chapter Fifteen
The attendant shook me and asked me to return my chair to its upright position and I complied, feeling the plane begin its descent. Disoriented due to the heavy, dreamless sleep of the last eight hours I rubbed my eyes and reached over to raise the window shade. Dawn had long ago broken over the horizon, and the sky was bright but overcast.
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom and said, “Thank you for flying with us today, ladies and gentlemen. We’re beginning our final descent into London’s Heathrow airport now. Local time is 10:53 a.m. and the temperature—”
I didn’t hear anything else after that. I reached up and punched the attendants’ button frantically, looking over the seat-tops for the woman who had told me to raise my seat back. She came down the aisle with brisk, teetering steps, frustrated at my repeated buzzing.
“Yes?” she asked in her best professional tone, reaching across me and firmly turning the call button off.
“Why are we landing at Heathrow?” I demanded, my voice pitched high and slightly crazed. “Why? I bought a ticket to New York!”
“Ma’am, calm down. This is the flight from New York to London. Seems you slept harder than you thought.” She smiled brightly, no doubt placating the loon.
“No. No, no, no. I left Heathrow last night,” I insisted, leaning toward her.
“Is there a problem, Kay?” asked another attendant, this one male. He did his best to look threateningly over Kay’s shoulder, but it was difficult in his little blue vest and jaunty red necktie.
“No. This young lady just slept harder than she thought and got confused about her destination.”
I shut up, trying to figure out what to do. I knew I’d left London last night. I knew I had. Wait. What if I’d been dreaming? What if this whole thing was a nightmare? No, I’d fallen for that when I’d met Bahlin, thinking he wasn’t real. I wasn’t going to do this again. I waited until we’d landed and taxied to the gate before I jumped up and opened the overhead bin. If I’d only been dreaming and this was my first trip to London, I’d have carry-on luggage because my first trip had been luggage-heavy. If I hadn’t been dreaming, there would be nothing there. I opened the cover and looked inside. My heart fell: the bin was empty. I sat back down, watching passengers disembark.
When the plane was empty Kay approached me again, a concerned look on her face. “Do you need help, miss?”
Yes, I needed help, but it wasn’t the kind she could provide. Regardless of her intent, her chipper kindness made me feel violent, and I knew I needed to get off the plane without any trouble. I shook my head, grabbed my purse and got up, walking slowly up the aisle to the gangway and out through the airport. Reaching Heathrow’s cab queue, I grabbed a taxi and asked the driver to take me to any mid-range hotel, his choice. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and I knew he was only about five minutes away from the truth. I was about to lose it. The cabbie tried to make conversation for the first few minutes of the trip and then gave up when he realized I was nearly catatonic. Instead he turned the radio up and sang along to some type of Indie music with a grating beat.
Twenty minutes later I was standing in the quiet and graceful lobby of the Hardley, though I couldn’t have cared less what it looked like. Checking into a single room, I moved like an automaton and the clerk watched me from the corner of her eye. I suspected I looked frightening but, again, didn’t give a crap.
I made it to my room and walked in, glancing around woodenly. The room was nice but sterile, with none of the charm and elegance of the Pemberton. I turned the air conditioner down to its lowest setting and stripped off my clothes. The bed was sufficient and that was all I cared about as I folded the covers back and slid under. I huddled with my head under the comforter, my breath heating up the small, enclosed space quickly so it became humid and stifling. Still I was cold. Rolling onto my side, I curled into the fetal position. So this is what rock bottom feels like. I’m much more lucid than I’d hoped for. Oh well. Sleep claimed me without apology, and I slid into its dark embrace with a sense of giddy relief.
“You’ve really bunged this up, child,” said a deep voice.
I suspected I was dreaming when I sat up in bed and found a strange man in my room. I looked around and saw the owner of the voice was of medium height with a pipe and a British accent.
“Who are you?” I asked, rubbing my eyes and yawning. “My dreams—hell, my realities—haven’t had much normalcy to them lately, so you’re a pleasant surprise. Unless… You’re not anything supernatural, are you?”
The man chuckled and pushed up from the chair he was occupying at the small two-seater Formica table. The sweet scent of his tobacco wafted over me and I inhaled, thinking of my father. He’d smoked a pipe similar to the one the stranger held between his teeth. The man wore a charming three-pieced suit sans jacket, with shirtsleeves rolled up his forearms and the top button of his shirt undone. His shoes were well made but worn. His face was gently lined from laughter, his hair graying slightly at the temples.
“I’m not familiar to you? I took this form simply to try to be recognizable but it appears I’ve failed. What do you see when you look at me?”
I hesitated. What the hell. It’s a dream. So I told him what I saw.
“Very good, though superficial. Now tell me what you see.” He stood very still, almost as if posing for a painting.
“Your hair is well-cut but in need of a trim, so you haven’t had time to see a barber. You shave yourself because there’s a small knick on your chin that indicates a horizontal swipe of the razor; barbers go top to bottom. Your facial hair is as dark as your head hair and graying in too random a pattern to be died, so I know it’s your natural color.” I took a deep breath and looked even closer. “Your nails are trim, clean and buffed, so you don’t do heavy work with your hands though you’re lean and lightly muscled, so you’re not totally idle, either. Your clothes are well tailored, so you have some form of funds. The pipe you’re gripping between your teeth is well worn, and you speak clearly around it so it’s familiar enough that I believe you smoke it without apology. Your shoes are clean of mud and dirt, so you’re not from the country nor have you walked far in London. Finally, you’ve got the look of a scholar that’s only further enhanced by the wire-rimmed glasses poking out of your vest pocket.” Crap. The Niteclif legacy was alive and well.
He smiled, puffing away. “Sound familiar?”
I just stared at him. “If you’re telling me you’re Aloysius, you can just jump right out that window, mister. A three floor drop will hurt but you can’t die twice. I don’t need to be haunted on top of everything else.”
“But it’s still a long way to the ground and, as you indicated, it could hurt.” He smiled more widely, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Besides, how’s that for a way to greet your great-granddad, Maddy?”
If I hadn’t been sleeping I would have pulled a repeat fainting performance, but since I was already out cold, I had nowhere else to go. So I got mad. Throwing the covers off I stalked around the room like a caged lion, staying just out of reach of the man himself. “What the hell? Are you serious? If it’s true and you’re really him, why haven’t you manifested or whatever before now? I could seriously have used you before now, you know. I have been beaten, shot, poisoned, stalked, forced to commit murder, ridden a dragon and had my heart broken in less than a week! You suck as a granddad, Aloysius.”
My visitor sighed and sat back down in the same chair. His eyes dulled a bit, and he looked tired. “There were lessons you had to learn that were best learned the hard way.” He looked away and whispered, “Except for the heart… For that, I’m sorry.”
“You saw all of that? Please tell me you and Brylanna are the only peeping Tom’s out there. I can’t take much more of people looking in on my love life, Pops,” I said sarcastically. I threw myself down on the bed and gasped, rolling myself up in the cover. I was still nude. “You sick bastard. Why didn’t you remind me I was naked,” I shrieked.
“Maddy, I’m only taking the form of Aloysius because it was supposed to be familiar—”
“Then who in the sweet hell are you?” I yelled, my anger boiling over into rage.
His form shifted and shimmered and a giant of a man, easily taller than Tarrek, stood in front of me. He wore a thigh-length forest green tunic with rough black pants underneath and a wide leather belt around his waist. His hair was white-blond and shoulder length with a slight wave to it. Over his shoulder he wore a back scabbard in which a sword large enough to be considered a claymore was sheathed. “I’m the first Niteclif, my dear. You may call me Tyr.”
“As in the Norse god of wisdom, war and justice?” I asked. Why did I know who the hell he was?
“One and the same,” he said, looking pleased. “I was the first Niteclif, and I am thus charged with helping new Niteclifs transition into their roles with as little heartache as possible.”
“Yeah, well, you freaking suck at your job.” I huddled in the comforter and stared at him. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take before I completely lost my tenuous grip on what was left of reality.
Ignoring my snark, he said, “As you are the first female Niteclif, we’ll learn together how best to suit each other’s individualities. Agreed?”
“Whatever. I’m tired.” I flopped back on the bed, fully intent on ignoring the crazy apparition in my dream.
“Do not mock me, Niteclif!” he boomed in an earthquake-inducing voice.
I jumped and, holding the comforter, stood. “Fine. Then I need your actual help. No more hanging out to see what happens. No more letting the Fates have their way with me, regardless of their Greek affiliations. No more neglect. Your tender mercies are as humane as Bahlin’s.” I shoved a finger in his face. “And let me tell you, I don’t need any more of that shit.”
“Sit you down, girl,” he growled. Involuntarily my body complied. “Here are the things you’ll need to know at this point. One, I can only come to you in sleep or deep meditation. With your temper I wish you the best of luck with the latter. Two, you will inherit certain gifts from your lineage—language skills, enhanced self-defense, weaponry knowledge, superior logic skills and natural immunity to the sway of the supernatural. You will need a tutor for self-defense and weaponry. Use Bahlin.” I blanched, but he didn’t even pause. “Other skills may develop, but I will not discuss those until they manifest. This way you’re not disappointed or misled in any way. Three, I will help you through the beginning of your tenure and will be available to you at any time during your service as Niteclif. It is my lot. Four, I will not answer questions for you regarding the creation or end of the world, love, investment tips or the manner of your pre-determined death. Period.” He stared at me hard, and I nodded. A Norse god was the icing on Hell’s cake as far as I was concerned, but my impertinence didn’t slow him down. “Five, I may answer other questions for you but never, under any circumstance, will I do your job for you. It’s against the rules, and Odin looks unfavorably on that. Six, I needed you to learn that you have a lot to learn. The path you’ve just navigated was the most circumspect. Are we clear, child?” His voice softened at the last and he looked me over, head to toe.
Jaw clenched to keep from gaping, I nodded.
“Good. Then let’s discuss your first case. But Maddy?”
I sat staring at him. A real Norse god. Huh. “Yeah?”
“Put some clothes on.”
I came out of the bathroom after grabbing a quick shower. He was immortal. He could wait. My hair was still wet, and I continued to dry it off with a hand towel as I sat across the table from my infinitely great-grandfather, Tyr. I smiled slightly at the thought that I trumped Tarrek’s royalty with my own deity.
“I know what you know so far, so ask away,” he said, forgoing niceties in lieu of directness. I could play that way, especially as raw as I was over Bahlin.
“Why a Norse god instead of a Celt?” I asked, meeting his eyes with unspoken challenge, daring him to lie to me.
“The Celts are descended from the Norse. Their gods are the infants of ours.”
“Oh. Why can’t I leave England?”
“You can, but only to move about the British Isles.”
That explained why I ended up coming back here on the Hitchcock flight. What a waste of money. Hopefully my Niteclif salary kicked in soon.
“What happens at the end of my ten years?” I asked.
“You’ll serve twelve years given the nature and timing of the Change.” He held up a hand when I started to argue, stopping me before I could even get a good, deep breath. “It’s unchangeable, so bear it with grace.
“You must see through the veil that most humans do not, recognizing that the paranormal and the mythological walk among your kind on the same plane of existence. The purpose of the Niteclif’s evolution is to lift the veil for one person—you—and render justice for the veil’s other side.”
Tyr paused, almost as if unsure how to go on. I rolled my hand at him, indicating he should just continue. He sighed, clearly annoyed with my impatience. “You must keep one foot on either side of the veil without falling victim to the gray in between. Should you fail, you will lose yourself at the end of your time and you will become a fictional character whose exploits and adventures are immortalized in literature. You will physically cease to exist.”
I gasped and a small, panicked giggle broke free. Tyr arched an eyebrow at me, but I just shook my head and motioned him on again.
“In truth, this is what happened to Aloysius though it is not common knowledge. Even Bahlin is unaware. He lived his life well, but was absorbed by the mythological element of his existence. We wrote him a happy ending. One of our kind remembered him on paper out of respect. The same fate awaits you should you fail. Your author has been preordained. The end of your time of service will not be discussed yet, so do not ask me the outcome.”
I sat there, feeling almost anesthetized with shock. If I failed, I would essentially die but be immortalized on paper for my efforts, like a consolation prize. If I died literally, as in fell victim to death by murder, I’d just be dead. The options for survival were down to one: I couldn’t fail. Anxiety gripped my chest like an iron band, and I struggled for a moment to catch my breath.
Typical me, I coped by avoidance as I thought about my next question. I couldn’t ask if Bahlin loved me, but I could ask questions surrounding that. “Is it within the rules to ask what Bahlin is to me?”
Tyr’s eyes lit up as he realized what I was doing. He stared at me as he formulated his answer. “It is. Bahlin will be your physical familiar.”
I just arched an eyebrow and looked at him. He wasn’t amused at the turnabout.
Answering my unasked question he said, “No, you are not a witch. But he will serve much the same purpose, offering sincere support, knowledge, protection, affection and advice. Use him well.” Tyr paused before continuing, leaning forward slightly and cocking his head to the side as if deciding how much to tell me. “Forgive him.” Thunder rumbled within the room, and Tyr smiled.
Ignoring the last of his answer I asked, “Why am I accepting this is true and not checking myself in for lithium treatments?” I was scared of the answer, but I needed to know.
Tyr looked at me pointedly and said, “One of your gifts is that you are able to accept what is irrefutable fact, Madeleine, and discern fact from falsehood with logical methodology. What does not fall to logic must be analyzed and appropriate risks taken. Think on it and do not avoid out of anger what I am trying to tell you.”
“Just call me Maddy, please. This whole Madeleine thing is pissing me off,” I grumped. I thought about what Tyr said. If I could accept what I saw when I detected the truth, then I should be able to tell whether or not Bahlin was sincere when he said he loved me. It was worth thinking on, but it would have to be later. First things first. I needed to find and rescue Tarrek.
“Do you know where Tarrek is, Tyr?”
“Yes, but you have to deduce the location and get there yourself.”
“Was it Tarrek in my earlier dream?” I asked, looking up at Tyr through my lashes. I was growing uncomfortable under his direct, unblinking stare, self-conscious of the fact that I was stumbling about without Bahlin’s guidance, and frustrated I’d not made it any farther in the case than I had.
“Tarrek did come to you in a dream, yes. Look at the clues you have in front of you and tell me what you know for sure.”
“I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.” I leaned the chair back on two legs and rocked backward and forward, my fingers nervously tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop.
Tyr reached over and firmly put his hand over mine. “Relax.”
“Sure.” I slammed the chair forward and leaned my elbows on the table, fingers laced together tight enough to pull the skin against my knuckles and turn them white. “The murderer is collecting supernatural creatures. This means that the killer is not immortal because otherwise he, or she, wouldn’t have a need for the stolen powers. Right?”
Tyr cocked his head to one side, thinking. He said, “What if the killer just wants the powers the other supernatural creatures possess, and it’s not immortality he, or she, is after?”
Possible, I thought. “Why kill them?”
“That’s for you to discern, Maddy.”
“Okay. Let me put all my cards down. The killer wants the supes’ powers. To get them, he, or she, has to kill to obtain them. The killer is compiling these powers in order to take over the High Council and make himself the ultimate leader. How am I doing?” I asked, chewing on my bottom lip.
“Go on,” he said without answering.
“Tarrek has been taken for his ability to generate magic with few restrictions. I believe that the cú sith was taken for its ability to smell the truth, which any person in power would value. The far darrig was taken for his ability to generate luck at will, making the killer hard to stop in any given situation. The sprite was killed for her divination skills, making the killer nearly omnipotent if the Sight can be controlled and directed. The killer needs immortality, so he’ll have to obtain a true immortal. A vampire heart would be the easiest unless, of course, the killer is already immortal. He’ll also need a strong body, his or another’s, to get him through the metamorphosis into this new super-creature. And he wants Bahlin’s Dragon’s Stone in order to obtain immeasurable wisdom and…something. But what?” I paused in the act of picking at my nails, looking up at the god.
“You’re on the right track, Maddy,” Tyr said. “Does Bahlin pose a threat to the killer?”
“Well, sure. First and foremost is the damned prediction. If it’s true, he’s going to become the head of the High Council. That’s a threat to anyone else interested in power.” I harrumphed at the thought, my shoulders hunching at the unbidden memories of what Bahlin had done to secure his power base. I mentally shied away from those intimate memories, instead focusing on the here and now. “Bahlin is also a super strong shape-shifter who can kick nine kinds of ass when he needs to, I’m sure. After all, dragons fight for fun of all things…” I froze, looking up and meeting Tyr’s eyes. “The killer wants Bahlin’s body as his vessel as well as his stone. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to remove the stone from Bahlin’s brain and risk damaging it. Instead, he just absconds with the whole package. That’s it, isn’t it? And dragons fight with each other over their treasures. So if Bahlin’s stone gives the killer the ability to learn the location of all the different lairs he’s breached, the killer stands to inherit immeasurable wealth.” I put my head in my hands and tried unsuccessfully to contain the trembling of my fine muscles.
“I believe you’re right, child. Bahlin’s in more danger than he realizes, and the fact that the two of you have broken with each other puts him at greater risk as he’s vulnerable right now.” Thunder boomed and Tyr hunched his shoulders. “Damnable Odin,” he muttered. “Fine. Repeat what I just said to you.”
I did.
“Yes,” Tyr muttered, eyes glinting in triumph at having worked around the elder god’s directive. “That’s absolutely correct.”
“I’ve got to get to him,” I muttered, standing up and tipping the chair over in my haste to get to my shoes. Then I remembered I was asleep. “Tyr?”
“Yes, Maddy?”
“Is he at the Pemberton?”
“Yes, Maddy.”
Thanks, I thought, and Tyr smiled.
I woke with a start, still cocooned under the covers. I flipped them back, breathing in a rush of very cold air-conditioned air. I reached over and grabbed my clothes and my shoes, sitting up and slipping into everything. Picking up the phone, I dialed the operator and asked to be connected to the Pemberton.
“Thank you for calling the Pemberton. How may I direct your call?” came the front desk voice.
“I need to speak to Bahlin. It’s an emergency.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no one here by that name,” was the cautious reply. The guy was a horrible liar.
“Put Bahlin on the phone. It’s Maddy Niteclif.” I felt bad but I didn’t have time for polite coercion. I need Bahlin five minutes ago.
There was a click and then a beeping.
“Hullo,” came the flat greeting on the other end.
“Bahlin?” I asked, not sure I had the right person so despondent was this voice.
“Maddy?” was the cautious reply.
“Yeah. Look, I don’t have time to explain but—”
“You had a dream visitor, I assume.”
“How’d you know, Bahlin?” I asked, confused.
“Because Aloysius was scared shitless when Tyr visited him the first time, too, and we talked it through. But that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but when I can see you, Maddy. You can’t just shut me out.” Bahlin’s voice was hoarse and choked with emotion. I hardened myself and refused to think about it.
“I need you to come get me at the Hardley on Old Queen Street—”
“I’ll be there within fifteen minutes,” he said.
“Bring me some clean clothes,” I yelled into the phone. But it was useless. He was already gone.