by Tanya Huff
The triangular park that created the actual fork between the Red and Assiniboine Rivers was unlit on the water side of the railroad tracks. It wasn’t empty—given the news report that would be too much to ask—but it was dark, so Jack wrapped himself in shadow, landed unseen, and moved to stand behind three young women who had one hell of a lot of electronic equipment pointed at the water.
Given that the kindest thing he could say about most myths and legends was close but not quite—the Court wasn’t particularly hung up on gender, their own or anyone else’s—the lack of young men could only be considered a good try. Then he realized all the gesturing had a purpose and that two of the young women were deaf. The third wore wax earplugs. That got them two thumbs way up for paying attention to the important bits. Bare hands tracing words in the air, they didn’t seem bothered by the temperature; although if they were locals, October weather was nothing on the winters they’d already survived.
He thought they might be scientists or folklorists or something-ists. Serious about capturing myth in a way that the cell phone holders weren’t. He almost felt bad about what he was about to do to their data and wondered how they’d react if he told them about the asteroid.
Maybe if they couldn’t stop the asteroid, he’d find these girls again and tell them about the Courts. And the Gales. And dragons.
Still wrapped in shadow and breathing heavily, he moved up to the left of their equipment and stared out at the river.
City lights danced across the light chop, gleaming or sparkling depending on the source, without doing a thing to make the water look less cold and nasty. Granted, a Siren wouldn’t feel the cold, but if he hadn’t known what he knew and he’d heard what sounded like a girl singing in that river at this time of the year, his reaction would be more you have got to be kidding than oh, yeah, baby baby, I’m on my way.
At eleven on a Tuesday night, the city had gone quiet enough he could hear the water lapping at the shore. It sounded a little like dragon wings. Like the song of the air slipping over and around and . . .
Actually, it didn’t sound anything at all like dragon wings.
It sounded like water.
The girl-shape sitting on the rock-shape in the center of the river shrugged. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
“Yeah, I can.” If he’d had pockets, he’d have shoved his hands into them. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She combed her fingers through her hair, the emerald-green strands falling around her in a shimmering curtain. “You’re not my prince, Dragon.”
“So the Court keeps saying.” The three young women were frantically adjusting their equipment, hands flying in what, to his untrained eye, looked like profane gestures. Technology and sorcery didn’t mix and the first thing Jack had ever learned to do with his, as he crawled out from under the shelter of his mother’s wing, was hide. Even exhausted from the speed of his flight, he’d barely noticed the effort needed to extend the concealment out over the Siren. “You killed two people.”
“Two die now. Billions die later.” She shrugged. “All I did was sing.”
Charlie Sang. As far as Jack knew, no one had ever drowned listening to her. “We’re not going to let billions die.”
“Really? We thought Gales were all about family and letting the rest of the world burn.”
They weren’t wrong.
“So where’s the Bard?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “I was looking forward to a truncated version of Canadian Idol. We could keep score with the lives of the audience. She saves more than I drown, she wins. They still lose, but who cares about them.”
“Go home.”
“Make me. Oh, wait . . .” Her smile didn’t fit on her face. “. . . you can’t.” One bare foot kicked a spray of water toward him. “You’re fire, I’m water, and as long as I’m in the middle of the river, which is pretty much where I am all the time, you can’t touch me. Everyone knows dragons can’t swim.”
Jack spread his wings. “Why would I swim?”
“You smell like beer.”
Charlie lifted her arm and waved the damp spot at him, the darker fabric barely visible in the predawn light. “Spill on the bar. I’m wearing more beer than I’m drinking these days. Did you get them?”
“I did.” Graham moved out from behind a sweet gum and into the predawn light. “And I got some information as well.”
“Chupacabras talk?”
“No. I ran into a young man who works at the golf club who was also hunting . . .”
“The chupacabras?”
“Why not? It’s his country,” Graham pointed out. Charlie noticed he too had damp spots on his jacket and made a mental note to have him leave it in the downstairs bathroom. Pregnant, Allie had a violent reaction to the smell of blood. “Jorge was, conveniently, out on the beach this afternoon. He says he saw two people driving the chupacabras out into the crowds. After that, the running and the screaming was pretty much guaranteed.”
“Did he say what the two people looked like?”
“Thin, arrogant, and tall. Real tall. He also said, they moved like dancers. Or water.”
“Or water?” Charlie frowned. “Are you sure you understood him?”
“He works at a five star resort, his English is better than mine. Thin, tall, strangely graceful—any idea why the Courts would drive chupacabras out to attack people?”
She shrugged. “Who knows what the Courts think is fun?”
“Valid point. However . . .”
However trailed off into the cry of an early rising bird. After a moment Charlie realized Graham wasn’t waiting for the bird to finish, he was waiting for her. Had he been Roland or Cameron, a Gale by blood not marriage, Charlie would have deflected. But, like Joe, in spite of anchoring second circle with Allie, Graham was outside the family power structure. Like Joe, there was a good chance he’d get the reasoning behind going to the Courts. “Jack and Joe and I may have mentioned the end of the world to a couple of full-bloods who play basketball at U of C. Just to see if the Courts had a way to stop the asteroid.”
“The Courts don’t care what happens to the MidRealm.”
“They care about basketball.”
“Save the world, save March Madness?” Graham thought about it for a moment. “That’s shallow and superficial enough to be plausible. And?”
“They can’t stop the asteroid.”
“So they figure if the world’s going to end, they might as well have some fun before it does.”
“That’s jumping to a bit of a . . .” When his brows rose, she sighed. “Yeah, probably.”
“The aunties aren’t going to be happy. Auntie Jane told you not to go to the Courts.”
“Yeah, well, Auntie Jane’s going to have to be unhappy.” She scuffed the side of her boot against the ground, watching the line of darker grass emerge as she swept the dew away. “Jack and I agreed we have to try everything.”
“So you and Jack are . . .”
“Frustrated, star-crossed, tediously cliché if you’re not into romantic angst, and not about to break that particular rule.” When Graham took a step back, both hands raised, Charlie realized she may have spit that out a bit vehemently. “Sorry.”
“Not a problem.” He shifted his weapon case until he could wrap his arms around it. Charlie decided not to mention the symbolism. “Allie said you two are destined? It’s a Gale thing?”
“We aren’t destined. I’m a free electron.” With any luck, her smile looked more believable than it felt. “We just like each other too much for the age difference.”
Graham hummed a thoughtful G flat. “You don’t find it strange that it’s all about your ages and not your species?”
Charlie shrugged. “He’d be seventeen no matter what species he was. Can we not talk about it?”
After a long moment, he nodded. “Sure. And, as it hap
pens, I agree with your choice. About trying everything and checking with the Courts. The aunties won’t.”
“No shit. Remember I’ve known them longer than you have.” She held out her hand for his. It was time they went home. “The aunties don’t need to know.”
Charlie was waiting on the roof, wrapped in her quilt and drinking a coffee when Jack arrived just after sunrise. She was like his own personal beacon, there to guide him home. When he saw her, he knew everything was going to be fine. And frustrating. He’d begun to find frustration comforting. Fuck his life. Eyes locked on her face, he changed, and sagged against the stairwell. “I’d have called if the aunties could make a phone that doesn’t melt in dragon fire. I thought you might’ve Walked to me after you were done.”
“I wasn’t sure what would happen if you were flying.”
He thought about Charlie appearing beside him and realized that at the speed he’d been maintaining, she’d have hit the ground before he got turned around. If he even noticed she was there at all. Too tired to smoke when he yawned, he muttered, “Good call. Siren’s silenced.”
“And the Hunt’s home.” She grinned at him over the edge of her mug. “Not even going to try with the chupacabras. Graham took them out and he made a friend.” Then the grin disappeared, and Jack spent a moment worried Graham had gotten hurt before he realized that Graham hurt would mean Allie reacting would mean he’d be hearing a lot more emergency vehicles out on the streets. “I should feel like I got something accomplished last night,” Charlie continued, dropping a troubled gaze down into her mug. “But if we’re all going to die anyway, last night was nothing more than spitting into the wind. Tugging Superman’s cape. Taking the mask . . .”
“Yeah, you and Jim Croce have made your point. But we’re not all going to die.” Pretty sure he’d face-plant if he moved away from the supporting wall, he put everything he had left into his voice. “We’ll stop it.”
“You don’t know . . .”
“I know us. We stopped an old god, and it had intent. Like you said, this is nothing more than a big rock.”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I.” A deep breath later, she met his eyes and nodded. “Go us. You look like tired personified.”
“You should see it from this side.” It was too much effort to roll his shoulders and work the growing knots out of his back. Way too much effort to remind his body that his skin shape didn’t have flight muscles. “Why don’t you look tired?”
She made a grab for the quilt as she stood. “Musician. I’m used to going to bed at dawn. Also, I bleed caffeine. Come on, let’s get you to bed before the traffic chopper flies over and we get another note about public nudity.”
“I thought Auntie Carmen dealt with that,” he said allowing Charlie to take his arm and support part of his weight.
“She did. Allie says next time she’s sending Auntie Bea.”
“Mean.”
“Little bit.”
“Are you going to tuck me in?” The humming probably meant something. Given the way he stumbled when it stopped, he suspected it was holding him up.
“As much as I admire your tenacity, no. But I will walk you to your room and see that you make it as far as the bed.”
“Good.” Jack bounced off the wall as they went around the hall corner, bounced off the edge of his door, bounced as he landed on his bed. “Ow. I think I found my Flames belt buckle.”
“Dork.”
Since he might have been imagining her kiss against his hair, he didn’t open his eyes to check. Burying his face in her scent as she spread her quilt over him, he fought to stay awake long enough to ask, “Did my uncle fly past this mo . . .”
“The dragon lord flew over about half an hour before Jack landed.” Allie passed Charlie a piece of toast. “I’m surprised he didn’t notice.”
“Winnipeg and back? He’s pretty baked. Plus . . .” Charlie licked at the plum jam dripping down her wrist. “. . . I don’t imagine there’s much meat on a Siren.” Dropping to the sofa beside Graham, she helped herself to his coffee as he channel surfed. “So, what’s new this morning.”
“Report of a sea serpent in Boston Harbor,” he grunted, “but it’s all hearsay, no actual evidence. And there’s a rumor of a Spurs player with an ass’ head.”
“A call me Bottom ass’ head? Or is he just an ass? Because in professional sports that’s not exactly rare.”
“Full midsummer night’s dream team.”
“Huh.” Charlie ate the last of her toast and thought about it. Given that the younger members of the Court had borrowed from Tolkien, it wasn’t all that surprising their elders borrowed from an older source. “I guess Oberon’s a Spurs fan and he’s still pissed about them losing the NBA title. Again.”
“An ass head’s a little harsh.” Allie sat down on her other side and snuggled up against Charlie’s shoulder. “And how do you know so much about basketball.”
“As it happens, that’s pretty much all I know about basketball,” Charlie admitted. She caught Graham’s hand as he was about to change the channel. “Wait. A giant beanstalk growing at a Staples?”
“At the Staples Center,” Graham corrected. “It’s where the Lakers play.”
“Basketball again? Well, that’s not obvious or anything.”
“It’s like the Courts know there’s an asteroid on the way.” Allie shifted, elbow digging into Charlie’s side. “But if it’s blocked, and since it’s unlikely they found a scientist at NASA by way of a bouzouki player, how do they know?”
Charlie could feel Graham’s gaze on the side of her head. “Truth,” the Seether version, began playing, but before Charlie could answer, or decide what exactly she was going to answer, the apartment door opened.
Auntie Gwen was no surprise. That she was followed by Auntie Bea, Auntie Carmen, and Auntie Trisha was. None of them looked happy. Although, Charlie amended silently, Auntie Carmen never looked happy before ten.
“Charlotte.”
Charlie drained Graham’s mug. “Auntie Bea.”
“We need to talk.”
SEATED TOGETHER AT ONE END of the big dining room table, the aunties looked like a tribunal. Truth in advertising, Charlie thought. Standing at the other end of the table, not entirely certain why she’d taken up the position, but fully aware that at least some of the aunties’ power could be attributed to force of habit, she gripped the back of a chair hard enough the edges of the wood dug into her palms.
Auntie Bea leaned forward. “You were told not to contact the Courts.”
“How did you . . .” Auntie Gwen’s expression answered before Charlie could finish asking. “Of course. Joe.”
“It was obvious the Courts had found out about the asteroid.” Sitting a little separate from the others, Auntie Gwen’s position seemed somewhere between sympathy and solidarity. “I asked if he knew how. If it helps, he tried to talk around it.”
“But you kept at him.” She didn’t blame Joe.
“The Courts are wreaking havoc, Charlotte.”
“Havoc Lake, north of Thunder Bay?” Charlie forced the fingers of one hand to release the chair and pushed her hair back off her face. “Can’t see them doing much damage . . .”
“Enough.” Auntie Bea’s eyes flashed black. “Did it not occur to you that this reaction might be the very reason the Courts were not to be consulted? Or did you assume that being Wild negates knowledge gained by those three times your age with three times your experience?”
“Negates? There a reason you’re talking like Thor? Specifically, Brannagh’s Thor, because I don’t remember Whedon’s Thor getting to say . . .”
“Charlotte!”
She winced. Magic in a name. “There was a chance the Courts could help.”
“And a certainty they’d react exactly as they did.”
“If you were so certain, maybe you
should have mentioned it.”
“If you’d done as you were told,” Auntie Carmen began.
Auntie Bea cut her off. “We don’t have to explain ourselves to you.”
“Oh, yeah, because blind obedience is a terrific reason to not make every possible attempt to stop that asteroid.”
“Regardless of the consequences.”
Charlie slapped both hands down on the table. “The end of the world is a pretty fucking big consequence! If the world ends, I want to know I did everything!” Auntie Carmen and Auntie Trisha inched their chairs out.
Auntie Bea did not. “The family will survive!”
“Mine won’t.” Graham moved to stand by Charlie’s side. “I have family who aren’t Gales. I may not be able to bridge the gap Jonathon Gale drove between us when he murdered my parents, my sisters, and my brothers, but I don’t want my family to die.”
Interesting. Breathing heavily, Charlie straightened, her shoulder brushing Graham’s. He usually called his ex-employer by his alias, Stanley Kalynchuk. By using Jonathon Gale, he’d reminded the aunties that the family owed him. Charlie doubted the family would care, but it was a ballsy move.
Drying her hands on a tea towel, the normality of the action adding weight to her words, Allie stood by Charlie’s other side. “My father isn’t a Gale by blood.”
Auntie Bea waved off Allie’s father. “His only sister died childless years ago. He’s the end of his line as it usually is with those who marry in.” She shot an accusatory glance at Graham, willing to ignore for the moment that arriving at the seventh son of a seventh son required a lot of uncles.
“My point is,” Allie told her, her voice the voice of a woman who wrangled two-year-old twins twenty-four/seven, “the family no longer exists in isolation. We have connections to the world.”
“A very low percentage of the whole,” Auntie Trisha pointed out, “and roughly the same percentage of the world will survive without our help.”
