Bowman caught Czernowski as the policeman started to surge forward with a growl. “Czernowski!” Bowman slammed him against the wall. “Just deal with it! He’s rich and powerful and she’s fucking him. What part of this does not make sense to you? He drives a Rolls Royce and all the elves in Pittsburgh grovel at his feet. You think any bitch would pick a stupid Pole like you when she could have him?”
“He could have had anyone. She was mine.”
“The fuck she was.” Bowman growled. “If you’d scored once with her, all the bookies in Pittsburgh would know. You were always a long shot in the betting pool, Nathan. You were too stupid for her — and too dumb to realize that.”
Czernowski glared at his partner, face darkening, but he stopped struggling to stand panting with his anger.
Bowman watched his partner for a minute before asking, “Are we good now?”
Czernowski nodded and flinched as Tinker’s recorded voice gave a soft wordless moan of delight.
Bowman crossed to a section of the broken wall and pressed something and the sound stopped. “Viceroy, none of us like this any more than you do, but under international law, as of five years ago, this scumbag is within his rights to make this video.”
“He’s under elfin law now, and what he has done is unforgivable.”
“Your people don’t have technology capable of this.” Bowman waved a hand at the wallpaper. “So you don’t have laws to govern capturing digital images.”
Wolf scoffed at the typical human sidestepping. “Why do humans nitpick justice to pieces? Can’t you see that you’ve frayed it apart until it doesn’t hold anything? There is right and then there is wrong. This is wrong.”
“This isn’t my place to decide, Viceroy. I’m just a cop. I only know human law, and as far as I last heard, human law still applies.”
“The treaty says that any human left on Elfhome during Shutdown falls under elfin rule. The gate in orbit has failed — it is currently and always will be — Shutdown.”
Bowman wiped the expression off his face. “Until my superiors confirm this, I have to continue to function with standard protocol and I can’t arrest this man.”
“Then I’ll have him executed.”
“I can put him in protective custody,” Bowman said.
“As long as protective custody means a small cell without a window, I’ll agree to that,” Wolf said.
“We’ll see what we can do.” Bowman moved to handcuff the photographer.
Wolf felt a sudden deep yet oddly distanced vibration, as if a bowstring had been drawn and released to thrum against his awareness. He recognized it — someone nearby was tapping the power of the Wind Clan Spell Stone. Wolf thought that he and Tinker were the only Wind Clan domana in Pittsburgh — and he hadn’t taught Tinker even the most basic spells…
As the vibration continued, an endless drawing of power from the stones, cold certainty filled him. It could only be Tinker.
Tinker and her sekasha had neared the far side of the Ghostlands, crossing once again into Pittsburgh but on the opposite side of the valley. The road climbed the steep hill in a series of sharp curves. As they crossed the cracked pavement, Stormsong laughed and pointed out a yellow warning street sign. It depicted a truck about to tip over as it made the sharp turn — a common sight in Pittsburgh — but someone had added words to the pictograph.
“What does it say?” Pony asked.
“Watch for Acrobatic Trucks.” Stormsong translated the English words to Elvish.
The others laughed and moved on, scanning the mixed woods.
“You speak English?” Tinker fell into step with Stormsong.
“Fuckin’ A!” Stormsong said with the correct scornful tone that such a stupid question would be posed.
Tinker tripped and nearly fell in surprise. Stormsong caught Tinker by the arm and warned her to be careful with a look. Most of Tinker’s time with Windwolf’s sekasha had been spent practicing her High Elvish, a stunningly polite language. Stormsong had just dropped a mask woven out of words.
“For the last twenty-some years, I pulled every shift I could to stay in Pittsburgh—” Stormsong continued. “— even if it meant bowing to that that stuck-up bitch, Sparrow.”
“Why?” Tinker was still reeling. Many elves first learned English in England when Shakespeare still lived and kept the lilting accent even if they modernized their sentence structure and word choice. Stormsong spoke true Pitsupavute, sounding like a native.
“I like humans.” Stormsong stepped over a fallen tree in one long stride and paused to offer a hand to Tinker — the automatic politeness now seemed jarringly out of place. “They don’t give a fuck what everyone else thinks. If they want something that’s right for them, they don’t worry about what the rest of the fucking world thinks.”
The warrior’s bitterness surprised Tinker. “What do you want?”
“I had doubts about being a sekasha.” She shrugged like a human, lifting one shoulder, instead of clicking her tongue like an elf would. “Not any more. Windwolf gave me a year to get my head screwed on right. I like being sekasha. I do have — as the humans say — issues.”
That explained the short blue hair and the slight rebel air about her.
Stormsong suddenly spun to the left, pushing Tinker behind her even as she shouted the guttural command to activate her magical shields. Magic surged through the blue tattoos on her arms and flared into a shimmering blue that encompassed her body. Stormsong drew her ironwood sword and crouched into readiness.
Instantly other sekasha activated their shields and drew their swords as they pulled in tight around Tinker. They scanned the area but there was nothing to see.
They were in the no-man’s land of the Rim, where tall young Ironwoods mixed with Earth woods and jagger bushes in a thick, nearly impassable tangle. They stood on a deer trail, a path only one person wide, meandering through the dense underbrush. For a moment no one moved or spoke. Tinker realized that the birds had gone silent; even they didn’t want to draw the attention of whatever spooked Stormsong.
Pony made a gesture with his left hand in blade talk.
“Something is going to attack,” Stormsong whispered in Elvish, once again becoming the sekasha. “Something large. I’m not sure how soon.”
“Yatanyai?” Pony whispered a word that Tinker didn’t recognize.
Stormsong nodded.
“What does she see?” Tinker whispered.
“What will be,” Pony indicated that they should start back the way they had come. “We’re in a position of weakness. We should retreat to —”
Something huge and sinuous as a snake flashed out of the shadows. Tinker got the impression of scales, a wedge-shaped head, and a mouth full of teeth before Pony leaped between her and the monster. The creature struck Pony with a blow that smashed him aside, his shields flashing as they absorbed the brunt of the damage. It whipped toward Tinker, but Stormsong was already in the way.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” The female sekasha blocked a savage bite at Tinker. “Get back, domi — you’re attracting it!”
A blur of motion, the beast knocked Stormsong down, biting at her leg, her shield gleaming brilliant blue between its teeth. The Blades swung their swords, shouting to distract the creature. Releasing Stormsong, the creature leapt to perch high up the trunk of an oak. As it paused there, Tinker saw it fully for the first time.
It was long and lean, twelve feet from nose to tip of whipping tail. Despite a shaggy mane, its hide looked like blood red snake scales. Long necked and short legged, it was weirdly proportioned; its head seemed almost too large for its body, with a heavy jawed mouth filled with countless jagged teeth. Clinging to the side of the tree with massive claws, it hissed at them, showing the teeth.