The Keeper Ch. 08-09

Chapter Eight

After Gus and the little girl left, Quinn went for a good long run. Hard strenuous exercise was his go-to cure-all for everything. He came back, showered, and prepared to beard the dragon in her cave.

According to Gus, Katherine Keenan was doing some sort of financial auditing with an accounting firm located in the forest of high rises in downtown Seattle.

After Quinn treated himself to a snack at Sweet Iron Waffles on 3rd street, he took a walk down to the Chocolate Market at Pike Place Market to pick up some Belgian chocolate for Gus's partner Saria and her sisters. The sprites were serious chocoholics.

Then he walked to the high rise on 4th and Columbia. Even though he was dressed country-formal: Levis, Tecova boots, tan corduroy sport coat, and a starched white shirt, Quinn was amused to think that he was as out of place in three-piece suit country as a pig in church.

"I'd like to see Katherine Keenan please," Quinn said to the expensive-looking blue-eyed blond receptionist whose name plate said she was Amber Morici.

"Who shall I say is calling? Or should I just say it's a tall, dark, and handsome man?" She asked with a big cheerful smile.

"Lachlan Quinn, I'm a friend of hers from back home."

"I never would have guessed. You sure don't look like the usual pretty-boy guys she dates, Mr. Quinn."

"Just Lachlan, please. And I'm a long way from a pretty boy. I pound nails for a living."

"Well Just Lachlan, I think you're gorgeous. Anyone ever tell you that you have the deepest green eyes."

"Not a single person," Quinn gave her a grin.

"What the HELL are you doing here?"

And here we go.

"Hello to you, Peaches," Quinn said. "Long time, no see."

Katheryn Keenan was heading his way, high-heeled pumps click-clacking on the white marble floor. Dressed in a green suit with a skirt that came to her knees and a white silk blouse, she was magnificent. Quinn was struck with a bittersweet memory of dancing with her-- the smell of apple blossoms in her hair dizzying his bumbling sixteen-year-old self. She looked like she belonged on a runway in New York. The sight of her took his breath away--literally. It's true, he thought, first loves never really go away.

Too bad it turned out that the attraction was one-sided. He had written her a long letter a week the entire time he was in the Navy telling her about things that had happened. He hadn't mailed a single one of them, kept them stuffed in his seabag until someone reminded him that if he bought it, they would send them all back home. So, he burned them. He didn't stop writing, though. He burned the last week's letter as soon as he finished the current week's one.

Bobby Durant called it posting by campfire.

What set Katie Keenan apart from all the women in the world were her eyes. You could look into the windows of her sea-glass green eyes and see that somebody special lived there. Scary-smart, sassy and occasionally, if you were particularly clever, you could tease out a giggle fit from the little girl she kept hidden away--the one who had a huge mischievous grin and who looooved peaches.

Quinn smiled as he remembered her eight-year-old self at her aunt's kitchen table with a big spoon in her hand singing "Peaches lots of peaches... I love my peaches and creams..."

Now though, she was well on her way into a right Irish snit.

His glyphs prickled. Her powerful magic swirled and coiled around her like a deadly serpent.

Quinn knew this mood. She always went there when she was embarrassed or caught off guard. She was fragile like a bomb is fragile.

So, he said, "shame how you've let yourself go, Peaches."

Saying her old nickname was like poking a tiger with a stick.

Amber giggled. Katie shot her a death glare.

"Surely you have something to do Ms. Morici.

"I'm doing it, Ms. Keenan," Amber said sweetly.

"Take it easy, Peaches," Quinn said.

"Lan," she snarled, "If you don't stop calling me Peaches, I'm gonna snap your neck."

Well, Gus had warned him. You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl.

Quinn wondered what was wrong with him that he fell for dangerous women. There wasn't an ounce of difference between her and Niamh except for the color of their hair.

Another woman, an equally attractive brunette, came around the corner.

He was starting to wonder about the hiring practices of this place.

"Katherine," she said, "they're looking for you up on twelve--whoa, who's the cowboy."

"Julie," said Amber, "meet Lachlan Quinn. He's a friend of Peaches here. I'm kinda hoping he's gonna be my friend too."

"Well, howdy there, Mr. Quinn," Julie drawled. "Glad to meet you. What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"What do you want, Lan," Katie said through clenched teeth. "We're very busy here."

Okaaaay.

"Well," Quinn said, keeping his voice mild as milk, "Apparently, some issues are unfolding back home. Gus suggested you might have some insight into things. Give me fifteen minutes of your time and I'll be out of your hair."

"Okay." She had no more give in her than a stone had, "Give me a half-hour to get out of a meeting."

"No problem, Katie," said Amber. "I can keep him entertained. You go off to your meeting. Lachlan and I will be fine."

Katie shot Amber another laser-like glare.

"I'll meet you," Katie said her voice almost a shout, "at the Starbucks across the street in 30 minutes. Why don't you head over right now and wait for me?"

"Okay, Peaches. But it's way more professional if you remember to use your indoor voice at work."

Quinn escaped before she did him damage. He hadn't had this much fun in ages.

**

As always, Quinn picked a seat with his back to the wall and close to the exit in Starbucks. As he sipped on a venti double-shot Americano, he casually watched the serious men and women hurrying up and down the street. He wondered, not for the first time at the practicality of the women who were dressed to the nines, wearing colorful high-top converse sneakers as they hurried along.

When Katie showed up. He smiled; she hadn't changed a bit. When Katherine Keenan said 30 minutes, she was serious about it--she showed up exactly 30 minutes after he'd left her.

Katie was all about precision in action and thought.

When she walked up, he said. "Katie, do you wear sneakers when you come to work?"

She looked at him like he was a moron.

"Of course, I do." She pointed to her shoes. "These are Louboutin's. These babies cost six hundred bucks. You think I'm going to walk in the rain in them."

"I remember when you liked to run around in bare feet in the rain."

"That was then, this is now." She stalked up to the counter and came back with a cup of tea.

"What do you want, Lan? I can't believe my sisters told you where I work and never told me you were coming,"

"First of all, your sisters didn't send me here. Except for Charming, The Irritating, I haven't talked to them in years.

She switched topics, "I heard all about you dating the skanky super model. Last year I think it was. What happened there?" She pronounced 'skanky super model' with a disdainful sniff.

And here we go, Quinn thought. Katherine was over her emotional explosion. Now her normal nosiness was surfacing. She was probably preparing for her sister's inevitable interrogation when she next saw them.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I only dated Sierra for a couple of months a year and a half ago. How did you hear about her?"

"I met her at a party a couple of months ago. Imagine my surprise when I heard that one of my oldest friends had been back in town for years and didn't let anyone know. She told me if it weren't for your stubbornness, you could have a future as a model."

Fucking Sierra.

Quinn forced a laugh.

"Seriously? Can you see me as a model.?"

"I heard she threw a glass of wine in your face. I can perfectly understand that. The Mother of All knows how good you are at pissing people off."

"She was a little upset when I broke things off with her."

"What happened to your face?" She pointed to the scar on his face.

"An accident a long time ago. Long story. Boring."

"Fine," she huffed, "don't tell me."

She changed her questioning to a new tack.

"Okay, enough small talk," she said. "Why are you here?"

Quinn decided to give in and go with honesty. You couldn't win with her when she was like this. She hadn't even touched her magic, and he was already feeling the pressure to babble. No wonder she was a guardian. Another similarity. Like Niamh, Katie was a cop.

"Gus told me you were on a job down here. I'm hoping you can tell me what the hell is going on up in Emory.

"What's going on up there is none of your damn business," she snapped. "Why suddenly are you even here bothering me anyway? Go back to your house building or whatever you do." She was air quoted the last.

"Jesus, Katie, be careful, you're liable to dislocate a finger if you get any more upset. The reason I'm here is that your damn Aunties summoned me to come to Emory. They even sent your sister, Charming, to give me the message and to close the deal. She said Althea has been struck down whatever that means. I need to know more before I risk jumping into your crazy town."

Katie paled at this. "Is she okay? What happened?"

"Don't ask me any more than that, I don't know."

"I can't believe they didn't call me." She was shifting from worried-looking to angry and back again.

"Again, don't ask me. I keep out of Coven business. You remember that's what the wicked w... Althea told me to do," Quinn air quoted right back at her-- "'Stay out of Coven business young man.'" He left out the next sentence-- and stay away from Katherine as well.

"Yes, Quinn, who disappears without telling anyone. Quinn, who nobody can count on to stick around. Never mind. That still doesn't answer the question of what you want from me."

Quinn sighed. "Listen, just help me out here, and then you'll never have to talk to me again. There's more. Last night, I got a visit from a Hag who was looking for a shifter girl.

"A Hag," she shrieked.

"Jesus, Katie, not so loud," he hissed.

"Why in the world would a Hag come to you? I admit there have been some rumors of one creeping around. If that's even true, how are you even alive? She's said to be powerful." Katie was working herself into a state.

"Breathe, Katie. Take it easy.

"You're nothing. A random mundane," she gave him a bewildered look. Then she realized what she'd said.

Quinn's insides clenched. He was used to being nobody. He'd been a nobody all his life. He was just surprised that it still bothered him when she said that.

"It's good to know that you agree with your Auntie Althea then," he said lightly. "Listen, I have a situation here, Katherine. What's got everybody so upset up there, and why would they want me there?"

"Lan, I didn't mean..."

He waved her apology off. "Just tell me."

Her mouth firmed. "The seers are predicting a new cycle is due to start."

"That statement makes no sense to me."

Sweet Mother of All, these people and their obscure statements.

"Okay, I'll make it simple. You know about the manna that the Opari produces."

"You mean the magic dust?"

"Lachlan, you sound like a five-year-old. We think it's a trans-dimensional form of energy. Historically we've called it manna. Some people, the crafters, for example, can use it to achieve and maintain a high state of focused concentration. Others can learn to harness and activate a talent to manipulate the environment. Heal for example. We think the talent is genetic but recessive so it's unpredictable. Stress brings it to the fore, that's the reason the covens must search out orphans for new members; they usually have a high degree of stress early on in life.

"Huh, that's interesting and all Katie, but circle back to the cycle thing."

Katherine frowned at his interruption but obediently refocused her explanation.

"Anyway, according to the old writings, a new cycle brings a vastly increased level of manna. The last new cycle occurred six hundred years ago. When it swept through the Black Forest Thinning, we think that the struggle for control of it lit the tinder that became one of the root causes of the Hundred Years war. That war in turn sparked the emergence of the Black Death. The ensuing chaos, in turn, generated two hundred years of witch burnings as people looked for scapegoats--something that The Covens have never forgotten."

"Okay," Quinn said. "Let's keep things simple. You have a crisis up there. There is going to be more magic dust. What do you see happening then?" He was enjoying how she winced every time he said magic dust.

"Well first of all the increased quantity and quality of manna," she finger quoted manna with a disapproving frown on her face, "will draw all sorts of predators both from our world and others. We're not sure how, but it may affect the shifter population as well. The Mother only knows what will happen in Oldtown. As far as I can see, the last thing we need is you bumbling around."

"Well, that's one thing we agree on," Quinn said. "I'd rather be on vacation casting a fly up on the Big Hole River."

She ignored that statement and eyed him with renewed curiosity.

He could tell she suspected there was a lot more to his story, and it was killing her that she didn't know. He hadn't mentioned the little shifter. Only the Mother knew how she would have responded to that bit of information. Not well would be his guess.

"Katherine, thanks for the info. I'll get out of your hair."

"Wait, wait. Lan, what's been going on with you?"

"No time, Katie, Gotta go." He walked out with the smug feeling of sweet victory. You didn't get one up on Katherine Keenan very often, and you had to savor the little things.

"Mother of All, Lachlan Quinn, you are such a jerk," she yelled out behind his back.

Sweet Victory.

Chapter Nine

Interlude

Fifteen years ago

Midnight on midsummer's eve in his thirteenth year, Lachlan Quinn, the one they called the Keeper's Boy, was awakened from a sound sleep by his foster-father Cayden MacLeish. With a muttered "follow me," he led the boy out to the meadow behind the cabin at the edge of the Opari wilderness.

Four small fires burned at the cardinal points around a large meticulously groomed fairy ring. The boy had been warned never to play there--not that he ever had much time to play.

A pentagram was marked out in the center of the ring. Three women sat in the middle of it on an ornate blanket.

As young Lachlan drew close and saw the women clearly, he began to shiver violently. Trolls. Their skin was thickly pebbled and dull green. Their huge eyes gleamed silver in the torchlight.

"Lachlan," his foster father whispered in his ear, "these women are The Vísdómur- the wise ones. They are troll elders from the Green River Clan. I have made them a bargain for a boon of protection for you."

He led the boy to the edge of the pentagon and waited respectfully for the troll women to finish their chant.

Sensing his terror, the old man kept a painful hold on his neck.

"Lay face down," he said gruffly "try to be still and it won't hurt as bad."

"Please let me go, Mr. MacLeish. I don't like this," the boy started to cry. He'd let his guard down. He was devastated at the old man's betrayal.

"Are you certain, Keeper? He's too young. Chances are good that he won't survive this," the youngest grunted harshly.

"He'll be fine. He has the strongest mind I've ever come across. You made the bargain. Grant him the protections. I'll send him to you when it's time."

The eldest nodded her agreement. Quick as a flash, she seized the boy's leg, pulled him into the pentagram, and flung him face down on the blanket. She held him firm, while the others chanted. When the chants stopped. Lachlan found himself paralyzed. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched with mounting terror as the youngest plunged a black knife into each of the fires-- north, east, south, and west. The blade glowed white-hot, then she traced a fiery serpentine glyph in the air and flipped the glowing shape to the other woman who was kneeling beside him. She caught it neatly in a piece of blackened leather and slapped the white-hot glyph onto his right shoulder.

Agony blossomed as it burned into his skin, through the muscle, and into bone.

Blackness rolled over him as he lost consciousness.

"Wait until he comes to, he must be awake during the spelling," the eldest said.

They waited continuously chanting until Lachlan was aware again and repeated the process. Seven times they cast the rune spell. Seven times they forged the glyphs. Seven times they burned them into him--working their way across his shoulder and down his spine.

The boy, Lachlan Quinn, didn't stop screaming even though his voice went early on.

The healing spells that followed were worse.

It was dawn before it was finally over. The youngest one whispered, not unkindly, "That's the worst of them young human; the others won't be nearly so bad. Rest now."

She laid a hand on his forehead.

Blackness.

He slept for five days and five nights.

So passed Lachlan Quinn's first meeting with three troll women that the Sidhe called the Vísdómur.

It wouldn't be the last.

After that, his mentors commented to each other at their weekly meetings that the Keeper's boy seemed profoundly changed. He'd always been quiet, but now he was silent.