Dark Ember

by R. D. Vallier

  I swatted away those thoughts, stared ahead as Delano sat beside me. What would I normally do? Stare at the projector screen? No, no. I'd face and greet him. How did I not know this about myself? I forced a deep breath, my palms feeling like lily-pads, then grinned and said: "Hi, Del! Everything okay?"

  Crap! Crap! I sounded like a hyperactive rodent. My grin felt too wide, the red lipstick highlighting its phoniness. I might as well've tattooed GUILT across my forehead.

  Delano returned a crooked smile. "Hey. Yeah. Just territory issues." He eyed the screen, then slumped his cheek against his fist, his elbow on the table. Weldon whispered to Thida, whose jaw dropped lower and lower. Delano flicked the sunglasses off his head to cover his eyes.

  James welcomed everyone, thanked the darklings from around the world for joining in on conference calls, informed them transcripts would be emailed within the week, and wished them good fortune in discovering solutions for their own countries and regions. He then blathered about his territory's precepts, lecturing everyone he was Vegas's guardian despite the magical anomaly, that the strip's ecosystem deserved respect, how hard he and his wytches worked to make the process smooth, blah, blah, blah, blah.

  "Del!" Thida hissed. "Del!" Delano refused to look, but she noticed I was. Her eyebrows jumped. She smiled then faced forward, punching her cellphone's buttons beneath the table.

  Delano's iPhone chirped in his pocket, announcing a text message. He shut it off. Thida glowered.

  I tried to concentrate on the meeting, but my brain was having an entire conversation with only six words. Oh my God. He loves me? Oh my God! He loves me! Oh. My. God. He loves me. Ohmygodhelovesme! Oh my God. He loves me! Oh my God! He loves me? Oh my God! He loves me! I shoved quesadillas into my mouth in a vain attempt to gag my thoughts.

  "I must remind everyone," James continued with an air of someone who relishes sermons, "it can take years for Earth's magics to adjust to new boundaries. Despite the energies, we must respect the new borders. No fights or avoidance over transferred terrain."

  Delano downed his champagne, then doodled spirals on his folder. I clasped my hands on the table, my heart a train wreck in progress. Oh. My. God. He loves me. Oh my God! He loves me! Ohmygodhelovesme! Oh my God. He loves me? Confusion Gargoyle's jaws tore into its competitors. I didn't know what to do with this information. I didn't want to be responsible for these emotions. I didn't even think I was worthy. I mean, nobody typed low self-esteem, anxious, or indecisive into a dating website's search criteria.

  Delano caught me glancing at him and flashed me a smirk. Fear Gargoyle roared and my throat tightened. Is that his normal smirk or a knowing smirk? Oooooh. I forced myself to pay attention to the meeting.

  "Murders have increased. More sniffers are being trained, rumored to be targeting darkling family-lines within the Realm." James's PowerPoint displayed a collage of darklings. I recognized Melinda and Gethen, him embracing her from behind, both laughing, and realized I viewed a memorial. "Most of our population has been slaughtered in the continental US. We're down to 386!"

  "Three-eighty-six, huh?" Weldon snorted, amused. "Well ain't that appropriate."

  Delano grunted. I watched him draw Kilroy Was Here on his folder, my heart somehow simultaneously swelling and shrinking. He looked dejected. I offered him my cheesecake; he shook his head. I frowned, wanting to bake him cookies, cuddle him, massage his shoulders, stir cocoa into a mug.

  Confusion Gargoyle pounced. Why do I want to make him feel better? Is it because I lo—?

  Fear Gargoyle charged. My stomach heaved, threatening to splatter the tabletop with quesadillas. No! It means nothing! For crying out loud, I feel bad for shelter cats and unwanted produce in the supermarket. I care because I'm a sensitive person.

  James prattled. Delano doodled, his head heavy in his hand. I bit my lip, then whispered in his ear: "I transferred $10,000 from Sam's bank account to a battered women's charity today."

  Delano turned; our noses nearly touched. "What?"

  "Then I mailed a bunch of gay porn to his work."

  He lifted his glasses. A grin spread across his face which made my insides glow. "Serious?" I sunk into my shoulders, nodding and smiling. He laughed and slapped me a high-five. "Goddamn! That's so sexy and—"

  Thida cleared her throat, loudly. Our eyes shifted to the meeting. All eyes glared back. Somewhere between mentioning theft and pornography everyone had taken a moment of silence for the dead. Delano and I sucked our lips and bowed our heads, stealing glances at each other, our chests twitching.

  Several minutes later, James shifted from formalities to business, and called the new territory boundaries to order. Weldon and Thida were among the first addressed (by their territory's main identification, Amarillo).

  "Any concerns regarding the new boundaries?" James asked, his eyes on the laptop.

  "We'd like to extend a hundred acres south to acquire a farm parcel for sale," Thida said. "We'll trade if Mort wants."

  "Mort?" James said.

  "Extension permitted, but no trade," Mort drawled, his gaze fixed on his phone.

  Weldon grumbled and cast Mort the stink-eye. Thida seemed indifferent. Specific quadrants were given, the changes noted, and Thida texted their wytches to start the real estate bid.

  The meeting dragged. After an hour my anxiety steadied, my plate was bare, and my throbbing bare feet were tucked beneath my chair. Weldon kept nodding off, and Thida played Words with Friends until her phone died. Outside of a squabble between several darklings in the Ozark concerning sewage districts and E. coli, and Seattle's darklings refusing to deal with a northwest section of Washington, the cases were uneventful.

  Another hour later James called: "Delano Sierra."

  Delano was kicking my ass at tic-tac-toe. "Deny."

  James glared from his laptop. "You can't deny."

  "I don't want the extension—"

  "Do you think anyone wants an extension, snowflake?" James jeered. "You aren't—"

  "I'm not finished," Delano said calmly, drawing a line through three Os. "Give Bavol my extension, and—"

  Bavol whipped around in his chair two tables away, his face fuming. "You don't think I have enough on my plate?"

  "And!" Delano shouted. "I'll govern Yosemite Valley."

  I gasped. The rage fell from Bavol's face as James straightened in the murmuring room.

  "Del? Wha-what the hell ya doin'?" Weldon said.

  "Yes! Yes!" Bavol bounced in his chair. "I accept!"

  "Only through the valley," Delano said. "And you take all my extension."

  Bavol beamed. "Absolutely!"

  "Del…" I said, my mouth unable to close. Flattery Gargoyle howled.

  "Are you crazy?" Weldon hissed.

  Delano shrugged. "It's only an extra ten square miles."

  "And triple your caseload!" Weldon said. "It's a National Park and a World Heritage Site and a beloved human icon for Christ's sake! Ya gotta fight government, biologists, and every yahoo who believes they know best! Ya can't do this!"

  Thida swatted Weldon's shoulder. "Don't tell that man what he can or can't do!"

  "All parties agree?" James asked.

  Delano and Bavol consented. Weldon dropped his face to his hands. My jaw wouldn't close.

  "Done. May the Fathers help you." James chuckled and handed papers to the Vietnamese wytch. Bavol released an elated laugh bordering on insanity, and the meeting continued to the remaining territories.

  Delano scratched out the extension on his paperwork and wrote Yosemite Valley in beautiful cursive, the tail of the last Y curling like a fiddlehead. He then leaned in close, his hair tickling my ear. "Happy belated birthday," he whispered, and kissed my cheek.

  I gaped at him, dumbfounded. Delano winked, then flipped the glasses over his eyes.

  My chest filled with excitement and helplessness, tenderness and terror. An all-out gargoyle war. The ashes Sam had dumped in my chest began to smolder. Flames ignited, licked, sprouted a beak an
d tiny, red feathers.

  Oh my God, I thought, and swallowed my heart. He loves me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  "Del!" Thida hissed. "Tell them!"

  Delano hunched over his drawings, ignoring her. Thida glowered.

  Territory borders were now finalized, overall a dull process. Most bickering had been settled with the reminder that noncompliance resulted in damage, destruction, and faster deaths.

  "Before we take a break," James said, "I want to broach—Uh, yes, Thida?"

  She lowered her arm, ignoring Delano's snarl and flapping hand. "There've been developments at the Earth consulate."

  James's eyebrows lifted. His stare shifted to Delano. "Care to share?"

  Delano shot daggers at Thida, who smiled in return. He sighed, and said: "The rebels have a chance to damage the Realm's power structure. It might be advantageous for darklings to assist."

  "How so?" James asked.

  Delano explained the rebels' plan, and a hum floated through the crowd.

  "How do you know this?" James asked.

  "A sniffer the rebels—"

  "Rebels are collaborating with sniffers?"

  "No. He's a hostage who confessed—"

  James laughed. "They're stupid enough to trust a sniffer's word?"

  "Of course not," Delano said calmly. "I can verify their intel. That is trustworthy."

  "Wait. You're working with rebels?"

  "No, no. It's not like that. The rebels have a good opportunity. Help from us practically guarantees a successful regime change. The rebels and I aren't friends, but we have a working trust."

  James snorted. "Rebels will betray a darkling for a dime."

  Delano released a deep breath and shot Thida another dagger. She bit her lip, shrugging. "I understand the concerns," he said calmly. "And I agree things were like that, but I've noticed a shift since Miriam's retriever joined the local ranks. The rebels now—"

  James gasped. "Miriam's retriever? You're harboring Melinda and Gethen's murderer on your territory?"

  Delano's face fell. The crowd mumbled and heads swiveled. "It-it's not what you think. He didn't—"

  "Those who kill us will be killed themselves," James snapped. "You know our laws."

  Delano gritted his teeth. "I know your preferences. We are free to govern our own territories, and unlike most here, I deal with Realm conflicts and politics daily and see clearer. The mockingbird is an asset who can help us—"

  James balked. "No one helps darklings, especially faeries and murderers. Only we can help each other."

  "We're doing a bang-up job," Delano snapped. "How many of us have died? Who helped when I fought the Realm to recover my changeling? Nobody." He glared at Amaya who lifted her nose. "Darklings actively tried stopping me from crossing territories or using magic to defend myself. At least the rebels are trying to enact change. We merely guard our territories jealously."

  "Delano's right. In the current state it cannot end peacefully," the singleton with charming dimples said. "The generals squat on my territory. They're the strongest rebels, military wise, but hide as cowards to protect their shard of reputation. If there's a shot they are willing to take, I say we help them to help Earth and ourselves."

  "Agreed," another darkling said. "The enemy of our enemy is our friend. The rebels roamin' my territory are disorganized and incapable of makin' change. Darklin's must try to help cuz none of us can succeed alone."

  "We'd have to conjoin on Delano's territory," Amaya said, straightening her pendant. "Why fight the Realm together if our magics rebound on us? The more darklings unite, the less effective we will be."

  "We don't know that for sure," Weldon said.

  "It is too dangerous to risk!"

  "It is too dangerous not to!" Delano snapped. "We all feel the Earth's increasing force. Our tipping point approaches. When enough of us die, the Realm won't need to hunt us any longer. The planet's demands alone will destroy us!"

  "But join the rebels? They have moles and defectors! They killed my Jenara!" Bavol shouted. "They can't be trusted!"

  "You trusted them with the baby intel," I snipped.

  Bavol glared at me. "A lot of good it did!"

  "The Realm is not our only problem," James said. "Michael was killed when an Earth demand voided his magic and made him vulnerable. The world is changing and alternative means are needed to compete, but violence is rarely the answer. These rebels will not help us, even if we risk our lives to help them. No, our answer lies elsewhere."

  Weldon grunted. "Unless the Realm starts releasin' the chosen family lines or darklin's miraculously recoup their fertility, I don't see that happenin'."

  "Our magics need upgrading," James agreed. "But since that's impossible, we must change. The Realm is imprisoning darkling bloodlines, but other faeries are born on Earth."

  The crowd clamored. Thida said: "What are ya suggestin'?"

  "Population reconstruction." James smiled. "It's time to abandon arcane tradition and expand the bloodlines. Let's raise faeries in our culture, under our rule. In three decades we shall be thriving instead of on the verge of extinction."

  Seattle's couple clapped. "Brilliant! It will skip changeling life, wipe out abuse, mistreatment, and human shunning."

  "And prevent their connection to humanity before enabling them to wield earthquakes and tsunamis," Delano said, horrified. "Yet my plan is reckless? You're inciting kidnapping and brainwashing children!"

  "You're inciting war," James said.

  "I'm inciting survival!"

  "So am I!" James yelled. "Except my way keeps everyone alive—darklings, humans, faeries. You risk sacrificing a dying people, for what? So a few mothers won't cry? So children can embrace a murderous totalitarian lifestyle they should never know anyway?"

  Delano's thumb threatened to snap his pen's clip. "Those children are innocent."

  "So are we! But innocence doesn't thwart sniffers from slitting our throats." James pulled his attention to the fidgeting crowd. "We're in a losing battle. Earth and its life will suffer if our numbers don't increase. We must change until we reestablish ourselves. Faeries can take the darkshine like any of us, yet refuse due to brainwashing or cowardice. Therefore, we must take control." Delano started arguing; James cut him off. "Let's vote. All in favor of nurturing children instead of declaring war, raise your hands."

  At first the face of the crowd remained as calm as a predawn pond. Then hands popped to the surface like hungry fish. Shyly at first. One, two. Then they raised in rapid succession. A dozen, a score. More and more.

  Bavol caught my eye, his mouth a firm line. I suspected the night I refused to rip the baby from her mother played in his mind. My hand remained on the table. Bavol's hand lifted … then patted his heart and pointed at me and Delano. I'm with you two. He slumped in his chair, arms crossed, and dipped his chin.

  Huh. Go figure.

  In the end, James won by two votes.

  "Looks like the wolves are tellin' the sheep what's for dinner," Weldon mumbled.

  "The Progeny didn't vote," a towhead man beside Turkey Chunks whined.

  Serious crossed her arms. "We stand with the Fathers." Fathahs. A flock of fifty darklings bobbed their heads in agreement. "Only they can save us."

  "Oh, Jesus," Weldon growled. "The Fathers don't give a rat's ass!"

  "It is written—"

  "Heresy ramblings!" he shouted. Thida tugged Weldon's sleeve, pulled him back to his seat.

  James grinned as if fanning a full house to Delano's pair of jack-shits. "The community has spoken. We shall not risk our population for your death mission."

  "Taking faerie children will turn us into the monsters the Realm insists we are," a woman from our side cried.

  "Only if we allow it." James smiled his Las Vegas smile. "That's why we need laws and enforcement. That's why we must launch our own government."

  Delano laughed. "Let me guess. You want to dictate its development."

  James's eyes na
rrowed. "Better someone like me than a warmonger like you."

  "Warmonger?" Delano's nostrils flared. "I'm the one with a Realm slave past! I'm the one who never received the Realm's handouts or respect! You've acclimated to a fate you never witnessed firsthand. I know it will destroy us if we don't unite and rip apart its roots!"

  "Finally, we agree. Continuing as soloists is too dangerous," James said. "We're stretched too thin, and even minimal slacking or negligence can create catastrophe. We must regulate ourselves and … Yes, Thida?"

  Thida lowered her hand. "I must've missed somethin'. It sounds as if you're advocatin' not only governin', uh, new darklin' collection, but all darklin' activity."

  "Indeed," James said.

  "The Fathers intended individualism," a Progeny said. "It is written—"

  "Shut up!" half the crowd shouted.

  "Wait. They're right. For once," Delano said. "We're meant to control our own territories."

  "Each of us has been forced to control more territory than was ever intended. We each suffer the negative environmental and personal impacts. We need a governing body to protect us, to provide aid for those in need, to shift responsibilities."

  Delano scoffed. "So you want to force darklings to manage their territories how you see fit."

  "Not me," James said. "Us. Times have changed. You said yourself individualism cannot succeed, and I agree. We must work as a collective."

  Weldon grew ashen. "Tha-that's Realm speak," he stammered, rubbing his severed fingertip.

  "I'll never let a desert-dweller dictate what's best for my forests," Delano snapped. "We should unite to defend ourselves as friends and as a community, not to govern or control each other."

  James's face darkened. Fern-frost scaled the projector screen. "You're spewing anarchy."

  Delano scoffed. "If freedom of choice, uniting for defense, defying a government telling me to steal babies, and managing my own land means anarchy, then fine! Call me an anarchist! But I refuse to annihilate our birthrights or become the monster the Realm insists we are." Delano grabbed the folder and kicked back his chair. I started to stand when Thida grabbed his wrist.