Chapter One
A Secret Mountain Temple, Japan
It was a strange group that sat in a circle on the polished wood floor. One was an unusually large man, whose hand dwarfed his cup of fragrant tea. Next to him was a slender woman in a white kimono, her elaborate hairstyle thrust through with nearly a dozen ornamental pins. She tapped her long fingernails against the porcelain cup thoughtfully as she sipped. A slender man with especially slanted eyes ignored his tea, his hands in his lap and his eyes downcast. He almost seemed to be meditating, a great contrast to his cheerful neighbor, who drank eagerly—almost swigging it from the cup. His entire form was contradictory: his snapping black eyes and the cast of his face were Japanese, but his size, affected brogue, and shock of vibrant red hair told of an Irish heritage, as well.
The other three looked more human—but would have been out of place in most settings. The younger man looked like a samurai, from his kimono and hakama to his hair, swords and expression of grim calm. The woman sat bolt upright, her black hair swept severely away from her face, and her eyes and lips mirroring the severity of her hairstyle. She, too, ignored her tea—but she was most assuredly not meditating. None of the company would meet her eyes for more than a second, even the cheerful Irishman.
The final member of the group, a sweet-faced older gentleman, was the most normal-seeming. He sat properly in a crisp black suit, sipping his tea politely, but with obvious enjoyment. His graying hair was neatly combed, without trying to hide the bald spot on the crown of his head. The only thing strange about him was the staff propped against the wall behind him: not a cane, as an older gentleman might be expected to carry, but an actual wizard's staff, covered all along its oak length with strange runes and symbols. He faced the other four, flanked by the samurai and severe woman.
The gathering had been nearly silent for almost ten minutes after the tea was served. When the gentleman finally set down his cup and spoke, everyone else jumped.
"I am hoping the problem has been noticed by all of us here."
The slender man recovered first. He lifted his head and opened turquoise-blue eyes. "You speak of the strangers, Morisaki-sama?"
Morisaki nodded, his face grim. "I had hoped, when it was first noticed, that it would pass; but instead, the influx has grown stronger. More races from the Spirit World are filtering into human society every year."
The Irishman nodded, scowling. "Aye, I've noticed them, too. It's been worrying me. Not all yokai are under the Covenant(1)—and I've seen a few too many of those who aren't in my neck of the woods."
The silver-haired woman lowered her cup. "I knew that more of my mother's kindred were appearing in my village and in the areas around it, but I fear I did not worry. Her kind are under the Covenant—and my father made a treaty with them, as part of my mother's dowry. Still, it is not impossible to believe that some of them may think themselves exempt from both treaty and Covenant. I have been watchful."
"The yuki-onna have not been our main concern," the other woman said calmly. She inclined her head to the silver one. "Still, your vigilance is appreciated, Akiko-san."
Akiko bowed at the waist. "Thank you, Kurohira-sama."
The huge man set his cup down, trying not to crack either it or the saucer with his monstrous fingers. "My kind do not mix with humans—voluntarily, at least. But I've seen groups of what could only be called monsters roaming in my territory." He grinned, showing off huge tusks. "Fortunately, no one questions it when an oni runs off interlopers. We've had no trouble." His smile slipped. "Yet. But there are rumors that I am, in fact, Mani Ta Tsu Karera...and once that's out, they'll use their exempt status to cause a great deal of trouble." He glanced over at the Irishman. "Your estranged kindred are causing me the most worry, Finn Hashiao."
Finn grimaced. "If it weren't for the fact that the old fellow practically put a 'shoot-on-sight' warrant on both myself and my mother, I'd help you more with that. I'd love to put the whole clan under the Covenant, believe me; what's going on is infuriating." He looked at his hand and sighed. "Though he's really no fool, and I don't think he'd attack a Manitatsukarera—even a renegade from his own clan—unless he thought he wouldn't get caught."
"That is troubling, but beside the point." Morisaki leaned forward. "The point is, we must learn where these races are coming from. Many of them have learned to imitate humans, almost as well as the Fae from other lands. But unlike the Fae, they have nothing to keep them under control, and numerous people may be in grave danger from them. Make no mistake." He thumped the floor for emphasis. "These are not kindly beings, and many resent that they must live in hiding. We must find out where they come from, and where they are getting their training."
The slender man laughed humorlessly. "You need not ask, Morisaki-sama, where they get their training. We already know, and it has been a thorn in our sides for years." He paused, then spoke two words. "Yokai Academy."
A mingled groan, growl, and mutter rose from the others, who exchanged grim looks and nodded. They knew. Oh yes, they had known about that place, ever since its founding. But there had been nothing they could do about it. Its headmaster was, at least in theory, an ally of the Manitatsukarera and their Covenant; and it could be claimed that its work—teaching monsters to live among humans—was beneficial. The truth? The truth was...a little more complicated, and grew more so every day, as students graduated from the academy and filtered out into the world, to become the strangers that Morisaki spoke of so grimly.
The samurai set down his cup and lifted his head for the first time. "There is a solution," he said in a soft, cultured voice—and a dialect not used for nearly two hundred years.
All eyes turned to him. Morisaki nodded. "Let us hear it, Shiro."
Shiro calmly folded his hands into his sleeves. "Yokai Academy must be infiltrated by the family."
There was silence as the others exchanged glances. Then Akiko sighed. "It won't work," she said glumly. "The Headmaster knows the Manitatsukarera. He keeps tabs on who marries into us, and even on our children. He would not accept my daughter, my Suzuto. He is far too careful for that."
"Ah, perhaps not." Morisaki lifted a finger. "He keeps tabs on the Manitatsukarera. But he cannot watch all of They Who Stand Between. Our family is worldwide; the Headmaster's interest does not extend past Japan. We must find someone—possibly two—who will seem monstrous enough to enter, yet be strong and brave enough to last..."
The oni and the slender man spoke at once. "America." They looked at each other and smiled, then the oni nodded. "You first, Furumiya."
He nodded, his silky hair swishing around his shoulders like water. "Thank you, Oko." He turned to face Shiro. "You say we must infiltrate Yokai Academy, and you, Akiko, say it is impossible. But in America, there are members of the family who will be perfect for such an endeavor." He hesitated. "I speak of the Demon-Seeming—and the Sceath(2)."
There was a pause as the other members absorbed this information—not without a finger of foreboding. The Demon-Seeming and the Sceath; they were known. It would be hard to find any member of the world-wide family who did not know about those two. The silence was finally broken by Oko.
"I thought of them, too. They are unsuitable; no one would believe that Breagan De'Alassae or Dranwyn Demon-Seeming is young enough to enter the school. But they have children: and the children may very well be the right age for our purposes."
"Perhaps," said Kurohira sharply, leaning forward so that a single lock of hair slid loose and brushed her cheek. "But will they agree to let their children go, as it were, into the tiger's lair?"
"If I am right," Furumiya met her eyes and held her gaze for the first time, "the children are themselves tigers—and stronger than those they will go among."
Morisaki clapped his hands. "We cannot quibble over details; this matter is too important." He rose stiffly to his feet, assisted by Shiro, and took his staff in hand. "Keep your eyes on the situation, and alert me at once if it seems to be getting out of hand. Akiko, you have connections to the school; I will send you word if the young Thestanwens are to be enrolled, and have you manage the paperwork. Furumiya, you will aid the children once they arrive. And I will go to America—now—and ask their parents if they shall permit this."
A Small Town in America
Joseph Kalvary Thestanwen dropped into a fighter's crouch, shifting his grip on the hilt of his bokken. Across from him, his father stood upright, waiting for the fight to begin, his bokken held loosely in a slack hand. Breagan looked as though he didn't care at all how the fight turned out.
But looks were deceiving. Breagan De'Alassae-Thestanwen was a Sceath—the most vicious of the various branches of Dark Elf. The fact that he had kept a good heart and a whole skin down in his backstabbing, murderous underground city until he was nearly twenty-five said a great deal about his skill with a blade. And during the twenty or so years since he'd escaped the underground caverns and come to the surface, his skill had been honed, improved—and some even claimed perfected.
In short: Breagan held the honestly-earned title of the best swordsman in at least two worlds. And his son knew it.
Joseph took a deep breath, mentally running over the strategy he'd devised, and desperately hoping he would be able to stick to it. There was only one sure prediction during his swordfighting lessons with his father: they ended with him sprawled on the ground. But not today, he thought, nerving himself up. Not today!
With a fierce whoop, Joseph lunged forward, changing his direction at the last second and aiming a vicious blow at Breagan's side. With a sharp clack, the bokkens met, Breagan blocking the stroke at the last second. Joseph moved fast, changing direction often, striking hard and swift, trying to keep the advantage given him by that first blow, trying to break through his father's defense.
Breagan met him, blow for blow, bokkens cracking together so fast they sounded like castanets. Each motion was smooth, each block effortless. But he was—
Joseph breathed hard, forcing himself to stay to his strategy and not branch out. Breagan was giving ground! He had seen his father cross blades with dozens, if not hundreds of people in his eighteen years, both friendly sparring with other Guardians and deadly battle with enemy Fae. Never before had he given ground.
He realized he was falling into a pattern and started improvising, still striking hard and fast, keeping Breagan off-balance. Or, he thought with the one portion of his mind not entirely occupied with fighting, as off-balance as I can keep him...
Joseph briefly disengaged, lashing out with a low kick to keep his father from pressing his advantage. He switched the bokken to his left hand and lunged again, whipping a flurry of fast strikes, meant to bewilder and push through. Only...
He realized, with a glimmer of alarm that slowly grew into horror, that Breagan was smiling. Without disengaging, without even missing a block, he switched his own bokken to his left hand.
"You didn't know, did you?"
Joseph felt a cold sweat break on his face as Breagan stole the offensive and started shoving him back.
Out in the living room, Ange Thestanwen, Breagan's wife, handler, and boss, sat in her favorite chair, reading a new book. She placidly ignored the bouncy—but innocent—pop music drifting down from her daughters' room, accompanied by rhythmic thudding that suggested they were dancing. She also ignored the whirring blender drifting up from the kitchenette in the basement apartment, where her twin sister Paige lived, and the increasingly frantic clacking coming from the gym room/sparring arena—though she was tuned for a change in either gym room or basement. She was hardly unaware of how the sparring sessions between her husband and son usually ended, and Paige's smoothies sometimes had some...exotic ingredients.
The sound that did finally move her was the doorbell. She stood, brushed down her good blouse and skirt, and went to the door.
The kindly-looking Japanese gentleman standing on her porch bowed politely as she opened the door. "Good morning, Mrs. Ange."
Ange bowed back, clapping a hand to her loose drapeneck collar as she did. "Good morning, Mr. Morisaki. Come in; I've been expecting you, and I have tea on."
"Thank you." He entered, putting his staff away with the seven others propped haphazardly against the wall. "Tea will be welcome; it was a long flight."
Ange chuckled, walking into the kitchen. "You're lucky we're living on the West Coast at the moment, instead of in Texas. That would have been an even longer flight."
Morisaki looked around the living room. "Where are your husband and son?"
Ange came out with the tea service. "They're in the gym. They'll be out in a minute; I just heard them speed up, which means Joseph's about to get his little butt kicked again."
Right at that moment, the cracking skipped a beat and changed to a painfully meaty thwack, followed by a series of crashes, and shortly after by a strident yell of "Ice!" Ange set the tea service down on the coffee table and nodded to Morisaki.
"If you'll excuse me for a moment? They'll be out shortly." She went back into the kitchen and came out again with a large ice pack, disappearing into the gym.
Joseph lay on the ground, slumped in the wreckage of the bo staff and bokken stands, breathing slowly. Breagan knelt over him, starting to lift him up. Ange gazed down at them, bemused.
"What happened this time?"
Breagan looked up at her, grinning so broadly her cheeks started to hurt just looking at it. "He had me on the defensive for nearly three minutes, Ange! He's getting better!"
"And still, he ended up in the display stands." She knelt beside them. "Where does he need the ice?"
"His head. He deflected that last stroke straight into his face." Breagan finally extricated Joseph and turned him over, revealing a long, swelling welt that stretched across his forehead and down across one eye. "He's out."
Ange placed the ice pack and her right hand on her son's head, closing her eyes as her Healer's power flowed down into him. "Go freshen up—and do it quickly. Morisaki Manitatsukarera is here."
Bregan grimaced, looking down at his sweat-drenched shirt. "Couldn't he have waited to get here for thirty minutes? All right, I'll hurry." He jumped up and started to leave, then turned back. "I was on the defensive, Ange! No one's put me on the defensive since Gabriel took me on as his squire!"
Laughing, she looked up and flapped a hand at him. "It's a highly momentous thing, I know! Go get changed—and then brag to our guest!"
Joseph groaned and stirred, then sat up, holding the ice pack to his sore face. "Ow. Damn it."
She popped him lightly on the mouth. "No swearing. What happened?"
"I almost had him. He was giving ground. I almost...how was I to know he's better with his left hand than with his right?"
Ange's eyebrows shot up. "You mean you didn't know?"
He looked up blankly. "What?"
She shook her head and laughed. "Your father's prouder of that little Inigo Montoya routine than just about any other skill he has. I've seen him fight off four toughs with his left hand—and his right literally behind his back. Yeah; making him fight left-handed is probably one of the biggest mistakes anyone can make."
"Oh, now you tell me." Joseph staggered blearily to his feet. "Ow. This really hurts."
"Break through your defense, did he?"
"Not really; I blocked wrong and threw his stroke right into me."
"I've seen someone else do that." Ange looked into the distance. "And it wasn't with a wooden sword, either. Fortunately, he also wasn't friendly. I don't think anyone was really upset when he sliced his face open and gave your dad the opportunity he needed to finally skewer that little ba—" She looked at Joseph and changed her phrasing. "Creepola." She patted his shoulder. "Go change your shirt and freshen up a little; our guest is here."
"Okay." Joseph staggered away, still punch-drunk enough to bounce off the walls as he went.
Ange returned to the living room to find that Breagan had changed his clothes in what had to have been record time. Privately, she could not recall it taking him less that ten minutes to just be persuaded to change out of his nasty workout clothes before he went into polite company again—and several times, he had obliged her to strip him down, sponge the worst of the grime away, then dress him herself. Complaining loudly the whole time. Honestly, he's usually worse than a four-year-old. Paternal pride is a marvelous thing.
And it was paternal pride that had motivated him, to judge by how he was regaling the increasingly glassy-eyed Morisaki with details of his and Joseph's sparring match. I'd better get in and rescue him there.
"Breagan," she scolded playfully as she slipped down beside him on the couch, "remember what I told you about holding guests hostage like that?"
Breagan ducked his head and laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, I guess I did...get carried away there. I'm just...It hasn't happened for twenty years!"
"You are clearly training him well," Morisaki said politely, picking up his teacup. "It will help him in the place I hope to send him."
"You mentioned this when you called me." Ange folded her hands on her knee. "Would you explain where you want him to go and why?"
"The place is called Yokai Academy." Morisaki set his cup down. "It is a school for monsters, Japanese Fae, creatures from our Spirit World and from legend. It teaches these creatures to live in human society, to hide their true nature. It seems benign...but not all of these creatures are under the Covenant—and very few are friendly. They are infiltrating human society, and my branch of the family is terrified, lest they seek to harm men—for we cannot stop them without violating our sacred oaths."
Ange nodded. "I'd heard rumors from some of Titania's messengers that the winds were changing in Japan; but they never explained what they meant."
Breagan grunted, folding his arms. "Not that I let them stick around long enough to explain. I've got two sixteen-year-old daughters, and don't need those flighty little playboys giving them ideas."
Morisaki chuckled. "I do not think any father would feel differently. Yes, the winds are changing in Japan—and possibly not for the better. What we need...what we need are two of They Who Stand Between, children—teenagers—to infiltrate Yokai Academy, to learn what these races hope to gain, and perhaps to start drawing them under the Covenant. It is my hope that your son, Joseph, be one of these children."
Ange and Breagan exchanged glances. "A school?" Breagan asked, shifting nervously. "Is it a...coed school?"
"Coed?" Morisaki frowned, puzzled.
"Boys and girls?"
"Oh. Yes, it is."
The nervousness on Breagan's face turned into alarm. "And you want...Joseph to go to it?"
"Is that bad?"
Ange explained. "Joseph has never been to a public school, and neither have his sisters—or to a private school, for that matter. Since they're half-Elven, they have a...we call it a dazzle, a natural, very powerful attraction for the opposite sex. Some Elves can control it to a certain extent, but it's always there, even if they're wearing a strong glamour. It can make it impossible for them to go into any sort of situation where there are certain to be a number of people around." She paused. "The girls can't even go to the mall if their father isn't there to stand over them like a dragon guarding its horde."
Morisaki frowned. "I have heard that the American branch of the family has great skill with charms and wards. Is there not something you could make to counter this?"
Ange frowned. "There is such a thing as an anti-dazzle charm, but it's usually meant to protect people from the effects of the dazzle—and they're not easy to make. It would be impossible to provide an entire school with them."
"No, no." Morisaki shook his head and leaned forward a little. "Could this...anti-dazzle charm not be used to hold the dazzle in?"
Breagan and Ange exchanged startled looks. "I...I don't know," Ange finally said. "I don't think it's ever been tried before."
"What's never been tried before?"
All eyes turned to the door, where Joseph had appeared. He still sported an impressive black eye and an oval goose egg on his forehead, but his clothes were clean and his hair neatly combed back. He also stood straight, instead of leaning against the wall for balance.
Breagan grinned at him and beckoned him over. "Come over here, kid. Morisaki, this is Joseph."
Joseph bowed slightly as he faced the older man. "Pleased to meet you, sir. Sorry about the... war wound."
Morisaki smiled as he returned the bow. "Your father has told me all about your fight. Come; our discussion concerns you."
Still rubbing his sore head, Joseph eyed the older man warily as he sat down on threadbare corduroy armchair. "Concerns me how? And what's never been tried before?"
"No one's ever tried using an anti-dazzle charm to hold dazzle in before," Ange explained. "In fact...I don't know whether or not it would work. But there seems to be a method to madness: we're in the same town as our foremost wardcaster, Delilah Oakheart-Thestanwen. We should be able to get hold of her and ask today."
An amused voice sounded from the opposite door, like an independent echo. "A ward to hold dazzle in? Are you guys trying to put an anti-dazzle charm on an Elf or something?"
Morisaki jumped and looked around, startled. He blinked when he saw a slightly tattier version of Ange leaning against the door frame. She grinned at him.
"Hi. I'm Paige, the overlooked twin sister in the family."
"You are not overlooked." Ange didn't even turn around.
"Not by you—by everyone else. Somehow, the one who married the Sceath gets all the attention."
"Actually, it's the Sceath who gets all the attention. I am only noticed as the one who manages his appointments—and chases the sightseers off when he's been laid up." Ange leaned back. "Yes, we're talking about putting an anti-dazzle charm on an Elf." She nodded to Joseph. "The Manitatsukarera need a Thestanwen to infiltrate some supernatural school or other, and they figured you would be a good choice."
Joseph froze, his eyes widening into a passable imitation of a deer on the highway. "What?"
"The school is called Yokai Academy," Morisaki said calmly, not seeming to notice how panicked the half-Elf was. "You will be in among creatures of myth, legend, and even dark tales. Some of your classmates will be monsters; others are simply Fae. The Headmaster of the school is too aware of the Manitatsukarera for us to infiltrate it; it must be someone he knows nothing of. We chose you—and the other—on your fathers' reputation, and at least in your case, it seems to be wise." He smiled. "One boasted of so highly by the best swordsman in two worlds will have little trouble, no? And it is easily argued that Sceath are monsters rather than Fae."
Both Joseph and Breagan grunted irritably. "Don't remind me." Joseph shifted. "So, who is this other? And I'm seriously going to go a school? Like, with girls around?"
Morisaki blinked. "Are you afraid of girls?"
Joseph scowled over at Paige, who grinned at him impishly. "If you lived with my aunt and my sisters, you'd be afraid of the whole female half, too. And I've had some...scary experiences with girls. Came home after midnight in what was left of my boxers one time, too."
The staid gentleman looked flapped for the first time since the visit started. "And, er—how did this come about?"
Joseph's head sank a little lower, and his chocolate-colored ears turned a bright fuchsia. "Outdoor concert. I tried to keep away from the crowded places, but the...wind shifted or something. And I think there were drugs or something available? There was a weird atmosphere there...anyway, I got mobbed by a crowd of almost thirty-five assorted females—and a couple of guys, too—and I managed to get up a tree just after they finished ripping my clothes to shreds. I stayed up there until they fell asleep." He glanced guiltily at his parents. "Okay, and I helped them fall asleep, which is why some of them didn't wake up until the next afternoon; but once they fell asleep, I got out of the tree and got my naked little butt home. Never did anything like that again."
"We knew about that." Ange shook her head. "He almost became a misanthrope hermit at age thirteen. That's one of the reasons we moved down to Texas. Less easy for that to happen in a small town, and the girls there are usually more likely to giggle and crush on someone they like than to form a mob. But he's avoided crowds since then with a screaming passion."
Joseph folded his arms, grumbling. "Wouldn't you?"
Morisaki tipped his head to the side, then nodded. "I do understand. We are not so...familiar with the Elfkind and their ways in Japan. I do not think I would have understood the full effect of your dazzle had it not been explained to me."
"At least until you received a frantic call from the top of a pine tree," Paige teased. She straightened. "Ange, you're about to get a few more guests. I saw them through the window. I'm going to go call Delilah and ask if she could possibly make a couple of anti-dazzle charms meant for Elves while you and the others hash details of this school out."
Ange looked up, face blank. "Other guests?"
Morisaki also looked startled. "I suppose I did not explain to them I wished to meet you together, not at the house. Yes; this would be the 'other' I mentioned to Joseph."
At that moment, the doorbell rang. Breagan, after exchanging nods with Ange, stood up to answer the bell. There was silence for a few moments, then a cry of surprise and delight came from the foyer.
"Dranwyn! Niahm! And—my gosh, is that Clarice? Come in! I just wish I'd been told you were coming. Come in!"
Ange leaned back, her face lighting up with understanding. "A school for monsters. Of course, I should have guessed this 'other' would be Clarice."
Breagan came in, escorting a small family: a tall, broad-shouldered man with a ripple of dark-blue hair, a slender woman leaning heavily on her staff, and a very pretty teenaged girl with a shy smile and a wave of hair the same blue-black as her father's. She looked around at the others and waved, the movement revealing an elaborate, rune-engraved armband on her right wrist.
Joseph sat up a little straighter, his eyes widening. He hadn't seen his cousin Clarice for nearly five years—and she had been a gawky little tomboy then, all arms and legs, freckled face, determined to beat the boys at everything. She had blossomed in those five years.
Her parents, Dranwyn and Niahm, relaxed as they entered the room, Dranwyn joking with Breagan about something that had happened on a mission they'd both been on a few months back, and Niahm clearly intent on a soft chair. Ange noticed and jumped up.
"Here, take mine. Long drive?"
"Long enough." Niahm sank into the chair with a groan of relief. "My back's acting up again."
"You want...?" Ange lifted her right hand.
Niahm nodded gratefully. "If you would; my gift doesn't always do the trick these days." She leaned forward, allowing Ange to place her Healer's hand on the old stab wound that had come close to crippling her eighteen years ago. Dranwyn looked up and frowned.
"You all right, sweetheart?"
Niahm nodded. "It was just a long drive, and the car cushions aren't as soft as they might be. Oh!" Her face dissolved into ecstasy as Ange's power went to work on her. "Oh, yes. I should be good for a while now, thank you."
Dranwyn and Breagan both sat down again, followed by Clarice. Joseph stared in awe. Wow. I knew Dad and Dranwyn got to be friends, but...wow. It's still kind of...creepy and cool at the same time to have the guy who can turn into a fifteen-foot-tall demon in our living room. He glanced over at Clarice, who was fiddling with her armband. And...didn't they say Clarice inherited her dad's powers?His eyes widened. Monsters. Duh! They want me to go to a school for monsters—with Clarice. That might not be...so bad, actually... He absently fiddled with the earring that held his glamour, and wondered what Clarice looked like if her glamour was removed.
Dranwyn looked around and took a deep breath. "All right; what exactly what this is about?"
Morisaki took a deep breath. "To make a long story short, a number of unfriendly supernatural races are filtering into human society, and they are not always under the Covenant. They are coming from a school called Yokai Academy, which teaches them to blend in among humans. But, since they have nothing to keep them under control, this is a setting for disaster. The school's headmaster is too familiar with Manitatsukarera for us to infiltrate it; therefore, it was decided that we should ask two Thestanwens to enroll, to see what, exactly, is the intent of the school, and to draw more races under the Covenant." He nodded to Clarice. "You and your cousin Joseph were considered strong enough—and, well, monstrous enough—to do this."
Clarice nodded slowly, chewing a full, rosy-pink lip. "Um...how big is this school?"
"We are not sure. But it is the only one of its kind, so...it is considerable."
She exchanged looks with her parents. "Okay. How aware are you of my condition?"
Joseph's ears pricked up. He hadn't known Clarice had a condition.
Neither, apparently, had Morisaki—or Ange and Breagan, for that matter. "What condition?"
Clarice held up her armband. "I don't have the same control over my Demon-Seeming side that my dad does. He can release it at will. If I don't wear this armband, any strong emotion will kick mine off. We had to have it made when I hit puberty, because any mood swing meant they had to deal with a huge, strong, irritable demoness who got taller by a foot every year. When we last checked, my other side is ten feet tall—and I might still be growing. I guess what I'm saying is...if I go to this school, will they have to deal with essentially the Incredible Winged She-Hulk, or..."
"You will be allowed to keep the armband." Morisaki sighed. "Though I do not suppose it would truly matter all that much, because you will be going to a school for monsters. You will deal with oni, ogres, vampires, werewolves, Arachne, lizard-men, orcs, yuki-onna—the list is long. A Sceath and a Demon-Seeming—even a Demon-Seeming who occasionally loses control of her power—will not stand out all that much."
But why should someone as sweet and pretty as Clarice have to deal with—Joseph smacked his forehead, suddenly realizing what was going on. "Mom, Aunt Paige said she was going to ask about two anti-dazzle charms, didn't she?"
Clarice blushed bright red. "Sorry! And, um...yours is affecting me, too. I've been concentrating on my armband to keep from focusing on it, because yours is strong. Really strong. Even Titania's messengers—and they practically exude dazzle—didn't give me this much trouble."
Breagan sighed. "I should have thought of that. Sceath have the most all-encompassing dazzle of all Elves." He grinned sardonically. "It's a survival trick; hard to kill someone when what you really want to do is drag them into a secluded area and tear their clothes off—and so do they."
Ange blushed. "As I recall, that was...mentioned in the Book of Beings. Which is probably why my Uncle Georgio censored it so hard when we were down there four years before I met you; there were three pages in the 'S' section that were entirely blank."
Joseph glanced up at her. "So...did you not know what Dad was?"
Ange laughed ruefully, shaking her head. "Not a clue. Mom and Dad just about hit the roof and kept going when I brought him home. Though the worst one was that confounded Bullfrog; I called Mom to let her know I was bringing a patient home for Aunt Harmony, and he'd just called them to tell them there was a Sceath in the area. He was with them waiting for me to get back, and I think Mom was about ready to murder him by the time we finally arrived."
Paige stuck her head in, lifting up the phone. "Got her, guys."
Joseph turned, not sure what he hoped for. "What did she say?"
"Well, first she asked if I was serious, then she got thoughtful. Said it would be an interesting experiment, but she'd have to customize the charms for their specific owners." She grinned. "We have an appointment in her shop tomorrow at eleven."
Breagan stood, nodding. "All right, then. We'll go tomorrow. As far as I'm concerned, if she can do this, I have no problems with Joseph going."
"What?" It was meant to be a thunderous cry of protest, but came out more like a squeak. Breagan looked back at him.
"Kid, if you can make me give ground, you're almost ready to be appointed Guardian, at least in terms of weapons skill. Sending you to a school—especially if you're equipped with an anti-dazzle charm—will be easier on you than either apprenticing you to a Guardian or kicking you out on missions, and it will be good practice for missions." He shrugged. "Plus, there's no guarantee you'll be able to go, because there's no promise that Delilah will be able to make the charms."
That was a forlorn hope. Joseph sat by himself in his room, surrounded by piles of folded laundry and several trunks gaping wide open, looking down and twisting the new glass charm around his wrist. Delilah Oakheart-Thestanwen had once more lived up to her title of foremost wardcaster: with the addition of two new coils in the pattern and five drops of both his and Clarice's blood, the charms had been made in less than three days. He also wore a new charm under his shirt, commissioned especially for him.
"Here," Breagan had said, tying it around his neck. "Your charm means the girls won't be overly attracted to you, but unfortunately, it doesn't guard you against their charms—either dazzle or just natural. This is a...well, it doesn't have a name, since yours is the first one she's ever made...but it will give you the mental equivalent of a cold shower if you need it."
He still wasn't sure if he was insulted or grateful.
His sisters, Rachel and Melody, had taken over his packing, gathering up all the clothes he owned—despite numerous assurances that the school would provide him with uniforms—his books, his games and puzzles, even the bokkens and bo staffs he favored for fighting. He had protested their stripping of his room several times, and got their patented How-stupid-can-you-be look every time.
"Joe, you're going to Japan. For four months! You need all the help you can get to stay sane!" And they'd grabbed both his MP3s, (donating, he noticed, one of their own good headphones to the cause), his CD player, and his entire CD collection, and carried it away to be packed. His room was starting to look very bare.
Both Joseph and Breagan had put their feet down when they tried to strip his wall of his posters, so that his dorm room could look homey. Joseph had refused to allow the wallpaper issues the posters concealed to come to light (he especially did not want Ange to know about the hole he'd accidentally knocked in the drywall while practicing with a bo staff), and Breagan pointed out that Joseph would probably not have his own room, and would therefore not be able to use the posters. Ange claimed Breagan just wanted a place to sit and be morose when he didn't have a live-in sparring partner who was starting to match him in skill. Breagan then returned with so what if he did, she'd miss him too. She said not if she was too busy with another one.
There was more to their quasi-argument, but Joseph and the girls all saw where it was heading and fled before their parents hauled each other into their own room. He would not be surprised at all to find he would have a new brother or sister by the time he got back.
Joseph picked up his yew staff, running his hands across the numerous wards. Combat. That was the meaning of yew wood: the one who owned the staff would be particularly skilled in combat. His sisters had a rowan and elder staff between them; they learned some forms of battle from their father, but neither one had a real talent or any enthusiasm for it. Rachel, the rowan, would probably enter the service of the Church someday, while Melody was already contacting Great-Aunt Harmony, the family healer, to learn herb-lore. They were both half-Sceath themselves, but for some reason, nobody remembered that, even if they dropped their glamours. With Joseph, people remembered.
I wonder what Clarice's staff is made of. Every child who Stood Between received their staff on their twelfth birthday, though Joseph was still unsure of how they knew what wood to make it out of. Ange had known hers would be an interesting path when she received a staff of ash wood—rare for a girl, and suggesting a role of leadership and battle. Turned out to be accurate, though. They didn't talk about it often, but Joseph had learned some time back that his mother had destroyed the last of the old Greek pantheon: the Witch-Goddess, Hecate, who'd got her claws into the Sceath after being chased out of Greece over two thousand years ago. I don't know how many people know that. I've got two serious powerhouses for parents.
He thought about going down and setting up a sparring session, then sighed and discarded the idea. His last bruise had only just gone down, and Ange had pointed out grimly that his school ID didn't need to show his face half-swollen and covered with lumps.
He set his staff aside and fingered the other thing he would have to wear, aside from his 'cold-water' charm: a pendant made of unpolished amethyst. It had been agreed by all that there was no way he or Clarice would be able to learn Japanese before they transferred, so they had come up with the next best thing. Amethysts, if 'tuned' with certain rituals and powers, were a universal translation agent, allowing the one who wore them to understand and be understood in all languages.
Except Girl. Joseph could hear his sisters arguing in the next room. He assumed they were speaking English, but couldn't make head or tail of what they were talking about, or why it was worth an argument. I hope it won't be this bad with Clarice.
His head came up as the doorbell rang downstairs. Speaking of Clarice... He hopped up and trotted downstairs.
Sure enough, Clarice and Niahm stood together in the doorway. Niahm grinned at him. "Hey, traveler. Your parents home?"
"Yeah." Joseph glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not exactly sure if they're...available yet, since they're, um..."
Niahm laughed. "Not surprising; Dranwyn tends to...let's say get his days and nights mixed up, too. Go bang on the door and yell that they have guests; we'll wait until they're presentable again."
Clarice shook her head and blushed scarlet. "They do, you know," she muttered to Joseph. "Honestly, I sometimes think I'm way too young to have parents."
Joseph ran up the stairs and stuck his head around the hall corner. Fortunately, the banging and thumping coming from his parent's room wasn't as loud as it might have been. "Mom! Dad!" he yelled. "Clarice and her mom are here!"
Instant silence. He thought he heard someone grumbling, then Ange answered. "We'll be down in about ten minutes!"
He decided not to wonder why, and returned to the living room.
When he arrived, Niahm was spreading a variety of papers across the coffee table, helped by Clarice. She glanced up at him and smiled shyly before quickly lowering her head again—not, however, before he noticed how blue her eyes were.
"Hey, Joseph." She shuffled two pages together. "We've got all the goods from the school and the airport."
"Wow. Already?" He sat down across from them.
"Yep." Niahm handed him a brochure. "Tap your amethyst on that and look it over. Apparently, one of the Manitatsukarera has some connections to the school; she got in on the act and had your applications ready-approved the same day Delilah said she could make the anti-dazzle charms for you."
"Really?" Joseph acted on her advice and was delighted to find that the kanji covering the paper suddenly made sense. "How did she do that?"
"I have no idea, and I'm not sure I want to know." Niahm held up two envelopes. "Your plane tickets are in this. Keep this safe, those things are pricey."
Joseph grinned mischievously as he accepted the envelope. "Keep it secret. Keep it safe."
Niahm and Clarice laughed. "Not necessarily secret," Niahm said. "But definitely safe. You don't have the money to replace tickets on a small airline to Japan."
"A small airline?" He looked up, surprised.
"Almost private. It's the same one Morisaki used to come down here, and go back."
"Oh, that's right. He did go back to Japan, didn't he?"
"Same day you got your charms." Niahm nodded toward the glass twist. "But he was the one who gathered all this stuff together and sent it to us. Are your parents coming down?"
"Mom said something about coming in ten minutes." Joseph coughed, his cheeks getting hot. "I, uh...didn't ask why."
"Hopefully they're just freshening up and finding their clothes again." Niahm chuckled. "I've found shed garments in odd places after a, ah..." she grinned at Clarice, who dropped her flaming face into her hands, "bonding session."
Joseph pretended more interest in the brochure than he actually had. Then he noticed something else that had slipped in. He tapped it with his amethyst and frowned. "Uh...this is a receipt for school uniforms?"
"Oh, yes. They're not going to be sent here; they'd just go back to Japan, and the two-way shipping would have killed us." Niahm picked up the receipt. "Someone named Furumiya is keeping them for you—and he'll be the one to brief you on what you're getting into when you arrive in Japan."
"How will we know Furumiya?" Clarice looked up, anxious for the first time. "Will he be meeting us at the airport?"
"According to what I was told, yes." Niahm shuffled through the papers and produced a photograph of a slender, slant-eyed man with graceful features and long, bluish-black hair. "This is a recent picture, so you'll know who to look for, and he'll have a sign to alert you."
Joseph nodded slowly. "Okay." He frowned at the picture. "I don't recognize...what is Furumiya, exactly? What does he spring from?"
"I don't know his exact heritage," Niahm answered. "But he's like you and Clarice: a direct half. If he came from the British Isles, I might suspect a Sidhe or Tuatha de Dannan parentage; since he's Japanese, I have no idea what might give him those features."
"You might ask him," a deeper voice suggested from the doorway. All eyes turned to see Breagan, dressed and groomed, striding downstairs. Joseph gaped. It had been a long time since he'd seen his father without his glamour, and he had forgotten the Dark Elven beauty and terror. Just for starters, the glamour removed three inches of height, and forty pounds of defined muscle. Slanted, cat-like emerald eyes gleamed, and his face, while it always looked chiseled, was sharper and more delicate. But the biggest shock was his skin and hair. Instead of rich chocolate, his skin was jet-black, while his normally close-cropped hair cascaded in an opalescent black stream down his shoulders to the middle of his chest.
Without realizing he was doing it, Joseph reached up and fingered his earring as it suddenly occurred to him that he had not looked at his true self in nearly three years. Do I—is that what I might look like, without the glamour?
Nor was he the only one shocked. Clarice jerked up, letting out a squeak of astonishment and fright, while Niahm's eyes widened.
"Ah—that's a look I haven't seen in a while."
Breagan grinned sheepishly. "Ange's trying to find the earring that binds my glamour. I'm staying in the house until it turns up."
"I don't blame you." Niahm leaned back, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Nor do I exactly blame her—though if that's common, I'd think you'd be able to keep better track of what happens to that earring."
"Normally we do." Joseph envied his father's ability to remain calm while talking about... marital relations. "We just got a little distracted this time. What's all this?" He sat down and picked up one of the papers, frowning at the kanji.
"Papers from and on Yokai Academy." Niahm pulled a beautifully cut amethyst the size of a quail's egg out of her blouse and tapped the paper with it. "The applications are already approved, though Mrs. Akiko Manitatsukarera asked if we would fill them out anyway; and there are a few rule sheets and a list of the clubs the kids might join."
"Where's the applications?" Joseph picked a pen out of the lumpy clay pot that lived on the coffee table. "I'll fill out mine while we're waiting for Mom."
Niahm pulled out two sheets that had been stapled together and handed them to him. "Here's yours. Use the amethyst on the pen as well; if you do that, you'll be able to write in kanji."
Joseph scanned the page, writing in the relevant spaces, and trying to ignore how weird it was to write normally and have it come out in chicken-scratch pictures. About halfway through, he looked up to see Breagan watching him thoughtfully. "Uh...what is it?"
"Clarice just mentioned she had to tell them about her armband." Breagan stood. "On the 'needed equipment' line. Put Tellemaera down on yours."
"Tellemaera?" Joseph frowned, straightening. "What's that?"
"It's your...inheritance, legacy, heritage; I don't know quite which word is right." Ange appeared, a small golden loop in her hand. "Here you are, sweetheart, and don't ask me how it got in there, but this was in my top drawer. Go bring it out for him."
His face solemn, Breagan took his earring, slipped it into his pocket, and left the room. When he returned a few minutes later, Joseph involuntarily rose to his feet, eyes fixed on the sheathed sword in his hands.
"Oh, wow," he breathed, unable to speak above a whisper. The blade alone was four feet long. Gold and silver wire crisscrossed the foot-long hilt, ending in a golden pommel whose swirled design looked like a wave eternally on the verge of breaking. The scabbard was encased in black enamel, covered with runes and Celtic knotwork inlaid in jeweled hues. His fingers itched to hold it.
"This," said Breagan, solemn as if he were in church, "is Tellemaera. It was forged specifically for you, by the same Elvish smith who forged my sword Dharmaya, and is made of the same blood-infused Elf-steel. I do not know its power: it was never meant for me." He extended his hands, holding the sword out to Joseph, who started to have trouble breathing. "We planned to present it to you on your twentieth birthday; but I think it would be best if you received it now."
"Joseph." Ange's voice, too, was reverent and solemn. "Take off your glamour. This should be presented in truth, and glamour is a sort of lie."
Moving like a sleepwalker, Joseph reached up and pulled his earring out. He didn't feel any different, but Niahm straightened, and Clarice's eyes widened. She covered her mouth, letting out a gasp of appreciation.
"Oh, wow."
Ange took Tellemaera, attaching a leather baldric to the loops fastened into the enamel. She stepped forward, her gown—he suddenly realized she was wearing a floor-length, sapphire-blue gown—swishing as she did. She slid the sword up behind him so that it rested on his back, then looped the baldric around his shoulders and fastened it over his chest. The weight of the sword settled, feeling—right. Joseph breathed deeply, straightening his shoulders. It was as if he had been waiting for this all his life, despite not having known about Tellemaera until this moment.
Ange finished and stepped back. "Draw it," she said quietly.
Joseph reached up, curling his slender, coal-black fingers around the hilt. Power rushed through his arm, and he whipped the sword out in one singing motion. Light glinted in silver and blue sparks off the curved, single-edged blade, glittering along the engraved pattern of Celtic knots and star-shaped flowers. The edge of the blade gleamed wickedly. He held out his arm, feeling the sword's pinpoint balance, and shuddered at how easily it would arch through the air. He had handled real weapons before; Breagan insisted that he learn to wield and care for a sword. But never before had he held anything that was so clearly a destined weapon.
I Stand Between, he thought, the realization crackling into his mind with the force of a lightning bolt. And this is what I will use to defend myself, my family, and the innocents of the world. He sheathed Tellemaera, eyes shining.
Breagan nodded. "Keep it on you at all times," he said. "Whatever your destiny will be, you will need that blade—especially at that school."
Joseph lowered his hand, fighting back the urge to reach back again and just touch the hilt. "How will I get it into the school? For that matter, how will I get it through the airport?"
Ange grinned. "That is easy. Look at the pommel."
Joseph twisted his head around, catching a glimpse of the golden coil. Then he blinked, suddenly seeing the shape of a ward worked into the metal. "What kind of ward is that? I don't recognize it."
"That is the Unnoticable ward." Breagan shifted his weight, putting his hand to his hip. "It's one of the invisibility wards, and it's the handiest of its kind. With that, the sword may not be invisible...but nothing will notice it. Not security guards, not cameras—not even the metal detectors. If you touch the hilt, which you will probably get into the habit of doing, people will think you're just rubbing your neck."
"That sounds cool." Joseph frowned. "But are you sure?"
A slow smile spread over Breagan's face, and he tapped his fingers. Joseph's mouth dropped open as his father's sword Dharmaya instantly materialized—and not just the sword, either, but the gilded-leather swordbelt as well. "Yes," Breagan said impishly. "I am quite sure." He glanced over at Clarice. "Ah; it looks as if we should probably replace our glamours; your cousin is on the verge of hyperventilating."
Joseph reached up and fumbled for a moment before he found the hole and slide the earring back in. Breagan did the same, and immediately, two relatively ordinary black men stood in the room. Clarice closed her eyes, holding her breath for a moment before she started breathing again. When she opened her eyes, she immediately looked at Joseph.
"Just to let you know: there was no dazzle involved in that. Your Sceath side is scary—but it's also gorgeous. I've never seen a teenager that well-muscled before, even in the movies."
Ange and Breagan exchanged glances, then laughed. Breagan ruffled Joseph's hair. "A word of advice: avoid tight shirts. Nothing will come back to bite you faster—except maybe tight pants, and I never wore those anyway, because they're hard to move in."
"And thank God for that!" Ange shook her head. "I had a hard enough time in San Francisco without them!"
Joseph nodded slowly. "I will remember that. No tight shirts, no tight pants." He glanced over at Clarice. "And keep my glamour on."
Breagan lifted a hand. "Actually, there are times to remove it. And chief among those times is when you must fight as a Thestanwen: when you must draw and use Tellemaera. It's only fair to your opponents to let them know exactly what they are facing." His face grew still, and he took a deep breath. "And remember, Joseph: when you draw Tellemaera, you have indicated a will to fight to the death. You don't have to go that far—but you have, by the act of unsheathing the blade, demonstrated a willingness to kill."
Joseph stiffened, swallowing hard. "I've never killed before."
"I know. I've sheltered you as much as possible from that." Breagan grimaced. "I don't like the idea of you having to kill someone before you've reached twenty. But it may have to happen. Be very sure you're willing to go all the way before you resort to your sword."
Joseph nodded, reaching back to touch Tellemaera's hilt, and wondering how long it would be before he was forced to draw it again.
Airports are hell! Joseph had thought—and on occasion, said—numerous variations of this phrase over the years. For a terminal agoraphobe, it was hard to come up with anything worse. And having Clarice with him the whole way wasn't making things any easier, especially in the crowded Sea-Tac security line. Anti-dazzle charm or no, the way we keep bumping into each other is going to start making things really awkward.
Clarice squeaked as someone very large banged past them, half-knocking her over and shoving her straight into Joseph again. He couldn't juggle the carry-ons fast enough to actually catch her, and settled for just turning his body so that she'd have something to—to run into face-first, as it seemed, which made him suddenly very aware of a rather soft...curve pressing into his torso and—
And the cold-water charm worked just fine. He felt neither wet nor cold, but he had just received the exact shock of someone jumping stark naked into...he decided it was the Arctic Ocean. He was surprised he hadn't squawked. And it definitely killed the hormones that had jumped up when Clarice fell on him.
"Sorry," she muttered as she straightened, dusting her straight dress off. "This place is so crowded!"
"I know." The moment the hormones disappeared, his raging hate of crowded places had surged back in to fill the vacuum. "I'm trying not to run off screaming."
"Wouldn't get far here." She looked around, grimacing. "Thank God, we're nearly to the security checkpoint."
Joseph grunted, digging frantically in his pocked. "I.D., I.D.—where's my I.D?"
Clarice handed it to him. "You gave it to me to hold, remember? And you might want to give me back my purse."
"Oh. Yeah." As he handed the small bag back to her, he noticed for the first time that it was pink, glittery, and decorated with a large Hello Kitty decal. "You gave me a Hello Kitty bag?"
"I assumed you would have made a fuss when I handed it to you if it was that big an issue." She gave the faded, peeling stickers all over his backpack a pointed glance. "Someone willing to carry a backpack they decorated when they were—what, in first grade? Doesn't really have room to talk in my opinion."
He looked down at the stickers, which ranged from Pokemon to superheroes to...okay, the old Pajama Sam stickers that had come in the computer box were probably a little silly. "They're not pink and glittery," he defended. "And I didn't notice what your purse looked like when you handed it to me."
"You really are out of it." Clarice slung the purse strap over her shoulder.
"I don't like crowds." Joseph bit back a snarl as someone banged into him from behind and told him, with a number of words and no imagination, to hurry up. "Back off and wait your turn!"
The other guy demonstrated his lack of imagination again, and Joseph turned away with a scowl of disgust. "I really don't like crowds."
"I don't blame you." Clarice grimaced. "Let's get this over with." She kicked out of her sandals and put them, her backpack, and her purse on the conveyer. "I just hope the...glitter doesn't interfere with the scanner any."
It wasn't the glitter she was worried about. And Joseph, as he dropped his backpack on the conveyor and pulled his loafers off, had the same worry. Both her purse and his backpack had been equipped with a void—making them almost ten times larger on the inside than they were on the outside. But neither one of them was sure if the cloth disguises that hid the voids—and the several pounds of items in the voids that, while mostly not contraband (though the three bottles of water might raise eyebrows), were generally way too large to fit in a backpack and a toy-sized purse—would be sufficient.
Fortunately, the disguises worked, as did the Unnoticable wards on Clarice's staff and Tellemaera. Nobody so much as raised an eyebrow, and there certainly wasn't the fuss one might expect for two people carrying a long, curved sword and a four-foot-long staff through the airport.
Once they escaped the crush at the security checkpoint, Joseph and Clarice found a quiet corner, and looked at their tickets to find the gate. Then they looked up at the signs overhead to find out where, exactly the gate was located. Then, simultaneously, they groaned.
"It's a good thing we're in shape," Joseph sighed, shifting his backpack to a spot that didn't make the scabbard grind into his back.
"An even better thing that our flight doesn't leave for another two hours," Clarice agreed. "Jiminy Christmas, by the time we hike all the way out there, we'll practically be in Japan already!"
Despite the grumbling, which continued in an increasingly jovial fashion during the length of the walk, it only took them thirty minutes to finally reach their gate. Though it could easily be admitted that the reason was not so much short distance as fast walkers, since it was at least half a mile from the security point to the tiny, almost vacant gate at the very end of the building, and by the time they finally made it, both of them were more than glad to sit down.
"Whoof," panted Clarice, flopping back onto the nearest seat. "Glad that's done with." She bent over, rubbing her feet. "These sandals are not made for walking long distances."
"These loafers weren't, either." Joseph sat down, grimacing. "My boots are; I was going to wear them. But Elf-made boots attract too much attention, and my hiking boots are nearly impossible to get off."
Clarice sat up, interest sparking in her eyes. "I didn't know you had a pair of Elf-made boots. Did you bring them?"
"Yeah, they were packed." Joseph chucked dryly, rubbing his head. "I have a whole Elf-made outfit, actually. I love them, they're about the most comfortable things I have—and that was the first thing my sisters packed up. I was trying to tell them they didn't have to do that, I was going to get uniforms, but...well..." He shrugged. "I didn't really mind so much about that, to be honest."
"I don't blame you." Clarice leaned back. "Now I kind of want to see you in these Elf-made clothes. Think we'll have a chance?"
Joseph shrugged, looking out the window. "I don't know. Maybe. But I do know this." He reached back, touching Tellemaera's hilt. "I wasn't given my legacy now for no reason. I'll probably have to fight—as a Thestanwen—at this school. And if it happens—no, when it happens—I'm fighting as a Thestanwen. Not in a school uniform, not as a representative of the school. I'll be using my sword..." He glanced over at Clarice and grinned. "And yeah. I'll wear the Elf clothes."
1: Covenant: Dating back to the eldest daughter of Adam and Eve, the Covenant is the lifeblood of They Who Stand Between. Under the Covenant, They Who Stand Between are sworn to protect the innocent of mankind from the supernatural-normally creatures of Faerie-and, on occasion, innocent Faerie beings from angry humans. The supernatural creatures under the Covenant are limited in their interactions with humans, and understand that breaking these limitations and preying on humans will bring Those Who Stand Between down on them-often with deadly force.
2: Sceath: (SHAY-oth) The deadliest, most vicious branch of the Dark Elves. The Sceath live in a series of caves under the North American continent. Since the downfall of Ancient Greece, they have worshiped the Witch-Goddess, Hecate, and have raised treachery, murder, and constant warfare to an art form. They are the most agile and graceful of the Elves, but also the cruelest and the most bloodthirsty. For the most part, any Sceath that comes to the surface is hunted down and killed without mercy, being way too dangerous to allow loose. Breagan is one of the only three exceptions to the race that have escaped this fate.
Poster's Note: I did not write this story. My cousin wrote it, but I am very proud of it, and I have her full permission to post it here. So, review and keep in mind that they will be shown to her, so I ask that you please keep it appropriate.