Getting my bearings and heading in the general direction of House Haven's dining area, surrounded by the gentle sound of falling rain. The path definitely different from last night, a zag here instead of a zig and a couple turns instead of a straight shot. Entering the large, well lit area, the canopy above closed off to block the rain, but with lights still shining brightly on the walls. The floor hard packed earth and tables shaped from tree stumps. Only a handful of members in the room at this early hour, sitting in two groups and talking quietly. Four at a table, armed and wearing field gear, glancing over at my entrance. The three others at the table over in more normal clothing. Two servants, two of them - members of the Pact - bringing out breakfast. Debating for a moment before taking a seat at an empty table.
One of the Pact members holding a large tray undoubtedly destined for the table of four instead passing right by them and coming over in my direction.
“Ms. Macarthy,” he says, “would you prefer ham or vegetables this morning?”
The table of four looking at me, clearly annoyed at being passed up. The table of three also turning to look.
“The ham. Thank you.”
A plate of ham and sauteed apples, and a bowl of porridge, being set in front of me, followed by two mugs of liquid, one brown and the other clear. Trying not to look smug while taking a bite and failing spectacularly. Three of the four served at the other table, and the one whose breakfast had been stolen saying something to them in a low tone. Probably should have exhibited a bit more discretion, probably should have objected to getting served first, probably should work on my diplomacy and try being a more gracious captive. Mixing some of the apples with the porridge and taking a spoonful, instead. Delicious.
More members of the House filtering in over the course of my meal and segregating themselves into two groups, either field gear or plainclothes, like sitting with like. My designated escort still absent. Finishing up my food, balancing all the mugs and plates and silverware together and handing it off to my Pact member.
“I appreciate it. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you.”
“You're welcome, Ms. Macarthy, but that's not necessary.”
Breakfast finished and sitting alone at my little island. Starting to get antsy. On one side, four tables of people heading into the field. On the other, three tables of everyone staying in town. Pointedly ignored by, and watched by, both groups. My only friends things that aren't technically even people and still no Kyle. Maybe he isn't even in today. Tapping my fingers on the table. This waiting stuff is for the birds. Getting to my feet and walking over to the nearest table of people remaining in town, a group of three women.
“Hi, I'm Lucy.” Holding my hand out to the nearest one. “I'm probably going to be working with you for the next several months, at least in the same vicinity, and I was wondering-”
“Macarthy!” The voice coming from the entrance. “What do you think you're doing?”
There's Kyle, and even crankier today than yesterday. Guess he's probably not a morning person. And coming up right behind him, my heart skipping a beat, a familiar face, but more handsome than he'd been even a few cycles back. Dark, shoulder length hair tied off in a ponytail, clear eyes and clean shaven. Omen. Forgetting about the woman who wasn't even bothering to shake my hand and heading in his direction.
This must be what they call love at first sight. Oh, horseshit, don't be so childish. But maybe it is! Get your head together, that's just hormones and relief getting all mixed up, dancing about and running amuck. That may be exactly what it is, but what's so wrong about that? Don't get careless, just because he's shown up. And don't get desperate. True, point taken, desperate is unattractive.
Kyle saying something undoubtedly pointless and irrelevant. Hold that thought. Activating the Rune Trap drawn on my skin and giving him a gentle touch. Moving past.
“So you're Macarthy, huh?” Omen broadcasting the statement to the room behind me and offering a carefree smile. Giving me a playful pat on the head. “You're just a little thing.”
“I can't even say how good it is to see you.” Locking my eyes on his, and keeping my voice aimed only at him. “I've been having a hell of a time with all this, Omen.”
His carefree grin getting wider, filling with wonder. “You know, Macarthy,” he says, still broadcasting to the entire room, “you owe us quite a bit for what you did here several months ago.”
“I'm sorry about killing you.” But they never suspected you were in on it, now did they? “I'll talk to you later.” Turning around and addressing the entire room. “For those of you who weren't here last night I want you to know that I'm grateful for your hospitality. I've been lucky enough to be afforded a new perspective on life and it's my intention to make amends to everyone that I've hurt.”
The looks cast my way still filled with some suspicion, but the ice already starting the process of thawing. Walking around to look at the still paralyzed Kyle, his eyes following me. “There's no need for you to yell at me. If I had evil designs, I could always do something like this.” My grin coming untethered, letting him catch a glimpse of what lay concealed beneath. Briefly putting my fingers near his eye, grabbing his eyelash, but then moving my hands to help keep him steady. Seconds passing, ten fifteen twenty, and then Kyle coming back to life and drawing in a deep breath. “You should hurry up and get some breakfast.”
Twenty minutes later all the stragglers accounted for and fed. Almost thirty Haven members in field clothing heading out into the rain to go on patrol and the rest of us, fourteen plus Kyle and myself, following right behind. Looking up at the sky and debating. It would be the simplest thing in the world, a trivial display of power. Glancing around, still being given a wide berth, even a trivial display may unnecessarily startle this bunch. Holding back my sigh. Not today. Looking at my minder.
“Can I share your umbrella?”
Heading out into the drizzle in two and threes and, fortunately, the trip not proving very long, only several blocks to the east. The destination a set of storefronts and behind them a couple large warehouses, the entire area marked in various places with House Haven's logo. One of the stores familiar, the place we'd purchased fishing supplies and bait for our trip out to Swan Lake. That had been a great trip, doing some fishing on the shore of the lake, staying in that little bed and breakfast, hunting Deep One patrols in the early morning and evening, and then dealing with the alligators and other wildlife during the day. That really had been a good trip. Wilde had even-
“So you're supposedly Macarthy, huh?” The woman's voice jolting me out of my pleasant reminiscence and her followup braying, overwrought laughter pelting me. The foreman of this operation, her hair a bit wild and dyed an unnatural color. Gaudy glasses, probably enchanted. Hopefully. It'd be a crime to wear something so ugly, if they weren't. Geniuses are allowed to get away with quite a bit, and it looks like this one blew right by all the bounds of good taste. Bailee.
“I'm so lucky to get my hands on you.” A grabbling claw, each of her fingernails painted a different color, reaching out to make contact. Bile starting to churn. Maybe a demonstration of power is in order. Break all her fingers. Instead intercepting her hand with my own.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Pleased to meet you. I'm a fan of your blend.”
My statement producing the opposite reaction than had been intended. Her nose wrinkling in disgust and wrenching back her hand. The woman making a sweeping gesture. “My blend?” Incensed. Walking in a quick circle. “My blend? Is that all you have to say?”
“Where do you want me to set up?”
“Are you really Macarthy?” Her face scrunching. “You're so, so, so,” wiggling her fingers, searching, “so not what I expected.”
Coming from you, that is a most sincere compliment. Warpaint should only be worn when needed. Wearing it every day would get exhausting.
“I could prove it to you, paint this place red if you want.” Putting my hand on my face and leaving behind a red handprint. “Where do you want me to set up?” Willing the red away.
A bout of braying. “I love it! Maybe I should've expected the unexpected. That passion. You are too adorable.” The grabbling claws coming closer, finally making contact and ensnaring one of my arms. “I'd love to talk with you over lunch, you probably have all sorts of stories.” Touchy feely and some screws loose – a lot of screws loose around here - not the best combination for an immediate supervisor. Noticing some people watching us. She's the boss, unfortunately, going to have to tough it out.
“Yes ma'am.” Snapping a quick salute. “We'll grab lunch later.” Ugh. “But, seriously, I'm on the clock and the tick is coming in eight minutes. Where do you want me to do this?”
“Oh. Oh. Oh.” The woman looking around. “That's right, I was told you can recharge things. They brought a whole pile of stuff in.” Starting to wander off and pulling me along with her. Kyle following. Heading into a section of the warehouse with rows and rows of seedlings growing in long trenches of irrigated dirt. A few members of Haven walking through the rows and examining individual plants. “The first thing...” Pulling me across the entire warehouse and getting to some gardening tools off to the side. “...is this.” Grabbing one and handing it over.
A stick, about three feet long, smooth and polished. Checking the time. Three minutes till. Concentrating on the stick. Infuse. Hefting it in my hand. Nothing inside, completely bone dry. Opening up the slightest trickle of mana and starting the process. Need to be very delicate. Not feeding mana into it at all, holding back the flow and letting the siphon pull it out of me at a controlled, steady rate. Steady, steady. The stick wanting to draw out more but keeping the connection mostly closed. Controlling my breathing. Nice and easy. Filling up. Almost three quarters full, and at about thirty percent myself. There, the tick. No need to be careful anymore, opening the floodgate and the mana uncontrollably rushing out to fill the item. Stopping on its own.
“It's full.” Handing the stick back, a miniature sunflower, in full bloom, now growing out of the top. Wiping away some of the collected perspiration on my brow.
“It's full?” Bailee repeating in disbelief and shaking the stick. “Are you sure? I've made a few of these over the past couple years but they take an entire day - basically every hour, on the hour, sunup to sundown - and that's only after sourcing and shaping the wood. They usually last a couple cycles.”
“Easier to refill, I guess.”
“You guess?” Letting out a relieved, normal, non braying laugh. “You're a lifesaver. We use these to remove toxins from the soil. We only use purified water, but during the germination process some of the bulbs poison the area they're in. I, personally, can remove toxins, and so can some of the others, but I can't make the water, and I can't be everywhere at once. Frankly, there's other things I should be doing with my time.” Bailee taking in a deep breath. “There's a lot more for you to do, but you're probably close to out of juice, right?”
Shrugging at her.
“Okay. Hey, uh, John, I need you real quick.” One of the people inspecting a nearby plant glancing over from his work and coming over. “This is M- What do you want me to call you?”
“Lucy.”
“This is Lucy, she's going to be working with us for a bit. Have her help with whatever needs doing. Something nonspecialized. Looking for mites, potting some of the stuff that's further along to go out to one of the farms, maybe check and see if one of the storefonts needs help. Something.” Turning back to me. “And, whenever you can, basically everything in that pile needs to be charged.” Getting a cagey look. “Also, I know other people are going to want you to help charge their stuff, and I'm not saying that you should prioritize me, but, you know, do what you can.”
***
Two men entering the warehouse and catching my eye. Finishing up my current transplant and bringing the pot over to join the others. Wiping my hands off on a rag while being careful not to get too much more dirt on my clothing. The men talking to one of the other people, one of the Druids. The woman pointing over at me and then returning to what she'd been doing, picking up one of the dull crystals. Ah, she isn't a Druid then, a Mystic.
Walking over to meet with my two visitors. It's been a little bit. The one still clean shaven, the other slightly shaggier, his goatee now more a real beard.
“I'm sorry I left without saying anything. I was in a pretty bad place when I got kicked out.”
“That's not why-” Daniel says, a bit uncertain, but then recovering, straight to business and curt, “Liz sent us to discuss what happened yesterday.”
“You're not even going to pretend to be happy to see me?” Trying to weather the wave of dejection. “I'm really sorry I didn't say anything to you before I left. Dinner would have been bad. What could I have said that you'd have believed? As far as yesterday, I'm not planning on declaring war on you or nothing.” Much bigger fish to fry. “But Liz and I had an understanding. She reneged.”
“You got Mags killed yesterday,” says Blindside.
“Magpie knew what she was getting herself into. Wyrmsblood, no, Parnell is responsible for that. For being so sickeningly self righteous.” Looking at Daniel. “Simpler to blame me, though, right? A principless coward like Liz wouldn't dream of holding Wyrmsblood to account.”
“Starting a fight you can't win is a poor demonstration of principle,” says Daniel. “I'd figure a skulking criminal would intuitively understand that.”
“Can't win?” The laugh starting small, an innocent girl's giggle, but getting progressively more out of control. A mad cackle drawing everyone's attention. Restraining myself and keeping my voice low. “The harbor didn't turn out exactly how I'd hoped, but it still ended up a win. They wanted me gone but I'm still here, and I may be down but I'm not out. ” Both men only looking at me, had started pacing a bit back and forth. “But I suppose Liz knows that and now she's hedging her bet.” Stopping my pacing. “Tell her I accept her apology, that's why you're here, right? A fair weather friend is more useful than none.” Getting a frog in my throat, starting to croak. “It's good to see you guys. I'm sorry it went down the way it did.”
“That's not why we're here,” says Daniel. “I don't know what understanding you thought you had with Liz, but you don't have one now, and you probably never did. And calling what happened in the harbor a win? You're more delus-” Daniel stopping. “Optimistic. Given your situation, you're far more optimistic than I ever would've imagined.”
“Mac, stay away from Magpie.” Blindside taking the opportunity to stick me with an additional insult.
The indignity of everything sort of falling into place. Choosing to go along with this rehabilitation plan. Allowing Garland show me off like some kind of trophy to the entire House. Spending today working solely for the benefit of some fuzzy headed dipshit with rainbow nails and, granted, a good taste in tobacco. And all for what? Had been laughing behind my hand at the people laughing at me, and here it turns out the joke had always been at my expense. Inhaling, seeking peace, taking my mounting dissatisfaction and hatred and balling it up.
“Is that the message you were sent here to deliver?”
“Mac, she's only going to get hurt if she's around you.” Blindside putting a hand on my shoulder, daring me to shake it off. “I won't allow it. Besides, what are you even going to do? You've got too much heat on you, as is.”
Feeling the choker on my neck and the eyes of everyone in the vicinity watching our conversation. My minder, Kyle, only several feet away, openly listening in. Swallowing my ball of hatred.
“Lucy,” says Daniel, “I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, and I'm sorry it didn't work out.”
“Me, too.” Numb now, the reality of my predicament, my semi self imposed disarmament, settling in. Watching them depart, about to resume scrounging in the dirt, and then another visitor with an armed escort entering the building, and heading straight in my direction. Shaker.