Street Fair (28 page)

“Ludlow, Ma'am.”

“Ah... like the port across the sound.”

“I suppose so, Ma'am.”

“Well, it's nice to finally be … formally introduced, Justin Ludlow. I certainly appreciate your and Lani's keeping Megan out of trouble.”

Everyone laughed, and Megan hoped her mother wouldn't think that the girls laughed a little too much.

"I appreciate your daughter putting up with me," he answered.

After a few more idle pleasantries, Lani finally spoke up. “I'm really sorry, Ms. O'Reilly, but we have to be getting home.” Megan knew that Lani’s not having seen her own mother since her injury in the battle had something to do with that and nodded. They said goodbye, and Megan and her mother walked back into the house together.

“So how have you been?” Megan asked.

“Doing well. Erin from Sax & Violins called the other night to thank me again. I might need to get those girls in touch with some old friends of mine. They seem like they could get some use out of it, and they're all old enough I wouldn't have to worry about getting them mixed up in anything.”

Megan noted to herself that her mother was still somewhat concerned with who got mixed up in what, but there wasn't the inherent anxiety in her voice, just matter-of-fact consideration.

“Makes sense,” she said. “Speaking of connections, Mom, for my next psych appointment, what do you think about going back to that second-to-last clinic?” She'd already gone back to the old, moderate dosage for her ADHD medication, months ago. It would be nice to stop hiding that. “I kind of liked them.”

Her mother pursed her lips, but only slightly. “They weren't too bad, I suppose. If you think your schoolwork could keep up just as well their way.”

“I really think it could,” Megan said. She tried not to sigh audibly with relief. The fewer secrets the better. Maybe eventually, if she was sure her mother could handle it, she could tell her everything she was.

"Okay, then we'll try it," Sheila said. "But Megan, with you maybe dating now, you know if you need to talk about anything..." she trailed off a little awkwardly.

"I know, Mom," Megan said, stepping up to hug her mother. "I promise I will. But Justin and I both really want to take things slowly. He's really old-fashioned. Like ‘going out for pizza might be a little progressive’ kind of old-fashioned. And I'm okay with that."

Megan's mother considered that a few moments, then nodded, still a bit hesitant. "All right, Megan. But school work comes first, right?"

"I'll keep my grades up. He even helps with my history. It will be okay, Mom, you can trust me."

Sheila hugged her back, not letting go for a few moments. When she spoke, it sounded like she was trying out words that she hadn't been expecting to say. "All right, Megan. I do trust you."

Megan took the win and tried to switch subjects again. "Can we try a little music together later?"

Sheila stepped back and smiled. "I have some work to get done later, after a couple phone calls, but if I catch up on everything, I think I'd like that."

"Phone calls? Not for work?"

"Not for work. A couple of old friends saw me up on stage. They want to know if I can come play with them on Friday night."

"Are you going to do it?"

"I don't know, Honey. There's a lot to do. And I'd have to leave before making dinner and things. They're playing an over-21 club, so I couldn't take you along."

"It's okay, Mom. I can handle dinner. You should go."

"You're sure?"

"Very sure. Go, have fun."

Sheila's smile became a lot more relaxed again, and she nodded. "Thanks, sweetie. I think I will."

Sheila disappeared to make her phone call, and Megan went up to her room. She put a Late to the Party CD on at a reasonable volume and didn't worry that her mother might panic if she heard.

Somewhere during “Psych Ward Composition,” a tapping sound interspersed with the pulsing of the music. Megan eventually found the cause: Ashling was banging on the window.

The pixie made no preamble as Megan opened the window and the crow flew in. “So there we are, the Count and I, in the ballroom waiting for the King to be done being Professional with the Queen and the General. And that qa'hom Gilroy shows up.”

“You and he got in a fight? Is that what this is about?”

“No, it's about what he said.”

“Something rude?”

“No. He'd just come from the Fishing Hole. The cracks in the ice are worse, much worse, and they won't stop growing.” Ashling took a breath. “The lake won't hold the Fomoire back a full year."

Book 3: A Fair Fight

Chapter 1: Underground

The will o'wisp provided the only illumination in the depths, the pale blue orb bobbing slowly ahead of the Gray Lady as she descended. Once she neared the underground river, blue light began to contrast with the pale greenish-yellow of bioluminescent fungus growing across the stone.

Two sentries bearing pikes with cold black iron at the ends crossed them in front of her path. "You're a long way from home."

The blue light drifted forward as the Lady stopped. "You should let me pass," came the whispering voice from the glowing orb.

"No one recognizes your authority here. Go home."

"I'm no longer seneschal, and I'm not here on the King's business. I will, however, have words with Tiernan."

The guards tensed, hands tightening on their spears. "Is that so?"

The Lady remained perfectly still, looking right past the pair. "It is so. He'll want to hear what I have to say."

The pair glanced between themselves, "Then pass your message along. We'll see that he gets it," the one who hadn't been speaking before offered.

"I will deliver the message to Tiernan myself. Tell the boatman."

The pair exchanged glances one more time, then the spears parted. "Tell the boatman yourself, and if Tiernan doesn't like what you have to say, it's your funeral."

"Perhaps so." She continued on to the water and lit the torch that signaled for a boat. The boatman hesitated, but gestured her aboard when she offered him two ring-shaped bits of metal. Tiernan did love his symbolism. And he could pretend he wasn’t inspired by any foreign culture as long as the money was old and Irish.

The trip into the depths was a long one, and they passed three more guard stations along the only route, with dark-clad sorcerers and archers watching the passage.

A tall, especially pale young sidhe with wide, dark eyes and shock white hair—just one remaining streak a familiar shade of red—waited for her at the docks of the underground village. He was flanked by eight more warriors, bearing more of the long spears tipped with cold iron, holding them at the ready.

“How did you know where to find us?” he asked.

"I have my sources. You keep the pikes?" the wisp asked. "Here?" Despite the threat, the Gray Lady stepped off the boat.

"Any fight that happens with our own kind will be a real one," he said. "I'm more surprised that you're here. The middle of nowhere, a place that is barely a rumor as a den of 'renegades too far beyond the concept of order to qualify as criminal.' Something terrible could happen, and who would hear?"

As the wisp answered, "You would hear," the Gray Lady's pale lips parted.

A gesture from the white-haired man, and the pikes were all carefully raised to be less threatening, and all but one of the warriors, Tiernan's right-hand man, stepped away. "It'd be a real fight indeed. But it isn't necessary if you don't think it so."

The bean sidhe's lips closed again. "I do not."

Tiernan nodded. "Who sent you? My aunt? Her lapdog? I'd ask about your boss, but I hear that he kicked you out."

The Gray Lady narrowed her eyes slightly at mention of Riocard, but let the comment pass without any other note. "No one sent me. I'm on my own business."

"I'm not used to the King's hand having her own business. Is this something to do with the mortal?"

"The mortal was a tiny piece of something far larger. The ice is breaking."

Tiernan nodded. "So Balor wasn't all there was to it. I'd heard rumors, but Inwar, curse the Northerner, keeps things close."

"You knew of O'Neill's goals?"

"That he was going after Balor's grave? I make a point of knowing about those things that remind my dear aunt of her own mortality."

"And yet she stood against the undead."

"That was the undead. I'm curious what would have happened had Balor risen. And skeletons aren't Fomoire. Well, they shouldn't be. But they certainly exposed weaknesses in the vaunted armies of The Last Home, didn't they?"

"Perhaps. We'll know soon enough if they've dealt with those weaknesses or not."

"Not going to hold out hope for some saving grace, now that the experts in Summer and Winter are both on the problem?"

"I place very little stock in hope."

“Is that why the rumors can't sort out whether he fired you or you quit? Did you just cut your losses and run?”

There was another stretch of silence before the wisp spoke. “He has a daughter.”

"Oh, yes. I know. I make it a point of hearing when my aunt has a plan sabotaged, too. I'm in favor, obviously, whether I've any regard for the Unseelie or not.”

The blank-mirror eyes stared at him. “Are you?”

“I am.”

“I would have suspected you might have approved of the queen's plan, assuming your obviously discreet sources reported it in full.”

His dark eyes twitched. “They didn't need to. It was defeated by a mortal-raised child, so it was obvious that like most of her plans, it was based in high-minded intentions and no regard for reality.” He waved dismissively. “And then, again, the matter with O'Neill. Lucky the girl was along, weren't they?"

"Do you really think Riocard has ever relied on something as uncertain as luck?"

Tiernan paused, narrowing his eyes. "You're sure you're not still working for the King? You sound like you still think much of him.”

The Gray Lady faced Tiernan directly, so that he could look straight at her blankly-mirrored eyes, though the wisp continued to do the speaking. "I try to have a realistic assessment of the people around me."

Tiernan looked away, gritting his teeth, one hand curling into a fist, the other hand resting on his sword hilt. "You may wish to watch your words."

"You may wish to watch your temper before it gets you into trouble."

Tiernan relaxed slightly, hand moving away from the sword hilt, but only a small bit. "As long as we're talking about realistic assessments, Lady, what do you think the odds are that the Fomoire have kept your child alive, below the ice, all these years?" He finally lifted his eyes back to hers.

The Gray Lady tensed, and the will o'wisp darkened in shade slightly, staring back at Tiernan for several long, silent seconds, before she answered.
“
With these strange, growing cracks in the lake, we may find out before Midsumme
r
, if the diplomatic efforts find no new solutions. They'll send messengers, and soon."

"Perhaps, or perhaps my aunt will be true to her word. Or perhaps she'll assume that we've already made some deal with the Fomoire. After all, they are the enemy of my enemy."

"And have you?"

Tiernan smiled. "Now we're getting to the heart of the matter.” But he didn't say any more.

“In terms of the enemies of your enemy,” the whispers resumed, “does hating the Ljosalfar, for instance, make people good neighbors?”

“They're still Northern savages,” Tiernan said, waving dismissively. “But they've been mostly quiet ever since their last set of raids on the ogres. I'm not out to start wars, only to finish them. At any rate, be assured, Lady: if and when An Teach Deiridh sends messengers, we'll be ready and waiting for them."

Acknowledgements

We’d like to thank our spouses, Cody Armond and Jennifer Wolf, for their support, as well as our families: Bill, Carmen, Sam, Maggie, Ben, Jeanne, and Kiera Perkins, Gerry Cook, Carol Wells-Reed, Kelly and Scott Hendrix, and Matthew Lewis, who counts.