Mark Del Franco - Undone Deeds

Rearing onto its hind legs, the beast stood over a dozen feet high and roared in victory. It dropped to all fours and lumbered toward the merrows, thrusting its huge round head forward with a snarl. They fled without a fight. The beast growled and retreated, maneuvering its bulk around toward me.

I held my sword out as it approached. As it closed on me, it became smaller, its bulk shifting and contracting. The fur receded and the bearish muzzle flowed inward, exposing thick rolls of skin. When it was a few feet away, long, pointed ears slid through greasy hair, and a thick sagging gut grazed the ground.

I stared slack-jawed as Belgor stared up at me. He leaned on the car, struggling to bring his girth off the ground. He leaned heavily against the fender, his chin and bare chest smeared with black viscous blood. “I do not care for snakes,” he said.

“I had no idea you could do that,” I said.

Still catching his breath, he shrugged. “I have not lasted these many years on my wits alone, Mr. Grey. I trust this settles my debt to you?”

Dumbfounded, I nodded. “Yeah, I think that covers it.”

Belgor waddled off like he had stopped by to chat and had to be going.

I didn’t stick around for the police after-party. Leaving the scene of a crime was a crime, but I wasn’t worried about it. Being attacked by a giant snake-woman and four or five of her semiaquatic friends was probably justification in most people’s eyes to go into hiding for a bit. Enough witnesses were available to report that a crazy guy with a sword was the victim. Some people might even consider it a typical night down in the Weird. Besides, I wasn’t about to discuss Belgor, not after what he did. He might be an underhanded slimebag who would sell his own mother to keep himself out of jail, but the man had saved my life.

When I reached the Old Northern Avenue bridge, vitniri swarmed down the steel struts and surrounded me. The man-wolves huddled close, snapping at anyone who showed the least curiosity in me. They escorted me all the way to Rowes Wharf Hotel, pacing along the building’s shield barrier until they were sure that Eorla’s people detached another bodyguard for me.

Elven warriors from the Kruge clan, their bows notched with glowing elf-shot, ushered me inside and up to a suite overlooking the harbor. Eorla arrived after, and, for the first time, she let herself show uncertain upset, grabbing me by the arms when she entered. “Are you all right?”

“A little banged-up, and my boots got wet, but not bad considering,” I said.

She relaxed though her worry remained. “Why did she attack you?”

I filled her in on the conversation, such as it was. “I think Melusine was doing what she’s always done: playing both ends against the middle. She thought she would have better luck allying with Maeve in the long run.”

Eorla pursed her lips. “My main concern now is that she was aware of several defense strategies I have in place. I wonder how much of that has reached Maeve?”

I shrugged. “She managed to cut off information on Maeve’s troop movements by assassinating your spies. I’d worry about any strategic vulnerabilities you know about.”

Eorla wandered to the window. Down in the harbor, the mist wall shimmered with complex swirls of essence. Threads of blue and orange coiled through and around each other as they moved in a flowing course across the face of the wall. “Your relationship with Ceridwen and me made you a target, Connor. I think it’s time you went underground. I have places to offer you in Germany. Ceridwen has hinted she’s offered you a similar proposal.”

“That sounds a lot like giving up,” I said.

She smiled and turned slightly to look at me. “Caution isn’t giving up, Connor. Choosing your moment is always to your advantage. It took me a hundred years to get to this point.”

Amused, I flexed an eyebrow. “You have a slight advantage over me in the time department.”

She released an exasperated sigh. “I know you see my point.”

I moved behind her. “I do. I honestly do. But after everything that’s happened, I can’t walk away. I’ve lost so much, Eorla. I don’t want to lose my home, too.”

Eorla held her hand up, her brow furrowed. “Something’s happening.”

Outside the window, the mist wall had become agitated, streaks of white and red slicing through the other colors. The streaks surged across the face of the wall like storm patterns, cyclones forming and breaking apart, thick bands of color marching through everything in their paths. The essence brightened, the colors muting as the surrounding areas became white with heat. “It’s building in strength. Has someone attacked it?”

“I’m not getting any reports,” Eorla said.

The army helicopters danced in the energy currents and pulled higher to stabilize themselves. I directed Eorla’s attention to the airport. The army units stationed near the end of the tarmac were scrambling into trucks and more helicopters. “That doesn’t look good.”

Someone knocked and opened the door. Rand—Dylan, actually—joined us by the window. “The facility is on full alert, Your Majesty.”

“Brion Mal is head of Maeve’s forces. Get him online and explain our stance in case this isn’t the Guild’s doing, Rand,” she said.

Dylan peered at the mist wall. Now that I knew he wore a glamour, I couldn’t look at him and call him Rand. At the same time, it was odd calling him Dylan when he looked like an elf. “Our calls to the Guild are unanswered.”

“I guess that answers its own question,” I said.

“Where’s Bastian? He’s not answering my sendings,” she said.

“Our reports indicate he is en route to the airport,” Dylan said.

“Something about rats and ships is tickling at my memory,” I said.

“No, if Bastian knew something, he would not have waited this long. I’ll wager he’s as confused by this as we are,” Eorla said.

The mist wall had lost all color, becoming a sheet of solid white light. The top rose and shredded, great spires of essence spewing upward. “I don’t like this. We should….”

The wall exploded. Essence billowed across the water in a towering white wall of heat twenty stories high. Dylan and I dragged Eorla away from the window as she gathered essence in her hands. We grappled, trying to see out the window and get out of each other’s way until we tumbled to the floor. The building trembled as the essence surge hit. Glass shattered with a concussive roar, shards flying everywhere, sparkling against our body shields as they slid away. Ceiling tiles scattered with the wind as cabling pulled free.

It was over in a cloud of dust. Dylan sat up coughing, a fine film of white grit covering his red uniform. Eorla was on her feet already, staring out the gaping hole that had been the window. I pushed ceiling tiles off me and joined her. The mist wall was gone.

“Danu’s blood,” I said.

Ships filled the inner harbor, hundreds of fey ships, low-hulled and shining with amber, their masts a forest across the water. The air rippled and glimmered with the light of Celtic warriors, rank upon rank of fairy clans spread across the sky in an uncountable host. Across their leading edge, a dozen Danann fairies hovered, their body signatures burning with an intensity that outshone everything. Brion Mal had not come to the U.S. alone. The entire Queen’s Fianna was with him.

A deep rumble echoed through the air and the building shuddered. “That’s artillery fire,” I said.

“The National Guard is firing on the front of the building,” Dylan said.

Eorla crossed her arms. “So they have thrown in with Maeve at last. I shouldn’t be surprised. Donor played his hand wrong from the beginning.”