Wolves and the River of Stone (13 page)

Carter gave Foster a wide berth as he moved toward the front door. Hugh did not. He reached out and grasped the fairy’s upper arm. “You’re an honorable friend, Foster. I am proud to know you and your family.” Hugh nodded to me as he left. The bell jingled when the door closed behind the two wolves.

Once they were gone, a golden swirl swept up from the floor behind Foster. Aideen was suddenly there, over six feet tall, resting her head on the back of Foster’s neck. He shuddered and his shoulders sagged.

Zola’s gaze travelled away from the couple, and back to Cara as Zola sat down again. “Ah have other news from Aeros.”

I nodded but no one else said a word.

“About the Smith’s Hammer.”

At that, Foster turned around slowly, sliding his arm around Aideen as he faced Zola. Cara rearranged her wings and sat down with her legs crossed. Nixie and I slid into the empty chairs.

“Tell us,” Cara said.

“It is in the possession of a fallen demon. He is not far from here. Ah hope you enjoy Renaissance Faires.”

I stared at Zola and said, “A demon at a
what?”

T
he faire was in Wentzville, about forty minutes west of Saint Louis.

“Is this the right way?” I said as I looked around and saw nothing but subdivisions, fields, and a huge water tower. Across the intersection, the road collapsed into two lanes and the asphalt was patched like an old pair of jeans.

“Yep,” Foster said from the dashboard. “The water tower says Rotary Park.”

“There’s the sign, boy,” Zola said a minute later.

I turned into Rotary Park and followed the narrow road around a bend and passed a large pond off to the west. “It doesn’t seem very crowded,” I said as we started around another bend to the north. As the field came into view, flooded with cars, vans, and RVs as far as the eye could see, I said, “Oh.”

People were trickling toward the far end of the parking lot, some in plain clothes and others wearing plumage that would put a peacock to shame.

Aideen pointed to one group as we pulled off the road and bounced onto the grassy field serving as a parking lot. “That poor woman is going to bake in this heat.” She had a black corset tied firmly around her chest and abdomen, trailing a blood red velvet skirt and matching sleeves.

“Yes, she is, but she’ll look great doing it,” Foster said as the car came to a halt.

Aideen smacked him in the back of the head, but she was wearing a smile of her own.

“Ready Nix?” I said as I looked in the rearview mirror.

Nixie shimmered and was suddenly enveloped by a tremendous red and white ball gown. She had to gather a pile of material into her lap before she could drag herself out of the car.

“Heavens, child,” Zola said as she gaped at Nixie’s overdone ensemble.

“She has never been much for subtlety,” Cara said.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Nixie said as she turned in a half circle to twirl the hem of the gown. I caught a glimpse of her leather ankle boots, folded and fastened with a silver brooch of some sort. “You should have worn something more appropriate, Damian.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It was kind of short notice, and I can’t just ...” I waved my hand in useless circles, “make new clothes materialize. Zola’s not wearing a costume either.”

Nixie tapped her chin and glanced at Zola. “Yes, but she has character.”

Zola coughed to stifle a chuckle and looked away, leaning forward on her cane.

We followed Nixie as she started skipping between the cars, trailing the sparse crowd of tourists and regulars. She stopped to pet a pair of enormous Alaskan malamutes, their heads hanging over a bowl of water beside a beige van. The old woman complimented Nixie’s gown before turning to Zola.

“You look like an old wizard in that cloak, dear,” she said as she gave one of the dogs a gruff scratching.

Zola glanced down at her old cloak and ran her fingers across the braided rope at her waist. Her face cracked into a wrinkly smile as she thanked the other woman.

“See,” Nixie said as we walked away. “Character.”

We crossed a short steel bridge as wooden planks thunked under our feet. Nixie took a deep breath over the creek, rushing from the recent rains. The frogs on the bank were drowned out by the drone of cicadas and the scent of rain still filled the air. Past the entrance we could see bright triangular flags rippling in the breeze, shaded by the surrounding forest, as costumed knights, princesses, and kings in full regalia traveled up and down the gentle hill beyond.

I paid the admission for Zola, Nixie, and myself before we headed up to the gate. It wasn’t really a gate, just a wooden podium centered between the two open air ticket booths.

“Fairies enter free,” said a small man with a graying beard, a knowing smile, and a glorious wide-brimmed leather hat.

“You can see us?” Foster said.

“Yes, master fairy. I see all three of you.” He turned his gaze to Zola. “Addanaya,” he said as he looked her up and down, “you haven’t aged a day.”

“Nor you Cornelius,” Zola said as she embraced the man.

“One of the few good things that came from my old life,” he said with a small smile.

“I have to go now,” Nixie said.

I started to respond, but just smiled as she bounded off from performer to shop and back again. She spoke with a perfect English accent to noblemen and noblewomen of all shapes and sizes.

“Sometimes that girl is too happy,” Zola said.

Cornelius laughed. “Take care inside, Zola. There are demons among us.”

“That Ah know.” She smiled as Cornelius stamped our hands and we started up the gravel path.

Cara chuckled as we trailed after the fairies, heading in Nixie’s general direction. “My niece is refreshing,” she said as she hovered between me and Zola. “Most of the water witches I’ve known have been dreary, awful things.” I heard the first metallic ringing of a smith at work as we passed an axe throwing booth. A stage full of musicians sat off to the left, surrounded by benches with a cadre of laughing onlookers.

“So who’s Cornelius?” I said.

Zola glanced up at me and then turned her attention to a small shop filled with handmade instruments and woodburnings.

We finally caught up with Nixie a few minutes later. She was crouched down between two young girls with fairy wings strapped to their back. I heard her say, “You’re the most beautiful fairies I’ve ever seen and your wings are so shiny.” She batted at the wings as the girls giggled. I could see their mother a little ways off, dressed in a spectacular royal blue gown with silver lace, smiling when Nixie waved at her and said, “They’re adorable.” I couldn’t hear the mother’s reply, but she was wearing a broad smile.

“Hey, Nix.” I shouted. “Are you liking the faire?”

She wandered back to us slowly, pausing at a storefront filled with glass trinkets. A friendly woman sat out front with a torch and worked a series of glass rods into animals of all shapes and sizes as she talked to the onlookers. I came up behind Nixie and squeezed her arm.

“So, do you like it?”

She nodded. “Yes, but I still think you should have worn a costume.” She frowned as her eyes wandered down my black t-shirt and dark jeans.

I sighed and rubbed my cheek. “Alright, let’s go see the demon and then we’ll look for a costume.”

Nixie’s eyes lit up. “I get to pick!”

“Hell. No.”

She frowned. “I’ll help.”

Zola chuckled behind me. I flashed her a smile and walked back onto the gravel path with Nixie.

We followed the echoing clang of metal on metal to the crest of the hill, gravel crunching underfoot beneath the constant chatter of showmen and bartering merchants. Off to the left, the shouts and cheers of a joust rolled out from an open field. A large tented clothier boasted every medieval garment I’d ever so much as imagined, from corsets to codpieces, and my eyes widened as I saw the sign behind that shop.

“Turkey legs,” Foster and I said in unison before we burst into laughter.

Aideen snorted a laugh while Cara and Zola just shook their heads.

“I’ve never had a turkey leg,” Nixie said, a small frown still etched across on her face.

“You’ll have one today,” Foster said. “I think it’s a rule.”

“Did you see that lute?” Nixie asked. “I’ll catch up.” She hurried down the road that led past the clothier.

A hammer strike pulled my attention back to our purpose. My eyes swept to the right and found the blacksmith. Shadowed beneath the roof of an old structure, his forge glowed behind him, casting his slightly hunched form into shadow as his thick arm raised a hammer and struck again. With every blow, a small burst of sparks leapt from the red hot metal trapped on the anvil’s surface.

Zola walked up to the counter a few feet away from the smith. Meant to keep the crowd safe, the counter was up to my waist and the wooden shingled roof came down close to my head. It would also be hard for anyone to strike the smith physically while he stood within the shop. He noticed me looking and gave a quick nod before plunging the metal back into the fires and pumping the huge bellows alone.

When the smith’s eyes locked onto Foster, Cara, and Aideen in turn, I knew he at least had the Sight. He turned his attention back to the glowing strip of metal he’d just pulled from the brick forge until Zola said, “Hello, demon.”

The smith landed another blow before he stood up straight, and it was only then I realized how big he was, at least as tall as Foster, with muscles like the werewolves and a close cropped layer of black hair. He had a barrel chest and massive arms with blackened hands. He started to laugh, hit the glowing rod one more time, and dunked it into a barrel of water. Over the hissing, and through the cloud of steam, he said, “Call me Mike, Adannaya.”

“
Mike?
Mike the Demon?” I blurted out.

Zola sighed and shook her head.

“I take it he’s the apprentice and you’re the wise master,” Mike said.

Zola smiled and nodded once. “Thank you for not calling me the
old
master, although Ah suppose it would be apt.”

“You are a young thing to my ancient eyes.”

Zola’s smile widened just a bit more. “Aeros speaks highly of you.”

Mike hung his hammer and tongs on a shelf that housed two dozen different implements along the brick forge. The fairies landed on a precarious pile of wooden display cases. Inside the cases were a variety of knives, belt buckles, brutal looking foot-long spikes of metal, and an overwhelming array of constructs I didn’t recognize. My eyes fell on a knife, the entire thing, from blade to hilt, formed from a single piece of black metal. The hilt looked as though its metal had been braided, and only close inspection showed me the design that had been painstakingly hammered into it up to the point the cutting surface began.

“You made that?” I said as I pointed to the blade.

Mike the Demon nodded as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Everything you see. I do rather like those knives.”

“It’s fantastic.” I said.

“It’ll hold an edge better than any mortal blade.”

“Better than a Ginsu blade?” Foster said with a smirk as he and Aideen glided over to the anvil.

Mike chuckled and rolled his eyes. It was disarming. I almost forgot I was talking to a demon.

“I’ll be right back.” He held up his index finger as he walked into the deeper shadow behind the forge. I heard a grunt and Mike came waddling back with an ancient, pitted anvil. It looked like it should be melted down into something useful. “Look out,” he said with a strained voice. He dropped it on top of his good anvil with a solid crunch as the fairies scattered. He wiped his hands off and said, “This is it.”

Foster and Aideen landed on the counter beside Zola.

“What
is
that?” Aideen said. “The power coming off it is so dark.” Foster’s hand moved toward his sword, stopped, and curled into a fist.

Cara’s eyes moved from the anvil to Mike the Demon. She didn’t seem frightened at all.

“You’ve seen this incantation before, haven’t you?” Mike said as he gestured at the old anvil.

Cara nodded, but didn’t speak.

I concentrated on the pitted chunk of metal and my Sight snapped into focus. Waves of black force were leaking off of it and running across the ground until they suddenly broke into rolling granules and dissipated. Mixed amongst the blackness were deep red highlights. “You masked it,” I said.

Mike the Demon raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “There’s a bit more to you than I expected.” He laughed and held his hands out over anvil. “Am I clear, Adannaya?”

Zola glanced around us before nodding.

What I thought was dust and debris blackening Mike’s hands surged forward and covered the anvil, leaving a saggy web between the demon’s hands and the metal. I took a step back in surprise.

Bits of pitted metal and rust and iron surged toward Mike. A river of metal began flowing over his hands, and disappeared up his sleeves. He winced as his hands thinned and contorted into shaking claws. A curved bronze handle etched with hundreds, if not thousands of runes emerged where the striking surface of the anvil had been a moment before. The vanishing metal revealed more of the hammer every passing second until the head of the hammer was uncovered, etched with a solitary rune. One small, straight scratch in the striking surface. Isa. Power. Smoke rose from Mike’s hands as he relaxed and took a deep breath.