Mark Del Franco: Uncertain Allies

Ceridwen entered and placed two stone wards on the table. She no longer looked like the haughty fairy queen who had arrived in Boston determined to take me down. She retained the air of superiority all Dananns had, but months underground and building an army had hardened her appearance. Seeing the transition, I understood now why Maeve appeared to be such a bitch. A fairy at war was a formidable thing to behold. “These will reinforce your security alarms,” she said.

“Thank you.” I touched her arm, meaning it as no more than to show my appreciation for giving me safe harbor. A jolt went through me as a sliver of white light burned in my head. By Ceridwen’s reaction, it happened to her, too. We had both held the spear and bonded to it in our own ways. Something about touching each other called the spear from wherever it disappeared to when it was gone.

The air in the room crackled with the sharp scent of ozone. Essence burst from the ceiling as the spear plunged down and embedded itself in the floor between us. It glowed white-hot, bristling with energy, then sank through the floor, oozing out a pool of essence before it vanished. The pool coalesced into a smoldering amorphous lump of essence that pulsed and shivered.

“The poor thing,” Ceridwen said. She stooped and picked up the lumpy mass and cradled it against her chest. The shape burned with intensity but didn’t hurt her.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

Ceridwen shushed me, giving me her shoulder as she hummed under her breath. The shape dimmed and stretched, appendages appearing and flailing at the air. It contracted as she chanted. A burst of pink essence blinded me a moment. When my vision cleared, a sound came out of me, one I didn’t hear from myself often. My throat thickened, my chest aching with emotion as I suppressed another sob. “Is he all right?”

Ceridwen lowered Joe onto the bed with gentle care.

“He’s fine. He needed to remember what he was,” she said. He slept, his wings spread flat, his mouth wide open. He looked how he always looked with a hangover.

Ceridwen moved to the window. Beyond the rooftops across the way, a blue haze shimmered to the southwest. “The humans have moved their troops into position on this end of the Weird. Eorla’s people are watching the perimeter, and I am maintaining the shield for her. For both of us,” she said.

Donor had accomplished his goal. Eorla was being blamed for the destruction of the Guildhouse, with me as her accomplice. They were still counting the dead. The story suited Maeve, and she railed against terrorists in press release after press release. The Teutonic Consortium played the same theme with more emphasis on the role of solitary fairies. For once, both sides acted together.

The official story was that Ambassador Aldred Core died in the collapse. The true story was Donor Elfenkonig, the Elven King, was dead. No one knew outside a small circle of fey and maybe a select human or two. Maeve kept her silence, waiting to see who would take the reins now that her chief adversary was gone.

I tore my gaze away from Joe. “Will you promise not to hurt the humans?” I asked.

Her lips pulled into a taut line. “In war, one can never make such promises.”

“You’re not at war with them,” I said.

She glanced at me with understanding. “I know what you’re feeling, Grey. I know what it means to protect people who depend on you. The failure to do so is the pain of leadership, but the Wheel of the World turns as It will. I will do my best to keep this between me and Maeve. That is all I can promise.”

I glanced back at Joe.

“That will have to be enough,” I said.

UNSHAPELY THINGS

UNQUIET DREAMS

UNFALLEN DEAD

UNPERFECT SOULS

UNCERTAIN ALLIES

SKIN DEEP

FACE OFF