Chapter Thirty-Three

It was very late indeed before anyone got any sleep, and if Jesse could cry off school for a day Adam and I didn't have that luxury. Forensic techs dug out slugs and departed with weapons and clothing, and a SEAL presence let wolves head home after giving statements, but beings kept arriving. Medicine Wolf came by to offer congratulations, and said it had watched the magic with great interest and soothed flora and fauna disturbed by unmannerly sunlight, before sniffing at the gathered dust, growling distaste, and despite federal demur disposing of the cotton sacks down a shaft that gaped briefly and snapped shut again. Gwyn ap Lugh visited, pleased the plan had worked and interested by mini-Grond, which I kept. I passed on Marsilia's request about the Borrowed Warchest, which he said, eyebrow quirking, he'd take in hand. Bran didn't actually turn up but did call, wanting a first-hand account. And the media mob outside never stopped swelling, and made way too much noise.

Leslie waited until 6 a.m. Eastern before calling the AED, finding him already breakfasting, and by then a clip from someone at the gate was top of the early newscasts. It didn't show much, but fetches staring had attracted the camera, so while they were only blurry outlines the sound of shots had been caught, followed by a blaze of light that whited-out the screen. When it faded house and grounds had remained fogged for several hours, though our conversation with Mr Andrews and first exchange with Tony were there, and by the time things were back in focus there was nothing to be seen except new uniforms on the gate. Leslie had issued a statement saying shots had been fired and a magical alarm triggered, but no injury caused. Investigations were proceeding, no determinations had been made, but obvious possibilities raised by my candidacy could not be ignored, and SEALs were on guard at her request until the Secret Service could take over. When the news went on to a container ship in trouble in Chinese waters Leslie gave Westfield a more accurate summary, with images snapped on her phone, and I played back my conversation with Wulfe. He listened impassively, eyes dark, and refilled his coffee mug.

"So you are still batting 1000, Ms Hauptman. Their rifles were sabotaged to miss, they fired at illusions, and you had arranged … sunlight on demand."

"That covers it AED, but the fetches were because we couldn't count on the sabotage. Wulfe played it straight, though, for a vamp value of straight."

"By … throwing fourteen of his own kind straight at you, hoping you would deal with them."

"Yeah. But still. I don't know how much vamp power was dismissed, but enough he was constrained by it. And yet, by the letter, no magical trespass, and minimal injury even if it had been wolves grazed by silver. Plus first registrations, meaning open vamp secession from Bonarata, and a whole lot of … interseethe squawking. So no Geronimo yet. Give them a chance to sweat, not that vamps can."

His eyebrows rose. "I suppose not. But yes. And your predictions of Bonarata's responses prove exact. The President briefed me on your expectations of St Louis. Have those changed at all?"

"The opposite, AED. The mystery of di Ragusa is an oaken bonus that should eat at Bonarata, but with a mass attack carried out as ordered proving an immediate and complete failure, costing fourteen and generating secession by Marsilia's survivors and more, his authority is openly on the line. Wolves and fae will make sure details get back to all seethes in the US, Mexico, and Canada, and they'll get the data package with Code and terms. So will European seethes we know about, so word will spread, and all vamps will look to his further response. You should talk urgently to ap Lugh and Bran about helping the bereaved sheep, because that news will play too. It all means he has to get me, and as vamps are averse to suicide — after the first time, anyway — it has to be daywalkers, which limits his options. He might get it together fast enough to try something in Lexington or here, but he's got hard thinking and fast talking to do, already has plenty else on his plate, and will soon have more, so I doubt it. Other things being equal, I'll announce the meeting with Ol' Manitou River on Tuesday. He should already know about my going to St Louis, so it'll add open-air exposure, and he'll have three days to get there." I shrugged. "Wulfe's odds were low, I think. St Louis will be the obvious opportunity, and Bonarata will throw good money after bad at least once more. Very old habits die very hard."

He shook his head. "I am running out of ways to express surprise and admiration, Ms Hauptman."

"How about letting me and Adam get some sleep, AED? Adrenalin's worn off, and we both need it."

"I imagine you do." He thought for a moment. "There's nothing save some calls that has to be done now. The recovered rifles and slugs are proof of hostile intent, Leslie, even without the blades, but include the images of that battering-ram when you write it up. File for my eyes only, and I'll brief the President, Joint Chiefs, and Directors. Is there a particular reason you're retaining the battering-ram, Ms Hauptman?"

"Mini-Grond, AED, and I'm thinking about it. There are implications. Did Wulfe know about my orcs metaphor?"

"Um … yes. How much you had and hadn't told us about vampires came up on the one occasion we've spoken."

"Right. I thought he must. Grond was an orc weapon, but wielded by trolls, so one thing is I want Irpa to see it. It would have fitted that hocus Wulfe said he spun, and spelling it to shatter against glass, if he did, would amuse him, but even if it's no more than a joke there will be layers to think through. And what would you do with it anyway?"

"Point. What happened to the original Grond?"

"Um … spoils of war, certainly, but Tolkien doesn't say. Burned, with the head melted down by dwarves, probably. Or deep-sixed if the steel was too magically contaminated. Except it wasn't the original — the battering-ram at Minas Tirith was named for Morgoth's mace, the Hammer of the Underworld, and that might play in, somehow, vamps being the ones who just got hammered. But Wulfe didn't know about Underhill, so morningstars probably aren't relevant." Even Adam blinked, and I sighed. "Let me sleep on it, and I might make more sense."

"Fair enough. And congratulations on surviving assassination attempt number … eight, is it? Mr Hauptman. Leslie."

Leslie wasn't happy about St Louis plans but I asked her to do me a favour all the same, on Jesse's behalf, and let Jenna and Sally know what had happened.

"Sally can tell Clay and Donna, but still under oath."

"Damn. I don't neglect my daughter but … damn, Mercy, how do you keep not missing a single trick?"

"I told you, Leslie, our strength is as the strength of ten because our hearts are pure. Jesse and Jenna keep them that way."

She didn't say anything but hugged me, and Adam and I staggered upstairs and zonked out. He tried to leave me asleep when he hauled himself upright again barely three hours later, but I'd half-woken and as people on Pacific Time caught news both our phones started bleeping with concerned enquiries, so I opted to shower and dress despite dragging limbs. Jeans and a sweatshirt would do, and I added the cloak. Although we had nothing to say Leslie hadn't already said, being seen alive and well mattered, so after I'd made a call to Stallings, excusing Jesse, and fielded her curiosity, we headed down to the gate. It was all slightly absurd, and we stonewalled about sunlight and alarm systems on the grounds that magic is magic, security security, and neither public domain. Adam offered thanks to SEALs, while regretting the necessity, and after saying the camera-fogging was an unavoidable side-effect of some magics, I managed to distract the mob by wondering if five silver slugs might be like five orange pips, a warning. If so, the warners were probably still running from the magical response, and could in any case forget it — Cantrip hadn't stopped me, nor Heuter, Dim Future, or the JLS, and whoever had shot our drive could join the list. Meantime, could we get back to the agenda they were trying to hijack? I'd be in Haight-Ashbury mid-afternoon, with Irpa, and yes, I was going by cloak, so there was no point their hanging about, and bye now, presidential candidates and security bosses having things to do and people to see.

Adam gave me a sidelong look as we walked back up the drive.

"Sherlock Holmes now?"

"Blame sleep deprivation. And it's more like five red herrings. Best I could do as a segue to get back on message."

"It's another good one, love, but you are a bit punchy. Not a problem now, but maybe later. I don't quite know how I feel about this, but if Underhill's good with it, go catch some hours that don't pass here?"

"Maybe." The thought had crossed my mind, and Underhill might want to talk. Gladness was due. "I'll see how I go, Adam. David's here at noon?"

"That's what he's aiming for. Secret Service, too, who are also sending a detail to SF." Adam's voice was dry. "The Director was quite insistent on going the extra mile for you, by all accounts."

"Fancy that. God knows what he'll do if I win."

"Accept a wolf squad, fast." I got another look. "I might have to tell him about the statue, and that I'm not having humans gawping at you quite so déshabillé."

"Huh. Edythe was asking about my reaction to that, and Warren poked at her about yours. Being out and running is proving good for him, as we thought. His confidence is up."

"It must be if he slapped at Edythe."

"Only a little, but he made the point. She took it too, but said the statue was accurate. It's even in exactly the right place, so fig-leaves were a real concession."

He didn't disagree but felt what he felt. So did I, but I was getting used to the statue, and if it had been bronze or marble I didn't think I'd be much bothered, though I supposed Underhill would think that a form of falsity. Just now breakfast was more interesting, and what passed for routine re-asserted itself. Adam sent the night-shift home, day-shift came on, and Dan and the Joes they stayed to boost numbers and hash things over. I touched base with Mary, and combined calls to Jenny and Frank to update them. Both were relieved, but Jenny wanted detail.

"It's legal limbo, Mercy, and the Feds won't want to cause you trouble, but the numbers have to have shaken them and the lack of direct evidence is problematic. Nor will media questions stop."

"I know, Jenny, but can sunlight be called an offensive weapon? And when this all breaks, I can produce mini-Grond and say that whether it's four, fourteen, or forty vamps firing silver and jumping at me and mine, carrying a tool of Sauron, they're toast, period. If it's in St Louis, there might be footage of me and others using Glocks or other weapons, even of vamps crumbling, which is not fun to see. Depends how cameras react to time dilation, but if Lenka Yakovlevna's involved there'll be at least one body that stays flesh. When the truth's out, it's out, and I haven't killed anyone who wasn't trying to kill me."

"No, I know, Mercy. I'm just processing. Presidential candidate slays fourteen in home invasion is unknown territory."

Frank smiled, though it lacked wattage. "True, Jenny, but voters are not going to object. And it's not as if anyone doesn't know attacking Mercy is a really stupid idea, thank God and other beings. I'm more worried about you, Mercy — you look worn. Just how bad was last night?"

I sighed. "They didn't get close enough to see expressions, fortunately, but I can imagine them, and have. Wulfe set them up, coldly, and we took them down, just as coldly. I always knew there'd be plenty of dust, so far it's been the right dust, and it was quick. I'll live with it, and I'm glad enough to serve the warning. Only Bonarata will ignore it, so I should have just one more vamp attack to survive for a long while. Happy days."

There was a silence.

"Recalibrate for Mercy. Right." Frank made a face, and I grinned. "I'll get the hang of it. But try to grab an hour or two of sleep before SF? Troll launches sound high-octane."

That was true, and I decided that if an Underhill nap was available, I'd be a fool not to take it. "Will do. Stress catching up, not just last night."

"Un huh." He eyed me shrewdly. "And relief Jesse's risk should drop right off, whatever your own does. Is she OK?"

"Asleep, far as I know. And yeah. She held up really well while we were waiting. We played Clue!, and she worked out Hera did it in the conservatory with an elk stampede, though Edythe says Hera really wouldn't do that, at least with elk."

I wasn't going to get a better exit-line, and took it. I needed to push finding the length-and-breadth-of-the-Mississippi crew, but it turned out Maya had it in hand, for Sunday so folk didn't miss work, and flights in and out of Tri-Cities Airport and St Louis had been reserved even where names still had to be supplied. Billings, Denver, Kansas City, Little Rock, Shreveport, New Orleans, Memphis, St Louis, Indianapolis, and Pittsburgh were sorted, with Chicago, and she was chasing Wichita, Oklahoma City, and Baton Rouge, while Jude and others were tackling Nashville, Louisville, Cincinnati, and Columbus. We had two stevedores, three boat hands (one a woman), two river captains, a pilot, a chandler, and, pleasingly, a high-stakes cruiseboat gambler, also a woman; the age range was 19 to 61, while all knew their Blues, more or less, with several playing something, if only for fun. She had also done flights for First People Jim Alvin and my demographic father were drumming up.

"All sounds good, Maya, but more women? And some ex-kiddos?"

/Oh yeah. I'm so on that./

"Good. And I didn't mean everyone had to be active on the river now. A vet or serving soldier wouldn't be amiss. And emergency services or boat safety — river has its bureaucracy as well as business and mystique."

/Right./ She scribbled notes. /We've been tapping into river grapevines, but I'll tell Boz and Jude to broaden parameters. Might make for leaks despite asking for oaths, though frankly, Mercy, for my money the oath has less effect than being dumbstruck./

"Manitous are still that big a surprise?"

/Well, kinda, but it's not that. It's being asked, and a manitou of colour. You're reaching right into our hearts./

I swallowed, hard. "Unacceptably so?"

/God, no. Anything but, Mercy. I didn't—/

"No, sorry, Maya. I'm just tired, and jumpy after last night. Race is always raw, given our history, and I'm doing what amounts to a lot of manipulating. Making offers people can't refuse has a pretty dubious rep."

/Marlon Brando you're not, Mercy. Go catch some zs./

If everyone was telling me to sleep I should listen, and as Brent was upright I told him what I intended, put in a Benny's order for lunchtime, put on the cloak, and we went. Just sitting on one of the benches was restful, the heavy odour of roses narcotic, and I was fighting my eyelids when Underhill skipped in and cocked her head, considering me.

"Mercedes Elf-friend, sleep at ease while time crawls Overhill. Is all not well?"

"It is, Underhill." Being there brought truth to the surface. "Except my conscience. Did you see what we wrought?"

"I did." I got a shrewd look. "But to me, they were as young as insects are to you. And you would respect age and experience if you could."

"Yes. They should have counted as elders, though the count stops with first death. I don't like feeling triumphant about it. I'm not being very logical today."

"So sleep. None will harm you here."

"I know. And I really wish I could thank you properly for my life, twice over, Underhill."

"You do, Mercedes, richly. I had more than one reason for naming you Elf-friend."

"You have more than one reason for everything."

She smiled. "So do you. Sleep. Irpa will not allow you to be late for anything you have promised."

It wasn't a command, but might as well have been, and the next thing I knew was some serious bouncing as Irpa flicked a troll finger at the very comfortable bench, which felt but didn't look like a bed.

"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead." I got a troll grin, seeing Brent but no sign of Underhill. "Eight straight should sort anyone."

I glanced at Brent, who shrugged.

"About that, Mercy, but my watch says it's been maybe eight minutes, so what do I know? Irpa's been here a while, and assured me no-one would be late for anything."

"Time's never a problem Underhill. And you have your fizz back. Cloak's done some recharging and Manannán's Bane some talking, so that's all good. And the outcome of Operation Scarlet Begonias." I'd shared that twisted thought a while back, and she grinned, looking at me with what I thought genuine curiosity. "Underhill said you were feeling the weight of youth?"

"Did she?" The paradox blossomed in my mind. "That's a new one on me, Irpa, but sounds right. Anyone tell you about mini-Grond?"

"Westfield told the Prince you wanted me to see it."

"Gut-feeling. I think I want Giant-shortener to meet mini-Grond."

Very large eyebrows rose. "Troll clubs are picky, Mercy, and mini-Grond of Undead make. It could get squashed."

"Mmm. Ask it first? We are talking daywalker who probably has stake-resistance. He'll have been working on decapitation."

"Huh. Nemane still insists fae magic is impossible without a fae body, but I've been wondering about that. I'll do some talking, but my club has its own opinions. Imagine Manannán's Bane weighed sixteen tons, and you'll be ballpark. But we should get moving, Mercy. I need to be early, there are people to meet, and time dilation's not for wasting."

That made me grin, and I realised I felt infinitely better, not just well-rested and limber but reconciled, as if a lot more than eight hours had passed, or Medicine Wolf had lent me glass. Irpa was right about fizz, and when I expressed gladness for refuge and comfort, and there was a tinkly chime that made me smile as Irpa opened an arch.

A quick shower completed my contentment, and I had for once already decided what to wear. I'd done some commissioning as well as buying off the shelf, and the guests Irpa had arranged made a dress with a mid-calf flared skirt and full-colour Medicine Wolf above I do not need enemies to know who I am perfect. By the time I bounced back downstairs Jesse was up, and Jill, who gave me a fish-eye.

"Eight hours in eight minutes?"

"Apparently. It's done the trick, anyway. How's your head, Jesse?"

"I'm good, Mom. Better them than anyone else, even if it weighs."

"Oh yeah. Death does, but it was quick. And you get big points for endurance. Tension eats at a body."

"Un huh. A shower helped, but I can still feel it."

"I bet. One thing, though — Leslie will have told Jenna, and she'll have told Sally, so get privacy and you can blow some steam."

I got a fast hug.

"You are the best, Mom. And I thought about going to school for afternoon classes — I'd rather be doing, and could deflect questions some." She cocked her head. "There's open speculation it was fae power. Any official line?"

I swallowed emotion. "We don't discuss what physical or magical defences we may or may not have, period. But you can say that by ap Lugh's word and mine neither your dad nor I owe any debt to any fae."

"Right. And the Path of Mercy having side-benefits?"

I thought about it. "Maybe, but you might want that line later. If it breaks the way I think, I might have to be straight on TV about last night, so nothing that contradicts the truth of a joint preternatural op. Security stonewalling is wiser. Of course we regret any disturbance, but when you're under night-attack you need light, so magic provided some. Common sense. And segue to whoever fired the shots achieved nothing. Minus vamps, human haters are prime suspects, and I don't mind letting them shoulder it for now. What will post-Parkland think?"

"Haven't done the feeds, but shooting is bad, and the political use of violence, so we're definitely good guys."

"Always." I was back to meaning it. "But if you're really up for school, Jesse, that'd be good. The shooters don't even get to disrupt your routines much — less than the mob outside. But if David and his guys are here by then, we'll reinforce Dan and the Joes. David's with me, but humans can't be by cloak. And though I'd be very surprised if anything happened today, vamps know all about hostages and indirect threats. Maximal care and firepower for the next ten days, and here inside between sunset and sunrise, Jesse, without fail. Your license means you can pack your Glock, but concealed, please, and don't out yourself as carrying. It's a hole-card not be wasted."

"Right. Arguing carrying with post-Parkland would not help, just, though they're reading your website piece carefully and I've already argued weapons of whatever kind for a specific threat environment."

"Un huh. It's only that their threat environment is guns."

"Or just school."

I thought schools had pretty much always been a threat environment for kiddos, but philosophy took a back seat as the Secret Service arrived, followed not much later by David's Hummers with his usual crew and arsenal. The Secret Service guys had been well-briefed by the AED as well as their Director, including last night, and though wary weren't too jumpy, so we'd been efficiently practical, sorting what they could and couldn't do, and my peripatetic schedule, before David rolled in. It was a pleasure to see him, and Connor, John-Julian, Travis, Vinnie, and Lincoln, and they were happy to be back, as well as vastly entertained by what I was doing, and sharply concerned about last night. As all David's guys knew about vamps, and he'd know from Bran about the ultimatum, if only in outline, I laid the whole thing out and had Brent fetch mini-Grond. There was a lot of staring, and David scratched his head.

"Well, hell, Mercy. Sarge said there'd be surprises in your briefing, but I didn't think big enough. Or sideways. Underhill's light dusting fourteen vamps with a wolf-head ram did not make my first screen."

"This is seriously forged." John-Julian hefted it, biceps bulging. "And way heavier than it need be to get through windows, doors, or most walls."

Irpa leaned forward. "It's kinda pretty, too. Good detail. Wulfe said it was spelled to shatter if it hit glass, but sunlight would have washed it?"

"Un huh. You disagree?"

"No. That fits what I sense, Mercy. But Giant-shortener thinks it would be hard to knock that wolf-head off, so maybe Bonarata does have decapitation resistance." She looked thoughtful. "Rejoining, maybe, like the Green Knight. Your desire for flame-throwers is sounding wiser all the time, Mercy, so I'll be packing accelerant and a lighter."

"Wonderful. If Bonarata really does have resistance to three tried and trusted methods of dismissal, no wonder he's insanely confident. Mmm. He still uses an inner cadre of enforcers, and they don't. So while we're already thinking about nailing whoever he sends, dismissing the entourage may be more important than we've thought. Clean sweeps isolating him. He's next to immune yet sends others, avoiding personal risk. And that tells us there are chinks as well as ego." I turned to the senior Secret Service guy. "I asked Westfield if the CIA could produce a bullet or harpoon-head containing hypergolics. You know anything about that?"

"They're trying, ma'am. The problem is not setting it off when you fire, because the slug jams in the barrel as it melts."

"Not good. But … if they've got the hypergolics, put them in … I dunno, small cannonballs, something Irpa or a wolf could throw hard enough to deform on impact." I thought. "I said to the Man Bonarata's resistance was magical, so answers had to be magical too, but, one, belts and braces, and two, magic isn't just woo-hoo, it rides on objects. Worst case, there's bits of staked Bonarata trying to rejoin in sunlight, and we're trying to stop them. Gotta hold bits still and set them on fire. Bottom line, if we have to escalate, under pressure, we need to think about collateral damage. Can't do much warning ahead of time, which handicaps civilian first responders, but the military could have firefighters on standby. Can you talk to the AED, Agent, and see that happens?"

Most Secret Service guys were frowning, but their senior nodded.

"Will do, ma'am. Your priorities illuminate things Westfield said. Pentagon can do all sorts but it's often time-sensitive so I'll get on it now."

I liked the implicit compliments. "Thanks. There's a Benny's lunch due in ten, then Jesse needs to head to school, me and others to SF. AED'll listen hard, and if the military demur call the Chair of the Joint Chiefs.."

I got more stares, not just from humans.

"I can try, ma'am, but I don't have that access."

"You do now", I told him, and hauled out my overworked phone.