Drink Down the Moon

  The room was well lit with the light coming through the window. Johnny got the impression that there was something about the window that heightened the light. He wondered if it dimmed it accordingly during the day. A pair of oil lamps stood on the mantel above the cold hearth, neither of them lit.

  Jemi leaned her sax case up against a wall and settled down on the sofa.

  “There’s more rooms through there,” she said, pointing to the door.

  Johnny nodded and slowly crossed the room to where she sat. He lowered himself into one of the easy chairs across from her and held his fiddle case between his knees.

  “It’s

  not quite what I expected,” he said, looking around the room.

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Piles of gold and jewels lying around?”

  “We’re not rich faerie.”

  “There’s rich faerie?”

  She shrugged. “Some. You should see the Court of Kinrowan sometime. There’s treasure there. Do you want something to drink?”

  “Ah

  “

  “Oh, don’t worry. It’s just some beer that Jenna brews. It won’t keep you here for a hundred years or anything— that’s just in the stories.”

  “Sure. A beer’d be great.”

  She got up and went through the door that led deeper into the hill, the darkness obviously not bothering her. When she returned, Johnny was standing in front of one of the three tapestries that hung in the room. It showed an old-fashioned schooner anchored off a rocky shore. Pines grew near the beach and a longboat was being lowered onto the water. All around the men lowering the boat and standing at the ship’s rail, faerie were depicted, perched on barrels, riding the longboat as it was lowered, swinging from ropes— a whole crowd of little folk.

  “My father wove that,” Jemi said as she handed him a mug of beer.

  “Thanks,” Johnny said. He took a swig, foam mustaching his upper lip. “Hey, this is good.”

  Jemi nodded. “Jenna brews the best beer this side of Avon Dhu— the St. Lawrence.”

  She went back to the sofa. After a few moments of studying the tapestry, Johnny returned to his own chair. Jemi leaned forward.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you all here tonight,” she began with a smile.

  Johnny laughed. “That’s how faerie came here, right?” he asked, pointing his mug at the tapestry. “You hitched a ride with the early settlers.”

  “Not all at once,” Jemi replied, “but that’s about it.”

  She told of the migrations then, of the two Courts, the Seelie and Unseelie, and of the fiaina sidhe, who were aligned to neither.

  “Were you around back then?” Johnny asked.

  What the hell, he thought. If he was going to accept part of it, he might as well go the whole route.

  “Oh, no. I’m just a babe compared to most faerie. I’m probably not much older than you are.”

  “Thirty-one.”

  Jemi shrugged. “Okay. So I’m a little older.”

  “How’d you end up playing sax for AKT? I mean, it’s not exactly what I’d picture a faerie to be doing. And neither’s, well, the way you look.”

  “You don’t like my look?” Jemi asked, running her fingers through her short pink hair.

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just

  “

  “I know. We’re all supposed to be little withered dwarves, or these impossibly beautiful creatures. Sorry.” She shot him a dazzling smile. “But as for AKT, I just love that sound. I like our music, too— faerie music, which is more like what you play— but there’s something about the excitement of an electric sound

  . Everything seems more alive these days— music, fashion, everything. I like being a part of it, that’s all.

  “Jenna says it’s my human blood coming out in me, but I don’t know. I’m a Pook, and we just like to have fun. Jenna does, too, but she finds hers in other ways.”

  “Are you the only one that

  I guess you’d say, mixes with us mortals?”

  “Oh, no. But you wouldn’t know a faerie to look at one— we’re good at wearing shapes that don’t set us apart if we don’t already have an appropriate one.”

  “And you

  ?”

  “This is all there is to me, Johnny.” She touched her hair. “I don’t even have to dye this brown or blonde anymore to fit in.”

  Johnny smiled. “Natural pink hair?”

  “What can I say?”

  Her gaze drifted to the tapestry that he’d been looking at.

  “It’s a funny thing,” she said, more seriously. “The old folk say that we depend on you, on your belief, to sustain us. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but with the current upsurge of interest in fantasy and make-believe, our luck is getting stronger. I’ve always wondered about that dependence faerie are supposed to have on mortals, myself.”

  “You don’t think it’s true?”

  “I don’t know. But if it is, then it doesn’t affect me so much as a pureblood— only that confuses me more. It’s like, we don’t exist unless some of you believe in us, but at the same time we can crossbreed. How can that be possible if we’re just born from your imagination? Imagoes brought to life.”

  “Are you?”

  She shrugged, troubled. “I don’t know. It’s mostly the older sidhe like Jenna who feel that way. The younger ones figure the world turns around them— but I guess that’s what everybody thinks when they’re young. What I do know is that we keep our luck by our rade— that’s a night the fiaina sidhe get together and follow the moonroads to wherever they’ll take us.

  “There hasn’t been a rade for a while, though. I guess I’ve ignored it, living mostly with mortals, but I know it was worrying Jenna. Even in the city I’ve heard rumours, of hobs leaving their holdings, derrie-downs dying

  .”

  “Hobs? Derrie-downs?”

  “Hobs are like gnomes, I guess you could say. Little men. Brownies. And derrie-downs are like

  selchies. Only they live in fresh water— rivers and lakes and the like— and they’re otters in the water, instead of seals. This far from the ocean, only those with Laird’s blood can take a seal or a swan’s shape.”

  She fell quiet then and they sat for a while, neither speaking. Johnny regarded her and felt very odd. Rationally, he knew that none of this could exist. Everything she was talking about— this house inside a hill, for God’s sake— but at the same time, it all wound together inside him to form a sensible pattern. One that fit within the boundaries of its own rules— not the ones he wanted to impose upon them. That left him feeling that he was either going right off the deep end, or it was all real.

  He preferred to think it was real.

  Looking at Jemi ensconced in her sofa, he sensed her spunkiness falling from her. She looked tiny still, but frail now, too. He could almost see the tears sitting there behind her eyes, just waiting to be released.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked softly.

  She looked at him, eyes shiny. “Oh, I’m so worried, Johnny. I think something terrible’s happened. I wasn’t sure before— it was just a vague kind of a feeling— but now I know something is wrong. Something’s happened to Jenna and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Isn’t there someone we could go ask? One of her friends?”

  She bit at her lower lip and shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “Where does the closest one live?”

  In a tree? he thought. Under a mushroom?

  “Down there,” Jemi said, pointing to the window. “In the river.”

  Johnny followed her finger with his gaze. Right. In the river.

  He sat there and stared out the window, wondering just how deep into this he wanted to get. But then he looked at Jemi, remembered her saying she was going to need a friend, and what he’d said to her then.

  “Come on,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  “Her,” Jemi said
. “It’s a her. Her name’s Loireag and she’s a kelpie.”

  The Parliament Buildings— housing the Senate, the House of Commons, and numerous members’ offices and committee rooms— stood on a headland in the Nation’s Capital, overlooking the Ottawa River. They were originally built in the 1860s, partially destroyed by fire in 1916, then rebuilt thereafter in their original Gothic Revival style, the final work being completed on the Peace Tower in 1933.

  While the federal government went about its business above, underground in the limestone cliffs that made up the headland, the faerie of Kinrowan kept their Court and Laird’s Manor. The hollowed cliff contained a bewildering complex of chambers, halls and personal residences, all the while remaining hidden from the eyes of various groundkeepers and RCMP patrols.

  Jacky and Kate chained their bicycles to a street sign on Wellington when they arrived, then followed Mull on his pony around the wall fronting the Hill to the bottom of the cliffs in back of the buildings. The mists gathering on the river were thicker here, drifting to land and making visibility difficult. But Mull knew the way. Jacky and Kate walked with a hand on either flank of his little hob pony until they reached the entrance to the Court. Hay of Kelldee was waiting for them at its stone doors.

  The Brown Man was a dwarf, brown-skinned with red frizzled hair and beard, and dark glowing eyes. As befit his name, he was dressed in various shades of brown, from the dark of forest loam to the mottled brown of a mushroom. He took one look at their faces, then ushered them away from the curious eyes of those faerie who hadn’t accompanied the Court to Ballymoresk. Not until they were in his private rooms would he let them speak.

  “Oh, that’s bad,” he said when they told him about the dog.

  He paced back and forth across the room, stopping to stare out a broad window overlooking the river, before turning back to them.

  “What’s to be done?” he asked Jacky.

  “Ah. Well

  “

  “We’ll have to study this in the Tower,” Kate said. “It’s not a simple thing.”

  “No,” Hay agreed, nodding his head slowly. “It’s not simple at all.”

  He studied them sharply from under thick red brows.

  “I’ve heard rumours,” he said finally, “that there was trouble amongst the fiaina— but nothing like this.”

  “What sort of trouble?” Jacky asked.

  “Oh, the usual sort with such solitary folk— or so it seemed. This hob’s not been heard from for some time, the rade was not so good this moon

  . Even some talk of mysterious deaths. Nothing that any of us saw personally, but even the rumour of such is disturbing. We should have looked into it sooner, I suppose, only things being as they were— with no word of the Host abroad, save for the odd troll or bogan— we’ve grown lazy. It’s a bad time for the flower of the Court to be away.”

  Jacky didn’t say anything, but she found it hard to stay quiet. The last time there’d been trouble in Kinrowan, the “flower” of the Court had been noticeably absent as well— at least from taking a part. They’d hidden in their halls and in the Court, while Jacky and her friends had taken on a host of giants, bogans and other Unseelie folk.

  “We should go,” Kate said.

  Jacky nodded. “We’ll be in touch. If you hear from Finn, could you ask him to come to the Tower?”

  Hay nodded. “If you need any help

  “

  “We’ll let you know,” Kate said before Jacky could speak.

  Jacky “waited until they were outside again and making their way back to their bikes before saying anything.

  “Why didn’t you want to take him up on his offer of help?” she asked.

  “Oh, think for a moment,” Kate replied. “The Laird’s gone and while Hay means well, what’s he going to do on his own? The only ones left behind are those too weak to make the trip to Toronto— and of course a few foresters to patrol the borderlands. If and when we know something, then we can ask them for help— or we can ask the foresters, at least. But until then, they’ll just get in our way.”

  “Lovely. And in the meantime, we’re going to take this thing on by ourselves?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re going to go through the Gruagagh’s books and find out just what it is that we’re up against. Then we’ll call in the cavalry.”

  “I suppose. I’d like to talk to some of these fiaina— see what they know. Do you think Finn could introduce us to any?”

  “It won’t hurt to ask.” Kate shot her a quick look. “This time we’ve got to use another of the stones— you do know that.”

  “To do what?”

  “Index all those books!”

  “We’ll need to think that through carefully. I don’t feel like walking around looking like a mobile file card system, or changing the Tower into a computer or something. Anything’s liable to happen.”

  “We did okay learning the language.”

  “Yes, but— shit.”

  They’d reached their bikes and were unlocking them when Jacky froze. Kate didn’t say anything. Taking her cue from her companion, she followed Kate’s gaze. The black dog was back, sitting on its haunches not a half-block from where they stood.

  “Jacky?” Kate began.

  Jacky shook her head. “I’m not even wearing my stitched shoes.”

  They each had a jacket and a pair of shoes into which Dunrobin Finn had stitched a skillyman hob’s enchantments. The jackets made the wearer invisible to mortals— and to faerie as well, if you stayed very still. The shoes gave you quickness. They were both wearing their jackets, but not the shoes.

  “If it comes towards us I’m going to scream,” Kate muttered.

  The black dog chose that moment to rise to its feet and move in their direction.

  “Jacky!”

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”

  Fingers fumbling, Jacky continued to work on her bike lock. When the lock sprang open, she stuffed it into her pocket and tugged the chain free. She felt like a bad actor in some biker B-movie, but the weight of the chain in her hands was far more comforting than facing the dog empty-handed.

  The beast continued its approach, a low rumble of a growl starting up deep in its chest. The hackles around its neck rose thickly. It drew back its lips, showing sharp rows of teeth that made Jacky’s knees knock against each other. Her throat was dry and felt like sandpaper when she tried to swallow.

  About three yards from them, the dog crouched down. By now its growl was like the constant revving of an engine without a muffler. Still feeling weak-kneed, Jacky took a step towards the beast, the chain held awkwardly in her hands. The chain was cold iron— not much good against urban faerie who had grown so accustomed to its sting that it no longer hurt them, but still a powerful enough weapon against those creatures that hadn’t yet acquired an immunity to it. If she was lucky, the dog was one of the latter.

  She could see it tense, getting ready to lunge. She stared into its eyes, then remembered someone had once told her something about not trying to stare down a dog, it just made them madder. She didn’t need monstrous Fido here any madder, but she couldn’t look away.

  “Get on your bike, Kate,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Jacky, what are you—”

  “Kate, just get on your bike! I’ll try to scare it off.”

  “No way. I’m not going to—”

  The dog leapt.

  Jacky screamed and flung the chain at it, only just remembering to hang onto one end of it. Before the chain could hit it, however, before the dog was upon her, a tall shape moved out of the shadows from beside the wall separating the Hill from Wellington Street. Jacky caught a glimpse of a pale face inside a dark hood before the newcomer turned on the dog. Grabbing it by the scruff of the neck, the figure started to haul back on its massive weight. But at his touch, the dog simply dissolved.

  The hooded figure took a step back, obviously surprised. Jacky, her own mouth gaping, started to pull the chain back to her in case t
he beast appeared again.

  “What in the Moon was that creature?” the cloaked figure asked.

  The voice was a man’s, deep and resonating. He turned towards the two women, pushing back the hood of his brown cloak.

  “One moment I had Laird knows how many pounds of some black monstrosity in my hands,” he said, “and the next nothing but smoke.”

  “I

  we’re not sure,” Jacky said.

  She was happy to see that she’d kept most of the tremble from her voice.

  The man’s features, revealed by the streetlight now that he was fully out of the shadows, proved to be strong and not altogether unhandsome. The brow was smooth, eyes somewhat wide-set, cheekbones high, chin firm. Under the brown cloak, he wore a simple shirt and brown trousers.

  “Thanks,” Jacky said.

  She left it at that. Rescuer or not, she wasn’t about to give him their names. Finn had taught her that much caution long ago.

  The man nodded. “My name’s Cumin,” he said. “Of Lochbuie. That creature

  ” He frowned. “Have you ever heard of such a thing before?”

  “It killed a Pook last night,” Jacky said.

  “Did it now.”

  Kate stepped to Jacky’s side. Her nostrils flared as she caught a scent, sensed a tingle of magic in the air.

  “Are you a gruagagh?” she asked the stranger.

  “The Gruagagh of Lochbuie,” he said. “At your service.”

  “Boy,” Jacky said with relief. “Could we use a gruagagh right about now.”

  Cumin’s brows rose quizzically. “Surely Kinrowan still has its gruagagh? He’s an old friend of mine that I haven’t seen for a very long time. Bhruic Dearg. Do you know him?”

  Jacky nodded. “But he’s not around anymore. I live in his Tower now. I’m the Jack of Kinrowan,” she added, feeling it was safe to give their names to a friend of Bhruic’s, “and this is my friend Kate.