Monsters & Empire, page 4
Gray’s brow furrowed. “So where is he?” His eyes locked on the woman.
Kurt sighed. “He cased the place, walked right by this old biddy while she slept, saw whatever intel he got from Bayo was wrong, and went out the back. He’s probably waiting to give us shit for his mistake.”
Gray cocked his head. “Old biddy” didn’t describe the lady in pajamas. Her body, even coiled in fear, was too lithe. And now that he looked at her, he didn’t think she was even in her fifties—it was her hair, white and fine as a child’s, that made her appear older.
The Ember shifted, with a promise, an assurance, and he swore he heard a whispered, “They’re safe.” The not-so-old woman’s head rose, as though she’d heard a distant sound. Gray’s skin crawled.
The woman rose from her chair, terrified and determined—or terrifyingly determined, Gray couldn’t decide. “This is all wrong. Where is Eclason?” Gray said.
Facing him, the woman said, “I can assure you he isn’t here, at least not anymore.”
“Let’s go—” Kurt urged, turning and pushing Gray’s shoulder.
Gray stayed rooted to the spot. Another source of Magick rose in the room. He glanced at the mirror. Instead of the room’s reflection, it shimmered with stars and the moon.
“That’s a pretty view, isn’t it?” said the old woman, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Almost as pretty as the tapestry. Both were gifts from my children—” Gray’s skin prickled.
The old woman continued, “Well, they call me grandmother, but grandchildren, children, the love is the same, although one of them you only have to engage with at will. It’s more fun in a lot of ways.”
It sounded all true, and more than that, his Magick insisted he discover the source of the wrongness … but it wasn’t with her words. “Yes, ma’am,” Gray said.
Kurt whispered, “She’s lonely, and she’s going to talk to us and never let us go.” He tried to spin Gray around, but Gray’s Magick made him immovable.
“Shit, what’s wrong with you?” Kurt asked.
The old woman huffed. “Language.”
Gray echoed her. “Language, Kurt!”
Kurt groaned.
The old woman sighed. “You’re looking for someone. I have lived here since before the Change—”
Kurt started. Gray’s hair stood on end.
“—slept during the curse, you know,” she said, drawing her hands behind her back, making the children’s toy jingle. Gray’s shoulders relaxed. Everyone in Chicago had slept during the curse, when the Storm King had made an ill-conceived bargain with the Fae.
“I know just about everyone and their dog, especially their dogs,” the woman continued, and the Truth of it eased all the wrongness. Somewhat. She shrugged. “Maybe I can help you find who you’re looking for?” Gray heard rushing in his ears and felt his Magick surging.
He almost didn’t hear it when she muttered, “So you don’t go breaking into anyone else’s home. You could give someone a heart attack.” But hearing it, he knew that was right, too.
“She can help us!” Gray declared.
“Her?” Kurt declared. “She wouldn’t know Eclason.”
No, she wouldn’t, which meant … “She can help us find Grendel!” Gray exclaimed.
One of the woman’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, I can.”
Gray’s heart rate increased. Kurt inhaled sharply. It was Truth. They both felt it.
Her eyes shifted around the room. He felt a flash of cunning, but when her gaze came to rest on her own fluffy socks, he only felt her trepidation. No, not trepidation. Fear. Dread. And that terrifying determination—to not be killed by the home invaders, maybe? But why then suggest helping when Kurt was urging that they leave?
“Maybe you could take your masks off?” the woman said. “You look like shadows to me. You’re scary.”
Neither Kurt nor Gray moved, but then she said, “And then we will discuss where Grendel is.”
The Truth of it had Gray ripping back his hood.
“What are you doing?” Kurt hissed.
“Take off your cowl! You’re scaring her!” Gray said.
“But—”
Anticipating Kurt’s objection, Gray said, “We’ll take care of it.” They could wipe her memories later.
Kurt grudgingly removed his hood. As he did, Gray swore he heard a whispered, “They plan a memory wipe!” He tried to pinpoint the sound, but was distracted by the old woman’s grumble of, “Telekinesis, telepathy, compulsion, super strength and speed, recruited as children, and unelected without civilian oversight. You’re like Unbloody Jedi, aren’t you?”
Gray blinked, and she muttered, “A cultural reference you wouldn’t understand. Happens as one gets older.”
It was true, but …
Before he could formulate what was wrong, she said, “Now you wanted to know the location of Grendel.”
Gray nodded. “Anything you can tell us would be helpful.”
Kurt snorted, his disbelief thick in the Ember. Disbelief at the situation, or at her, Gray wasn’t sure, but Gray’s own chest swelled with pride. Eclason had swept through the small apartment, decided the lead was a dud, and left through the backdoor. Maybe this wasn’t the entrance to Grendel’s lair, but it might be a lead—a lead he had found.
The woman narrowed her eyes at Kurt. “You think I don’t know?”
“No, I don’t. You’re too old and weak to be her slave,” Kurt said.
Kurt had insulted her when he called her home a dump. There was a word beyond “insulted” that matched her emotion in that moment, but it was beyond Gray’s vocabulary. She radiated rage. If she’d been Magickal, her aura would have been incandescent.
“Grendel doesn’t have slaves,” she hissed. “She frees them.”
It had the sound of Truth. But just because someone believed something, it didn’t mean it was true, it just meant that they weren’t lying. Except … Gray’s Magick meant he was usually sensitive to absolute truth.
Kurt rolled his eyes. “You’re deluded. She doesn’t know where Grendel is, Gray. Eclason’s probably on the rooftop laughing at us.”
A cloud must have swept over the sun because the light from the door dimmed.
The woman snorted. “You are both such idiots. Grendel also doesn’t live in some opulent replica of the St. Petersburg Station.”
Kurt opened his mouth.
She nudged the couch with her foot. Its feet scraped against the cement floor, and the seat became visible. A shadow stretched across the cushions, and the scent of burnt hair and plastic increased. “Oh, look, it’s Eclason’s uniform,” the woman declared. She took a deep breath. “And what is that I smell?” She reached down, lifted a handful of ashes from the suit, and blew them at Gray and Kurt. “Have some of Eclason’s remains.”
It rang of Truth.
The mirror in the corner flashed, illuminating the room. Gray looked sideways, but movement from the not-so-old woman caught his eye.
Looking at them over her glasses, she smiled, eyes glowing and fangs glinting. “I’m Grendel, you fools.”
Thunder boomed outside, accentuating her words.
Gray was shouting words, reaching for a stake. Kurt was racing toward her, a stake already raised. She backed up but was too slow.
Kurt drove the stake straight into her heart, her mouth opened in shock and a scream of pain that never came. She crumbled.
A man screamed, “No!” and Gray spun, expecting to find someone behind him. The doorway was empty, but lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, and a gust of wind swept through the apartment, opening books, rifling their pages, and ripping a few unframed pictures from the wall. One came to rest at Gray’s feet, and in the beam of light from the doorway, he read, “To Grandma Grendel.”
Gray backed away, every hair on his body standing on end, his Magick surging so violently he thought he might be sick. “This is all wrong!”
Standing in Mandy’s kitchen, Owen brandished a broom and declared, “We should help Granny Grendel!” His personality was so much like his father’s, Eclason had almost called him Bayo twice.
Ian nodded. He didn’t have Owen’s confidence, but his Magick gave him the same aura as Bayo. Eclason had almost called him Bayo once. Less than Owen, but only because Ian didn’t talk back as much.
On the floor between them, a small white lump that might generously be described as a dog panted and thought of nothing.
Eclason ran a hand through his shorter hair. Grendel had shorn his locks and set them in his empty suit to set on fire. She intended to declare them his remains, to fool Kurt and Gray into thinking he was dead.
Mandy looped her arms around Owen. “No, we have to stay here. Grendel told Eclason to keep you inside.”
“But she’s in trouble!” Owen protested.
Mandy looked up at Eclason imploringly, and her flushed face made the scar across her cheek a darker rose.
Although he wore nothing but his undershorts and a pink bathrobe borrowed from Grendel’s closet, Mandy had let him inside. They’d met before. Back in the supply town he’d convinced her to run away, knowing what would happen if the Order discovered her pregnancy: a forced abortion at best; at worst, she’d suffer the same fate that had befallen Eclason’s own mother.
Eclason sat on his heels. His consciousness raced from the room. Grendel had done a good job distracting Kurt and Gray. “She has things—” The words “under control,” died on his tongue. Grendel’s pain as Kurt’s stake pierced her heart seared his chest. For a moment, he saw the future: himself, Katie, Kurt, Gray, Trent, and every member of the Order that had ever lived and would ever live, wiped of emotion and free will, desiring only to obey Prime Theo, the Dragon King. Old Gods, it wasn’t even a desire … it was just … mindless obedience.
He gritted his teeth. That future was not set in stone. He would give everyone the sanctity of death.
“Something has happened! She’s hurt! I can help!” Ian declared.
“We have to get to her!” Owen growled.
Anger, dark and hot, rushed through him. Kurt and Gray were two of the very few who knew Bayo had had an affair. If they saw the two boys, they would know they were Bayo’s children. Or at least Gray’s Magick would. “No. You will stay here.”
The force of his emotions slipped into the Ember, and they drew back. He didn’t have time to apologize. “Stay here and protect your mother,” he ordered, backing toward the door. Compulsion snuck into his words, not out of intent, but because he was frightened for them and furious at himself. The key to preserving the free will of every Magickal in North America had just met a silver tipped stake, and it was his fault.
He threw himself out the kitchen door. It exited onto an open stairwell that served as the building’s fire escape and led down to a wide drive behind the buildings. Narrower, pedestrian alleys intersected the drive on either side.
Gathering Ember to him, Eclason flung himself over the railing parallel to the alley. He landed, head bowed, in a crouch on pavement still warm from the sun’s rays, though the sun had vanished and storm clouds darkened the sky. Sharp stones and errant shards of glass bit into the soles of his feet, and murderous desire ripped through the Ember.
Four humans strode around the corner from the street: a Magickal woman, two Magickal men, and another man bearing a Magickal firearm with an aura like the stars. The men wore jeans and tee shirts, the woman a sundress. Their casual clothing was incongruous with their murderous rage. That murderous desire also sprang from Kurt. Eclason felt Gray panic and pull Kurt away from the fallen Grendel. Eclason could see everything in his mind, in a disorientating sort of split screen, that made it hard to focus on the people in front of him. Eclason felt, more than saw, the non-Magickal man spot him. He was an older man, with salt and pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Eclason had seen him somewhere before. The man’s lip curled, and he ordered the other three, “Take care of him!”
One of the Magickal men, tall, with high cheekbones, pale skin, gray eyes, and dark, straight hair, raised his hands. His aura flashed like lightning. He also looked familiar. Eclason opened his mouth to protest, “No!” but before he could speak, a gust of wind blasted through the alley and sent him flying into the drive. He crashed into a garbage bin, bit his tongue on impact, and fell in a whirlwind of stones, glass, and discarded paper cups. Pain raced along his spine and the back of his skull. Eclason saw stars and had a realization—he’d just met the Storm King. He blinked and saw Kurt and Gray through each other’s eyes, arguing over what to do with Grendel’s body and whether to decapitate her.
Through the fog and confusion, he remembered he’d seen the non-Magickal man giving orders in Bayo’s memories. His name was Geoff. He was one of Grendel’s donors, and a friend of Mandy’s and the boys. He blinked again … and found himself staring up at the second Magickal man. He was tall and blond and had enough Magick pumping through him to be any age from twenty-five to fifty. In the UMS, he could have been a member of the Order or a high-ranking member of the military. Again, Eclason felt like he’d seen him before, but he couldn’t think of where. He felt the Magickal woman and Storm King’s fury, and Geoff’s preparations to shoot the two members of Eclason’s Order …
Eclason forced the telepathic split screen off and focused on the man above him. The blond man was a powerful Magickal, but he was a lazy Alliance Magickal, not a Magickal fighter like Eclason. Gathering Ember to him, Eclason sprang to his feet and rushed the stranger. The man stepped out of the way, and Eclason ran into his extended thigh. It hit him across the gut, knocking his breath away. Hands grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, and Eclason plummeted. He landed on his back, head cracking against the pavement, stars rising in his vision once more. His lungs were already empty, or he would have lost his breath. Instead, a sort of sad sucking came from his chest. Eclason revised his first estimation of the man: the man was a fighter, so experienced he didn’t even need to think about his responses.
Shots rang out, and Gray and Kurt’s consciousnesses went … blank.
“No … they were good …” Eclason wanted to weep. He had meant to save them, along with himself, from eventual enslavement to the Dragon King. The strange Alliance Magickal leaned over him, and Eclason grabbed his arms, prepared to pull him down. Instead, he wound up twisted onto his side, one of his arms twisted behind his back, close to breaking, his other trapped by his own body and a knee in his side.
“They’re fine,” the man said, amused. “Most likely.”
Eclason attempted to struggle. The man pulled harder on his arm and pressed his knee more firmly against him. “Look kid, I’m assuming you’re Grendel’s friend.” Eclason blinked. His captor didn’t like Grendel very much. He was … jealous, maybe? The man continued, “She didn’t want your boys killed, so we were only going to do that if necessary. And it sounds like Geoff’s and Mizuki's Magick darts sent them to dreamland.” It was Truth. Eclason relaxed, let his consciousness soar, and found Gray in a nightmare where he wandered through the Dragon King’s Keep. Kurt was dreaming of the accolades he’d get for driving a stake into Grendel’s heart.
“Going to behave now?” the Magickal man asked.
Eclason nodded, scraping his face against the alley pavement. It smelled like garbage and piss, and he did, too.
“All right, let’s get inside before the cops come,” the man said. That was the moment Eclason heard distant sirens approaching. The weight disappeared from Eclason’s back, and Eclason looked up to find the man offering a hand. Then two hands. Then four. Then eight. Eclason moaned. “I’ve got a concussion. Give me a moment.” He closed his eyes and tuned out the spinning, dizzying, nausea-inducing world, gathered his Magick, and focused it on the bruising in his brain. The bruises on his body he would have to deal with later. Moments—minutes?—later, he opened his eyes. The Magickal extended his hand again, and it didn’t divide into multiple appendages.
Eclason took it. Helping him up, the Magickal said, “Councilman Cillian Jones. Nice to meet you.”
“Eclason,” Eclason replied.
Jones nodded distractedly, worrying about Geoff, Cherie, and the Storm King, but Jones thought of the last as “Jack.” He worried about them in that order, too. Councilman Jones loved Geoff in a platonic, yet somewhat obsessive, way. The emotion drew Eclason in, and he slipped through Jones’s memories like an otter slipping through a stream. Ah. Friends—and sometimes frenemies—since kindergarten. Geoff, the un-Magickal, was like a brother to Cillian, Geoff’s parents, Cillian’s adopted family.
“Woof.”
Eclason blinked out of his telepathic reverie—or was it a telepathic trap? He wasn’t always sure. A Magickal golden retriever trotted toward them. He walked past Grendel’s doorway, intent on seeing Mandy, Owen, and Ian.
Cillian relaxed. The dog was Geoff’s, or Geoff was the dog’s, and the dog wouldn’t walk by Grendel’s door if something had happened to his human. Cillian also believed if Eclason posed any risk, the dog would have alerted him.
“I’ll make sure he stays safe,” Jones said to the dog.
The dog wagged his tail in response, and he passed them by.
Following the dog with an appraising eye, Jones remarked, “Looking good, Chance.”
Chance stopped at the stairway, barked, and opened his mouth in a happy pant. Wagging his tail more vigorously, Chance thought, “Soon I will have more puppies in my home,” and then galloped up the stairs in a golden blur.
Jones thought, “That Magickal kid has given Chance a second chance.” Memories of a frail, aging Chance from just a few months ago arose in Jones’s mind. Eclason’s stomach did a somersault. Could Ian also revive the dead? Shit. They could never allow the Dragon King to take Bayo’s kids.
Walking to Grendel’s door, Eclason turned his attention to the people holding Kurt’s and Gray’s lives in their hands. Before he could connect, a frantic squeak came from down the alley, and a Magickal rat scurried along the wall in their direction.
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