Faerie Blood (36 page)

Amelialoren’s eyebrows went up. “Your person was violated,” she said, studying him searchingly, “and your life threatened, and you ask only for my Court to attend to Miss Thompson’s welfare? You are entitled to more, Warder Second.”

Christopher shrugged and then slanted me an earnest, determined look that wrested my attention off the Queen. “What kind of Warder would I be if I didn’t look out for the welfare of someone in my bonded city first?” he asked. Rhetorically and far more for me than for the Sidhe who questioned him, I thought, and a blush rose up in my cheeks.

“And you are certain, Miss Thompson, that you desire nothing more than the restoration of your home and the Warder Second’s instrument?”

“I’m good.” If Millicent could be succinct, so could I.

The Seelie monarch set aside her cup and stood with a grace that surpassed her simple garb. Her presence filled the room despite her comparative lack of height, and though Jake wore the animal form, she was the one far more potently other than human. She was a she-wolf, a lioness, with starlight in her eyes and seasons uncountable a cloak about her frame.

“Then if this company will excuse me,” she told us all, “I will return to the San Juans to conclude the summit, and then carry out the reparations that have been asked of me. Tanaka-san, I will convey to your kin that you will be remaining here. It has been a pleasure to meet with you and Mr. Saunders.”

Carson got to his feet and inclined his grizzled head respectfully; if he’d had on a hat, I thought, he’d have tipped it. “Thank you, Your Ladyship,” he answered, and Jake whuffed. It was a surprisingly regal sound, for a fox.

“Christopher MacSimidh, Warder Second of Seattle, your music will be restored to you. Look to your instrument with the rising of the sun.”

Standing and dipping his head along with Carson, Christopher murmured, “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll need nothin’ else.”

“Judith Lawrence—”

“What, who, me?” Jude sprang out of her seat as if electrically jolted, her eyes round with dismay.

Amelialoren smiled again, gently. “Do not think you weren’t noticed. You will be noticed again, when you least look for it.” But she gave my friend no time to puzzle out those cryptic words before turning to Millicent. “Millicent Merriweather, Lady Warder of Seattle, the Seelie Court extends its formal apology for the disturbance of your bonded city and those under your protection. I hope that I will find the appropriate diplomatic gesture to demonstrate my Court’s goodwill.”

“I’ll let you know,” Millie drawled. She did not get up.

Then the Queen turned at last to me. “Kendis Thompson…”

I stood, my heart in my throat, wondering what Queen Amelialoren of the Seelie Court saw when she looked my way. It didn’t seem to bug her that I was half-human; there was none of Malandor’s disdain in the impassive gaze she trained upon me, no contempt, no hatred. And she said to me, “Do not fear. You will not live in want because of the actions of one of my Court; you, too will have back your music, as well as the time you need to listen to the counsel of your blood and heart and decide what you wish to be.”

With that, Amelialoren took another step forward into the very center of the room, and a doorway like Malandor’s and Luciriel’s materialized around her. Hers was as green as her eyes, the verdant green of trees grown up far away from any civilization’s touch. As the light enveloped her she added one last thing, and I started, for I was certain I heard more soft laughter brimming just beneath her words.

“The brownies will work because I have bid them, but they will take it well if you leave them food and drink before the coming of dawn. And keep your pet sheltered. There is nothing brownies love more than to make mischief with cats.”

After Amelialoren departed, Jake changed back to his usual form
. He and Carson offered crash space to the rest of us as the hour was unholy indeed, and we were all bone-tired. Everyone but me opted out, however. Jude claimed a desperate need to sleep in her own apartment, in her own bed. Millicent announced that her job was done here and she had Wards to walk when the sun came up, but with a stern glance to Christopher she added, “And you’re coming along, son. You have lessons to start on. You”—this was to me, punctuated by a ferocious scowl that didn’t quite hide the sympathy in her eyes—“sleep in and take a few days. Heard what you asked the Queen. But you’re not getting off forever, girlie. You want to throw your power in with the boy’s, you can do it where I can damned well supervise the both of you. No magic out of you till I do!”

You’d think that after facing down my homicidal uncle, a humongous demon, and not one but both of the Queens of the Courts of the Sidhe, a little thing like morning magic lessons with a cranky little old lady in a fedora would be a piece of cake, right? Yeah, I can tell you see where I’m going with this. I’d seen her shoot Malandor with her shotgun, and I wasn’t looking forward to seeing what she was like before her morning coffee, even with a few days to rest up first.

“Sleep well, lass. I’ll be back later today to help you check over the house,” Christopher promised as he pulled me to him in a long, strong hug. I could have nodded off right there with my head on his shoulder. I settled for hugging him back with all my remaining strength, and pretending not to notice Carson and Jake’s amused expressions as I watched him leave with Jude and Millicent. Carson brought me a blanket and a pillow and opened up their hideaway bed for me, and as I collapsed upon it I wrapped the blanket around my body and the feel of Christopher’s arms around my thoughts.

The Seelie Queen had promised gruagachs to remove the tree from the hole in my roof. I didn’t see them come, but I heard them shuffling and snuffling outside the house in the pre-dawn darkness, and I heard the groaning of wood as they pulled the tree free. Those sounds wove themselves into my mind as I tumbled into exhausted slumber, the wolf’s head necklace once more about my neck and the pendant cradled in my palm. Fortissimo curled up beside me through what was left of the night, growling low in his throat at everything he sensed moving beyond the living room walls, while I dreamed of large, hairy giants taking apart a puzzle doll Kendis with pointed ears to see what was inside of her.

When I awoke well into Sunday afternoon the tree was gone. So was the hole in my roof. In the yard next door, a pair of young, supple trunks stretched six feet skyward from a jagged shelf of living wood where the oak had once stood. Throughout the week they gained height and breadth, sending out branch after branch and uncurling leaf after leaf, until they were almost indistinguishable from the tree they had replaced. None of my neighbors noticed, and I was not surprised.

But I was floored by the number the brownies did on my half of the house. When I ventured in warily, I found nothing as I’d left it—because I found it all better than I’d left it. Every surface of every object in every room gleamed; not a speck of dust, grime, or dirt remained anywhere. All traces of damage to the living room ceiling had vanished from inside as well as out, and the ceiling and walls of that room and all the rest blazed with vibrant color as though freshly painted, without a single whiff of actual paint. All the hues were familiar, the colors around which I’d lived for years now, but they were also uncannily new.

In fact, everything I owned seemed to have become brand new again. My books no longer bore creases in their spines and covers. The imprints of my fingers were gone from my laptop’s keyboard, and characters worn down by extensive typing stood out crisp and clean once more. Old, near-invisible stains in my clothing, my bedclothes, the upholstery of my furniture, and the carpets, stains that no one knew about but me, had disappeared. Every threadbare patch had been repaired, blended seamlessly with the cloth around it, and every fraying seam ran smooth and tight, without flaw.

The brownies even fixed my bike. I found it leaning against the back of the house where I typically left it locked, frame unbent and glistening, tires firm and full of air. I was almost tempted to go check if the shattered remains of my phone were still on the Burke-Gilman trail, just to see if the little guys could fix that too. But that felt like greed, and I didn’t want to push it.

It was simultaneously wondrous and disconcerting, and felt like exploring a store designed to look exactly like my house. I half-expected to find price tags on all of my belongings, or a helpful sales clerk, with or without pointed ears, popping out of nowhere to explain the history of everything I owned. Even more spooked than I was, Fortissimo stalked through all the rooms and mewled at things only he could see or smell—mostly. Once I caught a glimpse of something small diving beneath my bed, giggling and piping tauntingly, “Here kitty!” I made a point of not looking under the bed, and did my best to distract the cat with all the tuna he could eat.

And I started setting out snacks on the kitchen table before I went to bed, things I knew Fort wouldn’t touch. Old fairy tales, I remembered, talked about setting out bread, milk or honey for supernatural visitors doing you a favor. Carson and Jake covered for me with bread and honey before I collapsed on Sunday morning; on Sunday night, the first night I spent under my newly mended roof, I found neither of these in my kitchen. So I tried milk instead, and just to be safe, an open pack of fudge stripe cookies. By Monday morning nothing was left of them but crumbs, and the brownies had organized my closet.

The cookies, apparently, were a hit.

Along with the new look of my house, I slowly grew accustomed to the new look of me. I woke up on Monday with more visible points to my ears, and by Tuesday night a certain sneaky sort of glow had crept in beneath my skin. Oddly enough I got a little darker, shifting from café au lait towards a duskier, richer brown, which brought me surprised satisfaction. I wanted to find a balance between both sides of my blood, and if my magic wanted to help me out by including something of Dad in my supernatural makeover, it and I would get along just fine.

Carson and Jake helped me out the whole week, bringing me fresh groceries and sharing meals, movies, and companionship. Jake especially radiated anxiety about me, till I gave in, hugged him, and swore up and down that after having him and Carson as housemates for so long, I wasn’t mad that it had been at Millie’s behest at first. Nor was I freaked that he could turn into a fox. (Much.) I also told him that I wanted to hear all about it… after I adjusted to the new me.

I went to see Aggie every day, and discovered a sudden ardent desire for her to teach me how to quilt.

Jude kept checking in too, via online instant messages during work hours and after, though she also took me out to lunch to bolster the virtual company with physical. “Y’know, chica,” she said as we went out for sushi on Wednesday, “I could tell James I know this really sharp tester and slip him your resume. I mean, after you tweak it to leave out the part about having worked on the team already.”

I chuckled at the thought, but it weirded me out too. Never mind my coworkers not remembering me—I just wasn’t prepared to face another gamut of interviews at the place I’d worked for five years now. I did send Jude to Mama’s, though, to scope the place on my behalf and sneak extra money into their tip jar. It was thriving and open for business, she reported, with rebuilt tables and a new collection of Elvis movie posters on the wall I’d assaulted the only sign Elessir and I had ever fought there.

That was enough to content me; I didn’t dare show my face there for a while, tempting margaritas aside. After the way the weekend had started, I wanted a vacation more. A really
long
vacation.

The opportunity to rest and spend time with my friends and with Aunt Aggie was a good start. But thanks to Amelialoren, I could have afforded a trip around the world if I’d wanted one. On Tuesday morning I got a FedEx envelope full of official-looking documents, printed on fine linen paper with discreet, tasteful letterhead, and subtly tingling with a trace of power. Said documents informed me that the firm of Amerine, Carey, and Sherer, Inc. (attorneys at law, with branches in the U.K., New York, and Los Angeles) had identified me as the heir to the estate of Elanna Thompson, née ana’Kirlath, amounting to funds held in trust in the mortal realm for the last hundred years as well as a stipend out of House Kirlath in Faerie. Proof of my identity would not be required, as AC&S had already received same from an ‘unimpeachable reference’, and my only obligation was to review and sign the accompanying paperwork should I choose to claim said estate. Nor would I need to mail or fax the forms. My signature upon the paper, or so I read, would cause the same writing to appear upon the originals of each document stored in the firm’s offices.

Not once in the sheaf of enchanted papers was the Queen mentioned, by name or by title, but the echo of magic that made my palms itch as I handled them felt like what I’d sensed from her during her brief visit. That kept me from pitching the entire packet in the recycle bin, but not even the aura of the Queen of the Seelie could make me put my name to legal papers, magical or otherwise, without getting them independently checked. Carson, Jake, and even Millicent came through for me on that front, helping me go over the documents and confirming that my signature would not bind me to any promises I’d sorely regret later, and ultimately convincing me it was safe to sign them. And from them I learned that AC&S had existed in one form or another for almost as long as the mortal realm and Faerie had been interacting for the single purpose of providing a neutral means by which humanity and fey might coexist. In its modern incarnation, at least as far as humanity and the order-loving Seelie and
myobu
were concerned, that meant expertise with the laws of each race.

They had, the boys reported, utilized the firm to draw up their wills, powers-of-attorney, and other documents to get their partnership as close to a legal marriage as possible. Clients of Warder blood frequently employed AC&S as well, according to Millicent—and in fact, the Carey of the firm’s name referred to a branch of the Warder line out of Ireland. She’d gone to them forty years ago to draw up her own will, and twelve years before that when she’d engaged them to review the contract she and her husband signed to buy a house.