by Kevin Hearne
That might be all the blood.
There was an awful lot of blood. Also vital organs and ropes of intestine snaking on the ground. Chunks and splinters of bone. But absolutely no skin or hair.
“I’ve seen some feckin’ grim butchery in my time, lad, but nothing like this. It’s like…”
“They were turned inside out,” Coriander finished.
“That’s right. That’s exactly it.”
“So you see why I think no human or beast could have done this.”
“I do. Your point is well made. I’m assuming you found them like this?”
“Yes. I was supposed to meet them here and…this is what I found.”
“So no clothes, no electronics, nothing of the kind?” I asked, since I saw none of that.
“No.”
“Forgive me for asking then: How do ye know that this is Maria and Javier? Ye can’t really identify them by this mess.”
“I know it in the same way that I know that Siodhachan Ó Suilebháin is playing with his hounds in Tasmania right now and Granuaile is still…indisposed.”
“Stay the bloody hell away from shellfish, lad, if ye don’t wanna suffer the same fate. That’s free advice and it’s good, too.”
“I assure you that’s not what’s going on.”
“Fine, lad, fine. So ye were supposed to meet Maria and Javier here. Were ye on time or late?”
“On time.”
“So they were early. Did ye see anything when ye got here besides them?”
“No.”
“No strange noises like a kid yodeling in the distance? Anything at all beside what I’m lookin’ at right now?
“No.”
“Okay. So either they were targeted by someone who wanted to kill them or it was someone who wanted to strike at you.”
“Me?” Clearly the idea had never occurred to him.
“Of course. You’re warded tougher than steel-plated rhino horn. Untouchable, unpunchable you, right? So to get at you, someone strikes at those you love.”
“But…no one knew. Not even Brighid. I was careful.”
“Could no one divine your connection to them?”
“I don’t believe so. I think if anyone knew about my relationship…well, they would have had to learn it from them.”
“And that’s entirely possible, isn’t it? Either by guile or divination? Or were they so powerful that they could ward against divination adequately?”
Coriander’s eyes glazed over as he considered the question and I took the opportunity to get Slomo situated.
Are ye ready to establish First Dangle in Spain?
It’s a common oak. The tree in question spread gnarled branches over the puddles of gore and its canopy sheltered it from the sun—a minor blessing, I suppose. It meant the smell had only attracted half a swarm of flies so far instead of a full one.
Slomonomobrodolie accepted my boost and wrapped her clawed appendages around a low-hanging branch. She swayed there gently and a smile spread on her face.
Ye are peerless among slothkind, I said.
That’s a good point. Let me think on that, I said, and tried to figure out what she meant by spicy—she wasn’t using that word, mind, it’s just the closest term I could think of to attach to her thoughts. She must perceive smells very differently if she didn’t think the scene was positively rotten, though.
“I don’t think Maria and Javier could protect themselves adequately from someone truly powerful,” Coriander said. “I mean, obviously. But I also can’t imagine why they would have attracted such attention.”
“But you would have, eh? You’ve got some enemies in the hot and sticky places. Been flippin’ the bird at demons on Brighid’s behalf for lifetimes, haven’t ye?”
Coriander’s eyes dropped. “Yes,” he said, his voice sullen.
“Have ye worn that wig the whole time? Because I tell ye lad, it’s infuriating. Demons have even shorter tempers than I do and that wig invites a throttlin’ and that’s no lie. I like ye without it.”
“How does that help, Eoghan? Honestly?”
“Tell me who’s been getting themselves in a snit lately. Demons ain’t the patient sort to wait and bide their time. If they want to come at ye, they’ll do it quickly like a pair o’ caffeinated jackrabbits.”
“Well, there’s the Puritans in hell—”
“The Puritans in hell? Sounds like a band name.”
“The ones who weren’t predestined members of the Elect. I had to deliver some unpleasant news to Goody Goodneck and she became rather incensed with me.”
“She’s mad at you instead of whoever feckin’ named her Goody Goodneck? Never mind. You’re thinking Goody Goodneck could have set someone after ye?”
“It’s possible. She’s rather vindictive and unforgiving.”
“Like snuggling a porcupine, eh? What was the bad news ye gave her?”
“That Brighid would not give succor or aid to the damned Puritans.”
“Hold on, now. They petitioned her to intervene in the damnation? When she’s not even a deity of their faith?”
“They probably calculated that since they were already damned, they might as well ask around. This is something that happens often, but of course no god would go pick a fight with another by effectively stealing souls. It’s just complaining.”
“I had no idea such things went on. How do they even get to talk to ye?”
“Sometimes they offer tantalizing scraps of information. Goody Goodneck claimed to have something of interest but that proved to be a lie.”
“How often is your time wasted on things like this? Or Brighid’s?”
“Depressingly often.”
“So what did Goody Goodneck say when ye gave her the news?”
“Ahem. Well. She said my stones would shrivel and I would rue the day I crossed her.”
“And yer stones…?”
“Display no visible shrinkage, thank you for asking.”
“So what power does she have then, to come after ye?”
Coriander shrugged. “None that I know of.”
“We can cross her off then. Who else?”
“None of the Goblin Lords like me.”
“Do they like anybody, though?”
“No, but they especially dislike me.”
“That’s a possibility then. Who else?”
“A few trolls.”
“Bah. They’re not smart enough to pull off something like this. It would require thinking.”
“Agreed.”
I looked back up at Slomo dangling from the tree branch above. Still smell spicy up there?
Slomo, maybe the smell is coming from the tree, not the ground.
Can ye move down the branch and see if the smell gets any stronger? I’ll give ye some extra energy to burn.
Providing Slomo the energy to burn was necessary if I wanted anything to happen quickly. She’d take an hour to move otherwise.
Slomo scooted further along the branch and abruptly halted.
They’re not
all like this one, love, I promise. Ye may have found a clue for us though. Why don’t ye go back or even hop to another branch and I’ll check it out.
“What are you doing?” Coriander asked. People always ask that when you take off your clothes and I don’t know why. Isn’t it obvious?
“Going to check out that thick branch above us,” I said, pointing up. “Slomo says there’s something odd about it. Ye have your own wings, don’t ye? Take a look with me if ye want.”
“That’s all right. I’ll wait for your assessment.”
With me clothes off and piled safely away from the mess, I bound me shape to that of a red kite, my avian form, and flew up to the branch to have a look.
Becoming a kite is me second favorite form after the bear. It’s such a different perspective from the human one and methinks it’s healthy to step outside of one’s accustomed view and look at the world through different lenses.
I dropped down to me clothes and shifted back to human.
Still not a snake!
There are lots of names for that body part, but I haven’t given it a name meself.
Sure, go ahead.
And we can call it Bono for short?
Heh. That’s surprisingly close to one of the human names for it.
“Well?” Coriander demanded as I dressed. “What did you see?”
“There’s a hook binding on the branch to summon a demon when humans stand underneath it. The demon’s claw raked through the bits that would have told me what it was. Also destroyed the binding so there won’t be any more coming, so that’s good, at least. But you see the problem.”
“How did anyone know Maria and Javier would be here?”
“Exactly. So how did you set up this rendezvous?”
“At our last meeting. In London.”
“In the privacy of your hotel room?”
“No, we were in the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, lounging under a similar tree and remarking on how lovely it was, but rather lacking in privacy. People all around.”
“Close enough to hear?”
“Yes, though it didn’t appear anyone was listening intently.”
“Appearances aside…ye gave them explicit instruction on how to find this place at that time, and no other?”
“Yes. So…that must have been it. But the humans nearby—well. I didn’t sense any ill intent from them.”
“It didn’t need to be a human nearby, did it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you look up in the tree?” I pointed at Slomo and made sure she understood what I was saying to Coriander. “You never know what could be hanging around in one of those.”
Coriander considered Slomo and how quietly she was dangling there. He paled. “No. I guess it could have been the Fae.”
“Sure. A pixie or somethin’ could have been eavesdroppin’ up there. And it could have been something or someone else. We don’t know, and we need to, right? Or are ye satisfied that it was a demon and we should just leave it alone?”
“No, I want to know who’s responsible and…what happened to the demon?”
“I can check with the elemental and see if it can be sensed. But my guess is that it’s a flier or we would have seen some tracks. Only evidence we’ve found is in the tree.”
“So it’s just…flying around?”
“Unless whoever summoned it took care to send it back, yes. That’s honestly not my worry. A runaway demon is something we can hand off to Granuaile. But finding out who’s behind it is a much bigger deal. So: Can ye remember which tree ye sat under at the Kew Gardens?”
“Yes. It was near the Glass House.”
“I presume there’s a bound tree there we can use.”
“Indubitably.”
“Well then, let’s away to London.”
The Kew Gardens are beautiful grounds, a testament to what people can do without any Druids to help them. If they’d thought to take such care with the rest of the planet, maybe Gaia wouldn’t be so fecked up with pollution. But I think people who give a damn about the planet aren’t the ones in power for some reason. I suspect the reason might be money.
Near a huge structure called the Glass House—presumably the place whence people should never throw stones—an oak tree of two hundred years or so spread out its branches over a mulched canopy. People in linens and sunglasses and tropical flower prints strolled or sprawled nearby, but no one noticed us appear. At first, anyway. Once Slomo started retching on me shoulder, heads turned in our direction, and people said things like “What the hell is that?” but then they gasped and said, “Oh my God, it’s a sloth!” and started to jog or bounce or flail in our direction.
Time to dangle unless ye want to be pawed by a bunch of strangers, I said.
Slomo’s answer edged toward panic.
I lifted her up to the oak tree and boosted her so she could reach the lowest branch and hoist herself out of harm’s way, and then planted myself in front of the trunk so no one could get to her without going through me first.
Hold still and dangle. I’m going to make ye disappear.
England. I cast camouflage on her and she melted from view, human eyes unable to distinguish her from the tree and surroundings.
Colonialism, Shakespeare, and a fictional detective named Sherlock Holmes.
I suppose we are. Maybe we’ll score ourselves a show on TV.
A trio of people, breathless with excitement, arrived to get a better look at the sloth. It was two teenaged girls and a man who was probably the father of one of them, if not both.
“Ohmigod you have a sloth? How did you get one? I want one!” the first girl said.
“Where did it go?” asked the other.
“It was so cute, I want to squeeze it!” the first one added, looking up at the tree branches.
/> There was no helping it; the best way to get rid of them fast was to be rude.
“There’s no sloth. Go away,” I said.
“But we saw one,” the first teenager protested.
“No ye didn’t. These are gardens, not a zoo. Me friend and I want to discuss tree parasites. Go away.”
“Look here, there’s no need to be so insufferably Irish,” the man said.
“I think ye could stand a whole lot more suffering, lad. Away with ye now or I’ll give ye some for free.”
“Are you threatening me?” he challenged, his face reddening.
“Yes.” I pulled out me brass knuckles and slipped them on. He paled quickly. “Go away or I turn your face into marmalade.”
“I’m reporting you to security,” he said, already herding the teens away.
“You do that.”
Once they were gone I dropped Slomo’s camouflage. Sorry about that, love. This is a public place and you’re adorable so humans are gonna react like that whenever they see you.
They wanted to pet you and I told them to leave. Smell anything weird up there? Spicy or anything?
Coriander sighed. “This was weeks ago. There probably aren’t any clues remaining even if any were left at the time.”
“Only one way to find out.” I cast camouflage on meself and stripped again. “Stand guard here, will ye? I imagine some security types might show up soon but ye can handle them, right?”
“They will handle themselves, yes.”
I chuckled. “I’ll try to be quick.”
“No, please, take all the time you need.”
I bound me form to a kite, flew up into the tree above Slomo, and dropped the camouflage.
I hopped over to where Slomo was dangling and sure enough, a small pink cloth was underneath her claws and caught on a sharp piece of bark. I teased it out with my beak, pinned it underneath me talons, and examined it.