When the Bough Breaks

by Mercedes Lackey And Holly Lisle

 

A Baen Book

 

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

 

 

When the Bough Breaks

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

Maclyn, Knight of the High Court of Elfhame Outremer, leaned forward over the steering wheel of his classic '57 Chevy and flicked on the radio. Q-103 FM was playing two-fer-Tuesdays and had just finished up a set by Fleetwood Mac. The DJ cut into the fadeout, chattering, "Coming up for all you April Fools\x97two-fers by Phil Collins, The Beatles, and Grim Reaper. But first . . . a Guns N' Roses two-fer. . . ."

 

"Aw Gawd, not Guns N' Roses. If I want to listen to a garage band, I'll find a good one. . . ." The engine growled and downshifted as his convertible pulled out of the secluded dirt road into traffic. The driver of a late-model Ford Taurus glanced over at them and did a classic double-take, jerking her head around to stare. Mac flashed a grin in her direction, and she waved before driving on.

 

His elvensteed, currently taking the form of a Palomino-gold '57 Chevy convertible with cream trim, was a traffic stopper. Rhellen didn't cause quite the disruption to traffic he would have in his regular form, Mac reflected, but he was still impressive. And women loved him.

 

With any luck, he would impress the socks off of Lianne McCormick.

 

Mac pushed his troubles with the Seleighe Court out of his mind. There would be time to deal with Felouen and her demands. The present, as far as he was concerned, wasn't the time.

 

"Okay, Rhellen, let's make some time," he told the car. "Tonight\x97we party!"

 

The elvensteed growled affirmation and accelerated past two Fayetteville city policemen and one North Carolina Highway Patrol trooper, hitting seventy-five without causing so much as a chirp on their radar.

 

With Rhellen in full charge, Mac made it to Lianne's apartment complex running seemingly just under Mach One. She, the current human lady of his interest, if not his dreams, was sitting on the deck of her apartment grading papers, a tiny frown of concentration on her face. He pulled up silently and vaulted out of the car in equal silence, which gave him a chance to admire her before she spotted him. She was slender, with short, soft chestnut hair, deep blue eyes and pale, flawless skin\x97she had the fragile, ethereal look frequently attributed to one of his own people. She had, too, the blazing energy of a human\x97she was, he thought, one of the delicate mayflies of the sentient world.

 

Like all humans.

 

Here today and gone tomorrow. He felt a moment of poignant loss and suppressed it. But today will be a lot of fun, anyway.

 

He intentionally crunched some gravel on the walk to let her know he was there.

 

She looked up, and her face lit with an amazingly sweet smile. "Hey!" she said. "Glad you made it. I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind. Or come to your senses or something." She grinned when she said that, but Mac felt the pain of old rejection masked in her voice.

 

"Stand up a gorgeous gal like you?" he asked. "Not in this lifetime."

 

She chuckled and arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah\x97sure, sure. So are we going to go someplace, or am I going to spend the rest of the evening checking math tests?"

 

He smirked. "You won't even remember what math tests are."

 

"I could live with that." She shoved her papers inside the front door of her apartment and locked it. "Let's go."

 

He showed her to the Chevy, and waited for her eyes to light up. Which they did, as predicted.

 

"Wow!" she whispered, and ran her hand slowly along one gleaming fender. "What a beauty. I've never seen one this color\x97or in such perfect condition."

 

Mac felt Rhellen's pleasure and grinned. "Custom job. I'm pretty proud of him."

 

"I'll bet." A puzzled expression crossed her face. "Him?" she asked. "I've never heard anyone refer to a car as him before."

 

"In this case, it's appropriate," Mac assured her.

 

Lianne stood back and crossed her arms over her chest. She tipped her head to one side and studied the car. She went down on one knee and carefully examined the undercarriage. Finally she nodded. "You're right. Definitely a him."

 

He'll love you for that, Mac thought. I think, lady, that you've just won yourself a friend.

 

Rhellen preened under all the attention.

 

"By the way," she said, as she climbed into the passenger's side, "you haven't forgotten the field trip tomorrow, have you? I hope you're ready for it; you're going to need all the help you can get."

 

He laughed. "Forgotten, no. Worried? Also no. What's to worry about a herd of kids who're probably car-crazy to begin with? It'll be a snap."

 

She didn't reply; just smiled, the kind of enigmatic smile found on the Mona Lisa. The smile that said\x97"I know something you don't know, but you're going to have to find out for yourself."

 

The kind of smile his mother Dierdre would give him\x97

 

For a moment, he was taken aback by it, enough for a nagging little worry to intrude.

 

Then he dismissed it. What could this mere human know that he, with all his centuries, didn't? Ridiculous. He'd enthrall her little flock, dazzle her with his cleverness, and it would all be a pleasant day for everyone concerned.

 

Right now, he would concern himself with tonight. Tomorrow was not worth even thinking about. . . .

* * *

Looks like the troops have arrived. "Hey, beautiful!" Mac shouted across the parking lot at Lianne as she jumped out of the first of the two bright yellow school buses to arrive at Fayetteville International Speedway. "What's a babe like you doing in a place like this? Sweetheart, where have you been all my life? Come, let me take you to the Casbah, where we will make beautiful music together. We will make lo\x97"

 

She made a shushing motion at Mac and blushed. "Like tigers," he finished. Neither the gesture nor the blush escaped the noisy herd of children who followed her out of the bus.

 

"O-o-o-ooh!" yelled one boy. "Miss McCormick has a boyfriend!"

 

"Miss McCormick has a boyfriend," someone else repeated.

 

A chant started. "Miss McCormick has a boyfriend\x97Miss McCormick has a boyfriend . . . ."

 

Maclyn regretted his impulsive teasing. He had obviously just made things difficult for her, and he suspected she didn't appreciate the attention she was getting.

 

A teacher from one of the other buses, a good-looking woman in her mid-thirties, stared at him curiously, then walked over and whispered something to the beleaguered Lianne. Lianne nodded slowly, and the other woman raised an eyebrow. She gave Mac an appreciative once-over as she returned to her own flock of children.

 

He was used to getting those calculating looks from women. Usually, he enjoyed them. This time, for some reason, he felt embarrassed.

 

Lianne got her class lined up and led them across the pavement toward him. She sent him a killing glare as she and the rowdy fifth-graders advanced.

 

"Lianne, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that they would do that," he said.

 

"I'll bet." The kids behind her had taken up a whispered refrain of "Miss McCormick sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," and Lianne did not look mollified in the least by his apology. "The only way you wouldn't have known they would do that is if you'd never been a kid in the fifth grade before."

 

And there, he thought, you have it. I haven't ever been in the fifth grade. So how was I supposed to know? It's not my fault your class is a mob of little barbarians. I'm innocent\x97this time. Unfortunately, there is no way in the world that I could convince you of that without blowing my cover.

 

He smiled at her, shrugged helplessly, and tried to look boyishly ingenuous. "What can I say?" he asked. And then, in a louder voice that carried to the last kid in the back of the last line, Mac introduced himself to the class. "Hi. I'm Mac Lynn, and I drive race cars."

 

:Och, and he drives the maidens wild, he does, too!: came an impish, entirely uninvited thread of Mindspeech. :You have only to ask him, and he'll tell ye so!:

 

:Mother!: he snapped, trying to regain his aplomb.

 

:So gallant, so regal, so handsome. And so modest he is\x97his hat sometimes even fits him these days! Why, he drives race cars, does he? Sure and what a fine man he must be!:

 

:MOTHER!:

 

Despite Dierdre's teasing, it was a good opening line. The kids calmed down and studied him, checking, he suspected, to see if they recognized him from television.

 

Mac didn't mind. It wasn't likely that they would, but the moment of their uncertainty would buy him their attention. He could take it from there. He drew on his years of racing experience, and with purely elvish fervor, translated his enthusiasm into terms that drew the sixty-plus fifth-graders in front of him wholeheartedly into the world he loved.

 

"What do you watch on television?"

 

Mac was answered by a barrage of titles\x97almost all of them cop shows or adventure cartoons. "See, now, on all of those shows, you get to watch car-chases, or the heroes drive hot cars. Think of Don Johnson without the Daytona, or Magnum without the red Ferrari\x97it just doesn't work, right? Hey, your folks drive cars, you see ads on TV, there are roads practically everywhere\x97people are in love with cars. Some of us love 'em so much we want to drive 'em for a living. Think any of you would like to do that?"

 

A chorus of "Yeah!" and "Sure!" came back at him.

 

They were in his pocket. It was time to get them moving\x97show them the sights. He asked them, "So . . . . do you want to go look at some race cars, or what?"

 

They cheered.

 

Nice kids, he thought. I'm glad I decided to do this.

* * *

Gruesome bunch of larvae, Mac thought. He'd spent the better part of two hours showing the kids garages and pits, the medevac helicopter, the infield and starter's tower, and introducing them to mechanics and crew chiefs and various race drivers. Including his mother.

 

They'd enjoyed his mother, who just happened to be his crew chief. D.D. Reed (not as close to Dierdre as Mac Lynn was to Maclyn, but it would do) was ninety-five pounds of lightning and thunder, all wrapped up in one coveralled, pony-tailed, hellcat package. She took no guff from anyone and handed out twice the grief he ever gave her. She also looked half his age.

 

She gave him lip mental and audible, the mental over Lianne and his ego, the audible over everything else\x97much to the entertainment of the rest of the pit crews: his, and everyone else's within hearing. His crew knew the secret, of course, and thought it hilarious. Of the rest, there were a few more SERRA mages nearby that had a notion\x97and to those left, it was still funny to hear a "girl" giving hotshot Mac Lynn a hard time. Those who couldn't "hear" the telepathic comments were very nearly as amused as those who could.

 

The kids\x97little sadists\x97had loved it.

 

He'd also spent the better part of two hours watching them stick chewing gum on walls and under ledges when they thought no one was looking, kick each other in the shins, poke and prod each other and then stare off innocently into space when someone screeched. When he'd joked that some cars were held together with bubble-gum, one kid actually, sincerely, offered him his. Freshly chewed. Mac couldn't believe it.

 

He had no idea how many lug-nuts would be missing by day's end. He'd listened to their gross jokes. He'd answered their weird questions. He'd had more than enough. Finally, it was time to sit down on the small stands and watch the drivers speeding alone around the track in the time trials.

 

Mac was ready for the break. As kids wiggled and squealed and squirmed and passed notes and stuffed paper down each other's shirts, he knew a moment of sheer gratitude that he had been spared the indignity of fifth grade.

 

:They'd not have had you. You were worse than any of them.:

 

He sighed. :Thank you, Mother.:

 

His mother might have been right, he reflected. Nevertheless, he felt admiration for the guts of the teacher who had to put up with this sort of nonsense on a regular basis. He rolled his eyes and grinned over the kids' heads at Lianne.

 

She raised her eyebrows in a mime of disbelief at her class's behavior and grinned back.

 

Cars roared around the track, and from their front-row seats in the pits, the smell of oil, gasoline, exhaust, and hot rubber numbed the nose while the howling of engines numbed the mind. The few fans in the stands screamed and cheered at their favorites, as if by sheer volume they could push the drivers to better times. The palpable electricity in the atmosphere always got to Mac\x97that excitement was what had originally pulled him out of the timeless magic of Underhill and into the very human world of auto racing.

 

In between runs, the kids asked more questions.

 

One stub-nosed kid with bright brown eyes waved his hand in the air at Mac and bounced up and down on his bleacher seat until Mac was sure it was going to have a permanent bow in it. "Yes?" he asked warily. He'd already had more than a taste of what fifth grade boys considered reasonable to ask.

 

"I want to drive a race car when I get out of school, but Mom and Dad say I have to go to college. Did you have to go to college?"

 

That question seemed pretty harmless.

 

Lianne, however, gave Mac a warning look.

 

Oh, yeah. College. That great baby-sitter of the post-adolescent masses. Naturally Lianne is going to want me to be strongly in favor of it.

 

Mac shrugged helplessly. "No. I didn't go to college, but I wish I had." It was an easy lie. With luck it would mollify Lianne. "A college education is a good idea. If nothing else, it will give you something to fall back on if racing doesn't work out."

 

The look in her eyes when he said that, though, made him think he should have quit with a simple no.

 

And just then, D.D. popped up. "Mac doesn't need college," she said, with a sly look and a toss of her blond ponytail that told him she was going to zing him again. "He doesn't even need a brain; he never uses the itty-bitty one he's got. He has the rest of us to think for him. We don't believe in overstressing anything that weak. Now me, I needed every mechanical engineering and physics course I could cram."

 

The kid looked confused. "Why?" he asked. "You're just a mechanic."

 

D.D. cast her bright green eyes up to the sky. "Gloriosky. Just a mechanic? Sweetie-pie, I not only have to know how every part in that car works, I have to know why. This is leading-edge technology here; what we've got on our cars your daddy won't be able to buy for ten, maybe twenty years. There's no manual for what we're doing; we're working real automotive magic out there."

 

"I'll say," one of the crew called out. "And D.D.'s the great high wizard of Ah's. She can tell you what's wrong with an engine just by listening to it."

 

"And you don't get that kind of expertise working on a dune buggy in your back yard\x97right, Mac?" she finished triumphantly, and vanished back behind a stack of tires.

 

:There. Saved you again.:

 

With the sinking feeling that he was getting deeply mired in something he was never going to escape from, he sought a graceful out. A flash of deep blue on the track caught his eye and promised sudden salvation.

 

"Much as I hate to admit it, my crew chief's half right. Here's the other half. There's more to racing than driving fast\x97" he told them "\x97more even than winning races. Racing is a business. And it's a tough one. If you can't make that business pay off, you won't be racing." He waved over to the starting line. "Look at Number Fifty-eight, the car getting ready to start now. That's Keith Brightman. He's driving a '93 Lola Wombat right now. He owns it himself. He has an efficient crew and a talented mechanic, and he's a very good driver\x97but if he didn't know how to run a business, he wouldn't be able to race his own cars."

 

D.D. appeared from somewhere else. "And if he didn't know his engineering, he wouldn't be able to trouble-shoot his vehicle while he's driving it. Half the time he tells his crew what's wrong, which is a heckuva help, let me tell you, and more than Tom Cruise here can do."

 

She vanished again. Mac chose to ignore her.

 

"Keith is a good example of somebody who is doing what he wants to do because he has the smarts and the guts, and because he isn't afraid to work hard. If you want to be a driver, use him as your example."

 

"Does he have a college education?" the school-hater asked with a hopeful glance towards the deep-blue Wombat.

 

"You bet," Mac said. He'd picked Keith as his shining example of racetrack virtue for precisely that reason. It was going to pay off, too, he could tell. Lianne sent an appreciative glance in his direction. "College was where Keith learned about mechanical engineering, and probably learned how to run a business," he added. "And had fun doing it."

 

"Brightman, K. Mech-E, Rose-Hulman Polytech, class of 1987, cum laude!" screeched a voice that was getting tiresomely familiar, from just behind Mac.

 

The Wombat took off with a roar, and the questions stopped. The kids watched the car intently. Maclyn could tell they were impressed. Hell, he was impressed. More than it ever had before, the Wombat moved; Keith was putting on a real show. Mac could hear a difference in the engine, a rich, deep throb of power that grabbed deep in his gut and twisted; the rookie's mechanic had made an exotic modification somewhere. That damned Wombat was flying like it thought it was a fighter plane and had forgotten the ground.

 

What has Brightman done to that engine? Wonderful stuff, Mac mused. Magic with gears and cylinders\x97and maybe something Mom can duplicate. I hope she's listening.

 

:I am\x97what do you think I am, tone-deaf? I also happen to be Watching it. Teach your grandmam to suck eggs, why don't you.:

 

Maclyn had to give the Wombat's crew credit. On a shoestring budget and what amounted to little more than native genius, they were putting themselves in a position to give the big boys a run for their money.

 

Mac's ears followed the car even after it was out of sight. :He's taking seconds off of the best time we've had so far.: Mac commented to his crew chief.

 

:I'm paying attention, Mac.: D.D. retorted. :Unless someone else comes up with a miracle, he's just gotten the pole.:

 

The car did a flawless lap and dove into the final curve as if it owned it\x97and there was a sudden hollow, popping sound. It wasn't much of a noise really, but Mac's throat tightened, and his mouth went dry. The sudden hush of the crowd in the stand across from the pits was the first indication of the seriousness of the problem\x97then the car became visible from the right side of the pits, and Mac saw a tiny trail of smoke and sparks that streamed out from beneath the front wheels.

 

D.D.'s voice was in his head, all humor gone. :Sweet Daana\x97Mac, a control arm just sheared! The lad's going to lose her any second\x97:

 

For one timeless instant, the car continued as though nothing was wrong, and then it seemed to bunch itself like a wild animal crouching for the attack. It swerved wildly to the left, then fishtailed back to the right, and in the middle of its rightward spin, collided with the outside wall. It rebounded and launched itself into the air, bounding end over end like a skier doing stunts off a ramp. The Lola disintegrated just as it was designed to, but in the direction it was heading, it was going to hit the low retaining wall in front of the pits nose-first at around a hundred miles per hour. And it was going to do it a mere twenty yards from sixty-plus school kids.

 

"No!" Mac heard someone bellow, and realized the voice was his own. Gods and demons, he thought. Oh gods above\x97Keith isn't going to make it out of there, and we aren't going to make it out of here!

 

A deep bass whump marked the car's impact. Bits of car ricocheted back towards the crowd, and others came over the retaining wall; flames spurted from the engine pinwheeling across the asphalt. Screaming fans saw impending disaster and panicked. They jumped off the sides of the stands and tumbled to the ground, packing and running like frightened cattle in a slaughterhouse pen.

 

The roll-caged cockpit skidded upside-down in the middle of the track, trailing sparks. It followed the flaming engine unit as though they were strung together, its trajectory matching the engine's\x97one of the worst possible scenarios Mac could imagine.

 

They're built to come apart to save the driver, dammit! Mac thought in anguish, as he watched the cockpit collide with the engine right in front of the stands. Fuel spurted from the ruptured fuel-cell, torn open lengthwise, next to the limp driver. The spreading puddle of fuel inched nearer the shooting flames. I can see the flames. Gods, I can see the flames\x97alcohol fuel should burn almost invisibly\x97this is even worse than it looks. Keith's gotta be dead by now.

 

Mac could only watch numbly. His puny magics were useless here. From the paddock, vehicles were gunning to intercept the wreck before it had even stopped moving. He heard a metallic whine, building in pitch, as the track medevac helicopter started its engines. Now the whole tank goes, he thought. We have to get the kids out of here\x97

 

There was no way. Shrapnel would be filling the air in a second, and it would fall everywhere, even in the paddock. "Get them down beneath the seats," he shouted; he, Lianne, and the chaperons started pushing kids down.

 

He became aware of a tingling at the base of his skull. The hair on his arms was standing up\x97and he realized that he had first felt this sensation right after the car started to go out of control. His mind gave the sensation a name.

 

Psi. TK.

 

D.D., the Healer, the Empath, Mindspoke with quiet amazement. :No one has been hurt yet by the flying debris. The car hasn't exploded yet. It's coming from near you, Mac\x97but who's responsible? There isn't a SERRA Psi out here, and no elves but us, and none of the mages have the right spells. . . . :

 

Somebody nearby was keeping the car from blowing.

 

Mac Looked around him. One fragile-looking little girl sat, transfixed, watching the disaster. Motionless, silent, unblinking, she could have been a statue of a fifth grader, except for the breeze that blew her wispy blond hair around her face and caused her plaid skirt to ripple around the tops of her white kneesocks.

 

And from her poured incredible power.

* * *

In the crowd across the track from the paddock, one woman ignored the people milling around her\x97seemed even to ignore the accident. She read the face of a meter whose needle was in the far right-hand side of the red zone; she wore a cool, satisfied smile. Then she locked long, perfectly manicured fingers around a voice-activated mini-recorder and whispered into it.

 

"The accident went off flawlessly\x97shouldn't be enough left of the car to prove sabotage. Rumors were right\x97definitely telekinetic activity here. Localized it to the pits across from where I'm standing, but too many people around to get a definite fix. TK is preventing the explosion of the car, though\x97bet anything on that\x97think one of the racing people must be our target. This explains why the Fayetteville track has such a good record, maybe. I'll try to move in for a closer read."

 

She stuffed the meter and the tape recorder, still on and ready, into her bag, and worked her way out of the crowd.

* * *

The fire crew sprayed foam on the blazing engine block and the spreading puddles of fuel; Heavy Rescue cut away bits of twisted metal. Mac stood transfixed, watching the kid who stared at the wreck.

 

:Catch her before she leaves\x97I want to talk to her!: D.D. ordered.

 

He agreed absently\x97then his attention was drawn to the racetrack, where one of the rescuers gave a triumphant shout.

 

They pulled Keith Brightman out of the car\x97and he stood on his own.

 

A number of things then happened at once. From their hiding place beside the stands, the crowd went wild. The rescuers and the young driver sprinted for the pits and the little cover they provided. Lianne noticed that one of her students was still in the path of potential danger, and Mac saw her pull the girl down behind the bleacher.

 

And that was when the fuel cell blew.

 

Shrapnel flew across the infield and into the pits. Mac winced at the sound of metal-on-metal as pieces of car went into the mesh that protected the stands. The crowd's cheers became terrified screams.

 

:Dammit!: Mac thought as he huddled for cover behind a stack of tires. :The kid's got to be a line-of-sight TK. Lianne broke the contact when she moved the kid.:

 

There was a pause. Then D.D. told him, :I can still feel the child, Mac. She's controlling the shrapnel. And no one's been badly hurt yet.:

 

Mac looked through the huddle of scared fifth-graders for the girl. Sure enough, she was peeking over the bleachers, still intent on the wreck.

 

The air cleared, and the crowd started climbing back into their seats. Several young soldiers on leave from Fort Bragg organized the mob of fans, then moved quickly through the crowd, looking for wounded. They escorted the three folks with small lacerations down to the infield medic.

 

There were no other injuries.

 

Down in the pit, Lianne McCormick and the other fifth-grade teachers efficiently rounded up their own crowd, herded them into a raggedy line, and marched them toward the exit.

 

"Lianne!" Mac bellowed. "Wait a minute!"

 

Lianne came back\x97the rest of the field trip contingent kept going. "We have to leave, Mac. This is the sort of thing parents have heart attacks over\x97we want to have the kids safely back to school before any footage shows up on a local newsbreak."

 

"But I really wanted to talk to\x97"

 

"Gotta go, Mac," Lianne interrupted. "See you soon?"

 

He forced a smile. "As soon as possible."

 

She hurried after her students.

 

Mac's watched his little TK trooping away, way to the back of the line\x97when, as if she felt his stare, she turned and looked directly at him\x97and the look in her eyes became one of startled recognition.

 

"Elf\x97" he read on her lips. "You're an elf\x97"

 

He nodded, staring past her young face into her old, old eyes.

 

:My name is Maclyn of Elfhame Outremer. My mother Dierdre Brighthair and I need to talk with you.:

 

She didn't respond to his Mindspoken request. She did, however, start to walk toward him\x97

 

And her face changed. Mac would have sworn that her eyes had been dark brown\x97but they weren't. They were light green. The appearance of age and wisdom, the look of recognition that had been in them, were gone. Instead, her face reflected pure terror. She wrapped her skinny arms around herself and stared at him in wide-eyed dismay. Then she fled. She disappeared into the crowd of kids, leaving Mac standing open-mouthed and bewildered.

 

:Mother,: he noted, :That was, I believe, the strangest encounter I have ever had with a human being.:

 

D.D. had witnessed the last part of the odd exchange, and for once she had no sharp comeback. She only nodded, and replied, :Something is very wrong there, Mac. I don't know what it is, but there is something seriously wrong with that child.:

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Although he was attuned to his crew well enough that he would have known if any of them were hurt, Mac checked on them anyway. Everyone was fine, though one of the boys had sustained bloody knees from a slide across cement. D.D. was on the ground beside him, hands full of gauze, with a roll of adhesive tape in her mouth.

 

:If you don't hurry up, you're going to lose our TK:, D.D. said acidly, as he slouched against a tire-wall to watch her.

 

What was the rush? He knew where the child was. She wasn't going to escape them. :She's in Lianne's class. I'll find her later, it's no big deal.:

 

He felt his mother's impatience at that assumption, and if she'd been acidic before, her reply could have etched glass. :I want to talk to her now, Maclyn. That makes it a "big deal.":

 

The times Dierdre had taken that tone with him could be counted on both hands, with fingers left over. It instantly became a big deal for Mac. He hurried after the vanished fifth-graders, determined to hold up the buses long enough to borrow Lianne's TK student for a few minutes. Instead, he careened into a woman who'd been reaching to open the door Mac burst out of. She fell off her four-inch spike heels and landed on her rump on the cement.

 

"Why don't you watch where you're going, idiot!" she snapped.

 

She was gorgeous, in her early thirties, with porcelain-white skin and a flawless figure. She glared up a him through a tangle of waist-length red hair and snarled, "You could kill somebody that way."

 

Real red hair, too, he thought, distracted. Not bottled.

 

"I'm sorry," he said, and offered his hand. "I was trying to catch someone."

 

The woman was fidgeting with something in her purse\x97some sort of little black box. Suddenly she looked up, and seemed to actually see him\x97and her glare melted.

 

Eh?

 

"She isn't too bright if she didn't let you catch her," the redhead drawled. She gave him a slow, sensuous smile and extended her hand, allowing him to help her up, taking her time about it, too. She was slow to let go of his hand, holding onto it while she tested her ankles to make sure they still worked. Mac suspected that the little wiggles were also so that she could make sure he took a good look at her legs\x97which, painted into brown leather jeans, were admittedly worth looking at. She flipped her hair\x97he found himself thinking of it as The Hair\x97out of her face, and giggled.

 

"I suppose I'll survive." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "You're one of the drivers, aren't you?"

 

Mac was wearing his Nomex suit. It was a bright red one. He might have had "RACECAR DRIVER" carved on his chest, and been a little more obvious, but he doubted it. He sighed and nodded. Takes a real genius to figure that out, he thought. Lovely package, but I don't think there's anybody home inside the wrapper.

 

He had lost interest in empty-headed humans a few hundred years before this one had been born. There was one advantage to the Folk; the rare cases with nothing between the ears but air tended to fall prey to Dreaming, which took them effectively out of circulation. "I'm glad you weren't hurt," he told her, doing his best to exude polite, distant sincerity. "I've got to run, though. I've got to catch a kid."

 

She pouted. She actually pouted. "If you wanted any of the ones on those school buses, you're too late. They just pulled out."

 

"Damn!" Mac muttered aloud, without thinking.

 

She used his immobility as an excuse to come closer, and laid her hand on his arm. "What's wrong? They steal something?"

 

"No," he said shortly. "Hell\x97probably . . ." He shook his head, then looked down at her hand as if he was unpleasantly surprised to find it there.

 

She was observant enough to take the hint and removed it.

 

I know where to find the girl. And D.D. knows I can't outrun a bus. She should be reasonable. "It doesn't matter, really," he told the woman. "Sorry I ran over you."

 

"You're the best-looking thing to run over me all week." She flirted with her eyes shamelessly and giggled again, though she didn't make a second attempt to touch him.

 

The giggle grated on Mac's nerves. It sounded false\x97and anything that false made Mac very wary. It felt like\x97bait. And bait meant a trap.

 

And a trap meant that there was a lot more under The Hair than she was letting on.

 

"I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing," he said, taking a cautious step backwards.

 

"Oh, you don't need to leave. I was lookin' for you anyway . . . Mr. Lynn." She looked at him with those big blue eyes, and leaned towards him, exuding a sweet sexuality.

 

That's bait, all right. Wonder how many poor fools took it?

 

He took another step backwards; she was oblivious to his sensitive nerves. "I . . . write\x97free-lance, y'know. And I just had to interview someone who knew about racing after that accident. It was just like magic the way nobody got hurt, don't you think? I mean, that looked like a terrible accident."

 

What is she getting at? What's she after? "It looked worse than it was," he murmured, looking for a way to get past her without knocking her over again.

 

She ignored his remark as if she hadn't heard it. "And the way the driver walked out of there\x97I've never seen anything more unbelievable in my life. And all that metal flying everywhere, and not hitting anyone\x97well, I simply have to know how often a thing like that happens. You'd have to have nerves of steel to have a job like yours and run the risks you do every day. And I just knew you were the person to help me, Mr. Lynn. I mean, I've always been a big fan of yours."

 

"I'm sure you have." Big fan of mine, eh? So why have I never seen you at the track before? And why didn't you recognize me? And what were you looking for in here, if it wasn't me?

 

She finally paused long enough to take a breath. "So will you let me interview you? I can't promise national publication, but I'll do my best. And the publicity would be wonderful for you, I'm sure."

 

She was lying, and he knew it. It wasn't just her tone, or his shrilling nerves. He'd seen her eyes flickering to the name tag on his suit just before she called him Mr. Lynn; he'd caught the awkward pause in her speech when she told him what she did. And he didn't believe for one minute the Sweet-Southern-Honey Vapor-Brained-Belle routine she was laying on him. She was no more from the Deep South than he was. That accent was as assumed as the one Dierdre used among mortals. The odds that she was a writer were slim\x97the odds she was a free lance were even slimmer. She was working for someone. And that look in her eyes\x97no, she wasn't anywhere near as dumb as she was playing. But now Mac was . . . curious.

 

:Curious? Curious, are you! Is that what you're calling it now? Were you curious with Lianne last night, hmm? An' would ye be carin' what was between this one's ears if ye had her between the sheets, then?: His mother Sent him a wicked laugh. :I think not. Och, my laddie! He's a curious one for sure. Always mighty curious with the ladies.:

 

:Mother, you will die young if you keep that up.:

 

:Too late for that, child. Besides, I'm only trying to teach you something\x97the next trap might be baited so attractively that you forget it's a trap.: But then his mother's tone became serious. :I saw you couldn't catch the child. Another time for that, then. If you really want to know about this little fishie, though, reel her in. I'll have a look at her.:

 

:Right.: And suddenly Mac was all warmth and admiration. "Call me Mac," he told the redhead, and held out his hand. "Come on back and I'll introduce you round."

 

She shook his hand and turned up the wattage on her smile. "And you can call me . . . Jewelene. Jewelene Carter."

 

:Yeah, sure,: D.D. snickered. :And you can call me Dolly Parton.:

* * *

Gawd, what a day.

 

Lianne unplugged the hot-air popper and carried her buttered popcorn into the living room. She sprawled on the couch and stared out the sliding glass door at the dappled sunlight on the grass of the apartment quad. I ought to go outside and sit in the sun on the deck and grade papers and listen to the birds, she thought guiltily. It's a gorgeous April day, and they're singing like mad, and love is in the air, and tomorrow it might be too cold or too wet to sit outside.

 

I need to unwind. Fresh air will do me good. I'll regret it if I waste this weather. Platitudes exhausted, she sighed, but she didn't move. She was too wrung out to move.

 

She couldn't concentrate on grading papers. She couldn't concentrate on averaging out grades. She was still mentally at the racetrack, with Mac shouting for everyone to take cover, a car about to blow up in their faces, fire, smoke, people screaming\x97and Amanda Kendrick sitting up on the bleacher staring at the disaster and trying to commit suicide. The entire business ground one more time through the seemingly endless loop it had worn in her memory.

 

It had been close. Amanda was no more than behind the bleachers when the motor blew\x97and there had been hot metal flying everywhere.

 

Except where there were people, Lianne mused. But that was luck. Amanda isn't stupid\x97not really. She had to know she was in danger. So why did she just sit there like a\x97what?

 

It was a bizarre accident. Everything had been stacked against them. It was a wonder somebody wasn't dead. She'd heard later that only three people had been injured, and those had been fixable with a stitch or two. It seemed impossible. There had been no dead kids whose parents had to be phoned, no trips to the emergency room in the back of a wailing ambulance holding some bloody little hand, no six-o'clock news rehashes with plenty of gory film. There could have been. In fact, she didn't see how any of those nightmares had been avoided. Lianne decided she was about ready to believe in miracles.

 

So, really, it had ended very well.

 

I'll never go on a field trip again, though. Anybody who takes fifth-graders on one of those things should automatically get a prescription for Valium from the Board of Education.

 

Lianne sighed again and snuggled further into the plush cushioning of the couch. Her mind flicked back to Amanda Kendrick.

 

Something is wrong with this picture, kiddo. Amanda wasn't frozen in shock at the sight of the accident. She was watching\x97fascinated\x97eating it up. She was furious when I pulled her down from her seat. And after the explosion, she was watching again.

 

Lianne munched popcorn and pondered. It wasn't the first time she'd caught Amanda doing something odd, only it was the first time it had been anything so ghoulish.

 

She needed to talk to Amanda's family. Again. Her nose automatically wrinkled at the thought. The Kendricks were one of Fayetteville's good families. Daddy was a corporate lawyer, Mama was Vassar, Junior League, Arts Council\x97and raised champion Arabian horses. They were both Old Money, and both times Lianne had talked with them, she walked away from the conference feeling undereducated, poorly dressed, that her hair was messy, her makeup was smudged, and she had runs in her hose.

 

That's not being fair to them, though. They're also concerned, attentive, and determined that their kids won't get a hothouse view of the world from education in Fayetteville's exclusive\x97and sheltered\x97private school. They want both of their girls to get a real-world education.

 

The Kendricks were always frustrated and somewhat at a loss when they discussed Amanda. Lianne could understand that. Amanda's IQ and achievement tests said she ought to be the hottest thing in school since the handheld calculator\x97and her grades were erratic, to put it kindly. She was slipping through the cracks of the educational system in spite of her family's concern, in spite of her teachers' attention\x97in spite of everything.

 

As she thought about the family, something finally clicked.

 

Mama was actually Step-Mama, wasn't she? Doing yeoman work, as far as Lianne could tell\x97but not even Super-Step-Mom could work miracles if Amanda was getting twisted ideas from somewhere else. Lianne wondered if the problem might stem from the real mother or the step-father.

 

It would be worth discussing with the Kendricks at their next conference. She decided she would set that up in the morning.

 

Better yet\x97I have the number here somewhere. Why don't I call now? Then I'll be able to work.

 

The phone rang only twice.

 

"Kendricks'." The voice was female, cultured, and clipped.

 

Ah, joy, Lianne thought. None other than Amanda's step-mother.

 

"Yes, Mrs. Kendrick. This is Amanda's homeroom teacher, Lianne McCormick. I've called to see if I could set up an appointment to meet with you and Amanda's father."

 

"Again, Miss McCormick? I'm beginning to wonder where the problems are. Andrew and I have visited with you more this year than we have with all of Amanda's other teachers put together. I think there is something significant about that."

 

Great. Obviously the assumption now was that Amanda's problems were her teacher's fault. Lianne took a deep breath, prayed for patience, and sternly stepped on the nasty little thought whispering that they might be right. "I regret having to call you. However, I'm noticing some odd behavior from Amanda, and I'd like to discuss it with you."

 

"I'm not sure I have the time to get away," the voice on the other end of the line said. "There's been some trouble with the horses, and we don't like to leave the stable unwatched."

 

Lianne saw an opening to get a closer look at Amanda's home life. She leapt at it. "I do understand that you've both been in a great many times this year, and I appreciate the difficulty that causes you. I'd be happy to come out to your home after school and talk with you. In fact, I think that might reassure Amanda that I do care about her progress."

 

There was a long pause. "Well, that's kind of you, Miss McCormick\x97"

 

Lianne heard an evasion coming and headed it off. "I don't mind. In fact, why don't I stop by tomorrow\x97say, six o'clock?"

 

There was another pause. "I do have plans tomorrow\x97I've scheduled an afternoon with the trainer to look at my two-year-olds\x97we're getting ready for some of the national shows." Then, perhaps realizing that she'd just put her horses' show status in front of her child's welfare, she immediately added, "But the day after tomorrow, I'm free, and I'll see if Andrew can wrap up with his clients in time to be home by six. Does that sound suitable?"

 

Lianne smiled. "That will be fine, Mrs. Kendrick. I'll see you at six on Friday."

 

She hung up the phone and pressed her back against the wall. Feels like I just won the first round of the International Chess Championship.

* * *

The room was enormous, beautifully decorated, absolutely immaculate\x97a sweet, perfect, peach-and-white little girl's bedroom as envisioned by a top designer. Stranger was unimpressed. Stranger knew the cost of the perfect bedroom. Downstairs the battle raged, and soon it would be time to pay the price.

 

Gods, they're fightin' again. That bodes no good for her. Stranger bit the bottom lip, tried to figure out a strategy that one of the others would be able to carry out.

 

Strategy was what Stranger was best at; even before\x97hundreds of years before\x97Stranger had been able to plan, to devise\x97to win. But a winning strategy required a willing army. The three-year-old, even if she could be lured out of hiding, would be no help\x97but if the three twelve-year-olds could be introduced to each other and enlisted, Stranger might be able to work something out. Stranger thought the elf would help\x97if the others could be made to go to him. They wouldn't trust anybody, but then, they didn't believe in elves. Maybe they would trust someone they thought didn't exist.

 

Her name wasn't really Stranger. It was Cethlenn. But she was a newcomer, and at first, the others refused to acknowledge her existence. Then she'd done them some favors. They'd reacted by giving her a name. To them she was Stranger. It was her badge of honor, and she wore it proudly.

 

Stranger's eyes watched twelve-year-old hands form numbers on the paper, carefully shaping out a long division problem. Stranger didn't know a thing about long division, and didn't care. The math could wait. Someone else would come along later and do it. Stranger was more interested in the fighting downstairs.

 

The Father was raising bloody hell, the Step-Mother was cold and hateful.

 

The Father's voice carried clearly up the long, curving stairwell and through the carved wood door. "You don't do a goddamn thing with her. That's the reason her teacher keeps calling, wanting conferences!"

 

"She's yours\x97not mine. I didn't marry you so I could be caretaker for that psychotic little rodent, Andrew. You deal with her." The Step-Mother didn't like Amanda, but that was nothing new.

 

"She needs discipline from you, too, Merryl!" The Father's voice dropped an octave. A bad sign.

 

The Step-Mother sneered; she had wealth enough on her own that the Father couldn't cow her. "I'm sure she gets more than enough discipline just from you\x97and I have Sharon to look after. I can handle normal children."

 

"Sharon is getting big enough that she could stand a bit of discipline. You coddle her too much." The Father's voice turned threatening. Stranger had heard that tone of voice before.

 

The Step-Mother's voice could have frozen boiling water\x97and was just as threatening. "You keep your hands off of Sharon. I won't have you turning her into another Amanda."

 

"Worthless, useless, frigid bitch! If you were any kind of a woman, we wouldn't be having this problem with Amanda!" the Father yelled, losing control, thus losing the argument. The Father wouldn't like that.

 

The kitchen door slammed. Then Stranger heard the tread of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

 

"Amanda," the Father's voice shouted from the other side of the door, "Your pony is standing in filth. Get down to the barn and clean out his stable. Now."

 

Stranger tried to hang on, tried to control what happened next, but the others were panicked. They pushed to get in. Stranger tried to tell them what to do, but they wouldn't listen. They were too scared. They hid in the closet, wrapping their arms around themselves, and ignored Stranger.

 

"No, no," they whispered. "No, Daddy, no." The little voices crying inside Stranger's head made the hair stand up on the skinny little-girl arms. Stranger shivered and screamed at the others to listen, to run, to get away\x97to find the elf. She was so preoccupied with trying to rouse them that she ignored the real enemy standing outside the door.

 

But finally, when the Father got tired of yelling outside the door and came in to get Amanda, Stranger went away instead.

* * *

"Mel, I've got a winner on this end."

 

Melvin Tanbridge rocked back in the soft glove-leather chair and watched the sun set over the ocean through the tinted glass wall in his office. "Secure line?" he asked.

 

"Scrambled," the other voice affirmed.

 

"Then tell me more, baby."

 

"Our target, I'm almost certain, is a racecar driver named Mac Lynn. I had too big a crowd to eliminate all the noise, but he's the best possibility. I got a chance to talk to him later, and even latent, he flicked the needle on the meter. I don't think he's too bright\x97all glands and no brains\x97but he has plenty of talent. And, my Gawd, Mel, the film I have of this accident\x97you'll have to see to believe. There's no chance that this one's just a fluke. Besides, the readings on your little monitor were all red-zone. I'm FedEx'ing the film, some taped notes, and an `interview' I got with the driver to you\x97it will be on your desk tomorrow."

 

"Fine." Mel tapped one manicured nail on the ebony desktop and smiled. "Nobody said we needed a nuclear physicist anyway. If he's stupid, he'll be easier to control. So\x97get a little background on him so we know what we're dealing with\x97then bring him in."

 

His agent chuckled. "On it already. I'm running a couple of goons that I brought with me today on the off chance I'd get lucky\x97maybe I'll be able to FedEx him to you tomorrow."

 

Mel laughed. "Sounds good. Who are you running?"

 

"Stevens and Peterkin." The voice sounded pleased.

 

Mel nodded and shifted the phone to his other ear. He picked up a pencil, started writing on a yellow legal pad. "They'll do. At least for pulling in a dumb jock."

 

"I'm going to need an alibi, and my clearance."

 

"First make sure he's the one. I don't want to have to feed any more mistakes to the sharks." Mel made another note under the first on his paper. "You set for money?"

 

"For the time being. If things get expensive, I'll let you know. But the cost of living here is nothing compared to California."

 

Mel's attention drifted from the phone to the scene outside his window. A girl in a wetsuit rode her board in on the crest of a breaker.

 

"Mel? You still there?"

 

He dragged his attention back. "Yeah. I'm here. Report in tomorrow, let me know what happens." He hung up the phone, and pulled a dull black box identical to the one the woman at the racetrack had from the top drawer of his desk. He aimed it at the girl on the surfboard and depressed the switch. The needle on the meter didn't twitch.

 

He shrugged and put the box back in his drawer.

* * *

Mac sat on a folding chair beside the Victor III while D.D. and her current human boyfriend, a twenty-six-year-old engineer-turned-biker, tinkered on it. They lay underneath the car, only visible from the knees down. An occasional thunk issued from under the car, but the three were otherwise, to all appearances, companionably silent. The human boyfriend\x97Redmond something-or-other\x97was concentrating on the car. And probably, Mac thought, sneaking an occasional grope of D.D.

 

None of it interrupted D.D.'s inaudible conversation, but then she had a lot of\x97skill. Mac wondered if the boyfriend knew how old she was. . . .

 

Probably. D.D. didn't believe in keeping that kind of secret from someone she let into her bed. Chances were he was one of the changelings from another Elfhame. Maybe Fairgrove, birthplace of the Victor III; they grew a lot of mechanics down there.

 

:Your little fish is no fish at all,: D.D. remarked.

 

No surprise there. :I knew that. But what is she up to?:

 

:My impression, laddiebuck, is that she's out a-hunting\x97and with you her quarry. Nathless, you needna think 'tis your handsome body she's lusting for. Nor your mind, though I doubt that occurred even to you. I'd say from the smell of her, 'tis magic she's hunting.:

 

He tightened his jaw; that was unwelcome news. :Dangerous?:

 

Mac heard an audible snort from under the Victor. :Not to such as you and me. Merely amusing. But to another human, now\x97aye, there's danger there. And I'm not for certain that she knows her target. There was, after all, the child today. Not a shield on her, and projecting like a woman full-grown. Sure, I'd wager you were nothing but a convenient bit of misdirection.:

 

:So much for my masculine charms, hey, Mother?:

 

The snort this time was derisive. :I always thought you sold yourself too dear.:

 

D.D. rolled out from under the car and stared intently into her son's eyes. "Go make yourself useful somewhere," she told him out loud, and added in Mindspeech, :Lead your little not-fish a merry swim. No doubt she's waiting for you. Be sure she thinks you're her quarry for true. While she's chasing you\x97who are old enough surely to take care of yourself\x97you'll be keeping her away from that child\x97who cannot protect herself.:

 

:A good point.: The woman had looked expensive, from the clothing to the perfume. Someone was paying her well, if she was a hunter. A child would have no chance against her.

 

:And no forgettin' now!: she reminded him. :About that child; you may deceive the woman all you like, but we need to find her.:

* * *

He headed through the parking lot with the late afternoon sun baking his back and the glare of reflection angling inconveniently into his eyes from the few cars that were left there.

 

And as D.D. had anticipated, the woman was waiting, Hair and all.

 

Mac suppressed a smile. The self-named "Jewelene" lurked in the shadows of a closed concession stand near where Rhellen was parked. He couldn't actually see her\x97but her anticipation was palpable. She wasn't going to be a problem\x97

 

A tingle at the base of his neck slowed him down.

 

No, she wasn't going to be a problem. The two men who were sneaking up on him from slightly behind and to either side could have been, however, if he hadn't been expecting something.

 

How to play it?

 

A vision of the Three Stooges, chased by villains, succeeding by sheer ineptitude, came to him from his last hotel room cable-TV binge. He smiled slyly.

 

Rhellen, old friend, you and I are going to have some fun.

 

His step became jaunty. He whistled a cheery rendition of "Laddies, There's Trouble, Oh, Trouble A-Comin'." The tune was one he and Rhellen had used as a signal when tavern-hopping back in his days as a colonial rakehell. It had always been useful for assuring a backup or, if need be, a quick getaway.

 

He took in the slight change in attitude in the elvensteed, and felt his partner signal that he was ready.

 

Mac grinned and, without warning, bolted for the concession stand. "Jewelene!" he yelled. "Hey, baby! You waited around for me! Fabulous\x97and, gorgeous, it's your lucky day. I've got the whole afternoon free."

 

The two gorillas who'd been casually working their way through the parking lot, following him, changed direction. "Jewelene" looked wildly for some place to hide, and realized there wasn't one. She looked straight at him, made an "Oh-what-a-surprise!" face, and smiled.

 

He caught her lightly by one wrist.

 

"Mr. Lynn," she said, and forced a bright smile, "I didn't expect to run into you again."

 

He leaned against the concession stand and gave her his best come-hither look. "Baby," he purred, "we both know that's not true. Why else would you be waiting around by my car after everyone else has gone home? And it's Mac\x97remember?"

 

"Right\x97Mac."

 

He slid an arm around her waist and moved her towards Rhellen. "You don't have to pretend with me. The first time I saw you, I knew we were meant for each other. And I could tell that you knew it, too." He gave her a quick little one-armed hug that threw her off balance. She fell against him.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the panicked glance she threw at her two goons.

 

"Uh, Mac . . ." She tugged ineffectually at his arm, then gave up. "I'm glad to see you. Really. But I was waiting to talk to some of the other drivers\x97for my interviews. I think I can sell this story to Playboy, but I need more, ah, input."

 

"Honey\x97Jewelene\x97why didn't you say so? None of the drivers are here right now," Mac lied fluently. "But I can take you to a bar where most of us hang out. I'm sure we can round up some other drivers for you to interview. And the atmosphere of our hangout will be great for your story. And I can give you any kind of `input' you want." He tugged her toward the Chevy.

 

"Well, hey, that's\x97ah, really nice of you. Go ahead, and I'll follow you in my car."

 

Mac laughed. "I'm a professional driver, babe. You couldn't keep up with me if you wanted to."

 

Her goons were finally in position behind Rhellen, crouched down against his rear fender. "Jewelene" relaxed.

 

"Okay then, Mac. Thanks. Very much."

 

Mac had a hard time keeping himself from laughing aloud. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and pulled her into an extended kiss. "Wonderful. And after you get your interviews, we'll go home and interview each other."

 

She smiled back, and he noted a vindictive gleam in her eye. "Yes," she agreed. "We'll do that."

 

He escorted her to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her. She climbed in, completely confident. He walked around the front of the car, and noted the movement of one of the men around to Rhellen's driver's side. The other, of course, would be sneaking around behind him. He patted the hood.

 

Everybody ought to have an elvensteed, he thought\x97

 

Rhellen radiated satisfaction and chuckled in agreement.

 

:Ready?: he asked the elvensteed. He waited long enough to catch Rhellen's assent, and then made the single step forward that changed him from target to missile.

 

As he rounded the front of the car, both men lunged for him. The driver's door swung open and flung the first one back, and Rhellen edged forward just enough to knock the second one down. Mac slipped into the seat to find "Jewelene" trying with all her strength to open her door and get back out. He grinned. His door closed, the car started itself up, and "Jewelene's" head jerked around.

 

"The weirdest things have been happening around here lately," he told her, as he drove Rhellen away from the two bewildered goons, who were scrambling for their own car. She stared at him, wild-eyed and open-mouthed. "I've found out it never pays to let your guard down." He laughed. "So, beautiful, are you ready to get your interviews?"

 

She was staring behind them at the dwindling parking lot. Mac glanced into the rearview mirror; there, two hairy guys in jeans, t-shirts, and ball caps were jumping into an incongruously clean, expensive navy-blue sedan. They came tearing out of the parking lot like they'd been bitten by denizens of the Unseleighe Court.

 

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go."

 

"Okay, Rhellen," Mac drawled. "You heard the lady. Let's go."

 

Rhellen accelerated to his top speed. They launched into Raeford Road's six-lane roller derby, shouldering aside a steroidal poser-mobile and causing the owner of a brand-new Mercedes to jam on brakes to keep from marring its expensive paint job.

 

Mac rested his hands lightly on the steering wheel but let the car do the actual work. "Jewelene" yelled, "Jesus, slow down!" and started fumbling around the seat and the doorframe.

 

"What are you doing?" Mac asked.

 

"Looking for the seatbelts. Slow down! Where are the damned seatbelts?"

 

"Honey, this is a mint-condition fifty-seven Chev-ro-let," he drawled. "There ain't no seatbelts. They were an option back then."

 

Rhellen dodged a Porsche, weaved on two wheels past a semi, darted into a hole exactly two inches longer than he was, then bolted in front of a cop car and accelerated. Mac casually took one hand off the wheel and flicked on the radio.

 

"Come on, baby, come on! You've just got to release me\x97" Wilson Phillips sang cheerfully.

 

His passenger was white beneath the painted blush, and looked as if she agreed wholeheartedly with the trio. "Jesus God! Mac, slow down or let me out of here!"

 

He chuckled, exuding machismo. "Relax, baby. I'm a professional. I do this all the time."

 

She turned to him, pupils wide with real fear. "Not with me in the car!"

 

He gave her his best impression of a man whose masculinity has been called into question. "Look, baby, if you don't like my driving, you can walk."

 

She grabbed his arm and shook it. "Dammit, that's what I already said! Let me walk!"

 

Rhellen whipped out of traffic into a Kwik Stop parking lot and hit the brakes so hard he almost stood on his grille. "Jewelene" was flung against the dash, then back into her seat. The contents of her purse erupted into the interior of the car and bounced everywhere.

 

Mac hid his delight. Under the auspices of throwing things back into the bag to get her out of his car, he managed to pocket her driver's license and also got a look at some very esoteric toys she was carrying.

 

Voice-activated tape recorder, stun gun, brass knuckles, Mace, thumbcuffs, little packet of fake ID's . . . all sorts of neat stuff\x97plus the mysterious little black box. Interesting. I'd love to get a look in her closet sometime.

 

Then he shoved her toward her door\x97which opened smoothly.

 

He sneered at her. "Have a nice walk. It's too bad about your attitude, baby. You would have had a terrific time\x97but it's your loss." He slammed the door on her heels. "Have a nice day, bitch," he called after her.

 

"Arrogant pig!" she screeched. Or at least, that was part of what she screeched. The rest was incoherent, and probably not Webster's English. She spun away as he laughed at her, then flounced toward the road.

 

Several G.I.'s leaned out of the windows of a passing car and yelled. She shot them the bird, and they retorted with a jeering obscenity. Another car full of G.I.'s right behind them slowed and tried to offer her a ride. He saw her take out her can of Mace. The driver of the car shrugged and grinned, and he and his friends drove on.

 

Her goons would probably find her soon enough. And if they didn't, Mac figured she would enjoy her little hike in the nice April weather. Especially in this neighborhood, and with sunset coming on\x97and looking the way she did. That wouldn't be the last offer of "temporary employment" she'd get before she found a cab. This was a G.I. town, and G.I.'s have two things on their mind when they get off base. . . .

 

And "Jewelene" was certainly dressed for the part. Between The Hair and the Spandex, she'd be lucky if the cops didn't pick her up and run her in just on general principles.

 

Mac looked at the driver's license he'd stolen. "Rhellen," he told the elvensteed, "I think Ms. Belinda Ciucci of Berkeley, California, is going to love Fayetteville\x97what'cha think?"

 

The '57 Chevy rumbled a deep chuckle of affirmation and cruised on.

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

Thank heavens it's only an hour till lunch.

 

Lianne eyed her students with weariness that bordered on desperation. And I'll have several minutes of blessed silence while we do the spelling test. Of course, I could have a lot more silence if I just shot them. Nice idea. I like it a lot.

 

The three-minute pencil-sharpening break was over. It was time to get everyone back in order.

 

"Sit down in your seats, facing forward. Be quiet, get out your pencil, get out your paper. Use your pencil to write on the paper\x97write the following things. Your name\x97yes, Keith, when I say your name, I do mean the name your parents gave you, not any name you think is really cool today. The date. Today's date. It's on the board. Look at the board. Copy the date. Get it right. Your life depends on it."

 

Lianne tapped the blackboard with a piece of chalk for emphasis and counted mentally to ten. The fifth grade Mafia had apparently declared that today was Silly Day\x97every simple chore required detailed instructions. Even usually well-behaved kids like Latisha McKoy and Marilee Blackewell were misbehaving. The first time she told the class to sit down, almost all of them sat on the floor. It was a bad moment\x97for the continued existence of the kids, as well as for her.

 

She hadn't done anything to them\x97yet\x97that would lose her this job. Her guardian angels were probably taking bets on how much longer that could last, though.

 

"Fold the paper neatly in half, longwise. Write the numbers one through twenty-five, down the left side of the paper\x97Arabic numerals, William, not Roman numerals\x97no, Snyder, you may not go to the bathroom during a test\x97I don't care if your big brother did tell you it's your Constitutional right. He lied. Write the numbers twenty-six through fifty down the fold in the center of the paper."

 

Because we have learned never to say the words "center fold"\x97in any context\x97in a room that holds fifth-grade boys, haven't we, Lianne?

 

"Jennifer, Latisha, you do not talk at any time during a test. Not even if you dropped your pencil, Jennifer\x97getting it back does not require conversation. Maurice, close the book!"

 

Ten minutes of orders. Now, finally, she could give the test.

 

"Number one\x97concentration. CON-cen-TRA-tion. School work requires concentration."

 

Not murdering you little monsters requires CON-cen-TRA-tion. Lianne felt her teeth grinding and tried to relax her jaw before she splintered something. Crowns were expensive, and they didn't come under the heading of "injuries in the line of duty."

 

She studied her charges. Twenty-six heads bent over their papers. Twenty-six hands wrote out creative versions of the spelling words, some that would bear no relationship to any word ever written in the English language. The Death Row Five snuck surreptitious glances in her direction to see if it was safe yet to use their microscopically handwritten cheat sheets. If they spent half the time studying that they did in cheating, they'd be straight-A students. Beth Hambly sat primly in the front row, carefully guarding her (surely perfect) answers from the prying eyes of less perfect classmates. William Ginser, foiled in his plan to number his paper with Roman numerals, was misspelling his words in some ornate style that bore a striking resemblance to German Blackletter.

 

If he'd just put that kind of energy into learning to spell the damn words in the first place\x97She sighed. Then he wouldn't be William.

 

Amanda Kendrick, sitting in the back corner of the classroom, stared out the window.

 

"Eight. Contradiction. CON-tra-DIC-tion. If you say something that means the opposite of what I have said, that is a contradiction."

 

Amanda didn't move. Lianne had noticed, on and off during the morning, that Amanda was quieter than usual\x97but usual was awfully quiet. Now, though, she looked closer.

 

The total absence of expression on Amanda's face made Lianne shiver. Is she breathing? Yes, she is\x97a little. Good God, she looks dead. She is breathing\x97but she sure as hell isn't here. And I don't think I'd want to be wherever she is right now. She hasn't done a single spelling word\x97no, screw the spelling test. I don't want to call her down in front of the rest of the class. Not right now. She doesn't look like she feels too well.

 

Lianne cruised through the words on the test, making up sentences on autopilot. She couldn't stop looking at Amanda.

 

The dead look is in her eyes. They're glazed\x97could she be having some sort of a seizure? Maybe I need to call a doctor. But she doesn't look physically sick. And the few times I've called on her, I have been able to get an answer out of her\x97she just drifts away right afterward.

 

Lianne bit her lip.

 

We're going to take a break after this test, and I'm going to talk to her.

 

"Thirty-nine\x97" Decision made, her attention snapped back to the rest of the class. Her loss of vigilance had not passed unnoticed. "Snyder, Maurice\x97I'll take those papers, gentlemen, and you may sit out the rest of the test. You've just earned yourselves F's. Anybody else like to try? No? Thirty-nine. Interception. In-ter-CEP-tion. What you have just seen, folks, was the interception of two cheat sheets."

 

The rest of the test went without incident.

 

Lianne got everyone started reading Thomas Rockwell's How to Eat Fried Worms, a book she had fought long and hard to get on the fifth grade required reading list. It proved to her students that reading really was fun\x97she'd converted more book-haters with that\x97plus A Light in the Attic, and the Alvin Fernald books\x97than with anything else she used. They wallowed in the gross-out joys and Machiavellian plotting of a kid who got dared into eating a worm a day and the friends who'd bet him he couldn't.

 

With their attention fixed on their books, she was free to take care of Amanda.

 

She walked to the back of the room, squatted down beside Amanda's desk, and waited. Amanda kept staring out the window. There was no sign that the child knew she was there.

 

"Amanda," Lianne whispered. "I need to talk with you."

 

She got no response.

 

Lianne rested her hand lightly on Amanda's shoulder, and said, "Amanda, is something wrong?"

 

The girl's whole body shuddered, and her face turned toward Lianne\x97and Lianne pulled her hand away, horrified. Pale, pale jade-green eyes stared back at her, stared through her, lips pulled back from teeth in an animal expression of fear, or rage\x97or both. The face was not Amanda's face, not a child's face\x97if it was human at all. The expression was fleeting\x97there, and gone so fast Lianne wondered if she'd really seen it\x97then one of the girls behind her and towards the front of the class started shrieking. Others yelled, desks squeaked, and something hard hit Lianne on the back of the neck. She spun towards the front of the class, started to yell at the kids to stop fighting, and froze.

 

Impossible.

 

Loose chalk flew from the chalkboard as if thrown by an angry child. Closed chalk boxes opened themselves, spewed their contents into the air\x97the liberated chalk rained against walls and ceiling and floor and kids. Bulky blackboard erasers pelted students and furniture, fell to the floor, and leapt up to attack again.

 

The neatly stacked spelling tests on her desk launched themselves into the air, to join with piles of loose construction paper from the bulletin board corner and reports on The Planets of Our Solar System that had suddenly come to life.

 

Books fell off of desks to the floor. Pens and pencils leapt from desks to smack against the windows. The classroom door opened, then slammed shut, then opened again to allow a stream of paperwork to escape out into the hall.

 

The children's screams didn't cover the sound of paper snapping in the nonexistent wind.

 

Lianne had just enough time to realize that what she saw was real; it actually was happening. Then it stopped.

 

Projectiles in mid-course slammed into some invisible wall and dropped to the floor. Papers swirled downward like rainbow-colored autumn leaves. The door shut with a soft click.

 

There was silence.

 

Everyone waited. Scared, big-eyed kids looked at her for direction.

 

She didn't know what to do. So she cleared her throat, bent down, tentatively picked up a piece of chalk, then another. They didn't attack. She picked up a handful of paper.

 

"Okay, folks\x97everyone all right?" There were tentative nods from the kids as they looked themselves over and made sure they were still intact. "Good. Then let's . . . let's get this mess cleaned up." She tried to sound brave. God knew, she didn't feel it. "Whatever happened, it's over now. When we've finished, you can all read until the lunch bell rings."

 

Lianne's knees felt weak. She made her way to the front of the class, put all the chalk and loose erasers around her desk back on the blackboard, then sagged into her seat and rested her head in her hands.

 

Two days in a row. Right now, I could be convinced to give up teaching forever. The racing accident, the Attack of the School Supplies, Amanda's weird behavior\x97

 

Amanda! I forgot about her!

 

Lianne looked up, expecting to see Amanda frozen at her desk. Instead, she saw the girl chatting with Brynne Lassiter as the two of them cleaned up one corner of the mess.

 

Amanda glanced in her direction, saw Lianne watching her, and smiled brightly. She bounced up to the desk, and handed the young teacher her gold Cross pen.

 

"Your pen fell beside my desk."

 

Lianne tried to smile. "Thank you, Amanda," she said.

 

"That was really strange, wasn't it, Ms. McCormick?"

 

"Strange doesn't begin to describe it." Lianne looked closer at the girl, then closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the back of her hand.

 

"Are you okay, Ms. McCormick?" Amanda asked. She sounded so normal!

 

"I'll be fine, thank you. Just\x97just go back to your desk now, please." Lianne felt herself struggling to breathe, felt the room starting to reel, but her skin felt cool to her touch. No fever.

 

She was light-headed\x97certainly sick. She had to be.

 

Amanda's eyes are blue.

* * *

Mac woke up with sunlight streaming through the sheers in the window of his hotel suite.

 

Dammit. Forgot to pull the drapes again. What time is it?

 

He looked at his clock on the tacky vinyl-veneer almost-Scandinavian dresser that sat in a puddle of sunshine. Green digital numbers, muted to pastel by the light, glowed reassuringly back at him. He stretched with feline grace. Eleven-fifteen. No hurry. I've got plenty of time for room service.

 

He rolled over to the phone that rested on the equally cheap nightstand and dialed. A bouncy-sounding girl at the other end took his order for French toast and bacon and orange juice and the fruit plate. It would be up shortly, she assured him.

 

Mac smiled and rolled over on his back. A nice hot shower, I think, while breakfast is getting here\x97then maybe a little TV. Out in time for the maid to straighten the place up, take Rhellen for some exercise down Bragg Boulevard, drive over to the school to see where Lianne works. Then a stop by the track so Mother doesn't think I've vanished into the ozone. I'll tell her about the outcome of the Belinda Affair. She'll enjoy that.

 

It felt like the start of a wonderful day.

 

Of course, any day that started out with room service and a maid couldn't go too far wrong. Maclyn approved of room service.

 

He lolled in bed, not quite ready to plunge into the pounding spray of a shower, when he noticed a flash of blue and a dull gleam of gold on the other side of the open door that led to his usually-dull-beige suite living room. Curious, he crawled out of the bed and went to take a look.

 

:Not a very early riser, are you?: The Mindspeech was female, frosty\x97condescending, too.

 

Felouen\x97beautiful, irritating Felouen\x97lounged on his couch. She wore a cobalt blue silk Court jerkin heavily embroidered with gold over a soft, pale-blue silk blouse. Gold-and-sapphire chains draped around her neck and wove through her pale amber hair. Her long legs\x97in matching blue trews\x97were thrown indecorously over one of the couch's overstuffed arms. She hadn't bothered to take off her knee-high blue leather boots. She lay her head back on a cushion and stretched, sending a languorous, sexy smile in his direction.

 

"A little overdressed for the area, aren't you?" Mac remarked.

 

:And you're a little underdressed.:

 

It was a legitimate comment. Mac was stark naked. "You didn't make an appointment. You don't let me know you're coming, you take your chances."

 

She smiled. :And this time I won.:

 

Mac refused to be amused or flattered. "I have plans for the day, Felouen. Go home."

 

:I have plans for the day, too, Mac. I want you to come Home with me.:

 

He glared at her. "What is this? You can't get me to play warrior for the Court by guilt, so you fake lust? I don't believe you, dear."

 

She laughed out loud, delighted. :Fake lust! You'd suspect that, with every other elvish maiden sighing after your broad retreating back? My bonny lad, I needn't fake lust.:

 

She sat up. :But the Unseleighe Court\x97:

 

He blanked out her Mindspeech and turned his back on her. "I won't play defender of the lands with you, Felouen. The lands don't need a defender."

 

Unable to continue her conversation in the more compelling Mindspeech, she shifted with bad grace to physical speech. "It isn't play," she snapped. "The minions of the Unseleighe Court surround you, even now."

 

"Ooooh, minions," he mimicked. "I'm terrified." He crossed his arms over his chest. "They don't bother me, I don't bother them."

 

If anything, her voice grew colder. She sounded like his old sword-instructor, Siobhan: deadly, deathly serious. "You know evil doesn't work that way, Maclyn. The Unseleighe Court grows stronger with every back that's turned to it. The darkness has spread to our corner of Underhill\x97the filth is leaking through even there. Soon enough, it will be able to conquer even the strongest and best of those who could have defended against it. If you don't face it now, you will face it later\x97on its terms."

 

There was a knock at the door. "Room service," someone called.

 

"Yeah\x97just a minute." Mac pointed into the bedroom. :Get in there\x97then vanish:, he told the elven warrior. He pulled his bathrobe off of its hook on the coatrack, put it on, and opened the door.

 

A smiling busboy pushed the cart into the room. "Mornin', Mr. Lynn," he said. "All ready for the race Saturday?"

 

"You bet, Sam. You gonna be there?"

 

"Nah." The young man shook his head, disgusted. "Cain't. I'm scheduled to work. I'm pulling for you, though."

 

"Thanks." He signed for the food\x97on the Fairgrove account, of course\x97and grinned as the busboy left. But the grin vanished with the closing of the door. Mac turned and stalked into his bedroom, expecting to find Felouen waiting for him.

 

She was gone. Good, he thought. The day is looking up.

 

But the feeling of Presence hadn't abated\x97

 

On his bed, gold gleamed. He could feel it. He didn't need a closer look. He knew exactly what she'd left.

 

Shit. The day is looking down.

 

Mac felt pretty much the way someone who'd just found a leaking radioactive canister in his house would feel. He stared at the lovely gold circle and swore creatively.

 

Finally, he picked it up. Uh-huh. I should have known she'd pull something like this. One of the Rings. He pulled a scrap of silk out of a drawer, and carefully wrapped the bit of jewelry in its insulating folds. Then he shoved it into the leather pouch he kept with him. Well . . . maybe D.D. will take it off my hands.

* * *

In spite of Mr. Race-Driver's machismo, he doesn't drive so damn-all fast. That stupid shit yesterday must have been to impress me. Ooooh, ooooh, I was so impressed. Gonad-brained jerk-off!

 

Mac Lynn's '57 Chevy with its custom colors was about as easy to keep track of in traffic as if it sported strobe-lights. She'd always been good at tailing\x97this was so simple it was dull.

 

My commission is the same whether I have it hard or easy. I guess I shouldn't knock it.

 

Belinda downshifted and slipped in behind a pickup as her target slowed and turned into the elementary school parking lot. She chose an unobtrusive spot about a hundred yards down the road, U-turned, and parked. Then she settled back with a bottle of mineral water and a packet of fresh sliced vegetables to wait Mac out.

 

Her old partner in the Berkeley P.D. had given her endless grief on her choice of stake-out munchies. Ed had hated rabbit food. His idea of stake-out rations was a cold Philly steak sandwich, a stack of Domino's pizzas, and a carton of Mountain Dews. Of course, Ed had given her good-natured hell about almost everything. Sometimes she even missed him.

 

She missed him at that moment. He would have loved trailing a race-driver with a classic car. He would have known Mac's racing stats and would have tried endlessly to get her to be interested in them. They could have had a wonderful argument about racing, and what it did to the environment. That argument would have segued into solar versus fossil fuel, and Middle Eastern politics, and even\x97she grinned thinking about it\x97psychic phenomena. Ed wouldn't have believed the accident yesterday was anything but an accident. He would have argued until his last breath\x97in spite of her neat gizmo, in spite of the lack of casualties, in spite of everything. Ed had loved to argue.

 

Debate, he'd called it.

 

She bit her lip, and glared out the window.

 

In the end, he had died arguing\x97debating. He'd had a lot of practice, and he was very convincing, too. She'd wanted to believe him. But he hadn't had as much practice lying as he had at arguing. He'd caught her with the dead mark in the alley, taking her cut to look the other way, and no matter what he said, old Honest Ed could not have meant it when he said he wouldn't turn her in.

 

She'd hated killing him.

 

The job wasn't the same after that\x97it was ruined for her.

 

She bit viciously at the carrot stick.

 

Damn Ed, anyway!

 

She could have been happy in the police department for years.

* * *

It was Moonchange, tide change, sea ebb at Fayetteville's Loyd E. Auman Elementary, where the thundering outrush of the pounding surf of children battered against the lone swimmer-to-shore, who was Mac Lynn, Mighty Racecar Driver\x97

 

Or maybe it's more like the charge of the lemmings, Mac thought, as he watched small children trample all over each other in their race to leave.

 

Fascinated, he stopped to watch.

 

Teachers bellowed and directed and commanded in voices that would have done a drill sergeant proud\x97Mac wondered how many of them joined the Marines following a few years of teaching so they could get a vacation. Parents leaned out car windows and screamed for their youngsters to hurry up. Kids shrieked and yelled insults and questions and promises to call each other, fighting to be heard over the general uproar. The school bus engines rumbled bass counterpoint.

 

The odors of asphalt and bus fumes and new-mown rye grass mingled with the smells of books and stale baloney sandwiches and sweaty gym clothes. Noise, commotion, odors: all were overpowering. For a moment, he wished he was Underhill.

 

But if I went there right after all of this, it would feel like someone had plugged my ears and my nose, muffled my brain in silk, and put dark glasses on me. It would be too subtle, like that awful French food.

 

There was rarely anything subtle about the world of humans.

 

The buses filled slowly, then, abruptly pulled away\x97little pockets of traveling riot. Parents drove off with their young, the few walkers vanished into the distance\x97and quiet returned suddenly, like the descent of the theater curtain. Mac watched as teachers sagged with relief against the building or their cars, or turned with slow and tired steps to head back inside.

 

He went inside after them.

* * *

Lianne's head rested on her desk. Her eyes were closed and her hands were locked over the back of her neck. To Mac, she looked pale.

 

"Bad day, huh?"

 

The teacher looked up at him, blearily, too exhausted to register surprise at his appearance. "Hell day."

 

Mac grimaced by way of showing sympathy. "I'm sorry. You want a back rub? Or maybe you'd prefer that I drive you home?"

 

Lianne buried her head in her hands again. "I want to crawl into my bed and die."

 

Mac shook his head. "The first part of that idea doesn't sound too bad. Tell you what. We'll go over to your place and crawl into bed, and I'll bet I can get you to change your mind about dying."

 

"I doubt it," Lianne groaned. She sounded sincere. She sounded frightened.

 

Mac leaned his palms on her desk and waited until she looked up, then stared intently into her eyes. "It can't be that bad. What's wrong?"

 

Lianne pushed away from her desk and started gathering up her things. She turned her back to him. There was a long pause, filled mostly with the sounds of her stacking papers and breathing rapidly. Finally, she said, in a small, hesitant voice, "Mostly, it seems that my classroom is haunted."

 

Mac started to laugh, but stopped himself when he noted the tension in her shoulders. "You aren't kidding."

 

"God, Mac, I wish I were." She sighed and turned, and he could see the brightness of impending tears in her eyes. "You're\x97you're going to think I'm crazy, but it happened! All the kids were so scared\x97"

 

And so were you\x97"Tell me," he urged. "Lianne, I've seen plenty of things that seemed crazy at the time." He grinned at her, the lopsided, very Celtic grin that always won women's trust. "I may not hang crystals in my car like Bill Gatlin, but I'll go along with Will Shakespeare."

 

" `There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy'?" She managed a tremulous smile. "You know, I think I believe you. . . ."

 

Mac said nothing, only continued to smile encouragingly.

 

She took a deep breath and relaxed, just a little. "Partway through reading today, papers and chalk came to life and started flying around the room on their own, attacking people. The door opened and slammed shut\x97it was a madhouse in here. Then it just stopped. I was terrified."

 

"I'll bet." He put warmth into it, so much that Lianne smiled at him. Mac felt a twinge of excitement. Something was up\x97it seemed a bit of a coincidence that he should be hunting a telekinetic kid when inanimate objects suddenly came to life in that kid's homeroom teacher's class. Mac was willing to bet that something about the visit to the track had triggered the girl. Maybe the accident.

 

Time to do a little fishing, he decided.

 

"What were you doing when it started, baby?" he asked, urging her to keep talking. "Do you remember?"

 

She nodded. "Oh, yeah. It was weird. One of the kids in my class had been lost in space all morning\x97I'd assigned everyone to read, and I went back to her seat to talk to her. I didn't get the chance to, though. I hadn't any more than gotten Amanda's attention when the classroom just\x97blew up."

 

That name sounded familiar. "Amanda . . . is the name of the kid?"

 

Lianne didn't notice his increased interest. "Yeah. You might remember her from our little disaster yesterday. She was the skinny blond girl who wouldn't get down behind the bleachers. She's an odd kid."

 

Mac felt a surge of triumph. There are no coincidences. I knew it. Same child\x97and the accident was the trigger.

 

He nodded casually. "I remember her\x97she always act like that?"

 

Lianne picked up jacket, bag, and papers and headed out the door. Mac followed.

 

"Yes, no, and maybe," she told him. "Nothing about her makes sense. Her aptitude tests indicate that she should be one of the smartest kids I've ever taught. . . ."

 

"And?" he prompted, taking her elbow.

 

Lianne sighed. "And sometimes she is. One minute she's sweet and chatty and willing to discuss the lesson, and the next she doesn't even seem to realize there is a lesson. Her spelling tests are a trip. She'll either slaughter the words entirely, or she'll get them all perfect\x97and sometimes she'll kill the first half of the test and ace the second half. As far as I can tell, she has no attention span. And sometimes she really likes me, and sometimes she really hates me\x97and I don't have any warning before she goes from one attitude to the other."

 

Mac frowned; there was something about those symptoms. . . . "That is strange."

 

"She has parents that care\x97they have lots of money, she has all the advantages\x97" Lianne shrugged. She waved to another teacher who was coming down the long hall toward the stairs from the other direction. "I'm not the only one she's this way around. Her health teacher says she went into a rage during sex ed the other day. Said that she started screaming that anyone who could do something that disgusting was a whore or a slut or worse\x97I guess Amanda used a few words Nancy had never heard before. What's funny was, they were talking about where babies come from. Really low key, really mild\x97and all of a sudden, there goes Amanda, right off the deep end."

 

A sick feeling had started in the pit of Mac's stomach when Lianne began describing Amanda's behavior. It grew worse with every detail. By the time she'd finished, he was sure something was horribly wrong with the child. He just didn't have any idea what.

 

They walked out of the hot hallways, redolent with chalk dust, ink, schoolgirl perfume, and sneakers, into baked-asphalt parking lot heat.

 

Mac held onto her elbow as she started towards her own car. "Let me drive you home," he urged. I have to find out more about this child\x97or better yet, get Lianne to take me to her.

 

But Lianne shook her head with a stubborn determination he was beginning to know well. "Mac, I appreciate it\x97but I'll be fine. I have to get some groceries, and I want to go home and just soak in the tub and think for a while." A bit of breeze touched the little tendrils of hair that had escaped from her French braid. Not enough breeze to cool, just enough to be annoying.

 

Azaleas, dogwoods, and a goddamned heat wave, all blooming at the same time. Welcome to April in North Carolina, he thought.

 

He persisted, in the forlorn hope that she had been worn down enough to give in to him. "Are you sure?"

 

This time her nod was quite determined. "I'm sure."

 

Mac shrugged. "Okay. I really guess I ought to stop by the track before D.D. sends out search teams, anyway." Try a different tactic. "May I see you tonight?"

 

She finally gave in to his persistence, yielding with a willing heart, if the smile that answered his was any indication. "I'd like that. But\x97how about just an evening in? I'm too tired for anything that involves going out in public."

 

He pretended to consider it. "Hmm. Never tried one of those before. . . ."

 

She lifted a skeptical eyebrow, and he laughed. "It's a date," he said, and gave Lianne a tight hug and a kiss. She returned the kiss with startling enthusiasm, and Mac caught his breath.

 

They are so warm, so bright . . . so enchanting\x97

 

And so fleeting\x97

 

He pulled away quickly and forced a grin. "Gotta run, babe. See you tonight," he told her, and turned away. He didn't want her to see the pain in his eyes.

 

\x97And they die so soon, he thought. So soon . . . and anyone who loves them dies a little bit with them. Not again. I won't ever let myself hurt that way again.

* * *

Redmond Something-or-other was pawing Mac's mother again, back in the corner behind the tire stacks. Mac heard D.D. giggling and whispering, and her young lover's erratic breathing. It was, he reflected, a hard life that gave a man a mother who looked ten years younger than he did\x97when she was nearly two hundred years older.

 

"Hey, D.D.," he yelled. "You're never going to get my car ready doing that. Chase your stud-muffin off with a nice big tire iron and get out here."

 

"There's more to life than cars," she yelled brightly, but she and the stud-muffin appeared. Redmond, looking flushed and flustered, was struggling with his buttons. Mac suspected he'd gotten the zipper back in place before he came out of hiding.

 

D.D., of course, was unfazed. "I didn't think you were going to join us poor peons today," she said, flaunting her pony-tail. "And Redmond and I didn't see any reason to waste a perfectly good day if you weren't even going to show up."

 

"Mmmm-hmmm." Mac looked over at the dark corner of the garage. "Fooling around on the cement behind the tires has got to be one of the more romantic ways I could think of to spend a day."

 

She laughed at him. "We pump grease our own way, we do. You're too stuffy, Mac. You wouldn't know a good time if it bit you on the ass."

 

Mac smiled agreeably and made a tsk-ing noise. "That's the difference between you and me, D.D. If it bit me on the ass, I wouldn't call it a good time."

 

D.D. laughed and flipped him the finger. "You'll never know what you're missing."

 

He cast his eyes up to heaven, as if asking for help. "Gods, I hope not. You're one short step above delinquent, and if you weren't such a good mechanic\x97"

 

"But I am," she replied impudently. "So you indulge me."

 

"So I do. Hey, D.D.\x97I just remembered. A friend of yours stopped over at my place this morning\x97she had a present for you, but she couldn't find you, so she left it with me." Mac fished the scrap of green silk out of the bag in his pocket, and started to hand it to D.D. . . .

 

But D.D. kept her hands shoved firmly into her pockets. :Bullshit, Maclyn, my love.: "What friend was that?" she asked out loud.

 

"Felouen," Mac said. He saw no point in lying. :I'd appreciate your help here, Mother.:

 

:No doubt\x97but I'm not going to interfere in your relationship with the Court. You have some responsibilities that you're evading\x97I won't force you to live up to them. I also won't help you get out of them.: Out loud, D.D. lied for Redmond's benefit. "Felouen and I can't stand each other. I wonder what she's up to."

 

:She stuck me with a Ring, Mother. Won't you please take it off my hands? Before it calls too much attention to me?: Mac proffered the silk again. "She wants to be friends, D.D. Why don't you just take her present? You can always give it back to her later if you don't change your mind about her."

 

:You deal with it, kiddo.: "If she wants to be friends, she can find me herself. If you see her again, give her present back to her. And tell her what I said. I'm sure she'll be seeing you again."

 

Mac muttered, "I'm sure she will."

 

He held the Ring in his fingers and wished that it would go away. It radiated warmth, power, assurance\x97and a broadcast beam that would tell every Unseleighe thing in the area that a Seleighe warrior was among them.

 

Just exactly what I needed for Christmas.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

Elementary school. The racetrack. Penney's at the mall. Barnes' Motor and Parts. Three\x97count 'em, three\x97fast food joints. No\x97she thought, watching with disbelief as Mac pulled into a Kentucky Fried Chicken, Make that four fast food joints.

 

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time, fella," Belinda muttered. "If this is how hot-dog race-drivers spend their days, I'll pass."

 

She'd never tailed anyone duller in her life. She'd spent her entire afternoon driving in circles around Fayetteville, watching Mac gorge on junk food and run apparently pointless errands. It was getting dark, she'd put monster miles on her little silver Sunbird, she had to go to the bathroom, and she was, for the second time, almost out of gas. Mac hadn't taken a potty break or fueled up his accursed Chevy once. Belinda would have given anything to know how he'd accomplished that second trick. Those beasts were supposed to guzzle gas, everyone knew that. His gas tank couldn't be that big.

 

He hadn't spotted her. She knew he hadn't spotted her. Except a suspicion kept nagging that nobody, absolutely nobody, could or would spend a day in such a boring manner unless he was trying to mislead a tail.

 

But finally, at about seven-thirty, Mac's aimless wandering ceased, replaced by apparent commitment to a single direction and increased speed. Now we're getting somewhere, Belinda rejoiced.

 

She had to fall further and further back as they left the center of Fayetteville and traffic thinned. For twenty minutes, they sped along roads that became increasingly deserted. Suddenly, on a narrow country lane, Mac left the pavement entirely, bounced along a sand two-rut through a fallow field, and screeched to a halt in front of a stand of stunted hardwoods along the field's back perimeter. There were no buildings anywhere around. There were no cars passing by.

 

This is going to be good, Belinda gloated. If he has something going on back there, I'll make sure he finds a nice little surprise waiting for him the next time he drops by.

 

Belinda saw him creep out of the Chevy and sneak into the woods. She turned off her headlights, drove in as close as she dared, then rolled down her window. She left the keys hanging from the ignition in case she needed to get out fast, crawled out of the window to keep from making any unnecessary noise, then trailed him on foot.

 

Bless him for wearing light colors, she thought. His white windbreaker nearly glowed in the dark. She edged past the Chevy\x97cautiously\x97she still couldn't explain the incident with Stevens and Peterkin\x97and slipped into the trees. She moved quietly. She'd had plenty of woods experience. Mac apparently hadn't. He sounded like a buffalo dancing on potato chips\x97she'd never heard such a racket from one person. She could have followed him blindfolded.

 

He worked his way up a rise and into a clearing. She saw him plainly. He stopped, illuminated by the light of the half-moon riding almost overhead. Then he turned. Fifteen yards behind him, she froze.

 

With preternatural clearness, she saw him look right at her. She saw him grin. His eyes fixed on hers, he mouthed the words "Hi, babe," and he waved at her\x97

 

Then he vanished. Poof. He didn't hide, he didn't move, he just\x97plain\x97vanished.

 

For one stunned moment, she couldn't think at all.

 

Then her mind started working again, beginning with a long list of things she'd like to call the sonuvabitch.

 

The boss, Belinda thought with some bitterness, ought to be thrilled by this.

 

From back where she'd parked, she heard a whinny and the sound of horse's hooves on dirt. She heard the "ding, ding" sound that could only be caused by someone opening her car door with the keys in the ignition. Still in a state of shock, she listened as a motor\x97her motor\x97kicked over.

 

What?

 

Mac had vanished and now someone was stealing her car!

 

Released from her trance, she turned and broke into a full-out gallop, screaming, "Get the hell away from my car, you thief!" as she ran. Branches slapped her face and tore at her clothes. Thorns ripped at her hands and tangled in her braid. Full-sized trees seemed to jump in front of her. She arrived in the field in time to see her car, headlights on, back out into the highway. The driver flipped the interior light on for a moment, just so she would be sure to recognize him. It was Mac. He waved, and tooted her horn, and drove off.

 

There was a light-colored horse running behind him. Pacing him, she'd have said.

 

"Give my car back, you bastard!" she shrieked. She pulled her gun out of her shoulder holster and fired one shot in sheer frustration. She heard the crack of shattering glass, and a laugh. Red tail lights disappeared in the distance.

 

Now her nice little rental car had a bullet hole in it. And a broken window. For which, no doubt, she'd be charged the worth of the entire car.

 

Shit! But, no\x97it doesn't matter. He stole my car, he didn't have anyone with him\x97therefore, he had to leave his. The Chevy. He'll have taken the keys\x97but I learned a lot from the P.D. I'll just hot-wire his damned Chevy.

 

She turned to walk back to Mac's car\x97and found hoof-prints and emptiness.

 

There was no car.

* * *

Mel Tanbridge grinned and fished out a pen and a yellow legal pad from his desk. He'd just mined a new sure-thing cash-crop angle out of his latest issue of Science News, and he wanted to get it down on paper while the idea was still fresh. The members of Nostradamus Project's auxiliary organization, Nostradamus Foundation International, paid well to get their pseudo-science delivered to their doorstep, and he worked hard to make sure it arrived full of juicy tidbits that would keep the money rolling in.

 

He looked over the SN article, which, in very careful terms noted a variance in the ability of rhesus monkeys to pick symbols shown on a computer screen when the symbols were chosen by a human researcher compared to random assignment of the symbols by the computer. The article, "High-Level Pattern Recognition in Rhesus Monkeys," noted that the monkeys picked the correct symbol from a random stream about 13 to 17 percent more often when the human researcher was choosing the symbols. The article noted that this happened even when the monkey was not able to see the researcher, eliminating the chance of visual cues from the human. The article suggested that the human researchers' attempts at randomness displayed a subconscious choice pattern picked up by the monkeys, and noted that the rhesus monkeys had a strong affinity for pattern recognition.

 

Mel snorted.

 

"Telepathic Contact Between Humans and Monkeys Confirmed In Independent Studies," he scratched down on the legal pad. "Rhesus monkeys are the first non-human species to demonstrate telepathic abilities\x97reading the minds of researchers in carefully controlled double-blind experiments conducted by\x97" He paused. One wanted to be very careful about naming names in these things. Some of his pet flakes, he suspected, also read Science News. "\x97by an independent simian research facility in Florida." He carefully copied in the statistics and a few, slanted quotes, referred to Science News as a "professional journal for scientists," and hit his pitch.

 

"Nostradamus Foundation International must raise\x97" He thought about it. How much did he want to raise this time? A couple million dollars would be nice. A couple million dollars would permit him to put out glossy four-color fliers and advertise in all his favorite magazines and expand his carefully cultivated list of fools who could be parted from their money. It would also permit him some breathing room to continue with his covert and highly illegal, but real, search to acquire a stable of TK's and other psi talents. "\x97two point four million dollars to continue its exciting research into projects like this." "Like" was an important word in Mel's vocabulary. He used it a lot. With that one little word, he could infer, without actually stating, that his foundation was involved in simian psychic research. My ass! Simian psychic research. What an angle. God, I love it.

 

"Finally, paranormal phenomena have become a legitimate domain of scientific exploration, and NFI is spearheading that exploration. Your participation has been essential to NFI's research in the past. We need your help now."

 

He drafted out a series of boxes, starting with twenty dollars and ending with a thousand, and noted that he wanted a place at the bottom of the fund sheet for "participants" to check "current areas of research" they would particularly like to see expanded, with a write-in line for "other." Those little mini-surveys were great. He'd been on the lookout for an animal project ever since some lady had written requesting that NFI expand into "telepathic research with other life forms." She'd added a long, handwritten letter (on pink cat stationery), with her check for twenty dollars, stating that she firmly believed her cats could read minds. Mel made sure she got a nice note back stating that NFI thought psychic cats were a good subject for research. He'd added "non-human psychic research" to his list immediately.

 

Mel loved New Agers.

 

He spun the soft leather executive chair to face out the window, leaned back, and laced his fingers behind his head. The taste of success was sweet. The last letter, scavenged from a National Geographic article on Eskimo shamans, had netted him about a million-five. This one, his instincts told him, was good for easily that much.

 

"Fran!" he yelled.

 

His secretary leaned in the door. "Yes?"

 

He indicated the legal pad. "Get Janny to set that up in bulletin format\x97yellow paper and black ink, a line drawing of a telepathic monkey\x97tell her to keep it understated and scientific-looking. Make sure the drawing is of a rhesus monkey," he added. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Some of these people might notice."

 

"Okay. Mel, do you want to look at your mail? You have a FedEx package, some bills, some junk, and a few responses from the last mailer."

 

"Bring 'em in." The bills would wait, the responses he loved to open personally\x97money in the mail was a wonderful thing. And the FedEx package ought to be Belinda's TK film. He felt a rush of adrenalin. There might be nothing to what she had\x97but Belinda wasn't one of the true believers. She thought the whole Nostradamus Project was a dodge. If she was convinced she had something real\x97

 

He suppressed that line of thought. No sense setting himself up for a disappointment. "Bring in the VCR from the conference room while you're at it."

* * *

Lianne opened the door, wearing an oversized pink t-shirt with Garfield on it and a pair of tight blue jeans, minus knees. Her deafeningly pink socks bagged around her ankles, and her hair was tucked behind her ears and held in place by barrettes. She looked about twelve. Mac had really been hoping she'd be wearing something from Victoria's Secret\x97or maybe nothing\x97but he hid his disappointment bravely.

 

"Hey'ya!" She looked him over and grinned. "You look like a man who expected to be greeted by a woman wearing Saran Wrap." She winked. "I don't go to the door that way, you know. If I did, my mom would be on the other side."

 

Mac squeezed her to his chest and kissed her passionately. "That wasn't what I was thinking at all," he lied. "I was just thinking you were the prettiest bag lady I'd ever seen."

 

He followed her into her apartment, admiring the way she walked, and kept close as she led him to her television set.

 

"I went for comfort, I'll have you know. I had a very bad day." Lianne gave him a wan little smile and a tight hug. "I'm glad you're here. I rented a couple of movies, got a huge bag of popcorn, and I've got all the makings for daiquiris\x97unless you'd rather have diet soft drinks\x97?"

 

"Decaffeinated?" he asked cautiously.

 

"Nah\x97I like my caffeine." She made a face. "Why have a cola without caffeine? You might as well not bother."

 

He answered her face with one of his own. "Whereas I like to sleep at night. No, really, I'm allergic to caffeine. Daiquiris will be fine."

 

She pointed out the bag on the TV cabinet. "So. Pick the movie you want to see and get it ready\x97I'll do the daiquiris."

 

She vanished into the little apartment kitchen. Mac pulled three clear plastic boxes out of the paper bag she'd indicated and studied the titles. He grinned as he peered at the first label. The Man With One Red Shoe.

 

He'd seen that one at least a dozen times. He closed his eyes, replayed the opening credits, recalled the slinking, skullduggerous beat of the score, and chuckled softly. Tom Hanks, Lori Singer, Carrie Fisher, Dabney Coleman, Charles Durning and Jim Belushi. A casting miracle, and a great script, and hilarious, too; elvish nominee for an all-time Oscar. He put the movie on top of Lianne's VCR. Probably that one, he decided.

 

Violent machinery sounds ground out from the kitchen. Mac's smile took on a bemused air. What was she doing in there? Was that making daiquiris? It sounded more like chainsawing down a Buick. He shrugged. The ways of humans were inscrutable.

 

He glanced at the next title she'd rented. He liked Bette Midler a lot, and Danny DeVito\x97nasty little man, in this one at least\x97was well cast. Ruthless People wasn't quite in the same league as her first choice, but on the whole, he approved.

 

When he saw what her third pick was, though, he dropped the other two movies back in the bag without another thought. He put that cassette into the VCR's slot, checked to make sure it was rewound\x97gloating all the while at his competence with human machinery\x97and flashed a Cheshire grin at Lianne when she came out of the kitchen with a mammoth bowl of popcorn balanced in the crook of her elbow and a bright pink daiquiri in either hand.

 

"Strawberry," she said. "Fresh strawberries my mom picked and dropped off yesterday."

 

"Sounds tasty." It did\x97and it smelled tasty, as well. The fresh strawberry-smell was mouthwatering.

 

She smiled at his expression. "I already tried mine. It's pretty good. I can't think of a better combination than strawberries and popcorn. So\x97what are we watching?"

 

He set the bowl of popcorn and one of the frothy pink drinks on her coffee table, and hit the on button of the remote. "Just wait and see." He favored her with a sly smile.

 

"I rented them, you doofus. I already know what the choices are." When he still wouldn't tell her, she rolled her eyes and snorted. "Mysterious men just give me goosebumps."

* * *

Belinda sat on the berm of the dark, lonely road, reloading the chamber of her handgun and wishing Mac were standing in front of her so she would have a target. Reloading was mostly an excuse to sit down for a minute. After all, she'd only used the one bullet. But she'd been hiking along the road for nearly an hour and a half. Her feet hurt, she was tired, she was pissed off, and she really would have liked to have taken time for a good long scream, but that wasn't practical.

 

Besides, police training had left an indelible mark on her subconscious when it came to firearms. She firmly believed that one empty chamber would be the one she needed\x97so it would never, never stay empty.

 

I hate him, she thought, rage coloring everything she did. If he wasn't worth a ruddy fortune to me alive, I'd kill that two-bit jock just for the fun of it.

 

But he'd proven to her that he was exactly the person she was looking for. His psychic tricks verged on the magical\x97that vanishing act, even more than the business he'd pulled with his car doors\x97had guaranteed his fate in Belinda's book. That slimy little shit Tanbridge would be willing to pay through the nose for Mac Lynn. And soon. Real soon\x97because her patience wasn't going to hold out much longer.

 

She sighed and got up. She was spending a lot of time walking on this job\x97something she would pay Mac Lynn back for. At least this time when he stranded her, she hadn't been wearing high heels and tight leather pants.

 

Ten minutes further down the road, after a wide detour past an abandoned house that would have to be repaired before it would even be suitable for ghosts, she spotted a gleam of silver off to her right, reflected in the moonlight. As she drew nearer, the gleam resolved into the shape of a Sunbird.

 

My car! she thought. I don't believe it!

 

Suspecting a ruse, she dropped into the woods and edged up to the vehicle from the passenger side, working her way through grass and weeds that reached to the Sunbird's door handles. He hadn't locked the car. She checked for booby traps, held her breath as she opened the passenger door, and\x97heart racing\x97eased herself onto the passenger seat and across to the driver's side.

 

My God, the keys are in it. And the tank still shows half full. She smiled, bemused. I'll be damned. Maybe I won't have to skin the soles of his feet with a rusty knife after all.

 

She turned the key in the ignition, and the motor kicked right over. She put the car in gear and gave it some gas. It moved\x97sluggishly\x97onto the pavement.

 

Flop-flop-flop-flop, flop-flop-flop-flop.

 

She hit the brake, turned the motor off, and leapt out.

 

She stared for a full minute at the car's tires, tires that had been completely hidden by the tall grass. Her anger grew to monumental proportions. In a blind fury, she kicked the door, and screamed "You son-of-a-bitch!" into the empty night.

 

"I'll kill you," she ranted. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you! I don't need the money this bad\x97I don't need anything this bad. You bastard! You rotten, stinking, stupid, sneaking bastard!"

 

She stared at her car again, and hot tears of pure rage rolled down her cheeks. The tires\x97all four of them\x97were flatter than soggy pancakes.

* * *

After the ordeals of the day, Stranger watched the children with apprehension. They huddled, separate and isolated, in the darkness of the beautiful little-girl room and wept in silent, tearless rage. Her heart went out to them.

 

Och, if there was but a way to show them each that they are not alone\x97she thought.

 

She knew all of them\x97Anne, battered and abused, always angry, who lived only to deal with the Father in all his giant horror; Abbey, the sheltered, the brilliant, charming scholar who loved learning; Alice, the repressive puritan who hated everything that failed to meet her impossible standards of righteousness\x97and the silent, frozen, tortured husk that was all that remained of the original Amanda. Each of the first three would acknowledge her presence\x97none would admit that their "sisters" existed. The three-year-old Amanda was unreachable, hiding forever inside her frozen shell of fear. Amanda would never come out, without a miracle.

 

But they need each other sa' badly\x97if they could only come t'gether, they'd be whole again. And then\x97Stranger stared up at the milky reflection of moonlight on the wall\x97then they could fight back, couldn't they? For all that they're only children.

 

Well, then, it's up to me to introduce them, isn't it? A bloody nightmare that's likely to be, but best begun is soonest done.

 

Abbey was the easiest to reach. She stayed in the frilly pink bedroom, and did not ring her world with guards and traps. Alone of all the girls, she still retained the childish wish to please. She would listen to the ancient voice of Stranger.

 

:Abbey, can you hear me?:

 

Abbey, blue-eyed and blond, sniffled and nodded. :Yes, Stranger. Wh-what do you w-w-want?:

 

Cethlenn made her thoughts as gentle and persuasive as she could. :I have a surprise for you.:

 

Abbey perked up a little. :Is it good?: she asked hopefully. She alone of all of them retained the ability to hope.

 

Stranger reflected on the answer to that and sighed. Was it good that there were four little girls and one ancient Celtic witch living in the body of one child? Probably not\x97but it felt necessary. Stranger had come late to this little drama. She had her own ideas about what had shaped the weirdling child in whom she found her own spirit suddenly awakened. She had ideas, too, of what cures there might be.

 

:Och, it's good enough, I suppose. I've a giftie for you, little Abbey. Secret sisters, hidden from all the world save you. Would you like to be meeting them, then?:

 

The child pondered. :Are they little kids like Sharon?:

 

:Not at all,: Stranger assured her. :They are like you\x97almost magical.:

 

That was the key word. Abbey's eyes widened. :Oh, yes, Stranger. When can I meet them?:

 

Cethlenn, the Stranger, smiled grimly. :Come with me, child. I think now would be a good time.: She enveloped Abbey's spirit in her own, and with some difficulty slipped both of them through tiny cracks in the barrier that grew between the children. On the other side, Anne curled in a ball, silent, rocking back and forth, staring at nothing. Anne's world was unremitting gray, with all the shifting featurelessness of unformed nightmare\x97except for the walls. Everywhere in Anne's world, walls crawled up and up and up until the eye couldn't see any further. They were brick or stone or shiny black glass, but they were everywhere.

 

When Stranger and Abbey appeared, Anne looked up and shrieked with fear. Her eyes dilated, and she jammed herself up against one of her omnipresent walls.

 

:Anne, I've brought a friend for you,: Stranger said, her voice soothing. :You don't have to be alone anymore.:

 

Anne cowered and stared. :A-lone,: she crooned. :A-lone, a-lone, a-lone . . .: Objects materialized in the hazy space that surrounded the three of them and began to spin through the air. Lit cigarettes and burning matches, ropes and riding crops\x97all took up a stately waltz around Abbey's thin body, then darted in one by one, charging closer and closer to the other child's face. Abbey winced away.

 

:Stop it, Anne,: Stranger demanded, and moved next to the child under attack. :This is Abbey, your sister.:

 

:Sis-ter, sis-ter, sis-ter,: the green-eyed child chanted. :I\x97don't\x97want\x97a\x97sis-ter.:

 

The flames grew bigger, the coals at the ends of the cigarettes brighter and more menacing. The riding crops became bullwhips that cracked like thunder. The ropes coiled and struck out, serpents of hemp. All of them wove around Stranger and Abbey in a tighter and more lethal dance, faster and faster, until Abbey began to scream.

 

:Out!: Cethlenn commanded, and with the flick of her fingers, she and Abbey were through the barrier, back in Abbey's safe haven.

 

Abbey sat on her bed and sobbed, while Cethlenn sat next to her and stroked her hair. :I don't want any more surprises, Stranger,: the child told her gravely.

 

:No,: Stranger replied softly, :I rather imagine you don't.:

 

Cethlenn sat, the tearful child cradled in her arms, and stared off into space. Well then, lassie, she thought to herself, will ye be havin' any more bright ideas this evenin'? Let's hope not.

* * *

"I love The Princess Bride. I could watch the sword fight scene all by itself a million times." Lianne snuggled deeper into Mac's shoulder and munched popcorn. On the screen, the fight raged. Inigo made a remark about Bonetti's defense. The Man In Black laughed. The swordsmen battled across the rocks, near the cliff\x97Inigo switched the sword from his left hand to his right, and the tide of battle turned.

 

"Probably reminds you of your job," Mac drawled.

 

Lianne's left eyebrow flickered upward, and she snorted. "I should have it so easy. Even the Fire Swamp and the Rodents of Unusual Size would be a piece of cake compared to fifth grade at Loyd E. Auman."

 

Mac punched a button on the remote and the TV went off.

 

"Hey," Lianne yelped. "You can't turn off The Princess Bride!"

 

He turned to her wearing the most serious expression he could muster. "We've already watched the whole movie once and the sword fight three times. Lianne, I want to hear about what happened in your class today. This is important."

 

Lianne sighed. "I know, but . . ."

 

He shook his head. "No `buts'."

 

She considered his expression, then stiffened her shoulders. "Okay. It just sounds ridiculous, but it was real. Stuff was flying around the room, Mac\x97books, chalk, pens and pencils, paper\x97it couldn't have been a draft or a breeze. I don't know what it could have been. I have no logical explanation for what happened."

 

"Life doesn't require a logical explanation, Lianne," he replied as persuasively as he could.

 

But she shook her head, violently. "Yes, it does. I refuse to sink to the level of the Shirley MacLaines of the world. I don't flitter after every goofball anti-intellectual guru who promises the keys to universe\x97no math required. I don't approve of all this New Age mumbo-jumbo. The real world doesn't need it. The real world needs mathematicians, scientists, artists, builders, writers, teachers, nurses\x97the real world doesn't need any more flakes." She drew a deep breath. "There are already enough of those."

 

Mac grinned wryly and hugged her closer. "Oh, I don't know, baby. I think the real world could use a bit of magic. You know, a few elves and fairies, some bogans to play the bad guys, some ghosties and ghoulies. . . ."

 

"Life's too short to waste on fantasy," she said, but he could tell she was weakening.

 

This, from a woman who watches The Princess Bride? "Life's too short to waste on math. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something." He grinned.

 

She frowned. "You'd make a great fifth-grader."

 

"The world will never know." Mac kissed her cheerfully on her nose, then took a more serious tone. "This morning you were as upset by your student, Amanda, as you were by the stuff flying around in your room. Why?"

 

Lianne rolled over and looked directly into Mac's eyes. "I want to understand what's the matter with her. As a matter of fact, I'm going out to her house on Friday to talk with her folks. You'd know the place, I'll bet. Kendrick's Bal-A-Shar Arabian Stables. I know it is going to sound silly\x97but you know what bothered me most today? I just had the craziest feeling, with that poltergeist business going on in my classroom, that Amanda was really the one responsible." She stopped and pursed her lips. She was watching him for a reaction. "Now I really sound nuts, huh?"

 

Mac brushed his finger along the line of her eyebrows and slowly shook his head. "Nope\x97you sound like you have good instincts."

 

"You think Amanda might have had something to do with\x97oh. Stupid me. You're humoring me." She turned her back to him, grabbed the remote control, and turned the TV back on. The Man In Black leapt from the cliff, did one great swing from a vine, followed up with a back-flip, and landed next to the sword he'd tossed point-down into the sand.

 

"Who are you?" Inigo pleaded.

 

The Man In Black smiled. "No one of im\x97"

 

\x97Click.

 

"Don't turn the TV off, Mac," Lianne snapped. "I want to watch this."

 

He snapped back. "Don't pout. I can't talk to you with the TV on, and I want to discuss this."

 

She rounded on him, fury in her eyes. "Well, I don't! I don't want to be patronized, I don't want to be humored\x97I don't want to be remembered as that amusing little schoolteacher you dated once upon a time who had a problem with poltergeists in her classroom and bats in her belfry! I'm going to watch the movie. If you don't want to do that, you can just leave."

 

I don't want to leave. I had a lot of other plans for this evening, Mac thought, and sighed, mentally. Give up on the child for a moment. Now that I know who and where she is, there are other ways of reaching her.

 

He slipped his hands under her giant t-shirt and nibbled gently along one side of her neck. He felt her shiver, then start to pull away.

 

"I wasn't making fun of you. I believe in poltergeists and fairies and\x97" he dropped his voice to a low whisper "\x97even elves. I think that part of the universe is real, even if you don't. But you're tired, and you probably want to forget about work for a while. I'm sorry I brought it up. Let's find something else to talk about."

 

"Like what?" she asked, suspiciously.

 

He breathed into her ear. "Oh, you\x97and me\x97and maybe a little snuggling."

 

Lianne smiled and rolled over against him. "I have a better idea," she whispered. "Let's skip the talking entirely."

* * *

It was painfully early. Mac stared at the dull green glow of the alarm clock, then rolled over to look at the woman asleep by his side. She slept on her stomach, the sheet tangled around her knees, her face buried in the crook of her left arm. Her breathing was soft and regular, almost inaudible. Even asleep, she glowed with vitality.

 

Fascinated, Mac stroked the soft skin of her back and lightly caressed the smooth curves of her buttocks.

 

She wriggled against his touch, moved closer\x97and her breathing told him she was awake.

 

"Hi, there," he chuckled.

 

She squinched one eye open, smiled at him, and sighed. "Hi, yourself," she said softly. "It isn't time to get up yet, surely?"

 

"Not really. And don't call me Shirley."

 

"Oh gawd. It's too early for Zucker jokes."

 

He softened his smile and caressed her cheek. "I was just watching you sleep."

 

"And so you decided to wake me up." Lianne giggled. She had a charming giggle. "Mac, you are such a fink. But, boy-oh-boy-oh-boy, I don't want to get up yet\x97"

 

An idea occurred to Mac. "Tell you what. I'm completely awake, and I won't get back to sleep again. Why don't you go back to sleep, and I'll put together a terrific breakfast for you\x97you can eat in bed, and then the two of us will take a nice long shower together, and then we'll go off to work. Okay?"

 

Her muffled response reached Mac through the baffling of her pillow, under which she had buried her face. "How could I refuse an offer like that?"

 

He laughed. "You can't, so don't try."

 

Mac rolled out of the bed and started to walk to the kitchen.

 

Lianne's voice stopped him.

 

"You didn't really mean it about the elves, did you?"

 

He looked back at her. She was propped up on her elbows, studying him intently.

 

"Mean what about the elves?" he asked carefully.

 

Her eyes were wary. "That you believed in them."

 

Mac grinned at her and winked. "Of course I meant it."

 

She snorted and buried her head back under the pillow. Mac laughed and went on into the kitchen.

* * *

Bacon, an omelet, hot croissants, some waffles\x97or maybe crepes covered with powdered sugar and fresh whipped cream\x97fresh-squeezed orange juice . . . mmmmm. Sausage. Link sausage. What else? Mac's imagination reviewed the possibilities. I think I'll do this one without magic. No point in wasting the power when there is a kitchen full of human food to use. He flipped on the light in her kitchen, wandered over to the fridge, and opened it. Wonder where she keeps the croissants.

 

None were evident. In fact, he didn't see any bacon or link sausages either. No waffles. No crepes. The orange juice was plainly marked, but when he tasted it, it most definitely wasn't fresh-squeezed. He found eggs, but the steps necessary to change them from raw egg to tasty omelet eluded him.

 

He did see a Betty Crocker cookbook. I've seen June Lockhart making breakfast for Timmy and his dad on Lassie. How hard can it be?

 

He picked up a cookbook at random, opened it, and paged through the index.

 

Eggs And Cheese\x97page 101. He thumbed through the pages until he found comprehensive descriptions on how to buy and store eggs, how to measure and use egg equivalents, and a mass of information on cheeses. There were pictures of a woman's hand over a big, flat pan, and instructions that described the making of poached eggs, shirred eggs, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, souffles, egg foo yong, and dozens of varieties of omelets.

 

Good enough. He rummaged through the kitchen until he found a pan that resembled the one in the picture. He put together as many of the listed ingredients as he could locate. He couldn't find any fresh green peppers, but he did find a jar labeled "Hot Red Chili Pepper\x97Ground." In the tradition of the cookbook, he substituted a cup of red peppers for the suggested cup of green peppers. Lianne had an eight-ounce can of tomato sauce in her cupboard, but it didn't have a pop-top on it, and Mac couldn't figure out how to open it, so, with the competent smile of a man who can adapt, he added eight ounces of tabasco sauce\x97which, he reasoned, was bright red and should be the same thing. He broke the three required eggs with enthusiasm, and very carefully picked out most of the pieces of shell. There didn't seem to be enough omelet for two people though, so he added another three eggs.

 

Satisfied, he stirred his ingredients around in the little flat pan, and following instructions, located the knob on the stove that said "oven," and checked the instructions. It was supposed to take forty minutes to cook an omelet, but he really didn't want to spend that much time on it. He thought for a moment. The instructions called for 350 degrees. If he doubled the temperature, he should be able to halve the time. But the oven wouldn't go any higher than 550. Well, actually, it did go to BROIL. That must be about 600-700 degrees. He turned the knob to broil. Carrying his embryonic omelet carefully by the pan's plastic handle, he placed it into the oven.

 

Nothing to that. I might as well see what else I can whip up.

 

He paged through the cookbook. Pictures of delicious roasts and beautifully prepared fowl caught his eyes. He read down the instructions for some of the dishes. I could do that, he thought, fascinated. The world of humans was amazingly accessible, if one simply knew where to look. Page after page of substantial human dishes\x97that anyone could make.

 

He became absorbed in pictures of London Broil and Sweet-and-Sour Meatballs, Broccoli-Tomato Salad and Swedish Tea Rings. The time slipped past.

 

The sudden shriek of the smoke alarm brought him out of his reverie. The kitchen was redolent with the stench of burning plastic. Smoke roiled from the front of the oven.

 

"Shit," Mac muttered, admiring the succinctness of human vernacular. With a glance, he silenced the smoke alarm. With another, he formed the smoke into a compact ribbon and sent it trailing out the entryway in a neat, steady stream. He pulled open the oven door, surveyed the melted ruins of the skillet handle and his prodigiously grown and dreadfully blackened omelet with dismay. He made a gesture of dismissal, and skillet, omelet, and mess vanished.

 

Lianne called from the bedroom, "Was that the smoke alarm?"

 

So much, he thought, for doing a fabulous breakfast the human way.

 

"That was your imagination."

 

"I suppose it's my imagination that I smell smoke, too."

 

"Absolutely. I'm bringing breakfast in now." To blazes with it. I'll do it my way. Mac visualized his own breakfasts from the hotel, and out of thin air and elven magic, recreated an exact duplicate of the best one he'd ever had, down to the little rose in the cut crystal bud vase. Then he doubled it. He lifted up the heavy silvered serving tray he'd materialized, and trotted into the bedroom with it.

 

Lianne rolled over and sat up, and her eyes grew round. "Wow! When you talk about breakfast in bed, you aren't kidding." She looked over the steaming croissants, the huge, cheese-filled omelet, the two steaks\x97broiled, medium rare, the big crystal glasses full to brimming with fresh-squeezed juice, and the bowls of fresh fruit. "And where did you get fresh cherries this time of year?" she asked.

 

Mac shrugged and grinned. "You like?"

 

"I like." She took one of the cherries and bit into it, and closed her eyes with ecstasy. "God, that's good." She looked at Mac with eyes that seemed to see right through him. "I'm beginning to realize why you believe in magic, though. The fancy trays and the cut crystal aren't a bad trick, considering I've never owned anything like them in my life, but these\x97" She indicated the little bowls of rich red fruit. "There won't be any cherries available around here till the middle of June. I know, because I haunt the grocery stores for 'em every year. If you found these\x97that's magic."

 

"You bet it is." Mac dug into his omelet and steak. "Stick with me, kid. You ain't seen nothing yet." He grinned at her. The wincing he saved for inside.

 

Carelessness like that, he thought ruefully, eyeing the out-of-season cherries, will blow your cover all the way to Elfhame Outremer. And beyond.

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

D.D. had MIX 96 turned way up. She was sprawled under the engine of the disassembled Victor, tinkering with something, singing along at the top of her lungs with a Creedence Clearwater Revival cover of "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" that Tank Sherman had dug out of the Golden Oldies box. Mac grinned. He wouldn't admit it to her, but D.D. didn't sound too bad on backup vocals.

 

He waited until the song was over and something odious by Madonna started to play\x97then he turned the radio off.

 

"Hey!" D.D. yelled without looking up. "Turn that back on. I'm listening to it."

 

:Mother, Mother, what would they be sayin' back home if they could see you right now? The shame\x97och, the shame of me own fair mother disgracin' herself so.:

 

:Can it, kiddo.: Dierdre was unfazed. She stood, wiped her hands on her overalls, and turned to face her offspring. "I'm not believin' me own eyes," she said for the benefit of everyone. "Mac Lynn, the perennially late, is in here at eight o'clock in the morning. Ye gods, man, fetch me water before I faint."

 

"Ha-ha." :Stopping in to let you know\x97I found the homebase of our little TK. I'm going by there later today to see if I can talk to her.:

 

D.D. turned back to her engine block and returned to her tinkering. Mac sat down on a stack of tires to watch her.

 

:Good,: the pony-tailed terror remarked as she loosened bolts. :'Bout damn time. I may graduate you to nearly-competent.:

 

Mac grinned. :Actually, there is something you can do that would be a lot more help.:

 

:If you're still hoping I'll talk to Felouen for you\x97:

 

Mac snarled out loud, and realized a comment was necessary for the benefit of the non-elven who were present. "While you're working on the steering, D.D., tighten it up. It felt like you had it patched together with rubber bands and wishful thinking on Wednesday." Inwardly, he added another snort. :Not even close, Mother. I think I know how to take care of Felouen. This is something else entirely. I suspect Belinda Ciucci will be back. And after last night, she's going to be looking for my hide nailed to a board. Unfortunately, that might put an edge on her. Entertain her and her two goons for me, if you would. I don't want her getting close to the kid.:

 

Dierdre chuckled. :She still haunting your backtrail, is she? That I'll be happy to help you with.:

* * *

Maclyn was out on the track when Belinda showed up. D.D. spotted her making nice to Brad Fennerman from the SpelCo team, batting her lashes and leaning forward just enough to give him a really clear view of her cleavage.

 

D.D. wrinkled her nose with disdain. The woman was a menace\x97and an embarrassment to both her species and her gender. She decided to watch, though, to see what Belinda's angle of attack would be.

 

It was only when she caught the girl's gaze skim past a point in her own pit area that she noticed a pale, hulking shape hovering in the shadows over Mac's thermos holding a little baggy full of something white and powdery. Interesting. No doubt Mac's young admirer has a Borgia event planned here. Probably not true poison\x97I suspect they want darlin' Mac alive. D.D. grinned and made sure the intruder thought she was far too involved in her work to notice him.

 

White powder went into the Gatorade. She saw a steady stream of it pour in\x97saw the man carefully twist the cap back on the thermos, then slink out along the row of stacked tires\x97saw him signal Belinda. The girl didn't acknowledge the signal, but she abruptly looked at her watch, gave a dramatic sigh, and wriggled away on her high, high heels.

 

She'll be around a while yet, D.D. figured. She's got to have some plan for draggin' him out of here under everyone's noses. Och, this ought to be delightful.

 

Mac did three more laps before he roared in.

 

:She's been by,: D.D. informed him without preamble. :Such a sweet, innocent lass she is, too, I canna imagine why you're suspectin' her at-all. Be sure to drink all your Gatorade\x97your friends went to such trouble to drug it for you.:

 

Mac smiled slyly. :Did they now? Well, then\x97: He went straight to his thermos, groaned, "God, it's so hot out there today, I could drink almost anything," and drained the contents in two long gulps.

 

:Now, Mother, do I pretend that it affected me and bug the hell out of them when I disappear from their car\x97or do I just go about my business and drive them really nuts?:

 

D.D. shrugged and grinned. :Your call.:

* * *

Tucked into a dark corner of the pits, Belinda waited. Mac had swallowed every blessed drop in his drugged drink\x97she tried to keep her glee in check, and failed\x97and Peterkin had dumped a whole twelve hundred milligrams of Seconal into the stuff just to make sure the jackass got enough to knock him out even if he only drank half. In fifteen to thirty minutes, according to Belinda's drug reference, Mac should start getting sleepy. In an hour or two, if they didn't get him to a doctor, he'd end up in a coma. In between that time, she needed to get him out of town.

 

She had her story worked out to perfection. The line would be that she and the boys were one off-duty EMT and two friends who just happened to be racing fans\x97they could take good care of their hero, the big racecar driver, and get him to the E.R. faster than an ambulance could hope to arrive. They would claim expertise and supplies on hand. There would not be anyone who would doubt that Mac Lynn was on his way to the hospital. There would be no interference from the airhead mechanic or any of the other crew. The first of several switch-cars was waiting outside. The plan was perfect. She didn't doubt that Mel had a doctor on his payroll somewhere\x97she wondered, however, how long she could leave Mac in a coma without Mel considering the package he received "damaged goods."

 

She entertained herself with images of what she was going to do to Mac when he was helpless and in her care. She wondered briefly about the mechanics of castration. The idea appealed to her, and it wouldn't damage his TK ability any\x97would it? With my luck, it would finish his talent off for good. After all, that's where men's brains are. Maybe she should leave his balls alone and just cut off his head.

 

Feeling more cheerful, she glanced at her watch. With a shock, she realized that almost an hour had passed. Mac was still working\x97and there was no visible sign that the drugs were affecting him. She looked over at Peterkin and Stevens in their hiding place across the pits. Both shrugged.

 

She bit her lip and stared at the wide-awake driver. He drank it, dammit! I know he did. I saw him with my own eyes.

 

Could Peterkin or Stevens have double-crossed her? Yes, obviously\x97but why would they?

 

Unknown. However, the easy way to tell would be to try an equal dose of Seconal on them and see how it worked. If there was something wrong with the prescription she'd finagled out of the doc-in-a-box in LaJolla, Peterkin and Stevens would be fine. If they had double-crossed her, they would get what they deserved. Either way, she didn't lose anything.

 

She made a curt signal and slipped away from the pits. Her two stooges followed her out to the parking lot.

* * *

Felouen, in a cream silk blouse and tailored cashmere skirt and blazer, her hair pulled back in a classic chignon, appeared behind Maclyn and D.D., smiling wryly. "What charming friends you have. No wonder you'd rather spend your time here than in Underhill."

 

D.D., her face and overalls dirt-smudged, torque wrench in one gloved hand, smiled politely. "We all have our little hobbies, dear." Her smile widened as she watched Felouen wince away from the Cold Iron wrench. Mac wished he dared smile.

 

Instead he sighed. "Still overdressed, hey, Felouen? Why don't you go home and change into something more appropriate?"

 

She frowned. "I'm here on business. Dierdre, you've served your time on Council\x97I really do not need to speak with you. But I must speak with Maclyn for a moment."

 

D.D. nodded, and lost the smug smile. "I'll leave you two, then." Whistling a Killderry reel, the delicate mechanic moved back to her prized auto, leaving her son to fend for himself.

 

:Thanks, Mother.:

 

:You know where I stand on this.:

 

Mac shrugged and turned to glare at Felouen.

 

The elegant warrior gifted him with a frosty smile. "I need your company for a few moments, Maclyn. Please come Home with me; I'll show you what you need to see, and then, if you still feel that I am imposing needlessly on you, I will take back the Ring and the Council will decide on your standing within the Court."

 

Maclyn didn't quite grimace. "More signs and portents?"

 

Felouen didn't change her expression by so much as a twitch of her eyelid. "Please\x97just come with me. If you choose to scoff after you have seen what I have to show you, so be it."

 

Maclyn sighed. "You are so damned irritating\x97you and your bogeys and doom-crying." But he followed Felouen into the office, and through the temporary Gate she'd formed there.

 

They appeared at the border of Elfhame Outremer, where the edges of order collided with the infinite black Unformed, next to the Oracular Pool. The border, usually firmly fixed and still, billowed unsettlingly while Maclyn watched, pushing dark tentacles into the shield that walled the Ordered Land. The effect looked enough like something big trying to break through that Maclyn cringed when one tentacle brushed within a few inches of his thigh. More tentacles pressed suddenly from the same spot, as if they had become aware of his presence.

 

"What's doing that?" Mac asked, more disturbed than he cared to admit.

 

"There's nothing out there that I or anyone else can find," Felouen said. "That's all just unformed energy\x97and a feeling of fear and rage and hatred. It's been getting worse."

 

"I see where you might be worried," he admitted.

 

She shook her head. "Not yet, you don't. I'm afraid there's more. Look into the Oracular Pool."

 

Mac turned and studied the flat, deep blue sheet of water nestled in its shallow concave of mossy rock. After a moment, his reflection disappeared, replaced by darkness. For a long moment, nothing was visible in the Pool; then, with jerky, shambling movements, blood-spattered horrors streamed out of the Unformed\x97misbegotten nightmares with gape-jawed lopsided heads jammed neckless onto narrow shoulders, sticklike arms and legs terminated by terrible claws, sketchily formed bodies that bore no resemblance to anything Maclyn had ever seen, or ever heard of. They bared monstrous fangs and ran screaming after tall, blond, graceful runners that fell before them, bleeding from jagged, terrible wounds\x97and the Pool dimmed, and once again Maclyn looked at his own reflection.

 

He stood, speechless, staring into his own eyes.

 

"It's time to let go of the memories, Maclyn," Felouen whispered. "It's time to stop pretending that you'll find her again, and come back to your own kind. We need you here and now. I need you. Those humans do not, nor do you need anything of theirs."

 

"I still love her," Maclyn said, still staring stiffly into the Pool. That isn't the only reason I stay, but it's a reason. I know you wouldn't understand the others.

 

"She's dust these last two hundred years, Maclyn," Felouen said, reasonably, calling up a despair he'd begun to forget. "Sure and she loved you\x97'twas your own folly you loved her, too. You were both young, but she grew old and died, and you're still young\x97and still searching for her among mortals who are destined to leave you just as she did."

 

Despair turned to anger, and he turned on the source of that anger. "Have you ever loved anyone, Felouen?" he snapped, restraining his wish to strike that impassive face. "Has anyone ever really gotten through to you?"

 

For a time, Maclyn got no answer. Finally the slender warrior responded, turning a face full of a loss that matched his own, speaking in a dull, lifeless whisper. "Yes. I've loved without hope for more than two hundred years\x97" Her voice cracked, and she fell silent.

 

Maclyn turned and studied her. She had her back to him; her shoulders were stiff and her spine was rigid and erect. His hands clenched and unclenched. "I'll hold on to the Ring, Felouen. I have something else I need to take care of now\x97and it may be important; I don't know yet, and I'm not taking on anything else until I do know. The fact is, I'm not sure what this thing I'm involved with means, or how much trouble it's going to entail for all of us. There is a child involved, and you know I can't turn my back on a child. I'm not promising to get involved in this problem here. But I won't say that I won't, either."

 

Felouen nodded but said nothing, and kept her back to him.

 

Maclyn Gated back to the garage, and the Gate closed off behind him.

 

In the office, he stared at the plain round wall clock that ticked off the seconds and minutes and hours that formed the limits of humans' lives, and he bit his lip. He could not keep himself from remembering that one of the elves that fell to the shambling things in the Oracular Pool's vision had been Felouen.

* * *

Amanda-Anne slipped off the bus and hurried down the lane, between the long lines of neatly painted fence, the gentle green, clovered swells of pastures, black and bay and glossy chestnut Arabs who stood head to tail, grazing peacefully and swatting flies from each other's faces. She detoured around the stables, moving carefully along a route that not only hid her presence from anyone working in the barns, but also from anyone who might be in the house or the yard. Sharon was still in primary and got home from school half an hour before she did; it was essential to keep close watch for her. Sharon would tell the Father and the Step-Mother where she went. Sharon was a big tattletale, but she couldn't help it. The Step-Mother made her that way.

 

The grass grew taller back of the stables. It edged a woodland dark and cool and quiet even in summer, with stands of pines marching in long, neat rows, bordered and filled in by scrub oak. Amanda-Anne moved across the beds of pine needles in near-silence, being sure she went a different way than the times before, consciously leaving no path. The pines merged with swamp on the right, full of snakes and cypress, with older hardwoods on the left\x97not first growth, but large, sturdy trees nonetheless: oak and magnolia and sycamore, ash and gum. Amanda-Anne went to the left, up a gentle incline.

 

At the top of the little hill sat an immense, ancient holly. Patches of pale green moss spotted its dappled silver-white bark, a few red berries still hung on in defiance of the season. The old tree's branches bent so low they touched the ground, and spiny evergreen leaves formed a screen so that the base of the tree became a fortress, well protected, with only one narrow entrance. That entrance, invisible except from a difficult approach through a stand of scrub oaks and blackberry canes, was formed from a branch that arched higher than the others and left a narrow gap that could be crawled through by a small, determined child.

 

Amanda-Anne, experienced in the delicate negotiation of thorn and thicket, got inside without snagging her school clothes or getting dirty. Once inside, she breathed deep and stood up straight. Amanda-Anne retreated to the background and Amanda-Abbey came out.

 

Things sparkled under the tree\x97decorations hung on bits of thread and string that decorated Amanda-Abbey's magpie nest. Tiny glass beads scavenged from an outgrown pair of Sharon's moccasins and a green carved glass bead saved from a broken necklace that was the only token she had of her real mother hung next to little round mirrors glued back-to-back, rescued from a favorite sweater that Daddy had ripped apart when he was mad once. Bluejay feathers, bits of fragile shell brought back from trips to the beach house at Ocean Isle, a broken, but still pretty, stained glass suncatcher of a hummingbird, the cut glass baubles from a pair of discarded earrings, one rhinestone pin\x97all swayed and glittered and turned with every scant breeze. There were comic books wrapped carefully in plastic and hidden in the tree's only reachable knothole. A worn saddle blanket served as a rug.

 

Amanda-Abbey leaned against the tree trunk in her secret home and watched her collection catch the light. Amanda-Anne's fingers stroked the cool, almost smooth bark, her ears drank in the hushed murmurs of safe, isolated, protected woods. No one would find her; no one would hurt her\x97not while the tree guarded her.

 

The child closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on her face and studied the cozy speckled yellow glow of the inside of her eyelids. A few birds chirped and fluttered; squirrels raced along aerial throughways and chattered pointed squirrel insults at each other.

 

The light that flickered through her closed lids grew brighter\x97much, much brighter.

 

She opened her eyes.

 

Something was happening in front of her. Her green carved bead was glowing with warm, glorious inner light. A swirling mist began to curl out of it, emerald-green shot through with flecks of gold bright as tiny suns. The mist stretched and grew, and within it a form took shape\x97a form wrapped in rich green-and-gold tapestries, taller than anyone Amanda knew and handsome and smiling, with eyes bright as new leaves, long blond hair held back by a gold, jewel-studded circlet, and the neatest pointed ears Amanda had ever imagined.

 

"Wow," Amanda-Abbey whispered. "That's really cool."

* * *

Amanda-Alice sensed something that required her attention. From her white, pure castle, she stretched out feelers, then, finding what she sought, withdrew them again in shocked disgust. It's magic. Magic is evil.

* * *

The green man produced a shimmering wand and waved it in a circle in front of her. Sparkles of light scattered and danced in front of the child, weaving patterns in the warm spring air.

 

"Magic," the child whispered. Then, There's no such thing as magic, she thought. Amanda-Abbey was sure of this. So this isn't a real elf. It's just imagination.

* * *

Amanda-Anne kept quiet, watching, paying close attention, taking notes. Appearing out of thin air was a good trick. If she could learn it, she could hide from the Father. The magic lights were pretty, but they didn't look useful. Even so, Anne could sense power in them. Power was something she wanted.

* * *

The amazing man seemed to look right through the scrawny child in the tartan plaid skirt who stared at him\x97and then, silently as he had come, he folded into the scintillating fog from which he had emerged and was drawn back into the glowing bead. The light in the bead gleamed an instant longer, and then flickered and died.

 

"Gone," Amanda-Abbey said, wistfully. "I want him to come back." She thought. If I can figure out why he came here, maybe I can bring him back.

 

She inched over to where the bead hung. She blew on it once. Nothing happened. She walked around it, staring. It remained just a bead on a string. She pushed it once with a single index finger, and watched it swing in a few short arcs, then stop. Still, nothing happened. She closed her eyes and wished the magic back into the bead again, without luck. Tentatively, she reached out and broke off the fine strand of thread at the branch, then tied the makeshift bracelet around her wrist. Almost immediately, the single bead on its weathered thread sprang back into glowing life, and the mist spiraled forth once more.

 

The green-garbed man reappeared right in front of her and winked at her, then laughed soundlessly and hid behind the holly's trunk.

 

She walked around the tree, stooping under low branches and her dangling decorations. He was gone.

 

A flash of green light from behind her alerted her, and she turned to see him again, this time on the outside of her tree-fortress. He waved, and she waved back and watched him, but she did not follow him beyond the protective circle of the tree's branches.

 

Stranger's voice broke into her thoughts, making herself known. :Don't fear him, lass\x97'tis good luck to meet one of the Fey folk.:

 

:He isn't real, Stranger.:

 

There was gentle laughter in her head. :Of course not, child. 'Tis still good luck.:

 

Amanda-Abbey giggled at the apparent nonsense in that, and when the green-garbed elf vanished again, she rubbed the bead on her wrist, like a waif summoning a genie from a bottle.

 

The bead glowed again, and the elf reappeared in his gorgeous robes and glowing green cloud, but this time he settled cross-legged in front of the girl, floating an inch off the ground.

 

He smiled shyly.

 

Amanda-Abbey smiled back. "Can you talk?" she asked.

 

"Of course," he answered. "Can you?"

 

She giggled. "What a silly question. I just did."

 

"And so did I," he retorted, and winked.

 

"But you aren't real," she pointed out. "So I thought maybe you couldn't talk. Do you have a name?"

 

The elf pulled back his shoulders and in solemn tones, announced, "I am Prince Maclyn Arrydwyn, son of the fair Lady Dierdre Sherdeleth and of the Prince of Elfhame Outremer. I am rider of great metal steeds and horses of air and magic, guardian of the Twilight Lands, immortal walker among mortals." Maclyn bowed slightly from the waist. "And who are you?"

 

"Everyone calls me Amanda\x97but my name is really Abbey." Amanda-Abbey returned the bow gracefully.

 

The elf\x97Maclyn\x97nodded seriously. "I see. So then, shall I call you Amanda, as everyone else does, or shall I call you by your true name?"

 

The child grinned. "Call me by my true name. Nobody else but Stranger knows it."

 

"Very well." Once again he bowed, gracefully. "And who, by the way, is Stranger?"

 

Amanda-Abbey giggled. "If I knew that, she wouldn't be Stranger, now would she? Do you grant wishes, like in fairy tales?"

 

He considered her request. "Hmm. I do magic. Would that be good enough?"

 

"Magic isn't real," she insisted.

 

:Magic is wicked, wicked, wicked!: A voice screamed in Amanda-Abbey's head, but Amanda-Abbey refused to listen to it. Magic was just silliness and tricks with mirrors. Everyone knew that.

 

"Isn't it, now? Let me show you, and you be the judge." Maclyn touched the string that held the bead to Amanda's thin wrist, and it glowed softly. When he pulled his hand away, the bead was strung on a beautiful, intricate gold chain.

* * *

Yes-s-s! Amanda-Anne watched closely and whispered to herself. The elf pulled energy from somewhere, made it do things. I can . . . almost . . . see how\x97but . . . whe-e-e-re?

* * *

"Oh," Amanda-Abbey gasped. "How beautiful, and how wonderful. Do something else."

 

But Maclyn smiled and vanished.

 

"Wait!" Amanda-Abbey cried.

 

The elf reappeared in the woods a little way off. He beckoned, and the girl hurried out of her hiding place, heedless of the thorns and the briars. Her blouse snagged, and she got some pulls in her sweater, but the elf had vanished again and reappeared still farther off, and she couldn't take time to be worried about mere clothes.

 

She darted through the woods with the elf always appearing and disappearing in the dimming light just ahead of her. Suddenly Amanda-Abbey noticed that she was moving through fog that got thicker with every step she took, and that she didn't recognize anything about the part of the woods she was in. The trees were farther apart, and taller than any trees that she had ever seen, and incredibly beautiful. Leaves of silver and gold brushed against her and rang gently with every touch or puff of the faint breeze. Lights in soft greens and muted blues, gentle reds and bright yellows, flittered and danced through the branches high overhead, and the sound of a tiny waterfall somewhere nearby tinkled merrily in her ears. Voices whispered from above her, and at a distance, there were sounds of laughter, and dancing, and a jig played inhumanly fast by virtuoso performers.

 

:I know where this is,: Stranger told Amanda-Abbey with a satisfied voice.

 

Amanda-Abbey whispered, "Really? Where are we?" Suddenly she was no longer so certain that elves and magic were impossible. She was no longer certain of anything.

 

From right beside her, Maclyn said, "Welcome to Elfhame Outremer, Abbey. This is my home."

 

"It's beautiful," the child whispered, in a voice full of wonder.

* * *

Evil, evil, evil, thought Amanda-Alice. Only the devil does magic; that's what the Sunday-school teacher said. This green man is the devil, and this place must be hell. I'm telling Father about this. He will know how to punish the devil\x97I know he will.

* * *

Amanda-Abbey felt a vague sensation of disquiet. It seemed as if part of her mind wanted to rebel, to run away from the lovely haven in which she found herself.

 

"Yes, it is beautiful," Maclyn answered. "I thought a special girl like you would be able to appreciate such a magical place."

 

Amanda-Abbey raised her eyebrows. "Why me?"

 

He spread his hands wide. "Because of the magic you do," he said, and his words had a ring of sincerity about them.

 

She stared at him, puzzled. "I don't do magic. Magic isn't real."

 

He shook his head. "Wasn't it magic that kept the race car from hurting anyone at the track the other day? Wasn't it magic that sent all the erasers and papers in your classroom flying?"

 

Amanda-Abbey giggled; where had he gotten these stories? Race cars? Erasers? What was he talking about? She didn't remember anything like that. "I don't know what you mean."

* * *

Amanda-Anne, satisfied that she had figured out the elf's magic tricks, looked up and noticed the darkened, twilight sky. Fear gripped her. The Father would be furious\x97the Step-Mother would tell him that she was late. She shoved her way to the front, grabbed control of the body, and stood, rigid and trembling. Her eyes met those of the elf, and she shivered. "Home!" she wailed, suddenly terrified. Late! I'm . . . late! Home! She used the information she'd garnered from watching the elf to draw in the earth-energy that pulsed through Elfhame Outremer, and promptly removed herself to the safety of the holly tree hide-out.

* * *

Amanda-Abbey was back in control and back in familiar surroundings. She didn't even flinch. "Wow!" she whispered, crawling out of her nest in the muted sunlight of early afternoon, still impelled by a powerful urge to get home, "What a neat dream." She studiously avoided noticing the green bead on the gold filigreed chain that hugged her wrist, or the dirt and snagged threads on her school clothes.

* * *

Amanda-Anne took over control as Amanda walked through the woods. She trotted home by a different route, alert for watchers of any kind.

* * *

Cethlenn had been aware of the elf's presence, but she had been unable to wrest control of the body away from the children long enough to beg for help. Now, hurrying back to the child's terrible home, she swore softly and wondered what she could do to save her child host.

* * *

Lianne drove up the long, winding lane past carefully tended fences and manicured pastures, well-maintained, picturesque old barns, and a riding ring set up for trail training, with jumps and bridges and barrels. Over to her right, a young man put one lean gray filly through her paces on a lunge line, while two hawk-faced men in tweed jackets and caps watched and commented.

 

She noted the exquisitely kept ornamental gardens, the flawless landscaping, the elegant half-timbered home that bespoke good breeding and old money\x97and she shook her head in bewilderment. This Eden was more than she could ever hope to aspire to. In her whole life, she could never hope to live so well, to have so much. Where was the worm that gnawed away at Amanda? And how could it survive in such a place?

 

She parked her little yellow VW bug to one side of the house, clambered out of the car, and smoothed her skirt nervously. She felt suddenly shabby and plain\x97and on very shaky ground.

 

Stomach in knots, she strode up the walk and rang the bell. After a long wait, she heard the click of heels in the hall. The door swung open noiselessly, and Lianne pasted a confident smile on her face.

 

Merryl Kendrick gave her a cool, polite nod and said, "Won't you come in, Miss McCormick? Amanda is upstairs doing her homework\x97I can call her if you would like."

 

"Not just yet, please," Lianne answered, and found herself following Merryl through a long, perfectly kept maze of glossy mahogany halls and decorator-perfect rooms. She studied Mrs. Kendrick's back and winced. Merryl Kendrick would have been a good six inches taller than Lianne in flats. In heels, the other woman towered over her. Amanda's step-mother was casually dressed, the elegance understated\x97but every article of clothing spoke of more money than Lianne could put into her wardrobe in an entire year. She shouldn't let all that money have a psychological effect on her, Lianne knew, and knew at the same time that should was a meaningless word. All that money, all that power, did have an effect on her. It weakened her position, it weakened her credibility. As much as she would like to pretend otherwise, she was not an equal among peers in this world. And she would have to act as if she were, for Amanda's sake. Because whatever was wrong with Amanda was wrong in spite of all these evident advantages.

* * *

"Tea?" Merryl asked.

 

"Thank you." Lianne took the seat the other woman indicated and glanced around the sun-room. It seemed to her that she had seen it in a Better Homes and Gardens spread. With its Mexican tile floor, hand-adzed timber-framed beams, and walls of glass looking out over a scenic view of the estate and a lovely, wild patch of woods, it was breathtaking.

 

And sterile.

 

There were no family pictures, no knickknacks, no personal touches whatsoever to mar the carefully conceived vision of the designer. As she ran her memory back over what she had seen of the rest of the house, she realized it was all the same. The house was lovely, but it looked as if no one lived there, or ever had.

 

That's a middle-class prejudice, she told herself. Only the middle class insists that a bit of disorder is healthy.

 

Merryl returned and placed a heavy pottery teapot and a matching cup in front of Lianne.

 

"Thank you." The young teacher poured herself a cup of tea and sipped at it gratefully.

 

"Of course." Merryl Kendrick nodded gracefully. "Andrew will be home any time. In the meantime, we can drink our tea, or you can fill me in on what you perceive to be the problem."

 

What I perceive to be the problem. That's nicely put. The problem is no doubt going to be my perception, and not the problem. Ah, well, face it right out.

 

She decided on a frontal assault. "To the best of your knowledge, Mrs. Kendrick, is there any history of mental illness in Amanda's family?"

 

The other woman's lips curled in a faint smile over her own cup of tea, and one eyebrow raised slightly. She leaned back in the peach-and-mint wing-backed chair and crossed her legs. After a moment, she chuckled. "Well, that's certainly getting to the point." Merryl Kendrick sipped slowly at her tea. "Actually, yes\x97there is. Funny you should ask. Andrew's first wife had a long history of psychological problems\x97paranoia, delusions, depression, psychoses. She was hospitalized\x97Andrew obtained a divorce, but made sure she was well taken care of until her death."

 

At Lianne's startled expression, Amanda's step-mother nodded slowly.

 

"You see, she died about two years ago. Suicide. I understand these problems are sometimes . . ." Merryl picked delicately around the word ". . . hereditary."

 

Lianne held her breath, closed her eyes, and let it out again, slowly. "Sometimes," she agreed.

 

"Dana's parents\x97Amanda's natural grandparents\x97aren't quite normal, either. We've done the best we could for Amanda\x97limited her contacts with them ever since her mother's death. . . ." Merryl Kendrick seemed to be actually relishing this. "It doesn't seem to be helping, does it, Miss McCormick?"

 

Lianne blinked, choosing her words with care. "Amanda is having serious problems in school this year, behavioral as well as academic. I'm not the only teacher that has noticed this. It's in her records, if you'd care to see them." There. So much for "my perception." "I can't say that her problems stem from her mother, or her mother's death, or heredity, or anything else. All I can say is that she needs help, and I don't know that I am able to give her the help she needs."

 

There were thundering feet on a stairway, and Amanda burst into the room. Her sweet, blue-eyed face lit up when she saw her teacher, and she ran over and hugged her vigorously. "I didn't know you were coming over tonight, Miss McCormick. Don't you like my house?" The child turned to face her step-mother, still smiling. "I got all of my homework finished, Mother. May I go outside for a while?"

 

"Not now, Amanda," Merryl said. "I'm expecting your father home any minute."

 

"As well you should, darling," Andrew Kendrick said from the doorway, slipping a cigarette pack into his crisp breast-pocket. "I'm sorry I'm late\x97one of my clients was quite distraught and needed a bit of extra time."

 

Lianne had been watching Amanda, bemused by the girl's cheerful countenance and normal manner\x97so she didn't miss the change. Amanda's face turned from her step-mother to her father, and a series of unreadable expressions flashed across her features. Her mouth fell slightly open, giving her a dull, witless look.

 

And her pale, pale green eyes stared at the man in the doorway with a cross between canny hatred and stupefied terror.

 

The flesh stood up on Lianne's arms, and chills raced up and down her spine.

 

There was a crash from another room. Andrew and Merryl looked at each other, and Merryl cleared her throat. "You evidently let one of the cats in with you again, Andrew."

 

His eyes focused on his child. "No doubt," he agreed. "Amanda, I see you've been playing in your school clothes again. You've soiled them and ruined the fabric. Please go upstairs and change into your stable clothes, then go clean your pony's stall. I'll be out to check on your work when your mother and I have finished speaking with your teacher."

 

"Yes-s-s . . . Father," the child said. Her voice grated; low, animal-like. She was as much a different child as if Amanda had been picked up and physically replaced.

 

Lianne felt her pulse begin to race. Wrong, her mind screamed at her. This is wrong! It's weird! It's awful! It took every bit of control for her to keep her seat, to keep smiling while Andrew Kendrick crossed the room, took a seat next to his wife, and smiled at her and said, "Well, ladies, what solutions have you reached?"

 

His voice was cheerful, his eyes bright and kind and concerned\x97so why did every nerve in Lianne's body insist that some invisible force was dragging monstrous talons across a giant blackboard?

 

"Miss McCormick deduced Dana's problem from Amanda's classroom behavior." Merryl looked into her husband's face. Her body posture and gestures indicated sincere concern. "She says she isn't the only teacher to have seen problems with Amanda."

 

Her husband dropped his eyes. "Dana," he said, and Lianne would have sworn she could hear real anguish in those two labored syllables. Her instincts told her that, no matter what she saw, or thought she saw, Andrew Kendrick was a phony. Merryl was the perfect foil for him, and the two of them had snowed her from the beginning\x97would have kept her convinced that the problem was in other directions. But Lianne knew kids. She'd been well acquainted with thousands of them in her eight years of teaching, and she'd seen that unguarded expression of Amanda's before. The look in her eyes, the little girl's actions, the abrupt change in her attitude\x97those things had given Lianne a name for the sick feeling that weighted her down and dragged on her every breath.

 

Child abuse.

 

She needed to get out of the house, get help\x97but first, she needed one more tiny reassurance that she'd really seen what she thought she'd seen.

 

"I think Mrs. Kendrick and I have stumbled across the problem. And I think I may have thought of a solution." She had to have parental permission for this first step. Unless the child revealed something on her own, or there were physical evidences, there wasn't anything that could be done that Andrew Kendrick with his money and influences couldn't counter. "I can't promise anything, but I'd like your permission anyway. I'd like for Amanda to be seen by one of our counselors. I think there are a great many things troubling her, probably related to her mother's death, and I think that having some time with the counselor, starting on Monday, would give her a chance to talk those problems out. It would at least give us an idea of what we're dealing with."

 

Lianne waited. She watched concern crawl across Merryl's features like a spider, watched Andrew's eyes harden, watched them glance at each other\x97we have to keep our secret expressions that gave the teacher her answer.

 

"I don't think so, Miss McCormick," Andrew said, still smiling\x97but with the smile artfully condescending. "I think you may be right, that psychological help would be in order for Amanda\x97but I don't think that a school counselor who works for peanuts and sees his, ah, clients in the sardine-can atmosphere of public education would be of much use. While we want Amanda to be mainstreamed in a public school, and not sequestered away in a private and privileged academy, I don't think my open-mindedness runs to welfare-quality counselors. I'm sure we can find someone much more suitable through our contacts."

 

Bingo, Lianne thought. And dollars to donuts she'll never go to see anyone, because they can't take a chance of Amanda talking to anyone. Outwardly, though, Lianne kept her expression neutral. "Of course, Mr. Kendrick. I wasn't suggesting that our counselor could provide therapy\x97only that she might be able to give us a direction in which to look for the problem. However, I'm sure that your choice of counselor will be even better. Just let me know when you come up with someone."

 

The teacher stood. "I've taken enough of your time. Thank you for talking with me. I think we've come up with some positive avenues to explore, and I'm sure Amanda will benefit."

 

Merryl and Andrew walked her back through the maze to the front door and showed her out, making small talk all the while.

 

And when I get home, you creeps, I'm calling Social Services. And we'll see if you get away with blaming your kid's behavior on your ex-wife to them.

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

"You didn't ask to be excused," her step-mother called from the dining room.

 

"Amanda Jannine Kendrick, get back to this table at once!" yelled Daddy.

 

Amanda-Abbey, halfway up the steps to her room and running headlong, reluctantly turned and plodded back to the dining room.

 

"Where were you going in such a hurry, young lady?" her daddy asked her.

 

He glared at her from the head of the table. Her step-mother, lingering over hot tea and a wafer-thin slice of pound cake, shook her head with annoyance. Sharon sat next to her real mother, looking secretly pleased that Amanda was in trouble again.

 

Amanda-Abbey looked from one adult to the other, and her fingers twisted against each other. She took a deep breath.

 

"May-I-please-be-excused-I-have-to-go-clean-the-pony's-stall," she said in a rush.

 

Her step-mother nodded curtly. "Wear your coveralls. I don't want those clothes ruined any more than they are."

 

Her daddy just smiled, playing with his lighter, tumbling it end-over-end between two fingers.

 

"I won't get them dirty. Promise."

 

Amanda-Anne took over, hurling the child's scrawny body out of the dining room and up the stairs two at a time and into her room at breakneck speed. She grabbed worn coveralls from their spot behind the hamper and darted into the closet, closing the door behind her. Trembling and breathing hard, she flung on the coveralls in the darkness, then crept to the door. She listened, soft ear pressed against the cool, white wood. On the other side, there was nothing but silence.

 

Silence, Amanda-Anne knew, was very bad.

 

There were two sets of steps, one on either end of the hall. Both had landings halfway, and closets at the top and the bottom\x97

 

Amanda-Anne closed her eyes and thought. No answers came to her, no pictures. And every minute she wasted gave the Father one more minute\x97

 

She bolted out her door and to the left, heading for the front stairs, which were farthest from the dining room, praying that she had guessed right.

 

Past the top closet and down the stairs\x97safe.

 

Around the landing\x97still no sign of Him.

 

Down the rest of the stairs\x97only a little further to go.

 

Past the partly-open door of the closet at the bottom of the stairs\x97and an arm shot out and grabbed her and dragged her into the closet.

 

"Boo," the Father whispered. He laughed softly in the darkness of the closet, and his hands pinned her against the smothering piles of coats. "You're lucky I'm not a monster."

 

Amanda-Anne struggled to get away from him. The Father tightened his grip until her arms hurt. "Monsters wait in the dark for bad girls, Amanda. Getchells and morrowaries, slinketts and fulges. Big, drooly monsters with bloody red teeth and sharp claws and white eyes that glow. Slimy, slippery shapeless things that slither and drip burning goo and won't even leave your bones behind for anyone to find you, Amanda. And it's almost dark outside, Amanda. They'll be there any minute. Hungry monsters. When you go outside to clean your pony's stable, be sure the monsters don't get you."

* * *

Someone picked up after the seventh ring. A masculine voice said, "Hello?"

 

Lianne closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall next to her phone. Getting through to the government agency after-hours had been a morass of answering machines, people who were home but not on call, and people who were on call but not at home. The hospital emergency department's Cumberland County Social Services' after-hours emergency phone numbers were one week out of date. The person she'd finally reached, after an hour of trying, had given her four numbers that might put her in touch with the person she needed. She had tried three of the numbers, and they hadn't. This was her last hope, and she clenched the receiver in her hand until her knuckles went white. The real live voice on the other end of the line wasn't getting out of this until Amanda's rescue was guaranteed.

 

"Hello," she said. "This is Lianne McCormick\x97I'm a teacher at Loyd E. Auman Middle School."

 

"Don Kroczwski. What can I do for you?"

 

Lianne took a deep breath. "I suspect that one of my students is being abused. I want her family checked out."

 

"What kind of evidence do you have of the suspected abuse?" The man on the other end of the line sounded tired; bone-tired and heartsick.

 

Lianne's voice went tense on her. "Evidence?"

 

"Do you have reason to expect imminent danger to life or limb?" he asked\x97or rather, recited.

 

This wasn't what she had expected. "For example\x97?"

 

Kroczwski sighed deeply. "For example, does the kid say either of his or her parents said they were going to kill him or her? She or he have any old cigarette burn scars, rope burns, broken bones, bruises on the face or body, brothers or sisters who have died or been hospitalized in the last few weeks\x97anything like that?"

 

Lianne's stomach contracted at his list of horrors. "She. Her name is Amanda Kendrick. And no. Nothing like that."

 

The voice on the other end of the line sighed. "You got any reason to think the kid will be dead tomorrow if I don't go over there tonight?"

 

The teacher bit her lip. "No," she said softly. "She shows psychological damage\x97personality problems\x97but nothing that makes me think her parents will murder her."

 

"Okay. That's a problem, Ms. McCormick. I know that you know your students. I understand that you probably can tell when something is wrong, and I trust your judgment and your instincts, but I have to have something tangible. Bruises, something the kid told you, something I can show a judge. I can't walk up to her parents' house and tell them they are being investigated for child abuse because their kid's teacher has a bad feeling."

 

"But I know something is wrong."

 

"Ms. McCormick, I believe you, but let me give you an idea of how wrong things can be. I have a neighborhood outbreak of syphilis among three- to nine-year-olds that I'm investigating; I just got a call from the Cape Fear Emergency Room about a little girl whose mother dumped hot oil on her because she wouldn't be quiet. I have a five-month-old baby with broken arms and broken legs that the mother's boyfriend threw across the room and whose four brothers and sisters have to be gotten out of that situation. I have a dead kid who showed up in the morgue whose body hasn't been claimed. I have a list of call-in's from concerned neighbors and teachers and relatives as long as my arm with complaints that may or may not end up with a bunch of little bodies in little body-bags if I don't take care of them yesterday\x97and it's already almost tomorrow. Child abuse is the year's biggest growth industry. I understand wrong\x97I really do. You give me something to go on, and I'll be out there to check on your kid in a heartbeat. Okay?"

 

Lianne's throat tightened. "Okay," she whispered. "If I can find anything, I'll call you back."

 

The voice sounded even wearier. "Day or night."

 

Tears started down Lianne's cheeks. "Okay. Thanks." She hung up the phone. Images of infants with arms and legs in plaster casts, little children with burns given to them by the people they wanted to love, with bruises and cuts and old scars and new wounds\x97kids who'd been shaken, beaten, screamed at, starved, tortured, raped, neglected\x97those images swirled around in front of her eyes, blurred by tears. And all those children began to have Amanda's face.

* * *

Amanda's pony was not kept in the main barn with the pedigreed Arabians Merryl Kendrick raised. It had its own quarters\x97a neat little doll-house version of the bigger barns, one Andrew Kendrick had ordered to be built for Amanda when she was five. It sat next to the main stables but did not connect with it in any way. Its cheerful, red-painted sides and white trim gleamed in the twilight; warm, yellow light spilled out of the opened top half of the front Dutch door. The neat, cedar-chip path crunched under Amanda-Alice's feet as she scurried down to finish cleaning the pony's stall.

 

"Lazy slut," Amanda-Alice muttered under her breath. "You should have cleaned the barn when you got home from school. Then he wouldn't have made you come down here now. Stupid, wicked, worthless tramp\x97out chasing evil elves when you should have been working. You deserve to be punished. You deserve it."

 

Amanda-Anne didn't have time for guilt. In the near-darkness, things moved. Shambling phantasms pressed close, deformed grotesqueries chittered in her ear, and\x97"Come to us, Amanda\x97we're hungry," unseen things whispered from the shadows, while their awful stomachs growled.

 

No! Amanda-Anne thought, and lurched into a gallop.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the darkness gained. The horrors were almost upon her\x97she could feel their breath on the back of her neck\x97

 

"No!" she shrieked, and heard them laugh.

 

And then somehow she was through the barn door, intact and uneaten, and the door was closed behind her. The heavy wooden bolt dropped into its brackets, and Amanda-Anne was safe from the monsters.

 

In the stall, she picked up the pitchfork and began loading manure and straw into the little wheelbarrow. Her pony, Fudge, poked his head into the barn from the pasture entrance and whickered.

 

"Vile, filthy beast," Amanda-Alice snarled. "You leave these messes to get us in trouble, don't you? You don't deserve supper."

 

She ignored the bin of sweet feed in the corner, avoided looking at the little Shetland, and continued mucking the stall with short, sharp, angry jabs.

* * *

Andrew Kendrick paced the living room floor. Merryl curled in one of the overstuffed chairs, contracts spread on the floor around her.

 

The man punched one closed fist into the palm of his other hand. "That child is a disgrace. When I was a child, my behavior was excellent. I never had a visit from one of my teachers. And for that woman to suggest school psychiatrists\x97"

 

"Counselors," Merryl corrected. "Only counselors. Public schools don't keep psychiatrists on staff."

 

"It doesn't matter. How dare that child cause me this sort of humiliation? How dare she?" A scowl carved itself deeper into Andrew's face, and his complexion flushed a hotter, uglier red. "She obviously hasn't had enough discipline," he growled.

 

"Jesus," Merryl muttered. "Leave the kid alone for once."

 

Andrew turned his anger on her. "Stay out of it, you bitch! She's my child, my responsibility. As you keep reminding me. It's up to me to make sure that she grows up to be a useful adult. She won't if you ruin her with your lax attitude. Look at Sharon. She's getting old enough that she needs firm discipline, and you let her run wild. She'll be worthless when she grows up."

 

Merryl's voice went flat and dangerous. "Leave Sharon alone."

 

Andrew stiffened and glared at his wife. "We'll see," he told her. He walked heavily toward the outside door. "I'm going to make sure Amanda does a good job on that stall. She's going to clean it until it's done right, even if she's out there all night\x97she's going to learn that I'm in charge around here. And she's going to learn that she has to do what I expect." He stopped and stared at his wife with cold, ugly rage. "That's something you could stand to remember, too, Merryl."

 

He stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Belinda sat cross-legged on the bed in Peterkin's shoddy hotel room, two decks of cards spread in front of her on the cheap polyester bedspread. "Black three on the red four . . . okay, and that opens up the red jack to the black queen . . . hah! Moves that to there\x97yes!" She briskly restacked, completed, and removed piles of cards.

 

A rustle from the foot of the bed distracted her. She looked over from her game of Napoleon's solitaire to the floor, where Stevens and Peterkin were turning blue. "Oh\x97hi, guys." Her voice was bright and cheerful. "I thought you were dead already. Would you mind hurrying it up a little? I have plans for the evening." She grinned\x97perky, sexy, and charming, obviously a woman having a good time\x97and turned back to her cards.

 

She played a few more moments and sighed with minor annoyance. "Dammit! I almost won that one." She riffled the cards together, staring at her two thugs.

 

"Seems my prescription was okay, huh? At least it's working pretty well on you two. Well, fellas, I don't know why you wanted to double-cross me, but I guess we've proven that wasn't a good idea." She smiled at the dying men and began laying out the cards again. "Jerks."

 

She spread out a deck of poker cards and began another game of solitaire, latex-gloved hands shuffling with some difficulty.

 

Peterkin made strangling noises, then quit breathing. Froth foamed out of his mouth. Belinda smiled and flipped her hair back out of her face.

 

"That's good\x97that's very good. You did that nicely, Joe. One down, one to go, Fred-ol'-buddy. Let's see if you die well, too."

 

Fred Stevens lay on the dingy green carpet, sucking air like a beached fish for over half an hour after his partner threw in the towel. When his breathing ceased, Belinda folded up her cards, took both men's wallets, changed the ID's and other important papers, and dumped the wallets back on the dresser. Then she walked down to her car. When she came back, she carried a large shopping bag. She emptied the bag onto the bed and strewed her purchases around the room: a small packet of crack cocaine and the attendant drug paraphernalia, a white feather boa and a large, skimpy leopard-spotted negligee, a queen-sized pair of fishnet hose and patent leather shoes with six-inch spike heels\x97sized 12EE\x97a black leather men's bikini, battered handcuffs, and a well-worn bullwhip.

 

Then she cut the clothing off of both men with a pair of heavy-duty bandage scissors, the kind EMT's and paramedics used, rolled the clothes into a ball and stuffed them into her now-empty bag. She rolled Stevens onto Peterkin in the best "compromising position" she could manage, considering he was the smaller of the two corpses and weighed more than twice what she did. But police training came in handy. When she had them more or less posed, she put the shoes on Peterkin's feet and the handcuffs around his wrists, and draped the feather boa once around Steven's neck. Then she stood, breathing hard, and chuckled softly.

 

"That ought to amuse the investigators for a while," she whispered, and grinned cheerfully. She looked at her watch. Time to see what my race-driver is doing. I need to be able to collect him tomorrow.

* * *

The front doors of Amanda's barn rattled. The child was busy shoveling manure into the wheelbarrow and didn't notice the noise the first time. The second time, however, she stopped and cocked her head to one side, listening. The noise did not recur a third time, and after waiting a moment, she nodded with satisfaction and resumed her cleaning.

 

She didn't realize the Father had come into the barn through the pasture door until she heard the top Dutch doors click, and the heavy thud as he carefully dropped the door-bar into the brackets.

 

Inside the pony's stall, all the Amandas stiffened. Cethlenn noticed the change in their attitudes and froze, listening.

 

A series of light clicks followed\x97the sound of a key in a lock, the sound of light furniture being moved, the clink of metal.

 

Suddenly, Cethlenn realized that Amanda-Alice and Amanda-Abbey were gone. The only one who remained with her was Amanda-Anne.

 

Thud, thud, thud\x97the Father's heavy steps left the storage room, walked slowly closer\x97

 

Then the Father was right there, standing in the doorway of the stall, completely filling it. Cethlenn watched with Amanda-Anne, staring up and up and up at the huge form of the man.

 

"The stall looks very dirty, Amanda," the Father said. "What a very lazy, nasty, dirty little girl you have been." He smiled, his lips pulled back across his teeth so that they gleamed in the light of the naked, dangling light bulb.

 

Inside their head, Amanda-Anne made a mewling sound that died before it reached their lips. Cethlenn shuddered.

 

"I ought to make you lick the floor clean," the Father said. "Would you like that?"

 

Knives and whips and ropes and sharp, hot things danced in Amanda-Anne's head, and dull red rage blurred the child's vision. Cethlenn was forced back by the spreading fury, and fear clutched at her.

 

The Father's smile got bigger, and he took a step toward them. "I said," he whispered, "would you like that?"

 

Oh, gods, just answer him, child, Cethlenn thought.

 

"No," Amanda-Anne said.

 

"No," the Father mimicked, his voice a chilling falsetto. "Oh, no. You wouldn't like that. But you're a dirty little girl, aren't you, Amanda?"

 

The child stared at him, silent.

 

"I said, you're a dirty little girl, aren't you?"

 

"Yes," Amanda-Anne said.

 

"And we know what dirty little girls really like, don't we, Amanda?"

 

Amanda-Anne wrapped her frail arms around herself and stared up at the Father in silent terror. Cethlenn felt sick.

 

"Don't we, Amanda?"

 

"Yes," Amanda-Anne whispered.

 

"I can't hear you."

 

"Yes," Amanda-Anne said.

 

"Dirty little girls like to make their Daddy happy, don't they?"

 

Amanda-Anne's throat tightened, and she nodded.

 

"Good," said the Father. "Then come here. I know what you like, don't I, you dirty little girl? Tell me you like it."

 

Amanda-Anne walked forward, moving like a creature drugged.

 

"Say, `I like it, Daddy.' "

 

The child was silent.

 

The Father grabbed her and shook her. "Say, `I like it, Daddy.' "

 

"I like it . . . D-D-Daddy," Amanda-Anne croaked.

 

"I know you do, you little whore." He picked the limp child up and carried her into the storage room.

 

Oh, gods, Amanda, I'm sorry\x97I can't stay here\x97I can't watch this! Cethlenn shrieked, and vanished.

* * *

Lianne sat at her little kitchen table and dried her eyes. She had done what she could for Amanda for the time being. It was Friday night\x97she couldn't do anything else about the child until the next morning at the earliest\x97so she needed to get herself under control.

 

I've been under an awful lot of stress lately, she thought. It isn't like me to cry like this. There have just been too many unexplained things happening in the last few days.

 

She leaned back in her chair. I've taken care of this now, though. Things will get back to normal. I know they will.

 

Her eye strayed to the kitchen sink\x97to a rainbow sparkle and a flash of white metal.

 

And the feeling of otherworldness returned. She got up and walked over to the sink, and picked up the crystal carafe that Mac had produced\x97seemingly out of thin air\x97for their delightful breakfast in bed. She hefted it in both hands, studying the flawless faceting of the crystal and the incredible quality. One eye closed, she gnawed on her lip as she appraised it, and a whole number followed by a surprising quantity of zeros ticked off in her brain. She fingered the silver serving tray, and then picked it up and studied it. It was real silver, and solid, too, not plate\x97and Lianne pondered the odds of finding such exquisitely crafted silver with nary a maker's mark on it. She picked up a cherry pit and studied it as if it were something likely to burn her fingers. She tilted her head, and her eyebrows furrowed, and then, with a thoughtful expression on her face, she turned out the kitchen light, went into the living room and plopped down on her couch and stared off into nothingness.

 

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever is left\x97no matter how improbable\x97is the truth," she said softly to no one.

* * *

Amanda-Anne lay in the bathtub, staring up at the ceiling. Steam swirled around her, and a thick layer of sweet-scented bubbles pressed against her skin like fat kittens. Amanda was oblivious to the warmth and the sweetness and the light. Her mouth still tasted of oily cotton, her wrists and ankles still stung and chafed, and she hurt.

 

And in her mind's eye, nothing existed but the storage room, with its little cot and its dim light, and its supply of ropes and rags, and its awful locking door.

 

She rubbed absently at her wrists\x97and her fingers brushed across her real mother's bead, still strung on the lovely gold chain.

 

And the image of the elf pouring himself out of the bead in a stream of green mist came to her. She sat up in the tub and stared at the bead. Let Abbey pretend that the elf wasn't real. Let Alice complain that he was evil. And let that goody-two-shoes Stranger think that the elf would help them. They didn't know about Anne, but Anne knew about them. And she knew better than to believe their silliness. Amanda-Anne knew that Alice was stupid, that Abbey was wrong, and that Stranger meant well but was looking for help in the wrong direction; the sweet-faced elf was too soft and too gentle to do what was needed. But he had shown her the trick of his magic without meaning to. Without even knowing that he had done so. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities of the scene that played itself out in her mind, and softly, the child began to laugh.

 

Don't want . . . the elf, she thought. Just . . . the smoke. And the wind.

 

She stared at the bead, forcing unfamiliar patterns into the rhythm of her will, and slowly her green eyes glowed.

 

For a moment, nothing changed.

 

Then a flicker of light came to life in the heart of the bead\x97not the pure green light of earlier in the day, but a throbbing, pulsing, angry red light. Without words, Amanda-Anne spoke to the red light and carefully explained to it exactly what she wanted. Then she waited.

 

The bead grew brighter, and the bathroom was suffused with the ugly, bloody red glow. Then heavy smoke poured out of the bead and hung over the bathtub. It swirled around the child, threatening, menacing.

 

Amanda-Anne's eyes grew lighter, her pupils constricted to pencil-points of darkness in the centers of the white-green, and as if it had suddenly seen something to fear, the red cloud recoiled. With a kind of reluctance, it crawled in a thin line up the wall and out of the bathroom through a slight gap in the window high overhead.

 

Amanda-Anne held her breath as the last traces vanished from the bathroom. She listened, every muscle tense and straining to catch the slightest sound in the still night air.

 

Then, from the direction of her barn, there came a very satisfying crash, followed by thunderous clattering and the scream of a full-sized hurricane compressed into a tiny box. The noise and the destruction raged for as long as Amanda-Anne could maintain her concentration.

 

When she reached the point of exhaustion, she released the storm she had summoned, sending it back to wherever it had come from. Then, a diamond-hard smile on her tiny face, Amanda-Anne settled back into the bath-water and relinquished her place to Amanda-Abbey, who actually liked stupid, childish bubble-baths.

* * *

Mac left the track late and with too much on his mind. There was Felouen, with her strange and completely unexpected intimation of unrequited love, and the Oracular Pool, with its images of terror and disaster. There was the sensation of intangible evil at the border of the Unformed World, and the turbulence of the shield. There were his problems with the Seleighe High Court, and with that low and vile woman who had tried to poison him. There was beautiful, ephemeral Lianne, whom he suspected was falling in love with him. And last, but certainly not least, there was the child, Amanda, who had followed him into Underhill without flinching, and who had then promptly returned to her own world on her own power and of her own accord\x97in spite of the fact that there was no way she should have been able to do that. Maclyn was tense, and unsettled, and somewhat scattered.

 

And so, for the first time, he failed to notice a sleek brown Ford Thunderbird that maintained its position four cars behind him all the way from the street beside the racetrack parking lot to Lianne's apartment.

 

Lianne answered the door with an unnervingly perceptive expression in her eyes. "Hi," she said, gave him a brusque kiss, and immediately asked, "Where's the movie?"

 

"The movie?"

 

"The movie. C'mon, Mac\x97just this morning you said, and I quote, `I'll pick up the movie tonight. I think I'll get The Man With One Red Shoe, since we didn't watch it last night.' After breakfast, and before we headed out the door. Remember?"

 

"Of course I remember," said Maclyn, who remembered no such thing.

 

"So where's the movie? You forgot it, didn't you?"

 

"I just forgot to bring it in with me. It's in the car. I didn't forget to rent it."

 

Like hell, I didn't forget, he thought while he trudged back to Rhellen. What in Oberon's name was I thinking this morning?\x97I burned breakfast, I fixed something else, we rolled around on the bed awhile, we took a shower, we ran out the door\x97I still don't remember anything about a movie. At least, he mused, I promised one I've already seen. Be a bitch to pull it out of thin air if I hadn't.

 

He opened Rhellen's door, concentrating hard, and a VCR cassette in a clear plastic cover appeared on the seat. He picked it up and returned to the apartment.

 

Lianne's expression as he handed her the tape was decidedly weird. He started to ask her what was wrong, then thought better of it.

 

She walked over to the VCR without a word, and pushed the eject button. A movie popped out. She opened the plastic case of the tape he'd provided for her, and turned her back to him.

 

She stood silently for a long moment, while Mac grew more and more tense. "Jesus, that's a neat trick," she said finally, and turned around. "Who are you\x97really?"

 

Maclyn hedged. "Why do you ask?"

 

She smiled. "You were very close with this. Your label is almost perfect, except you're missing the copyright date, and there's only a gray box where the small print would be\x97if I hadn't had an original here to compare, I bet I never would have noticed the difference."

 

He nodded, maintaining a calm exterior while his brain raced wildly. In her hands she held two copies of The Man With One Red Shoe. One of them had been obtained from a video rental store. The other\x97well, it hadn't. He felt the tempo of his pulse increase. "Maybe the copy I picked up was pirated."

 

"Oh, I'm sure of it," she said with a wry smile. "Out of thin-fucking-air. We never said anything about movies this morning, Mac. I only said that to see what you would do\x97because there is something very odd about things that have happened in my life since you showed up. It strikes me as uncanny, for example, that neither of us said a word about you picking up this movie, and yet, when I asked you about it, you happened to have it in your car. Wherever this came from, Mac Lynn, it wasn't a rental place."

 

He stalled for time, trying to think, but unable to make his mind work. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen\x97it wasn't supposed to happen at all, actually. "I see. So I was correct in thinking I hadn't said anything about movies in our rush this morning? How interesting. You see, I have an imperfect memory for minutiae. It usually isn't a problem."

 

Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. "Perhaps more of a problem than you realize. There is, of course, the silver tray\x97real silver, of incredible quality, with no maker's mark. I don't buy it. There are the out-of-season cherries. And of course we can't forget your willingness to believe that papers were indeed flying around my classroom of their own accord." She took a step toward him. "You are very interesting, Mac Lynn. You are charming, you are handsome, and you are great in bed. But you are not what you seem to be. Now I want an answer on this, and I want it right now. Who\x97or what\x97are you?"

* * *

Finally, she was getting somewhere.

 

From her position behind the shrubs outside of the apartment window, Belinda stared through the slatted mini-blinds at Mac Lynn and his girlfriend. She recognized the girl\x97had seen her before, in connection with Mac Lynn. She frowned, determined to remember where she had seen that face, and suddenly she recalled the girl striding across a parking lot\x97

 

Bingo! She's one of the teachers at Loyd E. Auman. I followed him there that one time\x97and that explains why he was over there in the first place. That's where his piece of ass works.

 

Belinda's face lit up with a beatific smile. His girlfriend could give him to her. Just grab her and stash her someplace, then tell him his girlfriend was dead unless he did exactly what she said, and have him follow instructions that would deliver him voluntarily to Mel's doorstep.

 

Voila, she thought, a nice paycheck for me and a well-earned vacation that doesn't involve chasing spookies\x97preferably someplace far away, with mountains and ocean and deferential waiters.

 

Cozumel, she decided, or maybe Greece.

 

They appeared to be arguing. That was good from Belinda's point of view. He might stomp out, leaving her alone tonight. In which case, I'll just knock on the door and grab her when she answers it, thinking he's come back to apologize. If he stays the night, of course, I'll just pick up Little Miss Teacher sometime tomorrow\x97or after school Monday.

 

That seemed like a good, sound, workable plan, and much less complicated than trying to drug him again. It also meant she didn't need to sit in the damp shrubbery catching a cold. Belinda stood up and headed back to her new rental car. Stake-outs were much more pleasant when accompanied by Perrier, Bach, and croissants.

 

She moved into the area of darker shadow that lay between the teacher's apartment and the parking lot, and noticed two disturbing things as she did. The first was that Mac's car wasn't in the parking lot anymore.

 

The second was that what had seemed, out of the corner of her eye, to be laundry hanging out between the apartments, wasn't. It was a big, light-colored horse.

 

And no sooner had she identified the horse for what it was than it had her jacket between its teeth, and she was flailing through the air to land on the beast's back. She reached for her gun, the creature bucked, she grabbed the beast's mane to keep from hitting the ground\x97

 

And things got a little hazy from there.

 

Belinda decided pretty promptly that she must have fallen off the horse anyway and knocked herself silly and wandered around a bit. It was the only explanation that made any sense. Otherwise, she would have had to admit that the horse had turned into a car that drove itself, and that it had driven her onto the street in front of the old abandoned Fox Drive-In, and dumped her by the side of the road before cruising off into the night. It would have implied that the car had chosen to abandon her where hookers plied their trade and G.I.'s and out-of-town businessmen and restless locals went looking for action.

 

It would have implied that the fight Belinda got into with the pimp and the big buxom blonde and the transvestite and the two horny guys in the red Camaro was the fault of a goddamned '57 Chevy.

 

And no matter how spooky things got, Belinda wasn't ready to admit that.

* * *

Mac faced Lianne, and swallowed hard. Humans weren't anywhere near as gullible as they'd once been\x97at least some of them weren't, he decided. The room felt uncomfortably warm.

 

"I'm a racecar driver," he said with an ingenuous smile.

 

Lianne nodded, her expression grave. "A racecar driver is the least of what you are, Mac Lynn. I've always made it a point to date within my species before this, but I think I've not even managed to live up to that one simple rule this time. Have I?"

 

Maclyn stood, studying her, thinking fast.

 

Lianne saw the evasion coming and headed it off. "Mac, I'm to the point where I won't believe anything but the truth. And please give me credit for being able to tell the truth from a lie\x97remember, I deal with ten-year-olds on a daily basis." She smiled wryly. "Besides, I doubt that the truth is going to be anywhere near as ludicrous as what I've suspected."

 

"Wanna bet?" Mac muttered.

 

Lianne heard him. "No," she said. "But lay out your cards anyway and let me take a look."

 

"Okay." He took a deep breath and studied her. "You've heard of Faerie, of course."

 

"One of my best friends is one."

 

"Not that kind of fairy."

 

"I was being facetious. I've heard of Faerie. Up to this point I've found its purported existence likely to be the product of hallucination and overdoses of wheat-smut, but I'm a logical soul. Presented with sufficient proof, I'll believe just about anything. I suppose you're going to tell me you're the elf-king of Fairyland or something."

 

Mac's right eyebrow arched up. "I'm an elf. Not `or something.' And I'm fairly high up in the line of succession, but I'm not the king, or even the prince."

 

Lianne sighed and said to whatever higher powers inhabited the ceiling, "I'm taking this rather well, aren't I?" She studied Mac for a long, silent moment, then said, "Granted I've already seen enough to convince me that you aren't normal\x97but would it be too much to ask for some proof that you are what you say you are? Seeing that we've been sleeping together and all?"

 

Maclyn gave her a very Gallic shrug\x97and his human seeming faded away. He presented himself to her in his full elvish glory, from the gold circlet on his head to the sweeping white folds of his ermine cloak, to the rich white-on-white textures of his silk-embroidered tunic and velvet leggings. He showed her himself, pointed ears, pale green slit-pupilled eyes, and inhuman smile.

 

"My lady," he said, inclining his head with courtly grace. "Is this sufficient proof?"

 

Lianne sat down sharply on the coffee table. Her eyes went round and she whistled softly. "I'll be damned," she whispered. "An elf. A damned sexy one."

 

She cocked her head to one side and studied him closely. "A question, then."

 

"I'll answer it if I can."

 

"What are you doing hanging around me?"

 

And isn't that just the question? Maclyn thought. I wish to hell I knew the answer.

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

Andrew Kendrick heard the first sounds from the barn just as he was locking up the house for the night. He ran to the window and stared out at the hellish red glow in the dark that held the stable area. It was clearly coming from the pony barn. At first his mind couldn't recognize the disaster for what it was\x97but then he shook himself out of his paralysis and reacted.

 

"Fire!" he shouted to Merryl. "There's a fire down in the pony barn! Call the fire department, now!"

 

He pulled on boots and sprinted out the back door. If anything, it looked and sounded worse now that he was outside. He could barely hear the terrified whinnies of the pony above the roar that came from within the shed.

 

He goaded himself into a run, heading down to the barn, wondering if he would be able to get into the secret storeroom and thinking of the money that was going up in smoke in there. Thinking of all the\x97special things\x97that were going to be destroyed, and that were going to be even more difficult to procure the second time than they had been when he'd first obtained them.

 

Merryl passed him on the path, flew to the right and to her own barn, full of pedigreed mares and foals, her prize stud, her champion filly\x97the objects of her real passion and her love. Andrew heard her throwing open her barn doors, chasing the horses out into the pasture and away from the impending disaster. He clenched his fingers into tight fists, outraged at her care for the animals and her indifference toward him.

 

He watched her working frantically, momentarily distracted from his goal. She has a lot of nerve, ignoring me. Amanda's mother learned what happens to people who ignore me. I've been too easy on Merryl. He fumed with smoldering rage as he raced towards the pony barn, wondering if he could save anything without Merryl seeing it. He wasn't really thinking about the barn, nor about the fire\x97not, at least, until was he nearly at the structure.

 

Realization that there was something very strange going on stopped him like a stone wall. I don't smell any smoke, he thought. It sounded like there was a war going on down there, and it certainly looked as if the place was being overrun by the fires of hell\x97wind that screamed like a damned and tortured thing, the crash and thud of heavy objects hitting against the walls, the screech of nails ripping loose from beams\x97and the terrible red light still gleamed through cracks, but there were no tongues of flame visible and no smoke to smell.

 

What the hell\x97? he wondered.

 

A piece of board blew past him, and some unidentifiable bit of shrapnel grazed his cheek\x97and Andrew watched dumbfounded as gaps appeared, as if something or someone from inside battered away at the barn. The night air was thick with a sense of rage, of hatred so dense and palpable he could feel it brushing against his chilled skin like damp, drowned hands. His heart pounded with fear that was not even his own, and his mouth went dry and his breath came fast in spite of his struggles to control his emotions. He found himself backing away from the barn, and found that he could not stop himself, could not make himself walk back toward it.

 

From behind him, he heard the wail of sirens and the squeal of tires turning into the lane. The fire engines' flashing red lights joined the peculiar illumination that came from the barn\x97the night pulsed red. Blood, he thought, clutching his arms around himself. The world is bleeding.

 

The firemen were unrolling their hoses, shouting to each other, pointing out their target. Merryl was still loosing horses out into the field.

 

Andrew saw none of it; instead, he had been inadvertently thrown back to his own childhood.

 

He saw the little beagle puppy he'd "bought" when he was eleven from the kid down the road\x97bought with marbles and a brand-new baseball glove and a brand-new football. The puppy he'd smuggled home and made a wonderful soft bed for and hidden under the house because his father had said, "No dogs," but he'd wanted it so bad\x97

 

His puppy, laid out on a board, belly up; its little muzzle wired shut, its eyes wide and staring, its paws nailed into place. And his dad, furious, shouting at him, "Now you'll know to listen to me, won't you, you little bastard! Next time you disobey me, this will be you!" And the knife, in his father's hand, slitting the little beagle's white belly open, and the pup's eyes rolling in terror and pain\x97

 

And the blood pulsing red and redder around his father's fine doctor hands, pulsing like the lights from the fire engines\x97and again he tasted the anguish and the fear\x97

 

And the red glow in the barn just\x97went away.

 

Thick, suffocating silence crowded in to fill the void and darkness. The firemen paused, and stared. The horrible noises that had been coming from inside had stopped, abruptly, almost as if a switch had been flipped. The terrible feeling of rage and fear made the same abrupt departure.

 

Then sounds rushed back and revived the night: the chirping of crickets and the whinnies and stompings of the horses out in pasture, the stamp and crunch of one fireman's boots as he walked, flashlight in hand, down to the barn, and pulled the battered and sagging door open.

 

And his voice, awestruck as he aimed his flashlight into the dark recesses of the structure\x97"Je-e-e-e-ZUS, Johnnie, get a load of this!"

* * *

The rippling motion of the border had lulled her into a near-trance. Felouen sat, her back pressed against the smooth rock base of the Oracular Pool, staring into the nothingness, and she worried. Maclyn might come around. He might help against whatever was coming. Then again, enchanted by his other interests, he might leave her to fight and die alone.

 

There had been more to the visions of the Oracular Pool than the one brief glimpse it had shown Maclyn. War was coming\x97a long and savage battle with the outnumbered elvish forces lined up against hordes of Unseleighe unlike anything the Kin had ever seen before. Her friends would fall, and she would fight on, uselessly, would herself be gravely wounded, would flee and be captured, would suffer at the hands of the unstoppable things from the Unformed. And only then would she die. She had seen her own death. It was not a good one.

 

She had seen another vision as well, an alternate future in the inscrutable reflections in the Pool. Maclyn would stand at her side, with the battle raging as before\x97but the enemy would be fewer and weaker, the tide of battle would turn in the Kin's favor, and she would live. So she sat and pondered, staring out into the non-place on the other side of the border with loathing.

 

Felouen sensed the change before she saw it.

 

A presence born of fear and rage and hatred swirled into being in the Void, reached out and clawed at her from that nothing-world. It sent her to her feet, recoiling from the tentacles that reached with sudden intent directly for her.

 

From the Nothing, flickers of blood-red light began to glow.

* * *

". . . so you see, she was human, and I loved her, and when she died, I thought that everything about me that had mattered had died, too," Mac said. He sat on one side of Lianne's couch, again wearing his human seeming. "Everything about her was so brief and so painfully fleeting, and the harder I tried to stop time, to hold her life in my hands and keep her with me, the faster I saw the years tear her into shreds. She died nearly two hundred years ago, but there are still times when the thought crosses my mind that if I went back to Tellekirk, I'd find her there."

 

He locked his hands together, and he stared at his shoes. "In you, I see that same frightening beauty, that same\x97life\x97that burns so hot and so fast. I cannot stay away from you. And I find myself longing for your brief, blazing beauty, and wondering how you can burn your life so fast."

 

Lianne pursed her lips and blew a soft sigh through them. She got up and walked over to one of the bookcases that lined the walls of her bedroom, and perused the shelves. Finally, with a nod, she pulled down a deep green leather volume and flipped through the pages.

 

"We've done some thinking about that ourselves," she said, and looked down at the page she'd chosen. "Here\x97" she pointed, and read aloud.

 

"For a man cannot lose either the past or the future: for what a man has not, how can anyone take from him? These two things then thou must bear in mind: the one, that all things from eternity are of like forms and come round in a circle, and that it makes no difference whether a man shall see the same things during a hundred years or two hundred, or an infinite time; and the second, that the longest liver and he who die soonest lose just the same."

 

She paused to let the quote sink it. "Marcus Aurelius\x97a Roman philosopher and leader from way before your time\x97said that, and I suspect he's right. Even though I'll live\x97at most\x97a hundred years, and you'll live God-only-knows how long, we were both born, we will both live the span of our days, and we will both die. I mean, you will die eventually, won't you?"

 

"It's been rumored," Mac said, a faint hint of the beginning of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

 

She gave him a real smile. "Don't pity us humans, then. Time runs at a different pace for you and me, but my life will be as full as yours. It will just happen faster. It won't seem to me that I got cheated\x97I'm doing things with my life that matter to me and to other people. I'm teaching children, and to me, that is an important and meaningful job. I have friends who care about me, and a family that loves me, and I'm doing what I can to make the world a better place. And as for your long-gone love, I guarantee you that if she lived her life, and could see where her presence made a difference, she didn't feel cheated either."

 

Lianne sat back on the bed, put the book down beside her, and pulled her knees up to her chest so she could wrap her arms around them. Now was the time for a little noble self-sacrifice, and it made the smile she had given him fade away entirely. "I think you're doing yourself an injustice hanging around humans, though, Maclyn." She did her best to hide the tears that brimmed in her eyes; she didn't want to give him up. She really didn't. But it was for his own good. "Look for someone who exists in your own timeframe\x97who won't get old and die between two blinks of those gorgeous eyes of yours."

 

She did her best to look brave and happy\x97but all she could manage was a smile as transparent and empty as a soap bubble on the wind.

* * *

Maclyn listened to her words and tried to find some hope or comfort in them. She looked so beautiful. Mac's gaze roamed from the curve of her ankle to the full swell of her breast, to the plainly-written pain in her eyes, and words surged from his lips before he could stop them. "You don't have to get old so fast. I could take you into Elfhame Outremer, Lianne. There, you would live at the pace of my years." He faltered, and further brilliant suggestions died in his throat.

 

What in all the hells of the Unformed Planes had he said that for? Did he love her? Really, truly love her\x97as an equal and a companion with whom he could sustain interest for some significant span of his own long life? Was he infatuated with her humanness? Or was he\x97even less noble\x97burning with desire to fix the long-dead past?

 

An unbidden memory of Allison\x97fair, dainty, dark-eyed Allison, two hundred years dust\x97choked his throat and stopped his tongue. To Allison he had said those same words, had begged her to let him stop time for her. Allison had refused him, had told him about her God and her Church and her Bible, about God's demand that only he had the right to count the measure of a man's life. At first he had argued with her\x97fruitlessly, and then he had stayed at her side, using what time she let him have, while she grew old quickly. Allison had not lived her life fully. She had spent her days railing at an unjust Deity who gave life unequally. He had watched her turn bitter, as she wrinkled and fattened and her tongue went acid. Suffered, as she studied him secretly from beneath her lashes, hoping some sign of age would scar him. Mourned, as eventually she hated him because it never did. Yet, often enough, even in the old woman, the young girl who loved an elven prince could be found. And in those moments, Maclyn had felt his heart ripped to tatters.

 

He remembered Allison while he stared at Lianne, wondering at his motives, trying to guess what she hid inside her shielded thoughts.

 

"That's a hell of an offer," the young teacher finally breathed. "What's the catch?"

 

He shook his head. "I'm not certain. For Allison, it was her religion. She didn't think God would forgive her for thwarting death."

 

Lianne grinned, a devilish, teeth-bared grimace that was half humor and half wry self-deprecation. "Not my problem." The strange smile vanished, and the woman rested both hands on his thigh and stared into his eyes. "Let me think about ramifications\x97especially what this would mean to the two of us. And give me a while, okay? I've got a kid in school who's in trouble, and that's left me with a lot on my mind."

 

Mac heard only the first part of what she said and nodded. Then her last statement she'd made caught his attention. "What do you mean, `a kid in trouble'? You haven't said anything about it to me before, have you?"

 

She frowned a moment. "Sort of. Do you remember Amanda\x97the little girl from the racetrack who wouldn't get out of the way of the explosion?" She looked at him, her eyes uncertain.

 

Only too well. "I remember her."

 

She grimaced. "Yeah. Probably you do. That was pretty bad. Well, I went to talk to her parents today. Something is very wrong there\x97I suspect abuse. I called Social Services and reported it, but the guy I talked to said that, since I don't have any hard evidence, he can't go out there to check on her."

 

Chills ran along Maclyn's spine. "Abuse?" he asked in a voice gone ominously flat.

 

Lianne must have heard the change in his tone and laughed without any humor. "That's how I feel, too. Every time I see something like this, I want to kill the people responsible. God, I wish I could prove she was being abused, to get that guy out there\x97but I'm on such thin ice. I've never seen any bruises, she's never said anything to me about it\x97although that's normal for abuse cases, actually\x97she doesn't miss a lot of school. It's just, her personality isn't right. Not right at all."

 

What would happen, Mac wondered, if he told Lianne everything he knew about Amanda? Would she be able to believe in Amanda's magic?

 

Why the hell not? he decided. She believed I was an elf easily enough.

 

"I'm willing to bet Amanda is the reason everything in your classroom came to life on you the other day," he told her. "I know for a fact she is the reason nobody got seriously hurt at the racetrack."

 

Lianne gave him a long, clinical look. "What\x97exactly\x97do you mean by that?"

 

He licked his lips. "She does magic\x97controls inanimate objects. Makes them move."

 

"Tele\x97um\x97telekinesis?" Lianne asked. "Moving things with her mind?"

 

He nodded. "I think that's the term."

 

Lianne's expression grew harried. "Aw, c'mon," she snarled. "I bought you as an elf. You don't want me to believe in that, too! Next you'll be insisting on the validity of Bigfoot, flying saucers, and the effectiveness of the two-party political system."

 

Mac snorted. "No, I won't. I'll just want you to believe in your student. She's special\x97but she is hiding something. She wouldn't admit she could do magic."

 

"Mac," Lianne replied as if she were talking to one of her students, ". . . maybe that's because she can't."

 

"Sensible, logical theory\x97except that I saw her," he persisted stubbornly. "I watched\x97and sensed\x97her work her magic."

 

"Ergo sum ergo," Lianne muttered. "It is, therefore it is."

 

"Don't get grouchy. While she was looking at Keith's car, she kept it from exploding. As soon as you pulled her out of the way, it blew\x97but she was able to see it again at that point, and she controlled almost all of the shrapnel. I saw her. More than that, I sensed the flow of power."

 

Lianne still looked skeptical, but Mac sensed she was weakening. "So what you're saying is that if I had left her alone, the car wouldn't have blown up at all?"

 

Mac shrugged. "Who knows? I am saying that the SERRA drivers were lucky she was watching the race that day. Keith owes his life to her."

 

"Great. Fine. She's a helpful little brownie. So why did she send everything in my classroom flying?" Lianne set her jaw stubbornly.

 

Mac sighed. "I don't know. There are a lot of things about her that I don't know. But I think we can find some answers. Tomorrow\x97well, I'm racing tomorrow\x97why don't you come out and watch me? You can keep my mom company in the pits\x97"

 

Lianne forgot about the child entirely. "Your mom?" she said, her jaw dropping.

 

"Oh . . ." He smiled weakly. "I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Uh\x97D.D.'s my mother."

 

Silence for a moment, while Lianne absorbed the information. Then\x97"She looks five years younger than me," Lianne wailed.

 

Mac deemed it time to get the discussion back to more serious subjects\x97or, at least, subjects he could do something about. Getting D.D. to change her apparent age was not one of them. "Don't let it bother you. She looks at least that much younger than me. Anyway, after the race, we can all three go out to Amanda's house and poke around a little. We'll see if we can find out anything. D.D.'s been concerned, too, ever since the day of the accident."

 

Lianne flung herself backward and down onto the bed and slapped herself dramatically on the forehead. "Gosh, what a brilliant idea! It becomes obvious why elves rule the world. Why didn't I think of that? I mean, why would Andrew or Merryl Kendrick ever notice two racecar-driving elves and their daughter's schoolteacher tromping around on their posted, private property, looking for magical mystery clues like something out of Scooby Doo\x97on a Saturday, no less, when they're probably home all day?" She scrunched her eyes closed in mock-agony.

 

Mac formed his will into a familiar shape and draped that shape around himself. "I don't see the problem," he said.

 

"You're kidding." Lianne opened her eyes to stare at him, then looked all around the room. She sat up, and her expression became more and more puzzled. "Mac?"

 

"I'm right here," he said from the spot he'd occupied since the moment they both sat down.

 

"I don't see you."

 

He took the little "I'm not here" spell\x97pirated from a human mage named Tannim\x97off of himself, and smiled at her as her eyes went round. "And I don't see the problem."

 

She sighed and flopped back again. "Maybe there isn't one."

* * *

Mel Tanbridge waited three hours beyond his absolute cut-off time, and still neither of the two calls he was expecting came. With growing disbelief, he acknowledged that they might never come.

 

He was more than willing to accept the fact that either Stevens or Peterkin could be bought off, if enough sweeteners were added. He was not willing to admit that Belinda could buy them both off\x97not on the money he was paying her, and certainly not at the same time. He knew they weren't the brightest guys in the world, but he couldn't imagine them making the sort of world-class bumble that would alert her that they were both reporting to him on her activities, even if she realized that one of them was.

 

And they didn't realize that he was paying each of them the same bonus to report on the other.

 

So why hadn't at least one of them called in?

 

The answer was fairly obvious.

 

The three of them had captured Belinda's race-driver TK, and he was even better than anyone had hoped for. Belinda had seen dollar signs and had convinced Stevens and Peterkin that they could make a lot more money if they joined forces with her and kept their catch to sell to the highest bidder, instead of handing him over to the man who rightfully owned him.

 

Mel considered that scenario from all angles. It was the only one that made sense. Considering the healthy mix of bribes, threats and terrorism he'd used on Belinda's two assistants, they should have stayed loyal under almost any circumstances. Therefore, Belinda must have convinced them she was coming into an unbelievable fortune to get them to double-cross him. For that matter, knowing what he had on her, she had to have convinced herself of the same thing, in order to forget how important it was for her to remain loyal.

 

None of them had stayed loyal. Therefore, Mac Lynn was the biggest telekinetic find ever\x97and Mel was more determined than ever to own him.

 

Belinda had only had two days to hide her trail and her booty. However, with both Peterkin and Stevens in her camp, all three of them knew how many bases he'd had covered, and how little he'd trusted any of them. They would be more than careful, they'd be paranoid.

 

He glared out his smoked glass window at the night and watched the ghost breakers run up the beach, the white of sea-foam all that was visible in the clouded dark. He planned for ten minutes, and when he was satisfied, he dialed a number from memory. Moments later came a drowsy hello.

 

"This is Tanbridge. Set things up to fly to North Carolina tonight. I'm going to Fayetteville. I'll meet you on the strip in two hours."

 

He hung up, then glanced around the office. Not much lying around that he'd need to take with him. As a matter of fact, there were only two things in the office that he was going to need. The TK meter.

 

And the gun.

* * *

Andrew forced himself to walk to the barn. He stood next to the fireman with the flashlight and stared in at the devastation. It was all-encompassing and complete\x97but his first feeling, on looking in at the destruction, was one of relief. Nothing inside of the barn was recognizable anymore\x97including his large collection of special items. The pony's stall was ripped to shreds, and the pony had evidently kicked through the back doors to escape; he was out at the far side of the pasture cropping grass. Lucky for him, Andrew reflected. He wouldn't have survived whatever did that.

 

Whatever it was, it hadn't been a fire. Vandals? Only if they had come equipped with a log chipper and managed to run every item in the barn, including tack, feed barrels and hardware, through it in a matter of minutes.

 

The presence of other people around him, talking to him, gradually seeped into his awareness. He turned and found that while he'd been lost in his shocked reverie, two sheriff's deputies and the sheriff himself had arrived.

 

"Can you think of anyone who would want to do this to you, Mr. Kendrick?" the sheriff asked.

 

Andrew thought for a moment. "Dozens of them," he said. "Merryl won't sell her horses to just anyone\x97maybe someone who didn't measure up to her standards wanted to see if he could force her to lower them. For that matter, I've helped my clients acquire a number of profitable enterprises through hostile takeovers in past years. I've made enemies on the way. However, I can't think of any of them who would be able to do . . . that." He nodded back toward the barn.

 

One of the deputies said, "We've seen it, sir. It's pretty unbelievable. I don't know how they could have been so destructive."

 

The other deputy said, "The firemen said they saw red light coming from inside the building, but that it went out suddenly."

 

Merryl spoke up. "We all saw it. Apparently, whoever did this wanted us to think it was a fire. It looked like one."

 

Andrew agreed. "It was a very convincing special effect. The whole setup was very realistic, and very frightening\x97I'm not ashamed to admit I was terrified. However," he yawned "it's over now, and it's late, and we all will have plenty of time in the morning to hash over the details of this. I don't think there is anything more we can do tonight. So if you don't mind, I'd rather deal with it tomorrow."

 

"That's reasonable, sir," the sheriff said, "It's a clear night. Any tire tracks or other evidence will still be available in the morning. We'll be out first thing. Until then, I'll be glad to leave someone here overnight to keep an eye on things."

 

"Not necessary," Andrew said dryly. "There's an old line about horses and unlocked barn doors that seems appropriate right now\x97"

 

The sheriff shrugged. "That's up to you. If you see or hear anything out of place, though, let us know right away."

 

Andrew nodded shortly. "I'll do that."

 

Watching them leave, Merryl said, "I think you should have let them post a guard."

 

He sneered. "Do me a favor and don't waste your time on thinking. It isn't what you're best at. I had reasons for not wanting them here."

 

The knowing look she turned on him made him suddenly uneasy. "I'll bet. What were you hiding in there?"

 

He reacted to his unease by issuing threats. "Don't push your luck, Merryl. Don't ever forget, you can be replaced."

* * *

From her bedroom window, Amanda-Anne watched the police cars leave, and watched the Father and the Step-Mother trudge slowly toward the house. She smiled. The Father's secret place was gone. Now he couldn't hurt her anymore. He would never hurt her again.

 

She felt the power of her own dark magic coursing through her and savored the sweet taste of revenge. No one, no one, would ever hurt her again.

* * *

Under the covers, Lianne tossed and turned. Mac's warmth next to her was, at the moment, more disturbing than comforting. She almost wished that he hadn't spent the night. She would have liked to sit up, to drink hot tea and stare off into space knowing that she wouldn't have to try to explain to him why she wanted to. She would have liked to pace\x97but stalking around the apartment would wake him up. She listened to him breathe, slow and steady, deep in sleep, and tried not to resent his presence.

 

He's not human, she thought. He's very wonderful, but he's not human. No matter how well we get along, there are things we can never see in the same way. His mother is hundreds of years old, he says. She's still young\x97he says she'll live until she gets tired of it. My mom and dad are nearing sixty, and might have another twenty.

 

What about children? Could we have them? What would they be? She winced, rolled over and buried her head under her pillow. That's unpleasant, thinking of your own possible children as "what," not "who." More than likely, from my understanding of genetics, there could be no children.

 

He loved children\x97he said the elvenkind intervened in the lives of battered and abused human children because they rarely had children of their own, and they valued them so. He would want to have them someday, wouldn't he?

 

He said that time in Underhill was changeable, that a day there could be a minute here, or a day, or a year, or a hundred years. Lianne tried to imagine dropping into Elfhame Outremer for a quick visit with the in-laws, and returning to find everyone she'd ever known dead a hundred years ago. Like the old fairy tales. She shuddered and tried to think of something else.

 

When I divorced Jim, I thought I could save myself from stupid mistakes. I promised myself, "I'll never fall for someone who's wrong for me again\x97I'll never let myself get hurt like this again." I was so goddamned sure that I knew something finally, dammit! I thought I'd learned my lesson, that I was only going to go out with men who wouldn't lie to me, who could be trusted. Now look at me. I'm in love with the wrong person again.

 

That was the worst of it\x97never mind that he wasn't human, never mind that he would live damn near forever and she would be gone in no time, never mind all her doubts and her confusion. The cold, bare fact that scared her the most was that one: she really did love him.

 

She burrowed deeper into the covers and pressed her back against his. It was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Mel Tanbridge surveyed his hotel room with distaste. At four-thirty a.m., anything should have looked good, but the fact was, he expected quality. No, dammit, he expected the best. The best he could do on no notice wasn't good enough\x97he hadn't been able to get the penthouse in Fayetteville's Prince Charles hotel, just a suite\x97and while it was a nice old hotel, it wasn't a nice old five-star hotel. He hadn't stooped to anything below five-star accommodations in years. The service was good and the suite was clean and spacious, with furniture of excellent taste, but the room didn't have a private jacuzzi\x97and there wasn't a sauna in the entire hotel. He hadn't had time to check out the amenities in the gym\x97or even if there was a gym\x97but he doubted that they would be of the technical level or variety he was used to. After all, this was a military town. He doubted that a military town would have accommodations anywhere that he would find acceptable. That was just the way they were.

 

There would be a gym somewhere, he decided. And he would find it in the next day or two. After all, he needed to stay in shape. A healthy body equaled a healthy mind\x97and he had the healthiest. It was his competitive edge.

 

That edge was important, especially in light of his subordinates' betrayal. Their trail was probably a full two days cold. All the more reason, he decided, not to start down it without sufficient sleep. A healthy body, and all that. . . . He left a wake-up call at the front desk for noon, climbed into bed, and was instantly asleep.

* * *

Belinda checked herself out of the Cape Fear Emergency Department and slipped into the waiting cab. She gave the driver the address to the school teacher's apartment complex, then sank into the back seat, thinking ugly thoughts. The stitches in her scalp throbbed, and knowledge of what the wound looked like hurt her just as much. She'd borrowed a mirror from one of the nurses to check out the damage to her hair, and had been appalled. A patch the size of a monk's tonsure had been shaved around the slash that guy in the miniskirt and fishnet hose had made when he brained her with a handy beer bottle. She wore a huge bandage of white gauze and bulky pads that covered the shaved spot for the time being, but when it came off, she was going to be left with an awful mess. She'd been eight the last time she'd had short hair.

 

Mac Lynn and Mac Lynn's girlfriend, and Mac Lynn's car crew, and anyone else Belinda could think of were going to pay for her hair.

 

Soon.

 

However, the anesthetic was wearing off, and she felt dizzy and sick and tense. She needed to find a drugstore to get her pain medicine and her antibiotic prescriptions filled, and then, she had to admit, it would be really nice to take a day off. Maybe even two. The idea of lying in a soft bed taking drugs and not getting kidnapped by horse-cars, beaned by drag-queens, or scalped by bored young doctors was an idea she found appealing right now.

 

Maybe she could consider her time off the clock as workman's comp. Mel could basically go screw himself if he didn't agree. After all, he was taking it easy out in his beach complex in California. What was he going to do about it?

 

Her immediate future more or less settled, she closed her eyes and tried her best to ignore the breaking day. The motel and bed, she thought. And no more stinking adventures, not for a while.

 

A few drops of rain spattered on the cab's windshield, mixing the fine coating of dust into thoroughly opaque mud. Belinda looked at the sky, startled. It had been clear the last time she'd seen the sky. The clouds must have moved in really fast.

 

She smiled. Rain was a good omen for her. People didn't look around when it rained. They ran to their cars and got straight in. They didn't sightsee. She considered revising her morning plans. She'd take a free ally any day.

 

Mac's car was parked where she remembered it. The cabbie pulled up where she directed him, but suddenly Belinda found that she didn't want to get out of the cab. I'm almost convinced that damned Chevy is watching for me. Which is ridiculous, except that I don't have any other way to explain what happened last night.

 

I have to pick up my car, though. I need it.

 

The cabbie gave her an impatient look. "You're on the clock, ya' know," he drawled. "No big deal for me\x97but you're gonna find it right expensive. I ain't gonna sit here all mornin' for free."

 

"Yeah, right," she answered. The rain was no longer just a few splashes on the windshield. Now it slashed down in sheets, whipped across the front of the car by gusts of wind. "Drive closer to that brown Thunderbird." She prayed that nothing had happened to the latest of her rental cars. She couldn't afford to experience too much more of Mac Lynn's version of fun and excitement.

 

The cabbie rolled his eyes, but moved his vehicle so that it formed a screen in front of the T-Bird's driver-side door.

 

Belinda paid him off, then jumped out of the cab. Once in the T-Bird, she locked the doors. She ignored the cabbie's raised eyebrow. He hadn't had her night. He wouldn't understand.

 

Belinda sat in the dark safety of her car, watched the raindrops sheeting down her windshield, and listened to their soothing thrumming on the roof. Outside, the world lightened in tiny increments, gray on gray on black, revealing shrubs heavy with water and pines swaying in the driving rain.

 

The monotonous brick-box apartments were laid out in a grid, with parking lots with separate entries at each square. She moved to the last parking slot three rows away from the teacher's place, cut off the motor, and watched. She was comfortably hidden behind cars parked in the lines ahead of her, and scattered tall Carolina pines\x97trees that reminded her of the California palms with their trunks that soared thirty feet before the first limb sprouted. Her position gave her a clear view of anyone leaving the apartment.

 

It couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes before Mac and his little teacher came flying out of the apartment and dove into the Chevy.

 

A good, hard rain will never fail you. I knew it. Belinda smiled and, when they pulled out, followed them at a discreet distance.

* * *

At the Fayetteville International Speedway, the first fat drops of rain hissed onto the tarmac. More followed, faster and faster, and the patterns made by the first drops were obliterated by water that fell in steady streams, and then sheets, and then in waterfalls that whipped sideways in the steadily increasing wind.

 

Dierdre, already at the track and doing final pre-race work on the Victor, sighed with resignation at the roaring deluge outside of the garage. The weather station had hinted at this\x97but torrential rains weren't supposed to be part of the picture until Sunday. She closed her eyes and concentrated on feeling the shifts of air currents and pressure cells. After an extended time, she opened her eyes again, and surveyed the rich red Victor with dismay. Surprise, she thought. We're going to have a whole weekend off, whilst the be-damned weather craps on our heads. Oh, joy. 'Tis not a natural rain, either. This has been pulled in by heavy magic somewhere nearby.

 

Time to call her son, the slug, and tell him he wasn't going to have to get out of bed.

 

She headed to the phone, then stopped. She could have sworn that she'd just heard Rhellen's familiar rumble from the parking lot\x97even over the rain. She queried her own elvensteed, who was leaning against the back wall keeping dry.

 

Afallonn rumbled her surprised affirmation.

 

D.D. looked up at the wall clock, just to make sure time hadn't slipped past without her noticing. It was six-oh-four in the morning, a good three hours before Mac's earliest voluntary wake-up hour. Will miracles never cease? she wondered.

 

Maclyn swung into the garage, a sheepish grin on his face. Behind him was his schoolteacher girlfriend, and the expression on her face was patently unreadable.

 

"Well, Mac, shouldn't surprise me that the first day you show up early for a race is the day they're sure to cancel the whole show."

 

"Hi, Mom," he said.

 

:Mom?: D.D. was sure her jaw had hit the floor. :What the bloody hell\x97?: she asked for his ears only.

 

He sighed. "Rule number one, Mom\x97never date a pragmatist. Slips of logic and technique convince them that the impossible isn't, whereas girls who operate on blind faith never will believe you're anything but what you appear to be. She figured the whole thing out."

 

Well. The cat was out of the bag\x97for now. It wouldn't take but a wee spell to put it back in, but she doubted Maclyn had told his girlfriend that. No harm in waiting to see if she might be a useful addition to the SERRA folk. "In other words, you dated somebody smarter than you for a change." D.D. snorted. "I keep telling you you've not the brains to keep company with any but the dim girls\x97but you won't listen to me, will you?" She grinned at Lianne. "Sons know everything, whether they're elven or human, I imagine."

 

"My mom made a few similar remarks concerning my brother," she said.

 

"All this came as a shock to you, no doubt," D.D. added.

 

"Oh," Lianne agreed. "Rest assured."

 

D.D. gave Lianne a wary look and braced herself for what she felt sure was the impending "big news." "Well, if you're here with my brilliant son, and you know our wee bit of a secret, I expect there's something the two of you will be wanting to tell me."

 

Surprise flashed in Lianne's eyes. "Uh\x97not really\x97ah, D.D. Nothing like that, in any case. Actually, Mac mentioned that you were interested in a student of mine. Amanda Kendrick. He said you wanted to find her because she was, um, telekinetic."

 

Dierdre tried not to make her relief too obvious. "Quite," she said. I sense the need for a spell of forgetfulness, once we have the wee bairn.

 

But Lianne's next words drove all that out of her head. "I have reason to believe her father is abusing her. Mac is going out with me today to her house. He thought you might like to come along."

 

D.D.'s face had flushed at the mention of abuse. She swore softly in Gaelic, then said slowly, "That explains a great deal, my dear. This\x97wouldna be the first time I've seen something like this. It breaks my heart, lass, that humans who do not appreciate children have them and hurt them because they don't want them, while we, who would give anything to be able to have more, cannot. Aye, I'll go with you. Do you plan to take the child, Maclyn?"

 

Maclyn frowned. :Not now, Mother. She doesn't know about the changelings yet.: "No. Lianne has the Social Service people taking care of that. She simply wants to get information that will hurry them out to Amanda's house faster. I showed her Tannim's spell-gift, so we can stay unseen."

 

:Well, we'll see,: Dierdre told him. :If the situation's bad enough, we'll take the child and befuddle your light-of-love.:

 

He winced.

 

"This rain won't stop today, nor tomorrow either, most likely," D.D. said. "There won't be a race. So we might as well leave."

* * *

Belinda pressed the button on her little black box as Mac hurried by, and the needle waggled to around nine-point-five and stopped. That was only what she expected. She couldn't get excited about Mac anymore. He was too-fucking-much trouble. She pressed it again at the teacher, and nothing happened. No surprises there, either. But when she tried a third time on Mac's little blond mechanic, the needle danced like a fish on a line and dove across to ten.

 

"I'll be damned," she muttered. It couldn't be any harder to get hold of the mechanic than it had been to abduct that son-of-a-bitch Lynn. Granted, she hadn't seen the mechanic do anything\x97but after the demonstrations she'd gotten from the driver, she was willing to trust the meter, skip the dog-and-pony show, and just collect the warm body and go home.

 

She waited as the three pulled out of the speedway's parking lot, then followed them again.

 

Visions of herself as Marlin Perkins on safari danced in her imagination, and she wondered momentarily if it would be possible to get Mel to send her one of those hypodermic dart guns and a big supply of knock-out dope. Probably not. Mel was starting to get cranky about finances the last time I talked to him.

 

She wasn't worried about that, either, though. The FedEx people would be trotting in with her next cash payment, as well as Stevens' and Peterkin's money, on Monday. Since she didn't have to pay either Stevens or Peterkin this time\x97and since I haven't mentioned their unfortunate demise to Mel yet\x97she could just hang on to the whole thing. Their cash would make a nice addition to her finances.

 

That reminded her that she really needed to call Mel and assure him that things were progressing nicely. It would be a shame if she didn't keep this job long enough to collect her bonus\x97especially after all she'd suffered through to get it.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Cethlenn "woke" with no memory of anything since her escape from the Father in the barn. It was early morning, she knew\x97light came through the bedroom windows in the morning. Whether it was the next day, or a day in the next week, or in the next month, she had no way of knowing. Time was a fluid thing to her in this body; hard to catch, impossible to hold. She wondered if she would ever get used to it.

 

Rain poured down outside of the little pink-and-white bedroom, framed in the ruffled curtains like an illustration from a child's book. The teddy bears sat on the windowsills, just so\x97the Step-Mother insisted that they stay in the windowsills because that was where the decorator had placed them. The expensive handcrafted doll-house was filled with porcelain dolls which smiled with sweet insincerity. Everything in the room, in fact, was just so except for Muggles, the terrycloth dog a child had traded to Amanda-Abbey for a small, exquisite porcelain figurine. Amanda-Abbey had smuggled the figurine out of her room for show-and-tell when she was in first grade, and made the deal in the school cafeteria. Muggles looked like the last remaining survivor of a battle between Cethlenn's own folk and the Roman invaders, but he had three advantages none of the other toys in the room had. One, he was eminently huggable. Two, he could be smooshed down to fit in the tiny space between the headboard and the wall, where no one could see him. Therefore, he couldn't be thrown away. And three, he belonged to no one but Amanda, and she could do anything she wanted with him. He did not have to be kept nice\x97he was not a decorator dog.

 

Cethlenn liked Muggles, and since she had been left in control of the body, she hid him carefully in the place Amanda-Anne had shown her. Then she slipped into the closet and listened to the sounds from Sharon's room next door. Sharon's television was on, and the chaos of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles reverberated off the walls\x97Saturday noise. Saturn's Day. Proof that the gods-be-damned Romans won. She frowned, briefly wondering at the events that had changed the world from the place she'd known to the place she now found, and wondering what she'd missed. Then she shrugged off her curiosity.

 

The last thing she remembered from her own life was taking a knife in the gut, and pain. The next moment, she woke in the body of a child a long, long way from home. Even though the devices and customs in this land were alien, it was better being an unhappy child than a woman with a knife in her. Better than being a woman in a world ruled by Romans.

 

So it was Saturday. Good. Then perhaps it was the next day, and she hadn't lost much this time. She dressed in the closet\x97clean white cotton underwear, blue jeans and a white t-shirt, white socks and red Halston designer hightops. Dressing was one of the things that had improved greatly since her days with the Druids. Most everything else was worse\x97but houses were better, and so were clothes.

 

She debated the merits of going downstairs for breakfast versus staying hungry. She decided against breakfast\x97there was no telling where the Father might be, or what mood he might be in, and she would just as soon not remind him of Amanda's existence. Instead, she nibbled on cheese crackers bought from another schoolchild, purchased with scavenged and stolen change and carefully hidden.

 

Thinking of the Father brought back fleeting images from what she suspected had been the night before. She wondered how Amanda-Anne had fared in the barn\x97and was fearful for the child. She could feel bruises and raw spots that hadn't been there before, and dull aches that she knew the meaning of well enough. It was strange that she should wake up "alone" in the body\x97usually when she was awake, she was watching Amanda-Abbey or looking over Alice or Anne's shoulder, so to speak. She decided to see if she could find Amanda-Anne, just to check on her. Cethlenn peered cautiously into the walled-off space that Amanda-Anne kept for herself.

 

At first, what she found puzzled her. Over the wall, there were usually more walls, towering constructs of brick that enclosed and protected the child and kept everything away from her. But the scenery wasn't like that this time. It stretched away in all directions, vast nothingness, gray and empty without ground or sky, without markers\x97except for the single wall to Cethlenn's back.

 

It was, the witch realized, a part of the Unformed Plane, although how the child had reached into it and made it a part of herself, Cethlenn had no idea. Initially, she couldn't see the child anywhere. Gradually, however, faint movements off to her left convinced her that something was there.

 

Cethlenn blended herself with the mist. Her last confrontation with Amanda-Anne on her own territory was still fresh enough in her memory that she had no wish to repeat it. As part of the mist, she floated toward the place where the movement seemed to originate.

 

Sure enough, Amanda-Anne was there, as happy as that child ever got, contentedly humming some monotonous tune in a minor key. There was no sense of fear or anger\x97instead, the child gave the impression that she was extremely pleased about something.

 

Without doing anything that would alert the little girl to her presence, Cethlenn thinned herself out to a fine thread of pure consciousness and eased closer.

 

The child was working on something, a sort of a doll, perhaps\x97

 

Cethlenn focused on the details of the "doll" until she realized what she was looking at. What had seemed innocent child's play became sinister. The "doll" the child made was nothing of the sort. It was a creature formed of fury, molded out of all the darkness in Amanda-Anne's soul\x97Cethlenn felt the ancient magic like a fire in her chest, felt a horror from memories burned into her centuries before. It was something derived from the magic of the Sidhe\x97and it must be linked to the visitation by the elven warrior the other day.

 

The child had copied the elf's magic by watching him, Cethlenn realized. She had discovered how to use the energy of the Unformed Planes to create a thing of order out of the chaos\x97but what she formed was horrifying. The user of such energies had to take her will and her experience to form the energy into whatever she desired. Cethlenn knew the strength of will it took to do such a thing\x97and in Amanda-Anne's short life, she had experienced no joy, no love, no laughter\x97nothing but pain and humiliation and fear and hatred. The thing she molded between her fingers was a misshapen nightmare formed of those emotions, and only those emotions.

 

Cethlenn watched the child with growing unease, as she played with the stuff of the Unformed Plane as other children would play with dough. She had molded a round, lopsided, lumpy head, rolling it into a rough ball, poking in eyes and a nose and scratching a gash of a mouth with a fingernail. She had formed the body in the way children made dough snakes, and then jammed the head onto it. The arms and legs she created in the same fashion while Cethlenn hovered and watched. When the thing was finished to the child's satisfaction, the little girl stared at her homunculus, all of her concentration and focus centered on it. At first, nothing happened. Then Cethlenn saw that the seams where the arms and legs and head were joined to the body had become thinner and smoother. The arms and legs began to move with weak, spastic shudders, and embryonic digits grew out of the flattened pancakes that were hands and feet. With a sudden flash, the thing's eyes flew open, and glowed with white light. Red fangs sprang from the wide, grinning mouth; a wet, pink tongue darted between them along the lipless rim. Fingers and toes sprouted black, rapierlike claws, and hair sprouted from the round, neckless head as if it had been scribbled there with a pencil.

 

Amanda-Anne giggled, and the thing giggled back at her: a high, empty, chittering imitation of a little-girl laugh. The child stood her creation on its feet and sent it walking. As it walked, Amanda-Anne stared after it, muttering "Big-ger\x97big-ger\x97big-ger," in her whining, nasal voice.

 

And it grew bigger, and stretched and filled out so fast that it seemed the creature, walking away, grew nearer with every step. First it was tall as a child, then as a small woman, and then as a large man.

 

The golem shambled off into the mist\x97and Cethlenn knew that the movement that had led her to Amanda-Anne had come from another of its kind, moving out. Once she knew what to look for, she realized there were more of them moving around in the mist\x97impossible to mark and count because of their aimless drifting and the perpetual fog of the Unformed Planes, but still . . . many. Cethlenn repressed a moan as, cross-legged and happy, Amanda-Anne began to build yet another one.

 

Oh, gods, Cethlenn thought. Oh, gods, I've got to get help. She left the child sitting in the gloom making her monsters and singing her discordant songs and shot toward the wall that marked the boundary of Amanda-Anne's space.

 

Once free from the eerie gloom of the Unformed Planes, Cethlenn discovered she was still alone and in control of the body. She would have worried about the whereabouts of Amanda-Abbey and Amanda-Alice if she had more time, but she had to admit there were things she could accomplish more easily if she didn't have company. Setting up a spell that would summon the Seleighe elves was one of those things.

 

Cethlenn dug through the closet and found galoshes and a neon-pink raincoat in the back. There was a part of her that dreaded the raincoat as too bright, too much of a beacon for the Father, who might see her moving through the woods and follow her. There was another, more practical part of her that insisted that the Father would want no part of the pouring rain, but that she would surely regret whatever happened if she came back into the house soaked to the skin and dirty from the rain and the woods. She decided on a compromise. She rolled the raincoat up in a ball and stuffed it in her black nylon book-bag. Then she gathered up her kit\x97cords of various colors, a white candle, one of the Step-Mother's filched cigarette lighters, a bright blue crayon, and a vivid green crayon. Last of all, she looked around the room for a gift. The tales she remembered of elvenfolk, and incidents from her own rare dealings with them, all indicated that they were shifty and tricksy, and a favor asked had to be a favor repaid. She recalled tales from her childhood in the old world\x97tales of the fey folk who appeared, offering the heart's desire, and desiring in return the one thing a human had that an elf didn't: a soul. She wanted to have something to offer that wouldn't cost her that. Her own continuing existence was proof enough to her that her soul might be a real thing, after all, and worth hanging on to.

 

Gifting elves was a chancy business by all accounts. Stories indicated that there was rarely anything one was likely to have that the elf didn't already have, and of better quality to boot.

 

She thought back on her mother's tales. Elves were supposed to be fond of silver and gold, fine fabrics, good music, good drink and good food. She had, quite frankly, nothing to offer in any of those categories\x97except, she thought with sudden joy, for the giant chocolate bar Amanda-Abbey had bought from one of the band students who was selling them to raise money. The last time Cethlenn had been around, none of the Amandas had yet gotten a chance to eat it. Perhaps it was still intact.

 

She rummaged through the school pack, and indeed, it was still there. She pulled the blocky gold-wrapped bar out of the pack. It was somewhat wrinkled and battered from its trip home on the bus, and she could tell that it had broken into several fragments, but it was good chocolate. Chocolate, she decided, was a gift worthy of elves, being the other thing about this era that was an improvement over the days with the Druids. And since it was the best she had to offer, she hoped any elves she might draw in would give her credit for effort.

 

With her pack slung across her shoulders, she opened the window on the right side of her room and scooted out of it. Then she pulled the window closed, slid around until she dangled off the sill by her fingertips, and dropped the final six inches between her feet and the sun-room roof which ran out at right angles from her own room. She scurried like a lizard along the peak of the wet, slippery roof to the very end, then slid down the steeply pitched side and shinnied down the old pecan tree that had grown too close to the house.

 

From there, she kept under the cover of the evergreen azaleas and the rhododendrons, which took her straight into the woods. The Father hadn't found her escape route yet. She hoped he never would.

 

Once in the woods, she put on the loud pink raincoat. Her t-shirt wasn't too dirty, she decided. The Step-Mother wouldn't like it, but she wouldn't fuss terribly, either.

 

Cethlenn beelined for her tree, not following the usual devious route. She didn't have time. Amanda-Anne was still sitting in the Unformed Planes making golems as far as she knew, and that had to be stopped. At least the creatures were still there, but for how long?

 

Inside the safe barrier of the holly tree's limbs, Cethlenn took out her prizes. She wondered if the spell she'd learned for summoning the Faerie folk was any good anymore\x97or if it ever had been. After two thousand years or more, maybe the elvenkind wouldn't pay attention to cords and candles. Maybe they preferred the new technologies\x97the answering machines and car phones of this strange age. That would be unfortunate, the witch thought\x97because she didn't have access to car phones or answering machines. She just barely had access to cords and candles.

 

She spread out the cords\x97one green, one red, one black and one white. From the hollow of the tree, she removed Abbey's forbidden comic books. She placed the candy bar and the candle inside the hollow, wedging the candle in so that it stayed upright. She put the cigarette lighter beside it. She lay the blue and green crayons at the base of the tree.

 

Preparations made, she offered up a quick, sincere prayer to her Lord and Lady, then took the green cord in hand, and took a slow, deep breath to steady her nerves.

 

While her fingers worked the cord into the patterns of a Celtic knot, she sang in the Old Tongue:

 

"Fair folk who have danced in the wood, on the green\x97

 

I would call, I would beg, to your king, to your queen,

 

To you who listen, all unseen,

 

I bind your ears with my knot of green."

 

She lay the elaborate knot at the periphery of the tree and pressed it firmly into the dirt with her foot.

 

Next she took up the black cord, walked one quarter of the way around the tree, and while working the cord into her second pattern, chanted:

 

"Faerie folk with the strength I lack,

 

I dare not run, nor dare attack,

 

But I summon you still, and call you back\x97

 

I bind your eyes with my knot of black."

 

She took up the red cord, walked to the far side of the tree, and with her fingers weaving, sang:

 

"Fey folk drawn from board and bed,

 

Gifts I offer to quick and dead,

 

Think of me kindly whom I have led;

 

I bind your oath with my cord of red."

 

At the fourth quarter of the tree, she took up the white cord, and knotted it, and said:

 

"Old ones come from the long twilight,

 

Brought to the world of day and night,

 

I ask your aid to make wrong right;

 

I bind your power with my cord of white."

 

When the last knot was in place at the periphery of the tree, she moved back to the candle and lit it.

 

"Now you who are drawn from your Faerie mound,

 

And led by my beacon to this ground\x97

 

To my circle shall you be bound

 

Until my knots are all unwound."

 

She melted the tip of the blue crayon in the flame and drew a protective rune on the palm of her left hand. With the melted tip of the green crayon, she copied the same device on the palm of her right hand. Then she picked up the chocolate bar, huddled on the ground in the incongruous pink raincoat, and began her vigil.

* * *

Gwaryon, one of the original settlers of Elfhame Outremer, sat beside Felouen at the side of the Oracular Pool and stared with her at the ominous changes in the curtain of the Unformed that rippled in front of them. He was going through an Egyptian phase, and was at the moment dressed as an ancient pharaoh\x97from the massive amber scarab pendant around his neck to the draping see-through robes which Felouen found annoyingly pretentious, though she had to admit they showed his body off to good effect. His gold bracelets jangled with a flat heavy sound as he rested his arm around Felouen's shoulders.

 

She sighed. The effect was so completely\x97Gwaryon.

 

"I am grateful," Felouen told him, and rested her head against his shoulder. "Your presence here is a comfort to me\x97the visions from the Pool these last few days have left me feeling very much alone."

 

Gwaryon smiled, happily. "You are never alone, dear one. You know I would be with you always if you would say the word."

 

Felouen sighed and studied the lean, sinuous elf with deep sadness. "I know. And I cannot give you reason to hope in vain for that day to come\x97it will not. You are dear to me, but you are not the one I desire the most."

 

Gwaryon laughed and sprawled on his back in the deep, soft grass that grew beside the Pool. "Och, dearest lady, I know that well enough\x97but still I hope. You cannot extinguish hope, while we both breathe. And even if you don't want me forever, surely a moment's dalliance would relieve your mind of the weight of your duties." His grin broadened, and he arched his eyebrows suggestively.

 

She tried a smile, but it didn't feel convincing. "Ah, Gwaryon, you are ever considerate of the weight of my burdens," she told him with heavy irony, and absently stroked the hilt of her jeweled dagger. She ceased that, point made, and rested her chin in her cupped hands. Gwaryon's offer of pleasure didn't fit well with her mood. Her worry was even stronger and more pressing than it had been. The red glittering of the Unformed had deepened and seemed angrier, somehow. And at rare intervals, she was almost sure that she could see shapes moving through that fog-shrouded realm of nothing, where no living things should be. Not even the Unseleighe creatures wandered at will through the Unformed\x97it was more a state of mind than a place, and it welcomed only madness with open arms.

 

Something was going to happen\x97she was sure of it. And soon.

 

"Ho!" Gwaryon whispered. "Feel that?"

 

Felouen stiffened. "A pull . . ."

 

He nodded emphatically. "Human magic. I haven't felt its kind since long before you were born."

 

"I want to go toward it." She glanced at Gwaryon, and her eyes filled with worry.

 

He nodded. "Once it would have been very dangerous to do so, but now\x97" He sat up and shook his head. "The knowledge is there, but not the strength. We aren't being summoned by some great mage, nor anyone whose power will overwhelm us. And sometimes these things were calls for help from those who had no other recourse."

 

Calls for help? "Should we arm ourselves for battle?"

 

Gwaryon laughed. "I would guess that the human who dug that ancient spell out of an old tome doesn't even suspect that it is real\x97much less that we exist. Such a human won't be a threat to us. Let's just go and take a look."

* * *

A stirring in the forces she had woven into her net of hopes roused her from her trance of concentration. Cethlenn turned from her spell-making to find herself staring into the faces of two of the Old Folk, who were studying her with mixed bemusement and disbelief.

 

Well, she thought, mouth agape, At least I know it still works.

* * *

Lianne McCormick was keeping a wary eye on her companions, when both of them suddenly started, as if they had heard something she couldn't. D.D., perched on Rhellen's sumptuous back seat, cocked her head to one side, birdlike. "Oh, my," she whispered. "Maclyn, my love, my darlin' boy, do you feel that?"

 

Maclyn ground his teeth audibly. "All over, Mother. It's coming from out where we're heading, more or less."

 

She looked grim. "And a good thing, too. I think otherwise we wouldn't be able to go there\x97it would pull us to wherever it was."

 

"What are you two talking about?" Lianne asked.

 

D.D. rubbed both temples with her knuckles, as if she had a headache. "Mac feels something tugging at him, but he isn't old enough to recognize what it is\x97I haven't felt this particular sensation in so many years, I would have thought I'd forgotten what it was. And I've never felt it on this side of the ocean. I thought such summonings were left behind in the Old Country."

 

"Summonings?" Lianne asked, startled.

 

D.D. nodded. "Oh, aye. Someone has cast a spell to draw and bind the elvenkind. Such binding spells were known to a few priestesses and witches in the Old Country long ago, and to even fewer mages\x97but those who were willing to demand our presence were rare. We grew weary of being drawn into the world of Cold Iron against our wills, and we began to attack first and ask questions later. It took only a few toasted humans before that spell fell out of favor."

 

Lianne rested her head against Rhellen's door. She stared at the neat subdivisions they drove past, and at the stands of tall pines and the orderly young rows of cotton and soybeans that grew in the square, predictable fields. "Witches," she muttered, speaking to no one but herself. "And spells. Elves and telekinesis. Magic. Did I mention that I never cared about magic when I was growing up? Did I ever say that I was the kid who didn't give a damn about unicorns? I like science: nuclear physics, math, chemistry. I always liked the world when it was rational. Didn't I make that clear?"

 

D.D. looked at her son with concern.

 

Maclyn shrugged. "She's had several difficult days. She'll snap out of it."

 

"I thought I was dating a human," Lianne said, as Maclyn turned the Chevy down the dirt road that paralleled the Kendrick's property. "I thought this was a guy I might potentially take home to meet my folks."

 

"This is bothering you, isn't it, babe?" Mac asked, flippantly.

 

Lianne quit talking to the four winds and centered her attention on Mac. She glowered at him with disbelieving eyes. "No-o-o-o-o!" she drawled. "Having elves screw with my brain is just my favorite thing ever. Having my worldview and all of science refuted in two days' time has done wonders for my morale. You ought to try it sometime."

 

"You're welcome to keep thinking that the world is a nice, logical, rational, safe place," Maclyn said with a helpful smile. "You'll be wrong, but that hasn't stopped anyone else who thinks the same way."

 

Lianne growled something profoundly obscene, and Maclyn and Dierdre both laughed.

 

"If it makes you feel better, Lianne, magic works by laws, too. Think of it as another kind of science you don't know yet."

 

Lianne fumed.

 

Maclyn drove Rhellen up to the very edge of the woods, out of sight of the road or any houses. Behind them was a fallow field, standing tall with weeds. Maclyn got out of the car, and Lianne slid out after him.

 

"She would be safer here with Rhellen," D.D. said, as if Lianne wasn't there. Lianne hated being talked around.

 

"I probably would be," Lianne agreed, studying the woman who would probably not end up as her mother-in-law. "But I don't intend to stay here with the car\x97with Rhellen."

 

"Only until we see who has summoned us," D.D. said, placatingly. "Then you can join us and help us find the wee child's home."

 

"No thanks. I'd like to see that myself." Lianne pulled her gray mackintosh tight, noticing that the rain fell all around her but not on her. The cold and the damp still blew straight through her, and the low keening of the wind gnawed at her nerves. Great day for this sort of thing, she decided. Make a believer out of even the staunchest pragmatist. Wind sounds like a banshee, and I think I could see ghosts in broad daylight on a day like this.

 

She had to remind herself that this was an attempt to find information that would rescue an abused kid\x97not a midday ghost hunt. Amanda needs help, she reminded herself. But it made her nervous that Mac and D.D. were being drawn against their will toward something that called from the same direction as Amanda's home. Could that bastard of a father be summoning them?

 

Bad thought, Li. Very bad thought.

 

Lianne watched the two of them walk, faces grim and tense, ducking around the dripping greenery\x97scrub oak and sassafras and willow; blackberry bramble, grapevine and kudzu\x97that made up this part of the woods. She walked a step behind them, staying quiet. They did magic, and this was something that frightened them. She was out of her element, way out of her area of experience, much less expertise. It was as if there was something out there that didn't want them to help Amanda and was trying to prevent them from interfering. That made her profoundly nervous.

* * *

Cethlenn stood with her back pressed against the trunk of the tree, the chocolate bar in her outstretched hand. Though it still rained all around her, no rain fell on her, nor did any fall on her\x97guests. She stared at the two elves, the woman in clothing similar to that which elves had worn in her earlier life\x97the man in a foreign-looking gown of some gorgeous filmy material she would have killed for once upon a time, and covered with gem-crusted gold jewelry.

 

"Child," the male elf said, "the last time I heard that bit of doggerel was a good two thousand years before you were born. And it had become uncommon then."

 

The female elf shook her head. "I didn't realize anyone could summon us."

 

Cethlenn shivered. She would have preferred to have been less of a novelty. She held out the chocolate bar and waggled it a bit. "I gift thee, lord and lady."

 

The female\x97one with the look of a warrior about her\x97studied the proffered bar, and shuddered. "Oooh, chocolate. Loaded with caffeine, and you wouldn't believe the empty calories in that thing."

 

"Summoning price has gone down a bit since the old days, Felouen," the male muttered with dry amusement. "It used to be that they greeted us with baskets of gold and jewels and fine silks and rare spices. But then we needed a bit more placating back then\x97too many calls for no good reason. No, child," the elven male added. "We won't take your candy. There is another gift we will require instead, for having come when you called us forth."

 

Och, and there goes my soul, Cethlenn thought with dismay.

 

Her face evidently mirrored her fear, for the female elf said, "We won't hurt you. We don't hurt children."

 

The strangely dressed male looked into Cethlenn's eyes and said, "That isn't what she's afraid of\x97oh, this is rich. Just rich. They used to think we stole souls, and that's what she is afraid of. It is! Look at her\x97that's exactly what she was expecting." He grinned at the witch in the child's body, and said, "Kid, if you had a really hot 486 with a VGA monitor, a solid keyboard, and a ton of software, I'd steal that in a heartbeat. But you can keep your soul. I would like to know where you found that old string-and-knot song and dance."

 

Cethlenn could hardly believe her ears\x97or her luck. "That's all?"

 

The elf nodded. "That's my trade. Information for our arrival."

 

Cethlenn smiled, confidently. "I learned it from the MacLurrie's first witch, when I earned my place as one of his advisors."

 

The elves stared at each other, and the female elf mouthed the name "MacLurrie?"

 

"An old warrior and rake who was a bit before your time, child," the male elf said, and nodded to his female companion. "He was a bit before her time. I remember the young boaster well enough, but I can't imagine how you could."

 

Cethlenn drew herself up as tall as she could stand\x97which was not very\x97and said, proudly, "I am Cethlenn, daughter of Martis and witch at MacLurrie's circle. I was not always this child, though how I came to be here, I know not."

 

The male's brow creased with thought, and he absently played with a great beetle of amber that hung about his neck. "Cethlenn . . . hmm. I vaguely recall a charming, dark-eyed creature named Cethlenn from around the time of the battles of the Gauls and the Gaels\x97as a matter of fact, now that I think of it, she was sharing her favors between MacLurrie's bastard son and one of our folk. Bryothan, was it? Or Prydwyn?

 

"Eodain was my other suitor," Cethlenn corrected. "Eodain. But he wasn't elven."

 

"Eodain . . . Eodain . . . It's been so long, I've forgotten." He stared off into space, while his long, graceful fingers twined in the many layers of his gold jewelry. "By Oberon's steed, girl, I believe you're right. It . . . was . . ." His eyes narrowed and fixed on Cethlenn, and he glared at her from beneath lowered brows. "Eodain. Who was one of our folk, although you certainly couldn't expect him to tell a mortal like yourself that. No tales of his little tryst were barded about\x97it was mere court gossip, which means\x97"

 

"That she either made an extraordinarily lucky guess, or she is what she says." The one called Felouen frowned.

 

The male gave his companion a somber look. "Then the price is met and our oath is bound."

 

"No!" Felouen snapped. "If this is not a child but a witch of the Old Country, then she has not called us in idle sport. She would have known the dangers. No matter how unlikely, and no matter how innocent she seems, she is a danger to us. You stay, I'm leaving."

 

The elven woman shimmered, but stayed solidly within the child's hiding place. She made another obvious attempt to leave, and when that, too, failed, she turned on her companion with a snarl. "We're trapped here, Gwaryon!"

 

The male elf shrugged. "She means us no harm."

 

But there was veiled panic in the female's expression. "I don't care! I want out of here!"

 

Gwaryon looked at Cethlenn, and his face grew stern. "I also dislike this spell that holds us here."

 

There was no point in acting contrite. Not with those\x97things\x97out there, shambling around in the Unformed Planes. "I've met your price. Besides, 'twas the only way I knew of callin' the Fair Folk," Cethlenn said. "I need help. I am not the only one in this child, you see. . . ."

 

Cethlenn's voice faltered in mid-sentence, and a furious presence pushed her back and usurped her control of the body. :No!: Amanda-Anne screeched to the ancient witch. :You . . . c-c-c-can't . . . tell . . . them about . . . us!:

 

:They could help,: Cethlenn said, soothingly. :They could take you away from the Father.:

 

But Amanda-Anne was not about to be soothed. :No-o-o-o! Stopping . . . is . . . not helping! They . . . w-w-w-would . . . only call us . . . bad girl. Make us . . . weak again. They would take . . . our m-m-m-magic.:

 

:No, Anne,: Cethlenn told the child, her thoughts pleading. :Let them help you. They can take you away from him, make the bad things go away\x97they can hide you someplace safe.:

 

Amanda-Anne had quit listening. She looked at the elves who were held\x97trapped\x97in the circle, and her voice rose in a shrill sing-song. "I m-m-m-made me . . . gletchells and . . . sl-sl-slinketts . . . and m-m-m-morrow-w-waries . . . and . . . f-fulges. F-f-friends of me . . . friends . . . of me. And . . . you . . . w-w-want to hurt my . . . f-f-friends," she wailed on a rising note.

 

The elves stared at each other, amazement and confusion written clearly on their faces. Oh, Lord, Cethlenn thought. What have I done?

 

Amanda-Anne knelt in the dirt, and rubbed her fingers across Mommy's green bead on its new gold bracelet. Without words, she summoned her "friends" and brought them through the bead and out into the charmed circle that was Amanda-Abbey's safe place.

 

The homunculi spewed into the haven under the holly tree in a cloud of black smoke, giggling as they took solid form. Their wide, grinning mouths split open, and their fangs gleamed red. They shambled and staggered on uneven legs, ducking gracelessly under the sheltering boughs of the holly. Their scimitar fingers grasped toward the elves.

 

Amanda-Anne waited until five of her pets were through the bead-gate. Then, laughing, she slipped out of the tree-shelter, and darted home.

* * *

To Felouen, her arrival in the child's spelled circle had been discomfiting. The spell was carefully wrought, so that her eyes saw nothing but the world inside of the magical boundaries, and her ears heard nothing but the sounds of the child's voice and the few creakings that the old holly tree made. Its branches blew in a wind she knew to be present, but neither felt nor heard. Her world narrowed to the tree itself, which soared upward, its dark, leathery leaves contrasted with the brilliant light green of new spring growth, and with the startling reds of the few remaining berries not yet picked away by the birds. And in the center of the circle, the child: frail, blond, brown-eyed, with skinny arms and legs covered by wet clothes, who stared at her with awe\x97but not surprise. All else was hidden in the obscuring darkness of the spell. Her senses and her magic were bound\x97she could not leave. She was trapped\x97by a child who, in all sincerity, said that she was a witch from the Old Country.

 

And then the witch in the child's body changed\x97no, change was not the precise word. The witch, Cethlenn, disappeared, or was abducted, and was replaced by someone\x97terrible. Felouen felt the newcomer, the child\x97for this one was a child\x97arrive, full of rage and fear and confusion. This green-eyed human, who was terrified of the elves without knowing fully what they were, knew only that she wanted to hurt them. Wanted to hurt everything. Felouen felt her slashing, unfocused rage like a blow to the face, sensed her hatred and wondered, in the brief instant before the child brought forth her monsters, what could have twisted the youngling in such horrible and deadly ways.

 

After that, she didn't have time to wonder about anything.

 

It was not the vision from the Oracular Pool\x97Felouen wasn't defending the Elfhame Outremer grove. She and Gwaryon fought to save their own lives. There were no armies of elvenkin at her sides; but neither were there armies of the great shambling things.

 

Her own situation, however, was no less grave than the vision of the Pool.

 

The Pool had made a true showing of the monsters. They were just as malformed and frighteningly senseless as they had appeared in the glassy surface of the water\x97and the ratio by which they outnumbered the elves was as bad.

 

Felouen regretted Gwaryon's casual response to the summons and her own willingness to follow along. Now, between the two of them and the child's nightmares-made-real were only two little silver elven-blades, knives pitifully small when compared to the claws of their opponents. Felouen and Gwaryon scrambled up the trunk of the tree into its upper limbs, hoping at best to escape the monsters' talons completely, and at very worst for a defensible place in which to make their stand.

 

Unfortunately, the things could climb\x97and they did. Their glowing, pupilless white eyes gleamed in the pouring rain, and their high-pitched and horribly childlike giggles carried over the pounding rain and the low moans of the wind. They were slow climbers and clumsy, but deliberate, and they seemed to stick to the tree as they moved upward.

 

The leading monster reached a point just under Felouen's ankles. It screeched with sudden wild intensity and slashed out at her legs. Its talons ripped through the sturdy leather of her boots as if it was silk, and dragged into her flesh. Felouen cried out once at the sharp stab of pain and pulled her feet higher. Gwaryon threw his knife, and Felouen saw the little blade bury itself in the pallid thing's eye.

 

The monster grabbed for the knife with both hands, lost its balance, and fell. Even falling, it giggled, until the noise was cut short by the thud as it hit the ground.

 

Felouen slashed at the next golem within reach. The blade cut deeply and lopped off three of its fingers, but the wound didn't bleed and the creature showed no signs of pain. It kept climbing, and she was forced to climb still higher, onto a weak, green branch that bent alarmingly under her weight. The golem stopped and looked up at her, and its giggling became shriller. It grasped the branch to which she clung and began rocking it back and forth.

 

"Stop it!" she screamed. "Damn you!"

 

Beneath her and to one side, Gwaryon was fighting his own battle. He had wedged himself tightly into a crotch of a sturdy branch and was kicking the monsters in the head as soon as they were within reach. His legs were bloody ribbons, and his sandal-clad feet were unrecognizable as feet. His skin, at least that which wasn't bloody, was gray. Felouen saw the beads of pain-sweat standing out on his forehead\x97but his face never lost its determination. She watched one golem fall to the ground as Gwaryon kicked it loose from its perch. It hit heavily, lay still for a moment\x97then rose, and begin its climb back up the tree. It had already been replaced by the next monster.

 

Felouen realized with horror it was the one that had taken Gwaryon's knife in its eye. They're unkillable, she thought with sudden, overwhelming despair, and clung tighter to her branch. The monster beneath her kept rocking it, swinging it in faster and further arcs. Its hysterical laughter never stopped.

* * *

"Stop it! Damn you!" someone screamed from ahead of them, and the sounds of a desperate struggle and a bloodcurdling chittering made the forest sound like something out of a horror story. In front of her, Maclyn apparently heard it, too. He started to run. "Weapons and armor," he told his mother. Silver swords materialized in their hands, and chased and enameled armor appeared around them.

 

God, I wish I could do that, Lianne thought, breaking into a run behind them.

 

They were faster than she was. They ran effortlessly, appearing to do no more than jog\x97yet they pulled away from her at an impossible rate. She ran flat out, putting everything she had into the effort, yet she fell further and further behind. The two elves darted through a thicket without slowing, and she stopped completely to disentangle herself from the inch-long thorns that held her clothes in fast embrace.

 

By the time she was out of the thicket, the elves had disappeared from sight, but she still heard the fighting, and the\x97other noises. The sounds came from the other side of the small hill she was climbing. She slowed to a trot, by necessity picking her route more carefully than the elves had. She wondered now what in hell she was doing out here. What good was she, an unarmed human, in a fight where at least two of the combatants were well-armed and armored elves? She suspected she would be more of a liability\x97someone who would end up needing to be rescued. By the time she'd reached the crest of the hill, she had decided to find a safe spot in which to wait out the fight.

 

Close up, it sounded even worse. Unfortunately, she couldn't see much. The holly's leaves blocked most of her view, but a steady green glow from the tree's center backlit shadowy forms; the fight was more terrible than she could have anticipated. In the cramped space under a holly tree's branches, Maclyn and Dierdre battled misshapen horrors that looked from the brief glimpses she got like the most awful nightmares the folks from Industrial Light and Magic could have concocted. She saw two elves she didn't recognize, stranded in the thin upper branches of the tree, fighting more of the things. She saw one of the white-eyed monsters then, and squeezed her eyes shut until she realized she couldn't wish the nightmare away. The elves in the tree were wounded and bloody\x97the monsters they fought appeared unscathed.

 

Lianne saw Maclyn bring his sword straight down on top of one monster's head in a two-handed blow that should have split the thing in half, but the monster never fell.

 

A scream of pure anguish drew her attention back to the treetop. One of the monsters had overcome the male elf and had severed one of his arms. It dropped like some macabre fruit to land against the tree roots. The elf screamed once more as the horror gnawed through his remaining forearm. Lianne shoved her fist against her mouth to silence her own screams; one last slash of the thing's claws and the elf's severed head hung from its grip.

 

The body tumbled from the tree, with unreal slowness. The golem threw the head in a lazy overhand toss that sent it soaring in a slow, graceful arc toward Lianne. As it passed beyond the spread of the holly tree, it winked out of existence as if it had never been.

 

Lianne stared at the spot where it disappeared and shuddered.

 

It was only the steady repetition of someone calling her name that brought her out of her stunned reverie.

 

"Lianne? Lianne? Can you hear me?" Dierdre shouted. Lianne could make out her shadowy form, back pressed against Maclyn's, keeping the monsters at bay with a steady barrage of swordstrokes.

 

"Maybe she ran off," Maclyn yelled. He parried a talon-strike aimed at his face and landed a stop-thrust that did no apparent damage to its victim.

 

"Maybe we just can't hear her because of this damned spell. I hope that's the case."

 

"I'm right here!" Lianne yelled from her hiding place.

 

None of the combatants paid her any attention.

 

Certain that she was exposing herself to attack by the monsters, Lianne did the bravest thing she had ever done. She stood up and ran toward the fight, again yelling, "I'm right here."

 

It was if she didn't exist to those battling under the tree. And that was as horrible as all the rest combined.

 

"Lianne," Dierdre yelled between swordstrokes, "if you're there, listen\x97a spell traps us in here. Look for knotted cords around this tree\x97probably four or five. If you\x97"

 

One monster got inside her defense, and the sound of talons raking across armor screeched through the woods.

 

"If you find the knots, untie them!" Dierdre yelled. "And hurry!"

 

Lianne heard the elves parrying claws and Maclyn's voice asking, between panted breaths, "What if she's not out there?"

 

She heard Dierdre answer, "Then we die."

 

Lianne stared at the headless, armless torso that lay under the tree, and then through the branches, at Dierdre and Mac. Then she looked up at the bleeding, exhausted elf stranded in the upper branches. The one tireless monster who was trying to dislodge her had shifted tactics and was scraping across the branch with his claws. Bits of wood flew away with every stroke. It wouldn't be long until the branch broke.

 

Cords? she wondered. Made into knots that I should untie?

 

She could not imagine what good untying knots would do\x97but she was willing to concede that this was not an ordinary situation, and that the rules she knew didn't apply. She ran to the periphery of the tree and scouted around the branches.

 

In a moment, she had located one knot. It was tied in a heavy, glossy black cord, and it wove in and out around itself half a dozen different ways. It took her a bit of fumbling even to discover where the ends had been tucked, and once she had found them, even longer to return the cord to its unknotted state.

 

As soon as the knot was unraveled, however, Lianne heard Maclyn yell, "There she is!" One of the monsters suddenly noticed her, too, and charged toward her. Mere inches away, it broke through the branches and was brought up short by an invisible barrier. It shrieked in frustration, and charged again.

 

She backed away frightened.

 

"Get the rest of the knots," Dierdre shouted.

 

"What will happen when they are untied?" Lianne asked.

 

Dierdre looked puzzled, then shouted, "I can't hear you."

 

Lianne shrugged and hurried around the periphery of the tree. A flash of red caught her eye, and she stopped. The monster that charged at her as she pulled the red cord out from under the branches sent her heart leaping into her throat, and the other creatures' incessant chittering giggles made it almost impossible to concentrate\x97but with trembling fingers, she managed to untangle the second knot.

 

"If we survive this," Dierdre suddenly remarked, "I'm going to severely damage the person responsible."

 

"I know how you feel," Maclyn agreed.

 

There was a creak, and the branch that supported the third elf sagged. "Felouen!" Maclyn yelled, "Hang on!"

 

"I'd figured that out already, thanks," Felouen shouted back.

 

Giggles grated along her nerves. Third cord, she thought, and refused to let herself consider what would happen when all the cords were unwound.

 

It took a bit of digging in the spot where she thought it might be, but she did locate the third cord. It was white.

 

She ignored the crash that indicated the branch had broken through, ignored the scream of fear and pain and the heavy thud that followed. Lianne fumbled with the complex knot and worked it loose.

 

"Magic works again," Dierdre muttered, and that terse statement was followed by a flash of brilliant blue light and a loud sizzling sound.

 

Lianne ran to the fourth quarter of the imaginary circle the unknown magician had laid out, and within seconds had discovered a twisted length of green cord. Familiar now with the permutations the knots had taken, she quickly pulled it apart.

 

There was a low rumble, and the air around her shimmered like air over pavement on a hot day. For an instant, the situation under the tree continued unchanged. The monsters slashed at the elves, the one who had broken the hapless Felouen loose from her tree clambered down after her, chuckling evilly. The monster that had been charging at Lianne broke free of its circle and came straight for her, and Dierdre and Maclyn fought their way toward the body of their fallen comrade.

 

Then, with a resounding "crack," the monsters and the dismembered remains of the dead elf vanished.

 

Dierdre looked around as if she couldn't believe it was over, then sagged against the tree trunk. Maclyn charged to Felouen's side.

 

Lianne crawled through the holly's low-hanging branches with some difficulty and joined him.

 

Felouen was badly hurt. She lay, unresponsive, on the woodland floor, her breathing ragged and irregular. Dark blood seeped into the fabric of her shirt, and through a tear in the cloth, Lianne could see the white gleam of ribs and the dark bubbling of a large, open wound.

 

"Mother!" Maclyn's voice was hoarse. He knelt beside the downed woman, probing for hidden injuries. "Hurry!"

 

"Do you need me to get an ambulance?" Lianne asked. She felt foolish asking that question when, looking at the woman, the answer seemed so obvious\x97but she wasn't dealing with humans, she reminded herself. Elves might have other ways of dealing with emergencies.

 

"D.D. will take care of her," Maclyn said.

 

Lianne watched D.D. moving around the tree toward them. Her armor flickered once, then vanished, replaced by clothes that looked like the ones the other woman wore.

 

D.D. bit her lip and knelt beside her son. "How bad?"

 

Mac's voice was without expression. "We may lose her."

 

The elven woman nodded and rested her hand on Felouen's shoulder. "I'm taking her back. You and Lianne find out what you need to about your child. I'll meet you in the Grove when you're done."

 

Maclyn did\x97something. He sketched a kind of arch with his fingers, anchnd, I\x92ve never had any direct contact with them, but it\x92s Sidhe magic, but twisted, so I suppose that\x92s what it feels like. . . .\x94 He hesitated before saying more. \x93And there\x92s a lot of death here. Human death. Beyond that . . .\x94 His voice trailed off again.

\x93So what you told me about really is happening,\x94 Jimmie said unhappily. \x93But why? And how, especially here? Don\x92t the Dark Elves have to follow the same rules as the Light?\x94

\x93They\x92ve got the same limitations,\x94 Eric agreed. The taint of inside-out magic was starting to make his head hurt. \x93But I kind of think the Unseleighe Sidhe would like the City, if they could stand to be here.\x94

\x93Can you tell what kind of working this is?\x94 Jimmie asked urgently. \x93Its purpose?\x94

\x93It\x92s a Gateway,\x94 Eric answered slowly. \x93It isn\x92t finished. If nobody messes with it for a few days it\x92ll probably fade away. But someone was here\x97an elf-mage or another human Bard\x97trying to open a Gateway between Underhill and the world.\x94

He explained what he could about Nexuses\x97how they gave elvenkind a way to tap the power of Underhill that was life itself to them, how many of the Elven Court, especially the Lesser Sidhe, could not survive away from a Nexus, and that even the High Elves needed frequent access to one in order to replenish their magic. And that someone, appar\xADently, was building one here.

\x93Well, that\x92s something to go on with, anyway,\x94 Jimmie said when he was finished talking. She shook her head. \x93Now we just have to figure out what to do about it. I wonder what you bait Sidhe-traps with?\x94

\x93Power,\x94 Eric said bleakly. \x93At least in this case. Not your kind, though. That\x92s at least partly learned, I\x92m guessing, and pretty well shielded. He isn\x92t really interested in that. He wants the raw stuff, the innate Gift some people are born with and don\x92t know they have.\x94

\x93Well, that\x92s a relief,\x94 Paul said dourly, then forced himself to smile. \x93At least we know more than we did before. Thanks for coming out on such short notice, Eric.\x94

\x93Why don\x92t you let me get rid of it for you?\x94 Eric offered, reaching for his flute.

\x93No!\x94 Paul and Jimmie spoke at once. There was real pain on Jimmie\x92s face\x97and more. Fear. He remembered their conversation at the bakery: If anybody takes a bullet, it should be me.

Was that what she was worrying about? Him?

Paul held up a hand. \x93No, that\x92s okay. Now that we know what it is, we can keep an eye on it. It\x92s more important to stop who\x92s doing it rather than scare them off.\x94

If you think you can scare off the Unseleighe Sidhe, you haven\x92t met many of them, Eric thought. \x93I still think I should\x97\x94

\x93C\x92mon, Eric. I\x92ll drive you home,\x94 Toni said briskly, taking charge of the situation before it could degenerate into an argument. \x93Paul, you want a lift?\x94

\x93No,\x94 Paul said. \x93I think I\x92ll stay out here a little while. You two go on ahead. Jimmie can drop me when she heads back to the station house.\x94

\x93I still think I ought to do something about it,\x94 Eric said. Most people wouldn\x92t notice anything out of the ordinary here, but anybody with any amount of Talent would have a natural aversion to the place. Or an attraction to it. . . .

\x93I\x92m not bringing any more civilians onto the fire-line. Do what your friends told you, Eric. Stay out of this one, for your own sake,\x94 Jimmie said urgently.

There was a world of pain\x97and bitter self-recrimination\x97in Jimmie\x92s voice, and Toni was hovering over him as if she were about to pick him up and carry him. Reluctantly, Eric allowed himself to be led back to the car. He couldn\x92t force his help on them if they didn\x92t want to accept it, and Dharinel had all but ordered him to stay uninvolved. He let himself be led out of the park and deposited back on his own doorstep after another hair-raising ride in the Toyota.

But the sense of unfinished business, layered on top of the unsettling evening with Ria, made sleep particularly hard to find that night.

 

EIGHT:

THE CITY OF
DREADFUL NIGHT

Chesley Kurland did not believe in miracles, even though he was holding one in his hands right now. Free samples. Hell, he hadn\x92t seen anything like that since the Sixties, and unlike most of the crowd on the streets these days, Chesley had been there for the Summer of Love and retained fond memories of it today. As dark and grey and unfriendly as the world had gotten, there were times when the memories were all that kept him going.

Chesley made his living as a free-lance mechanic. He could repair any kind of engine, the more complicated the better. Anything mechanical just talked to him, always had, the same way some people knew what horses wanted just by looking. He was a man of no fixed address, and currently lived in the back of an old Ford van parked in the back of Ralph\x92s Niteowl Garage up in Inwood. Ralph paid him in cash, and Chesley liked to say that he was taking his retirement in installments, a line from an old book that he\x92d particularly liked.

Earlier this evening he\x92d been hanging out down at the old Peacock Coffeehouse on the edge of the Village, and this dude who looked like he\x92d wandered out of the last Terminator movie had made the scene, offering little bundles of joy to anyone with a sense of adventure. And if there was one thing Chesley still had, it was a sense of adventure.

The garage was fairly quiet as he walked across the floor. Despite the optimism of its name, there wasn\x92t often enough work to occupy a full crew 24/7, and tonight was one of those times. He saw no one as he made his way to the van and climbed in through the back.

Most of all, he didn\x92t see the dealer who had been offer\xADing free samples, and who now stood concealed in the shadows with another man beside him, both of them watching Chesley as he climbed into his mobile home.

Inside the van was everything Chesley needed in this world: a mattress to sleep on, his toolcase, his stashbox, and a towering blue glass bong. You could buy them on Main Street in the bad old days, Chesley remembered. What had happened to the world since he was a kid? It seemed as if all the joy were slowly draining away from everything, like somebody\x92d pulled out the plug in the Bathtub of the World. Well, in a few moments they\x92d see if modern chemistry was there to meet the challenge.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he prepared the bong for use with the ease of long practice. He filled the upper half of the pipe with bottled water and packed the bowl with pipe tobacco and slivers shaved from a block of Turkish Blonde. Over that, he sprinkled the contents of the little packet. The powder glistened brightly, like a fresh fall of Vermont snow. \x93T-Stroke.\x94 That was what the guy at the Peacock had called it. Well, the proof was in the smoking, he\x92d always said. When the mixture was smoldering brightly, Chesley picked up the mouthpiece and took a deep drag.

 

The iron all around him made his skin crawl and put him in a foul temper, but Aerune was not to be deterred from his quest. He had chosen to follow the chief of the underlings that bore the Bardmaking elixir himself, and watched as the humans succumbed to its lure one by one. Two so far tonight had not died immediately nor manifested the insensate fury that not even Aerune could shape to his own purposes. But he had not been quick enough to seize either of them, and so they had both been spirited away by his great enemy.

It had puzzled him for a short while why these men wasted their time giving their elixir to so many who would simply die, until he realized that he could see what they could not\x97the blue light, so feeble as to be nearly invisible, that crowned those who possessed gifts that could be aroused by the elixir. That faint flame burned above the head of the grey-haired mortal whom he had followed here, and Aerune was determined that the mortal men should not have this prize. To his elf-sight, the corners of the garage were not dark, and he could plainly see the two men lurking there. From Urla\x92s thoughts, he recognized one of them as the man in the black chariot who had first stolen Urla\x92s prey.

\x93There is your quarry, my fine hunter,\x94 Aerune said softly, his fingers brushing the redcap\x92s head. \x93Take him as you will.\x94

Just then there was a flash of the blue light invisible to mortals from within the van, and the sharp ears of the Unseleighe Sidhe heard a stifled cry.

Urla darted forward, its long arms swinging, lips spread in a toothy grin. It bounced toward its victim, its expression vacuous and innocent.

\x93What the hell? You\x97 Kid\x97 Get outta heeeere\x97!\x94 one of the men shouted. Aerune turned away. There was a sound of gunfire. The man\x92s words faded into a scream as Urla seized him.

Aerune hesitated at the door of the van. A modern car would not have given him nearly as much trouble, but the old van\x92s panels were of heavy sheet steel, perilous to touch. He would have no more than a moment\x92s grace, he knew, before the surviving mortal minion was upon him.

Aerune grasped the door handle and wrenched it from its hinges with inhuman strength. His gauntlets smoked as they touched Cold Iron, but they were dwarf-forged, and his skin did not burn. Within the fetid kennel lay the prize he sought\x97a skinny, unlovely mortal man, his face distorted with the ravages of age. The dark lord seized him, lips drawn back in a snarl of distaste, and flung the human over his shoulder. His elvensteed was waiting in the street outside. With one leap, Aerune gained the saddle and galloped away, toward the place he had chosen for his Nexus.

 

Michael knew he was in trouble. He and Keith had followed Geezerboy back to this chop shop from the coffeehouse where Keith had been doing his candyman imitation. The two guys who were there\x97waiting for tonight\x92s shipment of Gone In Sixty Seconds, Michael had no doubt\x97had been easily persuaded to go in the closet and stay there, and the decks were clear for a sweet little snatch-and-grab. They\x92d been about to make their move when everything went wonky. Some kid wandered in from somewhere and made a beeline toward Keith.

Only it wasn\x92t a kid. It was . . . something else. It\x92d bitten Keith\x92s throat open with one chomp. It bathed in his blood, and it laughed, a high terrible sound like broken glass on a blackboard. Michael had emptied half his Glock into it with no effect, though he knew the Teflon-coated bullets hit it.

Then he saw the other guy.

Tall. Dark like Darth Vader was dark. Menace radiating off him like chill off a chunk of dry ice. And Michael had made a command decision, right then and there. He\x92d run for his life. Out the side door, up the hill onto Riverside, yelping at every shadow.

But he wasn\x92t followed.

His hands shook as he got his Star-Tac open and dialled the private number they\x92d been given for emergencies.

\x93Boss? Boss! We\x92ve got a situation here\x97\x94

 

It was not much of a greenwood, but it was all these mortal drones deserved. Aerune reined in and dropped his burden ungently to the ground before vaulting down himself. A moment later he crouched on the turf beside the mortal.

The human creature twitched and muttered, still caught in a web of the elixir\x92s spinning. Aerune could see the nimbus of power grow brighter around him as the tiny guttering spark of the human\x92s innate magic grew and flowered under the effect of the draught he had imbibed.

Here is power indeed. Aerune basked in its presence as the mortal might bask in the warmth of a fire. It purged the Sidhe\x92s cold bones of the ache of Cold Iron all around him, and fed Aerune\x92s resolve with the siren song of power ripe for the taking.

It was a simple thing for one of the Dark Court to drain the vital essence of a mortal, though few of them had enough Power to make it worthwhile. This one was different. Aerune bent his head low and sealed the mortal\x92s doom with a kiss. Spin for me, little Singer. Weave the web of your race\x92s doom.

The veil between the worlds began to thin, and the lattice that would anchor Aerune\x92s Nexus began to take shape on the midnight air. First the pattern must be completed, then the veil itself pierced, and then Aerune and his Court would be able to call up the power of Elfhame into the World of Iron with no more than a thought. The power poured through him from its mortal wellspring: intoxicating, vast. . . .

And then it stopped.

Aerune roared his displeasure, turning on the mortal in a fury. But the man was dead beneath his hands, his body wasted away, his skin and bones crackling like a handful of autumn leaves in Aerune\x92s grip.

Dead. And of no more use to me, Aerune realized, choking back his rage. The mortal alchemist\x92s elixir gave them access to their Power, he realized, but no way to replenish it from Underhill\x92s eternal wellspring, and so they burned out quickly, their bodies feeding on their own life-force.

The ghost of the Gateway, less than a shimmer on the winter air even to Aerune\x92s Sight, mocked him with its incompletion. But there are others. They are mine of right, and I will have them. Aerete, beloved, soon they will repay your death in the last full measure!

He whistled for his mount and was away again, in a clatter of hoofbeats so swift they sounded like one long drum roll.

 

Four of the containment cells in the underground warren at Threshold were full. It had been a busy\x97and potentially profitable\x97Saturday night, and Jeanette felt an excitement that had little to do with Robert\x92s glorious future.

Her drug was working. Not as well as she\x92d hoped, but working. She\x92d tweaked the last batch a little, hoping to shorten the time the subjects spent unconscious, and that yielded a kind of sorting mechanism. Ninety percent of those who received T-Stroke still died, two-thirds of them instantly. The thirty percent of the Survivors that were going to manifest berserker rage came up out of the drug within minutes. But the ones who were going to manifest some kind of useful Talent slept for an hour or so, and Jeanette had decided that the deep sleep was necessary to allow the neural pathways for handling the Gift to be reconfigured without the interference of outside stimulus.

And we have four: telepathy, teleportation, psychokinesis, and I wonder what this one is going to be?

Intently, she watched the monitors for the containment cells. The telepath, Vicky Moon, had been the first to awaken, screaming at the voices inside her head and begging them to stop. Jeanette had her lightly sedated, and at least the screaming had stopped, though she doubted the voices had. The PK and the teleport\x97Plummer and Langford\x97were less trouble. Langford had gotten out of his cell four times before they figured out what he could do, but he hadn\x92t been able to \x92port far and the effort had left him exhausted. He was sleeping now; no action there.

Jeanette watched in fascination as Plummer played with the test objects in her cell, a set of child\x92s building blocks. Lost in a world of her own imagination, the PK talent made the brightly-colored cubes swoop and dance through the air like a flock of strange butterflies, perfectly content.

The alarm began to beep as the fourth subject returned to consciousness, and Jeanette waited to see what he\x92d do, her mind wandering over the evening\x92s harvest. Four, out of how many doses handed out in Soho and the East Village tonight? At least two hundred, and even assuming the sweepers missed half of them, there should be ten bodies down here in the cells, not four. She knew she\x92d been generalizing from pitifully inadequate data\x97was her viability rate closer to 5% than 10%?

Or were the others going . . . somewhere else?

Just then a scream riveted her attention on Cell Four, and Jeanette uttered a startled yelp of disbelief at what the monitors showed her.

There were things in the cell with Hancock. Coiling, horrible, impossible things. Things that glowed with their own light. Things that dripped blood. Things that moaned and mewed in the voices of tortured children, pressing up against the door and beginning to flow under it as if they had no bones.

Jeanette\x92s heart hammered in terror, and for a moment all she could think of was flight. But wherever she ran, these things would find her, find her and hurt her, hurt her, hurt her. . . .

Unable to tear her eyes from the screen, Jeanette fumbled for the row of covered buttons, scrabbling blindly to release the safety cover. More of the things were sliding under the door now, creeping and slithering down the corridor, drooling blood and pus and other, less nameable fluids. They twittered like birds and mewed like kittens, and some of them were speaking words that in moments she was terrified she would begin to understand. Please, God, I have to be right about this, please, please, please. . . .

The guard at the end of the corridor saw them too. His eyes bulged with disbelieving terror, and he dragged at his sidearm, firing wildly and without effect into the mass of nightmare moving toward him as he screamed for mercy.

She found the button for Cell Four and stabbed down at it hard enough to break a nail. The display above it turned from green to red and began to flash; she could see it pulse out of the corner of her eye.

The guard in the corridor shot himself just before the first of the things reached him.

And then the gas with which Jeanette had flooded Hancock\x92s cell did its work. Hancock slumped to the floor, unconscious, and all the nightmares began to fade away.

I was right. Oh, thank God, I was right. Jeanette blinked back tears, furious with her own weakness as the crippling terror receded. An illusionist, that was all. Some kind of mental projections, and a really sick mind behind them all.

She turned and picked up a handset on one of the other consoles. She needed to clear her throat several times before it would work. \x93Housekeeping. This is Campbell. I need you down on Level Three to pick up a body. And send Beirkoff down with some euphorics\x97strong ones.\x94 I want Hancock thinking about nothing but white fleecy clouds and little pink bunnies until the T-Stroke has worn off.

\x93What are you doing here?\x94 Robert demanded abruptly from behind her.

Jeanette spun her chair around with a strangled shriek, her nerves still raw from the brush with Hancock\x92s mind.

\x93My job, Robert,\x94 she said in a harsh voice. \x93We\x92ve got three usables from tonight\x92s trials. Cell Four\x92s no good unless you want to drop him behind enemy lines to drive the bad guys mad. I\x92m wondering if my original model is off, though. There should be at least a dozen more Talents from tonight\x92s sweep.\x94

Robert grimaced in impatience. \x93That\x92s what I\x92m trying to tell you, you stupid bitch. Michael just called in. There\x92s someone\x97something\x97out there that\x92s stealing our Talents.\x94

His words dovetailed so neatly with her earlier thoughts that Jeanette was startled. \x93What? How?\x94 I barely know about this project\x97how can anyone else have figured it out so fast? Not to mention picking off the Survivors with that kind of accuracy.

\x93I don\x92t know and I don\x92t care,\x94 Robert snarled. \x93What I do know is, we\x92re going to catch the bastard and make him sorrier than he\x92s ever been in his life. Come on.\x94

 

Having touched one such Empowered life, Aerune knew the scent of his prey now. He whistled up his pack of red-eared, red-eyed hounds, and set them on the hunt. With each of the Crowned Ones he found and took, his wrath increased, for the power in each of them flickered and guttered in moments, its mortal vehicle consumed by the body\x92s own fires before the work of building the Gateway to anchor the Nexus could be well begun. Each desiccated shell Aerune cast aside with the others, filled with a ravening lust for victory, now that victory seemed so close. The night had been long and its rewards meager. It was nearing dawn now, and in his diminished condition, the light of the sun was as much the Unseleighe Sidhe\x92s enemy as Cold Iron was.

But there was time enough to take one more of the Crowned Ones tonight before retiring to plan his assault upon the stronghold from which that power flowed.

His hounds took the scent and began to give tongue. In the sleeping city around him, animals and even insects fled in terror, and the pent-up hounds of the mortals barked and howled in a frenzy of helpless terror at the presence of their ancient enemy. But no mortal could see him as he rode, unless he wished it.

Somewhere ahead, Aerune sensed several of the Crowned Ones gathered together, but saw only one. His prey sat alone upon a bench in one of the city\x92s many open spaces, his head bowed in sleep or submission. Aerune whistled his dogs to his side, and dismounted from his elvensteed, dropping his cloak of confusion and shadow. He stepped forward. . . .

And all the world was filled with blinding light.

\x93Freeze, bastard! We\x92ve got you covered!\x94 a mortal voice ordered.

Who dares to command the Lord of Death and Pain?

 

Oh, my God, Jeanette thought numbly.

Caught in the blaze of the handheld searchlights was something off the cover of one of the books she\x92d read in high school.

He was tall and slender, with skin as white as an Anne Rice vampire\x92s. He was wearing some kind of medieval costume\x97black chain mail and plate armor that glinted like hematite, and his long black hair was held back by a silver circlet that plainly revealed a pair of long pointed ears. He looked like Frank Langella done up as a Vulcan in a really bad mood.

\x93Moon!\x94 She pinched the arm of the handcuffed woman standing at her side. \x93Read his mind! Now!\x94

The girl whimpered. Jeanette slapped her, hard.

\x93Aerune. His name is Aerune. He\x92s\x97\x94 Moon broke off, moaning. \x93It hurts!\x94

\x93Do it, or I\x92ll lock you in Bellevue and give you something to whine about!\x94 Jeanette snarled. Moon cringed away from her anger. \x93The Lord of Death and Pain,\x94 she moaned.

\x93You!\x94 Robert strode through the ring of armed men toward the . . . elf. Jeanette watched him in horror. Robert had been so convinced that it was the Feds who were \xADhijacking their project that the stranger\x92s exotic appearance didn\x92t even slow him down. \x93Who are you, and just what the hell do you think you\x92re doing here?\x94

The stranger\x97Aerune\x97drew himself up to his full height. His black cloak billowed in the wind.

\x93I am the Lord Aerune mac Audelaine of the Dark Court, and this man is mine. Contest with me at your peril, mortal lordling.\x94

He turned his back on Robert, and reached for Hancock again.

Jeanette saw the glitter of the .45 in Robert\x92s hand and stifled a cry of warning, though she wasn\x92t completely sure who she wanted to warn. Robert jammed the barrel into Aerune\x92s back, and even from where she was, Jeanette could see a curl of smoke rise up from Aerune\x92s cloak, as if the pistol barrel were red-hot.

\x93It burns! It burns!\x94 Moon cried, as Aerune whirled around with a roar, his face twisted in an inhuman mask of fury. He lashed out at Robert with a backhand blow.

\x93You will pay dearly for that insult!\x94 he snarled in a voice like broken music. Robert jumped back, motioning his troops forward to deal with the intruder.

But Aerune wasn\x92t there.

\x93Fan out! Find him!\x94 Robert shouted, sounding too furi\xADous to be rattled. \x93I want him alive!\x94

You won\x92t find him, Jeanette thought. \x93Moon,\x94 she said gently. \x93Moon, what happened? Can you tell me who he is? What he wants?\x94

The girl looked at her, and now there was something almost serene in her expression. \x93He\x92s what you think he is, Jeanette. He\x92s a lord of the Unseleighe Court. He wants all the Crowned Ones\x97us\x97the ones you call Survivors. He needs us. . . .\x94 She sighed, her head lolling on her shoulders as if exhaustion had suddenly overwhelmed her. \x93He needs us to kill you all.\x94

Jeanette led her over to the bench and let her sit down beside Hancock. Moon curled up, instantly asleep. Her face looked haggard, and there were dark bruises of exhaustion beneath her eyes.

This one isn\x92t going to last long either, Jeanette thought clinically. Something about T-Stroke worked like putting a penny in an old-fashioned fusebox: people could access their hidden potential, but it burned them right out within a matter of minutes. She was glad she\x92d brought Moon along anyway. This was probably as close to a field trial as they were going to be able to manage with any of the Survivors. Their Gifts made them too unpredictable to let out of their cells.

She glanced warily at Hancock, but the projective telepath was still in the Land of Nod, happily quiescent under the influence of the euphorics Beirkoff had given him. That was one good thing out of this whole mess. They didn\x92t need any Monsters From The Id cluttering up the place.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. An elf. She\x92d never believed she\x92d see one. She\x92d stopped believing in them years ago\x97forced herself to stop believing, because it just hurt too damned much. But looking into Aerune\x92s fallen-angel eyes, skepticism was impossible. He\x92d been here. He was real. He burned at the touch of Cold Iron, just like all the books said.

And boy, was he mad. Madder than Jeanette had ever seen anyone get, in a serious career devoted to shining people on.

No, she had no problem believing in his reality. She had another problem entirely. Elves were supposed to be magic, and she\x92d certainly seen Aerune do magic, just now.

So what did an elf want with her retread junkies?

She blinked, blinded by the headlights of the big truck that pulled up, driving across the grass of the park. Robert jumped out of the passenger seat.

\x93Come on! We\x92ve got to get back to the lab\x97and hire some decent help,\x94 Robert added, his voice hoarse with disappointment. \x93These losers couldn\x92t find a pig in a one-room schoolhouse. The target gave them all the slip.\x94 For the first time, he seemed to notice Moon. \x93What did she get? Did she read his mind?\x94 he demanded eagerly.

\x93Yes, she got something,\x94 Jeanette answered, busy unlocking Hancock\x92s handcuffs. \x93And no, you\x92re not going to like it.\x94 She glanced up at the sky. It was already turning light. She glared back at Robert. \x93What do you want me to do, carry them? Get me some help here. And once we get back, you and I have got to talk.\x94

 

\x93An elf. Jesus, Campbell, you been sampling your own stuff? Elves! Next you\x92re going to be telling me the Smurfs are after us.\x94

Robert paced back and forth in front of Jeanette\x92s desk in her office down in Threshold\x92s Black Labs. It was a little after six a.m. Saturday morning. The Talents\x97the four they\x92d managed to keep\x97were all back in their cells sleeping off the last of their T-Stroke, and everything was tidied away before the city was fairly awake. And now Robert was looking for someone to blame for tonight\x92s fiasco.

\x93An elf,\x94 Jeanette repeated patiently. \x93That\x92s what Vicky Moon said. That\x92s what Aerune is.\x94 Somehow she thought it was very important to convince Robert of that fact. She\x92d read a lot about elves when she was a kid. They weren\x92t the twee little Disneyfied things that Robert seemed to be thinking of. When mankind was still living in caves, they\x92d ruled the world, until Cold Iron had driven them Underhill. Even then, they were still formidable enemies.

\x93Or thinks he is,\x94 Robert said, still unconvinced. \x93Campbell, there\x92s no such thing as elves, so this guy can\x92t be one. Q.E.D.\x94 He smiled at her patronizingly. Jeanette sighed.

\x93Well, he thinks he is. You want to argue with him? What else fits the facts? You burned him. With your gun barrel, because it was steel. Didn\x92t you see the smoke?\x94

\x93It was . . . it could be some kind of psychosomatic reaction. Or an allergy of some kind,\x94 Robert said, floundering just a little.

\x93The only thing with an allergy to iron is an elf,\x94 Jeanette repeated in a dull voice. \x93And besides, he vanished right in front of us. So either we\x92ve got ourselves an elf, or David Copperfield is looking for outside work.\x94

\x93Yeah, okay, this Aerune\x92s an elf,\x94 Robert said hastily, unwilling to bother continuing the argument. \x93If he\x92s allergic to iron, that\x92s good. It\x92ll give us some way of handling him. The important thing is to get him back. He\x92s obviously found some way to use his psi powers without burning out the way your test subjects keep doing. Do you think there are more of them? There has to be. If we can get our hands on them we could stop wasting our time with these trials and go right to the source.\x94

Jeanette stared at him blankly. Did Robert actually think Threshold had the faintest chance of controlling someone like Aerune? His voice echoed again through her mind: \x93I am the Lord Aerune mac Audelaine of the Dark Court\x97contest with me at your peril.\x94

The Lord of Death and Pain, Moon had said. Oh, yeah, definitely somebody I want mad at ME.

\x93And how are you planning to do that, Robert?\x94 she asked, just to be asking.

\x93We\x92ll set another trap for him tonight,\x94 Robert said in a crisp managerial style. \x93If he\x92s after our Talents, you can shoot them up again so they\x92ll attract him, and this time we\x92ll be ready for him. No pointy-eared mutant is going to thumb his nose at me!\x94

Great. I\x92m now living in an X-Files LARP. Mutants are so much more realistic than elves, right? Jeanette thought. She made one more attempt to get through to him.

\x93But we\x92ve got something he wants, Robert\x97and he has something we want. We could summon him, yes, but then we could talk to him, strike a bargain. . . .\x94 Elves were \xADalways making bargains, Jeanette remembered. It could work. And he could teach them so much. . . .

\x93We don\x92t have to bargain. We hold all the high cards, and after tonight, we\x92ll have this Aerune mac Whasis too. This Highlander reject won\x92t be so high and mighty once he\x92s got an iron collar around his neck. In fact, I think he\x92ll tell me everything I want to know,\x94 Robert gloated.

\x93Uh-huh.\x94 Robert\x92s refusal to negotiate frustrated her. Aerune was pure power\x97and Robert was talking like he was some kind of special effect that could be captured between commercial breaks. All Robert could see was what he wanted to see\x97not what was there.

This was not going to end well. It was time to cut her losses.

\x93Look, I\x92ve got to finish up some reports on our lab rats and tweak the T-Stroke mix before I go home and grab some Z\x92s. What time should I meet you back here tonight?\x94 she asked brightly.

Robert smiled, sure he\x92d won his point. \x93Be back here around nine. We\x92ll set things up in the Park this time\x97after midnight there\x92s nobody there but the muggers. We\x92ll have plenty of elbow room and plenty of peace and quiet. And a few surprises for our mutie friend.\x94

\x93Sounds good.\x94 Jeanette forced another smile. \x93See you then.\x94

 

After Robert left, Jeanette spent a long time staring at her reflection in the black mirror of her office wall, making up her mind for sure. She\x92d always known that someday it would be time to leave this little party Robert was throwing, and actually, she\x92d been here longer than she thought she\x92d be. But she could smell disaster ahead, and with her own survivor instincts, Jeanette decided she didn\x92t want to be here when it hit.

Aerune haunted her thoughts. Power. Promise. Danger. She felt the temptation to stay just to see him again beckon to her, and quashed it firmly. It\x92s time to go.

She\x92d always known that someday it\x92d be time, and planned accordingly. Jeanette opened her guitar case and felt around in the lining until she found what she was looking for\x97a red plastic diskette with a smiley-face sticker on it. She loaded its contents to her computer and hesitated for a moment before pressing \x93Send.\x94

Has to be done. She pressed the button. The virus began working its way through the system, erasing every hint of her presence\x97and her work.

Next she went through her desk, pulling all her paper files and shredding them. She took the bags to the incinerator herself\x97in her outlaw days, Jeanette had never relied on anyone else to cover her tracks: when you wanted something done right, you did it yourself.

When that was done, she took a last look around. The office where she\x92d spent so much of her time was completely sanitized. No trace of her presence remained, except for her guitar and sound system, a rack of CDs, and a few posters on the walls. She wasn\x92t going to take anything but the guitar with her, but she couldn\x92t leave the other stuff down here. This place wasn\x92t supposed to exist.

Because it was Saturday, most of the day staff wouldn\x92t be coming in at all. She commandeered a cart from the laundry and loaded the rest of her personal gear into it, and took it upstairs where it belonged.

Her \x93official\x94 office cubicle looked strangely virginal, since she was almost never there. She took a few minutes to set up the stereo, scatter the personal things she was abandoning around it, and hang her posters on the walls. She took the cart back down to the laundry (details were important when you were planning to vanish) and came back up to the office to turn on her computer.

She tested her worm by logging in with her Black Projects user code, and was relieved to see the message \x93No Such User.\x94 She reset the time on her computer to a date last week and logged in under her rarely-used official, abovestairs account. Then she spent a few minutes writing memos that would \x93prove\x94 she\x92d gone on vacation a week ago, and wouldn\x92t be back for two more.

Let Robert start a war with Faerie. I hope Lord Aerune makes hash of him. And either way, I\x92m covered, and he\x92s left holding the bag. Bye-bye, Lintel. I can\x92t say it\x92s been fun, because it hasn\x92t.

When everything was arranged to her satisfaction, she took her guitar and went home. Her apartment had always been just a place to store her stuff, and Jeanette wasn\x92t the kind of person who accumulated a lot of stuff she really cared about\x97she\x92d learned that lesson early and too well. She threw a couple of pairs of jeans and some T-shirts on the bed, and pulled her studded leather jacket and engineer boots out of the back of the closet. She took a moment to strip the vest with the Sinner Saints colors off the jacket\x97it\x92d been years since she\x92d worn her colors, and she didn\x92t want to run into any old friends now\x97before diving back into the closet for her saddlebags. She packed quickly\x97clothes, music, and cash, lots of that\x97before putting on her boots and jacket.

Time to go. If that idiot wants to commit suicide, he can do it without me\x97and if he manages to survive, he\x92ll still need me and maybe we\x92ll do the dance. But I\x92m not taking any falls for him. Survival of the fittest. I\x92m sure Robert would agree.

* * *

Her Harley was waiting for her in the garage below\x97a cream and maroon touring beauty she\x92d named Mystery, on which she\x92d blown most of her first paychecks when she\x92d come to Threshold. She stripped off the protective cover and slung her saddlebags over Mystery\x92s back, buckling them into place before lashing her guitar down to the pillion seat. It would make an awkward load, and she might have been willing to leave the instrument behind if she\x92d been sure she was coming back.

But she wasn\x92t.

She wheeled slowly out of the underground garage, blinking owlishly at the winter sunlight even through the tinted face-shield of her full-coverage helmet. She debated where to go for a moment, but given her mode of transport, it was pretty much a no-brainer.

South. Somewhere warm, with no snow and fewer questions.

 

Campbell didn\x92t show up at the lab at nine o\x92clock. At nine-thirty Robert checked her downstairs office, found it stripped, and called her house. At nine-forty-five he let himself into her apartment with a passkey he didn\x92t think she knew he had, and looked around. The place looked like a hotel room that had been trashed by gypsies.

God, how can anyone live like this? You can take the girl off the street, but you can\x92t take the street out of the girl, he thought in disgust.

She wasn\x92t here either. He looked around. There were signs of hasty packing, and the ice-cream carton in the back of the fridge where Campbell kept her stash of ready cash was empty. He felt a wave of smug disdain. So she\x92s bolted. Da widdle girly got scared and ran. Jesus, isn\x92t that just like a woman?

But did this really change anything? Robert thought about that for a moment, making up his mind. It wasn\x92t like she\x92d be going to the police, not with what he had on her. Actually, Campbell\x92s bailout wasn\x92t entirely a bad thing. Ever since the drug trials had started panning out, Campbell had been acting pretty skittish, and that mutant-guy from last night showing up had obviously been more than she could handle. After all, Robert Lintel thought sagely, it\x92s one thing to read about psychic powers in a fiction book and another altogether to see them in front of your face.

He\x92d probably scared her into running by talking about setting a trap for the guy tonight. Women just weren\x92t any good in military situations. Oh, she faked it better than most, but Robert had seen the flash of fear in her eyes when the guy in the cloak had showed up. She\x92d just lost her head and panicked. How typical. Women were all like that.

But I don\x92t need her anymore. I\x92ve got more than enough T-Stroke to turn a sample over to a good research chemist and find out the proportions\x97and more than enough to finish the trials without her.

And once he\x92d done that, he could write his own ticket anywhere in the world and kiss Threshold good-bye.

In fact, maybe it\x92s better to wait a day or two before trying to trap this Aerune again. He\x92ll be sweating, and I\x92ll have time to rope in a few more pieces of bait.

Pleased with his conclusions, Robert Lintel left the apartment.

Everything\x92s going to work out just fine. . . .

 

 

 

NINE:

A GAME OF CHESS

Though his dreams were only dreams, they were haunted by the Unseleighe taint Eric had felt in Central Park and the nagging sense that there was something he was missing. He woke up late on Sunday morning, rumpled and disgruntled and aware that somehow he\x92d blown most of the weekend without getting his coursework done. His mind felt fuzzy\x97the mental equivalent of indigestion\x97and he badly wanted someone to talk it out with. But Greystone wasn\x92t available\x97when he looked, the gargoyle wasn\x92t even on its perch outside his window\x97and Toni and Jimmie had both made it pretty clear last night that the Guardians wouldn\x92t welcome his involvement in the situation.

But the more he thought about it, the more Eric was convinced there was something back there in the Park that they\x92d all missed. Something important.

Well, if they won\x92t talk to me about it, I know someone who\x92ll at least listen.

 

Even the most avaricious capitalists took Sundays off, and Ria Llewellyn knew from long experience that you got better work out of people if you didn\x92t ask them to give 110 percent all the time. She\x92d been on everybody\x92s back most of the week, getting a feel for her New York companies and finishing up with dinner with Eric last night\x97which, while fun, could not by any stretch of the imagination be called restful\x97and today Ria was looking forward to a leisurely day of shopping and sightseeing. Maybe she\x92d even succumb to the impulse to go down and see the giant Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. She\x92d forgotten how much she liked New York\x97it was such a human city, so un-elvish, that she actually found herself preferring it to L.A., where not even the special effects were real, let alone the people. Too many bad associations there: tragedy and betrayal and her long painful climb back to life.

Besides, Eric will be here for at least another year. . . .

That was certainly one of the attractions. They\x92d made a good start last night. He wasn\x92t as indifferent to her as he\x92d tried to pretend. And he wasn\x92t out to kill her, either on his own behalf or someone else\x92s. In Ria\x92s opinion, both of those things made a good start to a relationship.

The windows of her sitting room at the top of the Sherry gave her a magnificent view over the Park, an unexpected oasis of green in the steel and concrete forest of the City. The trees were winter-bare, the grass a faded brown-green, but at night the lights shining down into the park gave it an air of mystery\x97a man-made fairyland, in sharp contrast to the inhuman beauty of Underhill. Ria preferred it.

She was lingering over a last cup of coffee, a legal pad on her lap, when her phone rang. Few enough people knew where she was that she had no hesitation about picking up the phone instead of letting the front desk take the call.

\x93Hello?\x94

\x93Ria? It\x92s Eric!\x94

Eric! She allowed herself a small smile of triumph. The first one to pick up the phone lost. And your loss is my gain.

\x93Eric,\x94 she purred. \x93How wonderful to hear from you so soon. Did you sleep well?\x94 she asked, layering a double meaning into the innocent phrase.

She heard a rueful chuckle on the other end of the line. \x93Not really. I\x92d like to talk to you.\x94

And do more than talk, I\x92ll wager. Should she lead him on for awhile to demonstrate her power? Or would immediately giving him what he wanted be more effective? Deci\xADsions, decisions.

\x93Of course. Why don\x92t you come over here? I\x92m at the Sherry-Netherland. The view of the Park is spectacular. I\x92ll order a fresh pot of coffee. Or would you prefer tea?\x94

\x93Central Park?\x94 For a moment Eric sounded completely nonplussed. Then: \x93Sure. Give me about forty minutes.\x94

\x93I\x92ll be waiting.\x94 And to hell with the coffee.

 

Eric hung up the phone, staring at it as if it were about to do something strange and unusual. He didn\x92t know what he\x92d expected when he decided to call Ria, but it wasn\x92t this, well, blatant an invitation. What was she up to this time? Other than the obvious, and if there\x92s one thing you can say about Ria, it\x92s that she isn\x92t. Anyway, he was committed now. And there couldn\x92t be any harm in going up to her place to talk, now, could there? Besides, if he went there, he wouldn\x92t have to risk stirring up the Guardians by poking his nose into their business. He thought the best thing might be to stay out of their way if they\x92d stay out of his.

Time to get dressed, but in something a little less warlike than what he\x92d worn to their last encounter.

He pulled out a chunky oatmeal-colored fisherman\x92s sweater, and hesitated for a moment between slacks and jeans. Ria wasn\x92t a jeans kind of person, he decided, and went for a pair of dark grey slacks. He grabbed the leather jacket he\x92d worn last night, and dumped the contents of his messenger bag out on his bed to make room for the flute. He gave the books and notebooks a resigned glance. Rector wouldn\x92t cut him any slack; he\x92d better get his paper\x97or at least, some kind of paper\x97done before 2 p.m. tomorrow.

Somehow.

 

He\x92d been past the Sherry-Netherland a few times in his rambles, but he\x92d never been inside. It was an imposing structure, like something out of an Edith Wharton novel: very repressed, very Old New York. He almost expected the gaudily uniformed doorman to refuse to let him in.

He made his way across the lobby to the elevators, found the one that serviced Ria\x92s floor, and got in. The elevator was an express, and took off with a swoosh! that left Eric\x92s stomach far behind, though it mercifully released him a few moments later. The corridor outside its doors was painted a tasteful rose-beige that reminded Eric of something you might find at a mortician\x92s. Ria\x92s penthouse suite was at the end of the hallway, and as he approached it, Ria opened the door.

She was wearing a man-tailored blouse of heavy white silk that she\x92d wrapped, kimono-style, instead of buttoning, and it was pretty obvious that there was nothing under it. It was tucked into the waistband of a pair of wide-legged cuffed and pleated pants of bronze hammered silk, and on her feet she wore a pair of high-heeled gold mules. Eric could see that her toenails were painted Jungle Red. With her blond hair hanging loose in a Veronica Lake sweep, Ria looked like the Bad Girl from every film noir ever made.

\x93Nice to see you again,\x94 she said briskly. Spoiling the illusion? Or breaking a deliberate spell? With any other woman, he\x92d know. \x93Come on in.\x94

Eric followed her into the main room of the suite. Her perfume hung in the air, the same subtle understated floral she\x92d worn last night at dinner. He tried to ignore it. He\x92d come here to talk over a problem, not be a slave to his raging hormones.

There was a coffee service set out on a low table bordered on three sides by loveseats in a pale shadow stripe. As Ria had said, there was also a splendid view of Central Park. Eric tried to locate the spot where he\x92d stood last night and failed. It wouldn\x92t be hard to find again, though.

\x93Coffee?\x94 Ria asked, and when Eric nodded she poured. He still found something deliciously perverse about drinking coffee, since what was harmless to him was so deadly to Kory and his other elven friends.

\x93I didn\x92t mean to interrupt your day,\x94 Eric began, \x93but something pretty weird happened last night, and, well, I wanted to talk about it to someone who\x92d understand. You see\x97well, to begin with, the place I live isn\x92t an ordinary apartment building.\x94 Lame, Banyon, really lame!

But Ria didn\x92t zing him on it, the way Beth or some of the Sidhe would have.

\x93So I gathered, after I met your stony friend,\x94 she commented, sipping her own coffee. She regarded him over the rim of the cup with steady emerald-green eyes, their vivid color one of the many legacies of her mixed blood.

\x93Well, Greystone\x92s just the tip of the iceberg,\x94 Eric said glumly, belatedly realizing how much he\x92d have to explain before he got to the Unseleighe Nexus, and how little Ria was probably going to like any of it. \x93You see, there are these folks called Guardians. . . .\x94

Quickly he sketched out as much as he knew of the Guardians and their mission to protect the average run of humankind from the Dark Powers. He told her about Dharinel and Kory\x92s warning of Unseleighe activity in the city, and of his own strange, possibly prophetic, dream about the goblin tower overshadowing Central Park amid the ruins of Manhattan.

\x93I told Jimmie about it, but with the Sidhe you never know when. Right now? Next year? Next century? But last night after you left, Toni came to see me because the Guardians had run into something funky out in the Park that they wanted my opinion on. When I took a look, I found that the whole place is lousy with Unseleighe magic\x97and something else I couldn\x92t quite put my finger on\x97and it looked to me like somebody was trying to open a Nexus.\x94

\x93In Central Park?\x94 Ria\x92s voice was rich with disbelief. \x93Using what for a Bard? And leaving aside the question of what kind of Sidhe maniac would want to open up a Nexus in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world? Sidhe magic would be almost worthless with all the iron and steel\x97and man-made electro-magnetic fields\x97around, even if they lived long enough to use it. Even a human sorcerer has trouble in a big city, with all those minds around clogging up the Etherial Plane.\x94

\x93Seleighe magic wouldn\x92t work here,\x94 Eric admitted. \x93At least not consistently. But Unseleighe power runs a little differently, doesn\x92t it?\x94 He knew Perenor had been acting pretty much as a lone wolf in his vendetta against Terenil, but someone that ruthless must have made overtures to the Dark Court at some point.

Ria considered, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth as she thought. \x93I don\x92t know that much about the Dark Court, but I\x92d have to say that most of the power they use isn\x92t that different. Not in kind, anyway, or ultimate source. But in degree, yes\x97the Dark Court isn\x92t squeamish about feeding off other peoples\x92 life-force. And in a city this size, I\x92d have to say there\x92d be enough prey available to take the edge off any discomfort Cold Iron would give them. Enough deaths would allow them to punch through any kind of interference, at least for a short time. But whoever it is that\x92s trying to put up a Nexus here, he\x92d have to know he couldn\x92t just maraud around and not expect to be stopped\x97by your Guardians, or the police at the very least. And for all that either of us knows, there\x92s some alphabet agency out there like the Men In Black to save the world from the scum of Faerie. This isn\x92t the Stone Age!\x94

Eric grinned slightly, savoring the mental image of a posse of sunglasses-wearing Feds in Lincoln Green Armani suits armed with high-tech wizard\x92s staves and magnetized steel sword-phones. It\x92s almost weird enough to happen. . . . Then he turned serious again.

\x93Maybe whoever it is doesn\x92t realize what he\x92s actually up against. If you\x92re Sidhe\x97and practically immortal\x97and living Underhill anyway\x97you might not really have noticed the last two or three centuries go by, even though it\x92s made a helluva lot of difference here in the world. Meanwhile, you can\x92t deny he could do a lot of damage before someone stopped him\x97and what would happen if the Feds got real concrete proof that the Sidhe existed? I tried to warn Jimmie and the others, but those Guardians are way in over their heads\x97and they won\x92t even consider the possibility that this is something they can\x92t handle. Quietly, I mean.\x94 Or at all. Guardians die as easily as anyone else, and the Dark Court can put a lot of resources into the field.

But Ria\x92s attitude had changed while he was making his point. She looked almost disapproving, now.

\xA0\x93I\x92m flattered that you\x92d want to use me as a sounding board,\x94 Ria said, sitting back in her seat and regarding him with an unreadable expression. \x93But frankly, Eric, I don\x92t see what this has to do with you or me, other than meaning we ought to get out of here before the fireworks start.\x94

Eric stared at Ria in disbelief. He\x92d just naturally assumed that once he\x92d told her what the problem was, she\x92d immediately have some suggestions for what to do next to take care of it.

\x93If a Sidhe Great Lord starts a war with the United States, we\x92re going to be drawn into it no matter what,\x94 he finally pointed out. \x93This is entirely leaving out the people who\x92ll get killed, or hurt, or sucked dry before he\x92s stopped.\x94

\x93The Guardians think they can handle it. You said yourself they\x92ll probably stop him eventually. And you\x92re the one who\x92s living here, not me,\x94 Ria said. \x93Besides, there\x92s a faint possibility you\x92ve misread the situation. Maybe a few disappointments will change your Nexus-builder\x92s mind about moving here before he throws down for a full-scale war. So why not let these Guardians do what they\x92re here for? You said it was their full-time job. They probably have lots of experience.\x94

\x93Not with this,\x94 Eric said stubbornly. \x93They don\x92t get many Sidhe here in the city. They\x92ve never seen this kind of magic before. You have, and so have I. You know what kind of damage a situation like this can do.\x94 He leaned forward, willing her to understand how important this was. But even before she spoke, he knew he\x92d failed.

\x93Eric, people are dying horribly every day, all over the world. Even if I devoted my every waking moment to making things better for them, it\x92d be a drop in the bucket compared to what they\x92re doing to themselves. I have responsibilities closer to home\x97to my employees, to my staff, to the people who depend on me personally to be there, and not go haring off on some kind of damnfool idealistic crusade designed to get someone close to me out of a midterm exam.\x94

\x93Is that what you think this is about?\x94 Eric demanded, recoiling in hurt. Ria of all people knew how much trouble a Nexus in the wrong hands could be. He\x92d been sure that the moment he explained things to her she\x92d be ready to help.

Ria smiled gently. \x93No, Eric, not entirely. But I think it is part of the reason you\x92re trying so hard to push yourself into someplace you\x92re obviously not wanted. Dharinel told you to stay out of it. These Guardians told you the same thing. Why not listen to somebody for a change?\x94

I\x92ve already been doing too much of that! Eric felt a stubborn anger rising inside him, and tried to push it aside. He\x92d been open and honest with Ria, and she seemed to be treating this as if it were all some sort of meaningless game!

\x93Okay. All right. I guess I deserve some of that. But at least come and look at the place in the Park with me. Make up your own mind about how bad this could be. And if you don\x92t want to get involved then, I\x92ll respect that.\x94

He leaned forward, willing her to say yes. To that much, at least.

Ria sighed. \x93Okay, Eric, you\x92ve won me over. I\x92ll come and look. But I can\x92t do it today, and Monday\x92s looking pretty full, too. I have companies to run; give me a few days. I\x92ll clear a space in my schedule.\x94

A few days could be too late! Eric took a deep breath and regained control of himself with an effort. He felt oddly disappointed\x97in Ria, in himself\x97as if a door that might lead to something wonderful had just been unexpectedly slammed in his face. He\x92d thought\x97well, maybe he hadn\x92t actually thought. He\x92d been upset about what happened at the Park last night, he\x92d wanted to see Ria again, and he guessed he\x92d let his hormones do at least some of the thinking.

\x93Okay,\x94 he said grudgingly, hating how hurt, how betrayed he felt. \x93I guess that\x92s fair. Why don\x92t you give me a call when you\x92ve got some free time?\x94 He got to his feet. \x93I won\x92t bother you any more. I\x92m sure we\x92ve both got a lot of things to do.\x94

Ria rose gracefully, her face a cool social mask of politeness. Bard or not, Truth-sense or not, he couldn\x92t get a peek at anything behind her shields to judge her feelings. \x93I\x92ll see you later, then, Eric.\x94

With as much dignity as he felt he could muster under the circumstances, Eric left.

 

Out on the street again, Eric took a few moments to catch his mental breath. Those mis-cues just now had been at least partly his fault\x97and more than partly, if he were being \xADtotally honest with himself. He realized that he\x92d been thinking of Ria as a sort of natural ally against the Guardians who\x92d fall in with anything he proposed\x97well, she\x92d disabused him of that \xADnotion pretty quick.

Then I\x92ll do it myself, said the Little Red Hen.

He managed a smile. It would have been nice to have company and a little backup, but he was a Bard, after all. He could do his own investigating. And I\x92m right here, and the Park is pretty safe during the day. All the muggers are probably out Christmas shopping, too.

And it wasn\x92t really going against Dharinel\x92s advice. Not yet. Whoever\x92d put up the Nexus didn\x92t seem to be around during the day, and Eric would be sure not to leave any trail that could lead an Unfriendly back to his doorstep. The guy was after Talents, and Eric didn\x92t fool himself about the fact that his own power made him a pretty enticing mouthful. And he wasn\x92t interested in being anybody\x92s lunch, thank you ma\x92am.

But a little looking around wouldn\x92t hurt. And Ria was right about one thing. With a quick glance in the dark and a bunch of other people around, he might have misjudged how serious the situation was. He waited for a break in the traffic and crossed the street, heading into the Park.

 

From the window high above, Ria watched him go. She felt an irritated mixture of anger and regret over what had just happened.

Just who the hell did Eric Banyon think he was, anyway? The Lone Ranger?

Not the old Eric Banyon, that\x92s for sure. The old Eric, the one she\x92d kept as an intriguing pet, wouldn\x92t have thrown himself into things this way. That Eric had waited to be led, or told what to do. This one made his own choices, and his own rules.

But I\x92m not going to play by them. He can be the Lone Ranger if he wants, but he\x92ll have to find another faithful Indian companion!

She respected him enough to send him away today, rather than teasing him into bed. It would have been a sweet sort of triumph to distract him that thoroughly\x97Eric had always been a generous lover, and this new maturity made him even more interesting as a potential bed partner\x97but she wanted him as an equal, not a conquest. And that meant equality on both sides. If she didn\x92t want Eric as a submissive follower, then he was going to have to learn that he wasn\x92t automatically the leader, either. Living in the real world meant negotiating for what you wanted\x97and if Eric wanted her as much as she wanted him, he was going to have to learn that little lesson. And hope it doesn\x92t kill either of us.

That didn\x92t mean she was going to hang him out to dry, either. He\x92d been right about one thing: she knew this enemy better than he did. She hesitated a moment, coming to a decision, and then picked up the phone.

\x93Jonathan? Ria. Look, I\x92ve run into a little something out here that needs looking into, and I\x92m going to need some backup. Yes. Armed and very discreet. Who do we use in New York? Call me back when you have the number. I want to make the call myself.\x94

 

About an hour later there was a knock on her door. She checked through the peephole, and then opened the door.

\x93Gotham Security,\x94 the man said, holding open a photo ID for her to look at. Raine Logan, read the name below the photo.

He was only a few inches taller than she was, but he carried himself as if he were six feet tall. He wore a dark blue nylon bomber jacket and jeans, with an army surplus duffle slung over his shoulder. His black hair was brushed straight back from a deep widow\x92s peak, there was a day\x92s worth of black stubble on his jaw, and beneath his bulky clothing, he had the trim, sculpted body of someone who worked out with weights for more than show. When she\x92d called the service, she\x92d specified needing someone who could keep her safe anywhere in New York\x97and blend in on the street. The man they\x92d sent more than fit the bill. You wouldn\x92t give him a second glance anywhere from Spanish Harlem to Crown Point.

\x93Come in, Mr. Logan,\x94 she said, closing the door behind him.

\x93Just Logan. And you\x92re Ria,\x94 he said. \x93These are for you.\x94 He held out the bag. \x93The service has your size and your profile; you\x92ve used our West Coast service in the past.\x94

She opened the duffle and pulled out the contents. Worn jeans with the extra gusset at the crotch that would give them as much flexibility as a pair of dance tights, a tight black T-shirt, and a jacket. It looked like a cheap vinyl imitation of a black leather jacket, but when she lifted it, it was heavier than she expected. She checked the lining, and found it was lined in Kevlar\x97enough to stop anything up to a Black Talon cop-killer.

\x93The dispatcher said you\x92d be going into some rough neighborhoods. You don\x92t want to go looking like money,\x94 Logan said.

\x93Thanks,\x94 Ria said, meaning it. Gotham Security was the best. They turned down more clients than they accepted, and the reason they still accepted her commissions was because she never argued with their decisions once she\x92d set the parameters. Ria respected competence in any field. When you hired an expert to keep you safe, there was no point in telling him how to do his job.

\x93Help yourself to some coffee. I\x92ll go change.\x94

She\x92d worn running shoes on the plane, but they weren\x92t some expensive brand someone would try to kill her for. She stripped off the seduction outfit she\x92d worn for Eric and changed into the street clothes the bodyguard had brought, then braided her hair severely back and pinned it into a tight bun. She looked in the mirror, frowned, and then went into the bathroom to scrub off every trace of makeup. There were thin gloves in the pocket of the jacket, and she put them on. Satisfied at last, she came back into the sitting room of the suite.

Logan was standing where he could watch both the doors and the windows, a cup of coffee in his hand. He regarded her impassively, and then gave a short nod of approval.

\x93Let\x92s go.\x94 He held out a black watch cap. \x93Wear this. Blondes aren\x92t that common in some parts of town.\x94

 

Eric hadn\x92t told Ria exactly where the unfinished Nexus was, but once she got into the Park, the trail of Unseleighe taint was fairly obvious. Logan followed her like a silent shadow as she cast around, working her way into the center of the magic.

Here.

The partial Nexus shimmered in the dry winter air, \xADinvisible unless you were Gifted and knew what you were looking for. Its twisted magic made even Ria shudder \xADinwardly. This was Unseleighe work, fuelled by death, \xADhuman death. She could still see the faint smudges of levin bolts on the grass where the Sidhe Lord had destroyed the bodies of his victims.

The surrounding trees looked faintly haunted. If the Nexus came fully into being, this would become a bonewood, the trees taking on a malicious life of their own in imitation of their dark master.

So he\x97whoever he is\x97was here. But where did he come from, and where did he go? In and out of Underhill, of course. She wouldn\x92t be able to track his movements Under\xADhill from here, and even if she\x92d had the power to force an entry into Underhill from a standing start, she knew too little about her foe to make it a good idea. She turned her attention to another part of the problem. Eric had been here as well, and recently. Had he seen what she saw, she wondered? And if he had, where was he now?

Not chasing the Unseleighe, that\x92s for sure. There\x92s nothing to track.

She circled the area, frowning faintly. This wasn\x92t Unseleighe Sidhe work alone. There was something else here as well.

Her hands wove small patterns through the air as she called upon her magic\x97not the Gift that was the birthright of the Sidhe, but sorcery that she\x92d learned painstakingly over the years. She worked slowly and carefully, and at last she had banished everything that was wholly of Underhill from her perceptions.

But something remained, the human taint she had noticed at first.

And that left a trail she could follow.

 

An hour before Ria left her hotel room with Logan, Eric headed into Central Park. He stopped just inside the grounds to dig his flute out of his bag and put it together. He blew a soft note into the mouthpiece to warm the cold silver, and seemed to feel the trees around him shiver in response. More proof, not that he needed it, that someone had been using major magic here\x97enough magic to wake the trees, let alone the dead.

Carrying his flute in his hand, Eric walked deeper into the park, back to the place Toni had brought him to last night. The scorch marks were still there, and in the daylight he saw something he\x92d missed the night before\x97the deep cuts of horses\x92 hooves in the frozen turf.

And sure, there are bridle paths through the park, but they\x92re clearly marked and the riders stick to them. And these tracks sure weren\x92t made by any New York Rent-a-Nag. Where were you going, Mister Dark Lord of the Sidhe? And who were you after?

Let\x92s see just how you\x92ve been spending your time. . . .

He lifted his flute to his lips and began to play. A few trills and runs first, just to warm up, and then he segued into \x93Sidhe Beg, Sidhe Mor,\x94 letting the plaintive demand of the music speak for him.

The light seemed to shift, some colors growing brighter, others vanishing entirely. The hard brightness of the afternoon sun became muted, fading almost into the unchanging silvery light of Underhill, while the latticework of the unfinished Nexus burned bright and clear, like a sculpture of purest purple-black neon. The constant background noise of New York\x97sirens, traffic, and the hum of a thousand conversations all taking place at once\x97faded to silence. Now Eric could see the magic plainly, yet he himself was as invisible to mortal eyes as magic normally was. Cloaked in his music, Eric could pass through the city unseen, even by his quarry. He turned, casting about.

The whole park was dotted with hoofprints that glowed with a deep scarlet light\x97the Unseleighe Lord, whoever he was, had been making himself right at home, him and his elvensteed. The creature\x92s glowing scarlet trail crisscrossed the grass from a dozen directions, giving the dry winter grass a spuriously festive look.

I can\x92t follow all of these! Eric shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. He had to pick one\x97but which?

At last he saw one set of hoofprints of a slightly different color than the rest\x97almost maroon, instead of the bright vermillion of the others. As he stepped into them, he caught a faint whiff of something . . . something almost raw and primitive next to the ancient malice of the Unseleighe Sidhe.

As good a way to make a choice as any, Eric decided, and began to follow the dark track.

The track quickly took him across town and out of the high-priced spread. He could see splashes of magic along the way\x97as if someone had been carrying it in a bucket that kept slopping over, staining the sidewalks and buildings. When he got further downtown, a fine red mist seemed to hang in the air like a fog of magic\x97too thin to really have any effect, but more evidence that its source\x97or even many sources\x97had passed through here, all leaking magic like a sieve.

What is this? A mage\x92s convention? And if so, why wasn\x92t I invited? he thought whimsically.

The odd thing was, the \x93splashes\x94\x97for lack of a better word\x97seemed to be concentrated around the street people. None of them seemed to be the source, but somehow they\x92d been near the source, and not very long ago. Eric guessed the Nexus point in the Park hadn\x92t been started more than a day or so\x97the timing of its building coincided perfectly with his dream\x97and the traces he was following would fade away completely in another day or so.

Cold weather to be on the streets, Eric thought, watching an old man pushing along a grocery cart full of bits and pieces of unnameable junk. A Sidhe Lord down here. Now THAT\x92s culture clash.

The contrast between the busy, purposeful shoppers\x97all of whom had homes to go to\x97and the shabby homeless that cowered back from them like hungry ghosts was jarring. He didn\x92t remember there being so many street people the last time he\x92d been in New York\x97hell, he didn\x92t remember there being any, but the Upper East Side tended to run them out of the area pretty rigorously. He\x92d gotten used to seeing them in the last few weeks\x97as used as you could get, anyway\x97but as he headed east, he realized that the ones in his neighborhood were just the tip of the iceberg. As he left Yuppieland and entered the area of clinics, flophouses, and SROs6 the tribe of the disenfranchised seemed to multiply, and for the first time Eric realized how very many people in this city had no other home than the streets. Not hundreds. Thousands.

And not just people living in slums or in welfare housing, but people who didn\x92t have any place to go at night at all. He walked past a man in a tattered overcoat who might have been any age from forty to seventy and was carrying on an angry, animated conversation with the empty air. His hands were covered with small unhealed sores, and there were flecks of spittle on his cheeks. Greyish stubble covered his cheeks, and even in the cold he stank of urine, unwashed body, and illness.

Isn\x92t anybody helping these people? That guy shouldn\x92t be out on the street. But even as he wondered, Eric knew the answer. These were the \x93borderline\x94 people, the ones who\x92d been dumped out onto the streets from the institutions where many of them had spent their entire lives to make their way as best they could in the world. The idea was that they\x92d have caseworkers and live in supervised housing, but there weren\x92t enough beds or caseworkers to go around, and so most of these walking wounded ended up alone on the streets. Add to that the junkies who stayed away from social services for fear they\x92d be jailed, the street kids damaged by predators or the homes they\x92d run from, and you had thousands and tens of thousands of people living on the streets\x97the population of an entire shadow city living invisibly in the cracks of the city most people saw.

A bright flare caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Magic\x97the same magic he\x92d been following. It ended at a brick wall, the glare of it so bright it nearly hurt his eyes. He touched the flaking brickwork, and recoiled when his fingers came away sticky and dark. He rubbed his fingers together. It was blood. Old, but not that old.

This wasn\x92t Unseleighe magic he\x92d been following, but human magic. Eric blinked, bringing up the image of the human city to overlay his mage-sight, and bent over to inspect the wall and the sidewalk. Now he could see that there were bloody handprints on the concrete. The wall itself was covered with blood, great arcing gouts of blood, as if somebody had tried to batter his way through the bricks with his body.

And I\x92m betting that\x92s exactly what happened, Eric thought grimly, straightening up. He felt nauseated. Echoing through his mind, preserved in the stone, were ghostly screams of fury, as if the raging spirit were still trapped here. He scrubbed his hand on his jeans and raised the flute to his lips, playing the first tune that came to mind, an old folk tune called \x93She Moved Through The Fair,\x94 the sweet wistful lament seemed to soothe the energies here, sending the spirit on its way in peace, washing away the death-fury that had happened here.

\x93Mister? Hey, mister?\x94

Eric lowered his flute. He\x92d put so much of himself into the music that he\x92d lost his cloak of magic, and with it, his invisibility. He turned in the direction of the voice. There was a man watching him, a man only a few years older than Eric with haunted, lost eyes. That could be me, Eric realized in pitying horror. A little more bad luck, a few more missed chances . . . not meeting Beth, or Kory. Missing out on the Faire-circuit. That could be me.

\x93That\x92s pretty music,\x94 the man said, when he had Eric\x92s attention. \x93I\x92m Gary.\x94

\x93Hello, Gary,\x94 Eric said quietly, so as not to startle his new friend. Though his body was full grown, it was clear that the mind behind the eyes was much younger. \x93Do you know what happened here?\x94

Gary\x92s face turned sad, as transparently as a child\x92s. \x93Fury died. We always used to call him that. He got sick and yelled at everybody, and then he started to fight with the wall.\x94 Easy tears glinted in Gary\x92s eyes. \x93Nobody fights a wall,\x94 he said sadly.

Not with any chance of winning, Eric thought, glancing at the bloodstains. He was tempted to slip back into his magic and leave, but he\x92d already seen enough to know that he had a lot of urgent questions without answers. Maybe Gary had some of the answers.

\x93Have a lot of people died lately? In just the last couple days? People like Fury?\x94

Gary stared at him blankly, a sudden sourceless fear growing in his haunted eyes. \x93The angels take them\x97the night angels. I have to go,\x94 he said suddenly.

\x93Hey\x97wait! I didn\x92t mean to\x97\x94

Gary turned away and scuttled quickly down an alleyway, vanishing from sight.

\x93\x97scare you,\x94 Eric finished, gazing at the empty street.

He could run after the homeless man, but he didn\x92t think Gary had any more to tell him. Fury\x92s death hadn\x92t fed the Nexus\x97those deaths had occurred back in the Park. And what were the night angels? Unseleighe Sidhe? If the Dark Court was using Manhattan as a hunting ground, there should be unadulterated traces of their magic all over, but the only thing he\x92d found here was the magic he\x92d followed.

Nothing was adding up. It was as if he had all the puzzle pieces\x97and they all turned out to be from different puzzles. He sighed and looked around. At the end of the block a blue neon cross shone into the night. Eric raised his flute to his lips again, gathering his cloak of invisibility around him once more. The light at the wall was gone now, thanks to Eric\x92s music, but somehow the neon cross shone even brighter in his Shifted sight. It was a sign for a mission, one of the places that tried to feed and shelter New York\x92s rising tide of homeless. Reluctantly, Eric turned toward it. He didn\x92t want to see any more horrors, any more forgotten men and women, but he needed to find out why Sidhe magic was tangled up with the homeless here.

The inside of the mission was warm and welcoming. Tables were set up where men\x97and women, some with children\x97sat spooning up soup. At the kitchen in the back, volunteer workers doled out more soup, sandwiches, and chunks of bread to a long line of those patiently waiting. They were talking among themselves in low voices where the diners couldn\x92t here. Eric crept closer.

\x93Not a lot of people here tonight,\x94 a woman said. Her companion sighed, rolling his shoulders to take the kinks out.

\x93There\x92s something bad out there on the streets. A lot of our regulars are afraid to come in. I heard Johnnie Rags talking to Lindy earlier. They think we might be poisoning them.\x94

\x93Poisoning them?\x94 The woman recoiled in shock.

The man shook his head grimly. \x93I\x92ve heard from some of the other soup kitchens and flops. A lot of people are dead. And more have just . . . vanished. All in the last \xADseventy-two hours. I thought at first that a shipment of bad drugs might have reached the street\x97but where would our guys get the money for drugs? They can\x92t even afford beds, most of them.\x94

\x93Unless the dealers have started handing out free samples like the tobacco companies.\x94 The two of them laughed together in disbelief, sharing the bitter joke.

\x93And what are the cops going to do? A lot of people die down here every day,\x94 the woman went on.

\x93Not like this,\x94 the man said grimly, shaking his head. \x93Not like this.\x94

Eric turned away. The answers he wanted weren\x92t here, but he couldn\x92t escape the feeling that he\x92d just been handed another clue . . . if he could only understand it.

Even Shielded as he was, Eric was reluctant to leave the light and warmth of the mission for the cold gloom outside, but he knew he had to move on, see if he could follow this trail to where it began . . . or ended.

As he turned to go, a young woman sitting at one of the tables got to her feet, heading for the door. She was \xADskeleton-thin, but she\x92d made some attempt at looking pretty. She wore a down jacket a dozen seasons out of date and a thin bright summery dress. Her legs were bare.

\x93Where you going, Annie?\x94 the man behind the soup cauldron called.

\x93Got me a date,\x94 Annie said belligerently. Eric could see they wanted to stop her, to call her back, but before they could do anything she was outside, hurrying up the street.

Eric followed her. She didn\x92t go far. There was an alleyway a few doors down from the mission. Annie ducked into it with an ease borne of long familiarity. There was a crude shelter there, made of flattened cardboard boxes, and Annie scuttled inside, squatting down and digging into her jacket.

\x93Got me a free sample, got me a free sample,\x94 she sing-songed under her breath. Eric could see the glitter of a small packet of white powder in her hands. It radiated a kind of non-magical malignity that made Eric blink.

\x93Hey\x97don\x92t do that,\x94 he protested, making himself visible again. He dug in his pocket for his wallet. \x93Don\x92t take that. Here\x97I\x92ll buy it from you. Okay?\x94

Seeing him, Annie crouched back with a feral cry of alarm. Before Eric could react, she\x92d torn open the packet and poured the contents into her mouth.

Its effect was immediate and drastic. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped down, unconscious.

Oh . . . God. Eric stared at her, sure for a moment that she was dead. I\x92ve got to help her.

He pulled out his flute. The people at the mission knew her. They\x92d know what to do. But their help wouldn\x92t be any good to Annie if she was dead.

He let the magic flow down into him, reaching out to the flicker of magic\x97Eric experienced it as music\x97that every living thing had. Her song was faint, the contents of the envelope poisoning her nearly to death. It was as if two songs were playing at once, creating a jangling discord. Imposing a third one wouldn\x92t help much.

He listened as hard as he could for the original tune, there in the cold alleyway, and slowly began improvising a counterpoint around it, strengthening it without overwhelming it. The music became stronger\x97he could almost identify the tune\x97when suddenly he was knocked off balance by a blast of . . . music?

It reverberated through his head, soundless yet loud enough to make his teeth ache, overwhelming all other sounds. The music wanted him to follow\x97it was a call, a command, dark and powerful and magical. Resisting it was like trying to stand still in the path of a cyclone. Annie still needed help, but Eric couldn\x92t \x93hear\x94 his own magic against the howl of the magestorm. He ran toward the mission. He could at least summon worldly aid. The pull of the Summoning grew stronger by the moment; he pushed open the door to the mission and half staggered, half fell inside.

\x93Hey,\x94 Eric croaked, half-deafened by the buffeting he was receiving. \x93Annie\x92s out there in the alley. She\x92s sick.\x94

The woman who\x92d been talking as she served the soup ran over to him. Dizzy and battered by the dark undertow of the magical Summoning, Eric clung to her for support.

\x93Are you hurt? Can you tell me your name? Come over here. Sit down\x97\x94

\x93No,\x94 Eric gasped. \x93I\x92ve got to\x97I\x92ve got to go. Help her. She\x92s in an alley up the street, in a box. She took something. Something bad.\x94 It was hard to get any words out against the call of the Unseleighe magic, and finally Eric abandoned the effort. He pushed the woman away and thrust himself out into the night once more, turning in the direction of the summons.

As soon as he was moving with the pull of the magic, his head cleared enough for him to throw up some stronger shields. The power of the assault had taken him off-guard, but he had his bearings now. It would be a simple thing to isolate himself from its pull entirely, but Eric wasn\x92t sure he wanted to do that. He\x92d come down here looking for the source of the magic that had befouled the city\x97and now, it seemed, the magic was looking for him.

Sorry Master Dharinel. I know you wanted me to stay out of this one, but a Bard\x92s gotta do what a Bard\x92s gotta do. I just hope I\x92m around afterward to get yelled at for it.

And I think I\x92m glad after all that I didn\x92t get Ria to come with me. . . .

 

The only way Ria could follow the magical trail was on foot, and that was a slow process. The trace was faint, and easily confused, but Ria always managed to find it again. It led her south and east, down into some of the worst neighborhoods in New York. She was glad more than once to have Logan at her back. Most folks who saw him just tended to veer off from whatever mischief they were contemplating.

Night came early in the winter, and by the time they finally crossed Houston Street it was already getting dark. Ria was footsore and hungry, but unwilling to give up the hunt just yet. She felt more alive than she had any time yet since her recovery. Ria was a born hunter, and if more of her stalks were in the world of finance than on the city streets, well, the instinct was the same.

On the Lower East Side a lot of the buildings were red brick dating back a century and more. New York had moved slowly uptown from the foot of the island since its founding, leaving behind outgrown neighborhoods to fall into decay. With taxes rising astronomically, many landlords found it more economical to let buildings rot where they stood rather than invest the money to make them livable again. The ever-growing population of those who had slipped between the cracks of what had once been touted as the Great Society had taken over the abandoned buildings, forming new tribes outside of the protection of society. As Ria and her shadow had moved downtown, out of the affluent neighborhoods, the number of homeless had increased. They huddled in doorways or crouched on the steam vents that led down into the subways, watching Ria\x92s progress with empty eyes.

With Logan behind her, Ria headed eastward, across the Bowery. More than a hundred years ago, this had been the northernmost boundary of Manhattan, its then-cobbled streets filled with gracious ladies, fine gentlemen, and horse-drawn carriages. Of that era, only a few landmarked buildings still remained.

The trail she followed was stronger here, but her puzzlement was growing. What would a mage, human or Sidhe, be doing here, in the middle of such poverty and despair? There was nothing down here but crack houses, squats, and a few brave homesteading yuppies. Soon enough urban development would sweep through here, just as it had elsewhere, leaving a litter of Starbucks and Barnes & Nobles in its wake, but for now, the area looked like a bombed-out city in the aftermath of a war it had lost.

Yet here was where the trail began\x97or ended. Ria stopped in front of the old building her stalk had led her to. It didn\x92t look particularly promising. Even in the cold, she could smell the pervasive fug of rotting garbage and old urine. She cast around, looking for some hint that the trail continued, but there was nothing. She would have been more reassured to find a Nexus here than what she had found. A blank wall.

What the hell is this? Some kind of magical roach motel? \x93Mages check in, but they don\x92t check out?\x94

It was impossible.

It was the truth.

\x93Lady. Hey, lady. Gimme dollar?\x94

A man\x97a boy, really, younger than Eric\x97came shuffling out of the alleyway to her left. He had the look so many of the homeless had, as if he\x92d been sucked dry of some vital component; prematurely haggard, but no less dangerous for that. There were two more behind him, obviously there to follow his lead and share in any bounty he acquired.

She held her ground. To back away would only encourage them. Most predators\x97including the human predator\x97would chase anything that ran.

\x93You one a\x92 them angels. You come down here, you gotta gimme dollar. Whaddya say, angel? Gimme dollar?\x94

He was close enough for her to smell him now. His hands were stuck in his pockets, clutching a knife, a club, or even a gun. She knew he didn\x92t plan to hurt her, only to take what she had, but when did life ever go according to plan?

And why had he called her an angel? The incongruity of it made her smile. Almost.

\x93You don\x92t want to do that.\x94 Logan appeared between her and the would-be predator like a drift of smoke. She couldn\x92t see his face, but he held his hands out, open-palmed, defusing the situation with his presence and his will. The man stopped.

\x93She come down here, she gotta give me money,\x94 he whined, focussing on Logan. But he was hesitating now, uncertain. \x93She an angel. Angels take, they gotta give.\x94

\x93No.\x94 Logan\x92s voice was gentle and final. \x93You need to get on and take care of business somewhere else. Go on.\x94

\x93Bitch. Uptown bitch.\x94 His companions had already melted back into the alleyway, discovering that Ria wasn\x92t an easy mark. Their leader glared at Ria in frustrated disappointment. \x93Bitch! Angel bitch!\x94

\x93Go on,\x94 Logan said, still in the same calm voice. As if he were dealing with a child or a lunatic, Ria thought. And I suppose these people qualify on both counts. He dropped one hand to his side and flicked his fingers at her. Obedient to his signal, Ria backed away, stepping off the curb into the street. She crossed to the other side, turning her back on them reluctantly. Behind her, Ria heard a faint scuffle, and a cry, and when she turned back, the man was lying on his back on the sidewalk, and Logan was turning away.

\x93Let\x92s go,\x94 he said when he reached her. \x93Unless you need me to take him all the way down.\x94

\x93No. I\x92m finished here. Let\x92s go find a cab.\x94

A few blocks took them back to Broadway. It was like crossing into another world. Broadway was one of the city\x92s main arteries, running all the way from the Battery at the southernmost tip of the city, all the way into Upstate New York. It was fairly safe even at midnight, lined with boutiques, shops, and all-\x93nite\x94 delis. Ria did a small Summoning magic, and a few moments later, a cruising cab turned the corner and stopped.

The ride uptown covered in minutes the blocks it had taken her hours to walk. On Sixth the trees were strung with fairy lights. The bright shops and well-dressed shoppers were a universe away from the war zone she\x92d just left.

And Ria had more questions than she had answers to.

A human drug addict doesn\x92t just suddenly turn into a magician without a cause. And an Unseleighe lord doesn\x92t just start building a Nexus in the middle of one of the most densely populated human cities on Earth without some expec\xADtation of being able to finish it. There\x92s a connection there, somewhere.

So . . . find it. Find the root cause.

I think I need to do some more research.

 

Aerune had been patient, and now his patience was to be rewarded. After his last defeat, he realized he had violated the first rule of war. Always make the enemy come to you. No longer would he follow the human cattle into their puny traps to gain what he needed. His prey would come to him. And so he had woven a dark spell, a \xADcalling-on, that would bring every creature with the wit to hear it to a place of his own choosing. The Crowned Ones would hear it . . . and so, he had no doubt, would those who sought to keep his rightful prey from him.

And then he had waited with Sidhe patience, his dark piper playing, until the prey should walk into his snare. At last he\x92d caught the scent he sought\x97the scent of raw untrained Power bleeding flagrantly into the air. This one was more powerful than any he had taken before, and Aerune needed that power to build his Gate.

And if the mortals should think to set a trap for me, then I will lesson these human upstarts well in the ways of \xADHunting. . . .

Drawing his horn, Aerune blew a long, deep note. It blended with the Calling-on Song, making that melody a part of itself, grew and reverberated against the buildings of the city streets, taking on a power and a life of its own, growing until it filled the world.

Come, my children! Come to your master!

The hounds came first, and then his hunters on night-black steeds of their own\x97the lesser Unseleighe lords who did him homage, the Lesser Sidhe to whom his magic was life itself.

Aerune lowered the horn from his lips, but its call continued to sound, filling the air. He drew his elvensilver sword and swung it in a circle over his head. \x93We ride!\x94 he roared, spurring his mount.

Behind him the Hunt followed.

 

They\x92d had to work damned hard to do it in less than a day, but this time his men had prepared the perfect trap, and Robert had the perfect bait. There was no reason to wait any longer. He\x92d instructed the men thoroughly about what they were to do, and sent Beirkoff and Hancock out with them. When every\xADthing was in place, Beirkoff was to give Hancock a second dose of T-Stroke\x97a bigger dose this time. This Aerune would come after Hancock again as soon as he smelled him. Robert was sure of it. Whatever the guy was, he wanted these Talents as much as Robert did, and Robert was making sure he had a tight grip on the only source. He\x92d pulled in his field-test operation. There wasn\x92t any more T-Stroke out on the streets, so little chance of any other random Talents appearing for Aerune to poach. If he wanted what Robert had, Hancock would be his only source.

Let the games begin. . . .

 

\x93What\x92re we doing out here?\x94 Angel asked Elkanah.

\x93Waiting,\x94 Elkanah answered, out of the boundless well of patience that was (in Angel\x92s opinion) the senior Threshold operative\x92s singlemost irritating quality.

\x93Yeah, I know we\x92re waiting,\x94 Angel echoed sarcastically. \x93Waiting for some nutcase on a horse to come kidnap our geek. But what\x92s with the chain mail? The spears? Just because this guy thinks he\x92s King Arthur doesn\x92t mean we have to go along with it.\x94

Angel twirled the six-foot spear with the steel head back and forth between his fingers as if it were a quarterstaff. When he shifted position, his chain mail jingled slightly. God only knew where the boss had come up with this stuff on such short notice. But he\x92d worn weirder things in his time.

\x93We\x92ve got orders. This guy shows up, we throw a net over him and switch on the generators,\x94 Elkanah answered. Like Angel, he wore a silvery shirt of chain mail beneath a dark sweater. Even if they were seen, there wasn\x92t anything to ring warning bells in any civilian mind. And this deep in the Park, this late at night, there was little chance of them being seen at all.

\x93Like he\x92s going to back off because of a steel and copper net and a little electricity,\x94 Angel grumbled, but fell silent.

There were twenty-four men\x97all of Threshold\x92s Black-level security operatives\x97gathered here, though only eight of them had chain mail shirts. Four of the others were carrying longbows with quivers full of steel-tipped arrows. Most of the men and the trucks they\x92d come in on were concealed now by heavy camouflage netting. They\x92d been in place for hours, waiting, told to stay out of sight in case any stray tourists wandered past.

The bait had come in an hour ago in an unmarked car. The technician with him had shackled him to an iron stake driven deep into the frozen ground. The bait was wearing a straitjacket and a gag, and heavily sedated besides, but he didn\x92t look like he could be much trouble. A catheter port had been inserted into his neck, and Angel watched as the lab geek stuck a needle full of something into it and rammed the plunger home. Angel was glad he wasn\x92t the bait.

A few moments later the night began to shimmer, and Angel looked away from the bait, resting his eyes. Your eyes played funny tricks on you at night, and because of the searchlights mounted on the trucks, they hadn\x92t been issued night goggles. There\x92d be plenty of light to see by once the balloon went up. They\x92d be as visible as a frog on a birthday cake, but Mr. Lintel had been very clear on the fact that this operation wasn\x92t supposed to take long. They were going after the guy who\x92d made trouble for Mr. Lintel before, and this time he, whoever he was, was going to be way outgunned. Angel smiled. The hard men were the most fun to crack.

\x93Move up! Get into position!\x94 Elkanah whispered urgently.

\x93Why? I don\x92t\x97\x94 Angel said.

And chaos came.

One moment the clearing was empty. The next, it was filled with men on horseback, men with dogs, shouting and screaming and blowing horns. Angel didn\x92t waste any \xADeffort wondering how they\x92d gotten here. He rushed forward, his spear raised, looking for a target. If they wanted to come in like the U.S. Cavalry, he\x92d make sure they went out like General Custer.

A dog leapt at him, and Angel smashed it down with a Kevlar-reinforced glove. It backed off with a yelp and he hefted his spear, looking for a target. There. One of the horses.

He thrust his spear into its flank, pushing hard. There was a scream\x97horses screamed just like people\x97a flash of light, and the horse was rearing and dancing away uncontrollably, its rider shouting and flailing as he fought for control. Angel grinned, and thrust again, no longer caring who these people were or why they were here. He got to hurt them. That was all that mattered. Another rider tried to rush him. He got his spear into the horse\x92s belly, twisted, and jerked back. Its guts spilled out onto the grass and it screamed and thrashed, adding to the noise of the battle.

Suddenly the searchlights came up, flooding the clearing with harsh white light. He could see his opponents clearly\x97men in fantastic armor, carrying shields and wearing swords.

The man on the horse he\x92d killed jumped free, dragging at his sword. He was wearing an ornate helmet, like \xADsomething out of a Conan movie, and beneath it, his eyes glowed red in a bone-white face. So what? All the fancy makeup and special effects in the world wouldn\x92t save him once Angel got close enough. All around him there were cries and screams, flashes of light when the steel drove home, and a smell in the air like ozone. Angel stepped back, \xADmomentarily worried. A heavy sword could slice his spear-haft in two, and it would take him moments he didn\x92t have to get to his Uzi. But just then there was a hiss, and three arrows appeared in the attacker\x92s chest. Angel had thought that archers were a dumb idea, but now, seeing the smoke billowing from the screaming man\x92s chest, he changed his mind. Mr. Lintel had been right as usual. Iron turned these guys into wimps.

Something struck him full in the chest, burning away his shirt, but the steel mail beneath glittered unharmed. Angel laughed, and moved forward, searching for fresh targets.

As swiftly as they\x92d attacked, the riders pulled back. Now he and the other pikemen were between the bait and the horsemen, and the backup troops in the trucks were moving up. In the blinding light of the headlights, Angel could see fantastic armored shapes on horseback, like something out of a bad movie, and around them the turf seemed to flow like water. A mist was rising, making it difficult to see clearly. There was a scream from behind him\x97one of theirs\x97and he turned to see someone go down beneath the jaws of a dog the size of a small pony. There was another volley from the archers, and more screams. Hefting his spear, Angel ran to help.

 

Elkanah saw Angel run past him, shirt still smoking from one of the lightning-blasts the Bad Guys were using. As the Boss had promised, their chain mail protected them, but God help them the moment these guys figured out how few mail shirts they had. A couple of the men were already down, and there were things out there he didn\x92t even want to look at. He\x92d seen the briefing tapes about what Hancock could do. The Boss had said he\x92d be on their side. Elkanah wasn\x92t sure about that.

A dog leapt at him, taking Elkanah\x92s spear full in the chest. It howled, smoking like it had just scarfed a doggy-treat full of napalm, no longer a threat. But the force of its attack knocked him to the ground, and its death-\xADagonies jerked the spear out of his hands. He rolled away, fighting to clear his street-sweeper from its harness. Still supine, he yanked it up and fired. It caught one of the armored warriors full in the chest, blowing away armor and flesh with impossible force. For a moment, Elkanah could see the heart beating in the enemy\x92s chest before he burst into flame, burning with a pale blue light. In the momentary breathing space Elkanah rolled to his feet, looking for his own lines.

\x93No order of battle ever survives first contact with the enemy.\x94 Got to hand it to old Clausewitz. The man knew what he was talking about.

 

Aerune roared his disapproval, his injured mount dancing and shying beneath him, half-blinded by the harsh white light. Try as he might, the Unseleighe Lord could not break through the ring of steel that surrounded his prey, and his magic seemed to have little effect on the humans who sought to protect it. He\x92d already lost too many men. There were archers at their back, their death-metal arrows taking a fearsome toll of his Hunt\x97and worse, the human Mage who had been the bait in the trap was summoning creatures of madness, creatures who preyed on mortal and Sidhe alike. But his attackers were few, and there were other ways to win this battle. He could make the mortals pay for their impertinence.

And he would.

\x93Flank them!\x94 he shouted over the roar of battle. \x93Let none escape!\x94 In the name of Aerete the Golden, kill them all!

 

TEN:

FOR ALL THE MARBLES

\x93Well, what do you know?\x94 Eric muttered under his breath.

The summons was coming from within the Park.

He\x92d had the brainstorm to summon Lady Day as he jogged uptown, and so had managed the rest of the trip quickly. At the edge of the park he\x92d dismounted.

\x93Go home,\x94 Eric said firmly.

The elvensteed quivered, her lights flashing in disapproval. She wanted to go with him. \x93Home!\x94 Eric repeated firmly. \x93I\x92ll call you when I need you.\x94

It had taken a moment to force his will on the elvensteed, but at last she\x92d submitted, turning in the direction of home. The good thing about elvensteeds was that they followed orders, most of the time. And at least he wouldn\x92t have to worry about anything happening to her.

Hostages to fortune. . . . Something Jimmie had said, about keeping innocents off the fire-line, came back to him now, and he smiled grimly. Now more than ever, he understood what she meant. He was prepared to risk his own life, but not anyone else\x92s.

He turned back to the park. It was fully dark now, and the streetlights in the park cast faint cones of illumination around themselves. He wasn\x92t sure what time it was, but the streets had fewer people on them than before, and the park itself was deserted.

And something was waiting for him there.

Eric thought again about turning back, catching a cab and just going home, but sheer stubbornness egged him on. The Guardians didn\x92t want his help. Ria didn\x92t want to help him. Underhill didn\x92t want to get into a fight. Dharinel had told him to stay clear. But Annie\x92s face was fresh in his mind. Whatever it was that was out there on the streets, he had to stop it.

So I\x92ll do it myself, said the Little Red Hen.

Inside the low stone wall that bordered the Park the call was stronger, and Eric was willing to bet that it was coming from somewhere near the unfinished Nexus point. He headed toward it, more slowly now, wary of ambush from something else that might have answered this Call.

Suddenly there was a flash of light ahead of him, bright continuous light, and a sudden blast of sound as though someone had suddenly turned the volume on a television all the way up. Eric ran toward it.

:Man. Mortal man . . . :

The voice in his head stopped him halfway to the clearing. It sounded like World War Three was going on there, but Eric didn\x92t dare go on leaving this at his back. He turned toward it.

A pool of shadow at the base of one of the trees rose up. Eric had the fleeting impression that it wanted to be a woman but didn\x92t quite know how. It reached out for him yearningly, and Eric felt his teeth begin to chatter at the sudden sub-arctic cold as the creature sucked the last mote of warmth out of the winter air. He raised his flute to his lips, blowing a long steady low note. He let the magic flow up into the sound, caging the creature\x92s power and letting it drain away.

She\x97it\x97vanished with a thin despairing cry. But there were more like it, heading toward him. Half-finished things that crawled and slithered and flopped along the ground, radiating fear and pain and a kind of magic he\x92d never sensed before. The woods were alive with them, just like the woods in his vision\x97filled with gibbering shadowy shapes that were all red eyes and hunger seeking his magic, his soul, and his blood. They weren\x92t Nightflyers\x97thank all the odd gods for small favors\x97but there were more of them than he could count.

And they all wanted him. Eric summoned his shields, just in time as something like a wolf but six times bigger slung into the clearing, growling. The creature crouched on its haunches, unwilling to attack alone, but still far from foiled. Eric raised his flute to his lips again and blew a quick waterfall of notes. The wolf-thing sprang up onto its hind legs, twisting and howling as the magic tore it into fragments that drifted away on the air like a skirl of autumn leaves.

But there were more to take its place, an army of darkness seeping up like water out of the ground of this \xADsuddenly accursed place.

I need something to get rid of all of them at once. What? The magic creating them had a source; he could feel it, like cold and deadly sunlight. Slowly Eric began backing toward it, dropping his shields enough to lure them in. He had to stop whoever was making these things, and hope it stopped the creatures as well. They might be a part of whatever fight was going on, but plainly they had no interest in it.

Inspiration struck. He began playing the slow opening notes of a Bach cantata as the monsters gathered in a ring around him. Come to papa, babies. It\x92s lunchtime! Bach was cerebral, mathematical, human\x97the antithesis of the nightmare Unseleighe power that he faced. Eric focused on the music, letting it fill him completely. He had time for one last coherent thought\x97if any of these gets past me into the\xA0 City, there\x92s going to be a bloodbath even the Guardians can\x92t stop\x97before he let the music take him, shutting out everything but the battle before him.

 

As Aerune\x92s Hunt eddied about the edges of the human warriors seeking an opening, the Unseleighe Lord suddenly heard a bright waterfall of music\x97Human magic, Bard magic, a thousand times more powerful than the pitiful flickering about the Crowned One before him. He turned toward the source and saw . . . a Bard.

The man walked slowly toward the tangle of human and elven warriors as if he saw neither, destroying the nightmares that had taken a heavy toll this night on mortals and Hunt alike. Here in full measure was the power Aerune sought, power to build a thousand Gates. Not crippled and half-complete like the others he\x92d harvested\x97no, here was\xA0 power enough to play all of Aerune\x92s dark dreams into \xADreality.

The crazed Crowned One he\x92d sought was only an annoy\xADance in the face of this greater prize. Raising his hand, Aerune slew him with a gesture. The levin bolt sparked and crackled through the iron the Crowned One wore, arcing and spitting in great wasteful fountains as it seared his flesh into bubbling ruin, consuming him utterly.

\x93Take him!\x94 Aerune roared, gesturing toward the Bard. He blew his horn, summoning back his Hounds and lesser creatures.

 

The monsters he\x92d been fighting melted away like ice in a blast furnace and Eric stopped playing, feeling the magic he\x92d been following simply . . . stop. For the first time he became aware of his surroundings.

Searchlights. Gunfire. Elves on horses. Men with guns.

What the hell have I stumbled into?

 

The bait went up like a roman candle, dead in an instant. When Aerune turned, Elkanah took the break in the stalemate as an opportunity to move his men back toward the trucks. Their iron bodies should provide some cover, and he was still holding in mind the Eleventh Commandment: Don\x92t Get Caught. They\x92d lost the bait, they\x92d lost half a dozen men, but if they could get the net over the guy on the horse, they still might be able to salvage something out of this mess.

The horsemen were ignoring his guys for the moment, and Elkanah was thankful for small favors. He yanked the net out of the back of one of the trucks, gesturing for those still on their feet to help him. The net hissed along the grass behind him like a metal serpent.

Then he saw what it was that had made Aerune pull back. An ordinary guy wearing street clothes, with what looked like a flute in his hand. The searchlights made the silver radiate like a chunk of burning phosphorus, but even in the brightness, the guy glowed, a bright blue as deep as the October sky. Instantly, Elkanah made up his mind.

If Aerune wants this guy, then so do we.

\x93Get him!\x94 Elkanah shouted, gesturing toward the flute-player.

 

Eric heard sounds behind him and risked looking away from the Unseleighe Lord on the horse. Behind him were half a dozen guys in commando suits. Some of them were wearing chain mail and carrying spears. All of them had guns.

\x93Sir? Step this way, please. You\x92re going to have to come with us,\x94 their leader said with surreal politeness.

Eric backed away again, trying to keep both sides in sight. He couldn\x92t imagine why the commandos hadn\x92t run \xADscreaming\x97he\x92d never seen elves like these, but he knew what he was seeing\x97a Wild Hunt.

\x93Choose quickly, Bard!\x94 the leader of the Hunt called to him, holding out his hand. \x93You will have no second chance, and I think your shields will not hold against their weaponry! Choose! Them\x97or us!\x94

The hell I will!

He had to get out of here, and knew he\x92d only have one shot at escape. He reached inside himself, to where the music ran like a deep underground river and pulled up a melody for which there were no earthly terms. As it filled him, he reached out for the half-created Nexus, twisting it around him as a stage magician might swirl a cape.

And he vanished.

 

The Bard was gone! Aerune snarled his displeasure, his breath coming in a serpent\x92s hiss. So close! And yet the Bard had dared to defy him! He would have liked to slay all those witnesses to his humiliation, but without a Nexus to draw from, he dared not waste the power. His vengeance must wait, and be all the sweeter for being so long denied. He wheeled his steed, slashing a Portal to Underhill open in the very air. His mount staggered beneath him, energy bled from every pore\x97he could hold this gate for seconds only, but it would have to be enough. Wielding his sword as if it were a whip, he drove the Hunt through the Portal ahead of him, letting it seal itself behind him.

 

Angel stared at Elkanah for a long moment in the sudden surreal silence. The guy with the flute, the guys on horses, had all gone pop like a soap bubble. The Threshold operatives were alone in Central Park, and in the distance Angel could hear the sound of sirens. Their little excursion here hadn\x92t quite gone unnoticed.

\x93Does anyone have an explanation for what just happened here?\x94 he finally asked.

\x93We can worry about that later,\x94 Elkanah said. There was a livid burn along the side of his face, and he looked like he\x92d been through the wringer. \x93Right now we\x92ve got to sanitize this place and get out of here before the cops show up. Get out the flamethrowers\x97and get the wounded into the trucks!\x94

Those still on their feet hurried to obey, hosing down the dry grass to eliminate bloodstains, grabbing dropped equipment as fast as they could. Someone scattered a carefully prepared litter of expended fire-crackers and beer cans to dress the site for the police. In less than five minutes they were on their way, running dark through the Park to one of its northern exits.

He was not looking forward to the report he was going to have to make.

 

At six o\x92clock this evening, Robert Lintel had been a man well-pleased with himself and the world. It was midnight now.

Things had changed.

His men had vacated Central Park moments ahead of an army of cops. They\x92d lost Hancock. Beirkoff was a gibbering wreck. They hadn\x92t caught Aerune. And when another wild card had turned up\x97someone Aerune wanted more than he\x92d wanted Hancock, by all reports\x97they\x92d lost him, too. Half his men were dead\x97burned by lasers or hacked to death by swords\x97and all the survivors could tell him were a lot of confused tales about armored men on horseback, giant wolves, and monsters.

Monsters. He\x92d thought better of them than that. They were supposed to be elite troops, the best soldiers of fortune that money could buy. And they ran away like a pack of frightened schoolgirls.

Robert shook his head, pacing the expensive carpet of his top-floor office. He knew they were good. They\x92d never failed him before. So what had really happened out there?

Before Campbell took off, she\x92d been babbling about elves and the hordes of faerie, but those things that had been in the park tonight certainly didn\x92t act like anything Robert had ever seen in a cartoon. Still, maybe she and her stupid telepath hadn\x92t been as crazy as he\x92d thought. Maybe there was something in what she\x92d been saying\x97maybe there were some kind of space aliens living here on earth, space aliens that had been the source for a bunch of legends about gods and elves and things, like that von Daniken guy said.

Robert relaxed, pleased to have thought his way through to the truth. That had to be it. Not elves. Space aliens. He\x92d have Dr. Ram turn Vickie Moon inside out to find out what else she knew.

Because whoever they are, they\x92re poking their pointy noses in where they\x92re not wanted, and if they can appear and disappear the way they\x92ve been doing, it won\x92t be long \xADbefore they come here.

He sat down in the cushioned leather chair behind his desk and pushed a button. \x93Find Beirkoff and get him up here. Bring Moon. I don\x92t care what time it is. That\x92s what I pay you for.\x94

He sat back, thinking furiously. He was on the right track with T-Stroke, he knew it. That young guy who\x92d wandered into the middle of things\x97Elkanah said that this Aerune had spoken to him. If Aerune wanted him that badly, then so did Bob Lintel. The guy could obviously do everything the Survivors could do, and he didn\x92t seem to be in any danger of shrivelling up and dying either.

If I get him and can find out how he does it, I can make more. And then I can write my own ticket. I don\x92t know where he\x92s gone, but he\x92s got to come back some time. And when I\x92ve got a stable of psychic assassins who can kill with a thought, I\x92m not going to have to worry about the Justice Department or the SEC anymore. I\x92ll be able to write my own ticket anywhere on the planet . . . and I think the U.S. Government would be more than interested in getting in on the bidding.

But why wait? Nobody ever made a profit sitting on their hands. It was time to take the war to the enemy. . . .

 

Fortunately Logan was still with Ria when all hell broke loose. She\x92d ordered up dinner from room service for both of them while she\x92d made some calls to the Coast. If junkies were turning into mages, somebody, somewhere was making the drugs that were turning them. And Ria wanted to find out who. It wasn\x92t impossible that this was some Unseleighe plot. Some of them positively doted on working through human pawns, using long convoluted plots like something out of a James Bond novel when a simple bullet to the head would be a lot more cost-effective.

She was standing by the window, looking out over the city, when she saw the flash of light deep in the park. Seconds later the riptide of unexpected magic washed over her\x97Bardic, Unseleighe, and every shading in between. Ria staggered back, caught off balance by the sudden assault on her shields, and went down.

She woke up as Logan was lifting her onto a couch. His dark face was impassive and wary. \x93Are you all right?\x94

\x93Yes.\x94 She didn\x92t elaborate. Her shields had gone to full strength in the second after the assault, but she could already tell that whatever it had been was gone now.

Waving Logan away, she got to her feet again and walked carefully back to the window. There were four police cars pulled up on the street outside the park, lights flashing.

\x93My,\x94 Ria said coolly, eyebrows raised.

Logan was already on the phone, calling his office. She heard him give his location and ask for a weather report. He listened for a moment, then hung up.

\x93There\x92s been a report of shots fired inside the park and a lot of bright lights,\x94 he said tersely.

And more than shots, Ria thought. \x93I want to go down there. But I don\x92t want to get involved with the police.\x94

He glanced at her, and she saw him think the problem over.

\x93Let\x92s give it a while. I\x92ll check back with my office in a few minutes and see what the cops are reporting,\x94 Logan said.

 

Fifteen minutes later the police cars were gone. According to the frequencies Gotham Security monitored, the NYPD figured the disturbance was caused by some kids setting off fireworks. Ria knew better. The only question remaining was: what exactly had it been?

She entered the park cautiously, Logan taking point. He was wonderfully incurious about what was going on . . . but then Ria was paying good money for that. She only hoped his perfect manners weren\x92t going to get either of them killed.

By the time they reached the spot Ria had marked from her window, there was nobody in sight. She wasn\x92t particularly surprised to find it was the place Eric had been so interested in, but now the half-built Nexus was gone as if it had never been.

Suddenly there was a shadow above her\x97something big coming in for a landing. A pistol appeared in Logan\x92s hand\x97a Desert Eagle .60, capable of taking down a moose with one shot or punching right through a car\x92s engine-block.

\x93Wait,\x94 Ria said, raising her hand.

The creature landed, and bounded toward her, talking all the way. It was Greystone, the talking gargoyle from Eric\x92s apartment.

\x93Blondie, we got trouble, big trouble\x97Eric just went \x91poof\x92 on us, and somebody was holding a real brawl here when he went!\x94

Running up behind him were a fortyish Latina woman and an exotic dark-skinned woman in a patrolman\x92s uniform. Neither of them looked surprised to see Greystone. So these must be the Guardians Eric told me about, showing up a day late and a dollar short. So much for the safety of the Free World. Ria glanced toward Logan, but his Desert Eagle had vanished as if it\x92d never been there. His face was impassive. Like a good bodyguard, he faded back behind her, where he could watch what happened without intruding.

\x93Greystone, who is this? What\x92s she doing here?\x94 the Latina asked.

\x93She\x92s Eric\x92s ladyfriend, Ms. Hernandez,\x94 Greystone answered. \x93She\x92s okay. Her name\x92s Ria.\x94

\x93What\x92s happening? Where\x92s Eric?\x94 Ria demanded.

\x93Gone,\x94 Greystone repeated, sounding as rattled as a gargoyle ever got.

\x93We\x92re friends of Eric\x92s, too,\x94 Hernandez said. \x93We, um, heard he was having trouble up here, but when we got here it was all over. And what brings you here?\x94

\x93My hotel room overlooks the Park,\x94 Ria said. It didn\x92t count as an answer, but at least it was a response. She knew what Eric had told her about the Guardians, and wondered what he\x92d told them about her. And, of course, how much of it they believed. . . .

\x93I\x92m going to take another sweep around,\x94 the patrolwoman said. \x93Nobody\x92s done a real search of the area. Maybe there\x92s a clue.\x94

You certainly look like you could use one, Ria thought, but didn\x92t say anything out loud. If this was Toni Hernandez, then her friend the cop must be Jimmie Youngblood, another of the Guardians. But even if Youngblood was no ordinary cop, it never paid to antagonize the police. When Youngblood walked away, Ria returned her attention to Hernandez. It wouldn\x92t hurt to be sociable, especially since she wanted something from them.

\x93Hello,\x94 she said, holding out her hand, and smiling. \x93I\x92m Ria. Eric\x92s told me so much about you.\x94

\x93I\x92m Toni,\x94 the other woman said, smiling faintly at the inane exchange of social pleasantries. Ria took the proffered hand. Toni\x92s grip was dry and warm. \x93Jimmie and I are trying to figure out what happened here. And just now, we wouldn\x92t turn down any help.\x94 She studied Ria consideringly.

\x93I\x92ll do what I can,\x94 Ria said, looking around. Whether I\x92ll tell you about it remains to be seen. \x93Maybe you could start by telling me what you do know? I know that Eric was very interested in this . . . location.\x94

Toni sighed. \x93We asked him to take a look at it last night. Let\x92s just say there\x92s been some weird stuff happening, and this spot seems to be the eye of the hurricane. Eric said there were Dark Elves involved, building some kind of doorway . . . would you know anything about that?\x94

From the look on her face, it was clear that Toni Hernandez would rather have cut off her hand than asked, but it was equally clear that she knew she was in over her head.

\x93Less than you\x92d think, but some,\x94 Ria said. \x93I can tell you right now that the doorway you\x92re worrying about is no longer a problem. It\x92s gone.\x94 And Eric\x92s gone with it, damn the man. \x93Let me look around a little, okay?\x94

\x93Sure,\x94 Toni said, taking a step back. \x93But you won\x92t mind if Greystone keeps an eye on you, will you?\x94

\x93As long as he doesn\x92t step on my feet,\x94 Ria said, composing her face into another pleasant but totally unmeant smile. She turned away from Toni and began walking in a slow circle around the area where the Nexus had been, frowning in concentration. Both the other women had brought flashlights, but Ria could see clearly in dimmer light than this.

The ground was cut up and torn in a wide area, almost as if someone had been trying to plow it, or to dig something up, and there were wide burn-scars defacing the grass that remained. Ria blinked, summoning up her mage-sight. Now she could see that a lot of magic had been thrown around here. There were the scars of levin bolts on the grass and the trees, and the entire place reeked of Unseleighe magics and human death.

And as if that weren\x92t trouble enough, the Wild Hunt had been here as well. Perenor had sometimes spoken of the Unseleighe rade\x97he\x92d had the right to call one, but had never done so, dismissing the Hunt as too flashy and undis\xADciplined for his needs. More to the point, Ria thought now, it would have motivated the drowsing Court of Elfhame Sun-Descending as nothing else could have, creating an opposition that Perenor hadn\x92t wanted to face. Every Elfhame within a thousand miles must know about this one\x97she was only surprised that the park wasn\x92t crawling with Highborn.

But Central Park is in the middle of New York City. No elf would come here without a damned good reason. And you walked right into the middle of it, didn\x92t you, Eric?

The Wild Magic she\x92d followed down into the slums was everywhere, stronger than she\x92d ever seen it before. Someone with Power had died here, in addition to humans and Sidhe. Ria could still see the dead wizard\x92s ghost, hovering like a plume of red smoke in the air. Dead, and recently, and slain by the levin bolt whose backlash she\x92d been hit with.

But it wasn\x92t Eric, which was some small relief.

Once she\x92d sorted out the Wild Talent and the Hunt, the remaining traces were easy to read. The lingering effects of very neatly done magic, all wrapped up with no loose ends, spelled Eric as plainly to her Second Sight as if it were a neon sign twelve feet high. He\x92d been throwing Bard-magic around as if he\x92d been trying to put out a fire, but even in the middle of a fight, his work was neat, disciplined, careful, the work of a fully trained Bard, confident in his skill. He hadn\x92t killed the Wild Talent\x97that wasn\x92t his style\x97so it had to have been the Unseleighe rade. But from what she\x92d seen before, the Wild Talent and the Unseleighe were allies of some kind.

She glanced over her shoulder. Both Toni and Logan were giving her a lot of elbow room.

Someone else wasn\x92t.

\x93You gonna do a spell, Blondie?\x94 Greystone asked \xADhopefully.

Ria shot him a deadly look. \x93I haven\x92t seen everything that\x92s here to see, yet\x97something else was here besides your Dark Lord and Eric, but it wasn\x92t magical, so it isn\x92t leaving traces.\x94

\x93Does this help?\x94 On its stony palm, the gargoyle held out an expended shell casing. \x93I found it on the ground.\x94

Ria took it from him with a gratitude she was unwilling to show. \x93It might.\x94 She held it in the palm of her hand, gazing intently down at the small piece of brass. :Speak to me, smith-wrought forging. Who has touched you? Where have you been?:

The shell casing was too small to retain much information, but Ria gained a blurry impression of men with guns\x97many guns\x97all holding shells like this one.

\x93There were soldiers here,\x94 she said slowly for Greystone\x92s benefit. \x93Some kind of paramilitary group, anyway.\x94 She handed the casing back to Greystone.

She frowned, trying to piece the puzzle together. Eric, the Hunt, and a wild Talent had been here. So had a team of purely human mercenaries. Since she couldn\x92t imagine Eric allying himself with either group, the best guess was that Eric had been caught between the two and needed to get out of the way fast. The half-built Nexus would have been the weakest point in local reality, so he must have used it to escape to Underhill, which would explain why it had vanished so neatly. . . .

Ria relaxed slightly. He was alive. Eric had a lot of \xADallies in Underhill, and even enemies would treat a Bard with respect and probably be willing to ransom him back to his own people. So if he was in trouble at the moment, it wasn\x92t urgent trouble, and she could call in a few favors to make things easier for him if it wasn\x92t possible for her to track him down herself.

She walked back over to where Hernandez stood. She wasn\x92t interested in the situation here any further, but she supposed she owed Toni a hint of what the Guardians were dealing with.

\x93Do you know what a Wild Hunt is?\x94 Ria asked.

Toni blinked, as if she were taken off-guard by the question. \x93Some kind of a . . . it\x92s when the dead ride out to hunt down the living, isn\x92t it?\x94

\x93Close enough,\x94 Ria answered. \x93Except that it\x92s usually the Unseleighe Sidhe riding, not human dead. Bottom line: a Hunt has ridden through here recently. It looks to me like they clashed with some men with guns\x97the police had a report of gunfire here in the park about half an hour ago, didn\x92t they?\x94

\x93Yeah. They checked it out and didn\x92t find anything. Decided it was kids with cherry bombs. But why would elves be fighting humans here? Or maybe that question should be asked the other way around: how did the men know the elves would be here?\x94

That\x92s your problem, not mine, Ria thought. You\x92re the ones who didn\x92t want Eric\x92s help when he offered it, and I\x92m not a public utility. \x93I don\x92t know. But apparently Eric didn\x92t think you were taking his warning seriously enough and decided to look into things for himself. I know he came back here today around noon, but I wasn\x92t with him so I don\x92t know where he went from here.\x94 Not that I can\x92t find out if I have to.

Toni Hernandez looked as though she were going to press Ria for more details, and Ria was debating how much more to give her, when the other woman\x97Jimmie\x97came running back.

\x93Look!\x94 she said with excited self-mockery, \x93a genuine clue. Somebody\x92s been moving trucks\x97big trucks, heavy enough to leave tracks even with the ground being frozen\x97through the park. I found this near one of the sets of tracks. Someone must have dropped it while they were bailing.\x94 She held it out to Toni. Toni took it, and held it up so Ria could see it.

\x93It looks like one of those magnetic hotel-room keys,\x94 Toni said, turning it over in her fingers. \x93But there\x92s no name on it. Just a logo.\x94

\x93May I see it?\x94 Ria said, keeping her voice even with an effort.

She schooled her face to blankness, inspecting the card. It was grey, easy to miss in the dark on a quick inspection, and anyway, the police that\x92d been here earlier had been looking for perpetrators, not evidence. The card had a gold logo stamped on it . . . a logo Ria had become very familiar with over the past few days.

Threshold Labs. That\x92s a LlewellCo subsidiary!

Someone is going to pay for this. Dearly.

\x93No, I\x92m sorry,\x94 she said, smiling sweetly as she handed the key-card back to Toni. \x93I travel a lot on business, and I thought I might recognize it, but I don\x92t. Sorry.\x94 And with her shields at full strength, not even a telepathic gargoyle could get through them to see that she was lying through her teeth.

\x93Oh.\x94 Toni sounded disappointed. \x93Can\x92t you tell anything else? You\x92re one of them, aren\x92t you? An elf?\x94

Ria winced slightly. \x93No, sorry.\x94 Just a mongrel that neither side wants to claim. \x93I\x92m sorry I can\x92t be of more help, but I\x92m afraid I\x92m not on the Unseleighe Sidhe\x92s Christmas card list, and this isn\x92t really something I\x92ve got much experience with.\x94 She tried to keep her impatience from showing. Threshold was her problem, her responsibility. She intended to deal with it without any kind of New Age Occult Police help.

\x93You\x92ve been a lot of help already,\x94 Toni said meditatively. \x93I just wish we knew where Eric was.\x94

Ria raised her eyebrows in surprise. \x93I thought I\x92d explained that. He took the Gate into Underhill with him. But I\x92m sure he\x92ll be back as soon as he can.\x94

\x93I guess you\x92re right.\x94 Toni looked as if she had more questions to ask, so Ria spoke quickly to forestall them.

\x93If there\x92s anything else you need, Eric has my number.\x94 She turned and walked quickly away, leaving the two Guardians and Greystone staring after her.

 

All of a sudden, everything was quiet.

Eric straightened out of his half-crouch, lowering the flute to his side and blinking in the deafening silence. The elves and the soldiers were gone, it was \x93day\x94 instead of night, and it was warm enough that he was perspiring in his sweater and leather jacket. Eric was alone, somewhere Underhill. He looked around cautiously.

He stood in the middle of a primeval forest, one lit by the sourceless silvery light of Underhill. Trees that had grown unmolested since the beginning of Time rose high into the sky, and the ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a thick pale moss filled with tiny glowing blue flowers, making it look as if the earth beneath his feet were carpeted with stars. Despite its beauty, the forest had the faintly unloved air of a theater between performances; a stage without actors. None of the High Elves were in residence here, then\x97only the Lesser Sidhe, the Low Court, those which could not survive except in Underhill or near a Nexus grove. The low elves were scatterbrained at best; he could expect no help there.

As if the thought had summoned them back, he began to hear faint far-off birdcalls, and slowly, the forest filled with sound once more. An enormous purple butterfly, silver crescent moons upon its wings, wafted regally past, and at Eric\x92s feet, something small and grey and furry exploded into action, zipping into hiding before Eric could quite see it. He grinned in spite of himself.

He was better off than he\x92d been a moment before, and even if the terrain was unfamiliar, there was plenty of magic here to play with. Unless he ran into a High Magus in a real bad mood, Eric could handle anything this stretch of Underhill had to throw at him.

But since I\x92m not going to be staying, the situation isn\x92t going to come up.

He could open a Gate right here and step back into the mortal world, but without a Nexus to anchor him\x97and with no idea of where \x93here\x94 was\x97he might find himself appearing on Earth centuries in the past\x97or the future, or thousands of miles from where he went in. It would be better to have an experienced conductor for this little trip, and Eric knew just where to find one. Elvensteeds were created for situations like this.

But first, he had to change his clothes before he fried.

That was a lot easier here than it would have been back in New York. Here there was so much magic in the air that it was like breathing pure oxygen. Eric concentrated for a moment, considering what he should wear, and settled on just getting rid of the heavy sweater and turning his wool slacks into a pair of jeans that wouldn\x92t get ruined so easily by a walk through the woods. He might need the jacket if he Gated to someplace colder, and besides, he was more attached to it than he was to either sweater or slacks. There was no guarantee that having once banished them, he\x92d ever get them back; magic was funny that way.

Having switched to cooler clothes, Eric breathed a deep sigh of relief. He rolled his shoulders, easing out the kinks.

Now to get out of here. Maestro, a little traveling music. . . .

He raised his flute to his lips and began to play. First a few trills to reassure the forest that he meant it no harm, then he segued into his Calling. The forest around him shivered, half-wakened by Eric\x92s magic, and, as if from far in the distance, he heard Lady Day\x92s faint acknowledgement inside his head. The elvensteed would find him wherever he was, and reach him as soon as she could.

Now all he had left to do was wait\x97which was just as well, as he had a lot of thinking to do about recent events. Eric looked around, walking through the forest a bit until he found a comfortable place to sit. One of the great trees had fallen (or more likely, a fallen tree had been created by one of the Sidhe at just this spot the way the Victorians used to build \x93ancient ruins\x94 in their gardens), and its trunk provided a pleasant seat from which to think matters over\x97and if he got hungry waiting, he could just conjure up whatever he wanted to eat or drink from the magic in the air. While Eric hadn\x92t mastered kenning, the ability to create exact duplicates of anything he knew well out of pure magic, he could certainly summon up anything within a reasonable distance to come to him.

So it\x92s a great place to visit, but I don\x92t think I\x92d actually want to live here. All things considered, Eric preferred the \x93real world,\x94 even though New York didn\x92t seem to be a healthy place to be at the moment, at least for elven-trained Bards.

He\x92d blundered into something big and nasty back there in the Park\x97something even worse than Dharinel\x92s gloomy warnings about conquest-mad Unseleighe\x97and if he didn\x92t want to have his head handed to him the next time he ran into the Guys With Guns, he\x92d better stop and think things through now, while he had a breathing space. Dharinel always said that a moment of thought could save a year on the battlefield.

The Guardians said there was trouble in Central Park, and I found out that the Dark Sidhe was trying to put up a Nexus about where I dreamed of the goblin tower, but when I followed the trail of the magic he was using, it seemed to be all tangled up with the homeless folks downtown. At the Park, I think there was some kind of a mage with the soldiers that the Wild Hunt was trying to get at, but when the Unseleighe Lord saw me, he killed the mage, and that got rid of the monsters I was trying to take out. And I beat it out of there, but the Sidhe\x92s already seen me. And EVERYBODY loves a Bard.

So . . . could things be any more of a mess? Maybe, Eric decided with a sigh. But not easily. Guns and Sidhe don\x92t mix. He kicked at the moss beneath his sneakers. Tiny beetles glowing in a rainbow of colors scurried out of sight, and Eric watched them for a moment, fascinated. The air was filled with birdsong now, making his fingers itch for a notebook so he could try to get some of it down on paper. Whatever he wrote would be a poor copy of the original, though. Still, it might be fun to try.

At least his responsibilities in this mess were clear. He had to get back to his own time and place, and once he did, he needed to contact Elfhame Everforest and tell them about the Wild Hunt showing up in Central Park. That should be enough reason for the Seleighe Sidhe to break the truce and settle this particular Unseleighe\x92s hash, but that wasn\x92t the only problem. There was still the matter of all those guys playing soldier . . . the ones with the now-dead mage.

Back in San Francisco, the Feds who were chasing him and Bethie had been tangled up with a project that was trying to tap into natural psi powers. But most people didn\x92t have much in the way of either easily tapped psi or innate Power: the Gift usually ran deep in humans, most of the time needing magic or training to bring it to the fore.

He flashed back to the packet of white powder he\x92d seen in Annie\x92s hand in the alley outside the soup kitchen downtown. What if somebody had figured out a way around needing magic or years of training to make a wizard? What if they\x92d come up with some kind of drug that forced Talent to the surface? That would explain the twisted mage he\x92d been fighting, and if the bad guys had been testing their stuff on the streets, it might also explain all those deaths that the Guardians\x97and the people at the kitchen\x97had been talking about. Magery while you wait. No wonder that nut on the horse was so interested. If that stuff can crank up a human into a mage, just imagine what it would do for an elf?

Eric shuddered. That was something he\x92d just as soon not find out about. But if the soldier-boys meant that the Feds were mixed up in things again, he was in even more trouble than he\x92d thought. Because if they were looking for Bethie, they were looking for him as well . . . and his cover would be blown the moment anyone looked really closely.

Well, this is another fine mess you\x92ve gotten us into, Banyon. Master Dharinel was right, not that his being right would have kept me from meddling. But it doesn\x92t really look like I\x92ve improved the situation once, and now both sides are after ME. Gee, Brain, what do we do now? Well, Pinky . . .

He needed help and advice, and from someone who was as comfortable with high-level human politics as Eric was with Bardic magic. The trouble was, he didn\x92t know anyone who fit that particular bill but Ria. After what he could tell her about today, he was pretty sure she\x92d help him if she could, but that help might come at a higher price than he was comfortable with paying.

Well, we can burn that bridge when we come to it, as Mason said to Dixon.

All of a sudden the forest fell silent. The birds stopped singing, and the creatures scuttling through the fallen leaves froze where they were. Eric looked around quickly.

Trouble.

Nothing in sight, but his shoulders crawled. There was someone behind him. He could feel it. Eric got to his feet, turning around slowly, shields at full, to see what had startled the forest.

He stared. It looked like a giant lawn gnome brought to hideous life. Upright, it would probably stand almost four feet high, but it was bent over so far it was hard for Eric to judge its size, balancing on grimy bare feet and the knuckles of its long, apelike arms. It was wearing human clothes centuries out of date\x97calf-length leather pants and a long grimy smock that might have been white once but was now soiled to a grimy brown. Its face was a caricature of a human face\x97almost noseless, with tiny piggy eyes. On its head it wore a crusty brownish-red cap that it had dipped in some thick liquid that was flaking away now as it dried. The creature stank of undefinable things.

When it saw Eric\x92s face, it smiled, the grin splitting its nightmare face impossibly wide. Its mouth was filled with long yellow teeth.

Sharp yellow teeth.

 

 

ELEVEN:

LORD OF THE
HOLLOW HILLS

Robert Lintel regarded his temporary headquarters with disgust. Even in December, the smell was incredible. It was filthy beyond anything he\x92d imagined possible\x97interior walls torn down, some covered in graffiti, whole rooms used as toilets, people sleeping anywhere, on torn mattresses or just piles of rags. This abandoned building was a haven for runaways. That was why he\x92d picked it.

He stared at the terrified band of feral children huddled together in the middle of the room. He was doing these kids a favor, he realized. They should be grateful to him for putting an end to their whole trivial sordid existence. For once in their useless lives, they\x92d get the chance to do something that mattered, something that would benefit people more important than they could ever be.

As far as he had been able to tell from Jeanette\x92s notes and what he\x92d gotten from the Survivors back at Threshold before he\x92d used them up, the younger you were, the higher the initial dose, the better chance you had of surviving exposure to T-Stroke and developing the Talents that Robert Lintel needed. He didn\x92t have any more time to mess around handing out free samples to dozens of people to get one or two Survivors. He needed broad-based success\x97and fast.

\x93Okay, you! Sabatini! Is this everyone?\x94 he barked.

\x93Everyone in the building, sir,\x94 Sabatini said. Robert had brought the cream of his surviving security troops here with him. The eight of them were loyal\x97and smart enough to know that they were implicated in everything Threshold had done so far. They needed Robert\x92s protection\x97and Robert needed what these children could provide.

\x93We\x92ve got all the exits sealed. Nobody goes in or out,\x94 Sabatini said.

\x93Good.\x94 Street hookers and runaways were no match for trained professionals. His men had taken the place over before half of them realized they were being invaded, and within minutes his operatives had searched the whole building and rounded all of the squatters up and brought them here.

The funny thing was, not one of them had fought back. Robert had seen this kind of behavior before. Most people took a certain amount of time to work themselves up to physical resistance in a traumatic situation. Often the difference between the amateur and the professional was their quickness off the starting blocks, not their martial arts skill. The amateur might be just as proficient as the professional, but it took him longer to make up his mind that the situation required violence. And that was the difference between success and failure. So to keep any would-be heroes off balance, Robert\x92d had his prisoners slapped around a little once he\x92d gained control of the squat, just to drive home who was boss now. The children huddled together like a pack of orphaned kittens, wearing lace and leather, lipstick and sequins, the tawdry finery of a pack of Lost Boys and Girls who would never live to reach Neverland. They\x92d seen the uniforms and the guns, collected a few bruises, and now not one of them was willing to do so much as complain, no matter what he did to them.

They might get their spunk back in a few hours, but by then it would be far too late. In fact, it was too late right about . . .

\x93Now. Start dosing them.\x94

Angel and Sabatini shouldered through the circle of huddled children. Of the twenty-four men who\x92d been in Central Park last night, only these eight remained, but that was more than enough for his purposes. In fact, when he got what he wanted here, they\x92d be disposable, too.

Robert had brought one of those pressure injectors with him from the lab, and all the T-6/157 he could find. Even after the random doses they\x92d put out on the streets over the last two days, there were several kilos left\x97more than enough to build an army with. As Angel held a gun to their heads, Sabatini injected the street kids one by one with a double dose of T-Stroke. Most of them didn\x92t even make it into a sitting position before passing out.

Robert smiled his approval as the last of the street kids dropped unconscious to the ground.

\x93Sir?\x94 Elkanah asked. \x93What do we do with the ones that go crazy? If we put them out on the street, they might lead someone back here.\x94

\x93Put them down in the basement.\x94 On his earlier reconnoitre of the building, Robert had seen that the steps to the cellar were gone. Anyone thrown down there\x97\xADassuming they survived the eighteen-foot drop\x97would have no way of getting back out again. \x93Put the dead ones down there, too. They might as well have some company.\x94

Sabatini was sorting the limp bodies now. Two thirds of the kids were still alive. So I was right about younger subjects surviving better. All to the good. There\x92ll be no lack of subjects. Thousands of kids vanish every year, Robert thought.

Almost as soon as the dead bodies were cleared away, the Screamers started to awaken. They were harder to dispose of than he\x92d expected; supernatural strength seemed to go hand-in-hand with violent psychosis, and his operatives had to play rough. Fortunately only five of the surviving subjects needed that treatment, and with the doors between the kitchen and the front room shut, he couldn\x92t even hear them screaming once they\x92d been dumped in the basement.

And if their presence lured that pointy-eared claim-jumper Aerune back again, that was all to the good. A steel knife through the gut should settle him down and make him see reason.

Soon, the Survivors started to rouse, staring around themselves with wide, disbelieving eyes. There was a skinny blonde brat who seemed to be their leader. She glared at Lintel in terrified defiance, her mascara running down her painted cheeks in thick black streaks.

It doesn\x92t get any better than this, Robert thought gloatingly. This was always the best part, watching someone who was too terrified of him to run away. Campbell had been an exemplary employee in many respects, but she\x92d never been properly afraid of him. Maybe he\x92d look her up and change that, once he had this situation squared away to his liking. He looked around for some place to sit, found nothing, and resigned himself to standing. He wouldn\x92t be here for more than a few hours, anyway.

After that, he\x92d be taking the war to the enemy.

\x93Now\x97\x94 he said, smiling predatorially at the Survivors. \x93This is what I want you to do. . . .\x94

 

Ria hadn\x92t slept all night, and neither had a lot of people in the West Coast offices. She\x92d dragged Jonathan out of bed with her midnight phone call, but Ria was too angry about her discovery to care: she wanted action and she wanted it now.

Jonathan delivered, gods bless him. It hadn\x92t taken him long to get the first of the answers she wanted, and the more she found out about Threshold Labs, the worse things sounded. The company had been draining even more money from LlewellCo than she\x92d realized at first glance, its depredations carefully camouflaged by the bright boys and girls in Oversight and Accounting.

And as for what Threshold had done with all that LlewellCo cash . . .

\x93Since when does a pharmaceutical company need a private army?\x94 she demanded into the telephone. \x93These invoices are ludicrous! We\x92ve been shovelling money at them for five years and all we\x92ve gotten have been glowing \xADpromises\x97I want to know exactly what Threshold\x92s been doing with its time and my money and I want to know yesterday.\x94

Baker and Hardesty were behind this. Only someone high up in LlewellCo could have covered things up for this long. Well, the two of them were going to be looking for new jobs by the time the sun set in California, Ria vowed.

As for Threshold\x92s CEO, Robert Lintel . . .

Jonathan\x92s people in Computer Security had gotten into the Threshold computers without trouble\x97no surprise, as most of them were former outlaw hackers, working for LlewellCo as an alternative to jail. According to what they\x92d pulled out of the files so far\x97the data would take weeks to sift thoroughly\x97Lintel had been running a black books research program for almost as long as he\x92d been running Threshold, something about triggering psychic powers in humans through the use of psychotropic drug cocktails.

And it looks like he got far enough with it to go to field trials. I am going to crucify him for this\x97and anyone else I can get my hands on!

She paced furiously, but she knew there was no point in coming down on Threshold until she had absolute proof. It would be too easy for them to start dumping records at the first sign of discovery\x97although, to Ria\x92s fury, someone seemed to have anticipated her there as well.

Lintel certainly hadn\x92t been doing the research himself\x97not with nothing more than a Harvard MBA\x97but whoever the production-end brains of the outfit had been, he or she seemed to have jumped ship, because there was no evidence of him or his research notes anywhere in the Threshold mainframe. If Mr. X had gone to that much trouble to remove all trace of his former employment, it was probably because he was on the run. Which meant that he was out of the picture for the moment, and out of reach.

But I\x92ll find you, wherever you are. And when I do, you\x92ll wish you\x92d gone down with Threshold!

She glanced at her watch, then over at the man sitting silently on the couch. Logan looked like some kind of hyperrealistic sculpture of a sleeping man, not that he was asleep. From time to time she surprised him watching her, as if he were quietly assessing the situation. She wasn\x92t sure why she\x92d kept him with her, but now she was glad she had.

\x93I\x92m going downtown to break into a lab,\x94 she said. \x93I own it, but that probably won\x92t count for much just at the moment. I\x92ll need some serious backup.\x94

\x93How serious?\x94 Logan asked. He got to his feet and stretched, working out the kinks of a long sleepless night.

\x93They won\x92t have tanks,\x94 she thought, thinking back to the scene in the Park. \x93Aside from that, assume the worst.\x94

While the team was assembled, Ria went off to change. This assault would require armor of a different sort.

 

They arrived at Threshold just after the morning shift. The Guardians still had the key-card someone had dropped in Central Park, but Ria didn\x92t need it. She went in through the front door.

\x93Good morning. I\x92m Ria Llewellyn. I own this company. If you want to have a job by tonight, you\x92ll keep your hands off that phone and buzz us through,\x94 she said, her voice dangerous.

The receptionist took one look at Ria and the five men with her and pressed the button. Ria went directly to the top floor, and forced her way past a second receptionist and Lintel\x92s private secretary.

But all for nothing. Lintel wasn\x92t there. And from the look of the place, he wasn\x92t coming back.

Ria swore feelingly. She\x92d been sure she\x92d get here in time to nail the slimy bastard. Lintel had too much invested in Threshold to just go slinking off leaving his turf undefended!

\x93Ma\x92am?\x94

The bodyguard she\x92d posted outside the door to watch the secretary came inside, dragging someone by the scruff of the neck. The victim was wearing a white lab coat, and looked absolutely terrified.

\x93I caught him coming out of the elevator, heading for Lintel\x92s office. When he saw me he tried to bolt.\x94

\x93Bring him over here,\x94 Ria said, leaning back against Lintel\x92s desk. Because she thought she\x92d be facing a corporate raider this morning, she\x92d dressed to match: a dark green Dior skirted suit with matching pumps. Dagger optional.

It didn\x92t take much in the way of Talent to read the man\x92s mind. His name was Beirkoff, and he\x92d been one of the group in Central Park last night. He\x92d also been Lintel\x92s inside man on the black budget op that Lintel had been running, and now that he realized Lintel was gone, Beirkoff knew he\x92d been cut off and left to twist in the wind. He\x92d be willing to do anything to save his skin.

\x93Lose something?\x94 Ria asked mockingly. \x93Your safety net, perhaps?\x94 Beirkoff\x92s face went grey, and for a moment, the bodyguard\x92s fist in his collar was the only thing holding him up. The details of the project flashed through his mind\x97an underground testing lab, some cells, too many people dead. . . .

\x93Mr. Beirkoff, you have exactly one chance to save your life and your freedom,\x94 Ria said, getting to her feet and leaning toward him. \x93Take me down to the Black Labs and tell me everything you know about T-6/157.\x94

 

There was a slot for a key-card on the inside wall of the Executive Elevator, and three unmarked buttons below it. Ria\x92d found the card in Lintel\x92s desk, once she\x92d broken the lock. Beirkoff slid it into place and pressed the third button.

Beirkoff hadn\x92t been good at forming coherent sentences, but Ria\x92d had no trouble getting most of the story by skimming the surface of his thoughts. Unfortunately, he had no idea what had happened after Eric had vanished from the Park, nor what Lintel might be up to right now. Lintel had sent him home for the night, and when he\x92d come back this morning, he\x92d walked straight into Ria.

The level the elevator opened onto showed every sign of having been hastily vacated. Doors stood open, files lay on the floor.

\x93Search it,\x94 Ria said crisply. Sorcerous telepathy wasn\x92t admissible in court, and even direct testimony wouldn\x92t really hold up well against a high-priced lawyer. She needed hard evidence to hang Lintel with.

She got it when Beirkoff took her down to the holding cells. A man in a white lab coat\x97Beirkoff\x92s thoughts identified him as Dr. Ramchandra, the only other on-the-books Threshold employee with Black Level clearance\x97lay dead in the hallway, shot neatly through the chest. Beirkoff was horrified, and Ria suspected that he\x92d never seen anyone freshly dead before. Like so many yuppies, his only encounters with death were via the media, or perhaps the sanitized and beautified body of a friend or relative after the mortuary professionals had made it accep\xADtable. Ria thought back to the battle in Griffith Park. She\x92d seen violent death in every possible aspect. Bored with his horror, she moved on.

All of the cells were full, and all of the occupants were dead as well. They looked like the mummies from the Egyptian wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was hard to believe they\x92d ever been human.

\x93They were the ones who survived,\x94 Beirkoff said from behind her in a shaken voice. \x93If the stuff didn\x92t kill them on the first shot and you gave them a second dose, it was like they just . . . burned out.\x94

\x93There\x92s no one here,\x94 Logan said, coming back down the hall. He glanced at Ramchandra\x92s body and then back at Ria, his expression unchanging. \x93But there\x92s a lab back there that looks like somebody used it to cook up a major batch of something that isn\x92t there now.\x94

\x93Campbell did the cooking,\x94 Beirkoff said, recovering more by the minute. \x93She got the stuff as far as field trials and then she took off. But Mr. Lintel made sure she made up a big batch before she split.\x94

And Campbell was the only one who knew the recipe, though any competent chemist could probably reconstruct it from a large enough sample, Ria read in his mind. Campbell. Jeanette Campbell. I\x92ll remember that name. Someday soon, Jeanette Campbell, you and I are going to have a short but interesting talk.

It was time to call the cops and bust this situation wide open. A part of her couldn\x92t help noting that this whole thing was going to be a media bonus for LlewellCo\x97\xADvaliant chairwoman discovers illegal research going on in one of her subsidiaries, does a Bernstein and Woodward, and turns the results over to the cops. She\x92d be a Movie of the Week for sure. She\x92d also be tied up in red tape and meetings for the next year, and Ria had other things to do just at the moment. She turned to Lintel\x92s flunky.

\x93Listen to me, Beirkoff. You\x92d like to stay out of prison, right?\x94

Beirkoff nodded, obviously more terrified right now of Ria than of the dead body lying on the floor or the wrath of the absent Robert Lintel.

\x93You have exactly one hope of doing that. You are going to call the cops and report what you found here, and tell them the following story: You came to me with your suspicions. I sent you down here with a security team and orders to \xADnotify the authorities if you found anything. I wasn\x92t here today. In fact, I\x92ve never been here at all. There will be a lawyer here in an hour to handle LlewellCo\x92s involvement, but you won\x92t wait for him. You\x92re going to give the police full cooperation.

\x93Play it this way and you come out smelling like a rose. Cross me, and I guarantee that LlewellCo\x97and I \xADpersonally\x97will do everything in our power to make the brief remainder of your sordid existence a living hell.\x94

\x93Yes, sir! Yes, ma\x92am! I mean\x97yes. I can do that,\x94 Beirkoff babbled.

\x93Good. I\x92m out of here. The rest of you, stay here and keep Mr. Beirkoff honest.\x94

 

When she stepped out on the street again, the contrast was as great as if she\x92d stepped through a Portal into Underhill. It was one of those bright winter days that sometimes came in December, the kind that made you think that New York was a nice place to be after all.

But right now it wasn\x92t a nice place for somebody. \xADBecause somewhere out there right now, Robert Lintel was trying to turn ordinary humans into mages using a drug that had a one hundred percent net fatality rate.

And he and Eric were on a collision course.

 

Eric drew himself up and did his level best to channel Dharinel in a bad mood. The elven mage didn\x92t suffer fools gladly at the best of times, and that damn-your-eyes arrogance was the only thing that would save Eric now.

\x93It took you long enough to get here!\x94 he snarled at the gnomish Unseleighe lackey in his best imitation of a pissed-off elven noble, leaking a little magic past his shields to reinforce the effect. \x93Take me to your Lord\x97at once, do you hear!\x94

And they said spending all that time at RenFaires would never be good for anything. . . . 

\x93Yes, High Lord. Urla hears and obeys. At once, High Lord!\x94 The creature knelt, pulling the cap from its head and kneading it between enormous gnarled hands. Its wetness left brownish smears on Urla\x92s skin. Eric had a sick feeling that he knew what it had been soaked with. Blood.

Not one of the good guys. That\x92s for sure.

But for once Faire shtick wasn\x92t just a way of amusing travelers and filling his pockets. This time he was playing for his life. His bluff had worked so far\x97it was a safe bet that any of the Lesser creatures he encountered would owe fealty to some High Lord or another, and even the Unseleighe Lords followed certain rules\x97which was more than Eric could say for this Urla. He knew that Lady Day would find him eventually, no matter where he went in Underhill. But until she did, Eric was more or less trapped here, though rather less than more.

\x93Get up\x97get up!\x94 he said haughtily, waving the hand that didn\x92t hold his flute. \x93I don\x92t have time for this nonsense!\x94

The redcap crawled backward submissively before springing to its feet. Bowing and gesturing, it began to lead Eric through the forest. He took the time to take his flute apart and put it back in its case in his messenger bag before following. He didn\x92t know what he might encounter along the way, and he didn\x92t want to lose the instrument.

Urla led him onward through the empty forest until they came to an enormous tree. Its trunk was easily thirty feet around, and like many trees this old and large, its lower trunk was hollow. Eric followed Urla through the gap in the trunk, and when they came out the other side, the forest was gone.

The place Eric found himself in now wasn\x92t nearly as nice. For one thing, it stank. He and Urla were standing on a hummock of grass in what seemed to be the center of a large swamp. Between the hummocks, the swamp water glowed a faint toxic green, simmering languidly as bubbles of gas worked their way to the surface and popped with an evil smacking sound. The illumination here was dimmer than the light of the forest and had a reddish cast. Thick mist hung from trees festooned with fleshy pale blossoms that gave off a nauseatingly sweet scent, as if they were rotting instead of blooming. Eric\x92s skin crawled; he was in Unseleighe territory now, and no mistake about it. He could see large bat-winged things flying slowly through the distance, and as he stood gazing around himself, a terrible scream split the air\x97whether of predator or prey, he didn\x92t know.

Urla looked up at him to see his reaction, beady eyes glittering. Eric glared back as arrogantly as he could manage, and the bluff seemed to work. The redcap hurried off, bounding from island to island of dry land. The islands were yards apart, distances Eric couldn\x92t jump, and he\x92d have to be crazy to step down into the water. This was obviously some kind of test.

He summoned his power\x97he didn\x92t need his flute here, or even music, but unbidden, a few bars of an old Simon and Garfunkel song skirled through his brain as he wove the magic. Like a bridge over VERY troubled waters. . . .

Silvery mist rose out of the swamp and coalesced, following the redcap\x92s trail. Eric stepped out onto it cautiously. It gave slightly beneath his feet, like the surface of a waterbed, but it held him comfortingly far above the surface of the swamp. He stepped out onto the bridge and followed Urla dry-footed across the bog.

The exit Portal here was in a bank of mist. Eric knew enough about Underhill geography to know that the shortest distance between two points wasn\x92t necessarily in a straight line. Navigating Underhill was more like solving a maze, one where every turn could take you half a dozen different places. The Unseleighe were a paranoid lot, defending their territories by making them hard to find, and even harder to enter.

Urla walked into the mist and Eric followed cautiously. He didn\x92t trust the redcap at all, and Urla would certainly think it was a great joke to lead Eric into danger, but he didn\x92t think the creature was trying to lead him into a trap. Not yet, anyway.

This time Eric found himself in utter darkness on the far side of the Portal, and quickly summoned a ball of elf-light. By its pale bluish illumination he could see that there was grass beneath his feet, short and trampled as if herds of animals had been running across it. A chill monotonous wind blew steadily, making him shudder more than shiver as he looked around. He was in the middle of a broad and featureless plain that seemed to stretch a thousand miles in every direction. When he looked up, there were no stars.

\x93I\x92m losing patience,\x94 Eric warned, in what he hoped was the approved Unseleighe style. It seemed to be what Urla expected, because the redcap grovelled again, swearing to the Great Lord that they were almost there, indeed, their destination was mere instants away. The redcap turned away and began to trot across the plain, picking up speed until Eric was hard-pressed to keep up with it. Without the elf-light he\x92d summoned, he would have been unable to follow at all.

A couple of times the ground shook silently as if something huge and heavy were running across it\x97though Eric saw nothing\x97and a couple of times he almost thought he\x92d heard something over the droning of the ceaseless wind, but he didn\x92t dare stop to listen for fear of losing his guide. Bard or not, he had a notion that it would not be a good idea to be lost in this particular realm at the mercy of whatever it was that lived here. The swamp had been bad, but there was something almost honest about its malignity. This was a lot creepier.

At last they came to a henge: two black rough-hewn standing stones supporting a third laid across their tops. The three stones were the size of Greyhound buses, and seemed to be made out of some fine-grained stone. Basalt, Eric dredged up from a dark corner of memory. Like in H. P. Lovecraft. I just hope whoever lives here isn\x92t a fan of the classics.

Urla trotted between the menhirs and vanished. Having no other real choice, Eric followed. As he\x92d expected, the landscape changed again. Now there was light. He stopped, blinking as his eyes adjusted.

Wait. I know this place.

He stood now in the wood that he\x92d dreamed of before\x97the black and silver wood where the winter-bare trees looked as if they were made of black and polished bone, and the ground was covered with a thick treacherous white mist. Urla was obviously on familiar ground now, for he moved more slowly than before\x97as if he didn\x92t relish getting to his destination. Neither did Eric. Such a direct route to his destination indicated that whoever lived here felt he had little to fear from invaders, and that much confidence meant something old, powerful . . . and dangerous.

Dangerous enough to think invading New York would be a cakewalk. Oh, boy, Banyon. You sure know how to pick your enemies. . . . 

In the distance, shining through the trees like a baleful moth-green moon, was the goblin tower of Eric\x92s vision, but oddly, instead of worrying him further, he found himself with a treacherous desire to laugh.

Whoa! Who does the decorating here? Skeletor? That place looks more like Castle Greyskull than any place has a right to. This place was beyond over-the-top: it was just too grim and too gothic for him to be able to take it seriously\x97as if a Hollywood set designer had done a makeover on Hell.

You\x92d better take it seriously, Banyon. Because THEY sure are, and I bet Unseleighe Sidhe don\x92t have much of a sense of humor. . . .

As they approached, Eric saw that the front gate of the castle was guarded by a pair of armed knights in full ornate elvish armor that glowed like tarnished silver. Both of them were holding long and wickedly barbed pikes, in addition to wearing swords. Their eyes glowed red in the cavern of their helmets, but it was plain to see that Eric\x92s arrival\x97at least on his own two feet\x97was unexpected enough to disconcert them. More bad news: that meant they were Sidhe, not some kind of created servitors, things little better than those white-armored guys in Star Wars. If this lord could compel actual Sidhe to do gruntwork like this, well . . . 

Let\x92s just say I\x92ve got a bad feeling about this.

Urla hesitated, obviously expecting some kind of formal challenge from the guards, but Eric was pretty sure it wouldn\x92t be a good idea to stop for one. He pushed past the redcap and strode through the castle gates as if he had every right to be there. He passed beneath the portcullis into the outer bailey. There was a second set of guards standing before the inner doors, as silent and rigid as the first.

The inner door swung open as he approached, and Eric strode through, Urla scurrying along behind him. Now he was in the outermost interior room, a space as vast as a performance hall. It was bare and empty, its black stone walls polished to mirror brightness and long narrow windows high upon the walls. An open gateway beckoned Eric onward.

If he hadn\x92t already spent so much time in various parts of Underhill, he would have been lost immediately. But by now he knew enough of the interior layout of Sidhe castles\x97and castles in general\x97to have a good idea of where the throne room was. He moved quickly through the maze of corridors and chambers, working his way upward. He saw several guards, all armored the way the first sets had been, but no one challenged him. They probably think that if I\x92ve gotten this far, I have a right to be here. One good thing about a really evil overlord is that his underlings don\x92t tend to do a lot of thinking for themselves. . . .

Urla seemed to have deserted him somewhere along the way, and Eric wasn\x92t sure whether this was a good omen or not. At last he arrived at the outer chamber of the throne room, and unlike the other rooms, this one was inhabited. Fops in jewelled armor meant strictly for display lounged languidly, most holding leashes that led to doglike and less nameable things. Ladies of the court whispered and smiled, inspecting him over spread fans or beneath embroidered veils. One of them looked more like a leopardess than anything on two legs had a right to\x97she caught Eric staring and laughed, exposing a mouth filled with sharp carnivore fangs. Beautiful they might be, but no one who\x92d ever seen one of the Sidhe would mistake a member of the Dark Court for one of the Bright.

Word of his arrival had preceded him\x97he could tell by the whispers and glances exchanged by the elegantly dressed lords and ladies who filled the outer hall. He thought someone might try to stop him\x97to curry favor with their liege-lord, if nothing else\x97but no one did. Eric skirted the edge of the silent group, carefully keeping his back to the wall. At the far end of the outer hall, three steps led up to another set of massive doors of enamelled silver that depicted a battle between two groups of mounted elves. The red enamel drops of blood in the picture glinted as if they were backlit, as if somehow light was shining through the doors. It was a startling effect. Whoever this Unseleighe Lord is, Eric thought, he had a helluva special effects budget.

He skipped up the three wide steps\x97turning his back on the courtiers reluctantly\x97and gestured at the door, summoning up a simple knock-spell. For a moment he was afraid it wouldn\x92t open, but like the first, it yielded to his power. A collective gasp went up from the watching Unseleighe Sidhe, and Eric heard the babble of conversation begin behind him as he stepped through the doors. As soon as he\x92d passed through them, the doors to the throne room closed behind him with the soft finality of the doors of a bank vault. Not a good sign. He bet they wouldn\x92t open again as easily.

Still, he\x92d come too far to back out now. He looked around.

The throne room was enormous\x97far too big to have fit into the castle Eric had seen as he approached. For a moment he thought he was back outside in the bonewood, but then he realized that the walls were only carved in the semblance of a forest. The carven tree limbs spread to form a canopy far above, making the vault of the ceiling look like a blackened crown of thorns.

Nice image, Banyon.

The floor looked as if it had been poured from a single drop of liquid mercury, but Eric didn\x92t dare break his momentum or show a moment\x92s indecision, and to his relief, it was solid beneath his feet. At the far end of the chamber stood the same high throne he had seen in his dream. Only this time it was facing him, and occupied by the Unseleighe Eric had seen leading the Wild Hunt in Central Park. Refusing to think about what might happen next, Eric strode boldly toward the foot of the black throne and its darkling occupant.

Like his guard knights, the Unseleighe Lord wore full ornate field plate armor of a silver so dark it seemed black. On his head was a black crown set with cabochon rubies that glowed as brightly as the blood drops in the door had. Eric stopped at the foot of the throne and stared up at its occupant. He forced himself to smile nonchalantly.

\x93Hi. We need to talk. Now.\x94

 

When Ria got back from Threshold, the package she\x92d asked Jonathan to send was waiting for her at the hotel desk. She was just as glad she\x92d left Logan with the others back at Threshold. What she had in mind now wasn\x92t something a bodyguard could help her with, no matter how good a bodyguard he was.

She signed for the package, and carried it upstairs to her suite to open it. Bless Jonathan! Her own personal .38 snubnose revolver and a lightweight chain mail vest\x97steel rings as supple and flexible as heavy silk\x97lay inside. There was a box of steel-jacketed hollow points beside the gun, a load that would bring serious grief to anyone\x97Sidhe or mortal\x97that it hit.

There were two speed-loaders in the package with the gun. She loaded them both as well as loading the gun, but left the rest of the box where it was\x97any problem that eighteen bullets couldn\x92t solve, magic probably couldn\x92t solve either.

A distant part of her mind was amused by her preparations. Who would ever have thought that there would come a day when she\x92d come riding to Eric\x92s rescue Underhill? He knew more about the Sidhe than she did, but it was equally true that he had no idea of what people like Robert Lintel were capable of in their sublime self-obsession. Lintel wouldn\x92t give up now that he\x92d seen the kind of power Eric had and thought he saw a way to get it for himself. And if Lintel caught up with him, Eric would be as helpless as a child, no matter how gifted a Bard he was. Down deep, Eric was a nice guy, and that would always put him at a disadvantage when dealing with people like \xADLintel\x97or the Dark Court.

Fortunately, Ria thought, she wasn\x92t nice.

She stripped off her executive power suit and dressed again in the outfit Logan had brought her to go slum-\xADcrawling in. She pulled on her tightest T-shirt and slid the vest over it before slipping on the Kevlar-lined jacket and zipping it up to her throat. The combination should stop anything she might have to face, Sidhe or human. She slid the gun into her pocket and inspected herself in the mirror. Neither gun nor vest showed.

She was ready to go to war. Now all she had to do was find the battlefield.

 

Guardian House looked serene and untouched by recent events. In order to track Eric, Ria needed something that was his\x97something attuned to his personal energy that she could use as a link to him, and his apartment was the best place to look. Ria wasn\x92t sure it\x92d let her in without a fight, but fortunately she didn\x92t have to try. As she stood in the little courtyard of the apartment building, she heard the frantic racing of a motorcycle engine coming from behind the building, and over it Greystone\x92s gravel voice pleading with someone.

\x93Aw, c\x92mon, sweetheart! Just\x97could you wait a minute here! Hey! Here now, mo chidr\x97\x94

She ran around to the tiny private parking lot in the back of the building and found Greystone standing in front of Eric\x92s bike. The elvensteed was making frantic dashes at the gate\x97all by itself\x97but Greystone kept blocking them, wings outstretched. The bike flashed its\x97her\x97lights in frustration, and her attempts to get around the gargoyle grew more frantic.

\x93Hey! Blondie!\x94 Greystone called when he saw Ria. \x93This thing can talk. Why ain\x92t she talkin\x92 to me, then?\x94

\x93It\x92s an elvensteed,\x94 Ria answered. \x93She won\x92t listen to you or let anyone ride her but Eric. But elvensteeds can travel anywhere without Gates or Portals, and if he\x92s called for her\x97\x94

\x93We can follow?\x94 Greystone said, brightening.

\x93Exactly. Just get out of her way before she decides to bite you.\x94

Greystone stepped aside and folded back his wings. Lady Day zipped around him like a bull avoiding the matador\x92s cape. By the time she was halfway up the block, she was gone from sight.

But if I can follow Eric, I can certainly follow you, my dear.

\x93She\x92s gone! Hey, Blondie! What do we do now?\x94

\x93We follow. And Greystone . . . ?\x94

The gargoyle looked at her hopefully.

\x93Don\x92t call me \x91Blondie.\x92 \x94

 

Aerune stared down at the bold interloper. It had never occurred to him that the mortal Bard might dare to beard him in his stronghold.

\x93Kneel to me, mortal,\x94 he thundered, mantling himself with Power and stretching out his hand. A massive ring gleamed, blood-red, on his outstretched forefinger.

\x93I don\x92t think so,\x94 the Bard said. \x93We don\x92t do much kneeling in the World Above these days. Or hadn\x92t you noticed? Things have changed since the last time you led a Wild Hunt there. More iron, for one thing\x97but that\x92s just the tip of the iceberg. Magic\x92s really impressive, but Cold Iron will stop it dead, and we\x92ve got a lot of that in the World Above. We\x92ve also got machines that can do things you\x92ve never even dreamed of, machines that magic can\x92t stop. If you want a bunch of mortals to pay homage to you, you\x92re going to have to have a lot more in your bag of tricks than a little flashy magic and some big dogs. And I don\x92t think you do.\x94

Infuriated by the Bard\x92s arrogance as he was, Aerune was an honest enough tactician to see that there was much merit in what the mortal stripling had to say. The mortal Robertlintel had been quick to defend himself with Cold Iron when Aerune had attacked him, nor had his servants cowered at the sight of the Wild Hunt as Aerune had expected. Fear and magic were the Unseleighe\x92s two main weapons against the mortal kind, and if those proved ineffective . . .

\x93And the fact that you can\x92t take us over isn\x92t the worst of what I\x92ve got to tell you. Those guys in the park? The ones with the chain mail and the iron spears? They\x92re playing you, Dark Lord. I don\x92t know who sent them after you, but I do know the kind of person he is. I\x92ve met people like him before. He\x92s got hundreds of \x91warriors\x92 at his command, and he wants your magic. He\x92s already killed I-don\x92t-know-how-many innocent people to get a handle on it, and he\x92s getting closer to figuring you out every minute.

\x93And once he does, he\x92s going to be coming after you\x97here. If humans figure out a way into Underhill, your intra\xADmural feuds won\x92t matter anymore. Dark Court and Light\x97you\x92ll both be history.\x94

Such audacity and ruthlessness as the Bard described was worthy of Aerune himself, but the notion of a mortal having the temerity\x97and the weapons\x97to conquer Elven Lands was a sickening thought. Aerune considered the mad wizard he\x92d faced in the Park, the crude-but-effective weapons that had accounted for the lives of so many of his Hunt.

No. It is not possible. They were lucky, nothing more, he decided. Now that I have taken their measure, I will cow them utterly. For Aerete.

But the Bard was still talking, impervious to his own immediate peril.

\x93So you\x92re going to have to choose. Work with me to take this guy out and bury what he knows. Or end up serving him with an iron collar around your neck.\x94

\x93You have gone too far, Bard!\x94 Aerune shouted, rising to his feet in a swirl of black cloak. \x93I am the Great Lord Aerune mac Audelaine of the Unseleighe Sidhe, and before I am done with you, you will beg me for death, as will any of your kindred who dare to raise their banners against me. Guards! Attend me!\x94

He would blast this mortal where he stood, hang his body on the castle gates as a warning to other impertinent trespassers! Aerune drew back his hand, preparing to strike.

And the throne room . . . rippled . . . as the fabric of Aerune\x92s realm twisted sideways with a sickening and disorienting lurch. Mage-quake! Aerune staggered, fighting for balance in the aftermath of the disruption, as his tiny kingdom was destroyed and remade itself again in obedience to his will and his magics. But the Bard who taunted him here could not claim such power. . . .

\x93Told you so,\x94 said the Bard sadly.

Six of Aerune\x92s guardsmen now stood within the doorway, obedient to his summons, but they were not the only ones within Aerune\x92s throne room, nor was the Bard now the only human interloper.

A human man wearing the ugly grey clothing Aerune had seen in the World Above stood in the middle of his throne room, staring about himself with undisguised greed. With him were four human warriors wearing black and bearing weapons of Cold Iron that glowed and smoked in the magic of Aerune\x92s Underhill realm. At their feet lay half a dozen dead humans, their bodies withered in the fashion of those Crowned Ones who had given up their power to Aerune\x92s needs before.

\x93I will deal with you after I destroy them,\x94 Aerune growled to the Bard. He gestured to his guardsmen. \x93Take them!\x94

 

This is not good, Eric thought, hoping his shields would hold against stray bullets as well as spells, knowing that if the bullets were steel-jacketed they probably wouldn\x92t after the first one or two. He\x92d been right, not that he was very happy about it at the moment. With humans and their Cold Iron weapons down here in Underhill, Seleighe and Unseleighe kingdoms alike would go under like wheat under a harvester. And with elven magery running wild in the World Above, the outlook for humanity wasn\x92t very good either.

The Unseleighe guardsmen started forward, seeing only spears raised to stop them. One of the black-clad goons the Suit had brought with him raised a pistol and fired, and one of Aerune\x92s guards staggered and fell to the ground, screaming. In moments elven-fire had consumed his entire body as the steel-jacketed bullet did its work.

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord Aerune didn\x92t seem to be sufficiently impressed by this display to call off his men. More guardsmen poured into the room, swords drawn, red eyes gleaming. The human mercenaries turned outward, putting a ring of steel around the Suit. There was a chatter of machine-pistol fire, the bright flare of disrupted shielding, and the guardsmen moved in for close-quarters work. The mercenaries lowered their spears, obviously ready for them. There was a sudden clatter of engagement.

Eric wasn\x92t sure what elvish swords were made of, but whatever it was, in the magic-charged air of Underhill, it sizzled like an ice cube tossed into hot grease when it met the iron blades of the spears the humans were carrying. After the first time a parry sliced one of the elven swords clear through, the guardsmen were more cautious about rushing their prey. A couple of the Suit\x92s henchmen kept firing, covering the spearmen and choosing their targets with care. The throne room echoed with the sound of gunfire, and the faint acrid scent of gunsmoke filled the air. Elves fell beneath the onslaught of Cold Iron until the silvery mirror floor of the throne room was littered with elvish bodies, and the Suit and his hardboys were still standing. Aerune sat watching the carnage as if it were a play staged for his amusement.

Because soon enough they\x92re going to run out of bullets, and I don\x92t think they\x92ve got any way out of here now that they\x92ve used up their \x93batteries.\x94 Aerune hasn\x92t even called up the heavy artillery yet, and he\x92s not a very happy camper at the moment. . . . Eric didn\x92t want to be here when Aerune \xADdecided to take out his frustrations on the interlopers\x97and he wasn\x92t sure he could stop the Unseleighe Lord either. He could issue a formal Challenge\x97that might slow Aerune down\x97but the Dark Lord was on his home ground here, and magical duels had not been a major part of Eric\x92s education.

He\x92d let his mind wander for a fatal instant. Suddenly there was a lull in the fighting, and Eric found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.

\x93Work with me, big man, or the hippie gets it right here!\x94 the man in the suit called cheerfully. \x93You\x92ve seen what our weapons can do to your people, so back off before it happens to you!\x94

Aerune waved a hand, and his guardsmen pulled back, forming a ring around the interlopers. The room had grown darker in just the last few moments: Eric could no longer see the walls of the throne room clearly, and it seemed to him that there were things lurking in the shadows outside the ring of Unseleighe knights. But despite that, the Suit was smiling, as if things were going just the way he\x92d planned.

\x93Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. mac Audelaine. My name\x92s Bob Lintel, Threshold Labs. You\x92ve got something I want, and I believe we can work together to our mutual advantage. I have no problem with dividing territory. You help me back home, I\x92ll help you here. If it\x92s psi you want, I can provide you with a permanent supply. Let\x92s pool our forces.\x94

Whatever else Aerune mac Audelaine was, he was a \xADrealist. He leaned forward on his dark throne, fixing Lintel with a burning gaze.

\x93You have an odd way of asking for favors, mortal man,\x94 Aerune rumbled, \x93but your arguments are . . . compelling. Come here to me, and I will hear your petition. Perhaps you are right.\x94 Aerune gestured in welcome, smiling chillingly. The man in the suit smiled back, but didn\x92t move from the safety of his mercenaries.

Aerune and Lintel stood frozen, each testing the other\x92s resolve in a high-stakes game of \x93Chicken\x94 as Eric watched in unconcealed horror. This was the last thing he wanted\x97two killer sharks dividing up Underhill and the World Above like an extra-large pizza, no anchovies. What am I going to do now?

The Unseleighe guardsmen and the human commandos watched each other intently, neither side moving. For a moment, the room was utterly silent. And in the distance, Eric heard a faint sound that had no place in Underhill.

The sound of an engine.

A motorcycle engine.

Lady Day barreled through the open doorway to the throne room, vaulting the dead and scattering the living as she headed for Eric. Here in Underhill the elvensteed seemed to flicker back and forth between bike and horse, the strobe effect making Eric\x92s eyes hurt. Headache or not, she was the most welcome sight he\x92d seen in a long time. Eric started toward her\x97

And Aerune froze her in place with a gesture, trapping her within a cage of flickering blue light. The elvensteed, fully in horse-form now, stamped her foot, eyes flashing dangerously as she tossed her head in frustration.

\x93Move, hippie, and I drill you right now!\x94 Lintel barked, oblivious to the byplay. \x93You aren\x92t getting away this easily. Aerune wants you, and so do I.\x94

\x93Too bad neither of you gets him,\x94 a new voice said coolly. \x93I\x92d put that down if I were you, Mr. Lintel.\x94

Eric felt like cheering. Ria Llewellyn strode through the door, followed by Greystone. If Ria experienced any surprise at her surroundings\x97or the bodies all over the floor\x97she didn\x92t show it. She was wearing black leather and blue jeans, and looked deadly and confident.

And she had a gun.

Almost before she\x92d finished speaking, Lintel swept his pistol around and rapped off three shots directly at her chest.

\x93Ria!\x94 Eric shouted, aghast.

But she didn\x92t fall. She staggered back against Greystone, and steadied herself against the gargoyle\x92s outspread wing, but she obviously wasn\x92t hurt. She smiled a small wintery smile at Lintel.

\x93I\x92ve done plenty of corporate dueling in my time, but this is a little extreme,\x94 she said. \x93Oh, by the way. I\x92m sure we haven\x92t met. I\x92m Ria Llewellyn. Your boss.\x94

Then she shot Robert Lintel neatly in the knee.

He went down screaming, dropping his gun and scattering his men in confusion. Aerune\x92s elven guards surged forward and stopped, uncertain of whether they should try to take advantage of the moment. One of Lintel\x92s men knelt to try to help him. Eric ran down the steps and made it across the throne room to Ria\x92s side in the confusion.

\x93Glad you could make it,\x94 he gasped.

\x93Wouldn\x92t miss it for worlds,\x94 Ria answered. \x93Get back.\x94

Greystone lifted him out of the way just as a levin bolt flung by an enraged Aerune struck Ria full in the chest. It popped and sizzled, running all over her body like St. Elmo\x92s fire before sinking into the floor, but Ria stood her ground, as unharmed by elven magic as by mortal bullets.

\x93Stainless-steel chain mail,\x94 Ria called toward Aerune. \x93The least of mortal defenses. Very easy to make in the World Above\x97I\x92m sure Lintel\x92s men are wearing it.\x94

To Eric she said: \x93I\x92m going to distract him. Can you get your steed free? We\x92re going to need her.\x94

\x93I think so,\x94 Eric answered, his voice equally low. He reached out, feeling at the edges of the spell that had trapped Lady Day. It was a simple one, the Sidhe equivalent of a locked door. Now let\x92s see if I can find the key.

As he concentrated, Ria stepped forward, away from Greystone\x92s protection, and bowed her head, a conciliating, coaxing note entering her voice.

\x93My Lord, your power is vast and mine is very small. I am no match for you alone, even with weapons and armor of deathmetal from the World Above. But the Bard and I together can hold you off indefinitely. He has powerful patrons among the Seleighe Court who would much resent any harm you might do to him, nor is the gargoyle entirely friendless. I pray you, of your great mercy, allow us three\x97four\x97to depart your kingdom unmolested. We wish no quarrel with you.\x94

Aerune looked at her measuringly, resuming his seat and regarding her with bleak expressionless eyes.

\x93Ria!\x94 Eric hissed. She couldn\x92t be suggesting what he thought she was\x97just abandoning those five guys and Lintel to Aerune\x92s mercy? He looked behind him, through the open doors, but the rest of the Unseleighe Court seemed to have vanished; the outer room was empty. \x93What about Lintel and the others? We can\x92t just leave them here!\x94

Lintel\x92s agonized groans seemed to fill the room, setting his teeth on edge. A shattered kneecap was just about the most painful and crippling single wound possible to inflict.

\xA0\x93True,\x94 Ria answered, her voice low. \x93I can\x92t afford to leave Lintel to strike a bargain of his own. Saddle up as soon as you can, Eric. We may be leaving quickly. Greystone, you too.\x94

\x93Check, boss lady,\x94 the gargoyle said.

Aerune spoke again, a faint admiring smile upon his face.

\x93Very well, halfbreed. You, the Bard and his mount, and this . . . creature . . . which accompanies you, all have my leave to depart. But the others remain. Do these terms suit you?\x94

The magic around Lady Day dissolved, and the elven\xADsteed bounded toward the doorway and Eric, changing form back into a motorbike as she did so. Aerune paid no attention. Reluctantly, Eric swung his leg over Lady Day\x92s saddle. The elvensteed thrummed her engine, impatient to be away.

\x93They do, My Lord, and many thanks to you for your mercy,\x94 Ria said. She raised her gun once more and fired, placing a bullet squarely between Lintel\x92s eyes. The corporate raider slumped to the floor, silent in death, and the commando squatting beside him reached for his gun.

\x93No!\x94 Eric was half off Lady Day\x92s back\x97though what he could do, he wasn\x92t sure\x97when the elvensteed decided she\x92d had enough of this part of Underhill. With a banshee scream she took off, Greystone close behind. Nothing Eric could do could slow or turn her, and at the speed she was going, he didn\x92t dare just jump off. Eric looked back wildly over his shoulder, catching a last glimpse of the throne room before it vanished in the distance.

Ria stood alone before Lord Aerune.

 

\x93You are properly ruthless, halfling,\x94 Aerune said, getting to his feet. Though irritated by his loss, he looked intrigued as well. She\x92d counted more than a little on that. Elves were suckers for a grand gesture.

Not that Aerune was a sucker in any sense of the word.

He stepped down from his throne, and stood facing her across a tangle of bodies, Sidhe and human. With a wave of his hand, he banished them all to another part of his domain. No trace of the battle\x97or Lintel\x92s men\x97remained to mar the chilly perfection of his presence chamber. The doors of the throne room closed in the same moment, sealing Ria in with him.

Aerune held out his hand to her. The black mail gauntlet gleamed in the unchanging radiance of Underhill.

\x93It has been too long since I encountered anyone with such beauty who had yet the spirit to defy me. I do not think you have been properly valued by your kin, halfling, nor by the World Above. Matters could be otherwise. Have you considered\x97\x94

\xA0\x93And rejected, Great Lord,\x94 Ria answered steadily. This powerful Unseleighe Sidhe was offering her a seductive prize\x97his patronage, and with it, a place in Underhill. Once she could have asked for no greater reward.

Once.

\x93I want no bargain with you beyond that which I have already struck, Great Lord, though I prize your honorable offer for the tribute it is. I will go now, by your leave, and molest your realm no more. Lintel was my vassal, and he is well rewarded for his treachery. I leave you his men as my gift, to do with as you choose.\x94

Taking a calculated risk, she turned her back on Lord Aerune and walked away. The doors of the throne room opened before her, and she walked out into the deserted castle. No one tried to stop her, but Ria didn\x92t breathe completely easily until she\x92d reached the nearest Portal and taken herself beyond Aerune\x92s reach\x97or at least, his immediate reach.

I know this isn\x92t over. Now that he knows there\x92s something of value in the World Above, Aerune won\x92t stop until he figures out a way to get at it. But that\x92s a problem for another day. Thank God for small favors.

 

 

TWELVE:

\xA0TO END WHERE
WE BEGAN

As soon as Ria reached the World Above, everything that had happened in Aerune\x92s court began to take on a vague air of unreality. After passing through several Portals and nearly exhausting her store of Power, she\x92d come out in Sterling Forest, near the Nexus of Elfhame Everforest, and had to hike more than a mile before she found a phone she could use to call a car to take her back to the city. It was late Monday evening by the time she arrived back in New York\x97time ran differently in the World Above, sometimes to the World Above\x92s benefit.

The drive back to the City gave her a lot of time to think, mostly about the look of horror on Eric\x92s face as she shot Robert Lintel. There\x92d been no other choice, though. Aerune probably wouldn\x92t have let her take Lintel without a fight anyway, and if she had managed to bring him back to the World Above to face charges, the New York courts would probably have let him off on a technicality. That was the way the legal system worked when you had money and influence.

Ria had always preferred justice to law, and she\x92d spoken no more than the truth to the Unseleighe lord. What Lintel had done was in some sense her responsibility. Threshold was a LlewellCo company. Lintel had worked for her. Ultimately, she was responsible for what he\x92d done. Now he\x92d paid the dead for their loss in the only way possible, with his own life, and that simplified matters. He\x92d never have the chance to use the information he\x92d gained at the cost of so many innocent lives.

And if she had to lose Eric\x92s respect\x97and love\x97because of it, Ria was willing to pay that price, though it would hurt more than she liked to think.

I might as well find out now how it\x92s going to be as soon as possible, she thought grimly. There was no point in waiting to get bad news.

\x93I\x92ve changed my mind,\x94 she told the driver. \x93I\x92m not going to the Sherry. There\x92s a stop I want you to make first.\x94

 

The ride from Aerune\x92s castle to New York passed in a dizzying blur. After the first few seconds, he\x92d just closed his eyes and held on tight, and finally the elvensteed had stopped.

When he opened his eyes, the world spun giddily. Eric slid sideways off Lady Day\x92s saddle and into Greystone\x92s arms.

\x93Steady there, laddybuck. Strewth, that was the wildest ride I\x92ve been on since I was a gleam in the stonecarver\x92s eye!\x94 the gargoyle said cheerfully.

\x93Yeah,\x94 Eric said weakly. After a moment the world steadied, and he could stand on his own two feet.

He looked around warily. He was back in New York, behind Guardian House. It seemed strange that everything looked normal. It was dark. Eric had no idea what day it was, though from the powdered-sugar snow that fell lightly all around him, it was still December.

But what year? Not that I care right now.

\x93Let\x92s get you inside,\x94 Greystone said. \x93If ever a man could do with a stiff drink, boyo, it\x92s you.\x94

\x93No,\x94 Eric said, feeling a little better. \x93Not a drink. But I wouldn\x92t turn down a strong cup of coffee. Meet you upstairs.\x94

Greystone bounded skyward with surprising grace, settling back into his place with a flourish and a bow.

 

A shower and a change of clothes helped. He was still trying to sort everything out in his mind, trying to fit the events into some kind of order. Eventually he was going to have to figure out something to tell Toni and the other Guardians. They deserved to know how the story ended.

Greystone had joined him inside, his cheerfully ugly face contorted into an expression of worry as he watched Eric move around the apartment. Finally, coffee and sandwich in hand, Eric sat down on the couch.

\x93I can\x92t believe she did that,\x94 he said, sighing. As much as he tried to avoid it, Eric\x92s thoughts kept returning to that one image of the bullet hole in the middle of Lintel\x92s forehead, stopping him from thinking past it. He set his sandwich down on the table untasted. She\x92d just shot him. No hesitation, no remorse. Bam!

Greystone shook his head in sympathy. \x93I can\x92t either. Man, talk about cold . . . !\x94

\x93No,\x94 Eric said, grudgingly fair. Somehow Greystone\x92s putting his own thoughts into words made Eric see Ria\x92s side of things. \x93As much as I hate what she did, I think she was telling the truth. She didn\x92t have a choice. She couldn\x92t leave Lintel there in Underhill alive. Believe me, he and Aerune were this close to making a deal. Cold Iron in Underhill\x97humans knowing about elves\x97magic in the World Above\x97it would have been . . .\x94

It would have been just like my dream: New York a wasteland. Thousands\x97millions\x97dead. And Underhill . . . gone. Humans and Sidhe need each other. Our lives are too intertwined. One can\x92t really survive without the other. But that doesn\x92t mean most people need to know about Underhill, or magic, or the Nexuses, any more than they need to know how to build a nuclear warhead. Ria knew that. She did what had to be done. But that doesn\x92t mean I have to like it. . . .

\xA0\x93She could have brought him back here!\x94 Greystone protested. \x93I could\x92a carried him. Easy!\x94

Eric shook his head reluctantly and drank his coffee. The bitter warmth helped clarify his thoughts. \x93Then he\x92d be back here, alive, still knowing what he knows, with his cache of designer poison still out there somewhere. Sure, there\x92d be a trial, but he\x92d probably be out on bail while he was waiting for his court date, and that means he could escape back Underhill, strike a bargain with Aerune, or come up with something else horrible I haven\x92t even thought of yet. And Ria would be stuck in the middle of it\x97if she did anything to stop him here, she\x92d be the one who went to prison, not him.\x94

\x93Maybe,\x94 the gargoyle said grudgingly. \x93But I still think we should\x92a brought him back here and let Jimmie and the gang sort him out.\x94

\x93I don\x92t know,\x94 Eric said unhappily. Maybe that would have worked. But with the stakes so high, was it worth taking the chance? The worst of it was, he probably wasn\x92t going to see Ria again. He still wasn\x92t sure how she\x92d found him, but she had. She\x92d rescued him, given him all the help he\x92d asked her for, and he\x92d thrown it back in her face\x97and deserted her, even if that hadn\x92t exactly been his idea. He didn\x92t even know if she\x92d gotten out of Aerune\x92s realm alive.

Good going, Banyon. So much for your vaunted leadership abilities.

\x93I don\x92t even know where she is now, or if she even got out alive. Greystone, can you\x97\x94

\x93Well,\x94 Greystone said abruptly, \x93guess I\x92d better get back to work. No rest for the wicked, and all that. See you around, boyo. I\x92m going back on duty before anyone \xADnotices I\x92m AWOL.\x94

\x93Hey,\x94 Eric said, getting to his feet as Greystone climbed out the window. Maybe Greystone hadn\x92t wanted to be asked if he and the Guardians could find Ria, but that didn\x92t mean he had to just run off like that!

There was a knock at the door.

He stared after the gargoyle. The knocking continued. Thinking it was Toni, knowing that Guardian House would never allow in anything that could do its inhabitants any harm, Eric opened the door.

Ria was standing there, still dressed in battered denim and leather. A few snowflakes lay on her hair and shoulders, melting slowly. She looked tired, uncertain of her reception.

A vast relief filled Eric, as if he were finally able to set down a heavy load he\x92d been carrying, and he smiled.

\x93Glad you could make it,\x94 he said simply.

Her face relaxed into a smile of sheer relief, as if she\x92d gotten good news she\x92d hoped for but hadn\x92t expected. Eric stepped back, gesturing for her to enter.

\x93Wouldn\x92t miss it for worlds,\x94 Ria answered.

 

Later\x97much later\x97there was time to talk it all out. Ria explained the whole story from the beginning as she\x92d managed to piece it together, about Threshold\x92s black-budget project to come up with a drug that turned ordinary people into Wild Talents. How she\x92d tracked the project back to Threshold, found Lintel gone, and then followed Lady Day to find Eric, knowing that wherever Lintel was, he, too, would be hot on Eric\x92s trail.

\x93I still don\x92t like what you did,\x94 Eric said. \x93It wasn\x92t the only solution. We could have taken him to the Seleighe Sidhe, made him their problem. . . .\x94

Ria shrugged. \x93I don\x92t know that I trust them with Lintel anymore than I did Aerune. He was too much of a wild card. This was more expedient.\x94

Eric already knew he wanted Ria to stay a part of his life. But if he let her set the terms for their relationship, they\x92d still be in the same situation they\x92d been back in L.A., and that wouldn\x92t work for him.

\x93If we\x92re going to stay together, you\x92re going to have to promise me that if we get into any more situations, you won\x92t do the expedient thing anymore,\x94 he said firmly, but inside he was holding his breath, waiting for her answer.

She regarded him with a raised eyebrow, for a frozen moment looking more elvish than she did human. At last she smiled faintly.

\x93I\x92ll offer you a compromise, m\x92love. I won\x92t do the expedient thing without consulting you and letting you have a chance to convince me otherwise. Have we a bargain, O great Sidhe Bard?\x94

Eric thought about it for a moment. Things had changed between them, he realized. He wasn\x92t her pet. She wasn\x92t his lackey. They were equal partners. He found he liked the idea very much.

\x93That\x92ll work. I\x92ll be your conscience,\x94 he answered.

\x93Just like Jiminy Cricket,\x94 Ria said mockingly. She kissed him lightly on the forehead and got to her feet. \x93Don\x92t forget the cricket spent most of the movie as a ghost.\x94

\x93I\x92m not worried,\x94 Eric said contentedly.

Ria smiled, looking younger and softer\x97and somehow hopeful, as if she\x92d been offered a new beginning.

\x93And now, the police are probably looking for me\x97and I\x92ll bet you need to come up with an explanation for playing hooky from school today. I\x92ll probably be out of touch for a while, but don\x92t worry. Watch for me on the news. Then give me a call and we\x92ll have dinner. We\x92ve still got a lot of loose ends to chase down.\x94

\x93It\x92s a date,\x94 Eric answered. He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he didn\x92t care. He walked her to the door and stood in the doorway, watching her walk down the hall, still smiling.

I can\x92t wait to tell Kory and Beth about all this, he thought to himself. I wonder what they\x92ll say.

He heard the elevator cage rattle closed, and heard the elevator start down. Louis, something tells me this is the start of a beautiful friendship. . . .