Finn Fancy Necromancy (24 page)

Dawn looked at Heather in silence a minute, then said, “He left because he didn't want to deal with my father's on-again, off-again cancer, or how it affected me. He certainly didn't want to help with the medical bills.”

Heather winced. “Shit. I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. Having Petey to talk with every night really helped me get through,” she said, and patted him on the arm. “That, and my music of course.” She looked at me. “I'm in a pretty good place now. Content. Even happy most days. Lonely sometimes, but happy. Now if you'll excuse me.” She stood up. “I just realized I have to get ready for a gig tonight.”

“Really,” Heather said. “You don't need to leave—”

“I know I don't. I'm choosing to leave. Petey, didn't you say you'd drive me home?”

“I did?” Petey asked, then caught Dawn's gaze and said, “I mean, yes, I did.” He looked mournfully at the milkshake as he stood.

Dawn nodded at Heather. “Lovely to see you.”

“You too,” Heather said, and put a hand over mine on the table.

“Later, neighbor,” Dawn said to me. “Come on, Petey.”

She walked off, and Pete looked at me. “Uh, do you need me to come back later or something?”

“No, I can walk.”

“Or I can drive him home,” Heather said.

Pete looked between Heather and Dawn, and I could see the unhappiness roiling across his face. Then he followed after Dawn.

“Well,” Heather said. “I take it setting up Pete and Dawn didn't go so well?”

“Uh, no, not exactly. What's up with you two? Did she bully you in high school after I left or something?”

“No. We just have our … differences. A lot of folks in town have their differences with me, in fact. I'm sorry if it ruined your dinner. May I?” she asked, pointing at an untouched glass of ice water. I nodded. “So, amnesia, huh?” She took a sip.

“Give me a break. You know it's not easy hiding things from mundies sometimes, especially the ones close to you.”

“That's true.” Heather sighed. “I guess that's why so few arcanas end up dating mundies. I have something for you, by the way.” She dug in her bag and pulled out my old Walkman. “You did just lend it to me, after all.”

A grin stretched my face as I took the Walkman and popped it open. Inside was the tape I'd made for Heather, under the excuse that her parents only listened to Country-Western and she needed an education in good music.

But of course, that wasn't the real reason for the tape. Creating a mixed tape to reveal your love to a girl (or a boy, I'm sure) is a ritual every bit as complex, delicate, and potentially dangerous as summoning a powerful Elder Spirit. The choice of songs must find that balance between letting her know how you feel and still being able to claim that the tape was just a friendly gesture should she reject that feeling. You can't be too obvious, so no more than one fourth of the songs should have the word “Love” in the title, if any. And it's good to throw in a couple of “plausible deniability” songs that have nothing to do with love, and support your ability to claim “Oh, yeah, I totally just want to be friends too” should the worst happen—yet those songs should still somehow show that you understand her like no other boy ever could.

I remembered every song on the tape, having relived its creation many times. “Broken Wings” was one of my plausible deniability songs. So were “We're Not Gonna Take It” and “When Doves Cry.” The other songs, however, were all about the loves. “Time After Time,”
“Love Cats,” “Hello,” “Running Up That Hill,” “Take On Me,” “I Just Called to Say I Love You,” You Shook Me All Night Long, “Your Love Is King,” and of course “I Melt With You.”

“Thanks,” I said. “This is awesome. So you enjoyed the tape?”

She laughed. “Yeah. Wow, it's weird, talking about it like nothing's happened since you gave it to me.” Her smile faded. “But, you know, a lot has happened. A lot has changed. I've changed.”

“I know.”

“You really don't. But, in a way, I kind of like that.” Heather gazed out at the water as a sailboat floated by. “I like that you look at me as if I'm still that girl who didn't know The Cure from The Clash. That hadn't made the choices I've made, the mistakes. It makes me feel like a good person. And I honestly haven't felt that way in a long time.” She looked at me again. “You know, I really was sorry my father interrupted us that last day. I'd been waiting for you to kiss me for weeks.”

That made me think of Dawn's words, about not playing the same stupid teenage games this time. And thinking of Dawn caused all kinds of confusing feelings to swirl through my head and chest.

No. I wasn't going to mess this up with too much thinking again. I leaned in to kiss Heather.

She pulled back.

“Shit! I'm sorry,” I said. “I know you said we weren't dating, but I thought—sorry.” I was suddenly aware that the family in the corner had gone silent. Way to make us the center of attention, Finn.

“No,” Heather said. “You didn't do anything wrong. I just—maybe this was all a mistake. We really don't know each other, not anymore. And if you did know me now—I mean, this is crazy. But when I saw you this morning, it made me think about everything that's happened, made me remember who I was when you knew me, and—” She looked out the window for a second and wiped at her eyes. “What say we order some food, and you can tell me what the Other Realm was like?”

“Uh, if it's okay, I'd rather not. There's not much to tell anyway, just me reliving memories. I'd rather hear about you. Like how you got out from under the ARC controlling your life?”

My question was more than just curiosity. I hoped that such a life was possible.

“Luck,” Heather said, looking down at the glass of water. “I just picked the right customers, people with influence. They keep the ARC off my back. Can we not talk about me though? I just want to forget me for tonight. How about we talk about the good old days, huh?” She looked toward the kitchen. “And where's the waiter?”

“I don't know. I think she's new or something.” I bent to finally take a sip of my iced tea. Heather sucked in her breath, and knocked the glass away from me. It splashed across the table.

“What the heck?” I said, scooting back and standing to avoid the tea streaming off the edge of the table.

Heather stood up, looking around the restaurant, and whispered, “There was a witch's brew in it!”

Goose bumps sprang up on my arms. “Are you sure? How could you tell?”

Heather tapped her glasses. “Alchemy specs. I think maybe we should leave.”

This was crazy. Who would attack me while mundies were around? I looked over at the family and realized they were sitting, eyes open, but just staring as if in a trance.

“I think maybe hell yes. Let's go.”

I led the way down the stairs, then stopped. The narrow passage to the front door was blocked by the waitress and a hulking blond man with a bad bowl cut—the man who'd been lurking in a car outside the house last night. And seeing his features beside the waitress's, I realized who she reminded me of: Felicity. The red hair had thrown me off.

They were Król witches.

I grabbed Heather's arm, swung her around the banister and headed down into the basement level. Heather threw something down behind us, and blue flames spread across the stairs.

“You're going to burn the whole place down!” I said.

“It's witchfire. It only burns blood magic.”

“Oh. Clever.” If the Król wonder twins up there tried to pass through it, the magic inside them would burn, but nothing else would. I wondered briefly why Heather ran around with a vial of witchfire in her purse, but I had more important matters to worry about at the moment, like escaping crazed Germanic witches.

The Belmont's basement showed evidence of the underbelly of Port Townsend's history, a history of speakeasies, Shanghai tunnels, smuggler's passages, and the feyblood underworld. Brick archways led to dark rooms closed off by glass doors and a partially closed iron gate, and one archway led nowhere, filled in with concrete that bulged out from the wall like a partially exposed boulder. There were a number of small sealed archways as well, no higher than my knee, from the days when gnomes and other feybloods were able to move more freely through the town.

“Here.” I pulled my hex protection amulet out from beneath my shirt. “You take this. It'll protect against curses.”

“I have my own protection, thanks,” Heather said. “Do you have some plan for getting out of here?”

“Maybe.” I crossed to the large sealed archway.

“The tunnels?” Heather said. “I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“It's okay. If we run into any of the underworld feybloods, they should respect the Pax. Especially for a necromancer.”

“Gramaraye!” The large man's silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs, though he stayed well clear of the blue witchfire. He called down with a thick Arnold Schwarzenegger accent, “Come out now. You have nowhere to run.”

“Gee, let me think about it,” I called back, and looked at Heather. “See, they don't even know about the tunnels. Come on.” I moved toward the concrete-filled doorway.

“I'm sorry,” Heather said, and ran to the woman's restroom.

I ran after her. The blue flames were half the size as when they began. Heather closed and locked the door just I reached it. “Heather, come out!” I said in a loud whisper, worried that the Króls would come down and trap us away from the tunnel entrance. “This is crazy.”

“Just go,” Heather said. “They're after you, not me. They're not going to stick around once you're gone, and I can protect myself.”

“I'm not leaving you. Don't make me kick this door in.”

“You do, and I'll kick your nuts in. Damn it, Finn, will you just listen to me and go while you still can? I have plenty of potions. I'll be fine, I promise.”

She was right. I knew she was right. The Króls wouldn't stick around to fight an armed alchemist if I was gone, not when more mundies could show up any time. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't just leave Heather here and hope the Króls didn't do something stupid and crazy anyway.

The blue glow of the witchfire faded fast now. I didn't have much time.

“Okay. Stay quiet,” I said to Heather, then went to the tunnel entrance and placed my hands on the rough concrete. I called up a bit of magic and said,
“Aperire Ostium!”

The magic poured out of me, and the concrete receded as though dragged back from the doorway, revealing a pitch-black tunnel that led to the right. But instead of entering, I turned and skimmed the wall out of sight of the stairs, back to the men's bathroom. I locked myself in the toilet stall, climbing up to squat on the toilet. After a second's consideration, I carefully lifted the heavy ceramic back off the toilet and held it ready to smash on the first head to peek into the stall.

After a minute, I heard the faint sound of the Króls arguing in German, and the grind of the tunnel entrance closing. Then silence. No sound of the women's bathroom door being smashed in, or of Heather fighting the witches. Finally, I left the stall and peeked out of the bathroom door. Nobody in sight.

I went to the women's bathroom to get Heather, but the door was open.

“Heather?” I called. There was no response. She must have left before me, on her own. The door would be broken open if the Króls had taken her.

I rushed up into the restaurant, still wielding my toilet cover. An Asian waitress was at the top of the stairs, her hair a bit disheveled and a confused look on her face. “What—?” she began.

“Sorry,” I said. I set down the ceramic slab, turned, and rushed from the restaurant.

And ran into Grayson, literally.

“Finn! Watch yourself.” He tugged his jacket straight, and brushed his slacks as if I'd gotten dirt on them just by bumping into him.

“Jimmy? What are you doing here?”

“I heard you might be here. I was hoping to talk to you.”

“You couldn't wait until I got home?”

“You seem to be running around quite a bit of late, despite my warnings and advice, and I have more important things to do than sit around waiting on your convenience.”

I glanced behind me, uncomfortable to be just standing there talking.

Grayson raised his eyebrows and looked past me. “Is there some concern?”

“I was just attacked by the Króls again.”

“Really?” Grayson pulled a wand out of the inner pocket of his blue dinner jacket and said, “Let's go see these elusive witches of yours.”

“I don't think they're still here.”

Grayson arched an eyebrow. “I didn't see anyone else leave, Finn. Are you sure?”

“I think they left by the tunnels.”

“Ah, of course. Well, if magic was used then a cleanup crew will be here soon enough. Meanwhile, may I offer you a safe ride home?”

“Yes, please.”

*   *   *

Grayson drove a big burgundy Cadillac sedan. He leaned forward, peering out into the twilight as he steered the land boat over the bumpy roads toward home.

“Finn,” he said. “I've come to recommend, as your friend, that perhaps you should consider confessing to the ARC.”

“Confessing?” I said. “Wow. Thanks for the trust, Jimmy Jam.”

“Respect!” Grayson slapped the steering wheel, his face gone red. I flinched. Man, he really had taken after Grandfather.

Grayson took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I am your friend, Finn, whether you believe me or not. I am also a friend to your family. And I am a magus of the ARC. I must consider the greatest good for all here. You have clearly been hiding some fact, some secret, since you returned. I suspect it has something to do with the remains found in the wreckage of your trailer. I don't think either of us wants to see the enforcers rip the truth from you, eh? That wouldn't be good for you, or for your family if you're involved in anything … unfortunate.”