Monday, November 13, 2017

A MINOTAUR IN NEW ORLEANS: Part 4

Z.J. DIDN'T invite Nico to the Fata party at The Beautiful House, the lure Clementine had set up for the girl foolishly hunting her.
   He didn't have much in the way of fine clothing and he couldn't afford to buy any. He selected a long-sleeved gray crew shirt from the back of his closet, his newest jeans, and his best boots. He didn't see the point of going armed, but he put one of the silver misericorde daggers in his left boot.
   As he approached The Beautiful House, he studied the guests handing their invitations to Bruce. They were all young. Most were mortal. A few moved with unnatural grace and their eyes flashed silver. As he handed Bruce the invite, he asked, "Did you send one to the girl you want me to catch?"
   Bruce looked at him sternly. "Of course not. She'll find a way in. Clementine says she's resourceful."
   Z.J. sauntered into the enormous lobby while Blues music swept over the people mingling and conversing in evening finery with an antique flair. The doors to the public courtyard were flung wide and more people drifted in and out.
   Clementine had given him a picture of the girl. She looked so ordinary, no older than he was, a girl who should be enjoying her final year of high school. He was worried for her. Very worried. If she did something--
   --and he saw her, suddenly, standing awkwardly in a white dress that reminded him of something Alice in Wonderland might wear, with a rhinestone headband in her short russet hair.
   She didn't know, then, that the Fatas knew.
   Z.J. moved toward her, from the side, so she wouldn't see him coming.
   But she was wary as a deer. Her gaze flicked over the crowd and met his. He attempted a smile.
   She bolted.
   He swore and slid after her, into the lobby, where the moody light flared silver in some eyes. He never got used to that, and a shiver ran through him.
   He saw Phoebe heading for Clementine. He saw a glint in the girl's hand--
   He shoved aside a girl in white velvet and nearly knocked down a young man with red curls. He lunged and caught hold of the girl intent on murder. She whirled on him, wide-eyed.
   "No," he told her.
   She grimaced and tried to jerk away. He whispered, "Way to draw more attention to yourself."
   She gave up. Aware of the Fata queen's eyes upon him, he led her away from Clementine and into the public courtyard. When they had moved into a spot where they wouldn't be overheard, he said softly, "Phoebe. I'm Z.J.--"
   "You're one of theirs." She spoke through clenched teeth.
   "I'm not. But you were about to attack one of their queens and I'm here to stop that mistake."
   "My brother disappeared because of her. He's missing."
   "And how will killing her bring him back? She doesn't know where he is. He left her."
   "So she says." Phoebe was trembling. He realized that what she'd been holding, now tucked into her hair--a silver needle. She asked, "What are you?"
   What was he? Border patrol? An ambassador? A shaman? He spoke the truth, "Taltu."
   She clearly had never heard of them. She narrowed her eyes. "You are one of theirs. A traitor."
   "Your brother went to Clementine willingly."
   Her eyes widened as she focused on something behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw several of the queen's young elegants heading their way.
   He grabbed Phoebe's hand and they ran.
   They went over the wall. Z.J. heaved her up. She grabbed the branch of an oak and swung over. He followed. They raced up the street.
   "Car?" She looked back at him.
   "No," he told her. "I took the bus."
   She stopped running and cast him a look. He pointed at her. "Don't be judgy with me. Where are you staying?"
   She looked lost. "Nowhere."
   "Where are you keeping your things?"
   "In a backpack behind a school--" She broke off and went pale.
   At first, he smelled it, a rank odor like dirty, blood-stained ice. But there was, beneath the reek, a flowery fragrance, even more disturbing. His Greek grandmother had once had a tree in her yard, a fig, and this is what he smelled when it blossomed.
   "It's here," Phoebe whispered.
   Z.J. bent and drew the misericorde from his boot. "What's here?"
   "The monster."
   He didn't ask her why she called it a monster. He turned his head.
   Following a block behind was an inhumanly tall shadow, its fingers too long and too sharp. Its head was strangely shaped, a 'V' forming two points. He knew what it was. He had seen its kind before.
   He and Phoebe ran.
   When they turned a corner and Z.J. saw Nico's grandmother's shotgun house, he caught Phoebe's hand. "There."
   They ran toward it.
                                                                        ***

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