Wrath and Bones (42 page)

A fire was roaring loudly in the stone fireplace, pumping out a pleasant amount of heat. I slipped Harry’s coat off and laid it over my left arm to better cover my holster.

There was motion behind the bar. The bartender, unlike the patrons, was very much awake, washing glasses behind the bar. I thought this odd, since his clientele was dead and almost certainly weren’t consuming the pints he was continuing to serve. I scanned the room to find some of the glasses empty, or half full. There was other motion, too, but gone in a blink, motion that reminded me of the quick steps of the Lord High Treasurer in the
jiekngasaldi
. Were there more Fae here besides the clurichaun?

Batten strode toward the bar, seeing the wrongness around him and keeping one hand near the Taurus on his hip. Declan stayed at my side.

“What's going on here?” I asked softly. “I need properly gauge my degree of freakage.”

“Degree of Freakage. DOF. Got it,” Declan whispered. “Captive patrons? Not sure why. The bartender is not the only thing moving in this room, though. Listen.”

As Batten swung onto a bar stool and asked for a Guinness, I strained to listen, trying not to look directly at any of the dry-skeleton patrons with their deflated pants and their shirts that hung like bed sheets on their bones. Then I heard it, under the playful banter of the barkeep: the pitter patter of little boots. It might have been rats scuttling in the dirt, except for the whispers.

“If this is an experiment to see how many ways you can creep an average person out before they run screaming into the night,” I said with a side-eye at Declan, “it’s a pretty good one.”

“We’re a long way from average people,” he reminded me, and I knew it was meant to soothe me, but it didn’t. He was right. I wasn’t average, but right that moment, I really wished I could be the kind of person who could flee without any other reason than
this is horrible and I’ll have no part in it
.

“Steady as she goes, Dr. B,” Declan said, and as I moved further into the dim pub, he walked beside me, shoulder-to-shoulder, to join Batten at the bar.

Batten promised beneath his breath, “If you don’t break and run for it, I’ll reward you later.”

“Promise?” When he nodded, I made a puckering, lollypop noise. “That was my vagina saying a preemptive thank you.”

The bartender looked human, but that was fairy glamour and I had no doubt about it; everything felt wrong. I set Harry’s coat on the back of a chair and my go-bag next to it.

“You ordered this,” the bartender told me, and put a glass of what looked like swamp water in front of me.

“I did, eh?” I eyeballed my two cohorts, who shrugged. “Are you Gareth Granger?”

“Drink and you will have your answer.”

I considered my glass. It wasn’t wine. It looked like pale ale. Drinking fairy wine is a bad idea, always a bad idea, unless you’d already drank some, and then it was absolutely necessary to break free of the spell. Drinking ale given to you by a clurichaun? I didn’t know the rule about that one, but I figured
don’t piss off the generous barkeep
was a good rule for any species. I sipped, and when the bartender gave me a disapproving
tut
, I knocked the rest of it back.

“This tastes like,” I smacked my lips and squinched up my nose like I'd seen fancy people on cooking shows do, “rat bile, with a hint of sewer gas and notes of rust and putrescence. Nice finish, kind like the dumpster behind a flower shop.”

Declan sat on my right side. “That’s beautiful, Dr. B.”

Batten asked, “Is rat bile worse than any other sort of bile?”

“I’m fucking poetic.” I shot him finger guns. “Recognize.” For a moment, my entire body responded to the ale with a zing-tingle and a warm glow. “Gotta tell ya, my legs feel really good right now. Ok, I drank your mystery juice. Are you Gareth Granger?”

“I am.” He gave me the stink eye. “Who might you be?”

Glenda Hasenpfeffer
?
No!
I shrugged. “I am Sir Marnie Baranuik of Toots. I’m a knight, now. It’s a recent honor. You might also know me as the Great White Shark of Preternatural Investigations. How do you not know who I am? You're the one who said I ordered that drinkamabob
before
I ordered that drinkamabob.”

He shrugged like he’d never heard of me, which was awesome and totally okay with me. “Why have you come to Undercroft?”

“I’ve been sent looking for your treasure, good sir. And I’m afraid I can’t leave without it.” I handed him my quest itinerary so he could see it wasn’t my idea. He seemed fine with the whole situation.

“You’ll have to talk to the spriggans out back. I’ve not had any luck getting close to th’ gold in decades, now.”

“Spriggans,” I repeated with a long groan. “Why'z it always gotta be spriggans.”

“Spriggans,” he confirmed. “They’re called Professor Pfaffenzeller, Captain Tuschoff, and Doctor Von Nockelstein.”

I looked down at my empty glass. “Am I already drunk? Are they actually a doctor, a teacher, and a captain?”

“Oh no, but I dare not argue with them. When I displease them, they make me flatulent. I’d gladly give you what you seek, Sir Marnie, but it’s beyond my abilities. You’ve got to deal with the spriggans.”

Luckily, I just happened to have some experience with spriggans. One had attacked me in Mark Batten’s back yard. It had been lurking in his new honeysuckle plant. ”So, spriggans will negotiate. What do these guys like?”

“Gold for gold,” Gareth said. “That’s the way my spriggans work.”

Gold. Did I have anything gold? I hadn’t ever been a jewelry kind of girl. I scanned the shelves behind the bar. “Got Goldschlager?”

“I only have wine. Red or white.”

“No, you don’t.” I shook my empty glass at him. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Okay, I don’t.”

“You have gin. And rum. And rat bile.”

“I’m out of rum.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m looking at the bottle of Kraken over your shoulder.”

“I only have wine. Red or white, you choose!”

“Nope. I’ll have absinthe.” I brought out one of the
jiekngasaldi
coins that were in the pocket of Harry’s coat. Too bad they weren’t gold. The clurichaun snatched it up anyway.

“You’ll have absinthe,” he said as he reached for the bottle.

I continued, “With one ice cube, a spritz of club soda, and a sprig of mint.”

“That was nicely done, Dr. B.,” Declan said.

“Give her a minute to fuck it up,” Batten said, reaching reflexively for the glass that appeared magically in front of him. I leaned over and slapped it out of his hand.

“Dipshit!” I shouted, pointing as the red wine spilled like blood and rolled off the edge of the bar to patter on the floor. Batten’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t just looking at the spilled drink, he was looking down at my legs with a bemused frown.

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” I told the vampire hunter. “You wanna spend a few hours on the naughty fairy’s floor?”

The clurichaun chortled guiltily. I wasn’t about to reprimand him; he was doing what clurichauns do. It was our job to sidestep his little games. I was assuming Batten wouldn’t have needed this warning, but apparently, I was wrong.

I gave Batten my sternest glare. “Watch what you’re drinking and where, Kill-Notch.”

Declan exhaled hard. “I hadn’t noticed him pour anything for him. Sorry, Dr. B.”

“I think Batten can take responsibility for his own hands.” I tiptoed exaggeratedly to the chair where my go-bag was, dug into it, and took out white sage leaves and salt. The clurichaun poured absinthe for me and slid the glass across the bar, doctoring it as I had asked, perhaps out of morbid curiosity. I pranced back to my seat, and then realized I was prancing. I frowned down at my knees, which were tingling.

“What the hairy knobgobble?” I shook my right leg like I was trying to clear the circulation, and my left leg did a little hop without my permission. I tried to walk around my bar stool, but all I accomplished was a tight, prim bit of step-dancing, with far more coordination than if I'd tried those moves while sober. “What is this, now?”

“Stop prancing around, Twinkletoes,” Batten suggested.

“I can totally do that,” I lied, and sat instead. My knees did a little jiggle and I crammed them together hard. Focus, Marnie. Witchy stuff first. Settle my dancing shoes later.

I stirred my herbs into the absinthe and set the glass in front of Declan. “Friendly actions, bend my way/the Lady’s magic hold Her sway/ By day and night and powers three/ This is my will, so mote it be.”

“That’s beautiful, Dr. B.,” Declan said.

“Okay, hit me,” I told him.

“Right,” he said, and slapped me across the face.

“What was that for, you brogue-spitting fuckknob?” I wedged my lips together into a grim line.

Batten held up a finger in a hold-on gesture, took my Beretta Cougar out of my holster, and put it safely in his waistband. “Just in case he hits you again.”

I sighed at Declan. “Hit me with the
potion
, numbshit.”

“What potion?” he asked eagerly, then looked at the absinthe. “Oh, yes!” Picking up the glass, he doused my face. The ice cube bounced off my eyebrow, dropped to the floor, and skittered away.

“Owwwwwww! That burns like a motherfucker. I'm being licked to death by a licorice whip.”

“Probably should’ve taken the ice out,” Batten remarked.

I blinked rapidly and wiped my face. “Be right back. Don’t do
anything else
balls-stupid, either of you.
No drinking
.”

I fancy-pranced my way to the bathroom, swinging open the creaking wood door and letting it slam behind me. With stinging absinthe dripping into my eyes, I rolled out some toilet tissue and dabbed just my eye area, careful to leave the rest of my face wet with potion. I checked the mirror; there was a sage leaf plastered in the middle my forehead.
Point: me
, because I’m a badass genius sometimes.
A glorious, prancing genius.

I took a cleansing breath and began to summon psi. I didn’t know how receptive the spriggans would be to my arrival, but I was sure that with some extra luck, the spell would hold, and they’d find my proposal appealing.

I minced back into the bar with only a handful of kick-twists along the way, only to find Batten and Declan spread-eagle on the floor. Batten’s head was resting on my go-bag. The boys were staring at the ceiling, their mouths hanging open in matching expressions of mindless entertainment. I wondered what they were seeing.

I pointed accusingly. “Gareth, what happened?”

The clurichaun shrugged wildly but produced a wooden pipe from beneath the bar, gave it a puff, and blow a glittering blue smoke ring into the air.

Magic smoke
. A far different brand of smoke than had been in Junior’s den. “First magic dancing ale and now this?”

Granger chortled. “You specifically said 'no
drinking
'.”

Batten giggled like a toddler getting tickled. “Yes, ‘tis I who sniffed the fairy puffsnuff!”

“Feelsh-sho good on m’tasters and m’smellers...” Declan was curled in the fetal position, face scrunched in concentration, poking Batten’s meaty shoulder desperately. “But…but…what even
are
nose buds?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I said. “There’s no nose buds, you idiots. You got magic smoke in your face and you’re both stoned off your asses.”

Batten rolled onto his left side and indicated to his butt, or his waistband, but probably his butt. “I have your gun. It will cost you one smooch to get it back.”

“Pass.” I pinched my lips into a thin line. “Give them some fairy wine and sober them up, please.”

Gareth flapped my itinerary. “You have a quest to finish.”

“Since when do you care about my quest?”

“Since you arrived in my pub and didn’t demand I release my patrons. You’re different than most. You do the unexpected.”

“Well, I was going to make the suggestion, but, you know…” I glanced around at them. “We all have our quirks. Nobody’s perfect.”

“It weren’t my idea,” Gareth said. “The spriggans like a full house for their band.”

“Of course they have a band,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Lemme guess: Professor Pfaffenzeller and the Pollinators?”

He didn’t answer. I’m pretty sure it had never occurred to him to care about the name of the spriggan band. “Me, I prefer a quiet night at the pub. Not good for business, but neither is this. At least with an empty pub, I can sit and smoke.”

“Maybe my friends and I can get rid of your spriggans, and you could release your patrons?”

“I can’t fix your friends until you get the pod o’ gold.” He pointed at the itinerary. “It says
you
have to get it. Rules are important. It doesn’t list companions or helpers.”

“I wish you were a leprechaun. Clurichauns are crap. You bite donkey balls,” I informed him, following that up with a hot exhale meant to display my frustration. I should have full-on harrumphed, but Batten was still giggling, and it was stealing my thunder. I kicked Batten’s boot tip. “Since when do you say ‘smooch’?”

Kill-Notch showed me a big, goofy smile. “I like you more than I should,” he confessed.

“Oh, goody,” I drawled, dialing my face to
serious-business-mode
. “All right, barkeep. I’ll get the treasure and scatter the spriggans, or my name isn’t Glenda Hasenpfeffer.”

Gareth said, “You must get the pod o’ gold.”

“I know, I need to—wait, what did you say?”

“Maybe you can also get me one?”

“A pod.”

“Yes.”

I blinked at him rapidly. “Not pot?”

“No, pod. P-O-D pod.” He pointed at the rear entrance, a heavy steel door without windows.

It’s not a spelling mistake
.  I tried to march out the back door and found myself prancing like a kid pretending to ride a galloping horse. The door let out into a snow-heaped garden surrounded on three sides by arching blackthorn trees, great winter thistles, and grassy things that looked like giant cattails. Scattered among them were dry, gold-colored seed pods. Lilith’s Heart pods were rare and exceedingly valuable in the world of kitchen witches; Thrice Round the Circle, my regular herb supplier, never had them in stock, though it was listed for a few thousand dollars per pod. Here, there were hundreds of them. The deep yellow seed pods were covered in hoary frost. In the far corner, there was an old wooden outhouse with a crescent moon carved in an aged door warped by the elements that didn’t look like it would close properly anymore. The boards that made up the walls were gaping; no privacy would be had in that privy, not that there was anyone in the garden to peek in on someone taking a constitutional.