering at all? Why not just let your bloodthirsty friends do what they want to me?" She didn't understand why she felt so bitter, and there was hardly time to examine her feelings. It couldn't be that she cared what he thought, what he did, could it? Why should it matter so much that she had the good opinion of a monster?

  He glared hard at her, his mouth tightening. She felt herself cringing away from him, wondering if the trow were about to burst from his skin and whether she could escape if it did. At last he spoke.

  "Because I'm not like them. I'm not like them, and you made me care."

  She stared at him in amazement, her fear of him forgotten. She opened her mouth to speak, and found she had nothing to say except a soft, shaken "Oh, Thomas."

  "Yeah," he replied, not looking away, but his expression gradually relaxed. When her groping hand came out and touched the lapel of his oilskin, he caught it to his chest and pressed it there. She could feel his heart thumping under her palm and took a step closer to him, but then a nagging urge to look behind her prickled in the depths of her awareness. Thomas, too, looked uncomfortable. His chin lifted as if he were listening to something she couldn't hear.

  "It's Hunter. He's discovered I'm not at home, and now he's looking elsewhere."

  The words recalled to instant, shadowy life the dark figure moving along the bridge girders. She grabbed for his hand again and pulled him with her. The Jeep waited not far away.

  You made me care.

  All they had to do was reach it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THOMAS WAS GLAD TESS HAD the stone around her neck instead of held up to her eye. She would have seen the glimmering tendrils of hunt magic Hunter had strung all over Old Town and the market, snares of enchantment meant to locate Thomas.

  Someone at the market had betrayed him. Or, more likely, had never been a friend to begin with. He had hope that Tess's identity was still a cipher. The tendrils were designed for Thomas alone, with no whiff of the human traveling with him. Why the Queen herself wasn't already involved was a mystery. He remembered Hunter's words a few days ago on the ley line and wished he had a safe place to work through this puzzle. Had the Queen not been told of the disturbance in the market? Why was Hunter's interest in Thomas so personal and immediate?

  He followed Tess as she raced west. He knew they were close to her Jeep when she started fumbling in her pocket as they ran. He tugged her back against a building where a decorative column provided an extra puddle of concealing shadow.

  Hunter's tendrils still followed, questing forward like flickering snake tongues, but they were a block away. No time for a rest, but time for a breath, and room for a little caution. Only two streets over, the market would be in full swing and cry this time of night, with the fillip of Thomas's drama and Hunter's presence adding unusual spice to the dark.

  "The Jeep's just around the corner. If we hurry—"

  "Let me take a look first. See what's lurking."

  But Tess would not let go of his hand, so they edged together to the corner of the building. Thomas put up his hood and peered around the corner. Tess's mostly-yellow Jeep sat under a streetlight. Cautious girl, parking in well-lit areas. But that didn't matter, not with three bogles slouching nearby in their angular fashion, pestering a stray cat. He pulled back, thinking hard. How to cross that block and get into the vehicle without being seen? And before Hunter's enchantment located him. And—

  "Damn it, no!" The exclamation was startled out of him when she pulled free of his hand, ducked a quick look around the corner too, saw nothing but the cat, and went swiftly for the Jeep, keys already in her hand.

  The bogles noticed. Thomas knew them by sight, if not by truename. They frequently cheated the hobs at knucklebones and snitched scraps from Sharpwit. Their services—lies and truths and everything in between—were for sale to any bidder. He'd chucked them from the market plenty of evenings, but they always crept back like determined flies. One of the bogles turned and ran for the market.

  How had they known to watch at the Jeep?

  Oh yes. The kelpie, the one who liked to loiter near the Skidmore Fountain.

  Thomas, growling, shuddered into his trow-form and exploded out around the corner after the running bogle. He passed Tess, who let out a yelp and cried, "The Jeep's right here!" He ignored her, focused only on the chase.

  His strides took him right between the two remaining bogles, who were staring and pointing at Tess. Thomas stamped on them hard, making them shriek in pain and fall to the sidewalk clutching their damaged feet. Then he turned his attention to the fleeing bogle, racing at trow-speed along the street behind it.

  As it ran, it was calling to Hunter.

  "Aw, shit," groaned Thomas. He was too late; the alarm had been sounded. Hunter's magic, given a focused target at last, splashed against buildings and lampposts like a banner of bruise-colored light escaped from an aurora borealis, gleaming on the wet pavement and glittering through the rainy air. Thomas skidded to a stop and tried to backpedal before it washed over him. A snare of hunt magic tangled the running bogle and brought it to its knees, sobbing, in the middle of the street.

  "Master!" wailed the bogle, but Hunter's magic was not merciful or discriminating, and the strangling pain intended for Thomas silenced the creature.

  Behind Thomas an engine roared and a horn blared long and loud, startling him from his horrified study of the hunt magic. Tess yelled out her window, "Get in! For God's sake, Thomas, get in!"

  The Jeep braked not six feet from him, one tire up on the curb, and the passenger door flapped open and then slammed closed again as Tess lost her grip on it. She pushed it open once more, and Thomas, praying there was enough iron in the convertible vehicle to do some good against the fully fae bogles, dived for the opening. She had the beach stone in one hand, and from the frightened look on her fa
ce, had been watching events through it. Hunter's magic was awe-inspiring, beautiful in its way, but discomforting.

  His trow-form did not fit in the seat, and even as he struggled to get the door closed, Tess revved the engine and pulled the Jeep into a tight circle in the narrow street. They bumped onto the far curb and barely missed a parking meter. The two of them jostled like popcorn in the cab and then they were hurtling away from the market. Hunt magic flowed over the car, seeking a way inside. The crack left by his partly open door gave it an entry. He scrambled to close the gap on it, like shutting a slug in a doorway, and a remnant of the bluish stuff ripped free and shot around the interior of the Jeep like a will-o'-the-wisp.

  The remaining two bogles, still nursing tender feet from Thomas's stamping, rushed into the roadway.

  Tess, seeing nothing, ran the Jeep right over them. The impact shook the vehicle but didn't stop its forward momentum. "What was that?" she gasped. She looked in the rearview, startled. Thomas swallowed his gorge. He didn't like or trust the bogles, but he didn't wish them dead, either.

  The ball of blue light ricocheted around the cabin, lifting Tess's hair. She swatted one hand at it as if she'd been buzzed by a bee. Thomas unzipped the side window panel and knocked the hunt magic out of the Jeep. It bounced on the pavement before blowing back toward where Hunter must be waiting. "Just drive! And a hell of a lot faster."

  "It would help if you didn't crowd me so much, you big oaf!" But Tess punched the accelerator and shot away from the market.

  It took Thomas a few minutes to settle down enough to restore his human glamour, reducing himself to a more suitable size. The metal of the car made it both easier and more difficult. By then Tess was much calmer, driving with purpose and intent, as though she knew where they were going. As far as Thomas could tell, it wasn't out of the city, since she was still traversing surface streets and passing primary roads that would have led to highways.

  "We need to leave town," he said.

  "Funny, ha ha," she said, nodding.

  "I'm not kidding."

  "I know."

  "So why aren't we halfway to Washington by now?" He furtively touched various pockets through the oilskin, taking inventory of his supplies. Nails. Knife. Cord. A lumpy pouch or two. Everything seemed to be present.

  "Because I think we'll be plenty safe at my house. It's not like your...friends...know where I live, right? And nothing's following us, right? Not even that freaky red-eyed thing that was up in the bridge girders?"

  Thomas turned to look behind them out of reflex, though he knew they'd escaped from Hunter.

  For the moment.

  The back windshield was clear of Hunter's snares, but he wondered if there was any other torn hunt magic clinging to the car like the stuff he'd shut in the door. It could, if Hunter ever got in range of it, tattle on them as effectively as the bogles. "Pull over so I can check under the Jeep. Just to be sure."

  "I'm not stopping until we're safe in my driveway."

  "Please."

  She glanced at him as she drove down a neighborhood street where wet leaves hissed and slapped under the tires. Something in his look must have convinced her, for she gave a great sigh and nipped the Jeep to the curb in the next block.

  Thomas gave the vehicle a thorough going-over, examining every crevice and underhanging bit of metal. Tess got out with him, one arm folded tight around her middle as if to suppress nausea. In her other hand, she held the stone to her eye and peered at her car through it. He shook his head in resignation, squirming on his back on the wet street to check under the Jeep. It would do no good to ask her not to look, and a second pair of eyes might even help.

  Soon enough he heard her gasp as she got to the Jeep's front bumper, with its dent and bits of bogle left there. "Thomas, there's...what is that? It looks like...blood?"

  "Probably." He spoke from under the back of the Jeep, where he tugged free a small tangle of hunt magic strands from around the axle. The stuff was black and mostly dead looking, probably from the vehicle's iron, but he was taking no chances. It was the only residue he found, and he rolled it into a tight, sluggishly squirming ball and threw it down the nearest storm drain. Let Hunter make of that what he would, if he ever found it. He joined Tess, who was still staring at the front bumper through the stone.

  She turned haunted eyes to him. "I ran over someone by Skidmore, didn't I? Did I kill someone? I didn't see anything in the road, but I felt it...when we hit..."

  Thomas put an arm around her. "A bogle. It would have called Hunter down on us." No point in telling her it was two bogles. That would only magnify her already epic sense of guilt and responsibility. "There's no way to know for certain it's dead. They're tough little bastards. It might have just been hurt."

  "A...bogle."

  "Something like a redcap, only not so bloodthirsty. A nasty little tattletale."

  She shuddered. Thomas gently moved the stone away from her eye. "Don't keep staring at it, Tess. It wasn't your fault."

  She blinked rapidly and Thomas saw a tear slip from the corner of her eye before she wiped it away and set her mouth in a firm line. "Well. I guess if you're done, we should get home."

  "We should leave town."

  "You keep saying that, and I'm going to keep telling you no. So just...get in the car. And this time put on your seatbelt."

  Thomas did as he was told, hiding a smile. For as long as it lasted, he'd relish having her cluck over him, even if she was angry and scared and heartsick.

  Thomas's sense of unease reawakened as the Jeep turned northwest. The roads gradually climbed in altitude. His unease increased as they left the square blocks of city streets, businesses and apartment buildings behind for twisty lanes and more trees. Tess at last pulled into the blacktop driveway of a duplex and killed the engine. Thomas's heart sank. He knew the long, dark lump of earth rising like an elephant's spine behind her home.

  Forest Park.

  The fairy mound.

  The Queen's own demesne.

  "Fuck," he sighed, defeated.

  "What's the matter now?"

  "Nothing. Let's just...get you under cover."

  They hurried to the front door, where an unlit, smiling pumpkin greeted them toothlessly from an overturned bushel basket on the tiny porch. A shock of dry cornstalks rustled as his shoulder brushed it. Tess unlocked the door and pushed it open. Thomas peered up and down the dark street behind them and saw nothing. He followed her into the house, where Tess was turning on every light in the place. He came behind her, turning them all off again. He could see to the back of the house, where the windows looked out over the black, ivy-choked bulk of Forest Park. Too much light, where any passing fae might peer in, would raise the alarm yet again.

  "What are you doing? I need light, damn it! Tonight's been the scariest, darkest night I've ever—"

  "Light inside means what's outside can see in." He flicked off the light in the kitchen and strode to the window over the sink, yanking down the blind.

  "Oh." Tess's voice was small and frightened. "We left them behind, didn't we?"

  "They're everywhere, including that lump of land behind your house. I didn't want to mention it while we were outside where anything could hear. Come on, help me close up. Then you can turn on lights. I promise."

  Tess's house smelled like her. Thomas wanted to close his eyes and wallow in the bliss of womanly fragrances like clean laundry, perfumed soap, and the good smells of bread and milk and coffee. It smelled like what he remembered from centuries ago when his mother loved and cared for him, and later when the sweet, bold ladies of frontier Portland craved his strong body in bed. He moved from window to window while Tess turned in a circle in the darkened kitchen, watching him, wringing her hands.

  Finished, he put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't. Come on now. You've been so strong. Don't quit. Is there an upstairs?"

  She nodded, gulping.

  "Show me."

  "This is all so hard. So crazy."


  "I know. Do we go down the hall?" He herded her gently back to where he'd seen stairs as they came in the front door. Once she was moving, she seemed better able to continue and led him up the stairs to a small landing where three doors revealed bedrooms and a bath. She reached out of habit for the light switch, but Thomas stayed her hand.

  The bathroom's window was already screened by a hazy plastic film to diffuse outside light yet not permit peeping. There was no other window covering, so Thomas reached over the tub and drew the shower curtain across to block what it could. On the other side of the landing was a room filled with bookshelves and a big desk and armchair. Thomas tugged its beige brocaded drapery closed.

  That left only her bedroom, and Tess went inside herself to close the curtains, pushing some clothing lying on the floor under her bed. Then her strength seemed to leave her, and she sagged onto the edge of the bed, her hands loose in her lap. Thomas fidgeted in the doorway. In the dimness, her face gleamed like the underside of a mushroom, pale and tender. She looked up at him, her dark eyes enormous and sad. She clutched the stone where it lay between her breasts.

  "Go on, look at me through it, if you want." Irritation, born of his fury at having involved her in this mess, roughened his voice. "I'm no different than I've been since you met me. I'm a big, ugly, smelly trow who can sometimes squeeze himself into a human skin for a little while."

  She looked down, abashed. "It's not you. I just...do you know how it feels to realize you're going crazy? My whole life just turned into one of my clients' hallucinations."

  "It was like that for me, as well, many years ago. All I can tell you is you're not hallucinating. I'm real. The fae are real. The danger is real."

  Tess's laugh was bitter. "I use a magic rock to see reality, Thomas. There's no way I'm not crazy. And I may have killed someone tonight." Her voice broke on the last word.

  Thomas, galvanized once more by her sadness, hesitated on the threshold of her bedroom and at last plunged across it. He stood awkwardly by the bed, not sure what to do with his hands but wanting nothing more than to comfort her. Tess solved the dilemma by leaning hard against him, burrowing beneath his grubby, damp oilskin. As her arms linked behind his waist, Thomas shrugged out of the coat and let it slump like a cast-off selkie skin to the floor. He could tell she wanted to be held much closer. With a stifled groan he sank onto the bed next to her and let her push her wet face into the angle of his neck and shoulder. A few minutes later her sobbing increased, and somehow in the effort to comfort her, he stretched out on the bed—ignoring the mess his boots must be making of the bedding—and curled her close in the bend of his body, because it seemed to help.