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Kit turned Fain’s phone on long enough to see the flurry of emails that Medina had sent, first in concern that Fain wasn’t back yet, and then out of outrage at what Kit had done to Fain. Damn. It had taken them less than a day to figure out her ruse. Well, it was enough time to get away, Kit thought, as she shut the phone off to conserve the battery. Medina had been giving Kit enough of a stink eye when she thought Kit was going to seduce her man. Now that she no doubt thought that Kit had killed him, she would be rallying everyone for vengeance. Kit could have explained that he’d be right as rain on the third day, but she didn’t really want to have that conversation with Medina.
Kit had been worried until she was up in the air, but once the sunlight poured on her skin through the window, she felt home free. She used the phone’s camera to take a few selfies, one or two serious, and then two mugging for the camera with duck lips, which looked hilarious with Fain’s face. They hadn’t blinked at Leonard Fain buying a ticket. Her face matched the driver’s license in his wallet, which matched the name of the credit card. But she’d still worried about it until the moment she felt that gentle hand of gravity pushing her into her seat and saw the pillowy tops of the clouds beneath them. She fell asleep before the captain turned off the fasten seatbelt sign and didn’t wake up until they were making their final descent into Dallas.
A flight with two layovers was not her first choice of ticket, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Kit wasted too much of the precious daylight in Dallas, though she did manage to find some remarkably good barbecue at an airport restaurant. Her next layover was at LAX, and she nervously watched a spectacular smog-fueled sunset while the ticket agent explained “I’m sorry sir, but that flight’s delayed. Please have a seat until your name is called.”
She was tired of being Fain. She almost forgot herself by going into the wrong lavatory at the airport, dodging into the men’s at the last second, and having to pee while hovering over a really disgusting seat. As soon as she got back to the waiting area, she had to pee again. And she was tired. She just wanted to be home with her family.
Kit charged Fain’s phone, but stared at it for a full twenty minutes trying to figure out how to explain what happened to Holzhausen. Would he even pick up if he saw what number it was calling from? Would he even pick up in the middle of the day when he was sleeping? A balance of risks. Risk that Medina was going to track Kit’s phone? Moderately high. Risk that Fain could track his own phone if they somehow managed to wake him from his psychologically-induced coma (surely Sorrow could help with that?) very high. Chance that Fenwick or Holzhausen or someone else in Seabingen could protect her if she somehow managed to convince them who she was and what had happened? That she wasn’t so sure of.
Finally, her flight was called. Once off the ground she relaxed only slightly, still feeling the danger.
No, she couldn’t trust that Sorrow hadn’t already contacted Holzhausen and told him some lies. As soon as dusk fell, Sorrow could be on his way to Seabingen. It would be faster just to make sure that Sorrow couldn’t get in once he arrived. Even if they’d told Sorrow right away about what Kit did to Fain, Sorrow wouldn’t be able to catch a flight until after sunset, which meant she had just enough of a window to get to the refreshables and pull out his token so that he couldn’t enter the ward around the city. Which one would Holzhausen have chosen? As the last flight descended, she mentally mapped all the caches in her mind and chose the most likely, close to his house, easy to access.
At the airport, Kit sailed past the baggage claim and went to the garage where she’d left her car. Kit’s car was still in the parking lot, just as she left it.
And then she remembered her keys were still in Arizona, with her phone, her bindi, the other stake, her night vision goggles, and the rest of the things she packed. Kit sighed deeply and walked back to the area just outside the baggage claim to get a cab, very aware that the sun had just set. Any moment now, Sorrow could be arriving. An invisible clock ticked in her head as she used the app on Fain’s phone to pay for a ride. He could probably track it, she knew, but it was just about too late for that. Fain was never going to come back to Seabingen, unless things drastically changed.
If the driver thought it was strange to drop her off on the sidewalk across the street from a closed strip mall, he didn’t say. She waited until the car drove off before ducking under the guardrail and down the narrow slope next to the road where the guy wire from the pole was bolted to an eyebolt protruding from cement. The slope ended in a chain link fence at the bottom to keep people from jaywalking across the busy road. Plastic bags, drink cups and other detritus silted the bottom of the hill and the rest of it was equally ugly, with a few feisty weeds struggling up through cracks in the cement.
Even though she’d placed it herself, it took her a few minutes to find the cache among the thick summer weeds. The cache was deliberately unnoticeable. A handle-less paint can, sprayed powder gray to match the guy wire and pole, had been strapped securely to the eye bolt with clinched metal straps that had begun to rust streaks onto the can. If you didn’t know what you were looking for, it seemed like it belonged there. She hadn’t added or removed any names in a few months, and it looked like two of the weeds had been knocked down recently, perhaps by Holzhausen.
Kit searched the weeds for a scrap of something to open the can with. She and Holzhausen always brought one of those handy paint can openers from the paint store. Well, Holzhausen always brought one. Kit had been known to use a flathead screwdriver, which bent the can out of shape, which drove Holzhausen nuts. She picked up cans and bottles, wishing the streetlight were brighter here. She found a pen and tried to use that, but the tip just snapped off. Would it be worth it to go home and get a tool? No, because it was at least a half hour walk from there, and then she’d have to explain to Fenwick why she looked like Fain, and by that time Sorrow’s hypothetical plane could have landed. It was nearly nine p.m. Sunday. It was already Sunday. Where had the weekend gone?
Kit ducked back under the guard rail and searched the parking lot but didn’t find anything she could use as a tool, not even a rusty nail or a screw. It began to rain, one of those half-drizzle half-fog mists that the Pacific Northwest was known for. She searched all the way to the road, searching by the wan streetlight and wishing she had her night vision goggles which Fain had stolen, the jerk. Traffic was light, just a few cars leaving the parking lot. She walked back and forth on the overpass, using the better light from the bridge to find some trash she could use as a tool, but all she found were empty water bottles and more plastic bags, some with dog poo in them. Someone had dropped a watch and a Bic pen and half of what might have been a plastic doll. A jogger passed, giving her an odd look. Kit picked up a flattened beer can and ducked under the chain link fence, which had been bent back away from the pole in a few sections, probably by the graffiti artists who wrote P3N15 in block letters with a helpful illustration in case you didn’t understand what the numbers were meant to stand for.
She got busy folding the can over itself to make a paint can opener. She heard someone on the street above but ignored him until he stopped on the overpass. The rain began trickle from her neck down the back of Fain’s shirt.
But then the cyclist came back. Worse, he stopped right above her.
“Fain? Is that you?” said a familiar voice, as Nguyen dismounted and leaned his bike against the fence above her on the overpass. He was wearing racing gear and had his bike with him.
Kit sighed. Could she explain? Would he believe her? Would it be better to pretend to be Fain, or to reveal that she could disguise herself? She liked the idea of keeping that secret from as many people as possible in case she had to use it again, but was Nguyen going to call a squad out on her? Fain had been expelled from the Guild, but those two went way back.
“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Nguyen said, and he didn’t sound hostile at all. Just a casual chat, fancy meeting you here, whatcha’ up to? That was a relief. He ducked under the chain link to join her on the slope. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story,” Kit said, not bothering to disguise her voice. If he recognized her, fine, if not, she wouldn’t waste time trying to convince him she wasn’t Fain. The important thing was to get the cache open and remove Sorrow’s name. It was taking her forever to bend the flattened can into a tool. “Do you have a flathead screwdriver I could borrow?”
“I have a tire setting tool. Would that work?” Nguyen was already taking his lock off his bike and pulling some tools out of a small nylon pannier.
“Maybe,” Kit said, and went back to pounding the metal with a rock against the concrete slab, trying to get it flat enough to open the can. “What I need is a paint can opener.”
Kit was so caught up in her struggle to open the can that she didn’t realize Nguyen had been faking his camaraderie until something hard and metal was sliding around her neck. She was wrenched backwards and then a lock clicked.
“What the—Nguyen?” Kit couldn’t turn her head. Her fingers flew to her neck where she felt a thick, hard, rubber-covered cylinder of metal. She felt back to where it attached to the other bar.
He’d used his bike lock to fasten her to the metal guy wire.
Nguyen slipped Fain’s phone out of her pocket and backed up quickly, as if Kit were potentially deadly. He pulled out his phone and called someone.
“Norwicki, I have good news. You’ll never guess who came crawling back to Seabingen. Fain.” A pause. Nguyen threw Fain’s phone downhill, far enough that it sailed over the chain link fence at the bottom to land on the street. “I have no idea what he’s doing. The Spider tipped me off that he’d be here.”
“Nguyen, I’m not Fain,” Kit said. A bicycle U-lock. He’d locked her to the wire with his bike lock. “It’s me, Melbourne. I’m in disguise. Let me go. I have to do something. It’s very important.”
“That’s the best you can come up with?” Nguyen said. “Did you hear that? He’s claiming he’s not Fain.”
“Don’t hurt me, Nguyen. It’s not what it looks like. I’m not Fain. I’m Melbourne.” Kit tugged fruitlessly at the U-lock, but she didn’t even have enough room to turn her head. First, she couldn’t get the paint can open, and now she had to get this off? Maybe she could pick it or something. She’d seen a video online about these things. Didn’t she see a Bic pen up there on the overpass? “Let me go. I’m in disguise. I’m not Fain.”
“Do you really think anyone but Councilman Albers will lose sleep over us dawning an exile?” Nguyen said, showing enough hatred that Kit recoiled.
If he came closer, if he looked in her eyes, she could maybe ensorcell him into unlocking her.
Nguyen turned away from her and walked back up the hill. “I was going to go home and shower first, but what if that’s enough time for him to escape? He still has friends in town who might let him out.”
Kit mentally aimed her teek at the lock. One, two, three, unlock! Nothing happened. Come on, come on, couldn’t her telekinesis work just one time?
“I took his phone away, but if I saw him, someone else might. Or the Spider could tell someone. What happens if he escapes justice again? I’d shoot him, but I didn’t bring a gun with me.”
Kit thought about the pen she’d used earlier to try to open the paint can. She pointed at it and summoned her will, trying to use her teek to pull it towards her. Something seemed to strain inside, but the pen didn’t budge. How many plates had she broken? How many locks had she inadvertently locked or unlocked, and now when she needed it, it wasn’t working!
“How long will it take Walker to get here?” Nguyen said.
Walker? He was sending the one person in the Guild who hated both Kit and Fain with equal measure, one of the few people who could withstand ensorcellment. He’d probably shoot her just for fun. Explaining that she was Kit wasn’t going to get her any mercy. Kit pointed her hand at the pen again, visualizing it flying to her hand, landing in her palm. Nothing happened. “Nguyen, I’m not Fain!”
“And he’ll guard him until just before dawn?” Nguyen sighed. “I suppose that will have to do. Fain’s not likely to get out in twenty minutes.”
Nguyen didn’t get close enough to ensorcell. Mounting his bike, he rode off as if there were somewhere important he had to be. Where was he going ... oh, the memorial service for Damien Norwicki. Kit was going to miss it. Damnit. All the crap she’d been through, and now she was going to miss that too. It was too much.
Kit closed her eyes, thinking of the pen. “Come on, come on!” she muttered, as if her teek could be reasoned with.
She tried again on the lock, both with brute force and by visualizing the tumblers moving over, but it was like making her nostrils flare or her ears move, she knew she had the ability to do it, but she couldn’t do it consciously. If only she’d become Sorrow’s apprentice, Kit thought, and then felt sadness. Everything she’d striven for was to get a teacher to take her to the next level, and now she wasn’t going to get that.
“Please, please, please,” Kit pleaded, with an outstretched hand.
She closed her eyes. She wasn’t much given to despair, but she felt panic creeping up on her. Twenty minutes. If she were still here in twenty minutes, no pleading would get her out. She couldn’t ensorcell someone who had also been Sorrow’s apprentice. Walker would be wise to her tricks, not like Fain.
She concentrated, imagining the pen flying to her hand. Using every ounce of her being she visualized the pen lifting off the ground and flying into her hand. Just this once, let it work. Just this once. “I just need the pen. Please. Please.”
The pen touched her palm, and her fingers closed around it. Kit’s eyes flew open.
A sleepy looking crow perched on the guy wire. “Kaa,” he said. He fluffed up his feather and shook himself to get the rain off.
She had never loved her familiar as much as she did right then. She projected an outpouring of love and gratitude at him that made him preen in embarrassment. Then she bit the plastic cap off the end and shoved the pen into the end of the U-lock. Twisting it fiercely, she felt the cross bar loosen and the lock slid forward off her neck.
Looked like the online videos were right. Those U-locks were easy to pick.
How long had she spent messing with it? Did she have time to try and open the paint can and see if Sorrow’s name was in it? But what if Holzhausen had put his name in more than one? Redundancy was the mark of a good mage. Always do more than you need. Kit swore. Walker would be here any minute. He would kill her. Holzhausen wouldn’t kill her, even if he thought she was Fain. He’d at least let her explain.
She’d have to go to Holzhausen’s house and convince him to help her repeal Sorrow’s invitation before he arrived. Kit sighed, trying to dig deep for a second wind of energy that baby number three wasn’t stealing for its own uses. The rain was pouring down in earnest now, and Holzhausen’s house was several miles away. She heaved herself to her feet and started to jog.
By the time Kit got to Holzhausen’s house, the rain had become insistent. Her clothing became soaked, and despite the summer night she felt chilly. She’d had to half-wade through a gully in the street in front of his house and her socks had wicked up cold muddy water to mid-calf. Panting from the exertion, she ran across the edge of his property, feeling the faint tinge as she crossed the ward. Normally she would be able to see it, but without her bindi the world felt normal and unmagical.
She approached Holzhausen’s house from the lane behind it, which led to a gravel lot where Holzhausen, his guests, and his bodyguards parked their cars. She recognized Holzhausen’s Jaguar and Campbell’s truck, but the third car she didn’t know. It had an out of state license plate. A rental car.
“He’s here,” she whispered aloud. She was too late. She should just go, go home, warn Fenwick and the kids that they had to leave as soon as possible. Run somewhere that a faerie vampire mage couldn’t find them.
And then what? They couldn’t run forever, and what were they going to do for money? How would she explain it to Holzhausen? And they wouldn’t be safe, would they? Even if he couldn’t hurt Kit, he’d hurt more dryads, more curses, more twisted trees suffering without witches to heal them. But he was so strong. She couldn’t hope to defeat him. She needed help.
Kit felt her awareness suddenly expand as Yseulta’s mind touched her. She had done this to Kaa once or twice, out of necessity. Being on the other end, it didn’t feel so bad. Vast, powerful, too overwhelming for her to concentrate on anything as complicated as walking. Kit stopped. She felt the trees around her, roots under her feet, crowns overhead. She felt all the trees in Holzhausen’s park-like yard, the living and the dead fir and next to it, the dryad—
Why was there a dryad here?
And then Yseulta gave Kit a nudge, and Kit understood the plan. She wasn’t sure whose idea it was, if it had been Yseulta’s or if it had come to Kit suddenly, but all were of an accord. She knew what she had to do; she knew her part. The forest defends itself, when it can. And this forest had a human familiar.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered. “You can count on me.”
Yseulta’s awareness retreated enough to let Kit control her body again. Taking a deep breath and wiping some of the water from her face, Kit walked to the back door and knocked.