Mortal Blood

There are times and places when the Veil between Worlds is thin. When a mortal may unwittingly step into other Realms. Or be lured there…

The Queen of Air and Darkness stretched languidly on her couch of black furs, and kicked her whimpering companion to the floor. “Our blood runs thin,” she hissed. “There is no potency left in our males… It is time we took another mate. A mortal. Aoife – ” and she summoned one of her attendants, “It is the time when the Veil thins. Go seek for him. Young, and strong. Good to look upon. Potent. When you find him, give him my token.” She drew a ring from her finger. Black onyx, set in silver, with an intricate knot design. “That will bring him to us.”

“As you command, my Queen.” Aoife made a deep obeisance and backed out of the Presence…

 

David Starsky could honestly say that he had never been to a Ren Faire, in spite of having lived in Bay City from his thirteenth year, and a Ren Faire took place almost annually. This would be a first. His current lady had suggested it when she discovered he had scored a four-day weekend, and he had no reason to refuse. Hutch was in one of his I-want-to-be-alone moods, which had been happening all too frequently of late. Starsky had no idea what was wrong. Hutch wouldn’t admit anything was. Oh, he functioned perfectly well as Detective, but where it had been normal for them to spend off-duty time together, it just wasn’t happening…

Huggy had wondered-aloud- if it was the male menopause.

That had not gone down well.

Starsky knew his partner. Sooner or later, Hutch would come clean about what was bothering him.

In the meantime, there were a number of foxy ladies who were happy to spend time with him. Like today.

It was a perfect late October day. Sunny, with a light breeze. He’d arranged to meet Lizzie at the ‘food festival’ area, for turkey legs and beer. He was early. He wandered happily through the crowds, enjoying the frankly eccentric atmosphere. There were people in what they fondly supposed to be ‘medieval’ costume, and some even weirder… Like that pair, tattooed to the max. Pierced in almost every possible place. Flowing draperies, or skintight outfits that left very little to the imagination. You could even buy yourself a set of the fancy duds, and momentarily considered a Robin Hood ensemble. Not so much the green tights, though. There was a wandering minstrel performing under a tree. He thought Hutch would be better at it. If he could ever get Hutch to one of these events, which was unlikely, and Hutch in his current mood would be equally unlikely to enter into the spirit of the thing, and would be sneeringly superior about it.

At times, pal, you can be a real pain in the ass.

Hey, wonder what Hutch would look like in a kilt? He grinned to himself at the thought of Hutch’s long legs striding through the heather, kilt swinging, claymore at his side. There’d been a late-night movie they’d once watched, a little drunk, and he remembered having fits of the giggles at the dreadful dialogue. And the accents, so broad as to be almost incomprehensible.

There was a concession stand displaying a variety of tartan items, and he amused himself checking the list of names of those entitled to wear certain patterns. Maybe he could claim a distant ancestor from Scotland. Get that red one with the thin white stripe running through the weave?

He stepped back and almost collided with a girl. She had long hair blonder than Hutch’s, was wearing a weird outfit comprising leather and fur and a drapey long skirt that looked like silk.

“Sorry, miss…”  Then he noticed her eyes. Almond-shaped, slanted like a cat’s. Solid black. No whites at all. Weird.

She smiled, swept him a curtsey. “My lord,” she murmured.

Curiouser and curiouser.

 Play along.

“My lady,” he sketched an approximation of a bow, giving her the Starsky smile.

“This is yours,” she said, holding out a ring. “A gift.”

Automatically, he took it. Silver, with a black stone, an inlaid silver design.

There was a moment of disorientation: he looked down to see what had unbalanced him, and saw that he had stepped into a circle of  – what were they, toadstools? Red-capped, with warty white bits?

Then the mist came down and he couldn’t see anything at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t know what had happened, but there was no longer dusty grass underfoot. It was black marble, shot through with veins of silver. And instead of jeans, he wore pants in silver grey leather belted with a chain of silver plaques. His Reeboks had vanished, replaced with soft boots.

And there in front of him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen or imagined. She was seated on a throne-like chair, cushioned in fur, and when she rose she was almost his height. Eyes like dark emeralds smiled into his. Black hair cascaded below her narrow waist, and the silvery gown she wore skimmed her hips to pool at her feet. She held out her hands to him.

“Welcome, Beloved,” she purred, drew him close and kissed him. “Oh, a hundred thousand welcomes, my lord and love.”

Her mouth was sweet as wild honey, intoxicating as wine.

Somehow, Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more…

And she sure as shit ain’t Dorothy…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hutch had not expected to see his partner lounging at ease on the couch, an almost depleted tub of popcorn beside him and a can of beer in one hand, while the TV crackled with static. He frowned. “Weren’t you supposed to be meeting up with Liz at the Faire? Because I can tell you, pal, she wasn’t at all happy at being stood up.”

“Got tired of waiting.” A shrug.

“I told her you probably got the days mixed up. With our workload and all.”

“Yeah. Okay. Siddown, Blintz. Take a load off. You want a beer? Got a six-pack unopened.”

“Thanks, but no. I just dropped by to pick up my dry-cleaning. You know, the stuff you promised to collect for me?”

“Ah, shit. I forgot. C’mon, have a cold one. Hate to drink ‘em all by myself.”

Hutch took the proffered can. “Well, in the interests of keeping you from getting completely hammered, I’ll join you. Any food around?”

“Some green stuff in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“What, no pizza?”

“Gone off pizza.”

Hutch grinned. “Who are you, and what have you done with my partner?” he said, taking a healthy swig. “Don’t tell me you finally saw the light, pal.” There was the makings of quite a nice salad in the fridge, so Hutch found a plate and tucked in, taking a seat on the couch. “Your TV on the blink?”

“Yeah. Can’t get a decent picture. Weatherman says it’s sunspots or something. Me, I think there’s a storm coming.”

“Didn’t think you had an interest in meteorology, Starsk.”

“You’d be surprised, babe, what I know and how I know it.”

“Going on some of the factoids you come up with when we’re on stakeout, I don’t think any of your arcane knowledge would surprise me. What was it last time? Alien Cats on Mars, or Slugs Ate my Boyfriend?”

A chuckle. “Yeah, that was a good one, wasn’t it? You just about choked on your Avocado Smoothie. Here, have another beer.”

He didn’t really want one, but he took it. “So Liz is no longer Flavour of the Month?” he said lightly. “You got another one lined up?”

“Kinda.” The indigo gaze shifted, and without warning Hutch found himself pressed close to his partner, and there was a wicked look on the man’s face. “You wanna know who’s next on the menu? Oh, I could just eat you up, babycakes. Come on, Blue-eyes, you know you want it. Been wanting it for a while, haven’t you?” Hutch didn’t say anything, because those lascivious smiling lips were working on his, stifling any objections he might have had if the insistent hands were not tugging his shirt loose, spidering down to his groin. His fly was opened, fingers sliding inside, he was being stroked and handled with alarming expertise. “You like that, lover-boy? Gonna give you the best time of your life…”

“Oh, God, Starsky…” Hutch surrendered to the incredible feelings disrupting his synapses. This was everything he had dreamed, and more, and he actively assisted in stripping off shirt and pants and offering himself up to the clever mouth and tongue that was driving him out of his mind. It seemed he did not have to voice his desires, they were anticipated and fulfilled and augmented until he was screaming and begging for more. His lover brought him to the brink, backed off, teased and tormented him until at last he was allowed to find release and slump, sweating and breathless, against the beloved body.

He wanted to hold and be held. To say all the things he’d hidden for so long. To be loved, and to express his love. Instead he felt unwontedly drained, depressed.

“That good for you, Blondie, you sexy beast?” came the whisper. “Hey, gimme five minutes to get my breath and we can go again. Let’s do it on the bed so I can get at that gorgeous ass.”

No. No, this was all wrong, that lewd suggestion, the raunchy attitude, this was not the Starsky he knew and loved. Hutch sat up, reached for his pants and dragged them up over his hips. “Gotta go,” he blurted. And made it out the door and stumbled down the stairs, not daring to look back at the man he had thought he loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t know how he got to The Pits, or why it was his choice of haven. But Huggy took one look at him and came to sit in one of the booths.

“Oh, my blond bro, you look like you was rode hard and put up wet. Want to tell the Bear all about it?”

Hutch sat down opposite him. His hands, he saw vaguely, were shaking. “Don’t know if I can, Hug.”

“Did you know your shirt’s inside out? And your fly’s open.” Huggy’s voice was gentle. “Hutch, whatever it is, you c’n tell me. You know that.” He signed for Anita to take over the bar, and fetched a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. “Here. Get outside that.” He waited until Hutch had drained the glass, refilled it. “Is it Starsky? He’s okay?”

The sympathy in Huggy’s voice broke through Hutch’s defenses. Before he could stop himself, he had poured out the whole story.

“I don’t know what to say, to explain it. It was like a complete personality shift.”

“Ah-huh. His TV doesn’t happen to be on the blink, by any chance?”

“What?”

“Has he changed his diet? Like maybe not eating meat?”

“How’d you know, Hug?” Hutch asked, puzzled. “He said he’d gone off pizza.”

“Ah-huh,” Huggy said again. ” ‘scuse me a minute. I gotta make a call.” He was gone more than a minute, but when he came back his expression was serious. “I just called my auntie Lula. You’re not gonna like this, Hutch. She says, from the sound of it, you got a problem.”

“Like I don’t know that already?”

“Hear me out, man. What you’re describing -it wasn’t Starsky, bro. It may have looked like him, talked like him, but it wasn’t him.”

“Then who..? what’s going on, Huggy? It was like he – it-got inside my head. Things I’ve never told him, things I’ve wanted to tell him… It knew. And it encouraged me, drove me out of my mind with what we did – what it did to me…”

“Oh boy. Tell me you didn’t fuck it?”

“I thought it was Starsk!” Hutch moaned. “And I’d never told him how I felt but it knew and it used that knowledge and god, Huggy, now what? That – thing, whatever it is…”

“A fetch, bro, that’s what it is. Won’t touch meat, and electronics go on the fritz around it.” He reached for the bottle of Scotch, poured Hutch a measure. “A fetch is kinda like a changeling? And it means that Starsky-the real Starsky- is where we can’t reach him. In Faerie. Oh, man, this is not good.”

Hutch stared at him. “He’s where?”

Huggy sighed. “Tir-nan-og. The Enchanted Isles. The Hollow Hills. Lots of names for it, Blondie. The Faerie Realm. And what lives there. We’re not talking the pretty Tinkerbelle types with gauzy wings. These are the Lordly Ones. The High Courts.”

Hutch was out of his depth. “Dammit, Hug, what have you been smoking?”

“You’re the one been fucking a fetch, man. Have another drink. Think it’s time you had a little history lesson. And it’s not something you can learn in college.”

With growing incredulity, Hutch listened as Huggy gave him an abbreviated explanation. Huggy’s ancestry, it appeared, was not entirely human. “I guess I’m part-Fae, since my great-grandmom got knocked up by a Sidhe lord. So grannie gave birth to m’poppa, who’s a Brownie. And that’s a species of Fae, by the way, not a skin-color. We – that is, Brownies – we’re kind of household spirits. Or we were, back in the day. M’Auntie Lula, she’s a full-blood, and she works as a herbalist. Speaking of which, I think I got something she gave me that might help you see more clear. Sit tight. I got a shitload of stuff Auntie gave me…” He was gone only a minute or two before producing a small jar. “ClearSight. This can help cancel out the effects of a glamour. You’ll be able to see reality, which can be scary, but you gotta trust me.”

“A glamour,” Hutch repeated, obediently closing his eyes and letting Huggy smear a little of the ointment on his eyelids.

“Yeah. Think about it, bro. Those Hollywood beauties you see on screen – that’s what they are using. See ‘em on the street, they’re nothing special. Well, okay, there are exceptions, like Elizabeth Taylor, she’s the real deal. But some use it unconsciously. Okay. Look at me.”

It was Huggy, of course, but somehow more than Huggy. The eyes were more almond-shaped, and a disconcerting golden color. The hands were narrower, the fingers longer. And he was grinning, and the white teeth looked very sharp. “Brownie blood, y’see. It’s gonna be a bit disorientating for a while. But it’ll wear off in a day or two. Give us time to work out what we’re gonna do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Queen spread her arms wide. “Rejoice, my Court! We have a guest! Let us eat, and drink, and be merry!” And she turned to Starsky, long elegant fingers stroking his cheeks. “How are you called in that other world, my love?”

“Starsky,” he said, bemused. “Dave Starsky.”

One of her attendants went on one knee before him, raising a beautifully-crafted cup. The liquid within was pale gold, effervescent, and smelled of wild flowers. “Drink, lord,” she murmured.

It was like nothing he had ever tasted. It was wonderful, and quenched a thirst he did not know he had.

“Star-sky,” The Queen mused. “I shall call you Star. My Dark Star. Come now and eat. In your honor, we have prepared this feast!”

Hutch would have liked this, he thought vaguely, as dish after exotic dish was presented to him. He didn’t know what half of it was, but didn’t care. He ate his fill, and there was music from somewhere, then some of the ladies danced, and invited him into their midst. And there was more to drink and eat…

Eventually, the Queen took his hand and led him to a leafy bower. “Here you may rest,” she murmured. The couch was soft as swans down, and he sank into it gratefully, suddenly so tired he could not keep his eyes open. He did attempt an apology, but she hushed him and drew his head into her lap. “Sleep, my Star. Sleep…”

Hutch, he thought. If this is a dream, I wish you could share it. He fell into a blissful slumber.

Bay City seemed very far away.

He woke slowly, cradled in the softness of the couch. Stretched luxuriously. He didn’t even feel tired, even after what had been a marathon of love-making. She had brought him to climax more times than he thought was possible, riding him to her pleasure and his.

An attendant brought him clothes – bulrush-brown velvet vest and pants over a white silk shirt. He dressed, languidly. There was music playing, and the sweet-bell-like tones of the Queen’s ladies, singing. But there were other voices, on the edge of his hearing, male voices.

“So, my Queen, you have another pet. Another mortal! Think you he will last any longer than your previous toys?”

“What is it to you, Lord Aelfric,” she asked sharply, “How I amuse myself?”

Aelfric laughed but there was no humor in it. “I could tame him for you, my Queen. He is mere mortal. I could break him for you in less than a day.”

“No doubt. But knowing your methods, I fear he would be of little use to me after that. You will not touch him, Aelfric, unless I give you leave. You understand me? Go, prepare for the Hunt.” She gestured Starsky to join her by the throne.

Lord Aelfric was dressed for riding, pulling on crimson leather gauntlets. “Mortals are weak,” he sneered. “Which of them today can ride with our Hunt? Gods have led us in the past: Wotan, Gwydion, Gwyn ap Nudd, heroes out of old time, men such as Arthur, Theodoric, and Le Sauvage, Fionn Mac Cumhaill and the Hound of Ulster. Who now is worthy to ride the storm?” He was looking directly at Starsky as he said it.

Starsky felt the Queen stir on her throne, her hand reaching up to caress his hair as he lounged beside her. “Well, my Star?” she murmured. “I think a challenge has been thrown down. Will you accept?”

He didn’t see how he could refuse. He uncoiled himself, bent to kiss her hand. “What weapons, Lord Aelfric?” he asked coolly, facing down the haughty Fae. He was not going to be intimidated by this blowhard.

“Your choice, mortal. Shall it be spears? Swords?”

Pity I don’t have my Beretta or Hutch’s Python!

“I think,” he said consideringly, “I would choose those weapons a man is born with. But let’s make it interesting. Knives.”

One of Aelfric’s followers sniggered, and was glared into silence.

Starsky shrugged out of the velvet vest, pushed back his sleeves. Aelfric, clearly disconcerted, was divesting himself of his riding gear, the silver embossed leather tunic and trews, and gathered up his long pale hair into a twisted topknot.

The Queen’s gesture cleared her Court back to leave a wide arena for the contest.

“To the Death?” Aelfric demanded.

“To First Blood,” she ordained. “I do not wish to hazard my Star’s life. Begin.”

Aelfric would be a master duellist, with a whole shitload of victories under his fancy belt, Starsky thought. But he would be used to a formal duel. With rules. One thing for sure, he’s never had to take down a perp in a back alley. And he’ll never have heard of martial arts.

Doubt if he’s come across a leftie, either.

He was offered a choice of knives, all exquisitely crafted, and chose the least ornate with the best balance. The hilt was carved to fit the hand, the blade a bright bronze, sharp enough to shave with.

Aelfric, Starsky realized, was a talker. “When she tires of you, mortal – and she will tire of you when you fail to amuse her or satisfy her lusts – then she will give you to me.” His smile was savage, anticipatory. “You will learn, at my hand, the meaning of pain. How much, I wonder, can you endure before you beg me to end you?”

“We talkin’, Al, or fighting?” Starsky showed his teeth. It was sheer bravado, of course, but something else, as well – a wild glee in doing what he did best, an antidote to the pampering in silk and swans down. It was a heady wine.

He countered Aelfric’s first blow with one of his own, the knife held low by his thigh, dropped into the knife-fighter’s crouch. Side-slipped another stab, rolling to come up at his opponent’s dominant shoulder and hammering the knife-hilt down on the joint in a move designed to paralyze and disarm.

Aelfric was not expecting that. Nor the elbow in the ribs that made him loose his breath, or the kick that dropped him to one knee, off-balance. After that it was just the big finish, and Aelfric was facedown on the floor, Starsky’s knee between his shoulder blades, and blood running from the Sidhe lord’s nose.

Blue blood, Starsky noted. Interesting.

“First Blood is drawn, my Queen,” he said, tucking the knife into his belt, then turned and extended a hand to assist Aelfric to his feet. The gesture was ignored. Aelfric’s look was one of pure hatred.

“That was very well done, my Star! I name you my Champion!” The Queen rose and took him by the hand. “And it is our decree that you join the Hunt with us this night! You have proved yourself most worthy.”

“It will be an honor,” he said, going to one knee to kiss her hand, and then, her lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The media were calling it the storm of the century! But then they always do, being prone to hyperbole. There had been no rain as yet, but the flashes of sheet lightning were coming thick and fast, so that at times they filled the whole sky with vibrant color. Thunder boomed and rolled, deafening as levin bolts forked down into the seething ocean. There was a sound like the calling of the wild geese Hutch had heard long ago back in Minnesota, but what boiled out of a rift in the clouds was nothing natural. The Hosting of the Daoine Sidhe, the High Lords of the Faerie Court- they rode out in panoply of silver and green and crimson, on horses that were barded in the colors of their riders, with silver-shod hooves that woke the thunder.

“The Wild Hunt,” Huggy said reverently, and bowed as they passed. But Hutch’s eyes were caught and held by one figure in that host. Face alight with sheer joy, a scarlet cloak flying behind him, Starsky was laughing like a loon.

A minute, maybe two, and they were gone, and the heavens opened. Hutch stood stock-still, trying to process what he had seen while the deluge drenched him. It had been at one and the same time the most terrible and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And Starsky had been with them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m floundering here, Hug.” Hutch had changed into dry clothes. “Just why is Starsk in Faerie. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh, it does.” Huggy said. “Think about it, Hutch. Life force. Who do you know who’s more alive than our boy? You’ve felt it, I know.”

“It’s one reason I love him,” Hutch said softly. “He may be crazy, he may irritate the life outa me half the time, but he’s got this incredible vitality.”

“Exactly. Vitality, life-force, Chi, whatever you wanna call it. That’s why they were attracted to him. See, they’re kinda like leeches. They need it. And they’ll go to any lengths to get it.”

Hutch was pacing his living room, running fingers through his hair. “Okay. What else do you know that I don’t. Where do they get this life force?”

Huggy looked serious. “Hutch, how many kids go missing?”

“What?”

“I know, kids go missing all the time. Runaways. Sometimes they’re found, sometimes not. People, too, but less so. Some of them end up in the Realms. Used to be the creative types, musicians, artists and such. They’re attracted to that kind of – oh, you could call it joie de vivre. Life force. Kids have it, in spades. The Fae love that. They use their enchantments to trap a kid, to entice it into their world.”

“Starsky isn’t a kid.”

“Yeah, well, there are other things they go for. And he fits the bill. Sex, Hutch. He’s a randy little sod, you know it. Betya anything that’s what the Queen wants him for.”

“She wants a stud?””

“In so many words, yes.”

“This just gets crazier,” Hutch shook his head. “So Starsk is bedding the Queen of the Faeries?”

Huggy actually flinched. “The Queen of Air and Darkness. That’s who was riding the storm. One powerful lady. And right now is her time of maximum power. Samhain. Halloween, Hutch.”

“O-kay,” Hutch said slowly. “Where do the kids come in? They’re in Faerie?”

“No. They’re mostly dead.”

“What?” Hutch stopped pacing. “The Fae are killing kids?”

“The Fae take what they need. It’s why they hang around us. Don’t know for sure that the kids are killed by them, or if they just – waste away.”

Hutch watched the rain running down his windows. Some of this was making a horrible kind of sense.

“Why isn’t anything done about this? A bunch of – serial killers abducting children?”

“Hutch, who’d believe it? No one, that’s who. Except in legends, fairy tales. But I can tell you, Disney it ain’t. There are people, creatives, like I said, who get caught in the glamour, because it’s a very seductive thing. And you’d get laughed out of court if you tried to explain it. Maybe end up in Cabrillo State.”

“We have to get Starsk back,” he said decisively. “Tell me how.”

“I don’t know, Hutch,” Huggy said miserably. “Won’t be easy. He’s ridden the storm. If he’s in the Queen’s bed, he’ll be a Court favorite. He’ll be under her spell until-”

“Until?

“Until she gets tired of him.”

“And he’ll come back then.” Hopefully.

“If he does, Hutch, he’ll be – changed. He won’t be the Starsky you knew. Before she lets him go, she’ll drain him.”

“Like she’s a vampire?” Hutch heard his own voice kick up an octave.

“Kind of, yeah. Mortal blood, Hutch. That’s what they need.”

Mortal blood. Starsky’s blood.

“Huggy,” Hutch said. “You’ve always been our go-to guy. There has to be a way to get Starsk out of her clutches. You said your Aunt Lula is a full-blood. Will she help? Tell her money’s no object, whatever it costs…”

Huggy held up his hands. “Hey, he’s my friend too, Blondie. I’ll ask her.”

Huggy left. And Hutch resumed his pacing. The images in his head were the stuff of nightmares. He couldn’t sleep. Starsky was in the most appalling kind of danger. He had to get him back.

And I’ll tell him how I feel. No more hiding.

I love you, David Starsky. Partner, best friend. If it’s never anything more than that, well, at least he’ll know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay,” Huggy said. “Here’s the plan. To get Starsk back, you’re goin’ to have to go into Faerie. And you’ll need a guide to get there. It’s like the post office in Boston, Hutch – you can’t get there from here.”

“A guide. Can’t you…”

“Man, you couldn’t pay me enough to try it. Use the fetch. Gonna have to hurt it, some, so take your cuffs. They can’t abide cold iron. It’ll scream bloody murder in the Torino as well, but it’ll guide you to where you can access the Realm. Tell it you’ll let it go if it does.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Blintz,” came the drawl. The fetch had raided Starsky’s freezer, and was half down a gallon tub of pistachio ice cream. “Knew you’d be back. Can’t get enough, can ya?”

The ClearSight showed him the true face of the thing masquerading as his partner. It was like looking in a distorting mirror in a funhouse. The eyes were stark black, the body bloated and horribly twisted. It smiled, and showed preternaturally sharp teeth. It wore Starsky’s semblance like a cloak, and Hutch felt sick even looking at it. Worse, he’d made love to it.

The couch was between them, and the fetch lounged back, legs spread, and trailed a hand idly over its crotch.

“Playing hard to get, baby boy?”

“Not playing at all,” Hutch said easily, and made himself smile back at it. “Just think we ought to take things slow, that’s all.” The fetch leered.

“Whatever,” it said. “Any way you want it.” It gave a low, growling chuckle. “C’mere, let’s get it on.”

Hutch didn’t move away, made himself stand hip-propped against the end of the couch. That sly Starsky grin almost disarmed him, as he remembered the number of times they were on the same wavelength, reading each other’s thoughts. Except this was not right, made him feel somehow dirty. He shivered as the thing’s eyes raked his body. It wanted him, clearly. Wanted a replay of what they’d done earlier. Well, no dice. He backed up, and the fetch moved like lightning, vaulting the couch. “The hunt is on!” it growled, laughing, as Hutch sprinted for the bedroom, and in a flying tackle pinned him to the bed. Which was exactly where he wanted it.

It gave a howl of frustration as Hutch flipped it, straddling it, snapping the handcuffs on the flailing wrists.

“Right,” Hutch panted. “The hunt is on for real, now. You’re going to show me where my partner is.”

“Whaddya want, a zip-code?” it snarled, wriggling. “Take these things offa me!”

“Cold Iron,” Hutch said. “Your kind can’t stand it, can they? If you want them off, you have to cooperate. I want to know where the gate into the Realm is, and how to access it.”

“Go fuck yourself, mortal! Even if I took you there, you’d never see it!”

“I saw your true face, didn’t I? I can see through the glamour.”

If anything was needed to tell Hutch that the fetch was a simulacrum of Starsky, it was its reaction to the Torino. It shrieked in pain as he forced it into the passenger seat, contorting itself so as little of its body as possible came into contact with the body of the car. “Noooo,” it wailed. “Let me out, let me out!”

“After you take me to the gate,” Hutch said. “Take me there, and I’ll let you go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Starsky woke alone in the tumbled furs of the Queen’s bed. He ached. Unaccustomed to riding horseback, he had discovered muscles he never realized he possessed. It had still been the best fun he could remember since he and Hutch had ridden the rollercoaster at Six Flags, but the Queen, however, energized by the Hunt, had not let him rest afterwards. She had the skills to force a reaction from him, and employed them. Aelfric had been right when he said he was no more to her than a pet, a toy. In the beginning he had been flattered. Now he knew he had been used. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

He raked his fingers through his hair, pulled on the clothes laid ready for him, and yawned. What entertainments would the Queen have planned for the day? He hoped there was nothing too arduous.

His ears caught the sound of a stifled sob, and when he looked for the source of it found a little girl crouched at the base of a nearby tree. She looked to be about seven or eight, dressed in a rather grubby t-shirt and shorts, and a thin chain around her ankle linked her to the tree.

What the fuck…?

An unreasoning anger surged through him.

“What’s your name, honey?” He crouched to get on her level, eyeing the chain. It didn’t look particularly strong. He tested it, and discovered that when it touched the Queen’s ring, it shriveled into a dead vine, easily shredded apart. He pulled it free from her ankle and threw it aside. “Your name?”

“Kathy,” she said, knuckling tears from her eyes. “Please, I want to go home. I don’t like it here.” He pulled her into his arms, and she sniffled into his neck. He patted her back. “I want to go home…” So do I, sweetheart. So do I…

“Nothin’ easier, darlin’ . Don’t cry, now. I’ll take you…” He realized then that he didn’t know of any way out but the massive silver archway wreathed in mist that had been the route taken by the Hunt, but that had to be the way into the mortal world. It was worth a try.

He carried Kathy across the expanse of black marble to where the silver Gate stood. There were two guards there, men he had seen at Aelfric’s side. They looked at him suspiciously as he approached. “What do you here, Favorite of the Queen?”

“You know this token?” He held out his left hand to show the massy silver ring on the middle finger.

“We do,” the taller of the two acknowledged.

“So, then.” He drew it off, pressed it into the child’s hand. “She has safe passage out of here, by the Queen’s token, to go where she will. Kathy, honey, run through the Gate and take this with you. When you get home, throw it into the sea or something, okay? Then I want you to call the BCPD, and ask for Detective Hutchinson. Tell him… Tell him I love him. Can you remember all that?”

She nodded. “What name should I tell him?” she asked, pausing on the threshold.

“Starsky. Dave Starsky.”

“I’ll tell him,” she promised. And was gone into the mist. He turned away, and saw the Queen striding towards him, anger in every line of her body.

“Where is my token?” she demanded. “And where is the child?”

“I’ve sent her home,” Starsky said. “Kidnapping is a Federal Offence, my lady. You thought I’d just stand by and do nothing? I don’t know what you had planned for that little girl, but I’m dead certain it was nothing good.”

In spite of her fury, she gave a peal of laughter. “Your petty laws do not run here, my Star.”

“Starsky,” he corrected her, wearily. He was suddenly tired of this charade. “The name is Starsky, and I’m none of yours.”

“How dare you!”  Her voice rose in a screech of fury. “How dare you countermand my orders?” At her gesture the two gate guards stepped forward, and grasped his arms, their fingers digging into his biceps. “I could have your back in ribbons,” she hissed. “I could have the flesh flayed from your bones and relish your screams. I could give you as plaything to Aelfric and his friends, to torture and torment as they pleased! But you are fortunate, Dave Starsky, my Star, in that you still have value to me. It is mortal blood that powers my Realm! You sent word to your friend?  Your Hutchinson? You think he may yet save you? He is dead, foolish mortal! See!”  Her hand moved, and an image formed in front of his eyes. Hutch lying dying in agony, and the killer wore his own face, twisted in unholy glee.

No.

NO.

Oh, my Hutch…

Grief racked him. The thought of that thing with his face, and what it did to his partner, seared his soul. And Hutch would have seen Starsky’s hand on the gun, believed himself betrayed. Died knowing that his best friend had killed him.

He closed his eyes, turned his head away, not wanting to see any more.

“Since you have sent the child back, you will take her place. I will spill your blood – your mortal blood — Strip him,” she commanded. “Strip him and bind him and bring him to me at the Place of Sacrifice!”

If he had nothing else left, he had his pride. He wouldn’t beg. He would defy them to his last breath, because that was in his nature. But with Hutch dead… Hutch…

He could feel Aelfric’s hatred like a burning on his spine, his hatred and lust to inflict pain. “Give him to me, my Queen,” the sidhe noble purred. “Just for a little while. My friends and I would welcome his company…”

She swung on her heel, skirts swishing like the tail of an angry cat.

“As you please, then. I have tired of him, anyway. Do with him as you wish, but remember, Aelfric, his blood is mine to shed.”

“As you will, my Queen.” The noble bowed. And Starsky shuddered at the anticipation in his voice. It was not going to go well for him, he knew.

He was right.

His arms were dragged cruelly back, his wrists tight bound. They would be experts at inflicting the maximum amount of pain with the minimum of actual physical damage.

Hutch was dead. Nothing they could do to him would equal that. He would welcome death now. At least, in death, he could be with Hutch, his soul, his heart.

Silken ropes can still bite into flesh, and a silken gag is still a gag. They dragged him at last to where the Queen waited, the naked blade in her hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hutch,” said a slightly hesitant voice on the car radio, “I know you’re on a long weekend, and it’s not anything urgent, but we just got a call from some kid who says she’s got to speak to you.”

“Minnie?” Hutch queried. He was loading the Python with the steel-jacketed shells Huggy had recommended before heading up the hillside path the fetch had shown him before it vanished. “Any idea what this is about? Because I got a lot on my mind right now. Can it wait?”

“Oh, I don’t know any more than she insists she has to talk to you. Something about a message from Starsky?”

“Can you patch the call through, Minnie?”

“Are you Detective Hutchinson?” asked a small voice. “My name’s Kathy.”

“Yeah, I’m Detective Hutchinson, Kathy. You’ve seen Starsky? My partner? Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” she wailed. “It’s a horrid place! They chained my ankle to a tree but he got me loose and said to call and give you a message…”

“Okay, okay, Kathy,” Her voice sounded shaky, as if on the verge of tears. “What was the message?”

“He said – he said, tell him I love him?”

Oh, God, Starsk.

“Thanks, Kathy,” he managed to say. “Is he all right? He’s not hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “He was kind. Not like the others.”

“You’re a good girl, Kathy,” Hutch said. “Thank you.”

What had been a bare hillside, brown now with the summer’s drought, was revealed as a path leading up to a tall gateway, ornate with carved leaves and vines. Hutch got out of the car and stood looking at it. He checked the Colt Python. A full load. Steel-jacketed bullets, Huggy had advised. “You can’t kill the Fae. But you c’n make ‘em smart a bit. And turn your jacket inside out, that will break any remaining glamour.”

Hutch stalked through the silver-framed gateway, all his attention on the prisoner kneeling bound and gagged at the feet of a hag, and at the black obsidian knife she was holding at his throat.

So he did not see the gateway crumbling behind him, did not register the glimmering marble underfoot turning into dusty dry grass and fallen leaves. No one stood in his way – they shriveled as he passed.

“Put the knife down, lady,” he commanded. “Let him go, and nobody gets hurt. He is none of yours.”

The hag cackled with laughter. “Is he not? Is he not?” She tangled her fingers in Starsky’s hair, wrenching his head back and exposing the column of his throat. “If you want him, then come and claim him!” She slashed downwards, and Hutch saw Starsky flinch, saw the blade open up a thin line that spilled a rivulet of blood over his chest.

The Python barked once, the steel-jacketed bullet impacting the hag’s midsection and throwing her backwards, a spindly attenuated figure that screeched and scuttled into the shadows like a spider.

Hutch took no notice. “Starsk? C’mon, partner, I’m taking you home.” The bonds were gone, disintegrated into dust, and Starsky, no longer held upright by the Queen, had slipped sideways. Hutch dragged off his jacket, wrapped it around Starsky’s shoulders, and put pressure on the knife wound. It didn’t look deep, at least.  Blue eyes blinked at him, dazedly, uncomprehending.

“H-hutch? I thought you were d-dead…”

Relieved beyond measure, Hutch got him to his feet. “Nope. Alive and kicking. Can you walk, babe?”

“Yeah. I think. Sure. No problem.” He wavered unsteadily, hanging on to Hutch for support. “Hey. How’d I look?”

Oh, Starsk, you’re stark naked, minutes away from having your blood spilled out as a ritual sacrifice, and you’re asking me that.

“Terrific, Starsk. You look terrific.”

They made it halfway down the hill before Starsky’s legs went from under him. Hutch didn’t hesitate, but scooped him up into his arms and carried him the rest of the way to where the Torino waited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The journey back to Venice Place took hardly any time, but dusk was already deepening as he pulled up and carried his partner up the stairs and into the bedroom. Huggy was waiting.

“Hot water, Hug, and the first-aid kit…”

The knife slash wasn’t serious, Hutch discovered with relief, and needed only a few butterfly plasters to close it. Carefully he cleaned off the blood. Starsky didn’t seem entirely aware of what he was doing. He couldn’t take his eyes off Hutch.

“I thought you were dead…” he whispered. “She showed me. You were dead and I’d killed you…”

“Illusion, babe. She wanted you to think that. It wasn’t real. Lie down, huh, and get some rest.” He was obeyed, finally, his partner clearly worn out by everything that had happened.

Huggy was hovering, his face creased with concern. “Oh, man, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“He’s in shock,” Hutch said, decisively. “We’ll get some clothes on him and maybe get him to the ER for a check up.”

“Sure, bro, and tell ‘em what? You just rescued your buddy from a crazy Fae lady with a knife? They wouldn’t know what kind of treatment he needs, and we’re on the clock here. Her power has been waxing with the moon, and with full moon passed, her power begins to wane. But he’s eaten fae food, drunk their drink, and lived with them for we don’t know how long.”

“Three days, Hug! ”

“Time runs differently there.  Could be weeks. Longer. You saw him with the Wild Hunt. Riding with them. That wouldn’t have happened overnight, he has to have been a Court favorite. Don’t know why they decided to ice him, but whatever, he’s back with us, and we need to counter the craving for their food, because he won’t eat anything else and he’ll starve to death. M’auntie says to use what she calls the Purge. Gave me the recipe. Won’t be pretty, though.”

“Can you make it up?”

“Sure. Give me a little while to pick up the ingredients. Wonder if I can get eye of newt at Trader Joe’s…”

Hutch took a seat by the bed and watched Starsky doze. It was an uneasy rest. The ClearSight let him see his partner without the masks that everyone puts up, shields against the slings and arrows that life afflicts.

What did he see, besides the sheer masculine beauty? Take him piece by piece. That body, lean, muscular, compact of power. The wild dark curls. The eyes, deep deep blue with those incredible lashes. But more important than looks, the core of the man. Indomitable courage, and strength to serve and protect. Unshakeable loyalty and unconditional love. Add in that irrepressible sense of fun, the capacity to enjoy life to the full.

Got to get you back, Starsk. Got to. Whatever it takes.

The mixture Huggy had blended looked like rotting pond scum. Gonna have to junk my blender, that’s for sure. It smelled like nothing on earth. He looked at Starsky, who was clearly not capable of much coherent thought. If he had been, there would be no way he was going to be willing to drink that stuff. He wouldn’t even drink Hutch’s healthy breakfast blend, after all. Well, desperate times, desperate measures.

“Got something for you,” Hutch said, getting him upright, maneuvering to sit behind him and wrapping both arms tight around him in a restraint hold. “Open up, babe.” And Huggy held his nose shut so that he had to open his mouth, and poured the mixture in.

His reaction to the first mouthful was so extreme that Hutch was hard-put to keep hold of him. Huggy clapped a hand over his mouth before he could spit it out, so he was forced to swallow. The second dose, and the third, did not go any easier. He was fighting to be free of Hutch’s grasp, but Hutch was stronger and kept a tight hold on the writhing body. The final dregs were administered at last, and Hutch let go, which was as well, because Starsky started to retch.

They got him into the bathroom just in time.

Hutch had never seen anyone so violently, so mercilessly sick. All he could do was support Starsky through the wrenching spasms of vomiting so that he didn’t topple face first into the toilet bowl. “It hurts, Hutch… God, it hurts…” At last there was nothing to come up but blood-flecked bile, and he wilted onto the tiles.

Hutch had literally to carry him back into the bedroom – he was limp, in a state of collapse.  His skin felt cold, gelid. Hutch felt for his pulse, found it frighteningly slow and weak, almost imperceptible – there was a bluish tinge to his lips. He was completely unresponsive. His head lolled back on Hutch’s arm, his pallor stark contrast to the darkness of his hair. And he was so cold. Hutch pulled the comforter up, wrapped it around him, then got under it and pulled the unresisting body close, trying to share his own warmth. Come on back to me, partner. Come on. Me and Thee, remember? You’re a fighter. You won’t let her win.

“What the hell is in that stuff, Hug?” Hutch demanded. He had a heat-pad somewhere, used it when his back pained him. Huggy found it, microwaved it, and slipped it under the comforter.

“You really don’t want to know, Blondie.” Huggy looked up from lighting a fire on the stone-flagged hearth, uncomfortable. “But it’ll do the trick for sure. M’auntie Lula says the Purge always works.”

“If it doesn’t kill him first! Look at him, Hug! How many times has she had to use it?”

“Well, could be this is the first time. Could be the Queen’s hold over him is stronger than we thought. Need to check him over for any kind of anomaly.”

There didn’t seem to be any obvious injuries. Starsky’s body was innocent of any fresh marks, of anything that had not been there before.

 I should get him to the ER, whatever Huggy says. He’s in some kind of coma. Could there be some head injury? A fractured skull might account for that unnatural chill. He ran his fingers into the silky curls, checking for contusions or lacerations. Starsky’s scalp seemed intact, but – wait a minute, his questing fingers were caught by some tangle. He parted the dark hair carefully. There was no dried blood, but a thin something was braided there, a darker skein  pulsingly alive under his touch, and augmented sight saw it was a strand of black hair twisted tight around the brown.

“He is none of yours,” he heard the echo of his own voice – and her, shrill, denying, “Is he not?”

“No,” he said firmly, “He is not. Hug, get me some scissors.”

Fine-bladed, cold-forged stainless steel. “They cannot abide cold iron…” He cut through the hank of hair as close to the scalp as he could, pulling it loose and tossing it into the fire. The flames leapt up, burning blue for a moment.

Starsky turned his head on the pillow, drew a deep breath. Another. Sighed. His lashes flickered, and he squinted up into Hutch’s face.

“Hey,” Hutch said softly, smiling down into the blue eyes. “Welcome back.”

“I was dreaming… Or more like a nightmare,” Starsky muttered hoarsely. He rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t remember… It’s all mixed up… And I got the most god-awful taste in my mouth. Like something crawled in an’ died there. That must have been one bad burrito, Hutch…”

“Guess so, since you were puking your guts up most of the night. Look, Huggy left you some ginger tea. Thought it might help settle your stomach.”

“Huggy?” Starsky looked up at him, blinking.

“Yeah. How’r’you doing, bro? Hey, Hutch, I’m outa here. Got a business to run, ya know?”

“Thanks, Hug.” Hutch said. “For everything.”

Huggy gave him a snappy salute, “Take care now, both of ya. See you down the Pits.” and was gone.

“We were worried about you, Starsk,” Hutch said, pouring the ginger tea into a mug. “Debating if we should get you to the hospital. Food poisoning can be dangerous.”

“Glad you decided against it. Wouldn’t want to barf in my car.” He winced, abdominal muscles complaining. The heat pad hadn’t helped much.

“Take it easy. Try some of the tea.”

Hutch got an arm under his shoulders and helped him into a sitting position. Starsky sniffed at the proffered drink, took a sip, then drank more readily. It had to cut some of the awful taste of the Purge.

The phone rang.

“Forgot to tell you, Blondie,” Huggy said urgently. “Under no circumstances can he leave your place until the Queen’s influence finally wears off. He’ll be drawn back to her, won’t be able to stop himself, and she’ll cut his heart out.” A pause. “Don’t suppose you’d consider handcuffing him to the bed?”

“You got that right,” Hutch snorted. “How long until her spell is broken?”

“Sunrise.  That’ll be less than an hour, Hutch. Whatever you do, keep him there until then!”

Easier said than done. Starsky was pulling a t-shirt over his head and searching for his jeans. He found a pair, discarded them, hunted another pair.

“What are you looking for?”

“I thought I left a pair of jeans here… Never mind, I can borrow these sweatpants, okay? And where are my shoes…?”

“What do you want them for?” Hutch asked carefully, edging close.

“Can’t drive barefoot, ‘s not legal. I got to go, understand.” He was heading for the door when Hutch overtook him.

“Where is it you need to go? If it’s so important it can’t wait, then get dressed and I’ll drive you there-”

There was a wildness in Starsky’s eyes. He dived to get past Hutch, but was trapped. It didn’t stop him trying.

They were usually equal in strength, but Starsky was enervated by the Purge. That was to Hutch’s advantage, because he didn’t want to hurt his friend, and it seemed that Starsky didn’t have the same intention. He was trying every trick in his not inconsiderable repertoire to escape, and didn’t care how he did it. Breathing hard, Hutch forced him back at last, pinning him against the door. “You’re not going anywhere, buddy.”

“I got to – got to go back…” a desperate whimper.

“No, you don’t. See sense, huh? It’s not even dawn. How about some breakfast, huh? I can fix some blueberry pancakes.”

“Not hungry. Hutch, you don’t understand, I gotta GO!” He was struggling against Hutch’s hold.

“You’re going nowhere, pal. You’re in no fit state,” Hutch told him firmly. Was there a hint of lightening in the sky? Dawn couldn’t be far off, surely.

“Hutch, please, let me past! I’ll come right back, I promise, but…”

The first rays of the risen sun flooded in, turning the air to gold. Starsky abruptly stopped fighting.

“Oh, God, Hutch, what am I doing…?” He looked as if he’d just woken out of a nightmare, suddenly aware of where he was. Hutch loosened his grip, turned it into an embrace.

“‘S’ okay, Starsk,” he murmured. “I got you. I got you…”

Slowly, Starsky raised one hand to cup Hutch’s jaw, the other caressing the back of Hutch’s head, tangling in his hair. Hutch held his partner close. The last remnants of the ClearSight unguent showed him his friend with all illusion stripped away. The mask he showed the world, the tough cop, the streetwise, car-crazy Romeo – stripped away to show the real man.  All that was fine, and true, and dear – perfect love, and perfect trust -his Starsky.

Beyond lust, beyond fleshly desire, what was in him now was pure selfless love. It filled him, overflowing, and he offered it to the man he held in the gentlest of kisses. A kiss that was accepted, and returned.

Hutch drew back a little, heart racing. There was so much love in those dark blue eyes he felt he might drown in it. They fit together, had always fit together, and Starsky’s mouth twitched up in that so-familiar quirky smile.

“You were sayin’ something about blueberry pancakes?” he whispered.

---