Authors: Scott V. Duff
“This is amazing work, Seth,” Kieran remarked.
“I thought so, too,” I said quietly, watching the two different groups interact. Though everyone seemed amicable, the only interface was between the presidents.
“Since Shrank is here, I assume all is well at home,” Kieran said, but it was more of a question. I assumed it was directed at me even though Shrank cooed in his ear, too.
“Yes and no. There are enough… questions to move that month deadline up a bit,” I said, catching Peter’s attention without alarming the North American council members he was schmoozing.
“Would you excuse us for a moment, gentlemen?” Peter asked standing. “We need to talk privately for just a few minutes.” Then he herded the four of us into another corner of the library. I called on the Stone to wrap the five of us in soundproofing barriers and then blurred the scene around us somewhat.
“Why do you need to move that deadline? Is the geas failing?” Kieran asked immediately.
“It doesn’t appear to be,” I said, “but there are several cases where they are changing. Shrank called to show me two water-nymphs, naiads I think they’re called, that were then playing in a stream.”
“What’s odd about that?” Peter asked.
“We didn’t bring any nymphs with us,” I said, laughing a little. “They stand about a foot taller than the brownies. I’m pretty sure we would have noticed them. That and they were born there the day before. Their parents are half their size and aren’t nymphs at all.”
“They’re changing on you?” Peter asked, his eyes wide and circular. “And you aren’t worried about that?”
“Of course I’m worried! I just don’t see what’s wrong. Neither does Shrank or Ethan. Everything feels right. Everyone is happy and fed from what I can see. And it’s not just these two. Y’all saw the brownies in the field. Didn’t they look taller to you?” They paused to think briefly then nodded in agreement.
“Why’d you bring the pixie back, then, if you were worried about yours?” Mike asked.
“This is not to be repeated, ever,” I said, my tone serious. “Shrank is under Kieran’s geas. He doesn’t bear the original geas. And Fae magic has an ebb and flow that is nature-based. In my realm, Shrank has full access to everything he needs, food, clothing, that sort of thing. He can draw in and use the magic of the realm, but it’s not
his
magic so he’s not getting quite everything he needs.”
“Think of it as a profound vitamin-D deficiency and Kieran is his sun,” Peter said, grinning at Kieran.
“That’s actually a good analogy,” I said. “But it may have been a problem only because my realm is trying to change everyone. I just don’t want to take chances with their lives at stake.”
“I agree,” Kieran said, “Especially when it is unnecessary. Let’s go ahead and amend our schedules then. We’ll need to confirm things with Gordon and Enid regarding Thursday’s timetable.”
“I have a tentative schedule for Thursday here,” Mike said, pulling a small notebook out of his jacket pocket, happily surprising me that he’d begun taking his new job seriously so quickly. I really hadn’t expected him too until after Thursday and we all got more settled in. He popped the binder open and separated Thursday’s itinerary, then flipped the book back to show a weekly view including today. Appointments littered the week, some literally penciled in versus inked. I’d always thought that a figure of speech.
“We are… amazingly free and available on Thursday,” Kieran said, reading through the schedule, surprised and happy about it.
“Not as much as it looks,” Mike responded. “I thought so, too, until Gordon pointed out a few things.
Seth
is amazingly free and available.
We
will be constantly called on for favors, at least Peter and I will. You and Ethan, not so much, but you will probably have to act like parents at a five-year-old’s birthday party, tending to squabbles and bruised egos. I’m not sure which of us will have the easier day, truth.”
“What do you think, Seth? Before or after the meeting with the emissaries?” Kieran asked me.
“Honestly, I don’t really know if it’s going to matter, but I feel like I want to get them taken care of as soon as possible. My first inclination is before,” I said.
“Okay, then,” he said without argument, switching to the weekly calendar. “Let’s say Wednesday just before dusk. Plan on using all of Tuesday for preparations there. That’ll give us tomorrow and Monday to finish up in the States. Looks like we’ll have to split up some. Tomorrow morning, after Seth gets Ian, we’ll go to Alabama and check on the house and check in with Richard. Ethan and I can get Mike setup with the attorneys on Sunday morning while you and Peter handle the morning interviews. We’ll join you for the last and if you like one or both of the first two, keep them around and we’ll talk to them then. Mike, where are these appointments?” Kieran pointed out the three mid-afternoon appointments on Monday.
“At a hotel in Huntsville,” Mike said. “I rented a suite specifically for that purpose on the day.” He shrugged and continued, “I assumed Seth didn’t want to use his house for that purpose and I didn’t know the address anyway. We can adjust and reschedule as necessary, though.”
“It’s tight, but it’ll work,” Kieran said, standing. “Start putting serious thought into what you want put into the geas and you and I will work on it Tuesday. It’s not much time, but if you aren’t satisfied with it, we can delay it.”
“Okay,” I agreed. For some reason, though, I was still uneasy. I couldn’t quite lay tongue to groove on why, and that bothered me more than being uneasy did.
“Don’t worry, Seth,” Ethan said, putting his arm across my shoulders. “We’ll get you there. You’re just really overwhelmed. It’ll happen. It’s only been a day.”
“Yeah, it is a lot, isn’t it?” I said, glancing over at him. “Let’s get back to the party.”
Dismissing the Stone’s soundproofing, we rejoined the councilmen just as Seward returned. “The display case is ready, Mr. Fuller,” he said then retreated a few steps back and waited.
“Shall we return to the party, then, Darius,” Peraza asked Fuller as he carefully closed up the gift box.
“If we must,” Fuller responded ruefully. “Remind me of this moment, Carlos, the next time I say, ‘No, Let’s throw a big party!’ Like there will be another time for this.”
A low chuckle ran through the room as the train reformed and we headed out again for the dining room. Completely empty now, the room looked bigger than before and still had the faint aroma of wildflowers that cut through the food smells admirably. The display case sat in the center of the room on an oval green rug with black suited men on either end. We stood by watching as Fuller and Peraza fiddled with their boxes, arranging the gifts to maximize the effects to show each of the three symbols of the case as well as the fruits and packing inside.
When they pulled back from the case, the only aspect that I could tell that they hadn’t emphasized was the lack of metal or metal tooling involved in its construction. And I had no idea how to show that. I decided on a small touch of my own and filled the case with the sense of my realm as we walked by. It was an easy motion having been there so recently, so fresh in my mind. The case glowed to my eyes, but no one else seemed to notice the difference.
“At your convenience, gentlemen, we would like to arrange a more intimate meeting,” Peraza said to us just before Fuller opened the French doors. “Once Darius opens those doors, we will likely lose any chance of getting to know you further. Your swift and dramatic entry into world politics has confused most of us. ”
“I’m sure we can make arrangements to that affect, Señor Peraza,” Kieran said. “We do have homes in both Canada and the United States so we will be available, certainly.”
“When you’re ready to leave,” Fuller said, hands ready to twist and swing us into the public, “Just let any member of staff know and we’ll have the van ready for you.”
Then he did it. Fuller opened the doors. The impact of this simple gesture changed my perceptions in that moment. It was an aspect of the Fae Lord, one I hadn’t seen yet. I was sensing more from everyone, but I couldn’t quite tell what it all was.
“So the sheep were led to slaughter,” muttered Mike, behind me again.
I was excited at first, to meet so many
people
. In a relatively short time it became, so
many
people… That’s when I recognized part of the change, as well as why I seemed to be irritable after such a short time. I was hearing more of them than they were actually speaking, picking up on their “top thoughts” as if they had spoken them. It was annoying. I was being told things three and four times in various ways and frankly, by the time I actually met most of them I was bored with them already.
It also explained why I knew so much about Morris, the driver from earlier today. I wasn’t sure I liked this. It wasn’t much different from reading someone’s aura, really. I wasn’t actively delving into their minds, plumbing their brains for information, but it wasn’t far removed from what Peter accused me of in London. No, that’s not right. He didn’t accuse me of it—he suggested I do it, and now I could and did without trying. There had to be some way of at least cordoning this ability off.
After an hour the hectic pace of introduction slowed considerably and Peter left me with Ethan to guard me. He dragged Kieran and Mike around to some of the more and less prestigious people we’d met, setting up political and business contacts with the least scary of us—me being the most scary of us. It was an interesting dichotomy to watch play out for a short time, though, that people both wanted to socialize with me but were scared to death of me, all because of who I was.
Once our entourage got pulled away and it was just Ethan and me, we were able to blend into the background, become mannequins after a sort. It gave me a chance to hone my newly found skills of mind reading. Or rather, more precisely, dull my skills. I found that I could limit the reach somewhat at least by pulling back on what I felt and thought of as “my personal space,” that two- to three-foot imaginary boundary that everyone has that defines a person from everyone else. My personal space was a little larger than most, about four feet, but I figured with a little time and effort I could shrink it a little more, just like the Faraday cages in the airplanes.
Letting Ethan lead, we wandered idly around, people watching. We started with the patio, mostly because that’s where we were when Mike ran off after Peter, rummaging through the stack of calling cards he’d been given tonight. I had to admit the late Mr. Fuller had an excellent eye for layout. The gardens were terraced nicely to allow both large and small gatherings. There were several alcoves just off the main paths for tête-à-têtes, plateaus for smaller enclaves, and all of them could be opened up and added to the whole with minor changes to the landscape. Nicely done.
We stayed clear of the dining room, both because of the display inside and because it was crowded. It would get more crowded if we went in and there’d be no end to the questions I most probably couldn’t or wouldn’t answer or favors wanted like I was Aladdin’s genie or something. The oddest question I found in my earlier mental perusal of minds was some variant of “When will my castle be ready?” which, frankly, floored me. Talk about a sense of false entitlement. I didn’t owe these people even a matchstick and they wanted a castle?
On my world?
Every person who thought that should be
very
glad they didn’t voice that question, or even ask to visit. I might have had a bad reaction.
That left us with the bar and ballroom to meander through. There were a few other rooms in the house that Fuller left open for the party, mostly on this side of the house, but it was getting late and we had an early day tomorrow. Ethan and I decided that we’d kick back in the ballroom for a few minutes then go find the guys and call it a night. Sad, really, since the wall clock read ten thirty.
The ballroom was setup almost like a small dance bar, or like the only one I’d ever seen. The bar on one end and the dance floor on the other. If it was larger, there might have been another bar. Tables lined the rim of the dance floor and were grouped together near the bar, but this room was for a more sedate and older crowd. The tables were lit with small, domed candles and smoking was apparently allowed but little was done. They were normal height tables and chairs, too, intended for sitting and conversation rather than cruising and showing off.
We stopped by the bar and I ordered a brandy that my father liked. The bartender didn’t card me and I didn’t offer either. The brandy had an oak flavor that countered its sweetness favorably, not something I’d have often though. For some reason it mellowed the tenor of the room for me. About forty people were there, mostly in pairs or quartets, and most were talking quietly. Ten couples were dancing to the jazz quartet currently playing. A far cry from Dillon’s Mineshaft, there were no strobing lights under the dance floor or spinning mirrored balls suspended from the ceiling. And I could hear myself think, so the music wasn’t nearly loud enough.
I watched people in the room vacantly, working on avoiding randomly picking up their thoughts. It must have worked, because I didn’t sense his approach and the Stone didn’t move either.
“Don’t let my dad see that. He’ll have a conniption,” the young man said, coming up beside me and sitting on the table with us. He wore a black suit and tie and held what looked like a tall, watered-down cola that I was pretty sure had more than cola in it.