Smells Like Finn Spirit Page 2

  So when Dawn got the chance at some cheap festival passes through her new record label, it was decided to bring Mattie out for some normal, healthy family time at an event she might actually enjoy.

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Sammy said. “But here’s a news flash—our family has always been messed up, and we each got through it. Mattie’s not a fragile egg, she’s a smart young woman who’s twice as together as you were at her age.”

  “I’m just worried …” I trailed off.

  “What?” Sammy asked. “That she’s going to go up in the Space Needle with a sniper rifle just because she’s having a rough patch? Trust me, if you meet a teenager who never has an emotional crisis, that’s when you should be worried, ’cause they’re an alien or robot or something and your butt is toast.”

  *Indeed,* Alynon chimed in. *I would be more concerned about the enemies your family has made than what harm your niece may bring upon herself.*

  Great, thanks, I thought. Like I needed to be reminded of that right now. “Don’t forget we saw Barry here,” I said.

  Dawn rolled her eyes. “Barry’s harmless.”

  Easy for her to say. Barry did nothing but flirt with her. But Barry, mister life of the party with his easy charm and perfect smile, also happened to be a waerdog pledged to the Forest of Shadows, the darkest of the Fey Demesnes. I still couldn’t believe he was running around free after the battle at Elwha, but technically he hadn’t participated in the battle, he’d only been there as a duly appointed representative in an official duel. And now, he was playing in a drum circle on yon grassy hill with a bunch of hippy-looking kids I suspected were a pack of his fellow waer-folk.

  “Hey guys!” Mattie called, appearing out of the stream of people. She wore one of Sammy’s old Bikini Kill T-shirts, and had dyed her hair bright green with blue ends.

  “Where were you?” I snapped, my nerves still on edge from all the spiritual temptation. “We were supposed to meet here a half hour ago.”

  “Sorry, Uncle Finn. I was on my way and got distracted by a breakdancing troupe. You would have loved them.”

  “You freaked me out,” I said, but my irritation quickly faded at the sad look on her face. I sighed. “I’m glad you had fun. Just, text us or something. We were worried.”

  “I know,” Mattie said. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”

  “Dawn!” another voice called, and a woman marched toward us from the direction of the mural stage, waving. A silver persona ring flashed on her hand, the ID ring of an arcana.

  “Kaitlin!” Dawn waved back. Kaitlin cut across the crowd to join us. She stood a head taller than Dawn, with bleach-blond hair and wearing all white.

  Kaitlin and her partner, Wesley, formed the band BOAT, and had known Dawn for several years.

  They were also arcana, a fact Dawn had been unaware of until recently. But for that reason I actually looked forward to talking to them. Of all the bands I’d met since Dawn signed to Volvur Records, they were the first I might be able to say something intelligent to instead of just feeling like a dork.

  Dawn and Kaitlin embraced. A bright blue azurite gem flashed in Kaitlin’s Persona ID ring, identifying her as a sorceress, an illusionist.

  “Grab lunch?” I asked, looking at the Casio calculator watch I’d inherited from Zeke. Sadly, my Pac-Man watch had died a watery death in the Elwha.

  Just past noon.

  Sammy stood, and lifted her laptop satchel. “I don’t know about food, but I’d kill a damn Yeti for some air-conditioning right now,” she said.

  Fatima gave a sad look up at the sun, but didn’t protest. We all gathered our things and shuffled inside the food court. As we filed through the door, Mattie moved up beside Dawn and said, “How come you’re not playing this weekend?”

  “I only signed with Volvur a couple months ago,” Dawn replied. “It was way too late to book me here.”

  “You’ll play here next year though, for sure,” Mattie said.

  “We’ll see,” Dawn replied, but her tone was practically giddy. “They’re planning to send me on tour, for sure.”

  Kaitlin looked over her shoulder at Dawn. “We should totally talk about doing some shows together. I think our messages mix really well.”

  “Shit yeah!” Dawn replied.

  I wasn’t sure how excited I was at the thought of Dawn getting mixed up in BOAT’s brand of messaging.

  BOAT had been approved by the Arcana Ruling Council to help popularize and spread disinformation about magic by creating a cultish sort of “philosophy” and mythos to go with their band. The truly weird thing was, they seemed entirely earnest about it all, and it was hard for me to tell where the line existed between them doing this as some kind of giant promotional art project, and them actually believing what they were saying, whereas Dawn’s lyrics all came right from her heart. Still, sincere or not, BOAT’s messages seemed positive.

  It seemed the ARC had finally learned its lesson about leaving the creativity to the artists, at least. Past attempts at disinformation and creating excuses for plausible deniability had not gone over so well, and even the ones that had been somewhat successful—LSD, Orson Welles’s War of the Worlds broadcast, Gwar—had caused some problems of their own.

  A wave of cool air and food smells washed over us as we entered the Armory, Seattle Center’s food court. The space looked like a gentrified warehouse, all pleasant greens and blues and grays with a high roof held up by pillars spaced widely throughout. Along the outer walls ran a series of restaurants, and there were food stands spaced throughout as well. Scaffolding for lights and speakers dangled from wires above, with a stage opposite the entrance that often held some kind of cultural performance. And in the center of the floor you could look down into a section of the Children’s Museum that filled the level below, a section made to look like a mountain and bit of Pacific Northwest forest complete with running waterfall.

  The spaces between were packed with people at small plastic tables.

  Sammy scored seats at a table far back in one corner by an emergency exit, as isolated as we could hope to get in the crowded space, and the rest of us dispersed to get the food of our choice.

  As I stood waiting for my order at the MOD Pizza counter, a laugh cut through the noise of the crowd, a snorting staccato beat that I would have recognized anywhere. I looked over to see Dawn laughing at something Kaitlin said a couple of counters down, and then smiling in my direction.

  Damn I loved her. Granted, I didn’t have the years of experience that I should have at love, but then I supposed there were plenty of people my age who hadn’t had more than one true love in their life. My brother Pete and his fiancée Vee were getting married in a few days, and more than once as I’d listened to them talk about the traditions of a brightblood bonding ceremony, I had thought of Dawn, and—

  “Whip cream?” the young lady behind the counter asked.

  “What? Oh, uh, yeah! Of course.”

  I collected my food and shake, and turned around to find an unfamiliar older man watching me intently, with a brute lurking beside him who looked like Dolph Lundgren with a buzz cut and neck tattoo.

  “Hello, Phinaeus,” the older man said. “I have some rather urgent business to discuss with you.”

  The faint purple birthmark like an upside-down heart on his right cheek sparked recognition.

  “Justin?” Justinius Gramaraye was a second cousin. I could see the Gramaraye nose now above Justin’s weak chin and too-thin lips. It was definitely him. When I last saw him and his twin brother, Jared, they were barely twelve years old, a full two years younger than me at the time. But the man staring at me appeared at least sixty-five years old. And not a distinguished Sean Connery sixty-five, or a charming Beatles “will you still love me” sixty-five, but more like someone who’d spent those years earning money as a subject of medical experiments, and then blown every dime of that money at the local dive bar.

  The rare “gift” of actually Talking to spirits drained
the necromancer’s life when used, aging the necromancer. My mother had been a Talker, which had contributed to her death. And I was a Talker, but had no desire to use the gift if I could avoid it. If Justin had manifested the gift after I went into exile, that might explain his aging, but not his otherwise sad state. Vegan albinos had more flesh and color to them. “Jesus, Justin, you okay?”

  “Show respect!” Justin snapped.

  My skin tightened with goosebumps as I realized my mistake.

  This wasn’t Justin. This was—

  “Grandfather.”

  2

  WE DIDN’T START THE FIRE

  Grandfather’s reaper grin confirmed my guess.

  He had taken possession of Justin’s body through dark necromancy, aided by the resonance that family blood and the shared gift of necromancy created between them. Just as he had done to Grayson, his onetime apprentice and bastard son, despite the fact that he had destroyed Grayson’s spirit to fuel the possession.

  Much as I had destroyed Dunngo’s spirit to fuel my own magic.

  The tray suddenly felt heavy, and my stomach in no state for food.

  “Come,” Grandfather said. “Let us go someplace less public and speak.”

  “How about we don’t,” I replied, “and you just send me a nice Solstice card from, say, Hades?”

  Grandfather motioned to the brute at his side. “I could have my friend involve your mundy girlfriend in our discussion, if you prefer.”

  I looked over at Dawn, but she and Kaitlin were faced away from me now, unaware of my situation.

  Shazbot.

  “Fine. Let’s chat, just me, you, and Deputy Dolph.”

  Deputy Dolph didn’t look too thrilled at his new title—in fact, he looked like the kind of person always just waiting for an excuse to be angry—but Grandfather merely nodded to him, and he led the way back to a utility hall clearly meant for employees only. We stopped in the hallway with its plain white walls and concrete floor, the fluorescent lighting especially bleak and pale after a day in the summer sun.

  I swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth as Grandfather turned to face me. I waved at him. “I take it Grayson’s body finally gave out?”

  “Indeed,” Grandfather said. “When you turned against your family duty, I no longer had the magic to sustain it.”

  I ignored the bait on the whole “duty” thing. We’d just have to agree to disagree on whether being used to fuel his immortality was a family duty or not.

  “So you just took another body?” I asked. “You said Grayson volunteered to be sacrificed for your use, that he was a soldier for the cause. Are you going to tell me Justin was another True Believer? Gods, don’t tell me he was actually your kid, too?”

  “Not exactly,” Grandfather said with a slight smile. “But as a Gramaraye, he too had a duty. And trust me, he was doing nothing special with this body, nothing nearly as important as saving our world from the Fey. The sacrifice of his spirit will be honored one day.”

  I did my best to hide a sudden shiver—and to convince myself it was one of fear rather than desire at the memory of how such dark power felt, or the uncomfortable echo I heard in his words to my own earlier thoughts about all the wasted lives in the world. I straightened my shoulders. “Well, I have to say, I’m not sure this whole Mumm-Ra thing is working for you. You look like the Crypt Keeper on a bad scare day.”

  Grandfather’s reaper smile faded into a decidedly unamused look. “The … entropy is an unfortunate side effect I have yet to eliminate. Especially as I no longer have your help in acquiring the power required to maintain possession.”

  “I never helped you,” I said. “I was used by you.” It was the reason Grandfather had framed me and gotten me exiled to the Other Realm for twenty-five years—due to our unique spiritual connection, he’d found a way to draw raw magical energy from the Other Realm through me despite the barriers between worlds. It was a variation on the trick that Katherine Verona had used to make her daughter the spiritual equivalent of an atomic bomb in the Other Realm.

  “You say potato, I say stop whining,” Grandfather replied, waving the distinction away.

  “I’m surprised you have enough mana left to freejack anyone after all these months,” I said. “You must have quite the stockpile.”

  “Who said I’m using mana?” Grandfather replied, and looked down at his hands. “Sadly, the levels of raw spiritual energy required to maintain control is not kind to flesh.”

  My goosebumps turned into pterodactyl-bumps.

  Grandfather must be summoning spirits—or killing folks and capturing their spirits—and consuming their energy to fuel his immortality. He had gone full-on Lich King evil.

  “You’re insane,” I said, taking an involuntary step back. “You may have found a way to stick around past your expiration date, but you only have so many relatives to use up.”

  “Indeed,” Grandfather replied, with the tone of someone who had just been asked if they’d like to order the daily special.

  “So let me guess. You’re here to tell me I should return to exile so you can stop using up bodies like disposable underwear?”

  “Actually, Phinaeus, I only need to possess one more body.”

  The look he gave me made it pretty damn clear which body that might be.

  “Um, what?” I said.

  “If I am right, I no longer need to place you in exile, because once I have control of your body I will have an existing link to the Other Realm.”

  I blinked. “You mean Alynon?”

  Grandfather’s smile widened. “Yes. And what could be a more fitting solution to my immortality, and to the success of our war against the Fey, than to use one of their own to fuel that victory.”

  “Well,” I said. “Aren’t you just the leader of the club that’s made from you and me. But I’d rather not join.”

  “You say that as if you have a choice,” Grandfather replied. “Trust me, what my … allies have planned for you and your loved ones is sure to be far worse. You have upset our plans more than once, and we are all too close to our endgame to risk you doing so once more.” He glanced around us as if expecting those allies to back up his statement.

  “I still don’t understand why your merry little band of Illuminati wannabes can’t see—”

  “I don’t mean we Arcanites, dear boy. I mean the Fey.”

  Damn.

  We’d suspected that Grandfather’s Arcanite cult had allied with some group of equally extremist Fey. There just had been no way to explain how either one or the other group could have performed all the acts of sabotage and manipulation and destruction. But it had not made sense. The primary goal of the Arcanites was to wipe out the Fey and establish arcana supremacy—for our world’s own good, of course. What Fey Demesne or group would be willing to work with them?

  “Who—”

  “Please, dear boy, do not ask me who my allies are. That really is insulting to think I would share my plans like a bad movie villain.”

  “Well, to be fair, you did have a secret underwater lair and are planning to rule the world, so, you know, if the straitjacket fits—”

  “You still refuse to see the true threat the Fey pose,” Grandfather said. “But had they found you before me, you would not be so glib. Even now I’m certain their agents seek you out.”

  “Funny,” I said. “They’ve had months to seek me out since the whole Elwha thing. Why do I have a feeling that your plans to use me as your personal Lazarus Pit was the final straw?”

  Grandfather gave a “what can I say” shrug, then motioned toward the exit door at the end of the hall. “Why don’t we go someplace safer to complete our … discussion. Unless you wish to involve your—”

  Deputy Dolph suddenly spasmed, slamming back against the wall. His eyes went severely bloodshot, his jaw clenched, and his neck muscles stood out enough to make a Cardassian jealous.

  “Fury!” Grandfather said.

  “He’s berserking?” I asked, backing
away as Grandfather did the same. “Why?”

  “No, fool. A Fury has possessed him. He is fighting it, but he will not win. You must escape.”

  “Me? Escape?”

  Grandfather made a disgusted sound. “Truly, that habit of repeating what I say has always annoyed me, Phinaeus. The Fey have sent Furies against you, and me. I can handle myself. You—”

  I didn’t wait for him to finish. I dropped my tray, mourning the lost pizza as I turned, and ran.

  A Fury. Holy frak.

  Furies were unpredictable and volatile creatures, Elder Fey spirits drawn to powerful anger and hatred, possessing their victim and projecting the dark emotions outward like a destructive emotional plague. Furies had responded often to calls for vengeance in olden times, before arcana had managed to contain enough of them that the remaining few fled and remained mostly hidden.

  When they did attack, they were relentless and devastating. Creatures of chaos and single-minded focus, they might be willing to cause death and mayhem among mundies, careless of the visibility. More than one sporting event had devolved into riots thanks to the Furies being drawn to such concentrated passion and rivalry.

  But a Fury with purpose, controlled? Only the Fey could have managed it.

  Grandfather hadn’t been lying about that, at least.

  I dodged and wove my way between the people with their trays and tables, checking behind me. Deputy Dolph had not followed. Which meant either he was busyripping Grandfather’s arms off, or Grandfather had managed to somehow bind or banish the creature. I wasn’t sure which I preferred.