Old Dog, New Tricks

by Hailey Edwards

  “Then we go after her,” I clarified.

  “We won’t have to.” His smile showed teeth. “She will come after us.”

  “Wait.” I rewound the conversation. “So the magistrates made the call? They voted yes?”

  “Thierry,” Mai said, “if you don’t do this, there won’t be a conclave to come home to.”

  “If we go vigilante now, who reins us in next time? Thinking we know what’s best, that our way is more valid than someone else’s, is a slippery slope. One good push and we’re all wallowing in the mud with hands just as dirty as the Morrigan’s.” I pegged Mac with a stare. “I’m ready to fight, but I want orders. I want to know what we’re about to do is viewed by our ruling body as the right thing.”

  Hard to explain where the hesitance came from when it hadn’t been there earlier. Maybe it was a way to check myself, to know this course of action was honorable in the eyes of people I trusted and not a sliver of the Morrigan’s influence still corrupting me. And, if I were being honest with myself, I wanted permission to savor my revenge, an iron-clad absolution of guilt for my actions after I found Shaw, because once he was safe, I would show the Morrigan how much of a daddy’s girl I really was.

  The internal scales I inherited from Mac were swaying like a seesaw inside my head. Knowing I had fallen under the Morrigan’s spell, I lost touch with the part of me always certain my actions were just. Until I shook off the bitterness, if I ever got that far, I would rely on others’ internal compasses.

  As though he expected things to swing this way, Mac picked up a scroll from the table behind him. It unfurled, the weight of quality parchment and the thick, familiar wax seal drawing it downward. His arm extended, and from his shoulder height, where he held the top lip, it stretched down to his navel.

  I didn’t have to see the fine print to recognize the signatures scrawled along the bottom edge.

  “The vote wasn’t formalized before the Morrigan attacked,” he said. “We held a special session in a conference room at the airport to gather signatures before the magistrates were sent into hiding.”

  A burden fell from my shoulders. “Okay.” I glanced between them. “Let’s do this.”

  Mai worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “First you’ll need to change.”

  Bending low, Mai retrieved a long box from under the table where I woke and pressed it into my arms. It had already been opened. When I lifted the lid, I recognized the outfit. Black leather armor like Mac wore. My fingers traced deep furrows in one wristlet. Teeth marks. This was the exact suit Rook had given me. The one he had tricked me into wearing as part of his elaborate scheme to claim me as his wife. I hadn’t wanted to wear his gift then, and I sure didn’t want to now, but it seemed I had no choice.

  Again.

  “I hope you had it dry-cleaned,” I muttered.

  I hauled out the topmost piece, the wristlet, and froze. Rubbing a thumb across the oval-shaped enamel emblem, I studied it. Instead of the inverted House Unseelie coat of arms I expected, this was an emerald shield inlayed with a black stylized hound clamping a single rose between its sharp teeth.

  I held up the emblem. “What’s this?”

  “Shaw commissioned the design.” Mai looked everywhere but at me. “He was having the armor restored for next year, just in case, but there was no time to finish the job. He asked me to hide it for him until tonight.” She gulped air then pushed out the rest. “The design is called Queen of Thorns.”

  The breath I took rattled in my chest, a sob stuck between my gut and throat.

  I locked the pain down before a single whimper escaped.

  “It’s beautiful.” The words were torn from my soul.

  Mac took a step forward, like he was afraid I would shatter and wanted to catch the pieces.

  “I should change.” There. That sounded normal. “Where should I...?”

  Mac gestured behind me, and it hit me then his armor carried no crest. I shouldn’t have expected to see one. He couldn’t be loyal to himself and to me. No one’s interests dovetailed every time, even if he and I were of a like mind on this occasion. Shaw’s crest was the final nail in my coffin, a visual representation of how far I had fallen. Mac was a true neutral, and I...was not.

  Chapter Seven

  I ended up changing clothes in a nearby supply closet. Quarters were tight, but I made it work. I wriggled into the underclothes and leather suit then tightened the scuffed armor pads. Mai had brought my favorite pair of boots from our apartment. Black to match the outfit. Even better, they molded to my feet after months of wear. No blisters for this girl.

  This kind of forethought was what defined a best friend.

  Banging my elbows on the metal racks filled with tear-inducing disinfectant and individually wrapped toilet paper rolls, I finger combed my hair and French braided the unwieldy mass without mangling it too badly. Maybe. I had no mirror to check, but all I needed was the flyaways pulled back from my eyes.

  Patting my hair as though appearance mattered, I let the absurdity of caring catch up to me, and I choked on the sob that had been lodged in my throat since learning Shaw had been taken. Palms up in supplication, I surrendered to grief, let it swamp me, thick and fast and so heavy I sagged under the weight of my loss. Tears burned my eyes and scalded trails down my cheeks. I sank to my knees when they quivered and planted my hands on the floor to keep from collapsing as loss hollowed me out. Once I was empty, I slapped a lid on all that pain and sealed it tight. Face hot and itchy from saltwater tracks drying on my skin, I sniffled once then got back on my feet.

  Hiding in a closet didn’t get me one step closer to finding Shaw. Crying accomplished nothing. I had given in to my guilt, to my fear, and I had purged. Time to woman up and bring him home.

  After a deep breath, I stepped out and bounced off a hulking man’s rock-solid chest.

  Power surged into my palm a split second before I recognized him. “Oh. Hey. Officer Littlejohn, right?”

  His startled expression soured in a blink upon noticing my no-doubt-splotchy face. Whatever he read in my red-rimmed eyes persuaded him against asking me what was wrong.

  Smart man.

  I shook the magic from my fingertips. “What are you doing here?”

  He canted his head. “I work here.”

  My back hit the closet door. “We’re inside the prison?”

  He wiped the amusement from his mouth with a wide palm. “Where did you think you were?”

  “An underground bunker? A basement?” I didn’t know and hadn’t asked. I indicated the door I had stepped out of, adjacent to the wannabe break room where we stood. “What’s with that room?”

  “It’s an all-purpose room. Sometimes we use it for visitation when the chow hall overflows.” He shrugged. “Right now it’s set up with tables and chairs for a lecture. One of the continuing education classes the prison holds to keep up our certification without trucking us all the way back to Lebanon. I haven’t been called yet, but I heard it’s a history of shanks, shivs and other homemade weapons.”

  “I just came from in there.” And a weird room it was too. “What’s with all the velvet?”

  “Some folks take their collections seriously. All weapons found on the premises are supposed to be turned in to the brass, but some pocket the good pieces like souvenirs.” Littlejohn rolled his massive shoulders. “Gives ’em a prop to spice up their prison tall tales. Don’t know why some take this place home with them. I don’t bring nothing that comes from here into my house or near family if I can help it.”

  “I don’t blame you.” I hesitated. “Mac said the marshal’s office is on lockdown.”

  “The whole complex is.” His radio squawked a garbled update. “Mr. Sullivan evacuated the civilians, but we have nowhere secure to go. These inmates...” he shook his head, “...they have to stay right where they are, right where their evil put them. We can’t risk the likes of them escaping.”

  “You’re a good man for staying behind,” I
said, and I meant it.

  A tight nod stretched his neck. “This is what I signed up for, Marshal. Same as you.”

  Except times like these drove decent men to desertion. Honoring a commitment, that was commendable.

  The guard resumed his rounds, and I eased back in the room to find Mac waiting for me.

  A grim smile curved his lips, and I read into it his eagerness for us to get moving.

  I adjusted my belt to give my hands something to occupy them. “When do we leave?”

  “At dawn.” He left no room for argument. “Regardless of what else the Morrigan may be, she is Unseelie first. She is at her most potent during the night. We need the sunlight advantage.”

  Biting my tongue about how that still left us to deal with pissed-off Seelie, I bobbed my head.

  “You guys need every advantage you can get.” Glancing around, Mai added, “We do too.”

  I flung my arm around her and rested my chin on her shoulder. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “I’m not so sure.” She leaned into me. “The magistrates got lucky, Tee. Like hit the jackpot.”

  I straightened so our gazes were level. “What do you mean?”

  “I read the transcripts.”

  A pained groan dragged past my lips. “I’m not going to ask how you got those.”

  Though if the complex had been evacuated, there was no one to chastise a snooping kitsune.

  Sly fox is sly.

  “Every person in that room views this realm as their private sandbox. They don’t care what happens to the fae—or the humans—here. They just don’t want the powers that be in Faerie to sweep in and steal their toys.” Her lips pursed. “It’s different for fae born here. My parents and grandparents are all Earth-born. We’re loyal to this realm...if not always to its native people. It’s different for you and other half-bloods. You’re more invested in the big picture, because this is your world and these are your people, but this one time, I think we’ll all end up on the same page. Cutting the ties between realms is no one’s salvation.” Her chin dipped. “It will only prolong the inevitable.”

  The burden of doubt pressed on my shoulders. “You think we’re making a mistake.”

  “The Morrigan struck before the magistrates finalized the vote to sever the tethers.” Voice light, she mocked, “History will remember her attack and their swift response to it. Not the transcripts. Fae here put down roots and start families. For their families’ sakes, they will bow to magistrate law and call them saviors because of this moment, because of what you’re about to do, even without the support of Faerie. I worry what you’re doing won’t save this realm so much as enable a new regime to rise within it.”

  Without thought, my gaze sought out Mac, who had turned his back on us.

  I worried the emblem on my armor. “The scales balance or Mac wouldn’t—couldn’t—endorse this.”

  “Severing the tethers is for the greater good. For now.” Mai studied my father too. “The reprieve might last a week or a month or, if we get lucky, a few years, but we’re going to find ourselves here again, and next time the fight won’t be in Faerie. Next time the mortal realm will be the battleground, and humanity will pay the price.”

  “You’re right. We will be here again. That’s how I know all this will turn out okay.” I drummed my fingers on her arm. “Even if no one outside the conclave knows the truth, we do. We’ll keep them honest.”

  She snorted.

  “Okay, so honest is a stretch,” I conceded. “We’ll keep them balanced. How’s that sound?”

  Her grumbled non-answer struck a doubtful note. Close enough.

  “The sun is rising,” Mac said softly. “Gather your things.”

  All I had was a chair full of rumpled clothes. Hardly worth asking the guards to locker them for me.

  “Here.” Mac reached behind a partition and dropped my messenger bag and a backpack on the table. He passed me a long knife sheathed in a thigh holster.

  Mai chimed in, “You’ve got MREs, iodine tablets, a first-aid kit, a thermal blanket and other considerations.”

  Figuring other considerations must be code for girly products, I nodded.

  The knife got strapped on first. Shrugging into the pack, I clicked a thick strap under my breasts to secure it and looped my bag over my head. Weighted down and heart pounding, I was ready. Time to catch the Faerie Express.

  Dawn was a hazy promise written in wispy lavender and blush clouds across the distant horizon when Littlejohn entered the conference room. The starched collar of his pale blue uniform shirt bent under the weight of wet blood soaking the fabric. Marks slashed across his throat. Not deep. Hairline scratches really. As though he had been swiped by the claws of death itself and lived to face the inconvenience of washing out the stains.

  “Inmates are getting restless.” He touched his throat when he caught me looking. “They smell blood on the wind.”

  Wasn’t that a comforting thought?

  “We should go.” Mac clasped the guard’s shoulder. “We appreciate all your help.”

  He gave Mac a respectful nod. “Whatever I can do, sir.”

  Mai shifted her weight, ducking her head when Littlejohn’s gaze lit on her.

  The guard turned on his heel and waved us after him. “Follow me.”

  We got the grand tour of the prison by accident. Whole sections were shut down and the inmates herded into the center of the institution for safety, meaning we took the long way around the block to skirt the locked down portions. The door Littlejohn led us through this time emptied out into the field. I spotted the windmill, the physical tether between this realm and Faerie, rising stark in the distance.

  “Use these.” He reached into his pocket and brought out two button-sized discs. “They snap on your collar. Activate when the metal receptors touch. We use them to see through glamour on the back forty where the earth fae in the work-release groups tend their gardens.” When my brows crept upward, his voice went gruff. “We don’t kill ’em till the paperwork says so. Until their expiration date comes due, they get all they need to survive. Dirt, air, blood or water, provided within the letter of the law.”

  Meaning they were given just enough to survive incarceration. Like Red and his pig-blood diet.

  Until Rook smuggled me to the tether, I had never touched a toe to this section of the property. I didn’t have the clearance for it. I visited the marshal’s office every few days, so that was a non-event. The office where Mai interned was open to the fae public, as were the three other buildings surrounding the prison, but this was all new. My second visit to the prison in as many days and now this. Unrestricted access to what few Earth-born conclave employees ever saw and never without the proper documentation and a guide.

  Mac and I each took a disc from Littlejohn, working the small pin backs through the collars of our underclothes before we fastened them. Metal clicked, and the burnt scent of an activated charm fragranced the air. Magical light flared behind my eyes, temporarily blinding me, and I hissed out a breath. “A warning would have been nice.” Blinking away the negative image of the field with its bent cornstalks seared onto my retina, I parsed out the landscape beneath the glamour and took an unconscious step back.

  Too afraid to point, I jerked my chin toward a winding path. “Those are...”

  “Gargoyles,” he supplied. “Flew in from the Washington National Cathedral in D.C. a few hours ago. They’re settling in for the day. Long as you don’t go poking at them you should be fine.”

  I counted six, all gray-skinned and menacing, each as tall as the guard and most twice as thick. The bulkiest resembled a ram, to his right stood a fish-like creature, and a very horror movie-esque rabbit sat on his left. Between them lurked a stout-jawed bulldog I felt zero kinship with, and behind it, nearest the windmill, a snub-nosed bat paced while biting into an apple. But sitting on the ground so close to us I could reach out and touch it with my toe was a humanoid...thing. It was nude and winged, but I didn’
t see it and think demon. Noticing my stare, it glanced up from a handful of playing cards. It sniffed the air once in my direction then went back to arranging its hand, but it was watching me too.

  “Look all you like.” Its voice scraped like boulders grinding. “But touching costs extra.”

  Mai blushed prettily, proving us both guilty of ogling, and the thing grinned at her with delight.

  Littlejohn popped it on the back of its head. His, I should say. After all, he was very naked and sat very close and had no modesty at all. Let’s just say whoever had carved his junk wanted to make sure his sex was never questioned by tourists passing underneath whatever arch or ledge he usually occupied.

  The move would have broken my hand, but the guard didn’t flinch. “Watch your mouth.”

  The gargoyle grunted and went back to its game, which I realized Littlejohn had been playing too when he withdrew a thin stack of cards from his back pocket, shuffled them around and slapped a few down on the cinderblock they were using as a table.

  Mac eased around the guard and startled Mai with a brief embrace. “Be well.”

  “I will.” Stiffly she patted his back. “Take care of our girl, all right?”

  His gaze strayed to me and warmed. “You can count on it.”

  With the glamour removed, a stone-lined path became visible, leading from the rear door of the prison straight to the tether. The coming morning muted its subtle glow, but magic throbbed in the air above the rocks.

  Mac set off down the illuminated path, and Mai snickered when I didn’t immediately follow him. Too late she slung an arm across my shoulders and turned me on my heel. A hot flush of embarrassment scalded my nape when the seated gargoyle caught me ogling his crotch—again. But he was packing a granite cucumber, and it was just...there.

  Mai led me several steps away from Littlejohn and the gargoyle. “Roll your tongue up, girlie.”