Soul of Fire

Chapter 14

Voices were raised in argument, escaping the building and spilling out into the night. A preternatural might choose to disguise itself, to drape a glamour around its form to appear human, harmless, to moderate its voice into something flat and dull. When it did not choose to do so, there was no mistaking it.

“Sheer dumb luck.” The voice rang out into the room, silencing the other voices—but only for a breath of time.

“Luck that is recognized and acted on cannot, by definition, be dumb. Unless you mean to say that it is mute.”

“I mean to say that we stumbled into this world at exactly the right time, not because we planned it but because of sheer dumb luck.”

“Enough, the two of you!” Another voice, fierce and hot, dominating even them. “The consort bound us to the terms of the truce. Those terms, bound by magic, brought us here at the moment the dark moon would rise and our own strength would be at its greatest. Is that luck or destiny?”

It would have been unwise to doubt the consort’s wisdom or destiny, even here, far from his reach. Particularly since they were about to extend his reach so significantly.

There were eleven preters gathered, of the seventeen currently in this realm. Nine had come over in the original batch, the nine remaining of the ten who had been first set to this task, plus two more, of the five sent once the first had succeeded. Once the consort determined where Nalith had gone, and how, it had been a simple enough matter to do the same. But simply following would not have been enough: the court’s pride had been pricked, and they must do more to regain what had been lost.

Thus, this gathering. It was not enough to simply reclaim their errant queen, no. They needed to make this world their own, use it to punish both her and this realm, to ensure that none ever challenged them again.

The preter court was wise and dangerous, and if they gave mercy it was of their own whim. They did not feel inclined, this night, to mercy.

They were gathered in a hall, in the darkened basement of a building filled with relics of the human religions, gilded and pretty but otherwise meaningless to them. They had chosen this place not for its decor but its space and its location: the magic, what their pets called “signal,” flared most brightly here.

Brightly, but not so brightly as Under the Hill, where it had sparked like lightning, filling the sky with the crackle of power. Too many drew upon it here, interfered with it. That was not acceptable and would, like so much, be changed.

Behind them, their pets waited. Blank eyed and obedient, they were weighted with silver chains around their necks, draping down over to rest against their hearts. Twenty-two humans, cross-legged on the carpet. It had been attempted to hold three at once, but the results had been unpleasant: one human longed and needed reassurance, two were content, but three seemed to tip them into rebellion.

Rebellion was not permitted.

“Enough.” A new voice spoke. The original nine had been courtiers, set to their task by command. Those who had come later were lords, higher in the consort’s regard, and expected obedience in return. If the original nine resented that, resented this latecomer giving orders, they gave no sign. “Luck and destiny are mortal conceits, designed to ease the sting of their failures. I will have no more such spoken in my hearing.”

They fell silent, but the undercurrent of nerves remained. For all their arrogance and pride, they knew themselves to be creatures of tradition, not comfortable with the new, the untried. And this, all of this, was new, uncertain, a thing that had once been considered impossible. Only the change in their world, the shift in the alignment of things, allowed them to even dare it, moving on some strange, strong instinct that swirled the magic and re-formed it, court guiding and humans carrying the weight.

A Great Portal. More, a Great Portal that was stable, that did not move and fade with the seasons or disappear if something harmed the human who carried it.

A Great Portal they would control entirely.

The old ways, dependent on tide and turn, would not have been enough to hold it steady. The new ways, the binding of human souls to hold the portal, was limited in scope. But eleven here, in the dark of the moon, a high magic time, with twice eleven soul-spaces for them to use...

Change came slowly to them, but they were not fools to refuse it.

The consort had commanded them, challenged them to come here, and their pride demanded that they answer. And then—then they would take their queen home and leave only devastation behind.

Seduction, Jan was discovering, was all in the mind.

“Where we were, before, there is a bridge.” Jan had been juggling how to start in her head, and every idea seemed worse than the other, either lame or too obvious or nothing she could actually do or say without falling into hysterical giggles, which wouldn’t help at all. Sitting on a pile of cushions in the path of the late-afternoon sunlight while Nalith sketched her, a brownie sitting stiffly at her knee unhappy to be there but unable to refuse the queen’s command, Jan found the words had risen without thought or plan.

“Hhhmmm?” So long as Jan did not move, Nalith allowed her to speak, but that did not mean she was listening. Yet.

“It arches over a creek, and if you were to see it, in the course of the day, it would be only a wooden bridge, small and meaningless. But in the afternoon, when the sun hits it just so, the light catches red and gold in the grain of the planks, and it is almost as though it is made of flame, caught in form, arcing over running water.”

Jan had actually only seen the light do that once, walking the borders of the Farm with Martin. But she had stopped and watched, as the light had flickered and then moved on, and thought it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

Martin, of course, hadn’t noticed a thing. But she thought Nalith, with her small obsession with light, might have.

“Not that the light here isn’t nice—” and she put all the doubtfulness she had into the word nice “—but there, it seems as though there’s a special quality, a life to it, somehow. I think that’s why so many artists live there.”

There were, as far as she knew, no artists anywhere near the Farm, although it wouldn’t have surprised her to find a high-priced gallery down the road, catering to the CEOs and retired sports stars who had second homes up there. But her words seemed to set a hook, because Nalith paused in her sketching, her hand hesitating just a bit before making the next stroke.

Jan tried not to look toward the other side of the room, where Tyler was sitting, talking with Kerry. She hadn’t spoken to him since that morning, when he’d disappeared from their room. He wasn’t cold, just distant, deep inside his own thoughts, and she had decided it was better to leave him there.

“Tell me of this place.”

It was a command, her voice as coolly bored as ever, save when she discussed her own attempts at creating, but Jan cheered inwardly. Outwardly, she remained still, the perfect model.

“It is similar to here, but different, too. South of here, a small community, but connected to the major cities, Boston and New York. It’s on the grid, so you lack for nothing, but there is quiet, too. Time to think, to create.”

She paused and then let a hint of surprise and excitement come into her voice, as though she had only just thought of it. “My lady, I would take you there, if I could. It would be a setting worthy of you.”

“And this House is not?”

Careful, Jan, she warned herself. Seduce, don’t bludgeon. This was too important to screw up. Suddenly every panic attack she had ever had over dating, over flirting, over making a mistake in public, came back and tried to whammy her.

The brownie on her knee, as though sensing her unrest, or maybe just responding to the warning tone in Nalith’s voice, sniggered. Jan kept her face calm, but the hand that had been placed on the brownie’s neck, as though cupping it to her, tightened enough to leave marks in the super’s flesh, and it fell silent, warned. If it broke form, distracted the preter from her sketching, Nalith’s ire would be focused on both of them, not merely Jan.

The faintest scuffle of noise drew her attention, but she knew even without looking that Martin had entered the room. He did not come far inside, lingering by the doorway, and there was nothing he could do to help anyway, but knowing he was there gave her the courage to continue. She might not be useful in a fight, but this was a battle of a different sort, using words and images rather than weapons or claws. And words and images, she knew.

“This place, it is lovely, but it is too small, too isolated to properly showcase you, what you will become. My lady should have outposts, yes, throughout the land, but she should not reside in one. She deserves a hub, a center, where all would circle around her.”

“A center, yes.”

Jan hadn’t chosen the word intentionally, but the moment Nalith repeated it, she could feel the hook catch the preter and knew all she had to do now was reel her in. “The houses are spread at a distance, but not isolated, and artists and dancers and singers would come to you, a proper patron and student of their arts.” Her eyes settled on Tyler, and she remembered what he had said about the cables and how fascinated Nalith seemed with the project. The preters had used the internet to connect with humans in the first place, had somehow hooked their magic into the network. That’s the final carrot, the thing that will get her...

“And of course, the entire complex is already on the grid. I helped set the system up myself.” Utter truth, that. “Full digital, top speed—the entire internet, all the power of human technology at your command.”

“And all of it merely waiting for me to walk in?”

“My lady.” Jan risked looking directly at Nalith then. “They simply do not know they are waiting for you.”

The preter’s narrow lips quirked, and that flash of humor, rarely seen but irresistible, transformed her for just an instant before it was gone. Jan’s breath was taken away, even as her brain was calculating the effects, judging her work the way she used to judge a website that had just gone live. Part of Nalith knew that Jan’s words were only the very best butter, but Ty had been right; she couldn’t resist. Even if only half of what Jan had said was true, the preter would have to follow through. Her ego would demand it.

“And you would take me to this place?”

“My lady.” One of the other brownies—of course it was Cam, Jan thought, able to pick them out now—stepped forward. “My lady, this house is safe for you, a defended location. We know there are others coming, have sensed them. It would not be wise—” He heard the words coming out of his mouth and tried to stuff them back, too late. You did not question Nalith’s wisdom, ever.

“You would take me to this place?” Nalith asked Jan again, ignoring the brownie.

“My lady. It would be my pleasure.”

The two figures entered the café and looked around cautiously, clearly ill at ease in the surroundings.

“Sit wherever ya want,” a woman called out from behind the counter, indicating the dozen or so tables, half of which were empty. A few of the diners looked up to see who had arrived but quickly returned their attention to their food. The newcomers did not invite close observation. “Someone’ll get to you right away.”

They chose a table away from the window, as isolated as they could manage, and sat down. The menus were in front of them, and they studied the offerings rather than talking to each other or looking around.

“Horrible place,” one said, a quiet under-breath mutter. “I cannot imagine that she would deem this locale acceptable.”

“I cannot imagine what she thinks at all,” the female said, “but she is here. The sooner we settle this, the sooner we can leave.” They had left their human pets with the others while they scouted, each of them feeling uncomfortable with their portal-holders so far away.

“Hey. What can I get’cha?” The waitress was young, naturally cheerful, and had clearly summed them up and decided they had the potential to be decent tippers.

“The breakfast special,” the man said, putting down the menu, and his companion held up two fingers, indicating that she would go with that, as well.

“Sure thing. Coffee?”

“Please.”

The waitress tapped a tablet in her hand and entered their order. She scurried away, returning a few minutes later with their waffles.

“Nice town,” one of the strangers said awkwardly.

“It’s little but it’s ours. You want real syrup with that?”

“Of course.” There was a pause as the waitress brought over a small brown pitcher and placed it on the table. Her customers both nodded, almost regally, she thought, and picked up their forks, looking around the restaurant as though wondering what to do next. The waitress dismissed that thought—of course everyone knew how to eat waffles!—and went back to refilling coffee mugs.

“We need to wait,” the first preter said, cutting into the food and lifting a piece to his mouth. He chewed automatically, the best waffles this side of Belgium, according to the sign out front, consumed the same way he did all the food in this realm, without pleasure. “We cannot simply march up and demand that she return with us.”

“We could,” his companion said, “but it would be noisy. And likely fruitless, yes.” They had spent the dawn hours walking around the structure Nalith had hidden herself in; there was magic wrapped around it, the new kind of magic she had discovered and tried to keep for herself. More, there were other creatures there, including the stink of gnomes. The preters might accept the homage of such creatures here, as they were useful, but to allow them to den so close? Nalith had forgotten herself utterly.

“We will remind her,” the preter said out loud, and her companion nodded, knowing her thoughts easily. As they had reminded Stjerne when she’d overstepped her place one time too many, had lost them one of the mortal portal-holders, and the consort’s protection had been dropped.

“We will. But that act is not for us to do so, not alone.” They burned to confront her, force her to recant her abandonment, take up her proper role and put things back to order. The court should not be without its queen, consorts should not give orders, they should not be relying so heavily on humans to accomplish their goals. But it was the consort’s right to rebuke his queen, not theirs. They were here only to find her, track her, and keep her in one place until he could arrive.

Soon. The others would complete the first part of their task soon. All they had to do was hold her here until then.

And if they did violence to her would-be courtiers and guards in the process? No one would chide them for that.

The sound of footsteps on the floor approached their table and then stopped. They both looked up, expecting their waitress to have returned with the coffee.

“You folks traveling through or here for some leaf peeping?”

The human stood by their table, his head cocked to the side, indicating that he expected them to respond. Unlike the others around them, who wore a seemingly random choice of colors and clothing, he was dressed all in one shade of blue, blouse and trousers matched by a leather utility belt like a workman. But he carried himself proudly, with an edge of caution that both preters quickly identified. A guard of some sort, aware in ways the other humans were not that they did not belong here. And the scar across his face, a still-raw slash, said he was not a human who was easily cowed.

The term he used, “leaf peeping,” was unfamiliar, but the intent behind the question was clear. He was challenging them.

The female preter rested her hands on the table, her eyes bright. There was a temptation to englamour this one, but capturing him would cause more problems than it would solve; a guard would be expected to report in, and his going missing might raise alarms they had no wish to deal with just then. Likewise, they could not simply kill him.

“We are visiting a friend who lives in the area,” the male said, placing his fork down on the table and folding his hands in an attempt to look harmless. “Is there something wrong?” His voice soothed and eased: There is nothing wrong here, nothing at all. A risk; if the human was sensitive to magics, as some were, he would know he was being manipulated, raising more questions.

The human studied him carefully, too closely, and then, finally, shook his head, dismissing them from whatever suspicions he had brought. “We’ve had some trouble the past few weeks,” he said. “Your friend will fill you in, no doubt. It’s been all the gossip. So we’re careful with faces we don’t recognize. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course. Such diligence is to be commended. Might I ask as to the nature of the trouble?”

“The murder kind,” the guard said bluntly, the faint englamouring cast on his perception not affecting him so much that he lost track of his duty. “Two local families, and two cops went missing looking for them.” He studied them, searching for some reaction. When they merely looked back at him, he smiled briefly, grimly, and touched the brim of his hat. “You folks enjoy your breakfast.”

“Herself?” the male murmured as the human moved away, leaving them to their discussion again.

“Or the creatures she has gathered around her,” his companion said. “You saw the scar on his face—that is the work of one the lower sorts. How she chooses to amuse herself is no concern of ours. Finish your food. The others will be finishing soon. When they are done...then we will be able to go home.”

“Hmm,” the other preter said, casting a glance around the restaurant. “We should look up that guard before we go. He lacked the spark of some others, but there was an intelligence there that might be useful.”

“We can come back for him later,” she agreed. “Later.”

What one gnome knew, they all knew. They knew about the human female, who had evaded them not once but twice, who had gone into the otherland and come out again. When she had appeared at Herself’s court, they had known, and they had waited and watched. Herself might be fooled into thinking this human was tame like the others, but gnomes knew better.

They were not so foolish as to choose a single side or to trust the promises of anyone, super or preternatural. Both sides lied. Both sides used. But if they broke each other, gnomes would remain.

They would play the game and win.

So when the lupin, the Wolf, called a warning against the preternatural threat, they heard but did not heed, waiting for a better offer. And it came, as they knew it would. When their preter lords called, they responded. When Herself commanded, they obeyed. They did the dirty work, the bloody work. But always, always, they watched and waited.

Eventually, the time would come for them. If they could survive.

“We cannot go. They will slaughter us. Have you forgotten what happened the last time, and the time before that?”

They had attempted to stop the Wolf’s pack twice before, on the preters’ orders, and most had been slaughtered. Gēnomos stalked and they rended and they disappeared, that was what they did, not this open frontal warfare.

“This is not the Wolf.”

“This is worse!”

“A risk. A risk we knew and counted for.”

“A risk that fails is not a good risk.”

“The cost is high but the reward sweet.”

“Enough!” One voice cut across the many, where they were huddled in a tent at the far edges of the property, as far from Herself as they could manage without raising her ire. “There is no other choice. Not now. Not yet. We die, to live.”

“We die, to live,” the other voices muttered, agreement reluctant but inevitable. What one knew, they all knew, and what one won, they all won.