Drink Down the Moon (8 page)

“Lovely. And in the meantime, we’re going to take this thing on by ourselves?”

“Don’t be silly. We’re going to go through the Gruagagh’s books and find out just what it is that we’re up against. Then we’ll call in the cavalry.”

“I suppose. I’d like to talk to some of these fiaina— see what they know. Do you think Finn could introduce us to any?”

“It won’t hurt to ask.” Kate shot her a quick look. “This time we’ve got to use another of the stones— you do know that.”

“To do what?”

“Index all those books!”

“We’ll need to think that through carefully. I don’t feel like walking around looking like a mobile file card system, or changing the Tower into a computer or something. Anything’s liable to happen.”

“We did okay learning the language.”

“Yes, but— shit.”

They’d reached their bikes and were unlocking them when Jacky froze. Kate didn’t say anything. Taking her cue from her companion, she followed Kate’s gaze. The black dog was back, sitting on its haunches not a half-block from where they stood.

“Jacky?” Kate began.

Jacky shook her head. “I’m not even wearing my stitched shoes.”

They each had a jacket and a pair of shoes into which Dunrobin Finn had stitched a skillyman hob’s enchantments. The jackets made the wearer invisible to mortals— and to faerie as well, if you stayed very still. The shoes gave you quickness. They were both wearing their jackets, but not the shoes.

“If it comes towards us I’m going to scream,” Kate muttered.

The black dog chose that moment to rise to its feet and move in their direction.

“Jacky!”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”

Fingers fumbling, Jacky continued to work on her bike lock. When the lock sprang open, she stuffed it into her pocket and tugged the chain free. She felt like a bad actor in some biker B-movie, but the weight of the chain in her hands was far more comforting than facing the dog empty-handed.

The beast continued its approach, a low rumble of a growl starting up deep in its chest. The hackles around its neck rose thickly. It drew back its lips, showing sharp rows of teeth that made Jacky’s knees knock against each other. Her throat was dry and felt like sandpaper when she tried to swallow.

About three yards from them, the dog crouched down. By now its growl was like the constant revving of an engine without a muffler. Still feeling weak-kneed, Jacky took a step towards the beast, the chain held awkwardly in her hands. The chain was cold iron— not much good against urban faerie who had grown so accustomed to its sting that it no longer hurt them, but still a powerful enough weapon against those creatures that hadn’t yet acquired an immunity to it. If she was lucky, the dog was one of the latter.

She could see it tense, getting ready to lunge. She stared into its eyes, then remembered someone had once told her something about not trying to stare down a dog, it just made them madder. She didn’t need monstrous Fido here any madder, but she couldn’t look away.

“Get on your bike, Kate,” she said over her shoulder.

“Jacky, what are you—”

“Kate, just get on your bike! I’ll try to scare it off.”

“No way. I’m not going to—”

The dog leapt.

Jacky screamed and flung the chain at it, only just remembering to hang onto one end of it. Before the chain could hit it, however, before the dog was upon her, a tall shape moved out of the shadows from beside the wall separating the Hill from Wellington Street. Jacky caught a glimpse of a pale face inside a dark hood before the newcomer turned on the dog. Grabbing it by the scruff of the neck, the figure started to haul back on its massive weight. But at his touch, the dog simply dissolved.

The hooded figure took a step back, obviously surprised. Jacky, her own mouth gaping, started to pull the chain back to her in case the beast appeared again.

“What in the Moon was that creature?” the cloaked figure asked.

The voice was a man’s, deep and resonating. He turned towards the two women, pushing back the hood of his brown cloak.

“One moment I had Laird knows how many pounds of some black monstrosity in my hands,” he said, “and the next nothing but smoke.”

“I

we’re not sure,” Jacky said.

She was happy to see that she’d kept most of the tremble from her voice.

The man’s features, revealed by the streetlight now that he was fully out of the shadows, proved to be strong and not altogether unhandsome. The brow was smooth, eyes somewhat wide-set, cheekbones high, chin firm. Under the brown cloak, he wore a simple shirt and brown trousers.

“Thanks,” Jacky said.

She left it at that. Rescuer or not, she wasn’t about to give him their names. Finn had taught her that much caution long ago.

The man nodded. “My name’s Cumin,” he said. “Of Lochbuie. That creature

” He frowned. “Have you ever heard of such a thing before?”

“It killed a Pook last night,” Jacky said.

“Did it now.”

Kate stepped to Jacky’s side. Her nostrils flared as she caught a scent, sensed a tingle of magic in the air.

“Are you a gruagagh?” she asked the stranger.

“The Gruagagh of Lochbuie,” he said. “At your service.”

“Boy,” Jacky said with relief. “Could we use a gruagagh right about now.”

Cumin’s brows rose quizzically. “Surely Kinrowan still has its gruagagh? He’s an old friend of mine that I haven’t seen for a very long time. Bhruic Dearg. Do you know him?”

Jacky nodded. “But he’s not around anymore. I live in his Tower now. I’m the Jack of Kinrowan,” she added, feeling it was safe to give their names to a friend of Bhruic’s, “and this is my friend Kate.

“I’m pleased to meet you both. But Bhruic— he’s left Kinrowan?”

“Maybe you should come back to the Tower with us,” Jacky said. “It’s a long story. Do you have a place to stay?”

“I’d thought to stay with Bhruic.”

“We’ll give you the hospitality that he would have— it’s the least we can do after you chased off that dog for us. Right, Kate?”

“Sure,” Kate said with a nod.

But she wondered at the scent of magic that she could still sense in the air. Jacky was wrapping her chain around the seat post of her bicycle now, locking it in place, chatting to Cumin the whole time. Kate looked at the place where the gruagagh had stepped from the shadows. How could they have missed seeing him there? And why would the dog disappear when he grabbed it? It had killed a Pook

.

“Coming, Kate?”

She started guiltily and hurried over to her own bike.

“Sure,” she said again, and fell in behind them, walking her bike as Jacky was.

What she wanted to do was jump on hers and leave this gruagagh far behind, but she didn’t know why she felt that way. There was no real reason for her nervousness, except that once it had turned into an unpleasant night, why should it necessarily change at this point?

She listened to Jacky talk about the Pook and how she wouldn’t like to be the Hay of Kelldee, who was taking the body to Puxill right now in hopes of finding a fiaina to claim it, and wasn’t it a shame

Oh, don’t tell him too much, Kate wished at her friend.

She stepped up her pace so that she was walking abreast of them.

“So where’s Lochbuie?” she asked in a pause of the conversation, speaking quickly before Jacky could launch into something else.

Cumin’s eyes appeared to narrow for a moment, but then he smiled and Kate wasn’t sure if he’d actually looked angry just then, or if she’d projected that on him because of the way she was feeling.

“Far east of Kinrowan,” he said. “Though not so far as the sea itself. I’m on a trip to Gormeilan, you see

.”

The rest of the way back to the Tower, Kate kept the Gruagagh talking about himself. Jacky didn’t interrupt, but whether that was because she understood what Kate was doing, or because she was simply interested in what Cumin had to say, Kate didn’t know.

Seven

Leaving their instruments in the hollow hill, Johnny and Jemi returned to the riverbank. The mists were thicker now. The night had grown still quieter. The flat stones shifted underfoot as they walked, the rattling sound loud in the stillness. When they paused by the water’s edge, the sound continued. Johnny wasn’t aware of it immediately, but Jemi turned her head quickly to look behind them.

“Faerie,” she murmured.

Johnny turned then as well to see three small ponies soft-stepping across the stones. Two had riders, the third a long bundle tied across its back. Jemi’s hand crept to Johnny’s arm, her fingers tightening painfully as she clung to him.

A half-dozen yards from where they stood, the ponies stopped and their riders dismounted. The foremost was a fat dwarf with a dark beard and darker hair. The other was taller and smooth-shaven. The dwarf cleared his throat.

“Are you friends to Puxill’s Pook?” he asked.

“I am,” a voice said from behind them before Jemi could reply.

The tall, ebony-skinned figure of a naked woman stepped around them to face the dwarf. Water glistened on her skin. This’ll be Loireag, Johnny thought. Before the woman could speak, Jemi let go of his arm and pushed her way in front of the woman.

“I’m Jenna’s sister,” she said.

She shot the kelpie a quick glance. Loireag briefly touched Jemi’s shoulder with the long dark fingers of one hand— a feathery touch that was gone almost before it was made— then returned her attention to the two Seelie faerie.

“My name’s Hay of Kelldee,” the dwarf said. He frowned, then cleared his throat again. “Oh, it’s bad news I have for you tonight.”

While he spoke, the other faerie was loosening the bundle from the third pony. Tenderly he laid it on the ground and Johnny had a sudden premonition. He started to move towards Jemi, meaning to comfort her, then froze, abruptly aware that there were more than just the five of them abroad tonight.

They came from all sides, slipping from the forest and through the field, sidling from the river behind them, dozens of strange beings, not one quite the same as the other. There were little men no taller than his knee, with twigs and leaves in their hair, their arms and legs like spindly roots. Pale-skinned women with wet-green hair, dark eyes, and sinuous bodies. Rounded little men with grey beards and wrinkled faces. A woman with the face of a fox and a long bushy tail.

Some were tiny, others taller than Johnny. Some he could see clearly and wished he couldn’t; others were hidden in shadow allowing him only brief glimpses of narrow pretty faces, all those he wished he could see better. Towering over them all was a nine-foot-tall troll, his hands hanging below his knees, his back stooped, his eyes glittering.

Johnny found it hard to breathe. His chest was a tight knot and there was a sour taste in the pit of his stomach. The crowd of creatures pressed closer, encircling them. They filled the night with strange smells and a hushed whispering. Johnny could feel himself trembling, but couldn’t stop it.

He felt like he had the one time he’d tried acid— years ago, and never again. That same sense of dislocation from reality pressed on him now. The sensory overload made it difficult for him to maintain any semblance of balance. He flinched when a small twiggish creature touched his leg, tugging at his trousers. Moving back, he bumped into a tall man, so thin he seemed skeletal, just bones and skin, without flesh. The man grinned at him, flashing rows of sharp teeth, and Johnny stumbled away from him.

He lost Jemi in the crowd. He was aware that the dwarf was still speaking, but couldn’t hear what was being said. He tried to push through the press of bodies, to get away. When he came upon a sudden opening, he slipped into it only to find himself standing by the third pony. Jemi was bending over the bundle, opening it.

A dead Jemi stared up from the blanket— skin alabaster, bloodied and torn, eyes bulging, but the features still all too recognizable. Jemi’s sister. Jenna.

Jemi lifted her face to the sky and howled her grief. The sound was a wailing shriek that froze the blood in Johnny’s veins. This was what a banshee’s scream would sound like, he thought. This despair. This grief. This anger underlying both.

His vision spun and he staggered back into the crowd, flailing his arms, trying to get away from that sound. Hands— little hands, big hands— shoved and pushed him out of the way. Jemi’s wail burned through his mind. He fell to his hands and knees on the stones, scrabbling for purchase, trying to stand, to flee.

His limbs gave out from under him and he went face down on the ground. He cut his lip, tasted blood. His vision still spun, but the sound was finally gone— not faded, just abruptly cut off. Slowly he raised his head and looked around.

He was alone on that beach of flat stones. The river mist was ghostly and writhing on one side of him, the forest dark on the other, while he was crouched on the pale strip between them.

A nightmare, he thought. I’ve freaked out. Somebody slipped me something in a drink. A Mickey.

Jemi. Jemi Pook. She

It all became a blur. He fell forward on the stones once more, only this time he didn’t rise.

It was late when they finally got back to the Tower. While Jacky sat the gruagagh down in the kitchen nook and fussed about getting tea ready, Kate excused herself and went upstairs. Ostensibly, she was going to bed, but instead she made her way up to the third floor where she took down a familiar book from its shelf and sat in a chair to leaf through it. The fat leather-bound volume bore the title The Gruagaghs, Skillyfolk and Billy Blinds of Liomauch Og and, like everything else pertaining to Faerie and Kinrowan in that room, had belonged to the original Gruagagh of Kinrowan.

Bhruic Dearg’s books had a peculiar property Kate and Jacky had discovered very early on in their residence. Their content tended to change so the various reference volumes remained up-to-date all the time. It was Kate who had first discovered this one day, looking through the very book she was holding now. She’d come to a heading for Kinrowan and discovered that under the Court, rather than Bhruic’s name being listed as its principal magic-worker, it now had Jacky’s name, with her own underneath, listed as an assistant.