“Guess I have to admire your honesty.” I lifted the tea bag from my cup and set it on the tray. “And I suppose neutrality is better than reluctance when it comes to the sídhe siding with us mere mortals.”
“Quite so.” She followed my lead and set her tea bag aside, then spooned a bit of sugar from the bowl into her cup. “I just wanted you to be aware of where we stand, so you don’t misinterpret any of our decisions regarding the conflict that currently entangles the humans, the fae, the vampires, and this man ‘calling himself’ Abarta.”
Boyle gave her a critical side-eye at the overemphasis of “calling himself” but declined to rebuke her for challenging the court’s party line on Abarta’s identity. Probably because I was in the room, and he didn’t want a half-fae to witness a disagreement about the web of deceptive policies and obvious half-truths that were the lifeblood of the faerie courts.
“Our first reason for siding with you on the matter of the raids,” he picked up, “is because we believe your assessment of the vampire coven’s current scheme is on point, Vincent Whelan. The reports on vampire activity that we’ve been receiving from the dullahan guard point to an intentional buildup of important resources in vampire-heavy areas. They are clearly planning a major action, and have been preparing for the event for several weeks.”
“Because the overall goal of our assignment in Kinsale,” Orlagh continued, “is to promote our queen’s desire to sustain the protected cities as viable homes for the remaining human population, we believe it would be in our best interests to side with the person”—she pointed at me with her delicate finger—“who appears to have the better plan, and the stronger drive, for tackling the issues that threaten said viability.
“You are correct in your assertion that Colonel McCullough is acting almost solely in the name of self-interest, to the detriment of not only the humans but also us, his subordinates. His imprudent decisions negatively impact everyone in this city, and if we fail our mission as a result of that imprudence, the city will fall to the vampires and we will return to Tír na nÓg in disgrace, if we do not die here.”
Boyle took a sip of his tea without sweetening it. “Colonel McCullough believes he is clever enough to set himself up for a personal victory no matter the outcome of the situation as a whole. He is planning to use your Watchdog organization as his scapegoat, to blame all the consequences of his leadership failures on your weaknesses while taking all the credit for any successes you may score. He thinks he can achieve this because it’s a tried-and-true strategy of the most prejudiced of the sídhe to dump the blame for the impacts of their shortcomings on their social inferiors, including the lesser fae and the half-fae.”
I decided not to comment on the social inferiors bit. “You don’t think he can get away with that strategy?”
Orlagh picked up her cup and swirled the tea around while she spoke. “To be frank, we don’t think he’s intelligent enough to accomplish such a feat. Colonel McCullough has advanced to his position because one, he is naturally skilled at combat magic, and two, he is among the most ruthless soldiers of the Unseelie Army. He has, in essence, exploited a loophole in court politics—the inability to repel a brute-force approach to earning the achievements necessary for promotion—in order to ascend to his current rank.”
“But McCullough’s strategy is not without a critical flaw.” Boyle drained the rest of his tea in three gulps and replaced the cup on the tray. “It relies on his intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the Unseelie Court. Knowledge that is practically useless on this side of the veil, where court control is tenuous at best because the creatures who inhabit this world do not play our games or by our rules. Yet, as you have personally witnessed, Vincent Whelan, the colonel continues to attempt to exploit the same strategies he always has in order to make his ‘rivals’ appear weak and incompetent.”
“His choices have already begun to backfire.” Orlagh sipped her own tea. “The level of discontent among the lesser fae governing body and the dullahan guard is reaching critical levels. They are sitting just below the point of outward revolt against a high officer of the Unseelie Army. A situation that would be unimaginable were we stationed in Tír na nÓg. But Colonel McCullough is so set in his ways and so blind to his flaws that he cannot see the mutiny waiting to happen.”
I tapped the rim of my teacup with my fingernail. “So Kinsale is basically a pot about to boil over on two sides, with the vampires on one side and the fae on the other. Two major issues extending from the same underlying factor: the mounting conflict between those groups.”
I picked up my cup and blew the steam away, then took a soothing gulp that wet my dry throat. “You think that if the Watchdog attempt to undermine Vianu’s latest plot is successful, the resulting decrease in strain on the fae government will allow the tensions between the lesser fae and McCullough to settle. Especially if McCullough is removed from the picture altogether after it becomes apparent just how ineffectual he is. And once he’s no longer a concern, the rest of the sídhe contingent will finally be able to craft an effective defense strategy against future threats to the protected cities, thus fulfilling your queen’s wishes.”
Orlagh said, “That is exactly what we believe.”
“You know what? I actually buy that.” I rested my cup on the coffee table. “But, out of curiosity, what’s your second reason for helping me axe McCullough?”
She and Boyle looked sheepish for a moment, before she replied, “If McCullough is booted from the army, or otherwise removed from play, a colonel position will open up. That position will be taken by Lieutenant Colonel Nollaig O’Sullivan, who is currently in command of Colonel McCullough’s brigade while he’s on assignment here on Earth. Her promotion to colonel will open a lieutenant colonel position, which will fall to me, as I’m the most senior officer beneath her. My promotion will then open a major position, and Eamon, who is the most senior of the captains in the brigade, will undoubtedly be selected to move into that position.”
I laughed. “So, on the one hand, you’re betraying McCullough because you feel he’s a blight on the Unseelie Court doomed to ruin your queen’s designs for Earth. But, on the other hand, you’re partial to betraying McCullough in the first place because getting him out of the way will improve your job prospects?”
Orlagh gave me a little shrug. “That’s the gist of it, yes.”
“Oh god.” I raked my fingers down my face, still chuckling. “That’s so sídhe of you.”
“Did you expect anything else,” Boyle asked, “from us full-blooded sídhe?”
“You know what? I really didn’t. I’m just surprised how straightforward you played it.”
Boyle raised his hands, as if to say, What can you do? We are the way we are.
Orlagh emptied the last few drops of tea from her cup and sat it next to her companion’s on the tray. “Now that we’ve established our reasons for subverting Colonel McCullough’s efforts are indeed legitimate, do you accept our proposal for aiding you in the raid operation?”
“Depends.” I drank the rest of my tea and completed the trifecta of cups on the tray. “What exactly are you proposing to do to counter McCullough’s attempts to sabotage the Watchdogs?”
Boyle leaned back against the couch and crossed his arms. “The colonel does not directly give orders to any of the dullahan guard. They are passed first to Orlagh and me. The two of us further disseminate the orders to the other sídhe soldiers, who are then sent to meet with the dullahan commanders to discuss the logistics involved in implementing the orders. If any significant implementation issues arise during this discussion, the soldiers report back to me, and I discuss how to resolve the issues with Orlagh. We do not involve Colonel McCullough unless we feel the letter of his orders must be altered to achieve the desired impact.”
“I see.” I patted my pants legs as I worked through that tangle of bureaucracy. “Because McCullough’s input in that process is so limited, you think you can deliver false order
s without McCullough noticing until it’s too late to course correct.”
“Exactly,” Orlagh said.
“And what if he’s tipped off to the double cross before the raid operation is complete? What if he comes gunning for us when we’re at a critical juncture of the operation?”
The two sídhe stared at each other for a long moment, as if having a psychic conversation.
Orlagh eventually replied, “We will be on standby in your vicinity. If things begin to go awry, we will nudge them back onto the correct trajectory.”
My eyebrows rose. “You’ll fight him?”
“Colonel McCullough is a strong combat practitioner, for sure,” Boyle said, “but as we affirmed earlier, he is not that smart. And we have spent years in his shadow, watching his every move, magic and mundane. He has many weaknesses, and we are not averse to exploiting all of them if that is what it takes to eliminate him as a liability to the court.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s cold.”
“We are Unseelie. Cold is our nature.” Orlagh’s eyes met mine, firm resolve swimming in her light-gray irises. “As you well know, Vincent Whelan.”
A flash of violent memory assaulted me—my hand driving a knife through Rian’s skull—and I bit down on my tongue. “Maybe I do,” I mumbled as the taste of blood flooded my mouth. “Maybe I do indeed.”
The conversation died off after that awkward exchange, and the two sídhe excused themselves, saying they had to get back to their temporary barracks near City Hall before morning roll call. I led them back down to the former show room and deactivated the necessary wards so they could exit my house without being electrocuted and set on fire simultaneously.
Before I opened the door to let them out, I asked, “How much lead time do you need”—I glanced through the glass of the door, cognizant of being watched by creatures hidden in the dark—“to make your ‘arrangements’ with the dullahan guard?”
Orlagh considered. “At least three hours would be preferable, so that we have time to work out the optimal strategy.”
“Three hours? I can do that.” I unlocked the deadbolt and turned the doorknob. “And how should I contact you?”
“No need to contact us directly.” She tugged her hood up. “Contact Aileen and tell her you need to speak with the colonel ‘on a matter relating to citywide security.’ She will pass the message to me as a matter of course, and I will take that as our cue to begin the…arrangements.”
“Subtle. I like it.” I made to open the door, but a nagging thought caused me to falter. “Say, I was wondering something.”
Orlagh adjusted her hood so it obscured most of her face. “Yes?”
“Why do you think McCullough was assigned this mission? There’s no way the higher-ups in the court don’t know he’s a grossly incompetent hothead, so there’s no justifiable reason to assign him to a critical mission.” I raked my teeth across my still-throbbing tongue. “At first, I just figured protecting Kinsale wasn’t a critical mission, and so no one was concerned about the quality of McCullough’s performance. But the way you framed it upstairs made it sound like M-A-B really does care about the integrity of the protected cities. If that’s the case, then why not assign a more competent military leader to handle the vampire incursion?”
Boyle, standing behind Orlagh, let out an irritated grunt. “We have asked ourselves the same question many times.”
“And?” I pressed.
Orlagh sighed. “We’ve determined that we don’t yet possess enough information to craft a solid hypothesis on the matter. The multifaceted actions of our queen and the upper echelons of the court, including the military brass, are simply too opaque to fully decipher from our middling positions. We can reasonably assume there is an angle to the situation that resolves the apparent contradiction of the colonel’s assignment, but anything beyond that assumption is pure speculation at this time.”
She cast her gaze to the ceiling, thoughtful. “Admittedly, I have wondered on more than one occasion if the brass manufactured this situation specifically to oust the colonel, in which case our defection may well be something they intended.”
Boyle groaned softly. “I dislike being used in such a blatant manner, though I will not complain if the outcome favors us for our role in the colonel’s downfall.”
“Ah, the sweet smell of byzantine faerie political maneuvering.” I opened the door with a slight creak of the hinges. “Always a refreshing experience at four thirty in the morning.”
“I would get used to it if I were you, Vincent Whelan,” he said as he stepped across the threshold, “for the longer the fae hold the reins of Earth, the more those machinations will bleed across the veil and influence human society.”
“There’s a difference between tolerance and acceptance,” I said. “The former the court will get from me as long as fae rule doesn’t run counter to Earth’s well-being. But the latter is mine to withhold indefinitely, and withhold that acceptance I will, because the Unseelie Court doesn’t deserve my unconditional loyalty.”
“Because you were exiled as a child after your mother cast you off?” Boyle’s voice seemed to drift out of a void as he passed into shadow a few paces down the sidewalk, his dark cloak blending in with the night. “Bit of an absurd grudge to maintain, if you ask me, considering the general state of this world. And were you also not offered a place in Tír na nÓg during the troubles eight years ago? All exile orders were canceled during that time, if I remember correctly.”
“Offering me a token place in my ancestral homeland, not because the court actually cared about me in particular, but because there were extenuating circumstances that put all half-fae in danger didn’t excuse the original offense. That offense, in case you don’t know, was magically scrambling my memories and dropping me on my unsuspecting father’s doorstep. When I was six years old.”
I couldn’t see Boyle’s expression, but I caught the tension in his tone. “Those circumstances are unfortunate, I agree. But I still think it would do you good to—”
“The man is entitled to his feelings, Eamon.” Orlagh paused beside me in the entryway. “It is not our place to invalidate those whose experiences we do not share.”
Boyle fell quiet for a long moment. When he found his voice again, he said, “My apologies, Whelan.”
If he’d been human, I wouldn’t have believed his words. As it was…
“Apology accepted,” I muttered.
Orlagh moved onto the sidewalk but turned to face me instead of catching up to her partner. “May I ask you a question in exchange for your question about McCullough’s placement?”
“Uh, sure.”
She lifted her head, and I caught of gleam of curiosity in those sharp gray eyes. “How is it you came to be friends with the King of the Cats?”
The question caught me so off guard I was doubled over laughing before I even realized I’d opened my mouth. “Friends?” I choked out. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You are…not friends?” she said, confused. “I thought he seemed companionable toward you, going so far as to send his proxies to watch over you at meetings and escort you home after dark. I don’t recall any stories of the King of the Cats treating others in such an agreeable away. I’ve only heard tales of his ruthlessness and unremitting cruelty. Are you certain he doesn’t consider you a friend of some sort?”
“No, Major. We are definitely not friends.” I straightened up and wiped the tears from my eyes. “Tom Tildrum doesn’t have any friends, just toys. And right now, I have the misfortune of being his favorite one.”
Chapter Fifteen
The march to Normandy was accompanied by the ominous crackle of static. Interference from the web of spells that kept our headsets secure from interception by our many foes. The static came in regular intervals, a discordant rhythm, and the closer we drew to the abandoned three-story office that had once been Bowler and Sons, the more we fell into lockstep with the repeating screech in our ears
.
Twenty people dressed in black, skirting the soot-streaked walls of fire-damaged buildings, tiptoeing through alleys filled with trash and the whispers of building winds. Our many guns were locked and loaded. Our shield bracelets hummed with power. And our belts hung heavy with weapons that could bring even the cruelest creatures to their knees.
We were as ready for this battle as we could possibly be. Yet a cloud of anxiety encompassed the two raid teams, one that grew denser with each shaky breath and wider with each whispered prayer. The human practitioners feared for their frail mortality, and the half-fae feared for their very souls. Vampires in combat did not take prisoners, and they were not kind in how they killed. They would use their bare hands to rip heads from shoulders, their fangs to shear through necks and bleed bodies dry. And, without doubt, they would use iron to burn every ounce of life from the fae.
This was, by far, the largest and most daring operation Project Watchdog had undertaken. No one was under the illusion that we would all survive. So the primary question that hung in the cloud of anxiety was: Will I be among the poor fucks who die?
I asked myself that question. I’m sure Odette did too. We were all mortal here.
But we couldn’t let our mortal fears stop us from doing what needed to be done.
All the raid teams had set off fifteen minutes ago from the temporary operation command center on Gladys Avenue, from which Saoirse was coordinating the simultaneous strikes on the ten vampire-controlled holding locations. She had thirty-eight members of our admin staff helping her issue real-time orders via the communication system. Fifteen key members of the R&D team, Tori included, were there as well. They’d been tasked to come up with magic solutions on the fly if any vital part of the operation went awry.
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