The Changeling's Ghost (Thirteen Gates #1)

Asher Northcott Stands Up

     The room is dark as death and smells like the room of some cat hoarder we had to take out once because she'd managed to acquire three talking animals, a dwarf manticore, two chimaeras, and the emissary of a pagan deity. Okay, so maybe not that bad, because best I can tell nothing's pissed in it for the last fifty years, but nothing's lived in it, either, and something might have died in it at some point. I'm half afraid to open the ominous shuttered closet in the corner, have been since I got here. Am I going to find another dead kid if I open it?
   
     I fling open the shutters with a triumphant "ha!" to find that, exactly as expected, there is nothing there except a few stuffy dresses that smell of mothballs and cats. Aitamah must sleep here sometimes in cat form. I guess something vaguely living has been in here in the last fifty years... technically. I throw my earbuds at the door in frustration, and when this doesn't work, I proceed to pace the room. I open and close all the drawers to look for lockpicks, check under the bed for loose wood I could use as a blunt implement, and wonder how much it would cost for them to replace the door if I knocked it down.
   
     It's not like I could do anything out there anyways. Sheryl would kill me. Asher would kill me. I scroll down to my favorite playlist and turn it all the way up past the advised levels. I am a responsible adult who usually listens at a moderate volume so that my hearing, critical as it is to gatekeeping, is not impaired, but today I need some extra-strong cooldown.
   
     As Asher might say, the music "fills me up". I hate him for saying that. I want to hate him for saying that. I'm more angry that Asher's not going to say anything stupid to me ever again. I don't even know if I want him to. I just can't get his tear-soaked face out of my head. That's why I keep thinking about it, trying to rewind and rewind over the moment he called me "empty". What's supposed to be there?
   
     The music skips out. My phone is out of batteries. I throw it across the room, but it doesn't even make it to the other wall. Instead, it skids into a corner, and when I go to pick it up (sighing with relief when the 'low battery' graphics appear on an unbroken screen) I see there's a small, two-leafed sprout in the corner of the room. I knew that the house was in mediocre condition, but this seems like the kind of thing you really should have checked out.
   
     I bend down to pick the weed as a hoarse voice whispers, "Tell me I can enter."
   
     "Ha, ha. I'll have you know I'm a professionally trained gatekeeper and the first rule of gatekeeping, which a certain companion of mine so brilliantly ignored, is to never let someone into a room if you don't know their G.I.S.T.-- general abilities, intention, species, and tenuous compliance or lack thereof with the United States government and its laws."
   
     The voice wheezes as if in terrible pain, but all I get back in terms of a reply is a snide "I'll have you know that I've been stalking you for the last few months and the only thing you are is a professional moron."
   
     At this point G.I.S.T. goes out the window. I pluck his plant, which elicits a tiny 'ow'. Twirling it in my fingers, I say, "Stalking me? Wait... this isn't Conway, is it?"
  
     "It depends on what your following response is," says the hole in the wall, angrily. "This burns my skin. If you don't invite me in I'm going to have to cut a hasty retreat and rest assured, no matter what your current preconceptions of me may be, you would do well to grant me permission to enter. Asher's welfare depends on it. Or, perhaps you could come out to me? The top of important thing is that I get your assistance at your earliest possible convenience. By your earliest possible convenience I mean, naturally, right this second, but if I'm asking you for formality I might as well display some."
   
     I knew Asher's brother was a nerd, but I had no idea he was this bad. The kid would have been hung up to the top of a thirty-foot flagpole by his underwear back at the Academy. Wait, is Conway wearing pants? Some fae, especially the nature-y earth and air aligned ones, don't bother to cover up. I might want to get to know him better at some point (not that that matters now that I'm leaving), but there are some things I don't want to know. I think I'm dead out of false bravado laughs at this point, so I concede. "I allow Conway Northcott to enter the room."
   
     A hand reaches through the crack and pulls.Through the ragged, dog-sized hole, crawls Conway Northcott, who rises up to his normal height. His hair is less of a fuzzy ball like Asher's and more of a fluffy sea urchin, extending out in tufts from between two long horns. His ears are elongated and two dark marks sit where spectacles might be, sitting right between two familiar shrewd eyes. His skin is carved with whorls like a tree might have, that is, that I can see over a shawl-like raincoat, and his now-crossed arms are massive bundles of what look like roots, with leaves poking out. Alien as he is, he bears such a striking resemblance to Asher, even in this form, that I do a double take.
  
     "You're wearing pants," I say, brandishing my inactive integral.
   
     "What kind of a non sequitur is that?" he asks, then he looks at my integral. "Did you just let me in so you could ambush me? This is poor form, Washington. I know you're a dirty, underhanded American, but for some reason I still has some semblance of expectations for you. It's good to know that my brother has indeed put all of his faith and affections in a complete twat. However, in all your excitement, it appears you have forgotten to activate your integral." 
   
     "How are you appearing as a fae outside of the first gate?" I ask.
   
     "I'd appear normal to humans, but not gatekeepers-- liminal case, powerful magics. Do you think I would have run had I the ability to not appear as a fae outside the first gate? My situation is extraordinary, as in, both unusual in its singularity and singularly awful." He tilts the air near his nose with a flick of his big vine hands, then says, "Sorry. I'm used to having glasses, but now my vision is perfect."
   
     I gape. "Were you going to anime tilt your glasses at me?"
  
     "You... watch anime?" asks Conway.
   
     "Yeah," I say. He brings his hands up in an almost animal position, like a prairie dog on alert. "Also, thanks for breaking the whole side of the house down. You know, actually, your house is kind of falling apart. Geez. Don't they have Ye Old Magical British Construction Guy around here?"
   
     "It's not my house," Conway cuts me off. "This isn't important. I'm here about Asher. If he goes out there tonight to find me, which he will, he could try anything. He could make a deal with all kinds of forces, or worse, Greta could get him..."
   
     I put a hand to my face. "Or Sheryl."
   
     "The American gatekeeper?"
  
      "The American gatekeeper is right here, buddy," I inform him.
  
      "No, no, I meant the real American gatekeeper," Conway says. He puts his hand out. "I have no doubt this is your fault and as such it disgusts me that I have to collaborate with you, but if this is how things must go, then go they must. Let us make an informal alliance of sorts for the present."
   
     I'm trying not to choke on the sheer weight of his... no. This isn't even him being British. This is just him being an irredeemable nerd. I raise an eyebrow at him. "I haven't said I'm in."
   
     Conway shakes his head. "Washington, Washington. I've been watching you and him since you came here."
  
     "You know, I did hear something about stalking earlier."
  
     "What, did you think I'd let my brother go off alone with a total stranger? I don't think so. I trust you as far as I could throw you, Washington."
   
     "I feel like you could throw me pretty far with the big tree hands."
   
     Conway's fae ears fall. "I'll need to rethink my choice of idiom, then. The point is that I know my brother, and I know that he adores you. To be honest, you've been a better companion to him than I ever have, and I had sixteen years and then some. He's always going to care about you, no matter what he says, and right now? He needs you. He needs us, even if he doesn't want us. I made a terrible mistake and I can't fix it without you, alright? Now can you please help me save my brother?"
   
     "He's my... first friend," I say, then draw my hand back. "But he doesn't want to see me. He doesn't want to see you either. I'm leaving tomorrow. None of this is my business. It's never been my fight. Sheryl's out for blood, but he'll be safe... probably... why does being attached make things so difficult?"
  
      "I don't know," Conway says. "I just know that when I cut myself off, it..."
   
     "Didn't work out then, either," I say. I press my hand against his. It's not quite a tree, but it's not quite flesh, either. I try to give him my best smile. "Alright. Let's go."
   
     Fortunately for us, there is now a sizeable escape hole in the side of the building. I roll through and Conway ducks behind, practically scratching himself against the busted opening several times.
"Where's the first gate?" I ask.
   
     Conway sneaks around the front of the house and his eyes dilate to slits. It's the most faelike I've seen him yet and I'd bet anything that it's exactly how he appeared on the night he beat the daylights out of my main-- I mean, Asher, a person with whom I have no connection, who is going to leave after I save him tonight. Right. I coast through a few more gates, pushing those wheelies right into the dirt. I off-road like a Jeep. Honk honk. We look pretty dashing, if we make an unconventional pair up, but there's still a minor problem...
  
      "Hey, Con, no offense, but do you have any idea what we're looking for?"
   
     Conway sniffs the air. "I can scent my brother from here."
   
     "Is that a fae thing?"
   
     "No, he smells very, very strongly of ash and teenage resentment," Conway growls. "Of course it's a fae thing."
   
     "Are you sure?" I ask, "Because I can smell ash, too." The air is thick with it. In the distance, beneath a shrine, in a cave of some kind, glistens a fire. A howl of human agony escapes it, and for lack of a better description, my blood runs cold. My integrals manifest in my trembling hands, and I dash for the cave, retracting the wheels on my wheelies. My legs are numb as I turn the corner, but it's Conway who dashes past me and enters first.
   
     "Don't you dare touch him," calls Conway down into the cave. "I'm the one you really want."
   
     Well gee, if they just touched Asher, I don't know what all the pyrotechnics are for.

     The second I step foot in the cave, though, looking down on a ginger-haired girl holding several knives and Asher being held to the floor, his flesh physically burning up, I'm pretty sure that the shadowy figure in the corner has done a lot more than touch him.
   
     "A fae and the American gatekeeper, uh--" I stare right into what looks like the face of death, and by death, I mean a deer skull, although he's definitely got a little something around his golden cloak clasp and his ratty clothing. "Ew."
   
     "Gus! Focus!" yells Conway, bowling the disgusting deer figure over, which causes the circle to fly up in ashes.
   
     "I am focused," I yell as I rush forwards. "Hold up!"
   
     Conway jumps atop Herne, tail lashing from beneath the raincoat, but the knife girl sinks her aforementioned blades into his skin and he cries out, large branches erupting from the ground around him. He grabs her by the legs as I move for Bad Touch Deer Man, swinging my nunchucks across his face. Herne ducks the first blow and grabs my integral in his bare hand.
   
     "Amusing," the figure purrs, throwing my integral aside. When I dash for it, he rises up and slams a foot into my back. It feels more like a hoof, and the pain is so intense that a lightning bolt of agony sears through me back. My eyes fill with tears and I inhale deeply, gasping for air out of busted lungs. "What is this 'America' you speak of? What new division of my former ilk has come to smite me now?"
   
     "It's a--" I sputter for a come back as I reach out for my integral, which is just out of my reach. I hear something grinding as he presses harder. "We're-- I--"
   
     "Shove off him, Herne," says a voice from the corner. I've never been happier to hear it. "Or I'll make you sorry."
   
     "I am curious as to how you can speak after I burned your lungs to ash, child," says Herne, smugly. "I believe I'll do what I want, but perhaps I'll take him too. With the power of two Gatekeepers, I could slay the Kept and level your house. Not that this one is all that impressive."

     "Burn this--" I try to loose whatever energy I had earlier, and when blue light sparks from me, Herne doesn't even lift his leg. A terrible sucking noise comes from his skull and recedes to silence.
Slowly, Herne bends down. His breath is like if someone took a trash heap, coated it in dead fish, and then poured four month old milk across the top. "You fancy yourself a knight, don't you, child? Maybe I'll kill you before I handle your liege. It is a favor I wish I'd been granted."

     His skull rattles as he begins to suck something worse than magic out of my body, and I look out towards my integrals to see my fingers receding out of existence. I can't even scream-- he's ripping all the air out of my body.

     "Did you hear me?" asks Asher, and I turn with all my strength just to see him there, integral at the ready, practically shining in the red light of his own arrows. "I said, shove off!"

     With all the fury of his ancestors, the aim of a practiced Gatekeeper, and enough strength for ten men, Asher Northcott, trembling on his bad leg but nonetheless standing, Asher Northcott shoots Herne in the face.