December 20, 12:02 am
“Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit!”
The car is right side up, and my seat belt comes loose with a bit of struggling as I duck down, working to get Ozzie free to pull him down as well. His face is covered in blood, the air bag having hit at a bad angle. I don’t know how to tell whether his neck is broken.
The gunshots sound like a pistol, but that’s all I’ve got. I don’t know if I can…
I don’t know what to…
Oh God, what do I do?
The shotgun’s on the floor, loose from its silk covering. Maybe I could…
What, shoot it out with lightning bolts on a public road and probably hit someone or blow myself up? And what about Ozzie?
All I know about CPR is that when Ozzie did it to James he did it to “Another One Bites the Dust” and as a Coyote I refuse to throw Fate a softball like that. Also, I’ve only seen it done before, never done it myself.
What I do know from TV is that Ozzie doesn’t have a lot of time if I want to bring him out of it, and the only thing I can think of is magic, and Coyotes really aren’t “spec’d for that” as James would put it. If I had that diamond James keeps around his neck, I could cheat it and try a couple things, since apparently the energy doesn’t care who’s calling on it as long as it’s in Sigil and…
And the “shells” in the shotgun were made based on that stone.
I keep low while another bullet takes out what’s left of the window, and reach into the back to lift up the gun and open it, shaking one of the stones into my hand, the cylindrical diamond glowing in my palm. Now all I have to do is speak some Sigil.
Oh damn, I don’t remember how to speak it. And I can hardly shake Ozzie awake and get him to hum a few bars so I can fake it.
No, god damn it, I am not going to have a death scene on my hands that turns me into a grizzled, angsty son of a bitch.
James has used magic around me, I just need to remember what he said. Okay, one time over the summer, Ozzie was putting in a pane of glass on the skylight and it fell and broke and James cut up his arm really bad and Ozzie was freaking out and James played through the pain and said…
Said…
I remember the word, imagine one of my cards, the Joker for Sora, as I let my Bard’s tongue shape the syllables.
“Heal.” The cylinder in my hand has lost its glow, looking like cheap plastic now. The Dwarf’s body starts to twitch as sickening sounds emanate from his chest and arms, bones shifting and setting and knitting back together, wet schlorps as organs mend.
He’s still not breathing.
The windshield shatters as I pull out the other “shell”. I won’t come this far, I won’t almost pull off a trick on Fate herself by taking away someone slated for death. Damn it, I’m going all the way. If she didn’t want me doing this, she wouldn’t have arranged for me to get kicked out of the clan.
Ozzie just needs a jolt to get his heart started, and lightning is under the element of air, but I don’t want too much or I’ll probably fry him. Definitely not an Ace, face cards would still be too strong. Something lower than a ten, stronger than a two. I envision the five of spades and the sparks that dance through a storm, one hand holding the last cylinder, the other on his chest, over his heart.
“Kaze.”
The Dwarf’s body practically jumps a foot off the seat and lands, his skin smoking under my hand, a red blotch of a burn there.
But he gasps. He breathes. His eyes slowly open, and I shove him back down as he tries to get up. The next gunshot saves me having to explain why.
Unfortunately, the shotgun’s shells look faded. Weird, since it could fire off a lightning bolt and be fine. I guess that’s why it’s magic, not logic. I load the shells back into the shotgun—probably best not to leave those lying around.
I also hope James will understand that I’m currently on top of his boyfriend. It’s strange, the things that go through your mind when someone’s shooting at you, like wondering what the best music for the scene would be.
“Any ideas who’s shooting at us?”
Ozzie croaks, swallows, tries to get his breath. Can’t blame him for that. “What happened?”
“We crashed, you crashed, people shooting, and I’m not peeking to see who because I’m not in the mood to catch a stray bullet.” Another shot, and the back window’s out. “I really hope you have an understanding insurance company.”
That’s right, Spencer, make jokes, it’s the sidekick’s job. It’s either that or curl up in the fetal position and cry, and as appealing as that choice is, I want to live.
A break in the shooting, probably to reload. I peek over the dash and see three tall attractive men with soft-blue skin and long pointed ears and cobalt-blue field-plate armor. And pistols. And they are reloading.
“Three Fae, they look like sidhe.”
The Dwarf coughs. “Heraldry?”
Hanging around Rourke, and having degraded myself by playing Dungeons & Dragons with James, I at least know that asking about heraldry means checking the colors and symbols on their armor or cloaks, and that will give the identity of what house or noble they serve. I, however, know next to nothing about Fae heraldry in the City. Except…
“Nothing I can see, but considering they’re all wearing dark-blue armor and they shot up a Benz with a half-Dwarf and a half-Coyote in it, I don’t think it’s much of stretch to guess, Oz.” I peek again and barely duck another shot. “I don’t see a car though. What’d they hit us with?”
Almost on cue, there’s a rush of wind, a beating of wings, and even from my angle, I can see a dragon with scales like burnished metal descending, landing likely beyond the road. Traffic is flowing slowly around the crash, human denial doing its thing. As far as humanity’s concerned, we got run off the road by a semi and we’re just waiting for AAA.
“Well, there’s a dragon now.” I titter nervously.
“That doesn’t make sense. Are they fighting?”
I glance over the dash again. “Nope, they’re standing there looking at us in a menacing fashion.”
“Together?” He coughs again. “Dragons and Fae don’t work together.”
“Coyote!” The voice is smooth, sibilant, eloquent. “Our quarrel is not with you. Send out the tainted one, and you will be spared.” A sudden snort follows. “Apologies. Our colleague prefers we also take you into custody, but you will not be harmed. The Cobalt Order sees no reward in antagonizing Fate’s Chosen. I would refrain from any quips or attempts at humor that I’m told are common to your kind, however. Our colleague would relish the opportunity to discover the time it would take to roast the two of you alive. A pity we would not be able to stop him.”
Oh fuck. Well, I did want to find the Cobalt Order, and since Fate has a sick sense of humor, they found me. I glance at Ozzie. “Tainted one?”
“Human mother. They don’t approve.” He rests his head against the seat. “I’ll go with them, better one of us makes it than both of us dying.”
“I just brought you back from the dead, and you think I’m going to hand you over? I mean, props for the noble sacrifice, but shouldn’t we come up with some crazy and ridiculous counterattack options first?”
Ozzie gives me a look. “Like what? You tell jokes and I bleed at them? That dragon won’t hesitate. They hate Dwarves and they really hate Coyotes, as I’m sure you know.” He sighs. “They’re going to take one of us, and one of us has to find James. As much as I hate to say this, you have a better shot at that than—”
I’m already outside, hands up. “Okay. I don’t know where you’re getting this tainted-one business, but that Dwarf in there is clean.” I keep my attention on the dragon. “He’s also involved with the Ra’keth, and I seriously doubt you want to draw his ire. It’d be a better idea to take me. My mother was human, my grandfather’s a god, my father’s a Coyote, I was conceived with all the stars aligned and shit, that’s some fucked-up heritage right there. Wouldn’t I be a better prize than a Dwarf who’s good at grabbing his ankles?” I wink at the dragon. “Not to mention I interned at Victory. I could give you all sorts of insider info about next quarter.”
To be honest, the scant insider info I have is about how the head of my department took his coffee. (Irish. Very Irish.) But, hey, they don’t know that, and only the dragon has to buy it, and let’s face it, he’s a dragon, I’m a Coyote. He’ll totally—
“All Coyotes lie. All of them.” Smoke is snorted from the dragon’s nostrils, the wind carrying it toward my face, and I cough a fair bit. Okay, maybe he won’t buy it right off, but…
“We do the quarterlies for eight conglomerates.” I smile beatifically. “Imagine how you could help your investments if you knew which one of them I had to spend four days shredding documents for.”
There’s a flash of light, and the dragon is replaced by a tall, svelte individual in a crimson suit, with ruddy skin, blood-red hair, and still about as pretty as the sidhe who flank him. He takes a step toward me. “And which company would that be?”
“MWS.” I say it plainly, and he glances at the sidhe. They nod to him.
The one on the right of him says, “The half-breed speaks the truth.”
Of course it’s the truth. I worked for a major accounting firm, we shredded sensitive information for all of our clients, but TV has taught us that shredding means you’ve got something illicit to hide.
“But this is a waste of our—”
At that, the dragon seethes at the speaker. “Nothing was promised in the way of compensation for working with dreambloods. A butchered twin-blood Dwarf means little to the council. A greater hoard will.”
The Fae glare at him, particularly wincing at the term twin-blood. Twin-blood tends to piss Fae off because it makes the insulting implication that human blood is equal to Fae blood.
“As for your Dwarf,” he continues. “Fate has spared his life, and only a Keth openly defies the will of Fate. A slave of Fate, as this one, will make a fine prize.”
Oh yes, they look pissed. I’ve heard of saber rattling as a term, I’ve just never actually seen it literally done. This is likely bigger than me, and I got tapped for getting to the bottom of this at Under the Bridge. I have to go with them, if only because, firstly, Fae can’t lie, and secondly, they likely won’t resist the urge to taunt me with their entire diabolical plan.
Monologuing. It’s not just for Bond villains anymore.
“I’ll go with you, willingly, if you all walk away and give your word that Ozzie won’t be harmed.” I glance at the one Fae knight who spoke, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. “I’m also rather well-acquainted with the Riordan. I’m sure you guys would love some dirt on his liaisons outside of the court.”
That gets their attention. I’m not planning on selling out Rourke, but the more useful I seem, the less likely they are to kill me, and the more a promise to spare Ozzie will seem worth it. It’s one of the few things you can count on with Fae.
“You have my word that the Dwarf will not come to harm.” The Fae has a cold smile, but I don’t have to give a damn about reading him. Instead…
“That’s fantastic.” I motion to the other Fae. “But I don’t have their word on the matter yet. You aren’t screwing me with some backdoor technicality.” I point to the dragon. “I want his word too. On his hoard.”
The dragon snorts a hard thick plume of smoke. I honestly have no idea if that’s even an oath among dragons. But if there’s one thing they care about, it’s their money.
The Fae grumble, but each of them responds, “You have my word that the Dwarf will not come to harm.”
After nearly a minute, the dragon simply nods. “You have my oath.”
I smile widely. “And your oath is on your…what now?” Yes, this is not the time to be rubbing it in. But he’s a dragon, I’m a Coyote, it’s our job to mess with those bastards.
“On my hoard.” An actual gout of flame accompanies that. “The dreamblooded will not come to harm.”
So I walk over to them. That went a hell of a lot easier than expected. They could’ve just taken me and tortured me, in ways you only see in spy movies, to get all the information they want. They’re likely just as surprised as I am that the two of us came out of that crash and a hail of gunfire alive.
It’s not to say that they’re gentle, however. I’m grabbed roughly by the forearm and practically dragged down the road toward a car that’s parked on the side, unharmed. I’m guessing it’s the dragon that hit us from behind. They don’t test for that at the factory, I’m sure.
I know I should be worried, but I’m a little relieved, and not just because Ozzie’s likely to make it through the night. I’m surprised that it took this long, considering the role that I chose once I gave up my hero gig (though James has a knack for forcing me back into the role, despite my best efforts to stay on the periphery). James is the hero. Actually, James has magic and can sling lightning bolts at zombies with his mind—James is a damned superhero.
And I’m a sidekick. I’m a superhero’s sidekick. And superhero sidekicks get kidnapped by the bad guys and held hostage until the superhero fulfills some ridiculous demand. And now I’m kidnapped.
Like I said, it’s a relief.