Read Online My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon by Jim Butcher, Kelley Armstrong, P. N. Elrod, Katie MacAlister, Rachel Caine, Marjorie M. Liu, Lilith Saintcrow, Caitlin Kittredge, Ronda Thompson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jim Butcher, Kelley Armstrong, P. N. Elrod, Katie MacAlister, Rachel Caine, Marjorie M. Liu, Lilith Saintcrow, Caitlin Kittredge, Ronda Thompson
Tags: sf_fantasy_city
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senses.
I stared at her for a second and then said, "You wear it pretty well, if it's true. I would have guessed you were about thirty."
Her teeth flashed in the dim light. "I believe it's currently considered more polite to guess twenty-nine."
"Me and polite have never been on close terms."
Gard nodded. "I like that about you. You say what you think. You act. It's rare in this age."
I kept on the trail, quiet for a time, until Mouse stopped in his tracks and made an almost inaudible sound in his chest. I held up a hand, halting. Gard went silent and still.
I knelt down by the dog and whispered, "What is it, boy?"
Mouse stared intently ahead, his nose quivering. Then he paced forward, uncertainly, and pawed at the floor near the wall.
I followed him, light in hand. On the wet stone floor were a few tufts of grayish hair. I chewed my lip and lifted the light to examine the wall. There were long scratches in the stone—not much wider than a thumbnail, but they were deep. You couldn't easily see the bottom of the scratch marks.
Gard came up and peered over my shoulder. Amidst the scents of lime and mildew, her perfume, something floral I didn't recognize, was a pleasant distraction. "Something sharp made those," she murmured.
"Yeah," I said, collecting the hairs. "Hold up your ax."
She did. I touched the hairs to the edge of the blade. They curled away from it as they touched it, blackening and shriveling, adding the scent of burnt hair to the mix.
"Wonderful," I sighed.
Gard lifted her eyebrows and glanced at me. "Faeries?"
I nodded. "Malks, almost certainly."
"Malks?"
"Winterfae," I said. "Felines. About the size of a bobcat."
"Nothing steel can't handle, then," she said, rising briskly.
"Yeah," I said. "You could probably handle half a dozen."
She nodded once, brandished the ax, and turned to continue down the tunnel.
"Which is why they tend to run in packs of twenty," I added, a couple of steps later.
Gard stopped and gave me a glare.
"That's called sharing information," I said. I gestured at the wall. "These are territorial markings for the local pack. Malks are stronger than natural animals, quick, almost invisible when they want to be, and their claws are sharper and harder than surgical steel. I once saw a malk shred an aluminum baseball bat to slivers. And if that wasn't enough, they're sentient. Smarter than some people I know."
"Od's bodkin," Gard swore quietly. "Can you handle them?"
"They don't like fire," I said. "But in an enclosed space like this, I don't like it much, either."
Gard nodded once. "Can we treat with them?" she asked. "Buy passage?"
"They'll keep their word, like any fae," I said. "If you can get them to give it in the first place. But think of how cats enjoy hunting, even when they aren't hungry. Think about how they toy with their prey sometimes. Then distill that joyful little killer instinct out of every cat in Chicago and pour it all into one malk. They're to cats what Hannibal Lecter is to people."
"Negotiation isn't an option, then."
I shook my head. "I don't think we have anything to offer them that they'll want more than our screams and meat, no."
Gard nodded, frowning. "Best if they never notice us at all, then."
"Nice thought," I said. "But these things have a cat's senses. I could probably hide us from their sight or hearing, but not both. And they could still smell us."
Gard frowned. She reached into her coat pocket and drew out a slim box of aged, pale ivory. She opened it and began gingerly sorting through a number of small ivory squares.
"Scrabble tiles?" I asked. "I don't want to play with malks. They're really bad about using plurals and proper names."
"They're runes," Gard said quietly. She found the one she was after, took a steadying breath, and then removed a single square from the ivory box with the same cautious reverence I'd seen soldiers use with military explosives. She closed the box and put it back in her pocket, holding the single ivory
I stared at her for a second and then said, "You wear it pretty well, if it's true. I would have guessed you were about thirty."
Her teeth flashed in the dim light. "I believe it's currently considered more polite to guess twenty-nine."
"Me and polite have never been on close terms."
Gard nodded. "I like that about you. You say what you think. You act. It's rare in this age."
I kept on the trail, quiet for a time, until Mouse stopped in his tracks and made an almost inaudible sound in his chest. I held up a hand, halting. Gard went silent and still.
I knelt down by the dog and whispered, "What is it, boy?"
Mouse stared intently ahead, his nose quivering. Then he paced forward, uncertainly, and pawed at the floor near the wall.
I followed him, light in hand. On the wet stone floor were a few tufts of grayish hair. I chewed my lip and lifted the light to examine the wall. There were long scratches in the stone—not much wider than a thumbnail, but they were deep. You couldn't easily see the bottom of the scratch marks.
Gard came up and peered over my shoulder. Amidst the scents of lime and mildew, her perfume, something floral I didn't recognize, was a pleasant distraction. "Something sharp made those," she murmured.
"Yeah," I said, collecting the hairs. "Hold up your ax."
She did. I touched the hairs to the edge of the blade. They curled away from it as they touched it, blackening and shriveling, adding the scent of burnt hair to the mix.
"Wonderful," I sighed.
Gard lifted her eyebrows and glanced at me. "Faeries?"
I nodded. "Malks, almost certainly."
"Malks?"
"Winterfae," I said. "Felines. About the size of a bobcat."
"Nothing steel can't handle, then," she said, rising briskly.
"Yeah," I said. "You could probably handle half a dozen."
She nodded once, brandished the ax, and turned to continue down the tunnel.
"Which is why they tend to run in packs of twenty," I added, a couple of steps later.
Gard stopped and gave me a glare.
"That's called sharing information," I said. I gestured at the wall. "These are territorial markings for the local pack. Malks are stronger than natural animals, quick, almost invisible when they want to be, and their claws are sharper and harder than surgical steel. I once saw a malk shred an aluminum baseball bat to slivers. And if that wasn't enough, they're sentient. Smarter than some people I know."
"Od's bodkin," Gard swore quietly. "Can you handle them?"
"They don't like fire," I said. "But in an enclosed space like this, I don't like it much, either."
Gard nodded once. "Can we treat with them?" she asked. "Buy passage?"
"They'll keep their word, like any fae," I said. "If you can get them to give it in the first place. But think of how cats enjoy hunting, even when they aren't hungry. Think about how they toy with their prey sometimes. Then distill that joyful little killer instinct out of every cat in Chicago and pour it all into one malk. They're to cats what Hannibal Lecter is to people."
"Negotiation isn't an option, then."
I shook my head. "I don't think we have anything to offer them that they'll want more than our screams and meat, no."
Gard nodded, frowning. "Best if they never notice us at all, then."
"Nice thought," I said. "But these things have a cat's senses. I could probably hide us from their sight or hearing, but not both. And they could still smell us."
Gard frowned. She reached into her coat pocket and drew out a slim box of aged, pale ivory. She opened it and began gingerly sorting through a number of small ivory squares.
"Scrabble tiles?" I asked. "I don't want to play with malks. They're really bad about using plurals and proper names."
"They're runes," Gard said quietly. She found the one she was after, took a steadying breath, and then removed a single square from the ivory box with the same cautious reverence I'd seen soldiers use with military explosives. She closed the box and put it back in her pocket, holding the single ivory
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