Authors: Anthony Francis
“And what did they do for us?” she asked, putting her hand on her curvy hip.
“Secured the scene, cleared the neighborhood, so we can have this conversation in peace, without worrying that the bad guys are gonna regroup,” I said, thinking it through. “Put out their description, so said bad guys have to lay low while we hightail it out of here.”
Jewel swallowed and looked around nervously. “OK, you have a point. Look . . . I just got a little freaked again, thinking about them hiding in the bushes somewhere, waiting for the cops to split. Can I give you a ride to your car so we can all get outta here?”
“We took a cab,” Cinnamon said.
Jewel stared at her, then me. “Oh, no,” she said. “Uh-uh. You’re not waiting around here for Daniel and crew to get another crack at you while I drive off in safety, not after you provided the safety. Where am I ferrying you two tonight?”
“I . . . don’t know.” I laughed, pulling out my smartphone. “We never actually made it to the hotel, so either we’re heading to the airport, or . . .” I raised an eyebrow, reading the curious text from Vickman. “Sounds like we have been cleared for . . . a hotel on Cathedral Hill.”
“That’s . . . a bit of a ride,” Jewel said, “but I’ll do it gladly, skindancer.”
Back on the Bay Bridge, crawling toward downtown San Francisco, I glanced at Jewel.
“So . . .” I said. “You live in a commune?”
“No!” she laughed. “I’m not quite that granola, even if I did go to Berkeley. I’m just staying in a fireweaver’s commune while I’m performing in the Bay Area this week. Back in my native Hawai`i, I’ve got a plush little condo, thank you very much—”
“You’re from Hawaii?” I asked, even as I noticed the slight but precise catch in her voice between the last two I’s in “Hawaii” that I normally drawled out as
haw-way-yee
. Then, unthinkingly, I said, “You don’t look like a native—”
“
Anyone
born in Hawai`i,” she said firmly, “is a native Hawai`ian, whether they’re from indigenous Polynesian stock, of European descent—or a mix, as I am. And just because one of my ancestors was a Yankee invader doesn’t mean I can’t embrace Hawai`i as my home.”
I
was
a bit embarrassed at having put my foot in my mouth, but Jewel had gotten a little
too
steamed, and I couldn’t let that stand. “I’m sorry,” I said, and for once Cinnamon didn’t correct me. “I misinterpreted what you meant by ‘native.’ I wasn’t trying to offend—”
“I know,” she said, a bit embarrassed herself. “You just hit one of my hot buttons. I’m a hard core Hawai`ian activist, but even after
years
in the cause, Daniel and his crew of yahoos want to push me out because . . . well, because I have Western features and red-blond hair.”
“That sucks—but I know how that goes,” I said.
Daniel is native Hawaiian.
Most interesting; I should have been able to place him. “Some people don’t want me to have a say in the raising of Cinnamon, just because I don’t turn furry once a month.”
Jewel jerked in her seat. “Oh, hey—she’s a
real
werewuh—uh, werecat?”
Cinnamon swatted at her, and Jewel laughed. Then her face grew serious.
“Look, I didn’t want to talk with the police around,” she said. “Fireweaver business is supposed to stay within the Order—but I was serious about trying to summon a dragon, and Daniel’s serious about stopping me. You may think that’s all New Age nonsense—”
“But he clearly doesn’t,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We pulled up to the hotel, and Jewel dropped us off in the turnaround. We thanked her and got out, but when I waved goodbye, she rolled down her window.
“Look . . . Dakota Frost,” Jewel said, leaning over, staring up at me through the window. “You really did save my life, at least metaphorically. I do think Daniel meant to maim me, and I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t spin. Thank you.”
I rubbed the two forefingers of my right hand. I knew what it felt like, the threat of maiming, the fear of losing one’s profession. But I didn’t want to dump upon her all the trauma of my past, or to spook her even more. Finally I just said, “All part of the service, little lady.”
Jewel started to lean back, then paused, wavering there in the car.
“All right,” she said nervously. “All right. I can do this.”
“Yes?” I said, smiling down at her.
———
Jewel lowered her chin. “This time . . . can I get your number?”
7. No One Mentioned the Fae
The next morning, I dreamed of a beautiful, curvy fireweaver and her delicious smile. The dreams turned hotter as she spun fire, then darker as her blazing poi deflected bullets. Swirling fire coiled around her like a dragon, threatening to burn me alive.
I awoke in a sweat, to find Cinnamon curled atop my bed like a giant cat.
Quietly, I sighed. Predictable. Adorable, but predictable. I’d specifically asked for two beds, but unless I wanted to exile her to her own room, I could count on Cinnamon waking up in the middle of the night and coming to sleep on my bed, by my side, curled atop the covers.
Gingerly, I extracted my arm—dead asleep from her weight—and slipped out of bed. Cinnamon didn’t stir—after staying up to go to the Crucible, she’d been absolutely wiped. She had the oddest sleep schedule, crashing as early as seven, but just for a few hours; she’d get up, bookending midnight, then crash again until it was time to get up for school. I brushed my teeth and slipped out the connecting door to Saffron’s suite without waking my baby.
Darkrose and Saffron sat around their suite’s tiny breakfast table in matching bathrobes, murmuring to each other sweetly. When I closed the door behind me, Darkrose smiled, nodding to Saffron, who lifted her newspaper—apparently, and unsuccessfully, trying to hide her grin.
“So . . .” Saffron said, not looking up from the newspaper, “Jinx and Doug said hello—they left about half an hour ago to catch a morning boat tour of the Bay. I think their honeymoon went . . . quite well.” Her mouth quirked. “What about you two . . . did you guys have fun?”
I stared at her, unsure of what to tell her. She’d
so
wanted last night to go well.
“Dakota,” Saffron said, putting the paper down. “Oh no. What went wrong?”
“The performance was spectacular,” I said, “and I even got to go backstage with Jewel. She’s . . . really sweet and I felt like we hit it off. But when we were walking her to her car . . . we were attacked on the streets of Oakland by four guys—with guns and fire swords.”
“No,” Darkrose said, straightening in her chair.
“Nothing to do with me,” I said, “but they were really serious about hurting Jewel.”
“What is up with this city?” Saffron asked. “First the airport, then a mugging?” She shook her head. “Initially, I was skeptical, but now I’m glad Nyissa volunteered to be your bodyguard. Hopefully the Vampire Court will release her soon—”
I jerked. I’d entirely forgotten the arrangements Vickman had made—Nyissa’s coffin was supposed to be deposited in our room, since she was acting as my bodyguard. But when we’d gotten to the hotel, Cinnamon and I had gone to our
empty
room without a second thought.
“Oh, no,” I said. “What . . . what happened? Do they have any demands—”
“They didn’t kidnap her,” Saffron said. “She’s just in the hospital—”
“Oh,
no
,” I said, dismayed. “
What happened?
”
But Darkrose, who had been taking a sip of tea, abruptly spluttered it up in a choked-off laugh. As I stood there, astounded, she shook her head at me, smiling in reassurance, then put her cup down and felt at her mouth. “Caught my fang—”
“Dakota, I didn’t mean it like that,” Saffron said, her face a mix of embarrassment and amusement. “Nyissa will be fine. She’s still under my protection. She’s undergoing a medical procedure, thanks to the hospitality of the Vampire Court of San Francisco. If all goes well, you’ll see her tonight . . . when we introduce you to the Vampire Court.”
I stared at her blankly. “I . . . thought we weren’t welcome in their Court.”
“Until introduced,” Saffron corrected. “Which will happen tonight, because the Vampire Court wants to see
you
, in person—a powerful new magician entering their territory, under the protection of not one but two vampire lords, with a third high-ranking vampire in tow.”
I stood there, stunned, trying to process all that. Saffron was a power broker who sat on Atlanta’s City Council, so it didn’t surprise me that the Vampire Court sat up and took notice when she rolled into town with her South African consort.
But Nyissa wasn’t just my bodyguard; she was the Vampire Queen of the House Beyond Sleep, a vampire house officially recognized by the Gentry of Atlanta. Few people outside this room knew that the House Beyond Sleep was three vampires running a B&D B&B in east Georgia.
“Jesus,” I said, making Darkrose flinch slightly. “One wizard “guarded” by the queens of not one but
two
vampire Houses? This has to look like a full-on invasion. And we can’t explain that our forces in Atlanta were decimated by the fires, so this is basically all we have left.”
“No, we can’t,” Vickman said, closing his phone as he entered the room. “And, just in case someone’s bright enough to hit a spy store and pick up some long-range listening gear, let’s not even
talk
about any of our vulnerabilities while we’re here in San Francisco, all right?”
“Damn it,” I said. “If it’s that dangerous, should we just leave?”
“She can be trained,” Vickman said. “But we can’t leave Nyissa with the Vampire Court, we can’t retrieve her until tonight, and if we’re going to stay the day in San Francisco, we have to make at least a token appearance at the Northern California Practitioner’s Conclave.”
“Great. The vampires won’t let us leave,” I said, “but the wizards want us gone—”
“Ferguson’s faction is the least of our worries,” Vickman said, waggling his cell phone. “The leader of the Conclave just contacted me about new ‘security concerns,’ and we have to tread carefully. We expected vamps, witches, and werewolves . . . but now there will be fae.”
“No one mentioned the fae would be there,” Darkrose said quickly. “Dakota?”
“First I’ve heard of it, but relax, the fae aren’t
that
bad,” I said. In fact, Lord Buckhead, the fae lord of Atlanta, was a close friend. Well, a good friend. Well, he’d kept me out of trouble. Well—“Regardless, I thought the fae didn’t usually send a rep to these gatherings.”
“That’s what we were told,” Vickman said tightly. “That’s what we agreed to. But the fae have a standing seat in the Conclave, and have chosen to exercise it. No one knows why they’re crashing the party; my guess is that they
also
are interested in meeting you, Dakota.”
“That’s . . . charming,” I said. Lord Buckhead
was
a friend, but he could change shape, walk through walls, command the werekindred, and, if legends were true, grant you prosperity—or curse you to ruin. If he was an enemy . . . “I’ll put my best foot forward, then.”
“That sounds like a great idea—because a fae delegation
will
be at Conclave,” Vickman said. “And because the fae will be there—this is very important—we give them
no real names
. We don’t want to give them any more power than they already have.”
“But . . .” I said helplessly. “But they know
my
name—”
“And Cinnamon’s,” Vickman said, an ironic smile on his face. “But we only bring vamps who have pseudonyms, and Schultze and I, who operate under
nom de guerres.
Even then, we will do no introductions, and the rest of our party has to stay here.”
“Vickman,” Saffron said. “I agree with Dakota. This sounds too dangerous—”
Vickman smiled more tightly.
———
“I’m not saying we can’t jump off the train,” he said, “but it has left the station.”
8. Conclave
Our rental cars crawled up a steep—I mean, stereotypically San Francisco steep—street toward the top of Russian Hill, a densely packed elevation in the City which I remembered from our last visit as the home of the world’s steepest and crookedest tourist trap, Lombard Street.
But while many of the side streets were essentially staircases, we didn’t see Lombard itself, and eventually pulled into the gated parking lot of a Spanish Mission-style building nestled amidst looming canyons of apartment buildings and three-story homes.
The place was eclectic: the warm brown stone and curved arches of the mission were Spanish, the dark indigo inscription over the door was cryptic Russian, and inside, the mission was thoroughly modern, with cool carpet and wall hangings in blues and greens.
“I am the Warlock,” said the tall, genial man who received us in the antechamber. He was pleasant, and kindly, if a bit dated, wearing a three piece suit and sporting a seventies shaggy haircut . . . but I got a peculiar tingle from him, not a spell precisely, but a magical echo in my tattoos, which definitely caught his eye. “Your clan’s inkwork lives up to its colorful reputation. Did your security man warn you about our naming protocol . . . Dakota Frost?”
I let out a breath. “Yes, and why you have that protocol, on which note,
my
name—”
“And Cinnamon Frost’s name, are well known,” the Warlock said. I glared, but he raised his hand. “Don’t worry—celebrity is its own shield. Speaking
your
names openly may actually help dispel fae threats . . . but please don’t introduce your companions.”
“This is ridiculous,” I said. “If there’s this much danger—”
“There must be an equal or greater reward,” the Warlock said, his eye glinting. “You don’t know me, Dakota Frost, but
I
invited you, and I promise this isn’t a trap. Please trust that I’ve contrived this peculiar situation for everyone’s benefit—”
“I don’t see how,” I snapped.