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“My lady?”
“Do not try my patience. Speak.”
“There is news, my lady. The others have begun searching for you again, in the places where you have been.”
This it interrupted her for? “Let them,” she said negligently. “What care I if others nose about my leavings, like scavengers after the feast? They are no threat to me.”
The locals—supernaturals, they called themselves—might not wish her here; she was aware enough of that, but they would not drive her out. Nalith had no intention of returning through the portal. They would simply have to accept that fact.
She would never go back. Never.
“My lady, there is more.” Cam had perfected the art of the sideways reproach, the voice that said he of course could think of nothing more perfect than my lady; however, it was entirely possible she was testing him to see if he, too, knew what needed to be done.
Nalith knew herself to be arrogant, prideful, and selfish, but she could also recognize when a retainer did its job well and with a certain style. And telling her unpleasant things, without fear, was part of its responsibilities, however little either of them liked it.
That was, perhaps, why she remembered Cam’s name among all the others scurrying about. It had style.
“Approach me,” she said, using the remote controller to end the display on the screen. The human at her side stirred slightly; she had forgotten he was there. The brownie came into the room, its tasseled ears twitching only slightly, and made a deep bow as it came to the sofa, stopping just out of reach.
She noted that, and it amused her. She had never harmed any of her creatures, but it was good that they were aware she could.
“My lady, the loss of our previous House, while certainly insignificant, raises a point. Your court does not do you justice. This structure, while suiting your personal needs, cannot alone hold the fullness of those who wish to follow and serve you. We would extend your hold, with your permission, and secure your position.”
“And how would you do this, o ambitious one?” She smiled lazily, content to have him flatter but aware that even such a creature could move to its own whims and try to cozen her. In that, this realm was no different than the one she had abandoned.
“This town suits your desires. You do not wish to leave it. And so we have been scouting new structures to replace those lost. Structures that, once emptied, would serve as an antecourt for those who may not remain within your glorious presence but serve nonetheless. Not for your own self, but to extend your hold, even where you may not reside, that all will know who rules them.”
Nalith was definitely amused now. It had anticipated her desires, and that was to be applauded...but also to be watched carefully. Such an antecourt could easily be filled with those of their choosing, not hers. She had been queen too long, in a court ripe with challenges and intrigues, not to consider such a thing. “Where and when did such a lowly thing as yourself learn to twist words to your bidding so well?”
“My lady, I evolve but to serve.”
Its response made her laugh. It might even have been true; these creatures had a reputation of such.
“And how would you arrange to empty and then acquire these structures?” She leaned forward slightly, not enough to alarm the creature but to indicate that it had her full attention.
“We have ways of making humans...uncomfortable,” the brownie said. “What is done can be undone, and what was well-done becomes ill.”
That had the sound of something it had said before or heard often. Still, that made it no less appealing for being old. There was, she was seeing, a certain creativity in reusing things that had gone before in new ways. Like two versions of the same play, where the ending was the same but the motivations might be in doubt, results shifting minutely with new decisions.
Nalith considered the proposal and then decided in favor. No matter the ending, it would be something different.
“You have my permission.”
* * *
Permission had been all Cam was waiting for. Herself had plans, and so did he.
“I don’t like this.” Wallingford scowled out the window, his arms crossed against his chest. He was the oldest of the pack and least happy with anything they were doing
“It’s necessary.”
“I still don’t like it. Gnomes can’t be trusted.”
“They can be trusted to do what they’re set to,” Cam replied, masking his own unease, focused on the plan, the plans, hers and his, twining together, each needing the other to achieve, although she did not know that, of course; she could not know that. She would flatten him, flatten them all, if she suspected. Nalith might use ambition, but ambition must not use her.
“And after that?” Wallingford persisted. “They tend to get...overly focused on their goals. And carried away with enthusiasm.”
They both studied the group of gnomes huddled around a tent set up outside the house, at the far end of the oversized lot. There was a small campfire going, and half a dozen forms gathered around it—although there might have been less, or more, since the shadows kept changing shape slightly, making it impossible to count.
In theory, the supernatural creatures were all equal to each other, at least in their own minds. In practice...there were some species that did not play well with others. Gnomes, with ego matched only by paranoia and all that trumped by truly noxious eating habits, didn’t play well with anyone except themselves. The Wolf’s brigade wasn’t wrong in calling them turncoats, even if the Unseelie Court could fall under that same epithet themselves.
“They have done the job so far,” Cam said finally. “They fear her as none other. They will not cross her.”
“And if that fear is not enough, once they start? If they go too far, out of control? That will bring the Wolf’s eye to us here.” The other super shuddered. They had no fear of lupin in and of themselves—even a pack was merely a nuisance, in the normal course of events—but the Wolf was developing into an irritating sort of nuisance, the sort that combined violence and tactics and was becoming very good at removing threats.
The gnomes had tried to take him down once already—if on Nalith’s orders or another’s, none of them knew, and none dared ask. The point was that the gnomes had attacked en masse—and failed.
“Eventually,” Cam said, “my lady will have to deal with the Wolf, and she will do so in her own way. But for now, all gossip says they think the gnomes work for the old court, the portal-users. We will use that in our favor. By the time they realize otherwise, it will be too late, and we will be the only ones left standing.”
Chapter 3
They had been out by the pond for an hour at least. Maybe more. Jan knew that she should go back to the farmhouse, should check in with someone, should see if there was anything that she could do, anything she should do. Instead, she lay back on the grass, stared up at the pale blue sky, and tried to remember when life had been normal.
She couldn’t.
“You all right?”
She smiled, a slight turn of her lips, less humor than appreciation. Martin had learned to ask that. Had learned that Jan’s silences sometimes meant something wasn’t all right.
Had it only been that morning she’d been on the porch with AJ, had talked with Glory? It felt as if it had happened the day before, or even weeks ago, the sense of urgency pounding in her veins muddling with the lack of sleep and the stress. Adding injury to insult, Jan was developing a headache that was settling in for the long haul. She probably needed to cut down on the coffee. Yeah, good luck with that.
“Another day, another lack of a dollar,” she said now in response to his question, not an answer but as much of one she could give him.
“Are you still stressing over not having a job?”
Jan laughed; she couldn’t help it. He sounded so puzzled. “No. I’m stressing over the fact that I’m not stressing over a job because we have so many other things to stress about.”
Martin watched the way she was rubbing at her forehead, and sat up, turning so that he faced her. “Turn around,” he ordered, his hands already positioning her so that she was now facing away from him, her legs crossed, her butt up against his own crossed legs. She obeyed, knowing what was coming even before his blunt-fingered hands started working on her neck and shoulders. His hands were strong but sure, moving over muscles like a trained masseuse.
“I don’t suppose you did this for a living?” she asked, her body starting to relax a little.
“What, back rubs? No.”
He didn’t say anything more, and Jan felt her curiosity pique a little. Most of the other supers she had met were perfectly happy to talk about their jobs, the things they did to make a living, just like humans. Martin never did. But she was afraid if she prodded, he might stop, and the quiet was actually kind of nice, so she just leaned into his hands and tried to relax.
They were still sitting on the grassy bank when an air-sprite buzzed them, flying low and fast over the grass until it pulled up in front of Jan’s face.
“Come!” it demanded, its voice way too imperious for something the size of a hummingbird. “Come now!”
Anyone could ask a sprite to do something; getting them to do it and right away? That meant AJ.
“We’re summoned,” she said to Martin, feeling the headache start to creep back. “Good news or bad?”
“Bad,” he said morosely, standing up and then reaching down a hand to help her up, as well. “Probably very bad.”
“More searchers back,” the air-sprite said. “Come!”
That got them moving, if not as fast as the winged supernatural, who zoomed off well ahead of them. As far as either one of them knew, none of the search teams had been expected back today.
This might be good news, the news they had all been hoping for—that Operation Queen Search had finally found them the location of the AWOL preter or even, better yet, already taken her into custody. There had been rumors and hints and at least one close call when they’d been pretty sure they’d found where the queen had been staying, but she’d fled by the time they’d arrived. So maybe this time... But on top of the morning’s non-news, she suspected that Martin was right.
Inside the main building, AJ was pacing across the braided rug, while other supers scurried about, trying to keep working while still trying to eavesdrop. Not that anyone was saying anything just then.
“We’re here,” Martin said, practically flinging himself into the room and landing almost by chance in an empty armchair. “What?”
“Go on,” AJ said to a thin, red-skinned creature Jan didn’t recognize and nobody introduced. “Report.”
The super had obviously been waiting for that order, because he picked up smoothly. “Remember when we caught the scent of something in a little town in North Carolina? We stuck around to see if we could sweet-talk someone into telling us what had been going on there.”
“And?”
“And it took a while, had to let them calm the fuck down, but the local humans finally started to talk. Seemed the most recent resident had been a tall, somewhat odd woman who, in the words of the only neighbor willing to talk to us, had her some weird-ass eyes. Nobody liked to look into them if they could help it.”
Jan, who had remained by the door, shivered when she heard that, remembering the eyes of the preter she had challenged here, the ones she had faced to win Tyler’s freedom. She knew what the woman had been talking about.
Supernaturals like AJ had unnerving eyes, too—the lupin’s pupils reflected red even when he wore his human shape, while Martin’s golden flicker came and went—but even the unease you felt looking at an apex predator couldn’t match looking into a preternatural’s eyes and knowing that this was nothing you should ever be seeing, nothing that should exist here. The fact that the form was attractive made it no less wrong.
“I hadn’t expected humans to be much help,” AJ said. “What about the supers?”
The leader of the search team shook his head. “The local supers in that location were no help, mainly because there were no local supers to ask.”
“In the Carolinas?”
“Not every region of the Carolinas has an enclave, AJ,” Martin said, but Jan thought that he looked a little worried, while Elsa, AJ’s right-hand woman, shuffled through papers as though an answer was hiding in an older report. Jötunndotters didn’t have much expression on their craggy faces, but Elsa didn’t look happy at the news, either.
“Show me a single county down there that doesn’t have an enclave,” AJ shot back. “More, one that’s been there at least a hundred years.”
“Well, if they had one ever, they’re gone now,” the team’s leader said flatly. “Every super in a ten-mile radius up and went, either months before or just before our team arrived. We found where they’d been, but none of them remained.”
“Dead?” AJ’s muzzle twitched, and Jan saw his hand clench in his lap, as though he had the urge to switch form and sink his claws into something. The thought occurred to her that she had never seen AJ’s four-legged form, never seen any lupin change, but she put that thought aside when the team leader answered.
“No. No bodies, no stink of death, no stories. They merely left.” He shook his head again and rested one long-fingered hand palm-down on the table, as though only that kept it upright. “They sensed the coming fire and took cover.”
Not a storm metaphor, she noted absently, but fire. Supers seemed perfectly ordinary once you got past the shapes and colors, but every now and again she was reminded that there were deep cultural differences, both small and huge.
AJ stopped his pacing and stared at the ceiling, thinking. “And none of them came to us. Are we not reaching them, or do they not understand what’s at stake?”
“They’re scared, AJ.” She hadn’t meant to speak up, aware still that although they had needed her to deal with the portals, most of the supers here didn’t like or trust humans much, either. “They don’t care about what’s at stake, only that they don’t end up on the stake.”
The team leader chuckled, a sound like rain against leaves, and nodded. “The human is right. They remember what has happened other times when the preters look at us, and they run to hide. But at least if they hide, they are not joining her.”
Jan nodded, seeing his logic. Supers that were afraid would stay out of the battle and could be left out of the equation.
“Is she soliciting them?” AJ said, although it wasn’t clear—to Jan at least—if he was asking or merely thinking out loud. “We had been going on the theory that supers were going to her on their own, but if she’s actively building a new court...”
The tension in the room increased until Jan could practically feel it, pressing against her the way the sense of time passing pressed from within. If this odd-eyed stranger was the preter queen and she was building her own court, then their theory was right. This wasn’t a visit; she was digging in and planning to stay. Worst-case scenario.
“Boss?” The air-sprite—Jan thought it was the one that had summoned them, but she wasn’t sure—buzzed down from the ceiling where it had been hovering. “I don’t want to play Tinker Bell, but maybe that’s not all bad?”
“Are you insane, feather-brain?” Martin asked, but AJ raised a hand, silencing them both.
“You think she could she be used as a possible ally—or weapon—to fend the preters off? That she wouldn’t let them poach what she considers her territory?”
The air-sprite shrugged, wings fluttering. “Maybe?”
“Pointless,” AJ decided. “Even if she were willing, or manageable, she’s still as much of a danger. But... keep it in mind, yeah? Work that angle just in case.”
And that seemed to be that as Jan watched the others begin to talk among themselves, picking up threads that had been abandoned when the team leader had returned, when Martin and Jan had joined them.
“All right, people,” Elsa said. “Let’s take five, get some coffee, and come back to look at the inventory reports.”
Martin turned to AJ, speaking in low tones, and a few of the other supers gathered in to listen. Jan, not involved in the day-to-day running of the Farm, took the chance to slip out, but not before someone handed her a slim notebook from a pile, “For later reading, when you have some time.” Time. She felt it pulse in her veins again, the words of the preter consort, giving them only so long and no longer before they would be on the move again.
She flipped open the cover and thumbed through a few pages as she walked: it was an agenda of the meeting, complete with index and footnotes. Jan wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. Who knew partisan movements had perfect-bound agendas?
Elsa, she decided. Elsa was probably someone’s P.A., when she wasn’t trying to save the world. Someone who didn’t care that she looked like a rock, only that she rocked on the details.
Carrying the notebook, Jan made a quick pit stop in the bathroom—like at a concert, you went when you saw it empty in a place this crowded—and then paused in the middle of the main room, not sure what she was going to do now. Maybe go back to her desk and stare at the report, doodle useless notes on it. Or go over the notes her own team had made about how the preter court could be connecting to the internet from their realm, land, world, whatever. Maybe she could remember something else from going through the portal, not once but twice. That was the key to figuring out how the portals were being opened, and they just didn’t have enough information.
Martin had given them everything he could, but Tyler...Tyler’s memory of the portal, going through not twice but six times, was too jumbled to be useful, too tied up in his need for and his fears of Stjerne, the preter bitch who had taken him, screwed with him.
So that left her as the useful human viewpoint, trying to connect the magic with the science; only, she didn’t know how.
Jan looked at AJ’s report again and closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose. The headache was back with a vengeance.
Science and magic. That was why Laurie had joined their group. Kit and Glory were programmers, and good ones, but Laurie had a background in science, although it was chemistry, not physics. And that was what it had to be: some kind of weird physics thing, because the one thing that Jan knew, without a doubt beyond the fact that shape-shifters and elves and gnomes and everything else were real, was that the place they had been, the preter’s realm, was nowhere in this universe.
Every time she lay down, in the instant before sleep claimed her, she could see the massive trees bearing an even more massive serpent, the troll-bridge trying to kill them, the bright, sunless sky overhead, and she knew.
“Jan.” A soft voice called to her. Jan opened her eyes and turned, heading not for her desk but the small square of hassocks set in front of the fireplace at the far end of the main room. For once, there was only one person seated there, tech diagrams fanned out under one hand and a red marker in the other. The jiniri raised a hand without the marker and curled her fingers to indicate that, yes, she did want the human to join her.
Galilia was part of her team, not well-versed in tech or science but the only one who kept up with actual developments, who had friends in the scientific world. More, she was able to make intuitive leaps that made them feel maybe they were getting somewhere. Plus, she had a wicked sense of humor, Jan had discovered, and no hesitation about including a human in the conversation. Nobody here had been rude to her—they wouldn’t dare—but Gali was one of the few Jan could consider an actual friend.
“Look what I found,” the jiniri said, indicating the wide-mouthed bowl on the hassock next to her.
“Found? No, I don’t even want to know where,” Jan said, sinking onto the upholstered stool and reaching over with a sigh. Not even the world’s most amazing handcrafted truffles could make things right, could stop the pressing of time, but M&M’s never hurt.
“You were in AJ’s meeting?” the super asked, going back to studying her work, but her head tilted in such a way as to indicate that she was still listening.
