Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (32 page)

Mort snorted. “Racist? Seriously? Come on, let's just be honest for a second. If Mother had gone through what we've gone through, even she—”

Father suddenly stopped playing with the olives and looked at Mort, his face serious. “Go to your room.”

Mort looked at Mattie. “Get him some candy.” He turned back to face me. “I don't think you all—”

Father slapped the table, making the dishes jump.

“I said go to your room!”

Mort turned an annoyed expression toward Father, but the expression faded when their eyes met. There was an awkward moment of silence, then Mort snorted. “Whatever.” He grabbed his napkin from his lap, and tossed it onto the table. “I don't feel like sitting here anyway, not with you all pretending like I'm some kind of monster for speaking the hard truth.” He gave me a dismissive wave. “I was just trying to keep you from throwing your life away for a bunch of homicidal half-bloods. Sorry for caring.”

He strode from the room in classic pout mode.

“Wow,” Sammy said. “Every time I think he's outdone himself—” She shook her head.

I leaned toward Father, putting my hand out to him on the table though he was too far to reach. “Father? Are you okay?”

Father looked at his hands, and the broken remains of olive that clung to his fingertips. “They're falling apart,” he said. “Why can't all my fingers be on the same hand?” He wriggled his fingers.

“It'll be okay,” I said. Gods, I'd need to have Mattie watch him, make sure he didn't try to invent a way to sew his hands together or something.

Father looked up at me, and grinned. “Okee smokey artichokey, you better learn to dance the polky.”

I tried to keep the tears back. But they broke free, and then I began sobbing in a series of explosive releases as though I were being punched in the gut. It was as raw as the roof of my mouth after a box of Cap'n Crunch, and unexpected as the Spanish Inquisition.

Dawn made reassuring sounds, and pulled me into a hug. Mattie, Pete, and Vee all asked if I was okay, and what they could do.

It was all too much. My family's needs. My father's madness. The uncertain promise of me and Dawn. The unbelievably suck-a-rific choice I faced: to return to the Other Realm and risk potential destruction or permanent exile; or to possibly allow the Shadows to start a war that would destroy thousands of lives, including my brother's and Vee's? And I hadn't really had time to process or recover from the fighting and Talking drains of the past couple of days, which probably didn't help.

I felt embarrassed, and frustrated, and nothing like a champion of the brightbloods or leader of my family. I wanted to just go to my room and curl up in my bed, to spend the next week eating junk food and playing games on my Commodore and leaving everything and everyone else be. But the love and comfort of my family helped quiet the chaos in my head and heart, and I soon regained control. I rubbed at my eyes and nose.

*I am sorry, truly,* Alynon said. *You know I wish to go home, but, well, I understand. I think I may even miss your family.*

I laughed, and wiped apologetically at the wet spot on Dawn's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” I said to everyone. “Not exactly the manliest reaction.”

Dawn snorted. “Are you kidding? That was damn sexy. Especially the boogers you left on my shirt.”

“Gee, thanks!” I said.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Sammy said. “It's better than getting drunk and making an idiot of yourself, which is my normal reaction to stress.”

Pete nodded. “Doctor Weirmedice says what you don't let out in a good way now will just come out in a bad way later.”

Mattie looked up in the direction of our bedrooms. “I'm sorry my dad is kind of a jerk sometimes. He just—” She shrugged, and I felt fresh tears building at the clear disappointment on her face. How much must it suck for a child when they can't make excuses for their parent's bad behavior anymore, even to themselves?

“We know, Mat-cat,” Sammy said. “Now, hero boy, is there anything we can do to help you get ready?”

“Actually,” I said, “I do need to do a couple of things. Vee, maybe we can work a little on recovering my memories before I leave?”

“Oh! Sure,” Vee replied in a surprised voice.

And I would need some time to absorb some magic from the family's stores of mana. It would be nice to test out my theory about the Simon artifact as well—“over there, other there” Father had said—but I couldn't risk it. I'd arrange for Pete to test it once I was gone.

One memory session, three-fourths Thoth of mana absorbed, and lots of family hugs later, Dawn and I made our way to her house to get her car keys.

“Thank you for not trying to leave me behind,” Dawn said.

“Of course! I'm just glad you want to go with me at all, after last night, and everything that's happened.” It would be nice to not be alone with my thoughts and fears for the ride there.

Dawn halted, and pulled me to a stop beside her in the noon warmth. “About last night, it wasn't just about us, or Heather, or—” She stopped, and shook her head, and tears built up in her eyes.

“Dawn, what's wrong?” I asked, stepping closer and putting my hands on her arms.

“I tried playing guitar yesterday, and I couldn't. Not for long.” Her hand went to her shoulder. “I don't know if it was the damage, or the way it was healed or what, but this is tight, and hurts when I try to strum for long.”

“Oh. Oh shit. Dawn, I'm so sorry. And then that record company wants to hear you play—”

She nodded. “I was just upset, and scared. And a little angry at you. But it wasn't your fault.”

“No, I don't blame you. If I hadn't gone sticking my nose where it didn't belong—”

“Stop,” Dawn said. “I'm proud of what you're doing, it makes me love you more. I just needed a little time to process is all.”

I pulled her into a hug. “Still, I'm sorry.” I stepped back. “Maybe Amber can play while you sing, just for a while? She's always joking about forming the New Dawn cover band.”

“I've already talked to her,” Dawn said. “She's going to help with my gig Tuesday night. And the ladies at the massage school said they'd help with some massage, and pointed me to a physical therapist who might take barter. I'm not asking you to fix this, Finn, I'm just letting you know what's going on so you understand.”

I nodded. “Okay.” We continued walking to her house. “You really sure you want to come with me? I'd understand if you wanted the time to rehearse with Amber.”

“Nice try, baby, but I'm taking you there, and you're going to hold me in front of that friggin' romantic waterfall, and rehearse something a hell of a lot better than a song.”

“As you wish,” I said, and smiled.

*   *   *

The regional ARC headquarters was located beneath Snoqualmie Falls and the hydro-power plant, on the “mainland.” It was to the lighthouse ARC facility what a state supreme court was to a local county court.

Western Washington isn't so much an area of land as a collection of hills, plateaus, peninsulas, and islands—not to mention political, cultural, and economic islands—divided by inlets, lakes, straights, wetlands, and valleys, with countless bridges, ferries, and narrows connecting them all. So it took almost three hours, a ferry ride, and crossing a floating bridge to reach the Snoqualmie Falls.

Dawn excitedly informed me during the drive over that Snoqualmie Falls Lodge—or Salish Lodge, as I guess it was now called—had been featured in a show called
Twin Peaks
. I didn't know about that, but I did remember that they made an amazing breakfast. I hoped that was still true. And that I had a chance to test it out when I got back from the Other Realm.

We pulled into the parking lot just after 3:00
P.M.
, then strolled to the Falls viewpoint.

We had an hour to kill before I was to meet Reggie. Per Dawn's plan, we kissed in front of the waterfall long and passionately, at least until the unhappy looks from passing families made us grin at each other and wander off to explore the paths and displays on the history of the falls, the power plants, and the Snoqualmie tribes to whom the land was held sacred.

The time of simply being a happy couple came to an end, and time to face my choice arrived. We walked to the restaurant and gift shop that overlooked the falls. The place looked nothing like I remembered. It had been completely remodeled shortly after my exile, replacing its old rustic charm with a more “upscale lodge” look. Oak wood support and ceiling beams framed honey-colored walls, tasteful art displays, and items for sale.

I felt a bit lost.

“Ready?” Reggie said behind me, making me jump.

“Hey!” I said. “Uh, yeah, one sec.”

I gave Dawn a last long kiss, PDA rules be damned, and held her tight. “I'll be right back,” I whispered to her.

“You'd better,” she replied, her voice thick. We stepped apart, and she cleared her throat. “Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid,” she said to Reggie.

Reggie shrugged. “I'll do what I can.”

Dawn nodded, and headed toward the exit. She glanced back when she reached the door, and said, “Have fun storming the castle.” And then she was gone.

“Come on,” Reggie replied. “We only have a small window between shifts.”

He led me downstairs and to a door with a security keypad on the handle. From his jacket pocket, he pulled the now-familiar black blindfold with thaumaturgic symbols sewn in silver thread across it.

“Sorry, Finn. I need you—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I sighed, and slid it over my head, covering my eyes and dulling my arcana senses.

I heard Reggie punch in a code on the door lock. “This way,” he said, and guided me with a hand behind my shoulder.

We walked a short distance, then stopped, and Reggie said, “
Aperire Ostium
.”

I heard the grinding of a door opening in concrete or stone, and then we proceeded.

The air grew instantly cool, and smelled like a spice cabinet where all the spices had long ago gone stale. We were descending beneath the lodge, into the ancient network of tunnels and caves that ran behind the waterfall. We took several turns, and at one point the roar of the waterfall and chilly blanketing of mist on my skin told me we passed the original “hidden” entrance to the tunnels; then the sound of a metal door opening, and the ground became smooth. We'd entered the more recently built tunnels of the Regional ARC Headquarters, an underground, multi-floored complex of concrete and steel.

The ARC complex held a number of departments: Department of Mana Management (typically called MaMa, especially by those who felt the department was like an overbearing mother); the Department of Arcana Justice that oversaw the enforcers; the Department of Magic Administration that approved new spells, potions, and artifacts and said what magic usage was legal versus illegal; and many more, including, obviously, the Department of Interdepartmental Cooperation, and the Department of Department Departmentalization and Administration. And then there were fun little features like the Crucible, the small amphitheater-style courtroom where they had sentenced me to exile twenty-five years and three months ago, or the rumored “Cruelcible” dungeon where the more dangerous criminals were questioned.

Reggie led me down several flights of stairs, through a couple more doors, and finally said, “Okay. You can take off the blindfold.”

I blinked against the lights, and took in what looked a bit like my father's basement thaumaturgy laboratory, but five times the size and, if appearances were any indication, joint-funded by DARPA, the NSA, and George Lucas's Industrial Light & Magic.

A woman stood blinking at me through bottle-thick glasses, her hair a wild silver nest held in place by pens; her lab coat had a giant ink stain on the pocket that was matched by a small smear on her nose.

It took me a second, but I recognized her. During one of the many visits I'd had here after learning of Alynon's presence, she'd suggested the possibility of using a modified brain scanner to magically dissect my brain and identify exactly how I'd managed to “trap” a Fey spirit without being susceptible to his commands or influence on my body.

“Uh, Reggie?” I asked. “What's going on?”

“Hi,” the lady said. “I'm Verna. I—oh, wait,
he
can hear us. One second.”

“Reggie?” I asked again.

“Just be patient,” he said. “Everything will be fine.”

So why did his voice hold a slight edge of doubt?

Verna fumbled around in a cabinet for a second, then another cabinet, and finally pulled out what looked like a Mr. Microphone with a series of crystals and wires stuck along the outside. She then grabbed an old radio boom box off a nearby shelf, and set it down on a lab counter near me.

“What—?” I began, but she raised a warning finger and shook her head, then turned on the radio and adjusted the dial until soft static hissed out of the speakers. She scurried across the room, and looked at me, her manner excited.

“Hello,” she said, or rather, she spoke softly into the microphone, and her voice came out of the radio.

“Uh, hi?” I replied loud enough for her to hear me.

“If I'm right,” she said, “your Fey should not be able to hear what I'm saying, as it is resonating at a frequency that is painful for Fey spirits.”

*Ahhh!* Alynon said. *What's she trying to do, serenade a fax machine?*

“Is it working?” Verna asked.

“Well,” I replied, “either it's working, or he's faking a reaction.”

Verna made a “darn it” fist in the air, and said loud enough that I could hear her without the microphone, “Stupid, Verna, stupid. I should have asked him to describe the result, not tell him what was expected.” She sighed, then spoke into the microphone again. “Well, we shall just have to hope it is working, I guess. Reginald tells me you want to see if your control over your Fey guest would carry over into the Other Realm. I think this would be an excellent experiment. The potential of your unique situation as a way to travel the rainbow roads again, or explore the Demesnes—” She shook her head. “Of course, I'm sure the ARC will find some way to use it as a weapon, but there's no helping that if we're going to get your pass validated.”