Price Of Peace

Price Of Peace

Less than a mile from the Rim, where the enclaves of Wind Clan elves were backed by virgin forest, one lone façade blazed in defiance. The red neon sign proclaimed fearlessly ESSIE’S ORIGINAL HOT DOG SHOP. A small blue sign stated firmly, HOME OF THE ‘O’ FRIES, WINGS AND BARBECUE, SUBS AND BEER. The door stood open, letting out a wave of hot perfume of grilled hot dogs, fried potatoes, melted cheese, and spilled beer. How it managed to serve this bounty of food while stranded on an alien planet, under siege during a war between two inhuman races, Olivia had no idea.

It was, however, a welcome human refuge. She paused just inside the door, blinking at the sudden unforgiving light of ancient halogen overheads. The busy cooks ignored her entrance, lifting baskets out of the cooking oil, turning hot dogs, and delivering up paper-lined baskets while chanting out filled orders.

Olivia pushed her way into the crowd waiting for their food, beers in hand. The day had been a blur and her stomach was clenching up into a tight knot that lately was followed with vomiting. She was vaguely aware of the wave of silence and widening eyes.

“Next!” the girl at the counter cried, slapping the last slip onto the counter by the cooks.

Olivia was fairly sure that she was jumping the line, but the line seemed to be in the process of trying to escape what was trailing behind Olivia. Nothing she could do about the situation, so she was determinedly ignoring it for now. She scanned the menu. No wonder the restaurant still had food after a month of being stranded on another planet. It featured jumpfish, saurus, stag, and something called indi. The fish was breaded and fried, the indi was served as kabobs, but the other meats were made into sausage as substitute hot dogs. Her stomach nearly revolted at the idea of mystery meat on a bun.

“Can I have a large fries with cheese?” The menu board proclaimed them as homegrown potatoes, which meant they most likely came from one of the South Hills farms. She might have problems with the grease if she just ate fries. She scanned for a safer option and spotted a turkey sandwich listed at the bottom. Until a few weeks ago, there were large flocks of the wild Earth birds everywhere, flourishing in the abandoned backyards all over the city. By the end of winter, though, they might be extinct on Elfhome. “Can I have a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles? And a ginger ale.”

“Turkey hoagie with the works. Large fry…” The girl trailed off as she glanced up and then behind Olivia. “Oh crap.”

Olivia ignored the curse and the temptation to turn around. Nothing she could do. She pushed a crumpled twenty across the corner. She tried not to think of what she had done to make the money. Shame, however, burned hot on her cheeks.

The girl continued to stare until Olivia waved a hand in front of the girl’s wide eyes. “Oh! Yes!” She made change, counting out bills and coins. Halfway through, the girl paused and frowned at Olivia. “You’re not Princess Tinker.”

“No, I’m not,” Olivia said.

The girl continued to look at Olivia, obviously expecting a name. Olivia had abandoned her human name when she fled Kansas. For weeks she’d been introducing herself only as “Red.” (Her hair was more auburn than carroty-red; besides, the nickname of “Ginger” pissed her off.)

What was the name that Prince True Flame had given her? Somehow he’d known that “Olivia” was Latin for “Olive Tree” and then twisted it slightly. “I’m Olive Branch Above Stone.”

“Stone?” The girl’s frown deepened. Her fingernails and lip polish were Wind Clan blue and she was wearing a Team Tinker T-shirt. Her glance flicked to over Olivia’s shoulder. “Eeeewww.”

Olivia clenched her hand tight on her change. It would be one thing if the girl was simply a bigot, but her reaction was much more selective than blind prejudice. Obviously elves were fine as long as they were pretty. Turn the other cheek…with my fist. But Olivia resisted the urge. She had to think about “them.”

“Is something wrong?” a deep male voice said in Elvish.

Olivia sighed and turned around. So much for ignoring “them.”

Elves were impossibly tall, broad shouldered, and handsome even to the human eye. The holy caste of sekasha was no exception. The elf warriors added in “heavily armed” and “extremely dangerous” to that description. Considered above the law, the sekasha could and would kill anyone that pissed them off. In the last few weeks, they’d mowed down oni soldiers and spies, suspected human collaborators, a Pittsburgh police officer, and one of their own lords. Advice on the street was to stay as far as possible from the sekasha.

Which was impossible when five of them were intent on following Olivia around.

The ones quickly clearing out the hot dog shop were Wyverns; sekasha from the Fire Clan and part of the royal troops that came to Pittsburgh with Prince True Flame. They looked like identical quintuplets to her, all red haired and stunningly green eyed, and exactly a foot taller than her. Besides the scale armor vest and the protective spells tattooed down their arms (both in Fire Clan red), their caste was identified by their long swords said to be magically sharp and able to cut through anything. (Nothing was said about the rifles and multitude of knives that they also carried.)

She wasn’t sure which of the Wyverns had spoken. She could barely tell them apart. Unsure, she fixed her gaze on the one that seemed to be the leader of the five. At least, he was the only one that addressed her directly all night.

“It’s been a hard day and I’m easily upset.” She kept to the truth since elves thought lying was the ultimate sin. “It’s in the middle of the night, in a war zone, I no longer have a house to go back to, and I’m going to…” She had no idea how to say vomit in Elvish. “Hurl.”

“Hurl?” the elf repeated the English word.

“Saemata.” The counter girl murmured. “Forgiveness!” she squeaked when both Olivia and the holy warrior glanced hard at her. “I—I—I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“You’re ill?” the elf asked Olivia.

“I’m pregnant!” she snapped. “And my stomach is empty. I need to eat something.”

“Holy shit!” the girl breathed. Another hard look made her tear off the order and slap it down in front of the nearest cook.

“And this place serves food?” The Wyvern’s tone suggested that he doubted that was the case. He eyed the sizzling basket of French fries cooking in hot oil.

“Yes,” Olivia growled and turned back to the counter. “Can I have my ginger ale now?”

“Oh, sure, here.” The girl pulled a cold bottle from the standing cooler and popped off the metal lid. A tiny cloud rose out of the top of the chilled bottle like an escaping genie.

Careful what you wish for. Olivia had wanted safety for her unborn child; she’d gotten a twenty-four hour guard of the scariest elves on the planet. The damnable thing was that they weren’t really guarding her. They might even consider it convenient if she was killed.

She realized that only the leader of the Wyverns was focused on her. The other four were paying strict attention to their true charge, Forest Moss, while maintaining the most distance that the small restaurant allowed. He was rocking in place, muttering darkly, while braiding and unbraiding a handful of his pure white hair. The rest of his long hair flowed loose as spun silk over his shoulders and down his back to past his hips. It covered his rich clothes and beautiful good eye, leaving only the empty socket of his left eye, sewn shut with a starburst of scars radiating out from it, visible.

Her heart ached at the sight. He wasn’t old enough to deserve white hair; at least in elf years. He’d been betrayed and tortured and then abandoned to total isolation for hundreds of years. A weaker person would have killed themselves. Forest Moss had simply gone slightly but not completely mad. At least, not until this week. The war and the royal troops seemed to be bent on destroying what little sanity he had left.

“Hey,” she reached out and caught his hands. “Let me.” She gathered up the marvelously silky stuff and tied it into a ponytail with a blue bandana from her purse. He leaned down as she worked and rested his forehead against her shoulder. “There, there. Everything will be fine.”

He took a deep breath and whispered, “My domi.”

“Yes, yours.” She felt like she was lying as she offered what little comfort she could. If she understood the conversation between Prince True Flame and the Wyverns earlier that evening, though, their union was temporary. Somehow they needed to find a way to make it permanent. He needed her as much as she needed him. Maybe more.

But first, food, and then someplace to live.

Not surprisingly, their food order was given top priority. Within minutes the counter girl handed over a small mountain of French fries and a torpedo-shaped turkey sandwich that she called a hoagie.

Olivia and Forest Moss took over a hastily vacated booth. The Wyverns remained standing, watching for attack.

Her first bite explained why the diner was packed so late at night. The fries were amazing: hot, crispy goodness with a cheese sauce that tasted like food of the gods. Knowing that her tummy would make her regret pigging out on them, Olivia switched to the turkey hoagie. Thankfully it was its own bundle of awesome: crusty fresh bun, wonderful smoked turkey breast sliced thick, and sweet homemade pickle chips. The nausea passed and Olivia was able to consider the future with slightly clearer mind.

Pittsburgh had a population of something like two million people living in the metropolitan region at the turn of the century. It now had less than a hundred thousand. Vast sections of the city were standing empty. Finding a place to live was at once easy and very difficult. Some areas were safer than others, thus more densely populated. She had been on the fringe of South Side, which had the river to protect the neighborhood from saurus and wargs. South of that, people clustered close to the light-rail system with only adventurous types setting up farms beyond. The commute from the South Side, however, required two bus rides, one to downtown and a second up Forbes Avenue to Oakland. True Flame made it clear that the elves needed Forest Moss nearby and fully functional.

Oakland would be a better place for their new home. It would put them near to the royal troop encampment and the Wind Clan enclaves. The triangular neighborhood, however, was another popular place for humans to live. The Monongahela and the Allegheny Rivers protected two of its three flanks from dangerous animals. The Wind Clan enclaves at the Rim created a barrier along its third. At the heart of this zone sat the third largest employer, the University of Pittsburgh. Unlike the rest of the city, Oakland had very few empty buildings.

Since illegally entering Pittsburgh, Olivia had only been in the neighborhood three times. The first time was a full day of looking unsuccessfully for a place to squat. The second was a few days ago, seeking out Forest Moss, sight unseen, to propose to him. The last was now. She knew only the three main streets: Forbes Avenue that the buses came up, Fifth Avenue that the buses went down, and the Rim that bisected them both. She didn’t want to go wandering around in the middle of the night in a strange part of town, looking for something that might not exist.

Forest Moss was watching her as if his life depended on her. And perhaps it did. At least, his sanity seemed to.

She realized with a flash of guilt that she forgot to ask him if he was hungry. He skipped their last meal because there hadn’t been enough for two. She pushed the mountain of french fries toward him. “Eat some while they’re hot.”

She had to show him how to pick them up with his fingers to eat them. Did elves not do finger food? She had no idea what was normal table etiquette for elves. Did they eat with forks and spoons? Chopsticks? Sporks? Surely elves weren’t so lazy as to make one utensil do the work of two.

There was so much she didn’t know about elves. She had only taken Elvish through online homeschooling as an act of rebellion. All ten of her stepbrothers and her four stepsisters were learning Spanish, a practical second language when Kansas was just a few hundred miles removed from Mexico. Unlike the other whores on Liberty Avenue, she had no obsession with elves.

It was the distance of Elfhome to Kansas that lured her to Pittsburgh. She thought that she would only be totally free if she could hide on another world. All she had managed to do was trade one set of problems for another.

To be fair, things had gone well at first. She found a good solid home in a safe neighborhood. She had a job at a bakery. She was starting to make friends. It had seemed like she would be fine.

Then the war started and her life went down in flames.

Currently she had the clothes on her back, a ten-pound bag of keva beans, and a purse full of elf gold bullion.

Forest Moss reached out his hand and took hers.

And one half-mad elf lord with a very scary personal guard.

She was exhausted. The Wyverns had dragged them out of their bed to go talk with Prince True Flame. It would be hours until dawn. She just wanted to go to sleep and deal with everything in the morning.

The elves, however, had made no suggestions as to where she could find shelter.

She collected the empty paper french-fry boat, the paper wrapper from her sandwich, and the greasy napkins onto the plastic tray.

The Wyvern leader, however, was standing between her and the trash can.

“What is your name?” Her Elvish wasn’t up to knowing how to politely ask someone to move out of the way.

“Forgiveness,” he bowed slightly. “I’d forgotten that you do not know our ways. I’m Glaive Smites the Sun.”

“I need to put this stuff into the bin behind you.” Olivia refrained from jabbing him in the stomach with the tray. That never ended well with her stepbrothers; usually she would have to then pick everything off the floor. Their justification was that women were supposed to be meek and mild and kept in their place.

Glaive stepped aside. He watched with interest as she tilted the tray to send the paper items into the bin. It was possible that he’d never seen paper napkins and plates before. They were objects of her “sinful” youth when she’d lived with her father, wore halter-tops and blue jeans, and sang Katy Perry songs. Little freedoms that she’d rediscovered after she’d escaped to Pittsburgh.

With life and death in the balance, she hadn’t considered her independence when she approached Forest Moss. For the few hours when it had been just the two of them, he’d patiently and unquestioningly followed her. It was a day of sweetness that often took her breath away. She thought she’d stumbled into a paradise of safety without tyranny.

After dragging her to Prince True Flame, the Wyverns had done nothing else except to loom behind her. They felt menacing. Their reputation was fierce.

So far the Wyverns had done nothing to hinder her, not intentionally. Their abrupt appearance had triggered Forest Moss into blowing up her house. She couldn’t blame it on them. It’d seemed that the last thing they wanted to do was upset Forest Moss.

The Wyverns, however, had done nothing to help.

They loomed silently; watching without comment. She’d forget that they were behind her except for the reactions of the people around her. Late night customers kept walking into the diner, then turning on heel as they saw the Wyverns and fleeing back into the night.

She couldn’t stay at the diner without driving away other customers. She marched out into the dark empty street. The night was sticky hot but the weather report had called for thunderstorms in the morning. They would need shelter.

The tip of the Cathedral of Learning gleamed above the neighboring building like a lighthouse. Spotlights bathed it with light. The massive limestone tower rose thirty or forty stories higher than any other building in Oakland. It drew Olivia’s gaze like a beacon.

“He’s a queer hawk. He’s always on the doss. Either he’s knackered or schlossed or both. I’m not a squealer but it’s murder to root around all the empty floors to find him every time he wants to kip.”

Olivia remembered the tidbit of information mostly because it took her so long to translate Aiofe’s Irish slang. The grad student had been complaining about someone that worked at the Cathedral. When drunk or tired, the man would slip away to sleep. Aiofe explained that she would have to check half a dozen empty floors to find him.

Without thinking, Olivia started to march toward the Cathedral. Behind her was a multitude of heavy boot steps.

“What is this place?” Forest Moss asked as they stood within the massive, three-story-high Commons Room. The limestone vaults arched far overhead, looking more like a gothic church of Europe than an American university. Only a handful of lights were on so most of the room was lost in shadows.

“It is a school.” She wondered if she used the right word because he looked even more puzzled by her answer.

“Like Oxford?” Forest Moss asked.

“Yes, exactly.” Olivia had picked that much up from Aiofe, who had abandoned a chance to attend the English university for the more exotic Elfhome-based one. The difference was that Oxford apparently was an entire village of old stone buildings whereas Pitt just had the Cathedral. The American university had started as a little log cabin. They’d walked past a replica of that original building out on the lawn.

“It looks like the churches your people have on the continent.” He waved toward the east. He meant Europe. “Stone palaces to your gods, where only your priests live.”

She nodded, distracted and unsure if he meant that God didn’t live in the churches or if he simply meant that the buildings stood empty of humans most of the time. Her grandmother had always told her that God made his own temples.

They were the only people awake and moving in the giant space. Their footsteps echoed loudly off the limestone columns and vaulted ceiling. Certainly there was lots of space for them, but it looked very cold and uninviting.

“This room is too open.” Glaive finally spoke his mind. She couldn’t tell if it was a command to find something else, or merely an observation. She agreed with him.

There was the scrape of metal on stone, a jangle of keys, and then a male voice singing a mix of Elvish and English words. “Naekanain! No. No. Naekanain! Don’t play for that team. Don’t swing that way. Don’t you understand the words I’m saying? Naekanain!”

They found the janitor around the corner, loading supplies onto a cart, bobbing his head to music playing over ear buds. He was in his twenties but seemed too old to be a college student, which probably explained why he was cleaning in the middle of the night. Certainly he wore the sturdy boots, worn blue jeans, and belt knife that the locals favored.

“Shit!” he cried in surprise when Olivia tapped him on the shoulder. “You scared me. What are you doing in here? You’re not allow…” He looked beyond Olivia and saw the Wyverns. “Oh, holy hell!”

“We need someplace to sleep.” She noticed the open door behind him. The room beyond had crystal chandeliers, beautiful mural paintings on the ceiling, elaborate gilded moldings, a long gleaming table and red velvet upholstered chairs. “Oh, this is nice. What is this?”

“The Austrian Room. It’s one of the Nationality Rooms. All the classrooms on this floor are decked out as a different nations…Wait. Did you say ‘sleep?’ You-you-you…” He glanced toward the Wyverns. “I’m going to have to call someone.”

The room was luxurious but lacked anything remotely looking like a bed.

“Before you call anyone, open up the rooms so that we can see them.”

He considered her and the Wyverns for a minute before pulling out his keys. “They don’t pay me enough to say no.”

The Scottish room had a crown molding of thistles. The Swiss room was clad in wood and had a large tiled object that might have been a wood stove. The Yugoslav room had ornate, carved wood wainscoting. All the rooms were beautiful in their rich decorations. They were, however, stark and uncomfortable. Most of the rooms had only old-fashioned, wooden chairs with desk armrests.

Olivia felt like Goldilocks, trying out rooms, looking for a perfect fit. She was dragging the bears along with her to witness her attempts at finding a comfortable bed. At last they found the Syria-Lebanon room, which had satin sofa pillows on top of marble benches.

She sank down onto the cushions. Forest Moss settled beside her, seeking the comfort of her touch. The Wyverns stood waiting to see if she approved the room, or like the others, rejected it and moved on.

It was the most beautiful room she’d ever been in. The walls were elaborately gilded with silver and gold leaf. The floors were white marble inlaid with red stone. The gold-and-white-striped pillows were soft and shimmering. Every square inch of the ceiling was carved, inlaid, painted and gilded. “Lush” only began to describe the room. The deep U-shaped sofa, however, lined the walls, leaving only a small square of floor space free. The addition of six tall male elves made the room claustrophobic.

It was starting to freak her out that the Wyverns just stood there. They’d followed her around without speaking among themselves except occasional hand signals. They showed no surprise or dismay or even interest on their faces. It reminded her of when she was being shunned. She hated their silence but their disapproval might be worse.

She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see them. She decided it was a good thing that they were so patient. Troy would be shouting at her by now. Next step would be grabbing hold of her so hard it would leave bruises and dragging her to where he wanted her. Certainly, in her Bible, a holy being was patient. “With patience a ruler may be persuaded, and a soft tongue will break a bone.”

She would believe that the Wyverns were just until she had evidence otherwise.

She woke up hours later with no memory of falling asleep. She simply failed to open her eyes after closing them. Sometime during the night, the number of elves standing around watching over her multiplied. Ten of the laedin-caste royal marines had joined the party. They brought with them blankets, food and news that since it was pouring down rain, Forest Moss wasn’t needed by Prince True Flame.

Breakfast came in little wooden baskets; warm to the touch and fragrant with hot food. Her stomach, however, roiled at the smell. She cautiously opened the basket that Forest Moss handed her. It contained a thick oatmeal-like substance that tasted like walnuts and honey.

“Do you like it?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes. It’s good.” One less thing she needed to worry about. The only food they’d managed to save from her house were keva beans and potatoes; both needed cooking.

He opened his basket, revealing smoked eggs and dark rye bread. “This is Fire Clan cooking. The royal marines have their own field kitchens. Battle rations are plain but filling. They’ll be good for your baby.”

She tried not to feel upset by the fact that he called it that: her baby. She was barely able to think of her baby as more than an upset stomach. She knew that her feelings would change once she could feel it kicking and moving. Right now “it” was like the tail end of a bad case of food poisoning. She couldn’t expect him to see her baby as his. The moment it was born, it would be obvious that Troy was the father. Her baby would probably be blond or red-haired, freckle easily, and have round ears. In a single glance, people would know that nut-brown Forest Moss had nothing to do with producing the baby.

She’d hoped that he would consider it “their” baby. Certainly she always thought of the man that raised her as her father. The lack of blood ties only mattered when he tried to keep custody of her when her mother married her stepfather. She never considered her stepfather as her parent; he was a narcissistic dictator who saw her as a rebellious piece of property.

What type of father would Forest Moss be to her baby?

There was a sudden shift among the elves as someone came walking quickly down the hallway. The janitor’s late night phone call was finally bearing fruit.

The woman had her gray hair pulled back into a long braid, and wore a chocolate brown silk damask dress not as long as an elfin gown but certainly just as elegant. Aoife had told Olivia about the head of her college enough times that Olivia recognized the woman by description alone. She had to be Agnes Fisher, Dean of Elvish Studies.

Olivia was sure that the dean was the one interceding on the University’s behalf because she was an expert on Elvish culture. The woman, however, ignored Olivia and the Wyverns and tried to interact solely with Forest Moss. The dean spoke rapid fire High Elvish, which Olivia didn’t understand. Forest Moss stared at the woman, confusion growing on his face.

All her life Olivia had people tell her to shut up and stay invisible. Her mother had told her “be a little ghost” until Olivia cut eyeholes in a bed sheet and wore it around the house, moaning. Her experience last night at The O and later with the janitor had taught her that the male elves all expected her to lead. It was at once frightening and intoxicating. It made sense why Forest Moss deferred to her, but why the Wyverns? Were they waiting for her to make a mistake so huge that they could rightfully kill her for it? Certainly that level of pettiness was what she’d learn to expect from “holy” people.

The dean carried on at length in High Elvish, which Olivia didn’t know.

“Oh, please, stop that,” Olivia finally snapped in Low Elvish.

The dean glanced at Olivia for the first time. “Forgiveness?”

“I’m Forest Moss’ domi. He doesn’t understand human customs and technology so you’re going to have to deal with me and I don’t speak High Elvish.”

The dean glanced at her forehead where Forest Moss had marked her with the dau. Her gaze dropped down, taking all of Olivia in. Her dismay was clear on her face. “How old are you? Do your parents know what you’re doing?”

Olivia couldn’t lie with the elves listening in so she ignored the question. “Our house collapsed. We need temporary shelter.”

The dean opened her mouth and then reconsidered whatever she was going to say and closed it. She studied Olivia for a silent minute. “Until the middle of June, I had no idea who Tinker was,” the dean said in English. “I’m told that she was quite well known with the hoverbike racing fans. The last two months has been an education on how much the elves hold that teenage girl in esteem. The entire tengu race has gone from hated enemies to trusted allies by her word alone. It is compelling evidence that any young inexperienced female who gains the position of domi can be a power to be reckoned with. That said, Tinker is domi for the head of the Wind Clan, deep in their territory. I believe it would be a mistake for you to assume that you wield similar level of command among the elves.”

“I assume nothing.” Olivia was very aware of her ignorance. “But it’s kind of rude to come busting into here, getting all high and mighty, when you haven’t even told me who you are.”

“I’m Dr. Agnes Fisher, Dean of Elvish Studies. And I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to leave. I heard what Forest Moss did at Kaufmann’s; blowing up all those child mannequins. We’re responsible for the safety of our students. We can’t…”

“What students?” Anger made Olivia raise her voice. “You went on summer break just before the gate failed and you delayed fall registration because of the war.” She flung out her hand to point at the empty Commons Room behind Fisher. “There’s no one here!”

“What is wrong?” Forest Moss raised his hand, cocking his fingers. “What did she say?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Olivia hugged him. “Hush. Everything is fine. I’m still exhausted from last night and it makes me short tempered.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Pregnancy was making it feel like she’d spent the night wading through quicksand. She’d gotten up with the sun out of habit; she hadn’t had the luxury of sleeping in since she was a little girl.

“You should rest.” He swept Olivia up into his arms. “She needs to rest; she is with child.”

Olivia blushed, knowing that the dean would jump to the wrong conclusion as to who the father of her child was. Why did it matter what the woman believed? If the rumors were true, there were half-elf children scattered all over the city. They were kept hidden away so the elves couldn’t take them from their mothers. The hookers on Liberty Avenue could talk of nothing but how Blue Sky Montana had been forcibly taken from his older half brother. Olivia hadn’t thought the problem would ever be applied to her. She realized that one day it might.

Suddenly the dean was a welcome distraction. “I should finish talking to her.” Olivia wished she hadn’t exaggerated how tired she felt to excuse her anger. It would be nice to be good and angry instead of lost and confused.

“You can do it tomorrow,” Forest Moss said. He’d lived for hundreds of years; tomorrow probably seemed only minutes away.

Behind them, she heard Glaive telling the dean to return the next day. The woman didn’t argue. Olivia was torn. They had no right to squat in the university’s building, even as temporary shelter. If she insisted on talking with the woman, Olivia could possibly lose the argument with her. That would mean they’d end up out in the rain, trying to find someplace safe to live. The woman had already conceded for the day and was walking away. Forest Moss laid Olivia down on the sofa cushions that were newly covered with lavender-scented sheets.

“You must not wear yourself out or you’ll become sick.” He covered her with a soft blanket that felt like angora. “There is no place we need to be. Rest.”

There was no place for them to go, so he was right that there was no place they needed to be.

Confrontation with authority: round two.

The dean’s gown was Wind Clan blue and she had with her a thick book titled United Nations Elfhome Peace Treaty. Twenty-four hours had given the woman time to prepare. The dean tried for “friendly, nonthreatening meeting” by taking a seat on the sofa across the room from Olivia and Forest Moss. It was difficult for Olivia to judge the dean’s age. The skin on her hands was tissue-paper thin; her veins mapped their way over delicate bones. They were grandmother hands. Olivia’s mother looked older but life on the ranch had been hard on her mother.

At one time Dean Fisher had been stunning; she was now merely regal-looking with black hair that aged to a lush dark silver. Her eyebrows were still dark bold wings, although that might be due to makeup. She silently studied Olivia with rich amber brown eyes.

In Olivia’s experience, silence was a weapon.

Olivia focused on braiding Forest Moss’ hair. It calmed him when she fussed over him. Forest Moss sat at her feet, threading pieces of black silk ribbon through his fingers, humming happily. She wove the three strands of his white hair. Over. Under. Over. Under. She ignored Dean Fisher, stealing the power of the woman’s silence.

“I’ve checked the treaty,” the dean finally stated quietly in Elvish. “Pittsburgh, including these buildings, will be considered Wind Clan when and if the treaty is declared null and void.”

Forest Moss’ humming faltered slightly but he gave no other indication that he was listening to the conversation. He hadn’t even looked up when the woman entered the room.

“I believe Prince True Flame—” Olivia paused, not sure how to say “trumps” in Elvish, “—is of higher power than the viceroy. He wants Forest Moss close at hand, ready to fight.”

“I understand. What I don’t understand is why you haven’t sought out shelter elsewhere. The enclaves are better suited at hosting domana and sekasha.”

Olivia blushed and focused back on braiding. No one had suggested that to her and she hadn’t thought of it herself. If it was an option, why hadn’t the Wyverns said something sooner? She peeked up at Glaive who was standing quietly within striking range of the dean.

Amazingly, the male took her glance as a demand for information. “Ginger Wine’s is uninhabitable until the support walls are repaired. The viceroy is using Poppymeadow’s. Forge will be staying with his grandson; Iron Mace will also be guarding over the children. The distant voices say that three more Stone Clan domana will arrive shortly with their households. They will be housed at two of the Wind Clan enclaves and that requires all their current guests to be shifted. Forest Moss on Stone and his domi must find other lodgings.”

Olivia hadn’t heard that more domana had arrived in Pittsburgh. She wondered if Forge and Iron Mace were Stone Clan or Wind Clan. She didn’t want to detour the conversation. “Forest Moss needs to be in Oakland but there’s very little in the way of empty houses. It will take time to find something suitable. In the meantime, we need access to restrooms and shelter from the rain.”

“I understand.” The dean’s response annoyed Olivia because it seemed by her tone that she was actually saying “You can’t stay.”

“Your school currently isn’t holding classes,” Olivia snapped.

“The chancellor has decided that we will start fall term on Monday. We have to assume that Tinker domi will not be able to reestablish a connection with Earth. It isn’t even clear how she severed it. To continue as a school, the university must hold classes and give our students the education that they were promised.”

Olivia breathed out her anger. She’d slept an alarming amount yesterday. She didn’t want to be bullied out of a place with electricity and running water when she wasn’t sure of her own health. “I know that there are multiple floors in this building standing empty. There are subjects that you no longer teach, so they are no longer used.”

The dean glanced at Forest Moss. “This is a delicate, historic, iconic building…”

“Then one of your dormitories. They’re probably half empty as it is. You used to be bigger than University of Kansas. Your student population is a fraction of what it used to be and you were on summer break.”

“You have to understand, long before the first Startup, we stopped being able to house our entire student population. The university decided that instead of trying to build more dormitories in an increasingly crowded area that it would guarantee housing only to incoming freshmen. For decades, our upper-level students have lived off campus in apartments. To save costs, they’ve recently started to take over abandoned buildings to operate households modeled after the enclaves. We do not oversee those structures.”

“So you’re saying you don’t have empty buildings?”

The dean controlled a glance to the listening Wyverns. It was nearly unnoticeable, just a flick of the eyes and then her face going tight. The woman wanted to lie but couldn’t. “We might. I am unaware of any but housing is not my responsibility. I would have to look into it.”

“Until then, we could move upstairs to one of the empty floors.”

The dean sat still and poised while considering her options. Finally she accepted defeat with, “I’ll call buildings and grounds. They’ll turn on the lights on one of the empty floors.”

The Wyverns did not like the elevators. There were several, each dedicated to different levels of the tall building. The cars were large and clad in feather-pattern bronze and polished until they gleamed.

The holy warriors eyed the elevator to the twentieth floor like it was a great gaping mouth that was going to swallow them whole.

“Death trap,” one of them murmured.

“It’s like the lift on the gossamers.” Forest Moss walked into the gleaming car. Olivia stepped in after him.

The warriors exchanged glances, sighed, and boarded.

They rode up in silence.

The janitor waited in the twentieth-floor lobby, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. He bobbed, doing a quick bow, and started to edge nervously toward the elevator. “I got all the lights working. Had to fiddle a bit since some of the bulbs were older than I am.”

The dean blocked his escape. “Go downstairs and make sure the rest of their party know how to work the elevators.” When his eyes went wide, she sighed. “No, the others aren’t Wyverns, they’re laedin-caste. Just tell them you’re their escort and don’t let them get off on other floors.”

He got onto the elevator, muttering quietly, “Sure. Sure. Just tell a bunch of sword-happy elves to behave like they’re a bunch of stateside freshmen.”

The dean ignored him and waved a hand toward a big wooden desk that reminded Olivia of the checkout counter of her childhood library. “You can use this floor; it’s been empty since shortly after the first Startup.”

“Is the elevator the only way up?” Olivia didn’t want to be trapped this high if the power gave out.

“There are stairs.” Dean Fisher motioned toward double doors at the end of the hallway. “Students sometimes use the thirty-six flights of stairs for exercise, so don’t be alarmed if you hear someone in the stairway.”

“Exercise?” Olivia couldn’t imagine what the students would be doing on the steps. Surely they didn’t walk up thirty-six floors. Weren’t there machines that let you climb stairs without leaving one spot?

“It’s safer than many of the side streets and alleyways,” the dean said. “We’re close to the Rim even with the enclaves to buffer the city. Our security routinely sweeps all the floors to make sure we don’t get any stray plants or animals.”

The dean indicated the hallway behind the imposing reception desk. “Elvish Studies was going to expand into these offices next year. The restrooms on this floor have been updated, but not much else. I’m afraid that the mass exodus during the first year on Elfhome meant that anything that could be bought easily on Earth was left behind. Feel free to use whatever you find here.”

Dean Fisher moved down the hallway, flipping on lights, opening blinds, and pointing out the restrooms. All of the rooms looked like the occupants had fled in the middle of the night. Papers covered the desktops and floors. Drawers hung open, some empty, others half-full. A cup of coffee sat on one desk, a layer of mold growing on the surface of an ancient pool of liquid.

“All the phones should be hooked up.” Dean Fisher paused to pick up one old-fashioned headset and listened for a tone. “Yes.” She switched to English and held out a card. “These are all my phone numbers. If you need anything during the day, just dial my extension. After office hours, I’m at the second number. That’s my private cell phone number. To dial out, you’ll need to enter ‘9’ first. It’s ancient.” She paused as if realizing that Olivia might not understand the antique system. “Have you ever used a landline?”

“Yes.” Olivia didn’t bother to explain that she never owned a cell phone. The ranch considered them something sinful that only men could use safely. There was a phone system in place similar to the university’s so that all incoming phone calls could be screened prior to connecting the caller with the right person.

“Most students are baffled by our ancient technology. Their phones are tiny flat things that they carry in their pocket and do everything from take pictures to send e-mail. We need to give the freshmen detailed instructions on how to use the university’s phone system. They grasp it quickly; they’re used to the fundamental idea of using a tool to speak with anyone. Elves do not have anything similar to telephones. They don’t see the need. If they want to communicate with someone, they write a letter. The days that it takes for a message carried by hand to travel back and forth, to them, are like minutes to us. If the need for communication is great enough, they go themselves or send someone from their household.”

Olivia had gotten enough allegories drummed into her that she recognized one dressed up in different clothes. The lesson of this particular one, however, eluded her. “Your point being?”

“You are young. Frighteningly young.”

Olivia expected the dean to ask her age again, but the woman glossed over that detail.

“I have found that the younger the student, the more they believe that they understand how the world works based on their very limited experience. They don’t realize how subtle reality truly is; there are layers to the world. What seems to be the truth is only the reflective surface, mirroring back their perceptions.”

Olivia fought to keep her voice level. “And I’ve found that the older the adult, the more sure that they know what is better for the child, even when what they believe kills the child.”

The dean’s eyes filled with sorrow. “Yes, I realize that is true too.” Nevertheless, she plowed on. “There is much we don’t know about the elves; we’ve only had contact with fairly young and adventurous individuals of the Wind Clan. Even the viceroy should be considered a teenager. Everything has changed. We can’t take for granted what the elves want is something we can easily understand.”

By “we” the dean obviously meant “you.”

Which might be true but it certainly applied to everyone else in Pittsburgh too.

“We,” Olivia stressed the pronoun, “will only be using this floor until we can find a house.”

They cleaned.

Which was to say that the Wyverns stood around guarding them from God-knows-what, the royal marines established where they were supposed to be and promptly disappeared, and Forest Moss picked up random items and studied them for an hour before setting them back where he found them. Olivia worked quickly and efficiently; cleaning was the one thing that the ranch taught her to do well.

She set her sights low; she limited her cleaning to just one section. She and Forest Moss would be camping in the space only until she found something in Oakland where they could safely live. The rooms had been the offices of Nathan Yocum, Dean of Children’s Literature, and his administrative assistant. The larger room had a charming but dusty window seat, a big leather sofa, two wingback chairs, a massive wooden desk, and large built-in bookcases as befitted the offices of a dean. Someone had taken the desk chair, which was fine as there were plenty of other places to sit.

The royal marines loved the elevator. They rode up and down and up and down in it all morning. Much to the university’s dismay, they used it to explore all the floors—abandoned and occupied. They would circle back to the twentieth floor bearing gifts from the startled university staff and found treasures from the abandoned offices. The elevator would ding, the doors would slide open and they would spill out, laughing and talking loudly like excited schoolchildren. They would track Olivia down in the warren of offices, show off their latest discovery, and ask her to explain it.

They laughed at her Elvish, saying that she sounded like someone from the Wind Clan. Apparently the creators of her online language classes had never spoken with elves from the other clans.

The marines were an equal mix of males and females. They were all over six feet tall, red haired and green eyed. From a globe they found, she learned that they were all from an area that matched up with Northern Italy. They’d arrived just days ago via the train. Prior to that, they had never seen a diesel engine, an automobile, an electric light, or even a human before. They brought her staplers, tape dispensers, staple removers, binder clips, and bubble wrap. The last, once she showed how the bubbles could be popped, triggered a running game of keep-away.

“They seem so young,” Olivia said as the game charged down the hall, popping and cracking.

“They’re about your age.” Forest Moss believed that Olivia was eighteen or older. “They are fresh out of training. The more-experienced troops were deployed to protect the Spell Stones. Neither Aum Renau nor Aum Hearn was heavily guarded prior to the oni’s first attack of the viceroy. There was little need. They are shielded against everything except traitors. Since the Spell Stones are our greatest weapons, they are also our greatest weakness.”

The Spell Stones were “our” while her baby was “yours.” It would not be so galling if she actually knew what the stupid things actually were.

It exhausted her to simply clear the larger room, dust the bookshelves, and explain every possible piece of office equipment known to humankind for the last fifty years. At least the marines had done more than explore the cathedral; they brought cots, more blankets, and baskets of hot food. The warriors all had ironwood forks and spoons in kit bags. During the day, however, they’d found plastic sporks for Olivia and Forest Moss to use. Inside the baskets were grilled fish fillets, more of the dark rye bread, and a roasted root that tasted vaguely like turnips that had been sweetened with honey.

“Are we paying for this?” She hadn’t seen any money exchange hands but that didn’t mean that someone wasn’t keeping track of what they were eating.

“Oh, yes, close accounting is kept. Wind Clan bleeds heavily for this war.”

She didn’t understand if that meant they would be charged or not. She glanced to Glaive.

The Wyvern explained in more detail. “The Wind Clan is responsible to house and feed the incoming domana from other clans. Wolf Who Rules Wind will cover any expense incurred within reason.”

This was good news since she only had the keva beans salvaged from her house. With two mouths to feed, the food would not last long. Considering that the marines had grown to twenty in number, she was thankful that they were feeding her instead of the other way around.

“For how long?” she asked.

“For the duration of the war.” Forest Moss pressed her hand to his cheek. “It’s all bookkeeping. Extremely petty of us to quibble over money when our world is at risk, but that is how we keep the peace among us. Otherwise we would be like pigs fighting over table scraps while the butcher looks on.”

“So the Wind Clan will feed us as long as the fighting continues?” Olivia said

Forest Moss smiled gently. “Do not worry; the war will not last long. The oni have been cut off from their world, so they have no retreat and no reinforcements. Every day more elves arrive in Pittsburgh to fight. We will quickly root out these oni. I was given land. We can build a holding and gather people to us. We will soon be a proper household.”

God forgive her, but she didn’t want the war to end quickly. At least, not until next summer, when they’d had a chance to plant crops and harvest them. All the food from Earth was running out. It was only a matter of time before the elves were the only source. For her unborn child and all the people of Pittsburgh, she didn’t want their survival to be dependent on the good will of the Wind Clan. It would be a simple matter of letting Pittsburgh starve in the dead of winter.

She hoped that the Wind Clan would be better than that. She prayed that they were. But she couldn’t afford to assume that they would be.

They only needed to be in Oakland during the war. The moment it ended, they could settle anywhere in the city. They could stay at the Cathedral of Learning. The important thing was to find winter clothing and start stocking up on food.

She yawned deeply.

Tomorrow.

She woke up late at night, the moon shining light through the windows on the ranks of cots around her. The Wyverns, who stayed up the night before, slept while the marines kept watch down the hall.

It made Olivia feel like she’d awoken in preschool during nap time and found her classmates still asleep. She wondered why. She spent years sleeping with all her stepsisters, stacked like cordwood in bunk beds. Maybe it was because the Wyverns were unknown elements; possible allies instead of known enemies.

She didn’t have the luxury of seeing the world as a child. Currently her worldly possessions were exactly a pair of underwear, a pair of sensible shoes, a gingham sundress, and a purse full of gold. She needed clothes not only for herself but for Forest Moss too. He had lost everything at Ginger Wine’s; his rooms had burned the night of the oni attack.

She tiptoed to the restroom. Forest Moss didn’t stir but all the Wyverns woke long enough to watch her pass. Half of the marines were gathered around the elevator; the rest were in cots scattered about the twentieth floor. They grinned sheepishly at her as if she’d caught them doing something wrong. They bowed repeatedly, like a flock of drinking bird toys.

What had she interrupted?

They didn’t seem to be drinking or smoking (if elves smoked), or even roughhousing more than normal. They must have been talking about something they didn’t want her to hear. She let the restroom door squeak closed behind her, clunked across the tile floor, coughing to make more noise. Then, slipping off her shoes, crept back to the door. At the ranch, eavesdropping was the only way she ever learned anything. During the day she’d learned the individual voices of the marines so she was able to identify the speakers.

“See,” Dagger whispered loudly. The female was the brassy leader with a little too-friendly hands. “All this strangeness and she’s calm as ice on a lake. No amount of wind is going to be ruffling her.”

“Two different things.” Ox didn’t bother to whisper. He tended to be blunt to the point of rude, but not in an intentionally mean way. “He could shatter again at any moment. She’s still human; there’s nothing she can do to stop him.”

“She calms him right down.” Coal sided with Dagger. “Ice on rough waters.”

“No, he’s like a keg of black powder,” Ox stated. “One spark. Boom. Everyone dead before they can stop the explosion. He’ll probably just kill her by mistake.”

“He’s too valuable!” Rage lived up to her name; her voice was rough with her anger. “We need him. The oni have powerful human weapons and dragons and wargs. Forest Moss is a seasoned warrior, something that Wolf Who Rules is not.”

Coal made the sound of agreement. “It was Wind Clan domi that killed the oni dragon, not the viceroy. Do you think, once she’s dashavat, she’ll be as fearsome in battle as the child bride?”

Olivia didn’t know the meaning of the unfamiliar word. Once she was what?

“I don’t think it will come to that. Forest Moss is going to shatter and the holy ones will put him down. You’ll see. Just like Earth Son.” Ox whistled, imitating a sword cutting through the air. Earth Son had been beheaded by his own guards.

“Wyverns don’t want to do that,” Dagger said. “We’re spread thin and Forest Moss has fought bravely so far. Earth Son was a coward.”

“At that place with the children statues that he was blowing up, they were discussing putting him down like a mad dog when she slipped him away. They might not want to do it, but they will.”

They meant Kaufmann’s. The Wyverns had been that close to writing Forest Moss off as a lost cause?

“I would like to go to that place,” Lynx said. Apparently Elvish didn’t have a word for “department store.” “They say that the stairs moved and would carry you up and down without you moving your feet.”

The conversation changed to the rumored sights of the city that the elves would like to see. Olivia backed away from the door, her heart beating madly. The Wyverns planned to kill Forest Moss? The only reason he was still alive was because she kept him sane enough that the elves felt safe around him?

Were they right? Could Forest Moss lose control enough to accidently kill her?

She used the toilet because the need was real and ignoring it wouldn’t solve any of her problems.

Somehow this was worse than when Troy first unleashed his anger on her. She’d been scared then because she knew no one would stop him from hitting her until he felt like stopping. This time the Wyverns would stop the person hurting her by killing him. It should make her glad that someone was protecting her. Had she become one of those women that expected abuse as part of a relationship? Or was it because she didn’t want to believe that Forest Moss would ever hurt her?

She finished, washed her hands, and then stood staring at her reflection.

Shouldn’t she be comforted by the fact that she was being protected?

The door squeaked open and Dagger leaned in. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Olivia said automatically.

The Wyverns woke again as she made her way back to her cot despite the fact she was trying her best to move silently. Forest Moss stirred, sought her warmth and fell back into deep sleep.

She imagined that she felt the eyes of the Wyverns on them. Judging them. At any moment, the holy warriors might decide to take a sword to Forest Moss. They could even do it with her beside him, spraying her with blood. She shuddered, remembering how it felt when they butchered the lambs. The small thrashing bodies that had to be held still for the knife. The stench of blood and the slickness of it on her hands. The cries of fear. The distress of the ewes wanting back their lambs.

Olivia wrapped her arms around Forest Moss, hugging him protectively.

Anyone could be dangerous; even the smallest of children could pick up a gun and pull the trigger. It was the nature of God’s creations; the will to survive included the ability to kill. Even bacteria could murder. What set humans apart from animals was the moral understanding that ability to kill others didn’t equate to the right.

The Wyverns might be just and holy, but they had no right to kill Forest Moss.

She couldn’t let them, but she knew she couldn’t stop them. Somehow, she had to find a way to keep them from harming Forest Moss.

Olivia and her private army went shopping the next morning. By some minor miracle, the nearby Giant Eagle had managed to stay open while the rest of the chain had closed. She trundled through the big supermarket, pushing a cart with one squeaky wheel, followed by a herd of Wyverns and royal marines. Imagine Dragons’ “Radioactive” played over the sound system, the deep thumping bass accompanied by the cart’s squeaking. “It’s a revolution I suppose,” the male lead sang. “We’re painted red to fit right in.”

She eyed the sea of red behind her in the mirror over the vegetable bins labeled “local produce.” Fitting in was not what they were doing. Employees and other customers were scattering before her like flocks of frightened pigeons.

She raided the bins for produce that would keep. Apples. Potatoes. Winter squash. The next aisle that used to be canned goods was picked clean. Not even dented cans of spinach remained.

“Welcome to the new age, to the new age,” the PA system sang.

It felt like the apocalypse had hit Pittsburgh. It reminded her that she needed the elves to survive the winter.

At least the next aisle, which was paper goods, was still well stocked. Pittsburghers hadn’t considered what life without toilet paper was going to be like. She picked up a mega-pack and handed it to the nearest marine. The male elf eyed the package decorated with the cartoon bears as if he’d never seen toilet paper before. She ignored him, handing a second and third mega-pack out to the bewildered elves. The marines huddled around the newly burdened soldiers, examining the packages and making guesses as to what they contained.

“Bear cloth?” one guessed, pointing at the bears.

One could read French. “Ne bouche pas sur pour les systemes septiques. Septiques. Septiques. I don’t know this word. Ah! Paper hygiénique. Paper for health.”

This only mystified them more.

She wanted cloth diapers but there were only disposable ones in the next aisle. Savvy parents had bought out the larger sizes, leaving behind only three packages for newborn. Those would last her a week. She was going to have to find more before her baby was born.

The next few aisles were as empty as the canned goods. Only the overhead signs hinted at what had been shelved there. Pasta. Soup. Cereal. Soda. Spices were largely untouched. Her budget didn’t allow her to buy to her heart’s content, not when anything beyond salt and pepper came at a dear price. Beyond iodized salt, nothing was required for survival.

Before she could stop him, Forest Moss had picked up a bottle of Chinese Five Spice and broken the seal.

“Anise.” He intermixed English words with Elvish. “Cassia, which is the bark of Cinnamomum trees. Cloves.” He sniffed again. “Gingibre. Badian, which is sometimes called star anise. I used to trade herbs for bronze and then steel.”

She swallowed down a whimper. The bottle cost over ten dollars for just one ounce. She had never tasted the spice mix, let alone used it. She couldn’t put the open bottle back on the shelf; the spice would start to degrade once the seal was broken. It would be unfair to anyone else to pay so much money for an open bottle.

“This would be very good on fowl,” he continued. “You need more meat for your baby to be healthy. When we find our own place, I will see that we are given live chickens instead of prepared meals. That way we can quickly have a whole flock. I will cook for you. I’ve gotten very good at it.”

If he cooked as well as he made love, then it would be a feast beyond her imagination. She blushed furiously and added the spice to her cart.

The cashier rang up her purchase with shaking hands. It was more than Olivia had ever spent on anything. She reluctantly handed over all her American cash. She had the elf gold bullion but each coin was worth thousands of dollars. She was going to have to exchange one to buy winter clothes.

The next morning, their fragile peace fell apart. Orders came from Prince True Flame for Forest Moss to report for combat. Glaive insisted that Olivia be left at the cathedral.

“I want my domi to come with us!” Forest Moss cried. “I was not at the enclave to protect our people when the oni attacked. I will not leave her behind.”

“Ginger Wine’s was taken by treachery, not by simple force.” Glaive used the same tone one would use with a willful child. “You would have died if you had been there.”

“She is with child. I cannot dashavat her until the baby is born.” Forest Moss used the same word that the marines had used. By the look of distaste on the Wyvern’s face, it wasn’t a good thing. “She cannot defend herself like Wolf Who Rules’ child bride.”

Olivia ducked her head so her face wouldn’t show. She was actually two years younger than “Princess Tinker” but she hadn’t told Forest Moss that. She had allowed him to believe that humans considered her an adult. Since she had been forced into a marriage at fifteen, she thought of herself as “adult” even if most of the humans in Pittsburgh would disagree. Made to grow up, she wasn’t going to let herself be stuffed back into the bottle of “child.” It was her experience that the only difference was children had to do what they were told.

“The kitsune made the oni invisible to everyone at Ginger Wine’s,” Glaive continued. “The oni killed nine of our Stone Clan brethren and took Jewel Tear before anyone could react. Your presence would not have made any difference to the outcome.”

“The child bride…”

“Would have also been taken. We have no defense against mind tricks. The Wind Clan domi survived only because the oni limited their ambush to Ginger Wine’s.”

Tears started to run from Forest Moss’ one good eye. “I cannot abandon my domi. She is defenseless!”

“The oni have no reason to attack her,” Glaive said. “She is only domana-caste via her dau mark. Taking her would not give the oni access to the Stone Clan’s Spell Stones. She has nothing of worth.”

She had a small fortune in elf gold bullion in her purse but she didn’t want to point that out.

“If you drag her along,” Glaive finished, “she will be in direct line of fire for all the oni forces.”

Forest Moss started to rock in distress.

Glaive put his hand on his sword, his eyes narrowing in calculation.

“Please.” Olivia stepped forward and cautiously stretched out a hand to the rifle on Glaive’s back. “Can I have this?”

Glaive’s eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t stop her as she took it from his back. It was a true military-issue full automatic, a little heavier than the semi-auto that her stepfather owned. It seemed as if the construction wasn’t of regular gunmetal, but it functioned exactly the same.

She checked to make sure it had a full magazine. “I’m not defenseless.”

Forest Moss paused, startled out of his panic.

“I don’t want to be part of the fighting.” Olivia still wasn’t sure if she understood what the war was about, and what the oni planned for the humans in general. If she was going to kill someone, she wanted to be sure it was the right people. God had been fairly clear on “thou shalt not kill” but then he muddled the waters with lots of smiting of enemies. Olivia was fairly sure that anyone trying to kill her intentionally became “the right people,” but if she was merely unintentional collateral damage, the morality of defending herself was uncomfortably gray.

“You can use that weapon?” Forest Moss asked.

“My mother,” she fumbled with the Elvish. She didn’t know the word for divorce, remarry, or stepfather. She wasn’t sure elves had such things. “When I was a child, she joined a group of people that don’t see eye to eye with almost everyone on just about everything. They own a great deal of guns.” Probably more than was legal considering the effort they went to keep their gun purchases secret. “They taught me how to use this weapon.”

Target practice was the one nondomestic activity that she was allowed to do, so she learned to do it well. She also learned a great deal about brawling but that was never “taught.” It was a natural result of making her stepbrothers look bad on the firing range.

“I should stay…” Forest Moss started.

“No, you need to go.” It had been the one qualifier Prince True Flame put on their union: Forest Moss had to continue his duties. “The oni know nothing about me. They don’t know my name or what I look like. I can mix into any group of humans and disappear.”

His eyebrows quirked as he considered it.

She leaned against him, lending her strength to him. “I will be fine. You need to do your duties.”

He needed to be useful or the Wyverns would kill him.

Forest Moss wrapped his arms around her and they stood while he grew calm with the assurance that she would be safe.

She thought that the Wyverns would take all the royal marines with them. To pacify Forest Moss, however, they left all twenty of the marines with her. There was no way she could blend in followed by a flood of red. Yes, she could go shopping with them in tow, but she’d hoped that she could see a doctor for a prenatal exam. She suspected that a pelvic exam with the circus in tow could be dangerous for the doctor’s health, but she wasn’t completely sure.

She set to work cleaning, hoping that they’d go exploring again. Within an hour, they’d scattered throughout the building. They’d figured out the various access points to the twentieth floor and were guarding them in rotating shifts. What they didn’t realize was that they’d missed one. Children’s Literature had once spanned two floors with an ample library on the floor below. Hidden behind a panel in one corner was a dumbwaiter to ferry book trucks between the two. It was a tight squeeze, but she could fit inside.

She took with her one of the elf bullion coins that Forest Moss had given to her. She left the machine gun behind because humans with guns drew attention, especially when they visited banks. She meant it when she said that she could easily blend in with the general population. She’d been doing it for weeks.

Olivia was waiting on the corner for the downtown bus, elf-free for the first time in days. She was reading the newspaper with her hair up in a bun and her reading glasses on. It felt good to be able to blend in with the crowd of other humans waiting for the next PAT bus to come lumbering down Fifth Avenue. Did Superman ever feel like this? The relief of being just like everyone else?

She recognized the wave of change go through the crowd before even looking up. The quick scuffling and inward breaths of fear. Wyverns were coming. What now? She looked up as a familiar number of Fire Clan red bodies came marching up the street, but she didn’t know any of the faces. This wasn’t the group that had gone out with Forest Moss.

How did they even find her?

Were they even looking for her?

For a moment she thought they were going to walk past her but then they stopped a few feet past her.

“There you are,” a female voice said in Elvish.

The female was short for an elf, dusky-skinned and dark-eyed like Forest Moss. Her dark brown hair had been hacked short so it stood up in uneven tufts. She gave Olivia a predatory grin.

Oh, joy, another crazy elf.

They stood for a few minutes, taking study of each other. The female wore a bright yellow high-low dress that was cut above the knees in the front but trailed down the back to almost the ground. It nicely showed off her little slouch boots of black and silver snake leather. Her bare arms and legs were covered with fading bruises. She looked like someone had dragged her through hell and back.

After the third or fourth minute of staring silently at Olivia, the female raised a finger and tapped it downward, ending with a point at Olivia’s chest. “Right. You have no idea how to act. When you meet someone for the first time, you tell them your name.”

“But you know my name, because you were looking for me.” What name did the elf expect her to give? Red? Olive Branch?

“Consider it practice,” the female said.

Freaking crazy elves.

“Why aren’t you telling me your name?” Olivia asked.

“Practice,” the female repeated. “If you don’t learn, everyone will think you’re uncivilized.”

“What if I don’t care what any of you think?”

The female reacted as if she never considered the possibility. The bus came trundling down the street.

“I’m getting on this.” Olivia pointed at the incoming bus as she had no idea what the Elvish word for it was. Did elves even have a word? They lived like fairy-tale people with swords and horses and massive flying fishes.

“Where are we going?” the female asked.

“We?” Olivia put away her reading glasses and took out her coin purse.

“I’ve sought you out in order to speak with you.”

The bus rumbled to a stop with a growl and hiss of hydraulic brakes. The door opened. All the people waiting on the corner froze in place, waiting to see what Olivia decided.

“Oh, hell.” She muttered in English and stomped up the steps of the bus. The driver’s eyes widened as the Wyverns and then the battered female elf boarded after Olivia. There was a sudden mass exodus via the back door of the bus. None of the other humans waiting at the corner got on.

Olivia fed quarters into the coin box. “Can I have a transfer?”

“Are they with you?” the driver murmured.

“No.” Olivia took the slip of paper that the bus driver handed her and slumped into one of the bench seats a few feet back. As she dreaded but expected, the female settled beside her and the Wyverns took up stations around them.

The handful of brave humans still on the bus clustered in the back.

“Do you really not care what the others think of you?” the female asked.

“No,” Olivia said as calmly as she could.

“They can kill you,” the female said.

“Why would they?” Olivia believed the elves would but she needed to know the triggers. She had never been totally sure that Troy would kill her, but she’d learned what would drive him to dangerous rage. “I’m unarmed and much smaller and younger than any of your people.”

“Our people,” the female corrected her. “You are to be considered one of us now that Forest Moss has marked you.”

Joys of marriage, or whatever the elves called it. Fine, Olivia would stick to this female’s semantics. “Are there no laws against killing?”

“There are laws,” the female said. “But if you’re challenged to a duel and do not fight, they will call you a coward.”

“Fine,” Olivia said.

“Have you no pride?” the female asked.

Pride was her biggest flaw, according to Olivia’s mother. “I pride myself at being much stronger-willed than the bullies that seek to dominate me. I would be shamed if I sink to their level where violence is necessary to display my character.”

“If you’re to be domi,” the female stated, “you must protect those you hold.”

Olivia wasn’t sure if they had totally strayed from the point or not. It seemed like playground-level mentality. Did the elves do double dog dares? “If someone attacks me, it is my fault for being weak, and not theirs for being cruel?”

“But how can you protect your people if you do not fight?”

“Are we discussing what other elves think of me,” Olivia said, “or the oni attacking me?”

“Elves,” the female said.

“And why would elves attack elves? Aren’t the oni the enemy?”

The female stared at her, head tilted in confusion. Considering the fact that she was hundreds of years older than Olivia, it took all of Olivia’s willpower to keep the practiced “just trying to clarify” look on her face. Really, years of defending her vision of Christianity had made this an easy exercise.

“I’m Jewel Tear on Stone,” the female finally introduced herself.

“Oh.” Olivia felt bad. She should have guessed. The Wyverns didn’t protect normal elves, just the domana-caste, and there were only a handful of those in Pittsburgh. Just days ago, the female’s household had been butchered by oni and she’d been kidnapped. Yes, Jewel Tear would consider protecting her people important. Olivia might have misunderstood the entire conversation. The straight As of her home school language classes really hadn’t prepared her for nuances of actual conversations.

“I’m Olive Branch over Stone.” Olivia gave her elf name and put out her hand for handshake.

Jewel Tear eyed her hand with suspicion. “Humans keep doing that around me. What does it mean?”

“It is a gesture of friendship and trust.” Olivia held her hand steady, waiting, even though she was fairly sure that Jewel Tear wasn’t going to shake her hand.

“Oh. We do not do that. Our hands are our weapons. We do not entrust them with those we do not love.”

Forest Moss would often take her hands in his and entwine their fingers. Olivia hadn’t realized what an act of faith it was for him. It made her feel oddly giddy. She dropped her hand into her lap, embarrassed by the rush of emotions.

Jewel Tear didn’t seem to notice. “You should know that two of the incoming Stone Clan domana are Harbingers. They earned their reputation during the Rebellion. They are powerful and dangerous enemies.”

“They are Stone Clan?” Olivia was missing something in the translation.

“Sunder is an old, old elf born at the dawn of the Rebellion. To hir, the Clan War was a short and messy affair, insignificant to the thousands of years that shi fought. If shi thinks that you are dangerous to our people in any way, shi will kill you despite your being Stone Clan.”

Olivia had learned the gender neutral pronouns in high school but hadn’t realized she’d ever use them. “I see.”

Jewel Tear lowered her voice. “Darkness is the one you should fear. His great joy in life had been his niece, Blossom Spring from Stone. His beloved younger sister died giving birth to her and he raised Blossom Spring as his daughter. Blossom Spring had been with Forest Moss when he was captured by the oni. He escaped. She did not.”

“She was killed?” Olivia hoped that Forest Moss didn’t abandon the female.

“Her First, Granite, drowned her in a chamberpot.”

Olivia stared in horror at Jewel Tear. “Why would he do that?”

Jewel Tear leaned in to whisper. “She’d been raped by the oni. They had made her pregnant.”

Olivia reeled at the implications. Did this mean that the Wyverns would have killed Olivia if Forest Moss had slept with her while she wasn’t pregnant? And what did this mean for Jewel Tear, who been kidnapped by the oni? “Why?”

“Granite needed to kill her unborn oni bastard to protect the Spell Stones.”

Those things again. “What are those? The Spell Stones?”

“They are our greatest strength but also our greatest weakness. Granite could not allow the oni to gain access to them.”

“But what are they?”

“It’s how the domana cast their clan’s esva. Forest Moss will teach you. Until you can protect yourself, you should keep your distance from Darkness. So, where are we going?” Jewel Tear asked.

Olivia didn’t know the words for what she planned for the day. Since Jewel Tear’s presence meant Olivia once again had a Wyvern guard, she couldn’t visit the OB/GYN as planned. Nor did Olivia know if she could trust this female. She learned the hard way that a few minutes of kindness often meant nothing. It would be a mistake to assume that Jewel Tear saw them as “friends” or even “allies.”

Luckily, while the conversation had been short, the bus had gone straight downtown without stops. Olivia wasn’t sure if this was because there hadn’t been anyone waiting on the corners as the driver approached or if he’d had flipped the sign to “out of service” in order to expedite getting the Wyverns off his bus. Either way, they were nearing the first stop on Sixth Avenue. She reached up and hit the “request stop” button.

“We’re going here.”

Mellon Bank’s sole building sat in the heart of downtown. It was an old building from the nineteen hundreds with marble floors, tall columns and three-story-high coffered ceilings. Olivia attempted to stand in line, but once again the line evaporated because of the presence of the Wyverns. Gritting her teeth, she stepped up to the suddenly not busy teller’s window.

“I need to exchange this for American dollars.” She pushed the gold ingot across the counter.

Apparently this was not a common request. The teller needed to get his supervisor who was an older woman. She in turn fetched another woman, older still.

“Miss…?” The manager paused for Olivia to fill in the missing name.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Stone.”

“Stone?” the manager echoed with confusion.

“S. T. O. N. E.” Olivia spelled it slowly.

The manger’s gaze flicked to the collection of elves waiting behind Olivia and then down at the long oval gold ingot on the counter between them. So far, none of the bank employees had even touched it. It sat gleaming on the polished granite like some dangerous trap.

“I’m going to have to see some ID,” the manager stated.

Olivia pointed to the dau mark on her forehead. “I’m Forest Moss on Stone’s domi, Olive Branch above Stone.”

The manager glanced again to the Wyverns. Olivia could almost see the gears grinding through the logic in the manager’s head. The bank most likely only dealt with the elves’ gold-based standard at a computerized report level. They probably didn’t have any way to verify the gold content of the bullion. Elves didn’t lie. The Wyverns were the most morally straitlaced of the elves—as well as the most dangerous. The Wyverns wouldn’t allow Olivia to lie and might be offended if the bank suggested that she wasn’t trustworthy. The enclaves all used American currency as agreed upon by the UN treaty. If the bank refused to accept the ingot, they could jeopardize the entire economy of the city.

If Olivia weren’t so dependent on the outcome, she would feel sorry for the manager.

“You wish to exchange this one gold bullion for American currency?” The manager verified her risk level.

“Yes, this one.” Olivia didn’t mention the others, which would obliviously rattle the manager’s cage.

The manager took a deep breath and asked calmly, “And how do you want that?”

“Tens and twenties please.”

Jewel Tear had been silent until they left the polished marble of Mellon Bank behind. “Can we talk now?”

She had planned to go to a doctor’s office next and get her first real prenatal exam, but she didn’t want to go with a horde of elves in tow.

Shopping was nearly as vital and this way she wouldn’t have to worry about how she was going to carry everything back home.

“We can talk as we walk.” Olivia led the way down the block to Kaufmann’s.

Odd how one afternoon would suddenly endear the place to her. This was where she’d met Forest Moss. He had not been at his best, but perhaps it was better that way. Her husband Troy had been careful only to show his better side until after the wedding.

Olivia had arrived in Pittsburgh with just the clothes on her back. She had pieced together the barest of necessities by shopping the secondhand store in the South Side. Cheap dishes. Battered pots. Summer dresses. Threadbare sheets, blankets and towels. She needed to quickly replace all that she lost when her house collapsed, and more. Native Pittsburghers would be stocking up on food. It was the scientists and college students and EIA employees on temporary assignment that would need more. Sooner or later, they would realize that they were on Elfhome to stay and would need coats, boots, hats, and blankets to make it through winter.

But first, she was feeling queasy. She might as well start with the drugstore in Kaufmann’s basement.

She went down the baby aisle, scented with baby powder. There were only two boxes of Preggie Pops. She dropped one box into her basket and opened the second one for a lollipop to suck on while she shopped.

“What is that?” Jewel Tear took the first package out of Olivia’s basket and eyed the obviously pregnant woman on the cover.

“It’s medicine.” Olivia tore the plastic wrap off the lollipop. “For pregnant females. I’m going to have a baby.” And then to make things perfectly clear, she added, “A human baby.”

“Is that why she’s fat?” Jewel Tear continued to stare in fascination at the box’s art.

“Yes.”

“But you are not fat.” Jewel Tear held out the lollipop package to compare Olivia’s profile to the woman’s on the box.

Olivia sighed. “I’m only two months pregnant. I’ll look like that when I get to be—” She eyed the picture,—“about six months pregnant.” Which was kind of stupid since most women had morning sickness mostly in the first trimester.

“Six months?” Jewel Tear echoed in surprise. “Half a year? How long will you be pregnant?”

How long were elves pregnant when they had babies? They were immortal. Did that mean they were pregnant for years? Was that why the Wyverns weren’t worried about Olivia being with Forest Moss at the moment?

Maybe answering Jewel Tear’s questions was a mistake. Olivia cleaned the store out of prenatal vitamins, and then added in diaper cream, diaper wipes, pacifiers, and rattles until the basket was overflowing. She pushed the full basket at the Wyvern hovering nearby to get rid of him.

“Go get me another basket,” she ordered.

“How do you know that you’re pregnant without magic to tell you?” Jewel Tear whispered.

Olivia eyed her. What did this crazy elf want? She’d been silent at the bank and through the first floor of the department store, and even the first few aisles of the drugstore. And now this whispered question and fearful glance to see if they were overheard.

The Wyverns only agreed to Olivia staying with Forest Moss because she was already pregnant by a human. Domana weren’t allowed to have half-caste babies. Olivia wasn’t sure what they were going to do once she had her baby and was fertile again. Until a few days ago, she wasn’t sure if she would survive the winter. She would worry about spring when it arrived.

What would pregnancy mean, though, to Jewel Tear? The elf had been kidnapped and dragged off into the wilderness for days. Olivia glanced down at the bruises on Jewel Tear’s arms and legs. Had she been raped? Was she worried that she was carrying an oni bastard? Did elves permit abortions? Some Christians believed that a woman’s life was secondary to a handful of cells that someday might be something that could exist outside her body. Did the elves use the reverse of the same twisted logic? Jewel Tear should die along with the half-oni fetus? Like the female drowned in the chamberpot?

“Come with me.” Olivia went down the aisle to where the condoms were displayed and snatched up the same test she’d used two months earlier. “Where’s the nearest restroom?” Olivia asked the sales clerk as she pushed money across the counter to pay for the test.

“Down—Down the hall, to the right.” The clerk was staring over her shoulder at the Wyverns.

She collected her change. “I’ll be back to pay for the other items.”

They had to let the Wyverns check the bathroom for assassins and escape hatches before achieving privacy.

“I don’t know for sure this will work.” Olivia ripped open the test. “It detects a human pregnancy hormone. I’m not sure if elves have the same hormone. Weirdly enough, I know these don’t work for animals like horses and cows. But humans can interbreed with elves, so we can’t be that different.”

“Like the Wind Clan half-breed, Blue Sky?”

Olivia nodded. She’d read about the boy in the newspaper. “Yes, his mother was human and his father was one of the Wind Clan sekasha.” She uncapped the test. “See this part. Pee on it.”

Jewel Tear eyed the test and then looked at her. “I’m sorry, your Elvish is sometimes hard to follow. Did you say ‘pee on it’?”

The digital readout on the little plastic stick read “pregnant.”

Jewel Tear would have thrown it in the toilet to flush away the evidence if Olivia hadn’t stopped her.

“No, no, that won’t work.” Olivia knew from experience. “Here, wrap it up with toilet paper and shove it into the bottom of this trash can.”

They both washed their hands afterward. Olivia studied Jewel Tear in the mirror. The elf seemed to be running through some intense interior dialogue and was oblivious of her. Every emotion from fear, to uncertainty, to amusement chased over her face but she didn’t seem devastated by the news.

“You are two months pregnant, yes?” Jewel Tear whispered.

Olivia nodded.

“So it takes several months before someone can look at you and tell?” Jewel Tear asked hopefully.

“Do you want to have the baby? There are ways to stop it.”

“Yes, there are,” Jewel Tear whispered.

“Humans have safe ways to do it,” Olivia explained more clearly, just in case the elves’ way involved something like swords and chamberpots.

Jewel Tear wrapped her arms about her, almost seeming protective of the child she carried. “I don’t know what I want to do.” She stood a moment, rocking in place, staring off into the distance. And then her gaze snapped to Olivia and sharpened. “No one can know about this.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Olivia had enough troubles of her own. Jewel Tear’s problem, however, could be her own in less than a year. “What would they do to you if they found out?”

“They would kill it,” Jewel Tear whispered. “Half-caste, they might show mercy to, but not half-oni.”

“What about half-human?”

Jewel Tear looked surprised. “I thought your child was full human.”

“It is,” Olivia admitted. “But I don’t know what will happen after I have the baby. Will they take Forest Moss from me?”

Jewel Tear looked surprised. “You love him?”

“Yes.”

Jewel Tear waved away her concern. “After your child is born, he will make you an elf, like Wolf made his domi an elf.”

“What?” Olivia cried.

“Forest Moss cannot change you now. The risk is too great that your child would be horribly deformed or killed in the womb. Nor is it entirely safe to dashavat children. He will have to wait until the child is mature before making it an elf.”

Events of the summer made more sense. “Windwolf made Tinker an elf because he could not take her as domi otherwise?”

“Yes, his sekasha would not allow him a non-domana lover.”

They returned to the drugstore, silent in their fearful worries. Olivia collected her basket and took it to the front counter to pay for the contents. There was a mirror behind the cashier. She found herself staring at her reflection as he scanned all her items.

“She is with child. I cannot dashavat her until the baby is born,” Forest Moss had said when arguing with the Wyvern that morning.

Olivia reached up and touched both of her human ears.

Tinker had been a human girl. Windwolf had changed her into an elf.

The Wyverns expected Forest Moss to change Olivia after her baby was born.

“Miss?” the cashier said. “Miss?”

She stared at him, hands over her ears, still reeling. They expected me to become an elf!

“Do you want anything else?” the cashier asked.

If she wasn’t changed, the Wyverns wouldn’t let her stay with Forest Moss after her baby was born. Forest Moss would be crushed if he lost her. And if he snapped again, the Wyverns would kill him.

“Miss?” the cashier asked again.

She pulled out her fat envelope of bills from exchanging the gold bullion. Forest Moss had already paid her to stay with him for forever. She didn’t fully realize the terms. She had thought that being a domi was like getting married; you promised to cook and clean and have sex. She should have realized the catch; Tinker had been born a human but been transformed somehow into an elf.

But Olivia didn’t want to be an elf.

Moving on sheer automatic response, she tucked her change into her purse, accepted the heavy bags filled with her purchases, and moved away from the counter for the next mythical customer to check out. She and the elves had the drugstore to themselves. Everyone in Pittsburgh knew how deadly the Wyverns were—even to their own.

She forced herself to focus long enough to troop upstairs, back to the children’s department where she first made her deal with Forest Moss. She’d thought she had known all the possible ramifications of becoming his domi. She thought it could be no worse that prostituting herself to nameless men on the street in the middle of the night.

She’d spent years resisting pressure from her family to become someone else. To believe in their narrow-minded, bigoted God. To see herself as a flawed creature whose soul depended on her husband’s virtue because that’s how they interpreted God’s words. To become meek and submissive before all men because that’s how they twisted God’s will to suit their desires.

She knew in her heart that they were wrong. She clung to her God through all of the years of beatings, verbal abuse, belittlement, and shunning. Her God didn’t see her as a lesser creature because of her birth as a female. Her God didn’t want her to grovel at the feet of others simply because they had been born men. No one stood between her and Him. She was like an infant on her heavenly father’s shoulder, loved and not judged, and no one could convince her otherwise.

But she’d been born a human with a human soul. To warp her entire existence so that she was something else? Something immortal? She would never die and thus never go to heaven. Never rest on her heavenly father’s shoulder, surrounded by his love?

She had offered herself to Forest Moss. There was no denying that he needed her like air. Without her, he could very well die.

Fear made her stomach churn. She got out another lollipop to quell the sudden need to vomit. I’ve got months before this is really a problem. And so far, the Wyverns have been puppy dogs compared to the men of Zion Ranch.

Jewel Tear held up the tiny onesies. “Will it—your baby—be this little?”

The female might be pretending to ask about Olivia’s baby but she meant her own. Jewel Tear flicked a glance toward the Wyverns who were all looking at the tiny clothes with equal dismay. Honestly, all the elves seemed to be spectacularly clueless about babies, for being hundreds of years old. She was starting to think that none of them had ever seen a baby before.

Was that why Jewel Tear was even considering keeping her baby? Because she was afraid she’d never get a second chance to have one? The poor thing had no clue what she was getting into. Olivia had been terrified of going into labor all alone. Of having to take care of a newborn with no one else to help keep food on the table. No wonder Jewel Tear had tracked Olivia down; she had no one else to ask for advice.

“It—my baby—needs to be small enough to—” Olivia’s Elvish failed her. She picked up a stuffed rabbit and demonstrated a baby dropping down out of her pelvis.

Jewel Tear’s eyes went huge. “Oh!” Apparently she hadn’t considered “pregnant equals giving birth” before. Jewel Tear eyed the rabbit and then clearly fought the urge to press her hand to her womb. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Yes.” Olivia tossed the rabbit to the nearest Wyvern. “A lot.” She added two packages of cloth diapers. By the time her baby was born, the stores would have been picked bare. On second thought, she added another two packages for Jewel Tear. “Most women, though, seem to forget how much it hurts in a short period of time. I think if the memory stayed sharp, they wouldn’t have a second baby.”

“I see. And it stays little for how many years?”

It. Obviously Jewel Tear hadn’t started to think of the baby as a person yet.

Olivia handed the Wyvern a pile of yellow onesies, two packages of caps, and a dozen receiving-blanket gift sets. “It’s about a year before a human baby can walk or talk.” God knows how long it took elf babies because elves obviously had no clue. “Babies mostly eat and sleep at first. They cry a lot. They throw up constantly. They pee and poop and you need to clean that up. They can only drink milk from your breast.” Olivia assumed all supplies of formula would be gone by the time she had her baby in April or May. “You can’t leave your child alone, ever. You must carry it with you everywhere you go.”

Jewel Tear picked up another one of the stuffed rabbits and eyed it. “It sounds horrible. Why do you want one?”

Olivia hadn’t really wanted to have a baby. It all came with the package deal of being forced into marriage and unprotected sex. Jewel Tear was right, though. Olivia could have gotten an abortion as soon as she reached Pittsburgh. She felt stupid to admit why she decided not to, but Jewel Tear had trusted her with her greatest secret. The female elf had earned some of the truth. “I love little children. They’re sort of sluglike when they’re first born, but by the time they’re two, they’re just so full of wonder at everything. Everything is marvelous to them and it’s a joy to share each new experience with them. And they love you so fiercely and completely. You are their entire world.”

Blushing, she picked out the rest of what she needed, loading down the Wyvern. Jewel Tear, she noticed, hadn’t put down the stuffed rabbit. As if it was a test run for taking care of a baby, the female continued to carry it as they checked out and headed home.

They collided with the cathedral’s unit of royal marines once they returned to Oakland. The marines greeted the Wyverns with relief, ignoring Olivia until it was revealed that she hadn’t been kidnapped and then rescued. Then they turned toward her like her stepbrothers who she’d outfoxed and made to look bad.

Jewel Tear kept her eyes down, staying out of the conversation, still cradling the stuffed bunny in her arms.

“Oh, be quiet,” Olivia finally snapped.

“Why did you leave their protection?” one of the Wyverns asked.

Olivia threw up her hands and pushed through the soldiers to the line of humans who had paused to watch with interest. They froze in fear as they became the focus of all the elves’ attention. “Without the marines, I’m a human, one of sixty thousand, helpless and thus harmless.” She stepped back beside Dagger. “With them, I’m one of four females. I am a target, but I’m still helpless.”

“She cannot offer protection until Forest Moss changes her,” Jewel Tear added quietly without looking up. “Can you blame her for not yet wanting the responsibility of her position?”

She really wished Jewel Tear hadn’t used the word “blame.” It was her experience that people were more than willing to blame the most innocent of people merely because they could. Her sister wives used to blame her for bad weather, uncooperative animals and misbehaving children.

The Wyvern breathed out frustration and shook his head. “The enemy might not be able to pick you out of a crowd today, but they will learn your face, and you will be a target even if you have not been changed yet.”

She nodded her understanding as her stomach flipped queasily. The elves were obviously assuming that she would become an elf.

She had hated Kansas, from the endless sky to the narrow minds of the ranch. Despite that, she’d been homesick; she missed the comfort of Christian fellowship. She’d thought about joining a church after the first month in Pittsburgh. Any decent person, though, would wonder where her parents were, and a truly good person would need to know how she was surviving on her own. If she was safe. If she had enough to eat. If she was ready for the winter. Her life didn’t stand up to the scrutiny that a close-knit community would bring.

It brought her to tears when she thought about Christmas without belonging to a church. She got goose bumps singing carols in evening services. The soft light of candles filling the church. The scent of pine trees and beeswax. Voices raised without an organ’s accompaniment; a unison of love and devotion. “O Holy Night”. “Silent Night”. “What Child is This?”

She’d told herself it was only for a year. Once her baby was born and she was firmly rooted in Pittsburgh, she’d start carefully vetting the churches in Pittsburgh. Once she found one like her grandmother’s in Boston, she’d have the community she desperately wanted.

When she had tracked Forest Moss down, she thought she could continue on that timeline. Instead of walking Liberty Avenue, selling her body to random strangers, she would be safe at night in a familiar bed. Everything else would stay the same. She should have taken Tinker’s life as a warning. The girl had been yanked out of her life, flown to Aum Renau, and things had never been the same for her.

Olivia had lost her entire life once. She was twelve when her mother decided to return to the ranch. They left behind her father, paternal grandmother, aunts, uncles and a herd of younger cousins that were as close as sisters and brothers to her. The church she’d attended since she was born. The middle school full of kids she’d known since kindergarten. The library where all the librarians knew her name and fed her wonderful books that expanded her mind.

They had driven for days, the sky growing larger and larger until the world was just wheat and sky. She felt like she’d been reduced to a speck of dirt and dropped on a foreign planet full of aliens.

So lost…

Like she felt now.

She curled up on the window seat and stared out through the glass. What was she supposed to do? She needed Forest Moss’ support to survive in Pittsburgh through the winter and the war. She wouldn’t be able to keep turning tricks to earn money as her pregnancy got more and more obvious. For her baby’s sake, she needed to eat well and stay warm and safe. And Forest Moss needed her. Without her, he’d unravel. The Wyverns would decide he was too dangerous to live, especially with other domana arriving in Pittsburgh that made him less vital to the city’s defense. Forest Moss needed her and she owed him and was fairly sure that she loved him.

But she was scared of losing herself.

She’d spent so many years fighting her family as they tried to beat her into their mold of a good and proper woman. They had wanted her to be a docile, obedient baby machine. If they could have arranged for uneducated, they would have worked for that too, but the state of Kansas tested their home school students.

What the elves wanted was worse. They wanted to change every cell of her body, and in doing so, strip away her mortality. If they took her basic humanity and then isolated her from everything human, how could she possibly stay herself? On top of it, they had bound her willingness to change to Forest Moss’ life. All the beatings and shunning and days with nothing but bread and water paled in comparison.

It would be one thing if Forest Moss wanted her to change; she would never change for anyone’s selfish desires. All that he wanted, though, was to be with her. It was the Wyverns that would force her to decide between the two.

They needed to separate themselves from the Wyverns. How?

The Wyverns hadn’t come to Pittsburgh until the war broke out. They would leave once it was done. Hopefully. She could pray for a quick and speedy end. If they left before she had her baby, then the elf sense of time might mean that no one would try to change her until it was far too late.

They would need a better place to live, one that would provide through the winter.

She stared out the window at Fifth Avenue and the sprawl of city beyond the Cathedral’s wide lawn. There had to be a simpler way to find an empty place than walking up and down the streets, checking every door.

Movement on the lawn caught her eye. Some of the students were playing Ultimate Frisbee. A handful of the marines had gathered on the sidelines to watch. The humans were as curious as the elves. The game halted to teach the marines how to throw the Frisbee.

It made her remember that Dean Fisher had said that the university assumed that their students would find an apartment in their sophomore year. How? The students would be coming from Earth with everything they would need for an entire school year. They wouldn’t be roaming the streets for days on end. There had to be some way for offworld students to line up housing before they crossed the border.

Elfhome Real Estate had an office on Forbes Avenue that whispered “luxury.” A big picture window. Thick pile carpet. Large ironwood desk. Leather visitor chairs. The cornered agent gazed at her with wide, wide eyes as she explained that she needed someplace to live. Forest Moss sat silently in the chair beside her, staring at the ceiling. The Wyverns stood quietly at her back. The marines milled outside, occasionally peering in through the picture window.

She finished with the most important part. “The Wind Clan will be paying for our quarters as part of the Stone Clan compensation for coming to Pittsburgh and fighting the oni.”

“But—but—but,” the real estate agent stammered. “I don’t understand what you think I can do about this.”

Olivia considered the lettering on the window that stated: Elfhome Real Estate. She scanned the photos of apartments decorating his wall. They had captions such as “studio with view” and “one bedroom with balcony.”

“You are a real estate agent, right?” she said just to confirm it. He could have been a secretary or a very well dressed janitor.

He put up his hands as if to ward off a blow. “We’re property managers for several Earth-based real estate companies affiliated with the University of Pittsburgh. Pitt maintains dormitories for undergraduate student housing. We handle the temporary and permanent housing for graduate and doctorate students, faculty and some of the postdocs who are doing field work in the area.”

Olivia huffed impatiently and locked in on the key words. “You handle housing.”

“To people associated with the University of Pittsburgh.” He stressed the word “associated.”

She countered with, “Pitt was on summer break when the gate failed.”

He paused for a moment, obviously sensing a trap. “Yes.”

“So there are apartments with occupants coming back to them—right? They’re on Earth and we’re on Elfhome and there’s no way to get from one to the other.”

“Yes.” He drew this word out as if he suspected that he shouldn’t admit to the truth. His eyes darted to the listening elves that probably couldn’t follow the English conversation.

Which might not be to her benefit.

Olivia switched to Elvish. “I need someplace to live close to Prince True Blood’s encampment. You have empty apartments. I don’t see the problem here.”

He took a deep breath and glanced to the Wyverns again. After a minute, he wet his lips and stated carefully in Elvish. “We demand that people meet certain requirements. They have to be employees or students of the University.”

“I can take a class,” Olivia said.

He opened and shut his mouth a few times.

Olivia scanned the apartment offerings on the wall. They would need room for her and Forest Moss and eventually the baby. A scrape of boot against tile added in a horde of elves, at least at the start. Three bedrooms. There was only one such offering on the wall.

“That one.” Olivia pointed to the flyer. “I want to see it.”

“The penthouse at Webster Hall Apartments?” The agent’s voice threatened to break.

“Yes.”

He named the monthly rent, which given another situation would have had her fleeing the building. It was thousands of dollars a month. How did anyone afford such a place? She swallowed down her fear. First things first: make sure it was acceptable and then see if the Wind Clan truly would foot the bill.

“Show it to us.”

His gaze flicked to the Wyverns again and then slowly he half-bowed. “Yes, certainly.”

Webster Hall was a stately sandstone building on Fifth Avenue next to St. Paul’s. Olivia suppressed a familiar twinge of guilt at the sight of the cross on the steeple. She hadn’t wanted to get married to Troy, had resisted months of bullying before agreeing, had been legally too young, and he had six wives already. She had, however, said vows before God and witnesses. She meant those oaths at the time. And yet, here she was, more or less married to an elf.

Troy’s God might have been the type that damned an abused child to hell for adultery, but Olivia’s God didn’t. In fact, her God might be the reason there were so many tornadoes in Kansas.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched into Webster Hall. Forest Moss, the five Wyverns, and a real estate agent trailed behind her. Thankfully the marines stayed outside.

There was a spacious lobby with expensive-looking leather sofas and a wall of gleaming bronze mailboxes for the tenants. Beyond a locked security door, there was an elevator to the upper floors.

They left two Wyverns in the lobby and squeezed into the elevator car when it arrived. It deposited them in a tiny hallway on the penthouse level.

The front door opened into a small foyer. A small galley kitchen was immediately to the right with a small refrigerator, electric range and a microwave. Closed off to make the most of wall space, the room would be pitch black in a power outage.

Olivia walked into the living room, trying not to like the fact that it was one long wall of high windows. They’d been having Indian summer and the sun baked the room in warmth. Come winter, though, heat would escape through the glass at an alarming rate in a power outage.

“How is the building heated?” Olivia asked.

“There’s central heat and air conditioning.”

All electricity-dependent then. Olivia knew that electricity was fairly easy to take out. One good storm or a well-placed bomb, and a section of the city could be without power for hours, maybe days. The oni had tried to take out the city’s power plant once. There was no fireplace, wood burning or gas, so there wasn’t another way to warm the apartment. She wished she had thought to ask before demanding to see the apartment.

There were three bedrooms, just as stated, but the smallest would hold little more than a crib and a dresser. If the Wyverns continued to sleep within sword’s reach, then the apartment was far too small. Since it had been the largest apartment listed, then this was a dead end.

Olivia sighed and leaned her forehead against the glass. The wall of windows gave the apartment a better view of the Rim than the taller cathedral. She could clearly see the line of destruction running from horizon to horizon in a sweeping arc, marking where a fifty-mile-diameter circle had been punched out of Earth and dropped onto Elfhome. The Rim sheared through city sprawl, streets and buildings reduced to rubble by the transfer. To the northeast lay virgin Elfhome forest: towering ironwood trees and nothing else for hundreds of miles. To southwest, Pittsburgh lay, under siege by oni and alien vegetation, and losing the battle.

Looking at it made her feel completely alone.

She closed her eyes. Please, God, help me. I don’t know what to do.

The real estate agent had gone into professional mode, babbling about the benefits of the apartment. “It’s an amazing view of the old CMU campus. I have always loved Hamerschlag Hall. It’s the one with the rotunda on the roof.”

She opened her eyes to peer at the far hillside. There were several large old classical-looking stone buildings. The one with the rotunda was stunningly beautiful. She hadn’t heard of a second school in Oakland. “CMU campus?”

“CMU was Carnegie Mellon University. Well, still is, only it moved to Earth.”

Maybe she was thinking too small. She had a small army trailing behind her. They could take over a large building. Not this one; it was too dependent on electricity. Something they could install wood stoves in. They could do radical infrastructure changes on a big building. Fortified areas. Escape routes. Hydroponics.

“Hammerslag?” She pointed because she knew she was butchering the name. “Is that empty?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “The EIA uses the campus as overflow offices and barracks. Director Maynard’s offices are downtown at the PPG castle, but during Shutdown, there’s an EIA-only access road open directly to the campus. That way their personnel aren’t caught in the traffic jams.”

She had her hands full with the elves; she didn’t want to add the EIA. Still there were dozens of old stately buildings on the hillside. “The EIA uses everything over there?”

“Everything except the old Phipps Conservatory; that building way to the right.” He pointed to the glimmer of glass through the trees.

“Like a greenhouse conservatory?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How old is old?”

He spread his hands to indicate ignorance. “Over a hundred years old. I think it was built in 1890—so—a hundred forty years. It didn’t fare well after the first Shutdown. It was very dependent on admissions to stay open. It was a big drop from a population of two million people living within an hour drive time to sixty thousand.”

“So it’s closed?” she asked.

“Yes, it closed a few years ago.”

“Perfect.”

The Phipps Conservatory was like something out of a fairy tale, an elegant and fanciful expanse of glass that glittered in the Indian summer sun. It sat on a hill by itself, separated from the rest of Oakland by a deep ravine spanned by a wide stone bridge. Remnants of banners rustled in the wind as they hiked up the hill toward it, offering hope that the neglect to the building wouldn’t be too extensive. She could make out vague shapes of towering plants within.

Getting past the locked front doors proved to be simple for impatient elves with magically sharp swords. Better yet, once they could unlock the doors from the other side, Forest Moss was able to repair the damage done to the door with a few gestures and words.

The front of the building was set into a hillside and capped with a great glass dome that washed the area in sun. Judging by the dozen round tables, each hosting four chairs, there had been a café on one side of the foyer. A quick exploration revealed a small working kitchen. Across the hall was a denuded gift shop with one giant garden gnome looking forlornly at the empty shelves. There were also bathrooms with multiple stalls.

The next area was a courtyard with palm trees, moist and green. Just as she was wondering the source of the water, a sprinkler head popped up and misted the area.

She did a little victory dance. So far, perfect.

The more Olivia explored the conservatory, the more perfect it seemed. While the greenhouse areas were vulnerable, there was a large brick building in back that housed offices and classrooms that could be converted into an easily defendable living space for a large number of people.

Room after room of wild splendor teetering on the edge of ruin but not completely lost. Hard work could salvage it all but pretty plants weren’t what she needed. She needed crops to eat. It seemed like a shame to tear out the cultivated gardens to grow vegetables. The last and largest room, however, was labeled “Production Greenhouse” and was nothing short of a miracle. With the large bag of keva beans, she had everything needed to grow all the food they would ever need. It meant that no matter when the war ended, they could survive the winter and still have seed for next summer.

Her God was watching over her. He would provide.

She pressed her hands together and bowed her head in prayer. “Thank you for your wondrous bounty.”