Chapter Eleven

Though sensibly wary of Gray Lords, the earth fae came with us, helping to carry a couple of small tables and a rug for The Dagda. Wolves brought wooden chairs, Jesse collected glasses and decanted mineral water, a gingerbread loaf, and the brownie tin, and I grabbed plates and napkins. With the sun westering we got a fire burning, and by the time an arch formed had a decent welcome waiting.

It was again ap Lugh, Nemane, Edythe, Baba Yaga, and The Dagda, but they had Irpa with them, cheerfully bouffant despite her troll club at port arms, and to my surprise Bran, Charles, and Anna. I more-or-less trusted these Gray Lords by now, within limits, but Gray Lords are Gray Lords so I was wearing the cloak and Thunderbird's feather, carrying Manannán's Bane, and didn't skimp on formal greetings as guests of the Columbia Basin Pack. Eyes glinted ironic approval while they returned formalities, Irpa offered a troll wink, and Bran a nod.

"Gwyn ap Lugh was glad to offer us swifter travel than the Cessna, Mercy, and with so much to be done it is helpful."

"Un huh." Bran's wariness about using Underhill as a shortcut seemed to have faded, which was interesting. "Any particular kind of so much?"

"Arranging the meeting of Alphas, mostly. We need to agree a date, but should first deal with the greater matters in hand."

"Of course. Let me finish formalities."

I greeted Charles and Anna, glad to see them, and as neither they nor Bran had met the earth fae did full introductions. Bran and Charles got cautious nods, but Anna's sunny zen brought smiles and warmer greetings, and with a sideways glance at ap Lugh Nuthatch told me they were happy to tend the fire and serve water and food. As ap Lugh raised no objection I cheerfully agreed, and with guarded regret to The Dagda for not having a chair to fit him we settled in a loose circle round the fire. I'd thought Irpa was on guard duty, but when she sat, sharing The Dagda's rug, I recalculated. Jesse was between Adam and me, and though no-one asked I told them flatly we'd decided her security included being fully informed.

Once water and food were served, and the hospitality spell held all, I set the ball rolling with a summary of my conversation with Elder Spirits so far as vamps were concerned, and indicated a distinct matter arose to be considered later. I'd bet they'd all heard my conversation with the Man, but I tallied high points, with my promise to update him.

"So, in a nutshell, we can tell Bonarata that non-compliance will mean forced outing with concerted action by effectively armed joint SWAT teams, in the first instance targeting seethes by daylight, and anywhere with a ghost problem avatars find. Vamps can come out and sign up to the Code, or face deportation or permanent restraint in plastic coffins. Charles, Baba Yaga, we also need maximal data on vamp finances, so the Feds can freeze or confiscate. And if we could get such data on Bonarata, and the Man can lean hard enough on Italian and whatever authorities, we could give the ticking clock some nasty teeth."

There were nods, though Charles waggled a hand.

"Surely, Mercy, but their financial security is usually first-rate, besides very old accounts being deeply buried and not always digitised."

"True, Charles Cornick, but we remember old names and ways. And," Baba Yaga extended a finger, "there is Wulfe the Sorcerer, who made the Master, and might reasonably, if Mercedes is correct, be expected to offer us something by way of bona fides. Financial data would fit that bill nicely, and might also suit that one's own purposes."

"Yes it might, Baba Yaga. You've all known Wulfe, or of him, far longer than me. Does anyone have a clear sense of what his balance of motives might be? I'm positing pragmatic advantage as the driver, because outing would happen soon anyway and be very bad for the Undead, but I'll bet revenge on a disobedient child is right up there too."

"So I would think." Ap Lugh shrugged gracefully. "One question is whether he will protect Marsilia, Mistress of his seethe and the cast-off child of the child who cast him off." I nodded, having wondered exactly that without getting anywhere. "But another may be what if anything he wants of us. Nemane?"

She gave him a very beady look before turning it on me. "This is all guesswork, Mercedes, but as it was to me as much as Gwyn ap Lugh that news of She of Livorno was wilfully given, it may have been a proffer. All fae know and understand death, cleaving to life and light, but The Morrígan is of the life that feasts on carrion, and the Undead are … not wholly alien to that." She shook her head. "I can't believe I need to tell you this, and having to do so doesn't make me like you any better, but one reason I tend to be intolerant of the Undead is that I don't quite feel the same visceral disgust at their nature as most fae. It annoys me, but there it is. And if I were to ignore that annoyance, there are one or two matters, rare but important, in which I and Wulfe the Sorcerer might manage together that which is beyond either alone. That's all I'm saying except it would offer no threat to you and yours."

I thought about that, knowing wolves would be doing so just as hard, and waggled my hand a little. Nemane looked even beadier.

"I am glad to learn all that, Nemane, and honour your gift of yourself. Yet would that 'you and yours' cover its meaning should I be elected?"

Her face became very still. "Probably not, but it would truly be only fae and Undead business. And quite personal business."

"Very well. Bran, do you know who the parents of She of Livorno were?"

"No. She existed before me, and no tale I ever heard sounded true."

"Gwyn ap Lugh?"

"We know, yes." He considered. "You worry the fae parent is alive?"

"Among other things. Wider kin also. And I'm wondering about the scale of her agency in confirmed dismissal."

"Ah. It is old and painful history, Mercedes, but I will say that the Faerie Queen who bore her is long dead, by her daughter's hand and witchcraft. A human that Queen thought she had enthralled was a black wizard who enslaved her instead, and he also died by his daughter's hand. Being both matricide and patricide was one great source of her power, for she took all that was theirs."

"Not a good CV. How on earth did a vamp get her? Or did she want to be Turned?"

"We believe so, yes. Exactly what she did remains a matter of debate, with how she did it, but her power was augmented in undeath, so you are right that if she lived we would not be acting as we are. I am less clear why that matters."

"It's partly not being made itchy by large blanks, Gwyn ap Lugh, but more Wulfe. If her dismissal was by Bonarata and Wulfe, who got any of her powers?"

Nemane nodded. "Wulfe got some, in further proof of her dismissal, but only what was of the Undead. Her body could hold fae magic only because it was half-fae, or had once been so, and she had done much black spellwork on herself that would have unravelled in dismissal, as the Undead become dust. I watched Wulfe closely in that mine, when he vanished those bars, and he has deep reserves of power that could harm all but the greatest of us, but he is nothing to her. What Bonarata might have come away with I cannot aver, but he has always been a user of wizards and witches, and as far as we know could cast off his maker largely because he had some immunity to the magic of the Undead, while Wulfe relied on it too heavily as his agency of control."

Bran nodded. "So I have heard."

"Huh. That rings true. So Bonarata holds his place in part because the other strongest vamps, magic users, are at a disadvantage taking him on?"

"That is fair to say, Mercedes. Does it matter?"

"It might, Nemane. Bran knows some interesting things about the Master's pet wolf."

Bran sat forward. "Honest history deserves honest history, however painful. Lenka Yakovlevna was an Alpha's mate but not very dominant. She was, though, beautiful and admired. Widow's grief when her mate lost a challenge made her vulnerable, and Bonarata knew enough to take and break her, but she is broken — or her wolf, in permanent charge, is broken. Blind loyalty, with wolf strength and speed, have made her one of his most feared servants." Bran shrugged. "Why no-one has used silver on her is a mystery. Someone should, if only in pity. But it is interesting — since Bonarata gave this, as he saw it, proof of superiority over wolves, he has ignored those in Italy unless something impinges directly, and then expects them to jump for the asking. He ignores me and all in the New World as long as vamps send his due tribute promptly, though he must know that here wolves dominate the Undead. Even the Medicine Wolf Accords do not seem to alarm him, as they should. So. I think he assumes he knows wolves because he has Lenka, and is addicted to her blood, but I have several times assisted Italian wolves to thwart him in small ways that matter to them, and a while back began to suspect his indifference was not patient tallying but ignorance. Nor is there any indication he has realised what we are supposing Wulfe realises. Bonarata cleaves hard to old ways, assuming their innate superiority, which leaves much room to be badly mistaken. It connects because his entrenched reliance on immunity to vamp magic is complacency, given Mercy's potent mix of magics and unpredictable ability to bend intents."

The Dagda had been quietly watchful but suddenly nodded, beard billowing. "Indeed, Marrok. He will not truly know what it is he will plan to attack, and so be ignorant of the threat." The fae's gaze rested on me. "Is that why you think to use yourself as bait, Mercedes Elf-friend? To draw him off-balance sooner than he would allow were he wiser?"

I blew out a breath. "Partly, The Dagda, though I doubt Bonarata will involve himself personally unless he feels obliged for some reason." Which I might be able to provide. "I'm expecting … minions, first up, at least, and one thing I would be glad of, Gwyn ap Lugh, is whatever files you have on his … court? Entourage, anyway. We have Bran's, but it's always better to know your enemies thoroughly."

Ap Lugh nodded. "That we can do, Mercedes." He cocked his head. "Why else do you use yourself as bait?"

I swallowed irritation. "Lack of options? If I run, I'm bait anyway, and not only for the Undead. But when they've come at me before, either I've been ambushed alone, or forced by hostages to go to them, or there was a demon involved. This will escalate into more potent threat, but they'll be facing more and different magic than they're expecting, I sincerely hope. The problem is dealing hard with first attacks while maintaining reserves."

Ap Lugh's eyes narrowed. "Indeed. Am I right to think you asked about Underhill's sunlight because you would force those who can daywalk to make any subsequent attempt?"

"That's a big reason, Gwyn ap Lugh, but so is dismissing any attack in force on this house. And we should have some warning at least. Adam?"

"One thing vamps can't hide is body temperature. That's been to their advantage because they don't show on thermal imaging, but the software's got good enough to look for a moving cold shape so I'm upgrading. Gwyn ap Lugh, how close to the house and how grouped,would attacking Undead have to be for Underhill to … light-sabre them all?"

Ap Lugh's eyes glinted, and Edythe grinned.

"Light scatters and travels fast, Adam Hauptman. Underhill believes a circle a quarter-mile in diameter would be possible on seconds' notice."

"Good. I'd hoped for margin. Would you tell Underhill I am gladdened by this news?"

"Of course. There is also the question of other candidates, and though Lizzie was flattered you thought of her, Mercy, she does not wish for so much exposure again, so soon." That I understood, and nodded. "In time, perhaps. But others are intrigued. Irpa?"

I looked up to find her gazing at me, expression thoughtful.

"I have property in Haight-Ashbury, Mercy — couldn't resist — and I've kept it legal, taxes and all. Was your suggestion to the Prince about me running in that ward serious?"

"Entirely, Irpa. Your interview with Caroline made a very good impression on humans, and so did helping with that avalanche. Your dam work, too." I waggled a hand. "In some wards a troll might be a step too far, but in that ward, against that opponent, I genuinely think you'd have real traction. And besides laughing himself silly, the Man thought hearings for any legal challenge could be expedited."

"Huh. I have to say I'm flattered, as well as tickled, Mercy, but what about other trolls? Those who keep a footing Overhill tend to be near major bridges, and several have paperwork in order."

"If you're vouching for any troll, Irpa, I'll endorse them. Trolls representing wards with major bridges seems right." I grinned. "There'll be some wailing and running around, though."

"The more, the merrier." Irpa grinned back. "The problems, though, Mercy, are that, first, while it's tempting, my neighbours don't know me as fae, only Irpa Thorsden." Twenty-odd foot of bouffant troll vanished, replaced by six foot of older-looking but well-muscled blonde woman, still sitting cross-legged in Chanel but without a mobile tattoo and holding a stout walking stick. "I really don't know what they'll think."

"Thorsden, eh?" I didn't ask, but Irpa had said troll-clubs were gifts from Thor, and he by all accounts had an eye for comely giantesses. "Any embarrassing local disappearances or whatever that might pop if it were known Ms Thorsden could eat any toll-dodgers she happened across?"

"Nah. And no evidence of anything to be found."

"Then I can't see why Haight-Ashbury wouldn't think a Deadhead troll rocks. I don't know what'll happen to my popularity when I announce, but God knows you'd get enough free airtime."

"So the Prince thought also, Mercy. And I'm up for it, for many reasons. But I and others had thought we could help you with security, because glamoured like this the Undead have a hard time telling what sort of fae we might be, and troll-clubs really do work on anything. But if I and one or two others are running ourselves …"

Even with the Troll-friend label I was surprised, and my feelings for Irpa were warm. "Yeah. That's … well, the offer makes me very glad, Irpa, and please pass that on to Þorgerðr, Vorðr, and whoever." She nodded, and I let my brain turn. "One thing is campaigning before the Undead get outed and, assuming I survive, after. And glamour is wholly malleable, so could you do whatever in your ward as Ms Thorsden and Irpa, but be available to join me looking different when I have to be exposed? Road security, in effect." I flicked a glance around assembled faces. "This goes no further, please, but, frankly, Irpa, if you or other trolls could do that, it would really boost my defence strategy, which is as multicultural as my platform — human guards, official and less so, wolves in both forms, avatars, plus my cloak wielding slow time, Manannán's Bane, Carnwennan, Thunderbird's feather, whatever it does, and Skuffles in reserve. I'd be very glad to have you and Giant-shortener aboard, and maybe it wouldn't mind a secondary praisename as, oh, Undead Unmaker or whatever."

Irpa laughed. "No, you wouldn't, would you?" She patted her stick, and I wondered if troll-clubs that were pleased with themselves preened, as Manannán's Bane did. "Multicultural defence sounds good. I need to have conversations, but that ought to be possible."

"Good." I considered her. "Does Ms Thorsden have a cell phone?"

"She does." The human-sized Irpa took a latest model iPhone from a capacious pocket, and sent a text, making me wonder, not for the first time, how glamour dealt with such realities as a fingertip bigger than the whole phone, never mind one key.

My phone pinged. "Good again. I'll be in touch about the political side once I have some idea what I'm doing." She grinned, and I shrugged. "I know, but things are beginning to come together." I looked around. "As this seems to have done. Gwyn ap Lugh, is there news of wooden bullets?"

"There is, Mercedes." He produced a cloth bag from somewhere, and tossed it to Adam. "A dozen samples, Adam Hauptman, numbered on the bases. Let me know which works best with the Glock cases, and Underhill promises ten thousand rounds within the Overhill day."

Adam had the bag open, turning a dark cylinder in his fingers with an appreciative look. "That is very helpful indeed, Gwyn ap Lugh. Do please tell Underhill of our further gladness."

Ap Lugh smiled wryly. "I shall, Adam Hauptman, yet Underhill is happy to do this. She says she has not done so many new things for a very long time, nor felt less bored. So we are, it transpires, glad of your request, Mercedes. A cheerful Underhill eases much for many."

"I am always happy to contribute to our stable balance, Gwyn ap Lugh. Am I good to update the Man, and set up this … pow-wow between all whom I dubbed anti-vamp commanders? Elder Spirits said they'll get themselves here on request, and Adam's conferencing suite can handle it. I regret you won't fit, The Dagda, unless you downsize with glamour."

The Dagda nodded, seeming unbothered, and ap Lugh met gazes before he nodded too. "I think so, Mercedes. And Medicine Wolf?"

"Also doesn't fit inside, which this pow-wow has to be. I'm keeping it posted, and will make sure it knows the night sunshine idea is … loaded and cocked. If it happens there'll be some confused wildlife, but no problem."

"Well enough. Does anyone have anything else concerning the Undead before we move on?"

Edythe's yo-yo spun in a circle before slapping into her palm. "I told you I was not attuned to elections, Mercedes Elf-friend, but I am becoming quite attuned to you. Nothing useful has come to me, yet it may, so be aware I also have your number." She took a phone from a pocket and hit a button, my phone pinging at once. "If I ever call you, take it fast."

"I will, Edythe." I was going to have to think about ringtones, always fun. The Dead's 'Estimated Prophet' might work for her, though the Jaws music was tempting. "Anyone else? Bran?"

"A clarification, Mercy. I've told bicentenarians and younger they have to come out, and encouraged all wolves to think hard about standing. You will also be coming out as undying. With you, Irpa, the question is moot, yet I would be glad to know what you might say if asked."

"Asking a lady's age is bad manners, Bran Cornick, but humans do have those. I'll cop to younger than Medicine Wolf and older than Methuselah."

Bran smiled. "Fair enough. But for wolves one major side benefit of exposing the Undead is to spread human curiosity about deep historical witness, and if Mercy is right about Wulfe's plans one of our prices will be that those Undead who sign up assist in this. Mercy suggested round tables with historians as a way of framing revelations. Might you or other fae be willing to participate?"

A hand waggled delicately, and I noticed Ms Thorsden had beautiful hands. "Maybe. Prince?"

Ap Lugh was still for a moment. "I have no objection, Irpa." He gave an unexpected smile. "If you are elected to the House I imagine your speeches will be historically informed, so an electoral demonstration of deep knowledge seems sensible. You want this also, Mercedes Elf-friend?"

"I do, Gwyn ap Lugh, not only to give older wolves coming out some cover. Bluntly, centuries of experience are part of what the preternatural can offer on the Path of Mercy" — I still felt a twinge of embarrassment using the name — "and I'll need to make that clear to all. I understand real longevity means accumulated loss, and there is no call for any personal revelation anyone doesn't want to make. But historical witness, especially of events that are widely known, is a necessary … earnest we must offer. Avatars will be involved in a concerted effort to set the Amerindian record straight, and if the Fae want the history of human–preternatural relations in recent decades written fairly, they need to offer historians evidence to tell the tale so." I held up a hand. "I don't mean anything truly private or necessarily secret, but if you ever get around to opening your embassy, Baba Yaga, maybe it could be less ambassadorial residence and more cultural centre and library, open to accredited scholars. No grimoires, but history, ancient and modern, from unexpected perspectives, poetry old and new in ever so many extinct languages, and the tales humans mangle in true forms. An offer of truth that will both inform and draw goodwill."

More than the fae were staring, but Baba Yaga looked interested, and after a moment ap Lugh gave a deep nod.

"That is an idea that bears thinking on, Mercedes Elf-friend."

"Elrond's library always feels as if it might have a footing Underhill."

There was laughter, but with the principle accepted I was happy to deal with practicalities and logistics, considered data packs to be given humans, in various versions, and clarified the likely timetable, which meant me starting the ball rolling with Caroline in less than a fortnight. I swallowed, sharply aware of what I'd let myself in for, and opened a second front. In for a cent, in for a dollar.

"Whatever happens with the Undead and my putative candidacy, Elder Spirits, Medicine Wolf, and I have other imperatives to deal with, because in mid-June Celilo Falls will re-emerge. No offence to any, but do you understand what that will mean to all First People?"

"I doubt we can, Mercy, but we know what they were to those who fished them. There will be much celebration, I take it."

"And a great concentration of spirit magic. Several things are relevant." I counted on fingers. "First, I am going to have to push the Washington and Oregon legislatures, with the Man's help, and I'll be on that before the candidacy is publicly mooted. The main thing is to grant the Falls and surrounding area — which I'll be trying to maximise — to the Yakama in perpetuity. This is of no direct concern to any fae, though your passive support would gladden us, but, second, First People and Elder Spirits have no desire whatever to welcome Anglo tourists to the Sacred Space their kind saw fit to drown so they could generate electricity to go on leaking radioactives at Hanford." I heard a wince or two, but really. "To give that exclusion teeth, Elder Spirits' children will become resident — bears, cougars, rattlers, owls, raptors — and they have offered wolves a deal — we'll do physical security at cost around whatever border is agreed, and will be welcome as preternaturals. Medicine Wolf is in, as it is Celilo Falls, so Elder Spirits propose the Sacred Space become a place where all preternaturals and First People meet in peace. All fae and half-fae will be welcome, without obligation save that they, like all, most strictly keep that peace, and I will add my voice to the invitation, because if this house becomes a Western White House somewhere else handy for meetings that isn't Underhill is going to be necessary."

Ap Lugh and others had nodded as I spoke, The Dagda massively.

"That sounds sensible, Mercedes, and if no obligation is incurred I cannot see why we would not take advantage of such a place for safe meeting. It sounds interesting."

"Good." I raised a third finger, gesturing to the earth fae. "A distinct and interesting issue arises, with another in tow. In seeking to welcome and care for the oaks that settled here, honouring the earth fae, I learn there are earth fae and trees Underhill who would welcome gardens Overhill to care for, or space to grow and fruit. We can welcome some here, and there is the Freed garden in Richland, though space is limited and irrigation trickier. I would be glad of your advice in these matters, and, fourth, there will be the Sacred Space, a very magical place, however Overhill, so if there are trees that appreciate a microclimate Elder Spirits will welcome them, holding their gifts of glamour a balance for the earth and water they need. Should they come, Medicine Wolf offers customised irrigation in free earnest of mutually hallowed space."

Ap Lugh's smile was unexpected. "And to what could we possibly object in all that? It is more clever integration, and however strongly I may suspect disappointed photographers are your true object, Underhill will be intrigued. Yet again. And it is a well-balanced proposal, Mercedes Elf-friend, meeting need with need. When the parameters of the Sacred Space are known, I believe Underhill will be happy to assist Medicine Wolf with restoring vegetation. Edythe can liaise with Nuthatch." He considered me a moment, eyes glinting. "Would I be right to think the space you offer trees here is along South Piert and Meals Roads?"

"In the first place, Gwyn ap Lugh, but trees and rose-bushes, or other plants aware of enemies will be welcome anywhere on Adam's and my land, saving only the river frontage. Medicine Wolf's irrigation may be needed, but earth fae are willing to undertake the work, and providing them with a general greening they desire is a true object."

This smile was more austere. "As it would be, Daughter of Coyote as you are. I will say also we were right to force your hand a little in this, for already it bears fruit, potent in war and peace. But the sun westers. Does aught remain to settle today?"

Aught didn't, and after asking Bran if he would return to Aspen Creek now — he wouldn't, as I could take him by cloak later; I sighed — Gray Lords and Irpa made farewells. I blew out a long breath while wolves shook themselves, slung an arm round Jesse, and raised an eyebrow at Bran.

"Problem?"

"Not in the least, Mercy, though you continue to underestimate how much shielding that cloak gives you. The air has been thicker than it should be, and Nemane was not happy to have to tell us what she did."

"That's her problem. Was it very bad, ex-kiddo?"

"Not really, Mom." Jesse's voice was smaller than it might have been. "Bran's right I was feeling it, but I'm more strung out realising what I've helped push you into and seeing you be awesome again."

"It's not on you, Jesse. Why the awesome, though? This is all logistics."

"Is it, Mercy?" Bran sounded … I wasn't sure what. "You also have my congratulations on as neat a piece of Gray Lord wrangling as I've ever seen. Ap Lugh is right about your integrating things."

I shrugged. "I'm doing what I do, Bran. You're just puzzled because for once it's something you want."

Adam grinned, but Pirandella went to Jesse and took her hand.

"All is well, Jesse Hauptman. No fae will strike at one chosen of Underhill. And you need not worry about Nemane, Bran Cornick. It is only that a necessary tolerance of undeath comes between her selves and The Dagda a little, for his nature is otherwise." She offered a fine pixie grin. "It has always made her … cranky. But we are glad of your care, and your skill in allowing Gray Lords to do as you wish is much to be admired. In the fullness of time this night's is a tale that will be gladly told."

I stifled a groan. "The fullness of time had better be a lot later than sooner, Pirandella, not that Gwyn ap Lugh didn't see right through me."

"And cared not one whit, save to be glad of your cleverness."

"If you say so." I turned to Bran. "What else do you need?"

"Charles and I wish to see those slugs in action, and talk to Adam about co-operation with strike teams, after which you and I should talk about governors. We must also sort that Denver meeting, for next weekend."

"Fair enough. Then after I've updated the Man I'll go integrate food, you and Adam go integrate magic bullets and standard or otherwise cases, Anna can do whatever she wants, and we'll talk over dinner."