Imperative: A Quinn Larson Quest (9 page)

“My mentor did many things I did not agree with. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Prettily said.” Fionuir flicked her fingers at the others and they rose, gracefully and faded into the corner of the room. “Ask your question, then.”

I considered my approach. It’s not like I hadn’t thought it out before, but the situation was always going to be a factor in how I asked my question. Fionuir was in an apparent good mood. The fact that she had sent her courtiers away was not good. And that she was allowing me to ask without a lot of protocol was also a bad sign.

I didn’t know which was worse, that she knew about the charms or she let me know that she knew. I took my hands out of my pockets.

Fionuir unfolded herself from the chair and walked toward me. And now, I knew what the mouse felt like when the snake approached. “I will tell you what you want to know, but you will need to take on an obligation. I will not trust you otherwise.”

“What obligation?” I didn’t like the idea of being controlled by the Sidhe.

“Only that you will do no direct harm to a Sidhe. For any reason. Forever.” She ran her finger down my freshly shaved cheek.

I needed to clear my throat before I could get words past the lump there. “I am a spirit wizard. I have already vowed not to do harm. How would this obligation be different?”

“Too many spirit wizards find ways to work around their vow, or will take the punishment as a price for violating their oath in the name of justice.”

“It will not be fatal. I want to be able to torture you for many years yet, Quinn Larson.” She blew me a kiss. I tried not to flinch.

She sighed and lowered herself into the chair again. “Because it gives us power. Because the fairies are desperate. And because I can.”

“It is dangerous to kill humans.” I couldn’t believe she didn’t know the dangers. I could believe she didn’t care; that she thought the danger didn’t apply to her.

“They die all the time. There is at least one body in an alley every week.” She picked up a crystal goblet and sipped an amber wine from it.

“Not these humans. The fairies are choosing healthy humans, humans who will be missed. Ones with jobs and families.” I didn’t want her to know that I knew the Sidhe were picking the victims.

“Well, then they will be missed. It means nothing to me.” She sipped her wine again.

“It should. Eventually the police will realize there is a pattern. They will find some clue and The Real Folk will be discovered. They will kill whoever they find.”

I felt my temper rise and forced it down. Now was not the time to antagonize Fionuir. “Do you remember when the vamps were around?”

“That was a long time ago.” This time her casual air belied the flash of memory in her eyes. “What would you like me to remember?”

“That feeling of unending power. Do you remember it flowing through you like life itself?” My blood yearned for that time.

“How do you know that I don’t still feel power that way? That it isn’t just wizards who were affected.” As she returned her glass to the table I noticed a tremor.

“I know it affected everyone. And, so do you.” I waited for her to retaliate at my tone. She didn’t do anything other than cross her legs. “What would it take to make you stop?”

“I will not stop. It is too much fun.”

“The fairies are getting desperate. Aren’t you afraid that they will die out before you tire of the game?”

“No, we will husband our resources, do not fear. Some will die, as happens in life, but we will ensure enough are born to keep us entertained.”

I schooled my expression. The Sidhe were known to be cruel, but this was beyond anything they had done in the past. I felt my resolve harden. “Perhaps you haven’t thought this through. Are you getting so much power from these deaths that it is worth the risk?”

She flicked a lock of hair away from her face. “We get some power. It is sweet and pure, just a taste is as good as a meal.”

At least I had the answer to one question. If Fionuir could give her followers power, then whoever this pretender to the crown was, they had no chance. “Is there nothing I could do or say to change your mind?”

“Wizard, do not try my patience.” She threw the glass onto the deep piled carpets, not wanting to break it and take the bad luck I’m sure. “We are finished talking. Now, come entertain my court with your stories of the old days.”

“I would rather not. I think it’s time for me to leave.” I turned to go.

She laughed and a chill slid down my body. “You will leave when I allow it. I want you to tell my court stories.” She snapped her fingers and the six Sidhe glided back to the circle of chairs. “Tell them of the Vampires.”

“I’m sure that they have their own memories. I have pressing business, your majesty.” I started to back out of the circle. It was not going to be easy to fight my way out of their palace, but if I had to, I would. It’s not like I was going to get any more information from her.

“Melbe.” Fionuir called. “Bring wine for Quinn.”

“It is too early in the day for me to imbibe, your majesty.” I took a few steps further away from her and picked out a distraction charm. “I promise to come back soon and entertain you with tales of Vampire adventures.”

I saw Melbe approach from behind Fionuir, he was looking over my shoulder. I glanced at the mirrors across from me and saw the twins coming behind. Time to cast the spell.

I took the jade from my pants pocket and tossed it in the air, stepping back to let it fall at my feet. A plume of blue smoke billowed out and filled the space around me. As soon as the smoke hid my actions, I ran to the doors and tossed a leather thong behind me. The sound of shattering glass filled the room. I heard Sidhe voices behind me screech in dismay. I smiled at the loss of their carefully nurtured court manners.

“You will regret this, Larson.” Fionuir’s voice seemed to come from my right shoulder, but knew she was cowering far away from me, worried about the flying glass. I chuckled. It was just the sound of glass. I had no desire to take on centuries of bad luck.

The twins were still somewhere between me and the door. I was almost as blind as the Sidhe, the only different being that I knew the glass wasn’t breaking and the smoke would dissipate soon. I saw a shadow in the fog to my right. One twin was moving away, good.

I kept walking toward the doors keeping my eye out for another shadow.

Three feet farther and the fog started to thin, I could see the doors; they were open just enough for me to slip through. I glanced to both sides, no sign of twin two. Now that I could see, I could run. So I did, past the last grouping of chairs and within touching distance of the door. I reached out a hand to pull myself through and just as I passed the threshold if felt a metal bar hit me across my knuckles.

I screamed.

“Wizard, you were asked to stay.” Twin two, or one, I’d lost track by now, raised his staff.

I cradled my right hand against my chest and used my left hand to toss a handkerchief in his direction. As it neared him it spun out into a net and caught the end of his staff then stretched to cover his arm. It was a fine net, but it managed to stop his swing and turn his momentum into a stumble. I stepped over him and raced for the front door, shoving my injured hand in my pocket and clenching my teeth against the pain.

There was no sound behind me. I raced around the outside hall, made it through the front door and kept going.

I woke up the next morning sore and mad. Before I crawled into bed last night, I had set my two broken fingers and bathed my hand in a mixture of rosemary and witch hazel. The bruises were diminished and the swelling wasn’t as bad as I feared. The pain, however, was unbelievable. My hand throbbed so badly I thought I could see it ballooning up and down.

I turned on the kettle and poured dried willow bark into a mug to steep while I changed from the suit which I had left on when I hit the sack. I was going to owe the dry-cleaner a bundle for getting out the stains from the fight and deep wrinkles from a night in bed.

I made oatmeal and took it to the coffee table. As I stepped forward to put the bowl down, I put my foot on something sharp. Great, I had a bum hand and now I broke my foot. The human race would have to take care of itself because Quinn Larson was on a path of self-destruction. I picked up the rock, and saw it was my transmittal charm.

I put it on the coffee table; I’d ask Olan what happened later.

As I swallowed the last spoonful of oatmeal, I heard a racket in the backyard. It sounded all too familiar. I went to the window and as I watched Olan and the Morrigan circled and jabbed. Tiny as he was, Olan seemed able to hold his own with the Morrigan. He flew at her and she spun away. Then she attacked from above and Olan back winged to avoid a lethal swipe of her beak.

I groaned and slid my feet into my boots and went out the back door. I wasn’t going to let these two ruin my garden. I had planted every form of magical plant that would grow in the Northwest and I didn’t want to start all over again.

Olan swooped down and landed at my feet. “I don’t know what is wrong with her. There I was flying reconnaissance and she came at me from nowhere.”

The Morrigan flickered between shadow woman and crow. That was not a good sign. Whatever had set her off was big enough to make her lose control. I started to believe Olan. I’m not sure he could have made her that angry without knowing exactly how.

I bent down to whisper. “If she is on the other side of this fight, we are going to need reinforcements.”

Olan laughed. “There are other fights in town. She need not be on Fionuir’s side. But yes, if she is against us, we are in trouble.”

I felt the air shift and stepped back. Olan was already in flight.

They came together and feathers flew. I wrapped my fingers in a handkerchief and picked up a few of the small ones that fell from the Morrigan; big power there. I kept my eye on the two birds. Neither was getting an advantage. This could go on all day without resolution.

The screeching and squawking was getting unbearable. I started to think of spells that would separate them for a while when I heard a door slam across the lane, then a gun shot, then another. The two birds flew apart. The Morrigan disappeared from view across the neighbor’s roofline.

“Damn birds,” the old man shouted. “See how you like the taste of shot.” He slammed the door and everything was quiet again.

Olan landed on my shoulder, I noticed he had trouble folding his right wing into place.

It was close to dinner the next day by the time we entered Bank’s Bar. The Real folk had been frequenting Bank’s for sixty years. Before that, the same troll had been running River Run Bar and before that, Mud Hole saloon. It changed every fifty to sixty years, depending on when the humans found it and decided it might be a good place to drink.

The door was marked with a rune in shadow ink, only Real Folk could read it, but it required too much energy to keep the aromas of a bar inside when we entered. Entering wasn’t the problem because we could make sure no humans were around. Leaving was the problem; you just never knew who was outside the door. Now, with the non-smoking rules we were especially careful of letting out the atmosphere. Mark, the proprietor, had asked me to find a spell that could filter the scent of various substances being smoked inside. His idea was to charge a small energy fee to keep the spell working.

Mark poured my Kilkenny and looked at Olan before pouring some fifty-year-old scotch into a saucer. Olan looked at me before sipping.

I nodded to Mark and said, “I’ve got it.” Then I told Olan, “From now on you find the payment before you get it poured.”

Mark rumbled a laugh at that. “Some people never have money. I guess there’s some advantage of being stuck in the body of an animal.”

I sipped my beer and glanced around the room. It was difficult to see clearly much beyond a few feet between the slight fog of smoke which was now drifting toward the amber and the candle light which flickered annoyingly, the details faded into the background. We couldn’t wait until the smoke cleared. “Mark, have you seen Cate Witherspoon or Beacon Reed?”