We Will All Go Down Together (54 page)

“I think not.”

“Your family, huh?” Judy Kiss asked, watching alongside Roke and Jo from the woods’ further edge, as the hill opened up to birth monsters. To which Roke replied: “
Some
of my family.”

“Aye,” Jo agreed, “and none of mine. Yet, seeing this
is
what we came for, we should go down before anyone gets hurt.”

“She’s got a point,” Judy said. “That woman with the hair—”

“Enzemblance.”

“Gesundheit.” Roke snorted, unamused. “She seems
dangerous
, is all. ’Specially to Little Miss Lost-in-the-Woods with the braids and the specs. . . .”

“Carraclough Devize, that is,” Jo put in.

“Really?” Judy squinted and grinned. “Yeah, it
is
her. I brushed by her in the street once, about a year after Exorcism Day, and I guess she didn’t like whatever she could smell on me very much, ’cause next thing I knew, she was puking all over my shoes.”

“Great story, honey,” Roke shot back. “Look, nice as I’m sure it’d be to do the heroic thing, this is actually perfect for our purposes. A ready-made distraction. As long as Enzemblance and company are dealing with Miss Devize and hers, I can get down there without being seen, slip ’round the back, pound this sucker in before anyone notices me. . . .”

At this, Judy stood up straight, putting her roughly chest-height to Roke, if that—yet when she jammed her finger at him, he had to stop himself from recoiling.

“Wait just a minute. Are you
scared
of her?”

“Who?”

“Sneeze-name woman.”

Roke squared his shoulders, grasping for dignity. “Not quite shitless, but yes, I rather am. Disappointed?”

“Kind of depends on what you do next, I guess,” Judy replied, cocking her head to one side, shadow of Mister Nobody passing behind her face, like a figure behind a scrim.

This wastes time,
Euwphaim said, inside Jo’s skull.
The Roke’s a sheep-heart, same as all priests. Yet do we proceed, Glauce’s girl will soon find she canna stand against us.

More than just her down there, from what
I
see,
Davina commented.
Best plan to leave ’em to it and get the hell out now, before the shooting really starts.

Euwphaim huffed.
Do ye think I came all this way for nothing, ye great dead tribade? I’ll pinch yuir soul t’a point and snuff it, an ye try tae hinder me further!

Yeah? Bring it, Gramma!

With a mental wrench, Jo managed to focus instead on the standoff still happening less than ten yards away. Neither Fae nor humans involved seemed aware of anything but each other . . . but as she bent her gift further, she saw lines writhe across the reddening nape of Carra Devize’s neck and shoulders, scars which curled and slid and knotted together, finally forming letters that said—

STOP

BLOODY

LOOKING

Aye, indeed! Dinna look!
Euwphaim’s command struck hard, and Jo whipped automatically away as Judy and Roke also slapped hands to eyes, both no stranger to things too dangerous to look upon.
’Tis
seeing
the Fair Folk crave, making
mortal eyes their mirrors, for that they have nae true semblance. Look on ’em too keen, therefore, and they’ll surely ken that we—

Downwind, Enzemblance spread her arms, claws unsheathing, and Carra—sensibly enough—stepped damn well back as a bespectacled young Native man (Sylvester Horse-Kicker, from the Institute) jumped to her side. A pure blast of sick fear unfurled in all directions, knocking them down as their fellows stumbled too, caught by the same shot: both some variety of Asian, though Jo could hardly tell which.

The larger went down on one knee, gasping, ’til the smaller hauled him up again, conjuring a violet-tinged bubble to cover them and yelling in his ear—“Grab
hold
of one of them, doesn’t matter which, so the shield spreads! I can’t reach Carra from here, not in time—” Adding, as the giant Fae advanced on them, blocking the way: “And
you
can go to hell,
chi-shien gweilo
Tinkerbell! I’ll lay you out and shit in your mouth!”

“Brave words, mage,” this hulking apparition replied, mildly enough. “Yet th’art nae puissant enow tae take me on, let alone my sister.”

“Mage,” and Oriental . . . Jude Hark, then. Who only braced himself in the monster’s face, bubble pumping tighter, spitting: “
Try
me.”

All this as Jo herself reeled, hit square in the chest, heart lurching under the strain of glamour made flesh: the terror-shout, the
bean sidhe
’s wail.
Christ Jesus, but these things are strong,
she thought.

As I said, hen. Now let me in, gie me flesh wi’ my Black Man’s mark tae work through, and we’ll strike ’em down all three, together.

Dav, then, in her other ear:
Do
not
do it, Jo. Don’t trust her.

Hush
, I said!

Yeah, and I heard you—I just don’t give a shit. See how that works?

“You know, I think this whole conversation’s gotten off on kind of the wrong foot.”

Both ghosts fell silent, along with everybody else, as Maccabee Roke strode out of the shadows midway between Carra and Enzemblance, both hands dug deep in his pockets.

“Miss Devize,” he addressed Carra, bowing lightly. “Nice to make your acquaintance; long overdue, considering.” To Enzemblance, meanwhile, barely civil: “Aunt.”

Enzemblance cocked her head, mantis-style. “Nephew,” she breathed. “How came
you
here, and so slyly? How is’t we shouldna know our ane when it approaches?”

“Might be I’ve learned a trick or two since last time. Might be I know somebody knows tricks you don’t, even. Or, then again . . . might be you’re just getting old.” Then, raising a brow at the nearest of Enzemblance’s allies: “What do
you
think, coz?”

“Dinnae involve me in yuir follies, Maccabee, I do pray ye.”

“Oh yeah, I get it; don’t want to make Mom look bad. ’Cause she’s doing
such
a good job of that, all on her own.”

The hulk rumbled with laughter. “Th’art well come here, as e’er, Miliner’s lad,” he said. “Yet ’tis no’ the best plan tae interefere in Enzemblance’s pleasures.”

“Probably not. But this is family business, right? And I’m family.” Indicating Carra, now: “Her, too.”

Enzemblance shrugged. “We’ve family for some miles, yet that’s saved nane, did they dare tae stand against us. Nae more than ’twill now save ye,
nor
her, either.”

“Holy
shit,
lady,” Judy Kiss observed, sidling up next to Roke, so soft and quick that none of them—even Jo herself—saw her coming. “That is some convoluted grammar right there, even by Jacobean standards.”

“And who might
ye
be?” Enzemblance demanded, drawing herself up. “Saracen, can ye name this creature?”

“His leman, mother. I know not what she’s called.”

“Judeta Kiss, that’s what she’s—
I’m
—‘called,’” Judy snapped. “His
back-up
.”

“You?” Enzemblance scoffed. “Y’are a small thing indeed, t’ stand between
me
and my nephew’s downfall.”

Judy smiled, that same ill smirk, eyes visibly lightening. “Oh yes?” she asked. And reached up, without warning, straight through Enzemblance’s shell of glamour to catch her by the hair, same as any other playground bully—just wound a good long hank of it ’round her small fist and
yanked
until the monster-lady fell forward, like a cut tree.

“How
dare
—?” Enzemblance began, predictably enough. To which Judy replied: “How? Like
this,
mostly.”

—then drew back her other hand and slapped her, right across the face. The impact rocked everybody within range, Saracen in particular, who gawped, jaw falling slack. While Mac Roke grinned, happily.

“She’s pretty amazing, huh?” he asked of no one.

“I’ll tear ye in twain, ye scut,” Enzemblance hissed, borne down and wilting beneath a flood of negative energy—a swarming, soot-black miasma, exhaled from Judy’s very pores, growing stronger the more resistance it encountered. Saracen made a feint towards her, but a spray of it broke over him like spindrift, and he fell back, gagging, into his uncle’s massive arms.

“No you won’t,” Roke told her.

“Will I not?” Enzemblance growled, ripping at the ground.

“Nope. She’s far beyond the likes of you and me, Auntie—though I might have
some
immunity, given who I used to work for. Judy, she’s been turned inside out and put back together by the best Hell itself has to offer. We’re a walk in the park, after that.”

“You make it sound so . . . s
exy,
” Judy managed between clenched teeth, as she punched Enzemblance back down again, both hands gloved in spiritual sickness. Her eyes were all yellow now, bright to blazing.

“
Angels
,” said Minion, suddenly, voice thick with a deep, sullen fear. “I
know
that taste. That pain.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Judy gave a half-laugh. “Angels eat pain, and
I’m—
”

Enzemblance got her feet under her suddenly, rearing up, but Judy only went with the movement, pulling them over; a swirl of viscid blackness kicked up, engulfing them both. Before anyone quite saw how, the Fae woman was face-down in the dirt, Judy atop her with thighs clamped tight round her midsection and one hand still dug deep in her hair, using it for reins.

“—I’m what’s left when they shit it back out. Bitch,” she finished, only slightly breathless.

At this, Saracen—provoked beyond endurance—broke free, lunging to his mother’s aid; Mac met him halfway, slashing out with the relic, which he’d hidden up one sleeve. Though Saracen almost managed to dodge, the spike’s tip raked one arm, and he reeled back, shrieking. A bubble of violet light snapped shut on him, freezing him in place, blurry yet static; Jude Hark stood with hands clenched on empty air, fingers trembling, as Saracen pounded the inside of the bubble, savagely.

Minion bellowed and struck the ground with both fists. The shockwave knocked Fae and mortal alike flying, all but himself and Jo, still safely distant. Jude’s purple force-shell winked out; the black power shrouding Judy burst like a mucus-filled water balloon, splashing tarry ectoplasmic slime everywhere. Bounced back from Enzemblance, Roke caught her, but almost dropped the damn nail doing it—their weapon of last resort, with everything else defused.

Aw Christ, they’ll bloody massacre them. . . .

“Enough.”

Using Horse-Kicker’s arm as leverage, Carra Devize pulled herself up to see as the others turned likewise, stone doors grinding open once more, allowing three people to emerge: a dark-haired woman with a worn but still lovely face, in threadbare T-shirt and jeans, plus a root-woven torc; a skinny, pallid child, burlap-wrapped and barefoot; and a grey-haired man—Ganconer Sidderstane, probably, seeing how they steered him forward through nudges and tugs—supported between them, whose red-rimmed eyes, at first glance brown, were actually blank, pupilless, as though carved from wood.

Twa een o’ tree.

Kim scrambled to his feet, swaying slightly. “
Galit?
” he called, voice cracking with hope.

For a moment, Galit Michaels blinked at him, but that soon passed; her mouth fell open, sob-squared, recognition strong as pain. Before she could break and run, however, the boy—
her
boy—reached across Ganconer to touch her wrist, and she stilled. In turn, Ganconer let go of their arms and stepped forward, moving like a much older man, as Enzemblance rose to meet him.

“Who said ye might bring them forth, tithe-payer? Who gave ye leave to release that which is mine?”

Her claws flexed. But Ganconer only shook his head and smiled, as if to say:
Who do ye
think?

For: “I, daughter,” the same voice as before answered from the
brugh
’s mouth. “Who else?”

Shadow stamped a void across the hillside, like night’s own tongue spilling out, as every standing stone came alive with blue-violet St. Elmo’s fire, eldritch-crackling aurora washing upwards. A shape loomed over them, much like some barely pubescent girl, but monstrously huge: eight feet tall, at the very least. Its coltishly long limbs were barely covered by a tunic and skirt of fine white birch-bark, while hair of the same white hung to its knees, woven thick with green leaves. It stepped forward, smiling, and where its feet fell flowers bloomed, like icy little stars.

’Tis she, herself. That great changeling hoor. We might ha’ re-made this filthy world altogether, if no’ for
her.

Wasn’t you who burned, though, was it?
Jo couldn’t stop herself from thinking, ill-advisedly.
Not in the end.
And saw Davina snicker, approvingly, at Euwphaim’s reaction.

Yeah, baby.
That’s
my girl
.

“Grandmere,” Roke murmured, bowing stiffly. His cousins followed suit, curt as puppets, their strings jerked by tradition. While Glauce Lady Druir simply nodded her lofty head in return and moved on, halting in front of Carra Devize, to whose level she lowered herself slowly, voice the creaky rustling of a thousand wind-tossed trees.

“Th’art Jonet Devize’s kin indeed, I see,” she said with interest. “A powerful witch wi’ a soft soul, that one—I liked her well, and much misliked what came tae pass, regards her. Yet she fell in wi’ bad company.”

Carra swallowed, managing the closest thing to a curtesy she could.

“Milady,” she said, at last. “We come to—beg a boon of you, to barter for this woman and her child. We bring . . . uh, I mean—we
meant
to bring a tithe and just . . . forgot. Which is on me, totally—”

Lady Glauce lifted a hand, gently. “Child,” she said, amused. “Think’st thou that ye, of any, must bow and scrape, a mere supplicant? I knew yuir mother as well as yuir ancestress, Carraclough Devize, who had her blood from my son’s son; long have I thought tae see ye and am well-satisfied, now I do. Therefore thou needst not pay for any privilege thou might ask of me, this ane time only.”