Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara (25 page)

“That’s not a solution. That’s anarchy.”

“How can you say that? You, a creature of a magical realm?”

Rake’s face colored. “It isn’t a matter of either-or. You, of anyone, should know that. The mortal and immortal realms must learn to exist together.”

“By destroying the culture, traditions, and history of one for the other’s sake?”

“Enough.” Rake straightened. “I didn’t come to debate with you. This conversation is at an end.”

“In fact, it never happened. Like everything else between us that never happened.”

Rake stared at him. For a moment Archer thought he might respond to that taunt, to what he was too smart not to hear beneath the cheeky words. But in the end Rake merely said, “I’ve warned you. If you’re smart, you’ll take that warning.”

Archer smiled. He picked up his briefcase again. “Of course. I appreciate the warning.”

He walked toward the door. For a moment Archer thought Rake would continue to bar his way, but just as they were about to bump noses—or as Archer’s nose was about to bump Rake’s chin—Rake stepped aside.

“Good night,” Rake said curtly.

“Good-bye,” Archer replied.

***

When Archer had first entered into foster care some well-meaning person had given him a book called
Flower Fairies of the Trees
by Cicely M. Barker.

“You look exactly like the little fairy boy on page six,” the nice lady had said, thereby setting Archer up for a lot of jokes he was far too young to understand. It was a silly book. The fairies in it were all children and they had butterfly wings and wore ridiculous costumes, but in fact, Archer had looked exactly like the little fairy boy on page six. Also known as the box tree fairy. He found the book fascinating and he memorized the box tree poem, which ended with the immortal lines:

And among its leaves there play

Little blue-tits, brisk and gay.

The book had been lost when he had been shuffled off to the next home, but it had eventually turned up at one of the stops along the way of the long journey of national foster care. Archer had reclaimed it with joy. Unfortunately, that copy had belonged to another child. The result of that bitter skirmish was that Archer had been hustled along to yet another strange home and stranger family.

He had bought his own copy of the book a few years later.

Archer paused in unknotting the tangled network of wards and protection spells guarding the hidden entrance to George Gaki’s back door. Odd to be thinking of this now. It was Rake’s fault. Rake’s intimation that Archer was…what?

He’d said he didn’t believe Archer was seeking vengeance. So why had he brought up all that rot about Archer’s past? Making it sound like Archer was some pathetic orphan child trying to…trying to...

Recovering the book—buying the book—had been Archer’s first effort to reclaim his heritage. That was true. But so what? It was natural enough that he’d want something belonging to his family. Family heirlooms. What was so unusual about that? What was surprising there? Great-Aunt Esmeralda’s clock, Uncle Cadamus’s snuffbox collection, the portrait of Grandmother Philomena. He’d paid for them, paid for every single item.

He would have paid for the beads as well, if it had been possible. Since it wasn’t…Well, the beads were his. The beads belonged to his family and Archer was all that remained of his family. The beads were his.  

The last of the wards fell away, shriveling to nothing but pale squiggles easily mistaken by the human eye for glow worms. Archer waved his hand in front of the lock and felt it click over, and the door swung silently open.

A sudden prickle across his scalp had Archer glancing over his shoulder, but there was nothing there.

He stepped inside the hall.

It was just a long, ordinary hallway. Hardwood floor, pale walls, framed photographs of generic countryside. At the end of the hall one doorway branched off to the right and one to the left.

The right led to the kitchen, where a security guard sat drinking coffee and flirting with the cook.

Archer veered left and found himself in a sunroom. He stepped around the potted plants and rattan furniture and went out the far entrance. He stopped to listen.

The security guard was still telling a long, dull story only a woman in love would sit still for. Upstairs another woman was singing a department store jingle in her sleep. In another room farther south two more security guards were talking hockey scores.

Archer continued on his way till he came to the long staircase that led to the private room in the faux tower.

The tower door took a little longer to open and sweat was trickling down Archer’s temples by the time the last ward fell away.

The door flew open and the row of candles on their rack jumped, flames dancing in the sudden draft.

Archer stepped inside and looked around. There was not a great deal to see. Rich Persian rugs covered the floor and French tapestries partially covered the windows. A gigantic gold-framed triptych of the first demon battles took up most of the far wall.

Archer’s gaze fell on a Mesopotamian treasure chest sitting in one corner.

No. Too obvious.

He closed his eyes, opened his mind, and began his search.

Hush, I stole them out of the moon.

Give me your beads, I want them…

A soft humming came to him from across the room. Archer opened his eyes. The flame of one of the fat, squat candles had turned green and was shooting up, licking hungrily at the air.

Archer smiled. In two strides he was across the floor. He pinched out the cold flame, lifted the fake candle from its perch, and removed the lid. The strand of beads spilled out, cool and shining as water.

Archer laughed in delight and held them to his face, feeling the weight of the beads running through his fingers, hearing their silken whisper.

The overhead light came on, dazzling Archer for an instant.

“I must say I thought Commander Rake was indulging in wishful thinking when he told me you’d be paying me a call in the next couple of days.” George Gaki, garbed in a luxuriant orange dressing gown and flanked by two security guards, stood in the arched doorway.

It was not Gaki’s presence—unwelcome though it was—so much as his words that struck Archer into statue-like immobility.

Seeing his shock, Gaki made a clucking sound, like a sympathetic maiden aunt. “Yes, it seems the commander has had you under observation for some time, Mr. Green. He came out to the estate this very morning to warn me that you’ve developed a dangerous obsession with an item that belongs to me.” He shook his head. “And to think you could have had them for the asking.”

Archer said automatically, “The beads don’t belong to you.”

“I assure you, halfling, in the human realm they most certainly
do
belong to me. And I’ve the bill of sale from Christie’s to prove it.” Gaki stared at the beads sinuously twining themselves around Archer’s fingers. “The baubles seem to share your misconception. Can it be true? Are you the last of the Greenwoods?”

“In any realm but this one my claim would be recognized.”

“But we’re in the human realm, where a piece of paper counts more than blood oaths and family ties.” Gaki smiled. “The only question now is, since I’ve caught you, what shall I do with you?”

Archer said nothing. He couldn’t seem to think past Rake’s betrayal.

“I should, of course, turn you over to the grimly conscientious Commander Rake, but what a waste. Would you like to reconsider my more than generous offer? Before you answer, think. This is what mortals call
an offer you can’t refuse
.”

“I
am
refusing.”

“By all that is powerful,
why
?”

“I already told you. I no longer believe in SRRIM’s methods. I’m not even sure I believe in their motives. It looks to me like you’re just stealing a lot of artifacts for yourself.”

Gaki smiled again, though it was rather pained this time. “I see. I keep forgetting how very young you are. I eat little boys like you for breakfast. That is, I used to. We’re all a great deal more civilized these days. By human standards, anyway.”

“I know what you are,” Archer said scornfully. He was not feeling particularly warm toward demons just then.

“Among other things, I’m an excellent negotiator. Let me help you consider your options. Option one: I call the police. Alas, you’ll be dead by the time they arrive. So sad. Option two: I break my diet and have you for breakfast tomorrow.”

The security guards glanced uneasily at each other.

“I’m joking,” Gaki told them. “I wouldn’t dream of breaking my diet. I’ve lost ten pounds already. Option three: you stop behaving like a rebellious teenager and join us once more. In return, I’ll give you those baubles you’re holding on to like worry beads. I’ll give you other things as well. Lovely things. Things that will make the occasional ping of your half-human conscience all worthwhile.”

Archer stared at Gaki’s implacable smile. He stared at the guards behind him.

He decided to give option four a try and flew to the star-shaped window. A foot away, he recoiled. There was cold iron in the casement.

Not something one ran across much in modern construction.

He backed away from the window.

“I don’t pay you to stand there,” Gaki told his security guards.

One guard drew his pistol. The other leaped after Archer who did his best to evade him in the small tower room while keeping an eye on the guard with the pistol. He didn’t know much about firearms, but he did know that being shot with a lead bullet would probably be fatal. Not because lead was in itself dangerous to faeries, but being shot with any bullet was probably not going to be healthy.

“This is ridiculous,” Gaki said after thirty seconds of watching Archer dodge and duck the much slower guard. “
Shoot him.
”

The guard promptly fired, sending a bullet past Archer’s head and into the gold-framed triptych.

Gaki roared and raised his arms above his head. His dressing gown began to tear as fearsomely muscled limbs lengthened and turned black green. The security guards and Archer stopped, staring as if mesmerized, while Gaki’s hands curved into razor-taloned claws and his features twisted into something from a nightmare.

The guard with the pistol dropped his weapon and bolted from the room. The other man backed away and knelt, gibbering below the window, as Gaki advanced toward Archer.

Archer’s heart pounded in terror, but he couldn’t seem to lift his feet from the floor as Gaki stalked toward him. The demon’s tail whipped up and the tip was barbed like the tip of a spear. It loomed up over both Gaki and Archer, and Archer remembered the naga skin.

“It
was
you,” he said faintly.

The glowing red eyes showed no human comprehension.

He was going to die in the next second. He should have listened to Rake. Except it was Rake who had made his death a certainty. How twisted, then, that his final thought should be a sudden longing for Rake.

The star window shattered and glass blew into the room like silver rain. With it came bits of iron and wood and plaster as the whole wall exploded.

Another demon stood in the ruins of the tower room. Through the opening of where the wall had once been, Archer could see official vehicles parking below. Black-clad Irregular forces rushed the house, battering the doors.

The roar of the second demon sent chunks of the remaining ceiling raining down. His red gaze swept the wreckage, found Archer.

“I thought you’d never…” Archer’s voice cut out.

For a fleeting instant, Rake’s demon form wavered, showed human.

Gaki didn’t miss his chance. He launched himself forward with a bellow. The house shook beneath the force of their collision. Archer sprang clear of the lashing tails, the deadly sweep of shining bat-like wings.

 Go
, he thought.
Go now. You have what you came for.

Archer’s gaze was drawn to the strands of beads looped around his hand and wrist. He had them at last.

Gaki snarled as Rake’s fangs sank into his shoulder. Green blood squirted. He clawed at Rake’s face. Rake howled and tried to disembowel Gaki with the talons on his feet. One of his wings knocked the Mesopotamian chest off the platform and box and jewels tumbled, glittering, through the night.

Archer looked at the door. He had to go now. The badges were coming. He could hear the thunder of their boots down below.

He
had
to go. Anything else was stupidity. Madness.

He couldn’t go. Not while there was any doubt to Rake’s fate.

He jumped out of the way again as Gaki, heavier, broader, managed to flip Rake. They landed on the rack of candles. The remaining tapestries and rugs caught fire and went up in a blazing whoosh.