Border, KS

Morgan, unsurprisingly, regained her composure very quickly. She pulled out a kleenex from the box on Walter’s end-table, a necessity in a house with teenagers, and neatly folded it back up. “Needless to say that is not well known, among any circles—and I don’t tell a lot of people.” She said with a little bit of a sigh.

“I didn’t expect to see a Faerie Queen crying tonight.” Siobhan admitted, giving a little bit of a sheepish smile to the woman. Morgan looked at her for a moment, as if she was trying to decide whether or not that was a dig—and for many people it probably would have been. Apparenly Morgan agreed that it wasn’t, as she gave a sad smile.

“Crying for the loss of your home isn’t weakness. If you cannot shed some tears for losing that, then what will you sorrow for?” Morgan asked formally, with a shake of her head as she settled back down on to the couch. “I fear someone who cannot weep for that.”

“Do you always get Shakespearean when you’re sad?” Antigone asked curiously. Walter snorted, shaking his head as Morgan blinked and then laughed.

“Yes.” Morgan said with a smile. “I tend to. It’s a professional hazard, when you’re written about by Mallory. Next it will be rhyming couplets for when I’m pissed off. But for now, I think I am probably back to normal.”

“So what do we do?” Walter asked in the following silence, meeting her eyes. “To stop him, I mean. I don’t think any of us want him to win, if he’s willing to do all of this.”

“And why didn’t you just kill him?” Siobhan added. “If you did manage to beat him and banish him, why not like…permanently banish him. Mortal coil, shuffling thereof, and all that.”

Morgan looked at Siobhan, and now it was her turn at the head shaking. “It is not easy to kill your own father, even if he is a tremendous dick. But beyond that, we couldn’t.” When she saw that Siobhan and Antigone both were going to ask why, she held up her hand to keep them at bay. “Oberon had done great service in the wars, and there were a not insignificant number of our people who wanted to try to come to a peaceful resolution with him.” She explained. “And more than that, as part of winning those wars he had to banish our enemies as well. And he contained those banishments within a part of himself. If he dies or removes them, then they are free to attack our lands again.”

That brought a new bout of considering silence as they all thought about that. Walter spoke first, meeting Morgan’s eyes again. “So…what do we do?” He asked again. “If we can’t kill him and you’ve already banished him from your lands, what do we do?”

Morgan sighed, running a hand back through her dark hair. “I don’t know.” She answered honestly. “I wish I did, I wish I knew what we needed to do. I think that we’re going to have to find some way to kill him, if I’m honest—no matter what the cost is, no matter if it plunges us back in to war.” Morgan turned for a moment to look out the window and consider it. “Oberon’s anger is legendary. If he takes back Faerie, then all those who stood against him will suffer. The blood will run through our lands an apple deep, and people we are sworn to protect—who we went in to this exile of ours to protect—will suffer.” She sighed, and then laughed. “And of course Tania and I will be dead. Or worse than dead.”

Everyone in the room who wasn’t Morgan looked like they wanted to ask about that, but wisely they did not. Instead they looked at one another, trading glances back and forth. “And what will happen to the city? To our world?” Antigone asked.

“One of the reasons we deposed him was that Oberon thought it ‘supremely unjust’, his words, that the immortal Sidhe should sit side-lined from the world of mortals. He especially felt during his attempt to re-take our lands that industrialization’s effects on the natural world showed just how much mortals could not be trusted with stewardship of the world.” Morgan explained sadly. “If he is in full control of Faerie and unfettered in his power, then he will seek to right that wrong.”

Walter’s face hardened at that. “I’m not thrilled with the thought of some immortal a-hole telling me what I can’t do in my own world. Even if we are doing a pretty good job of wrecking it.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “He has a point only so far that if you ruin your world then Faerie, which is its transposed image in the mirror as we understand it, will probably unravel as well. But no, I have no desire to watch my father wage way on the mortal world. I like the mortal world. They let me get doctorates, and we didn’t invent pizza, the cheeseburger, or the offensively named ‘Irish Car Bomb’.” Morgan explained with a smile. “That’s his problem, I think. He is the next best thing to immortal, and has never been particularly connected to the mortal world. There is so much joy in this world, so many wonderful things.” She laughed.

“I thought immortals weren’t supposed to like modernity.” Walter asked in response, drawing a laugh from Morgan.

“I snuck in to a library when I was a girl just to marvel at the books.” Morgan explained. “I now have a device in my pocket that makes the libraries of Oxford when I was born look like a redneck outhouse’s lending library. I llove it.” She said genuinely, smiling. “And that’s why we have to save it. So that’s the answer, Walter…what do we do?” She repeated his questions. “We get ready to go through that scary chalk circle. And we train to kill a god for when we do.”

“So how do we stop him?” Walter asked the only real question he could think of. He couldn’t disagree that Oberon was obviously upping the game, or whether he needed to be stopped.

“That depends on what it actually is that he’s doing, and that’s the problem.” Morgan said, leaning back and crossing her ankles. “We know that he has something planned, and that he’s been trying to draw us out. We know he stole our safe house full of magical artifacts—”

“Powerful crap,” Walter edited the word magic out, which drew an eye-roll from the doctor before she kept right on rolling.

“And that he has been trying to force us to act. Which implies that he needs something from us specifically.” Morgan finished.

“If I’m right.” Walter said with a little bit of a shrug. “Just because it makes sense doesn’t mean that it is the only answer. If there’s another answer that ties it all in together better, then we shouldn’t overlook it.”

Morgan shook her head slowly, rehing up to tuck some hair back behind her ear. “No, it makes sense. He was always testing and probing.” She laughed, and it was a somewhat bitter laugh. “Everything was a test with him, nothing was just a comment or a question. He liked to keep you off guard, constantly wondering what he really wanted from you. It was,” she reflected, “annoying as shit.”

Siobhan had been just about to ask something before Morgan delivered that last line, and it took her several seconds to recover from the giggles enough to ask it. “What I don’t get is why don’t you just go get a posse of crazy ninja elves or whatever and go Elliot Ness on his ass. He puts one of you in the hospital, and in space no one can hear you scream.” She quoted.

Antigone stared at her for a very long moment, along with everyone else as they processed the mishmash. “Bonnie, what you just did to iconic movie lines should be a crime, and I don’t have any other words besides that to express how it makes me feel.” Rather than looking chagrinned, Siobhan beamed.

“I have not been to Faerie proper in years.” Morgan explained, and the tone in her voice leached the laughter out of the room instantly. It was a statement written in sorrow and inked in loss, and it made a not insignificant section of Walter’s heart hurt with the emotion of it.

“Why not?” He asked, almost breathlessly. Morgan sighed and reached up to rub her forehead as she considered her words.

“For a long time after we banished him, we convinced ourselves that Oberon would actually stay banished. And he did…unti he didn’t. He came back, and he came back with people who supported him and who would have opened his ways back in to Faerie. And dark allies that would have made it a much more terrible place, when he fulfilled his promises to them. In order to stop it we needed to change his banishment. Previously it had been linked too much to his physical characteristics, bound with hair and cloth and sweat.” She gestured to her hair, and to the swets she wore as if it explained more. “It was the strongest we could do on short notice.” She explained with a little bit of a shrug. She radiated unhappiness at the memories, but continued along in a level voice. Sorrow and loss, but wrapped around a core of steel, Walter thought.

“When he came back, we barely fought off his allies. He is powerful, but in his wandering had become unrefined—and he still almost lead them to victory. In order to preserve Faerie we needed to banish him with the strongest possible banishment. A banishment bound with salt and bone and blood, that meant his blood would never be able to enter Faerie while the spell stood. And it cast him away and we won, but at great price.” By the end of it Morgan’s voice was calm, but there was water standing in her eyes. She blinked to clear it, and looked away for a moment. Walter reached out to put a hand on her knee, and she reached out to grab it and squeeze.

“But why did that mean you couldn’t go back?” Siobhan asked, blinking slowly.

“Because none of his blood can enter the majority of Faerie, Siobhan.” Morgan explained, and now a few tears did fall. “None of his blood can come in to the Green Grass, or pass under the Tri-Color Arches. Or see our family, and friends. And what are we but half his blood, and half our mother’s?” Morgan asked bitterly. “In order to cut him off from Faerie, we had no choice but to cut it off from ourselves as well. Cut ourselves off from our home.”

Walter stared at her then, as it dawned on him too what she had sacrificed to stop him before—and the realization of what more she would be willing to sacrifice to do it again. “How long?” He asked, softly. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

Morgan looked back at him as she wiped the tears off her cheeks again, staring at the droplets as they rested on her fingers. “As of the Winter Solstice, very long. A long century. 100 years”

Walter stared at Morgan for a long moment as he took in her revelation. A small part of his brain thought that he had spent far too much time since he moved to Border being bewildered—it could have been on the tourism flyers. Bewildered in Border!

It was an absurd thought, and he knew it, and it almost made him laugh, which he suspected would not be a wise move in front of someone who had just pronounced themselves the Queen of Air and Darkness. Walter took in the woman in front of him, barefoot and wearing sweatpants, and he boggled for a second longer.

“Would it help if I changed into a silk dress and put some heels on?” Morgan asked with wry amusement, kicking her legs again with a wry grin. “Or if I used magic to call the wind and rearrange the room a little bit? I can do it, but I’d prefer not to.”

Walter kept looking at her for a long moment as if he might find the answer hidden in the strands of her hair, the smirk of her lips, or the fold of her sweatpants. “I don’t believe in magic.” Walter answered after a long moment. Morgan blinked slowly as if she was processing that before she let out an explosivve burst of laughter that was warm and melodic, like chimes on the summer breeze. She spent a few long moments laughing, holding her hands up in front of her face before she calmed herself down.

“That was…perfect.” She said when she’d regained her breath. “I’ve told great many people who I am since I’ve been it, and no one has ever responded like that. You are unique among the centuries, Walter Richards. Perfect.” She laughed again, before she reached up to brush back some hair.

Siobhan, Antigone, and Ryan all stared at them like they had lost their minds before they too regained their ability to speak. Antigone ooh’d, as if she had remembered something. “I thought that you said that Mab and Titania were the previous queens, but then you called yourself Mab.”

Morgan nodded, smiling a little bit. “They’re names, but they’re also titles. Or maybe…personae, more accurately?” She offered. “The Queen of Winter is always referred to as Mab, and the Queen of Summer as Titania. It wasn’t their names either, although I don’t know what their names were. I remember mine, but I don’t give it out lightly, and normally extract great promises from those who want it.” At those last words she looked to Walter, and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. He laughed, as the girls made various gagging noises which made Morgan laugh, until Siobhan continued.

“Why did you kick him out?” She queried.

That question made Morgan recover her composure quickly, although humor still glinted in her eyes. “In order to answer that I have to tell you why he was what he was. Normally Faerie is ruled over by the two Queens. As one gains in power, the other loses it—the seasons come and go, one court rules until it is their time to pass it. We are tied to the seasons far more than fully mortal men ever were, even in the days when the seasons ruled their lives far more than today.” Morgan explained. “But even with the flow of power waxing and waning, major decisions are still collegial, in the old sense—made jointly between the Summer and Winter, regardless of season, when they effect all of our world or yours. But we recognized that sometimes there was a need for more direct action than two consuls could execute.” She answered, looking to Walter as the children looked blankly.

“When Rome faced an emergency,” Walter explained, “they could pass a law appointing a dictator. The dictator had greater powers than any normal Roman official, could pass laws by decree, and was absolute and unquestionable during or after his time—and they always had a time limit, until Caesar was made dictator in perpetuity. And then he got all stabbed and junk.” He ended with a pretense of speaking like a teenager.

“Like you do.” Antigone said helpfully, to keep up the illusion.

“So Oberon was a dictator who decided to make himself a Caesar?” Walter asked. Morgan nodded solemnly.

“We had a great war, that began well before I was born. Oberon was our greatest leader and general, married to one of the queens and brother-in-law to the other, and a master on the field of battle. We crowned him in gold and glory, and set the very stars about him for his triumph.” Morgan explained, her voice taking on the far-off quality of memory as she saw a vision of what had been.

“And he turned in to a super dick?” Antigone asked.

“Oh yes.” Morgan said with a sigh. “As great as he was, he was also vain. And that vanity would not let him take off the crown—a common problem for politicians. Term limits not having been invented, more drastic measures had to be taken. In the course of the coup it became apparent that we needed new Queens, too…for a variety of reasons I don’t want to go in to.” She said honestly, shrugging. “When the dust settled Oberon was banished permanently, even if we couldn’t kill him, and we found ourselves as the new ones.”

“So he wnts back in?” Walter asked, althugh from the tone of his voice he knew the answer before he asked the question. Morgan nodded solemnly.

“Yes. And if he is willing to have his men attack the children in the school like Tania said, then I fear he is willing to go farther than ever before to get back in.” She answered, her tone the hush of someone afraid to speak of someone who might be near, or the quiet of a child who feared the violent response of an angry parent.

BEGIN CHAPTER 10: GROWING TOWARD

“Well, you definitely can rock a theme.” Antigone said as Morgan Winters stepped in from the outside, removing her coat and leaving her fuzzy boots in a pile by the door. She was wearing a pair of light blue sweatpants and a white zip-up hoodie sweatshirt with the words ‘KU Medical’ on it. “Very winter.”

“It gets better.” Morgan offered in response with a wry smile. She unzipped the hoodie to reveal a tank-top that matched both her sweatpants and her toenail polish, and was similarly emblazoned with the school on it. “Tania and I used to rack our brains and go back and forth on whether or not color preferences were dictated by our belonging to a certain court or whether we were socialized to them, but we never came to a conclusion.”

“Did you really go to KU?” Siobhan asked curiously. Walter’s children were still on the couch, splayed out variously, and they watched Morgan as she padded over to join Walter on the loveseat where he sat while waiting.

“Do you want a drink?” Walter asked solicitously as she sat down. Morgan gave him a smile but shook her head.

“Maybe after.” She answered him first, before she grinned to Siobhan. “Are you questioning my Jayhawk credentials?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, before she shook her head and laughed a bit. “Yes, I went to KU Medical. And to another medical school, and a couple of nursing programs. When I was young I even attended Cambridge while pretending to be a man.” She offered with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“With which to scandalize a Pope?” Walter asked curiously.

“Spooked. I spooked a Pope, not scandalized.” Morgan corrected as she leaned back in the couch to get more comfortable. But she also clearly looked like she was enjoying the banter mostly as a way to keep from discussing the weighty issues. Her words had a weight to them that they could feel, like she was trying to anchor the conversation down.

Walter let it linger for a moment, until the room was silent with the feeling of expectations and words unsaid. Finally he shattered the silence. “So…Tennyson. You’re not as estranged from your…world as maybe Tania wanted us to believe?” He met her eyes and he knew she saw the out that she was being given—to put the blame on her more prickly sister. But she shook her head.

“It’s not just her. We do not trade in truths much. We trade in half-truths. Easier to store, broken up like that.” The laugh that she gave this time was a little less mirthful, a little more tinged with a long practiced chill of withdrawal. “It’s safer, and it lends itself to politics and manipulation. We don’t lie—the stories got that true, but we shave the truth so fine if you were to hold it next to a lie you’d be hard pressed to see a difference.”

She kicked her legs again for a moment, an act so thoroughly human that Walter had to shake himself to focus as she continued speaking. “We know Tennyson rather well. He’s our brother.” She said this with dancing threads of both sorrow and fondness in her voice. “One of them, at least. Oberon’s by-blows, as we were called, were not Zeus-ian but they were not rare. Titania, his wife and Queen of the Summer Court, tolerated it; and she was not shy about it either. I think Mab, the Queen of the Winter and Titania’s sister, thought it was beneath him, but she was pricklier.” She gave a wry grin there, as if laughing at something inside, before she shook her head. “Tennyson is…a good man, but he has a very iron-bound sense of duty. We all do, it just…manifested differently. He swore as a Knight to serve ‘Foremost his liege and Faerie’. He put all the chains of duty on the first, and we always put it on the second.”

That took a long heartbeat for the room to digest, and it was Siobhan that worked through it first. “You’re a knight?” She asked with a delighted little laugh. “That’s so badass, I want to be a Faerie knight!”

Morgan smiled fondly at Siobhan, but also sadly. “It is a burden, Siobhan, and not one that is ever taken up lightly. Any Faerie that can summon a blade seemingly out of nothing has been sworn as a knight to a high noble of the courts and been taught the knack.”

“So when you saw Tennyson, you knew that it was Oberon.” Walter asked. “It wasn’t the tactics that confirmed it, it was your what…half-brother, who must be loyally serving spooky old dad?”

Morgan nodded. “Notice what I said was that the tactics sounded like him, not that it confirmed it. And I did say after that we had suspected it.” Walter nodded, but didn’t look terribly happy. “It’s a subtle difference, but it is meaningful. We did suspect him—Tennyson confirmed it, and the tactics do fit.”

“So why is your father trying to draw you out by killing people pretty horribly? And attacking us?” Antigone asked, sharing a look with Siobhan that made it clear she wasn’t comfortable with that part of her new town. Or maybe just disbelief in fathers attacking their daughters for any reason.

Morgan laughed and again it was a creature mixed of sorrow and joy, mingled light and darkness in the sound. “Well that would probably be because we threw him out on his ass and banished him from ever returning to Faerie, because he was a megalomaniac.” She smirked a little bit at the stunned expression on everyone’s faces. With a sigh she gestured with one hand, rolling it as if to prompt something else to come. “Go ahead and ask.”

“Who are you? Really, without any slicing of the truth Morgan…who are you?” Walter asked seriously, looking in to her eyes.

“I am Morgan Winters.” She answerd honestly. “And I have been for some years. I was born to a different name, and I have been known to mortal men and women by different names. But I am also Mab, Lady of the Frost, Queen of Air and Darkness and all the Winter Court.”

“I think today must be the day when people ask me things twice. Between the guy at the dress store, Bug, and you. I didn’t get a double fortune in the cookie from the Thai place, but I bet if I called them back my odds are good.” Walter responded.

“Who else asked, and also don’t dodge the question.” Morgan asked through the phone. Walter stood up and started to walk around the couch, before the was a rush and a shuffling of bare feet. When Walter looked back Antigone and Siobhan were both perched on the chair he had been sitting on, kneeling on the seat and leaning on the headrest. Antigone at least pretended to look innocent, resting her chin on her head and kicking her feet idly like she always sat backwards on chairs. Siobhan just looked directly interested, rolling her right hand around in a ‘hurry it up’ gesture.

“Antigone. She saw me getting pissed as hell, and then stopped—and she figured that it had to be why. Despite what the rumors say, I can in fact take directions from time to time.” Walter offered in amusement. He reached over to pick up a paper towel from the island in the kitchen and casually balled it up in his hand, before he threw it at his daughters and pegged Siobhan in the shoulder. She flopped back dramatically to the ground, legs kicking in the air, before she pretended to die with a loud ‘bleeeh’.

“What the hell was that?” Morgan asked.

“Siobhan dying from a paper towel to the forehead.” Walter explained. At the beat of silence that followed, Walter continued. “You know, like you do.”

“Sure.” Morgan conceded in a manner that made it clear she was just playing along with the crazy person, rather than actually agreeing on material facts. “So what are the seven words that, if you had said them would have caused strife between our two great houses of Verona?”

Walter looked around. “My house is pretty good, I’ll admit. Might have a magic closet, although I’m still looking in to that, but I’m not sure I would call it a great house…” Walter offered. At that Siobhan let out an exasperated grunt and flopped on the ground like a fish; Antigone started banging her head on the padded headrest of the chair she was still kneeling on; and Morgan snorted.

“Walter, did you know I once worked for about six months to learn how to actually chill the blood in someone’s veins. I only ever did it once, and it’s something you have to practice—not like riding a bicycle, is what I’m trying to say. But I want to tell you very seriously that if you do not get back to the point, I will spend a great deal of time learning how to do it again.” Morgan’s tone was conversational, and he knew from the amused thread running underneath it that she was at least a little amused, but he raised an eyebrow nonetheless. Antigone raised hers in return, and Walter pulled the cell way from his head for a moment.

“She’s just threatening to kill me now.” He explained breezily.

“Oh.” Antigone said with a shrug. “Carry on then.”

“I swear to God and all the little fishies…” Morgan began again.

“How’d you know his name is Tennyson?” Walter cut in, his voice suddenly serious again. It wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t joking around or stalling any longer. “It should count, unless future seeing gets choked up on compound words—then it might have been that bit about killing me just now.” Maybe a little bit more stalling, Walter thought idly.

Morgan was silent for a long moment, and he heard her clear her throat before she responded. “Why?”

“Because you’ve spent since August continually revising how involved you are in all of this crap, Morgan. It’s an ever upward trend, and it tends to coincide with either me getting shot at, getting the shit kicked out of me, or my children being attacked.” Now heat had come in to Walter’s voice, at a low burn rather than an inferno, but it was still there. “And I think it’s pretty much crap. So that’s why I got mad, because I’m slow but I’m not that slow, right? And I know for a fact I didn’t introduce you to Tennyson when we had him in custody before he and his buddies kicked the crap out of me.”

“So you realized I’d used his name, and that meant I knew him.” Morgan completed. “Which…”

“Which pretty much shoots the idea that you’ve been completely uninvolved to hell and back. That was not some flunky, he called the people his masters. And then used some bullcrap magic nonsense to bring them to attack us. So if you know him, you know a lot more than you’ve ever told us.” Walter explained. “And that pissed me right off. And I was about to blow a gasket, and then I remembered Gabriel’s advice. And I breathed, and I came home and had a beer while my children turned my house back in to a Superfund site, and resolved to wait until the phone call.”

“And?” Morgan asked.

“And I like you a lot, Morgan.” Walter said. All three of his children perked up at that, with Siobhan bounding back in to the chair next to her sister and even Ryan raising his eyebrows in surprise. “And because I like you a lot I’ve given you way more chances than I’d have given almost anyone. But that has to stop, because we keep getting into fights that frankly scare the crap out of me, and it keeps threatening my children.” His voice was a mottled combination of frustration, anger, and outright terror. “And so it has to stop, or whatever we are is going to crash and burn, and we might now make it through whatever is going to happen to us.”

There was a long silence from everyone involved. It was the quietude of contemplation, thick with words being considered and consequences being weighed. It felt like it rested on the shoulders and backs of everyone in the room for the space of a few heartbeats before Morgan sighed. “Blight.” She murmured, with the inflection of a swear word. “Alright. Can I come over?”

The children hit the house like a wrecking crew, loud and without the least suggestion of subtlety. Shoes were once again piled in front of the door, and the whole lot of them looked like they might just strip everything off there and sit on the couch in underwear until Walter chivvied them to their rooms. There were some things a father didn’t need to see, after all. After long moments of shouting about who had done what, and the accidental firing of what Walter was now calling Chekhov’s Nerf Gun—the Nerf trap gun they set up when they were first moving in to the house—they were now settled in the main room.

Antigone and Siobhan were in what they frequently wore to sleep, what Walter believed were the least yoga attending yoga pants in the world and tank tops. Ryan was mercifully wearing a shirt alongside his sweatpants. They were all piled on to the couch haphazardly, while Walter had just sat himself in his favorite chair when Siobhan asked him a question.

“Dad…what was it like the first time you killed someone?” She asked, not quite looking at him with wide and curious eyes. She was looking at the wall just to the left of him, her dark eyes intense for all that she was staring at a benignly painted patch—as if she could make it a slightly less awkward question by staring at something else.

Walter paused in the act of settling down, and then let out a little bit of a chuckle. He put himself down fully in the chair and looked for a long moment at something other than his daughter, before he caught himself and wondered if staring away into the distance was catching. When he looked at her, her dark eyes flicked back to his, as he considered how to answer.

“It was a firefight, in Somalia.” Walter explained after a moment. He took the beer bottle in his hand and brought it to his lips, distracting the moment in a brief taste of craft beer. He considered the bottle for a moment afterword. “The U.S. and NATO went to Somalia to provide relief. This was my first enlistment, and I was a fresh out of training rifleman. We were delivering supplies, and were attacked.” Walter paused again, and shook his head. “It’s a cliche, but I can still remember it incredibly clearly. I raised my rifle and fired, and the person fell down. I couldn’t tell you who was where or even tell you what the area looked like. But I remember raising the rifle, and firing it.”

“And then what?” Siobhan asked, leaning forward a little bit on to the edge of the couch. This resulted in her kicking her sister, but Antigone ignored it to listen—and Ryan was as silent as ever.

“And then…I remember it being right afterword, and we were back safe—no casualties—and then I threw up until there wasn’t anything left to throw up. And then my Sergeant got me drunk on something that tasted like it was distilled from hatred.” Walter finished, taking a far more pleasant drink to wash away that particular memory. “You’re the second person whose asked me that today, Bug—why?”

Siobhan blushed a little bit and looked away, not speaking for perhaps the first time in her life. If the topic had been anything else Walter might have thought she was being shy about a boy she liked, but that wasn’t normally prefaced by discussions of killing—although it was Siobhan, and he couldn’t be entirely certain. Finally after a moment Antigone leaned in to whisper to her. While they were whispering, Ryan spoke.

“Gary?”

Walter raised an eyebrow at that, apparently partially correct. “Who is Gary?” He asked curiously, putting away his shock for a moment that Ryan had been the one to tell him.

“He’s…a bully, and he’s been threatening me.” Siobhan explained. “We had a…confrontation tonight. I had to threaten him to get him away from us, and it scared me. I was shaking afterword, and I almost made throwing up a family tradition.” She laughed, a little bit bitterly—bitter at herself. She sat upright, and pulled her knees up at her chest to rest her chin on. Her eyes were owlish and huge as she considered everything and nothing. “I wasn’t scared at the psychic shop until afterword—and I did throw up then. But I was terrified tonight. And then I was even more terrified, but…that was Tania.”

Walter smiled a little bit crookedly. “It’s always scarier when you have time to think about it. I’ll tell you another story some time about what happened the first time I had to think about it. But I have to keep some stories for other pep talks, or I’ll be pretty useless as a dad.” That drew a round of amused laughter from the girls, and even a snort from Ryan as Siobhan settled back down. “Do I need to go have a talk with this Gary? Or kill him?”

That drew a very serious look from Siobhan, as if she was considering it. Antigone was also considering it seriously for a moment, which definitely caught Walter’s attention. Finally, Siobhan shook her head. “No, I’ll deal with it. If I think it ever rises to a serious threat, I’ll tell you. But I do mostly think he is just an asshole.”

Walter gave a slow nod, and was about to say more when Antigone spoke. “What were the seven words?” Walter laughed now, and shook his head slightly.

“You’re too perceptive, Annie.” He responded, kicking up the recliner on the chair. “I don’t think I’m supposed to say what they are yet, remember? I’m supposed to wait for a phone call. But,” he continued, “How did you know?”

“You got up a good head of steam to start reaming Morgan and Tania, and I know what that looks like.” Antigone smirked. “Normally at Bonnie.” That drew another chorus of laughter from everyone but Siobhan, who instead smote her sister on the head with a couch pillow. “Ack!”

Walter grinned, shaking his head—before his cell phone rang, from where he had put it on the table next to the couch. He considered it for a moment, and the name it displayed prominently: Dr. Winters. He let it ring once or twice, as the laughter died and three heads swiveled toward him. Finally he reached out and accepted the call. “This is Walter.”

“Good evening, Walter.” Morgan’s voice purred our pleasantly. “So what were the seven words?”

“Well…” Walter said, as he looked at the brick wall in the top of the High School, “I was right.” He finished, with a weight to his voice.

“You were?” Siobhan asked.

“I have to ask…why do you let us keep coming to crime scenes?” Antigone asked as well, as they came in to the room.

“Yes, I was right. It is a scary chalk circle.” Walter confirmed with a nod as he looked to it, and then sighed as his eyes flicked back to his daughters. “Right now you’re in this about up to your chins, so we might as well keep you along. I reserve the right to hide you from any murders.” He said, before he thought of the scene that they had carted people away from in the gym before Tania had woken the students up. “Any more murders.” He sighed, looking down for a moment. Once again he looked like there was more he wanted to say, but he just looked up and focued on the chalk circle. “So besides looking like a low-rent Stargate, what is it?”

“Uh…” Morgan exchanged a look with Tania. “It’s a low rent Stargate.”

That drew the whole party up to stop, and stare first at the chalk circle and then at the two women. “Really?” Andre asked, considering it. “We can go to Mars with that thing?”

Siobhan shook her head. “The Stargate didn’t go to Mars, it went to specific points in space with matching Stargates.” She explained with great patience.

“Nerd.” Antigone pointed out helpfully.

“Enthusiast.” Siobhan corrected. “So where do they go?”

“Well now I’m going to look stupid, because I forgot that Stargates couldn’t go anywhere.” Morgan confessed with a little bit of a sheepish grin. “But it is a portal. It can go to one specific place in Faerie that it is bound to. Because of the way magic works—shut up, Walter,” She offered pointedly, glancing at him before he could protest, “It creates a doorway. If you know how to open it, it is literally connected for that moment to the destination.”

Tania approached it, close but still giving it a respectful distance. She held up her hand carefully, as if feeling at something that the rest of them couldn’t see. The newspaper mogul closed her eyes and carefully probed at whatever it was she was sensing. “It’s clever, too. It only connects when the person opens it, so it gets around the time restrictions.”

Before anyone could bother asking, Morgan explained. “No magic is infinite. Even the most powerful artifacts, which are among the longest lasting things you can make with magic, will wear out and fade away in time. Only the most legendary curses or compulsions last forever—and very few people have ever seen those.”

Tania nodded, stepping back and looking over to Morgan. “Your turn, tell me where you think it goes.” She said. The dark haired sister stepped up now, and held out a hand. Morgan didn’t close her eyes, instead staring intently at the chalk sigils. But it was with a far-off stare, as if she was looking through the chalk portal to whatever lay beyond. Walter swore for a moment he felt a cool breeze, and saw Morgan’s hair rustle slightly, before it was gone—and he wondered if he had actually felt it.

“Winter.” She said, with a raised eyebrow back to Tania, who nodded. Morgan nodded again at the confirmation, and then looked to the others. “This portal goes to somewhere deep into the Winter lands of Faerie. Home.” She gave a little bit of a smirk at her sister. “So clearly I’ll be paying a visit to wherever this goes.”

“Why?” Andre asked as Leia came forward. She too put out her hand and then stopped it at just about the same spot that Morgan and Tania had, and wiggle her fingers a little bit. Neither Morgan nor Tania looked surprised, and that drew raised eyebrows all around the group.

“Some day,” Walter said dryly as he watched Leah wiggling her fingers, “We’re all going to have to talk about what we know and how long we’ve known it. And there is going to be beer, because we are going to need to not be angry, and we want a nice buzz.”

No one paid the comment much mind, as Tania instead looked to Andre. “Sidhe, and sidhe blooded people, are aligned with the Summer or Winter court. There are places within Faerie that are strongly aligned with the courts, and each of the courts has holdings that are tied to it. You’re weaker when you’re in your opposite territory. So if this goes deep in to the Winter lands, I’ll be mostly useless. And probably holding down the home fort.” She did not look particularly thrilled by that revelation. “Winter is the best for hiding conspiracies.” She sniffed, with a look over to her sister.

“You all sound pretty sure that we’re going.” Walter said, pointing to it. “Who says we want to go in there? If they know the attack failed, and we have to assume that they do since a bunch of guys didn’t come back, then they’ll knw and be waiting for us.”

Andre and Alexander nodded, and Alexander spoke. “If I knew that a door had been compromised, I’d make sure that it was pretty heavily guarded rather than leaving it open. Or close it, if I could.”

Morgan nodded, considering that. “The fact that they drew it here means that it will have the possibility to connect, even if they get rid of the door on their side. We could force it, and with enough push we could also move the door a bit. Try to get in on the side or behind whatever trapps they put up. Because they will have put up traps.”

Walter looked to Gabriel Shepherd, who had been silent since they came up in to the school. “There anything you want to add?”

“It’s trapped.” Shepherd replied with a shrug. “I don’t know how. This is beyond my knowledge, except that I need to go to make it work.”

Walter looked back to Morgan, and she sighed. “It is probably trapped. But it’s also our best chance to try to get back at these people. Weren’t you the one saying that we have to take the initiative?” She asked.

Walter sighed, and looked to Alexander. “We’ll have to plan it. If they think they can keep it open, we have time to get our ducks ina row and make sure this is something that can actually work. I don’t want to get anyone killed.”

Walter nodded, and then shrugged. “Alright…when do we go through the scary chalk circle?”

“Ok, this is getting ridiculous.” Antigone said with a shake of her head, her mouth forming a moue of displeasure. “Siobhan gets a magic dog, and now both of you are Faerie princesses?” She challenged them, before she looked back to her father. “I get a car right? I mean it’s only fair.”

“I thought she was the funny one.” Tania said, pointing to Siobhan.

Walter, for his part, didn’t look amused. He leaned back against the car and let them debate about who was the funny one for a distracting moment, people pitching in theories because they were otherwise shocked by yet another revelation about the mysterious sisters. But not Walter, who was working his way down from a fairly apocalyptic frown.

“Can I tell you how tired I am of doing this?” Walter finally said after several long seconds of thinking about it. “I mean this, specifically.” He looked around to the people, the cars, even how they were standing. It had all become very familiar, and at that moment that really pissed him off. “Every time something crazy happens we come back together and talk it out, and we find out a little bit more that you haven’t told us. Again and again.” He was keeping his voice mostly under control, but there was definitely heat in it where there hadn’t been before.

“Forgive me…” Tania said, her voice low. “But I didn’t know we were required to give you a brief history of our lives for your approval.”

“Give me a break, Tania…” Walter began.

“No, really.” Tania continued, forcing her voice over his. “Would you like to know the name of the first boy I had a crush on? The first time I bled, the first man I killed?” She asked. “I don’t know where you were born, what you regret, or whose blood you have on your hands; why should we be at such a disadvantage.”

“He was born in Colorado.” Siobhan piped in helpfully, but Walter shot her a look and she didn’t say anything else.

“That would be relevant, Tania, if we kept turning up things from my past.” Walter responded, his voice dropping down in to a little bit of a growl. “If the killer targeted people born in Colorado, or retired soldiers, or had turned out to be the brother of the first person I ever shot then my life would be relevant. And if it had happened you all would have had a briefing on your desk talking about that. But it’s not my life, it’s yours.” Walter stopped there, but looked down at his hands pointedly as if to demonstrate the lack of information there.

“Walter…” Morgan began, but once again it was Tania who interrupted.

“Where in the last seven centuries would you like us to begin?” She asked heatedly. “And what makes you think that you have the right to ask us any of this?”

“How about we start with why these people keep trying to kill us? And why you keep revealing this information in tidbits like you need ratings during sweeps week?” Walter’s voice was rising in volume now but keeping the lower register. “How about this: Why is your father trying to take over the world, what does he want, and why the hell we didn’t know about that before?”

Tania started to rear up and move toward Walter, but Morgan physically took her by the arm and forced her to stop instead. The dark haired woman shook her head, and Tania glowered but said nothing. “We have done this before, Walter, and I’m sorry.” She said genuinely. “But we are a people of cobwebs and shadows, and we rarely come out and tell the whole truth. We don’t lie, but we don’t exactly write memoirs either.”

Walter gave a slow nod, obviously working on tamping down his anger just a little bit. “And that’s…fine, I guess, up until the point when we get attacked. But we are getting attacked, and we are getting hurt, and the fact that they haven’t killed a whole crapton of us is a miracle. But once again they are attacking my children, Morgan.” Walter said, gesturing at the girls in question. “And it’s become long since apparent that isn’t going to stop. So I need you to tell me right now what you know, and not leave anything out.” The last bit became more of a person appeal than Walter would have wanted, and he looked meaningfully in to Morgan’s eyes while he said it.

She sighed, looking down at the ground, before she looked up. “We’re not princesses, not really. The Faerie courts are more…elective than that in some ways. And significantly more Game of Thrones. We’re not our father’s only children, and while there is some prestige it is hardly the defining requirement for holding power. We spent a number of years on the sidelines, and more years than that margianalized and afraid. And we’ve also spent a lot of years since then not in the spotlight trying to figure out what was going on.” She looked back up then. “We didn’t know it was him for sure, and we still don’t—but those were his tactics for so many years, and it fits.”

Walter considered her for a long moment, and the fact that he wanted to say more was written clearly on his face. Siobhan and Antigone exchanged a look and sidled a step back away, before Walter breathed out slowly.

“Ok. Let’s talk about the scary chalk circle, and we can figure out the rest later.” He said, as his eyes caught Gabriel’s for a fraction of a second.

Oberon, rightful Ard Righ of the Faerie, the Elf King, Prince of all the Green Plains, was not happy. The wind that whipped around him blew with it a stream of snowflakes, and he longed for the Green Plains of his birth and title. For a moment the image in his head and the need in his heart was so strong that it actually melted several of the fluttering flakes into droplets and steam, before he shook his head. He also admitted his annoyance might have something to do with it, as he walked in to the room and looked at his erstwhile liegeman.

“You had a place to be and a mission to complete, Sir.” Oberon said in a voice that was only a shade warmer than the howling wind outside. “You do not seem to be there to complete it.”

“My lord.” The other man acknowledged as he stood and bowed deeply. The man who called himself Tennyson to the mortal authorities looked stricken at the tone of Oberon’s voice, and the Elf King thought he had almost enough contrition on his face. “The Earl and I had a disagreement about how to proceed.”

“Yes.” Oberon said as he made his way over to his chair and sat down. It was old, as old as he was, and formed from living wood that had been carefully cultivated. It was warm with the rich sunlight of ancient glens, and it also made his back not hurt after the battlefield. It had never used to do that, but he supposed even gods could get old after long enough.

“My lord, we had a plan.” Tennyson said, with emphasis and a note of pleading. “We worked out the plan over years, and it was part of the point.” He always appealed to the political part first, and then… “And it was the right thing to do.”

“And we did it for how long?” Oberon asked, reaching out for a pottery mug that one of the soldiers had filled with hot spiced wine in expectation of him sitting down. “Sir, we have been at this for years and we did not get this much response until the boy took a shot at that blooded woman. Who we still do not know the identity of, despite our raid on the police station. Have we made any process on that front?” He asked, as he took a long sip of the passable wine. The heat of it warmed him and settled his temper, as the whole conversation came dangerously close to telling him what to do or reprimanding him—and he would not have it from this man, no matter whose byblow he was.

Tennyson flushed a little bit, and shook his head. He looked like he desperately wanted to dodge the question, but he knew better than to put off a direct query from his King. “No, my lord, we have not.” He admitted. “And that is my fault, although we both suspect who it is. But my point about the plan, my lord—” He began again, before Oberon waved his hand absently and cut him off.

“The plan was not working. The Earl made a very compelling point about how we could draw out those standing in our way.” Oberon said as he set down the cup. What had become his de facto audience chamber in exile was a medium sized room of well worn stone, filled with fine—but not opulent—wooden furniture. A part of him, the part that remembered the singing of the brownies in the autumn lands, was comforted by the simple and well made. A part of him, the part that remembered the High Seat and the halls of a King, bristled at it every time he looked around. But even the part that was unhappy was at least warm.

“Sire, it would work in the long run, and we must be patient. It does no good to take back what was yours if we cause a revolt in another century because of our atrocities. The so-called ‘Three Stripes’ killings, the traditionalist strikes, had a purpose. You can’t change it now without—” Tennyson cut himself off mid-sentence as he caught what he said and tried to begin reframing it, but it was too late. Oberon slammed his fist down in to the well wrought wooden table and splinters flew from it with the force of the blow.

“I am the High King of Faerie, boy!” He bellowed angrily, snatching the cup and slamming it in to the ground next to him. In the literal heat of his anger it bubbled on the floor like it was trying to boil over in a pot, hissing. “It is my plan to change! Your morals will do well for a king on a throne, Sir, but until I have that lauded seat again you would do well to mind your tongue and get us back to Faerie. That is the only blighted plan that matters!”

Tennyson stood there, shocked in the face of the fiery tempest that was the anger of the Elf King. He felt it wash over him, and it smelled like woodsmoke and desolation, like the fields of the dead in the ancient wars. “They are children, sir.” He said softly, daring to look up and meet his Kings eyes.

“They are mortals, Sir.” Oberon said, the fire in his voice chased now back to the depth of winter, his eyes dark with anger. “They will make more. You should concern yourself more with the future of our children then our servants to come.”

Tennyson stared at him with those damnably familiar eyes, before he gave a slow nod. “Yes, sire.” He lowered his gaze in submission to Oberon’s will, which the king only thought was proper as he reclaimed his seat.

“Go.” Oberon commanded. “Be gone from my sight until the time is right. I will have one of the other generals lead the planned attack, and you will see to it that the trap is laid true. Do not fail me again, boy. We are in my hour of triumph, and I will not have it foiled by your sentimentality.”

Tennyson bowed deeply, right hand on his chest and left on the sword at that hip in the traditional honor. He was gone before Oberon could re-settle himself fully, and the King of the Fey was left alone in his warm hall, calling for another glass of wine to soothe his anger.

“Why the hell does this keep happening?” Walter asked. The question had stewed in him for a long time, and he had been debating how to phrase it best. All the way back to the school with Morgan riding behind, which would have been pleasant otherwise, they stewed within him. Now, standing in what was a make-shift meeting room that was a not make-shift classroom otherwise, it bubbled out from within him.

“Are those your seven words?” Morgan asked curiously. Walter shook his head, although he did raise a surreptitious eyebrow to Gabriel Shepherd as the man came up. Shepherd gave a small shake of his head, and Walter shook his in turn again.

“Apparently not.” He confirmed. “Question stands though—why does this keep happening?” Walter looked at the group that was once again gathered around. Marshal Alexander, Andre, Leah, Morgan, Tania—and as was happening with a distressing frequency, Siobhan and Antigone. Ryan had skated home, and the only newcomer was Shepherd himself. “We keep doing this exact same thing. They do something crazy, we try to make it out with our skins intact, and then we get coffee or drink heavily and try to figure it out. But there has to be a reason.”

“You’re right.” William Alexander agreed, with a significant look to Gabriel Shepherd after a moment. “Uh…while we’re figuring out what has been happening all along, who is our new friend? Are you recruiting for the department?” He asked, humor warring with weariness in his voice. “Althugh if you can only answer one, I’d like the first…I’m getting real tired of this too.”

“Gabriel Shepherd, who is most assuredly not a psychic and similarly most assuredly does see the future from time to time.” Walter explained, almost disinterestedly. “He also told me that I will have a very bad evening because of seven words, although I don’t know what those words are exactly and it is driving me crazy.”

“Some of us have been thinking that for quite some time.” Tania pointed out, kicking her foot. She was sitting on the roof of a police cruiser as they all stood in the cool night, several of them still sweating off the evening’s exertions. Walter noticed that Antigone and Siobhan were not standing particularly close to Tania, and Antigone actually adjusted the distance a couple of times by pulling her dress closer about her. “We can’t come up with what the agenda is, partly because the people they’ve been killing and things they’ve been doing are so random.”

“And partly,” Morgan added, “because we don’t know exactly who it is that we think is in charge of the whole thing.”

“Then how did you know that they didn’t want kill us, but they want to rule us?” Siobhan pointed out. “Or were we quoting movie trailers? If so, uh…” She paused for a moment, fiddling with her fingers as she worked to pick the right one. “In space, no one can hear you scream?”

“Bleh.” Antigone added helpfully to her sister’s pick. “There has to be a better one.”

Morgan considered the two young women for a moment, before she looked back to her sister with a raised eyebrow. Finally, Tania waved her hand in assent to something, and Morgan began speaking again. “We know that because if they wanted to attempt to kill us all they probably could have done it. The Three Stripes killings were targeted, even if we don’t know exactly why because of the committee problem. These escalations have all been with a purpose, that seems to have grown after the random attacks that involved the girls.” Morgan said, motioning to Siobhan and Antigone off-handedly. “It could be that they have been targeting them because they’re Faerie blooded, if you know how to look, but unknown. Or it could be that they know something about their mother.” Morgan stopped there for a moment, biting her lip as if physically keeping herself from cutting off another comment.

Walter filled it in. “Or if they’re specifically targeting the girls it could be because their mom is with them?” He asked in a tone that made it clear it was not a question. Morgan gave him a little smile, a sad one, and he shook his head in return. “No. I don’t believe that one, and I don’t think it’s true.” At various looks, he rolled his head around a little bit and sighed. “I knew her, after all of you did, and no matter what else has happened I don’t believe my wife is helping madmen and lunatics hunt her daughters. Move on, it isn’t that one.” He looked down for a moment, tapping his foot on the ground as if considering something.

“Ok.” Morgan said, sharing a brief look with the Marshal. She was about to say something, before Walter looked up.

“They’re trying to accomplish something. When they stole from your creepy death armory, they had a reason for doing so. And Professor Gloom seemed pretty damn convinced he knew exatly what he was doing. So if they aren’t trying to take territory or steal cool stuff, because they already did that, then they’re baiting us.” Walter said, with a sudden conviction. “Everything they’re doing is to get us to do something. To make a mistake, so that they can hit us and cripple us for good. If we figure out what that is, then we can…well, avoid it.” Walter finished with a little laugh at the end.

The others considered it, before a wave of nods went across the crowd. “I like it.” Alexander said. “If you can’t kill your enemy for some reason, make them move to a place where you can.” Andre nodded eagerly.

“That…does seem to be his style.” Morgan said after a long moment of consideration. She was quiet and still, a frozen lake in the winter night as she processed what he had said. “We thought he must be trying to strike at something, but he’s baiting us.”

“What do you mean, his style?” Alexander asked. “Who is he?”

“And don’t dodge it this time!” Siobhan said pointedly, ever the pointer of points.

“I…” Morgan sighed. “We don’t know for sure, and we won’t know until we see his face. Or he hires a sky-writer or a SuperBowl ad. But we suspect that the leader of the people waging war against our courts is our father.”

“Your father?” Walter parroted, but with compassion in his voice. “Who is he?”

“The last Ard Righ, High King of all Faerie. The Elf King, Prince of all the Green plains.” Morgan finished, looking down at her feet and looking very much like an embarassed or frightened young woman. “Oberon.”