Wild Things

She cursed, moved forward, dropping the blade and using the weight of her body to send me to the ground. My katana skidded away, and snow seeped into the gaps in my leather, sending wet trickles down hot skin.

“They’re my family,” she yelled, trying to pummel me into submission.

“They have . . . their own . . . families,” I reminded her. I grabbed her fist, twisted, and pushed her over, pinning her to the ground.

I was faster, but she was stronger. Regan screamed, threw me off and away. I flew back six feet, skidding across the ground.

I believe now I might join you, Ethan said.

Too late, I told him, wiping blood from my eye. She’s mine.

I put my hands behind me, flipped to my feet, and snatched my katana from the ground, spinning as I turned to face her again.

She flew out an arm and a crackle of magic that sent the tree behind us to the ground with an enormous crack. I jumped as it fell to the ground a foot away, branches swaying with the force of the movement, and a sizzling, chemical scent in the air.

“You’re a little old for tantrum throwing, aren’t you?” I asked, jumping atop a branch and rolling the katana in my fingers.

“I’ll show you a tantrum,” she said, holding out her palms, a fiery sword appearing between them. She immediately swung it at me, and I neatly dodged and sliced again.

“Of course she has a flaming sword,” I murmured, dodging another slice. Regan didn’t have the training—her movements made that obvious—but she had strength and magic enough to wield her flaming steel like a champion.

Sirens rose in the distance, and I caught my chance. I dodged, sliced, and moved gradually toward the sidewalk and the blue and red lights that were racing up the street.

She let out a low growl, my hair standing on end as she prepared to throw out another blade of magic.

I ducked and hit the ground as a sizzle lit the air. But it was Regan who crumpled, the sword in her hand disappearing with a puff of smoke.

We looked behind us, where Detective Jacobs stood beside a squad car, a Taser in hand. He smiled, his smile a deep crevice in his dark skin.

“Just thought I’d offer you a hand,” he said with a wink.

I’d always liked him.

• • •

Ethan applied the cuffs, and Catcher helped transport Regan into the back of Detective Jacobs’s vehicle.

When possession was transferred to him, they walked back to where Ethan and I stood by, just close enough to ensure she’d been taken into custody.

“That will hold her,” Catcher said. “They’re going to use the same dampening magic they used on Tate. Apparently the corrections departments across the U.S. have developed some pretty good skills in that area.”

“I’ll contact Gabriel,” Damien said, nodding toward Niera and Aline, who sat on opposite ends of a nearby bench. Even in crisis, there was no friendship between these particular clans.

Aline stood and walked toward us, looked at me and Ethan.

“I don’t know that I trust you. But I know how to give thanks where thanks are due.”

She held out a hand. Dumbfounded, I accepted it. The deed done, she turned and walked back to the bench, where she sat sullenly again.

“Well, that happened,” I said. “I don’t know if that moment of friendship will stick, but it’s a start.”

“Sometimes,” Ethan said, “that’s the best we can hope for.”

“And speaking of hope,” I said, glancing at Niera, “we have a truce to make good on.”

• • •

They stood in long, precise columns that stretched across the field near their village. They’d traded their simple tunics for gleaming armor and open helms with thin guards that covered their noses, and each held a bow and arrow. There must have been thousands of them, and they stood with robotic precision, ready for action.

Perhaps not so unlike the metaphorical locusts.

We stood in front of them, a smaller group than the last time we’d met. The Brecks, the Keenes, Ethan, and me. More vulnerable to the elves without an army behind us, and trusting that they’d stand by their word.

But not so trusting that we didn’t have our swords unsheathed and at the ready.

And at my side stood Niera. She made no sound, just as during the trip to the Brecks’ estate. But she’d stared at the sights with a mix of wonderment and fear that sent magic through the car. It seemed the elves had avoided all contact with the metropolis that lay at the edge of their territory.

The elf who’d presented us after the kidnapping—or so I thought, as like the fairies, they looked fraternally similar—stepped forward, a standard-bearer at his side.

“A truce was called,” he said, “pursuant to the terms of our pact. What say you now?”

Gabriel stepped forward. “Your clanswoman Niera was taken against her will, by a creature of immense power. We identified the creature. Tracked her. Obtained Niera’s release. And we bring her back to you today.”

He gestured toward Niera, who stepped forward.

The elf’s expression stayed mild, controlled, but there was relief in his eyes.

Niera walked toward him and into his embrace. There were shouts of joy and relief from the elves, and a burst of fresh magic, until the army swallowed Niera into its ranks once again.

“The pact has been fulfilled,” Gabriel said.

“For now,” the elf agreed. “We will see what the future holds.” They turned on their heels and began the silent march back to their wood.

We watched in silence until they’d disappeared completely, until the trees no longer shook from the army’s intrusion.

“I don’t know about you,” Gabriel said, “but I think it’s time for a drink.”

Chapter Twenty-one

ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK

At dusk the next evening, Lakshmi arrived to discuss the GP and its variety of issues, looking gorgeous in a sleek black dress with an asymmetrical neckline and stiletto heels. I stood in the foyer with Luc, Malik, and Helen, nodding politely as she arrived, and then directing her to Ethan’s office.

“And now, once again, we wait,” Luc said with a grumble. “I swear to God, I spend half my time doing that.”

I didn’t disagree. But I’d already arranged a way to spend the time.

An hour later, I stood at the tall fence outside the former brick factory where the CPD had held Seth Tate once upon a time, and where they now held his niece.

And now, thanks to Detective Jacobs, Regan and her uncle were going to have their own reunion.

A taxi pulled up the long drive, and after exchanging bills, a man emerged. He had short sandy hair and a thick nose, and he wore khakis and a button-down shirt.

Seth Tate could have passed for an accountant, but he still smelled like freshly baked cookies.

“Nice disguise,” I said.

He nodded. “They’ll have the building warded, so I had to go old-school.”

Headlights appeared in the darkness, and a golf cart pulled up to the gate. A young, fit woman in a black uniform climbed out and walked to the gate.

“Caroline Merit and John Smith?”

I waved a little bit. “That’s us.”

She nodded officially, unlocked the gate, and held it open for us.

“Mind the gap,” she said, gesturing toward the bench on the back of the cart.

“John Smith?” Seth murmured as he took a seat beside me.

“The alias wasn’t really the key component of the plan,” I said, as the guard accelerated and we bobbled down the gravel road. The factory was actually a set of several large buildings used to mold and fire bricks during wartime. Seth had been held in a small stand-alone building, but we passed it as we headed toward a long single-story building on the other side of the compound.

“Are you nervous?” I quietly asked, as his gaze settled on his former prison cell.

“A little,” he admitted. “I’ve never had a niece before. Or a relative of any kind other than Dominic. And I’m not sure he counted.”

“More a supernatural parasite.”

“And yet he was sentient enough to control me. To connect with a woman and father a child.”

But Dominic had been a lover in his time. He’d seduced Claudia, the queen of the fairies. It had been her love that bound Dominic to Seth and kept him out of the Maleficium.

The guard stopped in front of the entrance and escorted us into the building. It was a large empty space but for the series of small square rooms that dotted the concrete floor. Guards were stationed here and there, and they had the look of well-seasoned military types.

The mayor wasn’t taking any chances with Regan. And she now had a facility to hold a small supernatural army. Not a comforting thought.

“She’s in the first one,” the guard said, gesturing us forward. The rooms were made of concrete, with a window and door on the front side. “You can go ahead.”

We walked toward the window, peered inside.

Regan sat at an aluminum table, and she’d exchanged her designer clothes for an orange jumpsuit. She moved nervously in her chair, kept nervously touching her hair. She might have been a badass in her element, but here she looked small and insecure.

I glanced at Seth.

He watched her, head angled, eyes wide, for a long moment. “There’s more of him in her than I’d have imagined,” he finally said.

“Is that good or bad?”

“I’m not certain.”

“All things considered, I don’t know if she’s capable of contrition. But maybe you can give her peace. Maybe you can ensure she doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

Seth nodded. There weren’t many times I’d seen him nervous. But here, facing the family he hadn’t known he had, he looked absolutely bewildered.

“You can do this,” I said. “And right now, I don’t think you even have to be good at it. You just have to be there.”

He squeezed my hand. “You are wise beyond your years, Ballerina.”

“Immortality tends to do that,” I murmured.