Smells Like Finn Spirit Read online

  ALSO FROM RANDY HENDERSON AND TITAN BOOKS

  Finn Fancy Necromancy

  Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free

  Smells Like Finn Spirit

  Print edition ISBN: 9781783297290

  E-book edition ISBN: 9781783297436

  Published by Titan Books

  A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

  144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

  First Titan edition: February 2017

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

  Randy Henderson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Copyright © 2017 Randy Henderson.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

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  To Christy,

  for all the obvious reasons, and three secret ones

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Also by Randy Henderson and Titan Books

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PART I

  1: Constant Craving

  2: We Didn’t Start the Fire

  3: Love Shack

  4: Everybody Hurts

  5: Poison

  6: Man in the Box

  7: Ain’t 2 Proud 2 Beg

  8: The Unforgiven

  9: Been Caught Stealing

  10: Connected

  11: Wicked Game

  12: Free Your Mind

  13: The Emperor’s New Clothes

  14: So What’cha Want

  15: Runaway Train

  16: Thieves in the Temple

  PART II

  17: Come as You Are

  18: Down in a Hole

  19: Hard to Handle

  20: It Ain’t Over ’Til It’s Over

  21: Good Vibrations

  22: Two Princes

  23: Policy of Truth

  24: Groove Is in the Heart

  25: Price of Love

  26: Things That Make You Go Hmmm …

  PART III

  27: She Talks to Angels

  28: Always on the Run

  29: Hunger Strike

  30: Jerry Was a Race Car Driver

  31: Hey Jealousy

  32: One

  33: Rusty Cage

  34: Even Flow

  35: Step by Step

  36: U Can’t Touch This

  37: It’s So Hard to Say Good-bye to Yesterday

  38: Killing in the Name of

  39: Countdown to Extinction

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also Available from Titan Books

  PART I

  1

  CONSTANT CRAVING

  September 4, 2011

  I felt twitchy as the Bumbershoot festival crowd flowed past me in the shadow of the Space Needle. The collective hum of their spiritual energy pulled at me like the seductive whispers of a thousand sirens, strong as the compulsion to take just one more turn on Civilization before going to bed—compelling, but nothing that couldn’t be defeated with a great act of will, or perhaps an urgent need to use the bathroom.

  I leaned on a concrete ledge outside the food court, along with my girlfriend, Dawn, my sister Sammy, and her girlfriend Fatima as we took a break from browsing booths and watching concerts. The light breeze offered a bit of relief from summer’s stubborn September heat, though it also brought the occasional whiff of the upwind garbage cans or the body odor of an unwashed teenager. I fluffed my Space Invaders T-shirt as the throbbing beat of a distant rock-rap band provided the background for a hundred passing conversations, a dozen laughing children, and one jet flying overhead.

  I took Dawn’s hand and focused on it, running my thumb gently over the guitar calluses on her pointer finger, the brown curve of her palm’s edge forming a kind of yin yang with the tan of mine, the warm and solid reality of her presence helping me to ground myself and shut out the call of all that energy.

  I looked up to find her smiling at me. Gods, she was beautiful. And between that impish smile and the lavender cloud of finger coils framing her face, she could easily have been an animated goddess of chaos. Even the simple gray T-shirt and brown jeans didn’t mask her blazing energy, her—

  “You’ve got shiny eyes again,” Dawn said. “Those for me? Or are you just hungry?”

  “I’m hungry for you,” I replied, and my stomach growled loudly as if to argue.

  “Well, for that you’ll have to wait ’til we get home, but here’s something to hold you over.” She leaned in and drew me into the warm haven of a kiss.

  Someone knocked against my foot as they passed—and my foot kicked out, my red Converse connecting with the folds of a yellow dress.

  “Hey—” the woman said, tugging at her dress. “Jerk.”

  “Sorry!” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  She rolled her eyes and re-entered the flow of bodies.

  Damn it, Alynon, I thought at the Fey spirit trapped in my head.

  Alynon Infedriel, knight of the Silver Court and a huge pain in my spiritual butt, harrumphed, then replied in a weak voice that only I could hear, *’Tis not my fault she had no consideration.*

  What did I tell you about taking control? I thought back.

  *She interrupted a perfectly good kiss! And there hasn’t been nearly enough good kissing going on lately, let alone—*

  Drop it, or I’ll be staying up tonight watching Cop Rock instead of going to Dawn’s. Never mind that he was right.

  “Alynon being a pain again?” Dawn asked.

  “Yep.”

  *You would not so starve your own happiness to spite mine,* Alynon said.

  Yes, well, unlike you, I have control over my lizard brain.

  *Indeed, you have more Mothra than Godzilla in your nature.*

  I’ll take that as a compliment, given that Mothra was protector of the Earth.

  *Indeed? Protector of the Earth now, are you?*

  I did not reply. I hadn’t felt like any kind of hero since Elwha. I turned my focus back outward, but that let the energy of the crowd draw my attention again.

  Three months since the battle at Elwha River, when I consumed Dunngo the dwarf’s spiritual energy—a desperate act of dark necromancy used to stop a crazy shapeshifting jorõgumo. An act that had utterly destroyed Dunngo’s spirit, forever. I’d been extra sensitive to the spiritual energy around me ever since, feeling something like lust at the thought of touching it, using it. The strength of the feeling had faded slowly, diminishing with lots of “me time” and some serious meditation work. But being around so many people at once made the accumulated weight of their spiritual energy hard to ignore. All of that power—

  “There are just too many damned people in the world,” I said.

  “Oh, people aren’t so bad,” Dawn replied. “It’s all the Stupid, that’s the problem.”

  I
shrugged in non-committal agreement. Maybe I was simply used to small-town life, or still adjusting to our world after twenty-five years of exile in the Fey Other Realm, but as I looked around I just saw streets clogged with cars, walkways stuffed with bodies. A great river of people in their summer clothes, buying and talking and walking and—I could feel them, their spirits, like glowing apples waiting to be plucked. All that spiritual energy, being wasted on watching reality television and eating fried nuggets of chicken sawdust. I could do so much more with—

  I knocked my thoughts onto another path with the force of Bowser in a bumper car, took the irritability which desire had sparked in me and turned it toward my other source of irritation and worry: Mattie, my niece. I checked my phone, but still no messages from her.

  I didn’t know what could be keeping her. The Seattle Center’s amusement park had been torn down and removed while I was in exile. Who gets rid of awesome rides and instead offers a museum of glass sculptures? I just didn’t understand this world I’d returned to, sometimes.

  I leaned forward, looking past Dawn to Sammy and Fatima. Sammy typed something into her phone, her default state when not actually interacting with the world around her. Her red jeans, green Converse, and black sleeveless T-shirt with silver wings on the back made Sammy look more the rock star than Dawn. Fatima sat cross-legged, her green and gold dress spilling over the concrete ledge, and her black curtain of hair falling forward to shade her eyes as she sketched with rapid strokes in her ever-present sketch pad.

  “Sis, any word from Mattie yet?” I asked.

  Sammy didn’t look up from her phone. “Yes, she texted me that she’s eloping with a fire juggler and I totally forgot to mention it.”

  “So, no then?”

  “Can’t fool you, can I?” Sammy’s typing didn’t even slow. “Chillax, brother o’ mine. She’s a teenager at a music fest. She’s just off somewhere having fun.”

  Dawn squeezed my hand. “It’ll be okay. You both needed to get out of that house. It’s September and you look pale as an Irishman’s arse in winter.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I said.

  “Uh huh. You’ve been sitting around your room playing video games,” she replied. “If I’d known you were going to go full-on basement dweller over that Genesis, I would never have bought it for you.”

  *Hear hear,* Alynon said.

  Sit and spin, Alf, I thought back. “You want me to be able to talk with your friends without sounding like an idiot, right?” I replied. “I have a lot to catch up on.”

  I had twenty-five years of games, movies, music, and life to experience; in fact, everything that had been created or happened since my spiritual exile to the Other Realm in 1986. With Dawn’s help, I was immersing myself in one year each month, so that I could really absorb it all and build up my knowledge and experience in a natural progression. This month I’d reached 1992, and was loving the music. But what had blown my mind, not to mention my free time and a good deal of my regular sleeping hours these past months, were the video games.

  I mean, the RPGs alone! Curse of the Azure Bonds, Bard’s Tale, Ultima, Wasteland—it was like I’d woken into a fantasy world myself.

  But then throw in games like Monkey Island, King’s Quest, Sonic the Hedgehog, Flashback, Mortal Kombat, Dune, Mario Kart, Super Star Wars, and—well, I needed three of me just to play them all as much as I wanted. And there remained nearly twenty more years of games for me to catch up on.

  “Besides,” I added, “I’m technically working, if you count it as research toward me learning to design my own games again.”

  Fatima looked over. “I thought you were running a dating service for magicals.”

  “I am,” I said. “But it hasn’t exactly been bringing in the dollars.” Since helping Sal the sasquatch to find his perfect soul mate, customers had finally begun to trickle in for the magical matchmaking service I’d started. Unfortunately, most couldn’t afford to pay much, or preferred barter. And despite Mort’s promptings and my need for income, I never felt able to turn someone away who came searching for love. “Besides, gaming has always been my true love.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Dawn said. “Does this mean I should dress up like a video game hottie to grab your heart?”

  “You say that like you don’t love the idea,” I replied.

  “Damn. You know me too well.” Dawn grinned, and gave me a kiss. “You know I support your dreams, baby, but I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  I leaned in close and said for her ears only, “I’ve seen you in several costumes, and haven’t been disappointed yet.”

  “Damn straight,” she said. “Though I still can’t believe you look better in that Catwoman outfit than me.”

  I blushed, and glanced to make sure Sammy hadn’t heard, but she gave no sign as she continued tapping at her phone. “Ha ha,” I said, just in case.

  “Seriously though,” Dawn continued, “I’m not sure making games works the way you think anymore. They’ve become like big budget movies these days, all corporate product and profit, right, Sammy?”

  “Not necessarily true,” Sammy said without looking up from her phone, clearly able to hear us. Great. “You could probably code a mobile game by yourself. In fact, retro gaming’s in right now, so you might even do well.”

  I blinked. Had Sammy just said something encouraging rather than sarcastic? That was only slightly less rare than Alynon being helpful. It must be Fatima’s influence. That, and the number of bands that Dawn had helped Sammy meet in person this weekend.

  “Well then,” Dawn said, and gave me another squeeze, “we should look into some programming classes.”

  I didn’t mention that I’d already looked into classes and been confused by all the different types of programming options—long gone were the simple days of BASIC. Dawn liked to take charge and lead the way anyway, and I’d found it easiest just to let her.

  Of course, her general distrust of the Internet meant she preferred to do things by talking to real people, so we’d probably be spending a few days visiting local colleges rather than a few hours using the magic of the Google. But Dawn had her own kind of magic. Somehow she would make an adventure of it, and probably make friends with the admissions folks, and next thing I knew I’d be enrolled in an already full class for free through some kind of archaic loophole. For the same reason I’d learned not to get in her way once she had a goal in mind, I’d also learned not to question the power of Dawn, but just to sit back and appreciate it.

  So all I said was, “That would be great.”

  The sound of a band doing sound checks echoed from the mural amphitheater stage across the way.

  “Ooo, I think Starfucker’s coming on,” Dawn said.

  I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I didn’t recognize most of the bands playing this music and arts fest. In fact, none of the artists I’d grown to enjoy over the past couple of months were performing. Nirvana. Boyz II Men. Sleater-Kinney. Blur. MC Hammer. Milli Vanilli. But I’d enjoyed some of the bands that did play.

  A cloud of marijuana smoke drifted over us from a passing knot of teenagers.

  “If Mattie doesn’t show up soon,” I said, “maybe we should skip taking her backstage to meet the Presidents tonight.”

  “Nice try,” Dawn said. “I know you’re not excited about PotUS, but that’s just cause you haven’t heard them yet. Besides, Mattie is going to Hall and Oates with you Monday, the least you can do is see the Presidents with her.”

  Damn. “You know how to cut right to my heart,” I said. “Like a real Maneater.”

  “Maneater, huh?” Dawn said, the corner of her mouth dimpling up. “I can go for that.”

  A shout went up from a group of hackysackers on the grass in front of the mural stage, drawing my attention back to the flows of energy.

  “I just want to know Mattie’s okay, is all,” I said, tearing my eyes off of the crowd and their spiritual pull again. “There’s all kinds of negative
energy here.”

  “Mattie’s danger is yet to come,” Fatima said as she sketched, and with the noise of the crowd and sound checks it took a second after hearing the words for their meaning to register.

  “What?” I stood up, and strode quickly to Fatima. “Mattie’s danger?” I looked down at her sketch. It appeared to be Dawn dancing in front of Stonehenge.

  Fatima looked up at me, and blinked, her eyes taking a second to focus on mine. “What?”

  “You said Mattie’s danger is yet to come. Did you see something happening to her?” Fatima was an arcana like me and Sammy, a human magic user; but where our family gift was necromancy, hers was sorcery, and more specifically the gift of prophecy. Though if you asked me, her true gift was in making Sammy smile, a miraculous power whose strength must truly rival the gods to break through the shield of my sister’s determined cynicism.

  Fatima frowned, and looked back down at her sketch pad. “I—maybe?” She lifted the page, and flipped through a series of images. I caught what looked like Donkey Kong, and Dawn playing her guitar with an expression of fury, and Mattie reaching out through a narrow window in stone, a terrified look on her face. “I don’t think her danger is immediate. Though everything feels … unclear, distant for some reason, like the near future is encased in amber.” She shook her head.

  Dawn moved to stand beside me. “Something wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Sammy put a hand on Fatima’s arm. “You okay, Fates?”

  A smile quirked up the corner of Fatima’s mouth. “I’m fine. Probably just tired. Two hours sleep does not a bright Fatima make.”

  Sammy gave Fatima a light poke in the side. “And whose fault is that?”

  “Yours,” Fatima replied, and finger-combed her hair back. “You know what red wine does to me.”

  “Uh,” I said, “about Mattie—?”

  Sammy sighed. “I told you, I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “She’s not fine,” I said. “Fatima’s visions aside, Mattie’s definitely hurting. She just hides it well.”

  In fact, we’d come to Bumbershoot today largely for Mattie’s sake. It had been a rough few months for all of us, but she was barely sixteen years old. Beyond the normal teenage challenges and changes, she’d been taken hostage by her undead grandfather, found out her mother was possessed during her conception in order to grant her the Talker gift, and then her father had almost died to keep bumping spiritual uglies with the ghost who did the possessing. Add on top of that several major shakeups in the family, with my return, and Pete largely disappearing into his new life as a waerwolf, and her teacher and family friend Heather betraying us then becoming a waerbear—we were one crazy messed up family.