Blood Wyne (25 page)
“Holy fuck.” Delilah fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Will he live? Is anybody else hurt?”
“He’s in surgery now. We just have to hope we got help soon enough. As far as everyone else . . . Chase did some pretty spectacular tricks down there and we’re going to have to get him tested. Something’s changed inside him—he’s developing an ability to repel spirits out of his aura. And . . . I know something weird went down between Vanzir and Camille, but neither is talking and both look shaken.”
“I knew I should have come with you—”
“Nonsense. Your ribs still need a couple of weeks to finish knitting. We may heal quickly but you were really fucked up, Kitten. Sharah told you to rest and she meant it. Stacia Bonecrusher almost gave you a ten-inch waist there.”
The demon general had taken her natural form as a giant anaconda with the torso of a woman, and she’d caught Delilah with her tail and begun to constrict, breaking a number of ribs and doing more muscle damage than we’d first thought.
“When will you be home?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to leave Camille here alone . . . just in case. I’m going to send Vanzir home, though.”
“Sounds good. Have him stop and pick up snacks on the way.” A pause, then a sudden, “Oh my gods, I sound so heartless. I’m sorry—please never tell Camille I was thinking about my stomach while Morio is lying on the operating table.” She sounded so contrite I wanted to hug her.
“I know, I know. It’s okay. I won’t say anything.” I hung up and crossed over to Vanzir, tapping him on the shoulder. “Come with me, dude.”
He followed me down the hall a ways. “What’s up?”
“You go home. Stop on the way to get Delilah some of her favorite treats, would you? Take Camille’s car, but for the sake of the gods, don’t wreck it.”
Vanzir had just gotten his license two weeks ago. He knew how to drive but had never bothered to learn the rules of the road. After a perilous race to hide our werewolf friend Amber and one of the spirit seals at Grandmother Coyote’s portal a couple months ago, we made him both apply for a Supe Alien Visa and then get his license. We’d told the authorities that he was a shifter—a lie, but it would work and prevent them from knowing there were demons running around. Most Supes of questionable heritage used that ruse, and so far the government hadn’t caught on to it.
He shook his head. “I should stay with your sister.”
“Look,” I lowered my voice to a whisper, leaned in, and tapped his chest. “I don’t know what went on between you two, and I have the feeling I’m not going to like whatever it is, but I need you to do what I ask. Camille’s in mild shock, her husband is lying on the operating-room table, and if you did something to exacerbate that shock, then I’m going to . . . come to think about it, if you did do something, why aren’t you dead? She could kill you with a thought.” Maybe I’d been wrong. But the look on Vanzir’s face told me I wasn’t far off the mark.
“Your sister has more empathy than I deserve.” He shook his head and grabbed my keys out of my hand. “I’ll do as you say. See that she gets plenty of food. The shock from . . . the tunnels will wear away and she’ll be okay. I just hope Morio survives.”
As Vanzir headed out, I couldn’t help but feel that something had been put into motion that wasn’t going to end well. Not at all.
I headed back to Camille but stopped short. She was waiting for Sharah, who was walking down the hallway toward her. As I watched her stiffen, waiting for whatever news the elf had, I was almost afraid to join her. Silently, I crossed to her side and felt for her hand. Everything around us seemed to slow, and I closed my eyes, the strains of Cat Power’s “Werewolf” echoing through my mind in a haunting refrain.
Camille said nothing, just stood, shoulders back, blanket on the chair behind her. She didn’t run forward, didn’t step back, just planted herself in the middle of the hall. Her hand trembled, and I could hear the rustle of her breath as she struggled to control herself.
Sharah seemed to be walking through water, her pace slow and deliberate. She was in scrubs, covered with blood, spatters even dotting her flaxen hair. She looked . . . unreadable, as so many of the elves were.
She approached us and stopped, holding up a chart.
Camille waited, unwilling to be the first to talk.
“How is he?” I asked for her.
Sharah consulted her notes. “Alive. But he’s been seriously wounded. He lost a lot of blood and half of his liver. An inch higher and the stake would have left almost nothing of it. The liver regenerates, but this is serious.”
“Will he live?” Camille whispered.
“If he makes it through the rest of the surgery, he’ll have a chance. Mallen is working on him now—repairing delicate tears so fine I can barely see them. Once he’s off the operating table, the next twenty-four hours will tell the tale.” Sharah pressed her lips together, then let out a slow sigh.
“What are his chances?” My sister’s voice was strained raw; she was barely keeping it together.
“I’d give him a sixty percent chance. Mallen’s a talented surgeon and can work miracles, but there was so much damage, it’s hard to find everything that needs repair. We may have to go in for a second surgery tomorrow.” Brushing a weary hand against her hair, she motioned to the chairs. “Please sit down. You don’t look so good, Camille.”
“It’s not about me,” Camille whispered. “It’s not about me.” But she slid back into the chair and wrapped her blanket around her, staring at the wall. “Trillian should be here,” she added after a moment.
“I’ll call him.” I motioned to Sharah and walked her back toward the operating room. “Are you serious about his chances? He’s not worse off and you’re trying to prepare Camille for bad news?”
Sharah shook her head. “Only the next twenty-four hours will tell the story. My instinct tells me he’ll make it, but he’s not going anywhere for a while. If he’d been human, or Fae or elf, he’d be dead now.”
“Or vampire,” I whispered. She gave me a questioning look. “He saved my life. He pushed me out of the way. The stake was aimed at me and he took the hit. If he dies, it’s because of me.” I looked back at Camille, wondering if that thought had registered with her yet.
“He did what you all do—looked out for the others. He saw you were in danger and he acted to save you. You’d do the same for him.
Any
of you guys would have done the same thing if it had been him the stake was aiming for.”
Any
of you guys would have done the same thing if it had been him the stake was aiming for.”
“Be that as it may, this has to stop. Listen, I’m going to get someone out here to stay with Camille because I know damned well she’s not going home, and she’d be useless there. And then I’m headed out. I’ve still got a long time till morning and I’ve got a bargain to strike.”
Before she could answer, I turned and hurried back to Camille. I pulled out my cell phone when I realized she hadn’t called Trillian yet, and dialed home. Delilah came on the line.
“Camille needs Trillian here. And I think you should come, too. I have to take care of something. Hurry it up. Vanzir will be there to stay with Iris and Maggie. Shade should hang around the house, too. I know we have the guards now, but I just don’t trust somebody outside the family to watch over our loved ones.”
I quickly filled her in on Morio’s condition, and she was off the phone and out the door before I could say another word. I motioned to Chase.
“Can you stay with Camille while I take off? Delilah and Trillian will be here soon, and I have business to attend to. This fucking crap with the ghosts has got to stop. I’ve got a lead on how to take care of it.” Without waiting for his reply, I headed out the door.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, the snow had let up and now a clear patch through the sky was illuminated by stars, glistening down on the silent cover of snow that blanketed the city. I was struck by the intense beauty of the pristine vista, and it occurred to me that Seattle was a city of extremes: beauty and terror, danger and passion, life and death. And we were all just along for the ride.
I stopped at an all-night diner, pulling in to the far edge of their lot, to put in a call to Ivana Krask. Whoever she was,
whatever
she was, no longer mattered. The only thing that I cared about was that Roman said she could help.
whatever
she was, no longer mattered. The only thing that I cared about was that Roman said she could help.
On the fourth ring she answered, her voice creaky like bare tree limbs rubbing together on a cold autumn night. “Menolly, so you now call me?”
“Ivana Krask?”
“Yes, my dear. I’ve been waiting for your call.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Caller ID, my dear. That and I don’t get many calls. Not in many years.”
“Oh right . . . but you sounded like you were expecting my call.” Suspicion was my right-hand man and I wasn’t about to let him run away.
Ivana laughed. “Roman called me, dear, and told me to mind my
p
’s and
q
’s with you. So I shall.”
p
’s and
q
’s with you. So I shall.”
But even through the promise of her words, I heard something I hadn’t in a long, long, time. The sound of Elder Fae blood that hearkened back through thousands of years. The Elder Fae, the Wild Fae, were far more primal than Fae like Bluebell, a dryad now living on Smoky’s land, and more feral than Wisteria, the floraed we’d captured and finally managed to kill after she escaped from Queen Asteria.
Just by the tone of her voice I knew she was one of the Elders, the creatures from legend and lore that were so far from human nature they could never assimilate within the modern world: the Bog Man and Black Annis, the Bean Sidhe and Iron Jack. And Horse-Troll and Sleeping Uncle, the Washer Woman and the Flower Maiden . . . all throw-backs to a time in history when my father’s people had been living in small villages and humans were just a blip on the map.
The Elder Fae hadn’t died out, but they were increasingly relegated to smaller areas, to high mountains and distant swamps and crumbling old castles and streams high in the mountains. But even though they were retreating in the face of the modern world, they were far, far more powerful and terrifying than most FBHs ever dreamed.
And Ivana Krask, whatever she might be, held the energy of the Elder Fae in her voice.
“I want to strike a bargain.”
“Roman mentioned you might. I might fancy a plump child or two to whet my appetite—it’s been so long since I’ve had
bright flesh
, you know.” She broke into a weathered laugh. “But to strike the bargain, we must meet. I make no deals over the phone. I will see you first.”
bright flesh
, you know.” She broke into a weathered laugh. “But to strike the bargain, we must meet. I make no deals over the phone. I will see you first.”
Steeling my nerves—I was afraid of few things, but Ivana Krask was apparently one of them—I agreed to meet her. She set the place in Cedar Falls Park, on the edge of Belles-Faire, in an hour. I hung up, wondering what the fuck I was getting myself into.
Cedar Falls Park was a welcome relief from the park in the Greenbelt Park District where I’d found the body. There was no sense, that I could notice, of ghosts or spirits here. Or if there were, they were keeping their mists to themselves. I found the bench that Ivana had indicated and gingerly sat on the edge, brushing the snow away.
As I waited, listening to the soft hoot of an owl calling through the trees, I had the feeling something was watching me. I slowly turned just in time to see a faint shadow on the edge of the tree line. I waited—no way in hell was I headed into the woods to meet one of the Elder Fae.
She
could come to
me
.
She
could come to
me
.
And then, the figure began to move. At first, I thought she was hunched over, some old woman beneath a bonnet and shawl and a crazy-ass patterned dress, with a basket on her arm. But the shadow
blinked
and was five feet closer. Only now she stood erect, and I could only see a dark cloak surrounding her shoulders. Another
blink
and a swirl of colors, a sickly green and dark purple, shimmered within the silhouette.
Blink.
She moved twenty feet without me noticing. As if we were in some movie filmed back in the days before the talkies, she jerked toward me.
blinked
and was five feet closer. Only now she stood erect, and I could only see a dark cloak surrounding her shoulders. Another
blink
and a swirl of colors, a sickly green and dark purple, shimmered within the silhouette.
Blink.
She moved twenty feet without me noticing. As if we were in some movie filmed back in the days before the talkies, she jerked toward me.
Blink.
She was beside me.
She was beside me.
Slowly, I stood and stared at the woman. She was squat. My height at best, but I had the feeling her real height was far taller. I gazed at the bony hand that reached out from the depths of the cloak and merely nodded. Not such a good idea to shake hands. She could claim I’d made a silent deal. The Elder Fae were brilliant about manipulating oaths and vows.
“Ivana Krask?”
“One and the same.” She pushed back the hood of the cloak and I gasped. Truly,
Elder Fae
. Her face was distorted—or at least by my view. Terribly wide at the eyes, it narrowed to a sharp point at the chin. Gnarls dotted her face and neck, like old knots on trees, only created from flesh. Her features were almost flat—her nose a pale little bump in the middle of her face. Wide anime eyes reminded me of the Cheshire Cat. Her lips were thin, almost non-existent, and when she smiled, bone-sharp teeth, like polished arrowheads, gleamed in a long row across her upper and lower gums. The woman could probably chew through metal with that set of choppers.
Elder Fae
. Her face was distorted—or at least by my view. Terribly wide at the eyes, it narrowed to a sharp point at the chin. Gnarls dotted her face and neck, like old knots on trees, only created from flesh. Her features were almost flat—her nose a pale little bump in the middle of her face. Wide anime eyes reminded me of the Cheshire Cat. Her lips were thin, almost non-existent, and when she smiled, bone-sharp teeth, like polished arrowheads, gleamed in a long row across her upper and lower gums. The woman could probably chew through metal with that set of choppers.
She cocked her head to one side, so much like an owl that I felt like a mouse hiding in the grass.
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