Chapter Thirty-Six
Before breakfast, I took the Secret Service and David's crew to meet earth fae, which was entertaining. After breakfast, and seeing Jesse off, a bubbling Mary and Maya arrived, very happy with media coverage. Purity and I dominated all the West Coast papers too, with strange if positive headlines about blessings in Bison Paddock and troll truths, but the Italian story was also running big. Images of paintings, documents, drugs, and stacked gold bars had been released, speculation had gone hyper, and even more babbling experts had been called in. Having the world agog at his personal hoard had to be a real pisser for Bonarata, above the financial and material loss, but Maya wasn't in the loop so we talked manitous. Arrangements were nearly complete, more so when I added those I'd made with Jim. Maya went to make calls, and Mary eyed me over coffee.
"You seem unsurprised by this astonishing villa. It was expected?"
"A different Italian job. Bonarata's gonna be seething. And his seethe."
She grinned but her look was serious. "Right. You're OK in yourself?"
"I wish I could wait faster, Mary. But yeah. And Adam's a lot happier after better than ten straight." He'd had a happy awakening, too, for both of us. "He'll be back for lunch."
"Noted. And Irpa? She's knee-deep in reporters."
"She said she'd meet us Underhill. I'll call her when we're ready to go."
"Maybe sooner, Mercy? The bridge-building and Cascadia stuff has really punched Californian buttons, as well as everything punching national ones, so she's in heavy demand this morning."
"Will do, Mary, but when a troll wants to leave, it leaves."
"Mid-interview still isn't recommended. What else are you up to?"
"Paperwork, mostly. Some business with David. A work-out. I should call Leslie too, about sheep. Oh, and clothing should be arriving."
"I'll let Jill and Joel know when it does."
I took David to Adam's study and called Wiseman before heading for my desk. Sales of Clean Up the Basin! merchandise were surging, so I called a senior staffer to check they were coping, which they were though if it continued more hands would be needed. I also had a call from a thoughtful Andrea, to tell me her dad was writing his lecture, her mom had gone to meet the Freed's earth fae, and she was really grateful to me for protecting them.
"What David said was straight up."
/I know. And all the same. I said you'd taught me a lot about birds and stones, but this is … I dunno. More integrated than I can hold in my head. The vamp thing and the election seemed distinct, however they overlap and the story should boost you when it breaks, but you're fusing them./
"Only so much time in the day, Andrea."
/Except when there's more./ That was hard to argue, after my 32-hour yesterday. /But yeah, use what you have to do anyway. But you're using it … I still dunno. Did you expect whatever you and Jill heard?/
"No. That was a surprise. These days my magic tends to go above and beyond. But it makes sense, Andrea. Vamp victims are not happy ghosts, and hang around. Avatars feel it, and most are older than me, with greater accumulated loss." I shrugged. "I don't yet know how well any cathecting worked. And it's just opportunism. Irpa really is a Deadhead, Purity really likes that song, and it happens to have a useful bit of lyric. Or two."
/Un huh. And you made it say different things to humans and each preternatural kind while including Purity's blessing and creating a video which has gone viral everywhere. I'll spare you more triple bows, Mercy, though I'm thinking them, because I'm wondering how much you'll be saying about events when it does break./
"As much as I can, Andrea. Certainly the ultimatum, with some background, Borrowed Warchest, di Ragusa, Wednesday night, Italy, and whatever St Louis throws up, if it does. 'Scarlet Begonias' they can figure out for themselves, but #DaywalkingByNight will be there so I expect someone will get it. Does it matter?"
/Maybe. If I'm getting … cognitive dissonance about how you're holding it together while you know you're being hunted, which I am, as are Mom and Dad, so will other people. You did not come over yesterday as a woman who'd dealt with fourteen dead would-be assassins only hours before./
I shrugged. "File under coyote, mostly. Unless you're an apex predator there's always something that might be hunting you. That's life."
/Huh. That could have some legs. What hunts coyotes?/
"Ranchers, mostly. But vamps hunt avatars, and the River Devil hunted everything. I'm plenty tense, Andrea, but there's no point jittering. Still, if you think this can become a PR problem …?"
/A thing, perhaps. When you do speak of it, saying you're very relieved and the strain has been hell might be wiser than not./
I took that under advisement, but made myself think about it as I went back to paperwork. Being Iron Coyote ought to be good PR, but people liked candidates to come over as human, and as I'm not entirely any seeming inhumanity might not be good. And I was feeling the strain, and the frustration of having to hurry up and wait, but beyond lodging the thought in my backbrain there wasn't anything I could do. With paperwork cleared I called Leslie from Adam's study, and found it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Two bereaved sheep had died, which would be magical shock as much as physical condition, but the AED had been sent a tersely informative document about feeding ties and sheep abuse — Stefan, I suspected — and docs were cautiously optimistic about the rest. Not all were grateful to be 'free' and some bitterly resentful; psychiatrists specialising in addiction and its behaviours were already involved.
"There's gonna be a bunch of professional papers, Mercy, as and when."
"Fine by me, Leslie, but tell the docs they need some happy, willing, and healthy sheep in there, as a baseline. Like nineteenth-century laudanum users who didn't get septicaemia or anything cut with Clorox."
"Right. The docs say some seem to have, ah, very reduced personalities, and mental deficits. They're asking about dementia."
"It's a fair analogy, but the loss is from vamp over-feeding and letting a feeding tie get out of control. They suck minds as well as blood."
"Un huh. Orcs was spot on. And sheep, little as I like it. In other news, vampire dust is, as you said, chemically gravemould, if with elevated salts."
"Tell me."
She gave me a look. "And much more agreeably, we were all blown away by 'Scarlet Begonias', and I've had calls from CIA analysts as well as our own. I'm stalling, because I wasn't sure what was private any more."
"Thanks, but go ahead, Leslie. It was straight up, but also a warning to Bonarata and a way of counting coup that matters to avatars and some others." I thought about it, but the grateful dead were my business. "Served other purposes too, but the only relevant one is blowing some steam, because I am feeling the heat. Call it keeping my cool."
"And you have a lot of cool to keep."
Finishing on that agreeable note, I took my frustration to the basement for a session with Brent and introduced Jill to playing Scuffles-in-the-middle. We were all glad to burn energy and break some sweat, and I headed back upstairs to shower feeling a lot looser.
Lexington was a very different audience, and though I had no choice about the cloak I went for one of my more conservative outfits, a green mid-calf skirt with some beading, and an dark-red blouse that went with the gold chain. By the time I got downstairs Frank and Rachel had arrived, with Freed as well as Secret Service escorts, and so had Jill's clothing, much to her pleasure. To be fair, the senior agent managed not to look too fazed at a colleague with the Incredible Hulk's tailoring difficulties, and was, like Maretti, appreciative of the Freed's senses and strength.
Despite the temptation to go on outsourcing lunch I'd defrosted home-made burgers, and aproned up to get oven and grill going. Frank and Rachel helped with salad trimmings, and by the time Warren and Kyle came in, very sharply dressed though Warren was still insisting on Western ties, I could serve decent bacon cheeseburgers with fries. Mindful of Mary's advice I sent Irpa a message, before fielding questions Frank had about his lecture, and Rachel about leaving things around for earth fae to find.
"I get the pride and no obligation, Mercy, but doesn't it conflict with their innate truthfulness?"
"You'd think, but fae can get very creative as well as literal with the truth. You abandon something you don't want, they find something they do. Win-win. Your innate truthfulness is probably more conflicted."
"True." She laughed. "It just seems odd to dance round the obvious."
"Maybe, but for fae not incurring obligation by accepting gifts is also obvious, as is using sincere fictions to sidestep problems."
"Huh. Wise insanity and now sincere fiction."
"Yup. Law deals in enough of it."
"That I grant, but lawyers are, um, less compelled to speak only truth."
Kyle grinned. "You bet. But the cherry-picking's not so different. Mercy's often says dealing with fae is like dealing with a hostile lawyer."
"These days for me it's more like a friendly one, Kyle, but yeah. Never speak carelessly with any fae. They won't."
Maya was interested, so it got kicked around before we turned to Lexington. Warren had some nerves, because with the demographic there making Adam's and Rachel's presences important, Kyle's was too, but that wasn't quite so Kentucky. No-one had any doubts about openness, I had Underhill's and ap Lugh's let for Kyle to pass through, and Alan Villiers had done some hard talking to his wolves, but there might be hostility, or distaste. Kyle was more worried for Warren than himself, and both had mixed feelings about revealed age as a patriotic protection.
Once Irpa tagged me back we didn't dally, and she met us in the Garden of Manannán's Death, looking quite Southern Belle, if they came with muscles and animated tattoos. She was much cheerier about doing dozens of back-to-back interviews than I'd have been, and had reached out to all sorts of demographics, from the Golden Gate History Society and California Academy of Sciences to the Sierra Club, Wikimedia Foundation, and universities. The mayor had been in cautious touch, though Irpa doubted he'd break party ranks any time soon, and so did I. I reclaimed Kyle from staring at statue and fountain and named him to Underhill, with my gladness for the let, receiving a chime before continuing on our way.
Alan Villiers had provided GPS co-ords and images, and we emerged backstage at the Rupp Arena within a Secret Service perimeter. New agents meant more introductions, but the AED and Maretti had briefed them, and with Alan and senior wolves waiting — pointedly including African Americans — it went smoothly enough. I was interested to meet Ros Stourbridge, Jeremiah's wife of forty-some years, an elegant wolf in her 80s who had been Changed in her late 20s and was very happy his age was out, if dubious about having to spend time in DC. Monitors showed the Arena was jammed, and if the standing area was holding a younger, less formal demographic, backed chairs and bleacher seats showed older, well-dressed people. Despite having had to fudge his age Jeremiah knew a lot of people professionally, in architecture, construction, landscaping, conservation, real estate, charitable work, and the horse world, and with his age revealed he'd been able to reach out to all; so had his pack, which was more upscale and middle-class than most. Civic delegations and representatives from Frankfort were also present, with business leaders.
Jeremiah had known what he wanted, once prodded, and we all came out together, to applause that was more than polite. Alan made introductions, to frame Jeremiah and Ros, Adam and me, Frank and Rachel, and Warren and Kyle, and we took our places in a semi-circle of chairs bracketing a central mike. Jeremiah was on first, and after some formality with Alan swearing, as ap Lugh had if with less evident power, that he did not command the votes of his wolves, and would never command Jeremiah's as a senator, made a very sharp pitch. Haight-Ashbury was one place, Lexington another, and he was asking them to abandon party loyalties that were often inherited and life-long — which he did not do lightly. The Clinton impeachment, hanging chads, and Birther conspiracy were revisited, not to grind axes but as prime examples of the system not working for different but related reasons; green issues were another, and climate denial not an option when you'd seen enough weather to know it really was changing.
That brought in Warren, as brother wolf and co-witness to change, and the work Warren had done on the Columbia Restoration linked squarely to flood-control issues on the Cumberland and Tennessee. Taking only in-state donations was added, with proper balance of states' rights and federal necessities, and things that needed to be bottom-up as well as top-down. SAGE came up, with Western and wolf attitudes to macho men who thought they needed maximally automated weapons, while their joint lack of birth certificates for unimpeachable reasons could parlay into a stinging slap at the incumbent's record on the Birther nonsense, without ever naming him. I was watching the audience carefully, and whatever their doubts they appreciated it all much more than they didn't.
Then state and local issues came into play, neither party showing well, before Jeremiah turned to the preternatural. Cantrip was a screaming warning of systemic failure, as dead Kentuckians, human, wolf, and half-fae, among their victims attested, and the Farouts were only a start to rectifying things, however promising. Irpa joined him to reiterate the absolute need for good faith, and canvass the continuing benefits of keeping it in good heart. The letter of the Accords was set, but the spirit in which they were to be lived was still growing, and though the President had risen to the challenge, Congress had done less well, many members seeming unable not to think in terms of weaselling round laws and out of promises. A preternatural presence would provide an honest corrective, as well as deep resources of knowledge and experience, and the breadth of the slate meant it was thinly spread.
Irpa was being very measured. "Preternatural representatives are not going to be in any kind of majority, and will have to persuade humans that something we're arguing for is right and necessary. But we cannot be bribed, silenced, or intimidated by that human majority, whatever its party make-up turns out to be. And gender mix. Yes, there is a tilt towards a new balance, but after Cantrip there has to be, and we all know it. Are there risks and uncertainties? Of course — life is never without them, especially when there's significant change. But the greater threat by far is sleepwalking to disaster, and everyone on Mercy's slate, like those millions pledging votes, knows the main parties are still asleep, despite Mercy and Medicine Wolf giving us a wake-up call the whole nation heard. Yes, I am different, and so is Jeremiah, but, bottom-line, if the nation is going to cope with wolves and trolls, Congress has to do so too, and it's time they got on with it."
That roused applause, and Frank was on, yesterday's punchy brevity replaced by a longer, calmer pitch moving through Others 101 from junior to high school, and bringing in career opportunities. As the Farouts were accepting very few former Cantrippers there had already been extensive federal hiring, but the interest of the FBI and others in tolerant, better-informed humans was new, and the crowd understood what Frank said about co-operation having many kinds of reward. He picked up not needing enemies, with striking analysis of Kentuckian history caught between polarities we could all do without, and his mix of painful gravity with wry humour went down well. Jeremiah engaged him about Magical Entente provisions for adults wanting knowledge, and segued into the simple truths that schools should teach children what they needed to know, about good things and bad, human and preternatural, ignorance rarely being bliss.
Taking a deep breath, Jeremiah opened the reverse-angle by reminding them it was not only human citizens facing radical change. Coming out as fae, wolf, or avatar was not simple, and preternatural cultures were changing too. With grave courtesy to Adam and me the diversity and innovation of the Columbia Basin Pack was summarised, with wolves' bone-deep astonishment at my abilities to admit Joel and cast out Paul.
"By all I or any wolf knew it should not have been possible. Only a male Alpha can admit or cast out, period. But Mercy needed to do those things to save her pack and herself, and she is an Alpha coyote, so she made it possible, and delivered. Twice over. And we all saw her do the impossible again, repeatedly, taking down Cantrip and that vile travesty of a senator, gathering in the lethal Hanford pollution, and setting-up the Columbia Restoration and Cascadia evacuation projects. In 281 years I've seen a lot of leaders, and a good few Alphas, and I know the Bluegrass Pack is very lucky in Alan Villiers. I have come to appreciate the President in the last eighteen months, also. But they agree with me that Mercy is in a different league, and so does everyone on this stage. We also agree we are very lucky Jesse and Adam could persuade her to stand, because the tides of change are running hard and fast, they are not going to stop anytime soon, and there is no-one else who can dance us through them with such sure footing, skill, courage, and luck. Most presidential candidates run on promises to deliver. She's running on a promise to continue delivering. And I'm as proud to be on her slate as I've ever been of anything, so I ask for your best Kentuckian welcome to the woman I know should be our next president — She Doesn't Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It."
However I disliked the eulogy, I'd approved his punchline as soon as he suggested it, and the surprised uncertainty it created allowed me to reach the mike and start speaking before any applause could start.
"And we get to go on doing things differently, Kentucky, because I am asking you all to drop yourselves in it, and me right along with you." I smiled, easing tension. "Which ought to be a silly thing to do, but the true measure of the hole we're in is that it really isn't. I said yesterday in San Francisco the challenge represented by Irpa's and Jeremiah's candidacies was serious, however amusing by some lights, and meant it. It also drops you all in it anyway, as a bellwether everyone will watch, and I won't apologise for that."
I wasn't sure how their attention could sharpen, but it did.
"Our challenge is not partisan. The embarrassment we are causing both main parties is even-handed. Both are supported by sincere and honest people, but it is still true that both are failing us all, compromised too badly by the system they jointly constitute. There are lifelong supporters of both who hear me now, in this hall and elsewhere, and like Jeremiah I do not ask you to change allegiance in November lightly or unadvisedly. My deal with Washington and Oregon underscores that, because neither would have done it had they not believed it in the best interests of all their residents. Nor would the President. And nor would I."
I let my voice become more conversational.
"All those candidates slinging mud at me Monday had plenty to say about why they think you shouldn't take me seriously. Female — eek! Coyote — double eek! Outsider — double eek squared!" That got the laughter I wanted. "It was all very predictable, far more kneejerk than thought through. What I didn't hear, though, was anything at all about why so many of you are taking me seriously, despite knowing full well I am indeed a coyote-girl who has not previously held elected office. Despite knowing I would be the youngest person ever elected to the presidency, that I would not only be President Hauptman but also President She Doesn't Only Fix Cars, and that I will drop you, everyone, and myself, right in it, often, because it's where we need to be."
They were so quiet I didn't need anything more than conversational.
"There are many ways of answering, of course, but I think they come down to two things I represent, innately and by conviction, and no other candidate does. The first I'll call tolerance, but you could say co-operation or multiculturalism. We are in far too many ways a very divided nation. Kentucky surely knows that, placed as you are between North and South, East and Mid-West, but geography is only a frame for a way of thinking that bleeds into race and creed, laws and practices, education and culture. Are you pro or anti, left or right, black or white, gay or straight, male or female, us or them? And I've had enough of it."
I mimed rolling up my sleeves, winning a murmur of laughter.
"This is just a way of thinking about it I find helpful, so please bear with me a minute. Different languages have different verbs for asking questions, and in Latin there were four, including quaero, to question, and interrogo, to interrogate. But strictly speaking an interrogative requires the answer yes or no. Do you have a vote? Did you do it? Those are interrogatives, because you do or don't have a vote, did or didn't do it. But there was another, percontor, which allows any answer. A contus was a wooden pole, and the idea is sounding water ahead of a boat, probing for obstacles. What are you going to do with your vote? Why did you do it? Those are percontatives, a strange mouthful but an idea that matters, because the problem is that we've got hooked on interrogatives, making everything black-and-white, yes-or-no questions, when the plain truth is the world just isn't like that. SAGE is an example — do I believe in gun rights or want gun control? is a false dichotomy. I do believe in gun rights, and I do want gun control. The right to bear arms should not be a charter for allowing any nutcase who fancies going postal to buy battlefield weaponry, and there is no sane reason it should be."
SAGE had not done as well in the South as elsewhere, so genuine applause was a relief.
"Thank you. I'm glad we agree about that, and SAGE will continue, whatever the election result. But going back to that habit of forcing everything into yes or no, us or them — I really don't do that. I have two forms, and I could run on four legs before I could crawl, never mind walk on two. I grew up seeing werewolves and humans get along just fine. I discovered my Amerindian heritage without abandoning my Anglo half. I was employed by a fae who became a good friend. I am a mixed-race coyote-girl married to and mated with a werewolf businessman and Vietnam vet, my pack includes more than one kind, race, creed, and orientation, and we are stronger in our diversity because we tolerate individual differences so we can harness individual strengths for the safety and benefit of all."
There was more applause, but I didn't want it to turn into that kind of rally and held up a hand until it quieted.
"Those experiences, that identity, are why I could control my fear, walk towards Medicine Wolf in Sacajawea State Park, and help turn what could have become terrible enmity into fruitful alliance. And that's the second thing I represent, after tolerance, which I'll call practicality, or getting it done. It's not just fools rushing in where angels fear to tread, though it can feel like it sometimes. What it really involves is what I call thinking sideways, or changing the rules, seeing what could be done if. A fifteen-foot dire wolf is very scary indeed, especially when it pops out of nowhere, but hang on, what could we do if it were on our side? Hey, what about Hanford and all those wretched dams? A federal agency that's devolved into contract murder and massacre is also very scary, and far more loathsome, so what if I just put that out there on TV and let people know what they're up to? Yeah, I thought they'd feel like that, Mr President, so it's time to bring your hammer down. And huh, I've got wolves, Feds, and Elder Spirits in my house, Medicine Wolf in the garden, and the Man due tomorrow, so suppose a Gray Lord or two came by? We could all talk, and with some mutual goodwill we could actually Get It Done. And you know what? It worked, it's still working, and I think you're all very, very tired of people and institutions that don't, and won't, and can't because all they can do is roll on down the same old track to nowhere."
They let me know they were, but I still held it down as much as I could.
"Thank you again, but I'm nearly done. I'm saying a lot of people, a lot of you, are taking me seriously, despite every apparent disadvantage, because I represent tolerance and practicality, getting things done together. And the flip side is that when you look at the main parties — at the incumbents Jeremiah and Irpa are challenging — what you see is intolerance and impracticality. They don't have any answers to offer, and as far as I can tell don't want change, just more of themselves. But I think you do, and I know almost everyone who's younger than older does, passionately. My daughter Jesse tells me what she and other ex-kiddos want is hope their own kids won't need a heat-suit to take a walk, and can go to school or the movies without worrying about being gunned down by legally armed fruitcakes who could be stopped. They want a world where magic and technology combine to make things possible without destroying the natural world we all live in. And they want a nation that really is the home of the free, not just a sorry collection of competing bigotries and special interests, and the land of the brave, not of head-in-the-sand business-as-usual. And as I want all those things too, and fear the status quo far more than change, I am asking you all to think hard and long about how you are going to vote in November's many races. Talk to your children and grandchildren, kin and friends and their children."
I drew myself up.
"Bottom line? Elections are in their nature about the future. What kind are we heading for? What kind do we want? And what are we going to do about getting the one we want, not the ones we really, really don't? I stand for tolerance and practicality because together they add up to hope. Yes, I am different, as Jeremiah and Irpa are different, but we can also make a difference, and if you trust us, we will. Thank you for listening."
Although I'd added some punch to the last sentences I was trying hard not to tub-thump, like rabble-rousers and hectoring preachers, but to induce thought, and though Jeremiah had to wait out serious applause — and a little chanting of Mercy's slate from the standing-area — before he could wrap up with times and places he'd be available to meet and answer questions over coming weeks, there was a buzz of conversation rising. His pack were involved, and there would be an open day before a big local game when all would be present — an innovation Adam was wondering about, though more of our pack were out as wolves, and known in their own rights.
There was also a reception, and if Jeremiah was in his element, for me it was a challenge. Pressing flesh and schmoozing, wine-glass in hand, was not my thing, though the finger food was good, but Adam was a rock, in easy business mode, and it was interesting in its own way. I'd said all I wanted, but I realised it wasn't words they were after so much as to confirm with their own eyes I was real. It sounds crazy, but they'd seen me on TV being improbable, and seeing the cloak in the petal, close-up and personal, or Manannán's Bane, was a box to tick, so I went with the mundane. Children, shopping, and cooking were perennials, and I had an interesting chat with Ros Stourbridge and a couple who ran a southern-style diner. There was also a very corporate man who ran a VW dealership and was concerned about eco-attitudes to cars, but I agreed pressure on manufacturers to go green would be high on my agenda, with provision of hydrogen stations and domestic recharging capacity. He turned out to like working on his own engines, so we had a mechanics' grump about awkward jobs VWs could throw up, and I was happy to promise that if I ever, as President, meet senior VW people, I would give them an earful.
Policy came into it, because people were willing to admit to relatives with prescription-drug problems, OxyContin or fentanyl, and the issues of Big Pharma malpractice and liability. There were doctors and health industry people present, so prescribing was in there, and while no-one had neat answers they had ideas I noted. The tensions were defused when Irpa was asked about that joint.
"Intoxication is hard for trolls to manage. At my weight it'd take pounds of grass, or a keg of Valhallan mead at speed. If you ever do come across a drunk troll, though, backpedal fast. It's really not a pretty sight."
"I'd think not." An older doctor laughed. "Valhallan mead?"
"Yeah. Thor likes his mead, and so do I. But it takes twenty-three years to brew, so no-one else gets much these days, more's the pity."
Even I was curious. "Does it taste of its essence, Irpa, the way food and drink from divine realms are said to?"
"Pretty much, Mercy. Beyla had to create Valhallan flowers and bees to get the mead, and the bees are something else."
From there we went to pesticides and ecology, but the preternatural titbit was a bonus for those who heard and another normalisation — magic mead, yay, but you still needed raw honey, and it took a bunch of work. I was glad to leave Jeremiah to go on talking himself up, but it hadn't been too bad and seemed to have served its purpose. Alan thought so as he saw us out, and there was a look in the senior agent's eye that made me pause.
"Something you wanted to say, Agent?"
"It's not my place, Ms Hauptman."
"As you will, but you're welcome. I do things like this differently, too."
"Huh. Maybe I'm just feeling more hopeful than I was, Ms Hauptman. Are Mr and Mrs Lafferty going straight back to their home?"
"They are, and Frank notified agents there. The rest of us are headed for Kennewick, and will emerge inside. Our agents are also aware."
He was glad we were being sensible, and his hope a pleasing compliment, but in the Garden there were more, everyone thinking I'd hit the mark.
"I like that line about not doing attack ads." Frank grinned. "But the main parties got labelled intolerant and impractical all the same. And hopeless. Nice one."
"Glad you think so. But let's get you home."
In their hall Rachel thanked me for facilitating travel.
"I nearly said it back there in the Garden."
I waggled a hand. "Human to human, wolf, or avatar is OK, Rachel, but better safe than sorry. Don't ever take Underhill or any fae for granted."
"No." She hesitated. "Is that experience, knowing that bone-deep as you seem to, part of how you can hold up so well? Andrea said you were used to being hunted. We're still processing it, or trying to."
"It's not so much being hunted as knowing something might. Being in the closet as an avatar for thirty-three years is up there too. But fretting won't help me and will distract everyone else, so I try not to."
"You succeed, Mercy, and are not showing what you have to be feeling. It's very impressive. So is the way you judge audiences. You'd be a formidable lawyer."
"God forbid, Rachel. It's bad enough becoming a politician."
We parted with laughter, but such regard from friends was more of a bother than from crowds. It made me feel like shuffling my feet, or my head, but once we were home residual discomfort was dispelled by Kyle.
"I might be staying local after all, Mercy, because Underhill gives me a serious dose of creeps. Commuting through there is right out. But I want one of those fountains. The statue's something else, and you can label me impressed as all get out for surviving Manannán's attack, because he was big and if that look in his eyes is accurate a total loon. But, sorry Mercy, Adam, heroic female nudes are so not my thing. And Fountains of Uphill Justice are just perfect."
I gave a real laugh. "So are you, Kyle. Thank God someone else has those two the right way round."