Got Luck

by Michael Darling

  I fired past Caimiléir. I intended to get his attention and order him to stop the gate. The pop was barely audible over the roar of the portal coming to life. Caimiléir slowly turned in my direction, giving me half a smile. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a silver disc on a silver chain.

  “Shield,” he yelled at me. Then he flicked his finger, and my gun went flying into the dark perimeter of the room. I wanted to ask him how he did that, but I had the feeling he wasn’t in a mood to share.

  The whirlwind was collapsing in on itself. Not like an implosion so much as a supernova, drawing all the energy into itself before flinging all the force it had out into the void. The gathering power made my skin itch and my instincts told me to find shelter. Now.

  I hid behind a pillar and sat down. The whine of the gate had grown so loud and piercing that I covered up my ears. Long moments passed and I wanted to add my protest to the wail of the machine. Then the sound stopped altogether. For a heartbeat there was silence. I felt the pressure wave a split-second before I heard it. Wild magic, Caimiléir had called it. It came through the concrete pillar like it didn’t exist. I felt the magic of the tattoo on the back of my neck peel away and the magic of the ward Keeper had put on me get stripped like the top layer of skin in a sandstorm. The magic of my pendant fled in a ping sound—I wouldn’t be using it to escape my situation like I’d done for the women. At least they were safe. My shield and my healing medallion also jumped in my pocket and I knew they had been stripped of their power too.

  Great. Caimiléir’s shield was probably gone along with mine, but I didn’t have my gun anymore. Son of a gun.

  Excuse me. Please hold the apocalypse while I poke around in the dark for my weapon. Love ya. Be right back.

  I ventured a look around the pillar. The gate was open now. Almost placid with a shimmering surface of crimson light. The heat and pressure had been absorbed by the water in the pool, protecting the structure around the ring. Now steam rose from the water, shrouding the gate in patchwork ghosts.

  In terrible majesty, the deamhan rose from the gate. His features were chiseled and strong and he oozed charismatic power that washed over me like a metaphysical bath riveting my attention. He had a row of eyes over the slits of his nose and more eyes below the jaw, which was shaped like the prow of an icebreaker ship. He had thorny spikes down his neck and on his head with a circlet of taller horns like a crown.

  He opened his mouth in a soundless roar that shook the earth, making it feel like the ground was shifting out from under me. He had three rows of sharp teeth like a shark’s that clacked shut individually. His head swiveled around to take in the room, settling first on Caimiléir and then on me.

  The power of his will was almost a physical blow. No actual words came from his mouth but there was clear and controlling weight in his gaze. The massiveness of his stare was crushing and blasted my resistance. Succumb! Be subjected! My playthings. Souls to feed me.

  He continued to emerge. His Stain covered him, but it moved just beneath the surface of his skin. His shoulders and torso were decorated in scars with runic shapes. His arms were like trees, with flesh instead of bark, and hands that ended with stiletto-shaped talons. Around his neck he wore a priestly stole, decorated with profane symbols in a bloody script. The stole was fastened in place with spikes the size of my arm driven into the deamhan’s pectoral muscles. The ends of the stole were tattered and the article gave a clue, perhaps, at the deamhan’s mortal history from his prior life.

  The behemoth continued to rise. His muscles were so powerfully toned they looked like the bony plates of a beetle. More of his body appeared as a dozen long, probing legs came over the edge of the gate. Below the navel, the deamhan had segmented body parts with legs in the form of a millipede.

  He rose forty feet in the air before pausing, his multitude of insect legs lifting him up.

  He roared again and this time there was an audible component to his voice that went along with the subsonic bass.

  He found MacPherson’s body. The talons closed around him and lifted him into the air while the deamhan’s many eyes scanned his acquisition. MacPherson had passed out. He woke up just in time to look into the deamhan’s otherworldly face. Just in time to see the deamhan open his jaws.

  I looked away. I didn’t want the image of what we all knew would happen next to haunt my nightmares, assuming I lived long enough to have any. I still heard MacPherson’s shrill scream, which suddenly ended with a wet snapping sound.

  I’d never bite the head off a cinnamon bear again.

  I grimaced, catching a glance of the deamhan pulling off MacPherson’s shirt, like taking the wrapper off a candy bar. The deamhan took another bite then and the crunching and smacking of MacPherson being consumed was a new sound I never wanted to hear again. The serial progress of the deamhan’s three sets of teeth coming down in sequence, chunk, chunk, chunk, was as efficient as a wood chipper. In moments, MacPherson was gone.

  Art thou there?

  I heard the voice and flinched. Searching the shadows, I tried to find the person who’d spoken to tell them to get out of here. I found no one.

  What’s going on? I’ve been. Trying to find. Thee.

  The voice was Béil’s. And it was inside my head.

  Go away.

  I will. Not. Go away!

  Crap. She can hear me! She was in my head like Erin had been at my Quickening.

  Summon me!

  The deamhan bent down and drank from the pool. He took huge gulps of water, his face buried in the pond. It would be a good time to cut the deamhan’s head off, if there was such a thing as a fifty-foot sword.

  Draw a circle! And. Summon me!

  I’m a little busy right now.

  Is the. Deamhan. There?

  Deamhan? What deamhan. No deamhan here. Oh. That little guy? That’s a deamhan? Why else would I be busy?

  Summon me! We must kill. The deamhan. And Caimiléir.

  I don’t think so. Too many strings attached.

  Caimiléir was bowing to the deamhan now. The wild magic had blown away whatever wards he had used to hide his Stain. It billowed out behind him like a majestic cloak of deadly vipers. So many ribbons. He was speaking again, but the words were alien to my ears.

  The deamhan towered over him, arms outstretched, accepting whatever praise or promises Caimiléir was showering him with.

  Has the. Deamhan. Had anything. To eat? Or drink?

  The deamhan ate . . . someone . . . and drank water.

  Good. Now. He is part. Of the mortal. Realm.

  That’s not good.

  Before. He could. Not be. Killed. But now. He can.

  Ok. Good then.

  Summon me! We will. Kill him. And Caimiléir. Together!

  I tried to tune out Béil’s voice. There was no way I was going to invite her to this party. And her interruptions were wreaking havoc on my ability to pay attention.

  Leave me alone, Béil.

  Caimiléir was getting more animated. The deamhan was bending closer. I wasn’t able to hear their conversation at all from here. If I moved, the deamhan might focus his gaze on me. I feared I would give in and surrender myself as his next jerky treat.

  If thou diest. Thy realm. Ends.

  The deamhan pointed a talon in Caimiléir’s face. Caimiléir fell to his knees. Something was going on and it was bad. If I had to guess, the deamhan was complaining about the lack of snacks. He was promised a full plate of goodies, including a few tender female morsels, and all he’d gotten so far was one wrinkled old cocktail weenie.

  Thou art. A fool. Not to. Use all. Thy tools.

  I know.

  I want to. Tell thee. Something more.

  Caimiléir was holding diamonds in his hands. I couldn’t see what he was doing but there was a flare of power.

  Diamonds materia
lized in the forehead of the deamhan. Caimiléir threw another gout of blue power and the deamhan didn’t seem to care.

  Or maybe he couldn’t care.

  I remembered how Caimiléir had controlled the little deamhan Greim and how he’d forced him to bash his own brains out. Afterward, Caimiléir had taken diamonds from his head.

  More mental magnets realigned and clicked into place. I knew how the diamonds had been taken out of all those jewelry stores in all those robberies. I also knew why Barry Mallondyke had been cut open after he had already been killed. I finally had the answers I needed for my client. I just hoped I would live long enough to tell her.

  I must. Tell thee. Something more.

  I really don’t care.

  The deamhan. Is Brón.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Betrayal

  It took a few moments for me to assemble her words and realize their meaning. Revelations were coming at me too fast now. And as soon as I realized the implications of what she had said, I remembered Caimiléir saying “Ríoga-Brón” over and over again during his summoning song.

  The same deamhan you bargained with? The one who owns your soul?

  The same.

  Wow.

  If I failed here, she was completely screwed. It was clear why this was so important to her. Why she would want to fight this deamhan in the Mortal realm, where he’d be vulnerable. If he gets dead, she gets free. And she very much wants to make sure he gets dead. I couldn’t blame her.

  I can make. Sure thou. And Fáidh. Are. Together.

  What? What did she say?

  Forever.

  She was distracting me. Something was going on. Caimiléir was talking again.

  He was sending a ribbon of blue into the diamonds in the deamhan’s head—Brón’s head. Brón leaned down and extended his taloned hand. Caimiléir used his glass knife to stab Brón’s hand with such force that it went to the hilt. The knife must have gone to the bone. Maybe Caimiléir needed some of the deamhan’s blood. No, it was a test of Caimiléir’s control over the deamhan. I badly wanted to understand what he was saying.

  Whatever the motivation, the deamhan didn’t bat an eye. And he had plenty of eyes to choose from.

  Credit where credit is due: it took a lot of guts to double-cross a deamhan.

  The gleam of insanity in Caimiléir’s visage was full-blown, and his face glowed in victory. He threw back his head, flinging sweat, and yelled—a primal shriek—that split the air with enough strength to be heard over the whine of the Jeweled Gate.

  This was getting really bad.

  Caimiléir almost danced as he went back to his collection of diamonds. A thread of blue power trickled into the stones and there was a huge rumbling sound. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once. I noticed bits of stone and dust falling from the ceiling.

  Something was moving again.

  The entire building above ground was sliding, opening the pit down here to the sky overhead. Cool air billowed in and I nearly swooned as the fresh air swept over me.

  Caimiléir climbed aboard Brón’s back. He had successfully enthralled his deamhanic millipede. Now the lunatic was planning to ride the monster up and out of the pit. His plan was moments away from fruition.

  I had to do something.

  I can. Give thee. Fáidh. Summon me!

  Go away, Béil!

  I will. Make sure. A body. Is found.

  No!

  The body of. Her husband. That’s what. Thou needest. Is it not?

  Tears started to burn my eyes. Béil’s promise struck directly into the center of my being. She’d finally figured me out.

  Summon me! And tomorrow. His body will. Be found. And Fáidh will. Be. Thine.

  I found myself running. If I broke the circle, the gate would close. I fell on the diamond ring. The deamhan’s wild magic had erased the ward. I could reach the diamonds now. I swiped at the stones, dislodging hundreds. There were more stones beneath. I shoveled diamonds out of the way with both hands—but the ring was deep and I wasn’t breaking the circle.

  Overhead, the way out was almost open.

  How deep was this ring?

  I pushed my arm into the diamonds as far as I could reach and couldn’t find a bottom. The power surged around my arm. Even if I could interrupt the circle here, it continued below where I couldn’t reach.

  Holy Mother . . .

  There were too many diamonds. The ring was too deep. I pulled my arm free. There were dozens of scratches on my skin.

  Caimiléir was on the back of Brón’s shoulders and saw me digging. He smiled and nodded. He knew what I was trying to do. He knew that the ring was too deep and I’d never be able to break the circle. The exit overhead was nearly open and in a few seconds Caimiléir and his deamhan would be free.

  I couldn’t give up.

  Caimiléir had drained some of my power, but not all of it. I woke it up and threw it at the diamonds. “Tine!” I cried.

  A pillar of flame erupted from my hand. Diamonds were the hardest substance in the world, but they had also been born in fire. I prayed they could be destroyed by fire as well. How hot is magma? I didn’t know. I just cranked up the heat like Erin had taught me and begged the diamonds to burn.

  The flame from my hand shifted from orange to blue to white. The diamonds were almost blindingly brilliant. The light shattered in sparkling colors and shattered again a million times over. I looked up and saw the deamhan reaching to grasp the edge of the opening. He was carrying Caimiléir into the open air and they were almost out. I looked down again, intensifying and focusing the flame, and saw diamonds falling in on themselves. I wasn’t sure what was happening—just that something was. And I needed it to work.

  I moved the flame, widening the hole.

  Brón bellowed. Maybe it was the glimpse of the Mortal realm he was seeing as he emerged from the pit. Maybe it was the sense that something was changing with the gate.

  Then Brón bellowed again. This time the sound was pure pain.

  The gate slammed shut.

  The orange light of the Deamhan realm went out.

  The whine of the engine started to slow.

  I stopped the stream of fire.

  Brón and his passenger fell back into the pit.

  The millipede part of Brón was curling in on itself, and the meaty, severed end of his body convulsed.

  Caimiléir jumped from Brón’s back to keep from falling into the pit where he would be crushed, but he was turning sideways and didn’t have enough distance to make the gap. Instead of landing on flat ground, his legs slammed against the edge of the diamond ring and it sounded like a baseball bat being snapped inside a bag of sirloins. He cried out and started to slip back into the pit. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the concrete, which was slick with Brón’s blood.

  I considered letting him drop. He’d be good company for all those sharp, chitinous legs that were thrashing in the pit like the blades of the world’s biggest blender.

  But I might need him.

  And I’d have a hard time living with myself if I had the chance to save someone—even someone who didn’t deserve it—and let them die. The Mama had taught me too well. I staggered over and grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him up.

  “I underestimated you,” he said. “You still have power. Heal me. My leg is broken.”

  “Help me kill Brón first,” I replied.

  Through the pain, Caimiléir managed to look surprised. “You know the deamhan’s name?”

  “Béil invaded my thoughts,” I explained.

  Caimiléir managed a weak laugh. “Of course she did.”

  “Until Brón’s dead, nothing else matters.”

  Caimiléir turned to look in the direction of the pit, concentrating. “He has shaken off my control. I can feel it.
He is stronger than the other deamhans I have summoned and he is wounded. The diamonds I used for the focus are useless now. I have betrayed him and I must agree. It will be exceedingly difficult. I have used nearly all my power.”

  “Brón is cut in half. He’s dying, right?”

  “He could survive. If he heals, he will regenerate. Then he will kill us and escape.”

  Why couldn’t he just die? I thought bitterly. Then I remembered something Keeper and I had discussed. While Caimiléir continued studying the deamhan, I used a small supply of will and transcribed the symbols Keeper had shown me in the middle of the air.

  Brón bellowed again. I’d cut the deamhan in half but it wasn’t enough. There was still a wealth of agony in his voice but now there was also anger.

  Caimiléir looked back at me. Every time he moved, the pain made him grimace. I was having a hard time feeling bad about that. “I could just use my power to leave this place. You could follow me.”

  “Bad idea,” I replied. “First of all, I don’t trust you. Second, this place is warded now. Keeper taught me how. None of us are leaving.”

  Caimiléir looked around and sensed I was telling the truth.

  “Then it seems we share a common purpose,” he said. “Though I am Uncourted, it is the duty of a Fae to return a kindness swiftly. In exchange for pulling me away from the pit, I vow with an oath on my life that I will cause no harm to thee or to thy wife or thy progeny for one hundred years. Do you accept?”

  “Throw in a bag of chips and you got a deal,” I replied.

  Caimiléir nodded and said, “It is done.”

  Thou livest!? Béil’s voice came again into my mind.

  Nope. I died.

  There was silence and I took advantage of the moment. “How do we kill him? Permanently?”

  “It is a challenge. A deamhan is rarely killed entirely, but it can be eliminated for a very long time.”

  “What do we have to do to kill it forever?”

  “We have to eat his heart.”

  Béil’s voice came back to me.

  Thou art. A liar.

  Sue me.

  Brón roared and it appeared that he was no longer leaking.