by C. E. Murphy
“Excuse me?” Janx asked, amusement clear in his voice.
Margrit looked toward him, brazen confidence worn down by sudden tiredness. “One of each, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I insist.” Daisani broke off from his fascinated study of the selkies with panache, as if the conversation had only just become interesting enough to bother with. “Margrit’s gotten us into this fine mess. I wouldn’t let her go now for any price.”
“Nor would we,” Cara said. There was a formality to her voice Margrit had never heard before, as if she was taking part in a ritual translated to English for Margrit’s benefit. “You three, then, to speak for your own.” She nodded at Janx, Daisani and Malik. “The fifth will go unspoken for.”
“If there’s a little time,” Janx offered, with a sideways smile at Alban, “I could call Biali to the table.”
“That would—”
“No.” Alban’s voice rumbled over Janx’s with a heavy note of finality. “I’ll take our place at the quorum.”
“For Margrit’s sake or your own?” Janx turned from Alban, to watch dark confusion and anger crease Tony’s face. “My dear detective, I’m afraid you’re no longer needed here. It’s been a pleasure.”
“There’s no way I’m—”
“Tony.” Margrit broke free from the little group, as if a few steps constituted privacy. “Tony, I promise I’ll explain all of this later, but right now I need to go with them. I know I’m asking too much, okay? But I’m asking it anyway. I need you to trust me and to let this go. I need you to tell Cam and Cole I’m all right and that I don’t know when I’ll be home, but not to worry.”
“I can’t do that, Margrit.”
“You have to. You have to, Tony. I’ve never needed anything from you as much as I need this right now. Please. For me, this one time. I’ll explain when I can.”
“No.” Tony shook his head, resignation mixed with bitter unhappiness. “No, you won’t. Forget it, Margrit. I’ve heard that promise too many times. You’re not gonna explain, and I’m tired of waiting.”
“Tony.” She reached for his hand. He pulled back, and prickles of embarrassment swept over her. “Tony, I will. I swear.”
“You mean it now, but something’s gonna change. It keeps happening. I’m sorry, Grit. I can’t do this anymore.” He took another step back, jaw clenched with resolution. “I love you, but this isn’t working, and I don’t see how it’s ever going to. You go on. Do what you have to do.” He hesitated a moment, then shrugged helplessly. “Goodbye.”
She shut her eyes in defeat as he walked away. Warmth stirred the air a moment later, and she looked up to find that the members of the Old Races had closed ranks around her. “All of you,” she said with a thin note of bitterness. “All of you with your different shapes and your amazing skills, and you can’t even do something like alter somebody’s memory a little so this kind of mess doesn’t happen? What the hell good is being stuck in a fairy tale if you can’t even magic away some of the trouble you cause in mortal lives?”
Malik offered a sharp smile. “Fairies rarely made life easy for those in their tales. And you’ve just told him the truth about all of us. You know the consequences.”
“Oh, don’t threaten me,” Margrit said in disgust. She was glad for the emotion, letting it bury hurt and sorrow. “I’m happy to play Dorothy to your Wicked Witch, so just lay off.”
“What were you thinking, Ms. Knight?” Janx hissed. “Telling him the truth?”
“It’s not like he could possibly believe it. You’re angry.” Margrit laughed with more dismay than humor. “You haven’t called me ‘Ms.’ in ages. I was thinking—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Defense came from an unexpected source, Daisani interrupting the bickering with controlled calm. “He neither could nor did believe her, and we have an enclave to call to order. Miss Delaney.” He turned his attention to the selkie girl, who met his gaze without a hint of the shyness Margrit was accustomed to seeing from her. “If you could escort us to whatever quarters Kaimana has arranged for this meeting, we would all be deeply appreciative.”
EIGHTEEN
CARA LED THEM into a Rockefeller Center conference room, then slipped out again, leaving one of every sentient race there. Kaimana was waiting for them, his black eyes very large and drinking in the low light greedily.
Daisani took the lead, easily confident. “Strength in numbers. What a very human sentiment, Kaimana.”
“It is.” The selkie got to his feet as his five guests fanned out to take seats at a round conference table. Janx and Daisani chose the chairs closest to Kaimana without argument from the others; even at a table without a head there were positions of power. Margrit sat on Janx’s right, across from Daisani, whose mouth quirked curiously at her selection.
A surge of satisfaction burst through her at the vampire’s faint change of expression. She upset the expected balances and alliances at the table by claiming that seat. Alban sat beside her, though beside was misleading. Margrit could stretch her arms out fully without touching either of the men she sat between.
Malik, mouth held tight with displeasure, took the final chair, allied neither with his employer nor managing to sit directly across from Kaimana as the effective second head of the circular table. Alban held that spot, his mass great enough even in human form that Malik seemed reluctant to make an issue of the fact.
“And we have a human to thank for it.” Kaimana bowed toward Margrit, whose mouth curved wryly. Four other pairs of eyes turned to her, the knowledge of what she was and was not legible in their gazes. Human. A woman. A lawyer. A pawn. The only one of any of those things in that room, though she had no doubt both dragon and vampire would cheerfully assure her that everyone was a pawn.
“We’ve respected the laws of the Old Races for centuries.” Kaaiai’s Pacific lilt made his words into music, but inexorability lay beneath them. “Even slipped into exile, into nonexistence, when the only way to retain our numbers was to cross a forbidden barrier and interbreed with the human race.”
Margrit, beneath her breath, asked, “Do you all sound like this in your native languages, or is this just courtroom talk?”
Alban chuckled and Kaaiai broke off, frowning. “I’m sorry?”
“Nothing.” Margrit put a brainless smile into place and shook her head at the selkie. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
He frowned a moment longer, while Janx and Daisani exchanged amused glances, then began again with the same pomposity. “We are tired of living in shadows, unacknowledged among the only peoples who might know us for who we truly are.”
“And what are you?” That came from Janx, his voice unusually measured. “Half-breeds? Quadroons? Octoroons?” He took his gaze from Kaimana long enough to wink at Margrit, whose hands flexed against the tabletop of their own will. Janx looked pleased with himself as he returned his attention to Kaaiai. “How far does the blood dilute and remain true, selkie lord?”
“Half-blooded children are full selkie,” Kaimana answered. “Born to either skin, able to change when and where they will. Quarter-blood breeds true half the time, with a stronger propensity for it among women. We don’t know why. The chances of being a skin-changer fall off dramatically after that. We’ve kept very careful breeding records for centuries. Most of my people are close to full-blooded.”
“And how many are you?” Daisani steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, lips pursed with curiosity. “I tasted five hundred heartbeats this evening alone.” He unlaced his fingers, gesturing dismissively. “I have no dispute regarding your worthiness to call yourselves one of the Old Races. Your grace, your eyes, the scent of your blood…the vampires name you purebloods.”
Malik inhaled, a sharp soft sound, and even Alban stirred with surprise. Triumph, quickly tamped, flashed in Kaimana’s dark eyes as he inclined his head toward Daisani, whose expression remained pleasantly neutral as he awaited the answer to his question. Margrit wet her lips, breath caught in anticipation as she rea
lized what he’d done. Whatever numbers the selkies laid claim to, Daisani’s recognition of their legitimacy played him into the position of their first supporter, a political move that would not, could not, go unremarked. Only Janx seemed unimpressed by Daisani’s preemptive move, his jade gaze slipping from vampire to selkie and back again.
“Thank you. Tonight’s showing is perhaps a single percent of our strength. Perhaps not so much as that.”
“Fifty thousand…?” Margrit didn’t realize she’d asked the question until all eyes turned her way. “How’s that even possible? I thought you’d been decimated.”
Humor sparkled across Kaaiai’s face. “Reports of our demise were greatly exaggerated.” His amusement faded and he turned his attention to the other curious members of the quorum. “We lived at the edges of the sea, at river deltas and lake sides. Our natural habitat was the most appealing land for humans to settle. We had time to see and appreciate the changes that humanity could force on us, all unknowing. We began retreating long before our numbers fell as far as the histories were led to believe.”
“You lied.” The two words were almost a question. Incredulous, Alban shifted forward in his seat. “You lied to the memory-keepers?”
“We permitted you to believe the obvious and inevitable had happened,” Kaimana allowed, then lifted a broad shoulder in a shrug. “We lied.
“Our numbers did fall. Further than we even imagined they might, far enough that we saw no other recourse than to mix with the coastal humans in order to save ourselves. We kept apart, living in small villages, struggling to retain our old ways of life. Human blood gave us our numbers, but our hearts belonged to the Old Races. We abided by those traditions, living in exile from both humanity and you.”
“Until?” Janx spoke again, evidently more to take the table than any need to prompt Kaimana.
“Until Margrit Knight named herself our cousin, and gave us heart by telling us there was strength in numbers.”
Margrit snorted loudly enough to gain the group’s attention again. “What? That never occurred to you before? There’s fifty thousand of you, and you didn’t think, gee, we could strong-arm our way back into soci… You didn’t,” she said in amazement at Kaimana’s faint, rueful smile. “You really didn’t? What’s wrong with you? That’s not—” she shot a quick, bemused glance at the heavens “—human.”
Reversing her gaze, she looked around the table at the five representatives of different races. “How do you do it? How do you live beside us, breed with us, and still retain this alien innocence that thinks so differently than we do?” She gestured at Alban, then at Kaimana. “Gargoyles don’t lie, selkies don’t think of strength in numbers, God knows what dragons and vampires and djinn, oh my, don’t do. None of you make war? None of you think in terms of anything but isolated survival? How’ve you lived this long?”
“You’re quick to judge, Margrit.” Alban’s voice was edged with hurt recrimination.
She rose to her feet, exasperation driving her to motion. “This isn’t judgment, it’s bewilderment. I honestly don’t understand how you can live beside humans and not learn from them, unless you’re deliberately keeping your heads in the sand. God forbid I should hold them up as shining examples, but look at those two.” She snapped her fingers toward Janx and Daisani. “Like it or not, they live in the human world. They manipulate and power-play and hoard and make the best of their situations, and they’re successful at it. The rest of you, what are you doing? Pretending the nasty humans will go away and leave you to your ancient rituals and pastoral ways of life if you only hide your eyes and pretend you can’t see them for long enough? That’s like hoping all the wars will stop if you don’t read the news about them. It’s possible, but it’s also possible a million dollars will rain down on my head tomorrow. It’s just not very damn likely. Don’t,” she added, noting an impish gleam in Daisani’s eyes, “get any ideas.”
He actually thrust his lower lip out in a laughing pout. “Oh, very well. If you insist.” Margrit sank back into her seat, explosion over, as Daisani continued. “Miss Knight is right, of course. We as a group of peoples do not participate in the human world, nor announce ourselves with such firmness as you have, Kaaiai.” He turned his palms up in invitation. “What do you intend to accomplish here by doing so?”
“Legitimacy amongst the Old Races. Allies, if necessary.” The air in the room seemed to tighten, Janx, Malik and Daisani each hearing what they wanted to in Kaimana’s words. Only Alban remained unaffected, watching the selkie leader with a calm expression. “A reconsidering of our traditional way of life,” Kaaiai stated more quietly. “A new look at the exiling offenses and whether they are…relevant concerns in the modern world.”
Another wave of anticipation washed through the room. Janx and Daisani meeting eyes and holding some wordless consultation within the space of a moment. Margrit watched them curiously, wondering at the weight of unspoken communication there. Janx’s expression changed minutely, a flicker of eyelashes, no more, before Daisani turned his attention back to Kaaiai as if nothing had passed between dragon and vampire.
To her right, at the same time, Alban’s chin lifted, faint motion that spoke volumes from a creature born to stone. Beyond him, Malik stiffened, the one reaction out of four that struck Margrit as actively negative.
“Are we five to make this decision?” Alban asked. “Without regard for what the rest of our people might say?”
“I wouldn’t complain, Stoneheart,” Janx said. “This is to your advantage. I think your lawyer would advise you to accept responsibility here and now, and deal with the consequences later.” He arched an eyebrow at Margrit, who sighed.
“Of course that’s what I’d advise. I don’t think he’ll do it, though. Self-promotion isn’t exactly his strong suit. How many gargoyles are nearby? I know Biali.”
“There’s an enclave in Boston,” Janx said, after Alban’s silence stretched out. “Half a dozen or more. One or two in Philadelphia. Several in Chicago, in D.C. A few in Atlanta. One in Baltimore, heaven knows why. There are others, but those are the closest. The oldest is in Chicago.”
“Remind me to ask you, not him, if I ever need to know where dragons are,” Margrit said to Daisani, then turned her attention back to Janx, who smiled toothily at her. “Oldest as in older than Alban, or oldest of the others available?”
“Both. Biali’s older than Korund, for that matter.”
“Biali,” Alban growled, “chooses passion over intelligence. He should not be trusted at a quorum.”
“Speaks the gargoyle who left Europe over a broken heart,” Janx said. Alban curled a fist and Margrit stretched to put her hand on it, wondering too late if the gesture would be welcome. His fingers tensed, then relaxed, and she withdrew her hand again, hoping his response was a positive sign. “Find a suitable replacement or carry the onus of deciding yourself, Stoneheart. Malik seems to have no qualms about thrusting himself into a position of power.”
“Malik is not exiled among his own people.”
“That was a lot more diplomatic than I would’ve been,” Margrit said beneath her breath. Malik, silent throughout the proceedings, bared his teeth at her as if he were a dragon or a vampire, not a djinn at all.
“Three days hence,” Daisani said with finality. “It’s enough time for Malik and Alban to establish themselves or find other proxies before we gather and decide the fate of the selkies. Margrit, you’ll be our moderator.” Delight warmed his thin face, making him almost handsome. “Our token human.” His smile faded and he rose to his feet. “Now. If you have a moment, Margrit, I’d like to speak with you.”
At her side, Alban exhaled as though defeated, and when she looked at him he was moving away, the others following suit. She clenched her teeth and waited for the room to clear before falling in step with Daisani, who remained silent until they left the building. “You lied to me, Margrit.”
Margrit locked her knees against collapse and nodded, wishing Daisani ha
d chosen a stretch of ground nearer the ice rink to confront her. She didn’t trust her legs to hold her, and the chance to lean against the railing would have been welcome. Alban walked several feet ahead of them, less a pillar of support than she might wish. “Only a little.” Her voice was scratchy and she cleared her throat, managing a smile. “I was sort of impressed with myself.”
Daisani’s expression wiped her smile away. “How much of this were you aware of?”
“Kaimana wouldn’t tell me what he was planning. He wanted to talk to you and Janx, but I didn’t know he was going to have an army of loyal followers show up. He thought if I knew what was going to happen, you’d consider it a betrayal.” She laughed. “And that that would be bad for me.”
“He’s right. How do I know you’re telling me the truth now? You’ve successfully lied to me once already.”
“I really didn’t. I just didn’t tell you everything, and you weren’t expecting that. I wouldn’t dare try again. Scout’s honor.” She held up three fingers, then folded them down again, hand trembling. “You were still fastest off the mark. Accepting their legitimacy. Offering yourself as an ally.” Her voice steadied as she spoke, the edge of hysteria fading from it. “Or a leader.”
“Not at all.” Daisani shook his head once, then abruptly turned and walked away. Margrit cast one wild glance at Alban, then ran a few steps to catch up with the vampire. “Our peoples don’t accept leaders from other groups. At best I might be a power behind the throne.”
“I’d think that would suit you just fine. Either way, the economic potential is—”
“Staggering.” Daisani’s typical front of good cheer reemerged. “Oh, not within the context of human society, perhaps, not really. But as a position of power within the Old Races, for accomplishing anything I might want done…”
“Like what?” Margrit demanded, boldness overruling wisdom. “What do you want, Mr. Daisani?”