Fury Convergence

by Chrysoula Tzavelas

  This one was bright brass, with polished wood inlays, and stood about five feet tall. Its gaze followed them as they approached. Then it inclined its head and spoke in pleasantly metallic voice, “Welcome to Sainthome. The boss is dining with the children. He has no interest in tempting you with dangerous morsels, so I shall invite you to the grand study, instead.”

  Without waiting for a response, the clockwork person turned and walked into the house. Branwyn admired its stride, noticing the springy movement of the hip joints. Rhianna shook her head and continued ahead of her, leaving Severin to murmur in Branwyn’s ear, “Machines get you that way, huh?”

  Absently, Branwyn said, “Blood in the water, right?” She glanced at him. “You notice when people get upset, right? Yeah, I notice something like that walking past me.”

  He studied her, then shook his head briefly. “Your skyscraper is more impressive than the automatons.”

  “Automatons, that’s the right word! But I had so little to do with actually building Titanone.”

  Severin’s eyes narrowed. With one hand, he pushed her toward the entrance. “Just imagine the treats in this grand study.”

  Branwyn sighed and trudged into the lodge. “I can’t. I’m going to stay focused and not be seduced by all the shiny tools and trade secrets so I don’t make stupid decisions. But I do wish I’d come here at another time, and for another reason.” She viewed her near future darkly and added, “Maybe in another life.”

  The grand study was a large room that appeared to be half library and half playroom. There was a loft above the main floor with books and a desk, and many more books, tables and table-based activities on the main floor.

  “This way, please,” said the automaton, guiding them to the loft staircase. “After dinner, the boss spends time in the grand study with those children who wish to join him.” The loft office was overcrowded to bursting. There was guest seating: a couch and two chairs, and all of them buried under books and documents. “Our apologies,” said the automaton as it cleared off seating. “It’s been a while since a visitor lasted long enough to make it to the office.”

  “That’s not ominous,” said Rhianna, and yawned.

  “Most recent visitors from Faerie are primarily interested in the children, and the boss is very protective of the children. Please make yourself comfortable. Dinner will finish soon.” The automaton started to descend the stairs again.

  Branwyn said, “Hey! What are you called?”

  The automaton looked at Branwyn for a long moment. “Kilter, miss.” Then it continued its descent.

  Branwyn threw herself in one of the chairs and bounced. “Kilter….”

  Rhianna had flopped on the couch, her legs stretched out. She had her head tilted back and her eyes closed. Severin stood at the half-wall and looked over the space below.

  Branwyn had to resist getting distracted by artificing shinies. She said, “You didn’t hurt any of his pets when you were playing, did you?”

  “I resisted the temptation,” Severin said flatly.

  Branwyn viewed him narrowly, then transferred her attention to Rhianna. “How are you feeling, Rhi?”

  “I’m tired, Branwyn. I feel hollow, and it kind of hurts.” She opened her eyes and saw Branwyn’s alarmed expression. “It’s like I’m drying out. It’s only distracting when I sit still.”

  She didn’t say, Do you know what’s wrong? Or Do you know how to fix it? Or get upset, or even pretend she was fine. Branwyn knew she could have responded to any of those things. They all would have made her stronger, more determined. But Rhianna’s calm, disengaged reporting made her feel helpless. Feeling helpless was her least favorite thing.

  She slouched in the chair and stared at her hands until finally the door downstairs opened and a stream of children, wolves and automatons poured into the room around the big form of the Saint. They clustered around him for a moment. Then he waved the kids to their individual pursuits and came up the stairs.

  Near the top, he paused, inspecting Severin. Severin didn’t seem to notice, studying the kids on the lower floor instead. Shaking his head, the Saint finished his climb and moved past Severin to settle himself at his desk.

  After looking at them, he said, “Well, I hope you’ve had time to come up with a gambit you’re confident in?”

  Rhianna slitted her eyes open, but didn’t answer, so Branwyn said, “No, sir. No gambit. Just the truth. We’re here because of Tucker.”

  The Saint gave her a faint, sad smile, touched his nose, then pointed with the same finger at Severin’s back. As if cued, Severin called harshly, urgently, “Charlie!”

  Branwyn shot to her feet to peer over the half-wall. Charlie was easy to spot: the only ebony-skinned child in a room of white kids, and the only one who looked up at Severin and determinedly back down at the book she was coloring.

  Something creaked in Branwyn’s chest. Severin’s entire body was a taut wire, his eyes pits and his mouth a forbidding slash. A few of the children, looking between Severin and Charlie, rearranged themselves so they were clearly between her and the ‘boogieman’ staring down at her.

  Genially, the Saint said, “That’s nice to see. Some of them have come a long way since I brought them home.” He twiddled a fountain pen. “Charlie told me he might show up. I told her she wouldn’t have to talk to him if she didn’t want to.”

  The creaking in Branwyn’s chest became a sustained hum. She stared at Severin. He wasn’t moving, except for shallow breaths. His knuckles were white, but his fingers weren’t denting anything. Nobody was screaming and crying. He was, she decided, regulating himself. Good for him.

  Rhianna sat up, stretching her back. “Charlie’s not the only kid from Tucker we need to talk about, sir. We’re very grateful that you rescued them from that catastrophe, but we’d like to bring them back to Earth.”

  The Saint smiled faintly again. “Oh? What for? They’ve no homes to return to.”

  “We’ll find them new ones,” said Rhianna firmly.

  “Your people have countless children already they can’t find homes for,” countered the Saint.

  Rhianna winced, but had a prepared answer. “Unfortunately, fixing the rest of the foster care system is beyond my employer’s power. But he can guarantee the Tucker children won’t be caught in it.”

  The Saint said, “And instead they’ll be caught in something like Tucker?” He laid down the fountain pen with a click. “Do you know what kind of place Tucker was?”

  “A little,” said Rhianna, calmly.

  Branwyn was at a loss, until she remembered Gale saying They killed her, and looked down at Imani’s ebony-skinned daughter. Small, insular towns were not famous for being safe if you were too different.

  “Tucker wasn’t unusual.” The Saint’s gentle voice had steel behind it. “I’m not inclined to send any child back to your world.” He leaned back in his chair. “But I’ll let you try to convince me. Convince me your world is a better place for children to grow up.”

  “Will they grow up here, sir?” asked Branwyn, finally reseating herself.

  The Saint shrugged. “Eventually. And when they do, I’ll let them choose what they want to do, or be.”

  “Why not let them choose now?”

  The look the Saint gave Branwyn cut right through her. “You don’t need me to explain that. Now, I know you’re clever, because you’re a wonderworker. You don’t have to convince me right now. Take some time. Rest a little.”

  “Fine,” sighed Rhianna and leaned her head back again.

  Branwyn hesitated. “About Charlie…”

  “She’s a great kid,” said the Saint. “Vulnerable, though. She’s had it hard even here, because of what Tucker was.” He glanced at Severin’s back. “I don’t want to let her go, but I will, the same as the others, if you can convince me.”

  Branwyn exhaled. No gambits. “Charlie’s mom died in Tucker, but she isn’t gone. She’s become… very dangerous. If we could bring Charlie to her haunt,
it would help her pass on.”

  The Saint looked pensive. “And is the Wild Hunt still flying about? I know there was a shake-up recently, but it seemed it was for the better.”

  “Yes,” Branwyn admitted. “They’re involved now.”

  “Ah, well then,” said the Saint. “Better to let them deal with it than give a little girl nightmares, don’t you think?”

  Branwyn couldn’t answer, but Severin turned around to stare directly at the Saint for the first time, growling, “She already has nightmares.”

  “Fewer now. Well, before you came along,” said the Saint evenly. “They’ll fade again.” He gazed steadily at Severin. “She’s alive here, dark one. Isn’t that all you really need?”

  “What I need and what she needs are different things,” said Severin and turned back to the overlook.

  The Saint’s eyes narrowed. “Is that how it is?” he said very softly.

  Branwyn had a flash of déjà vu. Then Severin whispered in her ear, I really, really want to kill him, and the words carried such rage and hatred that she was breathless.

  “Severin…” she whispered. He swiftly turned from the overlook and stepped behind her chair. Somehow, despite her chair, she could sense the pressure of his presence against her back.

  The Saint said, “Well, take some time to think on it.” He glanced over at Rhianna, who was now completely asleep. “Many of the children take a rest after dinner. Kilter will show you to a bedroom and you can rest, too.”

  “Can we talk to them?” asked Branwyn.

  “I’d be a fool to say you couldn’t,” said the Saint. “But have some sense about it. Don’t disturb them. For example, there’s no need to mention Tucker.”

  A little while later, Severin deposited Rhianna on one of the carved wooden twin beds in the room Kilter had escorted them to. It was on the ground floor and had an outside door, opening onto a patio with its own fireplace. As Kilter left, it carried away a bowl of dark apples that had been on a table, saying, “No indeed, no dangerous morsels for these guests.”

  Rhianna murmured, rolled over and curled up. She’d barely made a sound when Severin had slung her over his shoulder. Branwyn sat beside her and peeled off Rhianna’s wet shoes and socks before tucking blankets around her.

  She wasn’t tired herself. Not really. Not enough to pass out like Rhianna had. The remnants of Severin’s earlier healing still tingled in her mind. But Rhianna had been extremely energetic in the Queen of Summer’s chamber when the knights had attacked. And she hadn’t slept since being zapped by either of the signals.

  Hesitantly, Branwyn considered that maybe… maybe sleep would help her recover. Maybe she’d recover whatever she’d lost naturally. Or maybe the Saint would know something about what had happened. But as soon as she thought maybe it will be okay a wave of anger swept over her. Maybe somebody else will fix it, she jeered at herself.

  Severin put his hand on her head and said, “Later. For now, Charlie.” He was staring out the window, his face hard.

  Branwyn blinked and wiped blurriness from her eyes. On the patio beyond the window, Charlie was peeking around the stone chimney. But when Severin released Branwyn and moved to the window, she ran to the nearest cottage and darted behind it.

  “How old is she?” asked Branwyn briskly, standing up and adjusting her—Severin’s—coat.

  He bit out the words. “Nine. Still nine.”

  “All right. Keep an eye on Rhianna for me and I’ll talk to Charlie.”

  Severin looked at her. She looked back at him, patiently, in case he wanted to say more. A long moment passed. Then, without a word, he turned and threw himself onto the other twin bed, leaning against the headboard with his arms crossed so he could continue to stare out the window.

  Wryly, Branwyn said, “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” and went out the door.

  She made a point of not obviously following the little girl. But she wasn’t going anywhere else, either. She just ambled through the snow and somehow ended up behind the same cottage. But she went right past where Charlie crouched at the near corner and looked around the other corner before saying, “Hmm.”

  “What are you looking for?” asked Charlie in a small voice.

  “My friend Severin said he lost something over here, so I was looking for it. Have you seen it?”

  Charlie stood up and gave her a cross-eyed look that clearly said she was too old for such childish misdirections. Branwyn smiled back, because she’d conveyed the right message all the same. I’m here. I know him. I’m not going to drag you to him.

  “Is he really your friend? I didn’t think he had friends.”

  “I might be using a pretty loose definition,” Branwyn admitted. “I’ve seen him with other friends, though.” Monsters all. “Hi, by the way. I’m Branwyn.” She held out her hand.

  Charlie shook it gravely. “I’m Charlie. It’s short for Charlotte.” She glanced at the corner obscuring her view of Severin’s window. “You came here with him. Why did he come?”

  “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me that. He’s not very talkative.”

  Charlie was quiet before abruptly saying, “Mom hated that about him. She used to get so mad after he visited.” She frowned. “You honestly don’t know?”

  Branwyn shook her head. “No.”

  “Then I really don’t get why you’re here. It must have been hard to get here. I can at least guess why he came, but you came too, and you’re not his friend?”

  Branwyn wanted to explain all about the other kids from Tucker and Rhianna’s mission, so this kid wasn’t evaluating her relationship with Severin without all that very important context. But she had a handful of reasons to resist, so instead she shrugged and said, “He was very upset.”

  Charlie’s delicate features twisted in a scowl. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “No,” said Branwyn. “But you were going to tell me why you think he came.”

  After kicking some snow for a time, Charlie said, “Mom always said he was our evil fairy godfather. But he said he’s not a fairy and not a godfather. He’s been hanging around my mom’s family for a really long time, though. Generations and generations. He named my super-great grandmother when she was a baby.” She sighed. “Mom said taking care of us was his hobby now, like we were his pets, or a game. She didn’t like it when I was really happy to see him. Once she told me we were just a way for him to stay busy. So I guess he’s here now because he got bored.”

  Pets. Branwyn tried to reconcile this with the behavior she’d seen. Possibly for another loose definition of the word… But she knew how important it was to stay busy, especially when she was upset.

  Shatiel’s words, words she’d all but forgotten, came back to her. “I hadn’t realized how much of his remaining ability to care he’d invested in her…” She imagined herself, bored and angry and immortal, focusing on a single project so her rage didn’t consume her. She knew how she’d react if that project was stolen from her. But it was such a chilly way to think about the little girl in front of her that she wasn’t sure she believed it.

  “But you did see him?”

  “Oh yeah. Lots,” said Charlie. “I’ve known him since I was born. And mom did too. She didn’t always fight with him. They just… disagreed a bunch.” Charlie shook her head, her neat braids flying. “I don’t want to talk about this. Not about him with mom. Only… what is he going to do now, please?”

  Branwyn studied Charlie in the perpetual twilight of the Saint’s March. “That probably depends on you. Do you want to keep living here with the Saint?”

  Charlie shrugged tightly. “I don’t have anywhere else to go, do I? Nobody else wants to take care of me.”

  Branwyn clenched her teeth until the rash urge to make promises for Severin that she wouldn’t let him keep faded. “Where’s your dad?”

  “I don’t know. He was just some guy from Kenya mom met and liked for a while. They split up before I was born.” She’d kicked through the l
oose snow to a packed layer.

  Branwyn wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, my mom passed through that phase too. Though my dad lasted until my little sister was almost due. I don’t even think of him as my dad. Just ‘that guy.’”

  “That sperm donor,” suggested Charlie with a hint of a smile.

  “Exactly.” Branwyn waited. Annoying, but there were some things you couldn’t rush.

  After a few minutes of kicking her heel into the snowpack, Charlie said, “Do you think I should talk to him?”

  Branwyn didn’t rush her answer. “Personally, I think you should start by beating the crap out of him and go from there. But that might not be what you need to feel better. If talking’s what will help, you should do that.”

  “Will you come with me?” asked Charlie shyly.

  “Sure,” Branwyn said, and held out her hand again. Charlie took it, and together they walked around the cottage corner.

  18

  In Darkness

  Severin had moved from the bedroom to the patio, where he was kicking back in one of the wooden chairs and twisting a piece of thin metal he’d ripped off of something between his fingers. Only the fact that Branwyn had never, ever seen him fidgeting destroyed his air of complete cool.

  Well, that and the way he sprang to his feet as soon as he saw them and then froze, as if he thought moving more might make Charlie run again. That hurt his air of cool too.

  Branwyn escorted Charlie over to the patio and stood there quietly. After a moment, Charlie extracted her hand and crossed her arms, scowling at Severin.

  He crouched down. “Hi, mouse.”

  She gave him a nasty look. “You screwed up bad.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I should have torn Gale apart as soon as he started sniffing around Imani.”

  “I wish you had,” said Charlie. “And maybe everybody else in that stupid town too.” A flash of conscience surfaced, and she added, “Well, not the kids. They’re all right now. But all the uniforms, definitely.” Her eyes flooded with tears. “And then you left me here.”