Who made the Round Table?
Sir Cumference.
“Sir Bredbeddle is one of the court Adjudicators,” Robin explained. “He represents Fae interests and serves as their voice.”
“Your voice, as well, Robin,” Bred added.
Robin ducked his head. “Of course, sir.”
“So, do we shake hands? Or will that get me turned into a tree?” I asked.
Cassandra barked a laugh.
The Green Knight grunted and extended his hand. “I swear on my power that I will not turn you into a tree.”
I eyed his hand suspiciously. “That was remarkably specific. Ye could just as easily turn me into a bush.”
Robin glared at me, but I was too busy having fun to care. The Green Knight didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to surprise even himself by chuckling, then he rescinded his hand and bowed formally at the waist. “Better?” he asked.
“Aye, but I t’ink you’ll be bent over for a good long while if ye expect me to return the favor,” I admitted. “Pretty sure I’d tear this poor dress in half if I tried to curtsy.”
“No harm in trying, dear,” Cassandra chimed in, gazing at me lasciviously. “Manners and all that.”
I shot her a look and she flung her free hand up. “Fine, fine,” she said, grinning mischievously. “I can see we’re only holding you up. We’ll follow Jack’s lead and get out of your hair.”
“Cassandra of the Dullahan,” the Green Knight said, drawing her attention. “I wasn’t aware you sought entrance, or else I would have formally invited you long ago. Forgive me.”
Cassandra shrugged. “No need to be so formal. We both know why I’ve avoided this place until now. To be honest, the only reason I took Jack up on his invitation was so I could try one of your famous cocktails.”
I pointedly avoided dwelling on the physics of Cassandra drinking anything and focused instead on what a Faeling cocktail would even taste like.
Sunbeams and moonshine, I bet.
“I realize you’ve been mistreated by the exiles among us,” Bred replied, sympathetically. “But you must understand, those who pass freely between realms are stark reminders of what our exiles have lost. They are like children lashing out.”
The exiled Fae. Ryan had told me all about them, cautioning me to avoid them if I could. In essence, they were Fae who—for various reasons—had been forced to leave their home world. In fact, you could say the Chancery had become their haven, their sanctuary. Here, they could at least pretend to be what they once were. In that light, Cassandra’s disdain for the Chancery made sense; nostalgia like that could be unhealthy, even dangerous.
I frowned as a thought hit me. “Are ye not an exile as well, then?” I asked Bred. It had occurred to me that he’d apologized on their behalf, but not as one of them.
“We take in our fair share,” Bred noted. “But the majority of our people are asylum seekers, like Jack. Running from something or someone in the Fae realm. There are also those who came here and decided to stay, for one reason or another.”
“Which were you?” I asked.
“The latter,” the Green Knight replied.
“And why d’ye stay?” I asked.
“The only reason any of us stay,” Cassandra interjected. “He fell in love.”
Bred glanced at her in surprise. “That was a long time ago.”
Cassandra shrugged, again.
“And now? Why are ye still here?” I asked.
Before he could respond, the speakeasy shuddered. The chandeliers swung, and the warm, refracted light pitched back and forth, spitting out shadows. As one, we gazed up at the ceiling, then back down at each other.
That’s when the doors blew open.
Chapter 14
The two beefcakey ogres went down first, crushed by the weight of the double doors. A howling storm blew through the gaping doorway, the gales strong enough to send more than a few patrons toppling from their seats. Many ducked for cover under the tables or behind the bar. Glass shattered and the Will-o-Wisps—clearly uncomfortable with the state of affairs—fled, leaving only the light from the distant hall to see by. Bred stepped in front of us, his broad back obscuring the view, but also providing shelter from the wind. I frowned and stepped around him, unperturbed by the vicious windstorm; unlike the rest of those present, it hadn’t so much as ruffled my hair.
A Faeling stepped into the gaping doorway, her hands held out like claws, small cyclones of air spinning around each finger. She, like so many of her kind, had the face and body of a flawless supermodel. If that supermodel had been cast as the bitchy psycho in a remake of The Craft; with all that leather and punk rock angst, she looked like sex and violence had made a baby.
“Morgause!” Bred bellowed. “Enough!”
The winds died as abruptly as they’d begun and the Faeling, Morgause, lowered her hands. “I want to know who did it,” she said, her voice husky and full-throated, engineered to deliver threats.
“You have broken the laws of this place, Morgause,” Bred replied. “You cannot demand—”
“I do not care about your paltry peace, Bred! Tell me who brought him back,” Morgause demanded. “Tell me who freed Mordred. Tell me who freed my son!”
Silence descended on the speakeasy like an atomic bomb. The faces around me paled, and even Bred seemed taken aback by her question. Mordred…I recognized the name almost immediately. According to the legends, he was the unfortunate offspring of King Arthur and Morgause—a legendary enchantress and Arthur’s half-sister. Icky, I know. Mordred was also reputedly the man who killed Arthur. This was turning out to be quite the family drama.
Like a medieval soap opera.
And here I was with no popcorn.
“I swear to you I had no idea he’d been freed,” Bred replied. “Where is he now?”
“As if I’d know that!” Morgause hissed. “I don’t care what you say. If it wasn’t you, it was one of your people. Who else would know where his cage lay? Who else could find him? Tell me, or I’ll tear this place to pieces!”
I honestly couldn’t tell who she was more pissed at, Bred, or her son, Mordred.
In the end, it really made no difference; Morgause, who was clearly enraged beyond reason, didn’t even bother to wait for a response before lashing out once more. The winds struck again, only this time with enough force to send chairs and shattered glass flying. A martini glass swung around and clipped my arm, the stem breaking on contact. I cursed and hunkered down behind Bred. Maybe using him as a shield wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
I heard chandeliers crash to the ground and the band’s brass instruments collide with the walls, a clash of sound that made me put my hands over my ears. Which was convenient, because that was precisely the moment that Barb finally decided to rock out.
Or scream, rather.
Barb’s shriek was inarticulate and full of rage. I glanced back and saw that Cassandra had been struck by some debris as well; her leg was bleeding from a shallow cut. But what captured my attention was the fact that the Dullahan had changed, somehow. Cassandra’s once attractive face had become waxy and pale, her mouth leering and wider than I would have thought physically possible—teeth filed to wicked points and pressed together like the jaws of a bear trap. She cracked a whip in her free hand, its tip piercing the marble floor. The whip itself was garishly white and oddly shaped. I stared at it, then grimaced.
A spine.
Her whip was a human spine.
The wind changed direction the instant Barb’s piercing scream hit the air. It began to form a funnel around Morgause, obscuring her from view within the eye of the storm. Brief flashes were visible as the funnel swirled, brief flashes of light barely visible. Morgause was using the wind to block out the sound of Barb’s scream, I realized, and preparing a counterattack. Things were about to get real ugly.
I knew I should have brought my damn guns.
The Green Knight settled a hand on Barb’s shoulder, and her screams faded. “
Leave her to me and go, all of you,” he said, roughly thrusting the banshee back towards her lover. “This is Chancery business.”
Robin snatched my sleeve. “Come on, let’s go!”
I shook him off. “Are ye serious? I can’t leave yet. Not without knowin’ where Christoff is.” Granted, I had a bunch of other questions to ask in addition to that one, but most of them could wait until everything slowed down a little…once Mommie Dearest wasn’t plotting to kill us all.
“We don’t have that kind of time,” Robin said. “We’re a hundred feet below ground, and the last time I saw her this pissed off she took out half the northeast.”
“And how d’ye figure we’re gettin’ out of here?” I asked, pointing towards the whirling storm clouds. “Last I checked, that’s the exit. And, more importantly, me clothes are back there!” I growled, gesturing at the skintight, but ultimately inelastic dress that covered me like a second skin.
Robin grimaced, realizing I had a point. To flee, we’d have to walk through a thunderstorm with a cranky immortal enchantress on the other side. Not exactly high odds of success, there. “Well,” he said, “you seem to be immune to her magic, maybe I could distract her while you—”
“While I run away in this dress?!” I asked, throwing my hands up and gazing towards the heavens as if God might be able to save me.
Turns out, I didn’t need Him.
Because I had a not-so-secret admirer.
“Come on!” Cassandra shouted, suddenly yanking me by one arm towards a Gateway she’d created behind the bar. A host of other Fae had already poured through it and promptly disappeared. I noticed Cassandra’s appearance had gone back to normal, and Barb was waving Faelings through like a stewardess on an airplane. On the other side of the Gateway, I could see a bright, open pasture upon which Cassandra’s horse—a gorgeous, all black stallion—grazed. His enormous head popped up, ears flicking back and forth to chase off industrious flies, seemingly oblivious to the commotion behind us.
Robin bumped into me from behind in his haste to catch up, causing me to glance back over my shoulder. The storm still brewed, and it seemed The Green Knight had taken on the full weight of his title; armor, in layers so copious that I couldn’t see how anything could get through it, had materialized over his whole body. Small tree limbs poked out here and there from between the plates, spiking outward like barbs, and upon his head he wore a crowned helmet which rose to a series of points like a deer’s antlers. In his right fist was the cruelest, wickedest axe I had ever seen—looking at it made me physically cringe.
Robin thrust me through the portal and I fell onto the grass. Lightning struck behind us, crackling as it arced through the opening above my head, chased by the sound of thunder. Cassandra spun and released the Gateway, cursing. I rolled over and took a few deep, calming breaths.
Then I sat up and punched Robin in the stomach.
The redcap doubled over. “What was that for?” he asked, wheezing.
“What d’ye t’ink it’s for, ye idgit? I followed ye into a death trap, I’m stuck in a dress in a field in the middle of nowhere, and ye didn’t even get me Christoff’s address!”
Robin hissed and nodded. “Guess I deserved that, yeah.”
“Aye. Now, tell me what ye plan to do to fix it,” I demanded.
“Well, I would say we meet with the Chancery’s other Adjudicator, not Bred, but that’s out,” Robin said.
“Why’s that?” I asked, glaring at the man as I fought to stand, my heels sinking into the grass.
“You just met her.”
The string of profanities that left my mouth would have made anyone’s ears burn.
But that was alright, because I was half-tempted to set the whole world on fire, anyway.
Once I’d calmed down and found a nice comfortable rock to sit on, I weighed my options. I knew Christoff and his kids were being held somewhere in Boston, likely in one of the Chancery’s safehouses. I’d counted on the Chancery’s cooperation to get me in the door, but, without it, I was back at square one. Well, maybe square two—at least now I knew a little more about how the Chancery operated; Robin, probably fearing that I’d beat the living shit out of him if he kept anything else from me, had divulged everything he knew about the shady organization shortly after we arrived, while Cassandra made new Gateways for the Faelings who’d fled with us.
According to Robin, both Morgause and Bred were Adjudicators who represented Unseelie and Seelie interests, respectively. Each was responsible for maintaining their side of the fence—nurturing growth and pulling weeds as necessary. To my surprise, that meant the majority of the Fae in town were given their autonomy, although—now that I knew how their judicial system worked—that sounded an awful lot to me like they were being given enough rope to hang themselves.
Incoming Faelings—Fae exiles like Ryan, or remnants like my friend Paul the bridge troll—were swept up into their respective party, given a rundown on the do’s and don’ts, and promptly given a place in society.
In Paul’s case, that meant being given a bridge to sleep under in exchange for not eating people, and the occasional construction gig; I was betting he’d end up working overtime trying to repair the El Fae. For Ryan, it had meant working for Christoff at the bar and entertaining high-profile guests whenever they came into town.
When I asked him how he knew so much about my friends, Robin confessed that it had been his job to keep tabs on his fellow Fae. That, in fact, he’d never even met Ryan; his recommendation letter had been forged.
“Ryan being called back caused a bit of a stir,” Robin explained. “Sir Bred sent me in to work for Christoff to find out what I could, to see what it meant for the Chancery. He was worried about the possibility of a mass exodus, should the exiles be allowed to return home in bulk.”
“You’re a spy,” I hissed, angrily yanking my hair down from its artful bun. There were worse things I could have called him, but I’d done my fair share of intelligence gathering, and wasn’t about to start chucking stones.
Robin nodded, then hung his head in shame. “It’s not glamorous, I promise you.” He looked up, his baby blues catching the light like sapphires glittering in his earnest face. “But I want you to know, I do want to help. Working for Christoff…he’s a good guy, and a fair boss. Never asked me to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. He knew what I was, who I was working for, right away, but never made a fuss about it. He even let me design a few cocktails and listened to my input…” Robin trailed off.
I grunted. “Aye, I get it,” I finally muttered. And I did. I’d always been a bit of a loner, especially after I branched out on my own to start working as a dealer. I’d always told myself I preferred it that way, that getting close to people was a liability I couldn’t afford. But then I’d met Christoff—a man willing to invite me to celebrate a holiday with his family. That’s when I realized it wasn’t getting close to people that bothered me, it was simply that I found most people repulsive. It had taken meeting Christoff—a truly good, worthwhile person—to redeem my faith in humanity.
And he wasn’t even fully human.
“So, what now? Will you let me help?” Robin asked.
I sat back and pondered his question. Weirdly enough, I trusted the redcap now more than I did before. I’d known something was off about him from the beginning; after all, no one acts for purely altruistic reasons—even saints believe they’re serving a higher purpose. So, Robin wanted to help because he felt guilty for spying on his boss, and because Christoff had shown him respect. That, I could buy.
“Tell me about the El Fae,” I said, finally. “What’s a speakeasy doin’ beneath a law office in the middle of Boston? And ye do know it translates into ‘the Fae’, don’t ye? Which means we’re sayin’ the the Fae…That’d be like me openin’ a bar and callin’ it ‘The Human.’”
Robin cocked his head and stared at me, not comprehending.
I sighed. “Go on,” I mumbled, giving up.
�
��The name is based on one of the original speakeasies in New York City,” Robin replied, shrugging—clearly not concerned with cultural sensitivity. “I didn’t pick it. Anyway, the El Fae is neutral territory,” he explained. “A place for both sides to meet and share a drink, gossip, maybe talk a little trash.”
“So, what keeps either side from attackin’ the other?” I asked.
Robin grunted. “Typically? The Adjudicators. The threat of being disciplined by them keeps most Fae in line. Ironically, that means—if the two don’t kill each other this time—Morgause will walk away from this with a slap on the wrist.”
“Why the fuck would ye want those two in charge?” I asked, baffled.
“It’s not about what we want. It’s just how things are. Hansel and his sister handle the sentencing, but either the Green Knight or Morgause execute the punishment. When and if someone more powerful comes along, the mantle and the responsibility transfers to them,” Robin explained. “Theoretically.”
Of course. It made sense, given the fact that the Fae believed that power defined status, not the other way around; it didn’t matter whether Bred or Morgause were qualified, it mattered whether they could enforce their laws. Whether they were scary enough. “How long have those two been Adjudicators?” I asked, a sneaking suspicion whispering in the back of my mind.
“Since the Chancery was founded.”
“Well that’s just fuckin’ brilliant,” I cursed. In essence, the Adjudicators had run the show, unopposed, for centuries. Robin nodded in agreement, but I could sense he was holding something back. “Out with it,” I said.
The redcap sighed and settled on a rock of his own. “Remember when I said there were members of the Chancery who want to amass power? To step back into the light?” Robin asked, staring out at the horizon.
“Aye.”
He met my eyes. “Bowing to power has never been a perfect system, but things have been that way for ages, long before we came here. Lately, though, there have been rumors that things are about to change. Cassandra’s right, many of us have been seduced by Manling ideals, especially equality. Some Fae believe, if they can gather enough power, they can revolt. That they can change the system. Make it fair and give everyone a voice.”
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