doomed, if he’s hanging out with me?”
“I’m afraid so,” the kelpie said. “I give you another day, maybe two.”
Russell thought on this a moment. “Can you tell how I’m going to
die?”
Laurel shook her head. “From all appearances, I’d say you’ll get
drunk and fall in the river.” She nudged the bottle of Four Roses with her foot.
“Well, thanks for the heads up, but I don’t get whether you’re
warning me to be careful, or telling me to do whatever the hell I want because I’ll end up dead either way.”
• 101 •
• Warrior Dreams •
“I’m here to offer you a warrior’s death,” Laurel said.
The warrior? That guy’s already dead, Russell wanted to say. That
guy doesn’t exist any more. But of course he didn’t, because it wasn’t true. “What do you mean?”
“I told you that I’m the last remaining guardian of the lakes. When
I am gone, the lakes will run with the blood of the gifted.”
Russell rubbed his stubbly chin. “What’s the mission? Do you want
me to slaughter all the people who’re dumping crap into the lake?”
Laurel shook her head. “Pollution is a problem, but our immediate concern is the storm hag of the lake.”
“The storm hag of the lake,” the nixies sang.
“What—what—what—wait a minute,” Russell said. “Storm hag?”
“You’ve not heard of her?” Laurel tilted her head, perplexed. “She
is famous. All the Lake Erie sailors know about her.”
“I don’t know any sailors,” Russell said. “I’m not from around here.
I just came in on the bus.”
“I’ve known a lot of sailors,” she said.
Russell put up both hands. He had a feeling he didn’t want to know
about the sailors. “Never mind. Tell me about this hag.”
“Her name is Jenny Greenteeth. She roams the lakes, riding on
an enormous lake sturgeon. She foments storms, then pulls ships
underneath the water and drowns the sailors.”
“I can see where that’s a problem for the sailors, but how is that a problem for you?”
“It’s not just sailors,” Laurel said, fingering her necklace. “Jenny has lived in the lakes since the dawn of history, but she has recently developed a voracious appetite for magic. We think that might be the result of phosphates. Or hormones. We’ve fought back, but none of
us can stand against her. Many of us have died—not just nixies and
kelpies, but grindylows and watersprites, snallygasters and selkies
and hippocamps.”
“No offense,” Russell said. “But that sounds like a catalog of the
world’s most obscure magical creatures. Creatures nobody but me
will even miss.” Not that anybody would miss him , if he disappeared.
• 102 •
• Cinda Williams Chima •
Laurel snorted softly. “Most of the original creatures of faerie are already extinct. Those that call attention to themselves were the first to go. Elves and unicorns, griffins, centaurs, and dragons—humans
loved them to death. We may be all but invisible, but that’s why we’ve survived.”
That’s how I survive, Russell thought. By being invisible. “I’m
sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t important..”
“I’m used to it,” Laurel said. “Magical creatures persist in those
places in the world that are hard to get to. That are still relatively free of iron and pollution. There are pockets of dryads in the deep forests of South America, sea serpents and mermaids in the great oceans of
the world. Once the Great Lakes were large enough to shelter us, too.
These days, not so much. Think about it—it’s the tiny magics, like
hexes and charms and lutins, house elves and brownies and woods
sprites that add color and texture to the world. That keep it from
being all metal and glass and right angles. Can we really afford to
have less magic in the world?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Russell began, “I guess I—”
“With every creature she destroys, Jenny grows larger and
“I’m afraid so,” the kelpie said. “I give you another day, maybe two.”
Russell thought on this a moment. “Can you tell how I’m going to
die?”
Laurel shook her head. “From all appearances, I’d say you’ll get
drunk and fall in the river.” She nudged the bottle of Four Roses with her foot.
“Well, thanks for the heads up, but I don’t get whether you’re
warning me to be careful, or telling me to do whatever the hell I want because I’ll end up dead either way.”
• 101 •
• Warrior Dreams •
“I’m here to offer you a warrior’s death,” Laurel said.
The warrior? That guy’s already dead, Russell wanted to say. That
guy doesn’t exist any more. But of course he didn’t, because it wasn’t true. “What do you mean?”
“I told you that I’m the last remaining guardian of the lakes. When
I am gone, the lakes will run with the blood of the gifted.”
Russell rubbed his stubbly chin. “What’s the mission? Do you want
me to slaughter all the people who’re dumping crap into the lake?”
Laurel shook her head. “Pollution is a problem, but our immediate concern is the storm hag of the lake.”
“The storm hag of the lake,” the nixies sang.
“What—what—what—wait a minute,” Russell said. “Storm hag?”
“You’ve not heard of her?” Laurel tilted her head, perplexed. “She
is famous. All the Lake Erie sailors know about her.”
“I don’t know any sailors,” Russell said. “I’m not from around here.
I just came in on the bus.”
“I’ve known a lot of sailors,” she said.
Russell put up both hands. He had a feeling he didn’t want to know
about the sailors. “Never mind. Tell me about this hag.”
“Her name is Jenny Greenteeth. She roams the lakes, riding on
an enormous lake sturgeon. She foments storms, then pulls ships
underneath the water and drowns the sailors.”
“I can see where that’s a problem for the sailors, but how is that a problem for you?”
“It’s not just sailors,” Laurel said, fingering her necklace. “Jenny has lived in the lakes since the dawn of history, but she has recently developed a voracious appetite for magic. We think that might be the result of phosphates. Or hormones. We’ve fought back, but none of
us can stand against her. Many of us have died—not just nixies and
kelpies, but grindylows and watersprites, snallygasters and selkies
and hippocamps.”
“No offense,” Russell said. “But that sounds like a catalog of the
world’s most obscure magical creatures. Creatures nobody but me
will even miss.” Not that anybody would miss him , if he disappeared.
• 102 •
• Cinda Williams Chima •
Laurel snorted softly. “Most of the original creatures of faerie are already extinct. Those that call attention to themselves were the first to go. Elves and unicorns, griffins, centaurs, and dragons—humans
loved them to death. We may be all but invisible, but that’s why we’ve survived.”
That’s how I survive, Russell thought. By being invisible. “I’m
sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t important..”
“I’m used to it,” Laurel said. “Magical creatures persist in those
places in the world that are hard to get to. That are still relatively free of iron and pollution. There are pockets of dryads in the deep forests of South America, sea serpents and mermaids in the great oceans of
the world. Once the Great Lakes were large enough to shelter us, too.
These days, not so much. Think about it—it’s the tiny magics, like
hexes and charms and lutins, house elves and brownies and woods
sprites that add color and texture to the world. That keep it from
being all metal and glass and right angles. Can we really afford to
have less magic in the world?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Russell began, “I guess I—”
“With every creature she destroys, Jenny grows larger and
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