Eric and Gabriel never had figured out how much Greta knew. About Magdalena, certainly. About the deaths and disappearances in the Morley family of people who might catch Magdalena out, going back decades... maybe Greta knew. Maybe she didn't.
She didn't know who Gabriel was. That much, they were sure of.
She seemed to want people safe from the Morleys. From Magdalena. Eric got that safety for the people Greta sent. Got them to Gabriel, or to new lives, whatever made them safest. Whatever took them out of that creature's power.
But now Greta had given them a spy, because damn the woman for her fae bargains.
"I didn't know," Greta said, when she met Eric for their now-monthly Savoy Saturdays. In the lounge area, where it was quiet enough to talk.
"That's a lie," Eric said. He had long pretended not to know about her Sight. Was still pretending that he hadn't known all this time--he'd blame Gabriel for the revelation. "You've never met Gabriel, have you? Well. Not in a long time, anyway."
"I've never met him at all," Greta said.
An untruth, for all she didn't know it. She'd met Gabriel once, before his death. Never since. Eric had always been the go-between, to make sure her oaths wouldn't force her to report Gabriel's unsurvival to Magdalena.
"You don't remember?" Eric asked. "I wasn't there, but I know you were. A teenager shows up at the main mansion, demanding back the life Magdalena stole..."
"That was a girl."
"I'm sure you've gotten enough intel back by now from the runaways you send us to know why Gabriel would have seemed to be one, once upon a time."
Her hand gripped around her drink so hard her tendons showed, like puppet strings just below the surface of her skin. "You shouldn't have told me this."
"It's not going to matter anymore. We have plans, and you are going to help, or we'll kill you for sending us that faerie."
"Is it still alive?"
"It is. He is--I've been asked to refer to him that way. He made a bargain to help us. Even came up with part of the plan."
"You trust him that far?"
"Bargain's a bargain. As I'm sure you know."
She grimaced, and took a swallow of her drink. "If your goal is to overthrow Magdalena, you have to know I'm sworn not to aid you."
"Not to worry. Rhett anticipated that. And he knows one thing you're not at all sworn against. You're going to help us rig the succession."
"I can't rig the succession so far that it includes Gabriel."
"No need. Here's the plan. You give Rhett an introduction. You did so well when you introduced him to me, after all."
"To whom?"
"Malachi."
"You can't be serious."
"It's your job to report suspicious activity to Malachi's soldiers, isn't it?"
"I suppose."
"So, you bring him Rhett. Rhett will be someone--fae or human, that's your judgment call--who knows all kinds of things about Gabriel's operations, but doesn't want to follow Gabriel anymore. Rhett's certainly got the injuries to answer why. He gives Malachi and his people enough to tempt Malachi into a trap."
"I don't see how killing Malachi will get you any closer to what you want."
"Come on, Greta. You know us. How likely do you think it is, that we'll let him stay dead?"
Her voice, shaken. "You're going to have Percy control him."
"He'll pass for living while he's still fresh. We'll make it look like he attacked us and won. Like he killed Gabriel. You can go ahead and tell Magdalena who Gabriel really is. That way the creature will consider the victory significant enough for Malachi to win the Test of the Bull."
The rest of the plan, Eric left unspoken, so it wouldn't risk triggering Greta's oaths. The changeling would take Malachi into a private space, intending to kill and copy him. It wouldn't be anticipating a zombie, so it wouldn't plan a murder method suited to zombies. Malachi would "survive" at least long enough to kill the changeling.
Game over.
Tailing Greta seemed pointless at first. Xavier followed her, unobtrusive, all across the mansion. Going unseen when he could, pretending to run errands for Mickey when he couldn't.
Her occasional trips out were mostly on Magdalena's orders, in a family car warded against scrying. Xavier bribed Greta's driver with gifts from Mickey's liquor cabinet--the good one the boss used for taste, not the cheap one he used for simple intoxication. The driver didn't realize he was being bribed, just that he was shooting the shit with a fellow employee while sharing drinks nicked from the boss's stash, trading complaints about work that told Xavier all he needed to know.
That won Xavier an interesting perspective on Magdalena's operations. But it didn't win any intel Mickey seemed to want. Even the one curious tidbit picked up from the driver--Greta's trip to a set of storage lockers a while back to retrieve a package--Mickey dismissed carelessly. "That's the seeds Tricia Vernon's over the moon about. Alanna asked her to pick them up."
Mickey trusted Alanna far too much. Xavier had to wonder if this wasn't a fool's errand, meant to keep Xavier out of the way.
But, then, one Saturday night, Greta headed for the garage to get her personal car, without her driver. Curious. Xavier talked a servant into bringing Greta a distraction to delay her. He used the time that bought to get a car from the workshop garage--ward magic would light him up in her Sight, but this one had all its enchantments down for repairs.
He trailed her as she left the property. Tough to do without other people to help. Couldn't use much in the way of magical aid to follow her, either. Even a tracking spell would catch her all-seeing eye. But, Xavier was good at his job. He managed solo, without a single cantrip.
She drove all the way to the city. Found parking by some magic Xavier didn't have access to and walked into a building--some kind of dance club, advertising a swing night. Xavier circled the block, uncertain how long she would stay, not wanting to track down parking unless it would be a while. Good thought, too--only a few circuits later, she walked out of the club with two other people. One, a sturdy, sallow man. The other, an androgynous person who looked like they might be a fresh-fed vampire, red eyes and pale skin and blood around their mouth. Wearing an oversized coat, odd in this balmy weather, and the way it fit them seemed... off.
The vampire turned to get in the back of the car, enough to let Xavier to see them in profile. A ridge along their back. Strange. Xavier added up the signs again. Androgynous. Red eyes. Not a vampire--a faerie.
It moved gingerly, as if it were injured. The man made as if to shove the faerie into the back of the car, but Greta stayed his hand. Was she allies with it? Greta and the man exchanged words--hers weary, his heated, not distinct enough to hear without magic. Whatever they said to each other, the faerie made it into the back seat, and Greta and the man got into the front.
The man began to drive. Xavier followed.
Thairn was asleep when the knock came to Alanna's door. She came out in her black silk pajamas, hair still mussed, makeup off, and glamour, as always, well-equipped. She'd at least gotten a sleepover break with Mickey recently. She was beginning to be far too fond of him for her own good.
Lucía was at the door. "You're needed in the ballroom."
"What is it?"
"You'll see." One corner of Lucía's lips twitched, which for her was practically a smile. "You'll get a kick out of this one. A present, for all your help. Not really yours, of course, but you can have some fun."
"Fun?"
"Vengeance is fun, isn't it?"
A chill ache in Thairn's gut at those words.
Lucía gave her more details as she led Thairn down the halls. "Magdalena and Malachi have both seen it already. Malachi's off to attack the Wingless with the information it gave us. He thinks he'll win the Bull. But I've made arrangements, of course," which for Lucía meant drugging, "So I'm not too worried."
"I see," Thairn said. She could feel her mind stumbling, trying to catch up.
Lucía pressed on without a care. "Magdalena let me use one of my potions on the thing, so we don't have to keep it gagged. It's got sores from a gag already. Unsightly."
Gag? Vengeance?
That pain in her gut sharpened.
Alanna, of course, showed none of this. "Oh? What potion?" Professional interest, personal warmth.
"It's one I've told you about before, when we were discussing brain function? I call it Broca Burn."
"The one where they can speak, but it doesn't..."
"It comes out all disjointed, yes. They lose a lot of words. It's perfect for keeping this thing from singing spells."
Alanna gave a seemingly-unconscious touch to her own gloves, to play her role. Whom had they captured? She hadn't requested any backup. They shouldn't be sending anyone in, not unless there had been a mix-up. Maybe someone come to check on her progress?
A servant opened the door to the ballroom for them both. They entered the room, eerie and echoing this late at night. There on the floor with the sweeping tile map, a bound figure, flanked by Xavier. Whoever it was stank of blood and sweat and Lucía's potions.
"Good," Xavier said, "You brought the expert." He snapped his fingers, and the lights came on, flooding the ballroom and reflecting off the polished surfaces. Lighting up the bound figure kneeling on the floor.
The figure had their head bowed, but she could make out black hair and pale skin. Could recognize the fine-boned face. She didn't even need the flicker of red eyes as he looked up to see her, those burning embers that lived in her dreams and nightmares.
Illa.
The Morleys had captured Illa.
She had to not react. No, that wasn't right. She had to react correctly. Alanna, dear imaginary Alanna, victim of the faeries, what would you do?
"What is that thing doing here?" Thairn-as-Alanna asked. Trembling with rage. Or, trembling, nonetheless.
"I caught it," Xavier said.
"Yes," Lucía said, "we all know you caught it, great of you. It won't get you the Kraken."
Xavier straightened. "Not what Magdalena said."
Lucía huffed, but, she was excited enough to be talkative. "He found Greta Holloway--remember her, she did your entry inspection?--she was meeting with it, along with a man from the Wingless... oh, you wouldn't know them. Zombies. They're execrable." And unspoken, likely, something along the lines of I've been waiting to get something on the Holloways for ages. Thairn had learned that much of the internal politics.
"What's the expert say to do with it?" Xavier asked.
Thairn couldn't look, not and keep her composure. "Clearly you aren't going to kill it," she said instead, "so what is it you're hoping to accomplish?"
"Oh," Lucía said, as if this were her capture and all her idea, "Probably use it as leverage. Maybe keep it around as a servant in the meantime."
Thairn dared to look. It was the shirt, the vest, the slacks that she'd packed for him before he left. And the collar, of course, that brass collar she'd bought him.
Her hand was clenched into a fist, but that was acceptable for Alanna to do.
"In that case," she said, "Best to strip it down, check it for glamours." It was what Alanna would do. It wasn't at all what Thairn wanted to do. But if she stopped giving good advice on how to handle fae the moment she encountered one... all of this would crumble, and she wouldn't be able to get either of them out alive. She just had to try and keep from giving advice that would hurt him too badly.
"You can already see its wings," Xavier said.
"Great, so you can see the obvious," Lucía said. "Go on, Alanna, if you want to do the honors?"
"Since when are you two on a first-name basis?" Xavier asked.
"Ms. Abercorn is just for my students, Xavier." Thairn walked over to Illa, let her hesitance show, let the trembling continue. "Listen, bug," she said to Illa, for she'd heard the wizards refer to faeries that way. "I'm going to have to take off your binds in order to examine you. Be a dear," their word, their phrase, so he knew to listen, "and don't move a wing muscle, or this," and she peeled off her gloves, the way Alanna would have, showed the burn scars, "will be the least I do to you." Almost funny, that threat. He knew what those scars really were. He nodded, kept his head bowed.
She pulled off the wing binds, knew how much he had to ache to stretch his wings. But he kept them obediently closed. She took the binds off his hands, so she could get the clothes all the way off, and threatened him again over it. He held still. She stripped off the vest she'd given him to wear, the shirt she had picked out, the undershirt. His skin was stained with bruises and scabs.
His arm, once exposed, looked wrong. A bruise seeped from upper arm down to his elbow, up to his shoulder. Black ridges at its epicenter, as if worms had crawled beneath his skin. She touched it and felt movement.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Arm," he said. "Arm. Bump. Arm." The Broca Burn at work. His face turned to concentration, frustration. "Bump. No. Arm..."
"Give it up," Lucía told him. "Here, Alanna, let me look at it."
Xavier came in close, too, and touched it. "Necromancy."
"Can anyone here heal it?" Thairn asked. "It doesn't look like a good servant with that."
"We'll send him in to the doc," Lucía said with a shrug, "see what he can do. I don't mind trying a few experimental potions if we don't figure it out."
"I don't like this," Xavier said. "Necromancy can get nasty."
"In what way?" Thairn asked.
"You put death magic in a living body," Xavier said, "what kind of nasty do you think?"
She had to keep it together. Had to only do what Alanna would do. Had to keep it together.
"Great," Thairn-as-Alanna said. She pulled off the slacks next. Scabs all along the backs of Illa's legs, a red, black and blue spread that looked like someone had taken a spiked mallet to him. Had they? "Lucía, I thought you said I'd get to have the vengeance?"
"The faerie came that way," Xavier said. "Not me."
She stripped away Illa's underwear, with an internal apology she could not speak. They were watching her. She had to do what Alanna would. Cavity search, as brief and impersonal as she could make it. Doing it made her feel sick. Realizing that his clever was gone and his backup phone was missing, meaning she hadn't been the first to search him, made her feel worse. I'm so sorry. She found a servant to help her wash off after. Put her gloves back on.
His eyes were on her, and she couldn't read his expression, and she didn't want to try. She could only hold on so well to her liar's face if she started to try.
Lucía hadn't made any commentary for a minute, and when Thairn looked up, she could see why. The woman had gone to get something special. Came back into the room proudly holding an archaic-looking device, chainmail and locks. Wing veils, made of steel.
"Is that iron-based?" Thairn asked Lucía. Making sure her voice betrayed only annoyance, not horror.
"Of course."
"Where would you like him to vomit?" No, that was a slip, she couldn't use "him". The wizards called faeries "it", almost exclusively.
"The bug will be fine."
"I had thought you called me in for expertise?"
"I'll help you find something you prefer in the morning."
"Even rope would be preferable." No, Thairn was arguing too much. It would raise suspicion. She could see it in Lucía's eyes already, that flicker of surprise that would evolve into doubt if it weren't squashed down.
Thairn took the steel wing veils from Lucía before that could happen, held them in her gloved hands and tried not to let them touch her bare skin even as she also tried to look as if she weren't trying at all.
"I haven't seen this model before," Thairn said instead, "Mind showing me how to apply it?"
He never had let her bind his wings. She'd fantasized about it for so long. Dreamed of it. Longed for it.
She'd never wanted it this way.
But Alanna had to be the face she wore. She met the horror in his eyes with the guise of a cold expression. Listened to Lucía's instructions. And, step by step, bound her beloved's wings in steel.
I'm so sorry.
It felt wrong to leave Illa's side. But, it would show too much care if Alanna sat with him while he saw the doctor. She would hear the results later, and she'd just have to hope in the meanwhile. The most concern she could show was to make sure they planned to bind his scabs, or at least those that risked touching the chainmail veils--there was no need to poison their hostage's blood and have it die before they could use it, was there?
While the doctor saw Illa, Thairn-as-Alanna helped select the room they'd jail him in. Thairn picked something comfortable, but sparse, one that met enough of Alanna's requirements to pass muster. No weaponizable objects to hand, once she had Xavier remove the lamp. A small, connected bathroom. Xavier laid bidirectional wards on the room after she cleared the place for use. He was, unfortunately, skilled with the damned things. Thairn wouldn't be able to pierce them without using magic that was obviously fae.
It made sense for Alanna to visit Mickey, didn't it? They weren't exactly hiding their affair, and the next rigged poisoning attempt wasn't scheduled for another week. She'd shown enough favoritism to Lucía by not asking that Mickey be there to see the captive. Mickey would be the last to know about the capture at all. And since this was related to the Test of the Kraken, the fact that they'd let an outsider like Alanna know before a competitor like Mickey, much less having her be the one to tell him... it was over the edge into insult.
To her surprise, he was awake. He opened the door for her at her first knock, let her right past the wards. Grasped her hands and, his eyes alight, leaned in.
"Let me guess," he said. "Xavier did it?"
"So, you know." She realized that she hadn't actually decided what she was going to tell him. Just that this was her one, almost-real ally in the mansion. That she'd have to come plot with him somehow. And he knew?
"Don't worry about Great-Aunt Greta exposing you. I'm sure you've got her bound under something tighter, anyway. All Xavier will probably interrogate her about is whatever he caught her doing. He hasn't even told me yet. What was it?"
Mickey didn't know. She wormed her hands out of his, sat heavy in his chair. No idea whether to let the despair show. What was she going to tell him? How much was she going to lie to him?
"Greta was meeting with someone from the Wingless," Thairn said.
"The zombie mob? That's interesting. I wonder--" He stopped. "There's something else, isn't there?"
"There was a faerie with them. That's why Lucía told me anything. I'm the Fae-Fighting teacher, after all."
"So, what's your plan? You're going to bail them out, right?"
"You'd accept that?"
"I figure you'll do it either way. I might as well be in on it. At the very least, they'll be interesting to talk to. Maybe I can learn something for the Test of the Serpent. The Wingless wouldn't be a bad target to strike--I could show up Malachi while I'm at it."
"It'll be hard to get anything out of the faerie. Lucía's used some kind of potion on him." She let the pronoun drop, didn't bother to use the wizards' "it". A relief, that. And Mickey was using "they". She really did like Mickey. "Lucía calls it Broca Burn?"
He winced in sympathy. "She used that on me as a prank once. To be fair, I probably deserved it."
"Do you know an antidote?"
"I know Lucía has one, or at least a recipe."
"We'll have to work on getting that, then." She tapped her fingers against the chair arm. It felt good to plan. Planning meant hope. "He's already been treated pretty badly by the Wingless. There's something wrong with his arm."
"Tell me?"
"The Wingless used necromancy on it."
"Does that work on faeries?"
"No. It's done something wrong. The doctor is seeing him."
"I'll ask the doc what he finds."
"Thank you. I think they'll tell me, too, they've put me in charge of some of his care."
"Just hope Lucía doesn't bring you a vat of acid to ask if you'd like a hand for a hand."
Her stomach clenched. "I think I'd fake a panic attack and tell her it gives Alanna trauma."
"Do you know the faerie they brought in?"
What to say? "Yes." Might as well admit that much. But should she say what Illa meant to her, how important he was? If Mickey really did care for her, it might give him extra motivation to help. But if Mickey turned against her, then he would know Illa would make good leverage. And if Mickey became jealous... He'd insisted he wasn't the type, but that was with Illa as a safely-distant topic of conversation, not a present, real and vulnerable person. What if Mickey tried to hurt Illa?
She couldn't let Mickey know how much Illa meant to her. Mickey was still a wizard. Still a Morley.
This was the one almost-safe place in the building, and she wanted so badly to curl up in Mickey's bed and... she wasn't sure. Cry? Express some emotion other than cool composure? Whatever lay beneath her façade. It felt like she had to trick herself just to maintain it properly.
It felt like a betrayal, to hold that mask in place.
Get it off.
Retching, the sound echoing off the hard surfaces of the bathroom. Gone the food that Greg had made Illa, wrenched from Illa's guts in chunks. But emptying his stomach was no relief. Just a burning distraction, an extra, horrible sensation.
Get it off.
Down to dry heaves now, his throat spasming, his body threatening bile.
Every brush of the chainmail felt like a swarm of tiny, devouring, unclean teeth. He was too hot, the room pressing in too close, the steel pressing in too close. On him. All over him.
Get it off.
They'd rebound his hands, but he tried struggling with the veils anyway. Padlocked. No removing them. No getting away from them. He would rip his own wings off if it would let him get away from them.
Struggling just pushed his wings harder into the steel. Couldn't think, couldn't focus, could only feel the constant contact wrack his body. He could handle pain, but this wasn't pain. This was inescapable taint.
Get it off.
Thairn had put it on him. He had to... had to focus on her somehow. Get himself down into that place where the need for obedience would shield him, even if only a little.
Be a dear, she'd said. And don't move a wing muscle.
He pulled himself to kneeling on the bathroom tile, the ache it put through his knees almost a relief, a chill distraction. He clenched the fingers of his bound hands against his thighs. Concentrated on being still.
Get it off.
He had to be still for her. He had to be still.
Be a dear, and don't move a muscle.
Test of the Kraken or no, Xavier was back to his duties as Mickey's bodyguard in the morning. It was clear to Thairn that they'd gone all-in on working together. It had perhaps been a tactical mistake for Thairn to help Mickey learn he could trust Xavier. Mickey led the way to Illa's prison room, cane tapping along the floor, Xavier and Luke and Thairn arrayed behind. Alanna was an expert, of course. She needed to be there.
Mickey strode into the room with a merry look. "Good morning, Rhett." The Morleys had picked up the name "Rhett" from Greta and Eric, so that was what they called Illa now.
Illa was not in the bed. Instead, he was in the bathroom, kneeling by the toilet. As Thairn had told Lucía he would be. He was even paler than usual, sleepless shadows beneath his eyes. Even though the toilet had been flushed, she could still catch the sting of vomit in her nostrils.
Mickey's eyes caught on the chainmail veils, and Thairn realized she hadn't told him about them. Had anyone? She caught an expression on his face that she half-hadn't expected, a cold fury that he quickly covered. But then he snapped his fingers, and Luke pulled a loop of rope from his jacket, handed it to Thairn. Silk, she knew it by feel.
"My vengeful lady," Mickey said to Thairn, "Might you stay your wrath?"
"The faerie looks ready to fall over," Luke said.
Xavier didn't speak, but there was something of guilt to the shuffle of his feet, if she read it right.
"As I told you," she said, not letting Xavier get away with it. Technically, it was as she'd told Lucía, but she didn't have Lucía as a target right now. Likely for the best, if she wanted to maintain their relationship.
Xavier produced the key, and Thairn knelt to unlock the chains. Illa stayed perfectly still.
"Look at me," Alanna would say, so Thairn did. Those eyes flickered to hers. She couldn't read that expression, but it had chilling like to the look on his face when he submitted to her in happier times. "I will give you one stretch out of kindness and replace this chainmail with rope, but only if you behave, bug. If you don't, I think you know what I'll do, don't you?" And, hating herself, but needing to make sure he listened, to make sure he didn't think she was trying to signal him to fight. "Be a dear."
He bowed his head, and it set off the shock of ownership through her. Made her long for better times. She wanted him, still, and this was all wrong. She couldn't give him any reassurance or affection. But she could unlock the veils, drag them link by link off his wings, careful not to pinch or tear. He shuddered, dove for the toilet again, vomited clear fluid into the water.
He stretched his wings out once, as she had allowed, one long stretch that couldn't possibly make up for everything. It was the best she could give him. He closed his wings again and held out his arms so she could place the rope.
She could not stop at the lark's head this time, the way she had in the club before she'd given him away. She kept on with the corset tie, winding it loop by loop to cinch his wings against his back, rope pulled across his chest. He leaned his head against her, and she had to shove him away, force him to sit up. Had to put disgust onto her liar's face.
I love you, she couldn't say. I hope you understand. He would, he had to, he was Illa, her Illa.
At one point, she glanced up and saw Mickey studying her, studying Illa, some calculation running behind Mickey's eyes. Luke and Xavier were looking, too, but their eyes were on Illa's body for false moves, on the door for intruders, on the chainmail for guilt.
"Let's get it some clothes," she said, because nobody had clothed him after she'd left last night. "I can't stand to look at it much longer."
Luke produced another rope, and she thanked him and tied this one to Illa's wrist binds, so he couldn't get away. Not that he would try, she thought. But Alanna would want to be sure.
She stood. "Follow," she told Illa. Could see the command snap into him. Heavens, Illa. All that effort to get him to a place in his head where he could say no, and now he was here, Broca Burnt into barely being able to speak at all and under her direct control where, ironically, he couldn't obey her orders to keep track of his own consent.
Mickey and Xavier let her take him, Luke picking up the chainmail to take away. She hoped he destroyed it, though that seemed unlikely.
"Do you mind if I lend him some of my clothes?" Mickey asked. "He's around my size, and I think he'd look dashing."
Mickey had half a foot on Illa, but they were both bony, so the excuse seemed likely enough. Luke and Xavier didn't grumble--they were used to their boss's strange whims.
"I think it's a disgrace to your clothes," Thairn said, as Alanna, "But that's your own business." Did she want Illa behind Mickey's wards? Somewhere they could plan. Somewhere no one could hear either of them scream.
But then, she'd been behind those wards dozens of times, and they were the only place she felt safe in the whole forsaken mansion.
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