Void. The odd sense of falling without moving. All the streetlights flickered out, and only their headlights cut the sudden darkness. The chain-link fence and Oakland vanished. The primal forests of Elfhome and the elfin enclaves lining the border took their place. The aurora effect gleamed directly overhead, dancing along the gate's curving veil.
"Let's go!" Tinker nailed the gas pedal.
The gate remained closed. The guards, gathered to watch her wild driving, scattered, except one fool waving like he thought she'd stop. Tinker reached up, caught the pull on the air horn, and blared her intention to barrel through. Said fool took the warning.
The gate was wood, and it sheared off with a sharp crack. The enclaves on either side of the road formed a chute of tall stone walls, three hundred feet in length, and then they plunged into the dark woods.
She had driven the road before, knew it to be a straight path. Roads on Elfhome were mostly fitted stone, following ley lines, acting as both road and power source. Unlike the wide-berm, multi-lane highways of Earth, they were more like paths. Branches scraped along the roof of the trailer and threatened to take out her mirrors.
Tinker leaned up. "See if you can check Windwolf. I don't have him strapped down back there."
Oilcan slid out from under her, squeezed through the window, and called, "He's fine. There are cars coming."
Reaally? Imagine that!
The side mirrors polarized to keep the car's headlights from blinding her completely. "I see them."
"We're in shit trouble, Tink."
"I know." She was determined not to be sidetracked into being upset. "We get through this, and then I'll worry about the mess."
The hospice was two miles in. Luckily the road remained too narrow for the EIA cars to try cutting them off. She geared down to make the turn into the hospice parking lot, swung the flatbed around, and backed up to the hospice's door as the EIA cars swarmed about her like gnats, hemming the truck in on the sides and front.
A moment later, and EIA men clung to every surface of the truck, pointing guns at her through the windows. Tinker raised her hands.
They hit her with a police override, and the door locks thunked up. They jerked the door open.
"I've got a wounded elf in—" she started to say, but finished with a yelp of surprise as they plucked her out of the seat.
"Tinker!" Oilcan shouted from the back.
"There's a wounded elf in back!" she said.
They pushed her up against the flatbed's hot hood, face down, and twisted her hands behind her back. Pain flared from her wounded hand. She couldn't bite back the cry of hurt.
"Tinker!" Oilcan threw open the back door and was yanked down himself. A moment later he was slammed up against the hood beside her. "She's hurt!" he growled. "Be careful with her!"
There were elves among the men. She could hear the rapid bark of Elvish. A man was leaning his weight into her back, while frisking her.
"She's got a shoulder holster on!" the man shouted in warning. "They've got a pistol someplace."
The gun! Where had she dropped it? It was lost in a blur of events.
He reached her pants pockets and started to upload them onto the high hood. "Damn, she's carrying a household."
"We haven't done anything except protect our patient," Tinker said, trying to turn to face him.
"Shut up, punk." He pulled her backwards and then slammed her against the hood again.
"Leave her alone!" Oilcan shouted.
The guard turned, nightstick upraised. Tinker shouted wordlessly in protest.
Then everything went silent and still. An elf had hold of the nightstick, and there were others, armed and hard-eyed, ringing them.
"They're not to be harmed," the elf said in Low Elvish. "Wolf Who Rules has placed them under his protection."
"Naekanain," Mr. Nightstick said, slurring the word as if he'd learned the phrase by rote. I do not understand.
"They have brought Wolf Who Rules here to be cared for," the elf clarified in Low Elvish. "He asked me to protect the young humans. I will not let them be harmed."
"What's he saying?" Mr. Nightstick asked the woman beside him.
"He's saying, 'Hands off the kids or we'll break your face.' Get the cuffs off them."
* * *
It quickly became apparent that there were two types of armed elves present. Hospice security appeared to be laedin caste, in camouflage green and browns done with elfin flare for fashion. They carried bows and spell-arrows and interceded between the humans of the EIA and Windwolf's personal security—which was all higher-born sekasha caste, armed to the teeth and thoroughly peeved. Even the hospice healers seemed intimidated by the sekasha, taking care to make no threatening moves as Windwolf was shifted off the worktable onto a stretcher and then handed out the trailer. The cousins were kept back, out of the way, as the healers and the sekasha carried the injured elf into the hospice.
By then, news of the cousins' arrival with Windwolf must have reached the enclaves that lined Elfhome's side of the Rim; elves drifted out of the darkness to gather in the parking lot. They were largely ignored by everyone, but seemed satisfied with swapping information among themselves. Only one rated attention from the guards; she drifted out of the woods like a will-o'-the-wisp, a gleaming beauty who made Tinker extremely aware of how short, dirty, and scruffy she herself really was in comparison. Obviously one of the high caste, the female crossed the parking lot and stopped one of the hospice guards with a touch of her luminous hand. The two made an effective roadblock, preventing the cousins and their joint elf/human guard from entering the hospice.
"Wolf Who Rules has been found?" the female asked in High Elvish. The guard bowed low and answered in a rapid flow of high tongue that Tinker couldn't follow. (Tinker had always found the more formal language to be too tedious and pretentious to become fluent in it.) She did catch, however, the female's name: Saetato-fohaili-ba-taeli. Roughly, it meant "Sparrow Lifted By Wind" though the "Saetato" could indicate soaring rather than lifted. While the female did not seem the type to take a human nickname, she would probably be called Sparrow.
As if collateral damage from Sparrow's beauty were not enough, the guard indicated the cousins, and Sparrow turned her stunning regard their way. From ankle-length hair, so pale blond it was nearly silver, with ribbons and flowers worked through it, to her tall lithe body encased in softly gleaming fairy silk of pale green, she was perfection taking humanoid form.
"These two wood sprites?" A soft musical laugh as eyes of deep emerald studied the cousins.
The guard clicked his tongue, the elfin way of shrugging, and added something about Windwolf putting them under his protection.
"Yes, of course." Sparrow clicked her tongue against straight pearly teeth and drifted away.
* * *
Minutes later the cousins were alone, under joint human/elf guard, in a waiting room, holding mugs of hot chai. Oilcan was quietly shaking off the adrenaline, which left Tinker plenty of time to think. They had done it—kept Windwolf alive all of Shutdown Day and delivered him to safety. With all of Pittsburgh, why though, had he ended up in her scrap yard? Just stupid luck, or had the life debt between them somehow guided him to her? And now what? Did he disappear out of her life again, until the next monster and the next life-or-death fight?
She touched her breast pocket to feel the spell within. If she got a moment alone with Windwolf, it might be the last time she could ever cast the spell. Even if she was sure the spell wouldn't harm him, did she want to sever the link? She scoffed at herself; what did she know of him except that he was arrogant? Strong. Brave. Altruistic. Honorable. Beautiful. That he was capable of wit and patience even while enduring great pain, facing probable death. And he was possibly a great lover.
The door swung open, and a man came in as if he ruled the place. He could nearly pass as an elf. He was tall, sleek, had blond hair drawn back into a braid, and was stylishly dressed from painted silk duster to tall, polished boot
s. He checked himself at the sight of the cousins huddled on the couch. Finally, the man let out his breath loudly and glanced at his PDA. "Which one of you is Oilcan, and which is Tinker?"
"I'm Tinker," she answered. "He's Oilcan."
He crossed the room to tower over them. "Brother and sister?"
"We're cousins," Tinker said.
"I'm Maynard." He didn't need to say more. Everyone knew Director Derek Maynard, head of EIA. In Pittsburgh, it was just short of saying "I'm God."
Oilcan moaned softly and sank deeper into the couch.
"You are in luck that elves believe that the ends justify the means, as long as it's done with honor. We've been told that the court would be most displeased with us if we press charges." He said it almost like the royal "we." "So the question is, what all do we need to pardon you of? Are you citizens, or do we have to draw you up papers? Is that truck yours, or did you steal it?"
"We're citizens," Oilcan said. "But we need our papers back. Your men never gave them back."
"We didn't do anything wrong until your men attacked us," Tinker said.
Maynard looked at her, eyes narrowing. "Was this before or after you destroyed the checkpoint?"
"We were waiting for Startup about a mile from the checkpoint when they forced their way into the trailer," Tinker said. "They were going to kill Windwolf. I had Windwolf's gun, so I pulled it on them. I made them get out. Then we rammed the gate."
Maynard studied her, all expression going from his face until he was unreadable. "What made you think they would kill Windwolf?"
"The one who got into the trailer called Windwolf 'sitting duck' or something like that."
" 'Easy prey.' " Oilcan mimicked their thick rough voices. "He said 'He is here—easy prey.' Then the other said, 'Do them all. Quietly.' They were going to kill all of us."
"Yeah, no witnesses," Tinker said.
"What makes you think they were EIA men?"
"They had on the border guard uniforms and asked to see our papers."
"It is important for you to understand this." Maynard dropped to one knee so he was level with them. "The EIA did not try to kill Lord Windwolf."
"They were too big to be wearing stolen uniforms," Tinker said. "They were taller than you, with lots more muscle."
"Whether they were truly EIA or not is yet to be seen. I doubt very much that they were my men. If they were, they were not acting under my orders. It is very important that no rumors to the contrary start. Me sanctioning a murder of Lord Windwolf would mean war. Perhaps war isn't a strong enough word. It would be genocide. The elves would rid Elfhome of humans."
Had he ordered it? Tinker considered what she knew of the man. Everyone had something different to say about Maynard—some of it insulting. No one called him stupid, though, and sending men in uniform would be the height of stupidity.
"Okay," Tinker said. "You had nothing to do with it. So, I guess this means we won't get our papers back."
"I will see you are issued replacements," Maynard said.
"We had reports that Windwolf and his guard had been attacked by wargs just before Shutdown. His guard had been killed, and he disappeared. We had no idea if he was in the city or still on Elfhome. We were hoping he made Elfhome. Apparently he didn't. How did he end up with you?"
"The wargs chased him into our scrap yard at midnight last night. I was there alone. They were temporary constructs, so I was able to disrupt them with our electromagnet. They reverted to dogs, and Windwolf shot them."
"And you've been sitting on him the last twenty-four hours?"
Tinker explained about Jonnie refusing to treat Windwolf and about taking the elf noble to the Observatory.
Maynard cursed softly. "None of them thought to call the EIA?"
"No," Tinker admitted. "What could you have done?"
"The hospitals don't treat the elves because the elves are worried we'll take blood samples in order to study their genetics and use it to tailor spells and germ warfare. You took a member of the royal family to a conclave of scientists while he was helpless. Do you have any idea what this might mean to our peace treaty?"
"We told him the choices. He agreed to it," Tinker said. "Besides, we gave him our word of honor. No one took samples."
"You know that for certain? You were with him every second?"
"When I wasn't with him, Oilcan or Lain was with him. We didn't leave him alone."
"Who is Lain?"
"Doctor Lain Skanske; she's a xenobiologist. She did the first aid on Windwolf. He asked her first if she understood the treaty and would swear to abide by it."
Oilcan nodded. "Tinker vouched that Lain could be trusted, and Windwolf said that was good enough for him."
Maynard looked at her in surprise. "He trusted you to vouch for someone?"
Tinker shrugged. "I suppose. I saved his life. He saved mine. He defended my honor. I helped stitch him together. I got into bed with him. It was one hell of a twenty-four hours, okay?"
"I see." Maynard continued looking at her, but she couldn't read his expression.
"Are we all free and clear with the EIA?" Tinker asked.
Maynard sighed. "We need you to describe the men who attacked you the best you can. We'll get someone in with a composite sketch program. I know you've been through a lot, but we need to nail these men."
He gave them no chance to say no. Standing, Maynard motioned to one of the human guards to go make his wishes reality.
"If Windwolf is out of danger, can I see him to say good-bye?" Tinker asked.
"I'll let his staff know," Maynard said. "They'll decide."
With that, he swept out of the room, apparently to start the search for the mysterious assassins. The cousins were left, once again, under the joint guard.
* * *
A police officer with a datapad showed up. They worked through sketches for the three big men. Oilcan proved to have a better memory for their faces, despite the fact that Tinker had interacted with them longer. The cousins were provided with forms to fill out and turn in later to replace their lost citizen papers.
As they finished up, an elf came and announced something in fast High Elvish.
"Windwolf is sleeping," Oilcan translated for Tinker. He had had the patience to learn high tongue where Tinker had not. "He left word that our desires be met."
"Can I see him?" Tinker struggled through the request in High Elvish, earning a surprised look from Oilcan over the top of his chai.
"Batya?" The elf asked. Now?
Tinker stood and did a formal bow. "Shya. Aum gaeyato."
The elf returned her bow and led her to a door flanked by two stunningly beautiful elves elegantly carrying swords and automatic rifles. She ducked between them, feeling as scruffy as a junkyard dog.
They had worked serious healing magic on Windwolf. All his wounds were mere puckered scars. While he slept deeply, his breathing was regular and easy. All in all, he looked better than she did.
She took out the circuit paper, unfolded it, and looked at the glyph. Now or never.
Could she really lean over his battered body and place the glyph on his forehead? Cast the spell and hope for the best? Play magical Russian roulette with his life? She flashed suddenly to the weight and shape of his pistol in her hands, and shuddered at the thought of pressing that steel barrel to Windwolf's temple.
Never.
She dropped the paper into a wastebasket next to the bed. Bad as her luck was, she'd rather trust that Windwolf would outlive her by centuries than risk killing him by accident. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed Windwolf good-bye lightly on his bruised perfect lips. Perhaps in another five years, some monster would chase him into her life again. Strangely enough, she would miss him this time.
2: In the Eye of God
Time seemed to crawl by. The cousins went outside and found it was dawn. Someone had pulled the flatbed out of the way and locked it up. The keys needed to be found. Once they managed to get into the truck, they discovered that t
hey'd made the break across the border on fumes. Oilcan dug out a fuel can and went off in search of gasoline.
Exhausted, Tinker bolted the trailer door, then stripped out of her day-old clothes and pulled on clean panties and her hoverbike team shirt. Curling up on her worktable where Windwolf had recently lain, she tried to sleep. Her torn left hand hurt, but she was too tired to check under the bandages that Jonnie had put on her. It wouldn't help to look anyhow; she'd killed all her first-aid supplies dealing with Windwolf. Jonnie had said that she would need to check into a hospital, she thought as she drifted off. When Oilcan came back, she'd have him drop her at Mercy.
A banging on the trailer door woke her. She felt cold and weak as she half fell off the worktable. She put out her left hand to catch herself, and the pain made her cry out; she curled tight around her hand, cursing. Whoever was at the door stopped beating on it.
The flatbed jostled oddly. Tinker squeaked in surprise as she suddenly found herself being hauled up and backward. Windwolf swung her up and sat her on the worktable.
"Windwolf!" She blinked at him, confused by his appearance, until she realized that he had opened the flatbed's cab door and crawled through the AC vent. "What are you doing here?"
"What is this for?" He held up the spell she had abandoned in the trash.
"Tooloo told me that's what I should cast when I paid the debt."
"Debt?"
"You put a life debt on me, during a fight with a saurus—five years ago."
He cocked his head and looked at her for a long minute. "You're the fearless little savage with the crooked metal bar? The one that put the saurus's eye out while I was dazed?"
When had he been dazed? "Um, yes. I had a tire iron."
"You were a boy."
She shook her head. "I've always been a girl. I was only thirteen. I was a child."
He gave a cold hard laugh. "And you're not a child now?" He crumpled up the circuit paper and flung it away. "And who told you about this debt?"
"Tooloo. I showed her the spell you put on me and asked her what it was. She said if you died, as your body rotted, so would mine."