“Maybe when the United Coalition gave the Fomorians a seat on the council, that pushed a group of activists over the edge? After all, the vote was two to two at first—the vampires and the Fae dissented, while the shifters and the humans agreed to let them in. The deciding factor was that the courts would have overruled a veto on the Cryptozoid Association if the measure hadn’t passed. That’s when the vampires swung over to approve the measure.” He paused, switching lanes and speeding up. We were about twenty minutes away from rush hour, and hopefully we’d stay ahead of the rush.
“I don’t know. I don’t know the answer. All I know is this mess is going to get uglier before it gets better. And I admit it, I’m scared. I’ve been in danger before, I’ve fought the enemy, but random violence frightens me. Collateral damage is an ugly term. I can handle a battle with someone I know is coming after me, but when you’re not sure where safety lies—when some random stranger holds your fate in your hands—then you lose any control over the situation. We lose any ability to predict what’s going to happen next.” I paused, then finally added, “Today I almost died, not because I was someone’s particular target, but because I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. And the randomness terrifies me.”
“You’re going to suffer some PTSD, I think. I’d like to set up some counseling sessions for you with Marina—she’s one of Ferosyn’s healers. She’s a good person to talk to.”
Ferosyn was Cernunnos’s main healer, and he had treated me before. While I thought that it was probably going overboard talking to a counselor, I also trusted that Herne had seen a lot more in battle than I had and he might have a point.
“All right. Go ahead. But not till after the Cruharach. I have to focus on that, because it’s coming and there’s no stopping it.”
“You’re facing a lot right now,” Herne said. “You’ve been fast-tracking your training for the ritual, and then we’ve been slammed. Now this.”
I could hear the worry in his voice. “Herne, I’ve been through a lot of stress in my life. Look at what happened with my parents.”
“Yeah, I know, but it changed you. And this is bound to change you. I just want to make certain it doesn’t hinder you.” He shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re perfectly capable of carrying on. I know you. But that doesn’t mean that the scars aren’t there.”
I pressed my lips together, feeling like we were on the verge of an argument. But I didn’t want to argue, and I had already agreed to see Marina, so I just looked out the window as we drove over the 520 bridge to the Eastside.
“Tired?” he asked after a few minutes.
“Yeah. If you don’t mind, I’d just like to rest while we’re on the road.”
It wasn’t a lie—I was exhausted, and the last thing I wanted was to be fussed over or needled. Herne could be overprotective in some ways, but he never recognized it. I had the feeling it was because he was so aware of the fact that he was immortal, while I wasn’t. Oh, I would be long lived as long as I didn’t get myself killed, but the fact remained: I was mortal. My life had a definite beginning, and it would have a definite end.
We drove in silence, through the increasing traffic, until we arrived at Ginty’s bar. This was where we always met the Fae Queens. Not once had I ever entered the great cities of TirNaNog or Navane. And I doubted that I’d ever be invited into the ranks.
As Herne opened the door and helped me down, I looked over at the bar. Seemingly one-storied from the outside, Ginty’s Bar and Grill was a Waystation, providing sanctuary to members of the SubCult who asked for it, until they could either get the hell out of Dodge, or undergo a fair trial. The bar was interdimensional, much bigger on the inside than out, and it was run by Ginty McClintlock, a dwarf who kept order with an iron fist. Even the Fae Queens couldn’t overrule him, or the gods.
“So once again, into the mouth of hell,” I muttered.
“It’s not that bad. They’re a pain in the ass, but at least they’re not out to get you,” Herne said, chuckling. “And they’re scared spitless over this Tuathan Brotherhood mess, so they shouldn’t be too hard to corral.”
This would be the first time I had seen Saílle since I killed my grandfather and she paid me off for what he tried to do to me. While I knew that they couldn’t do anything to me on sanctuary grounds, I still dreaded looking her in the face. I wasn’t sure what I was afraid of. Perhaps her judgment, though that had never stopped me before. Or perhaps that she would mirror my feelings of guilt back to me, amplified. Because, regardless of how much I had been in the right—it had been self-defense, all the way—I still felt oddly responsible for the whole mess. It made no sense, since the man had tried to force me into a ritual where he was going to strip my mother’s bloodline out of me. But I had let him in instead of turning him away.
Angel had tried to shake the guilt out of me. “You’re just caving to that archaic belief that women are responsible for men’s actions,” she had said.
I knew she was right, and I knew part of my squeamishness came from the way I had killed him. On one hand, it had been fitting, but on the other hand? I had deliberately made it painful.
“What are you thinking about?” Herne asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing. Everything. Come on, let’s get this over with.” I pushed ahead as Waylin, the extremely large and muscled bouncer, opened the door.
Herne stopped to peace-bind his dagger, wrapping the leather thong around the hilt so that it couldn’t be drawn without a lot of trouble. I had left mine back at the office. I handed Waylin my purse and he peeked through it.
He stared at me for a moment, arching his eyebrows. “You’re… You look different today.” He handed my purse back to me.
“Yeah, yeah. Gunnysack sundress, no belt, sports bra. I get it. I’m not exactly a fashion plate.” I winked at him, though, to let him know I was joking.
He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, your arms and legs. You look like you ended up on the wrong side of a wildcat.”
“I got on the wrong side of a glass door, actually.” I shook my head at his puzzled look and stood back so he could check Herne’s dagger.
“You are now entering Ginty’s, a Waystation bar and grill. One show of magic or drawing a weapon will get you booted and banned. Do you agree to abide by the Rules of Parley, by blood and bone?” He rattled off the words and by now, I realized that while binding, they were also rote. Everybody who entered the bar had to agree.
“We do, by blood and bone,” Herne said, pushing through the inner doors into the main bar.
A roped-off staircase behind the bar led to an interdimensional space where seekers of sanctuary could stay, as well as offering meeting rooms for formal parley. The bar itself was beautiful, polished to a warm sheen. Behind the bar, Wendy, Ginty’s second in command, was serving drinks. Six-two, with a platinum Mohawk and skin the color of rich earth, she looked like an Amazon. In fact, I wondered if she was an actual Amazon. We took our places at the bar, sitting on two empty stools to wait for Ginty.
“What’ll you have?” Wendy asked, giving us an infectious smile.
“I want a pint of Bitter Ale. What about you?” Herne turned to me. “You want an actual drink or you want something gentler?”
“I think I’ll just have a Lemon Beam.”
Lemon Beam was a gentle drink—half white wine, half lemon-lime soda, with a grating of lemon zest and a touch of honey in it.
Wendy stared at me. “Herne, those marks better not be from you, or I’ll kick your ass.”
Herne coughed. “Trust me, they’re not. I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side any day of the week.”
I blushed, feeling all too conspicuous. First, I was dressed in a pretty, but vulnerable dress. I had a sports bra on that barely contained my boobs. I wasn’t wearing a jacket. And to top it all off, my bruises and wounds were out in the open for all to see.
“I got caught in the wrong pla
ce at the wrong time,” I muttered.
She stared at me for another long minute, then her eyes widened. “You get caught in that bombing?”
I nodded. “Yeah. And I’d rather not talk about it. I was lucky to walk away.”
At that moment, Ginty came down the stairs, appearing out of a fog that covered the upper part of the staircase. He motioned to us.
“They’re waiting.”
Herne carried our drinks and my purse, as it was all I could do to drag myself up the steps. We followed Ginty into the fog, turning the corner to ascend yet another flight. Finally, we entered a hallway that seemed like any normal hotel or office hall. Doors on either side were closed, but we stopped in front of the first one.
“Ready?” the dwarf asked. He seemed subdued today and I wondered what was wrong. Ginty was usually in good spirits.
“As we’ll ever be,” I said.
He opened the door and we followed him in.
Chapter Eight
I knew right off, by the looks on their faces, that both Saílle and Névé were worried sick. For the first time since I had been in contact with them, they weren’t covered in finery. Oh, they were regal, there was no getting away from that. Both women were raised from birth to be queens, but today they were both dressed in stark colors—Saílle in black, Névé in white. Their hair was done up in neat chignons, and they were wearing their crowns—Saílle’s, sapphire and diamond, while Névé’s was emerald. They were sitting on opposite sides, as usual, and neither looked happy to be here.
“Is Callan here?” Herne asked.
Ginty cleared his throat. “You’re always ready to jump before it’s time. I haven’t called the Parley to order yet.”
Herne let out a grunt. “Fine. Get on with it. We need to get this meeting under way.”
“A fine good evening to you, too, Lord of the Hunt,” the dwarf said, scowling. But he shrugged and pulled out a scroll, unrolling it. “I hereby declare the Samhain Parley of the Courts of Light and Darkness, in the year of 10,258 CFE, open.”
He glanced up. Usually at this time, somebody ended up interrupting him. But today we all sat silent, waiting. Clearing his throat, he continued.
“Under this mantle, all members are bound to forswear bearing arms against any other member of this parley until the meeting is officially closed and all members are safely home.” He looked up. “This is becoming all too frequent of a routine for me, you know.”
“Go on, Ginty, get this over with,” Herne said.
“I also remind the Courts of Light and Darkness that they are forsworn by the Covenant of the Wild Hunt from inflicting injury on any and all members of the Wild Hunt team, under the sigil of Cernunnos, Lord of the Forest, and Morgana, Goddess of the Sea and the Fae. Let no one break honor, let discussions progress civilly, and remember that I—Ginty McClintlock, of the McClintlock Clan of the Cascade Dwarves—am your moderator and mediator, and my rule as such supersedes all other authority while we are in this Waystation.”
With a big sigh, Ginty rolled up the scroll. “If you stay, you agree to the rules. If you disagree, leave now, or you will be bound to the parley. I have spoken, and so it is done.” He glanced around. “Anybody out?”
“We’re in, little man,” Névé said. “We’re in.”
“You’re in, and don’t you ever call me that again, Oh Fairest of the Light,” Ginty said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Very well,” Névé said, leaning forward. “If the parley is open, then what the hell are we going to do about this mess?” She looked over at Herne. “What are you doing about it? We know very well that your father and mother have set you to the case. What’s happening? Who is this Tuathan Brotherhood and when are you going to stop them?”
As she paused, Saílle frowned, staring at me. “You were injured in the bombing today, weren’t you?”
“Word travels fast,” I said. “Yes, I was.” I was so weary I forgot to add her title but then I decided it didn’t matter. I’d play the injured card if necessary.
“Did you bring Callan?” Herne asked.
“You know the Triamvinate awarded us the right to keep him here,” Névé said, a dangerous glint in her eye.
“I know that. I just wondered if he’s going to be helping you out on this. Is he here? That’s all I asked.” Herne sounded ticked. Positioning him and the two Fae Queens in the same room was just asking for sparks to fly.
“No, he’s not here,” Ginty said. “Kindly keep to the subject at hand.”
Herne took a long swig of his ale. “We’ve just discovered that the Tuathan Brotherhood, at least on one occasion, set themselves up to be a philanthropic organization in order to lure people in to work with them. Jasper Elrich visited them to be trained for a job he thought would involve helping ostracized members of the Fae community. He came back hating humans and shifters, at the very least. And then on Monday, he went off the skids and mowed down innocent people. We don’t know what he was doing between his return and the incident.”
I decided to cut to the chase. “Does the Tuathan Brotherhood reside under the dominion of either the Light or the Dark Court?”
Both Fae Queens turned to stare at me. Herne rubbed his forehead. I knew he had wanted to approach it more diplomatically, but I had been the one on the receiving end of a bomb.
Saílle looked me up and down. “You’re lucky you came through the explosion alive.”
“How does the rumor mill work so quickly? But yes, I am. And yes, I want the head of whoever planned it served up to me on a silver platter.” I leaned forward, wincing as the wounds on my back pulled. They were starting to scab over, and the skin was pulling as I moved.
For once, neither Fae queen looked at me like I was an alien with two heads.
Saílle nodded. “I understand. Given the circumstances, I think we can set diplomacy to the side. On my word, I have no knowledge of who this Tuathan Brotherhood is, and I want them stopped as much as you do. This is already producing serious ramifications throughout the Fae community. There’s a rising fear toward us, and it’s likely to cause a major rift in society.”
“I concur,” said Névé. “And I add, on my honor, that I know nothing of this group, either. They must be stopped before permanent damage is done.” She let out a slow breath, then said something I never expected to hear. “I’m sorry you were caught in the attack, Ember. We will honor and mourn the dead in our courts.”
“Has there been any unrest in your cities toward humans or shifters?” Herne asked. “Perhaps because of the UC’s decision to allow the Fomorians to join?”
“Of course there’s been unrest over that, but it hasn’t been directed toward any one group in particular, except the UC as a whole. However, I’ve heard no talk of humans or shifters being to blame. If this group spawned in our cities, they’ve been keeping underground. And I would think they would directly blame the source—the Fomorians themselves. The giants secured their position simply to have a better access from which to target us, and you know it, son of Cernunnos.” Saílle frowned. “They attacked us outright, and yet they gain a voice over the governance of the country?”
“We couldn’t prove it was them who engineered the Iron Plague. You know that. If we had enough proof, we would have taken it to the UC.” Herne rapped his knuckles on the table. “And don’t even mention the group of Bocanach who attacked us when we were searching for the antidote. While they are usually found with the Fomorians, we have no way of linking that band to Elatha.”
Ginty cleared his throat. “I usually do not intervene or even comment on the parleys that I oversee, but I have to add a voice in here. I cannot speak for all of my people, but I will put out feelers to see if we can find out anything about the Tuathan Brotherhood. They’re a deadly snake, creeping through the grass. And they have already harmed the reputation of the Fae.”
“The problem with figuring out who’s behind them is that we have two very likely possibilities: one, that it’s actually a
front for someone trying to discredit and smear the name of the Fae—and we all know who I’m thinking of. But on the other hand, when you think of zealots and fanatics, they don’t care if they harm those who don’t band behind them. You could have a band of Fae who think that this is the only way to regain some power they feel has been lost. Either option is entirely feasible.” I looked at Herne. “Saílle and Névé should set up a press conference and formally disavow any knowledge or approval of the group. The sooner the better.”
“That’s a good idea,” Herne said. He leaned back and folded his arms. “Are you willing to do that?”
Saílle nodded. “I am. Névé, you and I should both go on at the same time. We need to present a united front.”
I blinked. I had honestly expected their truce to last about two or three days. Instead, it had held for several weeks. Even though it meant less for us to do given their constant attacks at one another were at a lull, it gave rise to more worries. I had no doubt they were working in private with the Fae warrior Callan whom they had freed from the past, and that they were working on a plan to destroy the Fomorians. And that would be diving down the rabbit hole.
“Can you send your spies through your cities, looking for anybody talking about the group? And before you deny it, we know you have agents that spy on your populace. Every government does.” Herne shook his head. “We’re really running on empty with this one so far. Maybe the investigators will have leads for us when they have sorted through the remains of the bombing.”
“I can tell you this,” Névé said, motioning to one of her servants. He handed her a tablet and she glanced at it before saying, “Jasper Elrich was in good standing with the Court. He never presented a problem, he was well liked, and even though he was engaged to a human, he was loyal to the crown. We were going to intervene in the proposed wedding, but we were sure we could do so without any problems. Now, of course, that’s moot. But if what you say is correct, if he changed personality so abruptly, then I wonder if he was drugged or brainwashed? There are spells to control behavior that experienced witches can use.”
The Hallowed Hunt Page 12