“You don’t need to fly there. You can visit it here.” He gestured to the room.
I was tempted. “No,” I finally said.
“Soon, then?”
I nodded and he opened the door for me. I stepped back into the hallway, back onto solid, real ground.
Following the hallway down two steps and another hundred feet, I came to the Archives office. Despite the happy children and despite the sweet perfection of the Morning Shrines, I narrowed my eyes, remembering why I’d come.
Svein and I were going to have words.
I kicked the door open without knocking, but he wasn’t there to appreciate or fear my theatrical entrance. The one desk in the room was piled so high with folders and papers that I did worry for a moment that the occupant might be buried under a recent landslide, but, hearing no moaning of desperation or pain, I left it alone.
I was in no hurry. I would wait.
Like the office in the Butterfly Room, this décor eschewed high-tech for comfort. Bookshelves were crammed with folders filed with colored alphabetical tabs sticking out. Happy that the records here were preserved in old-fashioned hard copy, I stuck my fingers into the tight squeeze under “C” to see if I could find a file on myself. A file that would probably list my name, address, age, and temperament: volatile when heated.
Nothing, so I checked under “G”—and “W” for warrior—to be sure. Maybe I was somewhere in the mess on Svein’s desk but I wasn’t willing to go spelunking through there.
Across from the bookshelves was a long file cabinet, with binders lined up on top. I recognized the binder for collection training, which I had yet to finish studying. Not that I’d had much time between last night’s Watergate adventure and this morning. Next to it was a set of about a dozen binders in volumes with one common label of Lineages, and despite my curiosity about my fellow fae and their role in the Olde Way’s recreation, I was more intrigued by the set of binders beside it: History.
I pulled the first one out and flipped through it. Yup, a history book, made mostly of handwritten and typed notes. Some looked very old; some could have been done yesterday. Mom had told me that the fae before humans hadn’t kept records, so this must have been what was been discovered or found since, a compendium created partly by Svein, and partly by many fae before him.
It could take days to read everything carefully and fill in all the historical gaps, but I skimmed what I could, trying to get a basic feel for what came before them. Before me.
I already knew the fae had existed in their idyllic world—now called the Olde Way—before humans came and took over the Earth when the fae couldn’t put up a fight. For years, the fae desperately searched for a way to obtain innocence, which would bring their world back. The only pure human innocence came from young children and some fae somewhere figured out that children’s first sets of teeth must hold some key. But he or she didn’t know what it was.
So they began to collect the teeth as relics, keeping them in safe underground reliquaries. They were certain the teeth might have the answer but they had yet to unlock it.
Meanwhile, the fae evolved to co-exist with humans—uneasily—out in the open.
I flipped some more pages.
In the eighteenth century, the Industrial Revolution took hold. No longer living off the land, hunting and gathering, humans very quickly mechanized the world, their population boomed, and they unwittingly set the Earth on a path to destruction. Not only was the Olde Way gone, but now the physical planet was in peril, the fae realized.
So much for the modern movement toward green and recycling, I thought. Fae understood it right from the start. I skipped ahead in the binder.
Around the same time, dentistry began to emerge as a serious discipline, and several curious fae entered the field. They discovered the innocence essence in milk teeth and devised a way to extract it, and suddenly the fae had a plan.
A really, really, really slow plan, but a plan nonetheless. When that plan was threatened, a warrior was called to duty.
There was a tabbed section a couple of inches thick that appeared to contain case studies on warriors past. I was tempted to read them, but I had seen enough, experienced enough, at the moon gathering. I’d felt victory and tasted death. I didn’t need to know more than that, nor did I want to.
“There’ll be a test on that later.”
I gasped and looked over my shoulder at Svein. I jumped up and brushed floor dust off my jeans, then slammed the binder shut and shoved it crookedly back into its spot on the file cabinet. “Doing a little light reading,” I said.
“Ah.”
“Is this what those kids down the hall are learning?”
He nodded. “They attend regular schools but a few days a week they also come here. They’re not going to experience their fae history in a public—human—school.”
I glanced at Svein and realized he was feeling sorry too—sorry for me and what I missed, although as a child, I hadn’t known it to miss. Back then, I was already missing enough.
We stood there, looking at one another. Electricity cut the air between us, but I wouldn’t be the one to acknowledge it. Finally he said, “Here for a lesson?”
Remembering that I was there to rip him a new one, and mindfully trying to keep my wings under control despite my frustration and anger, I said, “Well, I had a memorable first lesson.”
He smirked.
“Watergate?” I asked. “Really?”
“The daughter of the House Speaker also lost a tooth that night. I’d say I let you off easy.”
I opened my mouth to tell him what he could do with himself in seventeen different ways when he pre-empted me. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Gemma. You came through. For all your bluster, I honestly didn’t think you had it in you. You’re not what I thought you were.”
Thrown, I hesitated before I said, “You didn’t know me.”
“You’re not,” he amended, “what I thought you’d be.”
“You tried to sabotage me.”
“Because you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain. You were supposed to call me and schedule your lessons.”
“I was busy all weekend,” I said, and I added for good measure, “having sex. A lot of it.”
“So was I,” he said, “but I still have a job to do. And like it or not, as your mentor, you’re my job at the moment.”
I refused to look at his face, and found myself looking at his chest instead, so I tried some middle ground around his shoulders. He smelled good. He was pissing me off. I wondered for a moment who he’d been having sex with, then I wondered why I was wondering.
Then for an instant—short, really short, but definite—I forgot who I’d been having sex with.
Damn this guy.
“Well, as a mentor,” I said, “you’re doing a crappy job. Throwing someone into the deep end who can’t swim usually doesn’t end well.”
“Your hubris last time I saw you encouraged me to give it a shot.”
“You got lucky.”
“Did I? Or did you step up to the challenge?”
I said nothing. How had this conversation veered so far off my intention?
“I admit,” he said then, “that I wasn’t willing to give you an inch when I first heard they’d found you and were bringing you in to work. But you’ve actually managed to earn a modicum of my respect.”
I set my jaw. “I didn’t do it for your respect. I don’t need your respect.”
“Then why are you here?”
I said nothing for a long moment.
“You’re a jerk,” I finally said, because I had nothing else.
He chuckled.
“Schedule me in for tomorrow at noon,” I said. “How long do these lessons take?”
“We can work for about an hour at a time. More than that will tire you out. We’re working on your new physical abilities and your emotional control over them, and it’s not easy.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll see
you then. In the meantime, piss off.”
I stalked out of his office, slammed the door behind me, and leaned against the wall to breathe, breathe, and calm down. Then I headed to the stairwell, pushed open the door, and instead of going down, I sat on the top step.
Jerk, I thought. Then I thought some worse words I should have used.
I didn’t need Svein’s respect. Who did he think he was? Who did he think I thought he was?
I pulled out my non-Fae cell phone and hit a speed dial.
“Gemma,” Avery said. “What’s up? I’m about to go into a meeting.”
“Do you respect me?” I asked.
“I love you more than anything,” he said.
“But do you respect me?”
“I couldn’t love anyone I didn’t respect. Gemma, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said. I hoped.
“Listen,” he said, lowering his voice, and I pictured him slipping behind the others heading into some meeting room. “Is this because you miss your job?”
“No,” I said. “Certainly not.”
“Because I can imagine what it must feel like for you to take a back seat to all of this.”
“No, it’s not you,” I said weakly.
“I’m going to clear my calendar tonight and take you out for a nice dinner. You pick the place.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“I do,” he said. “I don’t want my girl feeling bad. Or disrespected.”
“’My girl,’ huh?”
“Yeah,” he said, “and I don’t care who hears me say it. I’ll pick you up at home around six. Gemma?”
“Hm?”
“If you’re feeling disrespected, go over to Smiley’s. It’ll only take thirty seconds in the ring for you to get your respect.”
“True.”
We hung up and I dangled the phone between my knees.
I didn’t know why I’d called him. I sounded needy, silly: two adjectives that were not me. Avery’s respect for me was a sure thing. I didn’t have to fight for it.
But Gemma Fae Cross was always up for a good fight. And Svein already knew it.
I ran down the stairs.
CHAPTER 11
Glove connected with chin.
I shook my head once to clear it, and a lock of sweaty hair fell into my eye. I stuck out my upper lip and tried to blow the strand away, my gaze locked with Not-Rocky’s.
I saw the next one coming, and ducked it, countering with a one-two punch.
Avery didn’t like to dance, and my height had intimidated all the boys looking for partners at my high school mixers. The only guys I danced with were the ones in here. Not-Rocky was my most frequent partner, but he didn’t always lead. I stepped into his space for an uppercut. He pushed into my space with a left hook.
I was slow today. Maybe not to a casual observer, but I felt it, and Not-Rocky sensed it. He was holding back, and I hated that. My self-frustration sent my right cross a little harder than I would have allowed in a quick afternoon workout, and he met the challenge. He feinted with a jab, I fell for it, and I took a body blow that sent me staggering back. My opponent switched from him to myself as I fought not to fall to my knees.
Not-Rocky dropped his gloves. “Geez, Bricks.”
His sincere concern—lisped through his mouth guard—wasn’t intended as an insult, but I interpreted it as such. All the guys in here knew that on my best day, I could take on all comers in my weight class. But this wasn’t my best day. I was exhausted, and the corners of my eyes ached. My neck felt weak, and my limbs were molasses. I collapsed into a wooden stool in the corner of the ring, trying to breathe into the pain.
Not-Rocky spit out his guard into the opposite corner and came over to me. “Sorry.”
“Only thing you should be sorry about,” I told him, “is that you couldn’t drop me with that lame hit.”
He lowered his gaze to the mat and didn’t respond. At Smiley’s, we all understood the language of hurt pride.
“I could tell you was having a bad day,” he finally said. “Weren’t all there, right from the start. It’s okay. No one’s watching.”
I looked around me to confirm. Just a couple of guys here on a Thursday afternoon, working the heavy bags. Shirley having a one-on-one with Smiley.
And Svein sitting on a folding chair, looking right back at me.
“Crap,” I muttered, and Not-Rocky thought I was still in conversation.
“Next time,” he said, “ain’t letting you off so easy.”
“Next time, I’ll be the one apologizing,” I told him. “But I’m not going to mean it.”
He nodded gamely, tapped me on the shoulder, lifted the ropes, and hopped out of the ring.
I glared at Svein, who didn’t move a muscle to acknowledge it. I pushed the ropes down and hopped over them, slid off the mat to the floor, and walked slowly over to him. I would have liked to say the slow walk was deliberate, but it was really all my sore gut would allow.
I sat beside him and slumped, my butt sliding down and my legs straightening out. He said nothing. We shared the silence for a few minutes before I stretched out my right hand to him. “Make yourself useful,” I said.
He began to unlace my glove. We’d met daily for more training sessions every day this week, but we’d kept the lessons under an hour each, and limited our dialogue to the training manual, Root operations, and emotional control of my new abilities. I didn’t trust myself with the last one yet, and frankly I didn’t think Svein trusted me either, but if we waited until I became still water and Zen, we would be old and gray and I’d be in no shape to war against anyone, except maybe a nursing home attendant. But I was better with control than a week ago, if only in theory. Svein assured me—and himself—that control would come with practice.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him now. “Thought I had a day off.”
“Curiosity,” he said. “I’m impressed. Although not as impressed as your bravado had led me to believe I’d be.”
He’d loosened the laces enough for me to tug my wrapped hand out, and I did, going to work on my left glove myself. “I’m freaking tired,” I told him quietly. “I’m not getting any sleep at night.”
“Why not?” He lowered his voice as well. “You haven’t been out on assignments. I took you out of the rotation until we’re done with basic training. Flying’s your last lesson. Easy.”
Between him and Not-Rocky saying they were letting me off easy, I snapped. “First of all,” I said, keeping my voice down but not bothering to mask the anger in my face, “I told you during training that flying is out. So if that’s the only lesson left, then I’m done. And the reason I’m not getting any sleep is because I’m lying to Avery. Guilt isn’t much of a sleep medicine.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I have a lot at stake here. I need more of a reason for this.”
I watched Shirley and Smiley talking in the corner of the room. Smiley demonstrated a punch in slow-motion, pushing his shoulder and hip into it, then stopped to explain something as Shirley nodded. I tugged off my left glove, and let my sweaty hands dangle between my knees.
“I’m sorry,” Svein said. “I didn’t realize that the Olde Way quest, hundreds of years in the making, a legacy that will restore our world of innocence and ensure everlasting peace for our species and every species with whom we share it, was not enough of a reason for you to be involved in this.”
“That is why I’m here,” I said, still quietly but now through gritted teeth. “However, I could do that at any time of my life. I could have waited a couple of years to pick up my part on the path. I didn’t need to choose the most inconvenient time for me, professionally and personally. But you and I both know the reason I’m here now—the reason the fae searched me out now—is because there’s a threat, and they—you—need me to fight it.”
I tossed my gloves onto the floor, and one bounced off my foot. “If I’m going to jeopardize everything that
’s important to the human side of me,” I said, turning my head to look at him, “then I deserve the respect of not having that time wasted. You need to tell me about the threat, and you need to do it pretty damn soon, while I still believe this is worth it.”
“Bricks,” I heard above me. Not-Rocky had approached us, and cast a wary eye on Svein while he spoke to me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“This guy’s not bothering you, is he?”
“This guy,” I said, jerking a thumb toward my fellow fae, “bothers me like you wouldn’t believe. But it’s under control. Thanks.”
So funny. I was always treated like an equal at Smiley’s, even from my first day. Of course, I was treated like an equal that first day because Smiley threatened to toss anyone out who gave me a hard time, but they treated me like an equal now because I was one of them. Still, deep, deep down, they felt obliged to protect me. Deep down, Brickhouse was still Gemma, the woman in the room. I tried not to smile as Not-Rocky narrowed his eyes at Svein.
“I’d be crazy to mess with her,” Svein said, standing and putting out his hand. “Svein Nilsen. I’m a friend of Gemma’s.”
“Don’t be throwing that term around too loosely,” I muttered as Not-Rocky put out a glove. I didn’t assist in introductions, and maybe it was rude, but I couldn’t help wanting to keep my normal life and my weird life separate.
The door banged open and Trey stomped inside. He didn’t close the door. He just never stopped moving forward, as if he were on the grill of a Mack truck in the fast lane. He didn’t stop until he was in front of Smiley. Then he started screaming.
I didn’t know what he was screaming about, exactly. It was the kind of screaming that didn’t come out in sentences, just venomous words flung out one after another. He was shaking, and his shoulders suddenly tensed. I knew that body language. I knew what was coming.
I launched myself out of my chair and ran. I pushed in front of Smiley just as Trey pulled his arm back, and I took it hard on my cheekbone.
My vision went glassy for a minute. It was a wild, unskilled punch, but he’d hit me with his bare knuckles. It hurt like a son of a bitch. I shook off the daze and saw that Shirley had stepped behind Trey and pinned his elbows behind his back. Shirley is a Mack truck, so it was interesting to see the surprise on his face when he realized he actually had to use two hands to restrain this child-turned-thrashing hellion.
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