Chapter Twenty-Eight

Interlude

Everybody in the congregation of the Christian Church of Truth said that the pastor's daughter, Charity, was the best-behaved little girl to come along in a while. They all said as much so when they patted her head and added a "bless her heart." They also knew that her mother was a whore, a godless witch who left a good and godly man, no doubt chasing after some sweet-talking fancy man, three months after giving birth to Charity.

Her daddy and her Aunt Sophia raised her to be a good girl--but because she had the taint of her mamma's blood as her aunt reminded her over and over, her loving aunt needed to keep a constant watch for the evil that was surely deep in her nature. Any sass was met with a belt beating. Aunt Sophia gave out a lot of those.

Swift and severe punishment was the road to redemption.

When her daddy and auntie died in a car wreck, Charity didn't miss them much, but she was lonesome -- real lonesome until the day she found Dolly in one of her adventures in the attic of the group home where they sent her to live.

She finally had a friend. She spent hours talking to Dolly and listening as well, of course because Dolly had many interesting secrets to tell.

When she was nine years old, a boy snatched Dolly from her and he wouldn't give it back. He just kept laughing at her and jumping away every time she grabbed for it.

"Awww, are you going to cry big baby," he taunted, as he swung the doll over his head by the hair.

"Stop it! Give her back! You're gonna hurt her!" she cried out at him, lunging again to get her doll back.

Finally, she managed to get a grip on the dolly's legs. The boy pulled back. Between the two of them, Dolly's neck could not take the stress and snapped. The little girl fell backward into the dirt, holding the headless doll in her hands.

She cried piteously, mourning her only friend.

The boy laughed as he threw the head into the dirt and walked away.

Unfortunately for him, Dolly had schooled little Charity well.

"A curse on your head I place..." She pricked her finger with the silver needle she'd been given to get some blood and sang/chanted the words she'd been taught.

The boy was laughing and doing the mocking dance for his friends atop the low stone wall when he lost his balance and fell on a big rock. He gashed his head open and there was lots of blood and the ambulance had to come.

Charity felt a flicker of remorse. The fall looked like it hurt something terrible, but as Dolly whispered, he deserved it.

For the first time, deep down, a dark part of little Charity exulted in the power. Another part of her, the part that the folks who worshiped in her little country church would have named her soul, called out dire warnings, but the other part flush with the satisfaction that comes with justified anger tamped it down.

It wouldn't be the last time in her life she got a little payback on those who should know better than to be mean to her.

The funeral was a nice one, everyone said so. Little Charity sat in the back with a secret smile on her angelic face. Beside her, although no one could see him was a faerie and his help was acid that ate at the soul.

For the first time, Little Charity realized she had talent. She never forgot the rich sweet syrupy taste of it in action. As a result, when the Aunties from Emory came with their promises to "rescue her" she went eagerly. She was sad that her dolly had to go away, but happy when dolly left careful instructions to keep dolly a secret and all the ways she could call her back when she needed her by using some blood and simple spells.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Charity Babbitt stood outside the meeting hall at Sisco Heights more than a little alarmed. Her mind was slipping. She stood in the parking lot and for the life of her, she couldn't remember her name. The last few weeks have been like that. Whole stretches of time seemed to fade from her grasp. Blackouts. Increasingly she was having trouble maintaining her shields that disguised the taint of the blood magic. What was more worrisome was that she sometimes forgot why she needed them. She had such glorious power she wanted to show them all.

She did remember that she had to call the Druid and inform him of the meeting as well as her failures. She had initiated the call in a high state of anxiety and not a little resentment.

It wasn't her fault.

She was starting to hate that damned Lachlan Quinn. Three times she had tried to kill him, and three times she had failed. She could see why her sisters feared the Keeper's Boy. He was just too powerful.

"I expected this," the druid said. "Your incompetence is rapidly diminishing your value to me."

Surprisingly and suspiciously, he didn't seem all that upset.

"You have two main tasks now. Two simple tasks: The first--since you failed to end the boy, I have had to retain the Brotherhood. They will select a being to come and take care of things. Follow the boy, set up an ambush site somewhere out-of-town then perform the summoning to bring the assassin across the Thinning. I assume you have the strength for that?"

Charity nodded, but she wasn't at all sure that she could. It took a huge amount of power just to summon the faerie.

"The second is the shifter girl. Use that faerie you have hanging around you to lure the girl to you--use some imagination for once instead of brute force. Meet me at the Keeper's cabin when you get her. She is the only one, besides the boy, who can get me into the house. I have to have that book."

"I'm going to need something to call in the assassin," she said.

He tossed her a coin. "Use this and hand it to whatever they send when it finishes its task. Don't forget."

She wasn't worried about getting the shifter girl, she was terrified about failing to bring the assassin across. Where was she going to find the power to do that? She remembered how he punished mistakes and decided she would call up the faerie for help.

She needed to get back to her house to summon it just as soon as she could remember who brought her here, she didn't see her car in the parking lot.

Chapter Thirty

The next morning, Quinn arrived at Anna's to find the place in chaos. Her carefully tended garden looked like a tornado had passed through. Row after row of carefully tended lavender was uprooted and scattered, as were the vegetables and tomato plants. He found her kneeling beside a stand of lilies that were smashed flat.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and pointed. A Thumbelina-sized sprite lay broken among the lilies.

"They killed her. She tried her best to protect her lilies, poor thing."

Saria is not going to take this well. The sprites were her kin.

"Who did this?"

Anna ignored the question. "They had no call to do this," she said dully.

He asked again. His voice was harsh and cold as ice. "Who did this Anna?"

"Two mother-damned boggles. You can see their tracks all over the place. Something must have stirred them up. They are like weasels. When the frenzy strikes--they destroy for the joy of it."

Anna cocked her head, then strode to the ancient lightning-struck cedar. Her arm shot out as quick as a snake and came up with a small hob dangling from her right hand.

"Look what I found stalking here. This hob is a spy for sure." she sang in fluting low-alfar, "it can't keep its nose out of other people's business. It will get its nose cut off someday. Might be today. Might be it is the being that did all this damage."

"Not spy," it piped and squealed as she gave it a shake. "Did not do this bad thing. Curious about the new Keeper is all."

"Good morning Singer and Song bless you, Master Hob," Quinn sang politely. "Do you ken what I am?"

The elf peered at him with near-sighted eyes, then his greenish-brown face filled with terror. He nodded jerkily in Anna's grip.

"Yes, Master, you are the Vísdómur's Shadow Walker. Please, Master, don't kill me."

"Talk truth then, O Hob, and tell me. Have you seen the interlopers who violated this place?"

"Singer and Song bless you, master," the brownie took a deep breath and shook himself loose from Anna's grip, glared at her, and brushed the twigs and leaves from his green fur. He bowed deeply to Quinn.

"There were a faerie. Very tall. A male. It whispered and whispered. The two boggles, they howled and howled in a fury. They are the beings who tore up Mistress Anna's grove. The tall faerie had a mangled hand."

"My thanks," Quinn sang. "If you ever find yourself in need, you may call on me."

The brownie scampered off into the forest, but not before stopping at the edge of the undergrowth and finger signaled an alfar curse at Anna.

"He will look to take advantage," she grumbled. "The hob folk are nothing but disgusting tricksters. It is never a good idea to encourage his kind."

"I know him and he recognized me. He wouldn't risk a lie. Wait here, Anna. I'm going to have a chat with those Boggles."

***

Quinn slid into the underbrush without a sound.

The Boggle's camp was not a pretty place. Set in a meadow surrounded by ancient cedar trees, it was strewn with scraps of bone and fur from the prey they trapped. The Boggles were goblins, the largest and most vicious of the species. They were omnivore hunter-gatherers. Intelligent enough, Quinn knew but given to violent mood swings because of the mushrooms adults and young consumed as an intoxicant. The clan had an easy life, the Opari teamed with ready prey and thousands of edible plants.

Quinn stepped into their meeting circle, sat down, and waited for the tribe to return from their daily hunt.

A triumphant hooting heralded the clan's return, which ceased abruptly as they spied Quinn sitting calmly in the comfortable space reserved for their chief.

The chief, its skin gray and hair white with age stepped forward.

"We eat you soon, human." He grated in low Alfar. "First though we play pain game with you."

"Sligurd, do you recognize me," Quinn sang softly.

"I do not know you, human. How you know Sligurd of the Ninth Clan. You dare to trespass?"

Quinn sighed and loosed the dragon whip. The whip flared out and snapped around the chief's neck.

"Sit down, Sligurd. Tell your clan to step back.' Quinn sang louder now. "Goblin, I asked you once. I ask you twice. Do not make me ask you thrice. Do you know what I am?"

"Aye, Master, I know who you be," The goblin, thoroughly cowed, sank to his knees. The clan followed with a moan.

"Your clan broke the Keeper's Law. The witch Anna's hut was ransacked. What say you Sligurd?"

"No. It was not the clan," the goblin seemed honestly offended. "We do not venture close to the border. We do not bother witch -- is forbidden."

"What of your outliers?"

Boggle bands always traveled with scouts to the front, back and sides. The Opari teemed with predators. Scouting was dangerous work and thus fell to the young males. A chief had a perfect tool to weed out any overly aggressive youth who might threaten him.

"They see nothing," the goblin's eyes narrowed with calculation as he eyed Quinn. His bluster slowly returned now that Quinn hadn't harmed anyone. Predictable. Quinn sighed, he watched and waited.

"The thing is, goblin, one of Opari's sprites was slain," Quinn called the whip back, then abruptly snap-flashed the shrieking whip into the middle of the watching boggles to remove the pointer finger of a big goblin male who had been fingering his knife.

His howl of agony echoed in the glen.

"Goblin, I am losing patience. If another being threatens, I will slaughter the lot of you," Quinn sang harshly. The Boggles had two responses to outsiders--absolute aggression or cloying obsequiousness. He had to keep the upper hand. He really didn't want to hurt these creatures. He could feel the Other's disapproval. As far as it was concerned, a warning was poor tactics. He mentally took a firm grasp on his temper.

"Bring your outliers forth. Now!"

"Ozz and Oild, come."

The others hurriedly pushed two small boggles to the front of the pack. They stood heads hanging down, feet shifting nervously.

"It was faerie. Bad hand faerie. Liar. Promised treasures so we can make our own clan.

"What was the faerie's name? The one with the mangled hand. The one who promised you some treasure?" He knew very well that these two young beings standing like delinquent teenagers were not at fault. He was not there to punish or enforce Keeper Law. He wanted the faerie.

"Deldrach, master. He promised I and Oild a bag of red rubies. Then he gave a spelling to make us strong. I don't remember after that.

The other youngling sang with a resentful tone, "it lied the faerie did, it went away and left us there. We did not mean any harm."

"The sprite attacked us. She stabbed Oild with a spear."

Oild emphatically pointed to his arm.

Quinn nodded his notice of the tiny wound.

"Where did the faerie say he was off too?

"He said he would fetch our rubies from Oldtown."

Quinn turned to the Chief. "Goblin, your tribe hunts too close to the border. Do not do so again."

The chief nodded quickly after shooting a glare at the two youngsters.

"You will meet with the sprites and provide wergild for the death of the little one. These two are to be punished but not harmed. None of you could stand against a faerie's trickery."

***

When he got back to Anna's, Saria was there helping clean up the mess. Quinn pitched in and they were soon finished with most of the damage when a little voice sounded from the porch behind them.

"Where's my mama?

The little wolf girl with her hair all a-tangle stood on Anna's porch swathed in a blanket. Her eyes were filled with tears as she looked around.

"I want my mama. Where is she?"

"Well, you're finally awake, sleepy head," Anna said. "Let's get you dressed and get some breakfast. How do scrambled eggs sound? "

Anna led her inside to feed her and get her dressed and then came back holding the little girl's hand. The little girl's solemn eyes watched as Quinn walked over to her. She was alert and clear-eyed, almost a different girl.

"Hello, little one. Will you tell me what your name is?"

"Katrinka, do you know where my mama is?"

"No, I don't, little wolf, but I promise I will keep you safe till we find her."

Quinn's next thought was:

This is why you should have stayed the fuck away from witches.

Chapter Thirty-One

Quinn found himself riding in silence with Anna and the little girl back to town. The little girl sat close beside him. He tried to ignore her, but her steady stare was unsettling.

Very unsettling.

To add to his confusion, his mind was running around in circles trying to figure out what to do with her. Somehow it had become his job to make sure she was okay. He had enough experience with the System to know she was never going to go there if he had to run for the rest of his life to keep her out.

But he wished she would quit with the staring.

He gave her a side-eye and was surprised when her little head snapped to the side to peer out the passenger side window.

A faint scream had sounded.

"Bad things," She murmured, "Wrongness."

Anna was looking at her with an expression of absolute shock.

Quinn stopped the truck and backed up to the driveway of the farmyard they had just passed. He wrenched the wheel and pulled in.

Anna switched her shocked gaze from the little girl to him.

"What are you doing? This is old Edna's place."

"Something's wrong. Didn't you hear the scream? Can't hurt to check it out." Quinn had far too much experience with fey feelings to ignore them.

An old run-down farmhouse squatted at the end of the driveway. The place looked like it hadn't cared for a long time. A rusty old pickup stood in the driveway. A ramshackle barn and corral lay in the background. The corral held a starved-looking mustang horse, its head hung low, a picture of silent misery.

Underlying all the disorder was the scent of apricots and blood.

Quinn turned his attention to the barn.

Chanting.

The apricot smell grew stronger.

His glyphs flared hot. He could feel his hair standing on end. Massive waves of magic blossomed out of the barn.

A triumphant shriek sounded, and half of the barn disappeared behind a widening warp in the fabric of reality. Through it, Quinn could see a night sky lit by two enormous moons. A cold wind blew out of it bringing the dank smell of bog and swamp.

Alfheim, the land of the Sidhe. Quinn remembered the place very well--he'd spent a lot of time in the world of the Sidhe.

A keening wail echoed. It rose in pitch until it passed beyond human hearing.

"Sweet Mother of All, what is that?" Anna asked. Her normally tan face was pale.

"The hunting cry of a Soul Reaper," Quinn said absently. "The Algonquin sorcerers used to call them the Wendigo. They are members of the Dökkálfar assassin brotherhood, the Drygioni."

The Hag strode out of the barn with a triumphant expression on her wrinkled face. "Not a coven in a million could have summoned a Reaper from across the rift, but I did it alone."

"With blood magic, sister," Anna said with disgust.

"The covens are far too timid, sister. This is a glorious power." She stretched her arms out to the side and spoke.

"Kill them, my beauty, save for the shifter girl."

While the Hag ranted. Quinn watched the Reaper. He had always thought they looked like a cross between a tall man and giant bone-white praying mantis. Stick-thin, huge hands hung on arms far too long for its torso, it looked awkward, ill-constructed--but reapers were killers without many peers. A shift in the breeze bought its scent to him. Swamp smell mixed with the brimstone smell of the rift warp.

Quinn breathed deep, quickly working his way into his centering discipline. He whispered his battle mnemonic:

"My name is Lachlan Joseph Quinn--Venu la bataille, vient la mort," Come Battle-Come Death. His Other to come to the fore--and--MERGED.

Lachlan Quinn became what the Vísdómur had forged--a perfect weapon--a pure killer with thousands of days and nights of fights like this. Humanity ground away so only death remained.

The reaper's head swiveled from the little girl and Anna back to him. Crystal green multifaceted eyes fixed on him.

"Oh Reaper,' Quinn sang. "I foretell your true death this day."

He was centered--perfectly merged with the Other. A thousand details that had gone unnoticed now came into focus. He could hear the heartbeats of the surrounding creatures. He sensed the reaper's heartbeat elevate. His boldness made it slightly apprehensive.

It advanced toward Quinn in an awkward-looking stilt-stepping walk that for all its clumsy look covered ground quickly.

It muttered to itself in the distinctive whistles and clicks of low Alfar:

"Lovely. A human, a wolf-kin, and a high circle witch. What a gift. A touch of rage and fear, what perfect spice. You all will soon gift me your terror-struck souls when I take your lives. Never doubt it."

The Reaper scuttled closer. Long delicate fingers swept its cloak aside and drew a falcata so black it seemed to absorb any light that fell on it.

He settled into the sharp-edged combat mode the Vísdómur had taught:

Detached.

Remote.

Emotionless.

Centered.

He flicked his right wrist and the dragon that encircled his arm from palm to shoulder rippled under the skin and emerged and unwound.

The Dragon's Razor shrieked in joyous anticipation of feeding. The sentient weapon gifted him by the troll women had taken a hundred deaths to master. Seven years and seven days of lessons, fights, woundings -- and magical healings so he could do it again the next day. The Vísdómur taught at night and tested during the day. They believed that if a mistake during a fight weren't punished by wounding or death, the lesson wouldn't stick. He'd made a lot of mistakes.

He swung it side to side with measured, hypnotic metronomic beats. He knew precisely what had to be done. He'd fought the reaper-kind before.

The Reaper reached inside its cloak and filled its other hand with a white wand. Waved the wand back and forth and chanted.

Quinn's glyphs flared as the compulsion spell hit and rolled over him and dissipated.

Behind him, he heard/felt Anna fall.

The Reaper's eyes widened.

"Oh Assassin," Quinn sang in High Alfar. " I will hear your death song. When was the last time you had to fight instead of slaughter? The true death is coming for you."

Quinn could hear its heartbeat rising now. Panic was starting to blossom. Panic was a distraction.

He snapped his wrist--the dragon whip shrieked again as it lashed out to the reaper's face--its right eye disappeared in a mist of gore.

The roar of pain was deafening.

Quick as thought, it riposted the black falcata at Quinn's face.

And missed. The missing eye had damaged its depth perception.

Quinn snapped his wrist once more.

The Reaper's mouth gaped a silent scream of agony as the arm holding the sword dropped to the grass--its remaining eye now showing blossoming despair.

It scuttled backward pleading, "Mercy, Shadow Walker."

"No."

Quinn snapped his wrist one last time.

Sudden spray of dark green blood and the Reaper's head toppled to the grass.

Silence.

Quinn absently flicked his left wrist and the symbiote obediently wound itself back into its home.

His combat mode faded. His senses returned to normal; as always, he was left a bit bereft--everything seemed bland and colorless.

He took a deep breath and turned to Anna. She was stretched out on the ground, unconscious.

The Hag was gone.

Anna lay unconscious, but her pulse was strong and her color good. She appeared to be in a deep sleep, REM movement in her eyes and a soft snore.

"Wake up, Anna," Quinn gently slapped her face.

She stirred and sat up with a confused look on her face. He could see she was okay. He gave her a perfunctory pat and helped her up.

Her eyes widened as she looked over his shoulder.

Quinn turned.

The Vísdómur came silently out of the rift-warp, gathered up the reaper and its weapons, and retreated to Alfheim. The youngest sketched a salute and a smile.

A loud snap sounded as the air was sucked into space where to rift-warp had been.

Quinn frowned, then shrugged and walked to the barn to check it out.

He was still in a remote icy state, so the awfulness of what lay inside was merely data. A gaunt, frail elderly woman and a dog so old his muzzle was completely gray lay inside their throats cut. It looked like the old dog had done its best to save its master. A heavy smell of blood and the sweet smell of apricot lay over everything. He knelt and carefully re-arranged the old woman's dress and gave the old dog a soft stroke.

"Rest now you did your best."

He walked back outside to Anna's side.

"You okay," he asked Anna as he helped her to her feet.

She nodded. "I'm afraid I have some bad news," Quinn said. Your neighbor is inside her throat cut. We need to get your guardians out here."

She winced and walked over to the barn and stuck her head inside.

Quinn looked for the little girl and found her inside the corral petting the horse which stood in silent misery.

"She wants a drink of water," she told him.

There was a yard hydrant on one corner of the barn. Quinn grabbed a bucket, walked over to the hydrant and drew a bucket of water for the horse and lifted it, and put it inside the corral so she could get to it.

"Not too much," he said. "She'll get sick."

The little girl nodded silently and with two hands carried the bucket to the horse, who drank eagerly.

She walked back to Quinn and looked up at him with pleading eyes. "We have to help her. If you leave her here, she will die."

"We will, little one. You tend to your new friend. Anna and I have some things to do. Then we'll call a friend and she will send help. Everything will be okay. Don't worry."

Anna came back out, held her hand out for Quinn's phone. Silently, he handed it to her. She walked away with it to make her calls.

"Call Mandy to come for the horse," Quinn called after her. "I'm going to check out the house."

The house inside was spotless and empty except for one lonely kitchen chair and a neatly made bed in the back bedroom. The kitchen cabinets held a few plates and glasses."

And twelve cans of dog food.

"Oh, sweet Mother of All," Quinn whispered. "You poor lonely woman.

A blinding rage flared. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself and walked outside.

Fifteen minutes later Mandy showed up with a horse trailer hooked to the back of her pickup.

Quinn and Anna stood silently by as she and the girl gently led the gaunt horse onto the trailer. The little girl insisted on staying with Mandy and the horse. She offered a small wave to Quinn as they drove away.

Quinn looked at Anna and took a breath.

"We need to talk, Witch. No more secrets. How long have you and your sisters known about the hag?"

She sighed. "We're not certain when she turned. She's exceptionally good at keeping herself under the radar. Lately, though there have been more stories of animal mutilations popping up. She is no longer capable of controlling herself. Blood magic always spins out of control.

"Do you know who she is?"

"No, she's managed to cloak herself. Probably for years. She is extremely dangerous."

"Well, if what you say is true, she is far too gone to have dealt with the Drygioni Brotherhood. Someone is pulling her strings. I need to get down to Oldtown and talk to some people."

Anna gave him a troubled nod. "I must get to the hospital and see about Althea. She must be awakened."

Two white Tahoe pulled into the farmyard. Birdie Penrose and Tulli stepped out along with three others that Quinn didn't recognize.

"Perfect," Quinn said, "Just who I needed to chat with.

Okay, you two," Tulli snapped. "Why all the fuss? We came as soon as you called. It better be important. We have things going on."

"Check out the barn and we'll explain."

The two walked over and went inside and came out white-faced. Two of the younger witch-crafters came running out and vomited just outside the door.

"Blood magic," Birdie's face was strained and looked every day of her seventy-plus years.

Quinn let Anna explain what had happened.

"You killed a Reaper? That's impossible," Tulli said.

"Yet it happened," Anna snapped. "The Hag is far gone. I'm amazed she can function.

"Poor Edna, she never hurt a soul," Birdie said sorrowfully.

She looked at Quinn's face and stepped back in alarm.

"Come with me." He walked over to the house and ushered them in.

"What on earth..."

"Shut the fuck up and listen up you three," Quinn's green eyes had turned solid black, his words came out low and inhuman. "This poor woman was starving. She was buying dog food for herself and her dog. I'm certain in my head that Ms. Edna made damn sure the dog got fed before she did. As you can see, over the years, she sold off all her belongings probably to pay her bills and buy food. I would imagine that someone was supposed to pay her for boarding that horse."

"Listen, boy, you can't..." Birdie started to bluster.

Quinn interrupted.

"YOU WILL BE SILENT WITCH! I am not your boy. You all have power beyond any mundane understanding, but your Covens have been so busy infighting and bickering that they have ignored their responsibilities to protect and nurture folks in the community. How many more are there like poor Ms. Edna living around here--lonely, afraid, and without hope. I suspect you have no idea because you couldn't be bothered to look. YOU ARE NOT DOING YOUR FUCKING JOBS. Fix this or I will find someone to fix it for you and you won't like it."

At his tone, Anna, Bridie, and Tulli instantly said as one:

"As you wish, Keeper."

He motioned to Anna.

"Let's get going, I'll drop you off at the hospital."

It occurred to him, as they drove silently up to the hospital in Arlington, to wonder what deal was with the little girl. What was so special about his little friend that drove that crazy witch to go to such lengths to get her.

He had a strong suspicion that the key to all this lay in Oldtown. He needed to talk to Niamh.