Illa woke to darkness, unfamiliar and unsettling. The studio with Thairn had suffered constant streetlights flowing in through too-thin blinds, and he'd grown used to being able to see when he first woke, no matter how early.
He fumbled for the lamp next to his new bed, until finally it suffused the area with a warm, dim glow.
His bed, foot-to-foot with the kitchen stove. The kitchen, if it could be called that, was bereft of surfaces and crowded in with tiny appliances, plus a clawfoot tub straight in the middle of the floor. Illa could have sworn they'd been talking about taking these tenements down when he'd first come to Human.
Still, he was grateful for the private space. The door even locked, a luxury he hadn't expected when planning this mission. He couldn't fully trust it--scrying seemed likely enough that he eschewed even his morning luck spell--but it was somewhere he could feel like he was alone.
Which he was. Without Thairn.
He hadn't expected the loneliness. They had drifted in and out of each other's lives for decades, and Thairn's absence had never meant much--even been a relief, sometimes.
Illa circled his fingers around the collar and sat with the sensation a while. It had warmed against the heat of his throat, leaching now into his ever-cold hands, and that warmth was reminder enough of Thairn's touch as she placed it on him.
Maybe they could take a vacation together after these missions were over. Take advantage of their status as affianced to get joint time away. It would be nothing on the months their assignment had given them, but it would still be more time, to figure out things between them.
That required making it through this mission in one piece.
A knock came, startling him out of his reverie. Gabriel? A quick check of his glamours, including a subtle shake to knock the wing shields back into place--he'd slept in them out of paranoia. He'd have to change contact lenses soon--he really shouldn't have slept in them--but he couldn't chance it right now.
Illa peeped through the hole to find Greg. Illa closed his eyes, breathed, until finally he loosened into Rhett's body language.
Rhett opened the door, relaxing insolent against the door jamb. "You rang?"
"Wanna come get breakfast?"
Illa looked back at the apartment's so-called kitchen, looked at Greg. "Yes."
Greg guffawed. "We gutted one of the downstairs units and turned it into a real kitchen. Come on. I'll show you."
"Does Master Gabriel--"
Greg gave him a look.
"Gabriel, he own this whole building?" It had surprised Illa, to learn Gabriel didn't want the title "Master". Greg had explained it, some, while they were blacking--Reminds him of bad times--but no detail.
"Hard to say where one building stops and the next one picks up, but yeah, he owns a chunk here. Old friend left it, and we kept it." So, any neighbors were likely to be connected to the Wingless, too. Good to know.
Illa followed Greg down the stairs, a shaft of wan sunlight providing most of the lighting. Illa hadn't lived in a place like this since his first solo assignment in Human over 70 years ago. The building looked like it might be even older than that. It smelled thickly of tobacco, built up in the walls over decades. Then again, given how poorly these places ventilated, the tobacco was probably an advantage over the smell of rotting flesh. Occasional wafts of air still held a sickly-sweet aroma, but for the most part, the tobacco drowned it out.
But then they got to the kitchen unit, and all of that disappeared beneath the smell of sizzling butter, brewing coffee and baking cheddar buns. Illa got assigned to eggs, people passing him over ingredients as he asked about them, or suggesting substitutes. They had chives in spades and just enough paprika to perk it up into something worth waking up for.
As he worked, Illa assessed the people crowded into the kitchen. Mostly living, with Greg an exception--meaning these were mostly bedfellows rather than inducted members. Still useful. They wouldn't know as much operationally, but they'd know personalities, preferences--the social knowledge he would need to make this infiltration succeed. It wasn't long into breakfast that people were starting to use him as a listening ear. His skill and goal in infiltrations was to be that person one ran into in the kitchen midway through a party--metaphorically, but literally was fine--and ended up spilling one's guts to. Just novel enough and outside the intragroup dramas enough to inspire talk, just validating and soothing enough to make the person want to keep talking, or at least come back again next time they had some woe to share.
He had the excuse to ask a lot of questions about Gabriel, Eric, and any of the other mob doms. Had to be careful--his cover was that he was fleeing the Morleys, which ran the risk of people deciding he was a spy for the Morleys--but it still made sense to everyone that the newbie would want to know about who might be beating him.
Greg was a help, but another key source was Bev. She was an older woman who wore a deep voice like a fur stole--a luxury she indulged in fully, one that warmed whoever listened. She'd been play partners with just about everyone, top to bottom, no mind if they were gay ("they liked me before; they can like me now"). Trans, and the mob had helped her with the transition, and she kept dropping hints to Illa that folks might help him, too, if he needed.
"Being a woman isn't for me, I'm afraid."
"That's my point, darlin'."
Which was around when Illa finally realized what people were seeing when they looked at him, or at least what Gabriel had seen. Because Gabriel had dropped those hints, too--"could give you other kinds of help"--and Illa was short for a man, smooth-skinned and androgynous. Usually his voice was enough to point people in the right direction, but. Well, it was the right direction, just the wrong starting point, and it would be worth his life for anyone to know the truth there.
He'd have to get in touch with the DOOR. Have his clever adjusted. Because these assumptions would better obscure that he was fae, better excuse his disinterest in sexual touch, and better explain why he was hiding from the Morleys while nobody else who'd escaped the Morleys seemed to know him. He'd planned explanations, but this would work better.
This was real. This was actually, factually real, and Jenna Huáng was here. There were other teens! More than she'd ever seen at any magical gathering. Her whole life had been divided between people her age, whom she could talk to about anything but magic (well, almost anything) and people a million years old who did know about magic, but who wanted nothing more than to have her get her parents to do this or that vote or favor or proposal.
But here--here! She didn't have to hide anything from her classmates (mostly), and all the adults wanted from her was for her to learn magic. Not to mention she wasn't the only Black Asian girl around, for once in her life? The whole thing was like a dream, a wonderful dream, so unlikely she still wasn't sure it was real, and she definitely didn't want to wake up.
First class was Herbcraft with Mrs. Vernon. The school garden had way more than just herbs, but their class would start with them for how quickly they grew and how easily they could be applied to magic without processing.
"Processing?" a boy with messy black hair asked, hand raised. He'd been following Mrs. Vernon's every word eagerly, if his dense notes were any indication. Marco, she thought his name was?
"Your Potions professor," said with far crisper diction than Mrs. Vernon's previous fluid style, "has asked that any explanation of processing techniques be left to her class."
"Why?" Jenna asked.
Mrs. Vernon pursed her lips. "It will be more pertinent to your Potions studies, in any case. Now, today we're going to be working with spellsage, so let me tell you a story about seed-smuggling, Roman emperors and sneaky monks..."
When the lecture was over, Mrs. Vernon had them each plant their own pot of spellsage to keep in the dorms, since it grew really well indoors and had a bunch of practical day-to-day uses, everything from curing indigestion to enhancing wards. Then, she began handing out dried samples.
"Your Fighting professor hasn't kicked up any fuss about me teaching you ward-work, and spellsage is great for learning how to do it. There's simple warding spells that use it, and it will power up even a miscast spell enough that we can poke holes in it and figure out what went wrong. Now, if you'll follow me out into the practice field, where there's nothing important for you to damage..."
Jenna leapt to her feet. Finally. Magic! Not notes, not plant care, not digging--magic.
The bundle of dry leaves rattled in her quaking hands. She fixed all her attention on Mrs. Vernon's every syllable and motion as she demonstrated the basic ward. Jenna summoned fire to her palms when Mrs. Vernon gave the word, brushed the leaf-tips over the flame, careful, careful... blew it down to a gentle smolder, like incense. Traced a scorched circle around her in the dew-moist grass of early morning.
The incantation beat out from her lips and tongue like a heart rhythm. The heady flow of magic thrummed through her.
And steel-glass ward walls sprang into being, forming perfect all around her.
Mrs. Vernon came through, tapping each student's ward with a thin, flexible wand, covered in complex carvings that had stripped the wood down to a hair's breadth in places. Mrs. Vernon helped the other students correct flaws, even had a few recast their wards.
But when she came to Jenna's, she just tapped the ward and offered up a smile. "Good!"
Jenna had done it. She had done it, and it was all so beautifully real.
Mrs. Vernon spent a while longer checking up on students. "Alright," she said when she was done. "Next, I'm going to show you how to pass through your own wards, so you can all get on to your next class."
"What about taking them down?" Marco from earlier asked.
"Your Evocation teacher's asked me to leave them up. Says his lesson 'will be more fun that way'."
"How was the first day for our dour Dr. Draughts?" Mickey asked, striding into Lucía's laboratory where he didn't at all belong.
"Good to see you're finally awake, cousin. Test this poison for me, will you?"
"Ah, it's too early in the morning to be poisoned."
"It's noon."
"And my first class isn't until three, so I'm golden."
"Why are you in here?"
"Obviously, I've come to find out what you're plotting for the Test of the Raven."
"So you can bite me in the ankle, Serpent?"
"Oh, do call me that. I've always loved snakes."
She shook her head and returned to her work, assessing the potions her students had brewed. She'd taught during her class time, certainly, but she'd also pushed the more capable students into an additional task--experimental brewing. Get them to test enough variations, and she would come up with something novel and useful enough to pass the Test of the Raven, which was all about discovering something new and valuable for the family. Information from her spies might do the trick, but if she came up with something truly brilliant in her lab... The right potion could guarantee the entire family's fortunes. Just look at what River's Shadow had done for their smuggling operation.
Mickey was still there, wandering the room, reading the labels on all her potions and chemicals.
"Don't you have something better to do?" she asked.
"Nope."
"Go flirt with that teacher whose tail you've been chasing or something. Unless you're bored already?"
"Nah."
"Why are you here?"
"Trying to figure out what potion you're inventing. I talked to your students, but they're a little new to the subject."
"Just. Get. Out."
"Nah, I can help. Anything to put Malachi further back in the running. If you don't want to tell me about your potion, do you know what Malachi is going to blow up for his Test? We could ruin his plans. It'll be great."
"Whatever he blows up will benefit the family. Just keep your eyes on your own paper, Mickey. Learn a thing or two from our students."
"You're going to poison him, aren't you?"
"I'm going to poison you if you don't get out of my laboratory."
"Nah, you love me." But he headed for the door.
"Put that back before you go." She hadn't seen what, but she was sure he'd stolen something. There was the sound of glass clicking on the counter. "The other one, too."
"So stingy," he said, but he put another down. As to what else he'd nicked, because there always was just one more thing, she'd have to do an inventory later. And whatever it was? Well, that would let her know what he was planning and give her time to neutralize it.
Once he left, she set down what she was working on and went to the door to see just what he'd done to her wards to come in and bother her in the first place. The barricade hung in transparent strands, looking for all the world like a spiderweb after some hiker had walked through it. These should have been strong enough to stop Magdalena herself, and Mickey had ripped them to shreds without a care.
He'd just left her a threat without needing to say a violent word. I can get you, the shredded wards told her. I can get you any time.
She had to find some way to get to him, or she was going to wind up dead, no matter what Magdalena had said about not killing each other.
In Michelle Kim's experience, when gangsters looked at her, they didn't see her--Korean, chubby, with long black hair and draping skirts. They saw a path to her family. Had her mom mentioned this, could she pass that along to her dad, what did this friendship mean? Every single stupid thing she did send a signal to someone about family favors and family alliances. So, when Mr. Morley asked her to be the one to help clear away the practice targets after class, she expected more of the same.
But instead it was, "You're good at shadow magic, aren't you?"
How? They hadn't covered it yet. "You hear a rumor or something?"
"Not at all, though I'd love to hear whatever rumor you thought it was." A pause, then. "Sorry. You don't sound too keen on the rumor mill."
Michelle threw an armful of shattered targets into the scrap wood pile. "I'm not." Too many rumors. About her family, from the mobsters. About how weird she was, from the gov kids. About who she was and wasn't crushing on, what she didn't want to gossip about...
"No rumors, promise. I watch the class, on account of being the teacher?"
Right. "Sorry." She was supposed to be respectful. Mr. Morley was one of the mobsters with a government post. Influential. Ruthless.
"Making fun of myself more than you, kiddo. Anyway, I saw how you got through Jenna Huáng's ward."
"Which one was that?"
"The one she was fretting over like it was a new pet." He smiled to himself, shook his head. "The one none of the other students got through."
She knew the one, now that he described it. "Other students tried?" She'd assumed she was the first to get to it. That had been true for the other wards.
"Oh, yes. And failed. But you threaded your shadow through the grass blades to carve a breach. It was clever. Fine control."
She shut down the surge of pride. What was he getting at? There had to be a game here. No one was just nice.
Mr. Morley glanced to the ground and, dammit, her emotions were leaking through into her shadow again.
"Snake in the grass," he said. "Nice. Common opinion of me, you know." He waved a hand, and the snake grew feathers and wings, halfway between ridiculous and pretty. "In this case, will you believe I'm trying to be a good teacher?"
She yanked the shadow back out of sight. "Of course, Mr. Morley."
He snorted. "The snake was more believable."
She forced herself not to say anything. Not with words or magic.
"Anyway, I have office hours. Shadows are a specialty of mine. If you want tutoring while I'm waiting for the next student to come in with a question, my door is open."
Thairn knocked that evening on Mickey's bedroom door, intently aware of the guards on either side. Mickey wasn't sure about trusting Xavier, but Thairn wasn't sure about trusting either of them. Loyal to Mickey or no, they wouldn't take their master dallying unguarded with a faerie lightly, if they found out.
Mickey opened the door, leaning his arm against the doorway to hold the wards open--and to pose himself, besides. "I'm pleased to see you've accepted my invitation."
"Rather direct of you. 'Come to my bedroom'? Really?"
"I'll gladly take a walk in the garden with you instead, if you like."
She looked at the guards, unsure how far to pretend embarrassment. They bore studiously neutral expressions, though they also didn't pretend not to look at her. Keeping an eye on people near their charge was their job, after all.
She broke through her pretended shyness to an adventurous grin. Took his offered hand and let him pull her through the wards. And forgot to let go, once the door had shut.
She had only an instant to see it, but he was looking at her with a gaze that had nothing of cold calculation and everything of that warmth she'd assumed was feigned. A gaze that fell briefly on their joined hands before he, with a slight bow of apology, withdrew his.
"I hope this doesn't harm any reputation you're trying to maintain?" he asked.
"Do you think it will cause any trouble with the school administration?" Thairn asked. "I don't recall any policies on fraternization between teachers."
"If they had any such standards, they'd never have hired me."
"You do have nepotism on your side."
"If that's what's keeping me around, then it'll probably cover you. Hopefully, because there aren't many places here where I can guarantee no one else can scry or eavesdrop."
Suddenly, she saw those wards that had so troubled her the first night in a new light. A way to communicate securely... and if she needed to cast any faerie magic, perhaps she could take it here, too. Though it couldn't be anything that prevented her from satisfying her deal with Greta to stymy him. She'd have to be careful not to show him any spell he would want cast to meet his aims. He didn't know much about fae magic, and she needed to keep it that way. Even the luck spell was right out.
Thairn pondered the question of reputation. "Pretending to be your lover may make it more difficult to get close to Lucía, but of all the excuses I have to talk to you in private..."
"It's the one she'll consider the most pointless. I will stage a breakup if we need, but I hope we needn't, darling."
"So, did you find it?"
"Straight from her trash. Rejected requisition forms from Tricia Vernon. Your assessment was right--Herbs is refusing to give Lucía the plants she wants for her potion." He held up the crumpled pages. "That wasn't in the background I gave you, either. How'd you guess it?"
"Tricia has very interesting rants about monoculture, if you listen long enough. Including about how certain alchemists have certain views that should certainly not be tolerated by anyone who truly cares about plant diversity."
"Fantastic." He handed them over. "What do you plan to do?"
Thairn flipped through the pages. Yes, this was perfect. "Now that we know what Lucía wants, we can find out what Tricia wants. If I trade favors, I can probably get what Lucía can't. And that will be valuable enough to tolerate speaking to anyone." She let her eyes land on him, deliberate, lingering. "Even someone with terrible bedroom tastes."
He took in her gaze with a slight lift to the eyebrows, an inviting smile. "They're not that terrible, I assure you."
"But she'll think so."
"Oh, yes. Would you like to step out of the bedroom? That walk in the gardens sounds like a good idea, now that we've decided to gather information on Tricia."
"That would be a good first step. And we have our excuse." She reached out one gloved hand. "Lead the way."
He took it, squeezed her palm. Something relaxing about that affection, for all it was for show. He pulled her gently towards the door and through the wards.
"It seems we're heading for the gardens, after all," Mickey told Luke.
"Way to be romantic, Boss."
"I am incredibly romantic. Alanna, come on, take my side here."
She took his side by kissing his cheek. That would sell the illusion, right? And brush his soft hair against her brow, let her catch scent of his cologne, an odd blend of musk and honeysuckle. Feel his hand squeeze hers again.
"See? Incredibly romantic."
"Need us with you?"
"It's around your bedtimes, don't you think? I've been keeping you both up so late recently."
Xavier's eyes landed on her, sharp and suspicious. Worried about Mickey? Worried he wouldn't be able to spy for Lucía? Or worried about his own gambits?
"Make sure you get some sleep, Xav. Don't stay up too late partying."
Xavier snorted. Closest thing she'd seen to a laugh from him. Not that she would be laughing often, in his situation. Regardless of which version of his situation was the real one.
"I've got him, Boss." Luke said. "I'll just hold a pillow over his head until he stops snoring."
"I don't snore."
"You rumble."
They kept bantering in a steady rhythm as they headed off to wherever the family bodyguards bunked. Thairn didn't trust entirely that they wouldn't turn up following her and Mickey later--tails were always something to keep an eye out for--but she and Mickey were something like alone for now.
"Shall we?"
"Mn."
He filled her ear along the way with silly chatter that didn't mean much of anything, but would allay suspicion in anyone watching them. It was pleasant silly chatter, at least. Ridiculous things the students had done on their first day of class, and what explosions had resulted--he was the Evocation teacher, after all.
"I'm still not entirely certain how she managed to make the wooden practice target bubble."
"Blisters or water bubbles?"
"I thought it was blisters at first, but then they started floating."
"Interesting. Could you explain how the magic would normally look?"
Thairn had never been all that familiar with wizard magic before, except for how to fake it and how it could kill her. Exploring the technicals of it was far better. She had decades of experience with the other forms of magic that both faeries and humans were subject to, so, applying all that theory to something new was fascinating.
And, from the excitable way it pitched his voice up and made his hands wave about more wildly with each response, it seemed like he was enjoying it, too.
The gardens at night were intimidating in the way only a dark, open space prone to sudden, mysterious rustling could be. Coming here now to scope things out had perhaps been a foolish idea--it was hard to see much, and she wasn't sure how wise it was to bring out a light. It would draw attention, and who knew with some of these plants... Thairn and Mickey kept close together with careful steps, their chatter about magical theory quieted for now. His hand found hers again, and she took it with comfort.
There was a glow in one distant corner, near the squashes. Mickey pulled Thairn forward, and at first she thought he was bringing them towards it. But then they wound up in another alley between vines entirely.
"Anything wrong?" she whispered. Phrasing around the sibilants she wanted to speak, so no one would hear their hiss.
He shook his head. Pulled them forward again and brought them somewhere yet darker. Stopped entirely, then, looking around in all directions.
"Where are we going?" Thairn asked.
"To the light. But, I can't..."
"You're going the wrong way."
"It didn't look like that when I tried?"
"Let me try?"
He nodded and let her lead on. She drove them unerringly towards the light, but it seemed difficult for him. Tripping, dodging things that weren't there or at least that weren't actually in his path. Odd behavior... familiar.
She brought them to a stop. Reached up to his face and brought her hand down over his brow. Trying to signal, silent, that he should close his eyes. He understood, after a moment. Gripped her hand all the tighter.
She guided him now. Brought them all the way to the light, a glow like fireflies in the form of orbs as big as her fist. And, in the center of the squashes, sheltered beneath a lean-to, was a massive pumpkin. Half-grown. It wasn't carriage-sized yet.
"You can open your eyes," she told him. No one was likely to make it this close to here, not while the orbs were floating about. Talking above a whisper should be safe now. "But don't move too much. Your vision will be wrong."
"You ask Aunt Greta, my vision's always been wrong." He opened his eyes, careless at first. And then, awe. "Alanna, darling, it's not that I don't trust you--well, actually, I don't--but, where are we? You didn't kidnap me off to Faerie, did you?"
"No, we're still in Human. But it seems Tricia has brought something of Faerie here." Quite literally, in fact. Once the carriage pumpkin was ripe, it would hold an isolated bubble of Faerie within itself.
"And that's why everything's topsy-turvy?"
"Yes. Can you see the giant pumpkin?"
Mickey stared off in a seemingly random direction. "Maybe I should start making Cinderella jokes. That's one heck of a pumpkin."
"It is. And it's infested."
"The floating lightbulbs?"
"Will o' the wisps."
"And you can see here."
"I can. I've had the ointment."
"Ah, don't speak of that too loud. They'll come pluck out your eyes."
"You know that legend?"
"Legend? That's family history."
"This, I need to hear."
"Hmm. No, that's one I'm not supposed to tell."
Given the abilities that ran in his family line, that was probably true. "Shame. Would you like me to help you sit down? We can lean against this pumpkin for a moment. It's closer than it looks to you."
"If you'd be so kind."
She led him to a comfortable patch of soil clear of anything either of them could crush. Wouldn't do to upset Tricia. It was strange, to have a carriage pumpkin here. They were rare outside of Faerie. Where had Tricia gotten it?
"Here is good to sit," she told him. He closed his eyes to ward off the disorientation and sank to the ground. She settled beside him. Chose a position where his hand could easily brush her leg, in case he needed guidance again.
He gazed out into the gardens. Fascination in his eyes. She wasn't sure how it looked to him. They'd given her the ointment as a baby, before she and her twin Reven had even stopped nursing, so these illusions had never touched her.
"If you're going to betray me, dear Alanna, this is probably the place."
"Is it?"
"Of course. I can't see, we're far away from prying ears, and you could probably pin it on Tricia, if you wanted."
"And why would I do that?"
A snort. "Really."
"Are you testing me?"
He held his fingers to his lips in thought. "That would have been clever, wouldn't it? Seem vulnerable, set a trap. Very much my style. I'll have to steal that."
"Not until I'm done using it."
"Oh?"
"I'll tell you the plots once I've got all the threads together."
"A woman after my own heart."
That sparked warm. "Why did you decide to let me guide you, if you thought I might betray you?"
"You have to trust people a little bit, or you never learn anything interesting at all."
"So, now you've learned I can see in wisplight and won't kill or kidnap you?"
"Never say never, darling. But, for now, yes. Means you probably aren't actually on Lucía's or Malachi's side. Or Xavier's, if it turns out he doesn't love me after all--which would be a tragedy, you know, but wouldn't be the first time."
"That Xavier hasn't loved you?"
"That a bodyguard's betrayed me." He leaned further back against the pumpkin, staring up at the stars through the prism of wisplight. "Xav and Luke are replacements for the last set. They're my favorites, but, you never really know."
"What happened with the last set?"
A worn and bitter smile. "Des and Nils. Nils did the drugging--paralytic, so Des could do the dirty work. Couldn't just poison me outright, otherwise it would be too obvious that Lucía was behind it."
"Was she?"
"Oh, yes. Des told me, before I killed her." A veneer of cold-blooded nonchalance. But his hand against her leg had taken up a pinch of her skirt's fabric, rubbed it in circles between his fingers. A tell, reading distress. That he felt the need to hide that distress, to suppress it until it only leaked in this small gesture, spoke volumes. She understood, now, why he'd shut his eyes and followed her. In this murderous mafia, a known spy was as much a threat as anyone else. Less, even.
She brushed her hand against his, an offer. He accepted, his fidgeting turning into strokes of his thumb along her palm, massaging away her tension to work out his own. Soothing, even though she'd been the one trying to soothe.
His eyes were closed as he worked, to fend off the wisplight. It meant she could watch him, without being watched in return. Not have to monitor her expression to make sure it said all the right lies and concealed all the wrong truths.
What emerged was fondness. All the more when he reached out for her other hand, to rub that one into relaxation next. She cupped her freed hand around his jaw, soothing at the tension there. He leaned into the touch, and that felt so trusting, even though they both knew he couldn't trust her at all.
She'd protect him. She'd promised Greta.
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