Fire Touched (17 page)

“I need you to take Christy to her apartment and let her pack. Tomorrow, at six in the morning, she's getting on a plane. You'll be on it with her. She'll change airplanes in Seattle for a flight to the Bahamas. You have the choice of waiting four hours for your return flight, which is paid for, or renting a car at the pack's expense and driving home.”

“What's up?” I asked.

“There was a note pinned to her door this morning,” Adam said. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew an envelope that he'd folded in half.

It was thick paper, the kind that comes with invitations to weddings or graduations. I took out the card inside. It was inscribed by hand by someone with incredibly good penmanship.

It read:

Dear Christina Hauptman,

Please give the attached message to your husband.

I grimaced at the “your husband” part. Christy had thrown Adam away, and she didn't get him back. I raised the card to my nose. It smelled of Adam, Christy, and very faintly of the ocean and something . . .

“The Fideal,” I said. The Fideal had attacked me, once. I'd run to the pack, and they had driven him off. Cantrip would have classified him as a boogie monster—a creature used to frighten children into being good or staying safe in their beds. That was one way to
look at it. I looked upon him and his ilk as a fae analog of the human pedophile, but the fae version usually ate its prey.

Adam nodded. “I smelled him, too.”

“There's another note?” I asked, putting the first on the table so that everyone could look.

Adam pulled it out of his front pocket and gave it to me. Like the first, it carried the Fideal's scent. I pulled the card out.

The fae hadn't bothered with a polite address here, though the fancy paper and the elegant writing were the same.

Adam Hauptman:

Your coyote said that you intend to protect your territory—we can make that promise cost you dearly even unto your last breath. We can bring war and destruction to your territory until not one stone stands upon another, until there is no soul left to cry over your dead.

But we are willing to bargain. You have something we want. Call this number if you are interested in what we have to say.

Like the other note, this one was unsigned.

I frowned. “They don't say what we have. Do they mean Zee, Aiden, or Tad? Or maybe something entirely different, like the walking stick?”

“Yes,” said Zee. “Or maybe no. They may want you to tell them what you have—or they may not be in agreement.” He sighed. “Getting all the fae to point in the same direction is like herding cats. And once you accomplish that—they are still more likely to stab the person next to them instead of the enemy they
face. This might not even be from someone who can bargain for the fae as a whole. It seems . . . more secretive than the Gray Lords usually manage.”

Darryl looked at Adam. “I'll tell work I'm on vacation for the week.”

“I want to stay here,” Christy said. “I only have two weeks to pack before moving to Oregon. I can't afford to spend a week in the Bahamas.”

“Here is dangerous for you,” Darryl said, tucking his hand gently under Christy's elbow. “They've already picked you out as a target. You need to be out of town, somewhere you aren't going to be easy to get to. Auriele and I will help you pack when you get back.”

“Adam and the pack can keep me safe if I moved back in here,” she said. “In the Bahamas, I'll be all by myself.”

“Adam is going to be hard put to keep himself alive,” I told her, though she was an idiot if she didn't know it. “The whole of the fae host on the reservation is about to drop on our heads. That's what this note is all about. And we are out of room in this house.”

She looked at Adam. “Why are they after you?”

What had they been talking about that she didn't know that?
I wondered. Then I saw the temper in Adam's face, and realized that she knew good and well it was my fault. She just wanted everyone to hear it again.

“Because,” Zee said grimly, before I could admit my guilt to the world, again, “they have friends who are fae, and they are dangerous friends to have. If I were younger, I might apologize.”

“In this case,” Darryl said, “it is smart for you to go and have a free vacation in an island paradise that Adam is paying for.” He tugged her out of the room and talked her out of the house.

“Are you both married to him?” asked Aiden, looking, of all people, at me. “Or are you a paramour? And why did they call you Adam's coyote? Is a coyote not a small wolf who lives in this area?”

“Mmmm,” I said. “More like a large fox than a small wolf. I'm a shapechanger, but not a werewolf. My other form is a coyote.”

“Christy and Adam were married,” said Zee. “But they did not suit. Human law allows for dissolution of marriage vows.” He glanced at me. “The fae have a rather more direct method of dealing with unwanted spouses.” Returning his attention to Aiden, he said, “Marriage is not as necessary for survival of the species as it used to be, and it has suffered somewhat from the change. After the marriage was dissolved, Adam married Mercy.” There was a small pause. “I was at the wedding.” That last sounded a little bemused.

“Who told you about coyotes, but didn't tell you what they were, Aiden?” asked Adam.

“What?” Aiden looked up. “Oh, coyotes. Someone, I don't know who because I was too busy dry heaving to see which one, inflicted a translation spell on me. They needed to talk to me, and I refused to understand any of them no matter what language they used.”

Zee said, “Language is more than just words, it contains concepts and ideology unique to the people who speak it. The best of those recognize that and attempt to fill in.”

“With mixed results, usually.” Tad came into the room. He looked tired behind his usual cheery smile that mostly had ceased to be real sometime while he was away at college. He looked at me. “Ask Dad about the one he used when courting my mother.”

“Or not,” said Zee coolly.

There was a little more real warmth in the grin Tad aimed at his father.

“Aiden asked for sanctuary for one more day,” I told Adam.

He looked at the boy, who glanced up, then away from my mate. It isn't just posturing, the werewolf Alpha thing. It might not be safe to meet an Alpha's eyes because they see it as defiance, but it is also
difficult
. Even humans have instincts, evidently even humans who spent most of their very long life trapped in Underhill.

“Why?” Adam asked.

Aiden drew himself up and plastered on a vaguely patronizing smile that made me want to slap him. “Never mind.”

“He'd like to be safe for a day more,” Tad said. He was getting a coffee cup out of the cupboard, so his back was toward us.

Aiden stiffened.

Tad filled his cup with coffee and turned to face Aiden. “I slept in front of your door,” he said softly.

I'd thought the boy-who-wasn't couldn't hold himself any stiffer, but he did. If he were a glass, he would have shattered.

“Safe,” said Tad heavily, “isn't something that Underhill is full of anymore, I think. How long were you there?”

Aiden shook his head. “It doesn't matter.”

“Underhill was mostly closed down by the ninth century,” said Zee conversationally. “There were a few bolt-holes until the fifteenth century.”

“What would you do for one more night of safety?” Tad asked softly.

And Aiden broke. Completely. And he did it without moving or saying anything. Tears welled and slid down his face while he breathed as if it hurt.

Children don't cry that way. Silently. Without expression. His face was a stony blank, and only the tears betrayed him.

It was the first time I'd seen him look his age.

Adam moved first. He approached him and put a hand on the top of the boy's head. When no objection followed, he drew him against his chest and let him rest in the shelter of Adam's arms. It had nothing to do with Aiden's childlike appearance; I'd seen Adam do the same for any of his wolves who was in distress. That's the base component of what an Alpha does for his pack: he provides a safe place to be. Touch is better than any word.

The boy's feet drew up and he curled into a fetal ball, still crying soundlessly. Babies make noise when they cry, trusting that an adult will hear them and make things better. As children, we learn that tears have power to move the people who care for us. We make noise when we cry in a bid for attention, for help, for support.

Aiden was silent and tried silently to disappear into the safety of Adam. My husband looked at me with troubled eyes.

I said, “Look what followed me home. Can we keep him?”

Adam's eyes warmed, and he smiled. “I think we have to, don't you? Until we can find a better home.”

Tad raised his coffee cup to Adam—and his father grunted sourly.

“Aiden?” I said.

Adam shook his head, “Not now. He isn't even hearing us right now.”

He picked Aiden up, as if he were the child he looked to be. He started to sit on the kitchen chair, but Joel had fallen asleep against it last week, leaving a leg half–burned through. Seeing what he was looking at, Tad retrieved a chair from the dining-room table. Adam sat in that and held the boy as if it were something that he was used to doing.

I grabbed a dining-room chair, too, and sat opposite Adam, next to Zee.

“So the fae who wrote the note could want the walking stick, Zee, or Aiden,” Adam said. “Or some combination thereof.”

“Or Tad,” said Zee.

“Right,” Tad said, sounding exhausted. “Let's not forget about me.” He took the chair that Adam had rejected, spun it around, and sat between Zee and me.

Zee said, “That note is not signed—it is probably not a coordinated effort of the Gray Lords.”

“So we don't have to worry?” I asked.

“I didn't say that,” said the old fae. “If they say they can destroy this city . . . these cities—then they can. But even if you bargain with them, you still might not be safe.”

“‘Always look on the bright side of life,'” I quoted, though I didn't try singing it. My British accent is terrible enough without music. “Okay. We do have some options, even if they suck. First, we can call the number—they can't zap us through the ether, right?”

Zee raised an eyebrow, so I continued blithely, “And if they can, they don't need a cell phone connection to do it. Second, we can ignore them. Maybe we could send a message to the Gray Lords in residence—Zee should know who they are, and if not, Uncle Mike will—and request a face-to-face meeting. Get the reaction of the governing body”—Zee snorted—“to our rescue of Aiden, killing of the troll, and protection for Zee and Tad straight from the horse's mouth.”

“If you request a meeting,” said Tad, “it puts them in the driver's seat.”

“They win the dominance fight,” Adam agreed. “But it is the only way we know we are dealing with the people in charge.”

Zee grunted.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Wait a minute.” I looked at Adam. “Thomas Hao is meeting with the Gray Lords tonight in Walla Walla. We might be able to finagle the definition of some guesting laws so that we could attend that meeting. Since we are in the process of defining what our duties for our territory are right now, they're pretty fluid.”

Adam laughed, but quietly because Aiden had fallen into an exhausted sleep. I'd seen things like that happen with the wolves sometimes, mostly while I'd lived with the Marrok. He took in the wolves who needed help, whatever the reason. Some of them arrived in really bad shape—mentally and physically. In Bran's touch, they found safety. Sleep would come and just knock them off their feet.

“Fluid duties is right,” Adam agreed. “Would the Gray Lords Thomas is meeting with be able to negotiate with us?”

“I don't know,” I said, “but I bet Zee will.”

“Thomas Hao is a vampire,” said Zee.

I nodded. “But that's not who the fae are interested in.” I told them all about our early-morning call and whom we'd found when we went visiting Wulfe's stray vampire.

Zee bowed his head when I was finished. “The Dragon Under the Hill is dead,” he said heavily. “I had not heard. So many of my old enemies are no more.” He gave me a wry look. “Happily, there seem to be adequate replacements ready and waiting.”

“Her father was really a dragon?” I asked.

“The Dragon Under the Hill is a title. The Flanagan was not a dragon in that sense,” said Zee. “He was a powerful fae lord whose elements were both fire and earth in a way that was similar to the Red Dragon of Cymry, who was—for all I know, still
is
—a true dragon.”

“So,” said Adam. He moved Aiden around until the boy's legs dangled limply off one side of Adam's lap. “Assuming Thomas and Margaret agree to our joining them, we have several options. We can call the number on the note, then go to Walla Walla with Thomas and his fae to negotiate with the Gray Lords. We can not call the number on the note, and still go to Walla Walla. We can ignore the fae entirely.”

“I would not recommend that last,” said Zee, “not as long as we have bargaining room.”

“Do we?” asked Tad in a raw voice. “What would you bargain?” He looked around the room at us. “Dad bargained his safety for mine—they twisted that and tortured my father to get my cooperation.”

Zee smiled. “Which you didn't give them.”

“I would have,” snarled Tad. “Don't think I wouldn't have, old man—but you told me you had a plan. You didn't tell me it would take two weeks.”

Zee patted Tad's shoulder. “If you had not held out, all would have failed. As it is, we are safe, with allies—and I will deal with those responsible in such a way that it will not happen again.”