Page 24 of Darro

“If you’re planning to use it on that bunch you cursed in that Scottish monstrosity of yours, they can’t pass through the barrier and come to you, just like you can’t go to them. Also, they can’t die.” She picked up one vial, studied it, and then put it back. “Unless you’ve captured a melia willing to break the enchantment, of course, in which case you should probably first go to Mars, do it remotely, and then plan on living there for a few eons.” She chuckled. “Or maybe Kepler-1606b would be better. At least that one’s probably habitable.”

“Aosda already nagged me about the spell backlash,” Bodach assured her. “I don’t need to relocate because the enchantment can never be broken. What I need is to enslave everyone inside the spell trap so I can have them search for something on my behalf. If they’re still alive that’s fine. I just need helpers I can control who won’t give me grief about it.”

“Every enchantment can be broken, but fine. Sounds like what you need is a zed army.” She reached into the mass of vials and drew out one that was gleaming black and had a small scroll attached. “Feed this to your bug before it crosses over into the pocket universe, and then cast the spell on the scroll. Your mama spider will contain the magic while her progeny bite the prisoners and turn them into the zed. Then as long as mama remains alive and intact they’ll do your bidding forever.”

“Will the enchantment heal any harm they suffer after they’re enslaved?” he asked.

“Sure, if that’s what it’s supposed to do, but it won’t cure them of being zed.” She frowned. “Wait a minute. You didn’t screw up the enchantment governing this place, did you? Because that would be bad.”

He kept his expression bland. “Oh, I’d never do that.”

After he thanked the giantess, he poured some tea for her before listening to the latest gossip she’d heard about Elphyne. His parents had been deposed by a turncoat goblin general who imprisoned them in a cell of eternal torment, which would torture them to the brink of death before reviving them completely. Apparently his mother was enjoying herself immensely, but his father had already begun bargaining for his release out of boredom. At the moment the general had arranged to take command of his parents’ army, and was dickering over extended use of their lands as hunting grounds.

Just before Bodach was about to take his leave, Mirry invited him to have a look at her bed chamber, which she had also just redecorated.

“I love the look of lavender, but it clashes with my eyes,” she said as she threw open the huge white doors, revealing the interior of a room with enormous furnishings and a blazing hearth. “I’ve also been bored since my last visit to Willow Creek. Have to help keep up the local tourist trade there, you know. I promised Patterson and Gimlin that I would when I spared them for filming me.”

“You’re always too nice to mortals.” Bodach squinted. “But I like the orange-red color scheme. Very tropical.”

“Also hides the stains when I lose my temper.” She hurried over to the bed, making the walls and floor shake, and drew back the nectarine-colored coverlet. Beneath it the bound reporter Bodach had abducted sat up and let out a muffled scream. “Hmmm. Cute, but a little noisy, Goblin.”

“You should keep something stuffed in its mouth,” he advised her, but she had already pulled off the duct tape.

“What the hell are you? My name is Jake–” The rest of what he intended to say turned into a shriek as his blindfold came off.

“I hope it doesn’t puke and piss all over the place like the last one,” Mirry said, and then crouched down to look into the reporter’s unblinking eyes. “Yes, I’m very large and hairy. That’s why I can’t hunt your kind anymore; I’m tired of people taking pictures and calling me Bigfoot.” She lifted her leg to show him a foot the size of a surfboard. “I don’t think my feet are that large, do you?”

The reporter swallowed hard and slowly shook his head.

“I also can’t get to sleep unless someone tells me a bedtime story,” she said. “Don’t make me lose my temper with a lot of questions you already know the answer to, okay?”

Jake looked around and nodded.

“This one might actually last a while,” the giantess said, grinning as she untied the mortal only to manacle him to the baseboard of the bed. She kissed the top of his head, almost sucking the entire thing into her mouth in the process. Climbing into bed with him, she used one meaty arm to plop him atop her mountainous bosom.

“I don’t like scary stories. My dad always told me those and that’s why I have so much trouble sleeping,” she warned Jake. “So tell me a nice story. Something with handsome princes and beautiful princesses who kiss a lot and don’t die.” To Bodach she said, “Thanks for the pet, Bodie.”

He bowed to her. “Enjoy, my friend.”

While walking out of the room he heard the reporter gasp, and glanced back to see the giantess had dragged him over and held him at her side.

“Be careful when you snuggle him,” he warned when he heard a familiar crack. “Mortal bones are like desert kindling.”

Darro spent what remained of the night aiding Alec with the patrols. As he went to report to the laird, Farlan, the clan’s seneschal, intercepted him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Trained to be a mason by his mathair’s mortal husband, the seneschal had roof-beam shoulders and incredibly muscular arms. His sunny disposition and kindness made him one of the most well-liked men among the clan. As half-brothers they got along well, although Darro secretly envied his ease with others, particularly females.

“’Twas brief, the attack in the night?” When he nodded Farlan sighed. “Too early for the next. All these changes to the cycle bode naught good for the clan. Who came, then? The MacBren after raiding the farms? He should have sent his bastarts over the wall as he ever did.”

“I must speak with the laird,” Darro said, his patience thinning. “Come if you wish to hear my report.”

“Och, you’re in a mood.” The seneschal eyed him. “You rescued the wee dark beauty when she came into the spell trap, I’m told. ’Tis something amiss with her?”

Simply speaking of Esme made his gut knot, but he shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “The lady, she’s too fearless. Lady Ava needs teach her to keep her distance from the garrison.”

“Sounds to me as if you wish to instruct her.” When he glared at him Farlan held up his hands. “I shallnae prod you, Brother. Only recall no McKeran ever forced himself on an unwilling lady. Nor should any of our brothers.”

“She may force herself on them.” That sounded both unkind and undeserved, so he quickly added, “In her ignorance, and her panic, she seeks comfort, ’tis all. She’s grievous frightened.” That he was actually speaking of himself seemed ironic, but he couldn’t confide in the seneschal. “I but wish to assure she doesnae create difficulties for herself. She’s been here but a moment.”

“Ah.” Farlan nodded. “In my experience such comfort can be had by both lovers. I comforted my lady Grace when she first came into the spell trap, after that wall collapsed and trapped us together. She in turn gave me a night of my wildest dreams. Indeed, ’twas quite a passionate comforting. A pity you didnae do the same with Mistress Martinez.”