The Master (24 page)

“It wasn't a drug,” Jack said. “Though goblins use those plenty. They have some real super-addictive stuff that can turn a human into a junkie with a single exposure,” he explained quietly. “Some are airborne, and some can be absorbed through the skin, no injection needed. But Zayn checked that option. Believe me, he checked. If you want to know more, talk to him. Or to Nyssa's mother, Bysshe. They've been studying Roman's little problem for months now, when he's here to study.

“Roman, when does your next play open?” the death fey asked, turning to look at his friend.

“March,” came the Pooka's reply.

“Play?” Nick asked. Then: “Wait! You're
that
Roman Hautecoeur? The play producer?”

“The one and only.” The Pooka gave a graceful yet mocking bow. His sword seemed entirely out of place.

Nick blinked. What did it matter, what job the man had if he was saddled with such a horrible problem? “I'm sorry,” he said. “Truly. This must be horrible for you. And I want to help, if I can.”

“Don't be sorry,” Roman said. “If you want to help, I'm glad to have you onboard.”

Nick nodded. Roman put a hand on his shoulder.

“Anyhow, to make this long, sad story a bit shorter, we decided that since legend has it that all cross-breed vampires are born without bones . . .”

Nick's breath caught. “Born without bones? That's . . . that's beyond horrible. I can understand why you won't take the risk of another pregnancy. What happens to a child without bones?” he asked himself softly.

“They die,” Jack spoke up. “And because they're part vampire and quite strong otherwise, they die very, very slowly.”

“Are you lonely living here all by yourself, Mr. Dragon?” Gretel asked, stopping Nick dead in his tracks to take three quick breaths. Feeling slightly calmer, he followed the sweet sound of her voice down a passage into a large chamber. There he found both of Zee's siblings sitting on the dragon's scaled stomach, the beast lolling on its back with its legs in the air, rather like a dog playing dead. But the dragon didn't look nearly as cute or harmless, and Nick had to fight the urge to rush in and pull the children away.

“Does it make you sad not to have any dragon friends?” the piping voice of Gretel went on. She wrapped her small fingers around one of its claws, and admired the shiny talons that were at least twice as long as her hand.

The dragon blinked at the question. Nick blinked, too.
Dragon friends?
The mind boggled at the notion of a gaggle of frolicking dragons.

“Sometimes,” the beast said at last. It eyed the little girl curiously. “What about you?”

“Sometimes I'm lonely,” Gretel confided. “But it's better now that Nick and Zee are here. Nick is going to take care of us, and we're going to see his friend when we leave. If you like, I could ask Nick if you could come live with us. He might say yes. He let us keep the imp. And Zee likes animals, so I'm sure she wouldn't mind.”

Hearing this, Nick clapped a hand to his head and stifled a groan. The dragon glanced over at the telltale sound, its long, thin lips twitching. Its reddish-yellow eyes began to gleam in a disconcerting manner. Clearly it could see where Nick stood in the deep shadows.

“I'll ask Nick, too,” Hansel said. “But it might be best if you didn't mention liking dog cookies. That seems to upset him.”

The dragon finally answered, and much to Nick's relief it said, “I rather like living in the desert. But perhaps I'll come visit you sometime. I'm sure Nick has a backyard or a spare bedroom. And I promise not to eat any dog cookies while I'm there.”

Nick decided to intervene before things got worse.

“Hey, kiddoes,” he said, approaching the dragon and the children. “Sorry to break up the party, but it's time for lunch and then a nap.”

“Will Mathias and Meriel be there?” Gretel asked, smiling at Nick. “Clarissa said they would be.”

“Mathias and Meriel?” Nick asked. He felt overwhelmed by the names of all the new people he'd met.

“Jack's son,” the dragon explained, letting the children slide down his belly. Then he rolled over carefully and extracted his twitching tail from the crevice in the wall where it had been penned. “And Meriel is Thomas's daughter, my . . . goddaughter, you might say.”

Nick shook his head. That a dragon should be a godfather did not seem all that odd anymore.

“Well, I don't know about Mathias and Meriel being there,” Nick said to the children, taking their hands, “but I know you two need to eat and rest.”

“I'm not sleepy,” Hansel announced. “I'm not such a baby that I need a nap every day, you know.”

“Maybe not,” Nick said diplomatically. “But everyone needs to eat so they can grow up big and strong.”

“Do they have any dog cookies?” the little boy asked.

Nick heard a snort and met the dragon's eye. He saw amusement there.

“I'm sure they have something like them,” he murmured, turning and leading the children off.

“Adieu,” the dragon called, waving a languid claw in their direction when they looked back. The beast caught Nick's eye, and added, “I'll be seeing you later—at dinner. And don't worry . . . I won't be eating
dog cookies
.”

Nick felt his face tighten. When they went after the hobgoblin, the dragon meant, since the dragon couldn't fit at the dining table, large as it was.

Nick didn't want to think about that just yet. He'd eaten, and that had helped, but he still felt like he needed about three weeks of sleep, and time to process all the new information bombarding his brain. Unfortunately, he needed even more information for things to make sense, and there was very little time to learn. He didn't want to be walking into a confrontation with one of Roman's Assholes of Evil until he was very clear about what he was up against.

He also had nearly a million questions about what it meant to be a pixie. Jack's inquiry about how it felt to be part fey—and about Zee being part goblin—had started Nick's brain down a rugged path, and hearing about Roman's problems made Nick wonder about inheritance and what oddities might manifest themselves if he and Zee had children. Some traits were recessive, cropping up in future generations in disconcerting ways. Could he and Zee have a child with four arms? Or with green skin? Or out-of-control pixie magic? What the hell would they do then? A child like that could never be passed off as human.

And probably shouldn't be,
the ghost piped up.

Probably not,
Nick agreed. He sighed.

“Are you saying that what I feel for Nick isn't real?” Zee asked Chloe. She had goose bumps on her arms and was still damp with perspiration from her nightmare.

“No. It's real. It just isn't voluntary. Like the dream, the magic is making it happen to you.”

Zee digested this. “And Nick?”

“I doubt he is exercising any more free will than you are,” Chloe said quietly.

“What about you and Zayn?” Zee asked. “Are you—”

“I'm human,” she said quickly. “Magic didn't choose him; I did. Or maybe circumstances did.”

The woman looked over at her daughter. The child playing on the floor was clearly half-troll. It was equally clear that Chloe loved her desperately. Zee wanted to ask what she meant about circumstances— how it was that Chloe was with Zayn and yet had a troll child—but sensed there was still terrible pain in this young woman, and that it was all connected to her daughter.

Here was another secret, another thing she didn't understand and couldn't ask about it.

Zee was feeling cornered. First it had been her family trying to make her live a certain way. Then the monster, Qasim, had invaded her life and ruined her plans. Now the magic was trying to force her into doing something with Nick. Step by step, she was being backed into a corner—a dark one, where she couldn't make out any details. Anger washed through her, causing her to shake.

“Zee? Are you okay?” Chloe asked. “You look a little pale.”

“What would happen if I tried to leave?” Zee asked slowly, her voice hardening as she brought her quaking limbs under control. “What if I just refused to cooperate with the magic?”

“Leave Cadalach?” Chloe asked.

“No—yes. I mean, leave Nick.”

“I don't know,” Chloe admitted. She smoothed her skirt nervously. “I . . . I honestly don't think that the shian would let you go. I don't know if Nick would, either. Truly, I don't think he
can
. At least, not until . . . not until you do what the magic wants.”

Zee compressed her lips at these words, and Chloe looked as if she was worried she'd said too much. Zee shoved back the covers from the bed and got up. Her body was vibrating with fury.

“Where's Nick?” she asked. “I want to talk to him.”

“He's with Jack. But maybe you should wait a little while to—”

“I've waited long enough,” Zee interrupted. Then she added to herself, “I just hope that I haven't waited too long.”

“We're still modifying your shotgun. In the meantime, try this. It's a Heckler & Koch MP5SD—with a few additions from Jack,” Roman added. He twirled the gun like a sideshow cowboy before slapping it back on the table. Nick could only hope the gun was unloaded. “Just point and shoot, and admire how it can influence a bad guy into seeing things your way.”

“Modifications? What kind, exactly? I was just getting the hang of that shotgun.” Nick was wary. He kept a grip on Hansel's shoulder, keeping him back from the weapon when the boy's tiny hands reached for it. True to his word, he had refused a nap, and Nick hadn't had one either. Of the two, only Hansel was happy with the situation.

“The gun itself won't be physically altered. Not much. The ammo will be magicked,” Thomas explained, laying a handgun on the table. “Like these guns here. Jack's a death fey. Almost anything these rounds touch will die.”

“
Almost
anything?”

“Well, we aren't entirely sure about Qasim. That hobgoblin has some special-circumstance magic going on.”

“Oh, yes. Mabigon's stolen heart,” Nick guessed. He'd heard the description of Nyssa's rough-andready heart surgery from Zayn, how she'd taken her father's heart as her own, and was still appalled. He also found it worrisome that they hadn't destroyed the hobgoblin's heart; that seemed like daring the Devil.

“Among other things,” Thomas agreed. “We're finding that hobgoblin has some strange immunities. He doesn't react the way goblins do.”

“You worry too much, Quiet Man,” Roman said, looking down the edge of a giant sword carved with runes before sliding it back into its scabbard. “This is a Pampers-type situation.”

“Pampers?” Nick asked. He tried to imagine another meaning to the word but couldn't think of any beyond the obvious.

“Yeah. As in, really shitty but fully disposable.”

Hansel giggled at the use of a forbidden word. Nick stared hard at Roman, and heard himself saying, “Little pitchers have big ears,” sounding like his grandmother. He winced.

Roman shrugged in apology. “I forgot he was here. We need to pull on his ears and make him taller.” The pooka offered a hand to Hansel, who giggled again at the ear-pulling suggestion, and led him a little way off. There he asked, “So, little man, how would you like to take a pony ride while Nick and Thomas finish up in here?”

“You have a pony?” Hansel asked, his eyes getting big. “In here?”

“After a fashion. A very large pony. A
pooka
pony.”

Next to Nick, Thomas opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“What?” Nick asked in a whisper. “What's wrong?” He couldn't imagine Roman would harm the children in any way, or let them do something dangerous. He'd seen the man with Innis and knew that he was a good father. Still, fey notions of safety might not match human ones.

“Nothing,” Thomas murmured. “All our children like to take rides. They do it all the time. Hansel will be fine.”

“I would like to take a ride, too,” said Gretel, suddenly stepping into the room. She had apparently eschewed her nap, and had followed her brother. She had also apparently been hovering outside the door, too afraid or unsure of her welcome to enter. In spite of her shyness, she looked bright-eyed and ready for action, and Nick began to wonder if he was the only one who wanted sleep.

Roman looked pleased. “Well, certainly, little lady. Let's saddle up and hit the trail.”

Nick wasn't surprised when Gretel added, “Maybe we could find the dragon. He would give us a ride, too. Unless he needs to look at the guns as well.”

That decided Nick. Whatever happened, it would be better than having the children around a bunch of weapons. Or a dragon. Especially Gretel, who was too gentle, and who had been far too quiet since the goblin attack.

“Okay, why don't you both have a pony ride?” Nick agreed. “I bet it will be fun. And I'll be finished here soon.”

“Should we ask Zee if she would like to come, too?” the thoughtful Gretel asked. “I think she's a little sad and might need a ride to cheer her up.”

Roman's eyes began to twinkle, but Thomas said
no
—immediately and emphatically.

“Killjoy,” Roman murmured. He took the children by their hands and led them out of the room, asking, “So, do you two know any really good cowboy songs?”

“What are cow-boys?” Hansel asked. “Do they have horns?”

“What does a cow song sound like?” Gretel asked.

Roman didn't answer. Instead, he started singing “I've got spurs that jingle-jangle-jingle,' ” in an exaggerated Texan accent. There was a shuffling of fading footsteps, and Nick had no trouble imagining the pooka dancing a jig.