“Of course, there is the added stipulation that you shouldn’t hurt anyone to achieve your goals— yourself included. In fact, yourself especially,” Kris went on, returning to his earlier point. He tucked a strand of hair behind Adora’s ear. The touch could have been impersonal, but it wasn’t, and for a moment Adora had the insane impulse to lean into him and kiss that perfect mouth.
What was he lecturing about? Oh, yeah—greed. Perhaps it would be more accurate to discuss gluttony. She had never been so hungry, ever! It was like she had suddenly acquired the appetite of a beast— maybe two beasts. She wanted to rip and shred and chew and swallow. . . .
“So, I can’t knock off nasty Aunt Gertrude to get extra hot dog money? Not even if I’m really, really hungry?” Adora asked, trying to divert her rising lust for Kris with humor. She took a physical step back as well. It was about the most difficult thing she had ever done. She felt like she was in orbit around him. Even backing off, inevitably she would come back around—and each time she got a little bit closer, found it a bit harder to pull away. One of these days, they were going to actually collide and then—
“No. No offing Aunt Gertrude,” he agreed. His eyes were bright, and she lost herself in them.
“That was a quick no. After all, you don’t know my aunt. I mean, her name’s Gertrude. Think about how that’s warped her. Getting rid of her could be a public service.” Adora was speaking, but she wasn’t really thinking about what she was saying. She was simply basking in Kris’s presence.
He laughed. “I’ve known many Gertrudes, and I couldn’t advocate killing any of them. That isn’t what you really want to do anyway.” Kris’s eyes were dancing, and his knowing smile took her breath. He had to guess what she was feeling! It wouldn’t be hard. She could feel the stain of desire in her cheeks, and when she looked down, she could almost see the pounding of her heart in her chest.
She stumbled, and Kris caught her arm. His touch was warm and made her skin tingle. The contact called to something in Adora that was pushing its way to the surface. Something hot. Sexy. Hungry. Perhaps a bit dangerous. It was as though all her appetites were awakened, which were muscling all her usual caution aside. If only she were slightly less inhibited, she would make a pass at him right in the middle of the market. She wanted to tear off his shirt and rub herself all over him.
Damn it, Kris! she thought at him directly. Help me.
He stopped abruptly, turning toward her with a lifted brow. “Just tell me what you need,” he began.
Loud voices interrupted him. They were ugly and foreign, speaking a language of sibilants but with low guttural sounds that made Adora think of vicious hogs fighting over scraps. The noise raised the hair on her nape. She saw Kris stiffen as she herself had.
In an instant, Mugshottz spun about and placed his body between Kris and the speakers. She couldn’t see around the troll’s huge form, which had somehow swollen up. She wondered if maybe he had wings beneath his clothing.
“What are those men saying?” she asked, trying to see their assailants. The thing inside of her that moments before had been sensual and curious had turned dark and angry. It still wanted to rip and tear, though—that hadn’t changed.
“They are casting racial slurs at us.” Kris frowned and moved closer to her. “They really should know better. Come on. It’s time to leave. These are Raxin’s creatures. Things are going to get messy.”
The angry thing inside Adora didn’t want to leave, though. It wanted to see bones broken, skulls split open.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Mugshottz?” she asked.
Before Kris could answer, a rock flew through the air and struck the bodyguard’s chest. He didn’t flinch, though the sound was terrible. The beast inside Adora was outraged at this insult.
“Now they’ve gone and done it,” Kris said, taking her arm and urging her back. Her skin tingled violently, the warmth of their contact now a burning.
Kris’s voice was strained. “Goddess take them! Why throw rocks? They’ve made Mugshottz really angry. You need to step back—now.”
“How can you tell?” Adora asked, not moving. Mugshottz’s stony posture hadn’t altered at all.
“His feet.” Kris’s voice was rough. “They’ve turned black. You know a troll is angry when his feet get dark.”
For the first time, Adora noticed that Mugshottz wasn’t wearing any shoes. The sight of his naked, horny feet appalled her and filled her with intense pity, which she knew was probably misplaced but which was there all the same. She understood him: not troll, not goblin, not gargoyle—he didn’t fit in anywhere. And once again, the misfit was being picked on, brutalized. Abandoned. Shame flooded her.
“Don’t worry about Mugshottz. The rocks are just a childish insult,” Kris said sharply, again guessing her thoughts. “It would take a double-barreled shotgun fired at point-blank range to do him any lasting harm. You aren’t so impervious. Come away.”
Adora couldn’t explain that it wasn’t the actual rocks she was concerned with, it was the words. There was such ugly emotion behind them, such sick anger, and they caused a burning pain in her soul. The vicious pigs squealed again, their words a tusk in Adora’s gut that she could feel even without understanding their exact meaning.
She wanted to hurt them. Mugshottz hated these creatures and wanted to hurt them too, but he didn’t react—couldn’t react—because for some reason it would hurt Kris if he did.
Kris. Even as she thought of him, she could feel something shift in her employer’s brain—in her own—and she realized that she’d been right: They were somehow psychically connected. He could read her thoughts and she his. At least, some of them.
A part of her began to panic.
Another rock was hurled with another insult, and anger roared through her without any warning. She was only partly aware of Kris’s sudden indrawn breath, and didn’t see the weird fire that leapt into his eyes as her rage arched into him, mingling with his own and dancing over his skin in a small ripple of lightning. A giant corona of red light encompassed them both, scorching the trees around them.
A part of Adora resisted the rage, wrestling for control of her mind and body—“hoc est corpus neum;” this is my body, something whispered in her head—but the fury was stronger and wanted to punish the people who had hurt Mugshottz. Or Kris. She wasn’t sure now who was being hurt—and it didn’t matter.
“Leave him alone, you stupid bigots!” she shouted, pulling away from Kris and trying to jump in front of Mugshottz. She saw their assailants. She was suddenly filled with a strange power, and was certain that if she wanted to, she could blast the offending goblins with a kind of psychic ray-gun that would crisp them before her eyes. “Back off or I’ll show you what pain is, you cowards!”
The creatures spat, green slime arcing through the air. It spattered near her feet and began to sizzle.
Mugshottz snarled, and his shirt tore open. Clawed wings spread out, their taloned tops fiexing as they ripped through his coat. In the distance someone screamed, and Adora saw people begin to run.
“Mugshottz! Don’t do it! Stop—please!” Kris’s voice was strange, almost a bestial growl. From the corner of her eye, Adora saw that he had dropped to his knees, his fingers digging into the hard-packed soil beneath the trees, leaving deep ruts. Thick roots tore lose with a nasty popping sound. Part of Adora wanted to turn and look at him because clearly something was wrong—no human had that kind of strength—but more of her wanted to attack the small gang of rock-throwers, to scorch them, wound them. To kill them. She wanted to reach inside and barbecue their hearts. She could do that. She could snuff them—kill every last one!
Adora! Kris was suddenly in her head, clamping down hard, trying to shut off her rage, to drain her anger. The experience hurt enough to make her moan.
Then Mugshottz threw off his paralysis. The bodyguard’s arms wrapped around Adora, pulling her back and enveloping her in smothering curtains of stony flesh. Another rock flew at t
hem, but it didn’t connect: Adora pushed back with her remaining anger, a pressure wave that expanded out of her skull, rearranging the molecules in the air. It met up with the flying stone, which exploded into stinging dust. Then, as the three goblins began to flee, she sent a last blast of anger after them, setting their shoes and pants on fire.
The goblins howled, dropping to the ground to roll and beat out the flames, and Adora liked the sound. That was exactly how bad people should sound.
You’ve lost it, girl. How many times did your parents tell you not to play with fire? Joy asked sadly. Don’t you ever learn?
Fire? Her parents? What . . . ?
Suddenly, Adora was back in control, and the realization of what she’d done stunned her. She went limp in Mugshottz’s arms.
“Adora!” Kris’s harsh voice cut through the haze of her anger. Or perhaps it was lack of oxygen. It was hard to be active when you couldn’t breathe, and Mugshottz was squeezing awfully tight as he hurried her away from the scene.
“Put me down,” she gasped. “I’m . . . I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re not.” Kris’s voice was firm.
“I am!”
“Go ahead,” Mugshottz said. “I’m washable.”
But then Kris was there with her, pale but up-right. His smudged hands touched her face, closing her eyes against the searing light. Before her lids closed, she was shocked to see that the pupils of Kris’s eyes had contracted into nonexistence, and that the silver-blue of his irises had spilled over into the whites and was filled with what looked like lightning.
I’m hallucinating, she thought.
No. Sorry, but this is all real. And you can’t say I didn’t warn you, Joy added. You were never, never to use this power again. And now he knows about you. How can I keep you safe?
What? What power . . . ?
Just go to sleep. And forget.
“Boss, are you all right?” Adora heard Mugshottz ask. “Jack’ll skin me if I let you get hurt.”
“I’m fine, but I need to get away from the crowds.” Kris exhaled. “Her anger—your anger— caught me by surprise. It was that tear, I think. I could feel it running through my body, making me crazy. . . . I thought I’d controlled it, but then I felt her rage thrown out at those lutins and nearly lost it myself.” Kris’s voice was calmer, but he still sounded shaken. “Give her to me. I’m all right now.”
“You’re sure? Your eyes are still kind of funky.” Their pace slowed but stayed rough. Mugshottz’s body was hard as Adora bounced against it.
Kris said, “No, I’m fine. She isn’t angry anymore. And I need to hold her. I was rough with her—too abrupt. I hurt her.” His voice was filled with remorse.
Adora was handed over, and suddenly the world was softer, warmer. She sighed, relaxing. Everything would be all right now. Kris would keep her safe.
“Whoa! That was the strangest thing I ever felt,” Mugshottz said. “Suddenly she was in my head and I could feel her anger like a blast of hot air. Look, it burned my shirt!” he pointed out.
Adora realized they were talking about something important, but she didn’t understand. She was confused, and the voices were fading. Sleep rushed down on her, too heavy to fight, though she wanted to comprehend what was being said.
“This isn’t good, I know, ’cause word about this will spread fast and piss off the goblin rebels trying to bring down Molybdenum. But . . . she’s a plucky one, isn’t she?” Mugshottz’s rough tone was mitigated by clear admiration. “Imagine, her trying to protect me! Nobody except you has ever cared before.”
“She’s plucky all right—and more. Much, much more. I have to talk to Io and Jack. I thought I knew what she was, but I think we may have a fire-starter on our hands.”
“That wasn’t you?” Mugshottz sounded surprised.
“I’ve never used fire to hurt anyone. That was something in Adora—something not siren.”
Something in me? A fire-starter? Not siren? Joy, what is he saying . . . ? Adora asked.
Go to sleep. It’s just a bad dream. Forget, now—just forget.
“Will she remember anything when she wakes up?” Mugshottz asked.
“Not if we’re lucky. I’ll wipe her mind as best I can—and I think I’ll have some help from the Other in her. This isn’t something she’s ready to face. I don’t think she has any inkling of what she really is.”
“How can that be? I mean, if she’s a fire-starter, wouldn’t she have had trouble as a kid?” Mugshottz asked.
“I don’t know how she can be what she is. The longer I’m with her, the more questions I have.” Kris sounded worried.
“Weird. Well, I sure hope Morrison has an extra shirt in the car. I kind of wrecked this one. And it was the last non-Hawaiian shirt they had at the big and tall store,” the troll bodyguard added.
“True. But you were damn impressive,” Kris said kindly. “One of those goblins wet himself, and I saw a lady faint.”
“Really? She fainted?” Mugshottz sounded proud. “I haven’t done that in centuries.”
Adora let herself faint.
There came a time when the shaman saw that he could do no more, and he left the world of Man. He no longer walked among them every day, but came instead only one day a year. The day he chose was in the dark of winter, when the Sons of Man most needed comfort and reassurance that Light would again return.
—Niklas 4:9
It was Beltane Eve, Walpurgis Night, and in the northern lands the shamans were gathering their people in pastures, in forests, on mountains for the holy celebration. He, too, was gathering his fiock, calling them to the Goddess that they would worship with their bodies in the holy fire’s light.
The one who had been many lifted his fiute to his lips and began to play, a haunting paean that called his people to this feast of the heart, to the fires of spring, to physical love.
A man of silver, he stood naked, save for the mantle of moon and the leaping pyre’s light. His hair rode back from his face, a silvery banner carried by the mountain wind. His eyes shone bright in the semidarkness, bits of shattered stars that gleamed with the Goddess’s fire.
Around him, the people swayed, some moaned, and others danced ecstatically, tearing at their clothes until they were also naked. The one who had been many smiled, because he saw that this was good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Miffith listened in consternation as an informant relayed the information that Kris Kringle—the ancient fey known as Niklas—had been involved in some battle at the human farmers’ market, and that he’d had some woman with him who was able to light goblins on fire. He didn’t know what to make of this. Niklas had been missing for a long time, and had never believed in violence. He had actually been very kind to many poor goblins, Miffith’s family included.
Miffith finished writing up the informant’s tale, then sat with fingers poised over the delete button. His first impulse was to lose the memo and never tell General Anaximander what had happened.
But that wouldn’t work. This was too amazing a story. And if the general discovered that he had withheld it . . . Miffith shuddered.
No, he’d have to tell the General. Besides, maybe it was a good thing, he thought, cheering up. Maybe Niklas would help the rebel cause.
Voices. Words.
“It’s ancestral consciousness coming awake.”
Adora understood the individual words, but the sentence didn’t mean anything to her. Still, she knew she was with Kris in body and mind, and was therefore not alarmed. There was no logical reason for her feeling; she simply knew it was true because . . . well, because something inside told her so.
A hand not her own brushed back her hair, pulling the curtain of darkness aside. Slowly Adora took stock of her body, pushing herself back into the space she seemed to have temporarily abandoned. Yes, this was her body, but . . . something was different. She couldn’t say precisely how it differed, because she couldn’t quite recall how she had been before. She tried to
look back, but her memory stalled. Her brain was like a turnstile, allowing thoughts to travel one way but never back again. It seemed to her that Kris had stripped the cogs and was forcing her to use some other part of her mind to think another way. Maybe to forget something.
Was that bad—forgetting?
Can you hear me? a voice asked.
What?
Adora’s eyes cracked open again. She was looking out a narrow gap in a curtained window. The blue sky of morning had been reupholstered in gray smog and stitched with white contrails. Closer to the ground, the scenery rushed by in a gray blur.
She was in a car. A big car. On a highway.
Good. Getting far away was good. But where were they, exactly? She tried to sit up straight, but it was no use. Kris’s arm was around her and it was heavy.
A thought popped into her head. Kris and his band of merry men were about to retreat into Sherwood Forest—all the better to lie in wait for the nasty Sheriff of Nottingham. But that made no sense at all. She must still be dreaming. Or something.
You . . . fainted. The voice was very faraway, muffled. She knew the voice but for the moment couldn’t put a name to it. She pushed harder, trying to remember. Joy?
“Adora?” Kris asked, and then his arm was helping her sit up. “Feeling better now? If you’re awake, we’ll get you some lunch. You’re probably still hungry and I think you need to eat.”
“Okay,” she said, but the word was mushy like her brain. Her hand rested a moment on Kris’s leg, and she was grateful for his heat and solidity. It had been quite a while since the world had gotten away from her like that. If Kris hadn’t been there, making her feel safe, she might have reached for her purse and started pawing around in hopes of finding one or two of those little happy pills that were probably still hiding at the bottom her bag.
The thought jabbed at her. She hadn’t thought seriously about those pills for a while. At one time, she had been dependent on them and they had known it. They would whisper to her every time things got rough: Take me! Take me, and I’ll ease your pain. Later, when she had been completely lost and despairing, they had spoken to her more seductively: Take me! Take all of me, and I’ll ease your pain forever.
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