Christopher Golden - The Nimble Man

There was no time for prolonged conflict, and again she called upon the elementals, summoning the spirit of the air for assistance. The atmosphere grew very still and then a primordial roar filled the room. The Night People and their fearsome pets were tossed away by screaming gusts of wind like so much chaff, their bodies striking the walls with a chorus of snapping bones.

"Remind me never to make you mad," Danny said, staring awestruck at the broken and twitching bodies of their enemies scattered about the room.

Ceridwen rushed to the chrysalis and knelt beside it. Already there was a breach in it, a tiny crack, yet enough that Sweetblood's magick was seeping out, emanating from that bizarre shell. Yet there was other magick here as well. Ceridwen waved her fingers, dragging ripples in the air, and she could feel what had been done. A spell had been cast — by Morrigan, she presumed — a hex that utilized the blood of an innocent. Morrigan had tried to break the chrysalis open. Ceridwen felt her stomach roil with disgust. The atrocities Morrigan would perform in the name of her dark faith knew no boundaries.

I shall have to move him, Ceridwen thought, glancing around. If she had the time, she might be able to remove Sweetblood from the townhouse, to bring him to Conan Doyle. If she could manage it, they would have the advantage over Morrigan. First, though, she would have to try to seal the breach in the chrysalis. She did not have the power to permanently restore the encasement created by Sweetblood's magick, but she could perform a temporary repair.

Ceridwen raised her staff. The orb glowed with the ferocity of a white-hot star and the sorceress began the process of undoing what her aunt had begun.

"Can I help?" Danny asked, standing nervously by her side.

Ceridwen felt the magick build, flowing from the center of her being up through her arms to be channeled through her staff.

"Just watch the door," she whispered. Then she bent closer to the strange chrysalis, peering at the figure frozen within. "But if you can hear me, mage, I could use your assistance."

Sparks of magick leaped from the ice sphere atop her staff, fingers of power that caressed the blood-stained chrysalis, seeking out imperfections — cracks upon its surface. The scent of the spilled blood permeated the room as it the chrysalis was cleansed.

"Aid me in repairing that which contains your power, which prevents your might from being used for ill. Time is short and — "

A crackling sound filled the air. Ceridwen glanced up just in time to see Danny tumble through the air and crash on the floor, clothes smoldering. She spun to see Morrigan framed in the doorway, elegant features made ugly by a hideous sneer. One of the doors had been torn nearly from its hinges.

"Time?" her aunt asked. "You have run out, I'm afraid."

Arcs of power erupted from her fingers and struck the surface of the chrysalis, creating a backlash of magick that whipped at Ceridwen. She cried out in pain as her connection to Sweetblood's magick was violently severed.

"Ceridwen?" Danny called as he began to rise.

Morrigan paid no attention to the demon boy, and that was best. Ceridwen did not want Danny hurt more than he already had been. The taste of her own blood filled her mouth, mixing with the bitterness and rage that she felt as she stared at Morrigan, and at the twin Fey warriors who now stepped with her into the ballroom.

"You won't believe this, but I'm actually quite happy to see you," Morrigan told her.

Ceridwen shot a glance at Danny. "Prepare yourself," she said, though she doubted that he understood the full meaning of her words.

The boy crouched down, a fierce gleam in his eyes. "Ready when you are." His voice was a rumbling growl, in tune with his bestial nature.

Morrigan and the twins moved further into the room, proceeding with caution. "I knew that something wasn't right. I could feel it in my bones, so to speak, but I just couldn't put my finger on it." She smiled, and Ceridwen wasn't sure if she had ever seen Morrigan's teeth look quite so sharp. "I thought that I might actually be going mad."

"Too late for that," Ceridwen spat.

With her free hand she wove a spell and a wall of fire blazed up from the floor, with Ceridwen, Danny and the chrysalis on one side, and Morrigan and her lackeys on the other.

Danny was at her side, then, nostrils flaring as he tried to see through the flames. "Nice!" he said. "But I don't think that's going to stop them."

"It's not meant to," Ceridwen said, and she bowed her head, holding her elemental staff before her. A wind began to swirl around them and her cloak billowed behind her like the surge of an ocean swell.

"What are you doing?" the boy asked, as the whirlwind buffeted him. "Hey, you can't — "

"A traveling wind. Go to Conan Doyle," she interrupted. "Tell him what we've learned."

He started to protest, but his words were drowned out by the roar of the flames Ceridwen had summoned. The two of them glanced at the blaze, only to see that Morrigan was stepping through the fire. Her mouth was open wide and she was consuming it, eating the flames.

The traveling wind wailed around the boy, taking him back to where he had come from, and not a moment too soon.

Morrigan and the twins crossed the charred floor.

"All right, then. It's time, now. Time for us to settle family business. I promise you, it's going to hurt," Ceridwen said, extending her arms, the sphere atop her staff beginning to glow with menace.

Her aunt grinned, black smoke drifting from her mouth.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she growled.

And the twins began to giggle.

Conan Doyle came awake with a gasp, as if during his trance he had been holding his breath. His lungs burned, and his heart beat against his ribcage like a caged bird. It was like awakening from a deep winter's sleep, his thoughts a jumble. He breathed deeply in and out, attempting to calm himself, to gather his wits.

His face felt strangely damp and he reached up to touch his cheeks. There were tears running from his eyes, and he recalled the dream he'd had of his son. Conan Doyle took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time that he had dreamt of Kingsley, or the last that he had cried for that matter.

Images from his psychic communication with Sweetblood flashed through his mind. The pictures in his head of what the future held in store if Morrigan succeeded were nearly more than he could bear.

"Dear God," he whispered, returning his handkerchief to his pocket with a trembling hand.

Yet amongst that jumble of images, certain facts surfaced. If he had understood correctly, some of the horrors he had been shown were not Morrigan's scheme, but a secondary result of her actions, unforeseen even by the Fey witch herself.

Footsteps marching across the floor above distracted him from his ruminations, and Conan Doyle realized that during his trance, Julia Ferrick had taken her leave.

He listened to her footfalls on the staircase. All that he had asked was for her to stand watch over his body while he was within his trance. "Blasted woman," he growled, indignant that she had left her post.

Julia raced around the corner into the dining room, a look of absolute terror upon her wan features.

"Was it too much to ask that you adhere to my wishes, or is that — "

"He's gone," she said, ignoring his reproach. "Danny's gone."

Conan Doyle stood, wincing as the bones in his spine and popped. It wouldn't be long before he had to partake again of the Fey elixir that staved off time's ravages. "Are you certain? Where would he have gone? I forbade him from involving himself with my operatives' assignments."

Julia laughed, a disdainful barking sound. "You forbade him," she said with a shake of her head. "Like that's going to mean anything to a fifteen year old boy. You forbid him. Give me a break."