Laura Gilman - Soul of Fire

That was, perhaps, why she remembered Cam’s name among all the others scurrying about. It had style.

“Approach me,” she said, using the remote controller to end the display on the screen. The human at her side stirred slightly; she had forgotten he was there. The brownie came into the room, its tasseled ears twitching only slightly, and made a deep bow as it came to the sofa, stopping just out of reach.

She noted that, and it amused her. She had never harmed any of her creatures, but it was good that they were aware she could.

“My lady, the loss of our previous House, while certainly insignificant, raises a point. Your court does not do you justice. This structure, while suiting your personal needs, cannot alone hold the fullness of those who wish to follow and serve you. We would extend your hold, with your permission, and secure your position.”

“And how would you do this, o ambitious one?” She smiled lazily, content to have him flatter but aware that even such a creature could move to its own whims and try to cozen her. In that, this realm was no different than the one she had abandoned.

“This town suits your desires. You do not wish to leave it. And so we have been scouting new structures to replace those lost. Structures that, once emptied, would serve as an antecourt for those who may not remain within your glorious presence but serve nonetheless. Not for your own self, but to extend your hold, even where you may not reside, that all will know who rules them.”

Nalith was definitely amused now. It had anticipated her desires, and that was to be applauded...but also to be watched carefully. Such an antecourt could easily be filled with those of their choosing, not hers. She had been queen too long, in a court ripe with challenges and intrigues, not to consider such a thing. “Where and when did such a lowly thing as yourself learn to twist words to your bidding so well?”

“My lady, I evolve but to serve.”

Its response made her laugh. It might even have been true; these creatures had a reputation of such.

“And how would you arrange to empty and then acquire these structures?” She leaned forward slightly, not enough to alarm the creature but to indicate that it had her full attention.

“We have ways of making humans...uncomfortable,” the brownie said. “What is done can be undone, and what was well-done becomes ill.”

That had the sound of something it had said before or heard often. Still, that made it no less appealing for being old. There was, she was seeing, a certain creativity in reusing things that had gone before in new ways. Like two versions of the same play, where the ending was the same but the motivations might be in doubt, results shifting minutely with new decisions.

Nalith considered the proposal and then decided in favor. No matter the ending, it would be something different.

“You have my permission.”

Permission had been all Cam was waiting for. Herself had plans, and so did he.

“I don’t like this.” Wallingford scowled out the window, his arms crossed against his chest. He was the oldest of the pack and least happy with anything they were doing

“It’s necessary.”

“I still don’t like it. Gnomes can’t be trusted.”

“They can be trusted to do what they’re set to,” Cam replied, masking his own unease, focused on the plan, the plans, hers and his, twining together, each needing the other to achieve, although she did not know that, of course; she could not know that. She would flatten him, flatten them all, if she suspected. Nalith might use ambition, but ambition must not use her.

“And after that?” Wallingford persisted. “They tend to get...overly focused on their goals. And carried away with enthusiasm.”

They both studied the group of gnomes huddled around a tent set up outside the house, at the far end of the oversized lot. There was a small campfire going, and half a dozen forms gathered around it—although there might have been less, or more, since the shadows kept changing shape slightly, making it impossible to count.

In theory, the supernatural creatures were all equal to each other, at least in their own minds. In practice...there were some species that did not play well with others. Gnomes, with ego matched only by paranoia and all that trumped by truly noxious eating habits, didn’t play well with anyone except themselves. The Wolf’s brigade wasn’t wrong in calling them turncoats, even if the Unseelie Court could fall under that same epithet themselves.

“They have done the job so far,” Cam said finally. “They fear her as none other. They will not cross her.”

“And if that fear is not enough, once they start? If they go too far, out of control? That will bring the Wolf’s eye to us here.” The other super shuddered. They had no fear of lupin in and of themselves—even a pack was merely a nuisance, in the normal course of events—but the Wolf was developing into an irritating sort of nuisance, the sort that combined violence and tactics and was becoming very good at removing threats.

The gnomes had tried to take him down once already—if on Nalith’s orders or another’s, none of them knew, and none dared ask. The point was that the gnomes had attacked en masse—and failed.

“Eventually,” Cam said, “my lady will have to deal with the Wolf, and she will do so in her own way. But for now, all gossip says they think the gnomes work for the old court, the portal-users. We will use that in our favor. By the time they realize otherwise, it will be too late, and we will be the only ones left standing.”

They had been out by the pond for an hour at least. Maybe more. Jan knew that she should go back to the farmhouse, should check in with someone, should see if there was anything that she could do, anything she should do. Instead, she lay back on the grass, stared up at the pale blue sky, and tried to remember when life had been normal.

She couldn’t.

“You all right?”

She smiled, a slight turn of her lips, less humor than appreciation. Martin had learned to ask that. Had learned that Jan’s silences sometimes meant something wasn’t all right.

Had it only been that morning she’d been on the porch with AJ, had talked with Glory? It felt as if it had happened the day before, or even weeks ago, the sense of urgency pounding in her veins muddling with the lack of sleep and the stress. Adding injury to insult, Jan was developing a headache that was settling in for the long haul. She probably needed to cut down on the coffee. Yeah, good luck with that.

“Another day, another lack of a dollar,” she said now in response to his question, not an answer but as much of one she could give him.

“Are you still stressing over not having a job?”

Jan laughed; she couldn’t help it. He sounded so puzzled. “No. I’m stressing over the fact that I’m not stressing over a job because we have so many other things to stress about.”

Martin watched the way she was rubbing at her forehead, and sat up, turning so that he faced her. “Turn around,” he ordered, his hands already positioning her so that she was now facing away from him, her legs crossed, her butt up against his own crossed legs. She obeyed, knowing what was coming even before his blunt-fingered hands started working on her neck and shoulders. His hands were strong but sure, moving over muscles like a trained masseuse.

“I don’t suppose you did this for a living?” she asked, her body starting to relax a little.

“What, back rubs? No.”

He didn’t say anything more, and Jan felt her curiosity pique a little. Most of the other supers she had met were perfectly happy to talk about their jobs, the things they did to make a living, just like humans. Martin never did. But she was afraid if she prodded, he might stop, and the quiet was actually kind of nice, so she just leaned into his hands and tried to relax.