Soul of Fire

Chapter 13

“They’re not coming,” Jan said, chewing at the cuticle of her thumb. “If they were, they would be here by now. AJ wouldn’t leave us hanging. Something went wrong. Maybe the messages didn’t go through or...”

Or the Farm wasn’t under AJ’s control anymore.

It was late at night, the three of them in Jan and Tyler’s room, the first time they’d been able to gather. Today had been the worst day yet; the queen agitated, and the brownies had been everywhere, their ears twitching, snapping orders at everyone else. Patrick’s wooden sculpture had been shattered during a fight, and the human had disappeared; nobody had asked after him, either not caring or too afraid. They’d escaped as soon as possible, hoping the chaos would keep Nalith from noticing they’d gone.

Jan sat on the bed with her arms around her knees, Tyler in the single chair, while Martin paced, hemmed in by the size of the room. They were both making her dizzy, in different ways: Martin with his movement and Tyler with his too-tight stillness. She felt the tension in her chest that usually heralded another asthma attack and scanned the room until she found her inhaler, sitting on the dresser.

Something in the house itself seemed to inhibit her asthma attacks, the same way she’d felt Under the Hill, in the preter court. But the sensation remained, like something pressing at her lungs, trying to steal her ability to breathe. Between that and the dizziness, it was hard to concentrate. She wanted to kick them both out of the room, crawl back under the covers, and go to sleep. Maybe forever.

Jan was pretty sure it was just depression talking, depression and maybe a touch of Nalith’s glamour weighing on her. Today had been the worst, but ever since she had questioned the queen, the preter had kept her close at hand, nearly two days of constant attendance, from early in the morning to late at night. It had created a situation where the three of them had not been able to talk freely or even at all. When Tyler finished singing, the queen sent him off to work with Wes, the technician. They were setting up the entire house with cabling that didn’t seem to be connected to anything in particular but had to be set just so, matching one of the blueprints Jan had seen her going over with the brownies. Outer courts, Nalith called them. Homes, emptied, ready to be filled with more supers, more humans sworn to the queen. Homes...oh, god, homes where the murders had happened? That moment in the witch’s living room seemed impossibly far away now, but Jan could remember the woman’s face when she’d talked about the dead. Entire families.

And Martin...

Nalith kept making Martin fight. Never to the death, always calling them back before anyone was permanently damaged, but each time Jan felt her stomach twist a little harder, her lungs squeeze a little tighter. Worse, Martin seemed to enjoy it. He never said anything, but he didn’t hold back when she summoned him, either. Jan wanted to believe that it was just playing the role, making the queen believe that he was a willing subject but...she knew him too well. He liked hurting...well, she was having trouble calling them people, and the time Nalith had set him to fight the pack of gnomes en masse, Jan had quietly cheered him on as well, but still. It was a side of Martin she didn’t like.

You can’t know us.

Martin is...dangerous.

Words of advice from people who knew the kelpie better than she ever could. Words she needed to remember. But Martin was her only lifeline here, Martin and Tyler, and she was afraid that she was losing both of them.

She wanted to ask them what they thought had happened to Patrick. She didn’t want them to answer.

“Do you have any idea what all those cables are for?” she asked Tyler, trying to stay focused and practical.

“No, and neither does Wes. She gave us the schematic, told us to get the equipment and do it.”

Wes was allowed off the property. Tyler wasn’t. None of them were. And Wes was so deep in thrall, he would cut off his own hand if Nalith asked it of him. They could not trust him, even a bit. They couldn’t trust anyone.

“She does nothing without a purpose,” Martin said. “Those cables have to do with her protections, somehow. Something tied to the new form of magic. The more she fortifies this house, the harder it will be to get her out of it, like a spider in its lair. We can’t stay here any longer, not without being trapped ourselves.”

Jan licked her lips, tried to force her heartbeat to slow down. “We still have no idea how to bind her.”

“I told you,” Tyler said, impatient. “We need to use her obsessions, her desires, her weaknesses. They’re as weak as we are. Maybe weaker, because they see no reason to deny themselves, expect no cost to their indulgences.”

Jan flicked a glance at Martin, who had finally stopped pacing, staring out the room’s single window, his hand on the curtain. The fabric was a deep blue, and his hand seemed to almost disappear against it, the pale brown skin overwhelmed by the weight of the drape.

“You’re not as useless as you look, human,” the kelpie said, still looking out the window, and Jan bristled on Tyler’s behalf.

Her boyfriend—was he still? They had never broken up, but he hadn’t touched her since they’d gotten back, had barely acknowledged what they’d had before—grinned tiredly, his face for a moment again the familiar, mocking Tyler she had fallen in love with. “Not entirely, no.”

“So, we know why it would work, but not how to actually spring the trap,” she said, focusing on what she could do something about, not what was out of her control. “What do we have to offer them?”

“The Farm.”

“What?” She couldn’t have heard Martin correctly. Even Ty looked surprised.

“We offer her the Farm. Everyone in it. An entire enclave of supers, already trained to work together, turned to her purposes. We came from there, so she will think she can take them as easily as she took us. And if we tell her we were fighting against the ones who are trying to take her back...”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Tyler was running over the possibilities in his head; she knew that look.

“More like the enemy of my enemy is my tool,” Jan said drily, but she was already running through the possibilities herself, mocking up a diagram in her brain. She would kill for one of the whiteboards they’d left behind, but putting anything down in writing was too dangerous in a house filled with spies.

“Telling her would be too obvious. One of us has to let something slip, get her to draw it from us, maybe—” She didn’t want to say it, but she did anyway. “Maybe seduce it from us.”

“It would have to be Tyler,” Martin said. “Preters find humans acceptable as mates, but to them we’re, well, you heard. Humans may be lesser creatures, but shifters are even lower than that.”

“Sexist pony,” Jan said. “What about me?”

Both men blinked at that, and Tyler smirked a little. “We could sell tickets to that.”

“Mind out of the gutter, boy. Seduction isn’t fucking. It’s a tease, an enticement, a promise—that’s half the fun, seeing how far that promise goes. She thinks she owns Martin already, and Ty...”

Her voice trailed off, unsure how much she wanted to—could safely—say.

“And you don’t think I could promise and not deliver. Because she’s a preter, and I’m damaged goods.”

“Could you?” She met his gaze squarely, not blinking away from the topic. “Could you go this far and no further, and stay focused on the task?”

He looked back at her, the familiar lean lines of his face no longer as softened as they’d been when he was still confused about who he was or where he was. “I don’t know.”

Tyler used to bluff his way through card games and conference calls without hesitation, but he’d never lied to her in the months they’d been together. Not directly, at least. Jan frowned. She didn’t think he had, anyway, and it didn’t matter now. The point was, he was being honest here, and that meant that she was right; it was up to her.

The thought made her want to crawl under the bed and never come out. Except there were probably dust bunnies under there, and she’d have an asthma attack and never be able to stop. Somehow, facing down a preter queen was less worrisome than an asthma attack.

And that was probably proof positive that she’d lost her mind somewhere along the way.

“All right. So I’ll do it. What then?”

“Then we get her to AJ,” Martin said. “He’s the mastermind. Let him figure the rest out.”

Jan thought about pointing out that they hadn’t heard back from AJ, that they had no idea what was going on back at the Farm, that they might not be able to reach him, to tell the lupin what was going on. She didn’t say any of that. None of them really believed they were going to pull off the first half of the plan, so why worry about the second part?

“I need to go,” Martin said suddenly. “She’s calling for me.”

Jan hadn’t heard anything, but human ears missed a lot, and it would not surprise her a bit to learn that kelpies had hearing at a different range than humans or that Nalith had the equivalent of a kelpie whistle. “So? Go.”

And that left her and Tyler in the room together. For the first time since they’d arrived, it didn’t feel awkward, as though somehow this discussion had opened a door that had been locked between them.

“I can’t be part of this.”

“What?” She felt her jaw, honest-to-god, drop at his statement.

“I can’t be part of this. I can’t help you. Jan, I... Even with the protection the witch gave us, every time she looks at me, I have this urge to throw myself at her feet, beg her to...to heal me. To fill me, the space inside that’s so empty and cold. And I know she can’t, don’t even go there, I know it’s just...going back to the addiction. But every time she tells me to sing, every time she touches me, something inside breaks a little more. You were right. I thought putting myself against her would prove I was stronger, that I could do this, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m failing you again, but Martin is here. Martin will take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” Of all the things to fasten on to, that was the only thing she could see, her mind filled with red fumes. “Take care of me? Who the hell do you think has been taking care of everyone else? Who the hell do you think has been doing things, while you sat in your shack and shook with fear?” God, that was a low blow, but it wasn’t an untrue one, and she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. “I’m not some little girl to be petted and protected, Tyler Wash.”

Tyler was staring at her. She shut her mouth with a snap and stared back at him, aware that even when she was yelling, she had been doing it in a harsh whisper, worried that someone would overhear. She knew it was wrong, she was latching on to the wrong thing, but Jan couldn’t help it.

He had been the one to protect her, once. He had reassured her that she was strong, that she was pretty, that the things that had hurt her once couldn’t do so again. She had curled into him like a teddy bear and let his words convince her she was someone else entirely.

She had tried to return that, tried to be the person he could believe, and failed utterly. How could she believe in herself, in their ability to pull this off, if she couldn’t even do that?

Tyler clenched his hands, then forced them to relax. She’d seen him do that before, back at the Farm. “You still need someone at your back. Someone you can rely on. You can’t rely on me.”

If she listened to his voice, she would think that he didn’t care, that none of this meant anything to him. But they were still looking at each other, and the pain in his eyes, the drawn lines of his face, nearly broke her.

Once, she’d been needed to hold on to him, no matter what. Now the only thing she could do was let him go.

“If you leave without permission...” Her voice trailed off. He knew, better than anyone, what a scorned preter might, could, do.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I need to stay. There’s something I need to do. I just can’t help you, can’t be useful to the plan, until it’s done.”

There was something he wasn’t telling her, something he had in mind. Jan wanted him to trust her enough to share everything, wanted to be that person for him, but probably, just then, that person didn’t exist.

Too much pain. Too much damage. They couldn’t be the people they had been before.

“All right.” She paused and then stood, slipping on her shoes and reaching for a heavier sweater—the house was drafty in places. So many things to say, and none of them... This wasn’t the place. “Be careful.”

He didn’t promise anything, just watched as she left the room, intent on her as if she was the last thing he would ever see.

Jan went down the stairs carefully, feeling as though her bones might shatter if she stepped too firmly or made undue noise. Martin was already down in the kitchen, loitering with casual intent, a mug of tea in his hand that he wasn’t drinking. There were a handful of supers around the kitchen table, but conversation was muted. Herself must be in a bad mood, then.

None of the other humans and no brownies were visible. Jan exhaled, trying to make her chest unclench. Focus. If she was going to match wit against Nalith, then she needed to actually have some wit, not be fluttering apart like a schoolgirl with her first broken heart.

“Everything all right?” Martin had moved across the room on the pretext of freshening his tea, standing close enough to her that they could speak without being overheard, but not so close that they looked, well, close. Jan wasn’t sure when they’d gotten so good at this; she supposed necessity kicked your ass into shape.

“No. But when has that ever stopped us?”

They were about to take on a preter queen with the prep equivalent of a paper clip and a USB cable, and down a man. What was there to be worried about?

“Ty can’t do it.” She didn’t clarify “it”; she didn’t have to. “He’s too close to breaking.”

Martin snorted. “He’s already broken.”

“You were the one who said he should come.”

“I said he needed to come. And he did. And you needed to let him.”

“I told you to stay away from those self-help pop-psych websites,” she said. “You’re crap at human emotions.”

Martin didn’t deny it. “So, he’s going to flit? Are we going to have to cover for him, or do we use that as a distraction, get you up close and personal with Herself?”

“No. He said he was going to stay, that there was something he needed to do. What? Why are you looking like that?” His eyes, normally a deep brown when he was in human form, were doing that weird sparking, not-human thing again.

“Humans,” he said, and it wasn’t an endearment.

“Hey. What?” He’d thought of something or figured something out, and he wasn’t sharing.

“Your leman is an idiot. This is not news. At least he’s smart enough to know he can’t dissemble enough to fool her. When this is over, we need to get him to the Center. We should have done that before, but AJ did not think it would be safe.”

Jan thought of the weird peacefulness she had felt there in the grassy clearing somewhere outside this world, surrounded by ancient trees, sleeping under unfamiliar stars. Centered at the Center. She thought about Tyler there and nodded. “Yeah. When this is over.”

Assuming they survived. Assuming the preter court didn’t overrun the world. Assuming a whole hell of a lot.

Jan rubbed at her chest, aware that the tightness had eased but not entirely disappeared. Stress. Just a little bit. “I need coffee. And a chocolate doughnut. And a hot shower and a decent internet connection with a thirty-six-inch monitor, while I’m wishing.”

“There’s a fresh pot of coffee over there,” Martin said. She nodded, getting a cup down from the counter and pouring herself some; then she reached over to grab a still-warm scone from the platter left on the counter and went back upstairs to take her shower. Tyler was nowhere to be seen.

The attack that threw him against the wall was not entirely unexpected, but the quarter it came from was. Tyler blinked at Martin, acutely aware of the muscled forearm against his throat, too close to cutting off his oxygen, if not crushing his windpipe entirely.

The person Tyler had been would have struggled, fought, asked what the hell was going on. But the preters had done their work well, and when confronted with an angry non-human, its eyes wide and the pupils carrying more yellow than brown, Tyler’s new instincts took over and dropped him into as submissive a pose as possible, his muscles slack and his own gaze cast downward, presenting no challenge at all.

“Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you think you’re thinking, don’t.” The supernatural’s breath, this close, smelled stale and musty, with flickers of sulfur. Even if he had wanted to respond, he couldn’t; the grip on his throat prevented speech. “You’re angry and you’re scared, I get that. You tried to face the bitch down, face them all down, get back some of your manhood, and you couldn’t, and now you want to blast them all out of existence, don’t you? Starting with this one, oh, so close to hand?”

The words were hard and cold, enunciated with a cold precision, and Tyler managed to swallow, despite the pressure against his throat. The wall at his back somehow seemed softer than those words or the creature in front of him.

“I don’t know what you have in mind or how you think you’re going to manage that. Knife in the back, send nukes through a portal, whatever. But it’s not going to do the job. It’s not going to suddenly make you all better. In fact, it’ll make it a whole lot worse.”

The arm eased, and Tyler slid down the wall until his feet touched the ground again. He didn’t move, uncertain if he could stay upright without the wall behind him.

“You don’t understand.” His voice was raw, as if he’d been screaming for hours. He shuddered, the memory of doing just that coming back to him, less a flashback than an undertow of emotion dragging him under.

“You’re right,” Martin agreed. “I don’t. I don’t understand the pain, the fear you went through. I don’t understand the hold that elf-bitch had on you. I don’t understand what brought you back. I want to, I envy you it, but I don’t understand it.”

The super made a visible effort to rein in his anger and—Tyler thought, suddenly—his jealousy. “I do know this—you can’t destroy them. Neither of us can destroy the other. There’s a balance. We can’t unbalance it without consequences any more than they can.”

Tyler frowned at him, momentarily distracted from his own trauma. “What consequences are they facing?”

“I don’t know. But I think, the way their world is, so empty? That’s part of it. I think they had a Center, too, but it’s gone askew. Probably a long time ago.”

Martin wasn’t making any sense, but at least his eyes were all brown again.

Tyler stared up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling the urge to explain himself. Jan couldn’t understand, but maybe the supernatural would. “Jan thinks I miss it, that I crave her—Stjerne. I don’t. Not like that. Not even like I crave shit that’s bad for me, like cigarettes.” And, god, he missed cigarettes, would always miss them to his dying day, even though he hadn’t thought of them once when he was There. “It’s not like that. But it still has its claws in me, thorns digging into my skin, and I need to get them out.”

“Yeah. I get it. But you can’t go off crazy, and you can’t do whatever it was you were thinking.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of your rules,” Tyler said, finally finding the ability to push away from the wall. He wobbled a little but didn’t crash over, and the kelpie didn’t insult him by offering help. He’d tried to explain, and all he got in return was a lecture. Screw that. “Your rules also make humans into tools, pawns, like we’re not able to decide our own fate.” He thought about saying more, but no words fell out. With a curt nod, he ordered his body to move and walked away.

“You’re the only ones who can,” Martin said behind him, just loud enough to be heard.

He kept walking.

“Idiot humans,” Martin muttered, and a passing kobold shot him a surprised but appreciative look. If there was one thing in this house the non-humans could agree on, it seemed, it was that humans were more trouble than they were worth.

But without them...would any of this work? Supernaturals, preternaturals...all predicated on the base existence of naturals. Theory and philosophy made Martin’s head hurt, but since he had answered AJ’s call, since he had become Jan’s guardian, those thoughts came up occasionally and wouldn’t go away.

Super. Preter. Natural. They were less powerful, on the obvious scale, but they were also the most numerous, the most adaptable.

Martin flexed his fingers, not wanting to think and unable to prevent it. A kelpie existed. Occasionally, it killed, not out of malice but because that was what it did. Lupin hunted. Dryads were timid. Bansidhe warned of impending death. Jötunndotter... He wasn’t sure what the jötunndotter did, actually. Moved slowly, he supposed.

But what they were was not what they did. Not always. Not forever. He had, twice now, not killed Jan when she entered the water on his back. AJ had turned away from hunting when he did not kill the Huntsman, had turned instead into a protector. Gnomes had gotten aggressive. The bansidhe had warned of death—but also acted to prevent it. Preters...preters did not change their ways, did not come into this world out of season, except now they did.

They had all changed. Of their own will or something else influencing them. So what else wasn’t true?

No. He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t think about maybes. The realms existed and needed to remain so. The queen needed to return to her court, the controlled portals needed to be closed, the means of control shut down. Tyler could not get in the way of that, either by killing the queen or whatever else he had in mind.

The kelpie wondered briefly if he should have killed Tyler now, to keep him from doing anything foolish or causing problems later.

No, he decided. It was unlikely the human had the ability to influence anything, and his death would distress Jan. But it might become a thing later.

“Come on, AJ. You’re the one with all the plans. I’m just the swishtail, remember? Give us a sign. Tell us what the hell to do.”

The oddly mannered chaos of battle ended with a sudden howl that echoed over the entire property. As though it were a signal, those still fighting waded in with increased fervor, berserkers with wings and claws and hooves. Nothing was held back; none of them expected to leave the field of battle save as carrion.

“Come on, you bastards,” Elsa growled, her voice deep enough to push through the sounds of fighting, loud enough to carry across fields without any other amplification but her lungs. The jötunndotter could not move quickly, but she moved steadily, and gnomes learned to avoid her if they could. To either side, behind and in front of her, the Farm’s defenders lashed out, but they were bruised and bloody, tired from too long without a break. They would fall soon.

Elsa turned her head stiffly and looked at the slender, beak-faced being beside her. Splyushka and jötunndotter, air and rock, side by side. There was something funny, and fitting, and utterly improbably perfect about it. “Where are the preters? Why aren’t they showing themselves?”

“They will,” Andy said. “But we need to be done by then.”

She nodded. “We will be. Just hold them back a little longer.”

The sun dropped below the tree line behind the Farm, the sky bloodier than the now-muddy, trampled ground. The last glitterings of light caught the corner of the wooden bridge on the far side of the property, playing along the creek that flowed below it. The water was oddly still, even the current subdued, as though the life had gone from it. In the fields behind it, the grass moved only under wind, and even the birds and squirrels had abandoned the trees. In the ponds, fish stayed deep, avoiding the surface.

Gnomes moved through the main building, their forms compact again, checking every room intently. Their fingers touched everything, restlessly sorting through the piles of paper, ghosting over the whiteboards without smudging the dry-erase markers. Their eyes caught everything, sorting and filing. Occasionally one of them would catch up a sheet of paper or an object and tuck it away, carrying it to the preter lord waiting in the main room.

The preter was looking into the air somewhere over their heads, his eyes bright and focused. “Yes,” he said to no one they could see. “We have secured the location. It was not as clean as we might have preferred, but they resisted so strongly, we had no other option. So far, there has been nothing that would indicate they had any knowledge of where she hides, nor any ability to stop us.”

The air seemed to tell him something, and his mouth pursed up in disapproval, but he did not argue. “Yes. Agreed.”

The preters plotted and schemed and gave orders. The gnomes took those orders and carried them out, but they were not the tools these elf-folk thought. They looked and thought and plotted on their own behalf, as well. Other races scrambled and sparred; they worked together, one goal in mind, one purpose.

Gnomes took orders from many but served none but themselves. Soon, soon, all the other races would learn that. And then the destruction would begin.

They thought that, holding it close to themselves, and waited for the preter to finish his conversation and notice them again.

Done with his conversation, the preter stalked out to the back porch, looking out into the darkness. Under the glow of kerosene lamps and lights strung from the main house on extension cords, a ditch had been dug past the barn, and bodies were being tossed into it unceremoniously, attackers and defenders alike.

The gnomes muttered to themselves as they worked, discontent boiling under their skin; whatever they had fought for, the results had not pleased them.

Every now and again, one of them would look over their shoulder, but never up into the moonlit sky, where the last remaining defender floated on outstretched wings, silently watching the mass burials. When the last spade of dirt landed, filling in the ditch, the watcher wrapped its pale blue arms around itself and keened into the darkness, a lament and warning that raised the hackles of humans for miles, without their understanding why.

The preter lord smiled finally, a cold, bloodless smirk. “You thought cracking your machines and burning your papers, secreting your humans away would be enough. But none of it matters now. We can do it on our own.”

The new moon slid into the sky, a rising arc, and the preter inhaled as though he had caught scent of home.

And from West Virginia to New Hampshire, power lines crackled and the air swirled and filled with mist as portals opened...

...and overnight, one by one, a handful more humans disappeared.