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Terrance
Dunham’s voice interrupted Terrance’s meditation. “Good morning, Terra.”
The meditation served two purposes. The practice kept him calm in a cage no bird was meant to endure, and it shifted the focus away from lingering pain from separating essence.
“I am forced to take your word on this,” Terrance said.
“Don’t you have an innate sense of day and night?”
“Trusting such a sense seems a foolish choice while penned and idle without cues for light or dark.”
A shadow of overlarge finger and thumb braced Terrance’s chest. The sensation spread as his jailor wrapped Terrance’s egg or its simulacrum within his palm. Terrance braced himself for a tyrant’s lesson, but the pain didn’t arise.
“Today you will see daylight. I have a task for you.”
Terrance let silence seed and grow. After a few moments he felt the grip on his egg tightened. “You will answer, Terra.”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
“I expected curiosity from you.”
“Curiosity is a waste of energy for a slave,” Terrance said.
“I have intelligence of a skirmish between Seelie and Unseelie forces. I wish you to crush both sides. No one save yourself may walk away.”
“That would violate the Articles of Ararat.”
“Those articles don’t apply to me,” Dunham said. “Besides, dead faeries don’t complain.”
“I am bound to adhere to the Articles.”
“If you consider yourself a slave, then you recognize you don’t have a choice in this matter.”
Terrance inclined his head.
“Do you require a weapon to accomplish this task?”
Terrance considered for a moment. He didn’t doubt Dunham would forbid Terrance the latitude to use such weapons against his captor before their conversation concluded. Still, prudence required he skew his warden’s information.
“A cudgel.”
“I’ll have one readied while you shower.”
“How civilized of you.”
The ghostly grip tightened until Terrance’s ribs threatened to crack. “I don’t appreciate your tone.”
“I do not appreciate being caged. If you truly have the means to control us, why would you require these cages?”
“I imagine you will answer that question on your own after I release you.” Dunham’s tone became more practiced, as if the words that followed were a well-traveled path. “You will obey me, Terra. You will fulfill the mission I assign without deviation and return directly here for insertion back into your cage. Acknowledge command and your compliance.”
“I acknowledge these commands and will comply.”
“Good. You will act civilized on these premises. You will make no attempt to disrupt operations or call attention to yourself. You will ensure all of the Seelie and Unseelie at the location where I send you are slain. Acknowledge command and your compliance.”
“I have already done so.”
“Then do so again.”
“I have received and will comply with your commands.”
“If you encounter one of your other shields, you will subdue, capture and return them here to me. Acknowledge command and your compliance.”
Shields plural.
The repetition was tedious, but the command itself wasn’t. This latest command also didn’t have the practiced feel, as if Dunham had added it in response to a recent development.
So, one of us saw Aquaylae or Vitae and didn’t apprehend them. Interesting.
“I will comply.”
The dark, sludge-filled walls tilted before something raised the swirling darkness. Terrance waited, blinking away the dazzling but dim lighting. He absorbed what he could of his first look at their greater jail. A dark cell to Terrance’s left contained what had to be Ignis. An empty bell jar stood to Terrance’s right.
He turned inside a perimeter made of glowing runes expecting to glimpse the other two cages. Summus slumped in the center of a much larger stone. Stringy, sweat-soaked hair draped his face. The limbs Terrance could see lacked the healthy color and soft lines of a well-nourished phoenix.
“Summus?”
Summus’s head rose at the sound of his voice. A drawn, exhausted face looked up from beneath divine phoenix’s locks. His head fell back down without a word.
What have they done to you, little brother?
Terrance’s eyes shifted over Summus’s head to the other two cells. A blond girl crumpled inside another bell jar much like the empty one. There wasn’t any real way to tell, but something about the frame of her face suggested Caelum. Between the two transparent cages, a cage composed of a strange beaded curtain reeked of poison.
Dunham cleared his throat.
Terrance turned around, getting his first close look at the large powerful man. Terrance’s last several forms would’ve been a match for this man physically, but a super-real presence cloaked him like a second skin. A fine, fitted suit covered most of Dunham’s skin, but woad tattoos peaked out of the gaps, suggesting their captor had Celtic ancestry.
“You summoned the kudzu elemental?” Terrance asked.
“What happened to curiosity being a waste of energy?”
“This isn’t curiosity.”
Dunham’s brow rose. “Something more akin to ‘know thy enemy?’”
Terrance smiled.
Dunham offered a set of sweats and a security badge. “You will find a labeled locker in the thirteenth-floor gym. You’ll find street clothes that fit you once you’re showered. The security desk downstairs will have your weapon and an address.”
“What happens if the forces exceed my capabilities?”
“If you honestly feel you’re that out-classed, let them fight first and pick off the remains.”
“Very well.” Terrance took what he was offered. “Thank you for your consideration.”
“Traipsing through my business naked, while pleasant for some, would interrupt business and clog up HR.”
“Eminently practical.” Terrance slipped into the sweats. “May I begin the mission you have assigned?”
Dunham inclined his head.
Quayla
Something heavy settled onto my sternum, causing a small throbbing. I opened my eyes to find Grynnberry smirking down at me in my temporary lodgings. The little nymph wore a dapper suit probably just as much pure glamour as what he wore when human sized. Honey brown eyes just lighter than his hair danced beneath neat locks and twitching antennae.
“My, you are a sound sleeper,” the little nymph said. “I could have done just about anything to you—less interesting in your current gender, but still so very tempting.”
I blew into his face.
He managed to curse me before he crumpled to my chest.
A quick search turned up nothing useful to cage him, so I left him on the cot while I broke into my old apartment and fetched the large glass jar I’d prepared for him. The state of my kitchen made me want to cry. The goblins had ransacked it completely, including draining every microscopic bit of honey in the house.
I tried not to see the nests the goblins had made from the shredded pages of my books. Gratitude welled up that Mrs. Cox had spared me a trip into my bedroom to get her rent.
Grynnberry remained out when I got back into my temporary place. I slid him into the jar, being gentle not to harm his wings and put the lid on tight. I put the jar on my lap. I adjusted it a little. I gave up on the third try and went to the bathroom. When everything was relaxed, I propped him on my lap once more and waited.
“You filthy, bitch!”
After nightmares of cages and killing innocents, I had no patience for the little faerie. “Give me one reason not to kill you.”
“Oh, I don’t know, the rules?”
“All bets are off right now, Grynn, so you better start talking and I’d better enjoy the story. How’d you even know I was here?”
“You may have lost all your soft luscious bits, but you still smell like a spring rain, kiddo.”
We used smell to identify faeries. That they had the ability to do the same shouldn’t have been something just occurring to me.
“Answers, Grynn.”
“Questions, Quayla.”
My temper hit like a flash flood. I shook the bottle. “Dammit, faerie, I’ve had about all I can take of people playing games.”
Grynnberry cried out, trying to find a midpoint to hover only to snap a wing against a side during one particularly violent shake.
“If that’s the way you’re going to treat someone exiled for helping you, then I’ll just tell the Courts where you’re hiding. Might buy me a pardon.”
I shook the jar with each word. “What. Are. You. Talking about?”
“Stop! Stop! I know why they took the animals!”
Gravity reversed itself in my stomach. I dropped the jar. It bounced off my knee then onto the carpet. A litany of curses to turn British Marines into Catholic saints escaped the tiny Sidhe.
I lunged off the cot, catching the jar before it broke, adding to my already substantial list of problems.
Grynn glowered up at me. “You fucking, flaming, fart-licking, leaper whore!”
“I’m sorry, all right, that was an accident.”
“You broke my wings! All of them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ll be sorry when the Courts know where to find you.”
I left him on the floor threatening and cursing while I ransacked the kitchen. Through some small miracle I found an ancient jar of honey—the inside heavily crusted in crystals. I fished a spoon out of a sink full of moldy dishes, gave it a quick scrub and returned to the imprisoned faerie. I popped the top of both jars, scraped the spoon through the honey and dropped it in with Grynnberry.
He pounced on the spoon before it stopped clattering. Grynnberry crunched honey crystals and shot me the nastiest look he could manage while enraptured.
“I’m sorry, Grynn. Breaking your wings really was an accident.”
He harrumphed and chewed honey.
Grynnberry was a Sidhe. He didn’t belong in Creation and he sure as hell-blight wasn’t innocent. Just the same, the condition of his wings—seeping blood and nymph dust—overloaded my already burdened soul. I turned my back on him, shoulders shaking as all the stress of the previous two days hit me full force.
“I’m out.”
For a moment I thought he was bragging about escaping, but a glance showed him extending a clean spoon and tapping his foot. I tipped his prison over very slowly so he could crawl out. I set the honey in front of the opening and turned my back on him once more.
The home I’d made wasn’t feet from where I sat and yet it was destroyed and desecrated. Everything that had been mine, my movies and books, my kitchen and bedroom were little better than junkyard fodder.
I need to get over all of this. I can’t just sit around and cry.
That was what I chose to do until Grynnberry came around and patted my hand. “Jeez, Quayla, they will grow back.”
A quick scan of my surroundings offered no tissues, so I stooped to wiping my nose on a forearm in typical male fashion.
“Look, stop crying, promise me another jar of honey and I’ll tell you what I learned.”
I nodded and sniffed.
“The Wyldfae took all those animals to sell, but not as food. Well, okay, they didn’t sell the cats exactly. Ralein worked up some special collars for them.”
“What do the collars do?”
“The dog collars nullify seeds in range.”
“The cat collars?”
“Here’s the genius. The cats are released back into Creation at a time chosen by warring Sidhe.”
I frowned.
“Look, when some Seelie challenges his opposite, a Wyldfae sells him and his opponent a spell scroll that opens a temporary arch.”
“How are the cat’s involved?”
Grynn folded his arms. “After the release time, the scrolls splat their respective cat, using each animal’s life to open up a temporary Arch. Then they release the dogs through the Arches to spread out, taking down the local seeds before someone follows through to brace up the Arch—instant war zone.”
“That’s awful.”
“Be a man.”
I shot him a glare.
“I don’t know how the Wyldfae knew they’d need so many portable battle grounds, but they’re making a killing in every Goblin Market around the globe,” Grynnberry snort-giggled. “Pun totally intended.”
I stared at the little Sidhe. The ramifications of what he’d told me raced around my mind like a puppy after its own tail. The Wyldfae had planned to supply a war they knew was coming because they’d been orchestrating it. The question was why.
What do they gain by helping the Courts fight on mortal ground?
My encounter in the crayon scribble flashed across the forefront of my thoughts.
The Exiled Lady—one of the Dark Trinity—one of three.
The Seelie and Unseelie Courts had queens. Sure, they had countless children from among their favorites, allowing them to seed Creation with little echoes of their royal Courts—whatever they called themselves. The Wyldfae had no rulers. As best I understood, they weren’t allowed to be ruled—hence their designation as wild.
During my initial training, my old Shieldheart talked as if there were three Courts, but Vitae only ever talked about two. Could something have happened around the time I screwed up that cost the third Court its existence?
If the Exiled Lady was once queen of the fallen Anseelie, she could be engineering a war to weaken the other two Courts so she could return to power. That such a creature would rather risk Creation and bloody her rivals instead of working through whatever penance had been asked really was very Sidhe. Doing so while making her rivals pay for the privilege practically sang Faery’s national anthem.
“I’ll get you two bottles,” I said at last. “Stay here and try to keep out of Mrs. Cox’s sight.”
“The blind old bag who owns this place?”
“I wouldn’t count too heavily on that blind part.”
I took a quick shower and changed into my single alternate outfit before rushing down the stairs to catch my Uber. The gator paint job returned, grinning his gap tooth grin and head banging to twangy country music along with his line of NASCAR bobbleheads.
I could’ve had him wait outside when I got to the bank, but the music and the driver were both giving me a headache. Rather than head straight in, I veered to one side and drew out the little bronze angel. It held both hands over its ears.
“Ani? Can you help me access my accounts at the ATM without a card?” I asked.
“A bicycle messenger is waiting at the front door for you, green speedo. He is carrying your IDs.”
“Oh, Ani, I could kiss you.”
“Handsome as your new body is, I’m afraid you aren’t my type.”
I laughed my way to the courier who really should have worn Bermuda shorts over the speedo in public spaces that might include children. Considering he barely looked away from his mirror to sign over the envelope, I had a feeling no one else existed in his world.
I’d used my drive over to run through Craigslist ads for vehicles. I’d found a used Vespa at a small enough asking price that I could afford it without emptying my bank account. The seller agreed to meet me ninety minutes later during his lunch hour. I only hoped the line in the bank wasn’t too long.
I dug into my envelope, barking my knuckle on something sharp. A more careful probe provided a leather wallet with everything I needed and a scooter license plate.
I don’t know who the Isaac is, but Light he’s good at his job.
I pushed open the door and ran headlong into someone. Hot liquid exploded between us. We both hit our asses on the tile.
“Dammit!” Dylan cursed.
Shock stole my air. Before I’d thought anything through, I grabbed his soiled dress shirt and pulled him into an impassioned kiss. For a moment, the familiar caress of his lips met mine.
He pulled away. “What the hell?”
What blood hadn’t already drained into my erection left my face.
“Great, I’ve got to meet with a client in twenty minutes, and you not only killed my coffee and my only ironed shirt, but you decide to what? Kiss it and make it better?”
I stared at him, finger on my lips. “I’m so sorry, Dylan, I didn’t thi—”
“How do you know my name?”
My jaw moved up and down as I goggled at him, mortified and aroused, anguished and delighted to see him.
“You know what? I don’t have time for this.” He grabbed the things he’d dropped—including the crushed coffee cup—and hurried out through the door.
An older woman with frosted blond curls came over. “Are you all right, sir?”
“Besides being really embarrassed?” I asked.
She helped me up, lowering her tone. “You might want to think of something else.”
I noticed the direction of her gaze to find my still new body eager to try out the fresh body parts with the man I’d erased.
“Thanks, that helps.”
She laughed. “You’re sure you aren’t hurt?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m going to need you to fill out an accident report and sign off as uninjured,” she said.
I glanced at the time on my phone. “Of course, you do. I need to make this fast.”
By some stroke of luck, I made it just as the seller was getting back into his car. I handed over the cash without so much as cranking the scooter up. If there was anything wrong with it, I’d ask Anima to get a putto—the lewd little construction angels most people confused with cherubim—to fix up the bike.
Since I offered him more than he asked without dickering, he agreed to be a little late back to work while we filled out the title. I didn’t really need his signed copy. The Isaac had included an already transferred copy in my wallet, but I couldn’t tell the seller that.
The little scooter didn’t hold a candle to my Johammer, but it didn’t need any repairs either. I headed to the store for cleaning supplies, a spare outfit and a small fortune in honey to bribe the rest of the information out of Grynnberry.
I had some faeries to stop, but before that I needed a nest.
Vitae
I searched all of the books I’d saved from my library prior to its ransacking. None of them contained any notes on constructing an oracle. With my automata stolen, I couldn’t even use the cursed thing to provide the information I needed.
Lesser shields might have just flopped down and pouted, but dedicated soldiers never accepted failure. I drew a silver cigarette case from where it was tucked into my corset. Divine light spilled out of the insides the moment I cracked open the reliquary containing Vilicangelus’s feather.
“Vilicangelus. Vilicangelus. Vilicangelus.”
I waited.
I paced and waited some more.
My hands tingled. My manicured nails smoked.
That incompetent boob is blocking me.
I paced the room again, surer with each step that Summuseraphi, the so-called Praefectus, was intercepting all use of Vilicangelus’s feathers to ensure my old friend didn’t learn how badly he’d lost control of Atlanta’s shields.
I spun on my heel mid-pace and marched out of the hotel. Scurith rushed to catch up with me, nattering about something. I shoved him away, picking up steam until I slid into the driver’s seat of my Mercedes.
I addressed the bronze angel on the dashboard, its pose one of irritation and disgust. The Atlanta Shield was out of control. I had both the Shield’s and the shields’ corrections in hand, but in the meantime, I couldn’t blame its repulsion.
“Vilicangelus. Vilicangelus. Vilicangelus.”
No one answered.
I wasn’t surprised not to hear my automata’s voice, after all the equipment that made it up had been stolen. There’d be no way for it to communicate across the angel network so long as it remained disconnected. As far as I was concerned, the thing could rot with the Sidhe that took it. I’d soon have an oracle once more. No one would reprogram the oracle. There’d be no more baby phoenixes anthropomorphizing it then lecturing me about its gender.
Everything with that lazy ungrateful slut is about sex.
I started my Mercedes and raced out into traffic. Some wafer blared its horn at me. Unfortunately, the duty before me prevented me schooling the mortal on the virtues of respect.
“Vilicangelus. Vilicangelus. Vilicangelus.”
A mile later I’d still heard no answer.
It didn’t seem possible that our elevated buffoon could block the whole of the angel network, but I didn’t yet know all that a Divine One’s power encompassed.
He can’t block this.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the Isaac.
“Atlanta Vitae.” The Isaac’s voice had the same kind of deep resonance that Terrance occasionally achieved, not earthy exactly but resonating with the surrounding objects.
“Isaac, I need to get in touch with Vilicangelus.”
“Vilicangelus cannot be disturbed. Contact Summuseraphi?”
“No need to waste your time. I need information on the runes involved in crafting an oracle like the ones we used to have.”
“Have you contacted Anima?”
“No, the Sidhe stole all of that equipment, that’s why I need to build an oracle. Can you get a tome from one of the other Shields?”
“Bide. I will see to what is needed. You will be contacted.”
“Thank you.” I closed the connection. The Isaac would see to my needs—no thanks to Summuseraphi.
Anima
Sudden warmth drew Anima’s attention.
A greater cherubim appeared in the mists before her. Sad eyes that had witnessed too much tragedy covered the Isaac’s face and hands, wings and torso. Older and larger than Anima, his body was somehow scarred. She had no idea how it was even possible for him to have earned the scars, but her gaze shifted to the golden sword at his belt. He cleared his throat, drawing her attention once more.
When he spoke, the eye on his tongue appeared between his lips in blinks. “Anima.”
Anima bowed her head. “I greet the Isaac.”
“Vitae thinks you stolen. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Anima said. “He’s been hidden from my sight until a few minutes ago. I only found him because he used the statue in his Mercedes.”
“You did not answer him?”
“He didn’t call for me.”
“He is your Shieldheart.”
I opened my mouth, but instead dropped all of my eyes, nodding without a word.
“Speak, little one.”
“Vitae is...wrong. He frightens me.”
“You See. Without Sight your Shield is blind.”
“I See for Quayla. Something veils the others from my Sight, but we’re working to reclaim them. It’s not like I’m allowed to manifest. What else do you expect of me?”
“Forbidden yet Seen twice. See for your Shieldheart.”
Anima cringed. “The equipment was stolen.”
“He builds an Oracle. Grant Vitae the Knowledge. Grant your Shield Vision in the Waters.”
“I shall do as the Isaac instructs.”
The Isaac vanished.
She reached a finger up to the garnet for Atlanta’s Shieldheart, but hesitated. She dipped an eye-tipped finger into the cosmos. Another like her appeared in the view. He was only twice her age, but his voice rang like a clarion call. “Speak, Atlanta Sister.”
“My Shieldheart needs a tome for inscribing an Oracle.”
“I shall grant you the knowledge.”
“No,” Anima spat. “I-I have no way to show him the runes. He will need a book.”
“Something is wrong in Atlanta?”
“My Shield is all but destroyed, Nashville Brother. We are trying to rebuild.”
“Have you received any word from Summuseraphi?”
Anima shook her head. “I cannot See him.”
The other cherubim nodded. “A courier will bring the tome.”
“Thank you.”
“Thanks are not for passing between us.”