“Uh…you mean ‘lass’?” Maddox frowned in confusion.
“Never mind,” Kelley murmured. “He told me I shouldn’t be here now….”
“And so you shouldn’t, lass. The park is no place for a lady after nightfall. Come along now.”
Kelley felt herself slump against his side as Maddox put a muscled arm around her shoulders, and she let him lead her east along a well-lit path toward the edge of the park, where he hailed a taxi. Somehow she wasn’t surprised or worried when he climbed in as she was giving her address.
Just as she got out of the cab in front of her building, she remembered something and, leaning down to the half-open window, said, “He’s not my man.”
“Sorry?”
“Before—you said ‘your man Sonny’ to me.”
“Ah, right. An idiom, that. Figure of speech, lassie.” But as the cab pulled away, she thought she heard him say, “I hope.”
Inside the apartment, Kelley heard a whickered greeting from the bathroom.
“Hi, Lucky, I’m home,” she murmured. She still wasn’t sure if she had actually heard an exchange between Sonny and his friend in the park or if she’d dreamed it all up. Kelley ran a shaky hand over her face, trying to remember exactly what it was the big guy—Maddox?—had called the creature in the whispered conversation she’d overheard between him and Sonny. Not mastiff or dog like he’d told her. To Sonny he’d called it by another name. Black something.
Black…Shuck.
What the hell is a Black Shuck?
She went into her bedroom and flipped open her laptop. While she waited for it to boot up, Kelley opened the bathroom door to check on Lucky. The horse swiveled his ears in her direction, bobbing his head in greeting.
“Hi, pal.” Kelley couldn’t help but smile. She was really becoming quite fond of the wayward beast. She went to give him a scratch, but as she approached, Lucky suddenly arched his neck, and his eyes rolled until she could see white all the way around. He shuffled his feet in the soapy water, trying to back up in the bathtub even though there was no more room. Kelley jumped as the horse began making distressed, high-pitched noises and tossing his head violently. He flared his nostrils so wide she could see the network of veins stretching in the delicate skin, as if he scented danger.
Kelley sniffed hesitantly at her clothing. She couldn’t smell anything, but that didn’t mean Lucky couldn’t. Kelley supposed that the scent of the…whatever—she was content, for the moment, to keep referring to it as a dog—might have clung to her clothing.
She backed out of the bathroom, away from the agitated horse, and went back to her bedroom, stripping off her jacket, sweater, and jeans and exchanging them for a robe. She would have had a shower but, well, not really an option. Instead she went into the kitchen and scrubbed at her skin with the liquid soap there. It seemed to work—Lucky was a great deal calmer when she returned to the bathroom, shaking a fresh box of cereal.
Lucky sniffed at her, snorted a few times, and sneezed. Then he nuzzled around in her palm and ate the cereal, seemingly mollified by the scent of Spring Rain liquid soap on her hands. She couldn’t figure out exactly why the horse would eat nothing but frosted cereal. Nor why, when it did, what little went in…didn’t come out. The messy logistical difficulties of keeping a horse in the bathroom never seemed to materialize. Which was suitably mystifying and yet, Kelley supposed, good news—considering that their landlord would have them out on the street in a flash if Lucky’s presence was discovered.
Kelley might not have admitted it openly to herself, but she was starting to appreciate having Lucky around. There was something strangely soothing about the big animal’s presence. Something…familiar, almost. Her rational mind may have shied away from the notion, but especially in the wake of the frightening episode in the park, it was comforting to come home to the horse in her bathtub. Almost normal, even.
Having fed the horse, Kelley went back into her room and pulled up Google, entering the phrase “Black Shuck.” As she read, a cold dread filled her stomach. Beyond a sparse Wikipedia entry, one of the first Web sites that came up actually looked fairly scholarly—even though it was devoted to supernatural sightings and the paranormal.
Black Shuck: a spectral being, doglike in nature, big as a Shetland pony, with fiery red eyes and sharp, venomous talons. Shuck and their ilk, so-called demon dogs, have been known to roam the hills and moors of Continental Europe and, in particular, the British Isles for centuries. They travel swiftly, often without touching the ground, and are frequently considered harbingers of doom. In Faerie mythology, they are often seen accompanying or preceding an appearance of the fearsome Faerie war band known as The Wild Hunt. Shuck were used by the Hunt to track and flush quarry, much like mortal hunting hounds; they would corner their prey, keeping it at bay until the Faerie hunters could make their kill. See also Hellhounds, Gwyllgi (Welsh), Dog of Darkness, Herne the Hunter’s Hounds, the Barghest (Yorkshire), etc….
Kelley switched on a lamp to dispel the shadows in the room. This is ridiculous, she thought, suddenly angry with herself. A horse in the bathtub was one thing, but “demon dogs”? That was just the same kind of silly “ghost story” superstition she’d fought to outgrow as a kid. Kelley closed her laptop and went to sit on the side of the bathtub for a while, breathing the comforting scent of her horsey companion, soothed by his steady breathing. Exhausted by the events of the afternoon and evening, by the strangeness of her encounter with Sonny—at least she could finally stop referring to him as Handsome Stranger—and the unfathomable animal attack, Kelley finally stood and tiredly bid Lucky good night.
XVIII
“T he Wild Hunt?” Camina whispered. “Who would do such a thing?”
Sonny looked at her bleakly. “Who do you think?”
“Mabh wouldn’t dare.”
“Auberon seems to think she would.” He shrugged. “And why not? She’s the one who created the Wild Hunt in the first place.”
“But, Sonny—this city is so crowded,” Bellamy protested. “To loose that insatiable, death-mad Faerie war band on an unsuspecting mortal populace here—the carnage would be unspeakable, the death toll catastrophic!”
“And bloodthirsty old Mabh, the Queen of Air and Darkness, would never do a naughty thing like that, now would she?” Heavy sarcasm infused Sonny’s weary tones.
Behind the twins, Sonny saw Maddox standing with his arms crossed. The look on his face told Sonny that he had heard their conversation.
Maddox and the twins exchanged worried glances, then Camina and Bellamy left to continue with their patrol, talking in low voices as they departed.
Maddox was silent for a moment. Then, “Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“No.”
“You stay away from that girl.”
“I said no—”
“Because if you don’t”—Maddox shook his sandy head—“you’re going to make a mistake. And any mistakes you make are liable to have dire consequences.”
“I’m not afraid,” Sonny said firmly.
Maddox stared at him, unblinking. “I didn’t mean for you. I meant for her.”
“Did you see her safe home?”
“I did.”
“Then you know where she lives—”
“Did you hear what I just said? Let one of the other Guards fetch the damned kelpie!”
“I don’t care about the damned kelpie. If it hasn’t tried to hurt anyone yet, then I’m betting it’s safe for the time being. She isn’t.”
“And who’s going to make her safe—you? Look at you!”
Sonny weakly batted away Maddox’s hand and, with considerable effort, thrust his arms through his jacket sleeves, trying not to wince. “Do you honestly think she’s going to be safer without my protection than with it?”
Maddox ignored the question. “You know you’re going to need suturing, right?”
“I hope you’re handy with cross-stitch.” Sonny glared at the other Janus.
Maddox rolled his
eyes and shrugged, giving up the fight.
“I’ve a kit at the penthouse. D’you think the others can cover for us for an hour or so while you knit me back together?”
At first glance, there was probably nothing too out of the ordinary about Sonny’s first aid kit. It contained bottles of iodine and rubbing alcohol, bandages, scissors, and the like. Beneath all that, however, was a small bottle of two-hundred-year-old Irish whiskey; long wooden matches in a waterproof box; three pure, rolled beeswax candles; a spool of red-and-silver thread; a small sheaf of dried rosemary, verbena, marigold stems, and mistletoe; a braided ring of marsh grass; a blown-glass phial of coarse sea salt; and a tuning fork, all of which lay on top of several large squares of gossamer—real gossamer. Plus six aspirin wrapped in a tissue.
Sonny downed four of the aspirin, swallowed a mouthful of the whiskey, and lay back on the couch as Maddox went to work on patching up the damage done by the shuck. It was substantial.
“You said you thought the demon dog was sent for her,” Maddox murmured, his mouth a tight line as he concentrated on the job at hand. All of the Janus were trained in basic medicine, and Maddox’s big fingers were surprisingly dexterous.
“It went right for her at the first. And then again after I’d knocked it on its big ugly arse. Why? I was the biggest threat to it. It should have gone straight after me.”
“Unless you’re right about someone having specifically sent it to track her. There’s something about that girl, I tell you. She’s bad business,” Maddox said as he took the red-and-silver thread and pulled a long length from the spool, threading it expertly through the eye of one of the longer suturing needles.
“You don’t know that.” Sonny looked away as he felt the first sharp bite, and the tugging sensation that followed as Maddox began to sew.
“You said Auberon asked about her. That he saw her in your gaze.”
“I don’t know if he was able to get much of a read on her,” Sonny said. “I don’t think he found much that piqued his curiosity.”
“So you don’t think that he might be the one after her, then?” Maddox asked. Tying off the last knot, he crushed a few sprigs of rosemary and verbena between his fingers and sprinkled them over the wounds, both for their antiseptic and their magical properties. Then he covered everything with several of the diaphanous sheets of gossamer.
“For what earthly purpose?” Sonny scoffed. “I cannot see any possible reason for taking an interest in some quirky little teenage actress. No matter how pretty she is.”
“Are you talking about Auberon, now? Or yourself?”
Sonny glared balefully. “Madd…she’s just a girl.”
“Right. A girl with a Black Shuck hunting her.”
“If it was truly her it was tracking.”
“You said it was. Which seems to indicate that someone is planning to awaken the Wild Hunt and set this girl up as their quarry,” Maddox countered as he unwrapped a roll of sterile bandage. “My money’s on Queen Mabh. This kind of thing seems right up her alley.”
“I don’t know, Maddox. I’ve been wrong before.”
“No, you haven’t. And if you are now, well then, that in itself is a worrying thought.” Maddox placed an edge of the bandage over Sonny’s ribs. “Hold that.” He circled Sonny’s chest with the strips of fabric. “You can’t afford to be wrong, Sonny. And you can’t afford to make mistakes. None of us can.” He finished wrapping the bandage and neatly tucked the end in, securing the dressing. “Not during the Nine-Night.”
“I know. Come on.” Sonny struggled stiffly to his feet and went to put on a fresh long-sleeved T-shirt. “We’d best get back out there. It’s getting late, and the others could probably use our help.”
“For all that you can barely stand,” Maddox muttered, and helped Sonny put his arm through his coat sleeve. He handed Sonny his messenger bag, but stopped him at the elevator. “Mark me, now: I’ve no burning desire to stitch you closed again tonight. So you keep your head down and in the game. And get that girl out of your mind!”
They made their way down Central Park West toward the Columbus Circle entrance to the park, past a trio of street musicians and a singer performing mellow jazz standards. They were good, Sonny noticed idly, despite the fact that the drummer was using an old hard-sided suitcase as his bass drum.
“Oh, sweet goddess,” Maddox murmured under his breath as they passed.
Sonny followed his gaze. Bathed in the light of a streetlamp, the willow-thin singer swayed gently to the music. She was dressed in a long, clingy sweater and ground-sweeping skirt; her hair swung like a pale curtain in front of her face, partly obscuring her features as she sang with closed eyes.
Still, Sonny knew her. All the Janus did.
She was a Siren named Chloe. One of the first of the Faerie to escape from the Otherworld after Auberon closed the Gates, she had crossed over to be with a mortal man, forsaking her deadly ways because of love. Unable to return after her lover’s eventual death, she lived on in the mortal realm. Her home, it was rumored, was in one of the underground water caves deep beneath the park, connected through tunnels to the Hudson and East Rivers and so, eventually, to the sea.
She still made a living off her voice, but at least she no longer used it to lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom.
That’s her story, Sonny thought. He didn’t trust her.
Sonny turned back to find Maddox gazing at her, a dreamy expression on his face.
“Maddox?”
The other Janus sighed, his head nodding in time to the song.
“Maddox!” Sonny’s voice turned sharp. “Snap out of it!”
“Hmm? Oh. I’m good….”
The music drifted over to where they stood, coiling through the late October night like a slow, lazy serpent. Beautiful, a little disturbing. Sonny closed his eyes for a brief second and shivered, opening them again before the sinewy melody had a chance to take a firm hold. When he looked over at Maddox, he saw that the other Janus’s eyes were completely closed. The planes of his face had relaxed, and a smile curled about his lips.
Sonny elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Stop that!”
“What?” Maddox stood up straight. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re listening. That way madness lies.”
“It was only a second.”
“Madness.”
“Right. So you’re the only one allowed to go all moony over a girl, then?”
“Shut up,” Sonny muttered, glancing back at the temptress. From behind the silky veil of her hair, he thought he saw her wink at him. “And Chloe is not a ‘girl.’ Chloe is a Siren. She used to lure men to their deaths, you idiot.”
Maddox looked mulish. “I hear she’s changed.”
The song ended and there was a smattering of applause from the small, mostly male, audience that had gathered to listen to the band and its enchanting chanteuse. They dug into trouser pockets for bills and handfuls of change, grinning sloppily as Chloe sashayed coquettishly before them with a tip basket.
The band launched into another song. This one started off melancholy, hardly any percussion and only a few drifting strains from the double bass. Then with the slow, mournful fall of notes from the sax, Chloe began to sing. The melody was dark, compelling…familiar.
Sonny gasped.
He’d heard that song before.
It had the exact same tune as the “Philomel” lullaby from Kelley’s play.
“Where did you get the music for that song?” Sonny said, dragging Chloe off the moment the band finished. Maddox followed close behind.
Chloe smiled. “Same place as all the others. Plucked it from the memories of a drowning soul.”
Famous as Sirens were for the beautiful voices they possessed, they didn’t actually have any music of their own. Their music was stolen—pilfered sounds taken from the minds of drowning mortals.
“I thought you were out of that business,” Maddox said, a strong note of disappointment in his
voice.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Chloe pouted. “I had nothing to do with it. Not as if I lured her into the water. Took the plunge all on her own.”
“Who? When?” Sonny leaned forward, despite his aversion to Sirens and their ilk.
“Pretty thing.” Chloe regarded him through sloe eyes. “On the first night of the Nine. I almost had to let her die.”
“Why?” Maddox frowned.
“She was helping a kelpie.” The Fae shrugged. “Kelpie bite. Naughty things—especially that one. I was wisely trying to keep my distance.”
“But you didn’t.” Sonny stared at her. “You saved the girl?”
Chloe nodded.
“Why did you change your mind?”
“Mmm…” The tip of the Siren’s pink tongue ran across the edges of her kitten-sharp teeth. “I heard her music. Pretty pretty music,” she mused, remembering. She hummed a bit of the tune.
Sonny felt a stab of longing and could almost see Kelley’s face in his mind.
“Wonderful. Strange and wondrous…” The temptress opened her eyes and glanced sideways at him. “Too pretty to let die.”
“What happened that night? With the girl.” Sonny grabbed her by the shoulders. “What did you do to her?”
“I saved her life!” she said indignantly. “Don’t I get points for that? Against my nature and at great risk of injury from kelpie teeth and hooves!”
“And then you took her song.”
“Only a tiny bit,” she said, unwilling to meet his stare. “Fair bargain, I thought, and it didn’t hurt her.”
“Didn’t it?” Sonny sneered. A Siren could steal all or part of the music from a person’s memories. Stealing only fragments wouldn’t necessarily cause death, but it would still hurt like hell.
“It didn’t hurt her because of what she is. She doesn’t know what she is.” Then Chloe did raise her gaze to meet his, her eyes glinting. “I do.”
“You do?” Sonny felt his heartbeat quicken.
Chloe must have heard it. She leaned toward him. “Oh, yes…I tasted it.”