“It’s not,” she snapped. “And I don’t. I was just pointing out that there’s enough of you bastards running around that there’s got to be a reason for their attraction to us. Something that makes us a bit more valuable than you think.”
“Sex isn’t enough?” he asked dryly.
Branwyn resisted the desire to wrap her arms around herself and close herself off. “I doubt it. They don't strike me as perpetual teenagers. Why are we talking about this again?”
“Because you’re trying to convince me that the kaiju known as Hunter isn’t going to eat you alive,” he said promptly. “By the way, he’s a bad one to be applying this particular line of reasoning to. Angels, I’ll grant. They’re tempted by more than just flesh. But the kaiju are destroyers, one and all. You mustn’t even dream of protecting yourself by interesting him.”
The meal arrived, but Branwyn’s appetite was gone. “I wasn’t. Not him, anyhow.” She closed her mouth abruptly, before she said something she didn’t want to even think.
Simon cut into his steak. “The faerie fellow, then? Could work with him. I guess it has so far, eh?”
“It’s not like that,” Branwyn muttered. “It’s an exchange of services.” She pushed the food around on her plate, then made herself eat some grilled tomatoes.
“All right. But Bran, I’ve got to make sure you’re clear on this. I’m a kaiju hunter, not a kaiju social worker. For every sweet story like my mum and dad—and it’s not as sweet as maybe you think—I’ve seen thousands of victims. Tens of thousands. We’re eating. I don’t want to ruin the meal, so I’m not going to go into details. But I don’t hunt them because I’m eager to risk my neck. I hunt them because my mum was a good person.” He paused, chewed, swallowed. “And, admittedly, because I’m not good for much else. But that’s not the point. Stop distracting me with those big green eyes.”
He shook his fork at her. “The point is you’ve been playing with fire with the fae and maybe you’re going to burn the house down, I don’t know. But Hunter is an inferno. And that’s enough strained metaphors for the night. Where the hell’s that waiter with my drink?”
Quietly, Branwyn said, “I have to do it.”
“Why? Your comatose friend? There’s—”
“There aren’t other ways,” Branwyn interrupted. “Corbin said he was sorry enough times that I’m sure there aren’t. They've given up. They might not have even bothered trying.”
“Corbin’s just a young sprat most of the time,” Simon grumbled, but Branwyn remembered that Corbin had successfully forbidden him from doing magic on other people and ignored his comment.
“It’s Penny, but it’s not just Penny. Penny’s the here and now, but what you want me to do is roll over and go to sleep even though I’ve heard an intruder in the house. It’s—”
“Ah!” He raised a finger. “I’m sorry, we’ve now exceeded the metaphor limit for the evening.” At her look, he finished off his drink. “It’s true. You wouldn’t want to confuse a sloshed mind, would you? It’d be wasting the money spent on this fine dinner.”
“Fine,” she said flatly. “I want power of my own. I don’t want to have to rely on people who may decide I’m a little too short-lived to be worth caring about. Fuzzy, with a nice purr.” She felt a vicious satisfaction at Simon’s startled look. “Besides, I’ve never backed down from anything in my life. Giving up now would be like suicide.”
“Suicide or murder, you’re dead all the same.” A peculiar expression crossed his face and he added, “And there’s worse than death, too. They can keep people alive a long, long time. Changing who you are in the process. It’s grim, Branwyn. What are you actually getting out of this that’s yours? What power can you have, other than… being like my mum?”
“Oh, I’m getting something. Maybe when I understand it better, I’ll show you.” Branwyn attacked her mushroom risotto determinedly. After she’d eaten half of it, her appetite returned, and she finished it off. Simon ventured a few comments on the food while she ate, but she didn’t say anything until she was done. Then, leaning back, she said, “Thank you for the warning. Do you really think I’m in this much danger if I’m visiting a kaiju as an emissary for a fae? Tarn seemed to think that as long as I didn’t, uh, improvise, I’d be fine.”
Simon looked at her from over the dessert menu. “No idea. If you trust him, you trust him. But you definitely don’t want me along if you’re trying to stay within the lines.”
“Well, I suppose when you phrase it that way... But can you tell me about him? Something other than ‘phenomenally dangerous’? So I know what to expect? The only kaiju I know is—” She shook her head, suddenly certain that if she said his name, he’d show up. “Not what I expected. Honestly, I don’t understand why these guys are running around.”
“We’ve got to prioritize, girl. I told you that before. They come back if killed. We don’t, not even as ghosts.” Simon studied her and his face softened. “As far as I know, he lives in a compound up near Seattle, which is a bit out of Titan One’s casual jurisdiction. He’s on our radar, but when we’re pushed into taking him out, it isn’t going to be an assassination—it’s going to be a war. He keeps a lot of servants and spawn around him. He’s called Hunter for a reason; that’s what he does. People, animals, concepts. It’s not the only horrible thing he does, but it’s what he’s notorious for. I think he’s old, but I don’t know how old; he didn’t really appear in his current incarnation until about thirty years ago. What exactly is your faerie fellow sending you to him for? And why can’t he go himself?”
Startled by his sudden switch to asking questions, Branwyn said, “We need to get another part for our project. A project he wants to succeed even more than I do, so I don’t think he’s playing games there. I think he’s stuck in his realm until we’re done, honestly.”
“And he thinks Hunter is just going to hand this thing you need over?” Simon looked as though the thought disturbed him.
“Well, yes.” Branwyn almost said more, but then reconsidered. “In case he doesn’t, though, doesn’t this Hunter have any weaknesses?”
“His mortal form is vulnerable to all the same things I am. A guy like that, a bullet to the head is favorite as a short-term solution. But you’re asking for shortcuts and no, there aren’t any special shortcuts to killing a true dreamborn kaiju. It’s all hard work, doing the things we do. Are you actually thinking of stealing from him?” He gave her a look that she couldn’t read.
“Nah,” said Branwyn. “I’m ambitious, not crazy. But I’d like to get away safely no matter what he decides. Can’t use a gun very well, though.”
“Be smart, girl. That’s your safest bet.”
“I’m always smart,” she said crisply. “It’s just, sometimes people don’t realize it until much, much later.” She gave Simon a smile, and dug her spoon into her chocolate ice cream.
*
***“Vlog #17”***
Views: 2,013
Response to ***Amazing Illusion***
A girl with messy straw-colored hair and freckles faces the camera in a darkened room. “I— I can’t stop thinking of him. I keep watching that video of him.” She looks down, fiddles with some paper. “It wasn’t an illusion. I don’t know what it was. I don’t know what he was. He had the most amazing eyes. I don’t think anybody saw them but me.” She crumples the paper up. “I haven’t been able to concentrate in class since then. Yesterday, I thought, why bother going? So I didn’t. I went down to the wharf instead, in case he came back again. I looked at the water. It was pretty, out away from the wharf… It made me think of his eyes. I kind of wanted to jump in.” She shrugs helplessly. “Instead I came back here.” She pushes herself away from the computer. “This is dumb. I don’t know why I try. I’m going to bed. Maybe then I won’t feel so alone. I keep hoping I can catch him before he slips away.” She reaches forward and turns the camera off.
-fifteen-
Marley insisted on driving Branwyn to her family�
�s house after she’d packed for the trip, yanking Branwyn’s backpack away from her and carrying it down to her own car. It was once again night, and the lights flashing on and off Marley’s profile as they drove matched what seemed to be dark and distant thoughts. Branwyn could feel the tension radiating off of her, but Marley didn’t say anything at all until she’d parked the car.
“I want to come with you this time.”
Taken aback, Branwyn said, “You do?” While she’d dragged Marley along on some of her adventures in the past, her friend almost never volunteered.
“Yes!” said Marley, almost defiantly. “I can keep you safe while you do whatever you have to do.”
Branwyn grimaced, then softened. “I’m not five years old, Marley. You know how you didn’t tell me what was going on when Zachariah vanished? How you wanted to protect me? I’m doing this so you don’t ever have to feel that way again.”
Marley bit her lip. “I don’t want to lose Penny and you.”
“I don’t want to lose me, either,” Branwyn said calmly. “Hopefully you won’t lose either of us.”
“Can I beat up Tarn again if you don’t come back?”
Branwyn sighed. “Feel free.”
Marley tried to smile and failed, and Branwyn wondered what her friend saw with her magic catastrophe vision when she looked at her. But she only wondered briefly. It wasn’t anything definite or Marley would have made that clear and Branwyn would have listened.
That was comforting, actually. She leaned over and hugged her friend, then slid out of the car. “I’ll be back, and better than ever. It’ll be awesome. Hey, call Corbin while I’m gone. That will take your mind off me.” Listening to Marley’s muttering brought a grin to her face as she walked up to the house. Her next obstacle awaited her and she hadn’t even made it to Faerie yet.
Rhianna sat on the porch, only her eyes and a few strands of her red hair glinting in the light from the streetlamp. “Who’s that tromping on my bridge?”
“You make a terrible troll.” Branwyn rested her bag on the railing as she stood lightly on the steps. “Do you sleep out here every night, waiting for me? Or do you and Howl take it in shifts?”
“Howl is still sulking. And not everything is about you. I thought I told you that already.”
Branwyn said, “Lies!” then added, “But tell me what’s not about me this time?”
“Mom came back from an after-party without Jaimie because she had a headache. I’m waiting for him to come home.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s not home yet, and that… unwoman was at the party, too.”
“Unwo—oh, Rime.” Branwyn frowned, then chided her sister, “Rhianna, you can’t call her that just because you don’t like her.”
“Well, calling her a woman suggests she’s human and she’s not.”
“Faerie,” Branwyn suggested. “It’s what they call themselves.”
“Whatever. I don’t know how you can be so relaxed about her hanging around. She’s dangerous.”
Branwyn laughed. “Everyone I know is dangerous now. Even you.”
“Yes. I am,” said Rhianna, with some satisfaction.
But Branwyn kept talking over her. “Everything I know is dangerous now. She’s pretty mild in comparison.”
“I saw another one of them today. It looked like a teenager, hanging out on Colorado. He was showing off to a group of other kids, making some coins dance across his hands, then showing the girls how to do it. He just touched them and they were as good as he was. Until the wind changed. Then he vanished and one of the girls sat down and cried, right in the middle of the sidewalk. And her friends just left her there, walking off like they didn’t remember what had happened.”
“What did you do?” asked Branwyn, intrigued.
“Watched,” said Rhianna irritably. “A security guard helped her up and used her cellphone and then one of her friends came back and acted surprised to see her there and took her home. Do you know what that was all about?”
Branwyn shifted uncomfortably. “Magic, I suppose.”
“So, no, then. And neither do I. You said the other day that they’re here now and we’re going to have to learn to deal with them. That’s what I’m doing. Learning.”
Headlights appeared at the far end of the street. Branwyn peered out, then picked up her bag again. “That’s Jaimie now. I’m off before he gets here. We’re going to talk about this more later, though.”
Rhianna only shrugged, and Branwyn unlocked the front door with the courtkey before Jaimie could see her on the porch. She stepped through.
Only William waited on the other side of the curtain, standing at ease in front of the throne. “My lord is in the gallery,” he said before Branwyn could ask.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, but William only stared straight ahead. Muttering, she stalked past him toward the gallery. As she walked down the fixed corridor, she noticed that there were lines on the elegant black and white walls, starting at the floor and spidering upwards. At first she thought it was new ornamentation: painted black vines. But when she peered closer, she realized that the lines were cracks that seemed to narrow as she looked more closely at them, until they were just hairlines of blackness. She brushed a finger over one and felt the draw of the Backworld that lay under Faerie. She almost reached through it experimentally, but then stopped, self-conscious. She’d ask Tarn first. She wasn’t actually into wrecking things without a reason, despite what her most recent ex-boyfriend had claimed.
She found Tarn standing in front of the locked door, his hands clasped behind his taut back, his eyes half-closed. He didn’t seem to notice Branwyn’s arrival, so she said, “Hey, what’s up with the cracks in the hall?”
Distantly, Tarn said, “The door drags against the domain, as I’ve said. I’m doing what I can to stabilize it, but the pressure must be relieved soon.”
“Oh.” Branwyn thought about that for a moment. “Well, we’re wasting time, then. Are you ready for me to go on our little errand?”
He focused on her. “Are you?”
“Of course! Although I am curious how we’ll be traveling. I heard this guy is in Seattle, which is a bit further north than I was expecting.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did you? Well, your informant is correct. The Backworld is smaller than Creation, but touches it everywhere. There are shortcuts for those who have had the time to find them.”
“Oh yeah? How short?”
He gave her a speculative look. “At your walking pace, several hours.”
Branwyn sniffed. “No faster than flying, then.”
“Your mechanical flight has far too many people poking their noses into places they shouldn’t. And speaking of machines.... it would be best to leave the partially completed Machine key here. There’s no point in providing the Hunter with temptation.”
Branwyn fished it out of her backpack and looked at it wistfully. “I thought it might come in handy.”
Tarn moved his long fingers and pulled a soft suede pouch out of thin air. “In here, if you would. I don’t even want to imagine how you thought it might come in handy.”
Branwyn tipped it into the bag. “You never know. That’s the point, really. Shards from Heavenly Machines seem like they might be useful for almost anything.”
He drew the bag closed, twisted his hand again, and sent it away. Then he withdrew a box from nothingness and opened it. Like the previous casket Branwyn had delivered to the Queen of Stone, this one contained a message bubble. It also contained what looked very much like a diamond the size of Branwyn’s fist. It sparkled invitingly. Her jaw dropped and she glanced up at him. He was watching her with a faint smile.
“Okay, I know you just made that like you made the bag, but it’s gorgeous,” she said defensively. “I still can’t do anything other than raw materials. I’m jealous.”
“It’d be no good to send a gift that I created from Faerie,” chided Tarn. “It would fade with the dawn, or when the win
d changed, or the moon turned.”
Branwyn gave him a skeptical look. “You’re not telling me that you somehow got your hands on a real diamond larger than anything ever mined by man?”
He laughed. “This is Underlight, bound to the broken earth and the sea-washed shores. If I wanted to find a natural diamond to carve into a throne for my Queen, I could.” He paused, then added, “But this is not that, no. It is a crystallized fragment of my own essence. The gift I mentioned.” He snapped the box closed and offered it to Branwyn. She tucked it into her bag thoughtfully, then followed Tarn as he returned to the throne room.
William was waiting there, along with his troop of changelings. Branwyn recognized each of them, and noticed that the ones Severin had killed had not been replaced. She pursed her lips. “You have non-changeling fae, too, right? Can’t you send any of them along? In case we run into… trouble along the way again? The Queen of Stone had a servant who kept everything neat and tidy.”
“My servants draw on my power just as the Queen of Stone’s servants draw on hers; it matters only a little whether the servant is changeling or dreamborn. The trouble you refer to is no more than an inconvenience at the moment, and it is less of an inconvenience if he disrupts one of my changelings than if he disrupts one of my dreamborn fae.” He spoke with a measured distance that seemed at odds with their earlier conversation and Branwyn wondered if it was because of the distraction of the door.
Then she processed what he said and balked. “An inconvenience? He killed some of William’s friends! I know you can bring them back, but—that’s got to be more than just an inconvenience. At least to them.” And she glowered at Tarn with all the force she could.
Tarn tilted his head. “Do you still wish for me to save Penny?”
Branwyn’s fingers tightened on her backpack. “Yes. What does that have to do with William’s friends?”
“You’ve never asked me how I planned to restore her to you.”
Blowing her breath out in exasperation, Branwyn said, “No, I didn’t. I assumed it would be magic,” she wiggled her fingers, “just like what hurt her. But do tell me, how will you save her?”
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