Chapter Thirty-Five

Other people echoed ap Lugh's advice. Alan Villiers and Jeremiah were sober about it, not being Deadheads, but they'd been as whammied as everyone, and were beginning to see how unexpected style could work. Their waiting pack were fizzing, but I didn't linger. Rachel and Frank were staying with Andrea for the night, and she and Jesse were so bouncy when we de-arched into the hall they both gave triple bows of awesomeness. Even my disreputable da was impressed, and had already concocted a poster showing me in mutual contact with a unicorn, and the slogan ENDORSED BY PURITY, with smaller lettering underneath, WHO DOESN'T HAVE A VOTE. BUT STILL.

"Who knew unicorns were so interesting? She can dance, too."

"Oh yeah. And trolls can sing."

"You bet. Good speeches all round."

Slowly we sorted ourselves out, Warren departing to meet Kyle with Freed, though Ramona stayed, while Dan and the Joes headed home now Brent and Jill were back. We adjourned with David's crew to the kitchen, where Darryl had chicken curry cooking, and I broke out beers, sighing as the first gulp went down.

"That was wonderful, but a little normality is good."

"Yeah. But that kinda is your normal, Mercy." I couldn't read David's gaze. "You might have warned us about Purity."

"Why spoil the surprise, David? She's no threat, and unicorn movements are so not my responsibility."

Andrea gave a joyous laugh. "Perfect. And it was all perfect. Irpa rocked, Dad rocked, you rocked, and God knows the Dead rocked. And funked, and something there isn't a word for. No-one knows what to say, but preliminary polling's looking very good, for everyone on the slate, not just you and Irpa. Jesse?"

"Same on all feeds, Mom, Frank. There was a lot of concern and anger earlier, about the shooting last night, but it's been washed away by, well, an even mix of WTF? and Woot! would cover it."

"I bet. And school?"

"The same. A lot of concern I did my best to calm before you pretty much took over."

"You did calm it, Miss Hauptman." Connor gave me a thumbs-up. "Good decision to go into school, and just being there reassured folks. We got some welcome-back, too, and Ms Stallings knows about Jesse's concealed-carry license. And she's right that once the show started it was all eyes to phones. Teachers too. When we left they were happy people."

"Good job, Jesse. Anyone know about reaction at Uncle Mike's?"

The fae bar would have been packed, and Darryl spoke from the range.

"George and Honey were there, and she says you get the whole crowd's triple bows too, if for different reasons, but they're still chewing on the joke. Or irony. Either way, your … chutzpah in dealing with vamps is drawing respect. The fae knew Purity was going to show, and what song she'd want, but the synergy with that verse left them very thoughtful."

"Me too, Mercy." I met Rachel's gaze. "You did … I can't quite say plan this, because I get that the vampires chose to attack, but … set it up so that if they did, when you thought they would, things you'd be doing anyway would have … what? An extra set of meanings?"

"Yeah, that's about right, Rachel, but not at first. The Dead and the public performance were Irpa's doing, but we saw the possibility of the sequence we got."

"And it's aimed at Bonarata?"

"Mostly. I doubt the head Undead is much of a Deadhead, but he'll get the scorn and hear the laughter. More incentive taunting. But we want US vamps to decide to register, and being shown the light is really not something they want. The joke sets them up for #DaywalkingByNight. I gave it to Stefan, and he and Wulfe will push it."

"Ah. OK. You do have good reasons. The combination of … dismissals and derogation was troubling me."

"Yeah. Black humour should squick some, Rachel, but it's cathartic. I engineered fourteen dismissals last night, and made sure I saw them so I knew exactly what I'd done. But I'd do it again, if I had to, and the joke says so. Plus I really don't like Wulfe, however he is obliging me to think somewhat better of him. Did you hear the tape? Then you'll have heard why. With the best will in the world he's a very powerful creep. And beyond vamps, other preternatural ears will hear things. Not all full-blood fae and few half-fae will have known how closely Underhill is willing to co-operate, while the presence of ap Lugh, with Purity's performance and Triple Troll's, boost my rep more." I drank beer, and sighed. "Which matters, because not everyone knows much about my magical growth, but all know I've stepped up several leagues in one bound, and there are plenty of things, Underhill and Overhill, that equate newbie with vulnerable. I don't expect real trouble but banking discouragement points is always good. I can't say there's no sense of triumph or cold satisfaction, because we're in a war and, however dusty, last night was a step towards winning with the fewest casualties. But maximising profits doesn't mean I don't feel some guilt, and pity."

"While the Undead get the terror." Jill shrugged. "It's not wrong to celebrate deaths of enemies who attack you, Rachel, and for an avatar, She Doesn't Only Fix Cars has way-high scruples about the Undead. But there's another layer. How much of her innate magic Irpa senses I am not sure, but it is no kind of chance the music was by the Grateful Dead, nor that it is May 1st. In the centuries since coming West, Undead have killed humans by thousands and avatars by hundreds, and some of the ghosts are with She Doesn't Only Fix Cars in this war, if not her campaign. I do not have the eyes of He Sees Spirits, but there were more than troll voices to be heard in those sounds."

"Dear God."

"Really?"

Rachel and Andrea looked at one another.

"Yes to both. I doubt many heard it, even with preternatural ears, but avatars will have, and I've been wondering about Wulfe."

"Vamps wouldn't usually, and it was spirit magic." Coyote shrugged. "Though he might, I suppose. He does have talents. Does it matter?"

"Probably not, but we had mini-Grond and now we have an army of dead, even if they only sing along the once."

His eyes lit up. "Point, synergistic daughter. But I don't think that's Wulfe's doing, despite the nice battering-ram. It's your innate magic getting amplified by the cloak. You think about Tolkien, so it does too. And if Wulfe did hear, he'll know it's an answer and a warning. You told him, Good one, but no more dead, or else, fang-face."

The silly joke broke tension, and though I was wondering what Nemane might have heard, I wasn't going to ask. I did call Bran, though, taking a beer to Adam's study, and found him very upbeat.

"You're cheery."

"I am, Mercy. Watch the news."

"Italy?"

"Yes." He gave highlights, and my smile spread. "It is timed so East Coast papers will already have gone to press. Every last one has images of Purity on stage, and gives you the headline. But you may lose top billing for a day or two."

"Fine by me. Ol' Manitou River will get it back smartly enough."

"True. Do you ring with a problem?"

"I don't think so, but I have a question. Did you hear anything singing except humans and trolls?"

He gave me a look. "Not that I can name, Mercy, but spirit magic was doing something. By TV it was only a feather along my nerves. It was more potent there, I take it?"

"To me and Jill, yeah, and Coyote, here. And he has a theory." I told Bran, adding my thought about Nemane and asking him to sound gently when he got the chance. "Ghosts are not Fae business but given Nemane's putative dealings with Wulfe a heads-up seems reasonable."

"When you put it like that. I too wonder about those, though it is none of my business and I have enough on my plate. But I think Coyote is right you need not be concerned. Some orchestration to go with amplification, perhaps. You made Tolkien a metaphor, and it gives your magics language."

"Wonderful. Any thoughts about the fact avatars did hear?"

"Not especially. Should I have?"

"Pass. Then again, I'm wondering how many avatars the fourteen had killed. I have no idea, but I'm reminded of why I originally magicked-up Skuffles because we have joint warning and cathecting again."

He thought about it. "Vengeful as well as grateful dead, but a burden eased for living avatars, maybe. More of your WD-40."

"I suspect so. It would be so nice to know what I'm doing."

Bran laughed. "But you do, Mercy. Just not always consciously, until you've done it. Don't double-guess yourself. There was no discord in any power shown today, and you are harnessing the hope that springs eternal very handily, so get up tomorrow and do it some more."

It was all very well him saying so, but I was happier with a clearer sense of what had happened, and ghosts deserved to be heard by whoever could manage it. A call to Jim helped as well, and he was as clear as Coyote about spirit magic. Not being an avatar he'd heard the dead only faintly, but agreed about ghosts of avatars and WD-40 for living ones.

"Anglos are one thing, Mercy, and those who most harmed us are long dead. So are vamps, of course, except they're not, and what you did last night and today was to count coup on them, big time, dancing your victory on more levels and planes than I can count. Many spirits danced with you."

"Ahhh. Thanks, Jim. I knew there was an angle I was missing." I shook my head. "Indian enough to do it, not enough to realise it. What am I going to do with me?"

Jim grinned. "Keep on keeping on, She Doesn't Only Fix Cars. Maybe you should get Coyote to do another poster like that one with the circle of stone knives and the blacking-out, saying River Devil? Pah!"

"And maybe I shouldn't. I'll be having a word with Irpa about that."

"Don't bother. Gordon laughed. And belittling those on whom you've counted coup is good form. They were weak nothings, and I triumphed over them easily. Boasting modesty."

"Huh. I prefer modest boasting. But Coyote didn't say anything."

"To you. He was watching here, and did some coup strutting of his own. You've exceeded his very high expectations, and weren't you the best idea he'd had in centuries of maintaining a stellar standard?"

"Double huh." But I had some warm and fuzzy feelings. "I still think the poster would be a boast too far, so don't give my advertising father ideas, please, Jim. He really doesn't need encouragement. Now can we talk about First People to meet Medicine Wolf and Ol' Manitou River, please?"

We did, and I headed back to the kitchen table and cheerful hubbub. Adam was home, and rose from a seat by David to give me a hug with a wash of congratulation, raising eyebrows at my response.

"Corp's filled me in some, but you'll have to spell that out for me later, love, and no-one who saw it was anything except blown away. My clients are beginning to think hard about you winning."

"That's good, and we do need to talk." I looked at him. "You must be dragging. I had eight straight Underhill."

"I sensed you get your fizz back, and yeah, I'm feeling it."

"So sit, and get back to your beer."

I went to sit by Rachel, talking to Ramona while Andrea listened, and when conversation about huorns and earth fae lapsed offered Rachel the counting-coup take on events.

"You didn't think of it like that?" Jill was surprised. "You hit every traditional requirement. It's a long time since I saw anyone strut a coup so righteously."

"She is half-Anglo, Bear's daughter." Coyote grinned. "And distracted by pity for bloodsuckers, despite everything. Give her a millennium or two and she'll remember, maybe."

"Oy! You did some strutting of your own, I gather, putting peacocks to shame."

"Of course I did. Your glory reflects very well on me, as it should."

He was incorrigible, and I had better things to do than argue with him, however it amused others. Darryl deserved help, if only setting water to boil and measuring Basmati, and Jesse pitching in told me she was craving some normality too. My phone pinged several times — Oregon and Washington, Leslie, the AED, and the Man offering tips of their hats, that I acknowledged minimally, pleading exhaustion that was more emotional than physical — but I saw Jesse relax as we sat to eat and she began to restoke. Darryl's curry was very tasty, hot enough to grip without being a trial for the less keen, and there were compliments that pleased him.

I was happy to be largely silent, but conversation was interesting. I thought everyone had had enough rehashing the day, however they might still be digesting it, and more practical matters were a relief. Earth fae were on the agenda, and extra security for Jesse and me, with how David wanted to work it, Frank's and Rachel's experiences with Secret Service guys looking after them in Philly, and campaign business. Dessert was banoffee pie, and I was talking to Darryl about Mr Andrews and the fruitcake we owed when Frank asked a serious question.

"WashU wants the lecture early evening Friday, as a lead-in to your debate, but I wasn't sure how it fitted with Ol' Manitou River."

"Sounds good to me, Frank. We're both at the Arch, you head off late afternoon for the lecture, and I'll follow."

He frowned. "But isn't that when you're expecting …"

"Probably. You don't have to be there for that."

He looked troubled. "You're protecting me? I feel like I'd be ducking out on you when I should be standing up."

"It's a good thought, Frank, but there are reasons. David?"

"Yeah. You aim to be carrying, firing if there's need, Mr Lafferty?"

"Uh, no. I don't own a gun."

"Then the bottom line is you'd be an extra target to protect. I don't mean to be rude but being someone else's responsibility somewhere else would be more helpful."

"Oh. OK. If you're sure, Mercy." Frank made a face. "Still feels wrong, but I get what Mr Christiansen is saying. Maybe I have more residual chauvinism than I like to think."

"Not chauvinism, Dad, chivalry." Andrea's eyes were bright. "Mercy has a bunch too, but you've seen the statue. She has more experience of necessary violence. Doesn't mean Mom and I aren't very grateful, Mercy."

"No it doesn't." Rachel's eyes narrowed. "And you gave WashU that timing, didn't you? Planned for Frank's safety while you play bait?"

I shrugged. "Frank needs to be at the Arch and wants to be at the debate, so when the Chancellor asked about an extra event it fitted. They get a bonus, and if Bonarata does happen I'll have other things to do fast."

"I imagine. But I'm feeling guilty about pushing you earlier. It's hard to remember just how much strain you're under."

"Don't be, Rachel. Coyote black humour has a lot of edges." Her regard made me want to shuffle my feet, and I checked my watch. "But I'd like to catch the main news, if no-one minds."

Darryl rose with a grin to flip on the small set on the side. "Getting a taste for seeing yourself, Mercy?"

"Not at all. I'm hoping I've been knocked off top billing."

And I had. The improbable tale was that the Italian authority dealing with stolen art had received an anonymous tip-off, about a remote villa in the Lepini Mountains between Rome and Naples. When they investigated they found the place deserted, doors open, and what was visible had them escalating their response fast, calling in many more varieties of cop and the Army. Dozens of stolen paintings by major artists had been recovered — Rembrandt, Vermeer, Cezanne, Van Gogh, Caravaggio — with several score kilos of cocaine, heroin, and crystal meth, but it wasn't that that had jacked the story to the top. In a walk-in vault in the cellars, door drilled open, there had been more than two hundred tons of gold bars, worth over $12 billion, and they still didn't know how much more in cut and uncut gemstones. The Army was transporting them to the Central Bank in Rome, and there were shots of small, heavy crates being lugged into lorries while soldiers bristled SMGs in all directions.

That would have been enough to boost the story globally, but was only the starter. Besides stolen paintings there had been lost ones — the kind mentioned in studio or estate inventories somewhere, somewhen, but vanish — and a great deal else. An elderly professor who was all but in tears confirmed several additional journals of Leonardo's had been found, with paintings and sculptures he'd swear were authentic, and historians babbled about the vast manuscript library they'd barely begun to investigate — but had a catalogue listing letters and papers in the hands of most Borgias, assorted Sforzas, d'Estes, popes and city-state bigwigs, and Sigismondo Malatesta, the Wolf of Rimini. There were mediaeval copies of Greek and Latin poets that had a team of classicists equally excited. All in all, it was the biggest discovery that could be imagined, and would set off academic earthquakes throughout the humanities. There were also the mysteries of who might be responsible for amassing it, how anyone could have done so, and what on earth had happened to expose it, which made for much official scratching of heads and grim-faced promises that investigation would be unrelenting.

When Irpa and I came up as item two I rose to kill the sound, feeling considerable satisfaction as well as pleasure for historians and others so unexpectedly given enormous surprise presents.

"Been there, done that. And that investigation is going to take a left turn before too long. Bonarata is really not going to be a happy vamper. Big personal loss. Nor are his minions, with a further big financial loss."

"No, they're not." David whistled. "Body blow. Do you know how the Marrok got the location?"

"Di Ragusa had it on his phone when Charles broke the encryption. Italian wolves took out resident guards, and the CIA diverted a vamp-controlled drug run to provide probable cause and trigger escalated response." I grinned. "They moved Vermeer's The Concert to be visible from the front door, so when the truth breaks they might be able to claim the ten million in reward money. Their expenses are covered, though, with Bran's, some gold having gone AWOL when they drilled the vault."

Coyote laughed. "Good detail."

"Dear God. Again." Rachel shook her head. "I'm not sure you should be telling me things like that, Mercy."

"No US territory involved, nor laws broken, Rachel, and if the Italian police knew, I doubt they'd care. Besides, those wolves need to do some hiding, until, and costs add up."

"I dare say they do. I'm just not used to … The CIA? And took out resident guards? Vampires?"

"It was daytime, so no. Renfields. Bran didn't say much, but they died when they were restrained, which is vamp security magic. There were three coffined vamps, all known bad news — a shift from Bonarata's second-tier — and all now dismissed." I shrugged. "I know there's a squick factor, but you get vamps coffined if you can — it's a whole bunch easier, and keeps casualties down. And we now know Underhill's slugs work."

"Good." Adam blew out a breath. "I trusted they would, but am a lot happier to know it. And the pressure Bonarata's now under is immense. Which reminds me that word sheep bereaved last night are receiving medical and psychiatric care paid from the Borrowed Warchest has gone out. The Feebs have them at a secure military hospital."

"How many?"

"Forty-two. How many will make it is moot, love, but their chances just went from zero to maybe."

"Yeah. Any word on unbereaved sheep?"

"Hard to check on them without attracting attention, and Wulfe wasn't lying when he said they were OK."

"No. Can't say I trust his values of OK, though. And you should get horizontal. I can field anything that comes up, and the Secret Service will be on Frank, Rachel, and Andrea, plus Freed on Andrea's building overnight."

That Adam went with very little demur told me how tired he was. He wouldn't usually have forgotten to mention the bereaved, and knew I'd been wondering about them. I thought about calling Leslie, but didn't really want chapter-and-verse — I knew what the medical problems would be — and I had guests giving me looks.

"What?"

"Just you and Dad being awesome some more, Mom." Jesse smiled. "Looking out for everyone and thinking on so many levels. More mouthwatering history for you too, Mr Lafferty."

"Yes, indeed. Not my continent or period, but the diaries of Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia have to be something else. I hadn't thought about what kind of library a septuacentenarian might have accumulated."

"Depends on the kind of being, Frank. Bran's moved around, so he hasn't acquired much. Bonarata's stayed very put, and given that inventory he's a hoarder. Jill?"

"Not before I had a house, but since then, yeah, stuff builds up. And I have a fair bit of older beadwork."

"Interesting. Do you have stuff, Strutting Coyote?"

He grinned at me. "Good one, Sir She Doesn't Only Fix Cars. I think Purity's shoulder-tap counts as a knighting." I rolled my eyes as Andrea and Jesse laughed. "And not really. Stuff's sessile, and I'm so not. It doesn't cross well between worlds, either. And I lose things. But Gordon has more family stuff, and Wolf likes his old weapons."

"First People's weapons?"

"Bows and axes, certainly, but just weapons, from all over. Had a thing for Japanese swords last century. I think he's on boomerangs now. Likes the carving and shapes."

I could imagine Wolf having an aesthetic response to a beautiful as well as functional weapon. He liked his high-end clothing and kit. Across the table Vinnie had a crooked smile.

"Wolf likes boomerangs. Who knew? I'd can't say I'd forgotten how you do things, Ms Hauptman, but it's in the moment, not the memory. Saving the need, it's a scary pleasure to be back."

"And an education that never stops." John-Julian's smile was crooked too. "I can feel my head expanding again, and I thought it was stretched this afternoon."

"You didn't believe in unicorns, JJ?" Lincoln grinned, flashing white teeth. "Or you didn't know they did quadruple tap?"

"Knew those fine, Linc. Well, not the tap. Did anyone? It was the Grateful Dead being so funky."

I wagged a finger. "That shouldn't surprise, John-Julian. They were never just rockers, or bluesmen. There's some excellent jazzy stuff in the catalogue, but for funky try 1980s versions of 'He's Gone'. Bob Weir and Brent Mydland could really get into it on vocals."

"True." Jesse tapped her phone. "I'll send a YouTube link."

"Thanks. Like I said, Linc, the education never stops. I also wanted to say we've all really liked things you've been saying about that, Mr Lafferty. Schedule can always get blown away, but we'd be up for Others 101 and the Magical Entente. Gramps is the only preternatural, of course, but we all know about judging beings as we find them, and no other way."

Frank was pleased, as I was, but I had a caution.

"David, has Adam talked to you about the request the Man made?"

"Yeah. Retainer's always good, and as it wouldn't impede rescue work, and could be local, very probably. Finding out more about T&C is on my list, but I'm not sure who in the Administration to ask."

"Wiseman. Enforcement will be for Farouts. I'll call him tomorrow."

David blinked, but nodded. "That would be good. Thanks. And you punched right through to the Chair of the Joint Chiefs as well. Westfield might be in charge, Mercy, but you're running this show, aren't you?"

"No. Well, yes and no. Strategy and timing, yes, execution, no. And I insisted on Westfield, David, because he won't let humans go genocidal."

"Huh. And preternaturals?"

"She took care of that with us and the Fae." Coyote was still grinning. "Ever so sternly, and not wrongly, much as I despise the Undead. Ordered all Alphas, too."

"Ordered?" David's gaze swung back to me. "I heard there was an Alpha conference. You or the Sarge?"

"Both of us, David. My dominance now equals his, when I want." I hauled it up, and his eyes widened. "And now's a good time, as you need to know, but this is not spoken of, anywhere, until." I reclaimed the cloak from its hanger, and shifted my chair. "Skuffles?"

She appeared, front paws on the table, and cocked her head.

I was wondering when you'd get round to your Maxi-me. I am being a hole-card for now, David Christiansen and company, and it is complicated, but all that matters is Mercy's will is my will, so I am altogether on your side, I have serious teeth of many kinds, and I am very fast. For the rest, David saw my genesis in Aspen Creek, and can extrapolate.

Whatever David's reply might have been was forestalled as my phone played the opening of Christina Aguilera's 'Dirty'. I wasn't entirely surprised, but regretted the timing as I hauled it out and tapped.

"Mr Director, others hear us, though none who aren't in most loops, Do I need to change that?"

/Not on my account, Ms Hauptman. Despite my admiration for another extraordinary performance today, I'd have let you be except I was asked to pass on a message with good news in tow./

"A message? Italy?"

/Yes. The drives Italian wolves passed to us had very interesting contents, so some people who found themselves suddenly a lot less sceptical have received fuller briefings, and send you … well, bemused but genuine thanks covers it. A lot more interdiction ops against drugs and people smuggling are underway. More cashflow pressure on Bonarata. But the targets are human, and the Italians won't move against vamps until they have what we've been calling magic swords. Hard to argue./

"I get that, Mr Director. They need to think about sheep, too."

/Yeah. I've seen the Bureau's report on those … bereaved, is it, last night, and I told them so. I have people repeating it. Can't say if they're really hearing, but they are moving fast on interdiction, which means expanding circles of coverage across Europe. Problem?/

I mulled. "I don't think so, even if someone makes a leap of imagination. But no confirmation of vamps would be a lot better than any official revelation. The whole point is to make Bonarata come to us, and he can't if Europe goes vamp bananas."

/No going vamp bananas. Right./ I could hear his smile. /I'll make that clear. Clock's ticking, though, Ms Hauptman. And you upped the stakes again this afternoon. My analysts are gibbering about showing the light./

"Good luck to them, Mr Director, and to you finding a Deadhead who'll appreciate a CIA enquiry. But I hear you about the clock. No way round it. Just hold it down until St Louis, if you possibly can, please. After that, whichever way, we'll all have to play it by ear."

/And then some, yeah. But I don't need that Deadhead, Ms Hauptman, because I've been one myself for years, on the sly. A bit like the President, I don't advertise it, because, but I listen. And I've been appreciating your way of layering meanings. But I've got another European incoming, despite the hour here and there, so I have to cut and run. You keep on keeping on./

He cut the link and I put away my phone, head spinning a little and conscious of stares from round the table.

"Jill, Strutting Coyote, both Jim Alvin and the Director of the CIA tell me to keep on keeping on. Any comment?"

The voices were in unison. "Do it."