Queen of the Dark Things (9 page)

The blonde traced the rim of her bottle with a single finger and watched as Colby took a seat a few tables away. He tried not to look at her, clumsily trying to show that he wasn't creeping up on her.

“That's not really a Mexican beer, you know,” she said.

Colby looked up, a little confused. He'd been thinking of a dozen different ways she might shoot him down and had no idea how to react to her speaking directly to him. He swallowed hard. “Um, huh?”

“The beer. It's not Mexican.”

Colby looked down at the beer in his hand. “Oh. I didn't know that.”

“Yeah, they make them in San Antonio from a Mexican recipe and just put imported on the bottle. It's the same guys who make all the cheap stuff.”

“What's that?” he asked, pointing at her own beer.

“Local.”

“You like it?”

“It's pretty much the same shit you're drinking, only more expensive.” She stood up and took a few graceful steps over to his table and pointed at the empty chair beside him. Not across. Beside. “May I?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah!”

She plopped down in the chair far less gracefully than she'd walked and took a swig of beer. “It costs more, but the money stays here in town, puts guys I know to work, so it's worth it.”

“Oh, local economy and all that.”

“I'm Austin,” she said, raising her beer.

“Colby,” he said, raising his.

“You know, I gotta say, I imagined you much more well spoken than this.”

“I'm . . . I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. Do I have you flustered or are you just normally like this around people?”

“I . . . well . . . yeah. It's you.”

She smiled, reaching into the hip pocket of her jeans. “I can dig that. Just as long as the conversation gets better as the night goes on.” Austin pulled out a small bag of weed and a pack of papers and, without a thought, began rolling a joint.

“What are you doing?”

With a quick lick and a twist of her wrists, she wrapped the paper up tight into a perfectly formed spliff. “Rolling one up. You wanna share or would you like your own?”

“Uh, no. Um, thanks though.”

Austin laughed. “I never pegged you for a prude.” She lit the joint and took a quick puff.

“I'm not a prude. It's just, we're out in public.”

She held her breath for a second, then exhaled loudly. “There's not a cop within three blocks of this place and not one who will walk by for another . . . fifty minutes, give or take.”

“That's a little specific.”

“They have schedules. Routines. Habits. Lots of things that keep them in other places and then bring them here. But nothing that will bring anyone here anytime soon.”

“Well, what about the bartenders?”

“The
bartenders
?” she asked. “Have you ever known any bartenders? Our biggest concern then is bogarting this. You worry too much.”

“And you seem pretty relaxed.”

“Trust me. It's still, like, forty-nine and a half minutes before anyone comes by. Maybe forty-nine even.”

Colby pursed his lips. “Who are you?”

“You still don't recognize me, do you?”

“Not even a little. Do we know each other?”

She shook her head. “No. We know
of
each other. I've read your books. I've seen you around. But
know . . .
?”

Colby's jaw dropped open. “Wait, you're—”

“Austin.”

“
The
Austin.”

She smiled. “No. Just Austin. There's no
the.
”

Colby gawked at her for a moment, stunned speechless.

She took another drag off the joint, held her breath deeply for a moment, letting Colby wrap his head around what was going on, then exhaled. “You sure you don't want a hit of this? It's amazing stuff.”

“No, really.”

“Aw, Colby. I thought you were cool.”

“No you didn't. No one thinks I'm cool.”

“Okay. I didn't. But I did hope you would get cool-
er
.”

Colby sipped his beer, the wheels turning in his head. “Wait a second. Why haven't we met until just now?”

“Because we never had to before today.” Her eyes turned cold and serious. She wasn't playing around anymore. “You crossed the line tonight, Colby. It wasn't your place to do what you did.”

“Is this about . . . is this about Beatriz?”

“Of course it's about Beatriz. What else have you been up to tonight?”

“That's between her and me.”

Austin shook her head. “There isn't a
her
anymore. Now it's just you and me. You may want to be the sheriff of this town, but you ain't the sheriff of this town. There's only one sheriff. And she might have to ask you to leave if you can't get your shit together.”

“I can't believe what I'm hearing. You knew about her?”

“Yeah.”

“What she was up to?”

Austin nodded, the joint six inches from her face. “Yeah.”

“And you were just going to let those kids die? You would have let that thing drown them?”

“Of course not,” she said, slightly offended. “Vincent and Taylor are wonderful boys, both with bright futures. More important, their mother is a sweet, wonderful woman who would do anything for them. I wasn't going to let Beatriz harm a hair on their heads. I couldn't do that to Carol.”

Colby took a sip of his beer and glared at Austin. “And just how did you plan on stopping her?”

“They're still here, aren't they?”

“Yeah, but not because of you.”

Austin grinned. “Really? How did Carol find you again?”

Colby leaned forward pensively, his eyes narrowed. “She said a psychic told her, but wouldn't say who.”

“Mother Ojeda. Nice woman. Has the gift. But not quite like you. She hears things sometimes. Sometimes it's mild schizophrenia mutating shit she heard on TV. Sometimes it's me, telling people what they need to hear.”

“So what you're saying is that you brought Carol to a psychic and the psychic told her where to find me because you knew I would show up and kill Beatriz.”

Austin did the mental arithmetic, tracing her work on the air with a single outstretched finger. Then she nodded. “Yes. That's exactly how it happened.”

“And you're pissed at
me
?”

“I know it doesn't make sense, Colby. But I don't have to make sense.”

“Why? Because you're a woman or something?”

“No, idiot,” she said. “Because I'm a god.” She paused for a moment, eyeing him up and down. “Or what
you call
genius loci.” Then she smiled. “Like I said, I've read your books.”

“But why did you just chew me out for stopping her after you set it up so I would?”

“Because we needed to meet. We needed to have this conversation.”

“I can't believe this shit.”

Austin killed the last few swigs of her beer and slammed it down on the table. Then she took another toke of her dwindling joint. A waiter appeared with a beer for both of them, setting them down on the table.

“Hey,” he said to Austin. “You mind if I hit that?”

“Be my guest,” she said. “Don't bring none unless you want to share.”

“My kind of lady.” The waiter took a few quick tokes, holding them in, then gave a wave on his way back to the bar, exhaling just before walking inside.

She smiled. “That's Brad. He was having a rough night earlier. Nice guy. There's a girl a few streets over named Felicia. Her ex called her fat in the middle of their breakup. She's not taking it well. I'm going to let her stagger over this way and she and Brad are going to have a very nice few hours together.”

“A drunk hookup?”

“He's gonna consider the night a good one, she'll wake up remembering some cute bartender couldn't keep his hands off her, and even though they'll most likely never see each other again, it will put them on the path they need to be on. But you wanna know the kicker, Colby?”

“What?”

“I'm not making either of them do anything. I just know them. Intimately. I know the mistakes they'll make when they're presented with the options. And by manipulating a few traffic lights, breaking a high-heeled shoe or two, and distracting someone long enough to run a stop sign, I can put two people in each other's arms in order to change their lives for the better. But it's not always about hookups or good times. Sometimes it's about murderous spirits. Sometimes it's about wizards who think it's their job to patrol the streets to keep the night safe for children.

“What you did the night the fairies came for Ewan was your business. They made their bed. You did what was just and right for you to do in that situation. I've got no beef with that. And until now you've been all talk. I've certainly got no beef with
that
. But tonight you crossed the line from tough talking to instigating. I played my part, which is why we're talking over beers and a joint—and really, you should try this, it's really good shit—instead of having it out in the mud behind Carol's house.”

Colby finished his beer and then grabbed the other. “So why exactly did we need to talk?”

“So I could tell you never to do that again. I don't care how you go about defending yourself. But the vigilante act ends tonight.”

“I'm sure you're telling everyone that Austin is back on the market and the buffet is open, then?”

“Are you kidding me? I'm not saying shit. I love that those prissy Limestone Kingdom pricks are staying where they belong out in the woods. I just can't have you gunning them down in the streets if and when they do come to town.” Austin took one last hit from the roach, finally cashing in her joint. Then she looked at Colby with soft, gentle eyes. “Like I said. I don't have to make sense.”

Colby shook his head, a hand to his temple.

Austin stood up and slammed down the remainder of her beer. “Besides, it's rare that I get to share a beer with a man I don't have to pretend around. Know what I mean?” She winked, then shook her head. “
Because I'm a woman?
Jesus, dude. You are not single by accident, that's for damn sure.” Then she vanished from where she stood, leaving Colby confused and alone on the patio, fumbling for the words to apologize.

“Damnit,” he muttered, thinking about how hard his heart was pounding. “That's inconvenient.”

C
HAPTER
11

O
N
G
ENIUS
L
OCI

A
N
EXCERPT
BY
D
R
. T
HADDEUS
R
AY
, P
H
.D.,
FROM
HIS
BOOK
T
HE
E
VERYTHING
Y
OU
C
ANNOT
S
EE

A
s discussed earlier, dreamstuff accumulates, giving birth to creatures born of whim or, in extreme cases, transmuting a creature's dreamstuff from one form into another, as in the case of a dying human turning into a spirit, a shadow, or a fairy. But not all things created as such are conjured directly out of the imagination of those nearby. In many cases, as with the genius loci, dreamstuff coalesces into a form representative of the area around it. These creatures become arbiters or wardens of the area they inhabit, embodying the very essence of the land itself and the people who live upon it.

The name genius loci comes from the Latin, which originally described local gods, specifically household gods, or those that governed over small towns or islands. Greeks and Romans often recognized these genii as godlike beings, telling and retelling the stories of their governance or misadventure as part of their oral history. As was the case with many cultures of the day, the stories would be absorbed into other communities and ascribed to their own genii. Thus rose the tales of the Greek and Roman pantheons, which in all likelihood were based on the accumulated tales of hundreds of different beings and creatures.

A genius loci can take many forms, from the green men or living trees of the forests, to leviathans of the sea, to dust devils of the desert, to creatures that look and act every bit like the human beings they represent and protect. Each locale creates the protector it wants or needs, whether or not they know what they're asking for. But once born of dreamstuff, the genius loci possesses a mind and will of its own and thus can affect its surroundings just as much as its surroundings affect it.

Often, as is the case with fairy communities, the genius loci will interfere directly with the events transpiring around it. This can involve acting in the place of a king or governor, as a knight or protector, or in some cases, simply overseeing a council of the beings it represents. Other genius loci, like those representing large cities or particularly powerful locations—like castles or islands—tend to act indirectly, skulking in shadows or amongst the populace, gently manipulating the area around it with small, imperceivable changes. This can be as subtle as gifting a person with sudden inspiration or causing a car to stall, delaying them or forcing them into an unplanned encounter, or as obvious as an earthquake or large-scale riot.

Most large-scale cities tend to create people, albeit people with an extraordinary amount of control over their surroundings. The personality of this being tends to be entirely representative of the culture around it, looking, sounding, and acting in the purest, most common, easily recognizable fashion. The genius loci of Manhattan, for example, embodies the essence of the true New Yorker, while that of Seattle is much more subdued.