The Keeper Ch. 23-25

Chapter Twenty-Three

Deafening blasts of incoming mortar fire woke Quinn out of a sound sleep. The harsh glare of white phosphorus flares flickered against the room's curtains.

"I'm hit," a familiar voice screamed.

Corporal Bobby Durant of Beaumont, Texas was shrieking in pain.

He scrabbled frantically, searching for his Unit One bag.

Couldn't find it.

He was unprepared, and a corpsman who was unprepared to do his job meant Marines died.

There was no worse sin.

The platoon stood in a circle watching, eyes accusing.

Quinn lunged out of the bed, lungs gasping for breath. His foot caught in the sweat-soaked sheets--tripped-- and the pain of his face hitting the floor woke him.

Sanity slowly returned.

Thunder and lightning continued outside.

"Just a dream that's all." The hoarse sound of his voice echoed in the dark bedroom.

"Just a dream," he scrubbed the tears from his face and walked into the bathroom to get a drink of water.

Every unit Quinn was ever attached to had a young, brash, and irreverent kid. The 1st of the 5th Marines had Bobby. He was first aware of him in Helmand Province when Bobby stepped into the squad's tent and shouted, "Bobby Durant of Beaumont Texas is here to kick some Taliban ass." It should have made him seem like a douche, but Bobby was Bobby, and it came off as funny and they all laughed. After that everybody, even the LT, called him by his full name-Bobby Durant of Beaumont Texas.

Quinn had kept in touch with the Gunny after he mustered out. Two months after he left, the Gunny sent word that Bobby went back home to Beaumont, Texas -- by way of Dover in a casket.

Bobby Durant of Beaumont, Texas hadn't called out to him for a long time.

Now he was back.

"I am such a fucking pogue," Quinn said as he drifted back to an uneasy sleep. "Thanks to the Mother that the Gunny isn't here to see me like this."

Chapter Twenty-Four

"I asked you two fools here so you can tell me what the fuck you think you are doing." The mayor of Oldtown, the vampire Luciana Marinus' voice still carried hints of her birthplace in Naples, Italy. Her age-darkened eyes flashed with anger as she regarded her two partners. They shifted under her gaze. It was obvious to her that the two of them had something going on--something they were sure she wouldn't approve of.

Stupid, greedy men had been the bane of her life for over a thousand years.

In the early years, the three of them had fought a vicious war for the control of the Oldtown's massive underworld until she managed to get enough of an upper hand to force the two to sit down and talk. Things had been reasonably peaceful ever since.

Luciana Marinus was a political genius. Her father, the duke of Naples, had married her off (read sold) to a Magistros (high official in the Byzantine bureaucracy) hoping to secure favored trading rights. Luciana under her father's and uncle's tutelage had cut her teeth on the twisted, vicious politics of the Italian city-states, so it came as no surprise that she soon manipulated her new husband into giving her his blessing to ply her arts on his behalf. She soon made him far wealthier than he ever dreamed possible and herself a major force in the murky politics of Constantinople. With a bribe here and a careful assassination there, she wielded her political power with a deftness that New York's Tammany Machine could only dream of.

Along the way, she was turned by a handsome Turkish vampire. She chose not to hold a grudge, but that was the last time she ever put her faith and trust in a man.

After the death of her husband and when people started to comment that she seemed never to age, she made her way to Oldtown.

A single woman, even a powerful vampire needs security, so she made arrangements with the Amazon queen for four bodyguards to be sent to her every twenty years. She retired the previous four after rewarding them with wealth beyond their dreams. A good politician does her best to keep her word and rewards loyalty without fail.

She enjoyed living in Oldtown. There was no need to relocate every forty or fifty years and politics was politics no matter the species or where it was practiced.

Now that satisfying life was threatened by these two idiots. Luciana had remained in power because she was paranoid enough to detect even the slightest shift in the opinions of the body politic.

Now, she had felt some slight tremors that experience warned her could grow into a major earthquake.

She turned to the Leprechaun. "I have received a report that you hosted a Dökkálfar prince in that club of yours. Would you care to comment?"

"No big deal, my dear,'' he said smoothly. "He wasn't there long. Just for some things we were working on with the Druid's people."

"Did you know this was happening?" She asked the Druid, keeping her voice mild.

"Yes, I did," the Druid growled. "What business is it of yours, vampire? We agreed to cooperate--not live under your thumb. We don't answer to you."

Luciana rubbed her forehead in frustration.

"Do you two know why we hold power?"

"Of course," said the Leprechaun. "We're prepared to crush anyone who moves against us, not that there is anyone left to even hope to overthrow us."

"For two beings who have lived thousands of years, you two are surprisingly naïve. We hold power because the beings out there allow us to. They can't be bothered to remove us. They have better things to do like feeding their families and they like the vices we make available."

The other two shared a look of smug disbelief.

Stupid fucking men.

She sighed. "All right let's go at this from a different direction. Who is hated almost universally by the beings who live in this city of ours? Beings who learned that hatred at their mother's breast. Care to guess? Anyone?"

She stood suddenly, her feeding fangs extended and her voice rose in a powerful shriek.

"I WILL TELL YOU WHO --THE FUCKING SIDHE THAT'S WHO."

She sat down and continued. Her voice was soft and deadly. "Dökkálfar or Ljósálfar, doesn't matter which. The beings of Oldtown have long memories. They are insane in their hatred of them. And who could blame them? The Sidhe enslaved them. Experimented on them--killed their children, raped their women and burned their fields and homes with their countless wars."

"All right, Luciana," the Leprechaun soothed, "I will grant you that point, my lady. Just what has you in such a state. We run our various enterprises quietly. We cooperate to keep the peace."

"The problem is slaves. You two are getting sloppy and greedy. The secret is out that you're hosting Prince Arianrhod Dökkálfar right now in that club of yours. Instead of taking mundanes from the other side, you're taking shifter children and other beings from our side and selling them the Sidhe! In your mindless greed, you're stirring up the Kin community by targeting their most precious possessions, their children. That is unforgivably stupid."

She stood and walked over to the massive window that overlooked the sprawling city.

"You know what happens next? Somewhere out there lurks a being smarter and more ambitious than the rest. He or she will see the opportunity and start fanning the resentment into hatred."

"And next we'll see the pitchforks and torches in the mob's hands as they march down Market Street. You remember mobs, don't you? Or have you been fat with power for so long that you don't remember how it felt to hunger for it? You're putting a sword at our throats. We agreed long ago that our citizens children were off-limits to slavers and now you break that bargain."

The other two tried their best to hide their dismay at the scope of her intelligence, but she had a thousand years' experience with the lies of conspirators.

"And if that were not bad enough, you have kidnapped Niamh Harpe, the granddaughter of the Kin Council Chairman. Are you insane or just suicidal?"

"Wait. Wait," the Druid spoke up, his smug confidence shaken at last. "This is the first I've heard of that. Is it true?"

"Unfortunately, yes. She came sniffing around, saw the Prince, and forced my hand. If that damn Hag you employ hadn't been so damn incompetent, none of this would have happened."

Sweet Mother of All! These two were in a death spiral. Each decision they made pulled them closer to destruction. And they were pulling her in with them.

"Listen you two, I don't care who is to blame. Here is what is going to happen. You will get Niamh Harpe and those children out of this city tonight. You will clean up all evidence they were here and you will send that fucking scum of a Prince back to whatever hole he came out of."

With that, she stood and walked out, leaving the other two partners glaring at each other.

At the door, she turned and spoke her voice deadly, "if you don't do as I say--I will be the one leading the mob to your doorstep."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Quinn stood in the shower after his morning run, relaxing, letting random thoughts ping him. Hot showers, it occurred to him that of all the luxuries he had back in the world--hot showers should be right at the top of the list. In Afghanistan, they were few and far between. In the Murk, there were none. There were ponds and lakes in there-- breathtaking limpid spring-fed pools that tempted the seventeen-year-old boy on the run--utterly exhausted from days and weeks of fights with whatever predators the troll women had arranged to ambush him. The problem was that like everything else in the Murk; the ponds were deadly, prime hunting grounds for selkies and other swamp carnivores. He'd been caught, dragged down, and drowned several times until he had learned to keep his distance--no matter the temptation. Over time, he'd learned, like he had learned all the lessons the troll women taught him--the hard way.

After breakfast at the Blue Bird Cafe, which was a bit weird because his entrance was greeted with stares and whisperings, Quinn decided to walk to his appointment. The judge's office was on the north side of town--the side of town that had once hosted a bunch of psychics, palm readers, and astrologers. It now featured three square blocks crammed with upscale Crafter Shops. Emory's Crafter community was still going strong, the artisans taking full advantage of the Opari's magic to enhance their talents.

Emory was famous for its unique (and expensive) shops--shops with exotic items you would expect to see in Santa Fe or Flagstaff but not in a backwater town in Washington State. He walked past a shop that featured handmade soaps and perfumes, he'd worked there for a couple of weeks when he was a kid. Next door was a cobbler's shop owned by Mr. Knuth that featured bespoke boots and shoes. He saw three new art galleries. Two featured paintings, the third pottery, and sculptures. Mr. Omar's Carpets and Tapestries was still the same. The Scriber twins' distinctive hand-woven basket store had expanded.

Everybody up and down the street was no doubt getting set for one of their busiest weeks of the year.

His first stop was at Marigold's Coffees, Teas, and Baked Goods. He opened the door and was immediately met by a mélange of wonderful homey smells. When he was a boy, this shop was his favorite place in all the world.

"Good morning," A cheerful voice called out from the back. "Just a second and I'll be right with you."

"Oh, Sweet Mother of All, Lachlan Joseph Quinn, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Marigold Hope said with a smile of delight as she walked up to the front carrying a platter of fresh-baked scones and muffins.

Cayden MacLeish had firm ideas on how a young boy ought to be educated. Public school was not on his list. When Quinn came to live with him, he created a curriculum of his own devising that was really a series of mini apprenticeships.

Mistress Marigold Hope had been one of his tutors. She was Gus' mother, a big woman with a comfortable lived-in kind of face, kind eyes, and a warm smile. She gave him the same mischievous grin that she had given to him when as a wide-eyed nine-year-old, he had shyly mumbled a hello when Mr. MacLeish brought him to her place to learn how to cook and bake. He had abruptly found himself swept up in a huge hug so warm that all he could do was stand there and leak tears like a baby. Instead of commenting, she had just smiled and led him back to her kitchen to help her and his new friend Gus decide which of her cupcakes tasted best.

Mistress Marigold was a Master-Crafter--a baking genius. Young brides drove up from Seattle and Tacoma to beg her to create their wedding cakes. In the beginning, his job had been washing pots and pans for her while standing on a bench so he could reach the sink. Over the years, despite her patience and try as he might. He was never able to match the perfection of her creations, the subtle nuances of genius, that made them special as opposed to the merely okay the stuff he baked. The same was true for most of his attempts to match his other Crafter-mentors. The only work he did that approached master level was when he worked with wood under the hyper-critical eye of old Finn.

"Lachlan, it's so nice to see you," she gave him a stern look. "You look a little better than when you came back from that awful war, but you're still way too thin."

"Well, my cooking has never been up to yours. I'm heading over to the Judge's office and I was hoping to get a cup of your coffee."

"I roasted some beans just this morning. It's way better than that Starbucks crap you drink." Mistress Marigold wasn't too fond of Starbucks. "Would you like a taste of my newest cupcake? I call it Chocolate Sin. Pull up a chair and talk to me while I get things ready for the day's business."

Quinn grinned, "Well, I guess I could take a minute and give you an honest opinion about your latest creation." He grabbed a chair at the table close to the counter so they could chat while she worked. She was a whirlwind, as always. Her shop was spotless although you couldn't tell it from her actions. She was constantly wiping counters down, making minute adjustments to displays, chattering as she worked. He was suddenly struck by how much he'd missed living in Seattle.

Quinn took a bite and closed his eyes as the unbelievably rich flavor exploded in his mouth. He took a sip of coffee, grinned at her, and said the thing he always said when he tried a new one of her creations:

"I like these ones best of all."

She gave him a delighted laugh, then turned serious.

"I heard what you did for little Julie. I was so proud of you, Lachlan. I was just telling Jane how you always seemed to be the guy who's there to take care of things whenever there's an emergency. I sure hope you're finally here to stay."

Quinn didn't want to say he was leaving as soon as he could, so he just nodded and sipped his coffee.

"And I heard that you give a great floor show too," she grinned. "According to Jane, you were the subject of conversation down at the Blue Bird this morning. They were all appreciative about what lurked underneath all those baggy clothes you always wear."

"So that was why everybody was staring at me at breakfast this morning. Mrs. Edna is a gossiper. You can tell her I said so too. You'd think folks had more interesting things to talk about than me."

"Not really," she grinned. Then she abruptly changed the subject. "Before you go up to the Judge's office. There are some things you need to know."

"What things?" At last, maybe he could get an idea of what was going on here.

She pointed to the north of town. "Up there just south of the Three Fingers Mountain is the Opari Wilderness. You know all about that place, as I recall, you disappeared into it the summer you turned sixteen or seventeen and came back different."

Quinn wondered if she had any idea of how "different" he was.

"Somewhere in the middle of the Opari there is a Thinning between two maybe three different planes of reality. The magic that seeps through that Thinning is the magic that powers us.

She stopped and looked at him, he guessed to make sure he was paying attention.

"I do know that," he said.

"Bear with me. The Opari Wilderness is a bone of contention between four or five different groups--The Sabina and O'Neal Covens here in town, the Shifter-Kin both north and south of us, the two Sidhe Clans on the other side of the Thinning, and probably The Three down in Oldtown. Since the old man disappeared, the temptation has been mounting for either the Covens and the Kin to copper their bets and take it over. That possibility no doubt makes the Fae Folk nervous. It's like a powder keg waiting to be lit. We crafters are scared."

"Okay, I get that. What do you all want?"

"You know us, we don't want much, we just want some stability to do our work. We don't need constant stress."

"A month ago, the Covens lit the fuse. They declared the old Cayden dead. They had to call you in for the will reading--even though for some reason you scare the heck out of them. Quinn, they plan to use you somehow--I just don't know how."

She abruptly changed the subject.

"I'm still looking for your people you know. Getting close, I think."

Mistress Marigold was determined to find out who "his people" were. Quinn didn't care much. Anybody who could leave their newborn baby in a dumpster outside of Ivar's Acres of Clams didn't seem to be people that he needed to meet. But he could refuse her nothing, so like always, he pretended he was interested.

"I think we've got a breakthrough; I've heard from a woman down in Oldtown who might have some information.

"Great, sorry, I've got to get over to the Judge's office." Quinn gave her a kiss and a hug.

Marigold blessed him as she always did, with a warm hand to his cheek.

"Love you. May the Mother of All keep and protect you, my precious boy."

She smiled at him and hugged him once more. Then shook a mock finger at him.

"And by the way young Lachlan, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times if you expect to bake quality cakes you have to use quality ingredients. That cheesecake of yours was ruined by cheap cheese. Shame on you."

Quinn hung his head in contrition. Quinn wondered if she knew how much that scolding meant to him. He decided she did.

"I'm gonna get that big tattle tale, Gus." He mock grumped. "Love you, Aunt Mari."

His grin disappeared as he walked out into the world again.

***

Quinn ran into Henry outside the Judge's office.

"Well, hello Henry, fancy meeting you here."

"Howdy, Lachlan. Since I head up the Crafter Council, the Judge thought I better be here to bear witness."

He held the door and they walked in.

"Hey Linda," Henry said to the very pretty, very pregnant twenty-something blond receptionist.

"Hi Uncle Henry, They're in the big meeting room."

"Thanks, honey. Say hi to Jeff for me, will you? Tell him I expect to see him at our poker night on Saturday."

"Yeah, maybe he'll win for once," she laughed. "I'm the one who has to listen to him complain about you sharks. Then on the rare times, he does win he wants to buy something stupid like a new fly rod instead of something practical like a purse or new pair of shoes for me."

She looked at Quinn. "Who does handsome belong to?"

"Oh sorry. Linda meet Lachlan Quinn. He is the long-awaited guest of honor. Lachlan, this is my favorite niece, Linda Shelton."

"Glad to meet you, Ma'am," Quinn said and shook her hand.

"Seriously? You did not just call me ma'am. All those hours getting made up wasted. I'm crushed."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Quinn grinned at her. "Now that I think about it, shouldn't you be in school?"

"Except for the whole baby mama thing," she laughed and patted her stomach, "You're too easy. Go right on in."