Chapter Forty-Six

Even the Turin Shroud couldn't keep Italy on front pages next morning, for Jesse had done some headline-hogging of her own. A CALL TO FARMS had some punch, but the runaway winner was the Saskatchewan Sage — SHE STEPS SIDEWAYS TOO, with the image of Jesse between me and Adam. They'd reached a more focused version of Leslie's idea that kids who grew up with the preternatural were sharp to the world, and like other papers correlated clear disapproval of Christy not even tweeting a 'well done, proud of you' with Adam having been given custody. And very few people had realised Coyote had taken to being a Gramps, however step, as seriously as he took anything.

There was niggling at the partisan, because it was all synergy for me, but they found it hard to fault what Jesse had said. There was also kneejerk Big Corn babble about the absolute necessity of burying Iowa feet deep in nitrates, and matching Lower Coloradan bluster about rights to all resources, but the prospect of an angry manitou had actually got through on the back of Ol' Manitou River's impending appearance. A few writers were scornful of what they called naivety, sketching big solutions, but more had been struck by the grounded plausibility, backed by the radical practicality of the Columbia Restoration — which, they realised, Jesse had seen at very close quarters. And everyone was taken with her final answer. The idea of a birthday having incidental but benign magical force, in seeing and memory, was a warm and despite everything simple pleasure, and Brian Mitchell found himself famous as the boy who saw. We couldn't offer him security, but Pasco PD were on it, and Jesse had an advice sheet she sent his parents with mass-media dos and don'ts; she was also pleased with an ungrudging respect for her observation of security, and relieved no-one seemed to be wondering about twigs and motes of dust.

I grinned. "You shouldn't have said it if you didn't want anyone to work it out, Jesse."

"I know." She buttered a roll and shook her head. "How do you do this, Mom? I know it's completely deniable, twigs and dust are everywhere, and I just meant small, apparently insignificant things. But I know what I meant, so it's like I'm expecting a reporter to jump up and shout a question about vamps. Why aren't you?"

"Who says I'm not?"

She stared. "And if one does, you'll say?"

"Depends on the question and circumstances, Jesse. If nothing's broken wide, ignore if possible."

"And if an intranet question's asked?"

"Another week before we need to answer that." I shrugged. "But if it's false, try No comment, and if it's true, You might think that. I couldn't possibly comment. The nightmare itch is normal, Jesse. This isn't just the sky might fall on our heads tomorrow, because you did mean what you meant and it's on record. Out of interest, if you're asked, after it all breaks, what you did mean, what would the answer be?"

She thought about it. "Well, Ms Reporter, you could call it a true thought about secret matters moving a little closer to the surface. I knew what the huorn had done, and the sunlight, and to who, so when I needed a metaphor twigs and dust were handy."

"OK. To whom, if you're feeling snippy. And the problem is?"

"Nightmare itches being normal. Celebrity sucks way too much."

"And responsibility. That one can be a real … elk in a manger."

"Rarely a pretty sight." Jill was amused. "But no leaping reporter is going to get by your guard detail, Jesse, and if Clark Kent somehow did you'd be entitled to shoot him."

Jesse gave her a look. "All out of Krypton today. But thanks, I think."

"It's just new territory, new horizons, Jesse. First week I was a sergeant I thought the world might explode on me any second, and not just incoming. Gets easier as it gets less unfamiliar. Sorta."

"You got that right." Dan gave Adam a sergeant's smile. "We should be going, Jesse. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life."

She gave Dan a look too, but went, trailed by guards. Adam was staying, because whatever we both thought likely, as time passed since the last vamp attack his itch was getting severe, and he could work from home. I had my own itch, and as it meant he was using the encrypted system, I could avoid calls and have a conversation with Zee. He was happy to come by, with Tad, and after cheerful talk about Jesse being a pistol I politely excluded everyone except Brent and Jill, and asked a very carefully worded question that drew his brows down, and made Tad whistle.

"Whoa, Mercy. Underhill knows you know?"

"She does, Tad. She also knew it was nature and habit, not necessity, and I don't think she was over-impressed. Zee?"

"You are playing with fire, liebchen, but I see nothing implausible or impossible here. And I do not think I understand your full purpose."

"Ask my cloak, Zee. It's dealing with synergies, and I trust it and Manannán's Bane to get it right again, whatever it is."

His eyes narrowed "You have built in many layers and distractions. And you may have tapped older sources than you know."

"Spannungsbogen in the Garden?"

"Ja. You recognised that?"

"Carnwennan did. They've made up their own minds?"

"About something, certainly." He muttered in old German and Tad rolled his eyes. "There is no knowing, Mercy. You are mixing many magics, as with Skuffles, and she is at work also. Even Underhill cannot be certain what we will get when they … do whatever it is they are going to do."

"Huh. There isn't a true enough verb for it?"

Zee shrugged. "Maybe we will find out on Friday."

"Un huh. Want to be there? Ap Lugh hasn't said anything about sending Fae representatives to the manitou meet, but you could be one. Formal greeting. Exchange contact protocols."

"That might work. Are Adam and Jesse coming?"

"Everyone's asking that. Adam, yes. He and Jesse are at loggerheads over her coming."

"I'm there if she is."

Tad gave Zee a filial look but Zee only nodded, and I added the transmission delay. They both immediately saw the advantages whatever the probable proximity of translocation, a fae ease with time running on more than one track at once, I thought, and by the time they left Brent and Jill were less alarmed and more nonplussed.

"Sideways isn't strong enough for you, She Only Sorta Unspins Things. What's it called in eleven dimensions, or however many they're up to now?"

"Pass. I gave up with that when I found out dimensions don't come in whole numbers any more."

"They don't?"

"Nope. Math head said the coastline of Britain was 1.67-dimensional, and made it stick with other math heads. Don't ask me. Though come to think of it, manitous are probably fractal. And now I have to dress for a pool interview. Oh joy."

"Un huh. Don't say anything about decimal dimensions, hey?"

"Promise."

I left her half-smiling. Bears didn't quite approve of coyote humour, even when they got it, but I was feeling better too, knowing Zee was onboard, even if I did have to give an interview. Broadening my public wardrobe, with doing things differently in mind, I opted for linen slacks, and a shirt in heavy silk. A jacket completed the outfit, because I wasn't going to wear the cloak, as I explained to it, though I had Carnwennan on my belt and Manannán's Bane, and I went to check arrangements with my various guards.

The media had agreed whoever was on the gate on an interview day was it, and done the roster by random draw for each of TV, radio, and print. They'd been set to get nasty with one another again over which of the three would be it when Andrea let them know that, time being money and in short supply, I'd do all three simultaneously. There had been whining, but there was no technical reason it couldn't be done, TV and radio could be live, and all could ask questions. That it meant the accountability of live coverage extended to them as well as me was just a side benny, and at 11.30 sharp the KPD let them in.

I went down to meet them, with all of David's crew, Jill, and Brent holding on me, while the Secret Service held a perimeter. Today's lucky winners were Choo Harris, Chicago, TV, bright-eyed twenty-something female with ambitions; Ted Wasserman, a hangdog-faced older Texan man, radio, with some cynicism starting to crack; and, pleasingly, the CSM guy Reverend Jenkins had dealt with, Lars Ostek. I'd met him and liked his work, so I offered a hand and asked him for introductions. There were wide eyes at the heavy security and Carnwennan.

"I know, Ms Harris, Mr Wasserman, Mr Ostek, but that's how it is, I'm afraid. And camerawoman, ma'am, you should be tight on whoever's asking questions or me, not on my security. Make sure you are, please."

I got assent, and Harris took her chance.

"Of course, Ms Hauptman, but is there anything you can tell us about the threats you're facing?"

"No. Security trumps curiosity every time, Ms Harris, as Jesse said. More fully, not that you and everyone don't already know. Shots were fired. There is stuff on social media and elsewhere that threatens harm to me and mine. And I have been putting a manitou among governors, as well as really annoying both main parties sufficiently that neither National Committee has yet condemned those shots. Can't say I'm impressed. Mr Ostek, I imagine you'll be wanting another manitou interview as soon after tomorrow as the churches can rustle up another list of agreed questions."

He smiled, nodding. "Comparative Manitou Studies 101 is very tempting, Ms Hauptman, but I have been wondering about the propriety of re-asking a question."

"Rightly, Mr Ostek. But you just need to be upfront, because the manitous know you want to see if they disagree about anything, and you could take care of it by asking if Ol' Manitou River has anything it would add to or qualify in Medicine Wolf's answers."

He blinked. "Thank you, that's very helpful. Do you, um, anticipate …"

I grinned. "Not much um with manitous usually, Mr Ostek. And how should I know? Yeah, they're both very big river basins at heart, but rivers aren't the same, so why should their manitous be identical? Besides, whether the Mississippi and Columbia see God the same way is beyond my stars. Let the sermons roll. And let's walk as well as talk. You're due a question, Mr Wasserman."

"Got a bunch, Ms Hauptman. Hard to know where to start, but I work for a Christian family station, and while I mean no offence, it's not easy to understand where you're coming from or how your family works."

My laughter surprised him. "Tell me, Mr Wasserman. It's not my business to discuss what Adam and Jesse believe, but I wonder how we work too, often. I just don't doubt, ever, that we do. It's an absolute. The Irish poet William Yeats once said a poem comes right like the click of a closing box, and that's how it is with us. Is that so unfamiliar a story to your listeners, whatever the vagaries of their own lives before they got to where they are?"

"Not at all. But your husband doesn't take communion."

I think he thought it was a trap, but I just nodded. "No, he doesn't. You could ask him, but I don't recommend it, Mr Wasserman. Faith and ritual are private as well as public matters, and though I accept candidacy requires a higher standard of me, that does not extend in religious matters to Adam or Jesse. Or any slate candidate — we vetted for any significant liability, but if they were sincerely onboard with core policies, faith wasn't an issue. I'd go to bat in a flash for genuine freedom of worship, meaning sincere belief absent harm to any, but I accept this is a secular country for good reasons. I expect some of your listeners have things to say about that, and the constitution, maybe?"

"Uh … sometimes, yeah."

"And do you defend separation of church and state? Or let it slide?"

"Um … you do defend it? Always?"

"Yeah, I do. Religious wars suck as much as all wars, and a lot of pious people are significantly intemperate. We all know the zealous, and often enough they have interesting things to say, but giving them keys to the Pentagon is an even worse idea that letting them raise armies. Ask Europe, or anywhere else. I imagine you'd agree, Mr Ostek?"

He would, and Harris asked about the services of earth fae, visible all around us, then the grove and unphotographability.

"I know it sticks in your craw, but think about it, Ms Harris. Is it simply defence against unpardonable intrusion? Yup. Ask Ramona Velasquez, or any Freed. Or anyone who's been victimised by media packs crying their rights and freedoms. You know it goes too far, too often. But what else is a zone of unphotographability? Where are we at with cameras?"

"Uh … what do you mean, Ms Hauptman?"

"Besides the TV camera, how many are there within spitting distance of us right now? Everyone's got at least one phone, so that's twenty-odd at least. What's that about?" I stood looking over the Columbia. "Everything on film, always? The US isn't as keen on saturation law-and-order CCTV coverage as some Europeans, but we're getting there, and when it comes to private coverage we're as dense as anyone except maybe the Japanese. Why else is pornography so cheap these days? That's had mixed effects, but plenty of bad among them. Why on earth do so many people take naked selfies and store them on the so-called cloud, meaning big hackable servers owned by someone else and churning out carbon footprint? So don't you think it might be an idea to have some trees around the place, here and there, that can tell any and every camera, No. Not here, not this ?"

Ostek had done his homework. "You have a link to Susan Sontag's essays on photography on your website, and a quotation."

"I do. She said photography gave us a new grammar and ethics of seeing. I think she was right, and so do most First People I know. We also think accepting the unphotographable is a necessary response, and as humans are really bad at strict limits, automagical enforcement is handy."

"Automagical. Good one. Is the unphotographable the ineffable?"

"Not for my money. The ineffable is by definition unphotographable, I'd say, but there's more than that we should keep our little glass-lensed mitts off. Is sex ineffable? What about the sublime, which needn't be divine, and can certainly be techno? But the point is that the old Amerindian belief photography stole the soul wasn't, isn't, as loony as it can sound. Do I believe that being photographed affects how you stand with God or any divine power? Of course not. But do some ways of being photographed affect the soul, or psyche, or collective imaginary? Oh yeah, they do that alright, and I think most of us know it, even if we don't much like thinking it through. Ask victims of revenge porn, and what the … I'll say hell, and mean it, is that about? You have what right, what possible justification, what deep-fried circuits to even think that was any kind of righteous? Ask celebs who get photoshopped, or snapped though a mile-long telephoto lens. Ask the incidental or misidentified who find forty hacks doing the yadda-yadda in their faces one morning. And if you really want something meaty to chew, notice that while I am, in most respects, strongly socially liberal, for good reasons to do with tolerance and not fighting unwinnable wars, I have very healthy respect for limits, bars, parameters, hands-off signs, and no you don't, buster, not in my lifetime. Input values need limits, if you want acceptable and useful outputs. Ask any scientist."

That had them arguing among themselves, and I saw the camerawoman's amusement as she saw mine. I interrupted to introduce Nuthatch and Pirandella, who had offered to show up. They kept it short and sweet, but wanted to convey what they had to Frank and Rachel about why being welcomed to human tables mattered to them. Pirandella threw in some tart remarks about barely-of-age beings doing what elders could or would not that made it clear they'd seen Jesse do her stuff and approved. With that sorted, I relieved guards and surprised reporters by heading briskly to the kitchen, where I shed the jacket and added an apron before washing my hands. David and his crew with Brent and Jill hung back, standing, the Secret Service was off duty with me inside, and reporters got the table, camerawoman standing to swing between them and me.

"Time management, people. A teenage daughter, multiple bodyguards, forty-something wolves, and Coyote means keeping the cookie tin full is an uphill struggle, and I can cook and answer questions at the same time. A would-be president ought to be able to bake, don't you think?"

I assembled ingredients and implements. There was a risk, but I needed to be a person, not just a supercoyote silhouette.

"You all seem a bit slow with questions today, so let me revisit Mr Wasserman's, about my Christian family life. You know I'm a churchgoer, and that the spirit of a congregation matters to me as much as anything but core dogma. Well and good. But I also have fairies at the bottom of my garden. You've just met them, and heard them say that on Sundays they're round the table you're sitting at, having a high time with steamed snow peas. It's neighbourly, and I could say I was being a good Christian, but there's more to it than faith. The rituals of breaking bread with earth fae who tend your land go back millennia, and for the last two they have been persecuted by the intolerant Christianity of cold iron, as pagan superstitions, or if real then diabolic. But that was always ignorance and rank intolerance."

I added eggs, pitching shells into the waste box, and stirred again.

"Or take the pack. Many are Christian, but by no means all, and denominations vary. We have agnostics, atheists, a Muslim, a Jew, and two Taoists. And it makes no odds at all to being pack. I'm coyote, not wolf, and like Joel Arocha not moonbound, but again, so what? We're pack. Our faiths have to accommodate truth, not deny it."

Two baking trays were briskly greased.

"And consider that I see ghosts. I'm surprised no-one's asked me about that. All avatars do, because we are open to part of what First People call the Spirit World, right alongside the one most of us see. Now, everyone I know who sees ghosts agrees they are not souls, and lack more than bodies. Some are repeaters, stuck doing whatever they did every day of their lives. More suffered violent death, and have a sense of vengeance, or unfinished business. And avatars not only see them, they can banish them, so I am in Amerindians terms a qualified exorcist. I don't know where banished ghosts go, but it feels like onwards."

Filled trays went into the oven, and I made hot chocolate.

"All of that is to me simple fact. Allowing for the simple, so are Medicine Wolf, Thunderbird, and Gwyn ap Lugh. Your question was fair, Mr Wasserman, but it's not so easy for me to be more conventional, standard-issue, whitebread, though I'm trying, and I couldn't be any more Anglo or human if I wanted, which I don't. Is that so hard to grasp?"

"Maybe not, Ms Hauptman. But I'll cut to a different chase, because my more worried listeners think your tolerance slides into a kind of permissive they don't buy. You have endorsed an openly gay candidate. And whatever anyone thinks, the Bible says what it says."

"Yup. In the Old Testament, which also commands us not to seethe the kid in its mother's milk. You observe kosher rules, Mr Wasserman?"

"Of course not, but—"

"But nothing. You're cherry-picking what you want from the Bible, and ignoring the New Testament wholesale. When it comes to sex and statute law I have only two absolutes, which are informed consent, meaning no children or animals, and no permanent harm. Beyond that, whatever anyone's beliefs, statute law is a really bad tool for dealing with everyone's most private lives, and discriminating against law-abiding citizens is never on. The religious have every right to disapprove of whatever, but if anyone really thinks Warren being gay is a reason not to vote for a being as old as our nation, who's seen the whole thing first-hand, is extremely capable, kind, and thoughtful , and could do a spectacular job as state senator, they have their heads on backwards. They're also very probably men."

Milk went into mugs, and I passed them round, taking a seat.

"The conspicuously pious pound away about orientation, citing the Old Testament and Pauline misogyny … or the Qur'an, or Rabbinic tradition, but I often wonder if they understand it was labelling and persecution that created the Pink Dollar and Pink Vote. Those didn't exist before later nineteenth-century medics, psychiatrists, and preachers decided swinging one way rather than another was a disease and a crime, warranting custodial terms for men, though not women. It was the Populists here, and what I'll call Neo-Puritans in Britain, who more or less made anything sexual other than wilful procreation a criminal offence. All else aside, it really, really didn't work, for anyone, and was always an unworkable as well as bigoted idea that produced more than a century of grim suffering and murder visited on overwhelmingly harmless citizens. It's another of those pernicious binaries I mentioned, interrogatives that needn't be. Are you straight or gay? It's gotta be black or white. Not, as Jesse would say. So yeah, I support Warren Smith, because he'd do a really good job. What consenting adults do in private is no lawmaker's concern."

I drank hot chocolate, and sighed.

"Chocolate is one of my vices. And I'll add that Reverend Jenkins had a really good run of sermons, a year or so back, about how Christianity got its insistence on mortifying the body and sacramentalising abstinence. The Church Fathers were reacting against all that naked Greek posing and Roman orgies and whatever — pagans do that so we'll do this — and so were pillar-saints and hair-shirters. Fair enough, maybe, then. But extreme reactions ease with time, or should, and Protestants certainly had a point when they said we are as God intended us, plumbing and all, so why shouldn't priests marry? I tend to think we could take that further, because if some self-discipline and austerity are fine, hating your own body and desires because you want to out-mortify long-dead pagans seems … not sensible. And as a woman I can't say I much appreciate some values St Paul got from hating and fearing his male body."

I drained the mug.

"Chocolate never lasts long enough, alas. One more thing on this topic, which is that even if I were a homophobe, which I'm not, worrying about it would be nowhere on my agenda because there's way too much else that's safety-critical and morally urgent. Those Westboro Baptists are not just wilfully offensive, they are comprehensively wrong. So if what really matters to some of your listeners, Mr Wasserman, is for our next president to have gay-bashing credentials, they should vote for someone else. Anyone got a new question?"

They did, and as I pulled brownies from the oven I answered them as briefly as seemed reasonable. No, I wouldn't do anything rash with foreign policy, but yes, there might be changes. Did we need large army bases in quite so many peaceful places? Maybe not, but I'd need to listen carefully to what the military thought before I could make any decision. Yes, NATO was good, and yes, China was indeed expanding, variously. No. I didn't know anything about what kinds of preternatural there might be there, except probably dragons and whatever it was that made them think of geomancy and feng shui, but it was a good question.

Pulling meat from the freezer brought an interlude about how much food we got through, pack tithing, and why I didn't mind cooking as often as I did (I found it soothing and enjoyed the results). Yes, Adam could rule a barbecue when he wanted, but so could Jesse, while Darryl was a superior cook. And yup, running on four legs was a lot of fun, with a whole extra world of smells. I had a good nose on two legs, which was why I could tell them Harris had a blister pack and a wrapped toffee in one pocket, Wasserman kept a gerbil, and Ostek at least three cats, but as a coyote I could have identified the brand of toffee, if I knew it, and the breed of cat. Breeds of gerbil I was less clear on. That took us to forensics, and the hour was nearly up when Harris glanced at her phone.

"Ah. This seems intrusive, Ms Hauptman, and I don't want to be, but the former Mrs Hauptman is about to give a TV statement."

I managed not to shut my eyes, though I did take a deep breath. "Thank you, Ms Harris. I'd better watch. And don't worry about intrusion. Luck of the draw."

Unless it was calculated on Christy's part to cap me. David flipped the TV on the side on, and found Christy already in full Mascara Bat mode facing a mob and cameras, with Eugene PD uniforms keeping the lid on. She'd done nothing to deserve their relentless persecution, she told them dramatically, which was wicked, and it wasn't fair she couldn't even go to work. Everything was my fault, because I was a conniving marriage-wrecker and man-thief, and wouldn't even let her stay in the Tri-Cities, cruelly driving her away to Eugene. I'd savagely attacked her with hair-dye, ruining her looks for months, and blamed her for everything that happened when it was all my own fault. Now I was pushing myself into everything, and why did everyone just stand for it? It wasn't right, and they were all doing my wicked bidding like horrid zombies, so would they all just go home and leave poor victimised her alone to her many dreadful sorrows? Eventually she ran down, panting slightly so she could heave her bosom about, necklace sparkling, and there was an uncharacteristic media silence before an older woman I half-recognised glanced at the Eugene PD sergeant and took a careful pace forward.

"Mrs Hauptman, you seem to be under a misapprehension. We're not here because of Ms Hauptman. We're here because everyone was very impressed by your daughter's amazing Civic Affairs lesson, and we're wondering why you haven't had anything to say about that."

Christy blinked. "Oh, that nonsense. I couldn't bear to watch. Poor Jesse's only doing all that because Mercy Thompson makes her. It's part of this stupid election stunt."

There was another silence.

"If you really think that, Mrs Hauptman, I strongly suggest you go watch your daughter's lesson right now, because any parent should be seriously proud of any seventeen-year-old who can do what she did."

"What?"

Christy looked baffled, and at my handchop David cut sound. I knew my eyes were a little golden, and took a moment to swallow my temper.

"And there you have it. As to the slanders, I'll need to talk to Ms Trevellyan, but as statute law's a very poor tool for this one too, I will say, for the record, that the grounds for the divorce are public domain, so check for yourselves; and yes, when Christy claimed pack protection from Guayota, and stayed here for a fortnight, then with pack-members for another six weeks, before rushing over when I went missing, courtesy of Manannán, I ordered her home to Eugene. Go figure."

"I remember that." Harris cocked her head. "Hair-dye?"

"Is it my fault she put her hand on the wrong bottle while using an en suite shower she'd been specifically warned not to presume to use?"

"Um … why do I think the answer might be yes, Ms Hauptman? Some might call that, ah, petty."

"And supposing the answer was indeed yes, Ms Harris, some might call it seriously restrained, as well as effective. She moved out again."

"Might, yeah. An ex forcing herself on you as a guest and then using your en suite is pretty rank. What colour hair-dye?"

"Electric blue. And we're over time, while you've all had a bonus, so I think we're done."

Harris nodded. "I wouldn't call this a bonus, Ms Hauptman, and my respect for you and Miss Hauptman just went up yet another notch. Do please give her my warmest congratulations."

"That I can do, thanks, Ms Harris, because Adam and I are as proud of her as we should be, and some more. But I need to make calls."

I left David's crew to keep an eye on them, while he came with me to find Adam, who opened his arms and held me for a moment.

"What happened after I had David cut sound?"

"Not much. The media are all dreadful bullies. Then tears and a rush back inside." Adam shook his head. "She's her own worst enemy."

"Oh yeah. Jenny?"

"Said suing was overkill, and you judged it well. We can't help what a … stupid mother she's turned into."

"No. Has Jesse called?"

"I called her, but she had you on already. Hung tough, and said her Birth Mom was only to be expected, but she's hurting."

"I know." So was Adam. "Do you want to do anything? Auriele called Christy, but got voice-mail. Left a message offering a sympathetic ear."

"Is there anything to do, Mercy? Corp?"

David shrugged. "Push for therapy as a condition when she gets busted for something, maybe, Sarge. But I think most of that press pack will take off. That wasn't the story they wanted, they didn't like it, and they do like Jesse just now. If a scandalmonger stays and worms in, make sure his or her editor knows libel will be acted on, with punitive damages for wilful malice. What if anything is Jesse going to say to anyone?"

"Up to her, Corp, but I'll strongly advise nothing. Dignified silence. Her peers will respect it, and I don't want her doing more than odd interviews."

"Hear you, Sarge. Mercy?"

"What he said, David. If the story gets legs we might have to rethink, but I'll be resistant even then. And you're right Christy shot herself down as a credible witness on first outing. Huh. That line of Jesse's might work — someone asks, she says, not going there, sir or madam. Have some dignity. We can all use it.

Adam squeezed me, "I like that. Not that I like anything about this."

"Hear you again, Sarge. And you won't like this either, but it's a factor in tomorrow. Media could turn up in force here, or school, and so could your ex. Means reinforcing perimeters. Or Jesse comes, and it's just one perimeter with everyone inside. Grant it's then the only target, and she's at risk with everyone, but suppose the worst and do you want her watching here? Who'd come calling? She's not making those arguments to you, Sarge, nor to anyone that I've heard, but she's thinking them. Wasn't sure if you were seeing that past your gut reaction."

Adam closed his eyes for a moment while I held his hand.

"Not enough, Corp. Thanks. Of course she is. Damn. Sorry, love."

"You're entitled to a damn or two, Adam. But the risk was always there, and one answer is for you to stay. Eggs, baskets. But you can't. Why do you think Jesse can, except the power to make her?"

There was silence before David blew out a breath.

"She's not like Bockman, Sarge. He couldn't shoot, and he ran." David looked at me. "Skinny kid from Detroit, lied to join up at seventeen, running from some gang threat, and never could hack it. Died in his first skirmish. We all knew he would, but it was the Sarge's first loss, in his first week. All the ones." And back to Adam. "Jesse can shoot, and she's got spine. Pretty much everyone she most loves is walking into danger. And I'll bet she feels guilty for pushing you both on this. I won't say more, Sarge, but you wouldn't have kept me away at seventeen, or yourself."

Adam had an odd look, and shook his head. "Bockman. I never used to be able to block that memory, but since that easing I'd almost forgotten him. No wonder it was freaking me that Jesse is only seventeen. Ah hell. I know you're right, Corp. It's just … full briefing, Mercy?"

"Un huh. I'd have done this for you tomorrow, David, but not for others. Tell me if you agree."

I explained about the transmission delay, with what Underhill had told me, adding that Zee and Tad would be there.

"It's all if, if, and if, then maybe. Brent and Jill know. If it'd take longer for time dilation to spread, I'd feel differently, but a half-second …"

"Weird one. But yeah, I see why you aren't briefing. Gonna say anything on the general band?"

"I expect an attack, in force, which will trigger magical protections. If time goes weird, and you hear me or Adam give an order telling you what to target, obey fast. And anything that is not a vamp or Lenka, on however many legs, is on our side unless someone in authority tells you otherwise."

"Yo. That's clear, and the Secret Service know about Jill, Joel, Irpa, Skuffles, and Coyote. Anything other than wolves, bears, tibicenas, trolls, and oversize coyotes expected?"

"Who knows, David? Ol' Manitou River won't be far away, and Zee might drop his glamour if he's fighting. Adam, Jesse will be coming, yeah?"

"Yes." He sounded resigned. "I feel what I feel, but so does she, and she has the right to choose."

"Yup. I am not much less conflicted, but we are both right." I gave him a kiss. "Who gets to tell her the ambivalent news?"