Dark Currents: Agent of Hel

by Jacqueline Carey

  My tail twitched hopefully. “Does that mean you’ll help?”

  He looked at Sinclair. “Let me see this . . . map.”

  Sinclair pulled it from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it out in one trembling hand. “I’ve, um, marked the spots I thought might be suitable, Your Majesty. And, uh, tours would leave every hour on the hour between ten a.m. and four p.m.”

  The Oak King took the map from him, and I swear to God, it turned into a parchment scroll in his hand. He studied it.

  I held my breath.

  “Yes,” he said at length. “In these times, I find this to be a reasonable request.” He returned the scroll to Sinclair, whereupon it promptly turned back into a map. “I will see to it. It will be done.”

  I let out my breath.

  “Thank you!” Sinclair’s voice was joyous. “Thank you, thank you!”

  The Oak King held up one hand. “I make no promise in perpetuity. It stands for as long as I deem it reasonable.” His gaze shifted to me, deep and grave. “Are you near unto finding justice, Hel’s liaison?”

  I nodded. “Very close, Your Majesty.”

  His gaze fell on dauda-dagr. “You bear a dire weapon, one that chills even my immortal soul. Hel places great faith in you.”

  “I’m trying to be worthy of it,” I said humbly.

  “That is well.” Unexpectedly, the Oak King reached out and laid one brown, sinewy hand on my brow. I felt a rush of warmth, rich and golden, filled with all the green, growing scents of summer. “As below, so above.” He withdrew his hand, turning it palm upward. A silver whistle in the shape of an acorn lay nestled within it. “Accordingly, I give you my own token. You have but to blow it to beseech an audience.”

  I took it gingerly.

  He smiled. “Well done, Hel’s liaison.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. And, um . . . it’s Daisy,” I said. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. Daisy Johanssen.”

  The Oak King’s smile deepened. “Yes, I know. Well done, Daisy Johanssen.”

  “Thank—”

  He was gone.

  It happened . . . Oh, gah! I don’t even know how to describe how it happened, other than fast. Between the space of one breath and the next, the Oak King was gone and the meadow got bigger again. Sinclair Palmer and I stood staring at each other beside a white tablecloth scattered with acorn caps and a huddle of fairies.

  A soft breeze blew over the meadow, bending the grasses and wildflowers.

  The fairies stirred.

  One of them, the Queen Anne’s lace fairy with the white hair and purple eyes, snatched the half-empty flagon of cowslip dew from the center of the tablecloth. “Thou hast what thou came for,” she spat at me in disdain, clutching the flagon to her narrow chest. “I claim the spoils of thine endeavor!”

  “Go right ahead.” I pocketed the silver acorn whistle the Oak King had given me, and began folding the tablecloth. “Oh, and by the way? A little boy named Jake says hello. He helped me put this feast together, so if you ever meet him, be nice.”

  She hissed at me, baring eel-sharp teeth.

  I eyed her. “Also? If you make an appearance, be sure to smile with your mouth closed.”

  Thirty-four

  Sinclair and I didn’t speak much as I drove him home, both of us pretty well awed by what we’d just witnessed.

  “That was extraordinary, wasn’t it?” he asked when I dropped him off. He still sounded dazed. “Tell me that was extraordinary, because if it wasn’t, I’m really bugging out here, and I don’t bug out easily.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. That was extraordinary. I don’t know anyone who’s seen the Oak King. What did his aura look like? Was it muted, too?”

  Sinclair shook his head. “No. No, it was . . . huge. Like the sun rising behind a mountain.” He gazed into the distance. “Or maybe setting,” he added softly. “Like maybe it rose a long time ago.”

  I thought I knew what he meant. “Let’s hope it doesn’t set anytime soon.”

  “Agreed.” Returning from the distance, he gave me a fist bump and a grin. “Respect, sistah! I and I owe you one.”

  I fist-bumped him back. “I and I’ll keep it in mind.”

  It wasn’t quite five o’clock by the time I returned to my apartment. I checked my phone and found a text from Jen saying she wanted to come with me tonight, and would swing by around ten p.m. I sent her a text to confirm, then called the station in case there was some news no one had thought to pass on to me.

  There wasn’t, so I decided to do the sensible thing and take a nap. It had already been an incredibly long day, one in a series of very long days.

  I drew the curtains and put Patsy Cline on the stereo. Not traditional blues, I know, but close enough. Something about the effortlessness of her vocals and the soulful ache beneath them works for me. I drifted to sleep to the sound of Patsy singing about walking after midnight and searching, always searching, and had a long, confused dream in which I was walking endlessly down moonlit country roads, beneath the rustling shadow of oak trees, searching for something or someone I never found.

  When I woke, it was close to sunset. The awe of my encounter with the Oak King lingered, but I felt melancholy, too. I flipped through the printouts Casimir had given me, studying the mermaid’s distorted face.

  Patsy Cline may have been looking for her true love, but I was looking for a captive mermaid. And if we didn’t find her in time, I had a bad feeling about her chances for survival. For all we knew, it was already too late.

  With a reluctant sigh, I set the file aside. Maybe Cody had found a lead or two today, and we could run them down tomorrow. Right now, there was nothing I could do for her, and the chief had been very clear that he wanted me working on the PVB’s requests.

  I managed to wash my face and slurp down another container of microwaved ramen noodles before I heard the familiar sound of Jen’s old LeBaron convertible pulling into the alley and dashed downstairs to join her. “You okay with driving?”

  She shrugged. “Might as well. It beats trying to find a parking space.”

  “Okay.”

  In some ways it felt like old times, taking the LeBaron out to the House of Shadows on a balmy summer night. Even though I’d done it before, I still had a knot of anxiety in the pit of my belly. Vampires will do that to you. The first time had been the hardest, with fear of the unknown making my entire body fizz with nervous energy. But this time was different, too. It was my second time making the trip as Hel’s liaison, but this time I had dauda-dagr on my hip, a weapon capable of killing the immortal undead, a weapon that chilled even the Oak King’s soul. Not to mention the Oak King’s token in my pocket.

  “So why’s the PVB sending you out to Twilight Manor?” Jen asked, pulling onto the highway.

  “Damage control,” I said. “I’m supposed to tell Lady Eris to make sure her bloodsuckers stay off the streets for a while.”

  She shot me a startled look. “Really?” I nodded. “Damn, Amanda Brooks has bigger balls than I realized.”

  I laughed. “No kidding.”

  “Did you see the delightful Stacey?” she asked.

  I flashed a devil-horns sign at her. “Yep.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Jen made a face. “She didn’t! Grow up already.”

  “Oh, yes, she did,” I said. “But I met a new guy there, too. We’re working together a bit on this PR thing. He’s kind of cute, and actually a normal human being.” Well, except for seeing auras, and whatever secret he accidentally alluded to regarding his mother.

  “So what happened to the hot ghoul?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Except, um, I let him taste me, and now he’s sort of tuned in to me. And I’m kind of weirded out about it.”

  “You bonded with him?” Jen’s voice rose in alarm. “Jesus, Daise! You of all people ought to know better!”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose! It was an emergency. And it’s not like a vampire blood-bond,” I assured her. At least, I didn’t thin
k it was. “There’s no binding obligation or anything. It’s just . . . Okay, like this morning, when I blew up at Meg Mucklebones, Stefan sensed it. And he came to check and make sure I was all right. End of story.”

  Jen yawned. “Sorry. Wow, was that really just this morning?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Long day for you, too?”

  “Yeah.” Lifting one hand from the wheel, she knuckled her eyes. “On top of getting up at the crack of dawn this morning and dealing with Brandon’s near-death experience at the hands of Meg freaking Mucklebones, we’ve got owners coming into town for two different properties this weekend. Both of them needed a full top-to-bottom scouring.”

  “Bummer—” I smacked my forehead. “Oh, crap! Crap! I’m an idiot.”

  She glanced at me. “Huh?”

  “Your dad works as a caretaker, right?” Jesus, even allowing for lack of sleep and a hangover, I really was an idiot for not having thought of it right away. “So if there are summer homes sitting empty for months on end, he’d be the guy to ask about it?”

  “Sure.” Jen looked confused. “I mean, he subcontracts some of the long-term stuff that doesn’t require a lot of hands-on maintenance, but yeah. Anyway, he should have records somewhere. Why?”

  I shook my head, fishing in my purse for my phone. “Can’t tell you. Sorry, no offense. It has to do with the case.” I dialed Cody, got his voice mail, and left him a terse message about interviewing Mr. Cassopolis.

  Jen stole another glance at me as she turned off the highway. “Girlfriend, I have the feeling you’ve got way too much on your plate.”

  I leaned back against the headrest. “You can say that again.”

  All jokes about Twilight Manor aside, the House of Shadows really was a mansion. It was built near the Lake Michigan coastline by a wealthy inventor in the 1920s as a summer getaway capable of housing his entire extended family, and sold off after his death and the decline of the family’s fortune in the 1940s.

  Drawn by the irresistible magnet of a functioning underworld and the promise of a lack of the scrutiny that the close confines of urban living entailed, a brood of vampires moved into the estate. The actual purchase was made by their mistress, the wealthy and beautiful Lady Eris, surname unknown, original birth name probably something far more prosaic, like Rhoda or Michelle.

  It was fully dark outside when Jen pulled into the long driveway, but all the many lights in the windows of the House of Shadows were ablaze, the sounds of music and laughter emanating from the mansion.

  There were a handful of cars in the drive. We parked beside an impressive water feature, a circular pond with fountains jetting, koi fish idling beneath the dimpled surface, their scales glinting gold and crimson and ivory in the illuminated green water.

  Jen shuddered in the warm air.

  “You okay?” I asked her softly.

  “Yeah.” She got out of the LeBaron, her expression grim. “Let’s do this. I want to give Bethany a piece of my mind.”

  I touched dauda-dagr’s hilt. “Okay.”

  I rapped vigorously on the door knocker, and despite everything, I found myself catching my breath when a vampire opened the door in answer.

  He was just so . . . undead.

  You don’t realize how much you take for granted the fact that people, including the vast majority of eldritch beings, have pulses until you encounter someone who doesn’t, someone who doesn’t even breathe unless it’s to speak. And suddenly I was sixteen again, filled with more bravado than courage, brimming with fear, righteous anger, mortal loneliness, and the simple human desire to impress a potential friend. I hated when that happened.

  Steeling myself, I raised the rune-marked palm of my left hand. “Hi,” I said. “Daisy Johanssen. Remember me?”

  The vampire inclined his head. “I do.”

  “May we enter?” I asked. “My friend Jennifer would like a word with her sister, Bethany. And I need to speak to Lady Eris.”

  The vampire hesitated. He was a tall guy with longish blond hair, strong, aristocratic features, and that bloodless, milk-white pallor to his skin. His gaze dropped to the dagger on my hip. “You are not welcome bearing that weapon,” he said in a stiff tone. “Remove it, and you may enter.”

  Oh, good. I felt badass again. “Hel gave this to me with her own hand,” I said. “The left hand, the hand of death? It stays.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Or if you like, we’ll wait outside. You can send them out to us. We can talk on the terrace.”

  Like many eldritch, vampires are big into the whole hierarchical thing, maybe bigger than most. He curled his upper lip at the implied insult, revealing the tips of his fangs. “The mortal girl may wait for her sister if she wishes. But Lady Eris does not come to you, halfling. You go to her.”

  “First of all, halflings are hobbits,” I informed him. I’d had enough of that particular erroneous slur from the naiads. “I’m a half-breed, thank you very much. Second . . .” I slid a couple inches of dauda-dagr’s shiny blade clear of the sheath. “I gave you two options. Pick one.”

  He actually took a step backward. “Wait here.”

  “Um, I’d be fine with talking to Bethany out on the terrace,” Jen volunteered. The vampire closed the door in our faces. She shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to undermine you.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t blame you.”

  Several minutes later the blond vampire returned with Bethany in tow—or, more accurately, draped over his arm. I winced at the sight. She was a pretty girl. She and Jen looked a lot alike, actually, only Bethany was far too thin, brown eyes overbright in sunken hollows, her skin ashen. A set of fresh puncture wounds on her throat looked black in the light spilling from the open door.

  “Hey, sister buzz-kill,” she said languorously to Jen. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

  “I don’t know,” Jen retorted. “What died and crawled up your ass?”

  There were times I regretted being an only child. This wasn’t one of them.

  The vampire peeled Bethany off his arm and gave her a little shove. “Go speak with your sister.”

  She pouted at him. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes,” he said ruthlessly. “Our mistress has acceded to the request. Do you wish to disobey her?”

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head like a scolded child. “No, no! I’ll go. I’ll talk to her.”

  Jen and I exchanged a glance.

  “Lady Eris will receive you, half-breed,” the vampire said disdainfully to me. “Sheath your blade and follow me.”

  Oops. I shoved dauda-dagr all the way back into its sheath and followed him into the House of Shadows.

  One thing about vampires: They definitely know how to throw a soirée. As far as I could tell, life at the House of Shadows was an ongoing party—only the party favors were human. I tried not to look too closely at what was going on in dimly lit corners as the blond vampire led me up a majestic staircase to the ballroom upstairs.

  In its own macabre way, it was an elegant scene. Vampires are a picky bunch. Oh, they’ll feed on pretty much anyone in a pinch, but they’re very choosy about who they change. As a result, they tend to be quite attractive, aside from the whole creepy undead vibe they give off. They move with a preternatural grace that hints at their predator’s speed and strength. They dress well, too, although they tend to favor clothing that looks like it comes from a different century.

  Predictable, yes—and yet effective.

  Lady Eris was ensconced on a thronelike chair with a high back of padded red velvet at the far end of the ballroom, clad in a black lace gown with a plunging décolletage that showed off her motionless cleavage. I’d met her briefly the first time we’d come here, just long enough for her to confirm that I was indeed a member of the eldritch community before dismissing me as not worth her while.

  I had a feeling this time it would be different.

  Her gaze pinned me as the throng of partygoers parted at my approach, shyi
ng instinctively away from dauda-dagr’s presence. Lady Eris’s delicate jawline tightened and her long white fingers drummed on the arms of her chair, but she showed no other signs of discomfort. She looked younger than I remembered, but then again, I wasn’t a teenager anymore.

  “Welcome.” Her voice was neutral. “Pansy, isn’t it?”

  “Daisy.”

  “Daisy.” Unexpectedly, her voice shifted out of neutral into drive, which, for a vampire, means full-on hypnotic seduction mode. Uh-oh. The weight of her gaze intensified. Lady Eris curved her red lips in a smile, careful not to show teeth. “Come.” She indicated an ottoman before her. “Take a seat.”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather—”

  “Sit,” she crooned.

  Oh, great. My vulnerable mortal half betrayed me. I found myself sitting on the ottoman without any conscious recollection of having done so, gazing up at Pemkowet’s vampire mistress. Lady Eris was straight out of central casting, with wide-set eyes almost as black as my own, raven tresses caught back in a chignon, and bone-white skin so luminous it almost seemed lit from within.

  Those white, white fingers stroked my cheek, cold and undead, and yet . . . gah. My tail twitched with involuntary pleasure. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just the mortal half. Goddamn eldritch Kinsey scale. “Such warm skin,” she mused. “You run hot, little half-breed. It makes for a delightful contrast, don’t you think?”

  A shiver that wasn’t entirely distaste ran over me. “I don’t know,” I managed to say. “But it sure as hell freaked out my pediatricians.”

  Her crimson fingernails raked over my skin. “Do you really wish to offer me further offense?” she inquired.

  My mind had gone temporarily blank. “Um . . . no?”

  “You wished to speak to me.” One finger pressed lightly against my temple. My obedient head bent sideways, baring my neck. “So, speak.” Leaning down, Lady Eris inhaled deeply and deliberately. “Or not,” she whispered in my ear, her fangs grazing my earlobe. “I suspect that your blood must taste deliciously of brimstone and ichor, my dear.”