Jan had expected that, prepared herself for that. She had not prepared herself for Nalith.
They had theorized that she would be drawn to humans, that her purpose in coming to this world centered on that need. And although the majority of the court were supers, her reaction to them seemed to support that theory. But the humans she was gathering to her were not warriors, not wealthy or particularly good-looking, the way all the humans Under the Hill—or even the Greensleeves, the abandoned ones—had been. They were artists mostly. Creators. Patrick, who turned bits of wood into abstract shapes and spirals that caught the eye and invited contemplation. Kerry, who, when he wasn’t waiting attendance on the preter, could dab the back of a spoon into paint and create the shadow of a cat, lounging along a ledge. And now Tyler, who had been tasked to sit at Nalith’s feet and sing to her. His voice wasn’t professional quality, but it was pleasing, and he’d always been able to carry a tune well.
And his brain remembered a hundred or more songs that Nalith had never heard, from traditional folk songs to pop ditties.
And there was the older man, who had not yet been introduced or spoken to them, who seemed to know about opera and ballet and made sure all of Nalith’s programs were recorded properly on the media system he had set up.
It didn’t take a genius to realize that the preter queen was fascinated by beauty, by art, by the act of creating art, both decorative and performance. That was her criteria for humans, for membership in her court.
Jan couldn’t draw, couldn’t paint, couldn’t do anything artistic, but she hadn’t lied about her design skills. She understood how things fit together, could see the patterns. She had a suspicion that Nalith wanted Jan with her during her drawing lessons, to give her feedback on a shape, a color, a choice, a placement. Like a pet decorator, some kind of Tim Gunn to elves?
There was no way they could have predicted this. No way to have expected it. And even as it gave them entrée to the court, Jan wondered what it all meant. How did you take over the world with artists? What was Nalith’s plan?
It didn’t matter, Jan reminded herself. Whatever the preter queen had wanted when she’d come here, it didn’t matter. She’d woken up this morning because the tick-tick-tick inside her bones had stilled. The ten weeks and ten days and ten hours they’d been given were up. The preters would no longer be barred by their word from opening portals and coming into this world. AJ and the others would have their hands full if the consort kept his threat, and she had no reason to believe otherwise. They—she, and Martin, and Ty—were the only ones on scene. They had to find a way to use the queen, to turn her into a tool to force the court back, once and for all.
She must have made some noise, disturbed some waft of air, because the preter queen looked up then and saw her there.
“Ah. Human Jan.” Nalith motioned, one elegant hand curling less in invitation than command. “Come to me.”
Jan went.
Today they weren’t, apparently, going to discuss colors. Nalith was sitting on an antique love seat upholstered in gold velvet, the woodwork gleaming of polish. She wore dark blue, a long skirt and sweater, with her long legs stretched out in front of her and an expression that, on a human, Jan would have described as pensive. Her elegant hands were now resting in her lap, still. Jan had already learned that boded ill.
“My lady?”
“Why does the light change?”
“My lady?” she asked again, less cautiously.
Nalith repeated her question. “The light. Each day, it changes. You have been to both realms. Why does it do that here?”
Jan thought back to the preter world, the continuous overcast that seemed to last forever, broken only by odd intervals of night. She followed the queen’s gaze to the side window, where a patch of early-morning sunlight crept along the floor.
“I...” Jan closed her mouth and tilted her head, considering how to answer. “There is a scientific explanation that I would have to look up,” she said finally. “Perhaps we should recruit a meteorologist, who could answer your questions more effectively?”
“Perhaps,” Nalith said in the tone that meant not really. She wanted an answer now, not to wait. “It vexes me, this changing.”
She was taking it personally. Why? Jan cast her gaze around the room and saw the easel, shoved off to one side, the pastels sketch she had been trying to do the night before now abandoned.
Ah. The queen had been trying to draw in the morning light, and it had been different from the afternoon light. Jan tried to think of something useful to say, something that might interest the preter enough to distract her from her potentially deadly vexation.
“The morning light is cooler because it has not had so long to warm in the sky,” Jan ad-libbed. “In the afternoon, the light is warmer, it has a deeper glow to it. And at night, the moon and stars give us the coolest light of all, because they have no fire.”
For utter bullshit, it sounded pretty good. Jan held her breath, waiting to see if Nalith would buy it.
The rattlesnake-quick slap across the face answered that. Jan didn’t bother picking herself up off the floor, staying on her knees, her head down, staring at her hands held loosely in front of her, trying to project not a threat not a threat not a threat as clearly as she knew how.
“Do not think me a fool because I am indulgent with you,” the queen said, and the cool disinterest was more terrifying than anger might have been. “I am your lady, and you will be respectful.”
“My lady, yes, my lady. It is true, however, that the morning sun will bring forth cool tones, and the evening warmer ones. This is what you discovered, yes? That the colors look different in the morning than afternoon?”
“Yes.” Nalith raised her chin and looked at the half-finished picture propped against the opposite wall. She was considering Jan’s words, distracted from further violence. “And so, I should work on the piece only in the same light, to make sure the view is consistent. That is the trick to it?”
Jan stayed down on the floor, keeping her breathing steady, even though she was shaking with anger and fear. “I believe so, my lady. And...” She tried to remember the tricks she had learned when she was first putting together websites for clients, years ago. “There is a thing, a Pantone color chart. It might be helpful. I do not think there are stores here that would carry one, but I may order one for you, online?”
Jan didn’t know if there was a computer in the house or not, but surely with all this media setup there had to be, or someone knew where there was an internet café somewhere, or maybe in the little library/post office in town. First, though, she needed permission to leave. Her phone had lost data and voice signal the moment they’d gotten into town, although she didn’t know if that was merely the crap signal out here or if the preter had magic’d the area somehow. Yeah, AJ and Martin both claimed that supers and preters couldn’t actually use magic, but they hadn’t told her about witches before, either, and witches apparently could use magic, so she wasn’t discounting anything.
But if she could get access to the internet, without someone or something looking over her shoulder, then she could send a message to the team back at the Farm, let AJ know where they were, what was going on, telling them to bring the cavalry. She had asked Martin to find enough signal to send emails from her phone before he joined them, but—
“Perhaps,” Nalith said, interrupting Jan’s thoughts. “Perhaps another time. My mood is not suited for such pursuits now. I wish to be entertained.”
Jan had assumed that the queen would have her turn on the wide-screen television on the wall—the preter had developed eclectic tastes, from Sesame Street to opera to crime dramas, and the only thing she seemed uninterested in were reality shows and QVC-like channels, although she occasionally paused her restless channel-surfing to watch some reality TV. Instead, the preter stood and gestured with her hand. “Come.”
The queen’s mood swings were already becoming familiar. Jan did not trust them enough to
raise her head but got to her feet and tamely followed the preter through the house, skirting the kitchen, and out into the back yard.
It wasn’t so much a yard as a field, extending an acre or more to where trees lined the property, hiding the neighbors from sight. Not that any neighbor had shown any interest at all in what went on there, from what Jan had been able to determine. So much for small-town curiosity. Or maybe they had been curious and learned better of it.
While there was a porch that wrapped around the front of the house, in the back some previous homeowner had built a two-tiered deck that was completely out of character for the style of the house but made a great lounging area, with steps that led to a narrow, flagstone patio.
Several of the brownies who seemed to run the house proper were lounging around, but they jumped to their feet when Nalith came outside. Jan stayed back a step; brownies might be helpful homebodies according to legend, but she didn’t like these ones at all. They looked at her as if they’d just as soon lock her in the basement and throw away the key. It was small consolation to discover that they looked at all the humans like that. Weren’t brownies supposed to be friendly?
“My lady,” the one who seemed to be their leader said, making a bow that almost scraped his nose on the porch floor.
“The kelpie who came in last night. Fetch it.”
Jan stiffened but managed not to react otherwise. Martin had arrived, and she hadn’t known? Why the hell had he come in at night? Was he all right?
One of the brownies ran off to do her bidding, short, bowed legs carrying him away, and the queen moved to one of the chairs, settling herself regally. She might be wearing simple clothing, not much different from Jan’s own, but when she moved, the sensation of a gown seemed to flow around her.
Without a direct order, Jan moved to the preter’s right-hand side, leaning against the wall in case she was called for but staying out of the way until then. She looked around cautiously; she was the only human visible. The others were still asleep or otherwise occupied. None of them were allowed to leave the house, either, all tied by the silver around their necks.
And then suddenly, Martin was there, striding across the yard from out of the tree line. Had he slept out there the night before? Was that why she hadn’t known, because he wasn’t in the house? There really were tree houses out there, weren’t there? Jan almost felt jealous. She’d always wanted a tree house as a kid.
“Ah. My kelpie.”
The instinctive rush of fury that hit Jan at the preter’s use of a possessive came as an utter surprise. The queen wasn’t looking at her, but others might be, so she struggled to control herself before daring to look up again.
Martin had come up onto the deck and gone down on one knee, making a clear obeisance before lifting his head to gaze directly on Nalith’s face. “The brownies said you wished to see me. How may I serve you?”
“You asked for a chance to prove yourself,” Nalith said, and Jan mistrusted the purr in her voice. It was too close to the sound of the consort’s voice back in the court, when he’d tried to finagle their deal. From the way Martin’s cheek twitched, just a tick at the left corner, she thought he remembered that, too.
“I did,” he agreed, and if you didn’t know better, the expression on his face was one of a happy idiot, just waiting for the command to do something gallantly stupid. Jan was too worried to be amused. He hadn’t taken any notice of her yet, and she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“Are any of the gnomes still in residence?” Nalith asked the lead brownie, the way someone might ask if there was still any cake left after a party. Jan started, unable to help herself. Gnomes?
Turncoats, the creatures that had tried to kill her, twice. Kill and—according to AJ—eat her, trying to prevent her from rescuing Tyler, from stopping the preters from invading. Nalith had gnomes here? The sense of betrayal Jan felt warned her: she was falling under the preter’s spell. This creature was not to be trusted, any more than others of her kind. Her hand touched the pocket holding the sachet and carved horse. Elizabeth had said they’d be protection, right?
She hoped to hell that Martin and Tyler were still carrying theirs.
“No, my lady,” the brownie said, answering Nalith. “You sent them all out earlier to...take care of matters.”
“Did I? Ah. Then find others among your group who will do. I wish to see how kelpies fight.”
Martin’s expression didn’t change. He bowed once and then stepped off the deck into the yard itself. To anyone else, he might have looked almost bored, but Jan had seen Martin bored, and this wasn’t it. He was tense, worried. Because of gnomes being here? Or about whatever the preter was up to? Jan cast a glance at the brownies, who were gathered together, clearly choosing up who would be the ones to fight.
Finally, their huddle broke up, and two figures came forward. Like all brownies, they were barely knee-high and scrawny, but Jan was guessing that the scrawniness was over some seriously wiry muscles, and the way they were standing reminded her of wrestlers she’d seen in high school. You might not match them up against a football player, but they could do damage, too. Their tasseled ears twitched, then folded flat against their bald heads the way a cat’s did when it was angry or scared. They removed their shoes and stretched their toes, then moved down the stairs to stand across from Martin.
Three feet, max, separated them as they stared at each other. There was no anger, no posturing; they weren’t doing this because they wanted to hurt each other, but because the queen had commanded it, to amuse her.
The hatred Jan felt was like champagne in her veins, making her feel light and slightly off-kilter. The preter craved art, desired beauty, and thought that violence was entertainment? She kept gnomes at her beck and call, sent them out to hunt and kill people? She was the same as the others, after all. Not that Jan had doubted it, ever, but...
But for a moment, for a few days, Jan had almost allowed herself to forget and not even realized it.
She’d remember, now.
Jan felt something at her side, a presence, a comforting shadow, and looked sideways to find Tyler next to her. His hair had been trimmed close to the scalp again while they were at the Farm, but he still managed to look sleep tousled. She looked back at Martin, her heart beating too fast for calm, and Tyler’s fingers slid into her own, a brief touch against her hand, pressing lightly against the sachet in her pocket, before he was gone.
Jan’s fingers clenched against the fabric, but she couldn’t look around to see where he’d disappeared to, her gaze as tightly focused on the fight about to happen as anyone else, if for different reasons.
There was no sign, no warning. One instant all three of them were standing there, looking at each other, and the next the two smaller figures launched themselves at Martin, one going for his knees, the other for his shoulders—no, his face, fingers trying to gouge out his eyes. Jan gasped, the faintest noise, and the preter queen turned her head and looked up at the human, a peculiar smile on her face. Jan’s heart stopped—had she given away her connection to Martin?
“There is nothing about my courtiers I will not know,” the preter queen said, turning back to watch the fight. “And how one fights tells me much.”
She couldn’t read human emotions, not yet, not well, anyway. Or she was too selfish to even try to learn. Whatever, it didn’t matter; she had no idea what Jan was thinking, so her secret was safe.
“They might kill each other,” Jan said, feeling as if someone was grasping at her throat. It felt like an asthma attack, but it wasn’t; her inhaler wouldn’t help this. “What good is he, are they, to you if they’re dead?”
The preter queen shrugged; clearly, she did not care.
The two brownies were giving it everything they had, biting and scratching, hissing and throwing themselves at their opponent, putting Martin on the defensive. He moved back, and they followed, tripping him so that he fell backward heavily, coming up smeared with mud and grass.
But he got up, and one of his hands palmed the nearest brownie, getting hold of its ears and yanking like a little boy pulling pigtails. The brownie shrieked, a high-pitched and painful noise, and twisted its neck at an impossible angle, sinking teeth into Martin’s hand.
The preter queen was breathing harder, her fingers clenched, and Jan realized with disgust that the bitch was turned on by the violence.
Martin, on his feet again, knocked one of the brownies away, but not before its teeth had torn his pants leg. The other, having escaped his hand, was now trying to do a face-hugger impersonation, clawing at Martin’s ears while its legs wrapped around his neck.
His human form could barely keep even with the two supernaturals, giving him no chance to go on the offensive.
“Change,” Jan breathed, and it became a chant. “Change change change...”
There was no way he heard her, not over the hooting and cheering of the brownies, who didn’t seem to care who won, so long as there was bloodshed, but he tore the second brownie off and stepped back, a shudder running through his body that, even without the sudden intense need to close her eyes, made Jan know he was about to do just that.
The kelpie Jan remembered was a sturdy pony, its hooves glittering black, its coat the red-brown of riverbank mud, its eyes deep brown and mild, with a flicker of mischief.
The beast that appeared before her had the same shape, but beyond that she could not identify it. The coat now gleamed with a sick green sheen, the mane, still thick, was tangled, knotted, and muddy, and the eyes were not golden-brown but a deep, ugly yellow that shone even at this distance.
The hooves were the same sparkling black, until he cracked open one of the brownies’ heads, and then they were coated in red.
The creature still tried to attack, grabbing at Martin’s mane as though to pull itself onto his back, but let go as soon as it grabbed, crying out and clutching its hand with its other as blood dripped down.
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