Lost Falls_Short Story_Blood Money Page 2

  “Careful,” Early called from the riverbank. “Don’t let it fall in the water.”

  I glared at him over my shoulder. “You want to swap places? Either get your bony old ass out here or keep quiet and let me do this.”

  I turned back to the hanging satchel. How the hell had it got up there, anyway? Had it been thrown from the car during the crash? Possible, maybe, but damned unlikely. I lifted up my broken branch and tried to hook the tip carefully around the satchel’s strap.

  “Ozzy!” Early called.

  I gritted my teeth, focusing on not dropping the satchel into the river. “I’m getting there, old man.”

  “Get out of the water.”

  “What?” Something in his tone made me stop what I was doing and glance back at him.

  But he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring upstream, eyes wide. “Get out of the water, Ozzy. Now!”

  The water around me suddenly became more agitated. There was a sound like the clatter of falling rocks from further upstream. I spun around to see what Early was staring at.

  One of the river boulders was waking up.

  Of course, now that it was moving, I saw it wasn’t a boulder at all. Stumpy legs that looked like they belonged on an elephant slowly unfolded, lifting the creature out of the river. Water cascaded off its gray, moss-covered back. Its hide still resembled river-smoothed stone, but as the thing turned I could see muscles bulging beneath the skin. It had two gargantuan arms that ended in four-fingered hands—fingers that were thicker than my wrist.

  The creature turned toward me. Its mouth was open, revealing yellowed teeth made for grinding and crushing. I found myself staring into a pair of eyes that resembled deep pools filled with algae. The monster blew a spray of river water from its nostrils.

  I swallowed. I’d never seen a creature like this in the flesh before. But the moment I saw it, I knew exactly what it was.

  “Troll,” I whispered.

  I stabbed the broken branch into the riverbed and tugged my truncheon free of my belt. It felt like a toothpick compared to the troll. The creature was more than twice my height and easily three times my width. It raised its arms and started lumbering toward me.

  “Ozzy!” Early yelled.

  Out of the water. Right. I spun toward the riverbank and began to move. The stones beneath my feet shifted and rolled as I staggered through the surging water.

  “My bag!” I shouted at Early. “Troll bane. Inside pocket!”

  The old man dropped to his knees beside my bag and started to rummage.

  “No, no,” I yelled. “Other inside pocket! The one on the right. No, my right!”

  My shoe slipped on a river-slicked stone. I went down hard, elbows and knees scraping across rock. White water rushed around me, filling my mouth and nose, blinding me. I pulled my head out of the flow of the river, spitting out water and dragging my sleeve across my eyes. The troll bore down on me.

  Something caught my eye. I threw out a hand to Early.

  “Wait!”

  Early paused, the vial of troll bane in his hand, ready to throw. I kept my hand outstretched, urging him not to act.

  The troll staggered to a halt in front of me and dropped to his knees, one massive palm splashing into the river not two feet from my head. His other hand clutched at his right flank. Between his fingers I could see a web of black blood vessels pulsing beneath his stone-colored skin.

  I looked into the troll’s eyes. He looked back at me. It wasn’t anger I was seeing in his shifting green eyes. It was pain.

  Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet. The troll just watched me. Trembling, I reached out and wrapped my hand around one of the thick fingers clutching at his side. His skin was as hard and cold as rock. I pushed at his hand and he allowed it to fall away.

  I saw what I’d glimpsed a few seconds ago. A fist-sized lump bulging out from beneath the troll’s skin, like a knot of blackness pulsing within the creature. And from the lump, finger-like vessels stretched out, carrying the darkness through the troll.

  I looked back at the troll’s face. He opened his mouth, damp breath washing across me.

  “Help,” the troll said. It was a rumbling, rolling voice, like a rock slide.

  And then he rolled over and collapsed in the river with a spray of water.

  “Early!” I yelled.

  2

  I was the tracker, but Early was the medicine man. When it came to trolls with supernatural illnesses, I deferred to his judgment.

  He rushed into the river, took one look at the black, pulsating lump in the troll’s side, and got to work. He delivered instructions to me while pulling out vials and jars from his own bag of tricks. I did my best to follow along.

  Let me tell you, the middle of a goddamn river is not the best place to treat a sick troll. I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. Freezing water was slowly creeping up through my jeans to places that really didn’t want to be subjected to those kinds of temperatures.

  But we didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t like we could drag the troll to the riverbank. The big bastard probably weighed more than my van. I ended up using the creature’s shoulder as a workbench for me to grind herbs while Early wafted incense into the troll’s nostrils.

  “What the hell is that thing?” I asked, gesturing to the black lump with my chin.

  Early just shook his head. His jaw was set in that way that meant he was deep in thought. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “That’s not troll blight. He’s been cursed.”

  Early grunted and said nothing. He knew I was right.

  Curses could take a lot of forms. And breaking them was part of the job description for cunning folk like us. This, though…this I’d never seen before. This wasn’t witch’s work. This was something else.

  The troll gave a sudden snort, his eyes snapping open. Early tossed me the incense and put a hand on the troll’s shoulder as he tried to rise.

  “It’s all right,” Early said. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

  The troll let out a groan like rocks grinding together. His eyes swiveled to look at Early.

  “Cunnin’ man,” the troll rumbled.

  Early raised his bushy eyebrows. “You know who I am?”

  The troll nodded. He moved his giant hand to his side. “Hurts.”

  “I know.” Early grabbed the troll’s hand by the finger before he could wipe away the unguents we’d smeared on the black lump. “Don’t touch it. Can you move? We need to get you out of this river.”

  With a grunt, the troll began to push himself up onto his hands and knees. Early and I waded quickly out of the way before we could be washed away by the sudden wave the troll had created.

  His eyes turned to me. Eyebrows of green moss crept low as he furrowed his brow.

  “You cunnin’ man too?”

  “That’s right.” I said. “Name’s Ozzy.”

  “Ozz…zzy.” He tested out the name, then nodded to himself. With slow, drunken steps he stomped toward the riverbank. The riverbed rumbled beneath my feet with every step.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” I said to Early. Turning, I pulled the broken branch I’d been using as a walking stick free of the riverbed. Using the forked end, I reached up and hooked it around the strap of the satchel still hanging over the river. Carefully, I worked it free of the half-fallen tree and grabbed hold of it.

  It was a relief to get out of the river. I stripped off my shoes and socks, setting them aside to dry off. My toes had started to go a slightly concerning shade of blue, but the fiery tingling that tore through the soles of my feet was enough to assure me that I wasn’t going to lose them.

  Early made the troll lie against the bank where he’d be out of sight to anyone driving past on the road above. The troll’s face didn’t move very much, but I could see him breathing heavily, his teeth grinding slowly together. Despite our administrations, the blackness in his side was spreading. He was in a bad way.

  Early shot me a look as I approached. H
e gestured and stepped a few feet away from the troll, lowering his voice.

  “It’s bad. I don’t know how bad, but it’s bad. We need to know what that lump is. I have to open it up.”

  I nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Distract him. It’s not going to be pleasant for him.”

  I licked my lips and glanced at the troll. Despite my initial impressions, he seemed gentle enough. But trolls weren’t known for their rationality. If we started hurting him—even for his own good—well, I didn’t want to end the day being crushed to death by a troll.

  “Okay. I’ll try. Early,” I added as he started to turn away. “What about the girl? What if the troll…you know…?” I dragged my finger across my throat.

  The old man exhaled and glanced at the troll. “Whatever happened to Christina Liu will have to wait. He’s the one who needs our help right now.”

  We turned back. The troll lay slumped, his eyes glazed. He seemed to be having trouble focusing on us as we returned to him.

  “I have to do something,” Early said to the troll. “It’s going to help us find out what’s made you sick. But it’s going to hurt.”

  The creature let out a low rumbling moan. I went and sat down on the bank next to his head. If I could keep him looking at me, he wouldn’t be able to see what Early was doing.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said to the troll. “Let Early do what he has to do. Look at me. You got a name, big guy?”

  He rolled his head to the side to look at me. “Hider.”

  “Hider?”

  He laid a hand on his chest. “Hider good at hidin’.” Even with the pain, he sounded pretty proud of himself.

  “Yeah, well, I can’t argue with that.”

  At Hider’s side, I saw Early pouring a thin, colorless potion over the blade of an oak-handled dagger. I turned my attention back to the troll.

  “Hider,” I said, “I think someone cursed you. Do you have any idea who it was?”

  The troll made a low, thrumming sound that I felt more than heard. His muscles tensed and bunched beneath his stony skin.

  “Hey, hey, easy,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder.

  He exhaled. “Goat man.”

  “What?”

  “Goat man. He came down hill. Said words. Words Hider not know. Then…then hurt.”

  “This goat man, he cursed you? He was here? You saw him?”

  Hider grunted, nodding. He turned to look at what Early was doing, but I spoke again to keep his attention on me.

  “Why do you call him goat man? Is that his name?”

  “His head was bone. Goat head bone.”

  I frowned, trying to puzzle out what the troll was saying. “A skull, you mean? He was wearing a goat skull on his head?”

  “Mmm,” he grunted in confirmation. “He hurt Hider. Hider fell. And goat man took her.”

  “Her? Who?”

  “Lady,” he said. “Car lady.”

  As the troll spoke, Early touched the blade of his dagger to the lump in the troll’s side. He swiped it along the troll’s skin, and some kind of black, oily muck began to pour forth. Hider groaned in pain and tried to sit up.

  “Hider!” I said, grabbing him by the jaw and pulling with all my might. “Look at me.”

  “Hurts,” he moaned.

  “I know. Tell me about the car lady.”

  He blinked a few times, teeth grinding together. Early grabbed a small silver bowl and gathered some of the stuff dripping from the troll’s side. A foul, metallic scent wafted up. I started breathing through my mouth. It didn’t help.

  “Hider was sleeping,” the troll said, pointing to the spot in the river where he’d been hiding before. “Then lots of banging. Hider woke up. Car was there.” He pointed again, this time to Christina Liu’s overturned car.

  “You heard the crash?” I asked.

  “Hider waited. Hider good at hiding. Then Hider saw car lady. Car lady hurt. Hider couldn’t just hide. Hider got car lady out of car. Lots of blood. Car lady hurt bad. Hider wanted help her. Then goat man came. Goat man came and Hider fell down and goat man took car lady away.”

  The troll let out a deep breath. That was probably the most words he’d ever spoken at once.

  I put it all together in my head. So the troll had been fast asleep when Christina Liu’s car went off the road. He’d heard the crash, and when he realized Christina was hurt, he’d gone to help. He’d ripped off the door, pulled her out of the car. Tried to help her.

  But then this “goat man” had come. Had to be a witch or sorcerer of some kind. He’d cursed Hider and run off with Christina.

  Hell. Poor fucking troll. All he’d tried to do was help the girl. Now he was paying the price.

  I patted the troll on the shoulder. “You did good, Hider. You did the right thing. That was brave.”

  His chest swelled, but a moment later he curled in pain again, his brow creasing. I glanced over at Early.

  The old man had lit a candle on top of a large, flat stone. He held the silver bowl above the flame, and as he swirled the black muck inside he sprinkled a vial of wood ash into the bowl. There was a hiss and a screech, and the black liquid began to bubble. He looked up and met my eyes.

  “Hell,” I muttered.

  “Hider…” the troll said. He was looking at Early. “Hider is dying?”

  Early hesitated. “You’re very sick.”

  “Hider scared. Hider not want to die.”

  My stomach twisted. I’d been through too much to think that fairness had a place in the world, but this just wasn’t right. I shook my head.

  “You’re not going to die, Hider,” I told him. “We’re going to break the curse.”

  “Ozzy…” Early said warningly.

  I stared at the old man. “We’re going to break the curse,” I said again, harder this time.

  With a sigh, Early jerked his head at me. I gave Hider a reassuring pat on the arm, grabbed Christina Liu’s bag, and went over to Early.

  “This curse,” Early whispered, “it’s—”

  “I saw what it was.”

  “Then you know you’re promising the impossible.”

  I shook my head. “Not impossible. Not completely.”

  He stared at me hard, catching my meaning. “No, Ozzy. It’s too dangerous. And even if we pulled it off, the vampires wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Since when do we answer to them? The troll’s cursed. Cunning folk break curses. It’s our job, Early.”

  His mouth formed a line and he dropped his eyes, pausing. “We already have a job.”

  “Seems to me one should lead to the other.” I swung Christina’s bag off my shoulder and unzipped it. “Let’s see if this gives us any clues.”

  I pulled the bag open and started to empty its contents onto the ground. Most of it was barely worth a glance. A thin scarf, a tube of lipstick, a compact mirror, a small bottle of water. A collection of mismatching pens, some of them broken. Faded receipts from several weeks ago.

  I dug out a black wallet and had a flick through. No cash, but there was a driver’s license and a couple of credit cards. All were in Christina Liu’s name. The photo on her driver’s license showed Christina as a younger woman, her hair longer. She wasn’t wearing a scarf or a turtleneck or anything that covered her throat. This was a photo from before she’d entered into Kinfe’s service. Before she’d become a junkie bloodslave.

  I put the wallet next to the rest of the stuff and reached into one of the side pockets of the satchel. My fingers closed around something hard. A phone.

  I slipped it out of the bag and switched on the screen. It opened immediately on her photo gallery—it must’ve been the last app she used. Several photos had been taken last night. Curious, I opened the oldest one and began to scroll through.

  “Hey Early. Check this out.” I angled the phone so he could see it.

  The pictures looked like they’d been taken in the sitting room of some kind of lodge or mansio
n. The walls and floor were built from bare timber, with huge logs supporting the high-vaulted ceiling. Large windows looked out on the black of the night sky. In the center of the room, a fire was roaring within a large stone brick fireplace. One wall was filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, while another held several mounted hunting trophies. Black leather couches sat huddled in circles about the room.

  There was a party going on. There had to be nearly fifty people in the room, all sharply dressed, though there was a lot of variety in style and color. And the diversity didn’t stop with the clothing either—there were party-goers of several different ethnicities, and they appeared to be aged anywhere from about six to eighty-five. There were men and women and some whose gender was ambiguous. Some gathered in circles, talking and laughing, while others lounged on couches and a few more leaned on the balconies of the upper floor, looking down on the party.

  But just because there was diversity didn’t mean there was equality. It wasn’t hard to pick out the more important party-goers by the sizes of their retinues and the way they placed themselves in the room. And it wasn’t difficult to determine who was human and who was not. The humans were snacking on hors d’oeuvres and sipping from champagne flutes. And the vampires, well, they were snacking on the humans.

  I scanned through the photos, looking at the bared throats of the women in scoop-necked dresses and the men in unbuttoned shirts. All of them—all the humans, anyway—bore telltale scars that marked them as bloodslaves. A few lay sprawled across the laps of vampires, eyes closed in ecstasy as their masters and mistresses fed on them.

  “Hell of a party,” I said. “Real wholesome family gathering. You think any of these fine bloodsucking folks knew they were being photographed?”

  “I suspect it didn’t occur to them.” Early stroked his beard as he studied the photos. “Most of them are a little behind the times. They haven’t adapted to digital.”

  I nodded, catching his meaning. You know that old myth about vampires not having reflections? It’s only partially true. A vampire will show up just fine in a pool of still water or an aluminum-backed mirror. It’s silvered-glass mirrors they have a problem with. Silver is antithetical to vampires. It rejects them. Hurts them, if they make the mistake of touching the stuff. Even the light reflected off a vampire’s skin gets distorted when it touches silver.