Ghost Light

Chapter 13

Ceff and I walked together, weaving through rush hour crowds heading home or out for a night on The Hill. I doubted any of the people around us shared our destination. We were on our way to church.

We kept the steeple of Sacred Heart in sight and walked until the stone façade of the church loomed above us. The church sat on the highest point of Harborsmouth real estate. I could see fog rolling into the harbor below to the east, the result of fast dropping temperatures. The sun hadn’t fully set to the west, but lights were already twinkling on across the city.

I took the stone steps two at a time and hurried inside, Ceff a steady presence at my back. We often came here for happier reasons, but tonight we needed answers and we needed them quickly. I only hoped that Father Michael could be made to hurry. The priest was a gifted scholar, but tended toward lengthy, enthusiastic rants when asked about supernatural history.

I let my eyes adjust to the low light provided by two small lamps. One of the lamps had a flickering bulb that made our shadows dance along the narthex walls. It didn’t take long for my half-fae eyes to focus. As soon as I was sure I wouldn’t bang my shin on a stone bench or crack my head on a pillar, I hurried out of the lobby area and into the nave. As I suspected, the church was empty of parishioners. The only creature in sight was a sleeping unicorn.

I sprinted down the center aisle toward the altar where Galliel was resting. Even in sleep, the unicorn gave off an unearthly light. I liked to think it was the shining purity of his heart, but don’t tell anyone I said that. Hanging around Galliel always turns me into a sap. Who knew my kryptonite would have doe eyes and gave wet nosed snuffles?

Galliel cracked an eye open and chuffed happily as I knelt beside him. It always amazed me to see his white, marble body come to life. Galliel was beautiful, from his long flowing tail to the tip of the spiral horn on his head. He was also the closest thing I had to a pet.

The unicorn raised his regal head, sniffed, and licked my face. I didn’t even flinch. Galliel was the one creature I wasn’t afraid to touch.

“Glad to see you too, big guy,” I said.

I smiled and handed him a sugar cube from my pocket. All fae like sweets and Galliel was no exception. He snarfed up the treat and chewed it noisily.

“He’ll get fat, you keep feeding him like that,” Father Michael said.

Father Michael harrumphed as he stood, appearing from where he’d been bent over behind a podium. The priest carried a stack of books and pamphlets, his glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose.

“Can unicorns become overweight?” Ceff asked. “I’ve never heard of an obese unicorn before.”

“An intriguing notion,” Father Michael said. “It begs the question; do other fae gain weight while in horse form? I would rather like to know. I read a treatise once on kelpie anatomy, but the scribe’s penmanship left much to be desired. I’m sure you could assist with…”

Mab’s bones, they had already started. It always began with an innocent question or remark from Ceff, whom Michael was entranced with, and then the mad priest would be off on a tirade of wild hypotheses and theories. Normally, I would ignore their conversation and sneak off with Galliel, but not tonight.

The lives of dozens of fae children were at stake.

“A study of fae anatomy will have to wait,” I said. I sighed, standing and walking away from Galliel. “This isn’t a social call. We’re on a case.”

“It is true, Father,” Ceff said. “We are trying to locate over thirty missing children.”

The priest fumbled with the books and pamphlets, setting them on a nearby pew. His hands fluttered to his head where they ran like spiders through thinning hair.

“What can I do to assist in your search?” he asked. “You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t think I could be of help.”

It was true. The purpose of my visit was information. I placed a hand on my stomach, wishing I could push away the guilt beginning to settle there. Asking others for help didn’t make me feel like much of a hero, but it was part of the job. Stomping through the case on my own would only get myself, or those kids, killed.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I need to know everything you have on mass abductions of fae children and anything on a musician who can attract both people and rats with his music.”

“Sounds like an enchanted instrument,” Father Michael said. He tilted his head to the side, tapping his chin. “Do you know what kind of instrument this musician plays?”

“Woodwind,” I said. “A flute or panpipe, I think.”

Father Michael took off in a flurry of long arms and legs, his robes flapping out behind him like wings. Ceff and I followed close on his heels. The priest led us to his study where he searched the shelves.

He pulled down two large books, one a collection of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and set them on his desk, pushing aside a pile of yellowed scrolls. Pages fluttered and the priest bobbed his head as he found what he was looking for.

“See here, and here,” he said, pointing.

The first book featured a painting of a man in traditional fool’s raiment playing a flute while children danced along behind him. The second book showed an engraving of dancing skeletons alongside a medieval painting of robed, religious figures dancing hand in hand with the dead.

Cold fingers ran along my spine. Was there a connection between the dancing children and the dancing dead?

“The Danse Macabre,” Ceff whispered.

“Yes,” Father Michael said, head bobbing up and down. “The Danse Macabre, or Dance of Death, is a common motif found in many medieval churches and works of art. Some, like this engraving here, depict the dancing dead. While more often the works will show a circle of alternating live and dead dancers.”

“What does that have to do with this musician?” I asked.

“That, my dear, is The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” Father Michael said.

The name vaguely rang a bell.

“But The Piper is only legend,” Ceff said. “A fiction of the Brothers Grimm.”

“Ah, you know more than most that there is often truth to be found in fairy tales,” Father Michael said. “Yes, many readers believe this to be only a cautionary tale, but for centuries scholars have found evidence of the true tragedy of Hamelin.”

“Tragedy?” I asked. That didn’t sound good.

“The story says that the town of Hamelin was overrun with rats,” he said. “The Pied Piper was hired to rid the town of the vermin. He used his flute to compel the rats into the river where they drowned. But when The Pied Piper returned to collect the agreed upon payment, the townspeople refused.”

“A bargain was made,” Ceff said.

“Yes, part of the cautionary tale,” Father Michael said. “People should always honor their side of a bargain.”

My chest tightened at the mention of bargains. I’d made my share of bargains with more than one powerful fae. One day they’d come to collect.

“Before The Pied Piper left Hamelin, he vowed to get his revenge,” Father Michael said. “Later that night, he returned while the townspeople were asleep in their beds. Again he played his flute, but this time he led away the city’s children, who were never to be seen again. At least, that’s how the fairytale goes.”

“What really happened?” I asked.

“Well, that is the matter of much debate,” he said. “There is evidence that the city of Hamelin truly did lose its children. A remnant of a document in the town records from the year 1384 states, ‘It has been 100 years since our children left.’ In addition to this document, there was a stained glass window in the Church of Hamelin that told the story, but it was destroyed in 1660.”

“The fae don’t like their secrets told to humans,” I said.

“No, indeed, they do not,” he said. “As you have guessed, I believe The Piper to be fae. The haunting, hypnotizing melodies of faerie music are known to hold power over mortals. Most humans become so overwhelmed that they are compelled to join the endless dance.”

“The endless dance,” I said, shaking my head. “But I thought the endless dance only took place in faerie rings and around burial mounds.”

“Of course, that’s why he’s taking the children to the graveyards and cemeteries,” Ceff said. “He doesn’t need a faerie ring.”

“But how is he charming full blooded faeries?” I asked.

“I believe he made a deal with a demon,” Father Michael said.

Beady eyes gleamed behind his glasses. The crazy priest was obsessed with demons. I let out a heavy sigh.

“What kind of deal?” I asked.

“I don’t know the terms, but I can guess what he wanted,” Father Michael said.

He pointed at a figure standing outside the circle of dancers in the Danse Macabre painting. The demon—for it was definitely a demon with red skin, cloven hooves, pointy tail, and horns—was holding a flute to his lips.

“A flute to force both the living and the dead to dance?” I asked.

“Some scholars say that the Danse Macabre is just an allegory demonstrating the fragility of life,” he said.

“But?” I asked.

“But I believe the Danse Macabre is real,” he said. “And that this flute can compel anyone, dead or living, mortal or fae, to join the endless dance.”

“Okay, say this obsessed faerie piper makes a deal with a demon for the magic flute,” I said. “Why would he want to force the faerie children into the dance? They may be immortal, but they’ll tire eventually. No one can survive the endless dance.”

“That I don’t know,” he said. “But I’d venture a guess that the master of the city may know something.”

“The vampire master of the city?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “His knowledge of raising the dead is unsurpassed. Not only do the most powerful vampires infuse the dead with their essence to create ghoul servants, but they also have the experience of their own un-death to draw upon. Ask the vampire master of the city what would happen if faerie children and the dead were to dance the Danse Macabre together, because if The Pied Piper is using the demon flute to lead the children to the endless dance, then the dead will join the dance. Perhaps he can divine The Pied Piper’s purpose and have some insight as to how he can be stopped.”

“Okay, I was planning on paying the vamps a visit anyway,” I said. “I’ll add your questions to the list.”

The priest shifted from one foot to the other.

“I wish that I could tag along, but vampires detest priests, for obvious reasons,” he said. He gestured to the crosses adorning his stole and the gold cross at his neck. “If you discover anything, you will tell me, won’t you? For my research?”

“Sure,” I said. “We should get going.”

I looked up at the stained glass windows high overhead. The light filtering through the glass was faint. Was it dusk already? I started to reach for my phone to check the time, when a dark shape flit past one of the ruby, red panes of glass.

Could a bird have become trapped inside the church? The shadowy form rushed back and forth past colored glass, flying closer to a brass light fixture with each pass. The jerky pacing looked frenzied and I worried that the bird would harm itself trying to find a way to escape. Its movement appeared abnormal from my vantage point. Hopefully it hadn’t already injured a wing.

I squinted, trying to get a better look as it flew closer to the wall sconce and into the dim light. As if sensing my gaze, the creature stopped mid-flight and turned to face me. I froze, jaw dropping open.

That was no bird.

The faerie, for it was definitely fae, appeared similar to a small, three-legged lamb—if lambs could fly. Tiny wings sprouted from its sides like a chimeric My Little Pony. At least it didn’t have butterflies or rainbows tattooed on its butt.

“Um, you do know you have a faerie flying around up there, don’t you?” I asked.

I pointed toward the ceiling where the lamb-like creature had begun jumping through the rafters. The faerie seemed content now that it had been seen. It bleated happily as it leapt over a large, beautifully carved beam. I’d never seen anything like it, and I’ve seen a lot.

“What?” Father Michael asked. “Galliel is our only resident fae…Oh.”

The priest’s face paled and perspiration beaded on his upper lip.

“A Grim,” Ceff said, in hushed tones.

“You guys can see it?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Father Michael said. He sagged, his robes suddenly seeming too heavy for his thin frame. “I can see it clearly.”

Father Michael turned to me, eyes wide and watery. Hair prickled on the back of my neck. Something was definitely wrong.

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Is it dangerous?”

I stroked the outline of my knives, still hidden beneath the sleeves of my leather jacket, and widened my stance. I kept an eye on the faerie as it played in the shadows. It was smaller than a real lamb, about the size of a large housecat, and covered in crimped wool the color of milk. The feathers covering its wings were a pale shade of blue.

The thing was adorable, but I knew better than to trust appearances. Some of the deadliest fae were cute as a baby panda bear.

“No, it’s not dangerous,” he said. “At least, not to us.”

“Then why the long faces?” I asked. “You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Ceff winced, eyes haunted as they followed the faerie.

“A church grim is not predatory,” Father Michael said. “They are guardians, attached to a particular church, who watch over our flock. But to see a grim means that one of my flock is in danger. They are harbingers of death…the death of a child.”

I staggered backward, shaking my head.

“No, that can’t be,” I said. “I won’t let anything happen to those kids. We’re going to find them.” I took a shaky breath and whispered. “We have to find them.”

I had promised all of the children’s parents that I would bring their kids home safe.

Galliel pressed against me, nuzzling his face under my arm until I stroked his head. Running my fingers through his mane helped me focus. The appearance of the church grim was upsetting, but I wasn’t ready to give up on those kids.

The future isn’t written in stone. Omens and portents have been wrong before. I had to believe that we had the power to make things right.

“I will continue to search through my library,” Father Michael said. “Perhaps there is something in one of my books that can help. In the meantime, ask the vampires about The Pied Piper of Hamelin and the Danse Macabre. There is a chance that the undead may be able to deduce his whereabouts.”

I glanced up to see that the stained glass windows had grown dark. The sun had finally set. It was time to interrogate some vamps.