Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (24 page)

“The
huitlacoche
's for me and Petey,” he said while sautéing vegetables in a second pan. “And I'm so glad I have your approval.”

“Look, I'm not the one—”

The door to the dining room swung open, and Mattie fairly bounced into the kitchen. “Hey Uncle Finn! Wow, smells good, Dad. So what are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” Mort said.

“Uh huh. You two should totally go out soon and do something together.”

“Like what?” Mort asked, obviously not thrilled at the suggestion.

“I don't know,” Mattie said. “Brother stuff! What do brothers do?”

“Ruin your fun,” Mort said.

“Bully you,” I replied. “Until Kelly Lebrock turns him into a pile of poo.”

“Plot to seize the throne from you,” Mort said.

“Or seize control of your starship to visit God at the center of the universe,” I added.

Mattie rolled her eyes. “Maybe you two should watch some different movies. Like …
Step Brothers
, or
Darjeeling Limited
. Have you ever done mini golf?”

“No,” Mort and I said at the same time.

“All right then, I'm going to look up the closest mini-golf place while you finish making dinner.”

“It's almost ready,” Mort replied.

“Did you make enough for Uncle Finn?”

Mort sighed as Mattie bounced back out of the room.

“She seems back to her normal self,” I said. I wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing. It made me wonder how much of her “normal” self had always been a mask.

“Yep. What do you want on your quesadilla?”

“The works, no
epazote
, thanks,” I said. “So … you're down here hanging with the living. Does that mean you diffused Brianne's spirit?”

“I noticed you're running around with Heather,” Mort said without turning around. “Does that mean you're going to have Dawn's memories wiped?”

“What? I— How do you know who I've been running around with?”

“I saw you two, in the garden, out my window.”

“Well, there's nothing going on anyway. I just needed her help with something.”

“I'll bet you do.”

“It's not like that. Not that it's any of your business, but—”

“Exactly!” Mort said. “Just like Brianne is none of your business. So why don't you stop getting in my business, and I won't share yours with Dawn.”

I sighed. “Look, I'm just trying to help. Honest, bro. You know how succubi work.”

“She's not a succubi. And I'm not addicted.”

“All I'm asking is that you take a step back and just consider the possibility that you can't see things clearly, not where Brianne is concerned. And that you might be in danger.”

Mort did not respond, did not look at me, but just continued his cooking.

*I understand sibling rivalry. Believe me,* Alynon said. *But can you two not engage in a fistfight or something more interesting? All of this trying to help someone who does not wish your help, 'tis boring.*

Well good thing I'm not here to entertain you then,
I responded.

*Apologies. You are right. I could be more helpful, I suppose.*

That might be a nice change
.

*La. Then here is my advice. You sleep with Brianne. Then Mort will see her for what she truly is.*

I sighed.
Nice try
.

“Maybe,” Mort agreed finally. “Maybe things
have
gotten a little out of control with Brianne. I'll consider it.”

I stared. Wow.

“That's all we're asking,” I said.

“Dinner is ready,” he replied. “You can do the dishes, since I cooked.”

I rolled my eyes. “So great to have you back.”

 

16

Who's That Girl

The local Forest of Shadows steading was an estate lurking about an hour and a half's drive south on Bainbridge Island.

From Dawn's description, Bainbridge had become a forested island struggling to retain its soul. Located a ferry ride away from the heart of downtown Seattle, it attracted commuters and retirees, and others torn between the desire to get away from the bustle of the city versus the need or desire for the city's amenities. Mansions dotted the hillsides, their perfectly landscaped and decorated façades often inhabited by lonely women whose husbands lived and worked in the city in order to afford the house, the landscaping, and the decorations. A small native presence, a well-supported artist community, and the “locals” filled modest homes, apartments, and trailers tucked back in forested vales and side roads, well hidden yet slowly being pushed out by the effects of gentrification and development.

I arrived at the Shadows steading at about a quarter after seven, less than two hours before sunset. Secluded back in the forest surrounding the Gazzam Lake Preserve, the steading held an old barn-like home with outbuildings, and easy access to woods, lake, and the Puget Sound for the brightbloods whose natures required it. I stopped by the side of the forest road, and parked behind Reggie at the foot of the driveway leading up to the steading's buildings.

Reggie dismounted his Harley, a fancy beast with more chrome and detailed flare than a disco ball falling into a supernova.

“Let me do the talking, Gramaraye,” he said as he pulled off his helmet and ran a hand across his bald head. A middle-aged black man dressed FBI-style with the attitude to match, Reggie wore the traditional enforcer moustache with silver beads woven into the ends, and had a pale scar across his scalp from the battle three months ago in which he lost both his rookie partner, Jo, and his ex-partner (and ex-lover), Zeke.

That had not been a great day.

“Please, talk away,” I replied. “Just, uh, maybe don't mention my last name in front of them.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why's that?”

“The Gramaraye name seems to be unpopular among the brightbloods these days. I'm trying to change that, though.”

“Brightbloods, huh?” He set the helmet on his motorcycle, and we strode up the driveway. “Well, let's go make some new friends.”

A Japanese girl, maybe ten years old and wearing a dress printed with butterflies, jumped rope at the top of the drive as we approached.

“She could be Romey,” I whispered.

“Close,” Reggie whispered back. “She is jorōgumo, and she's had a number of complaints. Name's Kaminari though, and she's the one that gave me the runaround last time.”

The girl smiled as we drew closer, and started speaking to the rhythm of her jumps, “One, two, three, four, why'd you come back for?”

“I want to talk to whoever's in charge here,” Reggie replied.

She gave me a quick glance, then looked Reggie up and down, her eyes lingering on his enforcer moustache.

“I'm the girl who's on top. Whatchu want, Tootsie Pop?”

“Great,” Reggie muttered. His right hand pushed back the edge of his leather jacket and came to rest on the baton holstered at his hip. “What I want is to know why one of your fellow jorōgumo's been running around causing trouble, and why I shouldn't just stomp on her spider ass?”

Kaminari smiled, her mouth stretching just a bit too wide. In a voice as sweet and chilling as an Icee brain freeze, she said, “Harm my sister and I'll kill you, mister.”

Sister? Awesome.

Not.

“Well, that's progress,” Reggie said. “Thanks for confirming she comes from your steading. Now maybe you can tell me why your sister has been attacking arcana, or tried to sabotage a feyblood protest at an alchemist's shop?”

“Cin-der-ella, dressed in yella,” she replied. “Take off or I'll kiss you fella.”

“I'd like to see you try,” Reggie said.

The girl blinked, and her eyes went all black.

Crap.

I clapped my hands to the rhythm of her jumps, and said, “I went downtown, to see Miss Brown. She gave me a nickel, to buy a pickle.” Kaminari looked at me and blinked as though surprised, and her eyes returned to human. “Uh … your sister's no bug, but she's in danger, she might be drugged, and—” I looked at Reggie. One of his wizard tattoos peeked out from beneath his shirt. “He's quick to anger.”

Kaminari laughed, and continued skipping rope. “I like you, arcana, you've got style. But my sister's been gone a while. She broke all ties with our clan, so really I can't help you, man!”

I exchanged looks with Reggie. He gave a slight nod. She was telling the truth.

It was extremely rare for a brightblood to break allegiance with a Demesne once they'd pledged. There were the occasional
Romeo and Juliet
cross-clan affairs, or
Falcon and the Snowman
cases of disillusioned brightbloods acting out. But the costs were usually too high to the brightblood, not just in lost protections and mana, but in lost trust and companionship, and any real break always required the permission of their Fey patrons.

“Why'd she leave?” I asked, forgetting to rhyme.

“Dum Dum dodo, catch her if you can, she'll stick you and lick you and make you her fan.”

We clearly weren't going to get any more out of Little Morphin' Canny here.

Reggie said, “I come with a witness and claim the right of inspection. We're going to take a quick, quiet look around, just to make sure your sister's not hiding here. Give us any trouble, and this place will be swarming with enforcers.”

“Big wizard with a little gun,” Kaminari said. “Just hurry up and be done.”

Reggie pulled what looked like a small eight-sided mirror out of his pocket and held it up, facing Kaminari. “
Detego!
” he said.

Kaminari wavered as if seen through a heat wave, and I saw her true form—a young Japanese woman with spider legs coming out of her back. But she was not the jorōgumo I'd seen at the post office.

“That's not her,” I said.

Reggie nodded, and we proceeded up the drive to the main building. Reggie swung the small mirror around like a flashlight, revealing the true forms of the feybloods we encountered, and unveiling some who'd attempted to mask themselves entirely from sight. We moved quickly so that Romey would, hopefully, not be warned of our coming, though I had little hope we'd actually find her.

The steading's main building was like a giant dorm or barracks house, room after room with basic amenities. The air smelled of animal sweat, blood, and dirty socks. Chore charts, house rules, and curfew times were posted, and it was clearly the job of a few of the more powerful brightbloods to keep the others in line. There was an uneasy tension in the air that felt like it went deeper than our presence. With so many Shadows brightbloods being predatory or violent in nature—ghouls, redcaps, waerwolves, trolls, lindworms, wendigos, unicorns—it was not surprising.

We finished our sweep of the steading building without any luck. Many of the brightbloods were out roaming the woods or working whatever jobs they'd been permitted. The only thing we learned from the ones we met was our jorōgumo's real name: Hiromi. And every feyblood we spoke to said the same thing, that Hiromi had never been around much, and she disappeared entirely several months ago.

I also learned enough to confirm that I never wanted Pete or Vee to pledge to the Shadows.

We walked back to the driveway, where Kaminari still jumped rope.

“Thanks for coming, wizard boy,” Kaminari said. “Being hassled's always a joy.”

Reggie grunted. “Don't worry. I'll be back if I find out this is all somehow a Shadows game.”

“Eat you later, alligator,” she replied, and stuck her tongue out at us.

“Come on,” Reggie said, and we left. Reggie walked backward with his hand still on his baton until we were a safe distance from the jorōgumo, then turned to walk beside me.

When we reached our vehicles, I noticed a piece of paper had been slipped beneath my wiper. I looked around, surprised, and pulled it out.

“What's that?” Reggie asked.

“A note,” I replied, and showed it to him just in case anyone was listening. It asked us to go to the Japanese American Exclusion Memorial.

Reggie frowned. “It could be a trap, or a game. Or could be someone doesn't want little Miss Rhymes back there to find out they spoke to us.”

“Are we going?” I asked.

Reggie smiled. “Of course. Worse that happens is I get to vent a little on someone's head.”

*   *   *

The Japanese American Exclusion Memorial sat nestled in the woods near the island's original ferry dock, the spot where nearly three hundred local Japanese-American men, women, and children were forced from their homes and shipped off to internment camps by the U.S. Army to join thousands of others. Not one of the brightest moments in American history. Or arcana history for that matter—few had fought to protect their Japanese brethren; most were too afraid of exposing our world to the mundies, and just as susceptible to the fears and prejudices of the day.

The entire area had been turned into a memorial park, with raised wooden pathways winding through the forest to the dock site, and a small mock village at its heart. Curved wooden walls above river stone bases displayed art that captured the memories and feelings of those who'd been imprisoned. Fear and regret had left their marks on the spiritual resonance of the land. The place felt no more haunted than most to my necromantic senses, but I knew that sorcerers with strong empathic ability avoided the area.

Reggie and I moved cautiously along the wooden path, the slanted streamers of evening light casting the trees in stark profile.

As we neared the final bend before the memorial village, something hissed at us from the trees.

Reggie's baton extended in a flash.

“Don't attack, arcana,” a voice whispered from the shadows, and two yellow eyes blinked. “I claim Pax truce.”