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The announcer was discussing the deaths. “All five are victims of a brutal massacre, perpetrated by the rogue vampires. The Crimson Court has put out a bounty on their heads, but it is only available to members of the Vampire Nation. All mortals are urged to avoid engaging them. I repeat: They are dangerous and will kill without provocation. The names of the dead are Robert Higgins, George Wendell, Mary Booth, Tregar Johnson, and Lida Lavine.”
Peyton’s head shot up. “Lida Lavine? Oh, that’s going to go over well.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
“The daughter of one of the most influential members of the Lupa Clan. She’s a werewolf, and you know how the lycanthropes feel about the vampires.” The look on her face said everything I was thinking.
Werewolves hated vampires, and they despised the magic-born. Come to think of it, they pretty much didn’t like anybody but their own kind. They were the thugs of the Supe world, always in a gang, always banding together.
“Well, fuck. I wonder if Regina knows that. She has to, I would think. But it’s going to mean an escalation in tensions that don’t need any flaming.” The Lupas were just waiting for trouble to set them off.
My phone rang, and I moved to the side to answer it. It was Ysandra Petros, the liaison between the Consortium and the Moon Spinners.
“Cicely, the Consortium has ordered you and Rhiannon to appear before the Elder Council.” She didn’t exactly sound worried, but I could hear an edge to her voice.
“Why?” My first thought was, Too bad, get in line, but I didn’t say it. I liked Ysandra, and while I had a natural antagonism toward authority, the Consortium had been a big help to us when we were fighting off the Shadow Hunters during the last big skirmish.
“I don’t know, but they’ve required your presence. I told them you can’t possibly come before your initiation. I think…appearing as the Fae Queens…might better whatever position you have or need with them.”
I pressed my lips together. She had a good point. “I think you’re right. Did they accept your answer?”
“They don’t have much of a choice. If you were just a regular society member, then it wouldn’t fly, but seeing that you are both going to be leaders of your people, there’s not much they can do to press the matter. I’ll be in touch with you soon.” And abruptly, she hung up. Ysandra wasn’t rude, but she was brusque, and direct. I liked that.
As I hung up I caught sight of the time. We had to be back to the Barrow by noon, and while it wasn’t that far to the Golden Wood, the walk back through the forest would take us a while—at least those of us not full-blooded Fae.
Peyton hugged Rex as we headed out, and he waved us on. As the door closed behind us, I heard the locks slide shut, and I realized that no matter how safe a person or place felt, in our world, safety was merely an illusion.
As we walked through the silent forest, the snow began to drift down again, hard. The sky was overcast, silver against the backdrop of the trees encased in white. The snow muffled the sounds of our passing, and nobody seemed to feel much like talking. Ever since we’d driven Myst back, it felt like we were dancing on the edge of a razor blade, waiting for that one slip to slice the illusion of our success into ribbons. She was still out there, the queen of the snow spiders, the Mistress of Mayhem, and she wove her deadly traps out of sight now. In some ways, it had been easier when we knew where she was, but for now, we could only speculate.
A movement to the right, behind a huckleberry bush, caught my eye. I stopped as a withered old crone shifted from behind the foliage. She was gaunt, with long, lean limbs, and a tooth that cunningly curled out from her upper jaw, over her bottom lip. Straggled, matted white hair cloaked her shoulders, and her clothing consisted of strips of gray rags that seemed to be sewn together in the semblance of a cloak and dress.
It was the Snow Hag, one of the Wilding Fae. She and her people had pledged themselves to my Court, and they’d come to our aid during the routing of Myst from the Barrows. They were cunning, the Wilding Fae, and old beyond time, but they could be reasoned with, if you were clearheaded and clever about how you phrased your words.
I inclined my head, acknowledging her presence—I’d recently found out she was considered one of the nobles among the loose-scrabble group.
“It would be a pleasure to speak with one of the Wilding Fae. One might wonder what she has to say.” I had been taking lessons from Chatter in dealing with the group, because he was extremely good at diplomacy and had a knack for navigating the treacherous territory that came with interacting with them.
She grinned, snaggletooth and all. “One would think a Queen-to-be has been practicing her decorum. One might appreciate the effort, if one was a member of the Wilding Fae.” She crept fully from behind the huckleberry bush. “This might be a time to discuss goings-on that are disturbing, should the Queens-to-be wish to further their knowledge.”
I sucked in a deep breath. Whenever the Wilding Fae were disturbed about something, you knew it was bad. I licked my lips. “Such a discussion might be productive on all sides. What would it take, one might wonder, to engage in this conversation.” I glanced back at Chatter and he nodded, encouragingly. It would seem I was holding my own.
The Snow Hag cocked her head to the side and caught a snowflake on her tongue. She touched her finger to her nose, then winked. “Some conversations have no price. Some discussions should be free of deals when events conspire that threaten the kingdom.”
That couldn’t be good. Whatever was going on had to be bad, if she was willing to give us information for free. The Wilding Fae loved to bargain, and when they were ready to forgo gaining something in return for their help…
I paused, then sucked in a lungful of the icy air. “It would seem that a Queen-to-be and one of the Wilding Fae might choose to discuss this matter, then.”
Again, the twinkle in her eye, both threatening and yet contagious. And then she licked one gnarled finger and held it up to the wind, turning it until she found what she was looking for. She nodded.
“The Mistress of Mayhem, she comes in on the wind again, but not alone. She has regained a following. This is known, not conjecture. Her Shadow Hunters arrive from other lands. They gather, not in the Golden Wood, but farther out—in the mountains, on the craggy slopes where they can hide. She sends her scouts down to the edges of the forest, where they scurry through the shadows, blending, hiding, bleeding the deer for life force. They are reconnoitering, observing, lying in wait. It is hard for them to be patient; they thirst—the Wilding Fae can feel their hunger and their thirst. But the Mistress bids them feast lightly for now, so not to give themselves away.”
I thought for a moment. We knew this would happen, but we didn’t know it had already begun. Turning my thoughts over in my mind, I grimly looked at her.
“One might wonder where the Mistress of Mayhem hides herself now. Would it be a chance that someone near might know her location?”
The Snow Hag cackled. “If one hereabouts had that information, a certain Queen-to-be would also have that information, but alas, there is no remedy. However, one might say that there are forces seeking her out, for just that reason. They sniff and seek and peek under branches, and root beneath the trees, hunting her down.”
So the Wilding Fae were trying to find Myst’s hideaway for us. That was some good news. I nodded. “One might wonder if there are still goblin dogs and tillynoks and ice spiders running free in the Golden Wood?”
