Chapter Seventeen

I stuck to my self-imposed Friday regime like glue, despatching paperwork with a thoroughness that had Mary eyeing me with concern, and working out hard enough I almost got a tennis-ball past Skuffles. I finished up PowerPoint stuff for Denver, feeling my stomach knotting tighter and tighter, and the little lunch I managed was a lead weight. I hadn't seen Stefan for two months, though we'd exchanged texts, and however clear I was that I didn't have much choice and what almost all vamps did was plain wrong, what I was about to do still felt like a betrayal, because it was. My words to Rachel Lafferty about never blackmailing friends seemed hollow, though I could tell myself it wasn't really blackmail, just fair warning, and did, repeatedly.

The need to clear decks for a weekend away and very crowded week to follow meant Adam was working late, so Darryl, Auriele, and Joel were riding herd with Brent, lapel-cams running. By the time they showed up, with the sun westering, I'd forced myself to send an e asking Stefan to translocate with maximal discretion to the garden at 7. Needing to put the Code of Conduct on a flash drive, with a bulleted summary of what the Man was prepared to offer those signing up, and print copies of both, occupied a few minutes, but I was very happy when Jesse got home, wanting a detailed account of last evening. As Darryl hadn't said much to Auriele, she and Joel were up for that too, and in an odd way tallying it helped; I might be pushing the world again, but not alone, and if concerned about Stefan as well as the risks they were bone certain vamps had painted themselves into a corner and must abide the consequences. With that done the clock was still only inching along, and as my nerves were firing every which way I put on the cloak, took everyone outside, summoned Skuffles, and started a game of Frisbee.

It took Skuffles a few tries to learn how to flick her head to produce a good throw, amid much skull-ruff rattling, but she proved as mean a player as of coyote-in-the-middle, and ran the rest of us ragged. Jesse had a good line about being defeated by my own maxi-me, a joke she had to explain to Skuffles, promising to dig out the Austen Powers DVDs; and watching Joel and Auriele get their heads around a talking Skuffles was welcome distraction. As twilight deepened I distracted myself some more lighting a fire, as much for comfort as warmth, and Darryl brought chairs. Skuffles knew I was fretting, and sat beside me, letting me rest a hand in her fur, wondering at the pure efficacy of glamour, before she vanished. Despite protest and mulish looks I also sent Jesse inside.

"I doubt Stefan will flip, ex-kiddo, but trouble is not impossible. Adam reinforced Brent for good reasons, and one target to guard is enough."

Then it was back to waiting, but Stefan was prompt, drifting out of the darkness with a quizzical look at 7. Despite the dropping temperature he wore only slacks and his worn Scooby-Doo tee, and my heart ached.

"Hey, Mercy. Why all the secrecy?"

"Stefan." My voice sounded weak. "You're well?"

"I am." His look was guarded. "And you?"

"More or less. But we need to talk about the less, I'm afraid. Things are happening."

Stefan dropped into the remaining chair, but didn't relax, and Auriele, Darryl, Brent, and Joel were poised to move at need.

"Are they? What sort of things?"

"All sorts. But I'm hoping there might be a short cut. Tell me, if you will, do you know what Wulfe said to me that night in Wyoming, after you and Marsilia left?"

Vampires are often still, but Stefan became stiller.

"After? He told us he acknowledged your aid, granting his protection against our kind. Many did not like it, but saw the logic." Stefan shrugged. "Wulfe has the right and power. Was there more?"

"He called himself the oldest living vampire wizard, in the hearing of Gwyn ap Lugh and Nemane."

The stillness became intense, and I could see him working it through.

"Ah. That is … interesting. What do you deduce from it?"

I took a deep breath. "Too much, maybe, but it has had strong effects, not least on Bran and the Gray Lords, who were not certain She of Livorno had been dismissed, but now are. And as you may know, and Wulfe surely does, Fae and Wolves are under considerable human pressure in the wake of the Medicine Wolf Accords about certain silences we have been carefully keeping. So it is my belief, and others', that Wulfe accepts the status quo is not sustainable, and has hopes we might be willing to help with some … necessary housekeeping."

There was a long silence, Stefan's expression closed, and I sighed.

"Stefan, we've been friends a long time by my standards, and I owe you, so if you want I can give you some documents to read, and keep this short by advising you to get yourself and your household out of town and deep under cover until you can decide what you want to do."

"And why should I wish or need to hide, Mercy?"

I passed him printed copies and flash drive. "Because a week today I am going to make a call, via Marsilia, to tell Bonarata secrecy is no longer viable." He looked startled and I held up a hand. "I will be speaking for the Marrok, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, Medicine Wolf, and the Man."

"You're outing us?"

"We have to, Stefan. I'm declaring my candidacy to succeed the Man, and I cannot do so and keep shtum about how every vamp except you and Thomas Hao treats their sheep. And, you told me, however belatedly, Wulfe. I have done the best I can by vamps, for your sake and Hao's, and we seek reform, no more, which has taken some doing, but everyone preternatural has had it with Bonarata's … indifference to reality, and with the Accords our honours are engaged in a way saying nothing brings into question. I'm just taking point." I was pinning my hopes on the fact Stefan understood honour in his bones. "So it's signing up to that Code of Conduct, which you already follow, with the civil deal detailed in those papers, or facing an alliance of Gray Lords, Wolves, Elder Spirits and avatars, here in the basin Medicine Wolf, and humans, meaning military Special Forces, SWAT, and more. It is forcible outing, Stefan, and I really don't like the taste, but my honour is engaged too."

Stefan was expressionless, but sat back, crossing his legs as he carefully read both documents. When he looked at me again his look had become very complicated, and he sounded sad.

"If you make this ultimatum to the Master of the Night, Mercy, he will kill you. Wulfe cannot protect you against him, nor can any other."

"Any other what, Stefan? Bonarata will try to kill me, I agree, but he'll find it harder than he thinks." This was trickier, but I pushed on. "And I'm willing to bet Wulfe knows that, and for many reasons is quite content his former child should … underestimate the magical threat environment. I have no loyalty to Wulfe, nor Marsilia, but have no objection if you want to warn them, quietly, to make very sure they are not in the forefront of any assault on this house Bonarata demands of her seethe."

He looked at me for a moment. "I cannot fight the Master, Mercy."

"Who's asking you to? But if Wulfe wants what I think, you can tell him the price is as much financial data on Bonarata and his seethe as he has, especially older and undigitised stuff, and the reward is that if he provides it Nemane agrees to talk about mutual interests." That made Stefan blink. "You could try looking on the bright side, however daywalking doesn't much appeal. Wouldn't you rather live openly, a shining example of honourable vamp–human symbiosis, in a night without Bonarata? And have all vamps treat sheep as you do?"

I could see his mind working, the scope of it becoming clearer, and a human might have drawn sudden breath.

"I would, Mercy, and things about Wulfe that have of late puzzled me are making greater sense."

"Will he protect or seek to dismiss Marsilia?"

"Protect, and annex. If you want his goodwill do not harm her, Mercy, tainted as she is."

"I will meet force with force, Stefan, but I'm not after her, despite her awful laugh and worse treatment of you. And if she and Wulfe are together in this, or he's pulling her strings, it shouldn't be beyond them to make sure the … most committed traditionalists, say, those glad to obey any command of Bonarata's and wipe Wulfe's eye by ignoring his order of protection, are in the forefront of an assault on this house. Which in the event might be good news all round. How would Bonarata react to a defeat?"

"You are overconfident, Mercy."

"Am I, Stefan? Gauntlet Boy and Blackwood thought so too. And others, here and there. Will you answer?"

"What would the Master do if a seethe attack in force were defeated? Strike again, far harder."

"Meaning Lenka Yakovlevna and his inner cadre of enforcers?"

"Probably. If you killed any of them he would come himself."

"My, my, my, said the spider to the fly." He blinked. "Stefan, no offence but there are things I am not going to talk about. Just think about what open preternatural alliance has already managed, and how hidebound as well as genuinely ignorant Bonarata is. Does he truly not know how seethes fare against packs in North America, that he is unconcerned by wolf alliance with both Fae and avatars, though each has a visceral hatred of undeath? It beats me. But I will bet he doesn't have the first idea that when Wulfe told ap Lugh She of Livorno had been dismissed, ap Lugh hastened to tell the Marrok, while Wulfe knew exactly what he was starting." I took another breath, wishing Stefan could still do likewise. "Candidacy has forced my hand, and that is not Wulfe's doing, but his hand is in this too, Stefan, and not lightly. How his speaking for Nemane as well as ap Lugh to hear plays in I have no real idea, and you'll know better about Marsilia, but the rest surely includes sweet revenge on a faithless child and his own long-term survival with the least personal inconvenience." I shrugged. "And just maybe, given his improved sheep, he's decided the best interests of North American vamps are served by putting himself on the right side of the Medicine Wolf Accords — coming out successfully, meaning no vamp trying to be honest can't get by. Which as things stand is not so easy, hence the need for a little help from his friends."

Stefan sighed. "You are making far too much sense, Mercy. I will talk to Wulfe tonight, very quietly, and will not be surprised if he does wish to relay that financial data. Your advice to get out of town and lie very low seems increasingly compelling. I hope you survive, Mercy, but it is no more than hope. None have crossed Bonarata for centuries and done so."

"That he knows about." Stefan blinked again. "In any case, if Wulfe wants to talk, or Hao, and the phone won't do, I'm willing to meet, but only here with fair notice. There would be guards. Be aware that … strategic relocation without signing up to Code will not be much of an option. The Canadian and Mexican borders will be watched, full moons are covered, and the human part of the alliance will be international — patchy, no doubt, but that's their problem, and they will be briefed. The best renegades can hope for when caught is deportation in an unbreakable plastic coffin, and we both know there's going to be a lot of dust before it's done. That's Bonarata's doing though, in his stupidity."

"You think him stupid?"

"Is wholly ignoring problems that are fast going critical anything but stupid, Stefan? The Marrok warned Marsilia, and so did I. Maybe it's indolence, inertia, or complacence, but those all qualify as some kind of stupid. Rulers who think duty runs one-way usually come to grief, and given vamp blood- and mindties Bonarata's centuries of rule have built him a net of compulsion, not loyalties. Even Marsilia doesn't like him, does she? Nor you, Wulfe, or Hao. And in the nature of vamp ties only dismissal of the dominant will solve the problem. So I will do everything I can to make sure it's the right dust, meaning to the deep benefit of those still not breathing who will accept a deal to avoid an undeath on the run. I hope you'll do the same, Stefan, and unless you ask me to I will not rescind your invitation here. If this betrayal is beyond bearing I will understand and regret, but my goal is a world where your kind and mine can meet in peace and mutual tolerance, if not with any warmth."

I wanted to cry, and holding it back started a headache, but the silence was soothing, broken only by the noises of fire gnawing at logs. Stefan was rereading the documents, pausing to look into the fire from time to time, and a nudge from Darryl using my packbond had me opening in query and receiving a pulse of emotions from him and Joel — strong approval, compassion, understanding of conflicted honour — that siphoned away the headache. I looked gratitude, and though both remained sharply alert, they'd lost some wariness, witness joining guard-duty. Stefan looked up.

"Kyle?" I nodded. "Thank him for me? As you say, Mercy, maybe, just maybe. It has been too easy to forget what you are, even with your not-exactly father popping up on TV so often." He shook his head. "I have been in the West long enough to know many tales of Coyote and his dancing, and how strongly you stand between kinds."

"Coyote in the middle, always. Which reminds me. Our friendship came up in conversation with Underhill, who was puzzled by it. I told her I thought your continuing senses of honour and humour are linked, and she's thinking about that, not least because I accidentally put the Fae on their mettle about their own sense of humour, so she's also working on her own. Who knows, but if you were to bump into a fae problem somewhere, it might be that politely offering negotiations or just walking away would prove acceptable."

Stefan had gone back to staring. "You speak to Underhill directly?"

"Quite often. And though Baba Yaga is the Fae ambassador, I'm presently the main contact between the Gray Lords and the Man. Who will be endorsing me, by the way."

Stefan's manner had given me a little more hope, and for the first time he cracked a grin, so I added Irpa's candidacy in what California ward, with a senatorial candidate in Kentucky into which I had cajoled Bran, and the grin became a smile.

"That sounds entertaining, Mercy." The smile faded. "And I begin to see what you mean about the threat environment." He glanced down at the papers. "These are cleverly as well as carefully done, and your logical case strong. But Bonarata is not driven by logic."

"I know. But do encourage him any way you can to stick his heart out, so I can stake it."

He considered me. "I very much doubt staking will suffice for him, Mercy. If you should get the chance, use fire and decapitation as soon as ever as you may." He looked thoughtful. "I never met She of Livorno, but Wulfe said all were needed, with sunlight, and Bonarata was there."

"He grabbed some powers of survival, you mean? Figures. Would it happen that ever since he has vaunted his immunities to vamp magic?"

Stefan frowned. "You know much I would not expect."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. So he individually needs the fullest whammy. Surprise. So did the River Devil and Cantrip." I wasn't going to let alarm show, but was wondering hard what else might even out the vamp-scotching odds. "Bottom line, Stefan, is still that while none of us except maybe humans would go it alone, Fae, Wolves, and Elder Spirits have joined humans to demand US vamps shape up or ship out. And what any vamps you care for need to be doing is thinking about the fact that three kinds of preternatural have found walkable Paths of Assertion and Mercy to share with humans, and we're offering vamps an opportunity to be the fourth. Please take it. I don't think many of us will have second chances in all this, but we all have one big chance, if we get it right. And it was always gonna blow wide sometime. This way we get a jump on it."

He looked at me steadily. "I know. And I am thinking many things, Mercy, including that the odds are perhaps better than I am used to supposing, however they remain … fearful."

"Yeah. And outside North America a nasty standoff is very possible."

"Quite. But you remain … if not overconfident, Mercy, then I must hope with very overladen sleeves."

"You could say, Stefan. But I'm not going there, and not because you're a vampire. Even coyotes understand need-to-know, and the stakes involved, sorry, are enough to command my fullest attention."

"I take no offence, Mercy. It is wise. I am only set to wondering."

"Wonder away. Just don't say anything sensible about me to anyone, please, before it happens."

"No. I will not squander any edge you have gained." He came to some decision. "And I disagree about one thing, Mercy, for this is no betrayal, however it weighs upon our friendship. It is not the first thing to do so, however it may be the last. And this I say now is no betrayal either, for I have never sworn oath to Bonarata, nor does he command my honour. He will first send one to kill swiftly without fuss, and if that one is foiled he will be enraged. Then he might order Marsilia to attack in force, or send his own foremost fixers. I will not act against Marsilia save in self-defence, but were that seethe mine I would undoubtedly purge it, as would Wulfe, so I can hardly object to anyone else doing so, if, as you say, the right dust results."

He rose carefully, tucking papers and flash drive into a pocket. "I will let you know what I can, when I can, Mercy, but things may happen fast."

"We go, we go, we go to war" I agreed. "But unless I'm completely wrong and Wulfe flips at the mere idea, I think the waiting will run a while yet. Neither of us want attrition, only as clean a blow as we can manage, and while honour demands the ultimatum, the deadline will be six weeks. I realise declaring oneself in opposition is tricky, and no-one needs anything premature, but once it breaks the good should not dawdle. There is a tide in the affairs of vamps. And at our end I'll tell Westfield to have Vampire Registration hotlines ready and waiting, and give him Wulfe's number, because you're right that when this does happen it'll happen fast." I looked at him with a sense of melancholy. "You were a true courtier to a genuine prince once, weren't you, Stefan?"

He nodded, face still. "I was, Mercy, and he would have disdained Bonarata as I do. But that world is gone, and only the worst of its perversions remains, in and with him."

"Not the point, Stefan. I don't mean to pry needlessly, but I've always thought you regretted more than losing your … I won't say humanity, but mortality. You regret the work you did as a human. I'll also bet you were good at it. An honest prince's politician."

His smile was as austere as I'd ever seen from him. "I might have become such, Mercy, had I lived. And you are not wrong my loss yet rankles, for it was what I was born to do."

"So maybe it can become what you died to do, amigo. I will hope so."

The smile stayed, deepening in pain and hope. "I had thought there were no princes worth serving left, but perhaps there is after all a princesa, as your friend Asil thinks."

"Not for me to say, Stefan, but if I make it to Camelot, you can be Sir Scooby, and not just for the SCA. Oh, and there's a strand I'd forgotten, because it's all so contingent, but I'll have to come clean about wolf and avatar longevity, while vamps are by definition undead. We're planning to try to direct human curiosity into historical round tables, and there'll be one on the early American West with Warren, Irpa, Coyote, and avatars. You'd be welcome, if and when, and could tell Wulfe getting other older ones to offer historical witness would be the kind of PR vamps are going to need badly once they're out. Hao would be good at that."

Austerity cracked into mirth. "Ah, Mercy, Mercy. Only you."

"I'm not joking, Stefan. Or it's a useful joke. If I make it, Amerindian history is in for a major corrective boost, and there will be a formal request for preternatural witness of racial interaction on this continent. Also on the PR front, there will be bereaved sheep needing medical and psychiatric care. The Man has allocated budget, but help from registered vamps will help everyone, and bed down ideas of good and bad vamp practice. A chance to become good vamps, helping humans bad vamps have messed up. I know it's hard, and goes against a long grain, but openness is the way forward. The hashtag will be #DaywalkingByNight."

Mirth lingered, complexities swirling. "Oh yes. I hear you about the bereaved, and thank you for that care. And your gift for hashtags has not deserted you, Mercy, though I must. Be as careful as you can, and I hope your luck continues true. Give Jesse my regards, please. Farewell, all."

I opened my mouth to return Jesse's to him, but he translocated, vanishing with a soft pop as air filled sudden vacuum, and I stood for a moment, wondering, before pushing it aside. I'd thrown the dice, and they'd come up snake-eyes or whatever as they would, so it was my job to get back inside. Joel stayed to bank the fire, and I wasn't half-way to the door when Adam came out. I walked into his arms, and let him hold me while twitching muscles relaxed. But curiosity was squirming, his ear close.

"What did you think, love?"

"That you've been spot on all along. He didn't know about Wulfe, but knew something was happening and you joined a lot of existing dots while adding a bunch more." He shifted to arms' length and gave me a kiss. "And coloured everything in neatly. Good dance, love, with honour intact and acknowledged. He can't quite believe you can take Bonarata, and I sympathise, but I've seen and known you win at worse odds."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Which ones?"

"River Devil, seen, Manannán, known. Bonarata's younger, far smaller, and a great deal more killable, whatever he got from She of Livorno."

"True. But we need to think about that. Can you carry a concealed flamethrower?"

Adam, Darryl, and Brent all stared.

"Not easily, love, and permits would be tricky." Adam frowned. "Though I can't see why you shouldn't in principle, and who knows what the Army might have tucked away?"

"Investigate, hey? The Joint Chiefs should play ball. If wooden slugs don't stop Bonarata, a bigger stake lodged through him into whatever ought to allow trying a second method. Molotov Cocktails if flamethrowers are out? And decapitation. I'll talk to Carnwennan."

"Do." Adam was as serious as I was. "A wolf could have a sword, though it'd attract comment."

"Could a taser be jacked enough to cause combustion?"

"Probably, for a one-shot." Darryl shook his head. "Law enforcement would not like it."

"Tough. One for Westfield. He did say to ask if we wanted more."

"Yeah, he did. Irpa seems confident troll clubs work on everything."

"True, but She of Livorno's leftovers might be very weird magic, and for all Nemane was clear fae magic can't inhabit a non-fae body, I'm not so sure, and neither is Skuffles. I'll talk to Irpa, but I can't see that some power of resistance or, I dunno, deflection, couldn't exist."

We started walking again, and Joel caught us as we reached the kitchen, where Jesse looked up, mouth opening and closing again as I held up a hand, turning to Adam.

"The problem is a first strike with enough to immobilise, so a second can go home." Which was pretty much what I'd done to Manannán, with Underhill's help, which I had again. Adam nodded. "So, suppose some people have speciality rounds. Maybe Underhill could do fragmenting ones — a groin full of splinters ought to be worth something as a distraction. Or Blackwood Corp explosives — real damage to inhibit mobility. Give Irpa time for a haymaker, or someone a chance to strike a match."

"Harpoons." We looked at Jesse. "Like in James Bond. They pin people to things."

"True, Jesse. Shoulder-holstered harpoons are a problem, though."

Jesse shrugged. "So someone can carry one at port arms. Or build it into a campaign banner or whatever. What's the problem, anyway?"

"Bonarata may be magically dismissal-resistant in some way. Stefan thinks multiple methods will be needed."

"Oh. Right. But harpoons anyway. They can carry voltage, too, on a trailing wire. And explode. It was on a National Geographic show."

"Huh. Sounds good. I agree an obvious harpoon would attract questions we don't want, but maybe one can be disguised. If we have slow time, popping off a sprung cover would make no odds."

Adam nodded, a look in his eye. "True. The CIA for that, if Westfield agrees. And oddly, your playing Q as well as M is a serious turn-on."

"Hold that thought, love. I've hardly eaten all day and there is at least one of Benny's miracles yodelling my name. More probably two."

"Yodelling?" Jesse was quizzical. "You want some kind of Swiss pizza?"

"Nah. Triple pepperoni. The yodelling is just to herald its imminent birth and satori, in my very empty stomach."

"OK." I got a daughterly look. "It went well, then, and Stefan's OK? Dad wouldn't let me watch."

I gave Adam a grateful look. "Some things you shouldn't see me do, ex-kiddo, and that was one, however it went better than I'd feared. Stefan sent you regards but vanished before I could return yours. I —"

My phone rang with the opening of 'Twenty-First Century Schizoid Man', and Adam eyes met mine. I answered the call.

"Hello, Wulfe."

"Mercedes Elf-friend, and Troll-friend I hear." His voice was close to a vampire purr. "I bet myself you would see, and am happy both to win and to lose. Marsilia is mine, though I hear and will heed your warning. By all means give Westfield my number, and tell Charles Cornick and Baba Yaga to check their inboxes." There was the briefest pause. "Iacopo can daywalk, as Stefan, Marsilia, and I can, though none other here, and but seven of those who surround him, with Lenka. I trust you will share how very helpful I'm being with Nemane. And your Code is better than I had feared, if cleverer than I had hoped, and even resists our inevitable contempt for its nature, a little." I waited out a longer pause, and heard his sigh. "You grow as strong as I thought, and have held up your end. I will hold up mine, by my word as Iacopo's maker, and you have my fullest let to try to dismiss him in any manner whatever that works."

The connection was cut, and my eyes met Adam's again.

"Make that quadruple pepperoni, and I'll make some calls."