by WB McKay
"We should get in the car."
"Are you okay?"
He shrugged. That wasn't a great answer. I walked to him and then followed him to the car, too nervous to let him walk the distance out in the open alone.
"What is it?" I asked the second the door shut.
"I don't know how to tell you this," he said.
"Use words."
He smirked, but then steadied his face. "Okay. The witches livestreamed the alpha shifting, and it's out there."
I didn't have words.
"The council is deciding what to do about it."
"Like arrest me?"
"What? No. Why would they do that?"
This was bad. "I didn't call for backup," I said.
"No one is saying anything about you," he said. "Sophie. Listen to me. No one is talking about you."
"Right," I said. "What happens now?"
"The fae council is still discussing how they'll move forward."
I put my head between my knees. I didn't think it was helping me breathe at all. This was bad. "Can they say it was special effects?" I asked.
"I'm not sure they can do that on a livestream," he said. "I'm sure the fae council will find out."
"This is bad." Had I said that out loud already? I wasn't sure.
"This isn't your fault, Sophie."
I laughed until I cried.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After I've worked a case, I deserve a cheeseburger and sleep. That's my rule.
But the case wasn't over. Not for me.
After a moment of tears in Owen's car, I went home and slept for three hours. And then I got back to work.
Hammond hadn't said anything to me, but he had told the Volarus prison to let me talk to Clarissa. I found that out when I showed up, prepared to finesse my way in. Based on how things went up to the point they let me know I was approved, it was for the best I kept my finesse to myself.
The guards had been happy to let me see a record of her communications. There were none. She hadn't had a single visitor or phone call according to the log. Which meant that the thief who'd visited her and passed along my name to the Tucson witches was powerful enough to visit the Volarus prison unrecorded.
I sounded like a conspiracy theorist. If I spouted these things off at work, they'd wonder if I'd fabricated the thief I'd chased through Volarus. It would be better for my career if I let it go, but I couldn't.
Visitors typically met in a room full of tables, but we were given a private room. I made myself stay seated while I waited for her to be brought in.
Her face had been easier to read before she'd spent some time in prison. I couldn't tell if she was surprised to see me. She used to wear her red hair in a tight bun. It was cut short now. I'd expected there to be other differences, mostly tired eyes and regret. Her eyes were alert and if she felt bad for anything she'd done to me or anyone else, she didn't show it to me.
"I hear you've been telling people about me," I said.
Clarissa folded her arms over her chest.
"What do you care about witches in Tucson?" I asked.
It was like talking to a brick wall.
"Or maybe you didn't know who the fae would talk to, only that the fae was talking to you. That sounds right." If the witch had been fae herself I would have written the whole thing off as a coincidence caused by gossip. Fae didn't gossip with witches. Realistically, it was a thin connection, until it was mixed in with the witches learning about the scepter at the museum and even knowing how to hire the elves, or the fact that the witch had said they mostly paid for it themselves. Someone else paid some, too. I believed it was the same someone I'd chased through the Tucson entrance.
"Your hair's different."
Clarissa might have known who the fae was, or at least have information that would help put the puzzle together. The Tucson coven was in the same situation. I'd caught enough of their interrogations before I'd left for the prison to know nothing useful was being said.
I got up from the table and walked out. She didn't call after me, which proved to me that she wasn't going to talk to me even if I'd stayed and waited.
The moment the prison doors closed behind me I got to work checking for updates. The human world's discussion of the video was growing in participation, but not in content. Why wasn't the fae council doing anything?
Owen had messaged to ask where I was. Prison, I texted. Tell you later. My phone buzzed a few times after that, but I was already holding the screen to my ear, waiting for the alpha of the Tucson Pack to answer his phone.
"Who is this?"
"Agent Sophie Morrigan."
"The boogey monster's daughter." He growled the words; he was not happy to hear from me.
"I understand," I said, "but I thought you deserved to know that someone from your pack took the scepter from the elves. The scepter was what broke the glamour when you shifted," I explained. I assumed he knew that now, but I wasn't sure what FAB had told him. Several other departments had been fighting over whose responsibility the Tucson Pack and Tucson coven situation was. "The elves description of the wolf was only a white man with brown hair. No one at FAB knows; they didn't think to ask me." The truth was, they were freakishly unconcerned about how any of this happened. "I don't know if the wolf gave the scepter to the witches, or if something else happened, but I thought you should know."
"It's been almost twenty-four hours since the video streamed. Why isn't the fae council doing something?"
"It's a delicate situation," I said, cringing at my own bullshit. "They're collecting data. They need to see how the human public is processing the video to gauge what the human reaction to the fae is and then decide from there."
"What do they believe their options are?"
"I could only tell you my guesses. I don't know."
"Understood," said the alpha. He ended the call at that. I'd have hung up on me, too. Not only were wolves in a precarious situation, but it was his face shifting on that screen. People who had no interest in his well-being were deciding his fate. There was nothing I could tell him that would change any of it, but just because I couldn't change some things, didn't mean I wouldn't do the things I could do.
I checked in with MOD to no avail.
I spent the next twelve hours hard at work chasing my tail.
* * *
I charged through the MOD doors, head down so I could continue typing notes into my phone. I was out of people I might call or things I might research. I'd tried to describe the scent of the magic that had hit me at the alpha's place, but no one knew what magic it might be. The abandoned car had offered no clues. The elves, witches, and wolves were no help. No one else was looking into how it came to be that a werewolf was exposed to the human world. It was like I was living in an alternate universe.
I walked right into the wall that was Owen. "You haven't been returning my calls," he said.
"I've been busy."
"Where are you headed now?"
"Home."
"Can I give you a ride?"
I'd been too tired to drive myself in. It made sense. I nodded and got in his car.
* * *
"What are you thinking?"
We'd been sitting in The Arbor parking lot in silence for much too long. He'd driven me home and then… and then we didn't know what to do. The case had put our conversation on pause. As much as I wanted to deny it, my investigation was the thing on pause now. It was stuck. A reasonable person would abandon it. With the case stalled, Owen and I were back in real life now, and it sucked.
I was thinking a lot of things. I was thinking that I really liked Owen. That I'd been relieved when he'd suggested we date slowly because being around him when I wasn't supposed to be attracted to him had been awful. That the kiss we'd shared on our interrupted date had been perfect. That I thought I knew him so well, and that he knew me. And that, in all of that wonderfulness, I'd thrown my whole self in. I hadn't once thought, Owen's been going through a tough time, an
d warned you repeatedly he might not be ready to be in a healthy relationship. Or, I'm giving Owen all my trust. Have I ever wondered what he's done to earn that from me? Or, have I thought about anything other than "this feels right"?
Instincts worked on the job. I didn't have any doubts about that. But the only thing I knew about relationships was that I didn't know anything.
"Sophie?" he asked. "What are you thinking?"
"I don't know," I said. "We agreed we'd go slow."
"We are going slow," he said.
"We haven't had sex," I said. "But we're seeing each other or talking to each other every day. Is that really slow?"
"We're getting to know each other."
Was I getting to know Owen? I thought I was, but now I wasn't sure. I felt like I had goggles on and didn't know if they were clear or rose-tinted. "I think I need some time to think."
"How much time?"
"If I was thinking clearly, I wouldn't need the time."
"I didn't lie to you. I didn't think joining you on this case was going to be a problem. I thought it was a chance to spend more time together. You find dangerous objects. Someone stole my mom's scepter. It was dangerous. I helped get you assigned to a job we could work together. I didn't mean to do anything to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you."
"I believe that," I said. I believed he didn't want to hurt me.
"I don't understand what you're thinking," he said.
"I don't either," I said. "That's what I'm saying."
He shook his head for a while, until he nodded. "You need time to think."
"I need time to think."
"You'll call me?"
"I'll call you."
He pushed my hair behind my ear, and I almost forgot everything I'd said, which was exactly why I'd said it. He pulled away before we did anything that would destroy us both, like kiss. Letting him walk away was the safer bet. So why did it feel so much like being torn in half?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I slept for six hours, despite my churning mind. It was a miracle of emotional exhaustion.
"Are you dead?"
"I asked that recently." I nuzzled my face into the crook of my arm. "Maybe I am. Go away."
Phoebe poked me. Repeatedly. "Your phone is ringing."
I groaned. "Go away."
"It's been ringing a long time."
"Where is it?" I snapped.
"In your hand."
Sure enough, she was right. It was cradled in the hand tucked under my stomach. I knew I had to be tired when I suddenly became aware of the vibration. "I don't wanna."
"I can answer it."
That was motivating. I answered it, and immediately wished I'd let Phoebe taunt the beast.
Lana Kinney didn't want to keep me long. She said she called because she wanted to make sure she extended me a personal invitation to the public fae council meeting happening in one hour.
It wasn't really an invitation. Invitations are things you can decline.
I said, "I'll be there," and she hung up. Did nobody say goodbye anymore?
My bed was warm. My bed was safe. My bed didn't judge me.
I judged me, was the problem. I'd worked my job for many years, and I'd messed up many times. None of those incidents compared. I didn't know how to take this thought and put it in a place I wouldn't have to think about every minute for the rest of the my life.
What if someone else had been assigned the case? Maybe if a more qualified agent had gone after the scepter, things would have gone differently. Someone else would have had FAB attack the wolves as soon as the agent had even an idea the elves were there with the scepter. And maybe that would have been better. Maybe one dead pack--and they would have died before handing themselves over to be arrested by FAB--would have been better than what happened. Maybe another agent would have known to do something I didn't. The wolves were exposed to the humans, and I wasn't sure how much of the fault belonged to me.
Without any way to change the situation, all I had left were what ifs.
And, apparently, an invitation to attend a public fae council meeting.
I left my safe, warm, accepting bed and got dressed.
"Is something wrong with Owen?" Phoebe asked. She was sitting on the kitchen counter, holding a bowl of brownie batter out to me.
I stopped in my tracks. "No. He's fine."
"What's wrong?"
"I…" I put my head against the frame of my bedroom door. "Did you see the video of the wolf shifting?"
"Everyone has."
"Well, I was there."
"I know that," she said.
"You do? How?"
"I've heard you scream before. That's when the video stopped."
"Oh." I hadn't seen it yet. I didn't figure I'd learn anything useful, and, honestly, I'd been avoiding it. "Well, it's my job to stop stuff like that."
"It's your job to recover dangerous magical objects," she said. "I don't understand."
"If I'd retrieved the item I was after sooner, that wouldn't have happened," I said. "Or if I'd called in backup, it might not have happened."
"It might not have. So why didn't you call in backup?"
"A lot of dead werewolves, and probably a war between them and the rest of fae in response," I said. "But that makes it sound simple. It wasn't simple."
"Your feelings aren't simple," said Phoebe. "The situation sounds simple enough. You made the best decision possible at the time. Aren't you always saying that stuff about your job? What's happened has happened. Your problem is just your feelings. Chocolate helps."
I'd vowed to stop being indebted to Phoebe. She'd never called a favor in, but she loved hanging it over my head that she had them. The thing I realized in that moment was, Phoebe was too good to me. For all her pranking and hanging things over my head, Phoebe would always do things I had to acknowledge her for. "Thank you, Phoebe."
To my surprise, she just smiled.
* * *
I'd been to a few public fae council meetings before. The crowds--if you could call them that--were sparse. Today there were over two-hundred people, not counting the many pixies, and though I couldn't see them, probably a ton of curious ghosts. I stood in the back near Hammond, though we didn't speak to each other. Owen walked past me on his way to a seat in the front. Did I wish he'd have said hi, or was it better that we weren't talking? I guessed that was something else I needed to think about.
Bells chimed overhead, signaling the beginning of the meeting. People who'd been standing around to mingle, headed for their seats.
Town hall was a large building with a full roof that could be opened on nice days like today, leaving a grate with vines growing over it. It let in a pleasant, green-tinted sunlight and fresh air, which helped with the magic overloading the room.
The fae who lived in Volarus or Faerie were used to being around magical scents all of the time. I barely ever thought about what Phoebe smelled like because I lived with her. But having grown up with banshees and living in a small community of fae on Earth meant that a room of more than two hundred fae left my senses overwhelmed, to say the least. I couldn't imagine walking around mingling. Staying at the back by the door was enough for me. Not that I'd ever been much of a mingler, even in small crowds.
"We've come here today to discuss the release of video to the human world," announced Lana Kinney. "In the interest of creating a level playing field, I will show the video first for those of you who haven't seen it."
Half of the twenty foot tall wall behind her became a screen.
The video was seven minutes and thirty-two seconds. It began with an incredibly large wolf, and ended with a mostly changed man. He still had rough patches of fur, ears that looked off, and he looked like he was in incredible pain, but he was clearly human-ish. If the humans had only seen the last frame of the footage, they'd have said, "What's wrong with that guy?" instead of "What's that?"
Phoebe had been right. I wondered if anyone knew that was my wail that made the wi
tches drop their cell phones. Based on the collective twinge that went through the room, it seemed fair to say that even on video, my wail caused people at least a small amount of pain. Interesting.
The video cut out. The screen went away. Lana Kinney stood on the stage, ignoring the chairs at the large table where the rest of the council members sat, and watched the reaction of the crowd.
"There were several angles of this event shared live to the human world, but this is the one that became popular." She stepped forward and gripped the back of her chair. "The human reaction has been largely consistent. Many believe the footage to be real, while an equal number believe it to be faked. It is the rare outlier who cries for the death of the werewolf, and the humans are writing those off as invalid opinions."
A fae man far to Lana's right spoke next. He wore a crown of golden leaves on his head of black hair. It was hard not to look at him and think pretty. I didn't remember ever seeing him before. I wondered what the crown designated. Probably a Volarus fashion statement. "This is our opportunity," he simply stated.
The room hadn't been loud before, but there was the natural shifting of weight in chairs and the whispers of people reacting to the video. Once the crowned council member said his piece and leaned back in his chair, the crowd had a moment of silent shock, and then erupted.
"He doesn't mean?"
"He does."
"But the revelation is a myth!"
The bells chimed again and the room quieted. "This is a partial opportunity," Lana revised. "This is our opportunity for some of us to bravely step forward, those of us who are already acquainted with human customs and living on Earth full time.
"No," I breathed. They were throwing the wolves to the humans. "They can't."
As it turned out, they very much could. Over the next ten minutes, Lana Kinney outlined the fae council's plans to break the glamour all werewolves instinctively used to cover their shifts. The glamour was the reason they could live among humans without the rest of the fae interfering with their business.
There was no mention of discussion with the wolves about this. Why would they?
