“Looking forward to trying out your spell?” Jack asked as he seated Io in the booth at the back of the diner where they could not be seen from the windows. The place was a little dingy and frayed around the edges, but mostly clean. And it didn’t reek of goblin.
“I guess so. There are spells I would have liked more.”
“Such as?”
“Precognition would have been good. Or one of those truth spells.”
“I could give it to you,” Jack volunteered, deliberately trying to surprise her. He wanted to put her at ease. She had been very careful not to touch him since they left his crash pad, even though he had been vigilant about not using any magic on her. “It would be a loaner, of course. Just for the night.”
“You could lend it, but why would you?” she asked suspiciously.
“Well, it doesn’t matter which of us has it,” he answered virtuously. “We’re partners, aren’t we? And I don’t need it with you. You have very speaking eyes. That’s almost as good as a very speaking mouth.”
“Uh-huh.” Io’s expressive eyes narrowed in a gratifying manner as she scanned Jack from loose hair to folded arms. She took a guess. “Also, it doesn’t matter what I ask you because you picked up a truth-resistance spell as well.”
Jack smiled. “You’re good, little fey. Just keep looking with your gut as well as those superior eyes and we’ll be fine.”
“So, where are we looking with our guts and eyes tonight?”
“We are heading out toward Neveling Lutin’s end of the hive.”
“Hive?” She cocked her head.
“I think of the Labyrinth that way. Have you ever been down there?”
“No.”
“It isn’t like up top—there’s no paving or street signs to guide you. They aren’t real big on clean angles in their architecture either. It takes some getting used to. We’ll go slow tonight, just a reconnaissance pass to get you oriented. And perhaps a small bit of looting and sabotage if the situation presents itself.”
“Knowing you, it probably will.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “But we need to be a little cautious. No need to tip our hand. And as you probably know, Neveling is rumored to have two pet gargoyles about the house.”
“Of course he does. For cachet. After all, they’re rare in the States outside of zoos. And that’s because it’s
illegal
to import them.”
“Uh-huh,” Jack agreed blandly.
She glared at him. “And just because they eat everything—alive and screaming—and have put several of the native birds and mammals on the endangered species list, not to mention how they annoy the neighbors by gobbling up small pets and children, that is no reason to obey the importation laws or even common sense.”
“Exactly.” Jack handed her a laminated menu, amused by her indignation. He found her lingering loyalty to law and order to be endearing. It also made him wonder how she functioned in a rogue organization like H.U.G. He added as the devil’s advocate, “It’s likely that Neveling would say in his defense that laws and common sense around here are very different things than on the outside. Goblin Town is a world unto itself.”
“I’m sure he
would
say that. And he’d mean every word of it, too. Hell! What could immigration have been thinking letting so many goblins into the U.S.?” Io looked at Jack over the top of the diner’s limited dessert selections.
He shrugged. “They didn’t ask my opinion. At least we haven’t given them the vote. Yet.”
Io snorted. “As if that has ever stopped them from getting what they want. And while we are talking about imponderables, I wish someone could explain to me how it is that when magical entropy happened all over the world, goblins and gargoyles weren’t wiped out too.”
Io sounded both angry and bitter. She lowered her head to study the menu and seemed to be collecting herself.
“We survived. I’m not complaining.”
“Yeah, but we only made it because we aren’t pure fey. A lot of my family didn’t make it. I bet a lot of yours didn’t either.” She stared hard at the menu’s entrées.
“A lot of people would argue that fewer death feys are probably a good thing.” Jack’s tone was neutral.
Io raised the menu higher and murmured something unintelligible.
“Some of the selkies made it,” Jack pointed out when she didn’t reappear.
“But why?” she asked from behind her menu. “Why did they survive when the pixies and elves didn’t?”
“Truthfully? I think they may still be here because they weren’t above the ground when the last solar flare happened.”
Io lowered her menu and looked at him, clearly
surprised at a serious answer when she hadn’t expected there to be one.
Sometimes Jack surprised himself.
“What do you mean?”
“This is just a theory,” he warned, “but I’ve been doing some reading on the research boffins’ latest black-box theories. The guys in the skunk works think that the wipeout began right after the solar flares that caused the big drought. They believe that it was the earth and air fey at higher elevations that took the most hits from the radiation—they couldn’t stand the solar pollution. It killed their magic, and then it killed them.”
“And the selkies?”
“I think selkies were spared because they are water spirits and went deep to escape.”
Io nodded encouragingly, so Jack went on. “I think the goblins and gargoyles survived because they live underground. Anyway, these goblins are as much insect as magical being. You know how hard it is to kill cockroaches or ants.”
“You’re right,” Io said slowly. “They are a lot like insects, aren’t they? They even have six limbs. And their hair is like wire. I was looking closely at Hille and Glashtin. Theirs isn’t anything like animal hair. And it sticks in your clothes like it has barbs.”
Jack nodded. “The ones who survived have six limbs—four arms and two legs. Remember, not all goblins were like this. Many European ones had only two arms and two legs. They died out, too, with
the rest of the earth and air feys. These things down here are mutants. Hell! I’m not sure we should even be calling them goblins. The old goblins were so neat they were prissy. These creatures are pigs. And they live like ants—swarms of them. The old goblins never did that.”
“These goblins also have a magical generator nearby. Maybe the power spilling off that is what draws them,” Io said, thinking aloud. “And they seem to be able to produce their horrible fruit at an incredible pace, given how cold the climate is here in their city. That has bothered me since coming into town: There are too many junkies around. Could magic be keeping the Labyrinth unseasonably warm? Is that why they are able to support more addicts?”
Jack gave the question a ponder.
“And what are they feeding the plants to make them produce so fast? It has to be blood, right?” Io went on. “Are they growing crops with hydroponics underground—maybe with blood meal? They could have found some way to make plants that don’t need human blood, I suppose. Genetic engineering or something.”
Jack nodded slowly. “Possibly. But what would it addict then? Cows? Chickens? The power of goblin fruit to addict humans comes from it being nurtured with human blood and bone.” He paused. “The goblins do live on a natural power point, though. That
we know for certain. This magical power source has to play a part somehow.”
Io shook her head. “It isn’t right. I was taught that magic is supposed to be neutral, unownable. Could these goblins truly have perverted it?”
“They don’t own the magic here, but they do seem to have sole usage rights. You know what magic is like—it hates to be neglected. The Motor City jewel may have some protective properties that are being used to shield the goblins, and maybe such jewel usage is part of what saved them here and in New Orleans during the drought. It sure wasn’t their looks or winning personalities.”
Io guessed, “So the jewel could be helping them produce more crops, couldn’t it?”
“Yes, but not without blood. And I have a sudden nasty suspicion about where they are getting their blood. As you said, the number of junkies—”
Jack stopped speaking as a blond waitress pushed through the swinging doors that led from the diner’s kitchen, and waddled up to their table. She was a goblin-fruit junkie, but not too far gone. Her hair hadn’t started to turn yet.
Io looked from Jack to the waitress and back again. Her expression was troubled.
“What’ll it be?” the waitress asked, pulling a pad and pencil out of her pocket.
“Have the turkey cutlets,” Jack suggested. He added deadpan, “They taste just like chicken.”
Io exhaled slowly and began to smile. She didn’t
do it very often and it pleased Jack to see.
“Why shouldn’t I just have the chicken?” she asked.
“Because I can’t swear that it
is
chicken. It doesn’t
taste
like chicken.”
“And the meatloaf?”
“Well, I wouldn’t eat it. But I tend to be fussy about what I dine on. Grind it up and how can you tell what it really is?”
“Then I guess I’ll be having the turkey cutlets,” Io decided, smiling up at the waitress, who simply stared back blankly. “Do you have fruit juice?” she asked.
“Something in a sealed bottle or can,” Jack stipulated.
“Apple,” the waitress said, scribbling the order in a laborious scrawl. Her hands, like all junkies’, were tremored.
“I’ll have the same,” Jack said when she was done, dropping both his and Io’s menus back in the slot behind the napkin dispenser. He added, “That’s all for now.”
“Okay.” The waitress was still writing as she waddled obediently back toward the kitchen.
“Don’t those contacts bother you?” Jack asked, changing the subject completely. He’d decided that Io didn’t need to hear his theory about where the goblins here were getting human fertilizer for their crops. Ghouls weren’t the only ones to make use of
the dead, but there was no need to point it out before dinner.
“Not as much as having people look at my eyes.”
“I like your eyes. I don’t like the contacts. You’ll have to take them out when we make love.”
Io exhaled in a whoosh, and colored. “No teasing!” she warned him. “I can’t afford the distraction, Jack. Really. And neither can you.”
“Who said I’m teasing?” He made sure that his eyes and smile were lazy as he looked her over. He kept his magic tamped down, since that seemed to be what made her nervous.
“No flirting either, then. I mean it, Jack.” She pointed a finger at him.
“I never flirt,” Jack assured her. He waited until she had put her finger away to add, “The word implies a lack of solemn intent. I take my seductions very seriously.”
“I wish I thought you were kidding,” she muttered.
“I’m sure you do,” he answered sympathetically.
“Why
do
you tease me?” she demanded. She obviously labored against the latent truth spell as she added, “You know I don’t like it.”
Jack opened his mouth to tell her again that he wasn’t teasing—and that she was lying, but decided he’d rattled her cage enough for the moment.
“Anger is as blinding as lust,” he said instead. “You needed to chill a bit before we go down. Think of what we are doing as a sort of a game of chess.”
He pulled out some napkins and shoved one her way. “So, do you want to trade spells?”
“What for what?” she asked.
“Your fist of steel for my invisibility.”
Io considered it. “It’s a pity we can’t share.”
“Well”—Jack waved a hand—“actually, we can.”
Io blinked and asked warily, “How?”
“It involves us getting very, very close.”
“How close?”
“As close as two people can get.”
“That’s too close,” she said firmly.
Jack looked at his comrade-in-arms and had to grin. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Something about this wary little fey attracted him like no one had in the last twenty years. And all he had to do was touch her and the sparks literally flew. Hell, they flew even when he didn’t touch her.
She was right though about the flirting. It was a fun way to kill some time, but it would have to end when they went into the Labyrinth. Neither of them could afford to be distracted.
Still…
Jack glanced at his watch.
“So, are we agreed that the real danger isn’t Horroban finding the generator, but whatever he has Neveling Lutin cooking up?” Io asked practically.
Jack shrugged. “As I don’t think Horroban
can
find the generator, yes, the greater danger is Neveling Lutin’s hellbroth. And by the way, the lab didn’t turn up anything on those samples. They are just
your same old basic goblin cosmetics: eye of newt, tongue of frog stuff. If he’s making poison, it isn’t in his factory. Yet.”
“Damn.”
“Well, if nothing else, we should be able to get a sample of the recent crop of goblin fruit tonight. Our labs can do a DNA breakdown on it and see if and how it is different from the old fruit.” Jack hadn’t intended to offer to do this, but knew it would please Io.
It was also a sound idea. He hadn’t been paying any particular attention to the junkie problems, but looking back on it, it seemed like there were more of them in Goblin Town than ever before, and they were deteriorating faster than they used to. The city’s cops hadn’t noticed because there weren’t any bodies turning up at the morgue. Now Jack suspected why.
The blond waitress reappeared with two plates, which she set carefully on the table. Jack and Io didn’t speak until she returned with their bottles of apple juice and some silverware.
“How long has she got?” Io asked, her voice hushed as the girl waddled back to the kitchen.
“I’d have said six or seven months based on her hair and skin. But…”
“But?”
“My nose doesn’t agree. She
smells
sicker than that. I’d say she has no more than four months left.”
“We’ve got to stop them. Somehow. They’ll kill us
all eventually if we don’t,” Io said. Her voice was level and calm, but Jack knew that she meant every word. He was coming to know her. She was terrified of failing at this—thankfully more frightened of the situation than she was of him now, or than she had been after his harsh first-night warning. He realized that if that fear had lived, it would have grown and consumed her. Jack was certain that she would have left Goblin Town and never come back rather than allow herself to be taken over as her mother had been. Being addicted, especially being addicted to a man, was Io’s version of
worse-than-death
.