“Mage Noir”
a short story

If I was in a film noir, I’d say how cold the night air was, but not as cold as that dame’s grin when she showed me her snow white teeth, her words hanging upon the air as if the whole damn world had froze. Of course, my life is NOT a film noir, but still, I can’t help but think like that sometimes. Ah, but now getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind a bit, go back to earlier in the evening. Here, let me start over…
Samuel Clemens once said that the coldest winter he ever experienced was the summer he spent in San Francisco, and on a night like this, I could believe him. It wasn’t quite midnight yet, and the fog lay over the city like a thick damp blanket, even though it was almost the middle of summer. I’ve never liked the city when it gets like this, the fog suffused with horrible sickly orange light and deadening any sounds.
You already had it pictured when I said the name, didn’t you? The dull-red bridge, tall buildings rising from the morning fog, the city by the bay. San Francisco. Don’t ever call it “Frisco,” Emperor Norton doesn’t like that. Trust me, I know. Every city has its own story and feel, and The City is no different. A whole mess of thriving subcultures, tight winding streets, dark graffiti on one side of the street and shining modernity on the other, and gentle people with flowers in their hair. Norton’s a part of all that, but that’s a story for another time. A whole populace hiding in plain sight, in more ways than one. L.A. might be a bit more… traditional for the sort of services I offer, but I was born and raised here. My heart never left San Francisco, and it never will. But I’m getting off topic again.
Oh, and I haven’t introduced myself yet. My apologies. My name is Arthur Mondaine, and I’m a wizard. Yes, really. No, I’m not crazy. Don’t look me up in the phone book, I’m not there. At least, not under W. By day, I’m a feng shui consultant. By night… well, I’m a consultant of a different sort. The job pays well, well enough to afford the nice mid-range car I drove. No, I don’t own a flying broomstick, though honestly that would probably be really useful.
Driving in San Francisco is the best way to become well-acquainted with one of the city’s longest-lasting blights on its reputation: finding parking. But tonight’s destination was Golden Gate Park, and there were people waiting there for me. And I wasn’t speeding, per se, but I was being a bit less cautious than I’d normally be. Time was of the essence.
There are several routes into the park, and the particular one I wanted was easy enough to find: it was the only one blocked off by police cars and a bunch of cones. Lights on and flashing, but no sounds. A few people had gathered to gawk, like they do. Still, in a place like San Francisco, it wouldn’t attract too much attention. People are surprisingly good at tuning out stuff that doesn’t affect them. Human nature. Don’t look down on us too much, it’s a survival mechanism. As you shall see.
I pulled up to the blockade with my window preemptively rolled down. One of the cops saw my face and nodded in recognition. He held up a hand to forestall the other officers, and waved me through with his other hand. Henderson, I could tell now. One of the older hands. I’d have to bug him about being unprofessional and not at least checking my ID later, but the job came first. I waved back as I drove through.
I slowed down. The road was dark and windy, and there might always be a few of the City’s forgotten around here. It never hurt to be safe. Up ahead, there was another car, with two cops standing next to it… a fat one and a skinny one.
Oh, great.
The fat one waved me over. The skinny one just waved. That was weird, I thought. I pulled up next to them. The big guy looked at me disdainfully, and spoke.
“You the feng shoo-y guy?”
I resisted the urge to sigh: I know how to pick my battles. “Yes, I am.”
He pointed his thumb towards the next parking lot. “Lot of our guys up ahead, tryin’ to keep things quiet as we can. You gotta park here, we’ll watch your car for ya.”
I smiled and nodded my thanks, because I’m a professional. “Thank you for the heads up.”
“Yer welcome.”
I could hear how he spelled it. I managed to compose myself before I groaned. Pick your battles and all that. Instead, I pulled into the nearly-empty parking lot and chose a space. The only other cars here looked like they belonged to late-night workers or similar. The night’s stillness took over as I killed my engine, and I couldn’t help but marvel at it: dead smack in the middle of a huge city, and I could still find some peace and quiet. Well, quiet anyway. Miraculous. I grabbed the fedora and antique cane lying across the passenger seat before stepping out into the night air.
I had armed myself, figuratively and literally, before leaving the house, so I didn’t feel the need to go into my glove box or trunk for extras. I wanted to try and play this diplomatically, and marching in like Rambo would not be a good way to open negotiations. Now, a strong first impression? That was perfectly acceptable.
On reflection, I did look like I’d just stepped out of Casablanca, in my grey trench coat and matching hat. There are two reasons I was dressed like that. First, may I draw your attention once more to Mark Twain’s comment about the weather here? It was cold. Really cold. And second, the more traditional robe and pointy hat would draw unwanted attention. Then again, this is San Francisco. You can get away with a lot if you have the right attitude. Walk the right way and wear the right hat, and you can be anyone. It’s like magic.
Big Guy was messing with a box of cigarettes. Probably not allowed when he was on duty, but I didn’t want to make a scene. I did feel like playing peacemaker, so as he started patting himself down searching for his lighter I fished my own lighter out of my pocket and flicked it on for him. He nodded thankfully as he leaned in for a light and took a big pull. Fortunately, he was polite enough to exhale away from me. Small miracles. He took another puff, and nodded approvingly in my direction.
“Thanks much, Mister.”
I nodded, and pocketed my possession. I straightened my coat and awkwardly made my way past the officers, cane tapping on the ground. Or at least, I tried to.
“Hey, you okay, sir?”
I stopped and looked at the skinnier one of the pair. He - or she, I really couldn’t tell in the light - was quite the contrast to the big one, small and lithe and almost… perky. The unspecific-gendered cop was smiling at me with a grin that looked like it might split his or her head open if it got any winder. It was actually somewhat disconcerting, even given my line of work. And I couldn’t read the name tag in the light either, so that option was out. I pushed the problem out of my head. “Pardon?” I asked as I tipped my head inquisitively.
“You’re limping. I was wondering if you’d hurt yourself.” The voice reminded me a bit of tinkling bells.
I lightly shook my right leg, and nodded as if in understanding. “Car crash when I was young. The cold makes my leg act up.”
“Ooh, shame that. Well, best of luck for whatever the Lieutenant needs you for!”
“Well, thank you,” I replied with my own little smile in return. He/she’d pronounced it “Leftenant.” Must have picked it up from his/her parents, I thought.
“See ya soon, Mr. Mondaine!” he/she said and waved goodbye. Pete must have told him/her my name so they could look out for me, I thought. The big one didn’t say anything: he looked tired, like he’d been called in after an already long day. I certainly knew the feeling. I lightly tipped my hat back at my new friend with my free hand before continuing on my way. I really would have to clear this sex issue up.
You know, after I’d saved a child’s life.
I radiated a practiced air of calm control as I walked towards my final destination, cane tapping against the concrete sidewalk and coat billowing lightly in the wind. Oh, and a third reason for the outfit: I have a bit of a flair for the dramatic. It’s kind of a weakness, but it comes with the job, really.
Now, let’s get something straight here: Golden Gate Park is HUGE. It’s bigger than its more famous cousin in New York City, and it’s crossed and criss-crossed by winding roads, paths, and manmade bodies of water. Millions of people visit every year, for some reason or another.
It’s also a great hiding spot for fairies.
The park has an old Japanese-style tea garden inside its borders. Rumor has it that the fortune cookie was born there. Normally it’s a fairly busy spot filled with families and tourists. Right then, though, the drive in front was filled with police and their cars, and quite a few bits of yellow tape. There was an ambulance too, next to a crying couple wearing matching red shirts and trying to hold it together as an officer talked to them. No cameras yet, but that’d change soon. I’d have to work fast.
A few of the hands present recognized me, and pointed me in the direction of a particular group in front of the big main gate. I made my way there as fast as my hobbling leg would let me.
“I thought I told you to leg it, Art, you’re cutting it awful close there,” one of the officers said without even turning around.
“Good evening, dear Inspector,” I answered in a lightly-sing-song-styled voice as I stepped up beside him. I planted the cane in front of me, both hands clasped around the silver head.
San Francisco’s police department is one of the few old enough to retain the rank of Inspector. Peter Quinn had lost the title in a round of promotions that had left him a Lieutenant, but the nickname had stuck between us. His green eyes were locked on the gate, and he barely acknowledged my presence.
“Someone, find some coffee. It’s gonna be a long night.” Any one of them could have done it, but suddenly all of them were very interested in finding that coffee, and then the two of us were alone. More or less. A small breeze blew up near and around us. He continued.
“Second time this has happened, far as I know. Same modus operandi too. Family’s in the park late for a midsummer tea ceremony thing, little boy with them, it’s near closing time, kid goes off somewhere into the garden alone, attendants come to close the place up and no one can find the kid. They called us, and we called you.”
Pete wasn’t one to mince words in a crisis. I responded in kind.
“Did they say anything to him before he left? It’s important.”
“Yeah. Said not to run off, he said he’d be right back. Wanted to see the “statue of the Buddy guy” one more time, he said. They were near the South Gate at the time. Kid’s name is Billy, seven years old, brown hair and eyes, freckles, wearing a red t-shirt.” I watched him turn and look at me out of the corner of my eye. “Same guy as last time?”
“Sounds like it,” I said, my plan of attack already planned out and just waiting for Peter’s okay.
Peter sighed, and actually turned his whole body towards me. The flashing lights briefly lit up the rosary he’s wrapped around his belt. Good, he wasn’t taking any chances. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“Whatever I can.”
Pete didn’t like it, that much was obvious. I cut him off before he could respond. “Rules of engagement. I’ve got to play by them, same as you do. Except I’ve got something scarier backing up my rules.” I clenched my cane a bit tighter.
Pete’s eyes monetarily tracked down to my cane, before sliding off them, as if he didn’t want to see it. He turned back to the gate, looking a bit mollified. He was back into business mode. “All the gates except the main gate are locked. I’ll lock it behind you, keep everyone else out. You’ve about fifteen minutes before the news gets here. I won’t do anything to keep them away, so you might want to be back before then.” We’d done stuff like this before, it was procedure more than anything at this point. I nodded, and walked forward as briskly as I could manage. Pete still got to the gate first. He held it open for me, and used it as a chance for one last exchange. “God be with you.”
“Thank you,” I said politely. “I might need the help.” That got a bit of a tight grim grin. I crossed over the threshold and into the garden. Behind me, the gate closed with all the finality of a dread portal, and I heard the lock turn. I was alone.
Well, not quite alone. I didn’t feel alone. I felt like I was being watched.
Have you ever had that feeling? You’re walking alone, and then you feel like someone is staring at the back of your head. You turn around, but there’s no one in sight. You walk on, shaken, trying to write off that feeling as nothing more than paranoia. Paranoia. In a weird way, it’s a comforting thought to imagine that someone is out to get you. That you’re important enough. Monsters that go bump in the night or prowl under the bed for unwary children are just the first steps. Everyone suffers from it to some degree, some worse than others. But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that you’re wrong.
Because there is something watching you. There are monsters in the dark, and they do want to eat you. And right now, there was something watching me.
I took a deep breath. Years of practice and experience meant that I didn’t betray my fear. That’s the important part when dealing with a predator. Fear is a trigger for them: if you’re not afraid, they’re less likely to jump. Remember that. Though since they’re still predators and you are prey with all the instincts involved, you might want to escape anyway. Fight or flight instincts are all well and good, but without preparation flight tends to be the smarter option. Just saying.
I fished in my pocket for my flashlight before turning the bright LEDs on. It didn’t really do much to dispel the dark, but I wasn’t really expecting it to. None of the paths were straight, and a few took sudden twists and turns. I just wanted to avoid twisting my ankle in the darkness. Now wouldn’t that be the perfect touch of dramatic irony at this point?
And before you ask me why I wasn’t using a magic orb of illumination or something like that, do I really need to bring up the whole thing about picking your battles again? Why use magic when you have a technological method just as good? We wizards have adapted well to the modern world and its conveniences, trust me. We just have to be clever enough to not get caught. Also, admittedly, I’m not one of the most powerful wizards in the world, so I tend to take shortcuts when I can. Some may call it cheating, I call it thinking.
I took the right-hand path from the main gate, walking towards the bathrooms and gift shop. My step was confident and even as I shifted my cane into my left hand, holding the shaft firmly like a baton in a reverse grip. Remember all that stuff about appearances I talked about earlier? Here’s another part of that lesson. A man walking down the street in a trench coat, hat, and jauntily-swinging cane is suspicious, or at least highly noticeable. A man walking down the street in the same outfit but with a slight limp would probably escape your notice pretty quickly.
And besides, the old oaken staff doesn’t fit in much outside of Renaissance fairs and convention halls.
The garden was alive in a way that’s hard to explain properly. You’re surrounded by plants, of course, and you’re in the middle of the park as well, but it just felt… alive. There are places like that in the world, where you can close your eyes and feel the world around you in a way you just can’t anywhere else. Most people can’t do that unless they’re in a serene place. The garden, man-made that it was, was one of those places.
The big ceremonial gate next to the gift shop wasn’t one of the traditional simple red gates you tend to see at shrines. It was free-standing and ornate, covered in delicate carvings and beautiful paintings that were hard to make out in the dim light. If I remember correctly, it was a part of a building that used to be in the park before it got destroyed somehow. It would serve my purposes well.
I walked up to the gate, and looked around the threshold, confirming that it was a full portal. I’d done this before, of course, and with this exact same gate, but it never hurt to double-check. I rested a hand on the old wood, feeling the texture against my skin. I closed my eyes, and I opened my mind to the world around me.
There was a wall here. Walls kept things separated, but doors let you cross over, whether it’s between two areas of a house, or the inside and outside of a building, or crossing into a gated-off area. And there was a door here. The physical doors were open, but the one I needed to use was closed. I concentrated my will on the gate, on the concept of a way between two places. I felt my power and intent concentrating and trapped in the gate’s loop, focusing and becoming tighter and tighter. I felt the wisps of people who had walked under this gate, and called on those thoughts as well to help me work. The door wasn’t locked, from a metaphysical standpoint, I just needed to find the handle…
There.
In my mind, I heard a “click.”
The door opened. I stepped through.
If anyone had been watching, I would have disappeared from sight like Bugs Bunny walking behind a tree.
It is quite impossible to describe what happened next. In that instant, the world changed. A thousand thousand sights and sounds and smells and other sensations crashed like a wave over me, and then faded into the background, ready to be called on if I wanted them to. I could see more than just the flowers and buildings and paths: I could see the steps countless people had taken before, weaving a psychic line through the world like those time-lapse photographs of cars driving by, the wind blowing through the flowers and the echoes of sunlight that had shone on the flowers hours ago, and a constant background murmur of sounds that were more than just whispers of lost conversations, shades of countless suns and moons lighting the ghostly pathway, and it was all happening constantly and it was like there was a symphony composed by the world made of light and sound and things you couldn’t touch…
The garden was alive, and I could now see it.
No matter how many times I do it, it still takes my breath away.
I shook my head, forcefully banishing my thoughts. It had taken more effort to open the door than I was used to, and I had about ten minutes or so left at this point. And there were a lot of bridges to check. I turned back to the portal: I didn’t want to close it, but I couldn’t leave it open either, so I flung up the mental equivalent of a screen door. It wasn’t pretty, and it wouldn’t work well, but hopefully I wouldn’t need it to work for very long. I slipped my flashlight back into my pocket, and set off down the path in the eternal twilight of the Otherworld. I was off to hunt a fairy.
Oddly enough, it’s easier to hunt a fairy than you might think at first. Fairies aren’t fans of civilization, and that’s a fact. There’s a lot of reasons for that. Too much noise, the prevalence of iron, their brand of fun-making going unnoticed in the random chaos of everyday city life… the list goes on, really. City-dwelling fairies are rare. The ones that do live there are either brave or well-adapted (or stupid, but they don’t count). But big cities have parks, and parks have nature, or at least manmade nature, which is almost good enough for a fairy. So, if you’re hunting fairies, and you’re in the city, that’s where you’ve got to head.
Fairies use portals to cross over from the Otherland, like I had just done. Fairy portals, however, are both more limited and more diverse than mortal portals. A particular fairy might be only able to cross over into the mortal world from one type of location, like, say, a mirror, or a shadowed crook in a tree. It all depends on the type of fairy, really. At the same time, that same fairy can use any location like that to cross over. So, hunting a fairy is tricky a combination of knowing what sort they are, where they can cross over, and where their stomping grounds are. Fortunately, I knew all three of those. Unfortunately, there were a lot of bridges in the park, and I was running out of time.
This close to the mortal world, Otherland wasn’t that much different from what I was used to, and I lightly jogged around the pathways towards the South Gate. There were a number of ways to the “Buddy” statue from where the missing boy had started out, and I just had to find the right one…
Something nearby snorted. It sounded like a pig, but ten times bigger, louder, and meaner. And wetter: I didn’t even want to imagine how much snot was in the nose that had created that sound.
I stopped, and turned towards the noise. It seemed to have come from one of the smaller bridges, not the big nearby drum-shaped bridge. I suppose the boy hadn’t wanted to climb the big bridge and took a more roundabout route. I faced the small bridge, and stood myself up tall and erect. I could feel my heart beating faster within my chest. There was nothing I could see under it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. I struck the ground in front of me with my cane, and spoke aloud.
“My name is Arthur Mondaine, and I wish to speak with you, Grougoran.”
I waited, but he didn’t answer. I felt a subtle tension in the air. I struck the ground again, a bit more forcefully this time.
“My name is Arthur Mondaine, and I wish to speak with you, Grougoran.”
Still no answer. I could hear his breathing. I struck the ground a third time, angrily.
“My name is Arthur Mondaine, and I wish to speak with you, Grougoran! Three times have I spoken to you by name, and you must answer my demand, as is my right by the Accords of Shakespeare! Come forth, and speak to me!”
And Grougoran came forth.
The massive troll strode out of his demesne with all the inevitability of a falling tree. He was the size and shape of a small hill, his skin the texture and color of lichen-covered rock after a rain, and he smelled like damp cave mixed with rotting wood. His face looked like a half-finished sculpture of an out-of-shape body-builder, and he glowered at me with eyes like two moonlit pools of stagnant water. There was simply no room for him under the tiny bridge he’d been hiding beneath, but a fairy’s home can be however large they need or want, and Grougoran needed a lot of room.
He stopped, and faintly swayed, glaring at me as if I was an unbidden bee intruding onto his rest. Which I suppose I was. He was angry too, that much was obvious.
Well.
That was easier than I expected.
Now for the hard part.
“You have stolen a human child, Grougoran. I want it back.” I spoke firmly and simply to him, and then waited for a reply. Trolls were stupid, and it took a long time for a thought to pass through their head. Finally, with a voice that wouldn’t be out of place in a rockslide…
“No.”
Not desirable, but not unexpected either. I pressed on.
“The child was not yours to take. It was not misbehaving. You will return it to its parents immediately.”
“Boy ran. They said no. Bad boy. Mine now.”
Not good. Explicit command and explicit disobedience, no loopholes to exploit in that regard, so the same trick as last time wasn’t going to work.
“You are mistaken. He did nothing to wrong your or his parents, he is not your responsibility.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering this thought.
“Naughty children must be punished. By the Accords, he is mine.” Multiple syllables. His brain must have warmed up a bit more. Odd, too. That had worked last time, or at least it had gotten them talking, but he was strangely insistent now. Okay, play nice. Figure out a way around it.
“It was a family gathering, and he left with every intention to return soon. He only failed to return to his parents and atone for his actions because of your hand. If you return him to me, I shall see him returned to his parents, that they may punish him accordingly.”
“No. He is mine.” He shook his head. “I remember you, Mondaine. I released a child to you once. Not again. I will not be denied…” He turned back towards the bridge, and I could feel the slight swelling of the world as he opened the door to his home again.
Drat.
“The Accords allow leeway in times like this, Grougoran…”
“No!” he roared, turning back towards me. “The child is mine, and he must be punished! It is my right, by the Accords!” He snarled at me, sending spittle in my direction. I didn’t blink, but it was a close thing. His breath was far worse than his regular smell. And yes, he was definitely awake now. “And I hunger, Mondaine…”
Crap. My hand dropped inside my coat pocket, and I spread my legs slightly into an at-rest pose.
“I will not allow you to harm that child, Grougoran, and that is final.”
“Allow? Allow?! You do not “allow” me anything, mortal!” He took one step towards me, and the ground beneath me shook. I’m sure that in the mortal world, anyone close by would have felt it too and dismissed it as a minor shock or a passing truck. I didn’t flinch. The last time we’d met, I’d used words to talk my way out, but that clearly wasn’t going to work this time. He was angry, and I was the source of his anger. Trust me, you wouldn’t like a troll when he’s angry. Trolls, for all their stupidity, are predators. To his tiny mind, I was prey, and he was the hunter. I wasn’t a threat to him, as far as he could tell.
Big mistake.
Fight or flight. I couldn’t leave, not with a life on the line. So a fight it was. I adjusted my step yet again, and rested my right hand on the handle of my cane, my left thumb slowly spinning one of the silver rings worked into the wood.
He took another step.
“And the Accords don’t say I can’t eat you for threatening me in my home…”
He ran. If his voice was like a rockslide, his movement was like a mudslide, a horrid combination of agonizingly slow and inhumanely fast. If I were a normal man, or unprepared, I would have been dead.
Now.
My short blade flashed free of its concealing sheath as I side-stepped his charge, using his momentum against him. Where the tip touched his flesh, it flashed into light and sprayed blood that glowed like fire in the air as it dissolved. He bellowed, a low dull roar of pain, and he stumbled and fell to his knees, and then to his belly, and finally onto his face. Oh yes, he was definitely angry now. He roared again, and pushed himself around and up to get at me, ignoring his wounds.
“Cold iron… you beast… she said…”
Time for trick number two. I jabbed my sword into the ground, fished the antique silver lighter out of my pocket, and held it in front of me as if I was aiming a gun. I gave him a little smile before giving it a little flick.
“Ignis!”
With that word, the air and power I’d been concentrating around us combined with the lighter’s tiny heat. What would have been a tiny flame blossomed into a tulip-shaped fireball focused in the empty space between us. It wouldn’t do much damage, but it was flashy and impressive, and it certainly grabbed his attention. As the fireball cleared, we matched glares at each other across our battlefield, him lightly moaning in pain and me taking slow deep breaths to calm the adrenaline rush that was making my whole body shake. If you have never been in a fight, a real fight, consider yourself lucky, but a proper fight is one of the most intense and tiring things you can ever do. But now it wasn’t predator and prey, it was two predators facing each other. And I’d drawn first blood. His wound wasn’t fatal and would close eventually, but it would leave a scar. Now he was listening.
“Let me make myself clear,” I said as I pocketed the lighter. “I am the Wizard Arthur Mondaine, and I am taking that child back with me, to be dealt with by his parents. You will not execute your claim on wayward children so long as you live here, or I will find you and I will kill you.”
“But… the Accords…”
I cut him off. “Consider this a duel, and one you lost, and that I killed you for violating the terms of the duel. The child is mine to do with as I see fit.” It was a technicality, and though a duel hadn’t been formally declared I had precedence on my side from a number of incidences in the past.
“That’s… not how it… works.” He pulled himself up into a sitting position. “The King shall hear of this. The King…”
“I’m sure that his Majesty has better things to do than avenge a single troll too stupid to know when he’s beaten. Now, release the child to me, or I’ll take it from you.”
It was partially a bluff. Yes, none of what I had done technically violated the Accords, but then again technically Oberon could pretty much have done what he wanted to me if he really wanted to. I was reasonably certain he wouldn’t, and that given the circumstances he’d actually have a good laugh at the expense of his former subject, but when you’re dealing with the Fair Folk, it helps to remember that what you consider fair is different than what they consider fair. And if I killed him, I’d have to break into his demesne to retrieve the boy and exit Otherland the same way I came in before closing the portal, and that would take time, time I wasn’t certain that I had. I couldn’t look at my watch, but I was reasonably certain that I only had about five minutes left…
Grougoran bowed his head. “You win.”
The tension left my body, but I had to make things as tidy as possible.
“Do you concede your claim on the child?”
“Yes.” Grudging, but accepting.
“Do you swear to leave wayward children alone, so long as you live in this park?”
“… yes.”
It was a calculated risk. I could not forbid him from pursuing children ever again, that would be too broad, but I could place restrictions on it. If he wanted to leave the park, he could do so, but I speculated that he wouldn’t want to take the risk. But a fairy’s word was their bond, and he would not break it.
“Do you promise to let the both of us leave this place unmolested, and likewise return and leave again should we desire?”
“Yes!” It was annoying, but I was trying to cover as many bases as I could in however little time I had. You had to, with the Fair Folk.
“And I swear to leave you alone, so long as you do not violate our agreement here.”
It was a concession, and another calculated risk. Trolls weren’t restricted to attacking just wayward children, so he could attack whoever he saw fit as soon as I left. At the same time, my legal options for dealing with him became a lot broader when he wasn’t going after children, so I was reasonably certain I could deal with that problem when the time came.
Grougoran nodded. “Fine. Take the child.”
I nodded at him once, and sheathed my sword before sealing it back in. I turned back to Grougoran’s demesne, and the boy was already lying on top of the bridge. I quickly walked over to him to check him over: strong pulse, no obvious injuries, and none of the telltale signs of a changeling substitute. Good, all good. Maybe six or seven, brown hair, freckles, and a red t-shirt. “Billy?” I whispered. His eyes moved a bit under his eyelids, but he didn’t stir. Unconscious or asleep, probably knocked out while passing through the portal. Most mortals weren’t equipped for either the transition or the journey on the other side. If he did remember anything, he’d pass it off as a dream. Good. One less thing to clean up.
I picked him up as best as I could, and turned towards Grougoran. He hadn’t moved, and he seemed to be concentrating on healing his wounds. I turned to leave.
“I will not forget this, Wizard…”
Another enemy. Wonderful. But I’d deal with that when the time came. I kept walking, letting the curve of the path take us out of sight.
Stepping out of the Otherland was as easy as stepping through, and just as disorienting. I quickly turned back to dispel my portal spell. The pattern and energy flowed away before my touch, and soon it was nothing more than an ordinary door. No one could inadvertently walk through to the other side now.
I felt Billy stirring in my arms, and I looked down at him briefly before focusing on the path. I couldn’t hold a flashlight at the same time as I was carrying him and my cane, so I was going by what little light I had available. I kept walking towards the gate as he slowly woke up. He’d be disoriented for a while, probably have some really weird dreams for the next few nights as he bled off the excess psychic energy he’d picked up from his journey. But for now, he seemed alright…
“D-daddy?” I heard a small voice ask. I smiled down at him as he looked up at me. Yup, brown eyes. I shook my head.
“Nope, sorry kid. But you’ll see him really soon. I promise. Now go back to sleep, okay?”
It didn’t take much urging to get him to doze off.
I still felt Grougoran’s presence following me all the way back to the entrance gate. I resisted the urge to run. And it was quite a relief to finally come to the big wooden gate, even if it was only a short walk.
I shifted Billy around in my arms and knocked. Before my knuckles had even struck a second time, I heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened with indecent haste, revealing Pete. He took one look at me and the boy in my arms, and his shoulders sagged as the tension left them. He waved at a knot of paramedics standing nearby, and I handed the sleeping child over to them, content to let them take it from there. Pete and I took a moment to watch the happy reunion, before retreating to a shadowed spot by his car.
“Let’s talk,” he said. So I did. I walked him through the events of the evening, and to his credit he didn’t interrupt me: over the course of our association, he’s learned a few things about my world and how it works. I had to gloss over a few details, mainly the highly illegal sword cane in my possession, but he’d known about its existence since one of our earlier escapades and looked the other way.
“So, what made this time different from the last time?” he finally asked as we watched the hustle and bustle.
“Last time the girl’s parents didn’t tell her not to run off, they just let her. This time, they told him not to go, and he didn’t listen.”
“And?”
“That’s it?” Incredulous, but not disbelieving. “Doesn’t seem like enough reason to kidnap a kid.”
“She didn’t disobey, he did. That’s all the difference he needed.” I straightened up and stretched. Now that the excitement of the evening was over, my body was ready for some sleep. “Alright, you know where to reach me, I’m going to head home.”
Pete nodded. “Right, I’ve gotta get to cleaning this mess up.” He offered his hand, and I returned the gesture. His handshake was quick and firm, no unnecessarily tight grip or anything like that, but he didn’t let go afterwards. He looked me in the eye. “Thank you.”
I smiled. “My pleasure, Pete. I hope the next one is something simpler, like vampires again.”
“One can only pray,” he said with a tired chuckle, and I gave him one last handshake before heading off towards my car.
I spent the whole walk back replaying the evening back in my mind, trying to figure out what I could have done differently. Post battle analysis is all “would-a, should-a, could-a” of course, but it’s helpful to try and catch holes in your strategy for future events, which was especially useful whenever the Fair Folk got involved. Tonight had been a mess, that much was certain, and while I was fairly sure I was safe there was quite a bit of potential for blowback. Grougoran probably wouldn’t make much of a fuss, but he also probably wouldn’t forget the insult I’d dealt him tonight. Well, again, that was something I’d have to deal with in the future. For now, though, the good guys had won, the kid was safe, and I could go home and get some well-deserved rest…
I shivered and pulled my coat in a bit closer as the wind picked up around me. I was just contemplating how nice it would feel to turn my car’s heat up and just listen to some music rather than contemplate life or death scenarios…
“Oh, Arthur…”
I froze in place. That voice…
“I always love getting to watch you play the dashing hero.”
I knew that voice… dammit. I turned towards it with a smile on my face.
“Titania, always a delight.”
The Queen of the Fairies was sitting on the hood of my car. No, actually, reclining would be a better term. She was… there’s no other way to describe her, beautiful. She could look however she wanted, and tonight she was tall and thin, perfect peach-colored skin and chocolate brown hair. Her green eyes twinkled at me from across the parking lot, and yes, I could actually see them from that far away. It’s hard to miss her eyes, trust me. Tonight, she was tall and thin, perfect skin with her medium-length hair done up. Despite the chill and the wind, she wore a simple white dress with a rather ornate silver pin on the left breast, and a shawl draped over her hair. Actually, her outfit looked a lot like…
“Ilsa? Really?”
She laughed. It was deep and full and so wonderful to listen to, like chiming church bells and tweeting birds and a warm breeze on a spring day all rolled into one. She waved a hand in my direction, as if to take my clothes in at a glance. “Well, my dear, you came to fashionably dressed to tonight’s affair, I felt it was only fair that we match.” She took a draw on a cigarette that looked awfully familiar, until I realized that it was the same one I’d lit not but half an hour or so ago.
“That was you?” I asked as I felt my face scrunch up into a surprised expression.
“I do so love to play dress-up, it’s so much fun. Oh, you should have seen your face when I spoke. “Yer welcome” and all that.” She actually shifted into that man’s deep voice for a moment, it was somewhat disconcerting.
“So, that means that…”
“Hiya Artie!”
“Hello, Robin.” I resisted the urge to sigh.
The ruler of the pucks giggled and waved at me from his hiding place behind the car, still dressed in the skinny cop’s outfit. I decided to ignore him for the immediate moment.
“What do you mean, “affair?”” I asked, finding it somewhat difficult to ignore Robin Goodfellow as he proceeded to do handstands. “Was this your doing?”
“Well, I might have encouraged dear Grougoran to kidnap that child.”
“Why?” I managed to keep my annoyance out of my voice, but I’m sure she picked up on it. She turned over on the hood, as if it was a roman couch, and actually pouted at me.
“Well, I wanted to see you, dearie, it’s been so long since we talked…”
“My consultation hours are posted on my office doors, Titania. You obviously know how to find me.”
She pulled herself off of the car like a big cat, and prowled over to me. Despite my demeanor, I actually was nervous. As safe as she seemed, Titania was the Queen of the Fairies, and that’s not a title you get because of how many people your ancestor decapitated, and it involves a bit more work than waving at people. She was dangerous. And she had come to me for something…
She stood in front of me, and adjusted my coat. She had contrived to make herself a few inches shorter than me, and she was looking up with those big green eyes as if there was dramatic music playing in the background. “Yes, well, our time is too limited to wait until morning.”
A horrible sense of foreboding came over me. Oh, this was going to be bad…
“Why?”
She smiled at me, and her teeth were perfectly snow white. For some reason, I thought of a great white shark barreling down on some helpless seal.
“I have a favor to ask of you…”