by Emma Savant
“They’re not actual wolves,” I said. “They’re people. You know, the kind with hopes and dreams and feelings?”
“They’re not people,” Blaze said. “They’re werewolves. So sometimes they’re people and sometimes they’re animals, with animal instincts.”
“That’s a myth,” I said. I’d talked to Brendan at length about this before he’d agreed to move his pack to Grandma’s land. But, of course, no one else had bothered to talk to the Wildwoods directly. They might be living within walking distance of the coven mansion, but the barrier between our families was still huge and overwhelming. “They have instincts that get heightened, yes, but they retain their identity as wolves, and there’s no reason to think they’re any more dangerous than the average Joe on the street.”
“The average Joe on the street is dangerous,” Poppy pointed out. “That’s why the world needs the Daggers.”
“They were just as scared to come live here as you are to have them,” I said. “You think they feel safe right next to a building full of slayers? We could wipe out their whole pack if we wanted to. Sienna and Autumn did enough damage on their own.”
“We’re not going to attack them,” Poppy said.
“And they’re not going to attack us.”
“We have your word for that.”
“And Grandma’s, and Brendan’s,” I said. “But my word should be enough. Do you really think I’d put you in danger? That I’d put your kids in danger?”
I looked between them. Blaze seemed to think about this, then shrugged a little, and Poppy pursed her lips.
“I don’t think you would mean to,” Poppy finally said.
“So you trust my motives but not my judgment?” I said. “That’s not enough. We’re Daggers. We have to be able to trust each other. And I’m your future Stiletto, so if you can’t trust me, we’re really screwed.”
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Blaze started.
I held up a hand. “I’m late, and I don’t want you to say something unless you’ve really thought it through. So think about it and decide if I’m someone you can rely on to have on your team. Because if I’m not, that’s a bigger conversation we probably need to have as a coven.”
I left them both standing in the foyer. After years of desperately trying to be included as one of them, it was odd to be in a position of… not of authority, exactly, not yet, but of knowing that I did belong among their ranks. It still might take a fight to prove to them that I had what it took to be a leader, but at least now my voice was just as important as theirs.
Or so I was trying to believe.
I reached for my phone to check how late I was running, exactly, and saw that I had two missed calls and a text, both from Grandma.
Nelly: Meeting ended early. Stop by my office when you get in.
Foreboding burrowed into the pit of my stomach as I put the phone back in my pocket.
The air downtown was crisp and cool, and bright sunlight filtered down between skyscrapers to highlight the spots of greenery that grew on balconies or rooftop gardens. I sped on my motorcycle into the parking garage adjacent to Carnelian and felt like I was halfway to Grandma’s office before the doors into the building closed behind me.
She was surrounded by piles of chiffon and lace appliqué, and her office smelled faintly of lemongrass and sandalwood. The large windows let in bright patches of sunlight—the kind that would have made the day of any of the dozen cats that reigned over the mansion.
“Spring collection,” she said the moment I walked in, as if we were already in a conversation. “Is a leaf motif too pandering?”
“To the Waterfall Palace?” I said. “No. Or if it is, who cares?”
“Fair point.”
She dropped a length of pale-green embroidered chiffon on the table and beckoned me to come sit on the other side of her silver desk. When I did, I could barely see her over the piles of fabric. She perched on the edge of the desk to make up the difference.
“I liked your sketches,” she said. “I sent them back to you this morning with some ideas. Implement them and see what you come up with, and then I’ll start you on the next batch.”
“Was the cocktail dress too much?” I asked.
“Not enough, I thought,” Grandma said. “If you’re going to blow up a skirt like that, you might as well go all the way.”
I nodded my understanding, and she added, in a more cautious voice, “You missed the meeting this morning.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I said. “Dagger stuff came up.”
“It always will,” Grandma said. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, sabre. Are you doing all right?”
She didn’t mean it as a challenge. I knew that, but it still got my hackles up.
“I’m fine,” I said, a little too loudly. “This morning was just one of those things. It won’t happen again.”
Grandma shifted on the desk, wiggling to find a more comfortable seat. “It’s going to happen at least weekly,” she said. “Don’t kid yourself.” She smiled, and it was the kind of smile that came from long experience.
The distance between her and me was vast, and I had no idea how I was ever going to cross it.
“I’m just learning to juggle everything.” I wrapped my red leather jacket more tightly around myself and the tip of my wand dug into my side from its hidden pocket. “I’m sorry I missed the meeting.”
“I’m not upset about that,” Grandma said. “It happens. But you’re working to become a designer now, and you need to be at these meetings so you know the direction the house is going.”
“I know.” Frustration built up in my body; I sensed the familiar patterns of tension settling into my neck and shoulders.
“I don’t want you to overwhelm yourself,” Grandma said. “It’s not as if you have to take over the fashion house tomorrow, and we both know your priorities need to be with the Daggers right now. If balancing the coven and your work here is too much, we can scale back your duties at Carnelian.”
It was gently said and kindly meant, but her gentleness did nothing to mitigate the weight of failure on my shoulders.
“I can handle it.” My voice was a little too sharp and a little too brisk, and I fought to regain control of it. “I can. I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much. What did I miss at the meeting?”
4
I sat on a park bench beside a paved trail, glancing up occasionally from my phone as if I were distracted by the sight of a squirrel scampering up a tree trunk or the whir of bike wheels as a family on an evening ride sped past and disappeared over the hill just to my right.
The harpy I’d come here to watch was perched quietly up in a tree. She hadn’t moved for the better part of two hours, and none of the people below would ever spot her motionless figure even if they happened to look up—which, I knew, people didn’t do nearly as often as they thought.
It was a relief to just sit here while I waited for her to make a move. A voice in the back of my head said I should be using the time to catch up on Carnelian emails or review the coven’s latest bestiary entries or work on my next set of sketches for Grandma, and I took great pleasure in telling the voice to go screw itself.
A notification popped up on my phone.
Alec: We just finished construction on the main part of the den. It’ll be a few days until we’re set up with plumbing and electricity, but we’re having s’mores to celebrate anyway. You should come.
The thought of hanging out in the woods and eating s’mores with friends warmed my heart, at least for a second until I realized what time it was. I’d hoped to have the harpy handled half an hour ago.
Scarlett: Would love to but I can’t. It’s my mom’s birthday, and we’re having a party for her tonight. I’d invite you, but…
Alec: Say no more.
I glanced up. The harpy was still motionless with her giant wings wrapped around her slender body. Only her darting eyes gave me evidence that she hadn’t been
turned to stone.
A young couple passed me, holding hands and talking loudly about someone at the woman’s job. The man tilted his head back to finish the last of an energy drink, and I straightened. He searched around for a trash can, but there wasn’t one in sight—which was why I’d chosen this spot, and maybe the reason the harpy had been reported here so many times.
The man glanced back at me, but I made a point of staring resolutely at my phone. The couple crested the hill and disappeared over the other side, and a moment later, I heard the muffled sound of him tossing the can into the thick growth on either side of the trail.
Bingo.
The harpy unfurled her giant wings and soared down from her tree. I jogged to the top of the hill just in time to see her land with a piercing cry in front of the couple. The woman screamed, and the man shouted the kinds of obscenities guys like him usually trotted out when they were pretending to have a terrifying situation under control.
It was tempting to just sit and watch the moment unfold. These two were clearly Humdrums and had never seen anything like the winged woman on the path in front of them. Her sharp claws stretched out toward them, and her wings beat, sending dry leaves skittering away.
“Pack it in,” the harpy said, emphasizing each word. “Pack it out.”
The woman screamed again and stumbled backward.
“Reduce, reuse, recycle,” the harpy said.
The woman whimpered, and the harpy took a menacing step toward her and pointed at the can lying discarded in the bushes.
“Is this too complicated for you?” the harpy demanded.
The woman saw me approaching and pointed, like there was a chance I hadn’t noticed the bizarre scene in front of me. I held up a hand.
The harpy seemed startled to see me, either because she thought I’d decided to take up permanent residence on my bench or because it was unusual for someone to look at her as calmly as I was. One clawed hand reached out to grab the man, but I already had a length of enchanted silver rope in my hands.
I swung it toward the harpy. The rope soared through the air as if it had a life and mind of its own and looped smoothly around her wings, binding them to her sides and trapping her on the earth.
She let go of the man and screeched--a high, wailing noise that stood my hair on end.
“I’ve always wanted to use that lasso,” I said as the rope tightened and knotted itself. I waved at the couple.
The woman had gone pale, and the man’s face was slowly turning red.
“Hi, guys. Did you just throw your can on the ground?”
The man blustered but couldn’t seem to form actual words. I raised an eyebrow and gave him a moment.
Finally, I pulled my wand from my pocket. The harpy’s eyes darted between my face and the wand, and she tried to run, but the rope instantly snaked around her knees. She swayed but managed to stay standing.
“Go stand on the other side of her,” I ordered the couple.
They seemed frozen to the spot.
I didn’t have time for this.
“Go,” I said sharply. I pointed and took a step toward them. They seemed to decide that I was somehow more frightening than the bound bird woman, and they walked around the harpy at a glacial pace, giving her plenty of room.
The woman’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s, and finally she managed to sputter out the words, “Don’t kill us!”
I lowered my wand.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I said flatly.
This did nothing to assuage the terror on her face, and I took a deep breath. Just because I was having a long day, didn’t mean I needed to take it out on her.
“I’m not even going to hurt you,” I said in a soothing voice. I smiled and took a slow step toward her, feeling a bit like I did when I tried to calm one of the kids who lived at the mansion after they scraped their knee or accidentally burned themselves on a cauldron. “You’re going to be just fine. I’m going to get you somewhere safe, but I need you to stand on the other side of her, okay?”
The woman swallowed and clutched the man’s arm. He seemed torn between trying to run and trying to attack me or the harpy or both. I lifted my wand again and held it up, and they both focused immediately on the light glowing at its tip.
“You’re going to forget this ever happened,” I said. “You’re going to keep walking down this path and you’ll have no memory of me or the woman you just saw.” I glanced back at the harpy, who had turned to look at us and was glaring daggers at me. “And you will never, ever litter again. It’s bad for the environment and it’s selfish to throw your garbage all over a public park. Don’t be that guy.”
They both nodded from their trance, eyes still fixed on the light. I moved the wand closer to them, and the tip grew brighter and brighter before exploding in a shower of sunbeams. I stepped behind them and waited a moment.
The woman slid her hand down the man’s arm and laced her fingers through his, and they started walking.
“I just don’t see how he thinks it’s okay to take credit for my work like that,” the woman said, as if she hadn’t been screaming moments earlier. “Especially in front of Janet, because it’s not like I could just jump in and correct him, you know?”
They continued down the path, and it never occurred to them to look back.
5
I turned to face the harpy.
“We’ve been getting reports of you hanging out in this park,” I said.
She snarled at me. Now that the crisis was mostly averted, I had time to notice she was wearing a Save the Bees tank top covered in pins that said things like We All Live Downstream and Think Globally, Act Locally.
“Who’s we?” she snapped.
I tucked my wand back in my jacket pocket. The wood always felt like it was too long and brittle to fit into the pocket or to lie there comfortably without snapping, but the instant it was in the jacket, everything somehow fit together. Carnelian tailoring was good like that.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I represent a group that takes issue with members of the Glimmering world attacking members of the Humdrum world.”
“Humdrums litter more than Glims,” she said. “But I don’t discriminate.”
“Yeah, a sorcerer was the one who identified you,” I said. “You abducting people to treetops and yelling at them is still a problem.”
“I have a right to share my views,” she said.
I tilted my head. “Not at the top of a pine tree with a victim, you don’t. If you want to scream at people about littering, you can hold a sign on a street corner like everyone else.”
She wriggled inside her bonds. “I’m just trying to save the environment,” she said. “I’m making a difference, one person at a time. And if you don’t like it—” She wriggled again, the threat dissolving into grunts as she tried to break free of the rope.
I waited for her to realize the rope wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’m actually sympathetic to your cause,” I said. “I’m a witch. Keeping Earth healthy is kind of our thing. You can’t harass people like this, though. Especially not Humdrums.”
“They’re the worst offenders.”
“Of course they are,” I said. No faerie or dryad or witch in their right mind would harm the natural world that gave them most of their power, and even the magicians and sorcerers among us generally recognized how important the elements were to the Glimmering world at large.
In all fairness, Humdrums relied on the natural world just as much as we did, seeing as how it let us breathe and stuff, but they were better at ignoring all that. Maybe it was just because they didn’t feel the elements in their bones like many of us did.
“Let me go,” the harpy said.
“I’m open to that,” I said.
She hissed at me, baring spindly teeth. I flicked my wand at her, and the rope tightened.
“I’m open to that,” I repeated. “On conditions.”
She blinked sullenly at me.
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“No more abducting people,” I said. “To treetops or anywhere else.” When she didn’t seem on board, I added, “Look, it’s that or you end up in front of the Faerie Court. I’m trying to help you here.”
She kept glaring at me but stopped straining quite so hard.
“You also can’t keep appearing in front of Humdrums unless you get some glamours over those wings,” I said. “I know that part sucks, but them’s the rules.”
“It’s racist.”
“Take it up with the Faerie Queen.”
She let out a hard sigh. I flicked the wand, and the rope loosened a little. I could see her mentally weighing her options, trying to decide if this was her chance to run, but she thought better of it.
“What else?”
“That’s it,” I said. “Stop abducting people and stop revealing yourself to Humdrums. Put on a glamour and don’t actually physically assault people and you can harass them with pamphlets as much as you want.”
She didn’t look happy about it, but she also seemed to realize she had exactly two options and this was the better one.
“Fine,” she said.
“I’m going to need you to sign a statement saying we had this talk,” I said.
I pulled the small scroll from my jacket and unfurled it. I loosened the rope enough for her to get one clawed hand out, and she signed it, muttering about dictatorships and capitalism and political suppression.
“I don’t see why I’m getting in trouble for stopping people from littering,” she complained while I removed the silver rope from her with a flick of my wand. “There are other people out there doing much worse things, and they’re getting off scot-free.”
“Life’s not fair,” I said with a shrug.
“You ought to spend your energies taking care of child murderers and crime syndicates,” she said.
She launched into the air without waiting for a reply. Her powerful wings rustled the leaves around her as she flapped up and out of sight.
A Humdrum jogger came over the crest of the hill behind me, breathing hard and staring resolutely ahead. I stepped aside and let him pass.
