Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb (13 page)

Grim sang louder, lingering over the
town-os
,
down-os
, and
bones-os
at the end of each verse.

He finished the song and started another round.

The Provider gave up and went away.

 

O
ld Man River was singing and wouldn't hush up. He burbled on about the fish tickling his belly and the sun warming his muscular brown back as he stretched toward the sea.

Old Man River liked to hear himself talk. Sassy didn't mind. Being a river is a mighty fine thing, and the river had a lot to say.

The trees were singing, too, green songs about root and twig and tender new leaves, damp earth and nourishing rain. Summer was coming and the trees were happy. They flirted with the wind, unfurled searching fingers deep into the soil; hummed to the creatures in their branches.

Perfect egg, perfect egg
, a bird in the window chortled, pleased with the treasure in its nest.

Sassy stretched and opened her eyes. The tray ceiling above the bed was café au lait. The color contrasted nicely with the creamy molding and tan walls, but this wasn't her room. Her befuddled gaze wandered from the bank of arched windows to the muddy robe draped across an upholstered chair.

She groaned, remembering. She was at her brother's house, in his bed. Clad in one of his tee shirts and some random chick's underwear.

Yesterday had not been some crazy whacked-out dream.

The bird in the window tapped on the glass.
Perfect egg, perfect egg
, the bird trilled.

Sassy leaped out of the bed. Holy mother-of-pearl, she spoke bird.

And tree.

And river.

She ran to the window and threw back the curtains. The light outside was thick with the amber blush of dawn. Mist rose in wisps from the dewy grass and hung in garlands from the trees in the surrounding woods. A sculptured island of lawn carved out of a ten-acre plot of woods sloped gently down to the water. The Devil River was lazy here, deep and wide. Sunlight danced on the water near the shore. On the opposite bank, a dark mustache of trees fringed the lip of the river and cast shadow castles on the silvery surface. The rising sun set fire to the hilltops beyond, turning lush green vegetation into mounds of golden treasure.

A rap on the glass drew Sassy's attention. A little bird with bright black eyes, crested head, and a round beak perched on the sill. A tufted titmouse; Mrs. Olsen from the senior center was an avid birdwatcher, and had shared her knowledge with Sassy.

Peter, peter, peter.
The bird whistled and fluttered to a nearby bush.
Perfect egg. Sassy see perfect egg?

Unable to refuse the invitation, Sassy opened the French doors and stepped onto the damp grass. The bottoms of her feet burned. Sensations flooded her body: sights, smells, sounds, and tastes. The overload of information whited out her vision and buzzed her brain with static.

Sassy clapped her hands over her ears. “Goodness gracious grandma, what in the world is that noise?”

A bullfrog voice penetrated the cacophony. “Don't let it fash you. It's their way of saying good morning.”

Sassy dropped her hands, wincing at the din assaulting her ears. She glanced around for the speaker, but no one was there.

Oh, dandelions. She'd finally lost it, snapped and gone mental

There was a tug on the bottom of Trey's tee shirt.

“Hey, fairy puss. Down here.”

A funny little man peered up at Sassy from the grass. Two feet tall with ruddy cheeks and a long, sharp nose, the fellow wore a grease-stained yellow tunic belted at the waist, patched hose, and moth-eaten slippers. Black eyes winked from a sly face, and his large pate was adorned by an orange skullcap.

Sassy squeaked and jumped out of reach. “What are you?”

“Calm down, sister. I'm not going to hurt you. Name's Irilmoskamoseril. I'm a nibilanth.”

“A what?”

“Nib-i-lanth. Nibkin? Nibling? Nibber? You're jerking my twig, right? Sildhjort sent me.”

“Who?”

“The stag in the forest. Why do I always get the dim ones?”

“I'm not dim. I've never met a . . . a . . . whatever you are.” Sassy glared down at the little man. “There's no need to cop an attitude.”

“Oho, there's pepper in the sugar pot. I like it. I'm your—”

The unremitting racket muddled his words.

“My what?” Sassy raised her voice to be heard over the uproar. “I can't hear you.”

“Oh, for the love of—” He put his knobby hands to his mouth, his lips forming a trumpet. “QUIET.”

To Sassy's relief, the commotion ceased.

“That's more like it.” The creature adjusted his tunic. “I'm your nestor. I'm here to help you through the change.”

“Change?”

“Don't backslide into stupid on me. The fairy change, what else? You got a big dose of fairymones yesterday.”

Sassy's stomach did a half turn. “Oh, no, you don't mean this is
permanent
. I can't live with Mother Nature blasting a soundtrack in my head. I'll go bonkers.”

“Don't run around barefoot. Shoes will help. And work on your filter. It may take you a few hundred years, but you'll get the hang of it.”

“A few hundred—” Sassy's knees buckled. “You must be joking.”

The little man hooked his ET fingers in his belt and regarded her. “Slug nuts, how much did Sildhjort tell you?”

“He didn't tell me anything. He's a big shiny deer.”

“Typical,” he said. “Glow and blow, that's Sildhjort. Loves a dramatic exit. He sent you to intervene on behalf of the fairies. Strictly speaking, he should have kept his snout out of it. Not his concern.”

“The witch was doing
horrible
things to them. She was killing animals, too.” Sassy's mouth trembled. “There were squirrels and raccoons and little dead bunnies piled up against the witch's shield. I saw them.” She shook off the memory. “I'm glad I could help, but Sildhjort should have asked me first.”

“He's a god. They don't ask. Think they know everything.” He tossed her a small velvet pouch on a leather cord. “He sent you this.”

Sassy loosened the strings and upended the bag into her hand. Bits of black gravel mixed with purple rocks poured out.

The little man scuffed the ground with the toe of his slipper. “I threw in the amethysts. Figured you could use a little tranquility. Keep it next to your skin.”

“I don't understand.”

“Hel-lo, you're fae now and tuned into nature. There are earth fairies and water fairies and sylphs and salamanders, to name a few. The witch was probably going for the sparkly types, but who knows what she caught in that trap of hers.” He flashed a set of sharp teeth. “And you drank the fairy juice. Talk about your power shakes.”

“I did not—Oh, never mind.” Sassy dumped the little rocks back in the bag. “And this necklace will help?”

He shrugged. “Supposed to. The black ones are crater rock. The crater's the source of Hannah's magic. Enhances whatever abilities a super has. That's one reason Sildhjort likes it here. Even the gods need a little pick-me-up now and then. And he likes playing with the locals.”

“I don't want to enhance this . . . whatever it is,” Sassy said. “I want it to go away.”

“And I want to be a clurichaun and drink wine all day and ride around on a sheep. Instead, I get this gig. Deal, baby girl.”

“But—”

“Gotta go. Wear the necklace. It won't break. It's waterproof—invisible, too, if you want. Know how you dames like to be matchy-matchy.”

“That's very thoughtful of you, but—”

“Call me, but don't go crazy with it. I've got more than one nestling.”

“Call you how?”

He rolled his eyes. “What is this, your first fairy tale? Call me by name, of course. Irilmoskamoseril. Remember it.”

He vanished without warning.

“Goodness.” Sassy blinked. “I've got a fairy god grump.”

She slipped the necklace on and tucked it next to her skin. The cacophony dulled to a low roar like . . . well, like
magic.

The little bird landed on a dogwood branch.
Perfect egg. Sassy see perfect egg?

“Of course I want to see your nest.”

Sassy followed the bird as it took flight.

 

Grim woke up. He was wedged between two branches at the top of a linden tree. His mouth tasted like troll muck. Not that he'd eaten troll muck, but he'd stepped in it and smelled it enough times to know it was supremely foul. Somehow, his mouth had been coated in the sludge.

He sat up. Vertigo and pain assailed him. He grabbed a limb for balance, and groaned. Sweet Kehv, an angry imp with a red-hot mallet was trying to hammer its way out of his head.

“Where am I?” His throat and tongue were dry. The words came out a croak. He coughed and tried again. “Provider?”

“Why am I in a tree?”

“A Dalvahni warrior does not frolic.”

“I shall seek the man out and rectify the matter. Why do I feel so peculiar?”

“Bits and pieces.” Grim pushed his hair out of his face, and winced. Gods, even his hair hurt. “Refresh my memory.”

“Make it brief. My head hurts like the very devil.”

“That I remember.” Grim grew cold. The Monster Evan could have killed Sassy. “I do not recall anything after I left to fetch the carriage.”

That is because you dematerialized
,
in spite of my warning.
The Provider sounded chillier than usual.
Suffice it to say I was correct. Frivolity ensued.

Grim was puzzled by the Provider's odd behavior, but his pounding head made it hard to think. “Sassy is still asleep?”

Grim cursed. “You should have awakened me as soon as she left the house.”

“What is this? I am in no mood to decipher your riddles.”

“I am leaving,” Grim said.

He started to dematerialize but the Provider's voice stopped him.

Worse? The thought made Grim shudder. He felt like he'd been dragged by a team of eight-legged horses through a field of rocks. He decided to heed the Provider's advice and climbed down the old-fashioned way. Jumping the last few feet, he landed ankle deep in leaves. The impact, though slight, shot a blaze of agony up his spine.

Dear gods, he was going to be sick.

He braced his hands on his thighs and waited for the nausea to subside. Where was he? More importantly, how far was he from the house? He was an excellent tracker, but his usual instincts were dulled by misery. Gods, what a muddle he'd made of things. Truly, chocolate was the work of Pratt, the god of mischief.

“Provider, give me my location.” Grim straightened with an effort and waited. His query was met with silence. “Provider?”

Puzzled by his longtime guide's odd behavior, Grim stumbled through the woods. He followed the scent of water and damp bracken to a nearby brook. A brief swim would set him to rights. Then he would be on his way.

A little farther into the woods, the stream emptied into a quiet pool ringed by mossy stones and overhanging trees. Grim stripped out of his dirty clothes. Sending a mental warning to the pool's denizens, he dove in. The water was cold and cleared his head, though the cursed queasiness persisted.

He swam back to the surface and found himself eyeball to eyeball with a blotchy brown snake with keeled scales.

Mine.
The snaked whipped back and forth to indicate its displeasure at Grim's intrusion.
Bite.

“Peace, serpent. I have no designs on your home. Tell me where I am and I will be on my way.”

Water
, the snake hissed, and swam away with a disdainful swish of its tail.

That was the trouble with snakes: excellent hunters but invariably sarcastic and unhelpful.

Grim climbed out of the pool and donned a fresh suit of clothes. Using his Dalvahni magic, he copied the denim breeches he'd worn the previous day. He added a black fitted tunic humans called a tee shirt. His boots he kept. A good pair of boots was not to be lightly discarded. Sore feet made a poor warrior, or so the Directive taught. Pointing a finger at the heap of clothes, he incinerated his dirty apparel. Unfortunately, he overcompensated and set the woods on fire.