Dame Jessie Smile-of-Sunshine, honorary Fae knight and Ragabash Garou, floated face upwards above the crowd.
More correctly, she was supported by dozens of hands. Above their heads they passed her around the auditorium as the punk band 'Regis Pits' shouted directions:
"PASS HER TO THE LEFT! PASS HER TO THE RIGHT! YEAH! NOW - MOSH PIT! MOSH PIT! MOSH PIT!"
The crowd dropped her into the group of head-banging fans at the front of the stage. Jessie raised two thumbs up at the bass player before vanishing into the crowd of much taller people.
After the concert she hung out near the back stage with a few hard-core fans.
"That show just rocked!" a purple-haired young man enthused.
"Lots of fun," Jessie agreed. Once again she was glad of her Garou healing; the ringing in her ears would go away in a few minutes.
"Hey, I know you," another fan said to Jessie. "You took over for Mike for two shows. Whats up with that? Was he really that sick?"
Jessie nodded. "He couldn't get outta bed." Her face became grave. "Somethin' laid him low. Ah'm still worried about him."
"Thinking on taking his place?" The tone was hostile.
"Heck NO! Ah got mah own band and mah own troubles. But Mike's mah friend and Ah'm a-worried..."
A man and two women clad in nearly identical leather outfits came from backstage. The fan with purple hair sneered at them. "Clones."
Jessie looked them over and raised an eyebrow. Superimposed over their slick leather jackets flickered silk blouses, long dresses and other-worldly weapons. The two in front were sidhe while the woman picking up the rear was a boggan. Her outfit was much plainer than her sidhe companions and she carried no weapons.
I'm collecting too much pixie dust, the Garou sighed to herself.
The one in front coldly stared at Jessie. "Oh. You. Substitute. He's better than you."
"Different style," Jessie said with a shrug. "He's more 'The Clash' while Ah'm more 'The Ramones'."
"Huh." The sidhe walked away without comment. The boggan glanced at her with haunted eyes.
One of these things is not like the others, Jessie thought.
"Really fucking friendly," the fan remarked.
Jessie held her comment. She knew well how good they fae hearing was. And more than that - something felt wrong about them. Her deep, lupus connection with Gaia was signaling to her that there was something twisted about those three, though she just couldn't put her nose on it.
"What the fuck was that about?" one of the fans asked Jessie.
"Good question. Ah'm gonna talk to the band."
"You can get past security? Lucky you!" the fan said with heartfelt jealousy.
The heavily muscled and tattooed roadies waved to her and she found the band relaxing in a small dressing room. A bottle of liquor was being passed around.
"Mike!" she cried out gleefully.
"Heeeeeeeey, Jessie! There you are!" Mike put down the bottle and grinned at her. He was tall, lean and was clean shaven on both face and head. He spread his arms. "Get over here and give me some!"
Don't lick face, she reminded herself as she hugged him. He smelled of hot, hard sweat but he felt weak to her - not his usual vibrant self.
He looked her over. "You cut your hair! Looks great."
"Ye've lost weight," she replied. "Do Ah have ta start feedin' ye 'Jessie' sandwiches?"
The band laughed. The drummer, arrayed in torn shirt and shorts, quipped, "One of your sandwiches could feed the whole band."
Mike sat and perched Jessie on his knee. "So what do you want for Christmas, little girl?" Mike leered.
"A new studded collar," she said seriously.
"Still clowning around at the hospital?"
"Yep, and Ah got my plumbin' certif for Boston. Ah can work legally now."
"So when did that stop you?"
"Ye boys sound good."
"I'm still not quite up to par," Mike complained.
The other members stayed uncomfortably silent. Jessie could feel the strain. Mike was the founding member and driving soul of Regis Pit, as well as their best writer. Without him the band would fall apart. She knew; she'd substituted for him for two shows.
"Ye been ta a doctor like Ah said?" she asked.
He said something foul under his breath. "They don't know what they're doing. They said I was fine; just overworked."
"Like hell," the guitarist said and took a pull from the bottle. He passed her the bottle.
Time to switch subjects. "Hey, who's them leather clones?" she inquired before taking a swig.
Everyone's mood brightened. "They're from 'End Over' records," Mike said with a nod. "They're looking for new talent to record and promote."
"The operative word here is 'promote'," added the lead singer.
"Oooooooo! Op-er-a-tive! Big word!" the band said in unison. They busted up laughing.
"You know them?" Mike asked hopefully.
"No... but Ah might know some people who do," she said slowly. "They leave ya a business card?"
"Sure. Have one." Mike pulled one out of his pocket.
Jessie looked it over. She caught the names Geraldo Sanchez, Lindsey Chitzen and Lottie Dayton. "Yeah. Ah'll check 'em out. Meanwhile, who's up fer pizza?"
Jessie followed the sound of an electric piano playing up the stairs and to the door of an apartment. She banged loudly on the door. "Hey! Quit makin' that racket!"
The music stopped and her packmate Ray Kills-With-Style opened the door. "Jessie! Come on in."
She looked about the apartment. "Ah like it. Big comfy chairs, big comfy couch." She flopped on the couch. Even with her light frame it sagged. "So who gave ya the black eye?"
He frowned. "Eric, who else?"
"Well, Crystal clocked you good once," she remarked, looking at the ceiling. "So when are you two gonna stop fighting?"
"When he admits what a valuable member of the band I am," Ray said hotly.
Jessie looked him with one eye. "He's being a barking prima donna again."
Ray started laughing. "Exactly."
"Let him preen," Jessie said with a wave of her hand. "Everyone knows how valuable ye are. You got us most of the best gigs we ever had. Let him be the star. Without us he'd still be playin' coffee houses."
"You're right," he said. Then he grinned. "But he just pisses me off sometimes."
Jessie giggled. "Yeah, he does me too."
"And his relationship with Crystal..."
"Hey, let it go, Philodox."
An uncomfortable silence passed between them. Jessie finally spoke. "They're careful. Show 'em a little trust, okay? But right now Ah need yer expertise, Mr. Hollywood." She handed him the business card. "These guys claim to be promoters but ... Ah don't know."
Ray scratched his head. "I don't think I've heard of them but I could be wrong. These companies pop up like weeds and die like flies. Let me ask around."
"Send them a tape," Jessie suggested.
Ray shrugged. "Couldn't hurt."
Jessie poked her head in the Etherite's room. "Maria, got a moment?" she asked.
The mage looked up from her pile of books and grinned. "For you, always. What's up?"
"Could ye do a quick computer search for me? End Over Records and Promotions?"
"Mundane or Ethernet?" The woman brushed debris of papers, books and stray small electrical gadgets from her desk and flipped on her modified Apple Lisa.
"Both if it ain't much trouble."
Maria's fingers danced on the keyboard while her feet pumped the pedals. "Takes a moment to get up the right pressure... there. Okay... End Over Records... nothing on the basic search... let me try the chat logs."
Jessie shifted from one foot to another. She detected a faint odor of ozone and started counting down to herself.
"Found something..."
The odor decreased when she reached six and she relaxed. No boom today.
"Looks like someone really liked some of the albums that came out of End Over... hmmm. Did you know they used to be Bright Orange Recording Studios? Something about a fire..."
Jessie stuck her nose over Maria's shoulder. Geraldo and Lindsey's name popped up as owners but Lottie was absent. "Can ye print out that page?"
"Sure thing. Let me start up the printer... oops."
Jessie dropped to the floor. But the only thing that happened was that the printer shot out paper at a much higher rate of speed than it was designed to handle.
"Busted a spring again," Maria sighed. She cut power and opened up the printer case.
"Use a hand?" Jessie offered, picking herself off the ground.
"Sure could," Maria answered said with a smile.
The hour was late when Lorraine and Jessie sat alone at the kitchen table. Jessie waved to the coffee pot. "Finish it off?"
"Might as well," Lorraine answered with a nod.
Jessie poured. "Ah like it when it's quiet here and Andrea's a-bed. Don't see her sleep much."
"She's very dedicated to her work... and her work," Lorraine said. "Being a doctor and the Chancellor..." she shook her head. "I don't know how she does it."
"It's rewardin' for her, isn't it? Healing, Ah mean." Jessie leaned back in her chair. "She gets a lot out of it... mending the broken. Swear she gets her juice when them kids smile for the first time in weeks."
The sidhe's cup stopped at her lips. Her voice was tight. "Juice. You mean Glamour."
"Don't get uptight," Jessie said softly. "Ah don't think it's wrong. It's a win-win. Kids get better - Andrea gets Glamour."
Lorraine relaxed and sipped her coffee. "I'm rather defensive about the Lady Andrea."
"So am Ah," Jessie said through a toothy grin.
They nodded at each other and clinked their mugs together.
Lorraine leaned back in her chair. "Something's on your mind."
"Yer good, Lo. There is." She pulled up her chair and leaned closer to the Fae. "Talk ta me about Glamour. Yer version. How you see it, obtain it."
Lorraine drew a breath and Jessie held up her hand. "Short version please? Sorry, but when ya get a-talking, days fly by."
The sidhe warrior chuckled. "Back in my previous life... I was a dancer. I still practice with an informal group when I can, and I have season tickets to the ballet. The beauty of the human body in motion..." she sighed. "I can't make it shorter than that, can I?"
"Beauty, creativity... how about that jazz trio we saw last weekend? They were hot. They were smoking." She gave her a sly look. "Don't tell me you weren't snackin'."
Lorraine smiled sweetly. "No harm in it."
Jessie furrowed her brow. "So no one gets hurt, right?"
Lorraine nodded. "Correct."
"But Ah hear there's other ways ways ta get Glamour... and it damages people. Makes them sick."
Lorraine hesitated and Jessie leaned a little closer in. "Yer reluctant to reveal the dark side of yer people," Jessie said quietly. "Ah'm a Ragabash so the Rage don't boil in my like other Garou but Ah understand... totally."
Lorraine nodded slowly. "Yes. You would. To steal the Glamour from someone - to rip it out of them - Ravaging," she said through her teeth. "It is a stain on my people. There are some who do it - and do it gladly. It's quick and it's easy but they'd better not do it around me. Not if they want to walk on feet instead of stumps."
She put down her cup. "It's against everything I believe in... it's against everything that the Dreaming should be. The victim gets sick, even though they can recover in time."
"And there's worse," she said grimly. "We call it Rhapsody. The victim is fed Glamour to increase his creative talents, to prime his pump. At a certain point they just explode with massive burst of creativity. That jazz band? Teaspoons of Glamour. If someone Rhapsodized them, it would have come out like a fire hose." She clenched her fists. "And afterwards the victim is empty - devoid of Glamour. Burned out forever. Never again to produce a single note, a single dance step... a simple smile. They're dead inside. They often end up killing themselves because their life is now a wasteland."
She looked directly at Jessie. "Your Rage kills the body... Rhapsody kills the soul. And if I if catch someone at it, they're going down."
"If it's that evil, why would anyone do such a thing?" Jessie asked.
"Because it's powerful, quick, and addictive." She bared her teeth. "It's something no seelie worth the name would ever dream of doing. Few unseelie either."
Jessie stood. "Thank ye, Lo. Can we talk more about this later? Ah gotta worry this bone a bit."
"Anytime. You know where to find me," she replied.
The office was small but well-furnished with posters, guitars, photos, and other artifacts of the music industry. The plump middle aged man who owned the office greeted them with gusto. "Ah, my old friend Ray... and Jessie too!" he said in a clipped Russian accent. "Come, have a drink."
"Sure, Larry," Ray nodded.
"Jest a soda for me," Jessie said politely.
"Not even a beer?" Larry asked, raising his furry eyebrows. "This is not like you. You're a musician! Your life is dedicated to spreading joy and happiness to all who listen."
He poured Ray a glass and handed it to him. "You should have a little joy yourself, no?"
"Ah'm driving."
Larry's eyebrows went higher. He looked at Ray. "You are letting her drive? I have heard of this." He poured more alcohol in Ray's glass. "Here. You'll be needing this."
"Ah ain't that bad," she protested.
"Bah. Have a drink. Take a cab. So, what can I do for my good, old friends?"
Ray took a drink before speaking. "Need a little information about some people; End Over Records - Geraldo Sanchez, Lindsey Chitzen and Lottie Dayton. They used to be Bright Orange Recording Studios? They want to sign a punk band."
Jessie nodded. "Ah'm good friends with the band and Ah get a bad feelin' about it."
"End Over? Bright Orange?" Larry frowned his scotch. "Yes. I've heard of them. Sanchez and Chitzen. Before they Bright Orange they were... let me see, let me see..."
He looked through his rolodex. "Yes. Constant Forward Motion Promotions. They produced a few classical artists. Nothing special until they hit upon Johnny Wilcox. Brilliant violinist. Did one album and then - poof! - nothing. I've heard he ended up in a mental institution. Then they reformed as Bright Orange, recording blues artists. Again, they struck gold with a fabulous blues singer and a very talented guitarist. One album and the singer lost her voice and the guitarist quit due to personal troubles. Very sad. Then there was the fire which destroyed the studio. Total loss. They say it was caused by a careless smoker recording late one night. Lost his life too." He shook a finger at them. "I suggest you tell your friends to stay far, far away from those people - they're bad luck."
"Got the names of any these people?" Ray asked.
"Let me think." Larry took a drink. "Yes. I remember. Mallalai Dupree and Daniel 'Skinny Lips' Hopkins. I might even have an address somewhere..."
Toby bounced on his toes. "Oo! Oo! Can I read that after you? Can I read it? Can I, can I?"
From her spot on the couch at ReiM, Jessie looked up from her nature magazine. "Since when did ye get a hankerin' after wolves?"
"No, no, silly!" Toby protested. "There's huge gigunto otters on the cover! That must mean it's a special edition just about otters! Otters, otters, otters!"
Jessie grinned slyly and slipped her reading glasses down her nose. "Well, if an otter makes a nice snack..."
"EEEEWWW!" Toby protested. He wrinkled his nose and backed away a step.
"Ah meant, Ah'm hungry and would really, really appreciate it if some nice otter would make me a sandwich," she replied.
"Oooh - why didn't you say so? Be right back!" Toby waved cheerfully and dashed out.
Only a minute later he returned again, crestfallen. "Somebody's decided that this is the absolute best day of the year for waxing the floor and they don't appreciate the fact that you really need a sandwich because you're dying of hunger in here."
Then he brightened. "But there's that sandwich shop around the corner..." he sing-songed.
"Well what are we a-waitin' for?" Jessie pocketed her glasses and leaped to her feet. "Let's chow down!"
Soon after, they sat in a booth, an impressive sandwich in front of each and a large bag of chips between them.
"Thank ye, Toby. Ah can't help it. Ah'm always hungry."
"Well, I can't say what that's like. I've never been hungry. I've always had the best and the finest with chocolate cake and ice cream after every meal - even breakfast."
"Ya know what it's like to have that empty feelin' down in the belly." Jessie chewed thoughtfully. "Except ye got two bellies. One needs Shiny Stuff."
She gave him an inquiring look. "Ever been hard up for it? Done it quick and dirty?"
"Oh, no!" Toby shook his head earnestly. "I've always lived in freeholds with just absolutely huge amounts of free Glamour for everyone; especially otters. So I've never had to worry about being short at all."
Jessie nodded slowly. "Yeah. Ah know. Sometimes one has ta go dumpster divin' just fer the scraps and do things that aren't polite in some circles."
Toby's eyes narrowed. He glanced around and his voice dropped. "Oh well. Like maybe you might take a shower afterwards. It's not like some fancy pants seelie is going to get all uppity and nasty about the things you have to do to survive out there."
"See, the thing is," he leaned forward, "Sometimes you just gotta, like, get a nice bucket of water from the well, like, now. 'Cause your crayons are melting, maybe, or your toes need to be washed. And, like, maybe you don't have the time to tend the well and dance around it and plant flowers and sing songs to it and everything to make it all happy happy overflowing yummy niceness. With bubble gum. But, like, a bucketful of water from a well, that's not really gonna hurt the amount of KoolAid in the well too much. Not like it'll never get any more. Just so you don't keep on drinking champagne from the same well all the time you're never gonna get tipsy and your fudge sundae will always have nuts and sprinkles on it. Right?"
"So the well goes really really low, but it'll recharge?" She chewed thoughtfully. "How about taking buckets, lettin' it recharge and taking buckets again? It's gotta take time."
"Um... well, it's like, sometimes the well's gotta water its own flower first or all of its caterpillars will be unhappy from expecting chocolate and only getting liver. See, the well's like, an, um, eco-system. You know, economic system. If it gets out of balance too much of the time, you only get worms and miss all the butterflies and lightening bugs. And gunky stuff creeping shyly into the bottom of the well all muddy and afraid someone's gonna slurp it all up before it gets a chance to grow moss. So it's, just sometimes, once in a while, better to wait a bit. Or take a few Dixie cups from several wells to fill up your pitcher plant instead of all from the same merry-go-round."
"Gotcha," she said and nodded sagely. "Ye know a musician friend of mine is a-feelin' poorly - all dried up and muddy."
"Oooooh...! Well, maybe he needs to go to the sauna, get a massage, light some incense, take a vacation... " Toby stopped suddenly. "Wait a minute... did your friend get all muddy by himself or did someone kick some dirt in his well?"
She sighed. "Not sure. Don't know. Ah do know there's some Fancy Pants Nose in the Air types hangin' round."
Toby took a bite and chewed slowly. "Does your friend discover he's got dirt under his fingernails after a visit from these.... Fine People?"
"That's what Ah'm a-thinking," Jessie replied quietly. "And it's not just him that's hurtin'; the whole band's floundering right now because he's the main writer. No bubbly fer anyone."
"Oh, that's so nice! I think everyone should do that! And I think that everyone should know about this! We should go tell everyone about these people so they can go deliver presents and bunches of flowers them! Black-eyed Susans!"
"Gotta make sure first. Don't want to go biting the wrong leg."
"Well, no. Then you could get splinters in your teeth. What you need to do is sneak in on liiiiiittle cat feet... and find out who's been pussy-footing around. So you can make sure to thank the right people. You know, get them letters of appreciation from the Red-Headed League and bowling trophies and everything." He looked at her critically. "Of course, you don't have little cat feet - you have little chihuahua feet."
"Ah'll get you tickets and a backstage pass. You can keep an eye on things while Ah go do some digging."
Toby wiggled in his chair. "Ooooo. That sounds hooorrrible."
She gave him a broad smile. "Thanks for the information. And Ah really appreciate this here Dagwood. Ah was about ta faint from hunger back there." She winked at him.
"Oh, that would never do!" Toby exclaimed. "Not my bestest friend! Why if you passed out, I would have had to bundle you up and drag you to the hospital and then straighten up the mess of all those otter magazines you'd left all over the floor!"
"And take them in your room to catalog them," Jessie added between bites.
"Of course! How can you read such stirring words if the magazines are out of order?"
Jessie waved her hand dismissively. "Ah only look at the pictures."
Jessie stepped off the moonbridge and found herself in a large basement. Two homids and a lupus were waiting for her. She knew one of them well.
"There's mah baby!" Jessie cried and hugged the woman dressed in tie-dye.
"Oh, Mom." They licked each other's faces. "You finally surprised me! I'd never thought you'd make it to the West Coast."
"Hard ta trick ye, Alice." Jessie saluted the other homid Garou, a man with a long beard. "Thank ye for the moonbridge."
"Hey, no problemo," he replied, smiling broadly. "Especially for such an esteemed warrior."
"Me? A warrior? Hey, Ah'm the Ragabash - Ah'll make the jokes," she quipped.
{"You will tell us about the Alliance?"} a shepherd-wolf-poodle mix woofed.
"Ah sure will. But Ah gotta check something out first."
The two women stepped out into a San Francisco street. "Gosh, Alice, the Gnawers here look like Children."
Alice laughed lightly. "On the street level it's hard to tell the difference sometimes. You're not staying long, are you?"
Jessie sighed and looked into the faraway eyes of her pup. "Ye know. Things ta do. Pups ta guard." She showed her teeth briefly. "Secrets ta pry out."
"You need me, Mom."
Jessie looked shifty-eyed at her daughter. "Like Ah got a say in the matter?"
Alice laughed. "No." She waved a small cassette recorder. "I've got both the equipment and the Gifts to tell who's telling the truth."
A few hours later they sat in a bar chatting with Daniel Hopkins.
"Yeah, those three were good to me; especially Lottie. She didn't seem to fit with the other two but she got things done. And I busted my balls on that album," he tapped the CD Jessie had brought with her. "It's a shame everything fell apart. My girl complained that I had no time for her and left. And you know, there were still three songs that never got done. I was feeling really poorly too - probably burnt out from all the recording. Never really finished the album. It was rough going, I tell you, but I pulled through by the grace of God."
"But you're still playin'?" Jessie asked as the cassette recorder hummed quietly.
His eyes became haunted. "Not like I used to. It was like... something left me after recording that album. The notes are still there, the sound is still there, but the magic is almost all gone." He pursed his lips. "Sometimes I can feel it again, but it's rare now. You know, I wonder if I spent all my mojo making that one recording. Maybe it was a good thing that I had to stop when I did." He looked over at the band. "You gonna stay?"
"Of course," Jessie and Alice nodded together. "We came ta hear ye play."
His eyes cleared a little. "You'll send me a copy of that magazine you work for. What was it again?"
"Rip-N-Render. You'll get a copy soon as it's printed. Jest one more question? Did ye ever meet Mallalai Dupree? We'd love to interview her too."
"Oh yeah. Lovely woman - fantastic voice. Silky, sultry, sexy. But she's out of the music business. Heard she still sings in her church choir though...."
A day later they were sitting in Mallalai's apartment. She held an infant girl on her lap and another was sleeping in crib.
"Oh, I only sing for the Lord now," she said with an proud but empty smile. "He saved me from that evil business. No offense meant."
"None taken," Jessie replied. "Your CD..."
"I was singing about sin back then," Mallalai said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "God gave me a voice of an angel and I was singing the Devil's music. And He did smite me down. You don't believe me? I couldn't sing a note for weeks after I finished that record. Why I almost killed myself. If it weren't for the good Reverend..."
"Can you tell us about the studio?" Alice said trying to steer the conversation.
She looked at them with hard eyes. "Those people are evil. They will feel the wrath of God one day."
The interview quickly became a platform for Mallalai to preach. The Garou wrapped it up quickly, thanked her and left. Alice and Jessie walked in silence for a few blocks.
Alice spoke first. "I could kill her. It'd be a mercy."
"Ah know." Jessie sighed. "But not unless she gets Wyrmy. It ain't her fault that she's still a-breathin' but there ain't nothin' inside."
The hospital cafeteria was between shifts and was relatively quiet. From her seat Jessie waved at the tall policewoman as she entered.
"Hey, Birgitta. How'z tricks? Have a seat an' take a load off yer feet."
The troll looked down at the Ragabash Garou. "You know I really shouldn't be doing this."
"Never stopped me. And here comes Lorraine and Andrea. The gang's all here."
She looked earnestly at Andrea. "Sorry ta drag ya in on this. But Ah think this is important."
The pooka nodded. "It must be not be important at all." She pointed to the empty space in front of the Garou. "There not should be a tray full of food there."
Jessie nodded slowly. "Let's hear from the Law Officer first."
Birgitta sighed. "Okay. I looked up the three names like you asked. Only got one hit; Lottie Dayton was picked up for vagrancy a few years back. Looks like she was wandering the streets for a while when she was younger. Possibly involved in some minor crime. Sanchez and Chitzen are clean, although a police contact in California mentioned a suspicious fire and a very large insurance payment."
"Didn't think ye'd find much; especially on the fancy pants sidhe." Jessie lowered her voice and expressed her suspicions.
Birgitta's face went red with anger while Lorraine's face became stony. Andrea growled softly.
"This must end," the sidhe said flatly.
Andrea made a fist. "Whatever it doesn't take, that we will not do."
"Yeah. Ah was thinkin'..."
Her cellphone rang and she picked it up. "Talk ta me."
She listened in dismay. "Mike's had a relapse."
A young woman, slender and worried looking, answered Jessie's insistent knocking.
"Jessie, thank God you're here," she breathed. "Mike always perks up when you're around."
She looked at the person dressed in an old suit coat behind the Garou. "Who's he?"
"Betsy, this is Doctor Henry Windemire. Doctor, this is Betsy - Mike's main squeeze."
Betsy snorted. "You have such a way with words. But I'm glad you're here." With a wave of her heavily tattooed arm she let them into the plain, almost barren apartment.
"Where is the patient?" Doctor Windemire asked softly.
Betsy wrinkled her nose at the doctor and cast Jessie a doubtful look.
"Yeah, Ah know. Worst cologne in the world, but Henry's a specialist in Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. He knows what he's a doin'."
Jessie turned to the doctor. "Let me check on him first, doc. He might get all fidgety on seein' a stranger."
"Can't get much stranger than you, Jessie," Betsy remarked.
Jessie glanced at Windemire. She could see his fae seeming, revealing him as a sluagh. "Ye'd be surprised."
She went into the bedroom and closed the door. Mike lay sprawled on his bed, his breathing shallow. Scattered all over the room were crumpled up bits of paper with Mike's scribbling on them. Jessie inspected a couple of sheets and shook her head. Mike usually wrote steady pages of intense poetic verse but these pages held only a few bland lines.
Not wanting to be disturbed for a few minutes, Jessie propped a chair against the door. She shifted to canine and gave the sleeping man a good snuffle. From her prior experience and training she had a good idea what various illness smelled like, but this didn't match anything in the vast library of scents the lupus Garou stored in her head.
She returned to her homid form and opened the door.
"Doc, come on in," Jessie whispered. She gave Betsy a thumb's up and closed the door gently again.
The sluagh opened a classic black physicians bag and produced a standard-looking stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. Standard-looking for someone who wasn't enchanted. Jessie rubbed her eyes. The medical gear flickered from mundane to... strange before her eyes.
Dr. Windemire glanced up at her. "Something wrong?" he murmured.
"Just need to get the pixie dust down again," the Garou sighed.
"Pity you couldn't throw some this mortal's way," the sluagh whispered. He took a brass thermometer and placed it on Mike's forehead and frowned. "He's been drained. Multiple times."
He took out a syringe and withdrew a small sample of blood from the unconscious man. He placed it, drop by careful drop, onto a square piece of glass, sprinkled some cobwebs on it, and watched it as they changed colors. "Bad. Very bad."
"You know a lot about this, don't ya doc."
Windemire only glanced at her before returning to his examination. "Yes."
"Come on. 'Fess up."
His dark eyes stared at her. "In my passionate and foolish youth," his voice dropped even more, "I played about with various methods of Glamour... extraction. It was quite an obsession; I had all sorts of detailed charts and graphs. I was caught and had a geas put upon me: that I must help aid and restore anyone who was subject to the effects of... extraction."
"How long ago was that?"
He closed his eyes. "Two hundred and fifty two years. I am cursed with an excellent memory."
Jessie looked surprised. "Ye don't look that old. Still bound?"
"The geas has followed me lifetime after lifetime. And yes, I am still bound. But I don't mind. I get more information about... extraction this way and my curiosity is satisfied."
"Can't even say the word, can ye?"
"No. Part of the geas."
He looked at Mike who was still in a deep sleep. "Glamour no longer stirs in his system. He is like a motor or a generator that has been overloaded: his wires are burnt and his bearings jammed. It's possible that he could recover but I fear his chances are not good."
Jessie scratched her head. "Well sometimes when somethin' is stuck ya give it a good kick and that'll free it up."
The fae looked thoughtful. "Perhaps," he whispered. "It would need to be an overwhelming experience - an experience of something inspiring, mind-bogglingly beautiful, or phantasmagorical."
"Eh?"
"Unearthly. A really shocking experience."
Jessie shifted to crinos. The sluagh dove out of the way as Jessie stuck her muzzle into Mike's face. She growled very quietly but very deeply.
Mike's eyes flickered opened. He scrambled away from her, screaming at the top of his lungs.
The sluagh looked surprised. "Well, what do you know? That actually seems to have worked."
Jessie shifted back quickly. "Mike, Mike, hey! It's jest me. You musta had a nightmare."
Betsy burst in. "What's wrong!"
"Oh God, oh God, I dreamed there was this monster here. Hugh, hairy, horrid." Mike sat up in the bed, shaking.
"Hey, my fault," Jessie said. She looked embarrassed. "Ah shouldn't have tried to wake you by growling." She made a soft canine noise in her throat. "Ah was jest messin' with your head. Sorry."
Mike looked at the fae, who was picking himself off the floor. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Doctor Henry Windemire, at your service." The sluagh bowed. "I need you awake to do a few simple tests."
Mike shook his head. "Ah man, can't it wait? God, did I mess the bed?" He shook his head. "God, it was horrible. I could swear it was standing over me... and then it was just you, Jessie."
"Bad dream," Jessie said.
"Well, your face is nothing to wake up to." The musician grinned and mimed throwing a pillow at her.
Jessie acted as if she'd taken it full in the face and fell on the ground like she'd been hit by a boulder.
He grinned at her antics.
She sat up and shook a finger at him. "That's what ya get fer drinkin' cheap beer."
Mike put his arm around Betsy. "Hey, I drink the best..."
"Young man!" Windemire tapped on Mike's shoulder. "I need to check your reflexes. Now please sit up!"
Jessie sprawled on the floor. "Need ta talk to ye about them Leather Clones. Ah did some diggin' and none of their clients have gotten anywhere."
Mike frowned. "Think they're setting us up? They haven't asked for any money yet."
"Yet," Jessie repeated. "They's rip-off artists. String ya along, get yer hopes up and then drain ya dry."
"Very dry," Windemire whispered and thumped Mike's chest with his finger.
"Ah'd like ta have a little chat with them. Me and some friends. Think ye can get 'em down to the practice room sometime?"
Mike smiled wolfishly and cracked his knuckles. "Rip me off? Well, let me have a word... OW! Betsy! Knock it off!"
Betsy stared at him. "You promised. No more fighting."
"Let me handle it," Jessie said soothingly. "Ah got friends. Scary friends."
The sluagh nodded. "Indeed."
Mike nodded. "That's what I hear. Hand me a phone."
The practice studio of Regis Pit was part of an old industrial building. A large, empty machine room had been subdivided into smaller rooms. Heat was non-existent but the rent was cheap. Jessie was noodling away on her bass amid a disorderly stack of amplifiers and speaker columns when the knock came. She put the bass away and opened the door.
"Hey guys, come on in. The band went fer pizza, they'll be back shortly."
The three leather-clone fae walked in. "What's with all this extra equipment?" Geraldo asked. He looked displeased at the extra disorder.
"They're storin' stuff for someone."
"Mike called and said he would be here," Lindsey remarked.
"He's havin' a nap. He said he'll be here later this evening."
Geraldo raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yeah, really. He'll be up and singin' and playin' and writin' again, which is pretty damned surprising after what ye did to him."
"Excuse me?" the sidhe said coldly.
Jessie showed her teeth. "Ah see what ye are. Fancy pants sidhe - and yer little boggan too. Ye think ya can jest walk inta town and take what ye want. Ye and yer fancy swords and fancy cloaks. Ah'm talkin' about Ravagin'. Ye can't do that and get away with it. Ye forget, this is Boston. Ah know what you are...."
She raised her hand and three hispo Garou leaped out of the shadows. They fell upon the surprised fae and pinned them to the floor.
"And now ye know what we are. And we gots friends too."
Several sidhe and troll warriors stepped out from behind the large speaker boxes.
Jessie walked around the them. The sidhe were frightened but still looked defiant, even heroic. The boggan gasped and made quiet frightened noises.
"Now Ladies and Gentlemen - fer Ravagin' a kinfolk we should jest kill you all and be done with it. But the Fianna have always been close to the Fae, so we won't. No. But we did have a word with Queen Mab and she sent her Sheriff ta take you away ta face Fae Justice. But we - the Garou - we want Justice too. Some of ye will face Justice at the hands of yer fellows. But some of ye will stay here and face Garou Justice. You choose."
"Take the boggan," Geraldo said instantly.
"NO!" Lottie screamed. "I did everything you wanted! You told me you'd protect me!"
"Not against them," Liz replied haughtily. "Our protection was only limited to mortals and our own kind. You agreed..."
Lottie looked up at Jessie. "I had no choice! Don't you understand? We have little choice!"
Jessie looked at the sidhe. "Think you'll do better with your own kind?"
The two sidhe sneered at her. "You think we would rather face some commoner werewolf idea of 'justice' than that of our own kind?" Lindsey responded. "We have friends. We may be punished but we will see another day."
"We'll take them now," the Sheriff scowled.
The Garou let up the two leather-clad sidhe and the trolls grabbed them roughly.
"Our pact with you is done, Lottie. Next life, maybe you'll read the fine print a little more closely," Geraldo said coldly. They walked out proudly, ignoring the protests and pleas of the frightened boggan.
Jessie closed the door and leaned against it.
"Okay, folks. Let her up and give her a chair."
The Garou shifted to homid. Lottie huddled on the chair. "Please... please, don't hurt me."
Jessie took another chair and sat opposite to her. "Let me introduce you to mah friend Freddie Throws-the-Bomb. He can tell when you're lyin'. If you lie to us - he gets to hurt you."
Lottie looked up at the graying, grizzled man. He grinned toothily at her. She shuddered. "Just... don't hurt me," she whispered.
Jessie spoke softly to her. "Yer a boggan. Ah know boggans. They like ta take care of people. Not the type to go a-Ravaging people."
Lottie hung her head. "I was a wilder, on the streets. Confused. Alone. They found me, took me in. Promised me that if I served them they'd take care of me. I... couldn't turn them down."
She looked tearfully at Jessie. "They're sidhe. We're supposed to obey them, follow them... serve them. In turn, I took care of some of the mundane things... keeping track of the books, making sure we actually looked like some kind of business... keeping the victims happy... "
"Ye knew what was happening."
"Yes, yes! Not like I could stop them! I was bound to them."
"Did ye help Ravage them people?"
"Not at first. Mostly they just feed me the scraps... to get me hooked. That much Glamour is addictive." She covered her face. "There's worse... Much worse."
"Thought so." Jessie stood up. "Ah want Justice fer Mike. But what about fer Daniel Hopkins? Johnny Wilcox? Mallalai Dupree? They weren't just Ravaged, were they? What do they call it? Rhapsody? Shoot 'em up with Glamour then drain 'em forever?"
Lottie sobbed and nodded behind her hands.
"And Herman Frenski? Bet ye thought people forgot about him. He died in the fire, right?"
Lottie wiped the tears from her face. "Yes. After we were finished with him. We made it look like an accident."
Jessie spoke softly. "Ah want the details. Come on, confession is good fer ya."
For the next hour Lottie sobbed out the details of her life with the two sidhe. They paused several times to let her cry and to drink water. When she was finished Jessie stood up.
"Time to Judge. But we need a fifth. Come on out, Alice."
A woman in street clothes came out from behind the stacks of equipment. She held a small tape recorder. "I got everything. I think Her Highness will be pleased."
"Oh yeah," Jessie nodded.
She turned to the boggan. "Lottie, meet yer judges. Freddie Throws-the-Bomb, Alice Sweet-Dream, Ray Kills-With-Style, Gilda Harrows-the-Bane and me, Ah'm Dame Jessie Smiles-of-Sunshine. What do ya say, folks?"
Lottie looked with dread at the five people surrounding her.
"Death."
"Life."
"Death."
"Life."
Harry looked at Jessie. "It's your call."
"Lottie Dayton, Ah sentence ye to Life. You will spend the rest of your life in service to others an' making up for what ye did. Come on, stand up."
She put a gentle hand on the shivering boggan and coaxed her to her feet. "Now look at me, Lottie. Ah know sometimes one gets hooked up inta something bad. Sometimes it's not yer fault. Ah'm not gonna blame ya fer that."
The boggan looked hopeful. "Really?"
"Really. But that don't mean there ain't consequences." She drove her fist deep into the changeling's stomach. Lottie fell to her knees, gasping.
"That was fer Mike. And jest because Ah sentenced you to Life helpin' and not hurtin' don't mean that there won't be some hurtin'."
In the High Queen's court Geraldo Sanchez stood in all his fae glory, confidently defending himself against the charges against him. Lindsey Chitzen, equal glorious and confident, stood beside him.
"Look at the evidence of my so-called crimes; rumors from some ragged shapeshifter, the testimony from a sluagh known for his former crimes and a cheap, fuzzy recording of some nameless boggan. As for the statements of Lord Terrence DeCaramel and Manfred Orringer, from the Kingdom of Pacifica," he nodded toward a sidhe and a nocker, "all they have are rumors and innuendo. Unworthy of discussion. Trash. If there is a charge to be made, we demand that the accuser step forward and face us."
Faerilyth ap Eiludred, High Queen of Concordia, looked down, placed her chin in her hand and drummed her fingers on the arm of her throne. "As you wish."
She turned to a page. "Send for Dame Jessie."
Geraldo and Lindsey passed a nervous glance between them. They were positively twitching when the small woman in the tie-dyed dashiki with a Garou glyph on it ambled into the room. Behind her was a frightened boggan.
The woman stopped at the throne and knelt. "Ye called?"
Lottie fell to her knees, trembling.
Faerilyth smiled with amusement at Jessie's informality. "Thank you for coming."
Then her face became coldly formal and she turned to the two accused sidhe. "I think you know each other. This is Dame Jessie Smiles-of-Sunshine; a decorated Garou warrior and knight of Our realm. It was she who brought this matter of yours to my attention. Dame Jessie?"
The Garou stood and turned to the sidhe on trial. Her eyes became wolfen. "Ah accuse ye of Ravagin' my friend - a songwriter and fellow bass player by the name of Mike O'Daniel," she said between her teeth.
The court stirred at the mention of a musician.
"Ah make this charge only after consultin' yer own people," she continued. "It was confirmed by a former colleague of yours."
She thumbed over her shoulder towards the boggan who had not risen from the ground. "Her voice on the tape. Her testimony. And confirmed true by Ancient Garou Spirits."
Geraldo turned red in the face and turned to the court. "The word of a commoner against one of us! I demand the right to cross-examine the boggan."
"Uh-uh." Jessie wagged a finger at him. "Remember? We cut a deal. Ah hunted ya down and caught ya. The coup was mine. Some of ye would face Garou Justice; others, Fae Justice. You gave her to me for Garou Justice. She's MINE and Ah'll do with her as Ah please."
She turned to Faerilyth. "Beggin' yer pardon, Yer Majesty, can we get on with this? Ah'm a busy woman. You know - cubs to protect, Wyrm-things ta kill."
A few in the court whispered uneasily.
The queen leaned forward. "Dame Jessie, although a few in the court may have their doubts about the abilities of your people to divine the truth, I do not. But to allay the fears of those few it would please me greatly if I could briefly question the boggan in your... care."
The Garou shrugged. "Okay. Jest remember, she's mine." She poked Lottie with her toe. "Come on. Get up. Say 'hi' to the nice queen."
Lottie stood. She shifted her terrified gaze between the high queen and the Garou. "Your Majesty," she stammered.
The air swirled with Glamour and Lottie's eyes grew wide.
Faerilyth's eyes flashed. "You are now incapable of telling a falsehood. I have two questions for you. Is that your voice on the tape recorder?"
"Yes," Lottie said blankly.
"Are all the statements you make on that tape true?"
"Yes."
The unseelie high queen glared at the two sidhe. "You thought that because We were unseelie We would be gentle on you. You thought wrong."
She stood up. Grand and terrible was her appearance. "The unseelie code says that Glamour is free." She waved towards the Garou. "We have attended the performances of Dame Jessie both solo and with her band and We can tell you for a fact that Glamour flows freely from them, as it does from many musicians. The unseelie code is based on enlightened self-interest. But you strip-mined the mortals and left nothing behind but wasteland and empty husks; never again will Glamour flow freely from them. There is little enlightened about that. In fact, you acted like ignorant, unwashed savages. There are things that We will not tolerate. The wanton destruction of mortals - especial mortals who give away Glamour freely - is high on that list."
She leaned farther forward. "Now, it is your turn to be tested for the truth. And if the charges spoken are true... we will make an example of you. Trust me, when we are finished you will wish that you had faced Garou justice and not ours."
The band steamed through the lyrics:
"THE NIGHTMARES YOU DREAM...
ARE NOTHING!
THE EVILS YOU SCHEME...
ARE NOTHING!"
"TO THE TER-ROR
IN THE MIR-ROR!"
The music stopped abruptly. Mike looked over at his band. "What do you think?"
They nodded. "Love that fancy break in the middle," the drummer said. "But the words..."
"Yeah, could use some work. But it's coming back."
The other musicians relaxed. They had felt the vibe. It was coming back.
Shannon Heart-of-Fire sank exhausted into the old rocker. The baby had finally fallen into a fitful sleep about an hour ago and Shannon was taking a rare moment to rest. She glanced around the house and sighed at the mess. She was too tired do anything beyond sit.
And too depressed. She'd been a fool and her pack had been harsh with her. Even her mate had run out on her, leaving her alone, ensconced in this small farmhouse with their child.
The sound of a car coming up the road caught her attention. Her alpha had called to tell her to expect company. She looked out the window to see an unfamiliar car pull up to her isolated house. Two women stepped out; one in an oversized bomber jacket and one in stylish leather. They were both carrying bags of groceries.
Shannon opened the door. "Hello?"
The shorter woman bounded up first. "Hey!" She sniffed like only a lupus could. She grinned. "Ye must be Shannon! Ah'm Jessie and this is Lottie."
The woman in fancy leather set down her bags of choice meat cuts. "You look tired. Just sit down and relax. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"I'd love one," Shannon sighed.
Within minutes Shannon had a cup of hot tea in her hands. She watched with dull amazement as the two women brought in more groceries, bags of clothes and personal items, cleaning supplies, and lastly a suitcase. A large chew toy poked up from one of the bags. After they put the food away in the kitchen, Lottie removed her jacket, put on an apron, and began tidying up the room. A small smile came to the woman's face and she hummed a tune as she wiped the counters.
None of them looked into the nursery.
Shannon put down her teacup. "I appreciate you the kindness you've extended to me by bringing in groceries." She looked at the chew toy. "And other things. Most Fianna won't touch me with a ten-foot pole."
"Oh we'z not Fianna," Jessie grinned. "Ah'm a Bone Gnawer."
Lottie looked distressed. "I'm not Garou... or kinfolk. But your folks and my folks have known each other for a long time. A long time."
Shannon blinked. "High One?"
"Oh no!" Lottie smiled, embarrassed. "I'm just a humble boggan who... " she bit her lip, "who got involved in a bad crowd. And if there was any kindness it was extended to me by Dame Jessie Smiles-of-Sunshine."
The Fianna looked at Jessie. "I've heard of you. Hard not to hear about it - a Bone Gnawer becoming a Fae knight - that's a rare thing. And we Fianna are a talkative bunch."
Jessie pulled her ear. "Yeah, got that right. But Lottie, ye got something to say, don't ya?"
Lottie knelt in front of Shannon. She swallowed hard. "Dame Jessie told you that since your sin was obvious I must be honest about mine. I... I was involved in Ravaging and Rhapsodizing several people."
Tears rolled down her face. "My only excuse is that I was bound to two unseelie sidhe who manipulated me..."
She wiped her face with an apron. "One of the people I hurt is a friend of Dame Jessie. He's going to be okay, we hope. Dame Jessie hunted us down and captured us. She sentenced me to Life - a life of service. I'm here... to serve you and your child... your pack and your tribe... as long as I live, if you accept me. If not, then I must go find another. Such is the geas."
Shannon thought of David, who had spoken sweet words and plied her with strong drink. Where was he now? She put a hand on shivering boggan. "I understand being tricked and manipulated. I accept your service."
Lottie seemed to shimmer for a moment. Shannon blinked as the geas was invoked and put into force. She turned to Jessie. "Why have you done this for me?"
Jessie grinned brightly. "Hey, these things happen. And givin' you a fae housekeeper after yer pack threw ye out? It's a good trick."
Shannon nodded at the Ragabash. "Uhm, what happened to the sidhe?"
"The High Queen made an ... example of them."
They all shivered.
Shannon patted the boggan's hand. "Well, since you have confessed to me with an open heart - and you'll be spending some time with us - you should see my own sin."
She rose and led Lottie into another room. Although it was painted in bright, primary colors and arranged as a nursery, the crib was not made of wood but of steel rebar. Within lay a tiny crinos Garou in a makeshift diaper.
Lottie gazed silently for a moment. "What's his - her? - name?"
"Him. Ken."
The metis whimpered and opened his eyes. He whined softly.
"Poor guy," Lottie whispered. "He's in a bit of pain, isn't he?"
"Aren't we all?" Shannon sighed. "But yes; he's teething."
"Wait." Lottie produced her leather jacket, cut off the zipper's metal snaps, and draped it over the child. He sniffed the leather and began chewing on it contentedly.
"That was a nice jacket," Shannon murmured.
"Who cares? That was part of my old life." She extended her hand down and began to rub the cub's stomach. "Do you like your new blankie?" she cooed. "Auntie Lottie gave you new blankie! Yes! You've got a new auntie who's going to love you forever."
"Careful," Shannon warned.
Lottie winced but didn't pull away. "He's got a rough tongue, doesn't he?"
Ken's tail thumped against the mattress.
Shannon nodded. "And sharp teeth. He likes you. Would you like a bandage for that?"
In her room at Rei Memorandi, Jessie sat tuning up her twelve-string guitar. Lorraine knocked on the open door. "Jessie?"
"Hey, Lo. Come on in," she replied.
The sidhe sat on the bed. "You've been keeping to yourself the past few days."
"Tired. Mostly. Ah'm a busy little wolf."
Lorraine smiled gently. "I know you, Jessie. You've been positively... reflective, even withdrawn. Now, as you so like to say: 'fess up. What's been bothering you?"
The Garou glanced at her and continued fussing with her tuning. "Ye know. When Rhapsody has nothin' ta do with music?"
The sidhe nodded gravely.
Jessie sighed. "Look, when Ah came here Ah didn't know spit about ye folks; how ye get by, how ye survive. Now, Ah know yer my friends and Ah ain't sayin' anything bad about this, but y'all really like having creative folks like Maria and me around, don't ya?"
Lorraine bit her lip. "It's not like that."
Jessie grinned crookedly. "Yer right. It ain't. Or Ah wouldn't still be here. But ye all gather round when Ah pull out my guitar and start a singin'."
"We love your sing-alongs."
" 'fess up."
"Jessie, no one in this household would dream of taking anything from you. But what you give away freely..."
The Garou put down her guitar and nodded slowly. "Lo, it don't cost me nothing ta share this here smile with ya. Ye catch the smile and sometimes pass it on. More smiles, more happiness. Cost me nothing. Yet Ah spread joy and happiness wherever Ah go a-smilin' at people."
She smiled brightly at the sidhe. "So as long as it don't cost me nothin' then Ah don't mind." She picked up the guitar and leaned down to whisper in Lorraine's ear, "Belly up to the bar."
With a laugh she walked into the main room. The assorted ladies of ReiM looked up from their Discworld novels. Their faces brightened. "Coming out to play for us?" someone said eagerly.
Jessie slid her fingers down the strings and started playing a chunky rhythm. "How's about a little Jim Croce?"
Heads bobbed up and down and they happily sang along. Lorraine watched from a distance at first but gladly joined in for the last verse:
"You don't tug on Superman's cape,
You don't spit into the wind,
You don't pull... the mask off the old Lone Ranger
And you don't mess around with Jes!"
-fin