Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (20 page)

*La, I did not think even a fox crazy or clever enough to attack enforcers in their own home.*

And I've never heard of waerfoxes being able to control—
The door buzzed, and opened. Enforcer Vincent walked in and crossed to the other chair as the door clicked closed. He adjusted the ill-fitting black tactical jacket as he sat down.

“Gramaraye,” he said. “I'll be questioning you under ARC Law regarding the attack on our facility.”

“The others,” I said, “are they okay?”

“I'll ask the questions,” he said. “That's what questioning means. Let's start with you telling me your version of events?”

At least he wasn't trying to silence me forever, or using the term “confession,” so that was good. Probably. I still didn't know if I could trust him.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “Okay.”

The real question, as always in my dealings with enforcers, was how
much
of the truth to tell them. This guy would know if I lied about anything, and would press me for details. I had to find the balance.

“Well, for starters,” I said, “I know the alchemist shot Veirai with something lethal, when he could have easily tranquilized her.”

“Arcana have the right under the Pax to defend themselves against feyblood attacks with all necessary force.”

“Believe me, I've been attacked a few times myself, and I'm all for self-defense,” I replied. “But killing Veirai wasn't necessary force. An alchemist, in his own shop? He had options. And did your crack investigators notice she'd been shot in the back? As in, she was leaving his shop on her own?”

“The alchemist isn't on trial here, necromancer.”

“Why not?” I asked.

*Because arcana do not consider the death of a brightblood as important as the death of a human,* Alynon said.

“The reasons are not my concern,” Vincent said. “And therefore certainly not yours. What I want to know is what exactly happened in the visitation room?”

Was this really just a case of “not my job” disease, or were he and the alchemist in the same group of feyblood haters? He hardly seemed the empathetic type.

And this was the guy in charge of Pete and Vee's case. Not that he'd seemed all that supportive to begin with, but this just made me itch all the more to find some solution to their problem. They were running out of time and if they were declared rogue, then jerkheads like this could do whatever—

“Hello, Gramaraye?” Vincent said.

I had to get out of here. I had to make this enforcer decide he didn't want or need to question me further.

“There was a fight,” I replied.

“Cute. Who started it?”

“You know, that's the problem with violence, it's so hard to tell where it started. Perhaps with enforcer Cousar's parents raising him on macho stereotypes of masculinity, or—”

“You do realize the seriousness of the situation?”

“You do realize I have an injured hand and raging headache because one of your enforcers unleashed spartoi in a small space without proper ventilation, and then another hit me on the head without first supplying a proper safety helmet? One call to the Department of Safety, and I could have you guys shut down.”

“And you realize we have your girlfriend in the next room?”

Dawn. My heart clenched. “Is that a threat?”

“It is a reminder that we are not here to joke.”

Ah, crap. It was so much easier to be a smartass when other people's lives weren't at stake.

“Look,” I said. “A waerfox named Romey did something to your boy Cousar that made him go crazy and toss spartoi all over the place. Cousar is the one who struck down Reyes. The feybloods were only fighting in defense of their lives. And the changeling, Zenith, only fought Cousar to protect Reyes and the rest of us. That's the facts, plain and simple.”

I waited as Vincent leaned back and sighed. It was less a tired sigh and more like I'd just given him the bothersome job of killing me and disposing of my body to cover up whatever plot or conspiracy I'd stumbled into this time; or, and I preferred this version, perhaps simple disappointment that I'd not given him some reason to beat a confession out of me.

Then Vincent raised his eyebrows, as if what I'd said fully registered.

“So you're saying it was really the fault of this Romey creature, and not Brad—enforcer Cousar?”

Ah. There it was. No enforcer wanted to believe their fellow knights, or the ARC, could be corrupted or even make mistakes for that matter. And I'd just offered a way to shift the blame back onto the feybloods. But that meant—

“Wait, you knew Cousar caused the fight?”

“I know that Knight-Captain Reyes said that Brad attacked the feybloods and knocked her out. But I never believed it was his fault, and you've just confirmed that.”

“Yes, well—” I stopped myself. His smug confidence made me want to point out this could all still be the fault of some arcana conspiracy, that maybe his buddy Brad wasn't as innocent as Vincent wanted to believe and certainly the alchemist was not. But I wanted to be free more than I wanted to score imaginary points just then.

“‘Yes well' what?” Vincent asked, leaning forward again.

“Well, uh—you're an enforcer. Obviously you'd know if someone was guilty or not. And on that note, mind if I leave? I have a splitting headache and need to get this seen to.” I raised my injured hand and waggled my ring finger, flashing the persona ring that now bit painfully into my swollen finger, conveniently giving a reminder that I was an arcana and had rights.

*La!* Alynon said. *Looks like someone dislikes the idea of being outside the comforts of arcana privilege after all.*

Stuff it where the bright don't shine
.

“Focus,” Vincent said. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the attack today? Why this Romey creature might have caused the attack, or how she controlled Brad, perhaps?”

I hesitated, forming the thought firmly in my head that I “can't” tell him, because if I did I'd have to talk about Grayson's Curse, and Veirai's accusation against Silene, and other things that would get me held for further questioning, and I needed to get out of here. “Nope,” I said as calmly as I could, and waited for his lie detector alarms to go off.

His eyes narrowed for a second, then he shook his head. “Very well, Gramaraye. You're free to go, for now.”

“And the others?”

“Your 'squatch friend, the nymph, and the changeling will all be released if they clear questioning. The faun and Kermit's body will be released to the Silver feybloods for proper disposal. But the dwarf and girly 'squatch will still be held as we continue our investigation into the attack on the alchemist.”

“But—” I took a slow breath. Stay cool. “Okay.” Challa and Dunngo were not in immediate danger of being sentenced for anything. I could still get them released. What was important was making sure they weren't released into the control of some evil puppet master.

And even more importanter was getting out of here myself.

“One last thing,” Vincent said. “You've done your brother and his girlfriend no favors today by giving your family even more of a reputation for trouble.” He stood, and I followed.

I remained silent as Vincent led me from the room and down a hallway with numbered steel doors.

Gods, I hoped Dawn was okay. Best case, they'd tried to bully her into giving them information, knowing she was ignorant of any Pax and ARC rules protecting her. Worst case, they'd wiped her memory of everything related to magic, and she was sitting in an interrogation room terribly confused and afraid.

We stopped in front of room 82, and the enforcer opened it.

Dawn sat on a bench beside Silene, braiding her hair.

“Uh, hi,” I said. “You okay?”

“As right as rain on a Tea Party convention,” she said. “Silene, it was a pleasure to meet you. You keep fighting, sister.”

“Thank you, Dawn,” Silene said. “And you as well.”

Dawn glanced at me, and smiled her wicked cat smile. “Oh, I will. So, we free to leave?”

“You and your boyfriend are,” Vincent said. “We have more questions for your feyblood friend there.”

“
Bright
bloods,” Dawn replied.

“Whatever,” said Vincent, and waved her out.

“Thank you, enporker.”

“En
forcer
!” Vincent replied with an angry snap. “Show some respect.”

“Earn it,” Dawn muttered.

Dawn and I were blindfolded and led from the facility a bit more roughly than necessary. We were left blinking against afternoon light as the secret door closed behind us in the rock retaining wall.

“Come on, before they change their mind,” I said, and began walking down the gravel road toward the game farm parking lot.

Dawn caught up and asked, “Should we wait for the others? Silene and Sal at least? Give them a ride?”

I shook my head. “I don't know how long the DFM is going to question them. And besides, they wouldn't accept a ride, especially Sal.”

“Wait, why wouldn't they accept a ride from me?” Dawn asked, clearly offended. “Because I'm a mundy?”

“No. If we got in an accident, and Sal were injured or killed, it'd raise all kinds of questions with the paramedics and police. Besides, they have their own ways of traveling quickly between places.”

“What, like fairy paths? Why the heck are
we
driving then? Gas is crazy expensive.”

“Trust me, it would cost a lot more than some gas money for us to travel the Fey Ways. Feybloods are protected somehow by their Fey spirits, but we would be … changed.”

“You mean like, ‘sometimes dead is better' changed?”

“I mean that circus freak shows and the
Weekly World News
were invented to cover up the results of people stumbling across the fairy paths.”

“Ah. Well, I don't mind driving then, I guess.”

We reached Dawn's old Woody station wagon, and climbed in. Dawn wasted no time in pulling out of the Olympic Game Park and heading back through Sequim toward the 101.

As the park receded in the sideview mirror, I said, “You really okay?”

Dawn smiled. “I'll be better if we can get those milk shakes you promised.” Her smile melted into a frown. “What I don't get, though, is why they threw me in a room with Silene. I thought they wanted to keep mundies like me away from the magical world.”

“Good question.” I mulled it over for a second. “They probably hoped she'd attack you.” Anger flared as the truth of that hit me. “They were just using you to try and incriminate her. They want to blame the feybloods—”

“Brightbloods,” Dawn said. “They call themselves brightbloods.”

“It's the same thing,” I said. “They've been called feybloods since, well, ever.”

“Uh huh. Let me ask you, how does it feel if I say Pete's a feyblood?”

Not happy. “He's still an arcana as far as I'm concerned.”

“See? ‘Feyblood' means something negative to you. And when you use it, they hear every meaning it's ever had.”

“I don't—” I began to say I didn't use the term in a negative way, certainly not toward feybloods themselves. A non-Fey voice in my head argued that the feybloods were just being too sensitive, that they could simply choose to understand the term was just a name, not an insult—it had been around a long time, like calling the native tribes Indians. It wasn't like the N word.

But Dawn had a point about my not wanting to call Pete a feyblood. And it felt … uncomfortable to question why.

I'd told quite a few feyblood jokes in my youth. They were the arcana equivalent of Polack jokes. Mother had seriously disapproved of them, so I'd stopped telling them, but never really gave much thought about why until now.

“Okay. I guess I get it. I'll try to remember.”

“Thank you,” Dawn said. A minute later, she sighed. “Those enforcers aren't going to help Silene and her brightbloods, are they?”

“Probably not. Not unless someone can prove the feybl—the brightbloods are innocent, and who's setting them up.”

“
Some
one?” Dawn asked.

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Dawn drove in silence for a minute, then said, “Not that I think it's a bad thing, but I'm kind of surprised you care. I didn't think you liked the Fey or brightbloods all that much, not after your exile, and what happened to Pete and all.”

“That's not—I don't know.” I watched the wooded hillside zip by. “It would be easier to be angry at the Fey, or the brightbloods, but they weren't the bad guys. Not really. My grandfather was. If not for him, I wouldn't have been in exile. If not for him, Pete would be fine.”

*Truly?* Alynon asked, his tone surprised.

Yeah, really.

*I'm—thank you,* Alynon said. *It was not comfortable being inside someone I thought hated my kind.*

Hate? No. But I still find you incredibly annoying.

*I do try my best. Wouldn't want you to get too comfortable having me around.*

Dawn reached over and squeezed my leg. “I love you. I'm sorry your grandfather was a dickhead, and I know he caused a lot of damage, but I'm just grateful he didn't make you a dickhead in the process. I'm kind of partial to you being non-dickheadish.”

“That's me, Sir Non-Dickhead.”

“So if your ARC won't help Silene, don't the brightbloods have their own council or something?”

“There's the Archons, who're supposed to represent them, but I'm not sure if they can be trusted to help. The Silver Archon for the area seems to be distancing himself from the whole affair. And from the rumors I've heard, he's one of the most self-serving Archons they've had in generations, anyway.”