Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (5 page)

“Iself can fastwalk there much sooner,” he said, with the tone of a child asking if he can open a present on Christmas Eve.

“Unfortunately, I can't,” I replied. Humans couldn't walk the fairy paths without going mad. “It will take me some time to get there. But I'll bring the Kin Finder so we can confirm—”

The doorbell rang.

“Now what?” I muttered. “Sal, I'll be right back.” I closed the parlor doors, and crossed to the front door. I swung it open, and froze.

A man stood on the porch, easily identified as an enforcer by the black suit and tie also popular with the FBI, missionaries, and hip movie stars, and by the handlebar moustache that held a silver bead braided into either side. He held a small white television dangling from one hand, and a piece of parchment in the other, with a suitcase leaning against his leg. A silver ring glinted on his right hand—a persona ring, the arcana world's equivalent of government-issued ID—and its red stone identified him as a wizard, but that was unsurprising as most enforcers were wizards. I noted, however, that his suit stretched to accommodate his ample belly, his face appeared lined more with weariness than wisdom, and he had that aura about him seen on police officers forced to choose between inventory duty in the basement or midnight guard duty at a downtown grocery store.

The two women who flanked him were another matter. The one on the left stood a head taller than me and wore a leather jacket that was more biker gang than New York fashion, and with her short-cropped red hair she looked like Red Sonja gone punk. The Hispanic woman on the right wore a fitted suit and looked like a district attorney ready to put away the city's major crime boss for life, even if she had to go vigilante to do so, damn it.

I did not see persona rings on the women's hands, which meant they were likely feybloods.

Frak.

“Uh, hello,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“We're here to speak with Paeteri Gramaraye and Violet Wodenson,” the enforcer said.

I glanced back in the direction of the parlor. The doors were open, but Sal was nowhere in sight. Just as well.

“Can you come back later?” I asked. Pete wasn't exactly in top form for stressful company. “We—”

“This cannot be put off any longer,” the enforcer said, and held out the piece of parchment. “They've ignored three summons from the Arcana Ruling Council already.”

I gave a whatcha-gonna-do shrug. “Those must have been lost in the mail. I'm sure if you call later—”

“Hilarious,” the enforcer said without the slightest trace of humor. “But
I'm
sure if they do not speak with us now I
will
put out a warrant for their arrest and they'll be handled as rogue feybloods.”

Double frak.

 

3

Don't You Want Me, Baby

Pete and Vee sat on one side of our long dining room table, holding hands on top of the polished oak surface, and the three visitors sat on the other facing them. I sat at the end, ready to intervene as best I could. I wished our sister, Sammy, were here. She was more used to dealing with legal issues, since her job often brought her into conflict with the Arcana Ruling Council. But I could at least stand witness, prevent any abuse or coercion. And Alynon, as a full Fey, might give me some unique insight or edge—

*I warned you this day would come,* Alynon said. *But you would not heed.*

Or not.

“Paeteri Gramaraye and Violet Wodenson,” the ARC enforcer said. “I'm enforcer Vincent, knight lieutenant for the Department for Feyblood Management. This is Minerva, representing the Forest of Shadows”—he nodded to the Red Sonja wannabe on his left—“and this is Zenith, representing the Silver Court.” He waved at the lawyerish-looking woman on his right. “And we are here today because neither of you have declared your loyalty.”

I laid my hands flat on the table, my persona ring with its black stone clicking against the wood. “That's because their loyalty hasn't changed. They are arcana, and Pete is a member of this—”

“They are not arcana,” Vincent said. “Not anymore. With respect, they are feybloods—”

“Brightbloods,” Minerva, the Forest of Shadows rep, growled.

Brightblood was apparently the name the feybloods called themselves now, just like they called magic ‘the bright.' Having been stuck with a Fey in my head for only a few months, if I were fused with a Fey spirit for life I could easily see the attraction of trying to put as shiny a spin on it as possible.

Enforcer Vincent grunted and continued in a passionless tone that suggested this was a discussion he'd had countless times. “While I sympathize with the fact that this is not by choice or birth, that doesn't change the fact that you each now have a Fey spirit bonded with your human spirit. So I'm afraid you
are
feybloods under the rules of the Pax Arcana treaty last established with the Fey, and by definition of ARC Law.”

I waved at Vee. “She's been a waersquirrel for a couple of decades and nobody's complained before about her loyalty.”

Vincent shrugged. “Miss Wodenson avoided declaring her loyalty until now because she was under care at the Haven House facility—”

“The Hole,” Pete said with an angry edge to his voice, and squeezed Vee's hand. “And she's not going back.”

“That's entirely her choice,” Vincent said. “For now. But make no mistake. If you do not declare a loyalty, then you
will
be classified as rogue feybloods.”

“Fine,” I said. “They'll be rogues, and continue living here, not in a feyblood steading subject to feyblood restrictions. No offense,” I said to the two women. “But this is their home.”

Vincent didn't even look at me, but just sighed and recited, “As rogues, you wouldn't be protected or supported by the ARC or any Fey Demesne. Should you find yourselves in danger, with a magical illness, or in need of mana, you will be on your own. Should you expose your nature to the mundane world, we may cover it up but you will be held fully accountable for the costs. If you should lose control of your Fey spirit, or present any danger to yourselves or others, you will be put into an ARC holding facility. And you will be magically inhibited from having offspring.”

Pete and Vee looked at each other on that last, as if both trying to read the other's thoughts, and I could tell they both were thinking the same thing—they did want to have children, together.

*Holy Aal, a Pete and Vee baby,* Alynon said. *Could the world survive that level of cute?*

I don't know, but I'd like to find out,
I thought back.

Minerva leaned forward. “I'm sure you'd father strong children.” She smiled at Pete like it was five minutes to closing in a singles bar and he'd just strolled in looking like a naked Robert Downey Jr. covered in chocolate.

“I'm confused,” I said. “What's the Forest of Shadows even doing here? It was a Shadows waer that infected my brother against his will. By Pax law they can't recruit Pete, right?”

Enforcer Vincent frowned at Minerva, and said, “The waerwolves involved in infecting your brother were all declared rogue before the attack, having left the service of the Fey to work for Grayson.” He didn't sound any happier about it than I was.

“In fact,” Minerva replied. “I'd argue that your brother shouldn't be allowed to stay under the influence of
your
family, given that his attackers were loyal to Grayson. Magus Grayson was practically your brother, too, wasn't he?”

“Grayson studied with us, but he was
not
part of this family,” I replied in a sharp tone. “And I nearly died fighting to end his plot. As did Pete, and Vee.” I looked back to Vincent. “They've earned the right to live free, as arcana.”

Zenith, the Silver Court representative, tugged on the jacket of her suit and said, “I object to the implication that our brightbloods are not free.”

Our
brightbloods? She must be a changeling, a true Fey spirit temporarily inhabiting a human body under some arrangement between the ARC and the Other Realm. Alynon had been a changeling once, granted use of my body during my exile, before becoming stuck in my head.

“I meant no offense,” I said with a nearly sincere tone.

Do you know her?
I asked Alynon.

*Right, because all of us Fey know each other.*

That's not what I meant. But she is another changeling from your own Demesne. And I know the ARC thinks you were communicating with other changelings during my exile
.

*Oh, absolutely. We plotted to replace George Lucas with one of our changelings and have him create movies so terrible they would destroy all hope. We called it Operation Pandora's Jar Jar. And it almost worked.*

I gave an exasperated exhale through my nose.
You're deflecting, avoiding the question
.

*
I'm
deflecting? What of you? Grayson
did
turn out to be your uncle. And possessed by your grandfather's spirit.*

Minerva doesn't know about that, though
.

*Doesn't make it less true.*

Fine. If you don't have something useful to say
—

“Maybe you did try to stop Grayson,” Minerva said, and I realized I'd completely missed Zenith's response. “But the way I heard it, he was just trying to complete the work of your grandfather, to start a war for arcana supremacy, so either way it
was
your own family responsible for Pete receiving the bright blessing. If—”

“Blessing?” Pete burst out. Vincent's hand jerked to the silver-plated baton holstered at his side, while Pete's hands curled into fists on the tabletop. “You call this a blessing? I feel like I have this big mean monster inside of me always trying to burst out and hurt the people I love. I have these feelings, these … urges—” He stopped, his round face red and eyes brimming with tears. Vee put her arm around him, pulled him close.

“I understand, cousin,” Minerva said. “I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just surprised you would remain loyal to a family that has caused you so much pain.” Her hands reached toward Pete on the tabletop. “I can help you, like no other here can. Join my pack, and I will teach you what it means to be free, to embrace—”

Vee's eyes narrowed. “You try to embrace any part of Pete, wolf girl, and I'll spay you with a plastic spoon.”

So Minerva was a waerwolf.

“Enforcer,” Zenith said, “the Shadows representative is speaking out of turn, trying to influence—”

“Yes yes,” Vincent replied. “Everyone, enough arguing and posturing. Minerva, you know the procedure. I have to finish giving them the Department's official line, then you'll get to make your case.”

He picked up the remote and turned on the small television. As he did, I asked, “Where are the other Demesnes? Shouldn't there be at least a dozen representatives here?”

“They chose not to come,” Vincent said, pushing play on the remote. “They did send brochures and written offers, which meets their obligations.”

“Why wouldn't they come?” I asked.

Vincent shrugged. “If you wanted to meet them all, you should have attended the Feyblood Job Fair at the high school gym last night.”

The static on the screen ended and the video began, with the title S
O,
Y
OU'RE A
F
EYBLOOD
N
OW
in neon letters cued to a song that was a bad synth knockoff of the
Beverly Hills Cop
theme.

“Hello,” an enforcer said, wearing a
Miami Vice
–style uniform, feathered hair, and extremely bushy moustache. “So, you're a feyblood now. I imagine you have a lot of questions and concerns. And I'm here to give you some answers.”

What would you do?
I asked Alynon with some reluctance.

*If I had that hair? I'd kill myself.*

Hilarious. Which Demesne would you choose if you were Pete or Vee?

*I am no brightblood in need of patronage,* Alynon said. *I am an Aalbright of the Silver Court. You were in the Other Realm more recently than I. What do
you
think?*

I wasn't exactly on a world tour,
I replied.

My twenty-five years exiled in the Other Realm had been spent in the wildlands outside of the shaped Demesnes, confined to a pocket of space not unlike a holodeck where I could re-experience any memory but not create anything new, not control my own appearance or apply my imagination. Fey would come from all of the Demesnes to experience my memories directly, to incorporate them into their own being and feed on the emotional energy, but they rarely offered anything in return. So while I learned a lot, matured a bit, and gained sympathy for most of my teachers by reliving every school lesson and significant experience of my first fifteen years over and over again, I learned very little about the Fey while there.

The enforcer on the video didn't offer much help either, going over the same basics I'd learned in Arcana Summer School before exile.

“The Other Realm is the place from which all raw magic flows,” he said, “and to which some shamans, dreamwalkers, and early arcana found their way, spiritually or physically, in the long ago. The first true Fey took their shape and identity from the memories, dreams, and fears of such visitors. Those Fey became sentient individuals over time and gravitated toward others like themselves in nature, grouping together into clans, and shaping areas of the Other Realm into the Demesnes that reflected those natures.”

Alynon snorted in my head. I wondered if that ever left spiritual snot on my brain. *'Tis a damn shame that Hugh Hefner or Bugsy Siegel weren't shamans in the way back. Then mayhap I'd be a knight of the Feyboy Mansion, or the Las Feygas Strip, and those self-righteous bastards in the Court would not have—*