Eine Kleine Nacht Maggie (Maggie MacKay Magical Tracker Book 9) Read online

  He multitasked pouring the next beer and yelling at me. "Listen, you knew what this place was when you were hired. Gustav only brings on people who understand the risk. You're either here until midnight or your dried husk of a body is thrown into the trash can over there." He pointed to a line of industrial trashcans along the wall of the tent. "Our Other Side crowd pays just as much for their celebration as these jerks pay for Oktoberfest, so you treat them with respect."

  "Right," I replied, lying through my teeth. "Listen, I won't bug out, but I gotta go talk to someone in the band a little later. Is that cool?"

  "You can take your fifteen-minute break when they break," said the bartender. "But you better be back here the moment they take that stage again or your ass is grass."

  Of course a meathead like him thought that was a terrifying threat to make. I suppressed my eye roll and grabbed a couple more glass steins to haul out.

  Meanwhile, Killian had worked his way to the front of the tent. People were laughing and smiling as he placed his hand on their shoulders and tipped the bottom of their beer mugs up as they drank. If this whole tracking thing didn't work, maybe I should get him a job as a cruise director.

  Suddenly, the band raised their glasses for one last toast and I heard the lead musician in the microphone say, "We'll be back in fifteen minutes. Make sure to refill your glasses!"

  Killian was at the base of the stage before I could put down my empty beer steins. I race-walked my way over to head Mortimer off at the pass. But Killian had the situation well in hand. His arm was around our old, mildly-maniacal friend and Killian was leading him out of the tent by the time I arrived.

  "MAGGIE!" Mortimer cried out with delight. His eyes were wide and he didn't blink, and his smile was plastered across his face like a Halloween mask. "Long time, no see! Did you get my postcard about this show? I can't remember if I sent you a postcard or a Facebook event invite."

  "I don't really do social media," I replied.

  "She does not really do 'social' at all," Killian confessed.

  "But you came!" Mortimer exclaimed. "Well, the little birds must have told you. Can you believe this wondrous opportunity?"

  "I'm really surprised not to see you on the Empress Adelaide," I remarked, pushing aside the tent flap and steering our party towards the exit in the chain link fence.

  "Well, between you and me," Mortimer said, leaning in so that no one would overhear. "It was a bit of a drag. There was no magic!"

  "Literal magic? Or, like, artistic magic? Because I think, for you, a lack of literal magic might be a good thing."

  "Bah!" said Mortimer, waving me away. "I was throwing my talents away!"

  "Again, sometimes talents are best kept to one's self," I said, remembering how his talents almost tore down the dimensional boundaries between Earth and the Other Side. "You don't want to make people feel bad that they could never be as good as you."

  "It is my duty not to stifle my gifts so that others cannot see my shine."

  "Right. So, most of the time that is the case with most people, but with you, Mortimer, you are SO good..."

  He wasn't even listening to me, though. He had been drawn back into the doorway of the festival tent and was staring into the room with starry eyes.

  I glanced at Killian and he glanced at me. No good ever came from Mortimer being enraptured by something.

  "Whatcha looking at, Mortimer?" I asked, as lightly and nonchalantly as I could muster.

  "It is almost time."

  "Almost time for what?" I asked.

  "The Alpine horn!" he exclaimed.

  "Maybe a nice cowbell," I suggested. "I bet you would love playing a cowbell SO much more than an alpine horn."

  Killian swept into the conversation. He stood beside Mortimer. "What shall occur when you play the alpine horn?" he asked.

  "Ah!" said Mortimer in ecstasy at the thought. "They shall all come to life!"

  "Who shall come to life?" asked Killian.

  "The army," said Mortimer. "Given the gift of breath and movement through the majesty of my music. No artist could ask for anything greater!"

  "Sure," I said, sliding in. "But maybe the focus should be more on enlivening people's souls rather than bringing... an army... to Torrance..."

  "Ah! But don't you see, Maggie? That is exactly what I shall do! I am giving these poor creatures souls!"

  "Are you sure I can't convince you to try the cowbell?" I said. "There's a really nice alpine shop that gave us our costumes and Killian saw these AMAZING cowbells."

  Mortimer turned and looked at me. I could see the wheels in his brain processing what I had said, deciphering the blasphemy I was espousing. And then suddenly he shrugged and said, "Sure! Perhaps my life needs more cowbell!"

  I couldn't believe it had worked so easily. "Um... sure."

  "But we have to be quick. I have to be back before the break is over."

  If I had my way, I'd break something across his head and make sure he never got back to that bandstand, but you gotta pick your battles. "Sure! Let's go now! It is just across the parking lot."

  We sidled out of the exit and walked across the parking lot to the Swiss village.

  "Such a gorgeous night!" said Mortimer, looking up at the sky. "Now, I have been instructed I must wait for the Harvest Moon, but I can feel the magic growing. I can feel the Muse saying to me, 'Play, Mortimer! Play!'"

  "No, I'm pretty sure that what the Muse is saying to you is, 'Take the night off. Naps are great!'" I informed him.

  Killian put a friendly arm around Mortimer. "Maggie is quite in tune with those sorts of forces. You should listen!"

  Mortimer looked at Killian, puzzled for a moment. "You've changed."

  "Ah," said Killian, pulling his arm away. He glanced at me. Both our brains were scrambling as we tried to think of a logical excuse to explain his missing elfin spark. Preferably, one that did not mention a locket or an elfin queen stalker.

  "Did you cut your hair?"

  "Yes!" Killian replied, exhaling with relief and smoothing his hair beneath his hat. "Yes, I endured a grooming at the bequest of my people." He leaned over conspiringly. "One does not always have an opportunity to freshen up when one travels with World Walkers."

  "Hey!" I chirped up. "I will have you know it isn't my fault they don't have welcome centers on either side of the border."

  Mortimer nodded his head in understanding at Killian. "Fighting the natural order of the universe does take up so many hours of the day."

  I had pulled up in front of the guys, but glanced over my shoulder, wondering what Mortimer meant when he referred to us opposing the natural order of things. Because if the natural order involved being the blue plate special for a gang of vampires, I was darn okay with taking up arms and, by opposing, end them. I most definitely wanted to be.

  "I shall have to get the name of your barber," said Mortimer, pulling up the sides of his long fringe of hair. "It makes you a little less glowy."

  "Less 'glowy'?" I clarified.

  "He used to have a halo around his head or something," Mortimer noted. "Now his hair sits flat against his head." He snapped his finger as if figuring out what it was. "Psychic frizz! Your barber has learned how to tame psychic frizz! That is quite an accomplishment." Mortimer held out a handful of his own hair. "I mean, look."

  I didn't have the heart to tell him that his issue was more related to static electricity than anything happening in the ether plane, and a bottle of Argan oil would solve his problems better than anything else.

  "So, the store is right around the corner," I said to change the subject. We walked under the metal arch for the shopping area. The sign squeaked as the wind rocked it in its rusty chain holders. The white, Germanesque buildings were dark and deserted. Not a soul wandered the streets, which was creeping me out. Usually, you'd at least spot a couple potheads who had tried to sneak off for a quick toke and a screw or something. But not even the reprobates were willing to come here for some privacy. I figu
red if even the humans could sense how screwed up things were, things were screwed to the max.

  "Aw, man..." I groaned, looking in the window like I was super surprised. "Looks like the shop is closed. I bet they went out for ice cream. Let's wait for them to come back!" I offered. I realized I was suggesting we wait thirteen hours for the door to open, but I was cool if it meant keeping Mortimer out of the band.

  He started tugging on both earlobes and looked around nervously. "I don't know. I really don't know... I'm supposed to be back after the break."

  "Oh, I'm SURE they'll wait for you," I said, clapping him on the back. "I mean, look at Killian and me. We have to get to work, too. We'd hate to miss our shift, wouldn't we, Killian."

  "Absolutely!" he answered. "I am most dedicated to employment. I am looking forward to more dancing with chickens."

  "Chicken dance, Killian," I muttered.

  "Perhaps we should see if we can find the proprietor," offered Mortimer as he began wandering down the courtyard.

  "Sure!" I replied, dashing to catch up with him. I reminded myself not to dash too hard. This skirt didn't need any wind catching the edges.

  "Yes, yes..." he said to himself. Then he pointed and his face lit up. "It looks like someone is home! Perhaps they can direct us."

  Mortimer took off at a quick lope. I looked over at Killian and we both were having the same thought. In a place this deserted, who was hanging around?

  Mortimer had almost disappeared as we chased him down the faux street and turned the corner. Light was pouring out of the windows of a large building that looked a bit like a ski chalet. It had the wooden pitched roof and rows of darkly stained boxes beneath each window. The windows themselves were fitted with colored glass, so we couldn't see in.

  "Oh, someone here is sure to know!" said Mortimer, reaching for the turned metal handle on the heavy door.

  "NO!" both Killian and I shouted in unison.

  But that idiot wasn't listening to either of us. When a guy who could end the world with a bad note wanders into a bad place, it behooves a person not to let them out of their sight. In a split second, Killian and I were after him.

  We stepped inside and ducked. Originally, I think this building was a reception hall or restaurant or something. There was a hostess stand made out of carved wood, a half-pony wall which provided Killian and I some protection, and some carved pillars holding up the entrance to the main room. The main room had a wooden dance floor, surrounded by a bank of booth tables. But right now, the floor show wasn't particularly anything I wanted to catch.

  The room was swarming with vampires and faerie folk. I had never seen the two worlds get along together and, frankly, I didn't particularly want to see them get along again.

  The faeries were alien-like creatures. Their limbs were skeletal. Their eyes were black. Their hair hung white from their head. Some looked like rotting tree stumps brought to life. Some oozed along the floor, leaving a sparkling trail of bioluminescent rot and mold.

  The faeries seemed to be working with the vampires to turn the room into a throne room of sorts. There was a carved, German throne high upon a dais. Eerie blue lights flecked the ceiling and white flames sprang from the floor candelabras. Swirling across the ground was a carpet of thick fog, but it parted in the middle to reveal a red runner leading up to the throne.

  But it was not a naturally red rug.

  Dying the carpet was the vampires' arts and crafts project. Emphasis on the "dying" part.

  They had three girls with them. I recognized them as the girls who had been flirting with Killian at the beginning of the night: the one with the permanent marker eyebrows, the one with the trashy tank top, and the one with the four-inch high hair.

  They weren't in pain. Thank the gods for small blessings and that the vampires had hit them with a glamour whammy. The girls were staring straight into the vampires' eyes as their slit wrists bled scarlet all over the runner. The little bit of untouched white material soaked it up. The runner ran from the dais to the door and except for this last small bit, the entire thing was a dark, brick red. I hated to think how many lives had been taken to stain the length of that carpet.

  Who was this a throne room for? I wondered. What ruler's footsteps were cushioned with the blood of innocent girls?

  "What the fuck did Trovac get us into..." I whispered under my breath.

  Killian gave me a shove to remind me it was really, really important the vampires didn't overhear us.

  Mortimer, however, went wandering into the room, pretty as you please, without a care in the world. The fact no one moved to eat him seemed to indicate everyone knew exactly who he was and what he could do.

  "Mortimer! Should you not be playing in the tent?" hissed a bat-like faerie. Perhaps this creature was the evolutionary jump between faerie and vampires.

  "I should," said Mortimer, looking around in confusion as if unable to remember exactly why he was here.

  "May I help you with anything? Anything to make our most honored guest feel more comfortable?"

  "Hmmm..." Mortimer hummed, still trying to remember why he was there.

  I prayed with every fiber of my being that his answer wasn't something along the lines of "well, my friends Killian and Maggie MacKay brought me here..."

  "I just can't remember," said Mortimer. "There was something." He suddenly snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up. "I need a cowbell!"

  "A cowbell?" reiterated the faerie. He looked like he wanted to kill Mortimer, but turned to his brethren for support. "You came here and abandoned the members of your band because you need a cowbell?"

  "Yes! To ring!"

  The mood of the room began to shift and I could see the faeries were having a hard time containing themselves from playing ding, dong, ditch with Mortimer's head.

  But they composed themselves. "Of course. We shall ensure you have a cowbell. To ring."

  I jerked my head towards the door to indicate we needed to get the fuck out of here before we were turned into the afternoon snack break.

  "How lovely!" I heard Mortimer say. "I shall have to tell my friends we don't have to wait for the store to open."

  "Friends?" asked one of the vampires. He began sniffing the air. Even though he was dead, even I could hear the life come into his voice. "Who are these friends?"

  "OH... you know... what's her name... and the guy."

  "We need to go now," I hissed at Killian.

  "Whom are you speaking of?" the vampire asked with a little more insistence. "Your faerie brethren shall not hurt your friends." The unspoken words, however, was that the vampires would have no problem acting as the heavies.

  As a pack, they stood up, leaving the spent girls to bleed out their last on the carpet. They all turned to look at Mortimer.

  But poor, clueless Mortimer. It didn't even dawn on him that things were not right. "Oh, I left them around the corner... I really should let them know where I am," said Mortimer, who began wandering back our direction.

  "NOW!" I said to Killian.

  We didn't have time to sneak out. We didn't have time to do things carefully. We had only a couple workable stakes between us and were both flashing a whole lot of flesh. We ran out.

  "BENCH!" I shouted at Killian. We both grabbed an end and tossed it in front of the door. The vampires were already trying to bust through. It wasn't going to hold long, but all we needed was a head start.

  "To the hotel," I directed, pointing to the safety of our rooms. "We gotta get across a threshold."

  We tore off down the alleyway. It sounded like they had broken through. Or perhaps decided to use the service entrance. Either way, Killian and I were fucked. I ripped my stake out of my bodice. Killian looked at me strangely.

  "What? You think you're the only person who can whip weapons out of magical places?"

  "I wish I had my staff with me," said Killian, pulling out his own stakes. "I shall attempt to hold them back long enough for you to stake them," he panted.

&nb
sp; "Fuck that shit. You think I'm going to do all the dirty work?"

  "I am wearing authentic lederhosen," he reminded me as we scrambled around another turn. "We shall have to stay here until Christmas if I get them stained."

  I could hear the creatures gaining on us. And it was at that moment, a vampire leaped out of the alley at us and knocked me flat on my ass.

  Listen, you get struck by a vampire going full tilt and you see how long you are able to stay upright. I should have seen him coming, though. It's the way vampires hunt. Circle around and herd your pray into the direction of the trap.

  I wasn't playing that shit though, cleaning bills be damned. The nice thing about a vampire's jaws trying to puncture your neck is that his chest is right there, just waiting to be poked with a silver stake.

  The moment that silver tip struck his heart, he was dead. I pushed his big, dumb body off me in time to see Killian struggling with another one. And Killian's mortality was totally showing. I ran up and slammed my stake into the vampire's ribcage. Killian fell to the ground, heaving. Sweat was pouring from his body, but fortunately no blood.

  "Come on!" I said, grabbing Killian's arm and yanking him to his feet. "We're not safe yet."

  I looked up. A vampire had taken to the sky to get eyes on us. We were SO fucked.

  "I'm totally taking the cleaning bill for this uniform out of your paycheck," I shouted at Killian.

  "I feel like my lungs may burst!" Killian gasped as we ran.

  "What? Little elf who used to be able to run all day and night through the forest is getting tired?" I goaded.

  He growled and tapped into some reserve of energy deep within himself. Figure keeping him focused on hating me would keep him from focusing on how much his body was quitting him.

  I realized how dumb we both were taking this on when Killian wasn't in fighting form. I mean, sure, I had worked alone for two years when my dad had been stuck in the boundary, but I never would have played these odds if I had any idea how much Killian wasn't going to be able to do this. All of his super-human strength, all of his super-human endurance, all of his super-human fight came from the unending flow of the elves and without that reservoir to draw upon, it was me and a "tourist", as Xiaoming so eloquently put it. A tourist, mind you, that I cared for immensely, but someone I had come to rely on having my back in a fight. But now I was going to have to cover both ours. I tried to remind myself that regular humans kill vampires all the time. I mean, not a gang of vampires, but if I could limit the funnel to sending only one or two vampires Killian's way at a time, it could maybe work.