Bone Walker (12 page)

Which left Millicent, Christopher, and me alone with Elessir.

He knew what was coming, of course. The Unseelie took no food, though he did accept tea and simply sat with it on my couch for a while as the rest of us ate, cradling the mug in his hands as if desperate to soak in its warmth. When the others left and Christopher and Millie and I returned to the living room, though, he lifted a wary gaze to us.

“This would be the part where I'm to gush out my life story, then?”

“Nope,” Millie said as she plopped herself down in the nearest chair facing him. “Not that you ain't got a story to tell, son, and I'm sure you do. But right now how the hell you fell through a portal into my city, what came out of you and went into our friend, and whether you got any other surprises we need to know about are all more important.”

“Tell her.” Christopher didn't sit, taking full advantage of the looming potential of his six-foot-plus frame. His eyes had gone gold with his irritation and the spark of his magic. “Or we'll be punting you right back into Faerie the way you came.”

So this, I thought with a smirk, was good cop, bad cop, Warder style. I hung back on purpose and let them go to it, noting the underlying rumble of their magic, just distinct enough to underscore their authority on Seattle ground and drowning out the much smaller magic I knew would be going on in the kitchen: the house brownies, who'd be coming out to take care of the lunch dishes stacked in the sink. While I listened I settled into the chair in the far corner of the room, taking up my violin out of its open case and plucking each string in turn to tune.

“Where would you have me start then, Lady Warder?” Elessir asked with brittle cheer. “I believe I remember you asking how I escaped?”

“That'll do for a start.”

The D string of my violin was flat. I adjusted it, grimacing, and tried to pretend I could ignore the Unseelie's presence in the room. The weight of the instrument in my hands helped, and so did Fortissimo, who came out from under the couch and leapt with a chirruping meow up into my lap. Neither of these, though, could shield my ears from Elessir's hoarse, exhausted voice.

“The truth of it? I don't know how I managed. I've been… less than myself.” I glanced sidelong at him, just at the right moment to see his mouth curl in self-disgust. Problem was, he caught my eye at that exact instant. “Tell me, Miss Thompson, how long's it been since I saw you before?”

I so very much did not want to speak to him. Fort had the right idea, for my money. The cat had an unblinking stare fixed on the Unseelie, and his tail lashed slowly back and forth across my stomach. He wasn't purring so much as vibrating with a low, soundless warning, not quite a growl, but something that might become one at the slightest provocation. “Two months,” I admitted, knowing exactly how my cat felt.

Elessir studied me for several heartbeats, and then reluctantly turned a measuring stare to each of the Warders. “Not long… I didn't think it had been. None of you look much changed…” A dazed little giggle slipped out of him. “Not that I'm any good at judging when it comes to humans. Or even humans with our blood. Though didn't you have a beard before, Mr. MacSimidh?”

“Get hold of yourself.” Christopher held his glower firm. “You're babbling.”

At that Elessir giggled again, a loose and slurred sound, tinged with desperation. Slumping back along the couch, he turned a hollow, lopsided smile up to a bare stretch on one of the walls. “Oh, you would too, I just know you would too if you fled my Queen's ever-lovin' arms…”

My A string twanged under my fingers, half a step flat. Ordinarily that would never have bothered me, but now the sound of it made me clench my teeth, and my fingers trembled against the tuning peg. Millicent and Christopher both looked at me, the younger Warder with distinct discomfort, the elder with a meaningful nod towards the Unseelie's slumped form. Her gesture needed no translation. Elessir seemed more coherent now, but only just, and I couldn't help but notice he was still clutching at the blanket he'd draped around him like a cloak.

Damn it.

I pushed Fortissimo out of my lap and leaned over to carefully return the instrument to its case before I damaged it in my frustration. Only then did I rise to approach the couch. “Look, pal, we need more out of you than this.”

His head turned, and his gaze lifted to me. “Two months. I tried to kill you… and now I'm in your house.” Another grin wobbled across his face. “Ain't that just a kick in the head?”

“If you'd like to
stay
in my house—” Since I didn't really need to finish that sentence, I glared instead. Mostly. I couldn't bring myself to confess that I wasn't honestly going to pitch Elessir out the door in the state he was in. Not to him anyway. He was shivering, even beneath the blanket; I scowled and touched his brow. It was still warm, though perhaps less so than before. “Water?” I murmured to the others and then flashed Christopher a weak smile as he backed away to the kitchen to fetch a glass. His answering smile was no stronger than mine.

Pitiable as he looked, the Unseelie must have been hanging on to a scrap of his pride, for so far he hadn't tried to touch me in any way. But when my hand brushed over him, he shuddered once more and then subtly relaxed. There wasn't anything magical about it I could sense, just the simple contact of one person to another. Simple
human
contact, anyway.

Was it ever that simple for the Sidhe?

“He's still feverish,” I reported to Millie, who gave me a single brisk nod. Christopher came back, and his eyes mirrored the look in the old woman's: frustration, yes, but compassion along with it. I squeezed his fingers with my other hand as I took the glass from him, and then turned my attention back to the ailing bard. “Elessir. Here. Drink. It's water.”

That single word,
water
, revived him a little more. He stirred, and even found enough physical coordination to drink from it without my help. Yet he didn't sit up. Nor did he move his head out of the range of my hand. Because it seemed to soothe him, I left it there while I prodded, “Talk to me.”

“Go on, boy, tell the girlie what we need to know.” Millicent's eyes conveyed her worry, but her tone remained brusque. Apparently I was good cop now. “Price of your sanctuary. Pay up.”

With barely a pause for air, Elessir gulped down half the water in the glass before sagging back at last, his head turned towards my hand. “She…” He flinched once, his fine pale features tightening, before he finally breathed, “She let me go. Must have. It was too easy, the wards falling down, the goblin at the door… shouldn't have worked. Didn't have the strength for the spell but the bastard died anyhow…”

We all went still at his first words. As the Unseelie went on, Christopher and I shot wide-eyed looks at each other and then at Millicent. Only she, of the three of us, never wavered in her attention. Her entire face tightened as she listened, accentuating every line her years had etched into her features and adding more for good measure. That expression scared me in a way that Elessir hadn't, or even the ghostly shape that had flung itself into Jude. New as I was to magic and fey things, I followed the old woman straight to where her thoughts were going.

“Is she coming after you?” I asked Elessir, fighting to keep my voice soft and even, my hand steady. Without quite consciously willing it, I set to a rhythm of stroking his hair.

More harshly, Millie added, “Is she
sending
anything after you? Is anything coming to cross my city's Wards?”

“No. No, she isn't coming, shan't send even the lowest of her creatures. The almighty Queen of Air and Darkness won't threaten the Pact for the likes of me…” Elessir violently shook his head against my palm, and for the first time since I'd joined him on the couch, he huddled closer to me. In the grip of his fear, all traces of his drawl gave way to cadences that flowed like a cool mountain stream. I thought all at once of the few scraps of Faerie words I'd heard. Was this something closer to the singer's truest voice? “She has no such need. Do you not understand, Miss Thompson? She set me free with my own doom… eating the heart and power out of me… she needed do naught but wait for me to die!”

Okay, yeah, I had my issues with the guy. Watching this, though, was beyond the pale. I leaned closer and looped an arm around him, keeping up that stroking of his hair. “Hey. Hey now. Nobody's dying. It's okay.”

“Not if we can help it.” Millicent too leaned closer, though she held back from making any actual contact with Elessir. “But you need to tell us what she did, son. You need to tell us what it was that came out of you.”

“Because it's taken our friend,” Christopher pronounced, “and if it harms her, it'll be on your head.”

Elessir stiffened against me as if somehow loath to accept my presence, only to at last bury his face against my shoulder and haul in a heavy breath. His arms snaked around my waist while the rest of him trembled with weakness, a sharp contrast with the frantic strength of his embrace. “I don't want to hurt her.” That sounded like anguish. I thought in dawning amazement that he might even mean it. “Sorry. C-couldn't keep it in. Took everything I had… sorry, I-I couldn't…”

I held him, because I seemed to have to, but the facade of comfort I put forth took a hard hit from within by rising dread. “What got out of you?” My voice wouldn't stay gentle, not when knife-sharp thoughts of Jude and what might have invaded her jabbed through me. “Elessir. You've got to tell us what it was, so we can figure out what to do about it.”

He groaned, his head shaking back and forth. For one moment, maybe two, I thought he wouldn't answer. Then a few more words tore out of him, deep and harsh and almost guttural.

“It was my wife…!”

The body she'd stolen was too short, too heavy, and too
mortal
; she could feel it dying around her with every breath. Yet it was a body. It gave her access to senses again, and even at human levels, to have sight, sound, smell, and touch again at all was a victory. Jude Lawrence's shell had no magic to sustain her, and with the slightest exercise of power, she could feel its physical substance beginning to burn.

Elessir, her delicious, delectable Elessir, had fed her very well. With his power still lending strength to her own, she barely even needed what feeble nourishment the spark of the human girl's awareness could provide. She toyed with it nevertheless, turning it about in her mind like the shiny bauble it was.

No, the body wouldn't sustain her long, and the mind had succumbed to her so fast that it was scarcely any fun at all. But both would keep her long enough to find more challenging prey—and her current host's thoughts did have one use. They warned her she'd have to venture outside the range of the Warders of Seattle if she wanted to escape their notice.

Can do, sport!

She wouldn't have said it that way, but it amused her to steal Jude Lawrence's words along with her body, her clothes, and her truck. It took her less than an hour to visit the mortal's home and raid her wardrobe, and no time at all to deflect the anxious texts sent to the mortal's phone.

From Elessir's Seelie girl, no less. Who was no Warder, and who could perhaps track her down outside the Warders' territory if she were motivated enough by her worry for her friend. She'd have to target Kendeshel ana'Kirlath soon enough. The sweet young power of her, oh yes, she'd picked that straight out of Elessir's senses, but that wasn't the same at all as tasting her for herself. If her bard's memories were to be trusted, not to mention the Queen's own command, the Seelie girl would make a filling morsel indeed. The temptation to take her for herself was powerful.

But not yet. She had to warm up first.

Content for now to savor the anticipation, Melorite abandoned her mortal host's home for the pleasures of the hunt.

To this day I don't know why shock poured like a bucket of ice-cold water over me at Elessir's ragged whisper.
After all, what had I known about him? He was Sidhe, Unseelie, a mage, and a consummate impersonator of Elvis Presley, despite his pointed ears. He claimed to be over nine hundred years old and apparently had it in for his own Queen. And he was gorgeous beyond any reasonable mortal limits, which was difficult, given that he also was an asshole.

Still, I was thunderstruck.
Whomperjawed
, as Millie would say, at the sheer notion that Elessir a'Natharion, inhumanly beautiful son of a bitch that he was, might have loved someone enough to vocalize that kind of raw grief. Might have married her.

Wife?
I mouthed soundlessly at Millicent, hoping all the while that my face was broadcasting a suitably desperate
help me out here!

Even the old Warder woman looked surprised enough to blink a few times, but that didn't keep her from briskly demanding, “What happened to her, boy? Was that her ghost we saw break out of you?”

“All… all that's left of her. Not a ghost. Not that simple.”

Christopher tapped my shoulder, startling me enough to shoot a look up to him. He'd fetched a washcloth and now held it out to me in silent offering. His mouth was skewed into a rueful smirk, but his eyes were anxious. I smiled up at him, weakly but gratefully, and made a mental note to give that man serious quality time later after things settled down.

In the meantime, I rubbed the cloth over Elessir's hot face and brow. The attention seemed to help. His shivers eased, and his voice gained a little strength as he murmured something in more syllables of the speech of Faerie. “
Alokhiu
. Queen turned her into one.” Before any of us could ask, he slit open one eye and peered groggily up at me. “It means ‘bone walker'… more or less.”

Neither Christopher nor Millie spoke, maybe because Elessir was focused on me. Joy. So I said, shoving the worry modulating into a higher and shriller pitch into the back of my mind, “You're going to have to tell me what that is.”