Wen Spencer - Wolf Who Rules

The movie was obviously drawing to a close as Dorothy tried to convince people that her journey had been real.

"We wanted to go to the wizard," Tinker said. "But the road ends with the black willows, but they're also the trees in the movie that throw their apples. Esme keeps saying we need the fruit. I don't know. Do black willows even have fruit?"

Thankfully the movie was over and the credits rolled.

"I am not sure," Stormsong said slowly, "but I think, domi, finding out more about this Esme would be best."

"I'm going to have to talk to Lain about a lot of things." She went to her phone mumbling, "Fruit. Esme. Flying monkeys. Yellow brick roads. Munchkins."

She got Lain's simple unnamed AI. "It's Tinker."

"Tinker," Lain's recorded voice came on. "I'm going to be spending the next few days at Reinholds with the black willow. If you need me, you can find me there."

Tinker hung up without leaving a message. Sighing, she considered her home network. She should take it out before someone broke in and stole it. Pushing back from her desk, she lazily spun in her chair, scanning her loft. "I should really - you know - move out."

Oilcan glanced around, bobbing his head in agreement. "Yeah, unless you get divorced, I don't see you living here again. Well, I've got to go. I still have those last drums on the flat bed. I need to go dump them with the rest."

"See ya." She continued to spin, thinking of what she needed for the move. A truck. Boxes. People. As she considered how many boxes and how many people, she realized what little she really needed to move. Her computer. Her books. Her underwear. Most of her clothes were ratty hand-me-downs of Oilcan's, or too oil-stained to wear around the elves. Her battered furniture, her unmatched dishes, and all her other sundry things were just odds-and-ends she picked up over time and weren't worth keeping. She could have a yard sale. She could make up a flyer and put an ad in the newspaper. They would need a way to tag all her stuff, a cash box with a starter kit of change, a tent case it rained. They could sell hot dogs and sauerkraut to raise more money - except she didn't need money. Hell, a yard sale was a stupid idea.

She spun in her chair as plans came to mind and proved unneeded. And where would she move her stuff to? She supposed the computer could live in her bedroom at the enclave, but what about all her books? Her jury-rigged bookcases would clash horribly with the elegant hand-craved furniture. She could probably get bookcases. Snap her fingers. Make it so. But where would she put them?

Windwolf didn't fit into her life, but did she fit into his either?

She bumped into something and stopped spinning.

Stormsong stood beside her, looking down at her. "You're going to make yourself sick doing that."

"Pshaw." She stood up and toppled over.

Pony caught her and carefully put her back into the chair.

"I wish you guys wouldn't hover." Tinker snarled as they stood over her.

Pony crouched down so he was now eye level with her. "You are still upset."

She sighed and leaned her forehead on his shoulder. "I don't like being like this. This isn't me. I feel like I'm living without my skin. Everything hurts."

He put his arms around her and eased her into his lap. " Domi, I have been with you every day for some time now. I have seen you happy and relaxed. I have seen you bored. I have seen you snarling into the face of the enemy. And you were always yourself until two days ago. Something has changed."

"Do you think the oni dragon did something more to me that just draw magic through me?"

He considered for a few minutes, and then shook his head. "I do not know, domi."

"How do we check?" She asked.

He and Stormsong exchanged looks.

"Let's go to the hospice," Stormsong said. "And have them check you."

The hospice people poked and prodded and did various spells on her and shook their heads and sent her home feeling even more unbalanced. Her beholden fended off Windwolf's household, else she probably would have been doused again with saigin and put to bed. Ironically, the only place she had to retreat to was her bedroom which didn't feel like home.

"There's no me in this room!" She paced on the bed just to get as tall as the sekasha. "This is not a room I live in. I need a computer. And a television. Internet connection! Is it any wonder that I feel like I'm going nuts when the most mechanical item in this suite is the toilet? Hell, I don't know even where to find my stuff! Where is my datapad? Where's - where's - shit, I don't even own anything anymore!"

The sekasha nodded, wisely saying nothing, probably thinking she was insane.

"I mean, how am I suppose to do anything? I know I have stuff. I had you put stuff in the car to bring home. Where did it go?"

"I will find it." Stormsong said and went off to search. She returned while Tinker was still pacing the bed with the mp3 player Riki left for her at Turtle Creek, the Dufae codex, her grandfather's files on the flux spells and Esme, and a bottle of ouzo. Of course everything cleaned and given lovely linen binders tied with silk ribbons. Elves!

Tinker settled down with the file and a glass of ouzo. Smart female Stormsong. Must keep her. She tossed the player onto the nightstand where she might remember to take it to Oilcan, dropped the codex and the flux folder onto the floor, and opened up Esme's file. As she noticed earlier, the file contained general public information. NASA bios. Newspaper clippings. Interspersed into it, though, was detailed personal information. One paper was a genealogy chart of Esme's parents going back a dozen generations on both sides. Another set of papers chronicled out medical histories for family members. Another sheet claimed to be account numbers for a Swiss bank account. Tinker weeded these unique papers out, wondering how and why her grandfather had such information on Lain's sister. Lain herself, she could understand. But Esme?

Last item in the file was an unlabeled manila envelope. She opened it up to find a photo of her father and Black wrapped in each other arms, looking blissfully happy.

"Who the hell?" Tinker flipped picture but the back was blank.

"What is it?"

"This is Black." Without her blindfold or hands covering her face, Black was clearly a tengu. She had the black hair, the blue eyes, and the prominent nose that in the males was very beak-like.

"This is Oilcan?" Stormsong pointed to Leo.

"No, my father." Tinker looked in the envelope to see what else was inside.

There was a handwritten note stating:

Two can play this silence game. I'm not going to let you pressure me into leaving her just so you can have grandkids. I've made a deposit at a sperm bank, just in case things change. I don't know what else I can do to make you happy. The next step is yours. If you don't call, this is the last you'll hear of me.

The attached form noted that Leonardo Da Vinci Dufae had deposited sperm to be held in cryo-storage for his personal use.

The last sheet of paper in the file was a form from fertility clinic on Earth. Tinker read over it three times before its full import hit her. It was a record of her conception.

Esme Shenske was her mother.

She was still shaking when she found Lain at Reinholds'. The xenobiologist was dressed in winter clothing and running the slim willowy limbs through a machine. She glanced up as Tinker stormed into the big freezer.

"What is it, dear?" Lain paused to pluck something off the limb and place it in a jar.

"Look at this! Look!" Tinker thrust the form into Lain's hands.

Lain took the paper, scanned it, and said quietly. "Oh."

"Oh? Oh? That's all you have to say?"

"I'm not sure what to say."