"Because I’m Edwin Drood," I said. "And I always have been."
I armoured up, the living gold covering me in a moment. Molly scrambled onto her feet, glaring at me with wild, dangerous eyes. Her ruby mouth contorted with rage as she raised one hand into a spell casting position. I made myself stand very still, my arms limp at my sides, my hands conspicuously open and empty. She stood there, breathing harshly, and then slowly she pulled back from the edge and lowered her hand.
"Take off the armour," she said harshly. "I won’t talk to you while you’re wearing the armour."
With the armour off, I’d be defenceless. She could kill me, torture me, or mindwipe me into her slave; all things she’d threatened to do in the past. But I had come to her, so I had to make the gesture of trust. Of vulnerability. I subvocalised the Words, and braced myself as the living gold disappeared back into my torc. Molly looked me over, as though searching for signs of treachery, and I looked back at her as calmly as I could. Molly nodded slowly and moved a single step closer.
"I heard about what happened, on the motorway. About all the things your family sent after you. People all over town are having a hard time believing you fought them all off. I mean, no offence, Edwin, but…no one on the scene ever thought you were that good. Did one of the Fae really shoot you with an arrow?"
Moving slowly and carefully, I unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it back to show her the arrow wound in my shoulder. Molly took another step forward to study the healed wound more closely. She didn’t touch me, but I could feel her warm breath on my bare skin as she leaned in close. She pulled back again and met my gaze squarely. She was taller than I remembered, her eyes almost on a level with mine. She smiled suddenly, and it was not a pretty smile.
"So; Drood armour can be breached, after all. That’s a thing worth knowing. I could kill you now, Shaman. Edwin."
"Yes," I said. "You could. But you won’t."
"Really? Are you sure about that?"
"No," I admitted. "You’ve never been…predictable, Molly. But I’m not your enemy anymore. I’m not Drood: I’m rogue. That changes everything."
"Maybe," said Molly. "Convince me, Edwin. I can always kill you later, if I get bored."
I relaxed just a little and buttoned up my shirt again. Give me an inch, and I can talk anyone into anything. "You’ve tried to kill me often enough, in the past," I said. "Remember the time you blew up the whole Bradbury building, just to get me? The look on your face when I walked unharmed out of the ruins! I thought you were going to pop an artery."
Molly nodded, smiling. "Do you remember the time you stuck me through the chest with three feet of enchanted steel? Only to discover that like all good magicians, I keep my heart safe and secure somewhere else? I thought you were going to have a fit."
"We’ve lived, haven’t we?" I said dryly, and she laughed briefly. "We can work together," I said. "We want the same things in this, and who else has shared as much history as we have?"
"That makes sense," said Molly. "In a warped kind of way. Who knows us better than our enemies? Though I have to say the Shaman Bond thing came as a bit of a surprise." She cocked her head to one side, like a bird, considering me. "Why did you come to me as Shaman? You could have burst in here in your damned armour, safe from all my magics, smashed through my defences, and demanded I help you."
"No, I couldn’t," I said. "You’d have told me to go to hell."
"True, very true. You do know me, Edwin."
"Please; call me Eddie. And besides, I wanted to make a point. That I would share my secrets with you, if you would share yours with me. You know things, Molly, things few other people know; things you’re not supposed to know. And there are things I need to know about my family. Things that have been withheld from me." I looked around.
"And I really would like to know how you got a forest inside your house."
"Because I am the wild witch! I am the laughter in the woods, the promise of the night, the delight of the soul, and the dazzle of the senses. And because I hired a really good interior decorator. You never did appreciate me, Edwin."
"Eddie, please."
"Yes…You look like an Eddie. Now, if answers are truly what you want, look into my scrying pool. But don’t blame me if the truth you learn is a truth you’d rather not know."
Molly sat down beside her pool again, gathering her long white gown around her, and I crouched cautiously down beside her. The whole thing was a scrying pool? It had to be twenty feet across, easy, which would make it hellishly powerful. Molly slapped the flat of her left hand onto the surface of the waters, and the ripples spread out, pushing the lily pads to the borders of the pond. The crystal clear water shimmered, and then blazed bright as the sun, dazzling my eyes, before clearing abruptly to show me a vision of a man and a woman, in two different rooms, talking on the phone. I leaned forward as I recognised them. The man was the British prime minister; the woman was Martha Drood.
"You can See into the Hall?" I said, my voice hardly more than a breath. "That’s not supposed to be possible!"
"It’s all right," said Molly. "They can’t see or hear us. But listen now, and pay attention. You need to hear this."
"Look, this is your mess!" the prime minister was saying angrily.
"Drood agents, in full armour, fighting each other in full view of the public? Thank God the media didn’t catch it. Do you even realise what it’s going to take to put this right? The rebuilding, the witness intimidation programme, the hush money? All because you couldn’t take care of your own dirty work!"
"Stop whining," said Martha, her voice cold as a slap in the face.
"Damage limitations is one of the few things you’re actually good at. Probably because you’ve had so much experience at it. You will do everything you have to, and you’ll do it efficiently and well and very quickly, or I’ll have you killed and see if your replacement learns anything from the experience. Remember your place, Prime Minister. I got you elected so you could serve the family’s interests, just like your predecessors. The family knows best. Always."
"All right! All right!" The prime minister said defensively. "I’m on top of this, Matriarch. You don’t have anything to worry about."
"No, I don’t," said Martha. "But you do."
Molly took her hand off the water, and the vision disappeared. I looked numbly at Molly. "How could she speak to him like that? How could he grovel to her like that? She wouldn’t really have hurt him. We don’t do things like that. The family serves the powers that be; we don’t interfere. That’s always been our duty and our responsibility. To preserve—"
"Poor Eddie," said Molly. "You only wanted to know the truth because you didn’t know how much it would hurt. Well, here it is, so brace yourself. The family isn’t what you think it is, and it never was. Only those Droods at the very top of the family tree know what the family is really for. You protect the world, yes, but not for the people…for the establishment. The Droods work to maintain the status quo, keeping everyone calm and controlled, and the people in their proper place. Under the thumbs of those in authority. Droods aren’t the world’s bodyguards, and never have been; you’re enforcers. Bullyboys. Hammering down any nail that dares to stick its head above the rest.
"And after centuries of establishing power and control, along with the odd assassination of those in power who wouldn’t or couldn’t learn to go along to get along, even those who make up the official establishment have learned to be afraid of your family. Politicians all across the world are allowed to hold power only as long as they answer to Drood authority. Your family, Eddie, are the secret rulers of the world."