Swallowing Darkness mg-7 Page 4

  It was both an insult from someone she thought a friend, and a move of desperation, because if it didn't work, then Rhys might have done the proverbial sowing of the wind. I prayed to Goddess that he wouldn't reap the whirlwind.

  Doyle said, "Go, Doctor, go now."

  She started for the door, but said over her shoulder, "I'm getting the police."

  Rhys kept talking to Gran, slow, reasonable. Doyle said, "Unless the officers can do magic, they can't help here."

  Dr. Mason was at the door when the water pitcher smashed itself to pieces so close to her head that the plastic cut her cheek. She screamed, and Galen started to go to her, then hesitated at the foot of the bed. He was torn between helping the woman and staying at my side. Rhys, Doyle, and Sholto had no such conflict. They moved up to the bed. They meant to simply shield me, I think, but Gran stepped back. I could see her, now that Galen was halfway to the door.

  She stepped back, hands at her sides balled into fists. Her brown eyes were too wide, showing white. Her thin chest rose and fell like she'd been running. The big chair in the corner rose into the air.

  "Gran, no!" I yelled, and reached out, as if my outstretched hand could do something more that my voice alone could not. I had hands of power, but none I was willing to use on my grandmother.

  All the small objects in the room rushed toward the three men around my bed. Rushed toward me. But I knew that the small objects were a ruse. Throw the small then hit them with the big.

  I had time to take a breath, to warn them. Then Doyle was on top of me guarding me with his body. The world was suddenly black, not from passing out, but from the fall of his midnight hair across my face.

  I heard the doctor scream again. I heard unknown voices shouting from the direction of the door. Then Rhys yelled, "Sholto, no!"

  Chapter Three

  I pushed at Doyle's hair, tried to clear my vision, as the screams and shouts were joined by a sound like wind rushing toward us, and the breaking of glass. I heard Gran scream as I pushed desperately at Doyle. I had to see what was happening.

  "Doyle, please, what's happening?" I pushed at him, but it was like pushing at a wall. There was no moving him, unless he allowed it. I spent my life being not as strong, not as much, as those around me, but in that moment, it was brought home to me that I could be their queen, but I would never be their equal.

  I finally got enough of his hair out of my face to see the ceiling. I turned my head and found Galen by the door shielding the doctor with his body. There were shards of glass and wooden debris around him. The two uniformed cops by the door were inside with their guns drawn. But it was the looks on their faces that gave me some clue to what might be happening on the other side of the room.

  Horror, a soft, amazed horror, was on both their faces. They raised their guns, and aimed, as if whatever they were aiming at was moving... a lot, and it was bigger than anything in the room that I was aware of, because they were aiming above even the tallest of the men.

  The sound of gunshots exploded in the small room. I was deafened with it for a moment, then stunned by what they were firing at. Huge tentacles reached for them. Smaller shapes flew at them, black and vaguely batlike, if bats could be as large as a small person, and have tentacles in the center of their bodies that reached and writhed.

  Something screamed outside the window, as the tentacles, some wide as a man's waist, kept coming in the face of the shots. The bullets were lead, and that hurts those of faerie, but I'd seen the tentacles before, and short of cutting them off, you couldn't stop them.

  They slammed the two officers against the wall hard enough to shake the room. I saw smaller tentacles with guns held in them. I was okay with the disarming, because how do you explain to human police that the tentacled nightmare is on our side? Humans still have a tendency to think that good is always pretty and that evil is always ugly. I've found that it's so often the other way around.

  The nightflyers swooped in like dark flying manta rays. They had feet for perching, but their main limbs were the tentacles in the center of their bodies. They used them now to take the guns from the larger tentacles. I watched the one nearest us cling to the wall and use a smaller tentacle to put the safety on the gun. The nightflyers had great dexterity with their tentacles, which the larger beast did not.

  I felt Doyle move as he lay on top of me. He turned his head, and said, "Rhys, have you removed the spell?"

  "Yes."

  Doyle turned back to look at the police and the doctor, still crouched under Galen's protective charge. He moved slowly off of me. I could feel how tense his muscles were, ready to react if there was more danger. He finally stood beside the bed, his shoulders and the muscles in his arms still tense enough that I could see it.

  Rhys and Sholto held Gran between them. They were having to work at it though. Brownies could harvest a field single-handed in one night, or thrash a barn full of wheat. It wasn't all their ability for telekinesis; some of it was just plain brute strength.

  I knew she was giving them trouble because Sholto was using more than just his two strong hands. His father had been a nightflyer, like the manta-ray creatures that had disarmed the police. The same tentacles that graced the nightflyers had now exploded from beneath the t-shirt Sholto had worn to pass for human.

  His tentacles were the white of his flesh, decorated with veins of gold and jewel colors. They were pretty, actually, once you got past the fact that they were there at all.

  Gran hadn't had time to get past that fact, and she was cursing Sholto soundly. "Do nae touch me with those unclean things!" Her arms looked thin as matchsticks, but when she yanked, Rhys and Sholto both moved a little.

  Sholto braced two of his thicker tentacles against the floor, and when next Gran pulled only Rhys moved. Sholto had his foundation. He could hold her, thanks to his extra bits. The tentacles weren't there just to horrify, or for decoration. They were truly limbs, and like all limbs, they were useful.

  Rhys shouted to be heard above Gran's yells, the police, and everything else. "Hettie, someone put a spell on you!" He chanced removing one hand from her bony wrist. I caught a glimpse of something shiny and golden caught between finger and thumb before Gran jerked herself free of his other hand. Holding a brownie was a two-person job for most people, even the warriors of the sidhe. Especially if you didn't want to hurt the brownie.

  Gran balled her fist up, and I think she would have hit Rhys in the face, but Sholto caught her arm with a tentacle, and stopped her in mid-punch.

  She yelled louder, screeching, and began to fight him in earnest. Small objects began to fly at him from around the room. It was when the shards of window glass began to move that Rhys slapped her.

  I think it startled us all, because Gran looked at him with wide eyes. He said her name, loud and clear, putting power into it so that it rang like some great bell, echoing in the room as no human speech ever did.

  He held the shining gold thread in front of her face. "Someone wove this into your hair, Hettie. It is a spell of emotions, meant to increase whatever you feel. More anger, more hatred, more rage, more prejudice against the black court. You are one of the most reasonable fey I know, Hettie. Why would you ever pick today to lose control?" He moved the golden thread so that her eyes and head followed it. He moved her gaze so that she would look at me in the bed. "Why would you endanger your granddaughter and your great-grandchildren whom she carries inside her? That is not you, Hettie."

  She looked past the golden thread to me. Tears began to shine in her eyes. "Sorry I am, Merry. Sorrier that I know who did this evil thing."

  There was a sound from near the doors. Galen said, "Sholto, the tentacles are crushing the policemen."

  Sholto looked at the far wall with its burden of huge tentacles and police, as if he'd forgotten they were there. "If I let them go, they will try to be heroic, for they will never believe that we are not villains. We look too much like villains to be anything else to the humans." There was a tone in his v
oice, something bitter.

  How did we explain what had just happened so that the police didn't think exactly that? How do you explain that the giant octopus tentacles are trying to rescue us, and that the little old lady was the danger?

  "You must call off your beast, Sholto," Doyle said.

  "They will either try to run out the door and call for reinforcements, or they will try to draw a second gun and kill my beast. They have already wounded him with lead bullets."

  Him. He'd called the thing with tentacles bigger than my body a him. Funny, even with growing up with one of the nightflyers as my bodyguard, I still wouldn't have thought of the giant tentacled thing as a "him" or "her." It was an "it," but apparently not. Apparently, it was a "him," which implied a her out there somewhere. I'd assumed that this was the same tentacled creature that Sholto had brought to Los Angeles to fetch me, but maybe that had been the girl? Maybe I was still in shock, but I just couldn't think of what I was looking at as a girl.

  "I am sorry that your beast was injured when all you were doing was trying to protect the princess." Doyle walked toward the policemen, staying one side of the tentacles. He spoke to the cops as they dangled.

  "Officers, I am sorry that there was a misunderstanding. The tentacles that hold you came to rescue the princess, not to harm her. When the creature saw you with guns, it assumed that you were here to harm Princess Meredith, just as you would have assumed the same if strangers rushed in with pulled guns."

  One of the cops looked at the other one. It was hard to tell what expression they shared, with their faces still mottled from being held too long by the tentacles, but it was almost a "do you believe this?" look.

  The other cop, a little older, managed to say, "You're saying that this... thing is on your side?"

  "I am," Doyle said.

  I spoke from the bed. "Gentlemen, it's as if you came into my room and started shooting my dog, because he scared you."

  The older cop said, his hands still tugging at the tentacle at his throat, "Lady, Princess, this ain't no dog."

  "The hospital wouldn't let my real dogs in," I said.

  Dr. Mason spoke from the floor, where she was still crouched behind Galen. "If we let you have your dogs, will this never come inside the building again?"

  Doyle nodded at Galen, and it was enough. He helped the doctor to her feet, but her wide eyes remained on the huge tentacles still pinning the policemen, or maybe it was the nightflyers clinging to the ceiling just above them. So many interesting things to look at it, it was hard to tell exactly where her gaze was.

  "I will keep my people outside the princess' window," Sholto said, "until we are certain the danger is past."

  "So, this, these, have been outside the window all this time?" the doctor asked in a voice that was a little shaky.

  "Yes," Sholto said.

  "What would attack me with these as my guards?" I asked, and let the question include as many or as few of the fey in my room as the doctor wished to include.

  The older cop said, "No one told us that you'd have... " He seemed to search for a word, and not find one.

  His partner said, "Nonhumanoid." The young officer frowned at the word, as if it sounded wrong even to him, but he didn't try to pick a different word. It wasn't a bad word, and it was strangely appropriate.

  "We are not required to inform the human police of all our precautions regarding the safety of Princess Meredith," Doyle said.

  "If we are on the door, we should have a list of things that are on your side," the older cop said. It was a good point. It proved that he was recovering from being attacked by giant, bodiless tentacles and flying nightmares. Tough cop, or maybe just cop. You don't last on the job if you aren't tough. The older officer looked like he was past the ten-year mark. He was tough. His partner was young, and he kept giving nervous glances to the nightflyers on the ceiling. But he seemed to take heart or courage from the blasé attitude of his older partner. I'd seen it before when I'd worked on cases with the police at Gray's Detective Agency. The older steadied the younger, if it was a good pair-up.

  The younger cop asked, "Can we have our guns back?"

  The older cop gave him a look that said clearly that you don't ask for your weapon back. They were probably each carrying at least one hidden gun, or the older cop would be. Regulations can say what they want, but I don't know many police officers who don't double up. Your life too often depends on being armed.

  "If you promise not to shoot any of our people, yes," Doyle said.

  "Is the woman all right?" the older cop asked, motioning with his head at Gran, still held by Sholto, his extra bits, and his arms, but I was pretty certain that neither officer was looking at Sholto's human-looking arms. I'd have bet nearly anything that if asked to describe him later, they would have seen only the tentacles. Cops are trained to observe, but some things are just too eye-catching even for people with a badge.

  Rhys came to us, smiling. "She'll be fine. Just a bit of magic." He did that "hail-fellow-well-met" smile, and I noticed that he was wasting glamour to hide his ruined eye. He wanted to look harmless in that moment. Scars make some people think you must have done something to earn them.

  "What does that mean?" the older cop asked. He wasn't going to let it go. He stood with his partner, surrounded by what he would think were nightmares. They'd taken their guns. And you would have to be a fool to not see the physical potential in Doyle and the rest of the men in the room, let alone the extra bits that Sholto was showing. The policeman was no fool, but he also saw Gran as a little old lady, and he wasn't leaving until he knew that she was all right. I was beginning to see how he'd survived in the job for more than a decade, and maybe why he'd never gotten out of uniform. If I were him, I'd have left the room and called for backup. But then, I was a woman, which makes you more cautious around violence.

  "Grandmother," I said, and it may have been one of the few times I'd used her full title. She was just Gran. But tonight I wanted the police to know that we were family.

  She looked at me, and there was pain in her eyes. "Oh, Merry, child, do nae call me by a title."

  "The fact that you don't approve of my choice in men doesn't give you the right to use your magic to trash my hospital room, Gran."

  "It was the spell. You know that."

  "Do I?" I let my voice hold coldness, because I wasn't sure. "The spell was designed to simply magnify what you truly feel, Gran. You truly do hate Sholto, and Doyle, and they are the fathers of my children. That will not change."

  "Are you saying the ol'... woman made the stuff float and hit everyone?" the older cop asked. He sounded doubtful.

  Gran pulled at Sholto's grip. "I am meself again, Lord of Shadows. Ya can let me go."

  "Swear. Swear by the Darkness that Eats all Things that you will not try and hurt me, or anyone in this room."

  "I'll swear ta no hurt anyone in this room, at this moment, but I will nae promise beyond that, because ya are the murderer of my mother."

  "Murderer," the older cop said.

  "He killed her mother, my great-grandmother, about five hundred years ago, or am I off by a century or two?" I asked.

  "You're off by about two hundred years," Rhys said. He was in front of the policemen, smiling, pleasant, but he didn't have a magic that could go with the smile. Someone else in the room did though. "Why don't you talk to the nice policemen, Galen?" Rhys said.

  Galen looked puzzled, but he moved the small distance to the policemen. If it bothered him to be standing directly under a crowd of nightflyers it didn't show. Which meant it didn't bother him, because Galen was almost incapable of lying that well.

  "I'm sorry that you had to see our mess," he said, and he sounded reasonable, friendly. One of his abilities was to truly be pleasant. Most people wouldn't think of that as a magical ability, but to be able to charm people wasn't a small thing. I'd begun to notice that it worked really well on humans. It also worked to a certain degree on the other sidhe and some of the le
sser fey. Galen had always had a bit of this kind of charm, a kind of glamour, but since we'd all gotten our powers boosted, his "friendliness" had grown to the level of real magic.

  I watched the policemen's faces smooth out. The younger one smiled, all the way to his eyes. I couldn't even hear what Galen was saying, but I didn't need to. He'd understood what Rhys had wanted him to do. With Galen's pleasant magic easing the way, we got the policemen their guns, and they left, happy with the nightflyers still hanging like bats from the ceiling, and the tentacles still writhing in the window like some sort of really good 3-D. Though Sholto letting go of Gran had been the thing that had made the older cop succumb to Galen's charm. I think if the older cop had continued to see anyone in danger, he wouldn't have been so easily won over.

  Oh, and Sholto had put his tentacles away. Once he would have had to use glamour to hide them, but they would have still been there. He'd been able to hide them, even if you were touching his chest and stomach. They had felt smooth and perfect. Strong glamour, that. But when the wild magic escaped, or was called into being by Sholto and myself, he had gained a new ability. His tentacles could look like a very realistic tattoo, and it was a tattoo, but with a thought he could make it tentacles again. It was similar to the tattoos on Galen and myself that looked like a butterfly and a moth, respectively. I'd been grateful when they stopped being alive, but trapped in our skin. It had felt very wrong.

  Several of the men had tattoos, and some of them could become real. Real vines to twine down the body. None were as real as Sholto's mark, but then it was the only mark that had begun life as part of his own body.