Laura Gilman - Soul of Fire

“Oh, god, I hate this,” she muttered.

Jan had lasted exactly one year in a traditional job before finding one that allowed her to telecommute. Most of her day had been spent working in front of monitors, interacting with people via text or the occasional vid conference. Jan hadn’t been required to attend meetings in person, much less expected to lead those meetings. Fortunately, Ops— her team—was easy enough to manage, once she had all her geeks pointed in the same direction.

She took a deep breath and said her mantra, the same one she had been saying for weeks now: You are Jan Coughlin, who was chosen out of how many others to save the world; you have survived gnome attacks and the preter court, being attacked by creatures you can’t identify, and this briefing is by comparison a piece of cake. Damn it.

The communications room had taken over what had been the front parlor in the original farmhouse. The rest of the main floor had been given over to the work space she’d been using earlier, the constant flow of people making it unworkable for conferences of any size and impractical for any kind of privacy. So they’d kicked out the supers who had been nesting in the parlor, cleared all the furniture out, and replaced it with a narrow trestle table that could seat six with room for paperwork and coffee mugs, and hung a massive monitor on the far wall. When the brand-new communications system—ordered and installed by Jan herself—wasn’t in use, the rest of the room was taken over for smaller meetings. But right now, it was filled with people, all waiting for her.

Jan was the only human in the room. She’d almost gotten used to that by now, shoving her way past Lisbet and Meredith, the lupin who had found them and brought them here after they’d come back through the portal, to get to her chair. They both looked up and nodded as she passed. Despite AJ’s original claim that supernaturals didn’t use tech, it had turned out that there were a number of them who not only did, but understood it better than their alleged human expert. Jan was a geek, but her skills were testing and repairing, not creating. There were ten members of her team, including Jan herself, and four of them could blow her out of the water when it came to figuring out how things worked.

Five if you counted the person on the screen.

“Hey, Janny-girl. You look like shite.”

Jan gave the speaker a finger and sat down, placing her reclaimed coffee on the table within easy reach. “Morning to you, too, Glory.” It was afternoon in the U.K. where the other woman was, actually, but Jan held that at eight in the morning she didn’t have to make allowances for anyone else.

The other woman raised her own mug in counter-salute, even as the display split, her image taking up the left-hand side, while another face appeared on the right.

“Hey, y’all.” The man in the new display waggled his fingers, and another hand reached in from offscreen to wave, as well. Kit and Laurie, out in Portland. It was oh-fuck-early out there, but the two of them had probably been up all night.

Glory, Kit, and Laurie: three of the five people Jan had dared contact after escaping the preters. The three of the five who had actually listened— believed. Or at least, not immediately assumed that she had lost her mind or that she was pulling the monster of all pranks.

Jan winced a little, thinking of the reaction of the other two, people she’d thought she could trust, could count on to have her back. One of them had been her boss—had been, since he’d fired her on the spot. Her only consolation was that if they failed and the preters overran this world, she’d be able to say I told you so. As consolation went, it sucked.

“All right, people, let’s get this show on the road,” Jan said, speaking louder to be heard over the chatter of voices, trying to project confidence and get-it-done-ness. She barely recognized her own voice. She wasn’t Linda Hamilton, Terminator -style quality, but there was grit in her that hadn’t been there a few months ago. And it wasn’t just the lack of sleep.

Nearly everyone on the Farm was part of the hunt for the preter queen or watching for some sign of renewed kidnappings. She—and her team—needed to figure out how to stop the new incursions, once and for all.

“Do we even have a show? Or a road, for that matter?” Meredith asked. The lupin would much rather have been part of the hunt; she had loudly regretted ever admitting that she’d once run a computer help desk, once it stuck her on the team.

“Meredith, please.” Jan raised a hand, and the lupin ducked her head in apology. Jan wasn’t even close to alpha, but AJ, who was, had told Meredith to obey the human, and so she would. “Do we have anything coming in, from any source?”

They had to shut this down. For now, the portals were few and far between, but the fact that they existed at all, outside the traditional connections between worlds, was bad enough. Nobody knew what the preternaturals could do if they succeeded in opening enough portals to come here en masse. Even discounting three-quarters of every fairy tale ever, Jan knew firsthand that they weren’t going to leave humanity alone.

Jan had seen what his preternatural seducer had done to Tyler. She had seen what became of the Greensleeves, the abandoned human slaves. She had looked into the eyes of the preter consort and seen nothing of compassion or kindness.

A world where preters could come and go freely, not bound by anything save their own whim, was not a good thing. Not for anything born to this world, human or supernatural.

That was why they were here. Four days and counting.

“Talk to me,” she said now, trying desperately to channel some of AJ’s natural take-charge-and-inspire leadership into her voice “Somebody tell me something good, something exciting, something that will make me giddy like a schoolgirl.”

There was a hesitant silence, and Jan wished that she’d gone back to get her coffee before coming in here. Then Kit started talking.

“Well, if nobody else wants to go first, I will. I’m pleased to report that our little rumor-string has hit critical mass and gone fucking viral.” He was clearly running on caffeine fumes at this point, red eyed and rumple haired, but his voice was certain. “Every person who’s ever even thought about using a dating site is going to hear the rumor about the slave-trade ring scouting for likelies.”

AJ hadn’t wanted them to focus any energy on that problem, but Jan had insisted. They didn’t know what sort of magic the preters were using to create the portals—before, portals had appeared at the whim of the seasons, or the stars, or something even more random, but Tyler’s experience with the preter-bitch Stjerne had made it clear that humans were at the heart of it now.

That had been the argument that Jan had used, that had made AJ agree, but Jan would have pushed for this no matter what her pack leader said. These were people being taken. Humans like Tyler. Taken, abused, broken...and, unlike Tyler, not rescued.

Jan might not be able to save everyone, but she would do her damnedest to make sure no more were lost.

“I still say we should have just taken down the dating sites altogether and been done with it weeks ago,” Lisbet said from the other side of the table. Jötunndotter were slow to move, their stonelike bodies heavy and stiff, but they had no patience with doing things slowly otherwise.

“Where’s the skill in that?” Kit was...enthusiastic. Preters or prototypes, he didn’t really care, so long as it was a challenge. Finding a way to warn potential victims without getting laughed off the internet, and making sure that it went viral, had been his personal side project, and he wasn’t paying attention to the bigger picture. Everyone kept sane in their own way, Jan supposed.