Hound

by Caleb James

  “Like a salamander in the fire.”

  “Interesting association, and yes. Coohulain was his name that time, and from birth he was a warrior without parallel. If I retold his adventures, you’d call me a liar. But before he had whiskers on his chin, he bested more than a thousand in a single battle. Once he and May got started, it became a contest of love, thievery, and betrayal.”

  “These are ancient tales,” Redmond said. “The things told me by my mother or sung in ballads. You speak of a time before the three realms.”

  “Yes, and it’s the story that birthed them. May and the Hound and the war between human and fey that lasted a thousand years. She stood at the head of one army and he at the other. Queer as it sounds, they would fight as bitter enemies by day, and by night come together in the dark with a passion second to none. They were obsessed with each other, both in love and in hate.”

  “And here we find the trick,” Redmond observed as he studied Lizbeta for any of the physiologic giveaways of deception. Does she really not see this?

  “If so, then you would be the first.”

  “Your sister Katye, the sister who carries the magic of love. This bears her mark.”

  Lizbeta met his gaze. “You are not wrong, but not just hers. I carry responsibility as well, as I tempered her magic with my own and draped it with a veil of forgetfulness and peace. The spell itself is a thousand times stronger than the addictive thrall of fairy fire.”

  “Please continue, as I would know the why of this if I am to be of use.”

  “You bring me hope,” Lizbeta said.

  “A dangerous commodity. Please continue. You cast a bond of love upon your sister. You bound her to the Hound… to a human, albeit a remarkable one. In the stories his name was not an accident. The man was both beast and human.”

  “We bound them both. One unto the other. Enemies and lovers.”

  “Tell me your purpose.”

  “May was set upon ruling all. Not necessarily a bad thing, but bad for her and for everyone under her. Worse still, as the war dragged on, century after century, it became clear that there would and could never be a lasting peace between humans and fey. We are too different, and it is in both of our natures to conquer. Barring a total genocide, there could never be a winner.”

  Redmond startled. This he had not foreseen. “It was you who separated the realms.” The enormity of her power took him aback. This lovely creature with her sparkling gown and ink-black eyes possessed the strength of a god… as did her sisters.

  “We saw no other way. Humans on one side, fey on the other, and something to keep them separated.”

  “The Mist.”

  “Yes, and not a bad plan. Of course, it was all in the execution. And key to that was that May could never know.”

  Redmond’s jaw went slack, and he bit back dangerous questions, like How did you do that? But other thoughts came as well. “You didn’t just conceal it from May.”

  “True, none could know.”

  “You lied to her.”

  “Of course not. We hid things. It eventually caught up with us, and when May learned of what we’d done, or at least some of it… well, she was cannier than I’d have thought. It happened fast. But that’s putting the cart before the horse.” Lizbeta leaned forward and sniffed. “Fairy fire. The part of her that terrorizes this realm grows close. I need your decision. We’ve not much time, and if you deny me… I fear all is lost.”

  “The war,” Redmond said, “tell me how it truly ended. For the Mist not only separates the realms, it clouds the past. I would know the truth, and I suspect it’s different from what is written in books.”

  “I was not wrong in coming to you. You see things others don’t.”

  “Please, now is no time for flattery. Tell me how the war ended.”

  “In a contract and a truce between my sister and the Hound. There was an exchange, half for the fey and half for the humans. But the night before the documents were to be signed, the Hound played his own cruel trick on my sister.”

  “He declared his love,” Redmond stated.

  Lizbeta gasped. “It is impossible for you to know that.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s the only thing that’s kept her from rolling across the three realms to retake all that she thinks has been stolen from her.”

  “Now it is you who conceals,” Lizbeta said.

  He pondered this unexpected information, though the growing reek of fairy fire distracted him. The great white salamander that was Queen May—or some part of her—approached. He needed to leave his most fascinating guest and do what was necessary to ensure the Center’s safety. “It’s obvious. He declared his love, and as we know, humans have no difficulty telling lies. In return for his love, I believe your sister gave the Hound a piece of herself. That is the key to all of this. It’s not just that she’s split herself into two or that she’s damaged from travel between the realms. This is more fundamental. And at this point, my queen, if you will forfeit the cost, I would ask a question.”

  “Yes, do, and there will be no cost.”

  “If the Hound was human, or even one kept young through magic, he would now be long dead. So the piece of your sister that he took is either buried in some mortal tomb or….” He got out of his chair and stared out the seaward window. “No.” He looked back at her. “You conceal still.”

  “I don’t. I swear.”

  He chewed on her words and her visage, which emanated peace and sincerity. There are traps and snares in her every sentence, and there is also truth. “Where is the Hound?”

  “I do not know.”

  I do not believe her. “So let’s recap. You came to seek my help with your sister, while a second part of her wreaks havoc in the Unsee and heads straight toward the Center.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d like me to contain the part that you say is broken, hold her here, and heal her mind if I can.”

  “Correct.”

  “Tell me your endgame. If I am able to do what you seek and return your sister to some semblance of wholeness….”

  Lizbeta looked up, a sly smile spread across her lips. “You are clever. As you have so correctly identified, without the third piece, the heart she gave away millennia ago, she can never rule the three realms.”

  “You mean to reinstall her in the Unsee.”

  “She keeps the peace.”

  “She eats her subjects.”

  “No one is perfect.”

  Redmond’s head swam. It’s like Lizbeta came close to her true intent and then threw up a wall of her mist and scurried away. So I hold May. I heal her. Life goes on as it had with her occasional attempts to rampage across worlds…. What am I missing? What is she not saying? It has to do with the Hound… who is dead and buried. He pulled his hair back. One didn’t turn down the request of one of the sisters. If this were May, a refusal would equal death. With Lizbeta, he was less certain. “If I do as you bid, tell me what must be done to ensure the safety of the Center and all who study, heal, and seek shelter within its walls.”

  “Thank you, Redmond.”

  “I haven’t agreed.”

  She smiled and stood. From around her neck, she loosened a black leather strap, which held a marble-sized carved ruby in the shape of a dog’s head.

  Her glamour washed over him, and unable to resist, he stood frozen as she draped the amulet around his neck and pulled back his thick auburn hair to settle it. With dainty fingers she held the leather-bound jewel between them and then tucked it inside the open neck of his linen shirt. “This will keep you, and those you protect, safe.”

  Redmond’s chest tingled where the amulet lay. “It’s warm.”

  “It’s powerful, and it’s ancient.”

  “Tell me its name.”

  She backed away, and through the open window Redmond saw a cresting wave of mist. It spilled over the sill and settled around Lizbeta’s feet. She whispered, “It is the houndstone. As long as you poss
ess it, nothing here, not even my sister, can bring harm to you or the Center. Keep it safe, and keep it hidden.”

  Mist engulfed her and carried her up and away. As she retreated, a second dense wave rolled toward him.

  And so the deal is struck.

  He raised his voice to a pitch that was heard throughout the grounds of the Center. He sounded the alarm. “This is not a drill. Dr. Quick, my chambers, now! This is not a drill. Dr. Quick, my chambers, now.” He heard the booted feet of his ogre and troll guards as they raced up the stairs and sensed others riding the wind and entering through the turret’s other three windows.

  Luluba landed on his right, and Seamus alit to his left.

  “Tell us,” Luluba whispered as the Mist neared and his chambers filled with guards brandishing chains, manacles, and torches dipped in a magic that stunned and paralyzed its targets.

  “We are taking on a royal patient.” He looked to a green-faced ogre whose bulk barely made it through the door. “Gark, she is to go in the forensic ward’s lowest cell. I want two-to-one, line of sight, around-the-clock guards. More if you think it necessary.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  It filled the room, and from within its murky depths, a form emerged.

  Redmond grabbed a stun torch from one of the guards and savagely poked it three times into the wispy swirls. Purple sparks flew, and the air crackled like moths hitting a flame.

  Whatever was inside, which appeared part humanoid and part slick-white amphibian, gasped and crumpled to the floor. He swallowed and stared down as the Mist was sucked back through the windows and vanished over the Western Sea.

  Luluba gasped as they beheld the unstable creature that shimmered and shifted on the stone floor. “It’s Queen May… or….”

  Redmond cleared his throat. Show no fear. “Gark, before she wakes, lock her up. I will cast the wards. Take no chances, and instruct your guards to do the same.”

  “Understood, Doctor.” He motioned to four guards, who with a practiced efficiency lifted the spasming creature and chained her limbs and midsection to a floating stretcher.

  Redmond watched. His heart raced. It was hard to catch a breath. In that moment, he would have given anything to undo the deal with Lizbeta. This will not end well. This cannot end well. As they carted the broken queen away, he thought I will either succeed, or she will kill me, kill us all. Not wanting to look at the shocked and frightened expressions of those who filled his chambers, he took to the air and, without the need of wings, flew out and down to meet the guards and his newest patient.

  Four

  THE HALF of May not imprisoned in the bowels of the Center gamboled in the shape of a giant white salamander through a riotous spring meadow of dew-dripped daffodils, crocuses, and bleeding hearts. She felt a crushing failure that tore her guts, though she did not have the right words to give voice to the ache. Bad, nasty. Hatey little hafflings. It was a shortcoming of her current physical state. Yes, she could spit fireballs, but sentences were a challenge.

  The ache ripped inside her chest, though the feeling came from outside her body and, more pertinently, outside this realm. She knew that the other part of her, the pretty swirly dress part, had failed. She howled as she rampaged toward a gnome village’s telltale clearing. Down but not out.

  She hacked up a ball of fairy fire, and with her hard tongue, she pierced and shattered the projectile as it passed from gut to maw. Like a firework chrysanthemum, the pieces arced high and landed on the thatched and sod roofs of the quaint village.

  Day was breaking as frantic gnomes scurried for safety. Dressed only in boxers, night slips, or wrapped naked in blankets, they quickly discovered that fire wasn’t the worst danger. She was.

  And while still stung by failure in another world, May unhinged her jaw, chased them down one by one, and gorged. It eased the hole inside. More. Her head swiveled from side to side. She breathed in and savored the different scents: fairy fire, gnome, and fear. More, need more. She sensed the thump-thump of a still-beating pulse and smashed her tail into the timbers of a smoldering hut. The walls shattered like matchsticks to reveal a broomstick-wielding mother attempting to protect her three young.

  With an efficiency of movement, May’s jaws widened farther. And with a single chomp, she swallowed them whole. Yummy, yummy in my tummy. Bones crunched, and blood burst like grapes freed from their skins. Yummy, yummy. She felt the creatures’ subtle magic course through her veins. But if she was honest, her hunger was never slaked.

  Now, grinding bones and swelling large with stolen blood magic, if this wasn’t happiness she felt, at least it tasted good. She rolled on the ground, crossing from one side of the village to the other like a wrecking ball, her skin impervious to fire and the tickles of demolished structures.

  The new magic sharpened her thoughts. She had returned to this world with a purpose, and while eating gnomes held her appetite at bay for a bit, there was more important prey she needed to consume. Hafflings. There are three. They are tricky tricky tricky.

  She flipped onto her feet and reared up on her tail and hind legs. Summoning her power, she drank in the currents. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

  The scent was faint but undeniable. I need but one. They are tricky. They cheat. Twice I have failed. Third time is a charm. It would take cunning and skill. Her eyes turned from black to red as she visualized the trail of the littlest haffling. There could be no failure, as he was the last.

  Third time is a charm.

  She caught a noise from the woods that circled the smoldering village. She turned and sensed the presence of her swelling band of followers. She drank in their heady mix of fear, hunger, and anticipation. A tune played inside her head: Fairy fire, fairy fire, come and watch my fairy fire. Fairy dust, fairy dust, try a taste, you know you must.

  She was about to turn away when her gaze fell on one with the head of a woman and the body of a praying mantis. I know her. She wore glasses, and her shiny dark hair was pulled into a taut bun. A name came. Dorothea. She paused and scanned the army of dusthead addicts.

  Perhaps one or two could have been known to her. Dorothea.

  As she stared, Dorothea separated herself from the horde and with head downcast moved, at first slow and then with the speed and grace of her insect limbs, to come within feet of her transformed queen. She knelt and spoke. “My lady, I know it is you. As always, I am your servant to command. My life is truly yours.”

  May tried to speak, but words were not possible in this form.

  Dorothea nodded. “My lady, if you allow, we can share thoughts.” And she extended one of her upper limbs.

  May hesitated. But the words that rang in her mind as she gazed on Dorothea were faithful, never betrayed me, good spy, sneaky. She stretched her neck and allowed Dorothea to touch her temple.

  As Dorothea’s hand alit, May caught the haffling’s scent.

  “I see him,” Dorothea whispered.

  I smell him. I need him.

  “Of course, my queen. You have wondrous things to accomplish. You need the haffling to conquer worlds. He hides from you. He is small, with flame-red hair.” Dorothea shuddered. “He is with that woman, Marilyn Nevus, and her traitor husband, Cedric Summer. His name is Adam.”

  Yes. They hide far from me.

  “But you are fast, your nose is true, and if you allow me, I will run by your side. I am now and always your true servant.”

  You are, and because it would be impolite, she masked the impulse to bite off Dorothea’s head. Instead she nodded and broke the connection. Good to have a friend. Don’t eat her. The other thought that added weight to Dorothea’s devotion, She’s not dusted. She is true.

  May turned her head back to the haffling’s scent trail. The added information from Dorothea painted a picture. I need him. Third time’s a charm. She fixed the image of the boy and his hateful parents in her mind’s eye, and like casting a line for a greedy trout, she spun a thread of magic and floated it over the haffling’s sc
ent. I come for you. I will be whole. And I will rule all.

  With Dorothea at her side, an army of fairy-dust addicts at her back, and a clarity of purpose, she trotted off in search of the thing she needed, the thing that could make her whole, that could set her on the path of rejoining the three realms with her as their undisputed queen.

  Five

  BEHIND THE wheel of his Bureau of Fire Investigation SUV, Finn drove with lights and siren from Brooklyn to Flora Fitzgerald’s, aka Gran’s, apartment in Gramercy Park. Focused on the midday traffic and cursing those who didn’t pull over fast enough, his attention got snagged by missing buildings, like teeth from a child’s mouth.

  On the night of a thousand fires, Finn, like many New Yorkers, had felt reality waver. He remembered 9/11. It was similar but different. After that they’d been barraged by shrinks and well-intended social workers, all trying to weave some magic of post-trauma inoculation. The main flaw in their approach was that most of them had trouble holding their own shit together. The one session he’d gone to, at the insistence of his then station captain, had made things worse. The therapist assigned to him had lost her brother in the towers and, overcome by grief, had to excuse herself halfway through. He’d told her he understood and would come back, though as he left her office, he knew he wouldn’t. That he, like so many others, would shut up and soldier on, his every waking moment hounded with memories of that day and the ones that came after. Rory intruded into his thoughts, his dead station mates, the endless funerals…. For the first time in his life, he felt the fingers of true insanity. Thoughts he did not want to have hammered him. This morning’s suicidal musings were far from his first. In this he knew he was not alone, as one of 9/11’s dirty secrets grew and festered. Because it didn’t end with the funerals from the towers. Those were the first wave, and it seemed that every week and every month saw another cop, medic, or firefighter end their pain with a bullet to the brain or a noose draped over a backyard tree or basement beam.