Mortal Voice
an excerpt

Chapter 7
After she finished reading, Liz sat in stunned disbelief. She had not been ready to accept that any part of the two men's story was true. Believing one part opened up the possibility of belief in the rest, and Liz simply wasn't prepared to entertain the possibility that fairies were real. Or that Lacie was really psychic, and had smelled them on her.
“Sis? Is everything okay?” The worry in Kate's voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Did I mess something up by never opening the chest?”
“No, sweetie, no,” Liz said. “The letter was just a little more than I bargained for, I guess.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Liz could hear the constant low rumble of children building to a crescendo in the background. Andy was clearly losing whatever slight control he had over his sisters, and a real whopper of a storm was brewing in the TV room. Even so, here was Kate, asking what she could do to help. What else she could take on for someone else's sake. Liz forced a smile onto her face, and tried to reassure her younger sibling.
“You know, I think it had better just stay between me and Grandpa for right now,” she said. “I'll be fine. Maybe I will go home and play his fiddle and remember him.”
“He'd like that,” Kate said quietly. There was a sheen of tears in her eyes. Grandpa Jared had been just as vocal in standing up for Kate's choices as he had Liz's. Neither of them would likely be the same woman, or as happy, without him.
“First, though, I think I'm going to go and stand your kids on their head.”
Liz put on her Auntie hat and rolled around with her nieces and nephews for a half hour. She tried to tell herself that it was to make sure that Kate believed that nothing was really wrong. She was afraid that it was actually so she didn't have to face her next decision: whether or not to call the number on the business card.
Finally, play time was done. Ren desperately needed a nap, Andy was in his room for shouting at Shelly, and Shelly herself was nagging her mother to finally bake the cookies. Liz decided that one more body in the house was probably more chaos than Kate needed to deal with, so she took her leave. She and Kate promised to get together more often, with Kevin and Tom in tow. They always made that promise, but it never seemed to work out that way. Ren cried and clung to Liz's neck when she got up to get her coat, and had to be pried away. When Liz finally made it out the door, the toddler was already half-asleep, sucking her thumb as she sprawled across her mother's shoulder.
During the drive to St. Paul, Liz's mind was a merry-go-round of impossibilities. Her grandfather may or may not have known the two men who approached her at the faire, but he had certainly known about whatever event they wanted her to attend. She wanted to do what Grandpa Jared was asking of her, but she had trouble with the idea of doing anything with someone who had tried to coerce her with drugs.
Liz rarely went anywhere without her violin. She had gotten jobs because she had the fiddle with her for an unexpected audition. She also loved music for its own sake, and wanted to be able to play any time the situation called for it. Her friends, at least the ones who liked Irish music, loved it. They could always count on her to be up to playing for anything from a dinner guest to a house party.
She decided to stop now and just play while she got her thoughts in order. She left the highway early, and drove to a small park she knew near the Mississippi river. She wanted to be as alone as you can get in a city, so she left her phone behind in the car, and just carried her fiddle case. She left the parking lot and wandered down a neat jogging path through the trees until she came to a wooden bridge crossing a little stream on its way to the infant Mississippi. She left the path and followed the stream to a place where an old tree had fallen over, creating a natural bench.
The bark of the old trunk was wet from recent rain. The close canopies of the standing trees kept the fallen wood from getting too much sunlight. Liz was thankful that she was wearing her most casual jeans. Her rear end was going to be a mess by the time she was done.
She lay her fiddle case down in the grass and leaves, and opened it up. The calling card lay there still. It was fraught with possibilities, and just looking at it made her feel a trifle overwhelmed. The white card was the tip of an iceberg, and she had no way of knowing what was hidden under the waterline. At that moment, she would have given a lot just to know she was not on her way to the bottom. She opened the compartment in the lid of the case where she kept her rosin, and swapped it quickly for the card. Staring at it would be no good for what she wanted to do.
She picked up the violin and it's cleaning cloth. She hadn't yet given it a thorough cleaning after the weekend. She would have to blow out the f-holes and oil it soon. For today, she contented herself with wiping away all the surface dust from the body, and the motes of rosin from the strings and fingerboard. She took special care today, and went over the instrument from top to bottom.
When she was satisfied that the body was clean, she plucked the strings and made sure the fiddle was in tune. Over the past decade she had grown so intimately familiar with the violin that she could almost tell if it was in tune just by the feeling of the vibration in her fingers. She tightened the hairs of her bow, ran it back and forth over the rosin one, two, three times, and set the violin on her shoulder.
“Okay, Grandpa, talk to me. Help me figure out what to do.”
She pulled the bow across the strings, and just enjoyed the feeling of the shoulder rest vibrating against her collar and upper chest. When the feeling was just right, the notes moved beyond the violin and her whole body became part of it. On those days she felt like she couldn't play a sour note. Her fingers were part of the fretboard, and picking them up and putting them down was just a formality. As the sound sank into her, she closed her eyes, and began to play.
She started with traditional Irish fiddle tunes. She played “Crooked Road to Dublin,” “Kiss Me Kate,” “Buckley's Fancy,” and “Maloney's Wife.” The familiar music settled her mind and brought her grandfather intensely to mind. When she first decided to learn to play the fiddle, the old Irish tunes were the first ones that he taught her. “There are some that would say we're not as Irish as we should be,” he told her once, “however Irish that may be. But I think that being truly Irish is less about what percentage of your ancestors come from Eire and more about what you learn, and practice, and pass on.”
Then she moved on to the old time and bluegrass tunes that he had loved just as well. She played “Woodchopper's Breakdown,” “The Devil's Hornpipe,” “Fire on the Mountain,” and “The Big Mule.”
By this time, Liz had not opened her eyes for five minutes or more. She felt totally in tune with the music and the violin. She let her hands go, and they played a tune that came straight from her core without any detours through fakebooks, classrooms, or dace halls. She was still Liz Lexington, so any listener would have called it a fiddle tune after a few seconds of listening. They might even have said it sounded Irish. But it was no tune she had ever been taught, and she would probably never play it again.
Liz used this fugue-like state for most of her really difficult thinking. It was as though occupying her mind and body with the violin took up just enough of her capacity to leave her the ability to think about the subject at hand and nothing else. When she was playing like this, there were never any peripheral concerns to distract her. Fights with Kevin didn't matter. Bills didn't matter. Bandmates didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the music, and whatever she had been focusing on when she began to play.
Today her concern was for the eerie events of the last two days, and what she should do about them. As her private tune went round on her violin, the happenings at the faire and Jared's letter went round her head. And, as the tune changed a bit each time as it repeated, so did her focus. At the beginning, she was preoccupied with Woodrose, and his attempt to fog her mind with his drugs. As she played, however, that fact lost its central place. First, she considered Nettle's comments. She only half remembered them through the haze, but it had been clear that he was not pleased with how Woodrose had gone about talking to her. So it was safe to say that not everyone involved in this situation was of the same opinion on how to proceed. By the end, the most important fact to her was her grandfather's letter, and his assurance that whatever it was, it was important. She would rather give up her arms than his fiddle, but it seemed that it was either give up the instrument or get involved in this mysterious game.
When the tune came to a close, Liz knew what she needed to do. She lowered the violin from its resting place on her shoulder, and held it across her body. Her cheek rested against the scroll and the curves of the body nestled between those of her breasts. She was energized by the music, and at peace in her mind. The feeling of connectedness was so intense, even after the fact, that Liz felt the violin was vibrating still.
When she opened her eyes and looked around, she was shocked to see that the sun was very low in the sky. It was not yet dusk, but sunset wasn't that far off, either. She bent over to return her fiddle and bow to their places in the case, then stood up quickly to return to her car. When she turned around to head back toward the bridge, she caught movement and what looked like a person under the trees out of the corner of her eye. When she turned her head in that direction to see what sort of chance audience she had picked up, there was no one there, and she didn't see anyone leaving the area.
This little wooded area was the result of a landscaper's art, not a remnant of some greater forest. The trees in the park had been planned and planted, and none were that old. There weren't any trunks that would have hidden an adult, or ever an adolescent. The figure she had seen had been far taller and broader than any elementary school child. She should be able to see something, even if it was just the back of an unidentifiable person leaving before she could confront them.
Despite the late summer warmth, she suddenly felt cold.
She hurried back to her car, and locked the doors as soon as she was inside. She scanned the park one last time, but there was no one there except for a young couple out walking their dog, a little poodle with one of those ridiculous half naked haircuts. The figure she had seen had been alone, and she didn't think he could have gotten back out to the main park area without her seeing him anyway.
She started the car and headed back to the highway. Liz was more than ready for a break from the strange, eerie, creepy, or unexpected. What she needed was a night at home, in the company of Kevin, and maybe a couple of their friends. They could watch a silly movie, have a glass or three of wine, and just recharge. She had made her decision. Tomorrow morning she would have her wits about her. Tomorrow morning would be early enough to put it into practice.
When she arrived at the apartment building, she cursed loudly. The lights around her building seemed to be out. There was no street light in the parking lot, no light on above the front porch, and none in the stairwell inside. The trip home had taken long enough for the sun to sink below the roofs of the apartment buildings, and the parking lot and stairwell lay in deep shadow.
“Damn it all, God, didn't I just get through saying I was ready for a break from this kind of thing?” God, as usual, remained silent.
Liz grabbed her fiddle and crossed the parking lot. She kept a wary eye open, but saw no one else moving across the black top. She got to the porch without incident, but had to try three times before she found the right key without the overhead light. It looked like some of the rowdier teen inhabitants of the complex had gotten bored. The light was smashed, and she could hear glass crunching under foot as she opened the door.
Just to add insult to injury, Liz misjudged the placement of the bottom step in the dark and stubbed her toe hard against it. If it had been a festival day, she would have been wearing sturdy boots, but today he just had on canvas slippers. They were like black twins of the ones she had worn to middle school as a girl, and weren't much good for protecting one's toes against bare masonry steps.
She was still swearing under her breath when she reached the first landing on the stairs. She was already planning out her evening. It involved pajamas, a copy of A Knight's Tale, and most of a pack of wine coolers. It also involves swatting Kevin with a rolled up newspaper. He had left the living room lights on again. She knew he wasn't in the apartment because she heard the wine of his table saw while she was on the first floor landing, but there was yellow light streaming out from the crack beneath the front door.
She was still griping at him in her head when she put her foot on the first stair of the second riser, and froze. In the shadows around her door, there were two pairs of eyes, reflecting the dim light from the living room lamp like a cat's eyes. One pair was low to the ground, but the other was nearly as high as the peep hole on her apartment door. What the hell was that big with eyes like that?
She thought about the strange cat they had seen at the camp site on Sunday morning. It was just about the perfect size to have eyes at the level of the lower pair. Liz didn't even want to find out what it had brought along this time. She began to back away slowly, hoping not to attract its attention or trigger any predator reflexes. She hadn't gotten halfway across the landing when she heard a low growl, and both pairs of eyes started toward her.
Liz gave up all attempts at an orderly withdraw. She turned and raced down the first flight of steps. She heard a heavy thud on the landing behind her, then felt a sharp pain in her back and went sprawling down the last three steps and slid across the tiled entry way. She came to rest by the front door when her shoulder came to rest against the community fire extinguisher the super kept there for emergencies. She grabbed it and held it before her as he turned around.
The metal cylinder was the only thing that saved her. The cat was there, looking twice as frightening and unreal alive as it had dead. It's wicked curved talons raked over the fire extinguisher twice in quick succession before Liz's head was truly clear from the fall. She swung the device at the cat, causing it to pull back momentarily. The other figure was still coming down the stairs. Liz couldn't see it properly, but the footsteps sounded human. She thought about running out the front door, but didn't think she could get far before the cat caught her.
The workshop! Kevin was down there still, and they could bar the door and call the police. If worst came to worst, there were hammers, saws, and any number of sharp things they could try to use to hold the attackers off.
Liz started to back down the steps to the basement. The violin case hung on its strap over her shoulder, and she kept the extinguisher between her and the menacing cat. Acting on a sudden inspiration, she took a particularly violent swing at the feline, then used its momentary withdrawal as an opportunity to pull the pin. She aimed the nozzle at the cat and let loose a blast of foam in its face.
It worked as well as she could have hoped. The cougar screamed, a disturbingly human sound, and pawed at its face. Whoever was approaching let loose an angry-sounding stream of a language that Liz did not recognize. Then, he spoke to her.
“You are going to suffer for that, meat.” The voice had a high pitched singsong quality, not unlike a cat's meow. “I will no longer be content to take the stick from you. Now, you are going to suffer.”
He had left the basement light alone, and Liz was able to make out some details as he headed down the stairs. She could see that all his clothing was leather as he made his way down the steps into the light. Liz couldn't see his face until he stepped entirely from the stairs. She had been backing along the hallway as he descended, but was briefly frozen from shock. His face was mostly human, but subtly wrong. His eyes tilted up at the outside corners, and the inner corners were too long, and ran almost to the bridge of his nose. His nose was flat, and his mouth had pale thin lips that were pulled back into a snarl. The teeth it exposed were very white, and pointed. His hair was the same mottled gray, brown and black of the cat.
He stared into her eyes and continued to advance. Liz was nearly in his arm's reach when she realized she was near hypnotized and jumped backwards. The strange man laughed at her, a loud and mocking sound.
“There, you see? I nearly have you already.”
“Shut up,” she shot back. She continued to back up. She was just passing there own storage area. One of Kevin's old swords was inside, but she would never get the lock open before he had her.
The man reached out his hand to her. He was wearing some sort of glove-weapon. Curved claws sat on the end of each finger. They were stained a dark brown. “I take it back, monkey. Give me the talisman, and I will go. I cannot hold what you did against you. You are no possum, to lay down like you are dead. Just give me the bag, and you will live.”
“I said shut up! Kevin! KEVIN! I need help, baby!” Her voice became a shriek at the end of the sentence, but otherwise she kept her composure. She stopped giving ground, and thrust her improvised weapon into the cat-man's face. He batted it aside, but his advance lost a bit of its arrogant assurance.
She attacked again, this time swinging the extinguisher from side to side. There wasn't enough room for a proper swing, however, and the strike was much too slow. He sidestepped it, and raked the claws of his right hand down the outside of her left arm. He followed up quickly with an overhand strike at her face, and once again Liz found herself desperately trying to fend off an attacker with the body of the extinguisher.
Just when she wasn't sure she could hold the canister up anymore, Kevin appeared beside her and got her attacker's attention with a wild swing of a two pould sledgehammer. The cat-man instantly turned on Liz's lover, and left a deep gash on Kevin's face by his eye with one quick swing.
Liz had just enough strength and presence of mind remaining to take advantage of the opportunity. She thrust the butt end of the canister as hard as she could against her assailant's head. He was knocked off balance, and his head caromed off the cinder block wall of the hallway.
Kevin swung again, an overhand blow that impacted on the cat-man's chest below his collar bone. The invader fell back several feet, then came to a stop with his right hand over his left breast where Kevin had hit him. His head was bleeding from striking the wall. He glared at them with a look full of hate, and extended one clawed finger toward them. He shouted something in the language he had spoken on the stairs, and turned to run back toward the entryway.
Kevin started after him, but Liz dropped the extinguisher and held him back. “No, Kevin. We have no idea who else is out there. Maybe he's just going for help. Let's go back to the shop and call the police.” He turned to look at her, and she was that his eyes were wild. “Come on, honey. We're both hurt. Let's let the professionals handle it.”
He nodded, and let the hand holding his hammer fall down by his side. He laughed. “Maybe you should drop the 'Welan' and call me 'Thor' from now on.”
“You can be my thunder god and show me your hammer all you want - after we're safe.”
The locked themselves into the wood shop. Liz collapsed on one of the stools at Kevin's workbench while he called the police on his cell phone. She half listened as he explained what had happened. Once she felt some strength coming back into her legs, she took Kevin's first aid kit down from the wall and started treating their cuts as best she could.
Kevin had just put a sterile gauze pad over the cut on her back. She pulled the shredded remains of her tee back down so she did not scandalize the police when they arrived. Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone.
“Who are you calling?” Kevin asked.
“I'm calling the number on the card.” It had burned itself into her memory. She didn't need to get it out of her violin case.
“What?”
“There was a letter. There is definitely something going on, and Grandpa was part of it. I was going to wait until morning, but this is ridiculous. I want answers.”
“Why do you think this nut has anything to do with it?”
“He wanted the violin, Kevin. Before you got there, he told me he'd let me go if I gave it to him. That can't be a coincidence.”
“Oh.” Kevin sounded lost.
Liz's heart ached for him. She knew exactly how he felt. She wanted to hold him, and tell him it was going to be alright, but who was going to do that for her?
She dialed the number, and held the phone up to her ear. It rang twice, then a smooth old man's voice on the other end said, “Good evening, Liz. My name is Gartner.”