Chaos Unbound (The Metis Files Book 2) Read online

Duma sighed heavily then reluctantly fished the coin purse from inside his jacket.

  I laid out a short trail from the mouth of the tube off into the bushes. We were going to have to be fast. Gnomes could travel through earth as easily as humans walked on it. Once Duma and I were set, I flipped one final coin, which landed in front of the tube with a clear metallic ring. I hoped it would draw the gnomes like moths to a flame.

  It took a few minutes, probably because they were being understandably cautious, but the first grungy gnome emerged with wide eyes fixed on the golden coins. He ushered the others to follow his lead, and five more appeared behind him. The group fumbled with each other, fighting over the gold. It was like watching piranha feeding. They had no idea of our presence until it was too late. Duma and I both quickly snatched a gnome in each hand. The two on the ground instantly burrowed into the rock and dirt beneath them.

  For such little creatures, they put up a big stink. Their soft, screechy language hid their ability to shriek like three-year-old girls.

  “Calm down,” I said, raising my voice in as restrained a fashion as I could. “We aren’t going to hurt you, I swear on my honor as a Guardian. All I want is to talk.”

  That shut them up briefly while they dangled from our hands, but they quickly began chattering to each other like long-lost friends recently reunited. They pointed at Duma, screeching, then kicked at us. Duma laughed as he listened, until all at once, his face contorted into a vicious scowl, his teeth bared in a snarl. He screamed at them in their hissy language.

  “Duma,” I said, bellowing loud enough to echo off the rock walls around us. “What did they say?”

  “They think I’m going to kill them off the way my kind killed Goibniu,” he said, breathing heavily and grimacing wildly.

  “They think a Peri killed Goibniu?” I asked.

  “Well, not necessarily a Peri, exactly, but one of my traitorous kind,” he said, sarcastically jiggling his head side to side.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m gonna squish their sweaty little asses.” He glared at the two gnomes he held as if contemplating bashing them together.

  When they began to struggle wildly, I tried to change the subject. “No, no, no, you’re not. Calm down, Duma. We need their help. I need to find out who killed Goibniu. I’ve been accused of the crime, but I didn’t do it,” I told the gnomes I held.

  Since all fae spoke and understood every form of communication fluently, choosing not to speak in the language being used was an insult. These little guys began collectively mumbling something in their own language, then one of them rambled on for a full minute without stopping. Though I got the feeling they were attempting to annoy me, I tried not to be offended. I wasn’t sure why, but my experience has been that the smaller the fae, the more irritating they were. At my limits, I glowered at Duma for a moment then raised my eyebrows. He lolled his head, sighed, then began to translate.

  “They found your statement ridiculous. They know it was not a human that killed Goibniu, but Mab’s guard ignored them because the smith was killed with a human weapon—a firearm of some type. A small one. The bullet casings were proof enough for the guards. The assassin shot Goibniu at close range while he worked at his forge, though the weapon made almost no noise. The killer was dressed as human soldiers sometimes do, with a mask covering his face, yada yada yada… but they claim he was definitely one of the traitorous fae.” Duma’s nostrils flared, and his breathing becoming deep and deliberate as he translated while the little guy yammered on. “What? Like me? Why, you little turd, I ought to—”

  “Whoa, Duma, let them go, before you do something I regret,” I said, stepping directly in front of him.

  “Definitely not human?” I asked the two I still held, as Duma half-dropped and half-threw the two he held. They tunneled into the ground and disappeared in seconds. The pair I held blinked their big, dark, watery eyes slowly in defiance.

  “I know you understand me. I’m only trying to find the being that killed Goibniu, and I need your help,” I said to them.

  They glanced at each other and continued to blink exaggeratedly. I was beginning to feel like an idiot.

  Duma finally said something to them in their own language that caused the expressions on their tiny faces to change instantly from one of willful defiance to abject fear. Both gnomes began talking at once—in English. Duma was smiling broadly.

  “Whoa, whoa, one at a time,” I said then turned to Duma. “What did you tell them?”

  “The traitor said that our master was killed by the Half Breed and that he would be back for us if we did not cooperate,” said one of the gnomes. “Is that true, Guardian?”

  “What? Wait… half breed?” I asked.

  “The Hanner Brid,” Duma replied. “I told you, he scares the crap outta all fae.”

  “Oh, right.” I shifted my attention back to the gnomes. “I am trying to stop this Hanner Brid. If he’s as twisted as you believe, he very well could come back for you, but I doubt it. He has a larger agenda. But with your help, I can stop him, or I will die trying. I so swear on my honor.”

  The gnomes watched each other silently, then one finally spoke. “We will tell you what we know of that day, but we ask something from you.”

  Nothing ever comes for free with fairies. “What?” I asked.

  “We wish to examine your armaments, the ones made by Mae’r gof Anrhydeddu,” said the other gnome.

  “He means the one you called Hephaestus. Your swords and cuirass,” Duma said, rolling his hand around at the wrist. “Oh, come on! We don’t have time for this crap. Tell us, or we’ll pop your tiny heads off.”

  “Duma, be quiet,” I growled. “If they want to see my swords and cuirass, fine, but they must tell us what they know first.” I’m not sure what I was hoping to find out, but anything, including distinctive mannerisms or traits, could prove helpful for Sarah in tying him to other crimes.

  The gnomes exchanged glances, then one began to talk. They didn’t reveal much that Duma hadn’t already translated earlier, but they did say they still had the bullet casings. That confused me a bit. No serious hit man would ever leave casings behind—unless it was on purpose.

  While I contemplated the reasons why I might do something like that, I rammed my swords into the volcanic stone at my feet so the gnomes could see them but not steal them. Dozens of the little folk popped out of the ground like mushrooms and began to stare and gawk at them. Eventually, a gnome appeared from the mouth of the tube, pushing a small wheelbarrow with four casings in it.

  I grabbed the small brass cylinders and examined them. I recognized them immediately—.22 caliber long rifle. Normally used in a rifle rather than a handgun, the rounds were useless for killing a person unless the shooter was right next to the victim. This caliber did have one major advantage though: it was one of a few subsonic rounds that worked effectively with a silencer.

  Things were starting to add up: the rifle shot requiring a highly skilled sniper in Russia, an extremely specialized small-caliber weapon fired covertly at point-blank range with brass, conveniently left behind, and a killer dressed like a soldier. It all pointed to a human perpetrator attacking the fae. Then there were the issues of the sniper firing from a virtually inaccessible roost and enduring the heat of a furnace, all without leaving much of a trail—both almost impossible for a mundane human. Factoring in that the killer was so brazen and adept, I could see why they thought it was me. No other human Guardian I knew of could have done this, either. If it wasn’t me, then the killer wasn’t a human at all. The Hanner Brid, boogeyman or not, jumped to the top of the list of my prime suspects.

  “Where is the breastplate?” asked one of the gnomes from somewhere in the crowd of tiny fae gathered around my swords.

  I thumped my chest so they could hear the metallic thunk. I
pushed aside some of the torn ballistic nylon of the tactical vest to reveal a small portion of the cuirass underneath. The revelation elicited more gasps from the tiny mob. After a few minutes of obsessive fawning, I pocketed the four casings and located Duma, who was down near the lake’s edge, throwing rocks.

  “I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Is that everything you can tell me?” I asked.

  They all stared at each other for a few seconds before one of them spoke. “The assassin was skilled, moved without sound through our corridors, and was unaffected by the heat. These things suggest he was of our kith. But he used the human weapon brazenly, which implies he is a dishonorable wretch of a being. We have given you the alloy castoffs he left behind. That is all we know.” The gnomes nodded almost in unison.

  “Well then, we should get going,” I said, shouting so that Duma could hear me, then returned my swords to their sheaths on my back.

  The gnomes let out a collective sound reminiscent of an asthmatic trying to breathe.

  “Thank you for your help. I will do my best to find and punish the one responsible for the death of your master, Goibniu,” I said to the group. I waved at Duma to follow then headed back up the caldera the way we’d come.

  Cries of protest arose from the gnomes behind us as Duma caught up and we broke into a sprint, running as fast as we could back to our door through the Ways. Along the way, I began thinking about our next move.

  “Somehow, I need to get these bullet casings and the round I found in the simargl to Sarah for analysis,” I said to Duma as we ran. “If it turns out that .338 round’s makeup is unique and maybe even wildcatted, then that’s all highly specialized and not the easiest thing to do unless you know how. If we can find out who might make that kind of ammunition, then we might be able to find out who had them made.”

  Chapter 16

  Because of the massive time change, it was morning the day after we left Gaua when we emerged from the Ways into an empty parking structure that stank of exhaust fumes, oil, and concrete. Duma was quick to point out that we were outside of Union Station in DC.

  I got my cell phone out, but before I turned it back on, I began to worry about involving Sarah. I was concerned they might come after her to try to find me, or worse, punish her for helping me. Not to mention that it wasn’t fair of me to use her.

  “What’s hanging you up? Call her already, would ya?” Duma shook his head. “Isn’t time of the essence or something?”

  There was a message on the phone from Sarah, but I didn’t listen to it since I was about to call her. She picked up on the third ring.

  “Hey, just got back into range,” I said when she answered.

  “Did you get my message?”

  “Yeah, but only right before I called. I haven’t listened. I needed to call you anyway. I need another favor. It’s a big one.”

  “Well, you need to get scarce. There’s a Department of Justice/FBI/DHS bulletin out for a person who fits your exact description for ties to known terrorist groups. I can’t help you much on tracking any shooters down directly, and I shouldn’t even be talking with you. You’re in deep,” she said softly, but I could hear the concern in her voice.

  “Oh, okay. I probably shouldn’t tell you that I’m down the street then.” I was joking, but I also wanted to see if she might be excited at the prospect of seeing me.

  “Are you crazy?” she replied.

  Not what I was hoping for. “Meet me in the parking garage at Union Station. Fourth floor, northeast corner in thirty minutes,” I said.

  “Make it forty-five,” she replied then hung up.

  ***

  I gave Duma my weapons and my vest, then he made himself scarce without my asking. I knew he would be close and, knowing him, probably eavesdrop, too.

  The moment she exited the elevator, my heart started to race, and I suddenly became sick to my stomach. I didn’t know if it was excitement or fear. Maybe both. She looked like she had on the day we’d first met at the Met bombing over a year ago—all business. She wore sunglasses and had her shoulder-length dark-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her dark suit matched the unmistakable grim expression on her face. As soon as she recognized me, I turned to gaze out over the traffic on First Street.

  She walked up next to me and watched the traffic without saying anything for several long minutes. I had no idea what to say.

  “Looks like you got yourself into a deep pile of shit.” She pushed her sunglasses onto her head, and I could see the gray of her eyes was the color of storm clouds.

  “You have no idea,” I replied, staring at the ground. “Look, I really need you to run some ballistics tests on some bullets I found. A .338 Lapua Magnum round, likely modified for longer range, and some .22 LR rounds. Both come from the assassin I’m after—I’m sure of it. A custom .338 LM round can’t be very common, and finding the manufacturer might lead me to the person they were made for.” I held the bullets out for her. She was in a tough position, but I was hoping she could still help somehow.

  “I can try, but if they get flagged, I’m not sure what I’d say to cover. A non-standard .338 Lapua Magnum is pretty uncommon. However, the .22 LR is not. Heck, even the Boy Scouts use them for merit badges,” she said quietly, reaching out to take them. “Obviously, I’m not checking for prints.”

  “No.” I still couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact. “Listen, if you can help, great, but don’t get yourself in hot water for this. I need to know anything you can tell me about them. I need a direction, because right now, I’m stumped.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Be careful, Diomedes, please,” she said. “But given that you’re wanted, I should probably go now.”

  The obvious concern in her voice got to me a bit and distracted me for a second while I pondered the what-ifs. This isn’t the time to think about things like that. And that was one of many reasons I told myself I didn’t do relationships.

  “Yeah, I’ll be in touch,” I said quickly and stoically as my voice got husky. I watched her head back to the elevators, and once again, I felt like an asshole and an idiot.

  The fact that my description was linked to some sort of terrorist activity to alert human authorities didn’t surprise, or even bother, me. In fact, I’d expected it. The fae avoid mainstream human society, which encompasses most of the modern world, but it wouldn’t be the first time they used humans as their eyes and ears or even to unwittingly help them do their dirty work.

  I pulled out my phone to make another call. On the second ring, the line disconnected, and I got the intense, almost shocking tingle along my spine that accompanied Athena showing up unannounced.

  “Contacting me isn’t wise, Diomedes, and you know it.” Athena emerged from a preternaturally dark corner across from me. Her brilliant-red hair and the spark of her electric-blue eyes stood out in the fluorescent wash of the bunker-like space.

  “I know, but I think I’m actually being framed by a cambion Blud fae-Succubus assassin bent on creating major chaos. I know it all sounds crazy, but you’re the only one I know who might be able to point me in the right direction. I gotta find this guy, and not only for my sake.”

  “Hmmm. Blud and Succubus. There used to be stories of an extremist half-breed among the fae, but I’ve heard nothing of him in decades, except stories.”

  “Not helpful. I’ve become privy to all kinds of tales about this creature in the last couple of days, and trust me when I tell you fae are scared of him, rumor or not. There is a real possibility that he might even be involved in furthering the unrest in North Africa and probably elsewhere. And I’m pretty sure we ran across some of his sickening handiwork on Gaua.” I folded my arms across my chest. “He may have influenced the massacre of an entire village.”

  “Yes, those are the kind of unsubstantiated rumors I’m familiar with.” Athena’s eyes
flashed. “This half-breed has been blamed for all kinds of things by the fae community, but there has never been any real evidence.”

  “I can tell you that Elegast believes it but won’t admit it to anyone else. The gnomes at Goibniu’s forge said the assassin was one of the traitorous fae, though Mab doesn’t want to hear it, and I can guarantee you that who or whatever took the shot at Indronivay was inhumanly capable. It all points to someone like this so-called rumor framing me and trying to cause unrest among all the races. The only problem is I don’t know why.” I shook my head.

  “You may be more right than you know. A Magus from the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn was killed two nights hence with a stone-bladed weapon. It points distinctly to a fae perpetrator, and the order assumed it was in retaliation for your alleged actions against the courts. For the moment, I have contained the situation with them, but they are clamoring for retribution nonetheless,” she said, her eyes beginning to spark like a failing circuit breaker.

  “There was also a massacre within the Odin Brotherhood. It carried all the hallmarks of the Unseelie huntress Belphoebe, using Cu Sith to run the victims down and then finishing them off with arrows. The brotherhood is too weak to retaliate now, but perhaps more frighteningly, there are rumors of a death of a Gnosticus of the Fraternitas Saturni as well as an attempt on a Brother Apostle of Pugnus Dei. Since both groups are distrustful of me, I hold no sway with them. Neither of those groups is talking, however, so I have no idea of their current intentions. Additionally, Strigoi covens throughout Europe and even Therianthropes, particularly the Kurtadam Lycanthrope pack, may have been attacked, as well, though those groups are always at war with some race or other.”

  I sighed heavily, feeling not simply old but ancient. This was the first time I could ever recall that much crap going on all at the same time—it had to be related. I could only think of one reason for creating such widespread conflict, and it bothered me to my core.