Chapter Forty-One

Monday was spent speaking to slate candidates before the release of names (including Vanna, her club being Trouble-squasher boding well), and doing interviews after. There were questions I deflected citing ongoing FBI investigation, and a deal of rehashing, which was fair — it takes rehash to absorb the strange — but I pushed discussion of St Louis, remarking the NYT and Chicago Tribune leaders and the fun I would have if rivals ducked out.

"After all," I told a New York station, after plugging Vanna, four young ethnic contenders for city districts, and the half-fae stirring up Long Island, "a candidate refusing free airtime needs a psychiatrist as well as a backbone."

That went happily viral, as did my observation to a Texan station, where a wolf was running for governor, that as demand for oil and gas would fall, longer-term, looking out for the people who'd brought the state such wealth rather than leaving them in the green lurch would be good. Pack-bonds were beginning to fizz as hours to moonrise dropped into single digits, but no-one asked about that. Lunch was only sandwiches, but I had headlines to enjoy, though not many interviewers had chosen to go there. My favourite, besides a NOSTRA CULPA from the Washington Post, was the Seattle Post-Intelligencer — WE PRAY YOU MERCY, MERCY. You had to give them points for — I looked it up — antanaclasis, and I sent the editor an email telling him they needn't pray, only ensure their journalism was as civil as it was rhetorical. Among the good-hearted there was a shame they couldn't hide, but among the bad a whining resentment. Rude-Fox-guy was not alone in delusions of mystical media rights, and a snarky CNN segment from Wolf Blitzer about their damaged van and hotwiring won them an email asking if they had yet discovered where their driver had got to, why they needed one who did nothing else, and what on earth s/he thought s/he'd been doing to park illegally and disappear with the keys, before observing that their crew, like all media at our gates, were relying on portable johns Adam and I provided because it was easier than having our verges fouled. As I copied it to Fox it went on air instantly, and I copied CNN into a third, to Fox, pointing out they relied on the johns too, and perhaps the pool should pick up the tab. It was a fun distraction from the pack's growing need to change, and a calculated amusement for Adam, holding his wolves and himself down.

Brent and David were taking care of moon itch by working out, and as they spent a hard hour playing Skuffles-in-the-Middle, without success, I discovered her physical activity soothed my own itches. I went down when they finished to find Brent and David sweat-soaked, Skuffles fresh as a daisy, and the audience of David's crew, Jill, and duty wolves appreciative of pure speed. Skuffles bounced over, skulls rattling.

There you are.

"Yup, here I am, Maxi-me. How's tricks?"

Yours are in very good shape, so mine are too. Nuthatch and Pirandella asked me to escort them to Uncle Mike's, and when they gave him the ten dollars and said they wanted the Book of Wagers in your name I heard any number of pins drop.

"Did you, Skuffles? Why ever were fae carrying pins?"

She gave me a long-suffering look. Ho ho. Do you want to know what Uncle Mike said when they dictated the entry?

"Please."

Coyote faith and begorrah. Her jaw dropped in a grin. Then he drank a pint of Guinness.

Having a Skuffles was very odd, because I knew absolutely I was parsing it as she had. Uncle Mike was Irish but played stage-Irish to perfection, and was far more calculating than his glamour suggested.

"Good one. And?"

More pins, before a great buzz. She angled her head, eyes glinting. Lesser fae do not deal so well with sideways times three. It was fun.

"I imagine it was. Underhill will understand."

Oh yes. She is researching duck shapes. Uncle Mike said he cannot honourably pay you until it happens, but we have 870 dollars coming.

I raised eyebrows. "You spoke to Underhill?"

We came back via the Garden and she was there. When Nuthatch told her what you said, she asked about sideways to be sure she had it right. She is so sideways herself that sideways cubed needs a lot of triangulation for her, but she was laughing.

That sounded better than not, though that much sideways made even my head hurt. I was also wondering about the other eighty-six ideas, and who'd had them, but it would be a while before I could ask Uncle Mike. Mostly, though, I was happy Underhill had accepted a compensatory deflation of giant nude ice me, extending the joke — heroic and duckpond do not collocate well — and completing Manannán's posthumous comedown.

"Good to know. How is she researching duck shapes?"

I have no idea. Why?

"Can't do digital Underhill, but Bran has a complete copy of Audubon's Birds of America. He drew good ducks."

So he did. I will ask Bran about it.

She vanished before I could say Rather you than me, but it took care of letting him know and spared me his inevitable eye-roll. It would also amuse Anna and Charles, and was already amusing David and Brent.

"She'll just turn up in the Marrok's study?"

"Or wherever. I knew an autonomous Skuffles would be interesting."

"You could say." David laughed, a welcome sound. "You really are something else. Uphill Justice, Surprising Mercy, and Valorous Impossibility. Go figure."

"You should do a visitor brochure. Or what do they call them, plaques."

"Oh hush, Brent. The fae can work it out for themselves."

"Jesse was right about legendary vengeance." Jill gave me a half-salute. "It's one for the books. And I'm losing count of your names. Yesterday it was Threshing Sledge, now it's She Does Brave Duckponds?"

"No, but it's about to be Dinner Woman. We'll be heading out as soon as Dan calls to say Jesse's out of school. Charcoal into the Cherokee, please, with the grill, while I pack food."

The senior Secret Service guy found me chopping onions, and as I finished that and began to fill cold boxes I learned SEALs would be riding herd, and less pleasingly that a fruitcake with a knife had been arrested at a speech Frank had given in Baltimore.

"He was high as a kite on something, ma'am, and insisted Mr Lafferty was a werewolf. Wanted to cut his hand to prove it, like Mr Stourbridge."

"Hell. How close did he get?"

"Into the foyer, but not the auditorium. Mr Lafferty saw nothing, but he and Ms Lafferty were informed afterwards. SOP."

"Right. Thanks."

I checked Frank's schedule, and as he and Rachel would be being driven home to Philly, made a call. They were shaken but making light of it, and seemed to find it comforting only a nick to the hand had been intended.

/Not one I'd anticipated, Mercy, and it's hard to prove a negative, but no harm, no foul. They said he was on something./

"Fruitcakes often are. And not being a wolf is a negative you can prove, Frank, for those with any logic. Medical records do it. Or a press conference tonight, under the full moon. Every wolf will be changing soon."

They knew as well as I did fruitcakes and logic were not in close contact, but liked it. The speech had gone well, and since my words yesterday their press contingent was up, so that was alright, and I left them happier than I'd found them, I hoped. The agent stayed to listen, and looked thoughtful as I got back to cold boxes.

"Shots of wolves under the moon here and Mr Lafferty there. Mutually reinforcing."

"We can hope. Though speaking of fruitcakes …"

I'm not sure using SEALs to deliver fruitcake to a neighbour is quite the done thing, but their lieutenant was tickled by the request and off to Mr and Mrs Andrews it went, with a note of thanks for neighbourliness and valour in the face of magical alarm. I gathered the TV-pool crew had trailed it, delighted to get a story, but saying anything unless the Andrews did would be tacky. It was courtesy, not a stunt. With David's permission Travis drifted down to tell pool people we'd be heading out shortly to hunt, and good media were meeting us. He came back pleased with himself, and relayed a message that Mr and Mrs Andrews had been touched.

"She shakes, she bakes, and she makes no mistakes. Who is that masked coyote?"

I flapped a hand. "Brindled, not masked." My phone pinged, and a glance confirmed Dan's message. "Time to go. Fire up those Duramax engines."

The Secret Service hadn't seen the full alarm system set as the house had never been empty, and watched with professional approval as door and window locks, movement and vibration detection sensors, cameras, and external floodlights were confirmed by rows of green LEDs.

"Good system."

"There are magical defences too, but they look after themselves."

The senior agent gave me a look, but let it go as we piled into vehicles, SEALs and Secret Service in SUVs, Hummers fore and aft. KPD provided outriders to siren us through to I12, but once we were over the Snake it was a fifty-five-mile run to Dayton, more boring than not. As far as Eureka the road ran dead straight between occasional sharp bends, irrigation circles greening the view, then paralleled the Touchet River in dry scrubland. Between Lamar and Prescott we caught up with Jesse, Dan, and the Joes, who'd fallen in with other pack cars, and Dan tucked their SUV behind mine while pack cars tacked on behind the rear Hummer. Approaching Waitsburg David took us off 124 to avoid the urban junction of 124 and US12, joining 12 at Huntsville. Along the way we collected more pack, passed Lewis and Clark Trail State Park. Light was fading, the Blue Mountains filling the horizon, and land greening from rain they shed.

There was no way of avoiding downtown Dayton, US12 running through it as Main Street, and we needed South 4th, which became North Touchet and headed into the mountains, but the Secret Service had a long reach and a Sherriff's Deputy was waiting to clear us on our way. Tourist season was starting, so there were stares and waves as we were recognised, and I waved back. The pack passed through often enough, over the last fifteen months with the Freed, and Adam had had to register the land purchase, so we'd taken time to pay calls on the Sherriff and S&R people, and were in good local odour. But the convoy was a spectacle, and as another Deputy was blocking East Main to let us swing onto South 4th a larger crowd had gathered. I had time for more waving and smiling as we made the turn, and a Deputy stayed with us to Baileyburg before pulling aside. I recognised him vaguely, and slowed to offer thanks. As North Touchet began its steady climb Brent relaxed and gave me a glance.

"That was smooth. It's gonna be interesting when it's presidential, mind. Those armoured limos are not designed for roads like this."

"Huh. I'm not presuming, Brent, but point. Good thing the Secret Service guys will see it today."

"They have a presidential coach, don't they? But no armoured SUV I've seen." Jill sounded interested. "That would be a challenge, Brent. High suspensions and the weight of armouring don't go well together."

"True. Get it right, though …"

They argued SUV design and the mass of bullet-proof glass as we climbed for fifteen miles and turned off at Billups Gulch, to curl on backroads towards Mountain Top in the denser woodland of south-facing slopes. The last mile was a gravelled track leading to a weekend house owned by a doctor in Colfax, and a shallow, muddier climb between encroaching trees to the polegate. There were already dozens of vehicles in the sloping meadow we used as a parking lot, including Adam's SUV of the day, Joel's and Lucia's old Ford pickup, and the KEPR van. Itchy wolves were being anchored by spouses and older children as they waited on permission to change, and had a fire burning. Adam's control was rock-solid, but moonrise was only forty minutes away and from the wolf-yellow in his eyes that faded a little as I kissed him despatch in order. He went to talk to the Secret Service and SEALs as the rear Hummer and last pack cars parked, wolves spilled out, and Jesse headed for me, Dan and the Joes trailing warily.

Caroline, Vince, and Al were spooked by the gathering emotions, almost a scent in the air with earth and resin, but clear on who needed to be blurred in photos — kids, some wives who didn't want the hassle of publicity — and good to go. Al was filming and Vince swinging the mike for a documentary I'd agreed to let Caroline do, but she had a top-end still camera, and they'd set up LED floods that lit the upper end of the meadow. I added parameters about photos I wanted taking but not releasing or talking about to anyone until, and though Caroline gave me a look she didn't demur. With everyone present, assorted guards holding the perimeter, I stood beside Adam and we ran through what was needed.

First up were pictures of everyone on two legs, pack only, pack and families, including Jesse, then friends — Brent, David and his crew, Dan and the Joes, Jill. Then the pain and fun began. Al and Vince cut recording, Adam gave permission, non-wolves gave space, turning backs, and wolves began to strip and change, including Brent and David, though Adam stayed on two legs. I knew changing squicked Caroline, and drew her with Jesse and kids to unload charcoal and grill, and lug cold boxes and bags of bread. Jill came to look, hefting and turning the grill as I took the cover off the stone firetrough and filled it with charcoal.

"You bet I want, Mercy, but not so big. It's what, five foot six?"

"Eight. If I cook here it's for thirty plus."

"Plate for frying eggs?"

"Un huh. Some like them that way, but the shallow cup means I can scramble. British bacon also prefers the plate."

"So would maize cakes."

"Yup."

I doused charcoal with accelerant, and Jill set the grill in place, admiring it, while I fished out matches. A glance told me most wolves were on four legs, shaking themselves, and we left the charcoal to bed down.

Second up were pictures of me, Adam, and Jesse with Joel on two legs and Lucia, surrounded by pack. Then Lucia dropped out, and Joel went to change, resuming his place in Presa Canario form. We added four-legged Brent and David as guests, and finally pack plus interspersed families for a human–wolf panorama. Wolves were inclined to gambol, and to keep a lid on things Adam demanded one maximally dignified shot in return for one where they could tongue-loll or goof, and from Caroline's snorts there must be some good ones. Then Adam could change at last, pulling on me, and asking everyone to hold position I went to retrieve cloak and Manannán's Bane, and called Al and Vince together with Caroline. I raised my voice so everyone could hear, and pulled up dominance.

"Caroline, Al, Vince, from here on we're in do not tell anyone territory, until you have my let. The Secret Service know, because it's part of my security, but these are hole cards, and we need to keep them that way. And this applies to everyone. Alpha security command with fullest effect — not one word to anyone not here now, and only in certain privacy."

I'd put weight into it, as had the cloak, and wolves nodded with humans. Caroline had shock in her eyes.

"Yowza, Mercy! You're generating this … pressure?"

"Un huh. That's amplified dominance, Caroline."

Al swapped out his camera card, so secret stuff would be separate, and I thanked him. Lucia rested a hand on Joel's head, scratching, and a moment later Adam emerged on four legs, shook himself, and headed for his place, giving a yip of impatience. Caroline blinked again.

"That was quick."

"Yeah. I can lend a little speed, which is also not for blabbing."

I went to stand by Adam, and Caroline did shots of me and Lucia amid pack, then me and Jesse, and finally me alone among wolves in petalled and feathered splendour, Manannán's Bane preening in my hand.

"Jill?"

"I hope this clothing works the way it's supposed to. I'm getting to like it." She stepped away from Caroline. "Watch out for flying bra-halves."

I had a split second to appreciate the bewilderment on Caroline's face before Jill went grizzly with a fierce crackle of plastic snaps popping as clothes did indeed fly off, and it shifted to astonishment. Most humans looked the same way, but I was more interested in Jill, who swung her head, peering at bits of clothing, and went to look closely at one or two before standing on hind legs and doing a bearish shimmy that made me grin and more wolves than Adam drop jaws.

"Looks like the Hulk Reclothing Plan worked, Caroline. Jill is Bear's daughter. Maybe you could pick up clothing while we re-arrange?"

"Uh … sure, Mercy."

Wolves shifted to make room, and Jill waded through them, vast flanks swinging with a bear's easy gait, to sit on my right while Presa Canario Joel was on Adam's left, carefully positioned where grass had been scuffed aside to leave dry dirt. I told wolves to settle for a formal pose, giving it enough edge there was no delay, and faced Caroline, who'd stacked clothing-halves on the nearest hood and come back.

"A couple three like this, please, Caroline."

She did them, and paused, looking a query.

"Joel, go room-temperature tibicena, please."

He did, and his increased bulk became a good match for Jill, flanking Adam and me like heraldic creatures on the gateposts of those British stately homes. Caroline whistled appreciation, and snapped away.

"Thanks. These next ones need to be fast. You'll see why. Joel?"

The tibicena became magmatic, with less sideways heat than I'd expected, and I realised he'd darkened his flanks, letting more heat radiate from back, chest, and muzzle. Caroline, and many people, had seen the tibicena, but not its magmatic aspect, and only professionalism had her swinging the camera up, fiddling settings to allow for brightness.

"Thanks again. Jill?"

She shifted sideways a few feet, wolves re-arranging themselves.

"Thanks, Jill. And swiftly again, please, Caroline."

With the thought Skuffles was beside me, filling the gap, and I swallowed a laugh as I saw she'd groomed her glamour, or talked Irpa into brushing her down. Dried-blood flanks and head gleamed, skulls had burnished pates and teeth, roses were dewy, and the cloak gusted fragrance. Caroline stared and swung the camera up, clicking away.

"Alright. Nearly done, everyone. One goofy set and you can go hunt."

It was a release for wolves and a challenge for Joel, magma not doing goofy, but he let a fiery tongue loll. Jill sat on her haunches, front paws turned up, and after a last volley of clicks Caroline lowered the camera.

"Done."

"Excellent, thanks, and good hunting, everyone."

Wolves swirled, growling excitement, Adam sent a kiss through our bond before heading out, wolves following, Al tracking them into darkness while Joel, back to Presa Canario, headed for privacy to change. I needed to get to the grill, where spouses were unpacking cold boxes, but Jill nudged me, and used a claw to write in the baked dirt where Joel had been, BACK IN 5, before heading into the pines. Caroline, wonder on her face as professionalism ceased to be needed, looked down.

"Amazing."

"You think? Bears do shit in the woods, I'd guess."

Skuffles yipped amusement and Caroline trailed us as we headed for the grill, splutter dissolving into a laugh.

"Of course they do, Mercy. That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. Those are some hole-cards."

"Yup. But I don't want to talk about it. Nor does Skuffles. We will when it breaks, but not now. And make documentary coverage intermittent from here on? Get cooking and eating shots, whatever, but give people space to talk without being recorded, please."

"Of course. But …"

"But?"

"There's a bigger threat than fruitcakes? Wednesday?"

She'd was a friend and had been scrupulous, so I swallowed a retort.

"There are all sorts of threats, Caroline. But yeah, we are being hypercareful for good reasons, and that is all I'm saying tonight."

"I get that, Mercy. Skuffles can talk?"

I can, Caroline Taylor, and do, but not about this, now.

Her jaw dropped and she couldn't not be curious, but there was worry too, though she did accept my — our — silence. The bustle as burgers, dogs, sausages, and corn were laid on bars, falafels on crosshatch, was a distraction, and when others wanted to tend them I started piecing together Jill's clothing. Jesse and Lucia helped, examining seams with thoughtful looks, Skuffles watched, and kids banished from the grill came to see. When Al called out he was done filming for now, though there would be another clip once food was served, I fielded questions, pleased by pragmatic acceptance of bear avatars and problem-solving designs, and when Jill came back I took the chance to give an impromptu lesson on grizzly speed and power, and why, if you did meet one, running away was not a good option. Jill was amused, if better pleased when Jesse carried the reassembled clothing to a space shielded by the KEPR van. I realised David's crew were hanging back, with Dan and the Joes, talking to the senior Secret Service guy and SEAL Lieutenant, and after extending my magic carefully I went over, Skuffles tagging along.

"Agent, Lieutenant, all well?"

"Far as we're aware, ma'am."

"Good. Nothing Skuffles or I can sense magically either, so I doubt there's any vamp threat tonight. Belts and braces, I know, but be aware there's food for your people, if you care to rotate them in."

"You're feeding us, ma'am?"

"Surely, Agent. Six of you and ten SEALs. Believe me, sixteen extra burgers and buns was not a problem, and there are veggie ones if anyone prefers. And JJ, Dan, you guys need to come eat too."

There was shuffling but I bulled though the magic-shock, and as food started to flow off the grill, to kiddos and everyone, Jesse and Jill happily adding charcoal and reloading it, the first agents and pair of SEALs did come by. They made appreciation clear and I acknowledged it, more interested in chowing down. Falafels and corn followed a burger, and I had room for a sausage or three, washed down with one beer. Replete, but seeing kiddos demonstrating hollow legs, I found the senior agent and Lieutenant beside me with bulging burgers.

"Your courtesy is appreciated, ma'am. Neither the Looey nor I are used to principals who worry about us the way you do."

"You're welcome. It's what Alphas do."

"Huh. But we had a few questions, ma'am, if you're willing."

"Shoot."

No, there was no limit to how long Joel could stay magmatic, save that he would soon set more or less anything except earth or stone on fire, and yes, I could go coyote as fast as Jill went bear, while Skuffles was never more than a thought away if I had the cloak. She showed off dentition and speed, and when Jesse joined us, to lean against me with full-belly torpor, added thoughtfully that the only thing that might pull her away from defending me was a threat to Jesse or Adam. My definition of threat wasn't the same as theirs — Adam would survive lead, and any non-silver blade, but Jesse wouldn't — and we kicked that around until Caroline came over with a laptop and gave us a slideshow.

The goofy shots were a hoot, and our pack Christmas-Card problem had been solved early, but the dignified ones were good, and Jesse and I knew at once which we wanted to use first. She stood between Adam on four legs and me on two, head high but relaxed, and around us the pack and Joel's Presa Canario stood straight, looking directly at the camera, eyes gleaming yellow and teeth white. Caroline looked at us soberly.

"It'll do what you want, Mercy, and the warning is clear. But that shot alone is worth a small fortune."

"And Andrea can realise that, with the earlier full group shot to follow. Ten percent to you, the rest to Jesse's college fund and security costs. The same on others when it becomes possible. Oh, and a cut to Jill."

She was reluctant, not feeling entitled to what would be a hefty bonus, but I'd had that argument with Andrea, and Caroline could give the money away if she wanted. The agent and Lieutenant listened, nodding approval when it ended with my pocketing the still and video cards with restricted material. When Caroline took her laptop to show others they had questions about my intentions with the ones I was holding back, having realised I wanted the variants because I didn't know what forms might be revealed when whatever happened.

"We're more used to thinking threat, decision-tree, shot if necessary, than what to do if the threat laughs off being shot." The agent shook his head. "But the escalations you have available, ma'am, are very comforting. Mr Arocha is back-up on hypergolics? They're trying but it's tricky."

"Joel got a much bigger chunk of Guayota's magic than me, including the magmatic aspect, so yeah, he can do sudden heat transfer. Hang on."

I hadn't been following the hunt, because it reminded me how much I'd rather have gone with them, but I knew when stalking exploded into chase, feeling Adam's satisfaction, and a moment later triumphant howls echoed down valley.

"They've made clean kills. An old buck and a doe past bearing. Adam will bring them back within the hour. We'll be on the road again within two."

"The pack judges prey ecologically?"

"Always. All packs do. The Marrok orders it, but most would do it anyway. Fawns and yearlings are fair prey, however that seems, but mid-life does are not, and only a senile wolf would take one carrying. We'll want to hunt next month, next decade. Sustainability is all."

"Makes sense, ma'am. And you do a lot more of that than I was expecting, despite AED Westfield's briefing. A whole lot more."

"I try."