“And this—” she held up the copy of the other one, “—is dragon.”
“The dragon language? There haven’t been any dragons on Earth for a thousand years.” As far as I knew.
“Someone brought some of their words here. I also don’t know what it says, but I recognize it. We’ve got translation dictionaries here. Lieutenant Reynolds is teaching himself the various magical languages. I’ll have him look at these.”
“And share the translations with me?”
She hesitated and glanced at the picture of Michael she’d pulled up with his file. “It’ll depend on what they say.”
I gritted my teeth. They were my notes, damn it. I had a right to know what they contained.
“See yourself out. I have a missing agent to find.”
“A lot of people have gone missing lately,” I observed.
“So it seems.”
“You’re going up to Bellingham?”
“If the creek don’t rise.”
It took me a moment to realize that was a Southern saying rather than a comment on the Skagit River or some other waterway between here and Bellingham.
“I could go with you to help if you want.” I didn’t want to, but if I helped her, maybe she would be more likely to share the results of the translations. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any other leads at the moment. Besides, if I did some pro bono work for this new commander, maybe she would think of me for assignments later.
“I can handle it,” Willard said tightly. “After looking over your record and your methods for obtaining results, I will officially say that this interview is over, and the army will not continue to employ you.”
“I didn’t come for an interview.”
“You had one anyway.”
“I wish you’d told me. I would have worn my dress jeans and brought my formal tiger.”
Willard walked out of the office again. “See yourself out,” she repeated over her shoulder.
“I suppose I shouldn’t take you out of your pack and let you eat the furniture,” I murmured to the cub.
“Merow.”
“I still don’t know what that means.”
She swatted my braid.
5
After grabbing a burger from a fast-food place, I drove to Shoreview Park next to Shoreline Community College and pulled in by the tennis courts. Unbeknownst to the students, staff, and legions of dog walkers, a clan of ogres lived in the woods between Boeing Creek and the Forest Loop Trail. Over the years, they’d burrowed out a cave, and one of their shamans had applied magical illusions to the area to keep mundane humans—and their mundane canines—from finding it. Now and then, dogs disappeared from the area, and the infrequently spotted coyote got blamed, but I knew better. Ogres thought dogs were legitimate snacks.
I grabbed both of my weapons as I climbed out of the Jeep, knowing I wouldn’t be welcome. The reason I knew of the cave was because I’d had to drag a murderer out from the clan’s midst a few years earlier. He’d been hauling off college kids and making stews with their choice body parts. The rest of the clan had claimed they hadn’t known the source of the mystery meat, and Hobbs had only hired me to deal with the murderer himself, so that was all I’d done, but I’d had to fight off several of the others to get him and escape with my life.
Going back there was crazy, but I didn’t know if Willard’s agents would share the translations with me, and I needed someone who read ogrish. This was the only ogre hideout I knew about.
Earlier, I’d driven along the shoreline all the way from Lake Washington to Ballard, hoping to spot a suspicious barge out on the water—or sense the trolls from the night before—but that hadn’t resulted in anything. I couldn’t help but feel that I’d wasted most of the day.
In addition to my weapons, I grabbed a bag from Beast & Cleaver. It was full of cold cuts and ropes of sausage. My bribe for the ogres. I had some cash, too, but rumor had it, nine-foot-tall meat-eaters highly valued cold cuts and sausage.
It amazed me that the cub hadn’t tried to devour the whole bag on the ride over. She’d sniffed it with interest but otherwise left it alone.
Raindrops spattered onto my head as I opened the passenger-side door. I caught the cub in the middle of gnawing on the seatbelt again.
“How come you chew on things, kid, but you don’t eat anything?”
She looked at me and nibbled unrepentantly. I’d stopped her several times, but she’d still managed to get halfway through the belt. If I hadn’t already offered her several kinds of food that day, I would have assumed she was hungry. But she’d turned her nose up at everything from the caviar to smoked salmon to cans of cat food to pieces of my burger.
“I should have left you in Willard’s office. Just think what you’d do to computer cables.”
The cub hopped down before I could stuff her in the backpack and ran across the parking lot.
Swearing, I grabbed the pack and hurried after her. Even if I wasn’t convinced she needed me to take care of her, she was my only clue besides those notes, notes that might not say anything useful.
I chased her through puddles to the nearest patch of grass. Maybe she had to pee. I hadn’t seen her drink yet, despite my attempts to give her water, so I had no idea how her magical metabolism worked, but maybe I was about to find out.
Instead of squatting, she flung herself on her back and rolled around, legs up in the air, paws twitching. A robin hunting for worms in a puddle flew off in an alarmed flutter. Another one watched the cub warily from the fallen leaves scattered under the bare branches of a tree.
“If you had an itch, you could have let me know.” I stopped when it became apparent she wouldn’t run farther. “I have dexterous hands.”
She stood up, noticed the robin, and started stalking it, tail swishing behind her. The bird flew into the branches of the tree. The cub roared—sort of. It was on the thin and reedy side. The robin was unimpressed.
“I need to chat with some ogres. Are you coming, or do I need to put you in the bag?”
She turned, looked up at me, and roared again.
I walked away, curious if she would follow me. She did, but she took her time, sniffing every blade of grass and tramping through the puddles along the way. When I got far enough ahead that I thought I would have to go back to her, she sprinted to catch up and take the lead.
“An independent type, huh?” Given the reception I would likely get from the ogres, I wasn’t sure I should take her along, but I worried that more than my seatbelts would be destroyed if I left her in the Jeep for an hour. She could demolish the entire interior in that time.
A blue jay squawked at us from a tree. The cub stopped again to roar at it. That only elicited more squawking.
“I’m sure your roar will drive fear into the hearts of your enemies someday,” I said, “but you’re not there yet.”
The rain had picked up, and there were few walkers in the park, but someone yelled for me to put my dog on a leash. I waved, smiled, and ignored him. His face turned red, and he took out his phone and stalked off, no doubt to report me to the leash-enforcement authorities.
“What a sad world we live in that people can’t recognize a magical tiger when they see one,” I said, following my silver guide who through luck took the correct trail.
We tramped uphill into the trees, mud sucking at my boots. At least the dense evergreens kept some of the rain off my head.
I reached out with my senses, hoping to detect some ogres out and about, away from their cave. On my previous visit, I’d had a hard time finding it. The illusions not only kept humans away but camouflaged the auras of those inside.
“This way, kid,” I called when I reached the spot where I’d gone off the trail before.
The cub was farther up, sniffing at a fern—no, she was nibbling at it—but she paused and looked at me. She seemed to debate something for a moment, then trotted over and sat by my legs.
“Do you understand me?” I wondered.
Green eyes gazed up at me. “Merow?”
“Hm.”
She came with me as I left the trail, the mud and ferns and brambles difficult to navigate. The creek burbled past below, hidden by the undergrowth. Most of the time, I had a good sense of direction, but the slope and the forest terrain kept me from going in a straight line. I rolled my eyes and chided myself when I ended up coming back out on the trail. I veered off again, certain I wasn’t far from the cave.
“I don’t suppose you smell any ogres?” I still couldn’t sense any, and I didn’t see any giant prints. Here and there, humans and dogs had gone off the trail, leaving their tracks, but ogre prints would be much larger.
It was possible they were all staying inside because of the rain. It was also possible they’d moved their den after I’d found it and killed one of their kind.
I stopped, slumping against a tree trunk as I realized how possible that was. Or even likely.
Why had I assumed they would still be here? And what was my next move if they weren’t? There was a basement pub in a building on Capitol Hill where magical beings gathered to drink and socialize. I was as welcome there as a fungus—and got shot at every time I went in—but maybe a few appropriately placed bribes there would give me a lead.
As I pushed away from the tree, ready to head back to the parking lot and try the pub, I swore. The cub had scampered off into the undergrowth. Though I had no doubt I could find her, I grimaced as I envisioned crawling under bushes and brambles to reach her.
Then I realized I no longer sensed her. My ability to detect magical beings extended about a mile, especially for a creature as magical as the cub, but she had disappeared. She couldn’t have run a mile that quickly. No way.
A reedy roar came from somewhere nearby. What the hell? I could hear her but not sense her.
It dawned on me that she might have found the boundary of the ogres’ magical illusion. Another roar sounded, this time with a tenuous wobble to it.
Afraid she was in trouble, I sprinted toward the noise, tree branches whipping at my face. I tapped my camouflage charm, realizing I might be about to burst in on a pack of ogres. One or two I could handle, but if their whole clan was home…
Magic nipped at my skin like fire ants as I passed through a barrier. The urge to flee in the other direction assaulted me, and I stumbled to a stop, fighting against my own legs. They wanted to obey that urge to flee.
I clenched my jaw and drew Chopper. The blade was capable of defeating the magical defenses of wizards and other enemies, but I’d also noticed it helped me resist magic that worked against my mind.
With the hilt cool in my grip, I willed the blade to drive away the compulsion to turn around. Control returned to me, and my legs carried me forward. The fire-ant feeling disappeared, and between one step and the next, my senses exploded with awareness of magical beings. A lot of magical beings.
6
The good news was that my wayward cub was visible at the mouth of a cave in the hillside up ahead. The bad news was that four ogres stood around her, two carrying clubs and two carrying swords. My senses told me there were more of them inside, beyond a curtain of dangling roots and moss.
The ogres were poorly nourished with pronounced cheekbones and their rough hide and burlap clothes dangling over gaunt frames. They might think a tiger cub was something good to eat.
Glad I’d thought to camouflage myself, I crept forward, willing my breathing to grow steady and quiet after my sprint through the woods. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of my face.
They spoke in their native tongue, and I tapped my translation charm.
“Where did it come from?” one of the club-wielders asked. “And how did it find us through the protection?”
“The cat is magical,” another said with a grunt. “Trouble.”
He bent to grab her by the scruff of her neck—or to wring her neck.
I rushed forward, sword raised, but the cub darted away before his fingers wrapped around her. She bounded into the cave and disappeared from sight. I stifled a groan. Why couldn’t she have bounded away from the cave—and them?
Only ten steps from the group, I paused beside a tree and debated my options. They hadn’t followed the cub inside, and I couldn’t sneak past them. My camouflaging charm was powerful, but if I was within a few feet of someone, the effectiveness wore off.
A shout came from within the cave, followed by several curses. A thump followed, and I envisioned one of the brutish club-wielders slamming its weapon down on my poor cub.
Clenching my jaw, I strode forward. I couldn’t fight this many ogres, but I couldn’t let them kill the cub either. I would… think of something.
But before I reached the group, the cub bounded back out with a beheaded and plucked chicken in her mouth. The legs were still attached, and the yellow feet flopped on the ground as she ran.
All four of the ogres outside of the cave lunged for her. But the cub darted around their legs, and they ended up grabbing each other instead. One even cracked his head against another’s head. It was like watching a cartoon.
The cub sped off into the woods. The ogres looked at each other, as if confused about whether they should give chase or let her go.
A female wearing a stained yellow apron and a bone ring in her nose stomped out with a meat cleaver and a kitchen spoon in her hands. “No, no, you boys relax. I’ll go get the little thief.”
Even through my translation charm, I could detect her sarcasm, but the male ogres pretended not to. They shrugged and went into the cave as the female strode in the direction the cub had gone.
Keeping my distance, I trailed quietly after her. This was my chance to talk to an ogre one on one. Was it possible the cub had intentionally lured her out for me? Or had she only wanted the chicken? So far, she had rejected all of my food offerings, but maybe plucked hens were the tiger’s meow.
“Come here, you striped thief,” the ogre growled, her meat cleaver raised overhead.
I grabbed a rock and, as she started to swing it downward, hurled it. My pistol would have been more effective, but the rest of the ogres would have heard the gunshots. The rock did the job as it slammed into the back of her wrist.
She let out a startled yelp, dropped the cleaver, and whirled toward me. Since I wasn’t close enough for her to see through my charm’s magic, she peered suspiciously about, scanning the trees.
“Who’s playing with Big Mama?” she demanded.
Playing with? Ogres had rough games if they included rock hurling.
“Me.” I moved several steps downhill, so the cave wouldn’t be at my back, and tapped my charm to deactivate it.
The ogre swore, snatched up the meat cleaver, and waved it and the spoon menacingly at me.
I showed her Fezzik, in case she was thinking of stampeding me, but I didn’t point the pistol at her. “That’s my cub.” Sort of. “I came to retrieve her. I don’t want any trouble.”
My charm only allowed me to understand others—it didn’t translate my words into their language—so I didn’t know if she understood me until she spoke.
She switched to English for my sake. “She stole my chicken.”
The ferns near my feet rattled, and my muddy silver tiger cub scooted out from underneath the fronds. The chicken was now also muddy, but none of it had been devoured.
“You can have it back,” I said as the ogre scrutinized me. I didn’t remember her from my last visit, and I hoped she didn’t remember me. “She just likes to mangle things, not eat them. And I’m willing to trade you a whole sack of meat if you can help me translate something. I was hoping to find an ogre back here who wouldn’t mind doing the job.”
“Help you?” Big Mama squinted at me. “You’re the Ruin Bringer.” That was one of the dubious monikers the magical community had for me. “You kill our kind.”
“Only when your kind kills humans first. I’m not here to kill anyone today.” Unless they were tied in with Michael’s disappearan
ce… but this one looked like a homebody, not a smuggler or kidnapper. “I want to make a fair trade for your time. It won’t take long. I need a note written in your language translated.”
“The Ruin Bringer isn’t fair with ogres. You sent that thievin’ varmint in to lure me out here.”
Thievin’ varmint? Apparently, they had a TV in that cave that was tuned to the all-Westerns channel.
“I’m fair with those who aren’t criminals. Why don’t you look at the note? If you can translate it, I’ll pay you in meat or money. Your choice.” I hefted the bag of sausages I’d managed to keep ahold of during my sprint to the cave. “You have my word. I’m not a liar. I’m an honorable professional.”
The cub flung the chicken onto my boots, grrred fiercely at it, then pounced on it. I sensed another ogre had left the cave, so I didn’t look down, but I made a mental note to scrub my boots later.
“With a thievin’ cat cub.”
The chicken went sailing into the undergrowth, and the cub bounded after it. Something that looked suspiciously like a gizzard lay draped across my boot. I picked it up, put it in the bag of meat, then drew out the raw sausages to show the ogre.
“Lots of good food. Bratwurst, chorizo, applewood-smoked ham, salami. It can all be yours. If you can read, it’ll only take a few seconds to look at the note.”
“Of course Big Mama can read. The assumptions humans make about ogres, egads.”
While I kept the pistol pointed at the ground in front of her, I pulled out the note. The male ogre was heading in this direction but taking a circuitous route. Either he didn’t know exactly where Big Mama was, or he knew exactly where she was—and where I was—and was trying to sneak up behind me.
If not for my ability to sense magical beings, he might have been able to do so. Twilight was encroaching, making it difficult to pick things out between the trees.
“I want that chicken back,” Big Mama said as I started toward her.
The cub was busy flinging the dead chicken about like a dog with a rope toy. By this point, it was hard to imagine anyone wanting it.
Mist and Magic Page 4