Dark Swan Bundle (2 page)

“No. I just got a weird job offer. Some guy—well, honestly, I thought he sounded kind of schizo. But he claims his sister was abducted by fairies, er, gentry. He wants you to go get her.”

I fell silent at that, staring at the highway and clear blue sky ahead without consciously seeing either one. Some objective part of me attempted to process what she had just said. I didn't get that kind of request very often. Okay, never. A retrieval like that required me to cross over physically into the Otherworld. “I don't really do that.”

“That's what I told him.” But there was uncertainty in Lara's voice.

“Okay. What aren't you telling me?”

“Nothing, I guess. I don't know. It's just…he said she's been gone almost a year and a half now. She was fourteen when she disappeared.”

My stomach sank a little at that. God. What an awful fate for someone so young. It made the keres' lewd comments to me downright trivial.

“He sounded pretty frantic.”

“Does he have proof she was actually taken?”

“I don't know. He wouldn't get into it. He was kind of paranoid. Seemed to think his phone was being tapped.”

I laughed at that. “By who? The gentry?” “Gentry” was what I called the beings that most of Western culture referred to as fairies or sidhe. They looked just like humans but embraced magic instead of technology. They found “fairy” a derogatory term, so I respected that—sort of—by using the term old English peasants used to use.
Gentry
. Good folk. Good neighbors. A questionable designation, at best. The gentry actually preferred the term “shining ones,” but that was just silly. I wouldn't give them that much credit.

“I don't know,” Lara told me. “Like I said, he seemed a little schizo.”

Silence fell as I held on to the phone and passed a car driving 45 in the left lane.

“Eugenie! You aren't really thinking of doing this.”

“Fourteen, huh?”

“You always said that was dangerous.”

“Adolescence?”

“Stop it. You know what I mean. Crossing over.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

It was dangerous—super dangerous. Traveling in spirit form could still get you killed, but your odds of fleeing back to your earthbound body were better. Take your own body over, and all the rules changed.

“This is crazy.”

“Set it up,” I told her. “It can't hurt to talk to him.”

I could practically see her biting her lip to hold back protests. But at the end of the day, I was the one who signed her paychecks, and she respected that. After a few moments, she filled the silence with info about a few other jobs and then drifted on to more casual topics: some sale at the mall, a mysterious scratch on her car…

Something about Lara's cheery gossip always made me smile, but it also disturbed me that most of my social contact came via someone I never actually saw. Lately the majority of my face-to-face interactions came from spirits and gentry.

It was after dinnertime when I arrived home, and my housemate, Tim, appeared to be out for the night, probably at a poetry reading. Despite a Polish background, genes had inexplicably given him a strong Native American appearance. In fact, he looked more Indian than some of the locals. Deciding this was his claim to fame, Tim had grown his hair out and taken on the name Timothy Red Horse. He made his living by reading faux-Native poetry at local dives and wooing naive tourist women by using expressions like “my people” and “the Great Spirit” a lot. It was despicable, to say the least, but it got him laid pretty often. What it did not do was bring in a lot of money, so I'd let him live with me in exchange for housework and cleaning. It was a pretty good deal as far as I was concerned. After battling the undead all day, scrubbing the bathtub just seemed like asking too much.

Scrubbing my athames, unfortunately, was a task I had to do myself. Keres blood could stain.

I ate dinner afterward, then stripped and sat in my sauna for a long time. I liked a lot of things about my little house out in the foothills, but the sauna was one of my favorites. It might seem kind of pointless in the desert, but Arizona had mostly dry heat, and I liked the feel of humidity and moisture on my skin. I leaned back against the wooden wall, enjoying the sensation of sweating out the stress. My body ached—some parts more fiercely than others—and the heat let some of the muscles loosen up.

The solitude also soothed me. Pathetic as it was, I probably had no one to blame for my lack of sociability except myself. I spent a lot of time alone and didn't mind. When my stepfather, Roland, had first trained me as a shaman, he'd told me that in a lot of cultures, shamans essentially lived outside of normal society. The idea had seemed crazy to me at the time, being in junior high, but it made more sense now that I was older.

I wasn't a complete socialphobe, but I found I often had a hard time interacting with other people. Talking in front of groups was murder. Even talking one-on-one had its issues. I had no pets or children to ramble on about, and I couldn't exactly talk about things like the incident in Las Cruces.
Yeah, I had kind of a long day. Drove four hours, fought an ancient minion of evil. After a few bullets and knife wounds, I obliterated him and sent him on to the world of death. God, I swear I'm not getting paid enough for this crap, you know?
Cue polite laughter.

When I left the sauna, I had another message from Lara telling me the appointment with the distraught brother had been arranged for tomorrow. I made a note in my day planner, took a shower, and retired to my room, where I threw on black silk pajamas. For whatever reason, nice pajamas were the one indulgence I allowed myself in an otherwise dirty and bloody lifestyle. Tonight's selection had a cami top that showed serious cleavage, had anyone been there to see it. I always wore a ratty robe around Tim.

Sitting at my desk, I emptied out a new jigsaw puzzle I'd just bought. It depicted a kitten on its back clutching a ball of yarn. My love of puzzles ranked up there with the pajama thing for weirdness, but they eased my mind. Maybe it was the fact that they were so tangible. You could hold the pieces in your hand and make them fit together, as opposed to the insubstantial stuff I usually worked with.

While my hands moved the pieces around, I kept trying to shake the knowledge that the keres had known my name. What did that mean? I'd made a lot of enemies in the Otherworld. I didn't like the thought of them being able to track me personally. I preferred to stay Odile. Anonymous. Safe. Probably not much point worrying about it, I supposed. The keres was dead. He wouldn't be telling any tales.

Two hours later, I finished the puzzle and admired it. The kitten had brown tabby fur, its eyes an almost azure blue. The yarn was red. I took out my digital camera, snapped a picture, and then broke up the puzzle, dumping it back into its box. Easy come, easy go.

Yawning, I slipped into bed. Tim had done laundry today; the sheets felt crisp and clean. Nothing like that fresh-sheets smell. Despite my exhaustion, however, I couldn't fall asleep. It was one of life's ironies. While awake, I could slide into a trance with the snap of a finger. My spirit could leave my body and travel to other worlds. Yet, for whatever reason, sleep was more elusive. Doctors had recommended a number of sedatives, but I hated to use them. Drugs and alcohol bound the spirit to this world, and while I did indulge occasionally, I generally liked being ready to slip over at a moment's notice.

Tonight I suspected my insomnia had something to do with a teenage girl…. But no. I couldn't think about that, not yet. Not until I spoke with the brother.

Sighing, needing something else to ponder, I rolled over and stared at my ceiling, at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. I started counting them, as I had so many other restless nights. There were exactly thirty-three of them, just like last time. Still, it never hurt to check.

Wil Delaney was in his early twenties, with straw-yellow hair in need of a haircut. He had pasty white skin and wore wire-rimmed glasses. When I showed up at his house the next morning, he had to undo about twenty locks before he could open the door, and even then, he would only peek out with the security chain in place.

“Yes?” he asked suspiciously.

I put on my business face. “I'm Odile. Lara set up our appointment?”

He studied me. “You're younger than I thought you'd be.” A moment later, he closed the door and undid the chain. The door opened again, and he ushered me inside.

I glanced around as I entered, taking in stacks and stacks of books and newspapers—and a definite lack of light. “Kind of dark in here.”

“Can't open the blinds,” he explained. “You never know who'll be watching.”

“Oh. Well. What about the lights?”

He shook his head. “You'd be amazed how much radiation lights and other electrical devices emit. It's what's making cancer run rampant in our society.”

“Oh.”

We sat at his kitchen table, and he explained to me why he thought his sister had been abducted by the gentry. I had a hard time concealing my skepticism. It wasn't like this kind of thing was unheard of, but I was starting to pick up on Lara's “schizo” vibe. It was highly possible that the gentry could simply have been a figment of his imagination.

“This is her.” He brought me a five-by-seven picture showing him and a pretty girl leaning into each other against a grassy backdrop. “Taken just before the abduction.”

“She's cute. And young. Does she…did she…live with you?”

He nodded. “Our parents died about five years ago. I got custody of her. Not much different than how it used to be.”

“What do you mean?”

Bitterness crossed that neurotic face, an odd juxtaposition. “Our dad was always off on some business trip, and our mom kept sleeping around on him. So it's always just sort of been Jasmine and me.”

“And what makes you think she was taken by gen—fairies?”

“The timing,” he explained. “It happened on Halloween. Samhain Eve. That's one of the biggest nights for abductions and hauntings, you know. Data supports it. The walls between the worlds open.”

He sounded like he was reciting from a textbook. Or the Internet. Sometimes I thought Internet access was like putting guns in the hands of toddlers. I tried not to roll my eyes as he rambled. I didn't really need a layman explaining remedial information to me.

“Yeah, I know all that. But a lot of scary people—humans—roam around on Halloween too. And lots of other times. I don't suppose you reported it to the police?”

“I did. They weren't able to turn up anything, not that I really needed them. I knew what had happened because of the location. The place she disappeared. That was what made me know fairies did it.”

“Where?”

“This one park. She was at a party with some kids from school. They had a bonfire in the woods, and they saw her wander off. The police traced her tracks to this clearing, and then they just stopped. And you know what was there?” He gave me a dramatic look, evidently ready to impress me. I didn't give him the satisfaction of asking the obvious question, so he answered it for me. “A fairy ring. A perfect circle of flowers growing in the grass.”

“It happens. Flowers do that.”

He shot up from the table, incredulity all over his face. “You don't believe me!”

I worked hard to keep my face as blank as a new canvas. You could have painted a picture on it.

“It's not that I don't believe what you're describing, but there are a lot more mundane explanations. A girl alone in the woods could have been abducted by any number of things—or people.”

“They said you were the best,” he told me, like it was some kind of argument. “They said you kick paranormal ass all the time. You're the real deal.”

“What I can or can't do isn't relevant. I need to make sure we're on the right track. You're asking me to cross physically into the Otherworld. I almost never do that. It's dangerous.”

Wil sat back down, face desperate. “Look, I'll do anything at all. I can't let her stay there with those—with those
things.
Name your price. I can pay anything you want.”

I glanced around curiously, taking in the books on UFOs and Bigfoot. “Uh…what exactly do you do for a living?”

“I run a blog.”

I waited for more, but apparently that was it. Somehow I suspected that generated less money than even Tim made. Hmphf. Bloggers. I didn't get why everyone and their brother thought the world wanted to read their thoughts on…well, nothing. If I wanted to be subjected to meaningless blather, I'd watch reality television.

He was still looking at me pleadingly, with big blue puppy dog eyes. I nearly groaned. When had I grown so soft? Didn't I want people to think of me as some cold and calculating shamanic mercenary? I'd vanquished a keres yesterday. Why was this sob story getting to me?

It was actually because of the keres, I realized. That stupid sexual suggestion had been so revolting to me that I just couldn't erase the image of little Jasmine Delaney being some gentry's plaything. Because that's what she would be, though I'd never tell Wil that. The gentry liked human women. A lot.

“Can you take me to the park she disappeared from?” I asked at last. “I'll get a better sense if fairies really were involved.”

Of course, it actually turned out that I took him because I quickly decided I wasn't going to let him drive me anywhere. Having him as a passenger taxed me enough. He spent the first half of the ride slathering some really thick sunscreen all over him. I guess you had to take precautions when you lived in a cave and finally emerged into the light.

“Skin cancer's on the rise,” he explained. “Especially with the depletion of the ozone layer. Tanning salons are killing people. No one should go outside without some kind of protection—especially here.”

That I actually agreed with. “Yeah. I wear sunscreen too.”

He eyed my light tan askance. “Are you sure?”

“Well, hey, it's Arizona. Hard not to get some sun. I mean, sometimes I walk to the mailbox without sunscreen, but most of the time I try to put it on.”

“‘Try,'” he scoffed. “Does it protect against UVB rays?”

“Um, I don't know. I mean, I guess. I never burn. It smells pretty good too.”

“Not good enough. Most sunscreens will protect from UVA rays only. But even if you don't burn, the UVB rays will still get through. Those are the real killers. Without adequate protection, you can probably expect an early death from melanoma or some other form of skin cancer.”

“Oh.” I hoped we got to the park soon.

When we'd almost reached it, a traffic light stopped us under an overpass. I didn't think anything of it, but Wil shifted nervously.

“I always hate being stopped under these. You never know what could happen in an earthquake.”

I again schooled myself to neutrality. “Well…it's been awhile since our last earthquake around here.” Yeah. Like, never.

“You just never know,” he warned ominously.

Our arrival couldn't have come a moment too soon. The park was green and woodsy, someone's idiotic attempt to defy the laws of southern Arizona's climate. It probably cost the city a fortune in water. He led me along the trail that went to Jasmine's abduction spot. As we approached it, I saw something that suddenly made me put more credence in his story. The trail intersected another one at a perfect cross. A crossroads, often a gate to the Otherworld. No circle of flowers grew here now, but as I approached that junction, I could feel a slight thinness between this world and the other one.

“Who knew?” I murmured, mentally testing the walls. It wasn't a very strong spot, truthfully. I doubted much could pass here from either world right now. But on a sabbat like Samhain…well, this place could very well be an open doorway. I'd have to let Roland know so we could check it when the next sabbat rolled around.

“Well?” Wil asked.

“This is a hot spot,” I admitted, trying to figure out how to proceed. It appeared I was zero for two in gauging the credibility of these last two clients, but when 90 percent of my queries were false leads, I tended to keep a healthy dose of skepticism on hand.

“Will you help me then?”

“Like I said, this really isn't my thing. And even if we decide she was taken to the Otherworld, I have no idea where to look for her. It's as big as ours.”

“She's being held by a king named Aeson.”

I spun around from where I'd been staring at the crossroads. “How the hell do you know that?”

“A sprite told me.”

“A sprite.”

“Yeah. He used to work for this guy Aeson. He ran away and wanted revenge. So he sold the information to me.”

“Sold it?”

“He needed money to put down a deposit on an apartment in Scottsdale.”

It sounded ludicrous, but it wasn't the first time I'd heard of Otherworldly creatures trying to set up shop in the human world. Or of crazy people who wanted to live in Scottsdale.

“When did this happen?”

“Oh, a few days ago.” He made it sound like a visit from the UPS guy.

“So. You were seriously approached by a sprite and only now thought to mention it?”

Wil shrugged. Some of the sunscreen he'd missed rubbing in showed on his chin. It kind of reminded me of kindergarten paste. “Well, I'd already known she was taken by fairies. This just sort of confirmed it. He was actually the one who mentioned you. Said you killed one of his cousins. Then I found some locals that backed up the story.”

I studied Wil. If he hadn't seemed so hapless, I almost wouldn't have believed any of this. But it smacked too much of truth for him to be making it up. “What did he call me?”

“Huh?”

“When he told you about me. What name did he give you?”

“Well…your name. Odile. But there was something else too…Eunice?”

“Eugenie?”

“Yeah, that was it.”

I paced irritably around the clearing. The second of two Otherworldly denizens to know my name in as many days. That was not good. Not good at all. And now one of them was trying to get Wil to lure me into the Otherworld. Or was it truly a lure? Sprites weren't really known for being criminal masterminds. If I'd killed his cousin, I suppose he might hope some other motivated creature would take me down.

“So what? Are you going to help me now?”

“I don't know. I've got to think on it, check up on some stuff.”

“But—but I've shown you and told you everything! Don't you see how real this is? You have to help me! She's only fifteen, for God's sake.”

“Wil,” I said calmly, “I believe you. But it's not that simple.”

I meant it. It wasn't so simple, no matter how much I wanted it to be. I hated Otherworldly inference more than I hated anything else. Taking a teenage girl was the ultimate violation. I wanted to make the guilty party pay for this. I wanted to make them suffer. But I couldn't cross over with guns blazing. Getting myself killed would do none of us any good. I needed more information before I could proceed.

“You have to—”

“No,” I snapped, and this time my voice wasn't so neutral. “I do not have to do anything, do you understand? I make my own choices and take my own jobs. Now, I'm very sorry about your sister, but I'm not jumping into this just yet. As Lara told you, I don't generally do jobs that take me into the Otherworld. If I take this one, it'll be after careful deliberation and question-asking. And if I don't take it, then I don't take it. End of story. Got it?”

He swallowed and nodded, cowed by the fierce tone in my voice. It was not unlike the one I used on spirits, but I felt only a little bit bad about scaring Wil with it. He had to prepare himself for the highly likely possibility that I would not do this for him, no matter how much we both wanted it.

On the way home, I swung by my mom's place, wanting to talk to Roland. Sunset threw reddish-orange light onto their house, and the scent of her flower garden filled the air. It was the familiar smell of safety and childhood. When I walked into the kitchen, I didn't see her anywhere, which was probably just as well. She tended to get upset when Roland and I talked shop.

He sat at the table working on a model airplane. I'd laughed when he picked up this hobby after retiring from shamanism, but it had recently occurred to me it wasn't so different from working puzzles. God only knew what stuff I'd find to keep me busy when I retired. I had the uneasy feeling I'd make a good candidate for cross-stitching.

His face broke into a smile when he saw me, making laugh lines appear around the eyes of the weathered face I loved. His hair was a bright silver-white, and he'd managed to keep most of it. I was five-eight, and he was only a little taller than me. But despite that height, he was solidly built and hadn't lost muscle with age. He might be pushing sixty, but I had a feeling he could still do some serious damage.