The heavy mahogany door to Adelaide McCann’s office opened. Her secretary, Katherine, addressed someone in the outer office. “Right this way, please. Miss Adelaide asked to see you as soon as you arrived.” To Adelaide she said, “The representatives of the Binding are here, ma’am.”
Adelaide remained seated behind the centuries-old desk that had once belonged to her grandmother and, before that, the king of Denmark, and waved to a pair of plush chairs for her visitors. Cutting directly to business, she skipped the usual exchange of pleasantries. “What can I do for you?”
The man and the woman who took their seats in the chairs opposite Adelaide’s desk were in their mid-forties, fit, blond, tanned, and had teeth so lustrously white they put toothpaste advertisements to shame. They held hands, even though the distance between the chairs made it awkward. “Guildmistress Adelaide,” they said in unnaturally perfect unison, “thank you for making the time to see us today. You have a beautiful home.”
Adelaide hated when they did that, these couples the Binders called “bonded pairs.” Not knowing which of them to look at when they spoke put her off balance. “The pleasure is mine.” She lied with the gracious smile and tone of voice she reserved for putting unpleasant and potentially troublesome people at ease. “And happy Fourth of July, to you both.”
“And to you, Guildmistress,” they responded. “It is a lovely day to celebrate a declaration of freedom, isn’t it?”
The way they spoke, so perfectly in unison, inflecting every word identically, was more than eerie. It was irritating. Adelaide kept the smile on her face and the gracious tone in her voice. “Which we are preparing to do even as we speak. I hope the crews setting up for this evening’s celebration didn’t cause you any inconvenience on your way in. Things are rather hectic right now.”
“No inconvenience at all,” they told her. “We’re sure your fundraiser will be very successful.”
“As representatives of the Binding, you would be most welcome guests this evening. I don’t mean to brag, but—”
The couple’s synchronized speech interrupted her. “We have also been delegated to speak on behalf of the Union of Weavers.” The woman held out a piece of folded parchment that bore an enormous seal of green wax.
Adelaide let the smile wither on her lips. Her voice was cold when she said, “Yes, I thought it might be something like that. You Binders were rather obvious suspects, but I hadn’t figured out who was helping you. I hadn’t expected the Weavers—I don’t think anyone would have. Quite clever.”
“On this day,” the tanned, blond couple announced in stereo, “we declare the independence of the Binding and of the Union of Weavers from the tyrannical domination of the Guild of Obligation. From this day forward we shall chart our own course and take what is rightfully ours.” When Adelaide made no move to accept the sealed parchment from the younger woman, her tanned fingers merely opened and dropped it on the desk. The gesture was calculated arrogance or, rather, miscalculated.
“On this day, eh?” Adelaide’s tone was measured. “On this day? And what about two weeks ago, when the Binding—with help from the Union—tried to kill me? What about Saturday, when you murdered Edmund Reeves, stole what he owed me, and tried to murder my two associates? That doesn’t sound like ‘from this day forward’ to me. It sounds like you started your little party some time ago and you’re finally getting around to sending me the invitation. Did they think I wouldn’t know?”
The pair’s response, for the first time since entering her office, became unsynchronized. “I—,” began the man. “We—” the woman started.
Adelaide’s cold tone turned mocking, as a bemused smile played across her lips. “Oh, that’s adorable! You weren’t told, were you?” Her laughter was bitter. “Yes, they sent you into the lioness’s den without bothering to tell you they had tried to kill her, that they had attacked members of her pride. Think about who sent you here this morning. Did they tell you that you’d been noticed by important people? Tell you were special, rising stars in the Binding? That delivering this ‘declaration’ would help you to raise your profile, to rise even faster?”
Dread replaced the confusion on the pair’s faces as their true situation became evident.
Adelaide shook her head in pity. “Children, children, you needn’t worry. The Guild of Obligation has existed for two hundred fifty-eight years because its members recognize the duties we owe one another. We honor these and have had relative peace and prosperity across this entire continent for more than a century and a half. As Guildmistress, I owe all our members protection and succor and they are yours—if you are truly members of our Guild. If, however, you are rejecting membership, if you are telling me that you’ve given your loyalty to group that just tried to murder me, then I don’t really see the need to allow you to live.”
“Guildmistress we—” they started in unison.
“No more!” Adelaide could feel the wrath rising and she tried to contain it. “Will you honor your obligations to the Guild, as you swore to do?”
“Obligations?” They spoke together. “We owe you nothing!” The words had a formality to them, a finality akin to the end of a ritual, like “man and wife,” or, more appropriately, “rest in peace”.
“Very well.” She sighed. “Then, I owe you nothing in return. It is sad, however, I’m sure you will be missed.”
“But hospitality!” The female of the pair demanded. “We are in your home. You can’t!”
“Fools!” Adelaide snarled. “You would have had every right to all the protections of hospitality the Guild affords had you still been part of the Guild—or if you weren’t ‘acting on behalf of a clan, tribe, union, or association that owes a blood debt to the host.’” Knowing the Guild charter chapter-and-verse was useful in these awkward situations. “The attempt on my life and the murder of my associate, Mr. Reeves, have been undertaken by your little alliance of Binders and Weavers. You owe me blood.”
Suddenly the pair shouted at her. “Tyrant bitch!” The man thrust his right hand toward her. Grey energies whirled at his fingertips. A tiny, shimmering lasso of magic formed rapidly as he moved his hand to cast—
The glowing line that streaked across the room made no sound, but it looked like it ought to have. The bright—almost blinding—yellow line flashed, becoming a fluorescent-yellow plane, a two-dimensional sheet that extended infinitely. Then, it became a line again. In the span of a heartbeat, the line flashed into a plane and back again seven more times. Each time it did this, the fluorescent-yellow plane bisected the man’s right hand. After the final flash, the bright yellow line winked out. The severed pieces of the man’s fingers and hand made pit-pit-pat noises as they fell to land on Adelaide’s desk. No blood was spilled. It remained, sealed in the self-contained slices of flesh and bone in a small heap on the desk.
The man slumped in his chair, eyes on the stump at the end of his wrist from which blood ought to have been pouring. His partner shrieked and clutched her right wrist. Her own right hand had gone grey-white in color, fingers forming an unmoving claw. She shrieked again and sobbed as she tried to rub life back into the cold flesh.
“Yes, my dear,” Adelaide told her in a voice utterly without consolation, “but then you knew all of those clever bindings the two of you used to bond yourselves into what you’ve become might have some drawbacks, didn’t you?”
“I’ve been wondering how this would work ever since I made it,” said Marci, stepping from behind the screen of illusion that had let her go unseen. Her chubby hands held a fluorescent-yellow yardstick. She gazed at it through the round, thick-lensed glasses, doubtless studying details and properties only faintly glimpsed by Adelaide. Given enough time Adelaide could probably have uncovered the yardstick’s secrets. But she did not have the time and, besides, that was why she had Marci.
The invisibility screen collapsed suddenly when Butch stepped through it, crossbow trained on the sobbing blond woman in the chair. The man seemed to be almost catatonic. “Did that thing work like you wanted, Marci?” Butch asked. “I ain't seen nothin’ like it before.”
Behind them, on the elegantly embroidered cushions of the sofa that had been hidden by the screen, two very different Black women sat. The tiny, curvaceous one, with light skin and ageless, almond-shaped eyes, said, “I don't think anyone has, Butch.”
“I’d be quite surprised if they had,” agreed Marci. On impulse, she waved the yardstick observing the lines and patterns of energy that swirled about it. She seemed not notice the other women in the room flinch slightly as she did so.
“What are your impressions, Blossom?” Adelaide asked of the other woman on the couch.
Blossom, a woman of average height and weight, had otherwise average features made extraordinary by skin so dark that she became the most noticeable person in almost any room she happened to occupy. Her wealth was made plain by the understated nature of her designer pantsuit and t
he simple elegance of her necklace and single ring, a bright sapphire. “I think that you were right, Miss Adelaide.” The words carried the accent of a network news anchor, bland, featureless, midwestern—what most Americans would have said was no accent at all. “The Union of Weavers’ alliance with the Binding is surprisingly clever,” she said, “especially for the Binders. I’m pretty sure we’re all wondering exactly how the Binders managed that little trick.”
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The women all looked at Marci, who looked up from her yardstick. “What? Oh, yes. The Weavers. It’s been quite some time since my apprenticeship with the Union. Una, bless her heart, passed on, what, twenty-or-so years ago. She was a great teacher. She would…” Marci let her voice fade off as she lapsed into a momentary reverie of reminiscence.
“This move would have made more sense fifteen years ago,” said Adelaide, “when Tilda led the Weavers. Since then, since I was forced to deal with Tilda’s treason, the leadership of the Union has been more than friendly and has bent over backwards to be accommodating in their role as Guild affiliates. What has changed?”
“I’ll reach out to some old friends and see if anyone’s talking,” said Marci.
The petite light-skinned woman on the sofa next to Blossom nodded. “As will we all. Although, if Miss Adelaide had informed us sooner of the assassination attempt against her, we could already have been using our resources.” She looked to Adelaide, who stared back, her expression unchanging. After the merest moment, the woman added, “Meaning no disrespect, Miss Adelaide. Not knowing who was behind the attempt, I’d have wanted to play this close to my vest as well.”
“Why’d they declare themselves like this?” asked Butch, still aiming her crossbow at the quietly sobbing woman with the grey-white hand. “Why not just keep it on the down-low and keep trying to take you out?”
“Aside from the significance of this date for declaring one’s independence,” Adelaide answered, “my working theory is that they thought it would be easier to break themselves away from the Guild in the confusion after my death—and to claim a bigger share of the Guild’s resources for themselves when they left. When that failed, they had to do something bold to make a statement, to keep their rebellion going, so their followers wouldn’t just vanish into the woodwork when it seemed like their plans were going to fizzle. Something like a dramatic declaration of their independence.”
Blossom spoke up. “And if they just happened to lose this pair of disposable dodos, then they could crow far and wide about your cruelty and refusal to honor the code of hospitality.”
Adelaide nodded and turned back to Butch. “You will recall also, Butch, that you and Marci had been scheduled to collect a certain package from the late Mr. Edmund Reeves two weeks ago, on the very day they sent the wolves to consign me to the Abyss.”
“Yeah, he called and said it wasn’t ready, but I wasn’t putting the canceled pickup together with the attempt on you,” said Butch. “It makes sense, though. I should’ve seen it. If they could’ve taken out both you and Marci on the same day, who’d have been left to stop them from doing whatever they wanted?”
“Oh, Blossom and I might have had a thing or two to say about it,” the small woman said as she stood and stretched. “But you’re right, Butch. There would have been confusion. No one would have known who to trust. Blossom, although next in line as Guildmistress, would not yet have had the reins of power in her hands. Adelaide’s death might have been seen as an opportunity for other factions within the Guild to join the Binding and the Union in revolt.”
No one disagreed.
“What I don’t understand is what they’re after,” said Marci. “The Guild is the only thing that has prevented another war among the Artists from happening. There are skirmishes and blow-ups, sure, but can’t they read the histories? Don’t they know what it was like before the Guild?”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Marci,” Blossom told her.
“That may be.” Adelaide placed a hand on her old friend’s shoulder, “but Marci, as usual, has cut to the heart of the question. This Guild will not allow itself to be fractured and we will end this revolt swiftly and with great prejudice. We must, however, ascertain precisely why this revolt is happening, what the Binding and the Union of Weavers hope to gain that makes them willing to risk everything they have. Otherwise, we do not know the true nature of this conflict, which—despite our greater strength—puts us at a strategic disadvantage.”
Blossom stood. “I see no point in wasting time, then. We know more than we did before those two showed up,” she said, indicating with a thrust of her chin the stricken envoys of the Binding and the Union of Weavers.
The female of the pair began screaming. “Tyrant bitch! Tyrant bitch! Your reign is over! All Artists will be free of your—”
Adelaide made a two-fingered gesture and bands of invisible force erupted from the chairs, silencing and immobilizing their occupants, not that the male had moved or made any sound since the vivisection of his hand.
“Well at least we know how the leadership of the Binding and the Union sold this revolt to the rank and file,” said Adelaide.
Blossom smiled a smile that would have shattered anyone’s notion that she was merely average-looking. “And are you a tyrant, Miss Adelaide?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” confirmed Adelaide, smiling back at her second-in-command. “And so will you be, once you are Guildmistress, if you want to keep this whole damned thing together.” Everyone in the room not held immobile by enchanted wing-back chairs nodded in agreement. “Now, before you all go to attend to the business at hand, Blossom, I’m having you moved into the Andrew Wyeth room. The Guild can’t afford to lose you, and I’ll need you close at hand, so you’ll need to set up a field headquarters for the Mothers here. Have Amari manage operations in Philadelphia and New Jersey.” Left unsaid was the uncomfortable truth that Blossom, as the Guildmistress-in-waiting would see the most immediate gain from Adelaide’s death. Being kept under Adelaide’s watchful eye—and within easy reach—was not an indictment of Blossom’s trustworthiness. It was merely an exercise in caution on the part of Adelaide, who had not achieved her position without a very good idea of when to be cautious.
“Understood, Guildmistress.” Her seriousness was sobering. “Amari is a capable leader; she makes good decisions and she is loyal. She should do very well.”
“Lady,” Adelaide addressed the petite black woman, “I need you back in Louisiana tomorrow but take no more risks than absolutely necessary in getting there. Make whatever travel arrangements you need. All of the Guild’s resources at your disposal. The Guild needs you to hold what we have there. Everything from Houston to Tallahassee is now under your authority. Put everyone and everything on a war footing. Gather all the intelligence you can.”
“Yes, Guildmistress,” she said. “The Society of the Named shall fail neither you nor the Guild. I shall make arrangements to leave in the morning.”
“The resolve of the Nameless Lady is reassuring in this difficult time,” said Adelaide. “You and Blossom go and begin your work. Remember that if finances are required, you have a blank check. If you need anything else, I have been putting aside this and that for a rainy day. There are resources at your disposal.”
When Blossom and the Nameless Lady had taken their leave, Butch gestured with her crossbow to the emissaries magically bound to the chairs and asked, “What do you want me to do with the expendable duo, boss?”
Adelaide quirked her lips in amusement. “Well it’s unlikely they know anything we can use to our advantage. If they did, they wouldn’t have been sent.” She pursed her lips and tapped them with her index finger as she considered. “On the other hand, they’re not likely to be able to contribute much to the fight against the Guild’s ‘tyranny’.”
“Or they wouldn’t have been sent,” echoed Marci.
Adelaide walked over and sat on the edge of her desk to sit before the female emissary. “Your own people did this to you,” she told the blonde, tanned, absolutely immobile woman. “You can see that, can’t you? Even if you aren’t Guild members, even if you—as members of the Binding—owe me blood, they could have still arranged a parlay, safe passage for you and your boyfriend here,” she nudged the unresponsive man with her foot, “to deliver your little ‘declaration.’ Do you think they just forgot?”
The woman, who had been glaring defiantly at Adelaide, exhaled loudly in what might have been a sigh or a sob, and cast her eyes downward.
“You thinkin’ they pissed off somebody in the Bindin’s leadership?” asked Butch. “Somebody might be tryin’ to use you just to get rid of these two.”
“That’s the only way I can read it,” Adelaide agreed. “And, come to think of it, knowing who that somebody is might possibly be useful. The Binding thought they were sending us disposable dupes, but that one bit of knowledge might keep these two from a quick trip down the oubliette.”
The bound woman looked up at Adelaide’s words. Her eyes rapidly flashed a series of emotions—hope, followed by suspicion tinged with fear and, soon after, by a return of the defiant glare they had shown earlier. Adelaide missed none of these things and reached out and patted the woman’s hard gray-white claw of a hand. “Don’t worry, my dear,” Adelaide told the woman. “Marci will take excellent care of you and your friend. It would be best if you came to accept the truth of the matter sooner rather than later, however. Your own people sent you here to die. Perhaps they thought they could use you as martyrs, to use your deaths as evidence of my tyrannical bitchery to attract more of the discontented to their cause. Or perhaps someone really, really doesn’t like you and thinks you have no value in the coming struggle. Consider this carefully, my dear. You’ll have time to do so, but only so much. After that, we’ll have to persuade you to talk, whether you’ve accepted the truth of your situation or not.”
After sending Katherine off to inspect preparations for the night’s festivities, Adelaide initialized another of the enchantments in the chairs that immobilized the unfortunate emissaries. The plushly-upholstered wing-back chairs rose to hover weightless above the floor. “Butch,” she asked, “would you mind wrangling these two down to the safe level?”
The handsome woman guided the floating chairs and their occupants like balloons, herding and nudging them out of the door, then closing it behind her.
“So, what do you think, Addie,” Marci asked, holding up the yellow wooden yardstick.
“I think that’s one hell of a yardstick, Marci. It’s fantastic.”
Marci beamed with pride at the compliment from her old friend. “Yeah, I think I outdid myself this time. Hey, you don’t need those, do you?” she asked, indicating the neatly sliced segments of fingers and hand on the desk. “I’d like to examine them. It might help me fine tune this particular instrument.”
“Be my guest.” Adelaide smiled at her friend’s sometimes morbid inquisitiveness. “I didn’t have any plans for them.” She sat down at her desk and watched the other woman produce a plastic bag from her purse and collect the bloodless slices of flesh and bone. When this was done, she asked, “Marci, tell me. What do you think of young Jeffrey?”
“I think young Mr. Kirby has potential,” Marci told her after a momentary pause. “He has certainly proven he’s physically capable of being an asset for us. I’m not sure if an unenhanced Patty—even in her prime—could have taken out an Abyssal wolf.”
“Yes,” Adelaide agreed. “He’s got a good mind too, flexible, intelligent. Have you had a chance to examine that hand of his?”
“No, but I’d like to,” admitted Marci. “The tool is showing some remarkable properties and I’d like to see what effects the wolf’s blood has had on living flesh. I’ll make it a priority. Anything else you need before I head back home?”
“I really wish you would consider moving in here with Patty until this current situation with the Binding and the Union is settled. They’ve tried to kill you once already. You are much of my strength. I can’t afford to lose a friend or to lose that strength in this conflict.”
“And those morons called you a ‘tyrant bitch’.” She said, placed the plastic bag in her purse. “You’re just a big softie.”
“Oh, we both know I am a tyrant bitch, dear,” she contradicted her old friend warmly, “but I am very protective of my friends.”