by Tanya Huff
The third person in the booth was a Glashtin in two-legged form; under the glamour, not even as Human as the Court. Given the more common four-legged form, the leather jacket, jeans, and cowboy hat were a little weird. Jack assumed there were cowboy boots under the table, had a sudden vision of the Glashtin riding, and barely stopped a snicker.
“It ain’t polite to stare, Wyrm.” The Glashtin’s teeth were flat and large.
Jack’s were larger and sharper. He wondered if Glashtin tasted like horse.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re tough. Move on, kid, no one wants to talk to you today.”
Joe’s foot came down on Jack’s before Jack could reply. “His Highness requires a few moments of the Court’s time.”
A narrow-eyed gaze flicked between them. “The Court’s busy, short stuff.”
One of the Court ate a sweet potato fry.
“You want these guys out of here, El?” Two of the young men in the next booth stood and moved to stand behind Jack. Jack wasn’t small, dragon heritage aside, none of the Gales were short, but the Court’s hounds were both taller and broader. A massive hand closed on Jack’s shoulder and tightened to the threat of pain. It wasn’t much of a threat, but they couldn’t know that.
With the scent of the Court hanging heavy over the scent of fries and grilled cheese, his change was instinctive. The Court couldn’t be trusted. The Court treated weakness like opportunity. He heard a scream, smelled burning pork, and held back his strike at the last moment, his claws shredding the air in front of cloth and flesh. As his dragon form dissolved in fire, the humans stampeded out of the diner, a faint scent of urine lingering behind. The teenaged girl peered over the edge of the counter, more intrigued than afraid.
“You’re kidding me.” The Glashtin’s heavy brows drew in to touch over his nose, attitude negated by the white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table and the faint sheen of sweat covering all exposed skin. “You did that in here?”
Jack shrugged to settle his shape and checked to make sure he’d remembered to replace all his clothing. “He shouldn’t have grabbed me.”
“You must be a fucking joy when it’s standing room on the C. Some poor working dick loses his balance and Godzilla takes transit.”
“He shouldn’t have grabbed me,” Jack repeated, hoping this time he sounded more defiant than defensive. He’d half expected the mass exodus to bring Charlie into the diner singing the “Ride of the Valkyries,” but she clearly trusted him to get this done. “Not when you three . . .” A nod toward the only booth still occupied. “. . . smell so much like food.”
“Fortunately, given who those particular humans interact with day to day, they’ve been spelled to ignore what they don’t understand.” Joe sounded calm. He didn’t smell calm, but the Glashtin’s nose was crap, so hopefully Jack was the only one getting the whiff of burning peat that told him Joe was grasping at straws. “By now I’m sure they’ve forgotten why they left so hurriedly and believe they have other things to do.”
If Joe was wrong, the police were on their way, and Allie was going to kill him.
“And the burned hand?”
“We’re in a restaurant.” Joe shrugged. “He stupidly leaned on the grill.”
“You sure that’s how it’ll go, Lucky Charms?”
“I am.”
“Yeah, well, you may have been sure; the Wyrm didn’t know.” The Glashtin sounded sulky.
“Really? Have you forgotten his father’s lineage? Would His Highness have changed otherwise?”
Since Jack had changed without thought for his Human audience, he was more than a little impressed by Joe’s ability to bullshit. And if he hadn’t changed, the Court wouldn’t have dismissed their hounds. They’d have sat there, looking smug, enjoying themselves as Jack tried to talk around a Human audience, probably taking bets on when he’d lose control. Better he lost control up front, making it clear to the Courts he wasn’t to be manipulated. Given that Joe seemed to be right about the spells they’d wrapped their hounds in, no harm no foul. Probably. Unless the Courts could twist the situation to their advantage because that’s what the Courts did.
“His Highness wants to discuss a situation the Court will be required to acknowledge given their presence in the MidRealm.” Joe kept his voice respectful without being deferential. That came from talking to the aunties; give them an inch and they suddenly had seven million strawberries that needed stemming.
“Mutually beneficial, eh? Doubt that.”
“His Highness . . .”
“Drop it, Lucky Charms. We don’t recognize the Wyrm’s title.”
Jack heard Joe draw in a breath and held out a hand to stop a new flow of words. The Glashtin’s contribution wasn’t about protocol and the Court—singly, sequentially, collectively—didn’t need their egos further stroked. Their belief in their innate superiority got up his nose and while he realized he’d have to deal with their more-Fey-than-thou attitude if he ended up doing the whole school house elf thing, he didn’t have to deal with it now. Besides, he was still steaming about being mauled by one of their hounds, and as that bridge had already been burned . . .
A moment later, after the flames defining the change had cleared, he curved his neck until he could look the Glashtin in the eye. “Do you recognize this, then? Was I too small for you to get a good enough look the last time?”
Credit where credit was due, even though he stank of fear, the Glashtin had lost none of his attitude. “Listen, punk, you can’t threaten . . .”
“MidRealm,” Jack snapped, “not UnderRealm. There’s never been a truce declared here.” The Court might not recognize the dragons’ sovereignty, but they acknowledged the threat and had negotiated terms with it.
“This is not your world, Wyrm.”
“Wrong. This is also my world, and the powers here don’t care what happens to you.”
The Glashtin stood, nose a centimeter from Jack’s muzzle. “The old ladies don’t scare me.”
“Then you’re a fool.” A dark, long-fingered hand, still holding a sweet potato fry, waved dismissal. “Down, Regan. And you . . . Jack, is it? . . . try to take up a little less space. Our Brownie’s likely having kittens in the kitchen.”
“Better not be real kittens,” the Glashtin muttered as Jack collapsed in on himself, remaking his clothes from the stack of City Light News by the cash register. “We just found homes for the last lot.”
“Alice!” The sweet potato fry beckoned.
The girl at the counter, completely unfazed by a dragon in the diner, gave a Jack a look so speculative his ears burned as she wandered over, pulling her order pad from her apron pocket.
“Pie all around, sweet Alice.” After four years with the Gales, Jack recognized the smile directed at him as distinctly female. Until that point, given the shared features under the glamours and well aware that the gender of the glamours themselves meant nothing, he hadn’t been able to tell. “I imagine Jack and his companion would enjoy a piece of pie made with nothing more dangerous than fat and sugar. Coconut cream for him and me, and lemon for my brother and his companion. Regan . . .” A graceful nod toward the Glashtin. “. . . will have apple. And to drink . . . ?”
Distracted by the tattoo of pale green leaves barely visible over Alice’s collar, it took Jack a moment to realize the question had been directed at him. “Uh . . . coffee. Please.” The please had been installed by Allie, not his uncles and it was directed at Alice’s function not her bloodline.
“Stunt your growth,” Regan growled.
Jack let a few scales rise over his cheekbones.
“Alice, take care of Regan and His Highness’ companion at the counter . . .”
Joe reappeared.
“. . . and try to keep them from killing each other.”
Regan glanced over at the two Court and sighed, lips vibrating in a distinctly horselike
manner. “You can’t trust a Wyrm.”
“We aren’t going to,” the male pointed out, taking a fry from the female’s plate.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure we aren’t going to trust him, yes.”
Eyes narrowed, Regan slid from the booth. “If you need me, you know where I am.”
The Glashtin slammed a shoulder into Jack’s on the way to the counter. Jack brought his tail back long enough to flick the Stetson off, exposing a set of horse ears covered in dark fur.
“Highness . . .”
When he turned toward the Leprechaun, Joe looked worried. Which would have bothered Jack more had worried not been Joe’s default expression and he not been 99 percent . . . 75 percent certain he was playing to their audience.
“. . . if I may remind you, we are here only to talk.”
“Don’t eat anyone. Got it.” Jack tried to make it clear he’d also answered the advice Joe hadn’t voiced—“Don’t start anything.”—but he didn’t have Charlie’s way with words.
Although he didn’t look much happier, Joe nodded and joined Regan at the counter, a careful three seats apart, Jack noticed—not so far he seemed afraid, not so close he seemed stupid.
“Sit.” The two of them tucked into the back corners, the female gestured to a place at the far end of the bench across from where Regan had been sitting.
Jack checked it out, then dropped into the space Regan had vacated instead, the gross feel of the warmed vinyl preferable to the appearance of obedience. “So . . .” He pushed Regan’s empty plate away with the side of his forearm, jacket between him and whatever the Glashtin may have left behind. “. . . do you two have names or do I keep thinking of you as the male and the female?”
“Arwen.” She nodded across the table. “Elessar.”
“Seriously?” Allie’d made him read the books before he could watch the movies. He’d liked the movies better. He’d only just learned to read English and those books were long. Also, the first one, the easier one, had no idea about dragons. He did like the poetry, though, and the genealogical charts. “You had every name in the entire world to choose from and that’s what you went with?”
“It amuses us, and we tell those who ask that our progenitors were fans.”
“Progenitors?” It seemed they’d brought the stick that culturally went up their collective asses all the way from the UnderRealm. “If the names weren’t enough, that’s got to have most of the student body all up in your face.”
Elessar shrugged. “Not once they’ve seen our long shot. After the first couple of games, they cry our names from the bleachers and disrespect is summarily dealt with.”
“By others,” Arwen added. “Now that the posturing is over . . .” she sighed as though the mere thought of posturing wearied her beyond belief. “. . . let us agree that you’re not going to eat us, and we aren’t going to stop your heart in your chest.”
“We aren’t?” Elessar asked.
“Probably not.” Her eyes glittered under the glamour when she turned to face Jack. Glittered like shards of glass, he noted, with edges that could slice through flesh and bone. “Which brings us to the question: what could the Dragon Prince possibly want to discuss with us? Regan, though crude, spoke truly; the Courts do not acknowledge your title. Nor, here in the MidRealm, have we interfered with the Gales. Not with the family itself or with those they take under their protection.”
“There was that young man who approached you after the game,” Elessar reminded her.
Arwen waved it off, the fluorescent lights dancing pale green highlights across the back of her hand. “Please, the Gales would approve of my reaction were they to learn of it. Have they learned of it?” she asked Jack, turning toward him so suddenly he barely stopped himself from starting. “We retrieved and destroyed all the pieces.”
“They haven’t . . .” Jack began, then, as Alice set pie and coffee down on the table, shut up so he could immediately stuff a forkful into his mouth. Brownie-made came close to being as good as Gale pie and, as only Allie’s mother made coconut cream, it was nice to eat pie that didn’t come with instructions on how to take care of the twins as well as a reminder about clean underwear he still didn’t entirely understand. Brownies, on the other hand, did not make Girl Guide cookies. His first year in the MidRealm, he’d found that very disappointing.
With the plate cleaned, he sat back and saw Elessar had ignored his pie completely in favor of dumping half a dozen packets of sugar into his coffee, while Arwen had only licked a little of the whipped cream off her finger with a pointed tongue. “You’re very young,” she said, speculatively.
So were they, and, for immortals, a couple of hundred years wasn’t that much older than seventeen. Which only emphasized how stupid it was to be hung up on thirteen years. Of course here he was a dragon and with the Gales he was a Gale no matter how uncomfortably his skin fit lately. Gale before Wild? Definitely Gale before dragon. Thirteen years given more weight than immortality.
“I’ve racked my brain,” Arwen continued, jerking Jack’s thoughts out of the familiar spiral that would eventually lead to seven years and from there to Charlie, “but I can’t imagine what we might have to discuss. Unless you plan to betray your blood.”
The flame was involuntary. It crisped Elessar’s meringue.
“My point exactly.” Arwen smiled.
Jack took a swallow of coffee, set the heavy porcelain mug down, and smiled back at her. He’d been all dragon in their face so they’d expect twisty. He hit them with direct. “In just over twenty-one months an asteroid is going to hit the planet. This planet. Almost everyone dies.”
Elessar rolled his eyes. Given the size of the eyes under the glamour, Jack had to admit the effect was impressive. “We’ve seen the new light in the night sky, a careless diamond against the black.”
“It’s as close now as it will ever come and already beginning to curve away.” Arwen licked more whipped cream off her finger. “You’ve been misled.”
Was it weird that they knew about the masking asteroid? Probably not if it changed the patterns of the stars. Jack spread his scowl over both of them. “Our Seer has seen it.”
“Catherine Gale?” Elessar snorted. “She’s fucking with you.”
He turned to stare. “Okay, one, way to go native with the profanity, so what’s up with the whole progenitor thing? Two, not this time. Charlie’s looked into it.”
“Charlotte Gale? The Bard? While we’d be more likely to believe her than the Seer,” Arwen pointed out, “the rock will pass. You’ve been misinformed.”
She sounded so smug and superior that two lines of smoke curled up from Jack’s nose. “The rock you can see, the careless diamond you lot are writing overwrought poetry about, yeah, that’ll pass, but it’s masking a rock behind it. Which won’t pass. Impact in less than two years.” He spread his hands and let Dan have the last word. “Bam. Bam. Bam.”
“And no one knows about this but your Seer and your Bard?” Arwen snorted and somehow made it sound elegant. “Go back to your Gales, little prince, and tell them that the Courts won’t play whatever game it is they’re playing.”
“Go back to the Dragon Lords,” Elessar added, stirring one last packet of sugar into his coffee. “Their games are more honest.”
“And vicious.” Arwen grinned. “I rode your Uncle Ryan once.”
After four years with the Gales, Jack didn’t assume he knew which form. He took another swallow of coffee. “NASA knows. The American government knows. The international scientific community knows. The only people who don’t know are your basic garden variety humans because they’re entirely useless. Oh . . .” He waved his fork. “. . . and apparently you lot don’t know either.”
“Our Seers have not Seen disaster.”
“Why would they? Your Seers look into the future of the UnderRealm.” Jack empti
ed his fork and spread his hands. “Hello. The asteroid isn’t going to hit the UnderRealm. It’s going to hit here. Not here, the diner. Here, the MidRealm. Where you are.”
The look they exchanged held conversations.
“If this is true,” Elessar said at last. “Why would you tell us?”
“If it was up to me, I wouldn’t, but the family wants to know if you’re planning to try and stop the impact or if you’re going to cut and run.” Not a lie. He and Charlie and Joe were family. Filled fork halfway to his mouth, he frowned and added, “Obviously, you two won’t be personally stopping anything.”
“What makes you think we’re incapable of stopping it?” Arwen demanded.
“You don’t even believe in it,” Jack pointed out.
“Belief is not a required component of ability.” Elessar took a swallow of coffee hummingbirds would have found too sweet and looked up to find both Jack and his sister staring at him. “What?”
Arwen shook her head. “What my brother meant to say was that twenty-two months would give us plenty of time to leave even if it were necessary to build a new gate from the ether where Nothing hides. But it isn’t necessary because there’s one at . . .” She jerked and snarled, “Did you kick me?”
Elessar showed teeth. “You were about to gift the little prince with the burden of knowledge.”
“My mistake.” The words were almost lost under her hiss.
“Do you guys honestly think Allie doesn’t know about a gate inside the city limits?” Jack sighed. “About every gate within the city limits?”
“It matters more, as my brother reminds me, that we are not the ones who have informed her of it.” Arwen’s fingernails peeled up fine lines of plastic from the tabletop. “And, as I was saying, just under two years gives us time to finish four, perhaps five seasons of the glorious game before we move leisurely home. The Gales’ very nature ensures they’ll be staying here.” Her smile became pure malice. “If you want the rock to stop falling, you stop it.”
“All we have to do is survive it,” Jack shrugged, hoping the movement looked more natural than it felt. “When the dust settles, there will still be Gales. The family can save itself.”