Chapter Four
The drive to Walla Walla was irritating at first, because we had to jostle heavy traffic on the 10th Avenue bridge before we could turn onto East Lewis and pick up US12 at the city limit, heading south-west. Then it was a pleasant enough run, over the Snake and down the eastern bank of the Columbia from Two Rivers, barely two miles from the house if you could fly, to Wallula Junction. Brent rode shotgun, and Joel and I talked dogs — whether his desire to get back to breeding them would cause any wolf problems, which it shouldn't, and what the effects of being able to go Presa Canario on them might be. It had to be an advantage, especially if he shifted to breeding Presa Canarios, and they were, as we'd discovered with the publicity Guayota generated, very saleable guard animals, though the conditions Joel would want buyers to observe were interesting. The Cherokee was a smooth ride, and irrigation circles kept the view green, but once US12 struck east for Walla Walla, the rain shadow reasserted itself in sage-and-thorn scrubland. I was used to the landscape, which plenty of coyotes enjoyed, but there were things to dislike as well.
Saying the fae reservation was at Walla Walla had always been euphemistic. The town, unsurprisingly, had loudly objected to hosting what amounted to a large concentration camp full of magical things that eat children, and flatter, irrigated land was too valuable to sacrifice, so a grid of prefab ranch houses had been built in a valley north of Dixie Crossing. Leaving US12 at Lowden I was struck as always by the deep contempt in that decision, echoes by the unmarked country road that slid between treeless hills to the gate, and the bare concrete boundary wall with its razor-wire topping. Since the Medicine Wolf Accords the Fae Reservation Service, whose personnel found themselves magically removed by some miles when ap Lugh declared independence, had been wound up, embassies providing their own security. And, we discovered, the wall had been glamoured into a dense, very thorny hedge, which was an improvement, but still. The enormous, mediaeval-looking wooden gate in a stone tower — a barbican, I thought, ransacking memories from my degree — that had replaced the guard-hut and pole was also glamour, and besides being magnificent with ornate carving it was thoroughly shut. I thought about hooting, but we hopped out, and I was collecting the cloak from the back seat when one gate-leaf opened and a suspicious troll wearing a studded jerkin and humongous blue jeans stepped through.
"Trespassers will be squashed and eaten, so — oh."
She — I'd yet to meet a male troll — had seen the cloak as I swung it over my shoulders, feeling its power swelling with nearness to source and receiving a happy gust of roses.
"Greetings, troll on guard. I am Mercedes Hauptman, Daughter of Coyote, Elf-friend, and those with me are Brent Lanning, who guards me, and Joel Arocha of the Columbia Basin Pack. Prince Gwyn ap Lugh is expecting us. Might you gladden us with the gift of your name?"
The scowl faded as one very large eyebrow rose. "I am Vorðr, Mercedes Elf-friend, and you are welcome here, with your companions." She peered down. "You bear Carnwennan?"
"I do, Vorðr, and Manannán's Bane. Besides human weapons, Brent bears a dagger made by the Dark Smith. Joel needs no weapon."
The other eyebrow rose to join its partner. "Huh. He's the one can go magmatic?"
"He is."
"Right. Hard to argue with, even at my size. Is Skuffles with you?"
"Always, Vorðr."
I barely had to ask before Skuffles materialised beside me in all its usual ruff-do finery, looking up at Vorðr, who bent to offer a large hand it sniffed with a wagging tail.
"You are welcome also, Skuffles. Good job with that lawyer." Skuffles gave a coyote grin and she gave a troll one back before straightening. "Irpa was right about more than one thing, then. And though the Prince didn't tell me you were expected today, I should have guessed from the glamour he's been playing with. Go on in. You can't miss it."
It was the turn of my eyebrows, not just at further evidence of troll humour. Nasty suspicions coiled in my head, but manners still maketh woman, as well as man, and trolls could be pretty useful if so minded.
"I am glad to hear it, Vorðr. Are there any rules about parking? When I've come before the Dark Smith was driving or Gwyn ap Lugh met me."
I got a troll grin of my own.
"Just don't block anyone's car, but I think you'll find it's taken care of. And we're all interested in the outcome of your meeting with the Prince."
I sighed. "So I gathered from Pirandella. But there are … complications, Vorðr."
"Any number, Mercedes Elf-friend, but it sounds like fun all the same."
She pushed open the other gate-leaf while I discovered Skuffles thought riding in back with Joel was a fine idea, despite the squash, so I put the cloak and Manannán's Bane in the cargo compartment. It was a bit cold to open the sunroof, but doing so allowed Skuffles to stick its head out, and I was beginning to think showing some style and what power I could was no bad thing — a thought that deepened as we cleared the barbican and entered the grid of streets. The rows of ranch houses were still there, and the striking absence of people I remembered, though the sense of being watched was immediate and strong. But the glamour that had kept houses looking new had been allowed to drop, revealing considerable dilapidation in human work — not surprisingly, after nearly forty years with what looked like no maintenance at all — and assorted additions, from front-yard marshes and stands of black alder to turrets, cupolas, and in more than one case crenelated battlements. The air temperature was markedly higher than outside, and Skuffles was sniffing deeply. Neither Brent nor Joel had ever been here so both were fascinated, but all of us had an eye on the main attraction, because at the far end of the street we were on, where if I recalled right there was actually a larger building meant to serve as the town hall, stood a full-size replica of the Executive Residence at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
I knew from SAC Fisher that nothing inside the wall — or hedge — showed on aerial or satellite photographs, just featureless blur, so the glamour was aimed at me and perhaps other fae, not humans. But it was an almighty cap to the wilful speculation Pirandella had reported, and for ap Lugh seemed unusually blunt until I started thinking through the levels of challenge it offered. Accepting any Fae invitation to enter any White House was out, but looming there it was a further tease or rebuff about my well-meant opinion that humour wasn't most fae's strongest suit, and simultaneously an acknowledgement that the whole notion of a coyote-girl as POTUS was an oversize joke that needed to be taken seriously. Retreating from involvement with the Gray Lords wasn't going to happen whatever I wanted, and though I doubted it was necessary I told Brent and Joel not to say anything beyond basic courtesies unless asked.
"How big a problem is there, Mercy?"
"Plenty big, Brent, but there's no threat. Or not one needing your skills. But it's more possible than I'd thought that there are traps, so I'm going to do more pushing back than I'd intended before I saw that monstrosity."
He took that under advisement, and as the parking problem had indeed been taken care of I swung into a semi-circular drive, and pulled up in the porte-cochere formed by the north portico. No-one was visible as we got out, Skuffles looking around with interest while I reclaimed cloak and Manannán's Bane, adding Thunderbird's feather, but as soon as I had them on — a timing I noted with relief — ap Lugh came out.
"Mercedes Elf-friend, be welcome Underhill."
"Prince Gwyn ap Lugh. Are we Underhill already, then? Nice digs."
He gave an austere smile, though his eyes were warm. "So we thought. And all of the reservation is now … borderland, shall I say?"
Priorities tumbled in my head, with ap Lugh's surprising informality. "That is helpful, Gwyn ap Lugh. I believe some speech with Underhill may be necessary, if she is willing. You know Brent Lanning, Joel Arocha of the Columbia Basin Pack, and Skuffles."
He gave me a sharp glance about talking to Underhill but nodded.
"I do. Be welcome Underhill, Brent Lanning and Joel Arocha. And Skuffles. Be assured none here today wish to harm Mercedes Elf-friend."
They murmured gladness while Skuffles gave him an old-fashioned look we'd been practicing, and he quirked an eyebrow.
"Will you come in?"
"I would rather remain under the sky, Gwyn ap Lugh, if you don't mind."
"Not in the least, Mercedes, and Underhill prefers to do so also."
"Unsurprisingly. Dare I suppose there is the Rose Garden?"
"Certainly. We would not neglect such a detail." He shepherded us along the façade. "Though as you see we have omitted most security features, there being no need here. I hope Adam Hauptman and Jesse Hauptman are well."
That was pushing it, and I swallowed annoyance, wondering why he wanted me off-balance and whether I should try to return the favour —not so easy with Gray Lords.
"They are, though we have found it oddly necessary sharply to increase security, which will impact Jesse's schooling. And that does not make either of us glad."
"I would imagine not."
We turned the corner, and I saw the glamour extended to the formal gardens, with roses in all the colours I'd ever seen Underhill. Skuffles's tail thumped my leg.
"Nuthatch and Pirandella asked me to convey to you their greetings."
"Do return mine. All is well with the earth fae?"
"It is, though they are also less than glad to be asked to carry at all times oak splinters sufficient to dismiss the Undead."
An eyebrow quirked again. "That seems … a stringent precaution."
"With the Undead, Gwyn ap Lugh, stringent is good, always." We came into the Rose Garden proper, where a circle of wooden chairs, one enormous, held Gray Lords who rose — Nemane, Baba Yaga, Edythe, yo-yo twirling as ever, and The Dagda — and there were chairs for us, those for Brent and Joel behind mine. "But that is a matter of substance."
"Indeed."
Joel had met all of them when we were negotiating the Medicine Wolf Accords, but Brent hadn't, nor Skuffles, so I did formal introductions. Brent got nods, but Skuffles intrigued them and The Dagda squatted, reducing himself from somewhere over twelve feet to six or seven, and extended a hand. Skuffles didn't look at me, but I felt its query and allowed it, so it trotted over, giving The Dagda a good sniff and accepting a scratch. Very deepset eyes looked at me above a beard I still thought over the top, even for fae — you could have done topiary on it, or provided nests for a murder of carrion crows, but that wasn't a thought to pursue.
"This being Skuffles is most unusual, Mercedes Elf-friend. Many magics are melded here."
"That is so, The Dagda." It still sounded absurd but no-one had offered any alternative, and offending anyone who'd ever been willing to marry Nemane and the rest of the Morrígan was very low on my agenda. "Most come from me, and that which I have gained or been gifted, but Coyote, the Dark Smith, Ariana, and Irpa also aided Skuffles to become as it is."
"So I sense, Mercedes Elf-friend. Bran Cornick also, I deem. And you have granted it much freedom."
"I have, The Dagda. Coyotes do not take well to orders, as the Marrok can affirm." I took a breath. "Which is one thing I wanted to discuss."
He gave a slow nod and they all sat again. Nemane looked beadier-eyed than ever, Edythe's yo-yo actually went into her pocket, Skuffles trotted back and lay beside me, and we were underway.
"It seems you all wish to make a point, and I have heard you. Nor do I necessarily wish to disappoint you, or refuse any honest request you might make. But there are in this costs that more than I may be called on to pay, and as that involves my kin by blood and marriage I have some grave concerns." I turned, taking another breath. "Gwyn ap Lugh, without countenancing the least discourtesy or incurring any obligation, I ask your leave as Prince of the Gray Lords for this meeting to be one of clear and plain speaking, on all sides, for if what you seem to be telling me you desire is to come to pass it may be some very carefully worded and reciprocal oaths will be necessary. And they would have to be sworn in full understanding of their spirit as well as letter — though perhaps we might manage with only that understanding. I will take my chances, as any coyote must, but Jesse is another matter, as you understand full well."
His expression was austere, but not hostile. "I do, Mercedes, and while we must seek our own advantage we are willing all should understand clearly what may or may not be promised. Speak then, in all courtesy, without fear or favour."
"Very well, Gwyn ap Lugh, once and again Prince of the Gray Lords and Master Underhill." He noted the fuller title with what seemed a flash of approval, and while I wasn't going to remove the cloak for love nor money, the heat was enough I did ask it to flip itself back and laid Manannán's Bane across my knees. "Let me begin by saying I learn many beings apparently desire me to run for the presidency of the United States, and while there are very few things I less desire I am not wholly unwilling to do so. However, should I do so, and voters be sufficiently … intrepid to elect me, I will be subject to none, and will take my primary responsibility to the citizens of the United States, whatever their kind, as an absolute obligation of the oath I would swear. The Medicine Wolf Accords provide reciprocal obligations between the Office of the President and the Fae, and any ally may request consideration of anything, if necessary as a matter of urgency. But should an Elf-friend hold that office, it would grant the Fae no privilege beyond an assured welcome and all courtesy in listening to any request."
Ap Lugh waved a hand while no-one else moved a muscle.
"Certainly, Mercedes. We did not declare and defend independence to become more involved in human affairs than necessary, and setting aside possible further co-operation, the only general matters of concern are treatment of fae and half-fae living Overhill, human propensity to pollute, and co-operative work on the Columbia Restoration, in all of which you and we are already in agreement. I will offer my own plain speaking by saying that one basic calculation we make is that if the incumbent's successor can be relied on to honour the Medicine Wolf Accords they will become more satisfactorily … entrenched in human practice. Ecological policies would also be so. We yet have concerns about that successor's successor, but one term at least for one we know of honour would be deeply welcome."
I thought about that, and nodded. "That I can accept, Gwyn ap Lugh, and surely there is nothing in the Medicine Wolf Accords their … broker does not support. Yet I would broach a matter I have carefully avoided ere now."
He stiffened, but nodded. "Broach it, then."
"On that night in Wyoming, you told me that it was becoming harder to deny that I was owed a debt by the Fae, and yet I did deny it."
"Truth. I did so, and you did so."
"You also told me, in the Garden of Manannán's Death during the trial of Senator Heuter, that my denial of debt … encouraged an assumption among fae that I could be asked to do things without those asking … considering the consequences. And I am told you have more recently said as much again, to Bran Cornick, knowing he would relay it."
"Truth also."
"And so you place me in what humans call a Catch-22. All know debts between fae and humans are dangerous, for those owed as for those who owe. Yet you turn my proper and courteous refusal to acknowledge debt — and it is proper, Gwyn ap Lugh, and all Gray Lords, for I sought and seek the good of all, not only the good of fae — into a liability. It does not seem to honour my good will towards fae." I held up a hand as ap Lugh stiffened a little. "And you once declared that by your word and command no fae should seek to harm me or mine, Underhill or Overhill, yet words spoken by fae to be overheard were this morning a cause for Adam and me to place Jesse's guards on higher alert, and arm one with a wooden blade of the Dark Smith's making." Ap Lugh had stiffened a lot, but my hand was still raised. "And as I do not believe you would so act without compelling reason, Gwyn ap Lugh, my first question is what if any pressure humans or Bran Cornick are exerting on you in this matter?"
There was silence while ap Lugh met others' eyes, Skuffles looking round at them all, before he sat back, steepling fingers.
"However I bridle, that is fairly asked, Mercedes Elf-friend. I told Bran Cornick you would see, and you are correct he and we are under considerable human pressure to which we will have to respond. Grant Westfield and others with power know at least one kind of preternatural remains hidden, and many guess rightly it is the Undead and that they have human victims. The federal authorities broadly respect our secrets and those of wolves, Elder Spirits, and Medicine Wolf, but the Undead are a reasonable concern for them, and as we continue to conceal them they become either our responsibility or our liability."
"That I see, Gwyn ap Lugh, yet while it applies only to the Undead in the United States, to expose them here is to expose them everywhere."
"Truth." He shrugged delicately. "What of it?"
"Much, but not just yet. Are you or any fae under any other external pressure that my putative campaign or election would somehow answer?"
"I am not, Mercedes, nor to my knowledge is any fae."
"Good. And have you discussed it with any being who is not fae other than the Marrok? The President?"
"We have not, save only other wolves with the Marrok when we spoke, though the President has expressed admiration for you in our hearing, and wondered if you might run for his office."
"I am glad to hear of your silence in this, Gwyn ap Lugh, if less so of the President's words, and understand what you have said about a quality desired in his successor, and the human pressures involved. But is there then anything else you or any will tell me about why you collectively desire this, and who if any among you dissents from the expressions of that desire you would seem already to have made?"
Nemane scowled at me, or everyone. "I think it a greater risk than others, but irritating and impetuous as you often are, Daughter of Coyote, I will not deny that under considerable pressure you sought to do well by us, as by others, not unsuccessfully. I no longer repine not killing you the first time you were here, which surprises me. And you are undeniably a more interesting candidate than any probable human."
Baba Yaga and The Dagda nodded, and Edythe smiled.
"I so wish you I could tell you I had foreseen your victory, Mercedes, if only for the look on your face, but I am not attuned to elections. But I can say that destiny yet wraps you as warmly as that cloak. You're going to do something more, sooner or later, so you might say that we would profit as we can from that destiny, and this would be an interesting way to do so, for you as for us."
"There is but one living Elf-friend, Mercedes, and the greater her influence on the humans of the United States, the better for us." The Dagda's voice was a rumble that was somehow sincere, though I doubted he was as straightforward as he could seem. "I was unsure how much true benefit co-operation with humans could bring, but it has already achieved more than I thought possible, and much is your doing."
"We actually quite like you, you know." Baba Yaga grinned. "Even if Nemane doesn't care to show it. More to the point, Underhill likes you, because with us you cleave to the old ways, while yet making much that is new. Your balance is … skilled. And we are a fractious people, in our natures and ages, having long trembled on more than one brink, though we wax again on the Path of Mercy. Does this idea do more than follow the windings of that path?"
"Perhaps not, Baba Yaga." I'd asked for plain speaking, and was getting some, so I shifted tack. "Tell me, then, if you will, were you able to confirm that She of Livorno was dismissed?"
"Ah."
Ap Lugh considered me until Baba Yaga said something in what might have been old Russian that sounded impatient, and looked at me.
"We were, Mercedes Elf-friend. Know without obligation that She of Livorno was the only half-fae who has ever become Undead, and in her elemental perversion a most malignant power of old. Our last encounter left many hurt, including that one, and many more dead, fae, human, and hitherto Undead. Since we crossed the water there had been no further news, save that the Master of the Night kept one watching in Livorno, before those words of Wulfe the Sorcerer, spoken to you where two of us would hear." I nodded, because I'd worked that one out, eventually. "Prompted by them, we and the Marrok found an Undead in Tuscany who knew with certainty of her dismissal by stake, decapitation, and fire, all three, while injuries weakened her. We believe it was Wulfe the Sorcerer's doing, while the Master of the Night was yet bound to him, though it may also have been when he lost that control. And we have long known him as the next eldest wizard among them, though he is yet many centuries younger than she was when dismissed."
I didn't ask for dates, though I was tempted. "And did you also come to any certainty as to why Wulfe dropped so heavy a hint?"
"We did not, though possibilities are evident, and would be glad to know your thoughts on that matter."
I shrugged. "Who can say they understand such a creature? Even his own kind find him unpredictable. But I am told he has of late sought to improve his treatment of sheep, so what concerns me is that, knowing full well the Undead must come out, which as their ranks and habits now stand it will be a disaster for them, he is angling for us all to undertake his housekeeping for him."
They were listening intently, and ap Lugh nodded.
"Indeed. We wondered if the Undead who confirmed the dismissal had been made available to find. It was convenient. Yet the confirmation was strong, and if we are invited to deal with a problem, why should we not take full advantage?"
"Because mass murder is wrong?"
"Murder? Yet they are already dead, and should be more so."
"True, and nevertheless, Gwyn ap Lugh. If — if — I were to run for the presidency, I would be doing so on the back of Cantrip's mass murders of fae, half-fae, wolves, and humans, and their utter repudiation, so I will countenance no others, even of the Undead. But that does not mean I will tolerate attacks, so the task we face is the reform of the Undead, no doubt in part by a thinning of their ranks, but as a means, not an end."
I wondered sometimes if the fae ever regretted their hide- and oathbound formality, and more than ap Lugh looked as if they'd like to tell me nice work if you can get it, but in the end he only gave another austere smile, though there was calculation in his gaze.
"And how do you suppose that might be … effected, Mercedes?"
"Carrots and sticks." I took a deep breath. "I told Bran Cornick it would have to be the Master of the Night who is put on notice. I don't know about the East Coast, but as the Columbia Basin Pack and I have already done some rank-thinning around here, the most powerful Undead I know of in the west are Marsilia, Stefan, Wulfe, and Thomas Hao, and none will gainsay their highest Master, however they disagree with him. And while I've never met him, nor wish to, I do not suppose he is particularly good at bowing to pressure, so it must be as great as possible."
"You want a joint declaration, abandoning surprise?"
"What surprise, Gwyn ap Lugh? I will not assume the Undead to be ignorant of anything so directly concerning them."
"There is that. But even if Bran Cornick and we together were to —"
He broke off as I held up a finger.
"Not only the Gray Lords and Marrok, Gwyn ap Lugh, with all fae and wolves, but both with Medicine Wolf, if it will, Elder Spirits, ever stern foes to the Undead, avatars … and humans — the President, and those who are pressuring you and the Marrok in this."
There was more silence until The Dagda gave a low whistle, sitting forward like a tree swaying.
"That would be an interesting meeting, Mercedes Elf-friend. What is it you suppose humans could offer?"
"Manpower, The Dagda, literally — sheer numbers. And international communication at the highest level. If the Undead would not comply, they would face all acting together, in rational concert, throughout the US and, assuming human co-operation, elsewhere. The preternatural can find seethes and ward against the magic of the Undead, as humans cannot, but human hands can wield stakes well enough. Or perhaps fire wooden bullets, though I'm still investigating that possibility." A thought crackled. "It is shaping sufficiently hard wood that is the problem with making them in large numbers, but perhaps if humans provided guns and cartridges, others might assist with loads. In any case, telling human authorities much if not all that we each know would provide both motivation and targeting intelligence, and … limit any ideas of liability."
"So it would." Large fingers combed a larger beard. "And many fae work swiftly in wood. But with what would this rational concert be demanding the Undead comply?"
"That is a question indeed, but the simple answer must be a code of conduct governing feeding on, predation on, and Turning of humans." Nemane looked scornful, Edythe politely sceptical, but I ploughed on. "Yes, they must feed, but need neither abuse nor kill as most do, nor to Turn any without informed consent. Stefan Uccello the Warrior shows it possible, and Wulfe the Sorcerer seems to believe it so also. No other preternatural bears any responsibility for the deaths they cause, one way or another, save in our silence, but we will no longer need to be silent, and must not be. Those Undead who would not learn moderation would have to flee, or be dismissed."
The Dagda was thinking about it, at least. "Humans would need considerable help to enforce their laws against the Undead."
"They would. Wolves could do what they might, and in North America that would be much. Avatars could help, and though their numbers are small that would be of value. Would the Fae also do what they might?"
There was more silence and intense gazing, until Nemane scowled.
"Coyote hopes! The Undead neither can nor will change their nature. We would do better to dismiss them all as swiftly as we can."
"Says the Carrion Crow." Ap Lugh's voice held a note of rebuke. "We wished for a different answer and are offered one, however improbable. There will be dust enough for you, Nemane, either way." He turned to me. "Mercedes, what was it you thought should be discussed with Underhill?"
"Some logical possibilities, Gwyn ap Lugh, to see if they are workable. However he may be told otherwise, the Master of the Night will see killing me as a valid answer to any ultimatum, and be willing to target mine — Adam, Jesse, the pack, and more. So we will need all the protection we can manage, and one question is whether I may at need bring humans Underhill in and for their safety." He nodded, looking thoughtful. "Another is what protection the fae may offer us without obligation being incurred. Adam and I are glad of the spells set around the house, yet valuable as they are they will but obstruct and warn. I could not campaign from within them, nor any of us accept such confinement. And Underhill possesses two things that might be of the greatest use in facing the fearful rage of the Undead. Tell me, if you will, does the sunlight of Underhill act on them as sunlight Overhill?"
Ap Lugh frowned. "It did once, Mercedes, but no Undead has been exposed to it since we reclaimed Underhill, and they know better than to seek to enter here. Yet it cannot shine Overhill."
"Can it not, Gwyn ap Lugh? If a group of Undead had with hostile intent assembled under the moon, near Adam's and my house, would it not be possible for such a circle as I saw during your rade to open above them letting Underhill's sunlight through?"
This silence was deeply thoughtful, and ap Lugh spread his hands.
"That is a very interesting idea, Mercedes, and I will discuss it with Underhill as soon as we are done here. But you said two things?"
"I did. One of the most dangerous weapons of the Undead is speed. Some preternaturals can match them but no human, and in any campaign I would have human as well as other guards. But I also have the cloak, and Underhill a control of time to negate any assailants' speed."
"Another interesting idea, for your cloak is unusual, in its range and strength of powers, and such a thing might be within its capacity to learn."
"So I hoped, yet Jesse would remain more vulnerable than I can approve, even with the three human bodyguards she always has outside our house. We could add wolves, but she cannot always walk within a guardian host, and if the things we speak of come to pass even the Marrok's resources will be stretched."
"That we understand, and it is not impossible those might be found who could be of aid." Ap Lugh cocked his head. "Supposing these various things, that serve to coerce the Undead to reform and to protect you and yours, were indeed to come to pass, where would that leave the question of debt between you and the Fae?"
"In balance always, Gwyn ap Lugh, without the least obligation on either side, for as you may deem yourselves safe from incurring debts to me, while yet asking me to undertake things at least as much in your interests as in my own, so I may deem myself safe from incurring debts to you in doing likewise." Frowns appeared but they could like it or lump it. "Given the probability of attack, it may be the Accord between wolves and Fae covers it. But if I run, I will do so because I believe it best for those to whom I am bound by blood or love, and as I will be gladdened by any benefit that may accrue thereby to the Fae, so I will be happy to maximise that benefit as I can and may. And as you were gladdened by any such benefit, so you would be full willing I and mine should benefit from any actions you individually or collectively undertake. I understand that in your natures you might prefer this all be oathsworn, and I do not say that is not possible, but one consideration is the oath of the office you desire I take, and what it precludes. So I say also that you have named me Elf-friend, and whatever Fae or avatars may or may not in their natures do, friends do not weigh every scruple of their dealings to seek leverage or indebtedness. Loans may be made and returned, but interest is not charged. And favours harming none may be freely exchanged, in goodwill." I took a breath. "You spoke of wanting one with honour to hold office, so you must trust to that honour. Or as I am Elvellon you must be Edainellyn."
Neither Nemane nor The Dagda got it, but Edythe raised eyebrows smartly, Baba Yaga barked a laugh, and ap Lugh gave me a genuine smile as he shook his head.
"Our presumptions are well repaid, Daughter of Coyote. To be named friends to men in any language is humbling indeed, let alone good Sindarin. But that is the path we seek to walk, and however we might prefer oaths and stricter reckonings, with the death of Manannán mac Lír in the scale I do not think we would be gladdened by any true balance that we might determine." He looked around, meeting eyes. "We will speak together of this, with Underhill also, and to you again, Mercedes, on Saturday evening by Overhill time, perhaps?"
"Sunday would be better, Gwyn ap Lugh, and by daylight. There are others I must consult, and on Saturday Adam and I are taking the Freed to see their new hunting tract. It abuts the Yakama Reservation."
He nodded. "Sunday, then, but no later. And if all parties do agree, haste would be wise. Any … confrontation with the Undead will serve all better when it is won than in the waiting."
That was true, and I nodded. "Surely, Gwyn ap Lugh, but waiting should not be idle. Assuming we are indeed proposing to do what Wulfe the Sorcerer wants, it is unlikely he intends to be dismissed. What plans might he have, or heavy hints ready to drop? I told you all that Adam and I are raising security at once, and more must follow without delay. Nor was I anything but earnest in asking the earth fae on our land to carry oak splinters always. Will you warn the vulnerable?"
"That we can do, Mercedes, though those who choose to dwell Overhill do so at their own risk, as they know."
"Even so, Gwyn ap Lugh, for they dwell in lands that are my responsibility, or you wish to become so."
"We hear you, Mercedes Elf-friend. And though caution perhaps offers other counsel, I will say that I, like others here, regret our need to … oblige your attention to this matter."
I thought about it, subtracting my surprise, and gave a mental shrug. "So noted, Gwyn ap Lugh, and I will say in turn that while I continue to find the notion … risible, I concede that more fae than I had realised have fine senses of humour."
That got a warmer smile.
"You put us on our mettle. But if you and your companions make your farewells, I will walk you back to your automobile."
We made them, and as we returned along the side of the Executive Residence Skuffles gave a pleased woof and bounded ahead, rounding the corner. A glance at ap Lugh showed a flash of resignation, and I wasn't surprised when I rounded the corner myself to see a smiling Underhill giving Skuffles a jaw-scratch. She looked up as I approached.
"Greetings, Mercedes Elf-friend. Skuffles becomes ever more interesting."
"Greetings, Underhill, and it does, doesn't it? Joel Arocha and Brent Lanning you know."
"I do." They got brief nods. "I listened to your conference, Mercedes, and you again please me, in thoughts as in manners. To shine Overhill at night is complex, but I cannot see why it should not be possible, and will speak of it with Gwyn ap Lugh. The cloak I can augment now."
It seemed there was after all something neither love nor money that would induce me to take the cloak off, and I did, immediately feeling the surrounding weight of fae magic from which it insulated me — but a good part of that was coming from Underhill herself, who sat cross-legged and set the happily rustling cloak across her knees, resting hands on it. Very old and strange magic thrummed and flowed, and she looked up while Skuffles bellied forwards to rest its nose only inches from the cloak.
"Control of time must come from me, but this I set in the cloak will enable it to access that part of my power, and extend it in the fullest degree from you to any who in that moment accompany you. This further gift I make to you freely and without obligation, recognising your fear for others whom the path we wish you to take cannot but endanger, and recognising that you have today outdone the Gray Lords in honour."
Ap Lugh might have winced, but I wasn't touching that one with a ten-foot pole, and simply nodded.
"I am very glad to hear it, Underhill, as Adam and Jesse will be."
"Indeed. Do give them my greetings, and Andrea Lafferty. And inform Gwyn ap Lugh of the exact sizes these wooden bullets would need to be. Wood is almost as deep in my nature as fire, earth, and water, and to me the Undead are abomination. Your friendly regard for the one you call Stefan is … quite surprising."
Feeling the need to be polite, I squatted to bring myself closer to her eye level, using Manannán's Bane to help me balance.
"I am equally glad to hear of your willingness in the matter of wooden bullets, Underhill, and yes it is, even to me. I do not know all of Stefan's tale, but I believe he was, when human, most fiercely honourable and Turned against his will. He has retained far more honour than any other Undead I have met, though Thomas Hao retains some at least. and Stefan also has a full sense of humour, as none other of his kind seems to have. I cannot avow it, but I believe the two oddities are connected."
"An interesting thought." A strange look entered her gaze. "And as I cannot say I do not contain abominations I will not slay, though I hold them under wards of cold iron and strong magic, I will not condemn any you value, however strangely. You will speak to Medicine Wolf of all this, that it knows I do not extend my power within its territory without due and known cause?"
"I have, and will further, Underhill. It does not find undeath in itself abominable, only interesting, but strongly abhors the practices of mind control the Undead use, and so favours their reformation."
"I am glad to hear it. Here." She stood, offering me the cloak, and I settled it round my shoulders with relief, feeling pressure abate and its own considerably heightened power, with which I would have to come to terms. "It will take a while to settle again, but on my word nothing I have done in any way alters or impugns its dedication to you."
"So I feel, Underhill. And there are times when even knowing the fae are as they must be, I greatly wish a simple statement of thanks were not so perilous."
Once again she startled me by softly clapping hands.
"Another formula I have not heard in long ages, and honestly spoken. Truly, you are a rare one." Her gaze was acute. "I will say also, consider that living as long as we entails infinite repetition, so that which is fresh and rare under the sun attracts our grace. Fare you all well, Overhill, until we meet again." Joel and Brent received nods they returned, and Skuffles a pat that made it shiver pleasure, while I gave a bow that made her smile. "Come, Gwyn ap Lugh, let us speak of what we might and must do."
She skipped off along the façade, and ap Lugh gave me a look I might in anyone else have called harried.
"Until Sunday, Mercedes Elf-friend. Joel Arocha, Brent Lanning, Skuffles. Fare you all well."
He … trotted after Underhill, and I took a deep breath.
"No discussion until we're Overhill again, guys, Skuffles."
No-one was arguing, though Skuffles again wanted the back seat, and on instinct I draped the cloak over its body, added the feather to its ruff, and propped Manannán's Bane up so it too could see. Swinging out of the drive I felt the weight of watching attention become more thoughtful, if no less intent, and at the gate Vorðr pursed her lips.
"Big doings, Mercedes Elf-friend. Your cloak is … most surprisingly augmented."
"Big ideas, Vorðr. The doing remains to be seen, and the cloak's new power is a recognition of threat. If you know any dwelling Overhill who are vulnerable to the Undead, it would be kind to put them on their guard, and counsel them to keep silent until events … defray that need."
"I hear you, Elf-friend, but nothing will keep any from talking of you. I'll advise hushed tones, though. And know that whatever the Gray Lords may find it necessary to do, or say, you make many among us glad."
We were on the border, so I took a chance.
"Back atcha, Vorðr. You might want to look up the words Elvellon and Edainellyn. Oh, and Irpa and Þorgerðr enjoyed the film night we tried out, so if they're good with it, you'd be welcome to attend another in peace and goodwill."
It's not so easy to describe how a smile is other than a grin, but I got a halfway blinding troll smile.
"Cool." She swung both gate-leaves open without effort. "Fare you well Overhill, Mercedes Elf-friend and Troll-friend, and all your companions."
Troll-friend had me as pleased as alarmed, but enough was enough and after thanking Skuffles, who vanished, and closing the roof, I hit the gas until we were clear of hedge and barbican before glancing at my watch with less surprise than was reasonable.
"We were in there for about five minutes realtime, guys, so we'll be back well before dusk after all."
It was an apology of sorts, and as Joel and Brent went from rotating heads and shaking shoulders, clearing the effects of magical pressure, to checking watches and exclaiming. I wondered what to make of it all, except that the fae really did want me to run, and would put their power where their mouths were. Political campaigns had always bored me, but the shape my own might take was, if many things, seriously not boring. All sorts of ideas tumbled, adding up in ways I could welcome and some I couldn't, while I drove in humming silence, miles falling away behind and who knew what stretching ahead.