Ruled by Tainted Blood

by Michael J Allen

  The thing on her right darted in, slicing the calf of the already injured leg. She felt the cut, though not to the same degree as she had the first. The leg folded once more.

  All three hissed at her in unison.

  They’re not letting me by. I’ll have to come back.

  Another thought cut in as Sabina backed toward the flat emptiness.

  If she dies down there, she’ll just come back somewhere else, right?

  Sabrina cursed.

  She didn’t know, and she doubted Google had anything on modern phoenix rebirths from fairy land.

  But the boy toy might know, or the old woman.

  Sabrina retreated into the darkness with a new plan. She reappeared in the dilapidated apartment once more. To her relief the darkness housed in the arch hadn’t vanished like it had between the crayon trees. A pristine white card drew her attention to a line of bullets.

  Sabrina picked up the card labeled with her last name, reading the note inside: Have a blessed damned day, copper.

  Can angels say damned?

  She glanced around for more notes only to realize that none of the dead thugs’ bodies remained. She scooped up the replacement rounds and brought up her radio. “Dispatch, this is Detective Foxner.”

  “This is Dispatch, are you saying you found Detective Foxner?”

  “Found? No, I am Foxner.”

  “Are you all right, detective? Do you need medical assistance? Should we send an ambulance to your location?”

  “Why would I need a bus?” Sabrina asked.

  “Your tracker went totally offline at the address of a shots fired six days ago.”

  Cold worse than the fairyland water swallowed her. “I’m sorry, did you say six days?”

  “Affirmative, Detective. You’ve been MIA for six days.” The dispatcher hesitated a moment. “I’ve got units en route from GT’s campus.”

  Six days?

  She pulled up her cell phone home screen. The date matched the same day she’d entered the complex with Quayla.

  This is some kind of elaborate joke, but why? They don’t know I went—

  The phone’s date increased by six days.

  She swallowed.

  Six days.

  “Detective?” the dispatcher called.

  “Right, I’ll, uh, meet them outside.”

  That isn’t possible.

  Sabrina’s mind whirled while she waited for the other unit. Its proximity proved a saving grace, forcing the detective to turn her focus away from the impossible claims her cell phone confirmed.

  Campus police were a part of the overall Atlanta PD, but they took a lot of grief for being glorified babysitters. The officer who got out of his car and insisted on putting her through a thorough check took no end of glee from ordering Sabrina around.

  She let him.

  It didn’t matter how many times he shined a pen light in her face or peered deep into her eyes or asked her to blow on the breathalyzer. She’d lost six days in less than an hour.

  Six days I have to explain away...and I still need to go back into Faery.

  15: Sanctum Assault

  Detective Foxner

  Sabrina raised a fist to pound on the apartment door. She hesitated. The interrogation she’d suffered for the missed days had grated on her nerves. She was a good cop and had the reputation to go with it. They’d dragged her into the precinct after the EMT’s cleared her, made her urinate in a cup and then put her in an interrogation room like a common criminal.

  Every minute being grilled about her whereabouts had sawed her very last nerve. Two women—well, a woman and a supernatural being—were in danger and every second counted.

  Not that anything I could say would be sufficient explanation.

  The time probably wasn’t as important as it felt either. An hour on crazy Crayola Island had equated to six days. That should’ve meant that during the hours of red tape and questions, Quayla and Judith had only been in danger for minutes.

  But I can’t shake the feeling those minutes are crucial.

  Sabrina had managed to talk Miri into checking Quayla’s apartment for Terrance Wall. She’d apparently found a lot to fascinate her in the apartment and in the person of Hadley Cox. Unfortunately, that distraction had prevented Miri from going out to Wall’s address or even remembering Quayla.

  Sabrina had gone out to the Dallas home herself to find it quiet, empty and with no probable cause to force entry. With no other idea how to reach Quayla’s stuffy boss, she’d chosen Dylan Snyder as the next best option.

  Three solid, authoritative knocks filled the hall with sound.

  Considering the discussion she was about to initiate, she hoped the boyfriend had been read in on all the supernatural goings on. With the scrutiny already on her, she definitely didn’t need Snyder filing a harassment complaint and swearing under oath he’d been asked about faeries and phoenixes.

  Shouldn’t there be some sort of way to erase questions? I sure as hell need some way to explain my absence.

  The door opened.

  Snyder stood in the door wearing blue jeans and an untucked dress shirt. “Something I can do for you Detective Foxner?”

  Sabrina tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. “Please tell me you know your girlfriend isn’t human.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? What else would she be?”

  “A phoenix?”

  All color drained from him.

  “Are you one of them?” Sabrina asked.

  He set his shoulders. “Come insid—”

  “Dylan, dear?” Mrs. Cox’s voice reached Sabrina from up the hall.

  Sabrina opened her mouth, but didn’t for the life of her know what to say. The old woman was sharp as a Masamune blade, but there was no way to tell what she did and didn’t know.

  The more people I bring into this, the greater the risk.

  “Mrs. Cox?” Snyder asked. “What can I do for you?”

  The old woman held up a slip of paper. “I have a reminder here. It’s in my handwriting and it says I need to call you about dead bodies in Quayla’s apartment.”

  Sabrina’s instincts lit up like a pinball machine.

  Mrs. Cox furrowed her brows. “I don’t remember writing this, and I checked. Quayla’s apartment is clean—though it doesn’t look like she’s been home in weeks. Did I call you about...bodies?”

  “No, Mrs. Cox, but why don’t you come inside?” He eyed the hallway. “Seems both of you want to talk about things probably best discussed in private.”

  Snyder ushered them into his apartment. Socks and work shoes seemed to have been discarded at random in front of the couch, but otherwise the living area seemed just as tidy as Sabrina’s last visit.

  “Can I get you anything,” Snyder asked.

  Mrs. Cox patted his hand. “Such a good boy, you really should pop the question, dear.”

  “I already did.” Snyder hesitated. “It’s complicated.”

  “Please tell me that girl didn’t turn down a fine catch like you.”

  Snyder glanced at Sabrina. “Like I said, complicated.”

  “Tea?”

  “Mrs. Cox?” Snyder asked.

  “You offered us something to drink. Do you have any tea?”

  “Oh, right. Yes.”

  Snyder wound around an island separating the kitchen and living room. He emptied and refilled a kettle before setting it on the stove. “Detective?”

  “No.” Sabrina stopped herself on the opposite side of the bar. She gave Cox a sidelong glance. “Look, Quayla’s in trouble. I hoped if you were the same thing she is—”

  “Thing?!” Mrs. Cox said. “Detective, there is no call to be insulting.”

  Warmth prickled the underside of Sabrina’s forearms. “I wanted to know if Snyder was a phoenix like Quayla.”

  Mrs. Cox’s brows furrowed. “Pardon?”

  “No,” Snyder said. “Where’s Quayla. What’s happened?”

  “We were
chasing the...,” Sabrina licked at her lips, glancing again at Mrs. Cox. “goblins that kidnapped her friend Judith. We followed them through an arch into...a crayon drawing of a desert island.”

  I can’t believe these things are coming out of my mouth.

  When no questions followed Sabrina’s ludicrous statement, she forged on. “I was forced out of wherever that place was by a bunch of green...octopus...heads.”

  Snyder’s fingers tightened on the breakfast bar’s counter. “What about Quayla?”

  “She didn’t...come back out of the water,” Sabrina said.

  “You let her drown?” Mrs. Cox’s accusation stung Sabrina.

  “Of course not...she was...made of water at the time.”

  Mrs. Cox tottered around the counter to the whistling kettle no one seemed to have heard. “When was your last day off, Detective?”

  “I’m not over wo—I didn’t halluc—you know what? I have no idea what I am or am not anymore.”

  Snyder crossed to his side table and drew out a locked zipper pouch. “Can you take me back there?”

  “When did you get a gun?” Sabrina asked.

  “After that ogre attacked her,” Snyder said. “I just needed to be able to protect her.”

  Mrs. Cox set out three cups, pouring hot water into the cups. “You’re such a dear, but one hooligan shouldn’t make you feel like you need to buy a gun.”

  “Do you even know how to use it?” Sabrina asked.

  “I’ve taken it to a range a few times.” He turned back to the old woman. “That wasn’t just some hooligan, Mrs. Cox. That was an honest to god ogre that...right. You don’t remember.”

  “I remember just fine, young man. You’re blowing things out of proportion. Now, sit down and let me make you some tea. Everything’s always better after some tea.”

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Cox, well, not fine, but fine. Quayla isn’t human.”

  “She’s a florist, dear.”

  “She’s a phoenix,” Sabrina insisted.

  “You just said she turned into water,” Mrs. Cox said. “Phoenixes are made of fire.”

  “No. Not every phoenix is reborn from ashes, Mrs. Cox. Quayla is one of a team of phoenixes protecting us from...faeries,” Snyder finished lamely.

  Mrs. Cox shifted her gaze from Sabrina to Snyder and back. She rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me those rascals were involved? We’ll need to stop by my apartment on the way.”

  Sabrina gaped at her.

  “Mrs. Cox, you wouldn’t be safe going to—”

  Mrs. Cox jabbed a crooked finger into his chest. “Faery land? Now see here, young man. I am probably better prepared than either of you to face a bunch of faeries. I can’t say Nana ever said anything about phoenixes—especially ones that aren’t all fiery—but she did tell a lot of stories which ended with great birds doing in faeries.”

  “You can’t come with us,” Sabrina said.

  Mrs. Cox patted her hand. “That’s nice, dear. Drink your tea before we go.”

  Snyder glanced at Sabrina. “I have a key card for their HQ.”

  Hope swelled in Sabrina’s chest. Snyder knew where to find the other phoenixes. “Great, Mrs. Cox can return to her apartment, while we—”

  Mrs. Cox waggled a finger. “Now look here, missy, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m going home to gear up, not nap.”

  “I understand that,” Sabrina glanced at Snyder. “I’ll give you an address—”

  “To a nice hair salon, no doubt—maybe even with great senior rates to distract the senile old bat. Not a chance in H E double hockey sticks, not when my sweet little Quayla is in jeopardy,” Mrs. Cox said. “I’m going where you go. Besides, the Roma slip the cops, not the other way around.”

  Despite every argument to the contrary, nothing short of illegally handcuffing Mrs. Cox seemed enough to dissuade her. Sabrina stood in the doorway to apartment 1A as the old woman tottered around stuffing things into a huge carpet bag.

  Drawers and cupboards slammed.

  Dishes, pots and pans clattered.

  But all Sabrina could do was shake her head and marvel.

  Snyder sidled closer, lowering his voice. “Do you think we should try to slip away?”

  “It’s not nice to talk about people behind their backs, dear.”

  Sabrina gestured. “She’s a force of nature. Do you think we could get away or that she’d stay behind now even if we do manage to find help?”

  Snyder looked at the old woman. “Not a chance in he—”

  “Dylan,” Mrs. Cox scolded.

  “Double hockey sticks,” Snyder said.

  Sabrina laughed.

  At long last, Mrs. Cox latched a bulging bag and patted it on the side. “All right, I’m armed for faerie. Let’s go kick some baby stealing, fairy dust trailing, Grimm’s tale butts.”

  Sabrina raised her brows.

  Jesus, I’m stuck in a real-life Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot. Why couldn’t this have been a simple hostage situation with a negotiator, a suicidal scumbag and SWAT rather than Annie Schwarzen-landlady?

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Mrs. Cox opened an old trunk and drew out a bundle of fabric. She unfolded an age-faded shawl lined with small coins and wrapped it around her shoulders. Several sections showed newer colors where holes had been mended, but the coins all suffered under years of tarnish. “Can’t forget Nana’s shawl.”

  Snyder directed them to a high-rise building. They parked in a garage and Quayla’s boyfriend got out of the car the moment it was stopped. Sabrina shut off the engine and followed him to an elevator. The clinking of Mrs. Cox’s shawl followed a moment later.

  “You might not be welcome up there,” Snyder held up a security keycard. “You wouldn’t believe what it took to get this.”

  “We stick together,” Sabrina said. “Besides, I’m the pol—shield here, not you.”

  Mrs. Cox patted Sabrina’s back. “I’m sure your badge will make barging into a nest full of supernatural birds of prey just fine.”

  Sabrina turned to find a mischievous smile playing at the edges of the old woman’s lips.

  Sarcastic old bag.

  Anima

  A phoenix’s dying cry pierced Anima’s heart.

  Dear Creator, let it not be Quayla once more.

  As their caretaker, Anima loved all of her shields with His heart, but Quayla had suffered too much in recent days. She’d taken a mortal into what could only be a trap laid for Quayla within Faery.

  A whisper of fear crowded Anima’s heart.

  If either mortal dies, Vitae will demand Vilicangelus destroy her.

  She shook off her fear and touched a finger onto the sapphire eye embedded in her forehead, opening herself to Quayla’s essence and peering within.

  No sense of Quayla herself reached Anima, but the essence within Quayla’s nest and seeds remained the same as it had when last touched.

  Anima let out a relieved breath.

  Before she could open herself to another shield, a sudden surge of Wyldfae magic stole Anima’s breath.

  Wings spun her around, oriented within a storm’s eye of mist and magic, Creation and Infinity. The phantom, spirit-world soul of Atlanta surrounded her in translucent echoes, mired in an ever-darkening fog of taint and the floating constellations of her Shield’s seeds.

  Taint of the fallen Sidhe swallowed her in its strength, but unlike her shields couldn’t cause Anima’s incorruptible form illness.

  She scoured her world with narrowed eyes, searching every mote in her little corner of infinity. Had she chosen, she could’ve looked beyond swirling nebulae filled with mirror pools of Eden-born spring water to other such islands and her fellow Watchers.

  She redoubled the search of her shire, pinning a lip beneath teeth in a learned habit that infuriated The Isaac.

  An instant of self-loathing washed over her, heralding a twinge of doubt. She granted them no time to settle, sweeping her hands outward to unleash her inner fire to incinerate
the dark spirts attempting the delivery.

  Another sweep of wings pitched her forward enough to confirm the taint source directly below her—at the foot of her Shield’s tower. Pools around her rippled within the rainbow clouds framing them, resolving into reflections of the Shield’s hallways seen through technological eyes.

  A temporary arch darkened the tower’s foyer. A small army of brownies poured out of the breach and toward the elevator bank.

  Caelum did not tell me the brownies were returning to clean once more.

  She touched the yellow topaz eye within her forehead, peering into the wild but charming essence that so epitomized Caelum.

  He’s not in Creation eith—-wait, he is, but I can barely feel him.

  The weak connection didn’t make any sense to her, but she had no time to dwell on it. Without Caelum to ask about the brownies, she needed to contact their Shieldheart.

  He wasn’t in the shield headquarters. None of her phoenixes were present to deal with the small army of brownies pouring into the tower’s elevator.

  She reached for the garnet in her forehead, only to stop short when a half elf entered the car and scanned Caelum’s keycard.

  She whispered down onto the tower. “You have not been invited here, Sidhe. Return to your realm.”

  Oshyn made a rude gesture at the elevator’s camera. “Get stuffed.”

  She raised her voice. “I said begone, ye foul perversion of Creation.”

  The Sidhe slapped hands over their ears. The brownies made a cheerleading pyramid, drew straight razors and severed both speaker and camera cables.

  Anima reached into Vitae’s essence. His nest remained full and undisturbed in his bedroom, but she couldn’t feel him within their shire either.

  What am I going to do?

  Heat rippled through her core. She released it once more, burning away the spirit of doubt sent against her.

  Anima placed a finger on each of her five embedded eyes and peered into the world. Connection to all five of her shields bolstered her call. For a moment, she glimpsed Caelum and Vitae before something hid them away once more.

  She placed her other hand on the pulsing sphere of Light embedded in the center of her chest and pushed with her will. “Shield Headquarters is under assault.”