Mob Rules (24 page)

“Don't even think about it. That has nothing to do with the war.”

“Just kidding, boss. Okay, I'm in. So advise me. What do I do next?”

“You tell me. You're in charge.”

“Okay, I'm in charge.” It felt good. I took a deep breath. “Well, the Seelie Court is still going to try to come through. We don't know exactly when, and we don't know exactly what they'll do when they come, but at least we know where. The gate in Hawthorne is the key. That's where we have to attack.”

“And how will you attack?”

“I'm too tired to dick around with them. We mobilize in Crenshaw and fight our way into Hawthorne. We hit the gate. If we can take it down, the Seelie Court can't come through. That way we don't have to fight them block by block, house by house, down on the street.”

“Yes,” Rashan agreed. “But you have to move quickly. King Oberon will send small tactical teams through to seize territory and lay down their own tags. He won't send an army at
first, and you must use the window of opportunity that gives you.”

“Why won't he send an army?”

“For the same reason we avoid such overt action. Think, Dominica. This world is changing, but it's not ready for that change. How do you imagine the U.S. government would react if a fey army invaded L.A.?”

I didn't know. I couldn't even imagine it. It would escalate slowly, because the politicians and generals wouldn't be able to make any sense of it. Maybe just the National Guard at first, to deal with a wave of “illegal immigrants.” The Marines would follow, and then…who knew? What would happen when they had to admit the illegal aliens weren't human and they were using magic? What would happen when the lid was finally popped off the underworld for everyone to see?

“It could get pretty ugly,” I said finally. “Like, total breakdown of society ugly. But it would get even worse. Once it became clear L.A. had really been invaded by magical beings from another plane of existence…no options would be off the table.”

“Exactly. And King Oberon didn't wait all this time to eat a nuke the moment he finally makes it back.”

“So, no army.”

“Right. Not at first, anyway. Not until he's established himself here and consolidated enough power to sit down at the negotiating table as an equal among the nations of this world.”

“That's what he wants?”

“Of course. Long ago, even before my time, Arcadia was an empire that stretched from what is now Greece to the British Isles.”

“Arcadia. I thought that was just the fairy name for our world.”

“It is. For King Oberon, our world and his rightful kingdom are one and the same.”

“That's ambitious.”

“Yes, but he has to bide his time. His kingdom will not be built in a day. As you've discovered, he is exceedingly patient.”

“Is he evil, boss? I mean, what he did to you…”

Rashan was silent for a time. “You will drive yourself mad trying to answer such questions,” he said finally. “You've learned how difficult it is to apply such categories even to sorcerers. Let it suffice that different rules apply to King Oberon, just as they do to us. Never doubt, he is capable of great cruelty—but also great kindness and beauty. Perhaps such balance is the only thing to which any of us can aspire. Perhaps we must leave good and evil to mortal men.”

“If you say so. Anyway, we just have to take out the gate. That's his Achilles' heel. It's the only reason he really needed Papa Danwe. For everything else, he could have used his own minions if he'd had to. But he needed someone in this world to throw open the door and let him in.” Just as Honey had needed me.

“I concur,” Rashan said.

“I'll take a few guys to hit the gate. I'll mobilize the rest of our soldiers and hold them in reserve, just in case some of those tactical teams slip through.”

“I think I chose well, Dominica.”

“I better get down to Crenshaw, boss. When he finds out his changeling is dead and his plan has gone sideways, Oberon will move fast.”

“There's one other thing.”

“What's that?”

“Perhaps you didn't tell me the truth about your relationship with Adan, with the changeling, because you thought I wouldn't approve.”

I didn't say anything.

“You should know that if you're good enough to be my champion, you're good enough to be my daughter. It would have made me proud.”

“Thank you, sir.” I had to fight against the sudden tightness in my throat to get the words out. I thought there might be a lot of other things I wanted to say, but I didn't have the guts. I switched off the phone and put it away.

“I'm coming with you, Domino!” The pixie dust was flying off Honey like Kansas topsoil in a tornado, and most of it was deep red.

“I said no, Honey. This isn't your fight. I could never have made it this far without you, and you know how much I appreciate it. But I'm going to war with your king. I can't let you put yourself in the middle of that.”

“I'm already in the middle!”

“You can stay here—all of you—for as long as you want. I'll protect you and your family. But you're not coming with me.”

Honey started singing in that strange language of hers. I couldn't understand any of the words, but suddenly I understood why she had to come with me.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I guess you're right. You have to come with me. You can help. If I try to do this without you, I'll just get myself killed.”

Shaking her head in disgust, Honey flew up to me and blew green pixie dust in my face. Why had I just agreed to let her come with me?

“I just put a glamour on you, Domino.”

I shook my head, trying to clear out all the pixie dust that seemed to be dancing around in there. “Jesus. Kinda like the Jedi mind tricks I use on bouncers.”

“And I didn't have to release you from it if I didn't want to. I only did that because we're friends.”

“Yeah, thanks. So like I was saying…”

“No, Domino. Don't you see? You had no protection from my glamour. You'll be helpless against the Seelie Court. You're not prepared for fairy magic. You need me.”

Honey had a point. How was I supposed to fight the fairies if the bastards could drop spells on me right through my defenses? I looked over at the soul jar where it still sat on the living-room floor.

“Don't even think about it, Domino!”

I went over and picked up the soul jar and sat down on the couch. I looked at it. I looked at Honey.

“No, Domino!” Honey screamed.

I shrugged and opened the lid. I let the juice of my three fallen soldiers evaporate out into the air. I only took the changeling's juice. I tapped it just as I would tap the ley line under my building, but I didn't spin it into a spell. I just took it all in, letting that bone-cold juice seep into my mind and soul.

I knew how to do it, but I'd never squeezed anyone before. It had never come up. It wasn't like learning a new spell, or even learning to use magic for the first time. It wasn't like learning at all. When it was over, when I'd sucked every last drop of the changeling's juice out of the jar, I just had his magic in me.

“Cool,” I said, and tossed the soul jar onto the couch.

“That should have killed you, Domino,” Honey said. Her face was pale and she was trembling.

“Didn't.”

“I can see that. I don't understand it.”

“I am Dominica Riley, called Half-elven. My father was a fairy prince exiled to this world long ago, and he hooked up with Mom when he was passing through L.A.”

“Really?”

“No. He was a deadbeat drunk. Split on us when I was two.”

“Not funny. So did it work? Can you…”

I nodded. “Yeah, I have it all, I think.” I pictured Anton in my mind, and just like that, I was an obese Russian man.

“That's disgusting, Domino.”

“I am becoming to be hungry,” I said in my thick Muscovite accent. “You have chips?” I laughed. The word sounded like “cheeps.” It sounded exactly like Anton. “R-r-ruffles have r-r-ridges,” I said, rolling the Rs dramatically.

“Ya umeu govorit' po russki,”
I said in Russian.

“What are you saying, Domino?”

“I said, ‘I can speak Russian.'” I laughed again, and shifted back to my own, more feminine Mexican-Irish form.

“That's great, Domino, but you still have to let me come with you.”

This time, I actually saw the cloud of pixie dust come billowing toward me. It was golden and glowing, like sunlight through a window, and I knew I was only seeing it because of the fairy magic inside me. I took a deep breath and blew. My breath was laced with sapphire juice. It cut through and dispersed the cloud of pixie dust.

“Damn,” Honey said.

I looked at the walls of my living room, and now I could see
Honey's paint job wasn't real. I saw the magic pulsing there, and I could see through it to the white drywall.

“Okay, Honey, you can come with me.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Now I know what you people can do, I'm going to need all the help I can get.”

 

Mom still lived in East L.A. in the house where I was born. I'd offered to buy her a condo in a gentrified neighborhood in Eagle Rock or Highland Park, but she said she'd never leave the barrio. As an outfit girl, I've learned to pick my battles. This was one I'd never win. Anyway, the barrio was still on Rashan's turf—she was probably safer there than she'd be in Beverly Hills.

Honey was nervous about coming to dinner. I guess fairies are a little skittish about revealing themselves to humans—unless they're playing an angle.

“You want to come with me? Okay, this is my first stop,” I said.

“I could be invisible,” Honey suggested, a worried frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Mom's a medium. She'd probably sense you anyway. Better if you just play it straight. Besides, I already told her I was bringing someone.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. She probably thinks you're a new boyfriend.”

Honey mumbled something I couldn't quite make out.

“What?”

“Nothing. Jesus, Domino, you could have told her what I am. She's going to be really disappointed.”

I shrugged. “I couldn't think of a good way to tell her you're a piskie. Better she just sees for herself.”

“You don't think it's going to freak her out?”

“It's not like she's never met a spirit before, in her line of work. She met Mr. Clean, once. Didn't care for him much.”

“She probably won't like me, either.”

“She'll like you fine. You might want to glamour up some clothes, though, just this once. Mom's pretty conservative.”

“You're a gangster and she accepts you.”

“Yeah, but I'm her daughter, so I have to work pretty hard at it to do anything wrong. Besides, the way Mom sees it, living a life of crime and violence is one thing. Naked women are something else entirely.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“Well, maybe you want to explain that to her. Just let me know so I can go somewhere else.”

Honey sulked most of the drive out to the barrio, but she dusted up a pretty little floral sundress before we pulled up outside the well-kept bungalow. Mom was waiting for us at the door when we stepped onto the porch.

“I've been waiting for you, Dominica,” Mom said.

“You can see the future, Mom. I guess you knew we'd be late.”

Gisela Maria Lopez Riley was fifty-four years old, but she looked at least ten years older. Life in the barrio raising a juvenile delinquent tomboy as a single mother will do that to you. There was as much silver in her hair as black, and the deep creases in her face spoke of hard years. But she was still just as slender as she'd been as a young girl when she met my father. They'd been the kind of Roman Catholic couple that ordinarily has at least eight kids, but then Dad took off. I had the feeling Mom would have gladly traded her figure for another half dozen
niños
.

“Where is your friend, Dominica?” Mom asked, as she
led me into the house. The living room was where she conducted her business, and it was filled with the trappings of the Mexican
bruja.
Portraits of Jesus and the Madonna shared space on the darkly painted walls with crucifixes and indio art. Statues of the saints and candles of all sizes and colors huddled on every horizontal surface. A dramatically hideous beaded curtain set off the room from the rest of the house.

“She's here, Mom.” I turned and looked behind me, but there was no sign of the piskie. I patted the front of my jacket and lifted the lapels to look inside.
Nada.
“Honey, come on,” I said. “This is ridiculous.”

Honey dropped her invisibility glamour and materialized right in front of my mother. She'd brought a tiny flower from her garden, and she offered it shyly. “Hello, Mrs. Riley. It's very nice to meet you. I'm Honey.”

Mom's eyes grew wide, and for a moment I feared cardiac arrest was imminent. Then she laughed, and it was a sound I recognized very well from my childhood—the sound of simple delight in small things. She took the flower and set it carefully in her hair.

“Thank you, Honey,” she said. “It's a pleasure to meet you, too, and welcome to my home.”

After that, I didn't get in another word until we'd finished dinner. I helped clear the table and then went out on the porch to smoke while Mom and Honey took care of the dishes. Yes, I offered to help. No, they didn't let me because I'd just be in the way. Both were familiar with my housekeeping skills.

When they were finished, they came out to the porch to join me and enjoy the cool evening. We sat on the swing together, with Honey perched between us. They chatted like they'd lived next door to each other all their lives. Mom was telling Honey about a client of hers, an elderly widower who
had—to hear my mom tell it—more or less ignored his wife for the fifty years of their marriage. Now that she was gone, he was distraught and desperate to contact her in the Beyond. The overall theme seemed to be the general pigheadedness of men.

After an hour or so, they'd said all they could say about that. Their attention turned to me.

“Why are you so quiet, Dominica?” my mother asked. I thought about mentioning that I couldn't get a word in edgewise, but I didn't think about it long. I generally keep the sarcasm holstered when I'm talking to Mom.

“I'm fine,” I said. “Great dinner, Mom, thanks.” I'd never found a better tamale, and I'd been all over L.A. looking for one.

“She's not fine,” Honey said. “But she'll never admit it. She's very stubborn.”

“She certainly is that,” my mother agreed. She looked at me, and covered my folded hands with one of hers. “Your world is changing, Dominica, and you're not sure about your place in it anymore.”

I nodded. There wasn't any point denying it—you give up a certain amount of privacy at a young age when your mother is a fortune-teller. Besides, this was why I'd come. I needed her. Chavez was pulling everything together in Crenshaw, and this was my last chance for a reality check before I went to war.

“It's the magic. I'm not sure I can handle it. I'm hurting people, Mom, you know? I don't mean to, but I do. But it'll hurt people if I stop, too.”

My mother was silent for a time. I was afraid of what she would tell me—I wasn't expecting any sympathy. Finally, she spoke. “Every night, when I was a little girl, I prayed to the
Madonna and begged her to take this burden from me. Surely what I do is a sin! Am I not interfering in God's plan? Who am I to look into the future, to try to change it by telling others what I see? When I commune with the spirits, am I damning my soul and those of the petitioners who come to me?”

I started to speak, but Mom shushed me. “No, let me finish, Dominica. The truth is, I don't know. I can't know. But when someone comes to me, and they are in pain, is it a lesser evil to just let them suffer, even though I have the power to help them?”

I shook my head.

“No!” my mother said, and there was strength and conviction in her voice. “What do I know of God's plan? The real arrogance is in thinking I
could
interfere with it. The universe, God's plan—these things are too big for me, Dominica. I am just a woman and God has given me a gift. I don't know why. I don't know why He chose me. But if one of His children comes to me, and I have the power to help them, I will
do
it. And now when I pray to the Madonna, I thank God for His gift and I praise Him for allowing me to serve Him in my way. Everything else—all these big questions—I leave that to Him.”

“You help people, Mom. I'm not reading palms and telling fortunes. I kill people. It's not the same.”

“Your path is harder than mine, Dominica. Your burden is heavier. I won't lie to you. What you do puts your soul in peril of Hell.”

“Thanks, Mom. I feel a lot better now.”

“The question is, are you willing to risk damnation for what you do? Is it that important? And if it is, do you have the courage to sacrifice your soul to do what must be done?”

At first, it didn't make any sense to me that God would
expect that kind of sacrifice. If you were doing something that doomed you to Hell, you probably weren't doing God's will, whatever that might be. Then I remembered Mr. Clean's account of Lucifer's Fall. Was this the sacrifice the Morning Star—the most exalted of God's angels—had been expected to make? What if God's plan really did require some to be damned in order to serve it? And even if that were true and not just the heretical ranting of a spirit with a questionable pedigree, what did I ever do to deserve the short fucking straw?

I shook my head. “I don't know, Mom. I hear what you're saying, but it sounds like a rationalization. It's just ‘the ends justifies the means' wrapped in convenient theology.”

“Of course it's ‘the ends justifies the means,' Dominica!” Mom seemed agitated. “Grow up, girl. Life isn't fair, and the right choices aren't always easy to come by, especially for a woman. If the ends we seek don't justify what we do, what else possibly could?”

I didn't have a good answer for that, but then I'm a gangster and not a philosopher. I was a little out of my depth. I didn't really care about the philosophy, anyway. What mattered was that it made sense to me. I was a criminal, and a killer. I had power that other people didn't, and using that power meant I would affect the lives of others in ways I couldn't even guess. Should I choose to wield it anyway?