"It isn't all black and white. There's a lot of gray out there, Durrack."
"It's not the black, white, or gray that I'm worrying about. It's the blood red. I say if Tinker is out here, we stick them both away until next Shutdown and then smuggle them out to the States."
"We should make sure they actually like one another first. She might be lying about their relationship."
More than you can guess. Tinker watched as the second car in front of them got waved through. Tinker or Tinker's lover, she was slated to disappear after the hospice search, which meant she had to get away from them at the hospice. She mostly needed to get out of the car. She considered the tactics she could try, from asking to go pee to stating that she wanted to stay in the car. Just because they'd made the one mistake on her identity didn't mean they were truly stupid. Her real name was misleading, and she didn't remember the application asking for gender or age.
She considered the hazards of being locked in the car, in case her ploy failed. Could she get out? Unlikely. Trying the reverse-psychology ploy of refusing to leave the car was too risky.
Might as well start working on the bathroom ploy. She tapped on the divider.
It was their turn through the security checkpoint.
Hannah slid down the window and handed out her NSA ID. Durrack handed his across via Hannah.
"We're looking for a human male," Hannah said in rough, slow Low Elvish. "The girl has no ID. She is our prisoner. We are responsible for her."
While they talked, Tinker pieced together a plea for help in High Elvish.
The elfin border guard glanced in the window at her. She mouthed the plea, just in case she didn't get the chance to talk to an elf at the hospice.
"Where do you seek this human male?" the elf asked Hannah, gazing intently at Tinker.
"The hospice."
The guard went off with their papers into the guardhouse. Tinker whispered, "Come on, come on," crossing the fingers on both hands. That simple magic didn't work, if it ever really worked. The guard returned and waved them through.
Hannah drove to the hospice and parked. Tinker's stomach churned nervously as they walked in. She needed to do this quickly, because the NSA were about to find out that she had been the only human ever treated here.
She picked the brawniest-looking of the elves in the foyer as the NSA agents checked stride, apparently scanning about for an equivalent of a reception desk. She locked eyes with the elf and said quickly, "Please, help me. I am in grave danger. Wolf Who Rules…"
Durrack jerked her back and slapped a hand over her mouth. "What the hell did you say?"
Hannah produced her ID and was saying carefully, "This one is in our care and might be charged with crimes. She is young and foolish."
Tinker hadn't thought of what the elves might do in response to her plea. She expected demands for identification and long legal proceedings. She was stunned as the elf unsheathed his sword in a ring of metal.
Durrack reacted instantly, shoving her aside to pull his own weapon. Hannah shouted, "Drop it! Drop it!"
Tinker scrambled to one side, swearing. This wasn't what she'd planned! Still, she'd be an idiot not to take advantage of the opportunity. She darted through the door and into the maze of hallways.
What had happened to her life?
One minute it was all so sane and orderly, and now look at her! They say that the elves really couldn't curse anyone. Elves could use their magic to turn a person into a toad, cause someone to become incredibly uncoordinated, or drop one's inhibitions like a six-pack of Iron City Beer, but really rotten, everything-turns-against-you-bad luck they couldn't do.
So why did it seem that someone had cursed her?
Tinker skittered on the slick stone to round the corner; then yelped as she came face-to-face with armed men in EIA uniforms. EIA? How did they get here so fast? Were they real EIA? She tried to turn, her stocking feet went out from under her, and she went sliding directly into them. In a frictionless universe, objects in motion stay in motion.
Durrack and Briggs came around the corner, and there was sudden excited shouting. She looked up to find the EIA and the NSA pointing guns at one another.
"NSA!" Durrack shouted. "Put down your weapons!"
"EIA!" the others yelled back. "Drop it!"
Tinker edged toward the closest doorway. No one really seemed to be paying attention to her, but then, she didn't have a gun.
"This girl is in our protective custody," Briggs growled.
"Drop the guns!" the EIA or EIA look-a-likes shouted. "You're not doing anything until we see proper identification and clearance papers."
Tinker bolted through the door.
Behind her, Durrack didn't seem to notice she had fled. "This is code black!"
Nor had the EIA. "I don't give diddly what color it is. This is Elfhome!"
After thoroughly losing herself, she slid through a door and discovered she was at a dead end in an empty patient room. She could hear booted feet echoing through the halls, rapidly approaching her, cutting off other possible exits.
Hiding looked like her only course. Other than the bed, nightstand, and guest chair, the only piece of furniture was a large wardrobe. She opened the door and found that the bottom was taken up with drawers. What kind of wardrobe was this? The upper part was one tall shelf, about the size of a dress shirt. Oh well! She scrambled up onto the shelf and closed the door with her fingernails.
The pounding of her heart covered all sound until someone entered the room in long booted strides. The footsteps continued straight to the wardrobe. The door opened, and Derek Maynard studied her. Hovering over his shoulder was a locate spell.
"There are times I hate magic," Tinker sulked, remaining tucked on the top shelf.
"You are a hard girl to keep pinned down." Maynard motioned her out.
"Unfortunately, not hard enough." She reluctantly unfolded and swung down off the shelf.
Maynard reached into his pocket and produced a bright yellow rectangle. "Gum?"
"I've been told not to take candy from strangers."
He raised one eyebrow, as if saying "Get real" or "How wise" or something truly witty. Tinker supposed that was one of the benefits of keeping one's mouth shut—people made up better dialogue for you than you yourself could imagine. Then again, the trick would never work for her; she couldn't stay quiet. She scowled at him and took the offered piece.
The gum filled her mouth with sweetness, and ran counter to her banging heart.
"Juicy Fruit," She identified the brand. "They say that elves love this stuff."
"Juicy Fruit and peanut butter." Maynard unwrapped a piece for himself. "I have always wondered if it's a cultural thing or something more genetically based. Gods know there are human cultures that have weirder tastes."
She shrugged, not knowing or caring. Why were they standing there trading inane remarks? If Maynard had tracked her down, did it mean that he was going to turn her over to the NSA and correct all their misconceptions? Maynard had been studying her while making what seemed to be a deliberate show of chewing the gum. He reached out now to rub the triangular mark between her eyebrows.
"Where did this come from?"
"Windwolf." She jerked her head away. It occurred to her that if any human knew what it was, Maynard would. "What does it mean?"
"The elves run a rigid caste system, but sometimes a high-ranked elf can elevate a lower-rank elf. He marks them with a dau." Maynard tapped her forehead again. "And they become part of his caste, with all rights and privileges."
"Why'd Windwolf do it to me?"
"Why didn't you ask him at the time?"