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“No, that’s the reality. New Hope’s home, where I raised you and your sister, where we made our life. They’ve twisted and burned what was my home, but that doesn’t mean we can’t and won’t take it back.”
“I lived here, started out here,” Rachel said, “but I wanted my own place, and an easy commute to the hospital. I didn’t grow up there like Katie, and wouldn’t know the area nearly as well as Jonah would, as he drove those streets every day as a paramedic.”
“We were based here, covered this section.” It took him back, those street names. “I imagine some of the buildings are gone, some of the streets destroyed, but the layout’s the layout. We took the boat from here to get out, decided to try for Hoboken.”
“Hell of a night,” Rachel said, and laid her hand over his.
“Yeah, it was.”
“We could get troops into Brooklyn by water. Boats, merpeople.”
Jonah nodded at Fallon. “There were bridges, tunnels.”
“Marichu says the tunnels, for the most part, are for the dead and the lunatics. The bridge from Manhattan to Brooklyn, destroyed, leaving Brooklyn essentially cut off. If we come in as you left, by the water, we can retake what they’ve claimed. From the outside in, while we flash more troops into the center. We do the same in Manhattan.”
“Arlys and I worked here, in Midtown. She lived close enough to walk to work. It all happened so fast,” Fred remembered. “People dying, people killing, people running. The magickals—well, there was a lot of confusion at first. I mean, one day you’re an intern, learning the ropes of broadcasting, running around New York with a cool job, a dumpy apartment you love, and the next you’ve got wings. It’s not like being born knowing. It’s a rush, and a little scary at first. Some couldn’t handle it, just went crazy, others went dark.”
“You didn’t,” Eddie reminded her. “Not my Fred.”
“You could have left,” Tonia pointed out. “Why didn’t you?”
“Arlys, the people we worked with. They needed me. After that last broadcast—God, that was awful—Jim, he was in charge then, said that Arlys had to get out, and I just knew I had to go with her.
“We walked down to Thirty-fourth—here.” She showed them on the map. “And walked the PATH tunnel to Hoboken.”
When she pressed her lips together, Eddie laid a hand on her thigh, rubbed.
“We got through it.” She put her hand over his for a quick squeeze. “The thing was, Hoboken was pretty deserted, but it wasn’t destroyed. Not even looted much.”
“PW base now, according to Marichu. We take it out,” Fallon said, “make it ours.”
“We’re fighting on a lot of fronts, Fallon.” With the others, Will studied the maps, old and new. “PWs in New Jersey, DUs and PWs in Brooklyn, military in Queens, and all of that in Manhattan.”
“That’s why we’ll win. Not in a day, not in a week, not in a month, but we’ll win. We’ll drive them out. I was conceived there, like Duncan, Tonia, Hannah. Ross MacLeod traveled back from Scotland to die there. The firsts of New Hope found each other there, and found their way out. Now it’s time to go back.”
She looked at Fred. “You could have escaped when the time came over the water on wing, but you went into the dark because a friend needed you. And you, Jonah, on the edge of despair, chose life because a stranger needed you. Arlys chose truth rather than the safety of lies. Chuck gave Arlys and Fred shelter and a way out. Katie gave a helpless infant a mother and family. Rachel stepped into the unknown because she was needed. My mother left everything she knew and loved, met a stranger and his dog on the road, and helped them. That’s what we take to New York. And that’s a powerful weapon.”
“Can’t argue with it,” Will admitted. “But I’d feel better going into this with a shitload of swords, arrows, bullets, and soldiers.”
“And we will. But we’ll also go with the light, strong and powerful enough to shut down the dark.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It felt a little strange, and altogether amazing, to sit in Fallon’s kitchen while she fixed breakfast. Just the two of them, Duncan thought, in the big house. Her parents and Ethan had left the day before, his mom had steadied up—with the framed picture of her family on the mantel.
He’d be a fool not to take advantage of some Fallon time. And he was nobody’s fool. For the first time, they’d spent the night together in that big house, and now the morning after.
He wondered if she wondered if this served as a kind of gateway into their future. And just where the gate would lead.
He let her cook because she made it clear he sucked at cooking. He didn’t think he was that bad, but why argue? Besides, he liked watching her—the confidence, even a little flair.
She set the plates on the counter, sat beside him.
“Looks great, smells great.” He sampled a forkful. “Tastes— Wow. What is it?”
“Pesto and roasted tomato omelette with some goat cheese.”
“Take after your mom. She’s the best cook in the world.”
“She’d say there’s not a lot of competition.”
“Are you worried about her, about them?”
She tasted the omelette, found herself pleased she’d pulled it off as she’d been taught. “No. I worried I’d worry, if you get me, but I’m not. It’s all steps somehow. I just wanted to fly, to take some time to think, and there was Lucy. Now through her maybe we get a couple hundred soldiers. And maybe one of them points us in a direction that gets us a couple hundred more.”
“We’ll need them. Is that what’s worrying you? New York. I hear the worry.”
“I’d be stupid not to worry. It’s a big bite. And what Will said the other day isn’t wrong. It’s not enough to be right. We need soldiers and weapons.”
He said nothing for a moment as they ate in the quiet hum of the kitchen, in the warmth of it while winter held cold and hard outside.
“They can’t always understand,” he began. “Will’s a hell of a commander. Tough, smart, courageous, committed. I learned how to fight from him—learned how to fight smart—but he can’t always understand. He accepts and respects magick. That can’t always be a snap, either, right?”
“I guess I don’t always think often enough from their side. Just listening to Fred, how she talked about those weeks in New York when everything changed. How she changed.”
“Will, Eddie, the other NMs—with the big exception being your dad—are always going to think the conventional way first. Even after twenty years in this world, they lived that long and longer in the other. I figure that’s a good thing.”
Curious, she shifted to him. “Why?”
“Because that’s how the world works now. The mix. We’re a mix of conventional—or what was conventional—and magickal. It works best when everybody accepts. You and me, we’ve got that mix right inside our own families. So does Will, so does Eddie. I figure that’s how it’s going to be now.”
“That’s another reason we’ll win.”
“Check that. I’ve spent some time at the barracks and the academy since I came back. Some students, some recruits are going to need more seasoning. You’ve got some like Denzel.”
It gave him a pang, always did, when he thought of his friend.
“He was never going to be a soldier,” Duncan went on, “but he thought—hell, lived to be one. Because he figured combat was exciting, dangerous, just plain cool.”
She thought of how desperately she’d wanted to use the sword hanging over the hearth in Mallick’s cottage because . . . cool.
“Didn’t you at first?”
“Maybe.” He added a half laugh. “No, hell yeah. Got that knocked out of me, thanks to Will.”
She got up to get more coffee. “We need the numbers, Duncan.”
“I hear you. Are you going to eat the rest of that?”
“Yes.” She poured the coffee, sat, picked up her fork. “The numbers determine how soon we can move on New York. Can you work directly with t
he ones you feel need that seasoning?”
“Sure.” Since it didn’t look like he’d get the rest of her omelette, he took his plate to the sink. Assumed, correctly, he’d take cleanup since she’d cooked. “I could use Mallick.”
She sighed. “I really wanted to give him some time at his cottage, but you’re right. He’s needed.”
When she finished, she cleared her plate, wandered to the glass doors. “I’ll spend some time on it, too. I need to go to the elf camp near the cottage, check in there, and up north. I thought Meda and I should scout in the West. We could pick up more. And I need to go back to the farm, the village. God, I miss the farm.”
Leaning on the door, she looked out at winter, the snow-covered garden, the woods beyond. “I don’t know if it’ll be home for me again. It’s like your mother talked about Brooklyn. It’s not home for her anymore. I don’t know if the farm will be for me, even though I miss it like a limb.”
“I’ll make a home with you.”
It took her breath so she had to steady herself as she turned to face him. He held a dishcloth, but, God, he’d never look domesticated. The winter sun streamed through the windows, pale as water, and flowed over the sword he wore, as she did, as routinely as another wore shoes.
“We can make a home. Here, there, somewhere else.”
“You’d leave New Hope if—”
“It’s you I won’t leave, Fallon.”
It trembled through her, the solid certainty of him, in him.
“Loving you makes me afraid,” she told him. “Afraid of what’s to come, where I’m leading others to go. Are you afraid?”
“Of dying in battle? Of losing someone else I love? Damn straight I’m afraid. And afraid doesn’t mean dick. Doing what’s next, that’s what counts.”
She let out a half laugh. “You’re the only one.”
“I’d better be.”
“No—such an ass—you’re the only one who measured up.”
