Gatewright (5 page)

I
blearily opened my eyes and peeked at the alarm clock.  ‘5:14’ stared at
me in glowing, evil red light.  “Come on,” I pleaded.  My alarm
wasn’t set to go off till 6am.  I’d only had five hours, but if I stayed
in bed, I’d be counting sheep.  I wondered how many sheep I could count in
46 minutes. 

I
packed my last remaining items, ran through my list two more times, and filled
my foot-tall steel thermos with a pot of hot coffee.  If I lost Jack’s
knife, the thermos would do in a pinch.  I did another go-over through the
house, turning off lights, unplugging electronics, carefully stowing my
valuables, such as my laptop.  I imagined Thomas having full run of my
apartment and removed the alcohol from the kitchen cabinet.  I hesitated,
arms full of Captain Morgan and Barefoot Wine.  Where would Thomas
not
look? 
I placed the bottles lovingly at the bottom of my laundry bin.  In case he
got any ideas.

Packed,
apartment readied, I sat restlessly on my old floral-print couch.  Leg
bouncing, I thumbed through my phone, trying not to check the time every other
minute.  I almost succeeded.

At
6:30am sharp, Jack arrived at my doorstep in his trademark jeans, boots, and
flannel shirt.  I’d asked Jack because I was nervous, and I wanted the
person who dropped me off to get that.  My mother wouldn’t have done it,
my brother wouldn’t have showed up on time, and Rose would’ve cried again
. 
Although Jack didn’t have his own car, he did have a driver’s
license.  Getting one, for an Exile, was a monumental achievement. 
The government had implemented a path to legal residency (Blue Cards instead of
Green Cards), but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t rigged with obstacles. 
I was proud that part of my internship at DIDA had made that process marginally
easier.

Jack
raised an eyebrow at my massive suitcase coupled with my bulging
backpack.  “Is that all you’re taking?  Sure you’re not missing
anything?”  His sarcasm was dry enough that some folk might have thought
he was serious.

“Well,
it’s not like I know what to expect.”  I steeled myself and hoisted my
backpack.

Jack
grabbed the larger luggage, I locked the door, and tucked the key wrapped in a
note for Thomas (“Don’t fuck up my shit”) under the doormat.  My doormat
was the only touch of character visible from the outside, a worn one I’d gotten
in college: “There’s no place like 127.0.0.1”
,
geekspeak for ‘home’
. 
I hefted my backpack and headed down the four flights of stairs to the
parking lot.  My diet was crap, but my legs were in amazing shape. 
Before I got in the car, I gazed up at the dark red brick apartment complex,
unable to shake a hunch that I wouldn’t see it again for a long time.  I
spent longer than necessary wishing my home goodbye, until Jack cleared his
throat to get my attention.

On
autopilot, I drove us the 45 minutes to the Outer Circle, right by Scottsville.
 Jack managed to refrain from testing my knowledge, and instead told me
about all the beautiful things I would see there.  “Make sure you look at
the night sky,” he advised.  “And don’t drink the tea, it’s terrible, but
you
must
try the mastodon milk.”  He wasn’t bitter about any of the
things he missed, but I could still see his longing.

The
pedestrian gate was already crowded, and I groaned as I pulled up.  How
was I supposed to get through that mess incognito?  But before I had to
consider flying solo any further, the guard at the vehicular gate waived me
over.  I glanced at Jack, but we both shrugged and I carefully pulled the
car to the booth.

The
guard, Corey, recognized me and smiled.  He had a vague Boston accent;
perhaps he’d moved down here just for the fey. “Hey, our special ambassador,
yeah?  That’s awesome.  Really wishing you the best.”

“Thanks!
But, this is as far as I can take the car.  My friend doesn’t have a
pass.”

He
visibly hesitated.  “Can I check your ID?” he asked Jack, who shrugged and
dug through his wallet.  I saw Jack hold the license for a moment before
he passed it, and frowned. 
What was that for?

“K.
Jack, I’m gonna have you drive her to the Inner Circle, so long as you swear to
come right back.”

“Why
-“ I
sputtered as Jack nodded.

“Trust
me on this one,” Corey said.

I
promised myself I would get Corey a very nice souvenir over in Azry.  Vans
from local and national broadcasters packed the streets.  If I’d tried to
walk, I’d have been a deer surrounded by the hounds of sensationalism. 
Jack was silent, and I wondered how the increasing magic this close to the gate
affected him.

Driving
at a snail’s pace, I steered around the news crews and their equipment. 
Usually the only cars that drove through the Outer Circle’s narrow roads belonged
to the local employees.  Storekeeps frowned at the commotion as they
opened their bakeries and gift shops.

I
glanced at Jack, and my heart skipped a beat.  His eyes were already
losing their human
aspect,
a Jack I’d never seen
before.  His breath was controlled, deep, slow, and steady.  Someone
shouted at me and I snapped my focus back to where I was going.  I’d
narrowly missed a camera set up in the middle of the road.  Right. 
Driving.

As
much as I tried to rush to the Inner Circle for Jack’s sake, it took twice as
long as it should have for us to reach the entrance.  The guards, human
and fey, were doing a good job of keeping the curious at bay, a cordoned-off
area just outside the gate.  I carefully pulled up to their blockage, and
I was about to get out to introduce myself, but they took one look at me and
waved me through.  The crowd’s volume jumped as they realized one of the
human tourists had arrived.

I
pulled up as close as I dared to the gate to the Inner Circle and slipped out
of the car.  Grabbing my backpack, I clumsily dragged out my suitcase,
keeping my head down to avoid facing the media.  Jack got out and moved
gracefully to my side of the car, swiftly taking the offered keys.  He
needed to leave before his fey nature started to manifest in earnest and the
guards removed him with extreme prejudice.  I honestly had no idea how the
fey would react to an Exile within their protected Circle, in their midst, and
really didn’t want to find out. 

Even
with the clock ticking, and plenty of television cameras pointed at us, he
paused before getting into the car. Jack’s dark eyes sparkled with light,
reminding me of the night sky.  He moved with calm confidence to hug me
tightly, a little awkwardly.  Neither of us were demonstrative people. 
“The Great Mage keep you safe,” he murmured.

“And
may she bless your days,” I replied in kind to the Anowir blessing, face
pressed against his chest.  He smelled like fall to me, and the flannel of
his shirt was soft against my skin.  For a brief moment, I felt safe in
the chaos.

And
then he was getting into the car, and I was hauling my things toward the Inner
Circle gates, alone.

If
the Outer Circle gates had been built to let large trucks pass each other
simultaneously, the Inner gate looked like it was built to let a single pickup
squeeze through on a good day.   I hustled up, heart hammering, and
showed my ID to the small swarm of guards milling uneasily at the
entrance.  They peered at me, then the ID, then back to me, before
deciding I was without a doubt Jan Leeman.  They ushered me through, one
of the fey falling in beside me as a personal escort.

The
one-lane roads of the Inner Circle were void of the throngs of people or the
storefronts.  Instead, I passed an odd compilation of offices and
agencies, one right after the other.  A currency exchange stood next to a
military-style mess hall, flanked by a ‘Transdimensional Observatory’. 
That, I would love to visit.  Not so much the next unmarked building we
passed, however, which bristled with extra security.  CIA? 
DIDA?  Neither?

My
fey escort, a lean woman with green eyes and blonde hair, guided me into a
building on the right, declaring itself the “Security and Pass Headquarters”
above the door.  The architect clearly hadn’t been feeling adventurous,
and it reminded me of a post office from the 60’s, a whitewashed concrete block
exterior and utilitarian, boxy interior.  I peeked at my watch; I was an
hour and 20 minutes early.  Corey and the drive across the Outer Circle
really saved me time.  Yet I wasn’t the first to arrive in the small lobby
lined with plastic chairs. 

Two
others relaxed as comfortably as they could, illuminated by the morning light
pouring through the singular window.  I recognized one, a thin man in his
late 50s, as Kim Hyun, the deputy director of DIDA.  The other was a
well-muscled woman with several piercings, athletic attire, and a thermos that
almost matched mine.  I suspected we would be great friends.

The
office was devoid of activity, except for a quiet human security guard at the
intake desk.  She glanced up at me casually but said nothing and returned
to her work. My fey escort dispassionately informed me, “At 10am, you will
proceed through security for an 11am brief on this trip.  Three other
humans will be joining you.”  She left, and I gritted my teeth a
little.  They already had planned on having us wait around for an
hour?  I could have brought a real breakfast with me.

I
turned my attention to the other travelers.  “Mr. Hyun, a pleasure to meet
you in person.”  Kim wore a freshly pressed suit with an American flag
lapel pin.  He shook my hand with a slight smile and wished me good
morning.  I desperately tried not to grin like an idiot or fangirl over
him.

I
shifted toward the woman to hide my silly reaction.  “Hi, I’m Jan Leeman.”

“Isabel
Santiago.”  She gripped my hand with enthusiasm.  “Aren’t you the one
who wrote that brilliant paper on aging, time travel, and interdimensional
communications?”

I
blushed a little, nodded, and took a seat between them, but it had piqued Kim’s
attention.  “What was the premise?” he inquired.

I
couldn’t help but grin.  This was my favorite subject; the challenge would
be not going off on a tangent.  “I figured out that contrary to the
legends popular in European folklore, time moves at the same pace in Azry as it
does here, based on carbon-dating methods of fey artifacts and the length of
days there.  It means you can’t use either dimension to time travel, and
the human communication infrastructure is capable of greatly increasing fey
dialogue around the planet.”

He
nodded approvingly.  “How about you, Isabel?  What is your fey
involvement?”

“I’ve
been studying fey design, clothing, architecture, etc, and seeking what I call
a “nexus of influence”, trying to determine which aspects of human culture and
art may have been influenced by early fey Exiles.”  She was clearly proud
of her accomplishments.  No wonder she was excited.  This trip was
HUGE for her career.

“Wow,”
I murmured, and took a good swig of coffee.  Kim made approving noises about
Isabel’s work, and neither of us asked why he was there; it was pretty
self-explanatory.

The
next traveler to join us was Erikah Hunter, a well-connected fey rights
advocate with gorgeous curls she had coaxed into a black, shining halo.  A
cream blouse and teal capris contrasted nicely against her deep chocolate
skin.  Brown eyes evaluated all of us critically as soon as she saw
us.  We introduced ourselves politely, Erikah stiffly greeting us in
return.  She looked to be only in her early 30s, but she’d been one of the
key icons in the fight for Exile rights since the very beginning. 
Isabel’s good humor slowly relaxed her, and glimpses of her enthusiasm for the
trip began to break through her formal façade.  She was shy,
I
realized.  Erikah must have cared deeply about the fey to have overcome
that. 

Joining
us at 9:00am on the dot was television personality Peter Schroder.  He was
shorter than I’d imagined him, with carefully styled brown hair and sharp blue
eyes.  His sharp sports coat and khakis fit him precisely, and I suspected
he’d rather enjoyed the attention of the media on his way here.  Peter
hosted his own nationally syndicated daytime fey talk show, and this was free
advertising.  I’d only caught the show a few times, and from what I heard
from my classmates, half the time he addressed good questions about fey society
and magic.  The other half was devoted to Exiles setting the record
straight on our legends and fairytales.  Apparently, the Brothers Grimm
and Hans Christian Anderson had both been Exiles, but I wasn’t sure how his
guests knew that.  Peter’s natural energy and boisterous manner dominated
the waiting room and held our attention like a magnet.

The
last to join us, at 9:55am, panting and slightly sweaty in blue jeans and a Hawaiian
shirt, was Dr. Neville Sweeney.  The doc specialized in fey medical care
in the Outer Circle, and had saved plenty of lives without ever having the
opportunity to learn their biology.  Officially, at least.  I
suspected that, like me, he had an Exiled friend who was giving him the 411.
Neville apologized breathlessly for the delay, and explained that the media
attention had delayed him every 15 steps.  I thanked my lucky stars again
for Corey.