The Wolf alone had resisted, rousing others, attempting to marshal a defense. It was doomed to fail but could cause problems until then. They would not doubt Nalith, but the court would be wary of challengers, wary of dangers to her rule.
“If he found that, he could find this house, too,” Alex said, still worried. “It was one thing when they were hunting down the others—that served our purposes, as well. But he’s sniffing for her now, and if his claws reach here...”
“She is stronger now,” Cam said. “She had been in residence there only a few weeks, not long enough to sink her magic into the walls, set up defenses. This court grows, her power grows, and strengthens.
“But the Wolf—” Alex started to say.
“The Wolf will come to her the same as we did, drawn to her strength, and she will decide then what to do with him.” The thought made Cam’s ears twitch again, although this time his mouth shaped into a smirk. Their lady did not take kindly to those who challenged her.
“She’s already thought of it,” one of the yōkai said, finally entering the conversation. “Herself don’t leave a thing to chance. She wants this world, so she has a plan. We work it right, we play smart, we’re there when she wins. If we don’t screw it up.”
On that, all five could agree. Nalith had a plan; all they had to do was follow her decrees and be rewarded for it.
* * *
Above, in her courtroom, Nalith smiled. The longer she stayed in one place, the more it became hers, stretching her awareness into the very structure. The wood and stone, the water rushing through the pipes, even the wiring that hummed, but most of all Nalith felt the creatures moving through her court, doing her bidding and anticipating her needs, from the kitchen to the upstairs chambers, out into the yard where the ragged, raging gnomes built their nests, down into the cool earth of the cellar. They were odd and ragtag, these creatures, kin and yet not her own, but they contained the spark she had been searching for, each one of them. Hunger, a desire to be more than they were, to achieve more.
Even in this world, that spark was too rare, too useful a thing to be dismissed, even in lesser creatures. Her fingers stretched out as though to touch that warmth and then curled against the arm of her chair, reminded once again that it was not a thing she could hold.
Not yet, anyway. What might not be possible, here and now, to one such as her, now that Nalith knew what she had been lacking?
Letting awareness of her creatures fade, she watched the figures on the screen, but her thoughts were sidetracked, remembering.
Her consort, not beloved but familiar, combed the hair of his pet and then sent it off to fetch breakfast. He stretched, content with himself, his position, his place within the universe.
She studied him, the too-familiar lines of his face and body, then turned away, hungry for something other than food. She did not understand it. A restlessness possessed her, turning her from her usual pleasures and satisfactions. Perhaps if she had a pet of her own, it would ease this mood. There were humans in the court, of course, but none of them were hers, none had been hers for years, since...she could not remember when. It had sung. She remembered that. Long ago. Too long, perhaps. Since long before this restlessness had taken hold of her, the sense that something had changed, without her knowing, without her permission. She resented it, but she could not resist it.
The antechamber had a window that opened to the air, looking out over the plains. A storm moved across the distance, blue-black clouds filled with occasional flashes of silver. Rare but not unheard of, not so unusual as to warrant note. The distant rumble of thunder carried across empty space, and she felt it again, that sense that something was different, changed. It had begun nearly two seasons past, a shake and a click inside her, like doors opening and shutting.
None of the others felt it. She alone—she, who was queen.
It had to do with humans, she thought for the first time. Humans, and the spark they carried, that made the court crave their presence. But how or why... Humans had no place in this realm, save what she gave them. They were nothing. How could they influence her so?
And then the storm came, rare lightning striking the windowsill where she rested her fingers, making her jerk back in surprise, she who was never surprised, never taken off guard. The touch shivered through her, and an answer came as though drawn by her own will, that touch of power spanning two worlds, spanning and binding them in her hands.
She hadn’t understood then. But she had known the answer rested elsewhere—in the land of humans.
She had begun planning, that moment.
The display in front of her ended, the words at the end scrolling too quickly to read. Nalith tried to hold the emotions the story had stirred in her, keeping them close. It was no use. No matter how she immersed herself, how much she took in, the feelings never lasted, leaving her aware of the emptiness once again.
She had not been queen when last they made incursions to the other realm. In truth, she barely remembered it save for the busy flow of adults through the court and new pets after. There had been a girl child who’d sung sweetly, until the notes went flat and the words faded, leaving the girl silent. No matter how Nalith had ordered the girl to sing, the human could not remember the tunes. Too long Under the Hill, too long to remember.
That had been when Nalith had begun to understand that terrible delicacy, that human gift. The court created nothing. No dance, no music, no songs or stories. They stole from the lips of lesser creatures, made them perform over and over until the color faded and the sounds fled, and all that remained was rote and routine. Dead sounds, dull movements.
Humans could create, but only here, in this realm. Taken too long from it, they faded. And so it must be this place, this realm and not humans themselves, that was so filled with creation; if she owned it, she would own that, too. The desire drove her, beyond all reason. And then the storm had come and shown her the way.
A noise broke her from her reverie. Annoyed, she turned to glare at the doorway. The figure there—scrawny, with a red cap pulled close around its head, and fingers twitching as though it never knew quite what to pick up next—was showing signs of having been there awhile.
Once it saw that she had seen it, the brownie bucked and groveled until she sighed with irritation. And yet, the film had ended, and there were things that required her attention. And it had tried to speak with her before; she remembered that. She picked up the remote controlling device and muted the sound. “Go on, Cam.” She was reasonably sure it was Cam.
“My lady?”
“Do not try my patience. Speak.”
“There is news, my lady. The others have begun searching for you again, in the places where you have been.”
This it interrupted her for? “Let them,” she said negligently. “What care I if others nose about my leavings, like scavengers after the feast? They are no threat to me.”
The locals—supernaturals, they called themselves—might not wish her here; she was aware enough of that, but they would not drive her out. Nalith had no intention of returning through the portal. They would simply have to accept that fact.
She would never go back. Never.
“My lady, there is more.” Cam had perfected the art of the sideways reproach, the voice that said he of course could think of nothing more perfect than my lady; however, it was entirely possible she was testing him to see if he, too, knew what needed to be done.
Nalith knew herself to be arrogant, prideful, and selfish, but she could also recognize when a retainer did its job well and with a certain style. And telling her unpleasant things, without fear, was part of its responsibilities, however little either of them liked it.
That was, perhaps, why she remembered Cam’s name among all the others scurrying about. It had style.
“Approach me,” she said, using the remote controller to end the display on the screen. The human at her side stirred slightly; she had forgotten he was there. The brownie came into the room, its
tasseled ears twitching only slightly, and made a deep bow as it came to the sofa, stopping just out of reach.
She noted that, and it amused her. She had never harmed any of her creatures, but it was good that they were aware she could.
“My lady, the loss of our previous House, while certainly insignificant, raises a point. Your court does not do you justice. This structure, while suiting your personal needs, cannot alone hold the fullness of those who wish to follow and serve you. We would extend your hold, with your permission, and secure your position.”
“And how would you do this, o ambitious one?” She smiled lazily, content to have him flatter but aware that even such a creature could move to its own whims and try to cozen her. In that, this realm was no different than the one she had abandoned.
“This town suits your desires. You do not wish to leave it. And so we have been scouting new structures to replace those lost. Structures that, once emptied, would serve as an antecourt for those who may not remain within your glorious presence but serve nonetheless. Not for your own self, but to extend your hold, even where you may not reside, that all will know who rules them.”
Nalith was definitely amused now. It had anticipated her desires, and that was to be applauded...but also to be watched carefully. Such an antecourt could easily be filled with those of their choosing, not hers. She had been queen too long, in a court ripe with challenges and intrigues, not to consider such a thing. “Where and when did such a lowly thing as yourself learn to twist words to your bidding so well?”
“My lady, I evolve but to serve.”
Its response made her laugh. It might even have been true; these creatures had a reputation of such.
“And how would you arrange to empty and then acquire these structures?” She leaned forward slightly, not enough to alarm the creature but to indicate that it had her full attention.
“We have ways of making humans...uncomfortable,” the brownie said. “What is done can be undone, and what was well-done becomes ill.”
That had the sound of something it had said before or heard often. Still, that made it no less appealing for being old. There was, she was seeing, a certain creativity in reusing things that had gone before in new ways. Like two versions of the same play, where the ending was the same but the motivations might be in doubt, results shifting minutely with new decisions.
Nalith considered the proposal and then decided in favor. No matter the ending, it would be something different.
“You have my permission.”
* * *
Permission had been all Cam was waiting for. Herself had plans, and so did he.
“I don’t like this.” Wallingford scowled out the window, his arms crossed against his chest. He was the oldest of the pack and least happy with anything they were doing
“It’s necessary.”
“I still don’t like it. Gnomes can’t be trusted.”
“They can be trusted to do what they’re set to,” Cam replied, masking his own unease, focused on the plan, the plans, hers and his, twining together, each needing the other to achieve, although she did not know that, of course; she could not know that. She would flatten him, flatten them all, if she suspected. Nalith might use ambition, but ambition must not use her.
“And after that?” Wallingford persisted. “They tend to get...overly focused on their goals. And carried away with enthusiasm.”
They both studied the group of gnomes huddled around a tent set up outside the house, at the far end of the oversized lot. There was a small campfire going, and half a dozen forms gathered around it—although there might have been less, or more, since the shadows kept changing shape slightly, making it impossible to count.
In theory, the supernatural creatures were all equal to each other, at least in their own minds. In practice...there were some species that did not play well with others. Gnomes, with ego matched only by paranoia and all that trumped by truly noxious eating habits, didn’t play well with anyone except themselves. The Wolf’s brigade wasn’t wrong in calling them turncoats, even if the Unseelie Court could fall under that same epithet themselves.
“They have done the job so far,” Cam said finally. “They fear her as none other. They will not cross her.”
“And if that fear is not enough, once they start? If they go too far, out of control? That will bring the Wolf’s eye to us here.” The other super shuddered. They had no fear of lupin in and of themselves—even a pack was merely a nuisance, in the normal course of events—but the Wolf was developing into an irritating sort of nuisance, the sort that combined violence and tactics and was becoming very good at removing threats.
The gnomes had tried to take him down once already—if on Nalith’s orders or another’s, none of them knew, and none dared ask. The point was that the gnomes had attacked en masse—and failed.
“Eventually,” Cam said, “my lady will have to deal with the Wolf, and she will do so in her own way. But for now, all gossip says they think the gnomes work for the old court, the portal-users. We will use that in our favor. By the time they realize otherwise, it will be too late, and we will be the only ones left standing.”
Chapter 3
They had been out by the pond for an hour at least. Maybe more. Jan knew that she should go back to the farmhouse, should check in with someone, should see if there was anything that she could do, anything she should do. Instead, she lay back on the grass, stared up at the pale blue sky, and tried to remember when life had been normal.
She couldn’t.
“You all right?”
She smiled, a slight turn of her lips, less humor than appreciation. Martin had learned to ask that. Had learned that Jan’s silences sometimes meant something wasn’t all right.
Had it only been that morning she’d been on the porch with AJ, had talked with Glory? It felt as if it had happened the day before, or even weeks ago, the sense of urgency pounding in her veins muddling with the lack of sleep and the stress. Adding injury to insult, Jan was developing a headache that was settling in for the long haul. She probably needed to cut down on the coffee. Yeah, good luck with that.
“Another day, another lack of a dollar,” she said now in response to his question, not an answer but as much of one she could give him.
“Are you still stressing over not having a job?”
Jan laughed; she couldn’t help it. He sounded so puzzled. “No. I’m stressing over the fact that I’m not stressing over a job because we have so many other things to stress about.”
Martin watched the way she was rubbing at her forehead, and sat up, turning so that he faced her. “Turn around,” he ordered, his hands already positioning her so that she was now facing away from him, her legs crossed, her butt up against his own crossed legs. She obeyed, knowing what was coming even before his blunt-fingered hands started working on her neck and shoulders. His hands were strong but sure, moving over muscles like a trained masseuse.
“I don’t suppose you did this for a living?” she asked, her body starting to relax a little.
“What, back rubs? No.”
He didn’t say anything more, and Jan felt her curiosity pique a little. Most of the other supers she had met were perfectly happy to talk about their jobs, the things they did to make a living, just like humans. Martin never did. But she was afraid if she prodded, he might stop, and the quiet was actually kind of nice, so she just leaned into his hands and tried to relax.
They were still sitting on the grassy bank when an air-sprite buzzed them, flying low and fast over the grass until it pulled up in front of Jan’s face.
“Come!” it demanded, its voice way too imperious for something the size of a hummingbird. “Come now!”
Anyone could ask a sprite to do something; getting them to do it and right away? That meant AJ.
“We’re summoned,” she said to Martin, feeling the headache start to creep back. “Good news or bad?”
“Bad,” he said morosely, standing up and then reaching down a
hand to help her up, as well. “Probably very bad.”
“More searchers back,” the air-sprite said. “Come!”
That got them moving, if not as fast as the winged supernatural, who zoomed off well ahead of them. As far as either one of them knew, none of the search teams had been expected back today.
This might be good news, the news they had all been hoping for—that Operation Queen Search had finally found them the location of the AWOL preter or even, better yet, already taken her into custody. There had been rumors and hints and at least one close call when they’d been pretty sure they’d found where the queen had been staying, but she’d fled by the time they’d arrived. So maybe this time... But on top of the morning’s non-news, she suspected that Martin was right.
Inside the main building, AJ was pacing across the braided rug, while other supers scurried about, trying to keep working while still trying to eavesdrop. Not that anyone was saying anything just then.
“We’re here,” Martin said, practically flinging himself into the room and landing almost by chance in an empty armchair. “What?”
“Go on,” AJ said to a thin, red-skinned creature Jan didn’t recognize and nobody introduced. “Report.”
The super had obviously been waiting for that order, because he picked up smoothly. “Remember when we caught the scent of something in a little town in North Carolina? We stuck around to see if we could sweet-talk someone into telling us what had been going on there.”
“And?”
“And it took a while, had to let them calm the fuck down, but the local humans finally started to talk. Seemed the most recent resident had been a tall, somewhat odd woman who, in the words of the only neighbor willing to talk to us, had her some weird-ass eyes. Nobody liked to look into them if they could help it.”
Jan, who had remained by the door, shivered when she heard that, remembering the eyes of the preter she had challenged here, the ones she had faced to win Tyler’s freedom. She knew what the woman had been talking about.
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