Hiram Grange & The Chosen One Page 4

  His vision sharpened. An elvish visage hung over him, white skin gleaming, set off by midnight black hair and arched eyebrows. An eternally youthful mouth frowned.

  The face disappeared. As darkness pressed down, Hiram felt delicate yet powerful hands lift and hold him close. He lost consciousness and knew no more.

  Part 2

  Hiram crept into his parents’ bedroom. The floor creaked, and with each step a familiar dread filled him. Blood dripped from his mother’s misshapen hands and bathed the smashed remains of the Guadagnini cello at her feet. She swayed drunkenly, her back to him.

  He was an adult now, all grown up. Maybe he could stop her this time. As he got closer, however, he realized something: she didn’t have Father’s Webley.

  His right hand grew heavy. He looked down, amazed at what he clutched: shiny, new, polished to a black sheen—the Webley as his father had always kept it. The chamber was open. Only one bullet was loaded. One for Mother.

  He spun the chamber. Its clicking shattered the silence. He slapped it back into place as his heart begged, Stop this … please! Unheeding, he raised the Webley.

  No!

  “Hiram.” Several feminine voices spoke at once. “Hiram, please.”

  His grip tightened. The Webley shook.

  His mother turned, but it wasn’t her, or any one person. Its face twisted into a conglomerate mess. His mother’s face twisted into Sadie’s, stitched into the girl from Jimmy’s. It was like a madman had hacked these women apart and patched them together into one hideous being.

  “Hiram, please. You must let go.”

  The gun shook in his hand. Sweat poured down his face. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

  The butchered face grimaced. “Please, Hiram. You have to. You must!”

  “No! You can’t make me!”

  The thing lurched forward. “Do it! Now!”

  “NO!”

  It leaped for him, black eyes shining. “Then die!”

  Hiram stood his ground. He did what he always did, in the end. He pulled the trigger.

  Saturday Morning

  “No!”

  Hiram sat up, heart thudding. He grabbed the Webley from where it lay on the bed stand beside him and panned the room. Panic gripped him. He strained bleary eyes and aimed at imagined threats in every corner. Blinking, he tried to focus. The safe house. Empty. Nothing was disturbed, except …

  He glanced at the open door before sliding from the bed, only then noticing he was shirtless. Foregoing a self-inspection, he crossed the room, limping only a bit. He ignored the slight twitch in his stomach.

  Images flashed. His stomach twitched again. A voice clamored in his head, something’s in you, something’s in you …

  He nudged the door wider with a foot and peered out. The hall was empty. He closed the door, locked it, and limped towards the bathroom. His mind reeled. Something wriggled in his stomach. He heard them—hissing voices—whispering in his ears and brain.

  Cold, razor-edged metal slid under his Adam’s apple and he froze. “Sorry for the dramatics. Wasn’t sure if you’d be happy to see me. Now, be a good boy, put the gun down and have a seat.”

  Hiram dropped the Webley and his hands fell to his sides. He glanced down at familiar glyphs carved into the gleaming edge of the blade pressed against his neck. I hate it when she does this.

  “Hello, Mab.”

  The door stood at the end of the hall. She slipped and fell on a cold floor awash in blood. Scrambling to her feet, she ran as hard as she could. The door never got closer.

  Something slithered behind her on wet skin. Shrill cries echoed, one after another. They grated against her mind. She slipped and fell again. Sweat stung her eyes as she staggered upright once more.

  From the darkness, someone stepped into her path. The man from last night. There he stood, resplendent in his ridiculous suit. She raised her hands, but before she could speak, the man pulled his gun. “Sorry, love. I didn’t want this. Honestly.”

  The giant revolver thundered.

  Therese jerked awake with a cry, wrapping trembling arms around her chest. She glanced around her college flat. There were no monsters, no Reggie-thing staggered from her kitchen. There was nothing. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows. Everything was quiet.

  “Reggie. Oh, God. Reggie.”

  She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  Hiram reclined on the bed, smoking his pipe and sipping from a now half-empty bottle of whiskey. He took a moment to enjoy the exotic beauty perched on the windowsill. Only a moment, though. Based on her stiff posture, Mab wasn’t in the mood for anything past business.

  Pity.

  Mab made him burn, even though he was fairly certain he hated her. She was pale-skinned, and though she possessed aristocratic features, something lewd glittered in her blue-black eyes. Like many Faerie, she looked eternally nineteen—soft but lean in all the right places. Hiram knew better. She’d lived for centuries. No one knew how the Faerie altered their appearance or achieved longevity. It wasn’t magic or science. Some called them angels. To him, they were just smug assholes who thought themselves superior.

  He thought how Mab must’ve watched Sadie die. How she must’ve watched him pull the trigger. Anger smoldered within. “Nice to see you again, Mab. It’s been a while.”

  Mab shook her head like a pouting teenager. “Damn you, Hiram. You’re always in the way.”

  He blew smoke rings towards the ceiling. “I don’t know about you, love, but I’m working.” Mab said nothing, just glared at him. For a moment, he stared back.

  Those eyes. They belonged to the girl from Jimmy’s.

  “I don’t suppose I can convince you to leave?”

  “It’s my job, dear. I can’t just pack off with things unfinished, now can I?”

  “Actually, you can. Go find some other Abyss-scum to kill. There’s plenty out there.”

  He sighed and set the whiskey on the floor. “Always a pleasure, Mab.” His pipe now empty, he tapped its spent mix onto the carpet. “What the hell is going on?”

  Her lips pursed. “Hiram … you know I can’t …”

  “Bullshit!” He jumped up and jabbed a finger into Mab’s face, aware he was threatening someone who could vaporize him with a nod. He didn’t care. “Don’t hide behind that Faerie non-involvement shit!”

  “Hiram, I …”

  “No! You broke your precious code the minute you interfered and dragged me from that alley. Now, I want to know what’s happening with these girls. Why were they killed? What’s …”

  Suddenly weary, he sat down, alarmed at the way his heart hammered and his hands shook. He rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on, Mab. How are those girls connected?”

  She looked away, frowning. “It’s simple, really. The girl from Jimmy’s—her name is Therese, by the way—needs to die.”

  “Oh, this should be good.”

  Mab tilted her head. “How much do you know about the Faerie, Hiram?”

  “You mean besides their taste for bondage and their unbelievable sexual stamina? Precious little.”

  She gave him a harsh look, but he noticed a twinkle in her eyes. He filed that fact for later. “Besides that.”

  “Hell, it’s all based on superstition, myth and legend.” He waved. “You’ve been around since time began, live somewhere past the Veil. Sometimes you have visions, but they aren’t completely accurate.” He tapped his forehead. “Did I forget anything? Oh, right. Iron is your weakness, Kali knows why. Lastly, if the rest are like you, they’re all hell in the sack. That’s about it.”

  “Impressive, Hiram—really.” Her smile twisted. “And actually, no, I’m not like other Faerie at all. I’m chaste, compared to most.”

  “Really.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Focus, Hiram. What I’m about to share is sacred.”

  He mimed the zipping of his lips. “Stays with me, love, till death.”

  “Quite. In any case, your general assumpt
ions are accurate, though we have a more rigid hierarchy than that. I’m not just Mab, but Queen Mab, and my bloodline goes back to the beginning. There’ve been many Mabs before me; there’ll be more after. While all Faerie draw their life force from the Veil, the Queens have it at their fingertips. It’s ours to command.”

  Hiram’s mouth suddenly tasted dry. “Ah. That I didn’t know.” He frowned. “Wait. ‘Queens.’ There’s more than one?”

  She nodded. “Five others, six total.”

  “Powerful as you?”

  “All equal. Balanced. That’s the way it’s always been. We’ve no idea why or how. It just is.”

  “Interesting. Listen, thanks for the lesson. It’s been fascinating. Really. But what the hell does it have to do with five dead girls and one who’ll be dead real …” He stopped and did the math. “Oh, right. Six Faerie Queens. Counting Therese, six human women. Balance.” Something cold settled in his gut. “Why?”

  “There must always be balance. Faerie Queens aren’t immortal. We die of old age. Some are killed. Others step down. When that happens, the power must go somewhere. It must fill a new vessel.”

  “So these girls … they were waiting vessels for Faerie power, should a queen die?”

  Mab nodded. “Theoretically, if you were fast enough or I was distracted, you could plunge an iron blade into my heart and kill me now.” She eyed him. “Possible, but not probable.”

  “Like hell. Given the chance, I’d kick your faerie ass.”

  She stared at him, eyes shining. Hiram couldn’t tell if she was amused, offended, or aroused. “Someday,” she whispered, “I’m going to hold you to that.” She composed herself and continued. “In the unlikely event you killed me, my power must go somewhere.”

  “Right. So in your death, the your power would go to …”

  “My scion. They’re Scions of the Faerie Queens.”

  “Nice title. Spiffy.” A thought struck him. Mab and Therese’s eyes. “Bloody hell. Therese is your scion, isn’t she?”

  “The latest of many.”

  “Many? You’ve had more than one?”

  “Yes. Most often, we queens outlive our human scions. The Veil’s power is bound inside them. They live mortal lives. In the case a scion expires, her queen must cross the Veil and bring forth another.”

  A sickening revelation struck him. “Mab. Is that what we were doing when we … all those years ago …” He swallowed. “Did you use me to sire a scion?”

  Mab snorted. “Hiram, please! With you I had a scratch and itched it. That’s all.” She leered at him. “And scratched it well, you did, I might add … for a human.”

  “Focus, Mab.”

  She chuckled and flicked her ponytail. “Right. To birth a scion, a queen must cross over, choose a mate, assume the trappings of everyday human life—which doesn’t include bondage dens in Texas, I’m afraid.”

  “I thought it was Montana.”

  “Like you’d remember. Of course, the relationships are always whirlwind romances. There’s more time to replace a scion than a queen, but we don’t have forever.”

  “You enchant the poor dupes? How utterly unsurprising.”

  Mab’s face grew serious. “Actually, no. For whatever reason, the scions must be born of something like true love.”

  “Ah. That’s why you and I couldn’t have …”

  Mab rushed on, but he felt sure her eyes flickered. “And then, of course, because queens can’t very well stay and raise a family, the unit is eventually dissolved.”

  “Yes. All those orphan girls.” His jaw clenched. “Lots of broken families to produce an heir.”

  “Collateral damage. Worth keeping balance. Besides,” something entirely different flashed in her eyes, “we’ve all been through it. Scions ascend, change … and after that, their previous mortal lives don’t matter anymore.” Somehow, Hiram suspected she wasn’t being entirely truthful. On this point, however, he kept his peace.

  She continued. “In any case, uncalled scions grow up to be isolated women living solitary lives. They remain mortal, though their lives do shimmer with a dim reflection of the Veil’s beauty.”

  Hiram thought hard. “I see the crisis. Someone was either foolish enough—or powerful enough—to summon the Tanara’ri to eliminate your bench, so you can’t call up reserves when needed.” He frowned. “A crude analogy, but it fits.”

  “Yes. It’s alarming that someone discovered the scions at all.” Her eyes flashed. “No one is supposed to know they exist, plus they’re protected. No one should be able to work a locator spell on them, much less bind something to them.”

  “How are they protected?”

  Mab fingered beneath the neck of her tunic, withdrawing a chain from which dangled a small charm. Hiram narrowed his eyes and inspected it. The charm looked simple; a silver circle split down the middle with a lightning bolt, an engraved book and quill on one side, three small crystals embedded on the other.

  “Every child is left with a small charm like this. They’re specific to each queen’s line; this charm is the Sigil of Mab. They’re wards that cloak the Veil power bound within the scions. It’s not working now because all the power that’s flowed into Therese is too much for it to cloak. That still begs the question as to why it didn’t work with the other scions.”

  “Interesting. According to Bothwell, all the dead girls apparently received medallions that were sigils of the Tanara’ri. Focusing agents, I imagine. Probably strong enough to break the wards.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how someone knew who they were so the medallions could be sent to them.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I wonder, though …”

  “What?”

  Hiram leaned forward. “Well, it’s strange. Why all the girls one night, then Therese the next? Something either broke the Binding pattern and it had to reset itself, or …” He shook his head. He’d come back to it later.

  “As disturbing as that is, there are other, greater concerns.”

  Hiram looked up too quickly, and his stomach surged. He swallowed, fought back a wave of nausea, and said, “I imagine this is where you try to convince me that Therese needs to die, though I’ve got an inkling, now. It’s all about balance, isn’t it?”

  Mab hugged herself, looking ever more like an anxious teenager. “Yes. Just as there must be balance among the queens, there must be balance among the scions. Normally, the situation isn’t so dire. There’s usually plenty of time to birth another scion or two.”

  “But you’ve never had this many missing scions before, this much loose energy.”

  “No.”

  “So too much power has been displaced, and there’s not enough time to … birth … replacement scions, correct?”

  “Worse. Because of its sheer volume, the power has flowed into the only remaining vessel that can contain it: Therese.”

  “What happens if Therese dies?”

  Mab glanced away. “Without a vessel to attract it, the power will remain trapped in the ether, safe … until a new cycle of scions can be started. However, the power now within Therese will soon reach critical mass. When it does, it’ll break her binding. She’ll manifest. Indeed, she’s probably already manifested in small ways.”

  “What will happen to her?”

  “She won’t be human, but she won’t ascend, either. She’ll become… something else.”

  “So what’s the problem? I can sense evil, Mab … I know what darkness is like; you of all people know that. She looked like a pretty generic kid. Even if she manifests fully, I can’t imagine she’d become evil.”

  She looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to be evil to be dangerous. Besides, humans weren’t meant to hold that kind of power. I know you think us smug, but the Faerie have been bred for this.” She gave him an arch look. “The Veil’s power consumes and overwhelms. Given your mother’s fate, you of all people should know that.”

  His stomach twisted, but before he could respond,
Mab continued. “I’ve had a vision, Hiram. Seen what’s to come.”

  “Oh, well—excuse me. We know how accurate those are.”

  She looked at him with an odd glint in her eye. “Would you care to see?”

  Hiram sighed. “Well, there’s no way I’m going along with this on your word alone …”

  Mab cut him off and grabbed his wrist, fingernails digging into his skin. Her touch burned. His eyes rolled back as the Veil flowed into him.

  “See then, Hiram Grange. See … and understand.”

  Hiram thrashed. A rushing sound filled his ears. Everything else faded as darkness fell.

  “See, Hiram Grange. See what I’ve seen, and tremble at the sight.”

  Something exploded in the distance, then he saw—the land laid to waste, ground burning with white flame. Buildings burnt to ashes. Rubble piled high amid swirling rivers of white fire. The liquid flame surged everywhere.

  In the distance, he saw them: Three figures suspended in the air. The sky around them churned with the same white fire. Things circled them, fantastic terrors that snapped and clawed and ripped at each other. They where shifting things of leathery hide, with blackened eyes and glass talons. He knew what they were, and where they’d come from: the Abyss.

  He looked back to the three floating figures. One hovered in front, the remaining two flanked. The central figure burned with the Veil. It all came from her, and he knew: she’d torn down the barriers between the Abyss and the Earth.

  Shadows concealed the figure on the left. The other, however, he realized in cold fear … was him. Crackling with white fire.

  Far away over the hills, thunder rolled. He caught a glimpse of something white and hungry. When he looked back at the horrible floating trinity, he saw the most terrifying thing of all: Therese, laughing, over and over …