Fire Touched (16 page)

Whiny, yes, I thought, wrong on many fronts, but also truthful. He was upset, not because he'd grabbed Jesse's rump without permission but because it had been Adam's daughter's rump. Not a stellar individual, I thought, finishing off the doughnut, but look how he was raised. Feral didn't begin to describe the likely result of being human and raised by . . . Underhill? The fairies? But he might still be salvageable.

I took the damp cloth from Christy's hand and wiped my fingers with it. Salvageable by someone else. He was only going to be with us for another six hours or so.

Darryl flexed his hand, and bits of burnt flesh dropped to the floor, leaving his skin raw-looking but no longer charred. “Little man,” he growled, “you don't touch unless you are invited. Not in this house—and if you are a gentleman, not ever. Servant, slave, or lady of the house.”

“I've broken my word,” Aiden said, gathering his dignity around himself. “I'll leave.”

I almost let him go. But Zee had asked me—in the only way Zee would ask such a thing. I owed Zee.

“I knew I missed something,” I said. “I should have put in a clause about protecting yourself, right? Grandstanding is a very bad way to make bargains—it's too easy to leave things out. But I can do that now. Let's see.” I cleared my throat. “I declare that you can use the minimum force necessary to protect yourself until misunderstandings are cleared up—as long as you apologize right now and don't do it again.”

Darryl gave me a look. Adam did, too. It was probably a very good thing that Aiden looked like a ten-year-old.

“Are you hurt, Darryl?” I asked.

He rubbed his hands together. “Not anymore,” he said.

“Darryl's job is to make sure people are safe,” I said. “Did you disobey him?”

Aiden screwed up his face. “You are very strange,” he said. “I insulted your . . . stepdaughter, yes? Then I hurt the man who stood up for her honor.”

Jesse made a growling noise. “I stood up for myself, you little perv.”

Aiden looked at her.

She glared back.

“Okay, then,” I said. “Aiden, it is good manners to apologize when you offend someone. In your case, it means that you can continue to enjoy the protection of the pack for a few more hours.”

He turned to Adam, and said, sincerely, “Please accept my apologies for importuning your daughter.”

He turned to Jesse's mother. “I am also sorry that I distressed you in any manner.” He bowed to Darryl. “I sincerely apologize for burning you. You weren't hurting me, just scaring me. There was no cause.”

Jesse cleared her throat. He looked at her, and they eyed each
other with mutual loathing. His lip curled. “I'm very sorry you don't appreciate the honor I did you,” he said. “I won't make that mistake again.”

He was lucky she didn't hit him a second time, I thought.

“I'm very sorry,” Jesse said sincerely, “that I didn't have a kitchen knife in my hand instead of a spatula. Next time, maybe I'll be more careful.”

“Jesse,” I said, “your eggs are burning.”

I looked at Adam. “You take Aiden, and I'll take Christy?” I mouthed.

“I'd like to speak to Adam,” Christy said, her tone making it clear she'd seen me. No help for it once she asked.

I shrugged. “Aiden, step outside with me.”

Darryl smiled. “I'll go check the perimeter. It'll let me keep an eye on you.”

“You could stay with Jesse,” I said because I didn't trust that smile: it was a little too eager. “Help her with breakfast or something.”

“I can cook eggs,” said Jesse, scraping the blackened remnants into the garbage disposal, “assuming I don't have to teach some ancient punk kid how to keep his hands to himself. Yuck.” She left it to her audience to decide where that last word was directed.

Aiden turned back and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Aiden,” I said.

He stiffened but followed me out to the backyard, where he stood, his arms wrapped around himself in hostile rejection . . . or possibly fear. Darryl trailed after us, then broke into a jog and headed for the river side of the property.

“What happened in there was all about power,” I said thoughtfully after Darryl was a sufficient distance away.

Aiden didn't say anything.

I thought about power, about how Adam had sat in the soft hotel sofa to make Thomas Hao feel more at ease. So I sat down on the grass. The seat of my pants was immediately wet and cold—evidently the lawn had just been watered. At least my slacks wouldn't show the water stain the way my usual jeans would have. Aiden looked at me, frowned, then took a seat on the nearest lawn chair.

“You felt it was dangerous for us to consider you a child,” I said, “because in your world, children are vulnerable, and the fae like to prey upon them.” I pushed my fingers into the soil. “Werewolves are not fae. For the pack, children are fragile, and the wolves, most of them anyway, see them as a charge, someone to be protected from all harm.”

“I would be safer, here, pretending to be the age that my body appears?” he asked warily.

I sighed and shook my head. For all that we both spoke English, we were alien, weren't we?

“No,” I said. “Pretending is a lie—and wolves can tell if you lie. But you didn't have to make a big deal of your real age in order to be safe. But I was talking about power, not specifically about you.” I looked up at the sky and thought about how to explain twenty-first-century manners and morals to someone who had last been human before Europeans had set foot on this continent.

“Touch,” I said, “is basic to the human condition. Mothers touch their babies to bond with them. Touch brings comfort or pain. Touch is important. The most powerful person in a room is the one who can touch anyone else—and no one can touch him back without permission.” The Romans would have substituted “sex” for “touch,” but I thought I didn't have to go that crude. Sometimes,
when dealing with very old creatures, my history degree was unexpectedly useful.

“Lady,” Aiden said sincerely, “you are strange. You are saying that I am less powerful than the girl.” He held out his hand and showed me the fire he held. “I do not think so.”

“Think about what happened in there,” I said. “Who ended up winning that encounter?”

“She hit me,” he said, “but I could have killed her—or hurt her so she never would have tried to hit me again.”

“But Darryl stopped you,” I told him. “Because he is more powerful, and his job is to take care of Jesse. To make sure no one touches her without permission.”

“I could have killed him, too,” said Aiden.

I shrugged. “Yes. But he has those who protect him, too. And you are not stronger than Zee—the Dark Smith.”

Silence.

I nodded. “So what is power for, Aiden?”

“To be safe,” Aiden said without hesitation.

A sociology professor of mine had asked that in my college class. She got answers ranging from wealth to the ability to do whatever you wanted to whomever you wanted. She said that when she'd asked that question in a village in a South American country that was on its fifth dictator in ten years, she'd gotten only one answer: safety.

“Okay,” I said, wondering what it said about Underhill that Aiden had that much in common with people who'd lived with uncertainty and terror for generations. “So what did you do when you touched Jesse without permission?”

There was a long pause. “I made her feel unsafe,” he said.

I shook my head. “Not really. She had no trouble defending herself—and she knew there was a houseful of people who would make sure she was safe. What you did do was tell her that you had no intention of letting her be safe with you.”

He said nothing.

“You are safe with us,” I told him. “We will not touch you nor allow anyone else to touch you while you are under our protection.”

“The big man with the dark brown skin touched me,” he said.

“Darryl.” I nodded. “You're right. So unless you threaten one of our own, we will not allow you to be touched without your permission. We have the power to do that, and we extend that power to you—to our pack and to Jesse. Power comes from three places, Aiden. It comes from the power that you have as an individual. Some people have a lot of that—Zee has a lot of power just from being himself. Someone can leverage the power they have to take more power—but power taken by force only lasts as long as you can hold it. Most dictators don't live long lives.”

He said, sounding offended, “The third way to gain power is to have others give you their power. I am not a child; nor am I stupid.”

I nodded, though I thought the jury was out on the last. “I'm pretty weak as far as creatures of magic are concerned. I have a few tricks. But I was able to grant you sanctuary from the Gray Lords—because I have friends, I have pack, and I have people who love me.” I turned my head, met his eyes, and frowned at him. “You are going to need a lot of power to stay safe from the Gray Lords. Right at this moment, that means you need to work at making people want to help you—instead of wanting to strangle you and shove your head through a refrigerator.”

He threw up his hands and cried out with honest frustration,
“But how do I do that? I don't understand you people. I don't know your customs. I don't know anything about this place.”

“Okay,” I told him. “Sometimes you have to start just knowing you don't know anything. But if you assume that you are on the bottom of the pack—that means no touching anyone without invitation—you will be safe because I have promised you that, and I have the power to make that stick. But I cannot protect you from your own bad decisions; if you go around grabbing women's butts, they might hit you with something a little sharper next time.”

Aiden stared at me. “You are very strange. I have no intention of coming anywhere near the Alpha's daughter again.”

“That's probably safer for you,” I agreed.

Jesse opened the back door. “Mercy,” she said, “Dad's still in his office with Mom, and we have
a visitor
who wants to see you or Dad.” The subtle emphasis meant that Jesse knew who it was but didn't think she should mention it in front of Aiden. That meant fae.

I stood up and dusted off the back of my pants, which were wet. “Okay,” I said. “In the interest of keeping our word, Aiden, you should come inside.”

“Why?” he sneered. “There are two werewolves watching the backyard. Aren't three enough to give alarm? Or do you acknowledge that the fae can come into your territory and take me?”

Warren and Ben weren't being obvious—I could smell them, but I couldn't see them. Darryl had disappeared while I wasn't watching.

“If we keep the weakest of us—that's me—and the one most likely to be attacked—that's you—in the same place, we keep our defense stronger than if we scatter them between us.” And there is a fae here to see us. I realized I hadn't told him that because he looked
like he was a child. I was going to have to get over that instinct. “Whoever our visitor is, he's fae—or Jesse would have said something more. You need to come inside.”

I glanced at Jesse.

“Uncle Mike,” she said. “I told him to wait in the living room.”

“Is he here for me?” asked Aiden.

I shook my head. “I don't know. I suppose we'll have to find out.”

I sent Aiden to wait in the kitchen, and Jesse headed upstairs to get ready for school. I didn't think that Uncle Mike had come here to take Aiden by force but decided that keeping him discreetly in the heart of the house would be prudent.

Uncle Mike was . . . not a friend. The only fae I trusted enough to consider a friend was Zee. But Uncle Mike was someone I knew and mostly liked. He'd run an eponymous bar in Pasco where, in days before their sudden retreat, the fae had hung out with various members of the local supernatural community.

That Jesse had opened the door to him and left Uncle Mike in the living room was a testament to the neutrality that Uncle Mike had built while running his bar. Jesse trusted him more than I did. I'd have been happier if she'd left him on the front porch rather than letting him in herself, but no apparent harm had come from it.

As I crossed the foyer, I could hear the low murmur of voices coming from Adam's office, but, with the door shut, the soundproofing
was too good to hear anything specific. Uncle Mike stood, arms clasped behind his back, looking out the window. He was so intent that I looked out, too, but I could see nothing that should have inspired such interest.

After a moment, he turned, and said, “Mercy.”

Uncle Mike looked like a worn and distilled version of himself. The Jolly Innkeeper persona was almost gone, leaving in his place a broad-shouldered, broad-handed man with reddish brown hair and tired hazel eyes.

“Uncle Mike,” I greeted him. “It has been a while. I'm surprised to see you here.”

His lips curled into a shadow of his usual smile. “Not as surprised and four times as pleased as my compatriots, I vow.”

“You've been reading
The Lord of the Rings
again,” I said, and he grunted.

“So the people ruling the reservation these days don't know you're here and would be upset to know it,” I said. “Why
are
you here?”

“Not to interfere with your rash protection of the Fire Touched,” he said in an overly loud voice obviously intended to reach the far ends of the house—and Aiden's ears. Then, in a much softer voice, he said, “One of my flitflits told me that she'd heard that the Dark Smith and his boy were on the bridge with you yesterday. I discounted it until I heard that the Fire Touched escaped and that he was under the protection of the pack. My news sources aren't as reliable as they once were, but it was not hard to connect both stories.” He flexed his short fingers and put them down on his knees, leaned forward, and said, “Several weeks ago, I was told that the Dark Smith had been executed for failure to cooperate sufficiently, and also that his son died soon after—half-bloods being so much more fragile than we.”

“The fae cannot lie,” I told him, wondering what a flitflit was. I puzzled over it too long and missed my cue, though.

He'd relaxed as soon as I'd spoken, and I realized I'd pretty much given away Zee's still-alive status by not freaking out when Uncle Mike said he'd heard that he was dead.

“Yes, we cannot lie,” he said. “And after I heard the stories, I thought on what I was told and by whom. I think that the one who told me believed what she said, and the one who told her was cunning with his words—as his reputation leaves him to be.”

“Zee's alive,” I told him. “And what's a flitflit?”

And even though he had known that from my reaction, he still drew in a deep breath as if he hadn't had many deep breaths in a long time. “And so it is true.”

“And if it is?” asked Zee from the stairway, his voice arctic.

Uncle Mike smiled. This time it was the full-force, hugely charismatic smile that made the part of me that detected magic sit up and take notice. “Well, then,” he said, satisfaction lacing his voice. “Some people are going to be looking over their shoulders, now, aren't they?”

Zee tipped his head to the side. “That is an interesting notion. I'm not sure I know what you're talking about.”

“Don't you, now,” said Uncle Mike in evident satisfaction. “Just don't you, old friend.”

“What,” I asked again, “is a flitflit?”

“Lesser fae,” Zee said. “They flitflit around and hear things. Uncle Mike has a number of them who are personally loyal to him.”

The other fae nodded. “What do you want me to do about what I know?”

Zee frowned. “You see me standing before you. I trust you aren't in the mood to change my status?”

“Someone wanted us to think you dead,” Uncle Mike said. “Do you want me to disabuse them of that notion—or let it play out?”

Zee gave him a sour smile. “What do I care? I don't play those games—I don't play any games.”

The smile that spread over Uncle Mike's face was sharklike and sharp. “Someone forgot that, forgot whom they were dealing with. Good.” He breathed out deeply, and said, “Very good.”

He walked to the door and opened it, pausing on the threshold and turning back. “I am reassured as to your health, old friend. I look forward to being in the audience for your next act.” He bowed his head to Zee, then to me, before stepping outside and closing the door, very gently, behind him.

Zee watched him leave, listened to the car as it drove off, and came the rest of the way down the stairs. He did it without limping or making noise or any other thing. But he did it very slowly. He was badly hurt.

When he got to the bottom, I said, “Breakfast in the kitchen, I think. If Jesse didn't leave extra eggs, then there will still be leftover doughnuts.”

As if the mention of her name summoned her, Jesse descended the stairs in a tenth of the time it had taken Zee.

“I used up the eggs,” she said. “But I can reheat the French toast I put in the fridge if anyone wants some.”

“That would be good,” Zee said.

Jesse ignored Aiden entirely and began rummaging in the fridge. Zee, who was very good at reading between the lines when he cared to, gave Aiden a speculative and not-altogether-friendly look.

Warren came in from outside, still tucking his shirt into his jeans.
There was something in his face that told me his wolf was lingering close to the surface, but his smile was real when he offered to give Jesse a ride to school.

Jesse brought a plate of French toast over and set it in front of Zee. “A ride?” She heaved a big sigh and rolled her eyes, to demonstrate that she wasn't fooled—Warren would be sticking around the school to make sure she was safe.

Warren frowned at Jesse, hunching his lanky length as if he'd absorbed a blow. “If you'd rather ride with someone else, thet's ahlraht, Jesse. Darryl would take you.” The excessive Texas was to let Jesse know that he really wasn't hurt. “Or Ben,” he said innocently. Ben had caused quite a stir when he'd gone to her school—subtle, the foul-mouthed Englishman was not. Warren would be a lot less likely to attract notice.

She rolled her eyes again because she knew what he was doing. But she couldn't help but pat his shoulder and laugh, too. “Oh, let's not bother Ben. It's fine. We should go before I'm late.”

Warren kissed my cheek, and I gave him a hug. “Thanks,” I said.

“No worries,” he said. “Boss asked me last night if I'd take her and set up watch. Work's been quiet lately. Kyle's started to complain about the number of polite divorces he's been handling. Says if they're that civil, they probably should stay married.” Warren's partner, Kyle, was a divorce lawyer, and Warren was a private eye who did odd jobs for Kyle's firm.

“Quiet is good,” I said.

“That's what I told him,” Warren said. “I don't think he's convinced.” He gave the room a general wave, then, with a hand on her shoulder, escorted Jesse out of the house.

“So,” I said, sitting down at the table with Zee and Aiden as
soon as Warren and Jesse left. “We should talk about options for Aiden.”

Aiden looked away from me to the floor of the kitchen, where the cracked tile bore witness to his first clash with the pack.

“It might be interesting,” Zee said, “to determine whether the troll had been sent after me, after Tad, or after Aiden. If it was after Aiden, you might have more trouble with the fae.”

He meant that if the troll had been sent after him or Tad, he would handle the fallout. I had all the faith in the world that Zee could protect himself—when he was healthy enough to walk down the stairs with something approaching his normal grace. Not that it mattered. If the fae operated anything like the wolves as far as power games went, it was the pack they'd have to go after first, or they'd lose face. Bran had seemed to think we could negotiate with them—I just hoped he was right.

“I think we might be looking at trouble either way,” I said. “But let's talk about Aiden, because he has a time limit. How hard are they going to look for you, Aiden? Would it be enough to relocate you somewhere far from the fae reservations, or are they likely to send people after you wherever you go?”

“I don't know,” he said finally. “It seemed to me that they were most interested in how I use fae magic when I shouldn't be able to touch it because humans can't.” He put both hands flat on the table. The nails were bitten to the quick. “They used to take Underhill for granted. She was their home, their due, and their servant. Then she shooed them all out the door and locked it up tight against them.” He shivered. “There were other things in Underhill,” he said, not looking at any of us. “Not just us human-born changelings. There were places where the fae kept their prisoners. I suppose some of
them were normal—as normal as any fae—when they were first locked up. But when she opened the prison doors—because she was lonely, she said—there was nothing remotely normal about what came out. When they killed us by the dozens, she was sad, so she gave us power to protect ourselves. She gave me the gift of fire. As far as I can tell, the fae are mostly jealous. They've killed enough of us that they are convinced they can't take the fire from me and keep it themselves, though.”

Zee pursed his lips and whistled. “Did you tell any of them that she'd opened up the prisons?”

Aiden shook his head. “But they know, right? She's opened the doors, so they've seen.”

“I think not,” Zee said. “I think she's been playing games with them.” He sat back, grunted, and sat straighter. “Mercy, I think it is safe to assume they will come after him. He is beloved of Underhill.”

Aiden snorted, trying to sound nonchalant, I thought, but mostly he sounded scared.

Zee gave Aiden a sour smile. “Last night, while I slept, she whispered in my dreams. ‘Where is my beloved?' she asked. ‘What have you done with him, Smith? Bring him back to me.' If she is talking to other fae, they will hunt you until you are dead or they can give you back to her.”

Aiden's eyes showed white all around. “Don't take me back there,” he begged Zee. “Please, don't.”

“Underhill addressed you?” I asked Zee. Unlike Aiden, I knew that Zee wouldn't even walk across the street at the bidding of the fae—not after they put Tad in jeopardy. And what was Underhill but another form of fae? Aiden was in no danger of Zee's returning him anywhere.

Zee nodded. “I don't like it, either,” he said. “I never had much to do with Underhill, though I've attended a court or two there. Underhill, like most of the fae, is sensitive to metal, and iron-kissed is my nature. We don't get on.” Zee tapped on the table. “It disturbs me that Underhill knows my name.”

“Me, too,” said Aiden, thoroughly spooked. “Your name, my name—I wish she'd forget them all.” He glanced over at me. “Would you keep me safe for one more day? So I can think on this? I will do what I can to stay out of your way.”

“What do you expect to accomplish with another day?” asked Zee.

“I cannot promise anything yet,” I answered Aiden. “I have to talk to Adam.”

Before he could remind me that I'd given him sanctuary in the first place without talking to Adam, a door opened, and Christy burst into the kitchen. Tears slid down her pretty face, and she furiously wiped them away. She met my eyes, raised her chin, and said, “He is a bastard.”

Adam stalked in after her, temper in every muscle of his body. “Where's Darryl?” he asked the room in general.

“Outside,” Zee told him. “Perimeter duty.” He must have been listening to what had gone on in the kitchen before he came down.

Adam opened the back door, and said, “Darryl, I have a job for you.”

Christy crossed her arms under her chest and glared at me. “This is your fault,” she said. She uncrossed her arms and wiped her eyes again, with special attention to not smearing her mascara.

I made a neutral sound.

Adam gave a look to Christy, who bit her lip and turned her head away.

“No,” he said. “It isn't. Darryl?”

The big man slid into the kitchen. “Yes?”