Deadly Assessments

by Drew Hayes

  “If it’s for Krystal, they’ll show,” Lillian said.

  “Even so, it’s important that we ask.” That was the easy part, the logical next step. Now, I had to figure out what we might be able to prepare that the fey wouldn’t see coming. “Also, let’s reach out to the Clovers, Asha, Richard, and ask Amy to call up Cyndi. Anyone who might have insight into dealing with the fey gets tapped as a consultant. Once we have a decent idea of what we’ll potentially be up against, we can start making plans.”

  “Not going to call upon the mighty King of the West?” There was more than a simple question in Deborah’s words, but I didn’t have time to worry about it just then. Whatever her problem was, she could get in line.

  “Gideon isn’t generally the helpful sort, and I can’t imagine he would lower himself to serving as a consultant.” In truth, I knew he had no objection to the sharing of information, but the less close Deborah thought we were, the safer everyone would be. “We’re sticking with the people we know and trust, the ones who give a damn about whether we make it back alive. Let’s make some calls and get ready. Sounds like the House of Fred has an outing to prepare for.”

  2.

  Lillian was right. Even before I’d explained the entire situation to them, every member of my clan was ready to plunge headfirst into the fey lands. Bubba jumped out of his chair so fast that he shattered it, though it was repaired before he sat back down, thanks to Charlotte. There was no hesitation in anyone in this group, not when it came to one of our own.

  By the time we set out, two days later, I was almost grateful to have something to do other than talk about the fey and strategies for dealing with them. Arch booked a pair of armored Agency SUVs, one driven by him, the other piloted by Deborah. In total, we had me, Deborah, Arch, Bubba, Albert, Neil, Amy, and Lillian, who was holding a small model of Charlotte Manor. The model had been Charlotte’s idea and creation, since she couldn’t very well attend in person. The fey were sticklers for the rules, but since the model was made from the same materials as the manor itself and enchanted by the Clovers to conduct Charlotte’s voice, we hoped it would count as her attendance.

  Despite the normally gregarious crew, our vehicle was largely silent as we made our way far from the town of Winslow and neared the Colorado border. I had wound up in the SUV with Deborah, Bubba, Amy, and Lillian. Neil had needed a lot of room in the other car to spread out and prepare his spells, plus Albert had to ride with his sword in his lap, which almost took up another seat. Everyone but Deborah had their eyes turned out the windows, minds on what came next.

  In our two days’ time, we’d done all we could: research on the fey, rumors of how these sorts of trials generally proceeded, any kind of protection we could prepare. Much like vampires, and most other parahumans, the fey had a metal allergy, only theirs wasn’t to silver. Their magic, their realm, was different than ours, so it reacted to a different material. Specifically, iron. Unfortunately, Arch had informed us that the fey would be checking for such substances when we entered the Hollow Woods. They weren’t keen on allowing iron into their realm, and with good reason.

  Being unable to walk in holding weapons of pure iron left us in a weaker position than we might have liked, although, in honesty, I was a little glad we couldn’t take that route. Strolling in with fey-poison in hand sent a very strong message, the sort that might completely remove diplomacy from the table. I still had hope that this might be resolved on peaceful ground. No matter how fearsome the fey’s reputation might be, we would still be dealing with just one person, a single being who might have greater compassion or decency than the rest of their kind. If that seems overly optimistic, do try to remember that in spite of the way vampires were viewed, I’d learned that some of them were quite capable of loyalty, kindness, and decency. If we could meet the fey equivalent of Lillian—heck, at that point, I would probably take a fey-Deborah—then there was hope the day would end well.

  Eventually, our vehicles rumbled to a stop. We were on a dirt road, miles from the highway and hidden from view by the local vegetation. In front of us was an unassuming concrete cube, a minimalist bunker that could have been left over from the Cold War. Arch walked up to it without wasting a moment, shoved a giant key into the lock, and twisted with some effort. The door gave way, creaks like screams rising with every inch it gave, until it finally revealed the interior. I’d thought I was braced for anything, but it turned out I was ill-prepared to stare into a small bunker and see an expanse of mostly barren trees stretching out in all directions.

  “You could have just given us the key,” Lillian said, while the rest of us stared inside with reactions that ranged from curiosity to shock.

  “Enchanted.” Arch’s reply was a grunt, although he seemed more annoyed than winded from hauling open the sizable door. “Anyone other than the agent who was given the key tries to use it, and all you’ll find on the other side is an empty bunker with a case of old beer. Getting back is easier, since we don’t have to worry about the fey wandering through.”

  The fey, I had learned over the past few days, were technically allowed to enter our lands, but rarely chose to do so. The fey lands were their home, and they preferred them to our realm; however, occasional crossover did occur. Sometimes it resulted in love, or at least sex, which accounted for the existence of half-fey like June and September Willowbrook. Their kind was rare for a reason, though. Mostly, the fey kept to their own lands and humans (along with other parahumans) stayed in ours.

  “Remember, swords and weapons stay holstered unless you have a reason to draw them.” I’m not sure I’d ever describe my voice as forceful, but on occasion, I could at least manage a passable veneer of authority. This was just such a moment. I wanted to make sure my entire clan stayed clear on our strategy. “We approach this with diplomacy first, and we will hold that stance for as long as we can.”

  They all nodded, except for Deborah and Arch—but then again, they weren’t members of my clan, so my instructions didn’t necessarily pertain to them. The most I could hope was that they would go with what the House of Fred had decided, at least for a little while.

  One by one, we filed through the door, making our way into the forest within. A wave of smells caught my attention first, the scent of flora that hadn’t been there seconds prior. Stranger still, several of these scents were entirely new, odors I had never experienced before in life or undeath. In the distance, I could hear creatures moving about as my ears reflexively listened for any potential threats. I also took note of the sound of metal jingling from not far off. Turning, I found myself staring at a pair of guards who hadn’t been there moments prior. Both were clad in gleaming armor, with vibrant blues and greens woven between the plating.

  In the past, I’ve described both June and her brother September (Tem, as Krystal called him) as inhumanly beautiful, their near flawless features touched by something otherworldly. With the guards, there was far more than a touch. They were so perfectly sculpted, they almost seemed alien. I had no idea what gender they were, or whether this variety of fey even possessed such a thing. There were many kinds of fey, just as there were many types of parahumans, and different types had different aspects and roles they fulfilled. These were apparently meant for speed or stealth, given the suddenness of their appearance, and I was sure they had ample more talents that we had yet to discover.

  One of them spoke, and with those words, I felt like there was a song in the forest, though no birds sang so much as a note. “You are the House of Fred?”

  “House of Fred, along with Deborah of the Blood Council and Agent Arch Davenport as escort,” I announced, using the same clear, respectful tone I did in most professional settings.

  “You were expected, and we welcome you to these in-between lands.” The speaking fey stepped slightly closer, giving us a careful sniff. “There is but one issue. A whiff of iron clouds the scent of that one. Not pure, yet iron all the same.” An armored finger pointed at Amy, who looked around briefly as
though she were confused.

  Glancing down at her wrist, she thumped herself in the temple, then peeled off a small bracelet. “Sorry, got this as a gift a long time ago. I completely forgot there was iron in it. May I throw it back through the door to the other side?”

  Our speaking guard stood back and waited. Amy went ahead and chucked the bracelet through, then waited as Arch carefully pulled the door shut again, sealing us off from the world in which most of us had spent our entire lives.

  “With the iron removed, you may proceed.” The guard motioned behind him to where a path that hadn’t previously existed was winding along. “Follow this trail; it will lead you to your destination. Do not stray from this path. Hellebore has ensured that you may travel it safely. Step away, and no such assurance exists.”

  Both fey stepped back toward the woods and vanished from sight. I caught a slight jingle of metal as they moved, and then nothing. Given how much armor they’d been wearing, it was incredible that they could move so silently. Or perhaps they used enchantments. Anything was on the table now that we had crossed over into a land overflowing with magic.

  There was little to say as we walked down the path, Arch in the front and Deborah bringing up the rear. Our nerves were all on the edge, but Hellebore’s promise held true. Despite a few rumblings and loud thudding steps from within the woods to either side, nothing approached our path.

  We kept walking for quite some distance—it was impossible to tell how long with unfamiliar stars overhead, although the enormous moon did provide ample light for those of us who lacked night vision. I caught Bubba glancing up at the huge white half-circle in the sky, much larger than any moon I’d seen before. If it were full, would he be feeling the urge to transform? I wasn’t sure how this realm’s celestial bodies influenced us as parahumans, and I certainly didn’t plan to stay until sunrise to find out.

  Finally, we rounded a cluster of trees and found ourselves staring at what might once have been some kind of arena. It looked as though it had been plucked from a picture book of the Middle Ages, the sort of place where one might expect to find knights holding a tournament. Some of it was in disrepair to the point of crumbling, while other areas looked as though they’d been built the day before.

  “Strange things happen in these crossover points,” Arch reminded us. “When two realms with their own magic and rules smash against one another, unexpected outcomes can occur.”

  It didn’t completely explain how an arena had ended up here in various stages of disrepair; then again, I wasn’t sure there even was an explanation for that to be had. As I’d learned when negotiating with Cyndi last year, when dealing with magic, one had to accept the reality they were working with, rather than waste time hunting for an explanation that didn’t exist. The structure was here, the path led to it, and that was all we needed to know.

  We arrived, stepping through the open front gate and onto the floor of the arena. Weapons lined the walls—some new, some falling apart like the building itself. Seats dotted the raised areas around us, all of them empty. As my eyes scanned, I caught a hint of movement. Following the shadow, I found myself looking upon what I presumed to be a seat of power for whoever oversaw this place and its goings on. I made that judgment from the fact that it was visibly bigger than the others, and had a cushion rather than any gaudy, ornate decoration. Besides, once I found the “throne,” my attention was immediately captured by its occupant.

  She was tall, taller than any other fey or half-fey I’d met thus far. Her hair was white, and blue, and sometimes both or neither, and if that sounds confusing, then don’t even ask me to try to accurately describe the hues of her eyes. They were clear gems, perfect windows into the deepest days of winter, ice and snow and wind all condensed into a pair of irises. Her gown of silver and blue fit her well, accentuating more of the unnatural perfection I was growing to associate with the fey. From her perch, she looked down on all of us, and when she spoke, it sent chills through every one of us that still had warm blood in our veins.

  “Good evening, House of Fred. I am Hellebore, representative of the Court of Frost. Thank you for joining me on this sacred occasion. Please, ready yourselves. As soon as Agent Krystal Jenkins arrives, it will be time to start.”

  3.

  “Start what, exactly?” I took a careful step forward, aware of Hellebore’s strange eyes watching my every movement. “We came at your summons as a show of good faith, but now that we are here, would you mind explaining why we were needed?”

  “You were asked here because you are the one she intends to wed, and your clan was brought along because they are an extension of you. Agent Jenkins has endured much to win her freedom. The burden for such a task must not be hers alone, however. Some tests must be faced together.”

  Ominous, but not a direct threat. It was about on par with what I’d expected. Even in myths, the fey were hardly renowned for their upfront nature. Still, Hellebore hadn’t directly said we were there to die or spill blood, so part of me was holding out hope for a peaceful option instead.

  I didn’t have to wonder for very long. Whether it was incredible timing or, more likely, some sort of magic, our arrival came a few minutes before a pair of women stepped into the arena from the other side. At a glance, I almost didn’t recognize either; they appeared wildly different than they had six weeks ago when we’d said goodbye inside of Charlotte Manor. Their clothes were unfamiliar and dirty, mud caked their faces, and Krystal’s hair looked to be a couple of inches shorter than it had been. It was also ragged, like she’d hacked a chunk away with a knife. June was hauling an enormous canvas sack with a dried red stain on the bottom.

  “Heart of a rampaging Winter Wolf, as requested,” Krystal snapped. “Now, give us the last task so I can go home . . . to . . . Freddy?” Her last words turned from fierce to stunned as Krystal took notice of us all standing around in the arena.

  I gave a small, reserved wave in her direction. “Hi there. Hard day at work?”

  That was about all I got out before she raced across the arena and slammed into me lips first. Under normal circumstances, I would have felt tremendously awkward about such an intimate display of affection in public, but I had missed her greatly, as well. So overjoyed was I to finally see Krystal again that my embarrassment at our display was merely uncomfortable, rather than crippling.

  After some time—enough for more than a few awkward coughs to be hacked out around us—she finally pulled back. “What the living fuck are you doing here, Freddy? And why did you bring the whole gang along?”

  Although the question was technically directed at me, Krystal’s head was already turning toward where Hellebore was standing, waiting to be addressed. “What’s the deal here? My business is my own, and always has been. I was the one who agreed to marry Tem; I’m the one who wants out of it. The trial is mine, Hellebore, aided only by the contract’s witness. My fiancé and his clan have nothing to do with it.”

  “What a thing to say. You’ve gone through all of this, so many dangerous tasks, so many perilous feats, all for the right to marry this man. Do you not think it fitting that he be asked to prove even a fraction of the same dedication?” Hellebore didn’t raise her voice as she responded; she didn’t need to. Despite the distance from us, every word was sharp and clear.

  Krystal kissed me again, gently this time, and whispered in my ear. “Don’t take this the wrong way.” Then she spun around, facing Hellebore with a furious glare, and took two heavy steps forward.

  “You’re wrong, Hellebore. I love Freddy, I truly do, but he’s not the reason I did all this. The truth is, I’ve known we were going to have this dance since the day I caught Tem cheating on me. I avoided it for a long time, because it was a part of my past I wasn’t ready to face. Freddy just gave me the push I needed to remember that one bad turn doesn’t define an entire life, especially when that life’s as long as ours. I’m the one who wants my full freedom restored. I’m the one who decides what person I’ll marry.
And yes, I fully intend to marry the man I love, but make no mistake, I came here to fight for my freedom because it is mine, not because I suddenly had a use for it.”

  I could see why she might have been concerned; self-assurance was hardly one of my strong points, and there were many ways I could misconstrue that kind of statement. However, part of why Krystal and I worked as a couple was that we understood one another. She loved me dearly, but Krystal also loved her freedom. The idea of having part of it bound by the fey was never going to sit well. Our engagement was incentive to tackle something she was always going to have to do.

  “Well, that’s hardly a wild declaration of love, now is it?” Hellebore was unmoved by her words. I wasn’t entirely sure what it would take to move a being like that, and I truly hoped we weren’t going to have to find out. “Practical reasoning, though. It’s a pity you are so set on not wedding September Willowbrook. With a few decades to cool that temper of yours, you might have made a valuable asset to the fey.”

  A snicker rose from behind us, and with a shock, I realized the source. Arch, of all people, had thrown a hand over his mouth to cover the brief fit of laughter. After a moment, he composed himself and addressed the shocked stares of the group. “My apologies. I couldn’t help myself. The idea of ‘a few mere decades’ tempering an agent like Krystal . . . again, sorry for the rudeness.”

  It might have been my imagination, but I was pretty sure I saw a flicker of annoyance mar Hellebore’s features. Her inhumanly perfect face was hard to read, but I trusted my frustration radar. Given the crowd I spent my time with, there had been ample occasion for me to both hone and use it. Hellebore didn’t like being laughed at; she was proud. While that didn’t help me much in the moment, there was no telling what details might end up being useful down the line.