“What in the world are you doing out?”
“I was asked to come here,” I said.
“Asked- I’ll need a word with your mother. It’s dangerous.”
“I have Letita.”
“I can protect my charge,” Letita said.
“It’s dangerous in ways that-”
Auntie Marge closed her mouth as an argument between two women rose in pitch.
“-Have nothing to do with the monsters prowling the city,” Marjorie told me. “Why were you asked to come here?”
“I was supposed to help against the Thorburn Bogeyman.”
“Really? Nevermind. That’s done. It’s… resolved. Look, I should get you home. I’ll have a word with your mother another time. A twelve year old should not be here, with everything that’s going on.”
I invited a touch. Subtle cues. I’d already draped my hair over one shoulder. the shoulder closest to her was bare, but for the jacket I wore. The rest was height, distance, and the suggestion of anxiety.
Marjorie reached out to place a hand on my shoulder, partly reassurance, partly to guide.
“Abernathy?” she asked.
Essylt didn’t respond. A frown, a glance toward the larger group.
“This isn’t Behaim business,” Marjorie said.
“It’s junior council rules,” Essylt said, gruff, defensive. “I’m neutral, along with all of the kids and some of the monsters.”
Amusing, Essylt pretending she wasn’t one of the monsters.
“The junior council back each other up. She couldn’t come alone, or with just Chloe.”
“Small mercy, that,” Marjorie said. “We might need to hold onto any ties we have with other families. Even if it’s the loyalty of the youth. Thank you for watching over Joanna and Chloe, Abernathy.”
“Sure,” Essylt said.
Oh, she did like to be less proper, when she had the chance.
There was a sound of steel being drawn from a sheath.
Like the movements of a dance. Turning around, backing away. One hand clutching Auntie Marge’s wrist, to control how she moved, to keep leaving.
As bends in the rule went, it was silly, but it had been established, and a faerie must do as a faerie must do, even if it’s a silly, self-imposed rule.
The Goblin King’s familiar had drawn a blade.
An argument grown too heated.
“I was promised certain connections,” the Goblin King said. “Connections I see dissolving before my eyes.”
“Calm down,” the Architect replied. “You’re making this worse, not better, by bringing violence into it.”
“Violence?” The Goblin King asked. “This is mere emphasis to a goblin.”
“Slitting a throat is emphasis to a goblin,” Teresa Duchamp commented.
“Good point, good point!” The Goblin King declared, obviously agitated. “Yes. Should I start doing that? Or could Sandra Duchamp please break her silence to tell me that I didn’t just waste the last six years of my life supporting a family that’s clearly unable to follow through on promises.”
Sandra looked up to make eye contact with the man.
Delicious. Fantastic.
There was an art to the interplay between Faerie. Cleverness, layers. But sometimes one wanted the equivalent of trash television when they were looking for amusement.
The Goblin King’s emotions ran high, while Sandra stood on a precipice. Someone would walk away wounded, here. Maybe not a physical wound, but something vital would be lost.
“I should get you out of here,” Marge said.
“Is Sandra going to be okay?” I asked. “I want to watch.”
She pursed her lips.
Then, coming to a decision, she used the hand on my shoulder to guide me away. I resisted just a fraction, but I let her make some headway. Continuing my slow travel away. Still moving slow enough to see the show.
Sandra’s troll moved at her side as she squared off against the Goblin King.
“We’ve been reasonable with you,” she said. “Tonight’s events were-”
“Reasonable my ass,” the Goblin King said. “We’ve all been very politely ignoring the so-called elephant in the room. Our children?”
“Ah,” Sandra said.
“Blond haired, blue eyed girls. I’ve seen the photos. Each looks just like their mothers. Nothing of their fathers in them.”
Sandra was mute.
“Nothing to say? No clever words? No more trickery? Why couldn’t you tell the Thorburn monster anything? Show some conviction, bitch!”
A bit of a snap to his words, bite. Given a push, he might have literally started biting. Alas, I’d sworn to avoid interfering.
“Believe me,” Sandra said, her voice level. “I don’t lack conviction.”
“You failed,” the Goblin King said. “Your trap didn’t work. You let several of us die.”
“The ones who died were the worst of you,” Teresa Duchamp said.
“Don’t defend the Thorburn’s actions,” Camille said.
Ah, an exquisite sort of torture, this. A feast for the senses. Thousands of details, body language, eye contact, word choice, the size of the cloud that their mouths produced when they huffed, sighed, or spoke. Everything that was happening had countless implications. My imagination was afire.
I write this and I admit, I didn’t let the Thorburn win. That had more to do with other agencies at play. But if I didn’t try my utmost, knowing that this would happen might have had something to do with it.
There was something special that came to the fore when mortals were involved. Dealing with another faerie, immortal until killed, there were layers on layers involved. Schemes and double crosses over double crosses until one could lose track.
With mortals, it was temporary. Like sculpted ice or a sand castle in the tide’s reach, it wouldn’t last.
Here, in this time and place, it was all the more temporary. Sandra had tried to blackmail me, and had graciously conceded when I didn’t bow to it, offering a chance to deceive Mr. Thorburn instead. Her blackmail had failed for three reasons.
The second reason was that I had no reason to expect any of these individuals to still be here, when the Court came calling. Humans knew my secrets and didn’t even know that the important ones were secrets. Yet I had no reason to expect they would live long enough for it to matter.
I saw the Goblin King’s posturing, the threats. Sandra’s deflections, where she spoke at all.
“You failed, Sandra,” the Goblin King spoke.
“Yes.”
“Your own husband turned on you.”
“I don’t deny that, but there’s context that colors it.”
“You need to step down,” the Goblin King said. “I need to never have to see your face again.”
“I can’t step down,” Sandra said. “There’s too much in play. Other deals I’ve made.”
“How very unfortunate,” the Goblin King said. The words were a threat.
Old Hildr stepped forward. Gallowscream the goblin familiar stepped forward as well.
Noble of Sandra to do what she was doing. I doubted the Goblin King was aware, but I suspect many of those present were savvy enough to see.
Falling on her sword.
If she stepped down, the individual to take over would inherit an impossible situation. They would fall as well.