I staggered around the perimeter of the room to join Silene and Sal.
Silene looked up at me. “There’s nothing I can do. I’m too far from my tree to heal him. But I have … eased his pain.”
Sal gave a low moan, and it sounded more like pleasure than pain. Nymphs could bring near-orgasmic pleasure with their touch.
Silene looked down at her hands. “I thought—I thought I’d lost it, after the strike.”
Challa’s spartoi stopped tickling her feet, and stood.
“Frak,” I said. “Stay back.”
I ran at the spartoi as he moved toward Challa’s head. He turned at the sound of my shoes slapping the concrete. I tried to do a jumping kick thing at him. He hopped back and to the side, waited for me to land, grabbed my arm, and spun me around. I went flying back to crash into the ground, hitting Sal and almost knocking Silene over.
Squash, like grape.
The spartoi advanced on me, limping, looking as determined as a Terminator sent back to kill the inventor of Teddy Ruxpin before the horrible chain of events leading to human destruction could unfold.
And I lacked a large hydraulic press with which to destroy him.
I tried to push myself upright, both hands grasping at Sal’s wiry hair, my left hand screaming in pain. Something sharp pricked my right hand. I glanced at it. Another damn burr.
I blinked, and yanked the burr free from Sal’s hair. I held it up, a small prickly brown ball of Velcro pain on my palm. “Silene! Can you—”
She grabbed it from me and threw it at the advancing spartoi.
The burr stuck to his hairy chest. And sprouted.
Blood ran in rivulets down his chest and stomach as roots dug into his flesh. Broad green leaves sprouted out, and stems poked outward, then bloomed into small burr-like flowers.
The spartoi grabbed at his chest, tried to tear the plant out. He jerked once, twice. On the third jerk, his entire body spasmed, his eyes went wide, and he fell to his knees. His hands fell to his sides, and then he crashed face first to the concrete floor.
“Go team!” I said, turning to Silene. She gave me a weak smile, then slumped gracefully to the side, her eyes fluttering closed to the continuing clang clang clang of striking batons.
Shoot.
Dunngo managed a blow to his spartoi’s kneecap that dropped the warrior, and Dunngo collapsed on top of him, burying the spartoi’s face in dirt. The spartoi tried to kick and push himself free, but his movements grew less and less forceful, until he lay still. Dunngo did not rise.
Cousar shouted a shaping. I looked over, fearing another lightning bolt flying my way. He had managed to disengage with Zenith long enough to cast his spell. Concrete flowed up from the floor and over his clothes and flesh, forming a skin that I knew from previous experience would absorb any physical blow yet flow like sand when he moved.
Zenith’s left cheek was swollen practically over her eye, and her left arm hung limp at her side. She blinked against the sweat and pain and advanced on Cousar.
She wouldn’t last much longer, not against an enforcer able to wield his magic when she could not. I struggled to my feet. If I was going to get close enough to summon his spirit, it would have to be while he remained distracted—
A large section of wall between me and the two duelists collapsed with a loud THWUMP! Dust rose from the pile of sandy debris, and several DFM enforcers in full protective gear streamed over the pile and into the room. Knight-Lieutenant Vincent, the DFM enforcer who’d given Pete and Vee their ultimatum, entered last with a protective vest poorly fitted over his belly.
“Drop your weapons!” Enforcer Vincent shouted.
Zenith stepped back, the baton held above her head in both hands. “I claim the rights of—”
“Drop it!” Vincent said again, as he and two of the other DFM enforcers moved to surround her. The fourth moved in my direction, a tattoo glowing around her throat ready for invocation. I held up my empty hands.
“Brad, report,” Vincent said to enforcer Cousar, the man who’d started the fight.
“Arrest them all,” Cousar said. “A feyblood started this whole riot, and the captain is seriously hurt.” Both statements true, technically. Cousar moved to Reyes, who lay unmoving. As my DFM enforcer moved behind me, and grabbed one wrist to force it to my lower back, Cousar knelt beside Reyes and placed a hand on her neck.
There were a thousand ways he could kill her if she wasn’t already dead, and then we’d be truly screwed. “Wait!” I shouted. “He’s going to kill your cap—!”
“Shut it!” my enforcer said, yanking up on my wrist so that my shoulder screamed in agony.
“Stop!” I said, and tried to pull free, to get them to listen. “Cousar is the—”
The clunk! of a baton hitting the back of my skull knocked my next words free of my brain before they could reach my mouth. I didn’t see birds or stars, but the pain silenced me long enough for my enforcer to finish binding my wrists and drag me from the room.
13
My Prerogative
I sat in a small gray room with the generic one-way mirror, gray metal table, and two chairs. Unlike the cliché interrogation room, however, it had a line of embedded metal runes and symbols running across the floor and under the middle of the table, splitting the room in half. Wards which, if activated, would prevent most arcana or feybloods from crossing it unless permitted. They were currently inactive, but that didn’t mean much. An enforcer could more than handle me without the need for wards, especially in my current state.
My left hand throbbed, swollen and stiff, as I turned it over to check my watch. 1:43 P.M. Lances of pain shot up my arm as I flexed it. And I could feel a lump on the back of my head slightly smaller than an egg and slightly larger than my hopes I’d get out of here without heading straight to an ARC trial for sentencing if Reyes hadn’t survived to clear my name.
I hoped Dawn had the sense to just leave when I didn’t emerge. I hoped Sal was alive, and that the feybloods were okay.
I hoped they brought me some really good pain-killers.
“What in all the hells did Romey hope to do?” I muttered.
*Perhaps she thought you too slow at completely screwing everything up?*
I looked with one eye at my reflection in the mirror, held up my hand, and pinched the image of my head between my fingers.
*What are you doing?*
I’m crushing your head! I said. I don’t suppose you have any real suggestions?
*No. Except that Silene has brought much trouble upon her clan with her little rebellion, as I told you she would.*
I don’t think the trouble’s her fault. If she was going all Charles Bronson on black market alchemists, and was willing to sacrifice her own clan to do so, why did she risk her life to help her feybloods today? Or help Sal? Why’d she heal the wisp back at her tree? I really don’t think she’s the Big Bad here. Romey is. Or whoever Romey’s working for.
*La, I did not think even a fox crazy or clever enough to attack enforcers in their own home.*
And I’ve never heard of waerfoxes being able to control—The door buzzed, and opened. Enforcer Vincent walked in and crossed to the other chair as the door clicked closed. He adjusted the ill-fitting black tactical jacket as he sat down.
“Gramaraye,” he said. “I’ll be questioning you under ARC Law regarding the attack on our facility.”
“The others,” I said, “are they okay?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” he said. “That’s what questioning means. Let’s start with you telling me your version of events?”
At least he wasn’t trying to silence me forever, or using the term “confession,” so that was good. Probably. I still didn’t know if I could trust him.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “Okay.”
The real question, as always in my dealings with enforcers, was how much of the truth to tell them. This guy would know if I lied about anything, and would press me for details. I had to find
the balance.
“Well, for starters,” I said, “I know the alchemist shot Veirai with something lethal, when he could have easily tranquilized her.”
“Arcana have the right under the Pax to defend themselves against feyblood attacks with all necessary force.”
“Believe me, I’ve been attacked a few times myself, and I’m all for self-defense,” I replied. “But killing Veirai wasn’t necessary force. An alchemist, in his own shop? He had options. And did your crack investigators notice she’d been shot in the back? As in, she was leaving his shop on her own?”
“The alchemist isn’t on trial here, necromancer.”
“Why not?” I asked.
*Because arcana do not consider the death of a brightblood as important as the death of a human,* Alynon said.
“The reasons are not my concern,” Vincent said. “And therefore certainly not yours. What I want to know is what exactly happened in the visitation room?”
Was this really just a case of “not my job” disease, or were he and the alchemist in the same group of feyblood haters? He hardly seemed the empathetic type.
And this was the guy in charge of Pete and Vee’s case. Not that he’d seemed all that supportive to begin with, but this just made me itch all the more to find some solution to their problem. They were running out of time and if they were declared rogue, then jerkheads like this could do whatever—
“Hello, Gramaraye?” Vincent said.
I had to get out of here. I had to make this enforcer decide he didn’t want or need to question me further.
“There was a fight,” I replied.
“Cute. Who started it?”
“You know, that’s the problem with violence, it’s so hard to tell where it started. Perhaps with enforcer Cousar’s parents raising him on macho stereotypes of masculinity, or—”
“You do realize the seriousness of the situation?”
“You do realize I have an injured hand and raging headache because one of your enforcers unleashed spartoi in a small space without proper ventilation, and then another hit me on the head without first supplying a proper safety helmet? One call to the Department of Safety, and I could have you guys shut down.”
“And you realize we have your girlfriend in the next room?”
Dawn. My heart clenched. “Is that a threat?”
“It is a reminder that we are not here to joke.”
Ah, crap. It was so much easier to be a smartass when other people’s lives weren’t at stake.
“Look,” I said. “A waerfox named Romey did something to your boy Cousar that made him go crazy and toss spartoi all over the place. Cousar is the one who struck down Reyes. The feybloods were only fighting in defense of their lives. And the changeling, Zenith, only fought Cousar to protect Reyes and the rest of us. That’s the facts, plain and simple.”
I waited as Vincent leaned back and sighed. It was less a tired sigh and more like I’d just given him the bothersome job of killing me and disposing of my body to cover up whatever plot or conspiracy I’d stumbled into this time; or, and I preferred this version, perhaps simple disappointment that I’d not given him some reason to beat a confession out of me.
Then Vincent raised his eyebrows, as if what I’d said fully registered.
“So you’re saying it was really the fault of this Romey creature, and not Brad—enforcer Cousar?”
Ah. There it was. No enforcer wanted to believe their fellow knights, or the ARC, could be corrupted or even make mistakes for that matter. And I’d just offered a way to shift the blame back onto the feybloods. But that meant—
“Wait, you knew Cousar caused the fight?”
“I know that Knight-Captain Reyes said that Brad attacked the feybloods and knocked her out. But I never believed it was his fault, and you’ve just confirmed that.”
“Yes, well—” I stopped myself. His smug confidence made me want to point out this could all still be the fault of some arcana conspiracy, that maybe his buddy Brad wasn’t as innocent as Vincent wanted to believe and certainly the alchemist was not. But I wanted to be free more than I wanted to score imaginary points just then.
“‘Yes well’ what?” Vincent asked, leaning forward again.
“Well, uh—you’re an enforcer. Obviously you’d know if someone was guilty or not. And on that note, mind if I leave? I have a splitting headache and need to get this seen to.” I raised my injured hand and waggled my ring finger, flashing the persona ring that now bit painfully into my swollen finger, conveniently giving a reminder that I was an arcana and had rights.
*La!* Alynon said. *Looks like someone dislikes the idea of being outside the comforts of arcana privilege after all.*
Stuff it where the bright don’t shine.
“Focus,” Vincent said. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the attack today? Why this Romey creature might have caused the attack, or how she controlled Brad, perhaps?”
I hesitated, forming the thought firmly in my head that I “can’t” tell him, because if I did I’d have to talk about Grayson’s Curse, and Veirai’s accusation against Silene, and other things that would get me held for further questioning, and I needed to get out of here. “Nope,” I said as calmly as I could, and waited for his lie detector alarms to go off.
His eyes narrowed for a second, then he shook his head. “Very well, Gramaraye. You’re free to go, for now.”
“And the others?”
“Your ’squatch friend, the nymph, and the changeling will all be released if they clear questioning. The faun and Kermit’s body will be released to the Silver feybloods for proper disposal. But the dwarf and girly ’squatch will still be held as we continue our investigation into the attack on the alchemist.”
“But—” I took a slow breath. Stay cool. “Okay.” Challa and Dunngo were not in immediate danger of being sentenced for anything. I could still get them released. What was important was making sure they weren’t released into the control of some evil puppet master.
And even more importanter was getting out of here myself.
“One last thing,” Vincent said. “You’ve done your brother and his girlfriend no favors today by giving your family even more of a reputation for trouble.” He stood, and I followed.
I remained silent as Vincent led me from the room and down a hallway with numbered steel doors.
Gods, I hoped Dawn was okay. Best case, they’d tried to bully her into giving them information, knowing she was ignorant of any Pax and ARC rules protecting her. Worst case, they’d wiped her memory of everything related to magic, and she was sitting in an interrogation room terribly confused and afraid.
We stopped in front of room 82, and the enforcer opened it.
Dawn sat on a bench beside Silene, braiding her hair.
“Uh, hi,” I said. “You okay?”
“As right as rain on a Tea Party convention,” she said. “Silene, it was a pleasure to meet you. You keep fighting, sister.”
“Thank you, Dawn,” Silene said. “And you as well.”
Dawn glanced at me, and smiled her wicked cat smile. “Oh, I will. So, we free to leave?”
“You and your boyfriend are,” Vincent said. “We have more questions for your feyblood friend there.”
“Brightbloods,” Dawn replied.
“Whatever,” said Vincent, and waved her out.
“Thank you, enporker.”
“Enforcer!” Vincent replied with an angry snap. “Show some respect.”
“Earn it,” Dawn muttered.
Dawn and I were blindfolded and led from the facility a bit more roughly than necessary. We were left blinking against afternoon light as the secret door closed behind us in the rock retaining wall.
“Come on, before they change their mind,” I said, and began walking down the gravel road toward the game farm parking lot.
Dawn caught up and asked, “Should we wait for the others? Silene and Sal at least? Give them a ride?”
I shook my head. “I do
n’t know how long the DFM is going to question them. And besides, they wouldn’t accept a ride, especially Sal.”
“Wait, why wouldn’t they accept a ride from me?” Dawn asked, clearly offended. “Because I’m a mundy?”
“No. If we got in an accident, and Sal were injured or killed, it’d raise all kinds of questions with the paramedics and police. Besides, they have their own ways of traveling quickly between places.”
“What, like fairy paths? Why the heck are we driving then? Gas is crazy expensive.”
“Trust me, it would cost a lot more than some gas money for us to travel the Fey Ways. Feybloods are protected somehow by their Fey spirits, but we would be … changed.”
“You mean like, ‘sometimes dead is better’ changed?”
“I mean that circus freak shows and the Weekly World News were invented to cover up the results of people stumbling across the fairy paths.”
“Ah. Well, I don’t mind driving then, I guess.”
We reached Dawn’s old Woody station wagon, and climbed in. Dawn wasted no time in pulling out of the Olympic Game Park and heading back through Sequim toward the 101.
As the park receded in the sideview mirror, I said, “You really okay?”
Dawn smiled. “I’ll be better if we can get those milk shakes you promised.” Her smile melted into a frown. “What I don’t get, though, is why they threw me in a room with Silene. I thought they wanted to keep mundies like me away from the magical world.”
“Good question.” I mulled it over for a second. “They probably hoped she’d attack you.” Anger flared as the truth of that hit me. “They were just using you to try and incriminate her. They want to blame the feybloods—”
“Brightbloods,” Dawn said. “They call themselves brightbloods.”
“It’s the same thing,” I said. “They’ve been called feybloods since, well, ever.”
“Uh huh. Let me ask you, how does it feel if I say Pete’s a feyblood?”
Not happy. “He’s still an arcana as far as I’m concerned.”
“See? ‘Feyblood’ means something negative to you. And when you use it, they hear every meaning it’s ever had.”
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