Jack, the giant-killer by Charles de Lint

Author:Charles de Lint [Lint, Charles De]
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy - General, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Fantasy, General, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science fiction
ISBN: 9780441379705
Publisher: Ace Books
Published: 1990-04-15T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

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It was dark by the time Kate and Arkan Garty reached Kate’s apartment. The street was quiet. Up the block a couple of teenagers were just turning the corner, their voices loud in the still air. Kate and Arkan waited until the pair were out of sight, then approached the house, keeping to the shadows.

The darkness didn’t trouble Kate half as much as the fact that the windows of her apartment were all lit up. For one moment she thought, maybe Jacky’s there. But then she realized that if Jacky was there, it was in the company of the Unseelie Court.

“What’s the matter?” Arkan asked.

Kate glanced at her foxish companion. “There’s someone in my place.”

Arkan’s eyes narrowed as he studied the lit windows. He moved into the deeper shadows

alongside her neighbour’s house, pulling Kate with him. Softly they crept across the driveway, hugging the walls of Kate’s building as they stole up to a window to have a look. One glance was all that was needed.

“Bogans,” Kate said, seeing them for what they were with Jacky’s redcap on. “Shit. Now what’re we going to do?”

“We don’t need to go inside, do we?” Arkan asked.

“It’s only your car we came for.”

“But the keys are inside. I’ve only got my

housekeys on me.”

“Where is the car?”

“We need the keys to the car,” she told him. “Or do you know how to hotwire it?”

Arkan nodded.

Kate stared at him. “You do?”

“Just because I’m part of Faerie, doesn’t make me stupid. ”

“Yes, but you don’t drive cars.”

“Who told you that?”

“Well, no one. It’s just in all the stories.”

A foxish grin stole across Arkan’s face. “There weren’t many cars in Shakespeare’s plays either.”

“Yes. But they didn’t have cars back then…”

Kate’s voice trailed off. Right, she thought. And they didn’t have them when people were putting together fairy tales either. Andrew Lang hadn’t been much of a hotrodder and Perrault wasn’t known for his skill in the Grand Prix. And when she thought of Jacky’s Wild Hunt… black-leathered bikers on their Harleys… Well, who was to say what a denizen of Faerie might or might not know?

“Well, let’s get to it,” she said.

She led the way to where Judith, her VW, was sitting in the driveway. She cast a quick glance back at the apartment— that was her life the bogans were prying into now, her personal space—then she bit down the rising tide of resentment. Jacky was what was important now. Not her apartment.

They reached the Volkswagen. The driver’s door opened with a small protesting creak. The interior light didn’t come on, but that wasn’t through any forethought on Kate’s part. It had simply burnt out a few months ago and she hadn’t bothered to replace it yet.

“Judith,” Kate hissed. “Help us out and I’ll get you an oil change as soon as this is all over—I promise.”

Arkan regarded her with amusement, then slid in. He bent down to fiddle with the wiring under the dashboard, leaving Kate to stand nervously by the open door.

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