Armageddon Rules (26 page)

I rolled out of the way, putting the candle out as I did, and behind me the floor splintered as something crawled up. Fluid dripped in wet splatters as it rose, and chitinous plates clattered. I relit my candle, ready for the image that waited.

The librarian, a monstrous beetle creature, hulked before me. “What does it want?”

“I’m looking for something, and you are going to find it for me.” I held the candle between us. In its bulbous eyes, the flame reflected back a thousand times.

When it spoke, its jaws clicked together. “You cannot be my master.”

“I own the Agency now. Grimm left everything to me.” I stepped forward, and it recoiled from the flame. “I’m looking for a history book. One on the Fairy Godfather himself.”

The librarian hissed, and it shook its wings. Above me, the scratch of a thousand legs crawling made my skin itch. “You may not take it from here, pawn.”

“I command you to bring me whatever history you have on the Fairy Godfather.”

It took one giant step forward, and I retreated. Again and again, until I bumped into a table.

“Stay. You cannot command me, but I will bring the book.” It receded into the darkness. With each step, the drag of claws on wood sent shivers down my spine.

At the table, a candelabra held a dozen more candles, and at the edge of their glow, hundreds, thousands more glittering eyes waited. A carpet of beetles covered the floor, waiting beyond the glow of the candles.

Minutes passed, perhaps hours. I’d left my cell phone and my gun back in my office, so telling time was a best-guess kind of thing. The floorboards rattled as the librarian burrowed toward me. When it burst from the floor, it held in its claws a book with dark green binding.

The librarian placed the book on the table before me, then caressed it with one antenna. “Mind the pages. Break a binding and my brood will repair it with your skin.”

I forced myself to breath, then nearly gagged at the rotten stench that came from it. Only when it again slipped back into darkness could I sit. In the end, I put a candlestick on each end of the table and sat in the middle, listening to the scuttle of feet on damp wood.

Then I began to read. When I finally found what I was looking for, I cursed into the darkness, a rant that echoed from the walls. At my disruption, the librarian trundled forward, daring approach the candles. “Shhhhhhhhhh. You must not wake the little ones.”

Rage and frustration poured through me, anger and betrayal. “I need to take the book.”

“Never.” The librarian shook its entire body. “It stays here, where the little ones can keep it safe.”

I walked up to it, right into its shadow. “I have to take the book. I’m going to take it. My Agency. My library. My book, to do as I see fit.” A tear blurred one eye as I kept asking myself what else I didn’t know.

“The book will not last without the little ones to care for it.”

“Then punch some holes in a mayonnaise bottle and send a few home with me. I’m taking it.” I turned back and closed the book, holding it in front of me like a shield.

Something like an earthquake rocked the library, and outside the stained glass windows, a gentle
whoosh
passed. Could Grimm’s library be underwater? I wasn’t going to stick my head out the door to find out. The librarian bent down, tapping my hair with antennae. It opened its jaws, and I tensed, ready to duck to the side and sprint along the tabletops to the tiny, single lightbulb that marked my return point.

Something wet dropped from its jaws, splattering my hands. Then came the crawling.

I screamed.

Yeah, I did. I stepped away from the librarian, grabbed a candlestick, swinging it wildly.

“Stop,” it hissed. “You must not harm them.”

In flickering candlelight, I watched as worms the size and length of a bullet crawled off my hands, up the spine of the book, and down into the binding.

“Return it to me, or I will send my brood to find you,” said the librarian.

I clutched the book and ran for the lightbulb. When I pulled the chain, darkness enveloped me, and a million spawn chittered.

I swung my hand out to fend them off, and brushed a book. I clicked on the overhead chain, relieved to be back in the book closet. Then the memory of what I read took over, and I sprinted to my office.

“You bastard!” I screamed at Echo the moment he appeared on-screen. “You selfish bastard. Always talking about how careful I needed to be. About how proper I needed to be. About how we’d never even signed my contract.”

Echo tilted his head. “Marissa, how may I help you?”

“You said you’re a part of him. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’ll need a bit more context to try to answer. Can you help me understand what has upset you?” Echo folded his hands before him.

I held up my hand, where the handmaiden’s mark lay traced. “This.” I held up the book. “And this. When was he going to tell me? Ever? Never? Let me guess. It wasn’t something he thought about while he recorded you.”

Echo froze when he saw the book, and his eyes widened.

As the minutes ticked by, I grew tired of waiting and reached for the Power button.

“Let me explain what I can.”

I tossed the briefcase on my desk and sat down. “When did he intend to tell me that the Black Queen was his daughter?”

“I can’t say, Marissa, but in the instant in which I was diverted, I assure you he thought of her, and what happened.” Echo paused. “Almost as much as he thought of you. I know we regret that she has given you the mark.”

“Regret. Do you have any idea how people in Kingdom look at me when they see this? Do you know what kind of stories they tell about her?” I balled a fist, fighting the urge to smash the screen.

“Marissa, I assure you, there is no tale of his daughter the Fairy Godfather has not agonized over. There are few that are untrue. As for her mark, I know what it means to the women who bear it. I assure you, Fairy Godfather would have removed it were it in his power.”

That led me to my other point. “His power. Did he ever intend to tell me about that? That he’d been constrained?”

Echo scowled at me, his eyes narrowed. “You do not know what you are talking about, young lady.”

“I know he got a princess pregnant. Had a daughter by her, Isolde. That name ring any bells? It took a prince to clean up his mess, and Kingdom only knows how many people died in the process.” The fear that swallowed me in the library gave way to pure, hot rage.

“Fairy Godfather granted a wish to a princess, that much is true. She had served as his agent for so long, and he was not as familiar with the nature of women as he is now. So when she wished that he would love her, he was not prepared.”

Grimm never granted wishes. Ever. I thought it was a decision, but now I knew better.

“His daughter was the joy of his life for many years. Gifted with power beyond all others, a child born of two magics. His greatest joy and his greatest mistake.”

I began to wonder. “What happened to her?”

“When her mother died, Isolde became bitter and angry. She declared herself Queen of Thorns and never came to see Fairy Godfather again. She began to seek to conquer everything, and destroy everything she could not conquer.” Echo’s voice held a somber note.

“So the other fairies, they constrained him? Because he had a child? Because of what she became?”

Echo nodded. “Fairy Godfather always had an interest in the laws of magic, and how they could be bent and twisted. Dodged. After the destruction wrought by his daughter, he asked the other fairies to constrain him so that he might never endanger an entire realm again.”

I thought of all the lewd remarks Grimm made when I first came to work. He’d made innuendos and references to how involved we could be. “He acted like a complete creep.”

Echo tilted his head toward me. “You know if he wanted to, Fairy Godfather could have forced you to do anything.”

It had all been an act, and one I understood now. Designed to make sure the women that worked for him never considered the Fairy Godfather as anything more than a boss to be escaped. “A demon told me Grimm is constrained right now.”

At the word
demon
, Echo winced. “Tell me you didn’t get tricked into making a deal with them.”

For a brief moment, I almost retreated to that young woman who just acted as his hands. “Did Grimm think about demons or celestial contracts?”

Echo sighed. “I wish he had. I advise you to seek out legal advice.”

“Already done. Now, about this constraint. How does it work?”

“Think of it like a faucet. All fairies’ power flows through a central nexus, and at that point, it can be obstructed—” Echo’s eyes narrowed and he arched his eyebrows. “You must not go there, my dear.”

He wasn’t fast enough by a long shot. “Why not?”

Echo’s image began to flicker and distort. I wondered if I’d run the battery dry. After a moment, the flickering stopped. I swear, if it were possible for a recording to feel pain, that’s what I’d say it was. Sweat rolled down skin that didn’t exist.

“Marissa, please understand. Certain things, Fairy Godfather chose never to tell you. Those are choices for him. For me, they are the basic foundation of my existence. I cannot change them any more than I can change you. I can tell you that he feared for your safety. That is all I can tell you.”

“You can tell me about Isolde, but not why he wouldn’t want me to go to the nexus?” I tapped the book nervously, then thought of the worms in the binding and took my hands off it.

“You already know of his shame. I am not breaking any of his decisions by telling you something you already know.”

“Why didn’t Grimm tell me any of this?” I hoped it wouldn’t cause Echo to fritz out again.

Echo hung his head. “Even a fairy may do things they are ashamed of, or make mistakes they wish they could undo. Our memory is perfect. We will never forget decisions made, or their consequences. Until the day the Black Queen marked you, Fairy Godfather believed his daughter gone. I’m sorry, Marissa. The part of me that is him is deeply sorry.”

I hit the Power button without waiting to hear more. Then I opened the book to read on. To confirm what Echo told me. To understand what he’d never told me about a subject he
knew
I cared about. Just as I found my place, a knock at the door drew my ire.

“What?” I slammed the book closed, then winced as a squeal, of rage or of pain, came from it.

My office door swung open, and in stepped Beth. Her makeup had runs in it from tears, and fresh gnaw marks covered her hands. “Ms. Locks, I’m so sorry. I was practicing, and when I looked up, everyone was gone.”

I glanced at the clock. Eight forty-five in the evening. I had to remember never to go to Grimm’s library when my car was parked in a metered spot. I stood up and grabbed my purse, which weighed at least ten pounds more than it ought to. Inside, I found a black leather bag with a drawstring. A parchment fragment hung from the tie. “For summoning of plagues.”

“Come on.” I took her hand and headed out of my office.

“I tried. The front office is—”

“Filled with poisonous snakes. I know. I signed the bill for our reptile man.” I led her down the hall to the service entrance. Grimm had a glamour put on it so that if you weren’t staff, it looked more like a broken urinal. I jiggled the handle and watched Beth’s face as the door swung open. Then I ran for the stairs and climbed all sixteen flights to the top. I lost Beth about twelve flights down. While she made a pretty good human pincushion, Beth could use some time at the track.

There, I opened the bag. Inside, black sand, like crushed lava, rough to the touch. I took a closer look at the parchment. In silver script, under the large writing, it read “Desire the plague, and cast the dust.” Who really desires a plague?

I grabbed a handful of the sand, trying to think of the least harmful plague. There really weren’t many good options. Malodin said it had to cause fear. To drive people into their homes. To make them hide from the sun, and not dare to answer the door.

Behind me, the door to the roof swung open, and Beth drooped up against the frame. “What are you doing?”

“Unleashing a plague. The first of three.” I made up my mind. Larry said to do only what was required. One plague, and then I’d have time to research more. Time to study and figure out how to end this mess.

“You mean gnats? Flies? Frogs?” Beth looked over the edge and veered away.

“I don’t have enough princes for a plague of frogs.” I cast the sand from the roof, feeling sick to my stomach as a wind whipped it like a tornado. “It’s done.” I silently bit my lip and swore I’d make up for this somehow.

Beth limped for the door. “We should get inside before it hits. Hornets? Scorpions?”

“Worse.” I followed her down, knowing in my heart I’d crossed a line. Shooting people? On occasion. When they deserved it. Arson? Guilty, fortunately never charged. Bringing about plagues, though, that was a new personal low. “Encyclopedia salesmen. By tomorrow morning, you won’t be able to pick up a newspaper without being offered sixty-four volumes for three easy payments.”

“What’s an encyclopedia?”

“A really heavy set of books. Imagine if someone printed the Internet, then removed all the fun parts. Encyclopedias are a combination exercise and reading program made by cutting down the entire Amazon rain forest.”

“Why would anyone want one?”

“They don’t, and trust me. The salesmen have this sixth sense for bad timing. Every time you get in the shower—or start eating, or fall asleep—they’ll be there to show you all the wonders of the eighties.”

Beth cursed, stringing together words like a toddler threading beads on a string.

Her ability to piece the same three words together in different combinations completely failed to impress me. Ari could curse circles around her, thanks to hard work and practice. “See, that’s exactly the reaction I was aiming for. On the upside, my lawyer’s going to eat well.”

Twenty-Three