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valarltdSounds of the Season:
Aow-oooo!:
Werewolves have fascinated me since Lon Chaney terrified me in the Wolfman. One of my better known series is my gay Christmas werewolves. It's been in print since 2005 and is showing its age a bit. Paul is an architect and Dan (there in the icon) is an English prof. Togther, they weather falling in love, coping with death and saving the world. Along the way they meet Corin and Cian, an old irish werewolf and his half-sidhe mate. They're available in Riding the Nightmare
An exclusive. This is the latest DJ novel, and while Paul and Dan don't make an appearance, Corin and Cian do
I needed an in with the fae. I needed to find Maudlin before another kid died. And I needed a drink.
I could solve the last so I polished off the last swallow and walked down to the corner liquor store, still extra careful on the stairs. Fae kept turning over in my mind and I couldn't figure out why it kept connecting with 'thropes. My carriage driver knew nothing. Chet didn't have anything. I wondered if I should try Zoltan. He wouldn't be helpful, most likely. Or I could call Dan. He might be in Wisconsin, but he still could-
I stopped dead in the doorway of the liquor store. The answer was right there. The old connector had finally hooked me up with something useful.
“In or out, lady. I ain't paying to air condition the whole neighborhood,” the night clerk growled. “You want your usual?”
I nodded, my mind working overtime. I knew who to call. I might even still have a card and not have to go the round-about calling routine. I paid for two bottles of spiced rum and hurried back to the office.
I flipped through my card-file. Call me old fashioned, I still kept a rolodex. Had Lily really wanted to mess with me, she would have swiped this instead of messing with my hair. I found it: Corin Faw and Cian O'Brian. That was what was bugging me. O'Brian was half-sidhe and fey in the rainbow way as well as the inherited one. They'd had a little shop in Cooper-Young for about six months and then they'd moved who knew where. I still had one of their cards. I smiled to see that it had a cell number on it and hoped they hadn't changed it. The number wasn't a 901 area code, so they'd probably had it before Memphis, which meant they might not have changed it.
I checked the clock. Early enough that as long as they were in the US it wouldn't be too late. I dialed, not knowing exactly what to say. I hoped the number was still theirs, and not someone else's.
“Miska-tonic Herb and Tea Shoppe,” a purely Irish voice lilted over the phone. I swear I heard the -pe on shoppe. I breathed a little easier.
“I need to speak with Cian O'Brian. This is DJ Admire, from Memphis.” I had no idea whether they would remember me. We'd only met in passing.
“Sorry, love, we don't know anyone of those names.” I grinned. Standard response to a strange caller who was asking for people instead of shop hours. I could be a debt collector or worse.
I talked fast. “I'm a PI. I work the Nightside. I picked up one of your cards when you had Faw and O'Brien's in Cooper-Young. I'm a friend of Chet Thompson and Dan Camomescro and I really need to talk to Cian. We have a Fae problem here in Memphis and I need help before someone else dies.”
I heard a low growl on the other end, resignation, recognition, I didn't care. I held my breath again, hoping they wouldn't hang up.
“Talk to her, elf. I remember that voice.”
Thank Elvis for lycanthropic hearing. They never forgot a voice. It might take 'em a minute to place it, but they always remembered. I understood it was the same for scents.
“Miss Admire, we'll be happy to help if we can. But we're far away in Massachusetts now.”
“I heard. Miskatonic? You're in Arkham?” That couldn't be good. Memphis was a thin spot between planes. Arkham was the freaking Holland Tunnel, lit in lots and lots of neon saying “Eat here and get gas.”
“Aye that we are, and still recovering from a bad round of saving the world two Yules past. So, anything we can tell you, we will, but my wolf is no pup these days and we won't be charging into any battles.”
“I only need information. There's a Wild Hunt around Samhain.” I made sure to use the old name for the holiday.
“Aye, always is,” Cian agreed. “The Folk need to ride for a spot of fun every so often. I rode with it a few years ago. It wasn't home, but it was fine.”
“This year, I have Mad Maudlin in town, killing kids and bribing the Fae with mince pies made from them.”
I heard the phone drop on the counter and a great deal of swearing in Gaelic. I couldn't tell whether it was directed at me, so I waited until I heard breathing on the other end of the line.
The same growling voice that had vetted me came back on. “Lady, it takes a lot to upset a four thousand year old half-sidhe. I hope you're not lying or I swear by the gray in my pelt I will fly back to Memphis and eat you personally.”
“I'm not. I wish I was. But I have six dead kids and need to make it not be eight.”
“Cian's well enough to talk now. But you remember. Or some full moon night-”
“Enough, love. Forgive my old wolf, dear girl. He's overprotective and his bark is worse than his bite. Five dead children turned into mince pies.” He tutted a bit but my Weirdness Magnet tingled. I could almost hear him drooling.
Or I could just be ascribing the unsavory behavior of a group to a single known member of it. Stereotypes, Admire, I reminded myself.
“And Mad Maudlin too, you say? How'd that nightmare bitch get back to this plane?” The crudity seemed odd coming in such an accent, but somehow it fit better than my own.
“She's been here a while, hasn't she?” It was only a hunch right now, but I didn't think Memphis was her first stop on this gruesome culinary tour.
“We deplaned her back in Germany, a good hundred and fifty or sixty years ago, just before your Civil War. I was there, and part of the ritual.”
“Where did you send her, and when exactly was it?”
“Midsummer Eve, 1852, in Koln, Germany. She had led my people a merry chase across all the isle and half the continent before we caught her. She had those infernal pies about her and I regret to say they lured in more than a few of the casters. But enough stood firm that we were able to send her back to her plane of origin.”
“She is back, and here to bribe the Fae of the Mississippi Delta into helping her find Tom O'Bedlam.”
Cian laughed, a cold and bitter sound. I'd heard fake fae laughter that sounded like bells. I'd heard the real thing, which was more like falling rain. This was winter branches breaking in the frost. I reminded myself he was probably Seelie and tried to put his very careful phrasing of the deplaning out of my mind.
“She'll never find him.” Cian sounded sure of that. “Tom O'Bedlam was such a threat that the Witan put an end to him in the 1940s. Ugly mess, it was. Dismembered, burned, exorcised and ashes mixed with salt, silver and iron.”
The kids were dying for nothing. My mind reeled. Mad Maudlin was killing to get help finding someone who no longer existed. And I knew she wouldn't believe me if I was to tell her so.
“Cian, were you there for the ending of the demon?”
“Oh aye. Corin and I were there as observers for the Autumn Court of Sugarloaf and the werewolves of Ireland.”
“I need you to get to Memphis. Mad Maudlin will never believe a human, but a Fae, she can pull your memory of his demise and be satisfied.” I knew as I said it that the words were a lie. The best I could hope for would be her being utterly distracted by grief so I could deplane her.
Cian laughed again, still with the frosty bite to it. “Child, how long have you lived on the Nightside? Do you even believe those words?”
“No,” I said softly. “I was counting on two seconds of grief so I could banish her.”
Cian breathed out. “We're old, child and Corin's not well. A trip back to Memphis might be too much for him. Might be too much for us both.”
“I'm well enough, elf,” Corin growled in the background.
I liked these men already. They were protective of each other and not afraid to growl at anyone who got in the way of their care-taking. “Please. At least consider it. We'll arrange transportation,” I crossed my fingers as I said it. I would soak the PD for it, or get the CM group to kick in.
“Lyin' again, darlin'. Not a good way to start a venture or renew an acquaintance. Look, you make the arrangements and we will come. We've no love for the place, but there are small folk in danger and my people are about to be blamed.”
“I'll call tomorrow evening or the day after with the arrangements.” I gave them a one-sided smile they couldn't see. “Depends on how much I can pry out of Captain Garcia's tight fist.”
Cian chuckled at that. “We look forward to making a better acquaintance, Ms. Admire.”
I was hoping it wouldn't be too close of one. Cian made me uneasy. I knew it had to be the half-sidhe and the whole accent that doubtless put everyone else at ease. Both of them grated on me for some reason, despite my initial liking, making me feel I was being flim-flammed by someone with thousands of years of experience at it.
Your Creepy Pics of the Day:
Hosted by my preteen nightmare fuel
Aow-oooo!:
Werewolves have fascinated me since Lon Chaney terrified me in the Wolfman. One of my better known series is my gay Christmas werewolves. It's been in print since 2005 and is showing its age a bit. Paul is an architect and Dan (there in the icon) is an English prof. Togther, they weather falling in love, coping with death and saving the world. Along the way they meet Corin and Cian, an old irish werewolf and his half-sidhe mate. They're available in Riding the Nightmare
An exclusive. This is the latest DJ novel, and while Paul and Dan don't make an appearance, Corin and Cian do
I needed an in with the fae. I needed to find Maudlin before another kid died. And I needed a drink.
I could solve the last so I polished off the last swallow and walked down to the corner liquor store, still extra careful on the stairs. Fae kept turning over in my mind and I couldn't figure out why it kept connecting with 'thropes. My carriage driver knew nothing. Chet didn't have anything. I wondered if I should try Zoltan. He wouldn't be helpful, most likely. Or I could call Dan. He might be in Wisconsin, but he still could-
I stopped dead in the doorway of the liquor store. The answer was right there. The old connector had finally hooked me up with something useful.
“In or out, lady. I ain't paying to air condition the whole neighborhood,” the night clerk growled. “You want your usual?”
I nodded, my mind working overtime. I knew who to call. I might even still have a card and not have to go the round-about calling routine. I paid for two bottles of spiced rum and hurried back to the office.
I flipped through my card-file. Call me old fashioned, I still kept a rolodex. Had Lily really wanted to mess with me, she would have swiped this instead of messing with my hair. I found it: Corin Faw and Cian O'Brian. That was what was bugging me. O'Brian was half-sidhe and fey in the rainbow way as well as the inherited one. They'd had a little shop in Cooper-Young for about six months and then they'd moved who knew where. I still had one of their cards. I smiled to see that it had a cell number on it and hoped they hadn't changed it. The number wasn't a 901 area code, so they'd probably had it before Memphis, which meant they might not have changed it.
I checked the clock. Early enough that as long as they were in the US it wouldn't be too late. I dialed, not knowing exactly what to say. I hoped the number was still theirs, and not someone else's.
“Miska-tonic Herb and Tea Shoppe,” a purely Irish voice lilted over the phone. I swear I heard the -pe on shoppe. I breathed a little easier.
“I need to speak with Cian O'Brian. This is DJ Admire, from Memphis.” I had no idea whether they would remember me. We'd only met in passing.
“Sorry, love, we don't know anyone of those names.” I grinned. Standard response to a strange caller who was asking for people instead of shop hours. I could be a debt collector or worse.
I talked fast. “I'm a PI. I work the Nightside. I picked up one of your cards when you had Faw and O'Brien's in Cooper-Young. I'm a friend of Chet Thompson and Dan Camomescro and I really need to talk to Cian. We have a Fae problem here in Memphis and I need help before someone else dies.”
I heard a low growl on the other end, resignation, recognition, I didn't care. I held my breath again, hoping they wouldn't hang up.
“Talk to her, elf. I remember that voice.”
Thank Elvis for lycanthropic hearing. They never forgot a voice. It might take 'em a minute to place it, but they always remembered. I understood it was the same for scents.
“Miss Admire, we'll be happy to help if we can. But we're far away in Massachusetts now.”
“I heard. Miskatonic? You're in Arkham?” That couldn't be good. Memphis was a thin spot between planes. Arkham was the freaking Holland Tunnel, lit in lots and lots of neon saying “Eat here and get gas.”
“Aye that we are, and still recovering from a bad round of saving the world two Yules past. So, anything we can tell you, we will, but my wolf is no pup these days and we won't be charging into any battles.”
“I only need information. There's a Wild Hunt around Samhain.” I made sure to use the old name for the holiday.
“Aye, always is,” Cian agreed. “The Folk need to ride for a spot of fun every so often. I rode with it a few years ago. It wasn't home, but it was fine.”
“This year, I have Mad Maudlin in town, killing kids and bribing the Fae with mince pies made from them.”
I heard the phone drop on the counter and a great deal of swearing in Gaelic. I couldn't tell whether it was directed at me, so I waited until I heard breathing on the other end of the line.
The same growling voice that had vetted me came back on. “Lady, it takes a lot to upset a four thousand year old half-sidhe. I hope you're not lying or I swear by the gray in my pelt I will fly back to Memphis and eat you personally.”
“I'm not. I wish I was. But I have six dead kids and need to make it not be eight.”
“Cian's well enough to talk now. But you remember. Or some full moon night-”
“Enough, love. Forgive my old wolf, dear girl. He's overprotective and his bark is worse than his bite. Five dead children turned into mince pies.” He tutted a bit but my Weirdness Magnet tingled. I could almost hear him drooling.
Or I could just be ascribing the unsavory behavior of a group to a single known member of it. Stereotypes, Admire, I reminded myself.
“And Mad Maudlin too, you say? How'd that nightmare bitch get back to this plane?” The crudity seemed odd coming in such an accent, but somehow it fit better than my own.
“She's been here a while, hasn't she?” It was only a hunch right now, but I didn't think Memphis was her first stop on this gruesome culinary tour.
“We deplaned her back in Germany, a good hundred and fifty or sixty years ago, just before your Civil War. I was there, and part of the ritual.”
“Where did you send her, and when exactly was it?”
“Midsummer Eve, 1852, in Koln, Germany. She had led my people a merry chase across all the isle and half the continent before we caught her. She had those infernal pies about her and I regret to say they lured in more than a few of the casters. But enough stood firm that we were able to send her back to her plane of origin.”
“She is back, and here to bribe the Fae of the Mississippi Delta into helping her find Tom O'Bedlam.”
Cian laughed, a cold and bitter sound. I'd heard fake fae laughter that sounded like bells. I'd heard the real thing, which was more like falling rain. This was winter branches breaking in the frost. I reminded myself he was probably Seelie and tried to put his very careful phrasing of the deplaning out of my mind.
“She'll never find him.” Cian sounded sure of that. “Tom O'Bedlam was such a threat that the Witan put an end to him in the 1940s. Ugly mess, it was. Dismembered, burned, exorcised and ashes mixed with salt, silver and iron.”
The kids were dying for nothing. My mind reeled. Mad Maudlin was killing to get help finding someone who no longer existed. And I knew she wouldn't believe me if I was to tell her so.
“Cian, were you there for the ending of the demon?”
“Oh aye. Corin and I were there as observers for the Autumn Court of Sugarloaf and the werewolves of Ireland.”
“I need you to get to Memphis. Mad Maudlin will never believe a human, but a Fae, she can pull your memory of his demise and be satisfied.” I knew as I said it that the words were a lie. The best I could hope for would be her being utterly distracted by grief so I could deplane her.
Cian laughed again, still with the frosty bite to it. “Child, how long have you lived on the Nightside? Do you even believe those words?”
“No,” I said softly. “I was counting on two seconds of grief so I could banish her.”
Cian breathed out. “We're old, child and Corin's not well. A trip back to Memphis might be too much for him. Might be too much for us both.”
“I'm well enough, elf,” Corin growled in the background.
I liked these men already. They were protective of each other and not afraid to growl at anyone who got in the way of their care-taking. “Please. At least consider it. We'll arrange transportation,” I crossed my fingers as I said it. I would soak the PD for it, or get the CM group to kick in.
“Lyin' again, darlin'. Not a good way to start a venture or renew an acquaintance. Look, you make the arrangements and we will come. We've no love for the place, but there are small folk in danger and my people are about to be blamed.”
“I'll call tomorrow evening or the day after with the arrangements.” I gave them a one-sided smile they couldn't see. “Depends on how much I can pry out of Captain Garcia's tight fist.”
Cian chuckled at that. “We look forward to making a better acquaintance, Ms. Admire.”
I was hoping it wouldn't be too close of one. Cian made me uneasy. I knew it had to be the half-sidhe and the whole accent that doubtless put everyone else at ease. Both of them grated on me for some reason, despite my initial liking, making me feel I was being flim-flammed by someone with thousands of years of experience at it.
Your Creepy Pics of the Day:
Hosted by my preteen nightmare fuel
