by Ramy Vance
As much as I like being right, I wanted to follow her logic through. “OK, I’ll bite … how so?”
“You saw the wounds on Oighrig End. They were inconsistent and from multiple angles, as if whoever stabbed him did so with one hand, then switched hands and continued stabbing. That suggests that two conspirators working together to end End is far more likely.”
“And one tried to kill me while the other saved me?”
“Why not? Two conspirators may share a common enemy in Professor End, but not in you. Dark elves are not known for their restraint, and when he attacked you, the other simply stepped in to avoid compounding the tragedy with the death of an innocent.”
I hadn’t considered that. Not all murderers were created equal, and it was possible that one was willing to kill again and again to preserve their anonymity, while the other refused to cross that line. “OK,” I said, “let’s say you’re right about that. What about Jack stopping me from chasing the dark elf?”
“Have you considered that the giant may have been trying to save your life?”
I raised a doubtful eyebrow.
“Think about it. He could not help you battle this dark elf, and knew you were outmatched. He understood that if you chased after the dark elf it might lead to your death, so he stopped you from doing so.”
“True,” I said. “And the dark elf’s co-conspirator might have saved me when I accidently stumbled upon his hiding place. He may think twice about saving me again when I actively chase them. So Jack was trying to save me.”
“Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not.”
“So I may or may not owe him an apology,” I said. “Then there’s the matter of Jack really thinking the dark elf is King Aelfric.”
Deirdre shook her head. “I have considered this point again and again, and I believe it to be glamor. The dark elf knew Jack would not raise a hand against his former king, and made his appearance resemble the giant’s dead king.”
“I agree. A trick is far more believable than the elf returning from the dead. But none of that matters. I still think one or more of them is lying.”
“Why? When you consider the email, it exonerates them all.”
“It’s precisely because of the email that I still have my doubts.”
Deirdre tilted her head.
“Remi showed me the email on his web browser.”
“I do not follow, milady.”
“Web browsers on smart phones tend to refresh every time you open them. We don’t have access to the internet, which means that he either took a screenshot of the email—something you wouldn’t do unless you expected to be without internet—or he forged it to throw me off.”
“Oh,” Deirdre said, taking my word for it. She wasn’t one for technology, and frequently asked me questions even a technically challenged grandmother would roll her eyes at.
“So that’s why I want to know who we can rule out.”
Deirdre gave me a mournful look. This investigation was far from over. “Sadly, because the weapon is a thistle blade, both Jarvis and the abatwas could be responsible.”
“The abatwas? Aren’t they too … you know,” I gave her the universal gesture for super-duper tiny.
She gave me an admonishing look and I remembered how easily they’d carried the chairs and speakers. They were strong, and if they worked together, they could have easily killed Professor End.
“OK,” I said, “so they’re suspects. What about Jack?”
“A warrior who carries the Gleipnir chain. If his history intersects with Oighrig End’s, or if he is beholden to one whose does …”
“So the giant is in. What about the rest?”
“The elf and halfling do not seem to have any motivations or clues against them, but that does not mean innocence. And as for the human soldier, he did question Oighrig End with vigor bordering on anger. But again, there are no clues pointing to his hand in this.”
“So they’re in, too. Which only leaves us Freol?”
She shrugged.
Freol still hadn’t said a word to me. In fact, he still hadn’t met my eyes. The guy was a bit creepy—especially in that suit.
“Can’t discount him, either. So basically everyone is a suspect. And because of what happened earlier, everyone’s also innocent. In other words, we have no idea who was and wasn’t involved.”
“That’s not true. We know we weren’t a part of this, but that’s about it.”
“True,” I said, “but there’s more at play than a single murderer in our midst.”
“Such as, milady?”
“Nightmares. When I was asleep, I dreamt of something so vivid it had to be a memory. But it wasn’t mine. And I can’t even remember what happened in it—only the feeling it gave me.”
Deirdre gave me a grave look. “A nightmare? When did this happen, milady?”
“Just before you discovered Oighrig End’s body.”
Deirdre pursed her lips. “Do you remember anything about that dream?”
I shook my head. “All I remember is I was seeing something from the eyes of another. And what I saw left me with this terrible feeling. But that’s not all … I’m seeing things. When that dark elf was strangling me, I thought I saw Justin. He was the one who hit the elf with the hockey stick. Saved me. But it couldn’t be him. He’s home with his parents, and—”
The thought of Justin on top of everything else that was happening—the murder, the fights, the emptiness inside me—was just too much. And as far as seeing him? I think I just wanted to see him. Wanted to be saved by him.
Deirdre must have seen the distress on my face, because she put a cool hand on my chest just above my heart. In a way, that gesture was a fae hug. It was her way of telling me that she was here for me, no matter what.
“Thank you, Deirdre, but I’ll be OK,” I said, touching her hand. “Really, I will. I think it was just the lack of oxygen and the fact that I wanted to see Justin. We ended our last talk on such horrible terms, and I’ve been so—”
I thought about telling Deirdre about the emptiness, but decided not to. She had just lost her hero, and as much as I was sure we were no longer in harm’s way, it didn’t change that we were stuck in a building with a murderer on the loose.
Deirdre had been serious when she offered me so much of her, and she would make my emptiness the top-priority on her To-Do list. But that could wait until we were out of this place.
So instead of opening up to my friend, I said, “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. Let’s sleep.”
Deirdre gave me a long, hard look, her hand still on my chest. “Very well, milady. We are safe in here, and you are safe with me.”
“Thank you,” I said, turning around to sleep.
↔
AS MUCH AS I wanted to sleep, I was afraid of having another nightmare. Even as an observer, the last one was awful. I wished I could remember any details about it, but all I really remembered was the horrible feeling when I woke. That, and death.
It took what felt like an eternity for sleep to come. I must have tossed and turned for an hour before my fears finally succumbed to my exhaustion.
My foolish fears … they should have fought harder.
The dream that came was my worst nightmare wrapped in a duvet of horrible. It started pleasant enough: I was in bed, and Justin was rubbing my back the way he did. He was humming something, and although I couldn’t make out the tune it filled me with a sense of peace. This was nice. This was good.
But the rubbing became harder, started to hurt. I turned to ask Justin to relax, but instead of seeing my beautiful, intact boyfriend with the impossibly beautiful eyes and perfect hair, I saw a bald, hollow-eyed Justin.
He looked like he had died a year ago and was only now returning, half-decomposed. I screamed, not that Justin noticed; he continued humming, but his song no longer soothed me.
“I want you to know that I don’t blame you,” he said between notes. “You are trying to make up for all the wrong y
ou’ve done in your long, long life, and what happened isn’t your fault. It’s just that death follows you.”
Justin sat up and showed me his arms. Much of the flesh had left them, but enough remained for me to see the long slits from his wrists to his elbows.
The word “suicide” tumbled out, and my hand went to my mouth as if to hold the word back, and when it failed to do so, to capture it before it traveled too far.
Justin nodded. “I couldn’t live without you. When you left me, rather than be alone, I took the coward’s way out.”
“We … we … are still—”
“Are we?” he said in a harsh tone. “Are we? Or are you gathering the courage to say goodbye? Biding your time while I spend a week in hell waiting for you to decide what will happen to us, not caring what I want? What I need!”
Justin’s corpse sat up, his brittle bones snapping with the effort. His movement was so sudden, so violent that I moved away from him, falling on the floor as I did.
When I stood, I saw through tear-filled eyes that he had snapped his spine. His torso had separated from his legs.
He looked down at his detached legs before turning to me. “You did this! You selfish bitch—you did this!”
I screamed, and I think I would have continued screaming had a harsh, hard hand not slapped my face. Once, then again. And on the third slap, I turned to see Deirdre standing next to me. “Milady,” she said, “you are safe, milady. Safe with me.”
It took a few seconds before I realized I was still in bed. No Justin, no bones or taut skin stretched over bones. Just my friend and me.
I got up, got away from the bed. I didn’t care if it was just a dream. I didn’t care that I knew Justin was home with his family, that he was safe, and that we were still together.
That he was still alive.
The dream felt real. More than felt real … as far as I was concerned, it was real.
I went to the door and tried to get out, but even with all the adrenaline pumping through my body, I wasn’t strong enough to move the wardrobe. Not that it stopped me from trying. I pawed at the damn thing, desperate to get away, my tears equal parts frustration and despair. I might have continued that way all night had Deirdre not picked up the wardrobe and moved it.
With it gone, I pulled at the couch, unlocked the door and left the room. I had no idea where I was going. My only thoughts were of getting away.
I walked downstairs. With every step I took away from the room, I calmed little by little. By the time I made it to the ground floor, I had found myself again.
Good, I thought, taking a deep breath and wiping away tears. Better. Much better. I turned to see Deirdre behind me, her face a mixture of fear and concern.
“Better,” I whispered. Then I remembered how vivid the dream was, and I couldn’t face going back upstairs. Besides, I’d never fall asleep again tonight—not after that. “I just can’t go back into that room. I need to be somewhere else.”
Deirdre put a hand on her chest, the fae’s way of saying As you wish, and she gestured toward the conference room. “Perhaps you will find peace there.”
I nodded. As we drew closer to the unlit room, we heard voices.
As distressed as I was, we were still trapped in a building with a murderer. I placed a finger over my lips and the two of us took another step forward, listening.
“If this is some kind of cruel joke or trick, I swear on my father’s name I will end you.” It was Sarah’s voice.
“No trick, my little fairy angel—”
“Don’t you dare call me that. Only he can call me that. Only he …”
“But it’s me, my darling Sonia.”
Sonia? I thought her name was Sarah. I looked at Deirdre, whose eyes widened at the mention of the name.
“No,” she said, “you’re dead. They told me you’re dead.”
“Funny,” the voice said, “they said the same thing to me about you. It seems we have both been lied to.”
“If it is really you, and not a trick or a glamor, prove it.”
“Very well,” the voice said. “Do you remember the night of the attack, when the barguests came? Do you remember what we were playing?”
“Checkers. Well, what we called checkers then.”
“Do you remember the score?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice sharp, afraid.
“Seven games to one. In your favor.”
Sarah—or was it Sonia?—let out a sharp wail that could only come from one truly in pain. “This is a trick. A lie. A lie. You lie!”
“No, my sweet fairy angel, it is me. I swear it. It’s me.”
“Let me go. Let me—”
Sneaking around or not, I barged into the room, turning on the lights as I did. There I saw the dark elf reaching for Sarah as the halfling pulled back, desperate to get away.
That was all I needed to see. I tumbled toward the dark elf, planning to get behind him and punch him in the back of neck.
You know what they say about plans: you make ’em, and dark elves laugh.
And that was literally what he did. He laughed as he turned around with the kind of speed I didn’t think possible and backhanded me across the room.
DARK ELVES AND KIDNAPPING PAPAS
T he dark elf’s backhand sent me flying toward the wall with such speed and ferocity that it could well have broken my back had Deirdre not caught me mid-flight.
Putting me down, she looked at the dark elf and I swear I saw her grow in size as she huffed and growled, preparing for battle. “You dare,” she said, pointing her finger at the elf. She charged at him, swinging her fist.
He ducked under and counter-punched, but Deirdre was ready, deflecting the blow with a downward swing of her arm.
“I dare,” he said, his voice commanding and confident. “I am not the one who attacks their king.”
“There are no more kings,” Deirdre said, grabbing a chair and throwing it at him. “No more queens, no more gods, no more UnSeelie Court.” With each statement she threw another chair, and although he deflected them easily, I saw what she was doing: keeping him off balance and pushing him toward me. “Everything we once knew is gone. We have been abandoned. Abandoned on this mortal plane.”
“Don’t be foolish. Oberon and Titania would never leave us. They would—”
I kicked him in the back of the knee and as he went down, Deirdre tackled him, wrapping her powerful arms around his body.
“What are you doing?” he cried out.
Grabbing his legs, I held them together so he couldn’t kick his way out. “Grappling an asshole,” I said.
“I am your king,” he screamed at Deirdre.
“You are, my lord, but I have sworn my sword arm and heart to her,” Deirdre said, but she said it in the same tone she used when she wasn’t sure about human etiquette. Things like: ‘Can I cut in line?’ ‘Can I scream for the waiter’s attention?’ ‘Can I punch the boy staring at my butt?’
Before they could work out the standards of fae hierarchy, a boom came from the door and broken stone flew into the room. I turned to see Jack pushing through, ripping the door frame out of the wall. He stopped when he saw who we were grappling with, neither helping nor hindering us.
Behind him I heard footsteps as Orange, Remi and Jarvis ran in. One of them said, “King Aelfric,” and whether it was Jarvis or Remi I could not tell.
Out of breath, Remi went to Sarah. “My darling, are you harmed?”
“No,” she said, “I’m not. Who … who is that?” She pointed in our direction, where we were still wrestling with the dark elf. I’d fought strong before, but never this strong. I could see on Deirdre’s face that it took everything she had to hold him down.
Remi turned to us. “I can tell you who it looks like.”
The dark elf stopped struggling and said, “My daughter Sonia—please, search yourself. You know it is me.”
The halfling lifted a regal hand, demanding silence. The dark elf, Deirdre and me—
hell, everyone in the room—shut the hell up.
“I know you said something to me,” she said, “just before I lost my sight. I was crying, afraid that without sight I wouldn’t be able to find you again. You said I always would, because you would come to my side and whisper a secret word only we knew. Tell me that word now, or I swear I will command Jack and Remi to rip you apart. Slowly.”
Daaaamn! The halfling got bite, I thought.
“They would never hurt their king,” the dark elf said.
In answer, Jack pounded his fists together and Remi removed his gloves. It was clear where their loyalties lay.
“Good,” the dark elf said, no longer trying to break free. Rather than being intimidated by Jack and Remi, he seemed pleased. Relieved, even. He looked at the giant and ly erg. “I am so grateful for your loyalty, that she had the two of you in my absence.” He looked at Sarah, or Sonia, or whoever she was. “I … I have missed so much. I have not had the pleasure of seeing you turn from a girl into the beautiful woman you are today. You look so much like your mother. So much so that it was I who thought he’d seen a ghost.”
“Enough!” the halfling screamed. “Tell me the word, or death.”
“Very well, but there is one problem. I swore to you that day I would never share that word with anyone but you.”
“Oh, give me a break,” I said. “Surely there’s a break clause. As in, me happily breaking your legs.”
“Silence, vampire,” the dark elf scoffed.
“I’m not … not a vampire.”
“Lie to yourself if you wish, but a vampire dressed in human clothing is still a vampire.”
I didn’t know how he knew, but I squeezed his legs together in response.
He winced in pain before looking at the halfling. “I swore to you, made an oath. I cannot break it.”
Fae and their oaths. But he was right: if he swore to never share the word with anyone but her, then there wasn’t a torture technique, a truth serum or a confession spell in this universe or any other that would get him to talk.
A long silence elapsed until Sarah finally spoke. “Let him go.”
“What? No, my darling. He is just trying to get close to you so that he may—”