by Amy Sumida
“How did he get settled so fast?” I gaped at the aerial shots of the Pearl Thief's compound. “Scratch that.” I grimaced. “I know how. Hey, have you gotten any images of his face?”
“Nah. Whenever he comes out, he wears a hat,” Karmen pointed at a picture of a group of people gathered around one man in a dark brown fedora.
“Humph. I wonder if Raza singed his straw hat when we saw him in Brazil?” I grinned at the new hat the thief was rocking. “Isn't that the same kind of hat that Indiana Jones wears?”
Karmen frowned at the picture. “Maybe. Hard to say from this distance.”
“Anyway,” Abby got us back on track, “he's been healing everyone now, not just children, and it's fucking with Mexico big time.”
“They've got the plague,” Karmen said in a Dracula voice.
“Is that the right accent for that statement?” I asked conversationally.
Karmen blinked. “It's a general horror accent; I think it works.”
“What sort of plague?” Tiernan asked pointedly.
“The sort without a cure,” Abby said. “It's not a plague exactly but—”
“Um, I think it is,” Karmen interrupted her.
“No, you need rats for it to be a plague,” Abby argued.
“No, you don't.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, you—”
“Don't,” Tiernan crisply finished for Karmen. “A plague can either be a disease spread by rodents or it can refer to an epidemic with a high death rate. Now, what type of disease is it?”
“It's an airborne virus,” Abby sobered. “It just started yesterday so they don't know more than that but it's fucking deadly. People are dropping like flies.”
“Would you say the amount of people dying corresponds to the amount being healed by the thief?” I asked.
“I don't know the exact numbers for either, but I'd wager they would be close.” Abby nodded.
“If we don't stop this guy, this disease will move up to America and down to Brazil,” Karmen noted. “Then it will spread to the entire world. A fucking pandemic.”
“Anu asked me to save his people,” I whispered as I looked down at the surveillance shots again. “I just didn't realize that he meant all of them.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
We drove through a beautiful region of tree-covered hills bordered by low mountains. The air was clean, the temperature warm, and I knew many humans would take one look at this place and name it paradise. But it was a poor paradise, likely made so by it's remoteness. The people who lived there would have to travel miles for things that most people took for granted. The homes, once we came to the village of Aldama, were basic, many with tin roofs (although they were better than what I'd seen in India and Zimbabwe), and the roads were dirt. At least there weren't piles of garbage everywhere.
No one walked the streets or worked the small patches of vegetables in front of the houses. There were no animals, not even a stray cat or chicken, and no children playing in the street. The only sounds came from us.
“Where is everyone?” I asked as I peered out the window at a ghost town.
“At the commune.” Karmen grimaced.
“The thief's property,” Abby added in case we didn't catch on.
“All of them?” Tiernan asked.
“You start healing children of cancer and you get attention,” our driver said. “The villagers abandoned their homes and moved into his compound. Most of them now make up his security force.”
“Great,” I said sarcastically.
“That is great,” Tiernan argued. “He could have gathered fairies to him, used his miracles to convince our people to follow him, but he's limited himself to humans. That will make it easier for us to get to him.”
“Why hasn't he gone after the Fey?” I wondered.
“Perhaps he knows that anything he does for us will have repercussions for our race,” Tiernan mused. “Or perhaps he knows that our people would be harder to fool and might oppose him. It's easier to be king if you're certain that no one is stronger than you.”
“Fairies certainly wouldn't buy into his savior bullshit,” I agreed.
Then our driver pulled off the road, straight into a tree.
I flinched, I admit it, but it wasn't a real tree. It was an illusion and a ward—placed there to hide the campsite and keep out those who weren't welcome.
“A little warning might have been nice,” I muttered as a new road revealed itself.
“I asked him not too,” Karmen confessed, then laughed. “Your face.” He laughed more. “You were like—” He made a horrified expression.
“I'll remember that, Councilman Dinello,” I growled.
“Oooo so scary.” He mock shivered.
“You do know that Daxon can bring your greatest fears to life, right?” I lifted a brow at him. “And he can do it at any time. Just pop a little nightmare right in front of you.”
Karmen swallowed visibly.
“Payback is a fairy bitch.” I grinned.
“Here we are,” our driver announced as he pulled over to park beside a line of vehicles: vans, SUVs, and Jeeps. “This is our base camp. Everyone's here: extinguishers, hunters, and vexes. The Casters even sent a few witches to help.”
We got out of the SUV and were quickly joined by my other husbands and our knights.
“They're trying to play nice together,” Karmen said to me, “but there are four leaders here and that makes for some interesting meetings.”
“Where are they?” Killian looked around.
We stood between the outskirts of a forest and the base of a hill. It was a good location—large enough to fit all of our people and secluded enough to hide them.
“This way, Ambassador.” Our driver led us around the curve of the hill and toward a cream-colored tent of Fey construction.
I knew the tent was Fey because of its elaborate design and the device embroidered on the flap that served as a door. A stag's head, its antlers wound with vines, against a white background, all within the border of a shield: the symbol of the Wild Hunt. I'd rarely seen the device—normally, the Hunt has no reason to advertise itself—but I knew it well. Every extinguisher did.
A multitude of tents was set up behind this one. Those tents were a mix of Fey and human construction—as in some were Fey and some human—which is strange to see but not nearly as strange as the mix of magic and psychic talent being employed casually around the camp. I spotted an extinguisher cooking on a gas grill, using teleportation to sprinkle salt onto his steak, while one tent over, a hunter stood before a fire pit, filling his stew pot with water that condensed out of thin air.
A lot of people milled about the camp but several were also up on the ridge of the hill, looking down the other side at what I assumed was the Pearl Thief's property. The guards stood in full view, not bothering to camouflage themselves. That told me they had an illusion ward in place up there as well. Beyond them, I could see the tops of shining white towers.
“We have a ward laid around the perimeter,” a masculine voice confirmed.
I yanked my stare away from the ridge to see a group of around fifteen people emerge from the main tent. All of them wore tactical gear. For hunters, that means light leather armor as opposed to Kevlar. Three men and a woman stood at the center of the group and just slightly in front. One was a hunter and one an extinguisher—both apparent by their appearances—so I assumed the other two were witches.
“Welcome, Your Majesties and Your Highness,” the same voice that spoke earlier said; it belonged to the hunter.
He inclined his head respectfully, his silver eyes catching the sunlight. That gave me pause; he was the first fairy I'd met who had silver eyes like Tiernan. And I've met a lot of fairies. The rest of him was nothing like my husband. His hair, a burnt red reminiscent of old blood, was worn in the Fey style—long and loose with only a few tiny braids to hold it away from his face—and his skin was a honeyed brown that made his eyes se
em even paler. His irises didn't have the ring of black around them that Tiernan's did and combined with the color of his skin, it made him look blind.
“I am Nevarien, Lord of the Wild Hunt,” he went on. “My team is composed entirely of Lords. The Fairy Council decided that we needed to meet this threat with our very best hunters.”
“And our best extinguishers,” the extinguisher man said and nodded to us. “I'm honored to be here to assist you, Your Majesties and Ambassador. I'm John Sullivan, I'm leading the extinguisher team.”
Sullivan had pale Irish looks with dirty blond hair—trimmed short, fair skin that looked as if it would burn at the very mention of sunshine, and light blue eyes that seemed watery in comparison to Lord Nevarien's. But he was also thickly muscled and had enough iron daggers strapped to his body to take down a herd of Red Caps.
“Good to meet you both,” Killian spoke for us. Then he looked pointedly at the man beside Sullivan.
“Vex Alberto of the Beckoning Tribe,” the man said with a bow. “I'm the local vex, but we've brought in a team to supplement our ranks.”
This man had the warm looks of the region but a cool tone to his voice. I had to clench my teeth together to keep from laying into him. He hadn't been outright insulting, but I heard his disapproval clearly and saw it in the way he looked at my husband. Even though the Casters had been recognized by the Councils and grudgingly acknowledged by the Coven, and even though there was an alliance in place between all four groups, there was still some lingering resentment—after five freaking years—against Casters, especially their offspring.
Many Coven Witches called the Caster children “bloodless” and considered them to be mutants or abominations, despite the proven facts that Witches are descended from Fairies, their magic is Fey magic, and there's nothing wrong with mixing Fey magic. Fairies interbreed all the time. As long as it isn't a case of mixing with one of the more animal races—and I mean true beasts without the ability to speak or take a humanoid form, such as a Puka—then it isn't a problem. But Coven Witches had been against interbreeding for a very long time and that kind of belief is hard to let go. Killian's role as Ambassador between the Realms granted him respect that some Coven Witches didn't believe he deserved. They certainly didn't like the fact that he was a prince. This vex hadn't offered Kill the respect of either title—yet another indication of his racism.
“Good to have you,” Killian said in a tone that matched the vex's, then moved on as if Alberto of the Beckoning Tribe wasn't interesting enough to hold his attention.
I started to chuckle but then I saw Killian's smile. He was staring at the last person in the leader lineup: the woman. She was grinning back at my husband as if she knew all of his secrets. And she was stunning—a Caster Witch of blended magic and race, judging by her deep umber skin and pale gray eyes. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight braid and she was dressed for battle with a sword on her hip. She strode forward with her hand out.
“Killian!”
“Maxine!” Kill met her halfway and clasped forearms with her as if they were a couple of Viking warriors.
I scowled.
“You still using that flimsy short sword?” Kill asked her in the teasing tone of soldiers everywhere.
“You still need two swords to do the same amount of damage that I do with one?” She shot back.
“How interesting,” Raza murmured from my right as he stared at the couple.
No, not a couple—two people. Big difference. At least, that's what I hoped.
I cleared my throat.
Killian looked back at me and grinned. “This is Max. I trained with her.”
“Nice to meet you, Max,” I said politely.
“Your Majesty.” Max inclined her head.
“That's my wife: Seren,” Killian said to her.
“Yes, I assumed.” Max rolled her eyes.
“You in charge of our witches?” He asked.
“You don't have to sound so shocked.” She grimaced.
Raza cleared his throat and immediately gained everyone's attention. It's generally a good idea to notice when a dragon when he makes any kind of sound. Actually, it's a good idea to pay attention to dragons when they're silent too; silence can be even worse than roaring.
“Perhaps you could catch up with your... compatriot later?” Raza suggested.
“It was two minutes of conversation,” Killian huffed. “I haven't seen her in years. Give me a damn break.”
“And every minute we stand here, the thief may be using the Cintamani to do more damage to this world. This is not the time to catch up with a friend,” Tiernan defended Raza. “Lord Nevarien, brief us on the current situation, if you please.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Nevarien said, then gestured toward the tent. “If you'd please join us inside?”
The group behind the leaders split and Nevarien led us into the tent. Inside, the tent was airy, bright, and smelled fresh; none of the outside odors had made it past the canvas barrier. The roof went up into peaks and lanterns—currently unlit—hung from the crossbeams. A long, wooden table, covered in papers, stood in the center of the tent atop a patchwork of rugs. Several chairs lined the walls but none had been brought up to the table. Nevarien stepped up to the table and tapped a map that had been placed in a prime, central position.
The other leaders joined us but everyone else hung back in a loose circle. A few of our knights accompanied us but most of them took up positions outside. Rodaidh and Conri were both among the knights who came in. I noticed them standing beside each other and sighed. Hopefully, they'd hold it together through the meeting. Those two were like rival tomcats; if they were anywhere near each other, they ended up making a ruckus. I saw Torquil slide between them and smiled gratefully at him. He gave me a crisp nod.
“There are humans armed with guns posted on the walls.” Nevarien indicated a sketch of the Pearl Thief's property on the map.
I looked beyond the compound at the surrounding terrain. Around the flat expanse that the thief had built on was a roughly circular border of mountains and hills. He had probably chosen the area for the sense of security those natural borders imparted, but I would have gone for higher ground instead. Only the mountains to the North and East were tall enough to offer any real protection and even those could have been surmounted with some effort. The rest of the ring was formed by low hills that weakened his position. A single road ran between hills and mountains; one way in and one way out. That doubtless made it seem even more secure, but it wasn't. It demonstrably wasn't; we were able to stand on the hilltops and get a great view of his entire compound without any of his guards knowing.
The compound itself was formed of an ambling wall that had been built to make the most of the valley floor. It had more sections than I was willing to count, matching the vaguely circular shape that the hills and mountains created. Inside the outline of the wall, buildings were represented by rectangles. A line of them stood on the East side while the West had more sporadic placements.
Extinguisher Sullivan pointed to the line of rectangles. “These are apartments for his followers and soldiers—the soldiers are both, but not all followers are soldiers.” Then he pointed at the buildings on the West side. “These are storage buildings from what we can tell. Food, supplies, and weapons. He's creating a city for himself with his worshipers peopling and patrolling it.”
“He'll spread out across Mexico when he gets enough soldiers,” Vex Alberto concluded.
“No shit,” I said dryly and gave the man a scathing look. “Thank you, Vex Obvious.”
He blinked and drew himself upright as Killian made a small snicker under his breath.
“And this is his home,” Max quickly added as she pointed at a large circle in the center of the complex. “He sees visitors there.”
Max slid a photograph out of a stack and set it before us. The soaring structure had the grandeur of a palace but not a Fey one. The towers I'd spotted earlier belonged to this build
ing. The largest of the trio of towers stood to the side of the square keep while the other two sprouted from the back end. Mainly constructed of white stone, it had indigo roofs and a balcony protruding from the top center of the keep. It looked like it belonged on a mountain in Switzerland. An odd choice for a fairy. Generally, the Fey prefer their castles to have a little panache. A little extra flair that screams fairy.
“We were able to get one man inside, posing as a follower,” Sullivan said. “He gave us a partial description of the layout of the palace. Visitors are taken to an entry hall where they are processed. This means that their information is collected and they're briefly interviewed about their petition.”