Dance By Midnight (4 page)

What I took from this is that everything I learned about Faeries as a kid was wrong. They weren't nice. And they weren't our friends. And they didn't die if we told them we didn't believe in them.

Or…did they?

Truth in the gooey center, after all.

>
Me
: How do changelings fit in?

>
IndigoCypher
: Constructs. Faeries usually don't make a changeling unless they want something they can't get normally. Like if their dust doesn't work? And that shit always works. So if it don't, what they're after is not human.

>
IndigoCypher
: Far as I know it's made out of the stuff where they come from. Ether or essence or some word. They make it superficially real by taking a bit of their target and sticking it into the constructed thing. It's all a little cray-cray if you know what I mean.

>
Me
: And after they get what they want?

>
IndigoCypher
: Oh, that's when the thing goes apeshit and kills everything that knew its target. Once that's done, it just disappears.

>
Me
: And it won't die till its done this?

>
IndigoCypher
: That's what I hear. Hey D, you don't have a changeling after you, do you? Was that why you baked for a while?

>
Me
: No. At least I don't think so.

>
Me
: So how do you kill it?

>
IndigoCypher
: That's just it. You or I don't by ourselves. Two things can kill it—either one of those watchers, those realm nazis and we all know they're dead, or a weapon made out of the same essence can destroy it. And I don't know about you, but I can't throw fairy dust. LOL.

I ended the conversation with promises of logging in more and updating my own paranormal sites. Not that I had any real intention of doing that. For one…I'd forgotten most of my passwords.

Sam had stepped back into the townhouse at some point and I learned why Mike had made so many burgers. The wolf ate seven of them. No ketchup, please.

Mike and Sam were in the living room pouring over several big books on the coffee table. I idly wondered if the furniture was Mike's or if it came with the townhouse. Looked like something out of an Ikea catalogue. But the sight of the books reminded me of something.

"Where's my car?"

Mike looked up. "I drove it back. It was the easiest way to get you here. It's out front. Key's by the door."

I found the keys in a glass bowl and bounded outside—and stopped. I guess it hadn't dawned on me that Mike's townhouse was actually in one of Savannah's infamous Squares. Madison Square, to be exact, which rested behind the
DeSoto Hilton
. Mike's townhouse was on the same street that backed up the hotel. I walked carefully down the iron staircase and spotted my car to the right. After rummaging around in the back and grabbing two bags—items I never left anywhere but the SUV—I locked it back up and turned to get a front view of the townhouse.

I couldn't help but whistle. It didn't sound like Mike had a lot of money so I wondered how he afforded such a nice place. It was a corner home, just past entrance/exit to the square.

Cypher's information formed a scenario in my head while getting the bags. Mike said Sam smelled the odor of a changeling on him when they met, meaning he'd been in contact with one. But he claimed the last person he'd seen, other than customers at his store, was Brendi before she disappeared. With this new information, I put together an idea.

I was pretty sure the Fairies, or whatever, had used a changeling to grab Brendi, and a changeling killed Teresa and vanished. Given what Cypher said it should have come after Mike since he was Brendi's dad. So…why hadn't it? Brendi had been gone nearly four months and Mike hadn't mentioned being attacked by a savage animal.

The idea had holes, which I hoped the book in my bag would fill in. When I left Atlanta, one of the items Nona gave me was a massive tome she called The Big Book of Everything. The thing read like a compendium of the planes, identifying species, powers, strengths, weaknesses, etc. Seeing the books in the living room reminded me I had it with me. So, maybe this thing would be a bit more informative as to why it hadn't attacked Mike.

And maybe it would give us a clue as to how to get Brendi back.

The street was shaded beneath one of the massive oaks. Spanish moss waved in the cool breeze that chilled the back of my neck. I'd always been good with sensing things around me, even as a kid. So when I realized the chill wasn't temperature but the presence of someone close by, I turned and faced the square.

A tweener girl in a green raincoat stood on the other side of the hedge bordering the square. She looked familiar and felt all kinds of wrong. Wrong
other
than the fact she was wearing a raincoat and it wasn't raining.

Her blondish hair was cut straight along her brow and hung to her shoulder. The breeze ruffled my hair over my eyes, but hers didn't move. There wasn't any traffic in the Square.

In fact, it was eerily quiet.

"Hello Uncle Dags."

That cold feeling I'd had along my neck moved down my spine as I froze beside the SUV. I took a step back on the uneven cobblestone of the road with my right hand on the SUV and my left clutching the gym bag. "I know you're not Brendi."

"I know you know that." She smiled. I didn't like the way it looked. There is nothing spookier than an ill fitted smile on a child. "But that's why I wanted to see you. Can't you come into the square and play?"

My head was shaking before I answered her. I wanted to glance back at the townhouse to see if either Sam or Mike had seen her out the front windows. But I was too scared to look away. If my assumptions were right, this thing could rip my throat out the same way it nommed on Teresa's. "No. 'Fraid not. Got a lot of work to do."

"I suppose so," she tilted her head to her left shoulder. "But see, I have a deal for you."

"A deal?"

"Uh huh. You come play with me for a little bit and I won't kill daddy." She smiled, revealing long, sharp teeth. "For now."

i SUCK AT MAGiC

When the lights came back on I wasn't in Madison Square anymore. I wasn't even near the SUV or Mike's townhouse.

Hell, I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

The light was dim, like on a cloudy day. Monochromatic. As my eyes adjusted I could make out what I thought at first was a tunnel in front of me with rounded, carved sides. But when I tried to reach out to touch the sides, I couldn't move.

A much more thorough (and panicked!) examination of my present situation revealed I was tied to a chair. My hands were bound painfully tight behind my back and to the back of the seat. When I moved my fingers around, the ones that weren't already numb, I could feel the chair was wood. Could have been any make of any kitchen chair. Ropes bound my chest to the back as well, wrapped my thighs to the seat, and my ankles were tied to the chair's legs, spread to either side.

Struggling didn't help at all as the muscles in my shoulders and elbows burned with the stress. I looked at the floor. Concrete? Asphalt? It was hard to tell in the dim light—I wasn't even sure where the light was coming from. If I looked to my right another tunnel stretched out into darkness, and there was a duplicate one to my left. I assumed if I could turn around I'd see the same thing behind me. I was in a crossroads though I wasn't sure what the significance for that was. The chair felt like it was bolted to the spot.

And there was a smell…

"Comfortable, Uncle Dags?"

I froze as the voice echoed around the tunnels. I couldn't figure out where it came from. I couldn't see her and I didn't hear her feet. "Actually, I'm not." I heard the quiver in my voice and hoped like hell she didn't. "Care to tell me why you decided to play kidnap the uncle?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't listen to me any other way." The voice shifted as she spoke, deepening until it matured into a woman's voice. "You see there are some rules we need to establish. I don't like Sentinels interfering where they're not wanted. I've already suffered losses because of one of your kind. I do not intend on suffering again."

I sensed someone behind me. I could manage a small part of a turn, but it wasn't worth it. A hand gripped my shoulder and applied pressure. I yelled as its fingers dug deeper into my muscle and I could imagine the tips of those fingers as talons tearing through to the bone beneath.

As fast as the hand appeared, it disappeared and I pitched forward against the ropes at my chest. I was sweating—a reaction to the pain and panic. I didn't want to look at my shoulder. I just knew it'd been shredded the way Teresa had been.

My heavy breathing masked her movements until she stood in front of me. She still looked like Brendi in the raincoat, but it definitely wasn't her. "You feel pain. That's good. I enjoy the pounding of your heart, the quickening of your breath. Maybe I shouldn't send a message to that harridan. Maybe I should keep you for myself."

Keep me?
I thought about what Cypher had said, about dust and feeding off humans. I pulled and yanked against the ropes but they weren't giving.

"A little dust and you'll be mine. I could tell you to do anything and you'd do it, little Sentinel. You'd be my slave for eternity, and die if I abandoned you."

Shit! The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me. Here I was, carrying some all-powerful fucked up book in my soul, and no damned way of knowing how to make it work! I watched her stick her hand into her pocket and knew she was going to pull out dust and blow it on me or toss it on me…or something equally terrible.

Okay, think. Calm down and think. Thinking is really the magician's tool, isn't it?
That and ingenuity. Planning. Nona said spells worked exclusively on intent. It didn't matter what I said or what the ritual was, so long as I knew what I wanted and focused on that. I could shout out the Gettysburg address and it wouldn't matter.

I closed my eyes and focused everything I could on the idea of getting free. It seemed simple and doable, right? Getting free. I imagined the ropes disappearing. Ropes were made of twine so they could be cut…no don't imagine a knife. My luck I'd cut my wrist in the process.

No…I needed to think of something else. Some other way to…

An image of a small book came to me. The book opened and the pages flipped to the right, then the left, as if some unseen hand searched for something specific. Finally the pages stilled and the book propped itself up for me to see. On that page was the image of what I needed.

And underneath it was a single word, hand written in Sumerian.

Isatum
.

Fire.

When I opened my eyes the little Brendi monster was taking her hand out of her pocket, her fist balled. But it didn't matter. Everything slowed down; her movements, my breathing, even the air around me ground to a halt as I opened my mouth and said the word with emphasis,
"Isatum!"

Instantly the ropes binding me incinerated—as did some of my clothing. I jumped up, startling the changeling so much it fell backwards and a sparkling, black dust settled on the ground around it. I stumbled about as I patted down my now scorched denim jacket, pants and wrists.

I used the pain from the burns to fuel my escape as I took off past the stunned monster toward the light at the end of the tunnel in front of me. For a few brief moments I was afraid it was a joke—that I would never really reach that light and would forever run toward it.

Abruptly I smacked into an iron gate covering a circular exit. Looking past it I could see the Savannah River and I knew I was still in the Physical Plane. I had to be in a sewer tunnel or maybe one of the old smuggling passages I'd read about.

With a glance back to make sure she wasn't following, I banged on the grate with my hand. When that started hurting my burned wrist, I looked down at the piles of debris at my feet and grabbed a piece of pipe. I used it to bang on the grate, hoping to get someone's attention.

I heard the sound of a horse's hooves on the infamous River Street cobblestone before I saw it clop in front of the grate. Then I heard a "Whoa," and the sound of boots.

I took a few steps back into the darkness as a man in a white suit and tails came around the horse. He squatted down a bit and put his hands on his knees as he squinted into the grate. I narrowed my eyes at the white top hat perched a little sideways on his head. The only splash of color in the whole outfit was a red scarf wrapped around the hat. "Hello? Someone there?"

I moved forward. He looked normal. Dark skin, white goatee, top hat, white tuxedo. I figured him for one of the many horse and buggy services I'd seen all over the Historic District. When he saw me his eyes widened. "Lawdy there boy. You okay? Looks like you been in a fire."

I glanced down at myself, not realizing what I looked like. I smelled my singed skin, as well as the burned denim of my jacket and jeans. "I'm not okay…is there a way out of here?"

"You in a Cairn. Just step through."

I'm in a Cairn?
Was he serious?

Laughter behind me sent me into another panic and I moved straight at the grate—and what had been solid enough minutes ago was now little more than a phantom. The second I stepped past it, the sounds of people, cars, birds, everything in the normal world returned and the colors brightened.