The Iron Queen

CHAPTER TWO

OF TOKENS AND CHURCH GRIMS

Any tour guide worth his badge in New Orleans will tell you not to go gallivanting around the city streets alone in the middle of the night. In the heart of the French Quarter, where street lamps and tourism had a firm hold, it was fairly safe, but just outside the district, the dark alleyways hid thugs and gangs and predators of the night.

I wasn’t worried about the human predators. They couldn’t see us, except for one white-haired homeless man who cringed against a wall and chanted “Not here, not here,” as we went by. But the darkness hid other things as well, like the goat-headed phouka who watched us from an alley across the street, grinning madly, and the redcap gang who trailed us through several neighborhoods until they got bored and went looking for easier prey. New Orleans was a faery city; mystery, imagination and old traditions blended perfectly here and drew scores of exiled fey to this spot.

Ash walked next to me, a silent, watchful shadow, one hand resting casually on his sword hilt. Everything, from his eyes, to the chill in the air as he passed, to the calm lethality on his face, was a warning: this wasn’t someone you wanted to mess around with. Even though he had been exiled and was no longer a prince of the Unseelie Court, he was an imposing warrior, still the son of Queen Mab, and few dared challenge him.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as we ventured deeper into the back alleys of the French Quarter, moving steadily toward our goal. But at the mouth of a narrow alley, the redcap gang I thought had given up appeared, blocking the exit. They were short and stout, evil dwarves with bloody red hats, their eyes and jagged fangs shining in the darkness.

Ash stopped and in one smooth motion eased me behind him and drew his sword, bathing the alley in flickering blue light. I clenched my fists, drawing glamour from the air, tasting fear and apprehension and a hint of violence. As I drew the glamour to me, I felt the nausea and dizziness and fought to remain steady on my feet.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Ash gave a dark, humorless chuckle and stepped forward. “We can stand around looking at each other all night,” he said, locking gazes with the biggest redcap, who had a stained red bandana on his head and was missing an eye. “Or would you like me to start the massacre?”

One-Eye bared his fangs. “Keep your pants on, prince,” he spat, his guttural voice like a dog’s snarl. “We got no quarrel with you.” He sniffed and brushed his crooked nose. “Just heard the rumor you was in town, see, and we’d like to have a few words with the lady before you go, that’s all.”

I was instantly suspicious. I had no love for redcaps; the ones I’d run into were trying to kidnap, torture, or eat me. They were the mercenaries and thugs of the Unseelie Court, and the exiled ones were even worse. I wanted nothing to do with them.

Ash kept his sword out, his eyes never leaving the redcaps, but his free hand reached back and gripped mine. “Fine. Say what you came to say and get out of here.”

One-Eye sneered at him, then turned to me. “Just wanted to let you know, princess—” he emphasized the word with a toothy leer “—that there’s a bunch of Iron faeries sniffing around the city looking for you. One of them is offering a reward for any information concerning your whereabouts. So I’d be really careful if I were you.” One-Eye pulled off his bandana and gave me a ridiculous, mocking bow. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

I tried to hide my shock. Not that the Iron fey were looking for me, that was a given, but that a redcap would take it upon himself to warn me about it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“And how can I be certain you won’t run to them with our location?” Ash chimed in, his voice flat and cold.

The redcap leader gave Ash a half disgusted, half fearful look. “You think I want these Iron bastards on my turf? You really think I’d want to bargain with them? I want every one of them dead, or at least out of my territory. I sure as hell ain’t going to give them exactly what they want. If there’s any way I can throw a wrench in their plans, I’ll take it, even if that means warning you to spite them. And if you manage to kill them all for me, hey—that’ll make my evening.”

He stared at me with a hopeful expression. I squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m not going to promise anything,” I warned, “so you can stop threatening me.”

“Who said I was threatening you?” One-Eye held up his hands with a quick glance at Ash. “I’m just giving you a friendly warning. I thought, hey, she’s killed the Iron bastards before. She might want to do it again.”

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, please. It’s all over the streets. We know about you—you and your Unseelie boyfriend here.” He curled a lip at Ash, who stared back stoically. “We heard about the scepter, and how you killed the Iron bitch who stole it. We know you returned it to Mab to stop the war between Summer and Winter, and that they exiled you for your trouble.” One-Eye shook his head and gave me a look that was almost sympathetic. “Word travels fast on the streets, princess, especially when the Iron fey are running around like chickens with their heads ripped off, offering rewards for ‘the daughter of the Summer King.’ So, I’d watch my back, if I were you.”

He snorted, then turned and spat on one of his flunky’s shoes. The other redcap snarled and cursed, but One-Eye didn’t seem to notice. “Anyway, there it is. Last time I checked, the bastards were nosing around Bourbon Street. If you do manage to kill them, princess, tell them One-Eyed Jack says hello. Let’s go, boys.”

“Aw, boss.” The redcap who was spit on smiled at me and licked his fangs. “Can’t we chew on the princess, just a little?”

One-Eyed Jack slapped the offending faery upside the head without looking at him. “Idiot,” he snapped. “I have no desire to pick your frozen guts off the pavement. Now move, you stupid lot. Before I lose my temper.”

The redcap leader grinned at me, gave Ash one last sneer, and backed away. Snapping and arguing with each other, the redcap gang ambled into the darkness and vanished from sight.

I looked at Ash. “You know, there was a time I wished I could be so popular.”

He sheathed his sword. “Should we stop for the night?”

“No.” I rubbed my arms, dropping the glamour and the queasiness that came with it, and peered into the street. “I can’t run and hide just because the Iron fey are looking for me. I’d never get anywhere. Let’s keep moving.”

Ash nodded. “We’re almost there.”

We reached our destination without further incident. The New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum looked exactly how I remembered it, faded black doors sunk into the wall. The wooden sign creaked on its chains overhead.

“Ash,” I murmured as we walked quietly to the doors. “I’ve been thinking.” The encounter with the spider-hags and the redcaps had strengthened my convictions, and I was ready to voice my plans. “I want you to do something for me, if you would.”

“Whatever you need.” We reached the doors, and Ash peered in the window. The interior of the museum was dark. He scanned the area around us before turning to place a hand on one of the doors. “I’m still listening, Meghan,” he murmured. “What do you want me to do?”

I took a breath. “Teach me how to fight.”

He turned back, his eyebrows raised. I took advantage of the moment of silence and plunged on before he could protest. “I mean it, Ash. I’m tired of standing on the sidelines doing nothing, watching you fight for me. I want to learn to defend myself. Will you teach me?” He frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, I added, “And don’t give me any crap about defending my honor, or how a girl can’t use a weapon, or how it’s too dangerous for me to fight. How am I going to beat the false king if I can’t even swing a sword?”

“I was going to say,” Ash continued in what was almost a solemn voice, if it wasn’t for the faint smirk on his lips, “that I thought it was a good idea. In fact, I was going to suggest picking up a weapon for you after we’re done here.”

“Oh,” I said in a small voice. Ash sighed.

“We have a lot of enemies,” he continued. “And as much as I hate it, there might be times when I won’t be there to help you. Learning to fight and use glamour will be crucial now. I was trying to think of a way to suggest teaching you without having it blow up in my face.” He smiled then, a tiny twitch of his lips, and shook his head. “I suppose I was doomed either way.”

“Oh,” I said again, in an even smaller voice. “Well … good. As long as we understand each other.” I was glad the darkness hid my burning face, though knowing Ash, he could probably see it anyway.

Still smiling, Ash turned back to the door, placing a hand on the faded wood and speaking a quiet word under his breath. The door clicked and slowly swung open.

The interior of the museum was musty and warm. As we eased through the door, I tripped over the same bump in the carpet that had been there a year ago and stumbled into Ash. He steadied me with a sigh, just like a year ago. Only this time, he reached down and touched my hand, moving close to whisper in my ear.

“First lesson,” he said, and even in the darkness I heard the amusement in his voice. “Always be aware of where you put your feet.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “I’ll remember that.”

He turned away and tossed a ball of faery fire into existence. The glowing, blue-white sphere hovered overhead, illuminating the room and the macabre collection of voodoo items surrounding us. The skeleton in the top hat and the mannequin with the alligator head still grinned at us along the wall. But now, an ancient, mummylike figure had been added to the duo, a shriveled old woman with hollow pits for eyes and arms like brittle sticks.

Then the withered face turned and smiled at me, and I bit down a yelp.

“Hello, Meghan Chase,” the oracle whispered, gliding away from the wall and her two ghastly bodyguards. “I knew you would return.”

Ash didn’t go for his sword, but I sensed muscles coiling beneath his skin. I took a deep breath to calm my pounding heart and stepped forward. “Then you know why I’m here.”

The oracle’s eyeless gaze peered at my face. “You seek to take back what you gave away a year ago. That which did not seem so important then has become very dear to you now.

Such is always the case. You mortals do not know what you have until it is gone.”

“The memory of my father.” I moved away from Ash, closing the distance between me and the oracle. Her hollow gaze followed me, and the smell of dusty newspapers clogged my nose and mouth as I approached. “I want it back. I need it if … if I’m going to see him again at Leanansidhe’s. I have to know what he means to me. Please.”

The knowledge of that mistake was still painful. When I was first searching for my brother, we’d come to the oracle for help. She’d agreed to help us, but asked for a memory in return; it had sounded insignificant at the time. I had agreed to her price, and afterward had had no clue which memory she took.

Then, we’d met Leanansidhe, who kept several humans in her home in the Between. All her humans were artists of some sort, brilliant, talented, and slightly mad from living in the Between so long. One of them, a gifted pianist, had taken quite an interest in me, though I hadn’t known who he was. I found out only after we had left the manor and it was too late to go back.

My father. My human father, or at least the man who’d raised me until I was six, and he disappeared. That was the memory the oracle had taken: all recollections of my human dad. And now, I needed them back. If I was going to Leanansidhe’s, I wanted the memory of my father intact when I demanded to know why she had him in the first place.

“Your father is Oberon, the Summer King,” the oracle whispered, her thin mouth pulled into a smile. “This man you seek, this human, is no blood relation to you. He is a mere mortal. A stranger. Why do you care?”

“I don’t know,” I said miserably. “I don’t know if I should care, and I want to be sure. Who was he? Why did he leave us? Why is he with Leanansidhe now?” I broke off and stared at the oracle, feeling Ash come up behind me as silent support. “I have to know,” I whispered. “I need that memory back.”

The oracle tapped glittering nails together, considering. “The bargain was fair,” she rasped. “One exchange for another, we both agreed to this. I cannot simply give you what you seek.” She sniffed, looking momentarily indignant. “I will have something in return.”

I figured. Can’t expect a faery to do you a favor without naming a price. Squashing down my annoyance, I stole a glance at Ash, and saw him nod. He’d expected it, too. I sighed and turned back to the oracle. “What do you want?”

She tapped a nail against her chin, dislodging a few flakes of dead skin or dust. I wrinkled my nose and eased back a step. “Hmm, let us see. What would the girl be willing to part with. Perhaps … your future chi—”

“No,” Ash and I said in unison. She snorted.

“Can’t blame me for trying. Very well.” She leaned forward, studying me with the empty holes in her face. I felt a presence brush lightly against my mind and recoiled, shutting her out.

The oracle hissed, filling the air with the smell of decay. “How … interesting,” she mused. I waited, but she didn’t elaborate, and after a moment she drew back with a strange smile on her withered face. “Very well, Meghan Chase, this is my request. You are loathe to give up anything you hold dear, and it would be a waste of breath to ask for those things. So, instead I will ask that you fetch me something someone else held dear.”

I blinked at her. “What?”

“I wish for you to bring me a Token. Surely that is not too much to ask.”

“Um.” I cast a helpless glance at Ash. “What’s a token?”

The oracle sighed. “Still so naive.” She gave Ash an almost motherly frown. “I trust you will teach her better than this in the future, young prince. Now, listen to me, Meghan Chase, and I will share a bit of faery lore. Most items,” she continued, plucking a skull from a table with her bony talons, “are just that. Mundane, ordinary, commonplace. Nothing special. However …” She replaced the skull with a thunk and carefully picked up a small leather bag, tied with a leather thong. I heard the rattle of pebbles or bones within as she held it up. “Certain items have been so loved and cherished by mortals that they become something else entirely—a symbol of that emotion, whether it be love, hate, pride, or fear. A favored doll, or an artist’s masterpiece. And sometimes, though rarely, the item becomes so important that it grows a life of its own. It’s as if a bit of the human’s soul was left behind, clinging to the once-ordinary article. We fey call these items Tokens, and they are highly sought after, for they radiate a special glamour that never fades away.” The oracle stepped back, seeming to fade into the paraphernalia lining the walls. “Find me a Token, Meghan Chase,” she whispered, “and I will give you back your memory.” And then she was gone.

I rubbed my arms and turned to Ash, who bore a thoughtful expression. He stared after the vanished oracle. “Great,” I muttered. “So, we need to find a Token thing. I suppose they’re not just lying around for the taking, huh? Any ideas?”

He roused himself and glanced down at me. “I might know where we can find one,” he mused, suddenly solemn again. “But it’s not a place humans like to visit, especially at night.”

I laughed. “What, you don’t think I can handle it?” He raised an eyebrow, and I frowned. “Ash, I’ve been through Arcadia, Tir Na Nog, the Briars, the Between, the Iron Realm, Machina’s tower, and the killing fields of the Nevernever. I don’t think there’s a place capable of freaking me out anymore.”

A trace of humor touched his eyes, a silent challenge. “All right, then,” he said, leading me out. “Follow me.”

THE CITY OF THE DEAD stretched away before me, stark and black under the swollen yellow moon, steaming in the humid air. Rows upon rows of crypts, tombs, and mausoleums lined the narrow streets, some lovingly decorated with flowers, candles, and plaques, others crumbling with age and neglect. Some of them looked like miniature houses, or even tiny cathedrals, spires and stone crosses raking the sky. Statues of angels and weeping women peered down from rooftops, looking stern or in the throes of grief. Their hollow eyes seemed to follow me down the tomb-lined alleyways.

I really have to learn to keep my mouth shut, I thought, trailing Ash through the narrow streets, my skin crawling with every noise and suspicious-looking shadow. A warm breeze whispered between crypts, kicking up dust and causing dead leaves to skitter along the ground. My overactive imagination kicked into high gear, seeing zombies shuffling between the rows, the tomb doors creaking open as skeletal hands reached out for us. I shuddered and pressed closer to Ash who, damn him, seemed quite unfazed about walking through a New Orleans cemetery in the dead of night. I sensed his secret amusement at my expense, and so help me, if he said anything along the lines of I told you so I was going to smack him.