As I crossed the foyer, I could hear the low murmur of voices coming from Adam’s office, but, with the door shut, the soundproofing was too good to hear anything specific. Uncle Mike stood, arms clasped behind his back, looking out the window. He was so intent that I looked out, too, but I could see nothing that should have inspired such interest.
After a moment, he turned, and said, “Mercy.”
Uncle Mike looked like a worn and distilled version of himself. The Jolly Innkeeper persona was almost gone, leaving in his place a broad-shouldered, broad-handed man with reddish brown hair and tired hazel eyes.
“Uncle Mike,” I greeted him. “It has been a while. I’m surprised to see you here.”
His lips curled into a shadow of his usual smile. “Not as surprised and four times as pleased as my compatriots, I vow.”
“You’ve been reading The Lord of the Rings again,” I said, and he grunted.
“So the people ruling the reservation these days don’t know you’re here and would be upset to know it,” I said. “Why are you here?”
“Not to interfere with your rash protection of the Fire Touched,” he said in an overly loud voice obviously intended to reach the far ends of the house—and Aiden’s ears. Then, in a much softer voice, he said, “One of my flitflits told me that she’d heard that the Dark Smith and his boy were on the bridge with you yesterday. I discounted it until I heard that the Fire Touched escaped and that he was under the protection of the pack. My news sources aren’t as reliable as they once were, but it was not hard to connect both stories.” He flexed his short fingers and put them down on his knees, leaned forward, and said, “Several weeks ago, I was told that the Dark Smith had been executed for failure to cooperate sufficiently, and also that his son died soon after—half-bloods being so much more fragile than we.”
“The fae cannot lie,” I told him, wondering what a flitflit was. I puzzled over it too long and missed my cue, though.
He’d relaxed as soon as I’d spoken, and I realized I’d pretty much given away Zee’s still-alive status by not freaking out when Uncle Mike said he’d heard that he was dead.
“Yes, we cannot lie,” he said. “And after I heard the stories, I thought on what I was told and by whom. I think that the one who told me believed what she said, and the one who told her was cunning with his words—as his reputation leaves him to be.”
“Zee’s alive,” I told him. “And what’s a flitflit?”
And even though he had known that from my reaction, he still drew in a deep breath as if he hadn’t had many deep breaths in a long time. “And so it is true.”
“And if it is?” asked Zee from the stairway, his voice arctic.
Uncle Mike smiled. This time it was the full-force, hugely charismatic smile that made the part of me that detected magic sit up and take notice. “Well, then,” he said, satisfaction lacing his voice. “Some people are going to be looking over their shoulders, now, aren’t they?”
Zee tipped his head to the side. “That is an interesting notion. I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you, now,” said Uncle Mike in evident satisfaction. “Just don’t you, old friend.”
“What,” I asked again, “is a flitflit?”
“Lesser fae,” Zee said. “They flitflit around and hear things. Uncle Mike has a number of them who are personally loyal to him.”
The other fae nodded. “What do you want me to do about what I know?”
Zee frowned. “You see me standing before you. I trust you aren’t in the mood to change my status?”
“Someone wanted us to think you dead,” Uncle Mike said. “Do you want me to disabuse them of that notion—or let it play out?”
Zee gave him a sour smile. “What do I care? I don’t play those games—I don’t play any games.”
The smile that spread over Uncle Mike’s face was sharklike and sharp. “Someone forgot that, forgot whom they were dealing with. Good.” He breathed out deeply, and said, “Very good.”
He walked to the door and opened it, pausing on the threshold and turning back. “I am reassured as to your health, old friend. I look forward to being in the audience for your next act.” He bowed his head to Zee, then to me, before stepping outside and closing the door, very gently, behind him.
Zee watched him leave, listened to the car as it drove off, and came the rest of the way down the stairs. He did it without limping or making noise or any other thing. But he did it very slowly. He was badly hurt.
When he got to the bottom, I said, “Breakfast in the kitchen, I think. If Jesse didn’t leave extra eggs, then there will still be leftover doughnuts.”
As if the mention of her name summoned her, Jesse descended the stairs in a tenth of the time it had taken Zee.
“I used up the eggs,” she said. “But I can reheat the French toast I put in the fridge if anyone wants some.”
“That would be good,” Zee said.
Jesse ignored Aiden entirely and began rummaging in the fridge. Zee, who was very good at reading between the lines when he cared to, gave Aiden a speculative and not-altogether-friendly look.
Warren came in from outside, still tucking his shirt into his jeans. There was something in his face that told me his wolf was lingering close to the surface, but his smile was real when he offered to give Jesse a ride to school.
Jesse brought a plate of French toast over and set it in front of Zee. “A ride?” She heaved a big sigh and rolled her eyes, to demonstrate that she wasn’t fooled—Warren would be sticking around the school to make sure she was safe.
Warren frowned at Jesse, hunching his lanky length as if he’d absorbed a blow. “If you’d rather ride with someone else, thet’s ahlraht, Jesse. Darryl would take you.” The excessive Texas was to let Jesse know that he really wasn’t hurt. “Or Ben,” he said innocently. Ben had caused quite a stir when he’d gone to her school—subtle, the foul-mouthed Englishman was not. Warren would be a lot less likely to attract notice.
She rolled her eyes again because she knew what he was doing. But she couldn’t help but pat his shoulder and laugh, too. “Oh, let’s not bother Ben. It’s fine. We should go before I’m late.”
Warren kissed my cheek, and I gave him a hug. “Thanks,” I said.
“No worries,” he said. “Boss asked me last night if I’d take her and set up watch. Work’s been quiet lately. Kyle’s started to complain about the number of polite divorces he’s been handling. Says if they’re that civil, they probably should stay married.” Warren’s partner, Kyle, was a divorce lawyer, and Warren was a private eye who did odd jobs for Kyle’s firm.
“Quiet is good,” I said.
“That’s what I told him,” Warren said. “I don’t think he’s convinced.” He gave the room a general wave, then, with a hand on her shoulder, escorted Jesse out of the house.
“So,” I said, sitting down at the table with Zee and Aiden as soon as Warren and Jesse left. “We should talk about options for Aiden.”
Aiden looked away from me to the floor of the kitchen, where the cracked tile bore witness to his first clash with the pack.
“It might be interesting,” Zee said, “to determine whether the troll had been sent after me, after Tad, or after Aiden. If it was after Aiden, you might have more trouble with the fae.”
He meant that if the troll had been sent after him or Tad, he would handle the fallout. I had all the faith in the world that Zee could protect himself—when he was healthy enough to walk down the stairs with something approaching his normal grace. Not that it mattered. If the fae operated anything like the wolves as far as power games went, it was the pack they’d have to go after first, or they’d lose face. Bran had seemed to think we could negotiate with them—I just hoped he was right.
“I think we might be looking at trouble either way,” I said. “But let’s talk about A
iden, because he has a time limit. How hard are they going to look for you, Aiden? Would it be enough to relocate you somewhere far from the fae reservations, or are they likely to send people after you wherever you go?”
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “It seemed to me that they were most interested in how I use fae magic when I shouldn’t be able to touch it because humans can’t.” He put both hands flat on the table. The nails were bitten to the quick. “They used to take Underhill for granted. She was their home, their due, and their servant. Then she shooed them all out the door and locked it up tight against them.” He shivered. “There were other things in Underhill,” he said, not looking at any of us. “Not just us human-born changelings. There were places where the fae kept their prisoners. I suppose some of them were normal—as normal as any fae—when they were first locked up. But when she opened the prison doors—because she was lonely, she said—there was nothing remotely normal about what came out. When they killed us by the dozens, she was sad, so she gave us power to protect ourselves. She gave me the gift of fire. As far as I can tell, the fae are mostly jealous. They’ve killed enough of us that they are convinced they can’t take the fire from me and keep it themselves, though.”
Zee pursed his lips and whistled. “Did you tell any of them that she’d opened up the prisons?”
Aiden shook his head. “But they know, right? She’s opened the doors, so they’ve seen.”
“I think not,” Zee said. “I think she’s been playing games with them.” He sat back, grunted, and sat straighter. “Mercy, I think it is safe to assume they will come after him. He is beloved of Underhill.”
Aiden snorted, trying to sound nonchalant, I thought, but mostly he sounded scared.
Zee gave Aiden a sour smile. “Last night, while I slept, she whispered in my dreams. ‘Where is my beloved?’ she asked. ‘What have you done with him, Smith? Bring him back to me.’ If she is talking to other fae, they will hunt you until you are dead or they can give you back to her.”
Aiden’s eyes showed white all around. “Don’t take me back there,” he begged Zee. “Please, don’t.”
“Underhill addressed you?” I asked Zee. Unlike Aiden, I knew that Zee wouldn’t even walk across the street at the bidding of the fae—not after they put Tad in jeopardy. And what was Underhill but another form of fae? Aiden was in no danger of Zee’s returning him anywhere.
Zee nodded. “I don’t like it, either,” he said. “I never had much to do with Underhill, though I’ve attended a court or two there. Underhill, like most of the fae, is sensitive to metal, and iron-kissed is my nature. We don’t get on.” Zee tapped on the table. “It disturbs me that Underhill knows my name.”
“Me, too,” said Aiden, thoroughly spooked. “Your name, my name—I wish she’d forget them all.” He glanced over at me. “Would you keep me safe for one more day? So I can think on this? I will do what I can to stay out of your way.”
“What do you expect to accomplish with another day?” asked Zee.
“I cannot promise anything yet,” I answered Aiden. “I have to talk to Adam.”
Before he could remind me that I’d given him sanctuary in the first place without talking to Adam, a door opened, and Christy burst into the kitchen. Tears slid down her pretty face, and she furiously wiped them away. She met my eyes, raised her chin, and said, “He is a bastard.”
Adam stalked in after her, temper in every muscle of his body. “Where’s Darryl?” he asked the room in general.
“Outside,” Zee told him. “Perimeter duty.” He must have been listening to what had gone on in the kitchen before he came down.
Adam opened the back door, and said, “Darryl, I have a job for you.”
Christy crossed her arms under her chest and glared at me. “This is your fault,” she said. She uncrossed her arms and wiped her eyes again, with special attention to not smearing her mascara.
I made a neutral sound.
Adam gave a look to Christy, who bit her lip and turned her head away.
“No,” he said. “It isn’t. Darryl?”
The big man slid into the kitchen. “Yes?”
“I need you to take Christy to her apartment and let her pack. Tomorrow, at six in the morning, she’s getting on a plane. You’ll be on it with her. She’ll change airplanes in Seattle for a flight to the Bahamas. You have the choice of waiting four hours for your return flight, which is paid for, or renting a car at the pack’s expense and driving home.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“There was a note pinned to her door this morning,” Adam said. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew an envelope that he’d folded in half.
It was thick paper, the kind that comes with invitations to weddings or graduations. I took out the card inside. It was inscribed by hand by someone with incredibly good penmanship.
It read:
Dear Christina Hauptman,
Please give the attached message to your husband.
I grimaced at the “your husband” part. Christy had thrown Adam away, and she didn’t get him back. I raised the card to my nose. It smelled of Adam, Christy, and very faintly of the ocean and something . . .
“The Fideal,” I said. The Fideal had attacked me, once. I’d run to the pack, and they had driven him off. Cantrip would have classified him as a boogie monster—a creature used to frighten children into being good or staying safe in their beds. That was one way to look at it. I looked upon him and his ilk as a fae analog of the human pedophile, but the fae version usually ate its prey.
Adam nodded. “I smelled him, too.”
“There’s another note?” I asked, putting the first on the table so that everyone could look.
Adam pulled it out of his front pocket and gave it to me. Like the first, it carried the Fideal’s scent. I pulled the card out.
The fae hadn’t bothered with a polite address here, though the fancy paper and the elegant writing were the same.
Adam Hauptman:
Your coyote said that you intend to protect your territory—we can make that promise cost you dearly even unto your last breath. We can bring war and destruction to your territory until not one stone stands upon another, until there is no soul left to cry over your dead.
But we are willing to bargain. You have something we want. Call this number if you are interested in what we have to say.
Like the other note, this one was unsigned.
I frowned. “They don’t say what we have. Do they mean Zee, Aiden, or Tad? Or maybe something entirely different, like the walking stick?”
“Yes,” said Zee. “Or maybe no. They may want you to tell them what you have—or they may not be in agreement.” He sighed. “Getting all the fae to point in the same direction is like herding cats. And once you accomplish that—they are still more likely to stab the person next to them instead of the enemy they face. This might not even be from someone who can bargain for the fae as a whole. It seems . . . more secretive than the Gray Lords usually manage.”
Darryl looked at Adam. “I’ll tell work I’m on vacation for the week.”
“I want to stay here,” Christy said. “I only have two weeks to pack before moving to Oregon. I can’t afford to spend a week in the Bahamas.”
“Here is dangerous for you,” Darryl said, tucking his hand gently under Christy’s elbow. “They’ve already picked you out as a target. You need to be out of town, somewhere you aren’t going to be easy to get to. Auriele and I will help you pack when you get back.”
“Adam and the pack can keep me safe if I moved back in here,” she said. “In the Bahamas, I’ll be all by myself.”
“Adam is going to be hard put to keep himself alive,” I told her, though she was an idiot if she didn’t know it. “The whole of the fae host on the reservation is about to drop on our heads. That’s what this note is all about. And we are out of room
in this house.”
She looked at Adam. “Why are they after you?”
What had they been talking about that she didn’t know that? I wondered. Then I saw the temper in Adam’s face, and realized that she knew good and well it was my fault. She just wanted everyone to hear it again.
“Because,” Zee said grimly, before I could admit my guilt to the world, again, “they have friends who are fae, and they are dangerous friends to have. If I were younger, I might apologize.”
“In this case,” Darryl said, “it is smart for you to go and have a free vacation in an island paradise that Adam is paying for.” He tugged her out of the room and talked her out of the house.
“Are you both married to him?” asked Aiden, looking, of all people, at me. “Or are you a paramour? And why did they call you Adam’s coyote? Is a coyote not a small wolf who lives in this area?”
“Mmmm,” I said. “More like a large fox than a small wolf. I’m a shapechanger, but not a werewolf. My other form is a coyote.”
“Christy and Adam were married,” said Zee. “But they did not suit. Human law allows for dissolution of marriage vows.” He glanced at me. “The fae have a rather more direct method of dealing with unwanted spouses.” Returning his attention to Aiden, he said, “Marriage is not as necessary for survival of the species as it used to be, and it has suffered somewhat from the change. After the marriage was dissolved, Adam married Mercy.” There was a small pause. “I was at the wedding.” That last sounded a little bemused.
“Who told you about coyotes, but didn’t tell you what they were, Aiden?” asked Adam.
“What?” Aiden looked up. “Oh, coyotes. Someone, I don’t know who because I was too busy dry heaving to see which one, inflicted a translation spell on me. They needed to talk to me, and I refused to understand any of them no matter what language they used.”
Zee said, “Language is more than just words, it contains concepts and ideology unique to the people who speak it. The best of those recognize that and attempt to fill in.”
Fire Touched Page 15
