Roadside Magic (14 page)

P
epperbuckle, warm and vital, leaned against her. She didn’t even know what slice of mortal earth they’d stumbled onto, but it didn’t smell familiar. Gallow slumped wearily, his hand pressed to his side, and the bolt of wine-red fear that went through her almost knocked her a-stagger into the hound. “Does it hurt much?” A timid, soft tone, just like Mama tending an invalid.

He shrugged, the tatters of his coat flapping a little. “It’s easing. See?” More gently than she’d ever heard him speak. He peeled his hand away with a slight grimace. “That was a timely arrival.”

“No less than your own, not so long ago.”
Are we at quits? Tell me we are. Tell me to go away
.

“I thought you taken.” He peered at the dog. “Where’s that from?”

“
He
is from elsewhere.” The quarter-lie slipped easily from her tongue, and he did not press her.

Instead, he straightened and cast a wary eye at the other man. “Well. You’ve found the lady you sought, Crenn.”

“So I have.” Easily enough. “And so have you.”

He was leaner than Gallow, and his hair was moss-grown, sodden as her own stolen coat. He kept it shaken over his face—rumor had him as either beautiful or supernally ugly, but few braved his parts of the fens to find out. There had been a time when good hard coin could have tempted him out of the swamps to track a sidhe or beast, no matter how fleet or canny; there were other, darker whispers about what he charged to end a single life. The sidhe did not use the word
assassin
lightly, but he was named thus every once in a while.

She did not loosen her grip on Pepperbuckle, but she did back away a few cautious steps, and the hound moved with her, perhaps thinking it a game.

A Half who hunted beasts in the fens at the edges of Summer’s lands could easily kill a new-made hound,
cu sith
, gytrash, or . . . otherwise.

Gallow moved forward, half staggering, as if he intended to put himself between Crenn and Robin’s own self. Which would make it difficult for her to use the song, if she had to.
Damn
the man. It wasn’t the first time—she could have drawn Unwinter neatly away, had he not openly
challenged
the lord of the Unseelie.

So Crenn of Marrowdowne had been hunting her. There was only one explanation. “What does she want of me?”

“Who?” Crenn cocked his shaggy head. It was too dark to see much, and that might have been a blessing.

The velvet, stiff with dust and full of spring rain, chilled against her skin. “Do not play the fool,” Robin returned, hard and fast. “What other reason would you have to come seeking
me
, Crenn-creek?”

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of traffic, tires shushing on cold pavement, and a distant murmur of a mortal crowd. The hunter’s shoulders dropped slightly,
but he did not move hand to bladehilt. Instead, he hooked his thumbs in his broad leather belt and regarded her, his eyes mere glimmers through ropes of matted, mossy hair.

“Ah. That answers
that
.” Jeremiah straightened. “Why
did
Summer send you after my lady Robin, Alastair?”

My lady Robin
. It was the second time he’d said it, and Robin told herself it was respectful, nothing more. They had fought together, and an Armormaster would place a value on that sort of thing. It meant nothing else. The warmth in her chest was Pepperbuckle’s nearness, and that was all.

“The lady Robin Ragged is under my protection.” Crenn didn’t move. “It seems likely she may need it, since the Queen granted her life to the Gallow-glass as a boon, during the Gate revel. He must have brought her a rich gift to claim such a prize.”

Oh, he did indeed. Glass ampoules. I wonder if she has had cause to open one, yet?
It did not surprise her. Perhaps Crenn thought such news would make her distrust Gallow more than she already did and view the hunter of Marrowdowne more kindly?

If you distrust Gallow so much, Robin, why did you run to save him?
If she did not, why had she left him in his trailer?

Why bother asking, when she knew the answer?
Daisy
. And the other ghost standing between them, a dead mortal child broken into slivers on a marble floor.

“I brought
her
what I did in order to buy the Ragged’s life.” Gallow turned away from the man, as if he feared no attack from that quarter. “Not that it concerns you, Half. Robin? Are you well?”

She meant to push him out of the way, if the hunter made a sudden movement. But Crenn stayed stock-still, and Jeremiah Gallow stepped close to her. His hands met her shoulders, and
Pepperbuckle’s inquiring growl shook her. Or was it something else, some internal earthquake communicating itself from him? Her hand did not relax, knotted in rough, rising fur.

“Are you all right?” Gallow peered at her face in the dimness, his light irises catching a stray reflection of headlamp shine, or simply glowing as a sidhe’s could when fired by high emotion—or good sport. “I thought you taken, by Seelie or worse.”

Not that there could be much worse
. She shook her head. “I’m . . . well enough. You—the wound. It pains you?”

He shrugged, his wet coat flopping. His thumbs moved slightly against wet velvet. “It’s not bad now; we’re in the mortal. We shouldn’t linger. The Hunt won’t take kindly to being balked, and may find our trail.”

Not likely, with the Markets closed up
. Still, there was profit to be made, so the goblins wouldn’t keep it sealed for very long. Perhaps only until dawn, which was more than enough time to scatter again. Now that she knew a hunter was after her, well . . .

And yet, he said
protection
. So Summer wished her whole? Such news was not as comforting as one might think.

“I can find my own way, thank you.” But she didn’t move. Why? “You asked my life of the Queen? Truly?”

“She granted it with good grace. Robin—”

After you took her the ampoules. Has she opened one?
“Then I’d best be merrily away, in case you intend to offer her another gift at my expense. She will no doubt welcome thee warmly, Armormaster.”

“Robin—”

“Leave her be, Gallow. The lady wants no part of your suit.” The hunter laughed. It was a rich, mellow voice he had, deep and fine, but too bitter to be even remotely soothing.

“You stay out of this,
Al
.”

They know each other, in some fashion. Interesting.
In the end, though, it didn’t matter.

She found the strength to push his warm hands from her shoulders. “You may stay and argue, sirs, but I’d best be gone.”
Where are we? A mortal city, and—

Pepperbuckle’s head made another quick movement. His low, thrumming growl rattled the Dumpsters along one side of the alley, and she was suddenly conscious of her own weariness. Would every night for the rest of her perhaps-short life be this tiresome?

“Robin.” Very quietly, Jeremiah Gallow spoke. “You’ll not stir a step without me. I mean to see you safely through this.”

Do you mean what you say?
No matter what he
meant
, if the Queen had sent Crenn and also thought Gallow sought to kill her himself, setting them both at each other might buy Robin precious time to escape what either of them had planned for her. “And what safety can you promise me,
Armormaster
? A man is led by the string in his trousers, and I know who holds the end of yours.”

“I don’t think you do. Come.” He yanked on his torn sleeves, settling them as best he could. “This is not the place to wait for dawn.”

A thin thrill of silver, far in the distance, underscored the words. Robin shuddered and set off for the mouth of the alley. Pepperbuckle paced beside her, but his great head drooped. He was probably hungry, and she hadn’t the faintest idea of what to feed him. “I know,” she whispered to him, and perhaps to Gallow as well.
I know many things, but none of what I’d like to
.

“Lady Ragged.” The hunter, trotting after her but observing a careful distance. “Your
cu sith
, does he like fowl?”

I don’t know
. “He may, sir.”

“Then I shall find him some. He drove off Unwinter’s dogs and did me a service. It’s the least I can do.”

Why, how kind of you
. As if she didn’t know better than to trust a man’s good humor, especially a sidhe’s. “I ask the price for this favor.”

“Freely given, little bird. You interest me.”

Well, that was a relief, and absolved her of any commitment to repay. “I am not easily snared.”

“Christ.” Gallow caught up with her, moving stiffly, his hand sealed to his side again. “You’ve become a sweet-talker, Crenn. Don’t listen to him.”

I have little choice
. She smoothed Pepperbuckle’s ruff, peering out of the alley’s cave-mouth. She sniffed, deeply. No familiarity, and very little sidhe-tang in the air.

Well, it will have to be good enough
. She tested the wind, found it chill but favorable, and set off in search of a hole to spend what remained of the night in.

And—useless to deny it—to see if Gallow would follow.

I
t was Crenn who found the abandoned warehouse, Crenn who brought Robin’s sidhe-dog sleepy, city-fat pigeons from the rafters—which the dog swallowed whole, at first, then settled into cracking and slurping at the bones of after three—and Crenn who built a fire, striking a spark from flint and a knifeblade, nursing the glitter with shreds of sere winter-weeds before tossing larger chunks of wooden pallets on the tiny, hungry blaze. Fire-chantment would draw other sidhe, if there were any about, but this mortal magic stood lesser chance of doing so. The iron in the warehouse walls was a better protection.

The smoke drifted up, thinning to almost-lost before finding a gaping hole in the roof at the south end of the cavernous space and escaping into the night. As long as they kept the fire small, it would likely go unnoticed.

Robin sat curled against the dog’s side. The thing was the size of a pony, and it looked nothing like a
cu sith
or a gebriel, or any other hound Jeremiah had seen among the sidhe. Its coat almost-matched her hair, and its eyes were just a shade or two lighter than hers. Where had she found it?

Did it matter?

Gallow peeled the shirt away from his side, examining the wound in the firelight. Crenn, crouching easily, equidistant from both him and Robin, hissed a little through his teeth as he recognized what had made the slice on Gallow’s side.

This particular scar was livid, unlike the pale others crisscrossing Jeremiah’s belly. He’d lost some of the blurring of mortal life and was just as lean-muscular as he had been before Daisy. The body remembered.

You just couldn’t hide from what you were, ever.

He squeezed his fingers along the scar. Clear drops welled from the lower end, and he pressed a filthy, oil-soaked rag from the warehouse floor against them. The fabric smoked as the poison ate at it.

“What did you do this time, Jer?” Crenn tossed another pallet-bit on the fire, taking care to keep his hair shaken down. You could only see the gleams of his eyes and a few odd flashes of copper flesh, nothing to build a coherent picture on. Maybe he didn’t want to show Robin his ruined face.

Jeremiah bared his teeth, occupied in catching the last bits of the poison.

It was Robin who answered, softly. “He challenged the Lord of the Hunt himself.” The dog’s crunch-slurp and low, happy growl underscored her words.

“Why on earth did you do that?” Crenn leaned forward a little, as if he couldn’t believe his ears and needed confirmation. “Even for you, Gallow-my-glass, it’s a stupid move.”

Jeremiah flung the rag away, into a dark corner. It hissed, a soft, caustic sound, and he immediately felt better. It would be short-lived. What could he say? “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Crenn’s laugh, short and disdainful, fell dead instead of echoing in the cavernous space. Another piece of pallet cracked in
his capable hands. “I had heard you besotted with a maid, old man. Is that what this is?”

“No,” Robin said, immediately.

Just as Jeremiah said, “Yes.”

Another short silence, this one full of sharp edges under the crackling of the fire. Crenn glanced at Robin, back at Jeremiah. Shrugged, easily. “Does your hound require more, fair Robin?”

“I think he’s all right.” She stroked the dog’s shoulder. It made another low, happy noise. “You are very kind, sir.”

“Who could not be, to you?”

Oh, for God’s sake
. Irritation bit at Jeremiah’s nerves. “You were never a womanizer before, Alastair.”

“I am not now, either.” A glitter of teeth, another sharp crack of wood. “I’ll leave that to you. Remember Chicago?”

They’d drunk their way through every speakeasy in that town, and there had been that pair of dancers—Mona and someone else, both with long legs and marcel waves. He couldn’t remember their faces, but he did remember the fight where he got knifed, and Crenn turning on the low-level mobster with that wide, white, unsettling grin under his fedora . . .

“I’d rather not.” Gallow exhaled, hard, shaking off memory. The firelight painted Robin’s black coat with gold, turned her hair into a lower, sullen flame. She was right there, drooping next to the dog, whole and breathing. She looked . . . tired, in the way only a sidhe girl could. No bloodshot eyes, no dark circles, but a certain wan transparency. Sodden and in motheaten velvet—where had she found it?—she looked . . .

There weren’t words.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jeremiah.

She studied Crenn, a faint line between her dark eyebrows. “You two are . . . friends?”

“We used to be.” He stretched his hands out to the fire. Smears of wet dirt across the back, grime under his fingernails—looking from that to Robin’s pale, flawless cheek did something strange to his chest. A nameless aching.

“Ah.” She asked no more. Swayed slightly, and the dog glanced back at her. It clearly considered Robin its mistress. The blood-clotted glass shard was safe in Gallow’s coat pocket, and that was a good thing. Who knew what someone else would do with it?

Did she think he meant to carry her head back to Summer? Still? “Robin?”

“Hm?” Her eyelids were falling. She could fall asleep at a moment’s notice, just like any battle-weary soldier.

“What I did, I did to free you from Summer. And Unwinter—” His side twinged, sharply. The longer he spent in the sideways realms, the more the poison would swell itself inside the healed-over wound.

Unwinter’s prey never truly escaped.

“Why did you do that?” She shivered, pulling the damp velvet closer. Wise, not risking a chantment to dry it, even if they were relatively safe here. “I had not time to ask, before.”

“Do what?”
Don’t ask me this with Crenn listening. It’s not the time.

“You let him strike you.” She sagged still further, curling to pillow her head on the tawny-red shoulder.

“There was no
letting
.” Still, though, he hadn’t been thinking.

“He meant to kill me, before I could sing.”

He would have, too
. Jeremiah hadn’t really
decided
. Everything in him had simply rebelled at the thought of Unwinter’s blade cleaving the life from Robin Ragged’s slim, so-vulnerable frame. “I know. Sleep, Robin. I’ll wake thee, should trouble approach.”

She closed her eyes. The hound cracked another bone, slurping, and sighed.

Crenn said nothing for a long while. He cracked no more wood, and the tilt of his head could mean he was studying the beast or the woman. The fire settled into its temporary home, more comfortable than any other creature except perhaps the dog, who eventually put his head down in the ruins of an albino pigeon and began to snore.

Finally, the hunter settled cross-legged, the swordhilts short, stubby wings behind his shoulders. “You’re marked by Unwinter.”

Stating the obvious, Crenn
. “I have a plan.”

“Don’t you always. Is she yours, then?” A slight movement, thrusting his scarred chin at Robin.

She looked so peaceful. Glowing, serene, almost childlike, reminding him of Daisy’s tranquil face on the pillow next to his own, lit with the innocence of mortal rest. But Daisy had been the mortal shadow, and Robin the flame. It could burn the poison right out of him, that heat. “What do you care? And what does Summer really want, Crenn? I didn’t figure you for an errand-boy.” Two questions for one, an insult to boot, and he would likely not get a single answer. Unless they were speaking as they once had. As friends, as mortal men, the rough camaraderie of roofers or haulers, construction mockery or the half-insulting beer-banter that passed for affection among them.

How much mortal was left in Alastair? Or in himself, for that matter?

“I care little what Summer wants.” The hunter tossed another piece of dry wood onto the fire, and sparks whirled up. “I care little for your courtship, either.”

“Then why are you still here?”
And not back in your swamp, nursing your grudges?

“Perhaps she interests me.” Crenn shrugged. “Or perhaps I’m simply waiting to rob you of something
you
care for, Gallow. Which would you prefer?”

Don’t make me kill you
. “There’s your mistake, Al. There’s nothing left I care for.” The words sounded hollow even as he spoke them. “My wife was Robin’s half sister, and she is long dead.”

“Ah. Shall I ask permission to court your kinswoman, oh Gallowglass?”

“She needs no trouble from you, Alastair Crenn. Your quarrel is with me.”

“Is it?” Another short laugh. He had many of them, it seemed, each one bleaker than the last. “Get some rest.”

“And trust you?”

“You’re marked; all I have to do is wait. There’s only one thing that can cure you.”

“Yes.” His throat was dry. “But before I seek any cure, there is business to finish.”
Figure out how to trade the Horn to Unwinter, and get a good bargain for it. Then, to get Robin somewhere Summer can’t—

“Indeed. I’ll take the first watch.”

That
felt familiar. Even fresh out of the orphanage, they had understood the need for watchfulness. Jeremiah took one last long look at Robin, sleeping peacefully. He stretched out on his side on the cold cracked concrete, pillowing his head on his left arm, and stared at the fire. He’d need all the rest he could get.

Especially if Robin took it into her head to slip over the borders into the sideways realms again.

Crenn fed the fire in handfuls and spoke no more. Gallow finally fell into a thin, troubled rest, his side aching and the taste of lies in his mouth.