Publish and Perish Page 5

  We rolled past the main entrance with its guard and gate and around to the service entrance. I hopped out, gathered up the bouquet, and approached the guard on that door.

  “Delivery for Mrs. Mascheroni.”

  “I’ll take it,” said the guard. His square cleft chin showed blue where five o’clock shadow was already forming despite it being just a bit before nine a.m.

  “I need to get a signature.”

  “Nice try. No.”

  I gave him my most limpid grey-eyed look. “But my boss—”

  “No. My boss will have my ass.”

  I stood there feeling stupid and cursing movies that made this kind of thing seem easy and routine. Parlan climbed out of the van and joined me. The guard stiffened warily at his approach.

  Parlan pulled out an elaborate pocket watch. “We must resolve this quickly. If you are late you will have forfeited.”

  I turned and headed back for the van. “Hey,” the guard yelled after us. “What…?”

  The slamming of our doors cut off the rest of his sentence. I rested my arms on the steering wheel.

  “Well?” Parlan asked. “What now?”

  “Just how Álfar are you in your attitudes?”

  “Very.”

  “Shall we go through that front gate?”

  “Will your firm get us out of jail?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  We pulled back into traffic and went around the block. As we approached the main entrance I saw the older, heavy-set guard walk into the guard shack and pick up the telephone. I had a feeling Blue Jaw had just made a call about the suspicious people in the van. I glanced down at my watch. We had five minutes.

  There was a small sign in front of the art nouveau iron gates that read AUTHORIZED PERSONS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. I spun the wheel, floored the accelerator, and sent us toward the gates. One was half open, so with luck we wouldn’t do too much damage. Parlan braced himself against the dashboard, and I had a brief flash of the guard rushing out of the guard shack with his mouth working frantically. The little sign bounced off the hood of the van and we careened into the gates. The open one swung back. The other was bolted, and there was a shriek of abused metal from both the car and the gate. The bolt sheared off, the gate flew open, and we were through the narrow tunnel and in the central courtyard.

  I had a memory of this space when I, along with John and two of my clients, had been pulled into that courtyard by the queen’s guards. That time the guards had pulled us into Fey when we were still out in the street. This time we remained in the human world, and humans were reacting … badly.

  Guards were converging from all directions. An older couple just emerging from the building stared at us with shock and some fear. Parlan jumped out, tore off his coveralls, and reached behind the driver’s seat to pull out a sword. His entire affect changed. He was no longer a rather stocky middle-aged man. He was an Álfar prince and it showed in his stance and the disdainful expression.

  “God, don’t stab anybody! Don’t make this worse than it already is!” I screamed in warning as I climbed out.

  The guards were almost on us when the humans found themselves no longer alone. Álfar guards, tall, willowy, and exotically attired, were among them. The human guards recoiled in shock. The older couple scurried back into the building.

  Several of the Álfar bowed to Parlan, who deigned to give them a regal nod. He then lost his noble demeanor and gripped one of the Álfar by the shoulder, which soon became an enthusiastic man hug. Then they were both speaking that mellifluous language. I shimmied out of the coveralls and donned my jacket.

  Human words grated and rattled like falling pebbles among the euphonious cadence of Álfar. Especially when you added in a strong Brooklyn accent. “Hey! Lady! What’s with the costume party?”

  Other human voices added to the confusion. “We’ve called the cops.” “These guys gotta get outa here.”

  Assuming my best courtroom manner I held up my hands and began. “You see, the Álfar also live here, but in an alternate reality that lies side-by-side with ours, and I had an appointment that I had to keep…” My voice trailed away at their expressions. “Oh, forget it,” I sighed. “If it’s any help I suspect we’re going to be gone soon. Or at least you’ll think we’re gone.”

  As if summoned by my words John’s mother emerged from the building. This time she wasn’t dressed like an Erté figure in a shimmering dress, but in an outfit oddly reminiscent of my own attire—tight-fitting pants, a laced and frogged coat, high boots above the knee. Her long black and white hair was confined and her green eyes were glittering. I couldn’t tell if she was outraged or eagerly anticipating skewering me like a pincushion. Suddenly my reliance on my unknown power seemed really, really stupid.

  The human male guards were stunned into silence. I couldn’t blame them. She was exquisitely, breath-stoppingly beautiful. I, who had never managed more than cute, felt like a small toad as I looked up into her chiseled face. Now that she was this close I could tell—she was really, really pissed.

  “You dare to challenge me with one pathetic follower who is not really one of us?” The strange eyes raked across Parlan. “Merely a pet.”

  I glanced at the human changeling, but the insult hadn’t seemed to faze him. He was staring into the face of the only mother he had ever known with an amused smile.

  “You challenge me for my place, but who will follow you?” the queen continued.

  I stopped paying a lot of attention because I saw John walking out of the building. His white, blond, and black hair had grown so it now fell to his shoulders. I realized with some shock and guilt that eight months had passed. I should have done something sooner to end his gilded captivity.

  I glanced over at Parlan. The two men couldn’t have been more different. John was preternaturally handsome and slim with extravagant cheekbones and a pointed chin. Parlan was a bit taller than John, but he had his father’s robust build. Parlan looked like a youngish forty-four-year-old man. John looked to be in his mid-twenties even though they were the exact same age.

  Once he was close enough I could see John had the same sneering yet oddly disinterested expression he had worn when I had seen him the one and only time since his capture. He took up a position at his mother’s right shoulder. I stared at him. I couldn’t help it. I remembered the taste of his lips and the feel of those slender hands on my body. Better to remember that night rather than the cruel things he had said on another night at the Château Montmartre.

  He gave me one brief glance. One eye was still green, the other milky white since his mother had driven that sliver of ice into his eye, blinding him. Almost worse than the mutilation was how the action had suppressed all emotion in John. He turned his attention to his mother, which brought me back to the moment. And yep, she was still droning on. I forced my attention away from John and back to her.

  “We reject you, and I refuse to debase myself by answering this challenge. You have no standing—”

  I knew she didn’t mean it that way but now she was speaking my language. Standing was a legal concept. Without standing a person could not go before a court and request relief from a particular situation. Only a person with a sufficient interest in the case could seek redress. It wasn’t exactly on point, but it gave me an opening.

  “I am the person who proved the innocence of two of your citizens. My actions saved your people in the human world from threat and suspicion. And you’re holding one of my employees. I have plenty of standing to be here.”

  “And yet you stand alone with only a mongrel,” her eyes flicked to Parlan, “at your side.”

  Parlan cleared his throat. “Not quite alone.”

  He gestured and Kerrinan and Jondin walked in through the gate. They were marquee idols in the human world and pure Álfar with jewel-bright eyes, parti-colored hair, and exquisite features. They had also fully embraced the human world, as evidenced by their modern street attire r
ather than the operetta style favored by most of their kind. They had both committed heinous murders in Los Angeles, but while under the total control of a murderous Álfar elder who was angry that so many of his kind were abandoning Fey in favor of the human world. I had proved they were not actually responsible and won their freedom. They took up positions just behind me.

  As to why they were here? I had a suspicion and turned to Parlan. He gave me a shrug and a self-conscious grin. “Your doing?” I asked.

  “I thought she might try to declare you unworthy and avoid the duel. And they owed you a geas.” At my look of confusion he added, “Geas: an obligation magically imposed on a person.”

  “Yeah, you really should be a lawyer. Preferably a litigator,” I said. “Talk about a Perry Mason moment.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Old television show. You’ll come across it at some point if you keep watching Nick at Nite.”

  Then my attention was drawn back to the gate, where five of the Álfar who had come to help me at the Academy Awards were entering. Tulan, his brother Aalet, Cildar, Donnal, and last was Zevra, who gave me an elaborate wink and a leer as he sauntered past.

  Ladlaw, who had been the sixth member of our merry band, was among the guards surrounding the queen. I could see him struggling, but he finally cast his eyes heavenward, stepped out from behind the queen, and joined us. The look she gave him was absolutely poisonous.

  But there was worse to come for the woman because John, moving like an automaton fighting against programming, stepped away from his mother and came over to our side. As he passed I could see beads of sweat running down into his sideburns, and he was trembling as if he was pushing against a heavy weight.

  Parlan let out a woof of surprise and we exchanged startled glances. I glared at the queen. “That enough to make me worthy, you bitch?”

  “Preach it, sister,” exclaimed one of the human guards and he gave me a high five.

  That little act of human gaucherie snapped the queen’s patience. The world shimmered and shifted and suddenly the crumpled van and the human guards were gone and we were in the Fey version of the Dakota.

  5

  Oddly there were more cars parked in the Fey version of the courtyard than there had been in the human world. Twenties’ style touring cars with long hoods, bud vases holding flowers on dashboards, elaborate hood ornaments. There were also a couple of small carriages drawn by glossy pairs of high-steppers and a few saddled horses. One horse was being put through his paces by his Álfar rider while a human groom looked on with worshipful approval. There were a few Álfar servants, but most of the people handling horses and strapping picnic baskets onto the backs of cars or serving as chauffeurs were male humans dressed in livery.

  I wondered again what kind of person would prefer a life of servitude in an alternate reality with creatures whose lives are measured in centuries? And were the humans there willingly? A new question to be answered and perhaps another legal wedge to force comity between the Fey and the human world. Yes, the Powers were … well … powerful, but maybe it was past time to use the force of law to demand greater equality and accountability between humans and the vampires, werewolves and Álfar. My firm might be in a unique position to broker this new power sharing.

  Then I remembered that I had to leave IMG. That was depressing and I didn’t need any distracting thoughts right now because the queen was accepting a rapier from one of her entourage.

  “And now I remember why I left,” Jondin said. “All this medieval bullshit.”

  I realized that I had never heard her speak. Well, I had heard her voice on the screen, but not in person. The one time I’d interacted with her she had been in a virtual trance and was trying to kill me and a lot of other people on a soundstage on the Warner Bros. lot.

  “Wish I had brought you a gun,” Kerrinan said. “That would end this in a big damn hurry.”

  “I’m betting that would be considered cheating,” I said as lightly as I could manage given my jumping heart. I held out my hand to Parlan for his sword.

  There was a sudden babble as the six members of my Álfar entourage offered their blades too. Kerrinan and Jondin rolled their eyes. Then everyone fell silent when John said in a bored tone, “Do take mine. It will be interesting to see what odd thing you will do next.” He offered me the rapier hilt first.

  He was a prince so everyone stepped back and bowed. I took the hilt, and he looked irritated. “Mary, Joseph, and Jesus,” he snapped and he sounded much more like Big Red and Meg’s son, who had been raised Roman Catholic. “Don’t you even know how to hold it?”

  I shook my head. With a put-upon sigh, he stepped behind me and reached around to show me how my fingers were supposed to grip the hilt. His body seemed to radiate heat and I gave a sudden shiver. With his cheek next to mine I could smell the spicy scent of his cologne, and his breath puffed against my ear. The skin of his hands was much softer then when he’d been a PI, and his nails were buffed and manicured.

  “Like you’re an expert after eight months,” I razzed. But the new position was more comfortable and the sword felt better balanced in my hand. I nodded my thanks and stepped away.

  Everyone moved back, leaving the queen and me in the center of a ring of interested watchers. The mounted Álfar leaped off his horse and threw the reins to his human groom so he could join the circle of observers. The groom led the horse over to the side of the building, well out of the way.

  Okay super power, you can kick in any old time now, I thought.

  I had a mad insight that maybe I needed to be under attack from a Power. Every other time this had happened I hadn’t initiated the attack. I decided to keep to the same pattern so I waited, watching the Álfar woman.

  Seconds crawled by. I risked a glance at my watch. Almost two minutes had passed. I shrugged. “Okay, guess we’ll all be going then. Parlan, grab John and—”

  The queen moved, preternaturally fast, leaping toward me. I stumbled back, my heel slipping in a pile of manure and I went down hard, and landed painfully on my tailbone. A flare of pain shot through my chest from the cracked ribs. I also felt squishy wet dampening the seat of my breeches.

  I had fallen in the horse shit. Because of course I had.

  There was a brief instant to reflect that the mysterious protection never seemed to worry about my dignity. Then the sword that should have pierced my heart cut across my shoulder, giving me a shallow cut. It stung and the blood was warm against my skin. I yelped, scrambled crab-like to the side, and used the hood ornament on a parked car to regain my feet. As I clambered up, the ornament—consisting of five prancing horses and made of pearlescent glass—broke off in my left hand.

  A collective gasp from the assembled watchers gave me a second’s warning. I spun, and the ornament clanged against the blade of the queen’s sword, shoving it aside. The glass shattered and some of the slivers peppered her face, drawing blood. There was a combination of moans and cheers.

  She retreated and pulled a sleeve across her face to wipe away the blood. We circled each other like cats preparing to pounce. I was beginning to see how this worked. Whatever mysterious power was protecting me it helped if it had things to work with. I edged closer to the encircling crowd, hoping that might offer it more opportunity.

  The queen lunged at me. I awkwardly lifted the sword and caught her blade on mine. The blow landed close to the hilt and sent a concussive wave up my arm and into my sore chest. My fingers went momentarily numb. I retreated with more haste than grace. My opponent’s blade was weaving an intricate pattern in the air in front of me that was almost mesmerizing. Feeling that I ought to do something, I thrust out my blade to disturb that movement.

  The Álfar woman’s mouth stretched in a vicious grin, and my stomach felt hollow as I realized I had done just what she wanted. My sword was pushed aside, and she was lunging for my chest. An errant gust of wind danced through the courtyard, ripped a delicate scarf from the neck of an Álfar l
ady, and wrapped it around the queen’s face. I spun to the side, and the Queen, blinded, failed to compensate. The blade passed harmlessly behind me.

  I tried to turn around and capitalize on the moment, but I was too slow, and by the time I was facing her she had pulled away the scarf. Did I only imagine the sense of irritation and frustration that briefly flooded my mind? I shook my head and tried to focus on that deadly point.

  I heard Parlan bellow, “Don’t watch the sword! Watch her eyes!”

  I jerked up my gaze to those emerald eyes. They told me nothing. “What am I looking for?” I screamed at Parlan.

  “Her intent.”

  “It’s to kill me,” I shouted back as I danced away from another lightning-fast lunge.

  By now I was no longer trying to fight. I was just running, trying to keep out of her reach. The cold air clawed at my lungs as I panted and gasped, and the pain from my ribs pounded in time to my heartbeats. There was that subtle shivering in my leg muscles, the precursor to muscle fatigue and ultimately collapse. My super power had so far proved to be pretty damn wimpy. It was possible that I had bet my life on a fantasy.

  The crowd had gone unnaturally quiet, anticipating the inevitable conclusion. A sharp crack split the silence, and a lone icicle, nestled on the shaded north side of the building and protected from the first touch of spring, fell. It landed point first like a frozen spear on the rump of the saddled horse.

  The animal squealed, bucked, broke free from the human groom, and bolted across the courtyard, the steel shoes beating like hammers against the stones. Its speed and panic had it slipping a bit, which put my heart in my throat. Seeing a horse break its leg would make this day even more craptastic.