Laird strode forward, approaching me.
Something tripped, and a device launched out from under the car. Like a hockey puck, it skidded out beneath Laird’s outstretched foot.
Laird stopped, foot suspended in mid-step.
He moved it out of the way, bent down, and carefully picked up the object.
It looked like some sort of small bear trap.
“Maggie, I presume,” Laird said.
I nodded.
“Your other friends are occupied or caught in traps by Duncan and his sons, Rose is bound indoors, and I’ve broken most of the available and useful reflective surfaces in the spirit world. Things are going to find an excuse to break in the real world in the coming days and weeks, but we can cross that bridge when it comes.”
“Sounds like bad karma,” I said. “Giving the universe a lot of menial work to do to keep everything coordinated.”
“Well,” Laird said, “I’m hoping to make it up to the universe.”
“Borrowing against the future for the sake of the present?” I asked.
“I would say it’s just the opposite,” Laird said. His eye roved, searching for the gremlin.
“I seem to have a gap in my memory,” I said.
Laird smiled. “Your, uh, Rose? She does too, it seems.”
“What did you do?”
“I’m particularly fond of the saying, what is it? ‘Those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it? It’s very useful when we can use the same tricks a second time around without you being any the wiser.”
“I’m asking what you did.”
“You can ask. I’m not saying anything more on the subject.”
“You’re far from being my favorite person in the world, you know that?”
“I do. I’ll live, basking in the irony that I’m really doing you a service.”
“A service.”
“Most of the others want to see you dead. I want to see you live, ideally as a non-threat, for at least a little while longer.”
“As a withered, helpless old man?”
“Better than being dead, considering where you’re going.”
He stopped in front of me.
He was imposing, especially when I was hunkered down on the ground, shivering and bent, while he was standing tall above me, with his heavy jacket, barrel chest, and square jaw, glaring.
Not exactly my mental image of a practitioner.
“Conquest is coming,” Laird said. “He’s smart enough to stay out of the thick of things until the opposing king is in check.”
“How nice for him,” I said.
“I may be your biggest ally here,” Laird said. “Conquest wants you dead, I want you bound. The sooner you offer your surrender, the better off we all are.”
“You’re lying,” I said.
“Some consider that kind of accusation a grave insult,” he said.
“Good,” I said. “Add ‘fuck you sideways‘ to the insults you’re due. You’re not my biggest ally. He is.”
Laird turned.
The Hyena prowled forward. Evan was perched on one tattered ear, wings spread.
“Ah, we expected that one,” Laird said. “Craig, take Owen and Tandy inside!”
“You expected it?” I asked.
“Yes, and you’ve made a bit of a mistake,” he said.
I looked.
The Hyena stopped short of the fence.
“Go, whelp!” Evan ordered. “Obey me, mutt!”
The Hyena snarled in frustration, but stopped short of the fence.
An enclosure around the parking lot.
A ring of metal, to keep a proper goblin at bay.
“I don’t know whether to respect your integrity for leaving the imp be, or to pity your lack of foresight.”
“Take it from me and Evan,” I said. “That thing’s no small potatoes, fence or not. Evan!”
Laird seemed to read something in my posture and tone, because he didn’t give me a chance to finish. He crossed the distance between us, and he kicked me, heel to face.
I landed on my back, stomach arched skyward, knees still fused to the ground by Ainsley’s binding.
“Hurghf and burgfh!” I managed, one finger extended.
“What?” Laird asked.
“Huff and puff!” Evan shouted. “Do it, ugly! Huff and puff, there!”
The Hyena blew.
“Ainsley!” Laird shouted.
Ainsley shielded the needle-punctured candle with her body. Successfully blocking the Hyena’s breath from the lit wick.
She, however, wasn’t prepared for the other effect of the Hyena’s breath.
I could smell it from halfway down the parking lot.
She staggered, doubled over, and vomited.
In the doing, she wasn’t able to maintain her focus and keep the candle close enough to stay out of the way, but far enough that she didn’t stab or burn herself.
Somewhere along the line, the candle went out.
I toppled, landing on my back.
“Don’t move,” Laird said.
I heard the cock of a gun.
Ainsley approached, staggering. Her eyes were watering, and she had a hand pressed to nose and mouth.
“I’m sorry, uncle,” she said.
“It’s okay. Keep an eye out for the gremlin.”
“I see it,” she said.
Their eyes -and mine- traveled to the fence.
The goblin was there, arms spread, gripping the chain-link, legs bent as clawed toes found purchase on the fencing.
“Shoot it,” she said.
“I’m not taking my gun off the diabolist. Bind it.”
“Okay,” Ainsley said.
She drew out a candle.
The goblin extinguished it with a stream of foul smelling urine. Much as one might hold one thumb over the end of a tap or garden hose to concentrate the stream, the workings of wire and more made for a surprising long-distance spray.
Laird shifted position, turning sideways, raising his coat with his free hand to block the stream. “I hate goblins.”
“If they keep this up, I may start to like them,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter,’ Laird said. “Conquest will be here in a moment…”
The gremlin let go of the fence. It raised one hand. I saw what it held.
“…and this will all be settled.”
A sticky note with a rune on it.
The goblin managed to activate it.
This time there was an arc of electricity.
Ainsley shrieked and Laird wobbled before dropping like a rock. The gremlin dropped from the fence like a stone.
Ainsle went for the gun. I beat her to it. I pointed it at her.
“All things considered, I think I played pretty fair,” I said.
She set her jaw, lips tight. She still had a fleck of vomit at the corner of her mouth.
“You’re going to let Rose out of the building now,” I said. “Or I may do something to your Uncle Laird that you’ll regret.”
She didn’t move.
“You don’t care what happens to them?” I asked. “That kind of makes sense to me. I’m not very fond of your family either.”
“Ha ha,” she said, without humor.
Did that count as a lie?
If not, I’d have to remember that one. Some situations mandated sarcasm.
I checked Laird’s pulse. It was there.
“You won’t hurt him?” she asked.
“If I was going to hurt one of you, I would have let that car hit you.
He was even semiconscious, it seemed.