Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (10 page)

“What other explanation could there be? That we killed our own, or attacked an arcana openly? For what gain?”

I frowned. “Maybe we should back up a bit. Why was your cousin even with the alchemist in the first place?”

Silene sighed. “She and those arrested today were protesting outside his shop. Our campaign against alchemists was to be the first seed sown in our growth toward freedom. Alchemists exploit us. They need us for so many of their potions—our blood, bone, and flesh, our hair, horns, and venom, everything. Even the ink that the wizards use to make their tattoos requires some part of brightbloods.”

Sal gave a low growl. “Theyself use Seeahtik feet for sexstrong potion. Weself feet, and skin of unicorn … horn.”

Thank the gods I'd never drunk that particular potion. I wondered if Mort had. Seemed likely. I'd have to mention the ingredients to him, maybe over breakfast.

“This has always been true, though,” I said. “The alchemists get those ingredients from the licensed necrotoriums, and in exchange the feyblood's family gets mana.”

“And how much mana would you feel is fair in exchange for your mother's eyes? Or your father's feet?” Romey challenged.

“No amount,” I admitted. And I had a sudden, terrible thought—would someone try to harvest something of Pete or Vee after their death for an alchemist's potion? “But … I thought most feybloods didn't care about the physical body once the spirit had left?”

“Some,” Silene said, looking at the wisp. “And some are just desperate to leave their family a little mana. Even so, the mana we get for the bodies of our fallen is never enough to meet our need, yet just enough that many cannot refuse it.”

It was like rabbit's feet, I realized. I'd won them as colorful little trinkets at the arcade when I was young, and knew what they were called at the time, yet somehow hadn't connected them as having once
actually
been on a cute little living rabbit, not until I was a teen. How many familiar artifacts and potions had I also never thought to question the origins of?

Silene continued, her voice becoming more passionate, “We have more to offer of value than our bodies, yet most are denied permission to perform such work—they say to keep humans safe and our natures hidden, but we know it is also to keep us dependent.”

Romey snorted. “And because they fear we shall prove their betters.”

Silene gave a slight shrug. “We hoped our peaceful protests would remind the arcana that the potions and powders they buy come from our dead, to demand fair return for our sacrifice.”

*How like a brightblood to blame everyone else for their lowly state,* Alynon said. *But if brightbloods had the ability to care for themselves, they would have done so by now.*

Isn't that what Silene is trying to do?

*A child's rebellion against those who care for her, that is all. It shall prove short lived and symbolic only, as all such brightblood movements are.*

Don't be a jerk,
I thought.

*You may call me the jerk, but if you arcana wished to reduce your dependence upon these brightbloods, it would be but a matter of small effort to do so.*

The ARC had, I knew, found artificial replacements for some of the more rare feyblood ingredients. In fact, several popular medicines, two artificial sweetners, and a rather hostile and short-lived breed of Sea Monkeys were also discovered by accident during the ARC's experiments. But such work was expensive in resources and mana. Easier to just pay feybloods for their donations, and maintain the Pax Arcana's status quo.

“No response, I see,” Romey said bitingly.

I shook my head. “Just thinking. So what went wrong with your protests?”

“We do not know,” Silene said, “except Veirai was killed.”

Romey growled. “She was murdered by the alchemist.”

Silene shrugged. “They said it was self-defense, that he acted out of fear for his life. I do not think that likely.”

I frowned. “Are you sure Veirai didn't attack this alchemist, maybe try to force him to make a cure for Grayson's Curse?”

“I'm sure. We do not speak of the curse except to those we trust, to prevent spreading awareness of its existence. We've already lost too many to its trap—Dunngo's son among them—and too many out there already see us as little better than animals, to be used as pets and slaves.”

“Ah.” I wasn't sure what to say to that. “Okay. I'll do what I can to find out why this alchemist killed Veirai, and what the ARC is doing about it.” I turned to Sal. “And we'll verify that Challa is the right … friend for you once she's free. I promise.” I gave him a pat on the arm, and winced as my hand found a sharp burr caught in his fur. I plucked it off my palm and tossed it away with the difficulty of tossing away a bad dream made of sap and static cling.

Silene ordered the other feybloods to let me leave in peace rather than pieces, and I wasted no time in getting back to my car. I arranged to meet Sal the next day at Fort Worden, when I'd hopefully have the sasquatch Challa, or at least some good news.

*You are a fool to get involved in their troubles,* Alynon said as Don Faun led me back toward my car.

I'm not—what do you care anyway?

*I care if it puts us in danger.*

Offering to help got us
out
of danger. And it's the right thing to do. I promised Sal I'd find him love. And Grayson's Curse—

*Ah, you hope to improve your family name? Perhaps so Pete may pledge here to the Silver?*

Pete won't have to pledge anywhere. He's arcana,
I said.

*Of course.*

It will
not
come to that,
I said, and knew I was trying to convince myself as much as him.
I'll find a way to keep them free
.

*Free like you? Chained to your family business, your guilt, your—*

Drop it.

*Dee Niall isn't just a lass in Scotland.*

“Whatever,” I muttered.

“What?” Don Faun asked.

“Nothing. Sorry. Just talking to the annoying voice in my head.”

“Oh,” Don said, “you got one of them too?” He looked around us, then cleared his throat and said in a low voice, “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Does your voice ever ask you to, ya know, dress up special when you get amorous-like? You know, like maybe a, uh, coyote?”

“Nooo,” I said slowly. “But I don't think he'd complain if I did.”

*Hell, I'd be fine if you dressed up like a Smurf, long as you got to the amorous part.*

“Oh, yeah, well, mine either,” Don said quickly. “But I've heard rumors of others. You know.”

“Of course.”

I reached the car without further incident. On the drive home, I called Reggie, Zeke's old enforcer partner, and explained the situation to him. His manner of speaking, like his appearance, always reminded me of Louis Gossett Jr.

“Shoot, son, I don't know what to say. I've been trying to find a way to help Pete and Vee since Zeke's death, and still don't know how to keep them free. I'll keep trying, though. As for this feyblood death, I can probably get you a chance to Talk with her spirit. And get you in to speak with those feybloods they just brought in. But that won't happen until tomorrow morning at the soonest.”

“Can you tell me anything about what happened at the alchemist shop?” I asked.

“It's an open investigation, so no, I can't. Officially. But I'll look into it for you, and give what help I can.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I hesitated. “You doing okay, about Jo, and Zeke and all?”

“It's getting better, man,” Reggie said. “Thanks for asking. It helps that we are rooting out and tearing down the Arcanites one mad magus at a time.”

“Any sign that Grayson is still alive?”

“You know if there was, you'd be the first person I'd tell. After I beat his ass to a pulp.”

“Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

*   *   *

I pulled into the driveway of my family's home, the gravel crunching beneath the tires of the old hearse. The early afternoon sun shone bright but weak, having barely begun its descent toward the madrona and pine trees that screened our yard from the street and our neighbors. I climbed out of the driver's seat and stood for a minute, looking up at the black and white Ansel Adams clouds of a distant storm.

What mess had I gotten into now?

Maybe I should have run away from magic when I had the chance, instead of sticking around and trying to start a magical dating service. But my family needed me. And even after being home for months, I still had no clue what else I could do.

That worried me more than a little to think that, without magic, I had nothing. Nothing to do. Nothing interesting about me. No—

“Don't freak out,” a woman's voice said behind me.

I turned to find Heather, fugitive alchemist and one-time crush, standing in the shadow of the hedges. She wore a long black jacket, and she'd chopped her normally blond hair short and dyed it black, which only served to accentuate the dark circles under her eyes and the shadows of her sunken cheeks. She held a water pistol pointed at me, and I felt pretty sure it wasn't filled with water.

I freaked out.

 

6

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

I spun away from Heather to run for the house—and banged my shin against the bumper of the hearse. “Ow!” I hopped and grasped at my shin.

“Way to Harding yourself,” Heather said. “Didn't I just say don't freak out?”

I flinched, but no potion splashed over me. I turned back to face her. “You're an alchemist pointing a water pistol at me. And the last time I saw you, you tried to freeze me.”

“And you shot me. I'd say we're even.”

“That was an accident. And—never mind. What are you doing here?”

She sighed. “I need your help.”

“You're kidding, right?”

Heather lowered the pistol. “Look, I understand why you wouldn't exactly trust me—”

“Did I mention you tried to freeze me?”

“We were also friends. And lovers, if only briefly. Do you remember that?”

*
I
certainly do,* Alynon said. *Think she'd be keen for another round?*

Don't be a smeghead.
“Are you still working for the Arcanites?” I asked.

“I never worked for the Arcanites. I did things for Grayson because he was my boy's father, and I needed to protect Orion from him. I couldn't do that from the outside. I had to play along, do what he asked.”

“Is Grayson still alive?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Heather said. “If he is, he hasn't found me. And I haven't looked for him. Finn, I was trying to protect you, too, you know that, right? Grayson had feybloods he would have sent after you if I hadn't promised I could keep you … distracted while he did what he needed. And I only tried to freeze you so you wouldn't get hurt in the fighting.”

“That wouldn't have saved Sammy, or Mattie.” Anger swelled in my chest. “It didn't save Zeke.”

“I know. That's why I'm here. I want to try and make up for my mistakes.”

“Then tell the ARC everything you know.”

Heather shook her head. “Orion knew more than me. I'm sure he's already told them everything I could and more. I would just be sent into exile. And I can't do any good in exile. Surely you can understand that?”

Ah, bat's breath.

“What do you want then?”

“I—I don't know. There's got to be something I can do to make amends.”

“The mana drug that Grayson was using. You created that, right?”

Heather blushed. “Yes. I did a lot of terrible things. I know.”

“Well, that is what you can do for starters. The Arcanites are still using the drug. The feybloods need a cure for the addiction. Do you have one?”

“No,” Heather said.

“Just no? Can't you create one?”

Heather looked away. “I—something else. Name something else for me to do.”

“What? Why?”

“Too many people in power want to use that drug now. If I provided the cure to it, if I took that weapon away from them, they would make sure I was exiled or worse, no matter what other good I did. Please, just ask me to do something else.”

“Merlin's beard, Heather! Seriously? This is exactly the kind of thinking that got you in trouble in the first place. You need to just stand up and do the right thing.”

Heather's face flushed. “Says the overgrown boy who wanted to run away from his responsibilities and make video games.”

“But I didn't,” I said, feeling my own neck and face heating up. “I stayed.”

“Because you didn't have much choice.”

“There's always a choice,” I said, feeling like a hypocrite indeed. “Just like you have a choice now.”

“Gee, thanks, Afterschool Special, now I realize I should have Just Said No.”

“What the hell, Heather? You came to me. Do you want my help or not?”

Heather's eyes suddenly overflowed with tears. “I'm sorry. I've been running, hiding, I don't know what to do, I just don't want it to end like this.”

“Then make the cure for the drug, Heather. Please.” I stepped toward her, reached out to hold her arm, to reassure her.

Her hand jerked up with the water gun, and she shot me in the chest.

“Wha—!”

Numbness spread out from my chest, and I fell limp to the ground. I wasn't frozen, it just felt like every muscle in my arms, legs, and face had gone to sleep.

“I'm sorry!” Heather said. “I didn't mean to—I'm sorry.” She looked around her as if afraid enforcers, or worse, would pounce on her any second. “I can't make the cure to the feyblood drug. I'm not even sure it's possible. But if you think of anything else I can do to make amends, to earn your forgiveness, then just … hang some shoes on that silly rope thing of yours.” She waved up at the rope pulley that ran from my bedroom window over the hedge to Dawn's house, a way to exchange objects and messages when we were teens.