Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (15 page)

“Fine! Go, I'm—”

The weight of the building's fear slammed back into me, knocking me to the ground. It was not just Dawn's distraction. I realized I'd been a fool to think I could control it. I was no master necromancer, just a half-trained idiot, and the building's spirit lashed out wildly now.

I released the summoning, and the ghost dissipated.

The jorōgumo rose and skittered toward me drunkenly, her woman's body swaying back and forth as her spider legs held it suspended in air. Dawn grabbed my arm, pulled up. I struggled to my feet and tried to push her back toward the escape.

Too late. The jorōgumo reached us. Dawn swung hard at the nearest spider leg, a black shell-like scythe thick as my thigh and covered in a scattering of wiry hairs. The jorōgumo moved swifter still, jerking the leg back.

And then the jorōgumo plunged her spear-like foot through Dawn's shoulder, slamming Dawn back to the ground.

“NO!”

I lunged for the jorōgumo's nearest leg. The hairs felt like steel wire as my hand pressed against them, and I could feel them cutting into my palm and fingers as I pressed past them to the hard shell of the leg.

A huge surge of anger and fear poured through me and mixed with my magic and will, like napalm mixing with a pissed-off biker gang.

I ripped the bitch's soul out. Or at least, I tried.

The jorōgumo screamed, and the scream cut off like someone had pulled her plug. She fell back, her foot ripping free of Dawn's body. I could feel her spirit, stretched, still screaming, like steel cord being pulled past its endurance.

But I was not strong enough. Not even close. The spirit rebounded, nearly pulled my spirit free in return.

I released the summoning and collapsed to my knees, fighting the urge to vomit as the jorōgumo twitched.

Dawn moaned.

“Dawn!” I scrambled over to her. Blood pooled on the floor behind her.

I pressed my hand to the wound, but there was nothing I could do to stop the blood seeping between my fingers. I had no skill with magical healing.

“Ow.” She winced, then said in a dreamy, detached voice, “Help, I've fallen, and I can't get up.”

The jorōgumo jerked, and sucked in air with a hiss.

“Dawn, come on, I'm sorry, we have to move.”

I lifted her, as she had lifted me just a moment ago. She cried out in pain, but struggled to her feet, and together we stumbled over to the hidden stairwell and down it. When we reached the tunnel at its bottom I slammed my hand against the metal plate on the wall, and the stairs rose on pillars of stone. I saw the jorōgumo's furious face just before the entrance to the stairwell sealed closed, and her scream of frustration could be heard over the grinding of stone settling back into place.

“Damn you and your stubbornness,” I said to Dawn, and pulled off my shirt, pressing it to her wound.

Dawn began to shiver, and said with chattering teeth, “If I w-weren't stubborn, I w-wouldn't still b-be with you.”

*That's certain true.*

“Ha ha. How about you use it for something good and don't die on me then,” I said, and helped her as we marched down the tunnel. “Because if you do, you know I'll summon you up and chew you out.”

We hurried as well as Dawn could manage. The feybloods used the tunnels heavily, but I doubted the jorōgumo could open the wizard door we'd used. Still, best not to linger, especially with Dawn leaking blood. Her steps grew increasingly heavy and sluggish, her eyes drooping.

I shook her. “Hey. Talk to me.”

“What was that thing?” Dawn asked finally, her words slurred.

“A jorōgumo. A true shapeshifter, able to take any shape she wishes whenever she wishes. Rare, and very dangerous.”

“Gee, really? I'll be careful then.” After several steps, she asked, “Why the hell was a jorōgumby thingy attacking you?”

“Good question.”

*She called you a meddler,* Alynon said.

Yeah, I caught that
. I thought about it a minute. “Maybe … it's because I agreed to help Silene and her feybloods, and somebody doesn't want that. The Arcanites maybe, if they're behind the addictions. Or the alchemist, if he's got something to hide. Or maybe some group in the ARC or Fey who wants to keep the feybloods from getting ideas of equality. Or—crap, I don't know.”

“Don't sound so unhappy,” Dawn said. “Looks like you're finally popular!”

“Oh, yeah, it's awesome. I love the ‘who's trying to kill Finn' game.”

“Oh, that's easy,” Dawn replied in a sleepy voice. “Clowns. Trust me, you dig deep enough, you're going to find out it's clowns.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“You do tha—” Her voice faded out, and she slumped against me.

“Hey!” I said, panic rising in my chest. “Stay with me!” I summoned up my magic, and gave her a slight jolt of my own life energy.

Her head jerked back up, and she blinked. “Did you just ask me to live with you?” she asked, and we continued to stumble forward together.

“Sure. You can share my twin bed.”

“I'm the luckiest,” Dawn mumbled.

There was no way we were going to make it to the hospital. I took the next exit from the tunnel, a sloping ramp that ended at a wall behind the old theater, and half-carried Dawn to the nearby house of a local thaumaturge.

Jared had a questionable reputation among the arcana community, and looked like Christopher Walken's creepier brother, but I didn't care about the rumors of how he'd learned his skills just then, only that he had them and was close by. After a quick negotiation, he worked on a little wax “voodoo” doll, forming a wound to match Dawn's then closing it again. Dawn's flesh knit together, like a reversed film of taffy being pulled apart, and she screamed so loud and so long I worried about her voice. But in the end she slumped down on Jared's couch, covered in sweat, her wound and eyes both closed, and her breathing steady.

*   *   *

We reached Dawn's home two hours later. She'd slept over an hour on Jared's couch, then drunk a pint of orange juice before leaving. Exhaustion showed clear and heavy in her face and movements, but she was able to walk. I called home on the way to warn my family that, once again, they might be in danger because of me. I also reported the attack to the ARC, who said they'd send people to the post office to clean up and investigate.

I helped Dawn get her pants and shirt off, and she crawled into bed.

“My hero,” she murmured, her eyes closed, her breathing already growing slow and heavy.

“Hardly,” I said. “You're the hero.”

“Fine. My princess. You'd so better put out after—” Her voice trailed off, and within a minute she was snoring.

I ran my fingers lightly over the scar where the jorōgumo's wound had closed, a line of pale pink knotwork across her smooth brown skin.

I was a fool. Despite all I'd learned in those years of reliving memories, despite the lessons of battling my grandfather, I was still acting like a stupid teenager, running off and getting involved in feyblood troubles like it was some adventure. I was no wizard knight. I was a half-trained necromancer with one foot out the door of the magical world.

And Dawn had nearly died for it. She'd carry that scar for life.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered, and kissed the scar.

I needed to grow the hell up.

And I would find whoever was behind the jorōgumo's attack, and make certain they never came after me, or anyone I loved, again.

Um, in a totally mature and safe way, of course.

 

10

New Sensation

I woke to Dawn looking down at me, smiling.

“So what are we doing today?” she asked. “Riding the Loch Ness Monster?”

“You're resting,” I replied, wiping sleep from my eyes. I turned away slightly so I didn't hit her straight on with my morning breath. “I'm going to go question a dead feyblood.”

“Sounds fun. I'll drive,” Dawn said, and slid out of bed. She moved gingerly, but seemed otherwise okay. “You might need me to save you again.”

I sat up. “Uh, I think you have that backwards.”

“Really? If I hadn't let you carry me out of the post office, you'd be dead now.”

I stared at her a second. “Dawn, this isn't a joke. You almost died last night.”

Dawn froze, her back to me. After a second, she said in a more subdued tone, “I've done plenty of crazy and reckless things in my life. And people close to me have died. And, I don't know, I guess I got through most of that because I thought I had a pretty good handle on the way the world works, and didn't stress too much about what happened after this whole life thing was over. I mean, it wasn't something anyone could actually know for sure, and certainly not control, right?” She turned and looked at me. “But you've kind of flipped that upside down. These past few months, I've been learning how little I actually know about the world all around me, and that there definitely is some kind of life after death, and people like you can control or even destroy my soul.”

“I wouldn't—”

Dawn raised her hand, and winced, rotating her shoulder. “My point isn't to make you feel bad. It's just, the way I deal with it, the way I always deal with crap, is to keep moving forward and try to make today a good day. Because if I stop and just start thinking about it all or worrying about it too much, I'm going to end up a crazy hoarding cat lady who never leaves her house. And I don't think either of us want that.”

I slid out of bed and gave Dawn a long, tight hug. “Okay then,” I said, leaning back and smiling at her. “You're coming. I'm just going to an ARC facility today anyway, that should be safe enough. And whatever I find, I'm letting the ARC handle it.”

“Perfect,” Dawn said, walking into her bathroom. “Now, you can go home to clean up, or—” She turned and gave me a come-hither look only slightly dulled by ghosts of exhaustion and pain, and waggled her eyebrows. “You can join me in the shower.”

Her mention of a shower was like a splash of cold, salty water, and my stomach clenched. “How about you take a shower, I'll go clean up, and you can pick me up after.”

Dawn sighed. “I love you, and I can't imagine how fucked up it must have been to drown. But it's a little weird you can deal with sasquatches, and ghosts, and a creepy spider lady, yet a simple shower freaks you out.”

“It doesn't freak me out, I just … need some time to get comfortable with it again is all.”

“Okay, well, go do your thing, and I'll be ready. And if you dare sneak off without me, I'll tell Alynon your childhood nickname.”

I didn't bother questioning her willingness to do so. I got dressed and headed quickly for home.

The morning sun crested the madrona trees surrounding our yards, lighting my path across our yard to the back door in a carpet of glistening morning dew. I stepped through the door into our mud room, and the protective wards around our house tingled over my skin, a feeling like placing your tongue on a nine-volt battery powered by hugs.

I went down the hall and through the kitchen's back entrance. Pete, Vee, and Sammy stood around the kitchen island, each chopping or cutting different vegetables. Sammy arched an eyebrow at me. “Well, look who's doing the Sunday morning walk of shame.”

“Shame is about right,” I replied.

All three stopped their chopping. Vee asked, “Is everything okay between you two?”

“Yes, we're fine,” I said. “I think. But I nearly got her killed.”

“I warned you,” Sammy said, scowling now as she resumed chopping, perhaps a little more emphatically than before. She was still not thrilled by the fact that Dawn and I were dating. Her day job involved counseling mundy women (and sometimes men) who'd been seduced or courted and then dumped by an arcana or feyblood, helping them deal with the aftermath. She continued without looking up, “I assume the danger you called about last night is somehow tied to the alchemist you asked me to look into?”

“I think so. Did you learn anything?”

Sammy shrugged. “Not much. Except he's a black marketer.”

Bat's breath. That wasn't good.

If he was a black market alchemist, that meant he was getting feyblood ingredients via unofficial channels—possibly including poachers and grave robbers. And that meant the feybloods had even greater motive to attack him, and for the ARC to want to cover it up. The ARC didn't want to give the Fey any justification to claim grievance, and more importantly, didn't like anything related to magic being outside their control—or to be cut out of any profits.

Was this black market alchemist working for someone? Perhaps even the Arcanites? If so, he might not fear killing a feyblood if he knew his friends in power could make the problem go away. And a black market alchemist might also know something about the mana drug, perhaps even a cure. Silene had surely known that.

“And she didn't tell me,” I muttered.

*Silene? Of course not,* Alynon said. *They may let you do them a favor, but you are not one of them, nor do they trust you.*

“Well, I don't see how they expect me to help if they're withholding such important info.”

“You're doing that talking to yourself thing again,” Sammy said. “It's creepy, even if you do have an actual voice in your head.”

“I don't think it's creepy,” Vee said as she hunched in on herself and added in a softer voice, “and neither does Sarah.”

Gods, Vee would not do well living among the wilder Shadows feybloods.

And if Silene and the Silver really were getting mixed up in some kind of magical gang war, the Silver Court might not be a good option, either.

Not that they were going to have to choose.

“How are you guys doing?” I asked, looking between her and Petey. “Have you come to any decisions?” One day down already, only two left to decide.