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Mare
Mare sat in her living room with the others. Quayla had persuaded Terrance to hold off on forming the Shield link until they had all had a few hours’ sleep. Mare watched them work, waiting for them to finish so that the assembled shields and mortals could plan how best to eliminate the Goblin Markets intruding on Atlanta.
Anima’s voice floated in from the oracle. “I have an incursion at the Howell Mill Humane Society.”
“The what?” Mare asked.
Quayla rocked backward off her knees. “Faeries are stealing more animals to use as Arch fuel.”
Quayla’s fury passed to Mare, despite the Shield link not being complete. Terrance grabbed Quayla’s forearm, yanking her back down. “We’re not done yet, little sister.”
“We need to stop them,” Quayla said.
“I’ll stop them,” Mare said. “You and Terrance need to complete the link.”
“Doesn’t he need you here?”
“No,” Terrance said. “I need only two shields to build a link. Other shields can be added as need be. Let Mare take care of this.”
Quayla looked as if she might object, but instead turned to Mare. “Howell Mill is where a lot of this mess started. It’s—”
“With a certainty a trap crafted to lure you,” Mare finished for the younger phoenix. “With the speed of change these last three centuries, one must wonder how the Sidhe never thought to update their stratagem.”
“Be careful, Mare. I died there last time.” Quayla’s expression changed. She leapt to her feet, collected a disgruntled looking bronze statuette, and forced it into Mare’s fingers. “Take this so Anima can guide you there.”
“We’ll go too,” Billy said.
“Billy,” Rebecca started. “I’m sure Mare is more than capable of handling whatever is going on there. She doesn’t need your help.”
Mare flashed him a smile. “A Shield is more than one phoenix. Doubtless they will not expect reinforcement of your like.”
“A chance for a little mayhem?” Eric asked. “Count me in.”
“Is that all right?” Rebecca asked.
Mare nodded. “Many hands lighten the load.”
Quayla’s Skylings made Mare uncomfortable, but the Shield’s divine had deferred their Judgement. She liked the odd mortals despite herself and was doubly glad they could lead her true in one of the modern carriages called cars.
As well as van and Chevy—though I have no idea why they warrant so many names.
She sat in the ‘shotgun’ position, watching everything the bald Skyling did. The carousing fop leaned between the front two seats, dangling a hand over her shoulder. “Don’t know how to drive?”
Mare shook her head. “None of this existed last time I was alive.”
Eric smirked, fingers drawing a circle on her shoulder. “No problem, babe. Let an old pro teach you everything you need to know.”
Mare tensed. Every instinct in her insisted she break the offending appendage making unwelcome and too-familiar advances. On the other hand, she knew her social mores weren’t up to date.
I’m supposed to protect mortals, not injure them. Besides, within this new society, he may be unaware of his trespass.
“Ease off, man,” Billy said.
“Just being friendly,” Eric countered.
“Yeah, do it without touching, man. You can’t treat a proper eighteenth century lady like a barfly. Besides, that so-called babe is at least twice the age of our country and could break you into little pieces if you misbehave.”
Verily they are not completely ignorant, though he did speak of a lady’s age in mixed company.
“Might be worth it, Billy,” Eric smirked. “And it isn’t like I wouldn’t heal.”
“If you want to explain traffic laws and driving, then do so without hitting on her,” Billy said. “Otherwise, belt in so we don’t get a ticket.”
“He would strike a lady?” Mare asked Billy.
Billy glanced at her. “Different kind of hitting—even less palatable than striking you, but don’t worry, Shield Mare. He’s not going to do either unless he wants to learn what regrowing a head feels like.”
Eric eased back and settled into instruction. He started with basic laws for operating a carriage. She questioned the actions of several other vehicles only to have one of the Skylings confirm the operator had broken the laws they were teaching her.
“Has no mortal respect for law and order?”
“Dun-dun,” Eric chuckled.
Mare blinked back at him. “Pardon?”
“Ignore him,” Billy said. “He thinks he’s funny.”
Ignore the person teaching me?
“You’re right,” Billy said. “They’re ignoring the laws.”
“Why do your law keepers not stop such flagrancy?”
Billy shrugged.
“Hell if I know. Maybe ask Foxner,” Eric said. “Half the time the cops watch it happen and don’t do a damned thing.”
Mortal kind has truly fallen if the Church holds no power and law keepers fail in their duties.
By the time Eric moved on to the basics of driving, they arrived at a large tan building. Even before she opened the door, the anguished cry of dogs and cats pierced her heart. Stink slammed into her a moment later, pungent enough to overshadow Atlanta’s foul air.
“The Sidhe are torturing the animals.” Mare drew her hilts and rushed forward.
“Hold up,” Eric vanished in a puff of smoke. He reappeared a moment later. “I don’t see anything wrong.”
Billy rounded the front of Dave’s van.
“Do you not hear the cry of these animals?” Mare asked.
“Sure, but I didn’t see anything abnormal in there,” Eric said.
“Quayla said this was an animal shelter,” Mare said. “Does the word shelter no longer mean to protect?”
Anima’s voice escaped the statuette holding its nose. “The word remains the same, but most places like the Howell Mill Humane Society serve to collect strays—”
Eric’s expression soured. “Or Christmas puppies their families reject as too much trouble.”
“And put them to death if no one claims them,” Anima finished.
Horror shot through Mare. “They just execute healthy animals? Babies?”
Billy scowled. “Anima’s right. Humans are the least humane animal on the planet.”
Mare extruded essence into her hilt, forming a long, slender blade. She tightened her jaw. She’d see to the Sidhe incursion and then something would be done to stop the murdering of God’s creations.
A lewd chuckle bubbled from Eric’s grey lips. “Someone’s about to get a medieval beat down.”
“Indeed, they are,” Mare marched up to the building.
A short brunette in simple black tunic and pantaloons rushed to meet them. An over-large mahjong tile lewdly drawing attention to her breasts was inscribed with the name Kristin. “You can’t bring weapons in here.”
Mare fixed her with her gaze. “You are aware of the Sidhe?”
Kristin blinked.
“Faeries,” Billy said.
“What about them?” Kristin asked.
“They have invaded this parcel—possibly intent to steal more animals from your...,” Mare’s nose wrinkled, “...care.”
“This would be a good time to take the rest of the day off.” Eric flashed Kristin a smile. “In fact, if you want to give me your number, I can tell you when it’s safe—”
Billy cuffed Eric upside his head. “Focus, moron. Now’s not the time to date.”
Eric shot him a dirty look. “We can handle anything the Sidhe can throw at us.”
“So are the last words to part a fledgling’s lips,” Mare sighed.
“What?” Eric asked.
“Famous last words.” Billy smirked, teeth biting down onto his lip. “Let’s party.”
“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops,” Kristin said.
“Good plan, but do it from your car,” Eric grabbed her arm.
They vanished in a puff of smoke. He reappeared a moment later and fell into line behind the other two.
The building reeked, but a subtle hint of Unseelie taint drew Mare forward. She stepped over large, dark pawprints painted atop the floor’s tile. A sad mewing drew her eye to a room. Individual kittens occupied cages stacked like cargo, wire mesh keeping them from each other’s comforting touch.
The rush of rapids rose over the soft music in her ears.
Eric and Billy pushed open the doors ahead of her. Rows of large cages filled a gaping warehouse, few, if any, occupied by more than one animal. The room reeked of terror and sickness.
“Looks clear.” Billy slid left toward another door.
Her eyes agreed with the Skyling.
Her nose claimed the faeries come and gone.
The gooseflesh prickling Mare’s skin told another story.
She stopped, pushing essence from her neck in a series of pearl-sized globes. She closed her eyes and listened to her essence.
The sound of another door swinging open sent ripples through her concentration, but since neither of her mortal allies cried out, she focused on her senses.
Mare opened her eyes, pointing a sword tip at an empty area central amidst the cages. “The Sidhe are there.”
“Bullshit,” Eric said. “I don’t see anything.”
A low, menacing chuckle quieted the animals to all but the tiniest, pitiful whine. An elven knight dressed in resplendent evergreen, black raspberry, and silver appeared in the empty space, clapping slowly. “Very good, shield. Before the fighting begins in earnest, may I inquire as to Shield Aquaylae’s whereabouts?”
“Elsewhere,” Mare answered. “In the name of the Undying Light—”
A battle roar drowned out Mare’s words. Cages around cowering animals vanished. The animals blurred, reshaping into armed and armored faeries of every stripe.
Dolumii drew an ornate blade. “Kill the mortals and restrain the phoenix.”
Mare’s eyes locked on the silver-blue blade. Tormented faces moaned in its hilt—faces she recognized.
“Yes,” cruel delight danced in Dolumii’s voice. “The sword recognizes you too. It misses you.”
Vitae
I paced Dunham’s apartments. I needed to be doing something, but without an oracle, I possessed no idea where to find Sidhe incursions. Flying the city for several hours had provided a sampling of assorted weaker Sidhe, but it wasn’t enough. I had to get the druid’s resources under my control. Once that was accomplished, I’d build something to monitor my shire.
I cannot believe things have come to such a pass that I must trust modern mortal technology in lieu of Heaven’s design.
Heaven had cast me out.
I’d lifted my voice to the Undying for days.
No answer came from on high.
Chaos besieged Creation and wafers cried out for His protection.
As if we were not here the whole time.
Fearful mortals clogged heaven with prayers for selfish wants, answers they could never understand, and inconsolable whining. They nagged the Almighty like spoiled toddlers. They demanded attention. They demanded all of the things self-serving politicians insisted they were due. When their entitlements tarried or arrived in unwanted way, they threw tantrums.
Even through the unrelenting din, a shield’s voice should’ve attracted the Almighty’s ear. Servants of the Undying Light deserved no less.
He must listen and allow me redress. Was His son not falsely accused too?
Houses of worship amplified prayer, making the voice of faithful resonant to the ear of the Most High. Atlanta suffered a state of war. Shellshocked mortal soldiers and shields had become so desperate to defend themselves, that they hunted Sidhe-tainted and His righteous as if they were one and the same.
The resultant danger left me loath to seek out a house of worship without a nest filled with essence. I enlisted Savannah’s services to order a replacement basin. The effort to replace my nest suffered due to insufficient funds in my accounts—apparently drained by the Isaac as if the Watcher couldn’t See the false accusations against me for what they were. Savannah refused to use Dunham’s resources for the purchase until Circlestone’s legal department finished the ownership transfer.
I enthralled her.
No matter how much magic or money I pitted against the situation, there seemed no way to get the new basin to me in less than three days.
Only three of the Isaac’s ominous six remain.
My breath escaped in a growl. “This in insufferable. I need news!”
A large screen television flickered to life. A comely anchor spoke from the bottom corner of a live screen. Coyll, grendling, and dwarves worked a cordoned off stretch of cement slowly rotating below the camera.
“Speculation remains on what Atlanta’s faeries are making with the resources they’ve been collecting from citizens, but city engineers suggest whatever it is will reach monumental scales.”
Experience working with the Anseelie suggested the work site was immense. Coyll sorcerers melded broken wood into hollow, triangular trunks. Dwarves masoned stone around the base, while grendlings ferried buckets up scaffolding to dump, maroon concrete paste into the hollow inside.
“We’ve also received word that Atlanta isn’t the only city around the globe where the Sidhe are building. Mayors in New York, London, Los Angeles, and Moscow have reached out to Atlanta’s Mayor, pledging their cities will reach whatever the finish line is before Atlanta.”
The camera shifted away from the work site, across empty parking spaces to a blob of amber enfolding a MARTA station.
“Representatives at the Dunwoody Goblin Market have told this station that they will gift market currency to any Atlanta citizen donating building materials to the race. In addition to this philanthropic gesture, they’re also running a blood drive.” The screen shifted focus onto the anchor’s mischievous smile. “Let’s show those other cities who’s got the most spirit. Giving blood can save a life, but remember, if you’re bringing building materials stone and wood are welcome, but our faerie visitors are not accepting anything iron at this time.”
“News off?”
The television went dark.
They’re collecting blood?
Unease wriggled into my spirit until it made room for itself beside anger, outrage, and impatience. The Sidhe were building something, actually building, rather than simply magicking it together.
My dwarves had done the same, but at my behest. The propensity of the Sidhe as a people to conjure items—sometimes very temporary constructs—that they sold in their markets had always presented a challenge for shields too incompetent to take care of their equipment and too lazy to request hilt replacements in advance from the putti.
We never went to the Sidhe for such things in the old days. Shields weren’t corrupt before mortals outbred sense.
My pacing stopped near where the druid had caged Atlanta’s Shield. Ten five-gallon buckets hugged the foot of the nearby unbroken windows. I approached four buckets containing nuggets of throbbing flesh. For some unknown reason, the enforcer flesh hadn’t grown at the same rate as it had under my thrall’s care.
Troubled by the news report, I busied myself by removing each nodule. An extended razor of essence halved each, allowing me to divide the hunks into separate buckets.
“What are the Sidhe building?”
Dunham’s head came up, drooling in my direction.
Awake or asleep, he sat atop a small stool in the corner. Despite the infusion of my essence, he seemed to have no animus of his own—beyond the constant drooling—unless I gave him commands.
I gazed out the broken window at my city. There were so many things that needed my attention, not least of which the Sidhe’s new construction.
Atlanta’s corrupt water phoenix and her mortal allies ran amuck, destroying everything including the home I’d prepared. Mare wandered streets lost in Aquaylae’s lies. While Mare hadn’t said anything outright, it seemed not event Terrance or Ignis couldn’t be trusted to guide her.
Is it possible that despite what Aquaylae has done to corrupt them, that Terrance and Ignis may still rein in the damage she can inflict—if on instinct alone?
Heat blossomed on the underside of my chin. Everything had been falling into place until the selfish water phoenix interjected herself. Perfect order required only she be removed, but an uncertainty creased my brow.
What if there is no way to undo her influence on the others? How do I rebuild a Shield that she cannot corrupt?
The answer walked in, hung, bound, and gagged in one of Knight Jahriss’s hands.
General Small
General Small glowered at the television. “Do you believe this liberal bullshit?”
“Language, General,” Mrs. Cox scolded from her seat.
The two soldiers standing over her blanched.
Small shot her a dirty look. “These creatures have invaded our country, but the media’s reporting their activities like they’re some kind of philanthropists.”
“Faeries don’t give something for nothing,” she said.
“Didn’t you see what was going on in the background? That video clearly showed those morons collecting chunks of rubble from structures the invaders demolished and trading it—”
“Donating,” Mrs. Cox said. “Not trading.”
“People give them rubble the faeries could collect themselves, and the faeries give them some kind of pixie peso. What’s the damned difference?”
The old woman’s frown shifted from the screen to where her book sat out of reach behind him. “I imagine it is a vital and dangerous distinction, General.”
“That’s hair-splitting bullshit, and you know it!”
Mrs. Cox darkened, folding her arms across her chest.
“They’ve made a fatal mistake, and now I’m going to crush them like the bugs they are!” He slammed a thumb down on his intercom. “Captain, get in here!”
A young man garbed in a dress uniform opened the door and snapped off a crisp salute. “Sir?”
“Mobilize everything not already assigned. If they’re stupid enough to broadcast their location, we’re going to flatten them, and whatever the hell they’re building before they can finish.”
“General, that might not be the wisest course,” Mrs. Cox admonished. “Your men aren’t equipped to deal with the Sidhe.”
He pointed at the book. “Then translate the damned book.”
“Let me go, and we’ll discuss it,” she countered.
“You say that book holds their secrets,” Small snarled. “It’s your patriotic duty to share that intel.”
“Patriotism cannot be demanded at gun point, young man.”
“The hell it can’t. Either you care about your country and its fighting men or you’re a traitor.” Small closed the distance, eyeing the soldiers and dropping his voice. “I can shoot traitors during wartime.”
“You’re violating my rights.”
“I’m going to violate your skull with a bullet if you don’t start fucking cooperating.”
Mrs. Cox stood, glaring up at him. “You will watch your language in my presence, General.”
“Or what?” Small snarled.
“Give me back my Sunday chicken pan, and I’ll show you.”
“Dump her in the stockade. We’ll take care of this the old-fashioned way.”
A soldier took each of her arms, leading her toward the door. She spoke over her shoulder. “You’re way out of your depth, young man. All you’re going to do is get these boys killed.”
“We have the most advanced weaponry in the world.”
Mrs. Cox called back from beyond the doorway. “They’re going to catapult your posterior into a sling.”
Small’s forces rolled into Perimeter Mall’s parking lot from the rear. Across the way, a whiskey-colored bubble surrounded another invasion point. He debated starting his assault there, but the number of civilians made collateral damage a distinct possibility.
I’ll evict these interlopers, flatten their forward construction, then turn my attention on their foothold.
Once the explosions started, the civilians would scatter, clearing a path for him to dig out the enemy. Securing and policing Atlanta dwindled the forces he could bring to bear, but medieval Disney characters couldn’t stand up to the might of the United States Army.
Commanders arrayed infantry and armor in a semi-circle at the edge of the parking lot. He stood in the door of his Humvee, scanning the invaders. Several large brutes moved larger loads alongside thick-bodied men with hillbilly facial hair. Disney dandies and some small, tan werewolves watched the perimeter.
There were no fortifications. Only the twin rising triangular towers and pallets of materials provided any appreciable cover.
This is going to be too easy.
Just the same, he hadn’t made his stars or his nom de guerre through under deployment. He’d give them one chance to surrender. A grin spread across his face. If they didn’t surrender, he’d unleash his full might until they were a recalcitrant smear mark of blood and guts.
“General, incoming.”
Small lowered his binoculars. “Status on air cavalry?”
A black sedan raced across the parking lot toward them from the direction of the Sidhe foothold.
“Staged and awaiting orders, sir.”
“Good.” The order to get rid of the approaching civilian poised on his lips. Make, model, and color of the vehicle forewarned the visitors might be one of the federal agencies he’d been ordered to coddle lest he hurt their feelings.
He dismounted, shoving his binoculars into the Captain’s hands. A quick check verified every uniform line straight and his medals prominent enough to settle any questions of superiority.
The head of SNat climbed out of her car, bruised face flush. As her heels clacked across the pavement, she uncorked a bottle of red liquid, pressing it to her lips, and downed it with a repulsed expression. Red light glowed around her, concentrated on her head. A small pair of wire cutters emerged from her purse, snipping away wires holding her jaw shut. She paused only to flex her jaw before shoving the wire cutter’s tip into Small’s chest. “What the hell are you doing, General?”
“My job, Captain. Eliminating hostiles.” He pointed at the empty vial. “I could consider what you’re holding evidence that you’re complicit with these Tinkerbelles.”
Her hand swept the construction site. “Those Tinkerbelles, as you call them, are lawfully registered to do business here. They’re all lawfully registered in the SNat database, and lawfully granted permission to be within Atlanta city limits.”
“I don’t care if you shoved LoJacks up their asses. Those are hostiles. They’ve invaded this territory, and I am going to remove them—one way or another.”
The tone of Gamete’s voice pitched up a fraction. “The Mayor has authorized their presence. His Honor doesn’t want anything interrupting their project.”
“Their project?” Small snorted. “Does your Mayor have any idea what they’re building?”
“Well, no, but Atlanta is in competition with several other major cities.”
“So I saw on the news. Well, I’ve got bad news for you and your Mayor, missy. Atlanta’s going to lose because I’m about to flatten that thing.”
“You can’t!” Gamete shifted closer, bringing her height to bear over Small. “The Mayor—”
“Doesn’t sign my paychecks,” Small snarled. “Frankly, I’m surprised that you have the gall to drink their witch brews after turning in that other cop.”
“That was different, Rina—”
“I. Don’t. Care.” Small closed the distance until only a skinny breeze could slip between them. “Clear off or my men will shove you in the same cage.”
“All commanders report in position, General.”
Small shot Gamete a dirty look and strode toward the construction site. He didn’t particularly want to offer terms to these freaks, but rules of war required it of him.
A tiny tan and grey werewolf met him at the perimeter. “Are you here to contribute, General?”
“No,” Small growled. “I’m here to accept your surrender.”
“Surrender?” The werewolf asked.
Behind him, the pointy-eared dandies and other werewolves shifted position to the near edge of the construction.
“You are enemies of the United States. You will cease all activity, lay down any armaments in your possession, and surrender into my custody.”
Brutes more than twice Small’s height set down their loads, cracking massive knuckles. Werewolves and dandies rubbed their hands together like greedy toddlers at an ice cream buffet.
“Or what?” the werewolf asked.
Small gave the little wolf a predatory smile. “I splatter your guts across the pavement.”
“General!”
Small stepped back from the werewolf, positioning himself to watch the creature and check his lines. Glowing doorways opened behind his troops.
“It’s an ambush!” Small jerked his sidearm free, shot the werewolf between the eyes, and rushed back to his Humvee. Balls of fire and bolts of magic forced him into a serpentine fighting retreat. “Fire at will! Slaughter them all!”