by K. C. Lannon
“What’s to be done about it then?”
Boyd stood there expectantly, blue eyes bright with something resembling hunger. It was the same expression he had worn since he was just a boy, when Alan had taken him and his older brother Philip under his wing after their parents had been killed. It did not seem to matter how much Alan gave, Boyd was always grasping for more.
How unfortunate life would have been for the orphaned brothers had he not stepped in and helped them cut familial ties with the Dearg-dues, a UK mob. But even so, tragedy seemed to follow them like a shadow.
“We’ll simply have to convince General Windsor of the real threat the Fae pose.”
“How could he not see it after today?” Boyd asked. He was angry. Anger came quickly for Boyd, Alan realized. It was always sparking under the surface.
Alan shook his head. “No. What happened today will not be enough. It needs to be personal.” He looked at Boyd directly. “When that happens, I’ll need soldiers like you and Philip, and Iain.”
Boyd clenched his jaw at the mention of Alan’s son. “There’s no one more loyal to you in this city than me, General Callaghan. I’ll tell you that much. No one else is willing to get his hands dirty.”
Alan’s gaze drifted to Boyd’s hands at his sides. His knuckles seemed to be perpetually flush, bruised, like marks of his accomplishments. He knew whomever was on the receiving end of Boyd’s fists was in far worse condition. He definitely was not afraid to get his hands a little bloody for the cause.
“Your concern is appreciated,” Alan said. “I assure you I would know if someone among us was not fulfilling their purpose. If that were ever the case, well, I would let you be the one to… take care of it.”
Boyd hid a pleased smile.
In the road, a group of soldiers were escorting General Windsor to see the carnage. Alan began walking back toward the road with the intention of taking control of the situation. There needed to be ramifications for a monster nearly breaching their walls.
He turned back to Boyd as he began to head toward the group. “Oh, and I do hope you and your brother will be joining me as guests tonight at my home. We have much to discuss and celebrate,” Alan said brightly. “I know Philip had other obligations last time…” He trailed off. Philip had given no reason for not showing. He couldn’t imagine what could have been more important than any job Alan could give him.
“We wouldn’t miss it, General.” Boyd stayed behind as they neared the other general, though it seemed to Alan that he had to stop himself from following.
As Alan reached the soldiers, he immediately began going over with Edgar all the potential changes to their policies that needed to be addressed with King Eadred and made law. He suggested that they set a new, earlier curfew. He explained that patrols surrounding the entrance to the city should be doubled, and no one, save for traders and members of the Iron Guard, should be allowed to leave the city until they could be certain that there were no other monsters in the area.
“We ought to increase security outside the walls during the Cataclysm Memorial, as well as within Ferriers Town. Once news of this attack on the walls inevitably reaches the city, it could serve to encourage others of their kind to act.”
Alan gritted his teeth as General Windsor raised his eyebrows quizzically. Fool.
Windsor rubbed at his chin absently, thinking everything over. He looked a great deal like the king, his cousin—a trait he no doubt used to advance his influence in the country. How else had his nonsensical policies regarding Fae have been passed, if not for his connection to the British royals?
General Windsor was always quick to shoot down Alan’s suggestions. “The citizens of this city have little to do with the goings-on of the Summer or Winter Courts. This appears to be an isolated incident. Faeries in the city, even if they are Unseelie, rarely have loyalty to the Courts.”
Alan was stunned for a moment, wondering how Windsor could be so blind. “This was clearly another very deliberate threat directly from the Winter Court. They will continue to send these reminders to us until we agree to their terms. They have all the time in the world, General. We don’t have that luxury.”
Around seventeen years prior, the Winter Court had sent a messenger to speak with the government. Alan had been the one to receive the message and pass it on. The Court demanded that the Iron Guard place all their efforts into building weapons for them, presumably to use against the Summer Court, with whom they had been at war with for centuries, lest they incur the wrath of the Winter King, who would start a full-out war against humanity. Ever since that day, the Court had been unleashing more and more beasts across the countryside.
“King Eadred will not give in to any demands from the Winter Court. That much has been decided.” Windsor frowned. “You’ve been allowed your weapons research, General Callaghan, and I believe that alone has served as a deterrent, but no efforts will be made to comply with the demands of a mad Fae king.”
“Regardless,” Alan pressed on, “I think it would be prudent of us to not ignore any possible ties this attack might have with Fae in the city. After all, the faery Courts are focused on hierarchy… so they’ll target those in command here. And the king would be their primary target, don’t you agree?”
The general didn’t respond.
“Are you willing to take that chance, especially with the king’s public appearance in the parade on the Cataclysm Memorial? I suggest an increase in security.”
General Windsor still looked displeased, but his shoulders slackened and he exhaled softly. “Fine. That seems reasonable, General Callaghan.”
Alan nodded. “Good then. I’ll leave you to supervise. I have a meeting with those weapons engineers we consulted with last year.” When Windsor’s brow creased, Alan clarified, “It’s merely a formality. I doubt they have anything of value enough for the military to fund.”
That seemed to placate the general. Despite his status in the military, Alan knew that Windsor hadn’t the stomach for war or the weapons needed to prevent it. This thought filled Alan’s chest like a deep, satisfying breath, and he smiled, knowing he was the only one who could do what his country needed him to do. Only him.
The containment room was small and white and plain, located deep within the engineering and sciences building not too far from the Department of Defense. The company called themselves the Iron Architects, though they had not had any affiliation with the Iron Guard branch of the military for decades since the production of weapons had been placed on hold after the Cataclysm.
“Your silver artillery worked beautifully today,” Alan said.
“It was due to your funding, General.” Levi, the principal engineer, pushed his glasses up as they slid down his perspiring face. His skin was clammy under the fluorescent lights of the laboratory.
Alan did not meet his imploring gaze directly but merely glimpsed it in the reflection of the glass wall they were standing before. “Are you apprehensive?” Alan asked bluntly.
Levi chuckled. “Well, the materials we’re working with are a bit, ah, dodgy.”
“You assured me your vessel would be strong enough to contain the energy.”
“Oh, it is,” Levi protested. “It’s just that faery plasma—it’s just, what we do—the process it undergoes to be converted into pure energy makes the substance extremely unstable. It’s as unpredictable as magic and just as baffling to me. The only thing we can do with it is contain it and direct it.”
Alan’s mouth twitched at a smile. He knocked on the glass with his knuckles. “This glass is blast resistant, is it not?”
Levi nodded rapidly. “Of course.”
“Then we should have nothing to fret over.”
Behind the glass, technicians were giving the vessel a last inspection. The vessel was an enormous metal device. Its middle looked like the budging abdomen of a spider, while the top was a curved disk, an amplifier, with stilt-like legs that ended in claws to dig into the ground and hold the device in plac
e. Despite being nothing more than a machine, the device vibrated almost imperceptibly, like a hum, as if it were breathing.
The sound of the side door swinging open to his right made Alan pry his eyes away from the glass. A chair much like a converted hospital bed was wheeled into the room with the device by several masked technicians. A woman—no, a faery—was strapped to the chair and unconscious. Her black hair shone slightly blue under the fluorescent lights.
Alan stared past his reflection, focusing on her behind the glass. He was aware of people speaking all around him, but their words sounded more like white noise to him, insignificant and buzzing compared to the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
“Not her.”
Levi looked up. “General?”
“Find another one.”
The technicians in the room with them stared wordlessly at Alan. On the other side, people had begun to tap at the crook of her exposed arm, prepping her skin for the needle’s puncture to draw out her blood. The device shuddered as if in anticipation.
“General, is there a problem?” Levi asked, confusion painting his features. “I tested her blood before you arrived, and I think she is a prime candidate for our trial.”
Alan ran a hand over his face jerkily, turning away from Levi and his team of technicians that hovered around them. He wondered wildly how they were able to stand it. Did they not feel the same unwavering sense that there was something missing?
“That was an order.” Alan’s voice was icy.
Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck.
He had no qualms about taking faery blood, spilling faery blood, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It was inexplicable. All the subjects were selected from prisons or had caused some illegal trouble in the city. Everything was logically sound. He had no reason to think anything was wrong.
He did not hear the words exchanged, but they finally listened to him and wheeled the woman out of the room again. He tracked her as she drifted past him in the room. Her face was clearly Fae; she had impossibly wide eyes that bulged under dark, closed lids, like an owl’s eyes. Her ears were long and curved to a point.
His gaze lingered on her hair, which was the most human part of her head—long, dark, wavy hair, the sight of which stirred familiarity. He wondered absently what it might feel like to run his fingers through it.
I’m not supposed to do that, am I? There’s something I oughtn’t do… isn’t there?
A few minutes passed without Alan noticing. When the chair’s wheels squeaked back into the room, carrying another female faery, Alan found he could focus again, the uncomfortable sensation gone from his chest, forgotten.
The faery was slim and diminutive, with thin, dark red hair, and her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent. They could see all the veins under her exposed skin.
That will make taking her blood easier.
The process was tedious and cautious. Attached to the vessel were wires. Attached to the wires were iron manacles and two wicked-looking needles that plunged into the veins at the wrists. There was something about the iron that agitated faeries’ magic—even when they were under sedation—that allowed the technicians to harness that magic without being splattered against the walls.
“What happens next?” Alan asked, turning to Levi.
“The vessel purifies the blood into undiluted energy,” Levi explained. He sucked his teeth. “And hopefully contains it.”
The technicians stepped back from the vessel. The faery woman was paler than before, now completely drained of blood. The vessel seemed to shudder for a moment. It stabilized, going still as it absorbed the energy, and the technicians were cleared to exit the room. They wheeled the dead, or soon to be dead, faery out with them.
“Thank you, General Callaghan, for funding my research,” Levi said breathlessly, grabbing his hand without warning and giving it a vigorous shake. “I wish I could do something to show how grateful I am. No one else would’ve given me this chance. In fact, everyone I proposed my ideas to have shut me down.”
“Turning my idea into a reality is thanks enough, Levi. And the funding will keep coming, mind you. I plan on watching your body of work expand exponentially. I guarantee that the Iron Guard will be needing your services soon.”
“Never underestimate the power of a good, old-fashioned deterrent, is that it?” Levi looked at him expectantly, like he was waiting for Alan to assuage his doubts.
“Oh, these weapons won’t serve as a mere deterrent. This vessel you’ve created will prevent full-out war with the Winter Court.”
He was so close now. So close to fulfilling the demands of the Winter Court. They had what they wanted now, a way to break the magical barrier that surrounded the Summer Court and kept its occupants hidden and safe and cut off from the world outside. There they sat for decades, no doubt made lazy and sluggish and pampered, unprepared for the coming onslaught. Or, worst of all, they had been using their time wisely to plan, to build weapons of their own. That, Alan reasoned, would be giving them too much credit, assuming the Seelie Fae were nearly as clever as he was.
“Of course, we need to run some tests to see how the energy reacts,” Levi said, looking down at his clipboard. “We know from the small scale that we can direct it any way we want, but as for how it will react full scale…”
“I think a test away from the lab and out in the field is required. Sometimes that is the only way to achieve real results.” Alan ran his fingers over the glass absently. It was cold to the touch. “For the energy we require, we’ll need a much more powerful faery than anything that resides in the slums of Ferriers Town.”
“How do we find one of those?”
“Leave that to me. I know how to spot one. It will appear completely human. That can get rather… messy, if one doesn’t know what they’re about. We wouldn’t want to end up harming a human by accident.”
Levi nodded as if he understood. Silence settled over them for a moment.
“Right, right.” Levi folded his arms across his chest. “Tea then?”
Chapter Seven
“I thought you said we had to hurry,” James grumbled as he lugged his backpack and shopping down the street. “You rushed me in the shop. I forgot to buy biscuits.”
Iain had led them past their usual shortcut to the nearest entrance to the Underground. Now they were headed down an area that most considered to be the darker side of the city. The walls grew tighter, iron less frequent, chain-link fences more common. Graffiti littered the brick buildings.
“I did say that.” Iain rolled his eyes.
“So why’re we taking the long way ’round?” James eyed the dim corners of the streets with cautious intrigue. Evening was drawing near. They were quite close to Ferriers Town.
“I want to show you something,” Iain replied, turning to grin at him.
After another minute of walking, in which James complained the entire time about his forgotten biscuits, they stopped just inside of a residential street. The flats were small, made of cheap brick and rusted metal. Some of the windows were broken. James wondered what on earth Iain could possibly want to show him here.
“It’s nice, yeah?” Iain gestured grandly to one of the flats high above them. “Imagine living here. They’re pretty decently priced—course, I’d have to save my money. It’d be tight for a bit, but…”
“Here?” James fought the urge to pinch his nose shut at the smell of grime and exhaust that pervaded the area. “Live here?”
“Well, yeah,” Iain said a little defensively. He folded his arms across his chest. “Think about it. I could just walk to work instead of taking the train every day.” He smiled faintly, adding, “You could come too, you know. You could walk to school. And during the summertime—oh man, you could have a lot of fun around here, yeah?”
James somehow could not imagine having anything resembling fun here—unless he took up an interest in studying city rats. He did like the idea of walki
ng to school, however. What was strangest to him was Iain’s obvious passion about this place. He hadn’t seen Iain so excited about anything in a while.
“Why?” James asked.
“Why, what?”
“Why do you want to stay in the city?”
“I just listed a lot of solid reasons. You know, Mum and Dad started out small too. No shame in that.”
“I get that,” James said.
“It’s time to move on. I think we’d do better on our own, is all.”
James nodded slowly, finally understanding what his brother meant. Things between them and their father had not been amiable for a while, if one could even call any of their interactions amiable. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that Iain was starting to think for himself, that he had finally given up trying to please their father.
“Do you really want to stay in Neo-London forever?” James asked. “I thought— I thought you wanted to travel. I thought we were going to go together.”
Silence. A dog barked from one of the flats. A woman yelled at the dog to shut up.
Iain exhaled softly. He took off his beret, and his wavy hair fell to one side of his face. He raked his fingers through the mess of hair, trying to smooth it back. “James, things change, yeah? I was just a kid when I said that. I have responsibilities now.”
“What about Mum?” James asked.
Iain winced as if the word caused physical pain. “What about her?”
It was rare that any of the Callaghan men spoke of Kallista. Talk of missing her had turned into questions and accusations and finally a cold silence. Silence was like a bandage to cover a wound, to keep it from the air—but it also kept it from healing.
“We said we’d look for her, remember?” James insisted.
“If Mum left for a reason, then we should respect that reason.”
James gaped. “What? That’s stupid! She wouldn’t have left us this long on purpose.” He hadn’t meant to shout, but the words had just flown out before he could quiet them. He wiped flecks of spit from his mouth on the back of his hand.
