Chaos Unbound (The Metis Files Book 2) Page 25

  “You look like I feel.” I laughed.

  She attempted a smile that brought to mind a lion lifting its lip to reveal the teeth it would have liked to sink into its prey. “I suppose decorum dictates that I… thank you,” she said softly as if not wanting to be overheard.

  “Well, I’ll be honest, the Hanner Brid actually threw you at me. I mostly ducked,” I said.

  “No, I wasn’t unconscious. He told me not to move, so I didn’t. I heard what you said when we came out of the river over there. You could have shot through me to get to him, but you didn’t. For that and your concern he release me, I thank you.”

  “Whoa, that had to have been hard to say,” I replied, jerking back a little. She was being serious. Not just serious, but fae serious, and that meant my normal mordant acceptance of her modest attempt at gratitude was inappropriate. Ingenuous acceptance of appreciation had led to wars among the Fae, so I quickly changed my tone. “You are welcome,” I replied again, putting my hand over my heart and bowing my pounding head.

  “And…” She coughed, staring down at the ground, “Thank the… Peri… for me, as well.” She spat the word out as if it were acidic. “I’m not sure where he disappeared to after you followed that half-breed through the Ways.”

  I had to fight suddenly snorting in shock, but I did manage to compose myself quickly enough to smile and nod. Duma would have laughed himself sick to hear her say that in person, decorum be damned. “I will,” I said, rubbing my face to hide my amusement at her uneasiness.

  “The appearance of this Hanner Brid, comments he made while I was in his custody, and Elegast’s elucidation of the matter as he sees it have convinced me of your potential innocence. He and I will lobby on your behalf to our respective Courts regarding the—” She paused to find the right word. “Possible mistake that may have been made regarding your presumptive persecution for these acts.”

  “Good to know.” Something told me this wasn’t a good time for I-told-you-sos.

  “But”—she met my gaze, her face an emotionless mask but her voice becoming harsh and cold as usual—“this Hanner Brid must be caught for you to be found completely innocent. And this does not mean we are on friendly terms. Should we meet on the field of battle again, I will face you as mine enemy.”

  “Aw heck, Pheebs, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I smiled at her then winked, figuring if she could revert, then so could I.

  Elegast joined us without sitting, preferring to tower over us. “So the Hanner Brid actually exists,” he said, his eyebrows raised and a slight lilt in his voice that might have indicated amusement. His standing over us had to be some kind of Fae pissing contest because Belphoebe refused to gaze up at him.

  “Well, at least someone fitting that bill exists,” I said, straining my neck to see him then glance back at Pheebs. “I shot the guy several times, and he still ain’t dead. Apparently, he’s a cambion, Blud Fae father with a Succubus for a mother. He’s also clearly had similar human military training to me, and he definitely doesn’t have a problem with using guns. He’s also got some sort of relationship with the Liuntika Strigoi. That’s where I found these.” I pulled the pile of soggy papers I grabbed in the Hanner Brid’s room out from inside my vest. Elegast reached down to take them, then I fished in my vest pocket for one of the wildcatted .338 rounds. “It’s a modified bullet designed for greater distances and accuracy. I would bet it’s a match for the one that killed Indronivay. I pulled a similar one out of a simargl outside his stronghold.”

  Both of them eyed the large round, and Belphoebe took it in her gloved hand. “Well, I will attest that he certainly carries the Blud ability to cloud a mind. I knew the ability would affect lesser fae, but I had no idea it would work that well on one of the Sidhe, however. He held all my men and me at bay with a suggestion. I’ve never felt so powerless.” She shook her head, in either disgust or incredulity.

  I did not miss the fact that Pheebs clearly directed her comment about lesser fae at Elegast—a mere Elf and not a Sidhe. Then I began to wonder how Duma had managed to ignore the Hanner Brid’s suggestions the last few times.

  “Unfortunately, it sounds as though he also inherited some characteristics from his maternal lineage, as well. You say you shot him several times to no avail?” Elegast asked, examining the papers with interest.

  “Yeah, a few times in Sirte and once in Coronini with a high-powered rifle at a few hundred yards, but he was wearing a vest. I shot him twice back in that favela with a forty-five at less than fifty feet—once definitely in the head. By all accounts, he should be dead. Why?”

  “His mother is a Succubus,” he replied, flourishing his hand.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “They are of a race that does not exactly originate from this world…” He dragged it out slowly as if talking to a child.

  I dropped my head, feeling a bit slow on the uptake. I should have made the connection after seeing his crazy damned aura. Demons, or fallen angels, like most Old Ones, were almost impervious to small-arms fire. It’s reasonable, in that case, that even a point-blank shot with my Glock would leave no more than a nasty bruise. However, I couldn’t help but think that a close-range shot from a fifty caliber would do some damage and that armor-piercing rounds might cause serious injury. I was even willing to bet those wildcatted .338 rounds would do some damage if fired from close enough. While I relished the idea of testing those theories, a good blade had always proven effective at hacking bulletproof monsters to pieces. At least I knew better than to pull a gun on the prick the next time we met.

  “He’s still out there,” I said, craning my neck to see Elegast.

  “Indeed,” he replied. “What, pray tell, do you intend to do about it?”

  “Me?”

  “After Elegast and I affirm this story and all of these revelations, you will be able to pursue him without reprisal from either Court,” Belphoebe added. “And we will lift the warrants issued through human channels on our behalf, as well.”

  “Wow, that’s mighty nice of you,” I said, unable to stop myself from snorting.

  “Naturally, we will,” she responded, completely missing my indignation.

  “Would a little help be too much to ask?” I replied, getting to my feet and glaring at them both. “After all, the bastard did kill members of both Courts, too.” I folded my arms.

  “Of course both Courts want nothing more than to see justice done and vengeance meted out against the one responsible for the death of our kith and kin,” Elegast replied, suddenly resembling a politician on the campaign trail. “But think of how grateful both Courts would be to the individual, or individuals, who carried out this justice.”

  Elegast, ever the statesman.

  “Diomedes, we are the ones that would hunt this wretch,” Belphoebe said, rising to her feet and pointing from herself to Elegast. “But more pressingly for you, we are also the ones who will plead your case, no? Besides, I would think the great human Guardian Diomedes ought to easily manage taking down a lone cambion miscreant.”

  Of course. Pheebs was Sidhe, and they never do anything straightforward. I narrowed my eyes at both of them. I couldn’t help but feel as though I’d been volunteered as shark bait.

  Then I comprehended what was happening, and I had to look away and take a few deep breaths: being fae, they expected me to bargain with them for their help. Despite the obvious gain they would get out of capturing the Hanner Brid, they knew I would pursue him no matter what, so they gained nothing by helping freely. Paranoid or not, I’d dealt with the fae enough to know that I couldn’t trust any of them when there was something to be gained or lost. I glared at both of them then let my eyes fall to the ground, and put my hands on my hips. I left my affinity for dealing with political crap with Agamemnon and Nestor at Troy. I was done with games.

  “Pheebs, don’t
play coy with me. You admit that Duma and I saved your ass from that so-called ‘miscreant.’ You owe me. And you both know I’m going after this guy with or without your help. This piece of shit is as much a pain in my ass as he is yours, so if I need help of any kind, just give it to me for once.”

  “Things are never as simple as they appear to you humans.” Belphoebe narrowed her eyes.

  My pointing out to her that she owed me for saving her life no doubt royally pissed her off. Elegast, on the other hand, nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “We should all be on our respective ways,” Elegast said, placing a hand on Belphoebe’s shoulder. “There is much to do on all our parts, and time is pressing, is it not?”

  “Yeah, it is.” I scratched at my head, trying not to irritate the cuts and bruises that covered it as I tried to control my temper.

  I walked to the game trail that led toward the confluence of the Great Morava and the Danube. Irritated at both Pheebs and Elegast, I trudged halfway before I remembered I had no need to head there since the boat would be long gone and that Duma and I were supposed to meet up at the portal through the Ways back in the clearing. Where the hell is he?

  By the time I got back to the glade, the Dreaich and Belphoebe had already left, and Elegast was standing in front of the opening about to step through himself. He stopped and faced me, placing one hand on the pommel of his knife, holding out the Hanner Brid’s papers in the other.

  “Most of this is ruined, but what isn’t details events and happenings within the human realm, not Fae. They are of more concern to you than us. There does appear to be some actionable intelligence in there, however. And tell the Peri that I will be in Calanchi. If you have need, have him contact me there.” He said the last a little louder than was probably necessary.

  Elegast stepped into the portal, and suddenly everything was quiet again. And dark. As I stood alone in silence, finally recognizing what I was going up against, the depth of my fatigue hit me. Not only at chasing the Hanner Brid, but three thousand years of politics and mayhem while being an underdog. I started to think about Sarah and all the what-ifs and tried to imagine what “normal” was like. It made me feel like the giant Tolfin at a high school prom. Normal and I didn’t fit in the same sentence—probably not even the same book.

  Rather than search for Duma, I sat down and decided to wait for him to show himself. Finding a hidden fae in the dark in unfamiliar terrain was tantamount to finding an Action Comics Number One Superman comic at a yard sale, and I wasn’t about to waste my time. Instead, I began examining the sheaf of papers I’d grabbed.

  Elegast was right. The wad of papers, maps, and documents were melded into a warm wet lump that proved useless to me, with two notable exceptions. Mixed into the molten mass of indistinguishable paper pulp were two maps. Like most military-grade charts, they were waterproof and still completely legible. I knew from my glimpse at them back in the underground room that they were highly detailed topographic maps of railroads in North Korea. I couldn’t make out much in the moonlight, but I could still see the handwritten notations at several points along the map where the graphite glinted in the limited ambient light. Is there any way these are related to an assassination attempt that hasn’t happened yet? Could I be that lucky?

  I found myself smiling. The sudden realization that I might actually know when and where the Hanner Brid would be brought me instantly to my feet. I had to find Duma. Now.

  “’Bout time those jackasses left,” Duma said from my right in a tone that suggested both relief and irritation. “Based on that shit-eating grin on your face, please tell me you got something good, D. After the last few days, I could use some good news.”

  “Maybe. Get us someplace safe.”

  Chapter 30

  I could tell where we were even before Duma opened the gateway back into the world. The heat and humidity pressed in on us inside the Ways, but it also became electric. I had an overwhelming sense of mangroves, suntan lotion, and the tropical scent of coconuts, garlic, cumin, and pork. Miami.

  We emerged in the dark into a sandy stand of sea grape, gumbo-limbo, and palm trees. I could hear, but not see, the surf as well as traffic, very close by, coming from opposite directions. I could also make out the faint sounds of heavy electronic thumping of club music somewhere farther up the beach. Of course Duma would bring us to South Beach. We hurried toward the traffic, pushed through the trees, and hopped over a short wall onto the boardwalk along Ocean Drive.

  “I got a place a few blocks up Ocean,” Duma said without slowing or even concerning himself with the fact he appeared to be a refugee from a renaissance fair and I was dressed like a cosplayer at a Call of Duty convention. “C’mon.” Despite his injuries, he definitely was faring far better than I was. My body ached everywhere, and I was ready to fall over and sleep for a month.

  Bombarded by the thumping noises emanating from hotel bars and cars painted garish colors, I passed an endless line of pink, light-blue and pale-yellow art deco hotels trimmed in matching neon, all surrounded by throngs of people dressed in everything from the tiniest bikinis to formal wear. As we walked along the boardwalk, we just didn’t stand out. Hell, compared to the guy on roller skates wearing a plastic pink flamingo as a hat, with rainbow suspenders holding up his Speedo, we are downright boring.

  Duma strolled along as if he made the trip on a regular basis, and every so often, women waved at him as if they knew him.

  “Keep a low profile here, do you?” I asked.

  “No such thing as low profile here. I fit right in.”

  We continued without garnering so much as a disinterested double take before stopping directly across the street from an unremarkable and almost subdued pastel-pink five-story building with light-blue trim. We jogged through the mostly stopped traffic to cross the street then walked past the hostess station set in a row of square blue umbrellas that read “Clevelander.”

  I followed Duma straight toward the building’s lobby, where a full chorus of “Good evening, Mr. Fermini,” greeted him as we strolled through the crowd waiting to be seated. Duma gave a friendly but dismissive wave and kept walking.

  We walked through the funky art deco showroom of a lobby to the front desk. The space was a combination of open marble floors ranging from dark brown to white and pea green, and brown-checkered carpet completed the seating area. It was like something from the Mad Hatter’s acid trip. As we approached the desk, the young woman behind it smiled at Duma, offered a cheery greeting, and held out an RFID key card. He wordlessly snatched it without really acknowledging her. I felt like a donkey stomping along behind him, clearly out of place.

  I couldn’t help but stare at the remarkably bizarre chairs as we passed through the lobby. The seats varied from brown to red and took shapes from buckets to slides, while some even resembled plush park benches. I distractedly followed Duma to the elevators, where he swiped the card then pressed a button for the top floor. We got off and headed down the hall to a room at the front of the hotel that would almost certainly have a view out over the ocean. Despite the crowds, or maybe because of them, I actually felt safe. Now that I didn’t have to keep watching over my shoulder for either Fairy Court, a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The governmental agencies still after us didn’t bother me as much. I’d been avoiding human authorities forever. Besides, South Beach was full of human fugitives of one kind or another, so a few more wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. In addition, while I may not have seen his security measures, I knew Duma would never have brought us somewhere that wasn’t secure.

  Once inside the austere guest room, decorated with cold white marble floors and light-beige and white furniture, the bank of jalousie windows with an unobstructed view of the Atlantic drew my eye. I could barely hear over the music booming up from the pool area below, but I could still hear the ocean, which made me relax a bit, and I sat down. />
  “Whoa, ah, ah, ah. Get your grimy ass off my furniture,” Duma said, animatedly shooing me off the couch.

  “Nice view,” I said, jumping back up and walking over to the window.

  “Yeah, no kidding.” Duma stood at the windows overlooking the pool area. “Damn, will you look at the ass on that one…”

  “Duma, hey… Duma!” I shouted, snapping my fingers. “Hey, pool boy, can you get us some food while I clean up so we can start figuring out what we need to do next?”

  “Anything you want,” he said without breaking his focus on the activity around the pool below.

  I picked a pillow up off the bed and threw it at him. “Yo! Food, plan, catch bad guy… remember…” I said, raising my voice even louder.

  “Oh, yeah,” he replied, finally facing me. “Food, sure. Got it.” He grabbed the phone on a table next to the couch while I went into the bathroom to clean up.

  After showering, I headed back out into the suite with a towel wrapped around my waist, noticing that the room itself reminded me of the bathroom—and not in a good way. Nothing about the room said or even suggested comfort, but it was the kind of place people paid big money for.

  Duma was nowhere to be found, but two carts loaded with covered plates and a champagne bucket filled with ice and tiny bottles of water were waiting near the only table in the room. I grabbed a bottle of water, pulled the maps from my vest, and spread them on the curving chrome-and-wood monstrosity of a table that was more artsy than functional. The piece of furniture was low, too, but it matched the height of the ridiculously rigid white leather sofa. The whole place made my skin crawl.

  I began to study the maps. I guessed the region as North Korea because I recognized the name of one of the cities on one of the maps—Ch’ongjin, along the country’s northern coast. A region approximately forty miles south of Ch’ongjin running west from the coast, almost to the border with China, was circled in red. The second map was a smaller-scale topographic survey of a railroad line passing through a valley running roughly southeast-northwest. Key geographical features proved that the second one was, in fact, a more detailed map of the region circled on the larger one.