The Borderkind

CHAPTER 8

I t’s true, then? We’re stuck here? We can never go home?”

Julianna studied Virginia Tsing’s face, watched the lines crinkling around her eyes, and tried to tell herself that the woman was wrong. She had to be. But Virginia was kind and intelligent and obviously wise, which was why all of the other humans in Twillig’s Gorge deferred to her as their de facto leader. There was little structure to the community, but the Lost Ones had Virginia to speak for them whenever anything came up.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, reaching out to lay her hand upon Julianna’s atop the table. She glanced at Halliwell and then back to Julianna. “Truly, I am. No one ever takes the news well. But it is inescapable. The Veil is constructed imperfectly enough that sometimes people get lost, slip through to this side. But no one can ever go back-not until the Meshing, when a Legend-Born child will guide us home.”

Halliwell narrowed his eyes and studied her with the scrutiny he might have given to some suspect he was interrogating. He could not conceal the desperate hope that rose in him.

“So, you’re saying there is someone who can get us past the Veil?” he asked.

At this, the woman’s expression became guarded. “Not only you. All of the Lost Ones.” She shrugged, glancing away as though embarrassed. “My son would tell you it is only a story, and perhaps he is right. Even here there are legends.” She tapped her left temple. “These eyes have never seen a Legend-Born child, but still I believe the tale.”

With a sigh, Julianna sat back in her chair, her hand slipping away from Virginia’s. Halliwell had one hand to his forehead but was otherwise nearly catatonic. From the time the Naga sentry had brought them down into the Gorge and introduced them to Miss Tsing, and through the two hours Julianna had conversed with the woman, learning about the Two Kingdoms, their rulers, and their history, Halliwell had said very little. Several times he had asked a question, mostly to clarify something Miss Tsing had told them. Otherwise he only sat in shock and stared.

Miss Tsing owned a bakery in Twillig’s Gorge. The best, she claimed. Her father had been descended from a battalion of soldiers who had been swept through the Veil from Nanking, in China, many decades before, and her mother had descended from members of the Roanoke colony who had mysteriously disappeared from an island off the Virginia coast. She had never seen the world her ancestors came from. All she knew was the life and lore of this side of the Veil, and the stories of the human world that were passed down from them, or shared by Lost Ones who had come through in subsequent years.

The bakery had been started by her father in one of the storefront buildings along the Sorrowful River, right in the Gorge. There was a small stretch of the riverfront that was almost like an old European town, with florist shops and restaurants and markets, abuzz with life. A wide cobblestoned walkway passed in front of the shops, beside the river. The bakery had a patio in the front where people could sit and have tea or coffee and watch the life of the Gorge, the fishermen at work, the merchants selling their wares.

It would have been peaceful if it was not so entirely surreal. Julianna and Halliwell sipped coffee and ate pastries at a table with a rose in a vase and a white tablecloth while goblins and fairies and beast-men went about their business as though it was perfectly ordinary. And to them, it was.

Throughout the entire conversation, Julianna had learned so much that was nearly impossible to believe, and yet she had no choice but to believe it. After all, the proof was all around her. Miss Tsing told them of the legendary and the Lost, the Two Kingdoms, the Veil, and the Borderkind. She shared what she knew of a crisis that was spreading throughout the Two Kingdoms, with Hunters in pursuit of the Borderkind in a secret effort to eradicate them. A secret that was no longer quite as secret. Even as Julianna attempted to wrap her mind around that, Miss Tsing explained that Oliver was different from the Lost Ones, that he was an Intruder.

“All right,” she said now, sipping at the coffee, which had a hint of exotic spice. “So Oliver was not touched by the magic of the Veil…Jesus, I can’t believe I’m saying this…which means he can go back. And that’s why this whole crazy world wants him dead?”

As Julianna spoke, a handsome young man came from within the bakery. He wore an apron that was covered in flour and smeared with something dark. From his complexion and his countenance, it was clear he was some relation. The man stopped at another table to speak quietly to a group of humans-Lost Ones-of varying races.

A very pale, thin man glanced over at Halliwell and Julianna and laughed softly, rolling his eyes in derision. The baker said something quiet but sharp, and the pale man fell silent.

“Just as you say,” Miss Tsing told her.

“Virginia,” Halliwell said, and it had been so long since he spoke that both women were startled by his voice. “If one of these Borderkind can take Oliver back, then why not us? So we went through once, and now this…roadblock…is going to stop us?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Halliwell shook his head, jaw set grimly. “There has to be a way.”

Even as he spoke, the baker came toward them. He put a hand on Miss Tsing’s shoulder.

“There are always stories. But if there is a way,” the baker said, “no one has ever found it in all the years since the Veil was created. Otherwise, the Lost would never have remained.”

Julianna smiled at the newcomer, who seemed friendly enough. But Halliwell knitted his brows and grimaced at the man. It was obvious the detective did not want anyone dousing whatever spark of hope he could still retain. Julianna didn’t blame him.

“My friends,” Miss Tsing said, “this is my son, Ovid. Ovid, Mr. Halliwell and Miss Whitney.”

Ovid Tsing nodded once to them politely, then glanced at the Lost who sat around the table he had just come from. There were others out on the bakery’s patio as well, some of whom had been making little attempt to disguise their eavesdropping.

“I have spent my whole life on this question, Mr. Halliwell,” Ovid said. He squeezed his mother’s shoulder and she smiled up at him indulgently, patting his hand. “If there were a way for the Lost to return, I would know. One day you will have to accept that, but it often takes time.”

“Your mother said something about a child…what was it?”

The pale man across the patio shook his head wearily.

“The Legend-Born?” Ovid asked, favoring his mother with an indulgent smile. “Stories. Mother’s generation is very superstitious.”

A dreadful silence fell upon them then. Julianna could not look at these gentle, hospitable people. She looked out across the cobblestoned riverwalk and at the river rolling by. Her parents and friends would be frantic by now, believing the worst. It must be nearly Christmas, and she thought of the antique radio she had bought her father, who loved such things, and the Christmas Eve dinner she was supposed to cook with her mother. Work was not such a terrible thing to leave behind. It was all of the little things, the sweet minutiae that made up the best of life.

Halliwell stood up, chair scraping on the patio, and went to the railing to look up and down the length of the Gorge, as if searching for an exit.

“What will you do?” Miss Tsing asked, leaning in toward Julianna.

“Find Oliver. Whether I’m trapped here or not, the only thing left for me to do is to find him, to see his face and hear his voice, and from there we’ll figure out what’s next.”

“And you, Mr. Halliwell?” Miss Tsing asked.

Julianna studied him. The detective leaned on the rail with his shoulders hunched, his muscles taut, as though he might at any moment fly into a rage. But when he turned, his expression was calm and his words measured and even. It was the eyes that gave him away. Halliwell’s eyes were far away, perhaps as far away as a little corner of Maine, or an apartment in Atlanta, Georgia, where his daughter remained, never knowing what was in her father’s heart.

“Julianna’s right. We find Oliver,” he said. “There are questions I want to ask him. Things I need to understand. And if you’re wrong, and there is a way home, then I’m betting his friends will know about it.”

Ovid gazed at him, only a hint of sympathy on his face. “And if I’m right, and there is no way home?”

Halliwell looked at him for a moment as though contemplating the question, then walked back to the table. He did not answer. Instead he sat down again and looked at Miss Tsing.

“All we know is that Oliver’s gone east. He’s got almost half a day on us. But he’s going to have to stop at some point. Do you have any idea where he might go?”

The woman’s forehead creased in thought. She glanced around at the other people sipping coffee and tea and eating scones and muffins and pastries at the patio tables, as though some of them might make a suggestion.

Then she shrugged. “I cannot help you. The Orient Road is to the east. If they are truly going that direction, they will travel upon that road. But your friend has a warrant sworn out for him. He will be cautious. That might slow him down. But it will also mean he is trying not to be found, unaware that some of those who seek him are his friends. There are small towns and villages along the way, but nothing of great consequence. I cannot guess at his destination.”

Julianna shivered, and became aware of a chill that went all through her. It was as though she had been cold all along and only now realized it. A sip from her coffee cup did nothing to warm her. Only then did she understand that the chill was despair.

“So, what, then?” she asked, turning toward Halliwell. “How do we even begin to look for him?”

Halliwell stood up again, edgy with nervous energy. “We go, now. We’ll find this Orient Road and we’ll follow. If we ask enough questions, we might find someone who saw him, or even better, someone who will be able to tell us where he’s headed. He’s wanted, Julianna. Wanted men have only one thing on their minds, and that’s how to stay alive. If we can figure out how he plans to do that, we can find him.”

Julianna stood, and so did Miss Tsing. She hugged the old woman. “Thank you, so much.”

Ovid shook Halliwell’s hand, then Julianna’s. “I wish you luck. Please, though, wait here just another minute. I will put a bag together for you, some food and water to carry on the road.”

“That’s very kind,” Julianna said.

Halliwell looked at him and the tension between them seemed to dissolve into understanding. The detective nodded, and Ovid the baker nodded in return, then turned and went back into the bakery to fetch them food for their journey.

Virginia Tsing stepped close to Julianna. “If you do not find him, or if you should find him and return this way, come and see me.”

Touched by her generosity, Julianna embraced her again, whispering her thanks.

“You’ll never find him,” said a small voice behind her.

Julianna turned, angry at the callousness of the words and the intrusion. She saw the fury that flashed in Halliwell’s eyes and worried that he would one day lose control of himself.

But not today. The voice had come from a little girl, perhaps ten years old, who had been sitting for the past half an hour or so with two others, slightly older than she. The girl was pretty, eyes wide and precocious, skin a dark chocolate brown.

“Excuse me?” Julianna said.

“Kara, still your tongue. This business is none of your concern,” Miss Tsing said.

The girl scuffed one shoe on the patio. “All right, but it’s true. They don’t stand a chance of finding their friend. Not without a guide. Not without a tracker.”

Halliwell took a step toward her and the girl flinched.

“You know someone like that?” the detective asked, crouching down beside her.

The girl executed an elegant bow. “I am Ngworekara, sir, though I’m called Kara by most. And if you wish, I would guide you myself.”

Julianna laughed softly, but not unkindly. “That’s sweet, Kara. And we appreciate it. But you can’t be…what I mean is, you’re only-”

“A child?” Kara asked, those wide eyes narrowing. “You’re Lost, miss, and so I can understand your doubt. But you’ll learn soon enough that many of the people here are more than they seem.”

Halliwell had not laughed, only studied her more closely. Now he turned to Miss Tsing. “Can she really do that? Track Oliver?”

The woman arched one eyebrow. “Who is to say? Kara has no parents. She has been here for several years and yet she seems no older. She often seems to know things others do not. If she believes she can guide you, there seems no harm in letting her try.”

Julianna looked closely at the girl’s face. The idea was insane. How could she and Halliwell, who knew nothing of this place, take care of a little girl while they were searching for Oliver? And yet if what Miss Tsing said was true, perhaps Kara wouldn’t need much looking after.

“Are you sure?” she asked the girl. “You can do that?”

Ngworekara nodded gravely. “Oh, yes. If he can be found, I will find him.”

“All right,” Halliwell said. “Let’s go.”

Staring into the girl’s eyes, Julianna felt cold again, but did not know why.

Many cities in the human world had neighborhoods that lingered from the earliest days of settlement. Often they had quaint names, but with equal frequency, the locals referred to these sections with the simplest of appellations. The Old City. The North End. The Latin Quarter.

There was a Latin Quarter in Perinthia, but it was not preserved as such neighborhoods in the human world were. At the northwest corner of the city, the Quarter consisted of buildings that had been old when Rome and Greece were young, and that had been shifted from the mundane world to the realm of the legendary when the Veil was raised. Parts of the Quarter were little more than ruins, but even the structures that were still inhabited were crumbling.

Blue Jay strode through the Latin Quarter that afternoon with Cheval Bayard and Chorti flanking him. The kelpy woman glanced around nervously as they skirted a long column that had collapsed into the street. She glanced at Chorti every few seconds, and seemed to draw courage from him, but Cheval was skittish. Blue Jay could not blame her. A gray caul of cloud cover hung over Perinthia, and a light rain fell. Even without the sunshine marking out their every movement, however, striding down the street in the middle of the day when all the Hunters were searching for Borderkind-and the authorities seemed disinterested in intervening-was about the most foolish thing Blue Jay could have imagined.

Fortunately, none of them was as famous as Frost. They were staking their lives on their lack of celebrity. Most of the city’s denizens would not recognize them as Borderkind on sight. They had entered Perinthia within view of the watchtowers and no alarm had been raised. Frost reminded them all unnecessarily that there might well be spies looking out for them, but Blue Jay chose to be optimistic for once. They slipped into the city almost unnoticed.

It helped, of course, that they went immediately to the Latin Quarter. In other sections of Perinthia it was probable that they would be discovered-that locals or even the city guard might be cooperating with the Hunters and pass on the word that there were Borderkind in the area. From the stories they had heard, the news of the Hunters’ mission had spread. Many Borderkind were in hiding now, or dead. Blue Jay figured the only Borderkind still in Perinthia would be collaborators or those who were insignificant enough to go unnoticed, at least for now. Or the oldest of his kin-elder cousins who were arrogant enough to believe that no one would dare to trouble them.

At the moment, they were right. The Hunters were occupied in the search for those Borderkind who dared to fight them, to strike back at their murderous conspiracy. For those-for Blue Jay and Frost, Chorti and Cheval Bayard, and any who would join them-nowhere in Perinthia was safe.

Except perhaps the Latin Quarter.

Strangers rarely entered the neighborhood, out of fear or distaste or both-and indeed, there were dangers there for those who were not welcome. Ancient creatures born with the empires of old lived in the ruins. Some thought they were simply beasts or driven mad by the passage of time, but Blue Jay had heard whispers amongst the tricksters that the monsters of the Latin Quarter were far from mad or primitive. They were only territorial, no different from the descendants of ancient Rome and Greece and the legends of those times that lived there.

Cheval Bayard flinched, glancing over her shoulder, peering up at the darkened doorway of a house. She swept her silver hair away from her face and paused, watching warily. Chorti sniffed the air, then grunted and urged her forward.

“Right, keep moving,” Blue Jay said, voice low. “It’s not a good idea to stand around.”

“Nothing about this is a good idea,” Cheval replied.

“We don’t have a lot of options.” Blue Jay shot her a hard look. “And you know the whispers we’ve heard.”

She sighed. “I only hope they’re more than whispers.”

Blue Jay shared that hope, but did not say so out loud. They had been in Perinthia less than an hour. The moment they had arrived, Frost had slipped unnoticed into Amelia’s, invisible, nothing more than a gust of frigid wind. The nightclub section of Amelia’s had been closed, but the bar at the front was open, and the rumors were raging. When Frost had emerged he had shared what he’d overheard with his companions.

The rumor was that Borderkind were welcome in the Latin Quarter. The old legends who lived there did not like interference and they did not like betrayal. They were perfectly willing to stab one another in the back, but looked askance at those in power murdering innocents, and so they were happy to thwart the Hunters by harboring fugitive Borderkind.

It was possible things weren’t quite as simple, but Blue Jay wasn’t about to point that out to anyone in the Quarter. If the Greeks and Romans were on their side, even just to the extent of offering sanctuary, he would say nothing to jeopardize it. On the other hand, if they were just rumors, he and the others might not survive the afternoon.

The wind whistled through the ruins, making the feathers in his hair dance. Chorti kept sniffing, trying to catch a scent. Cheval had been troubled when Frost had announced that he would not join them, but Blue Jay was not concerned. Frost was just too damned conspicuous. He was around somewhere, and would aid them if necessary. But they were going into Lycaon’s Kitchen without him.

Amongst the ruins, there was still a real neighborhood in the Quarter. Beside crumbling palazzos were shops and houses and an open-air marketplace where fruit sellers hawked their wares alongside jewelers, leather craftsmen, and fishmongers.

Lycaon’s Kitchen stood on the corner of a nameless street, beside a brothel where a trio of ancient whores played madam to half a dozen young men and women descended from the Lost of the old world. Blue Jay glanced around uneasily at darkened windows and the stillness of rooftops, and gestured for Chorti and Cheval to precede him.

The rich scent of roasting meat wafted from the place through open, warped-glass windows. Walking inside, Blue Jay found the smell far more powerful. He normally preferred vegetables and fruits, but even his stomach growled with carnivorous yearning as he stepped into Lycaon’s Kitchen. The meat and spices filled the place with their aroma.

Chorti and Cheval had paused in the foyer. The kelpy whispered something to the wild man, her elegant beauty so drastic a counterpoint to his savage ugliness. Chorti grunted, and when Blue Jay joined them, he saw the wild man lick his lips, then wipe a hairy hand across his mouth to remove the frothy drool there.

“Control yourself,” Blue Jay said, voice low and dangerous.

Cheval Bayard narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth at him. “He will be fine. Look to your own self.”

Blue Jay took a breath, studying her. He was a trickster, a mischief-maker by nature, but kelpies were outright killers, vicious things who ate children and distraught wanderers. Lovely as she was, hers was a treacherous beauty.

Yet her treachery did not extend to betraying her own kin to the Hunters. In that, Blue Jay trusted her entirely. And the motherly way she doted on Chorti allowed him to believe she was not purely malicious.

“Cheval,” he said.

Those piercing, gemstone eyes found him.

“Be ready to fight.”

The kelpy nodded. Blue Jay hesitated a moment and then stepped through the foyer into the restaurant itself. The dining room was stone and wood of an indeterminate age. The rear of the room was open to the kitchen so that the chefs could be seen at their stoves and ovens, and each time an oven door was opened, the fires that roared inside burned brightly. Chairs and tables were set up around a central courtyard open to the sky, such that, in inclement weather like this, only a portion of Lycaon’s was open for business. This afternoon, for instance, the rain fell in a light drizzle that dampened the stone tiles in the courtyard, but there was little wind, so the patrons eating a late lunch were undisturbed.

Half of the tables were taken, mostly by humans. Amongst them were several men and women who were simply too perfect or too big to be ordinary people, and who must, then, have been legendary. Heroes, perhaps, or demi-gods. At one table, two harpies crouched without chairs, their hideous vulture bodies lurching toward their plates, pecking at the raw flesh they had been served.

Many of the dishes served in Lycaon’s Kitchen were raw. It was part of his legend, after all. Once a king, he had been a cannibal who slew his guests and ate them. Upon encountering Zeus, Lycaon had tried to feed him human flesh, only to have the god take vengeance upon him by transforming him into a true animal, the first werewolf of legend.

Lycaon knew what his customers wanted. And the customer was always right. He claimed not to serve human flesh any longer, but Lycaon had been made Borderkind by the world’s lingering legends of werewolves, and Blue Jay wondered if from time to time he made forays into the mundane world for fresh human game.

Beside him, Chorti grunted and tugged on his sleeve.

Blue Jay glanced at him. “You can speak. Why don’t you?”

Cheval lanced him with a withering glance, as protective of Chorti as if she were his mother. “He prefers not to.” Then she turned to Chorti, touching him gently upon the arm. “What is it?”

But Blue Jay had already seen what had upset the wild man. At a table in the corner were three Keen Keengs, as sorely out of place there as Chorti himself. They were Australian, and he Guatemalan, but the difference was that Chorti was Borderkind and rumored at least to be welcome here. The Keen Keengs were nothing of the sort.

When the Veil had been raised, those among the legendary who retained a connection to the mundane world-who still lived in the hearts and minds of humanity through folktales and bedtime stories-had become Borderkind. The magic woven into the Veil allowed them to travel back and forth between worlds…but only if they wished it.

Many among the legendary had wanted nothing to do with humanity, and their disdain prevented them from becoming Borderkind. But there were those, the Keen Keengs amongst them, who had wished to be Borderkind but could not, because at the time the Veil was created, the humans lacked enough belief in them.

Not all of them were bitter and unpleasant, but Keen Keengs tended not to like Borderkind very much. Blue Jay stared at the giant winged bat-men, deeply disturbed. The Keen Keengs crouched at their table, chairless like the harpies, and studiously avoided looking toward the entrance.

“Shit,” the trickster muttered.

A broad-shouldered man with a cruel, bestial face broke away from conversation with a waiter and strode toward them. His hair was thick and unkempt and his face covered by a dark stubble. When he smiled at them with utter insincerity, Blue Jay saw his teeth were large and pointed. He raised enormous hands as though to punctuate his question.

“What have we here? Strangers in our midst. Which marks you as desperate, or foolish, or both.”

Blue Jay stepped forward, wrapping himself in trickster magic even as he did so. A blur of azure swished in the air around him, but he did not attack with his spirit wings, nor did he transform. He might have done either, or might simply have challenged the man who approached, but Cheval prevented this by stepping in front of him and bowing to the cruel-faced man.

“Both we may be,” the kelpy said, her silver hair cascading along beside her face as she bowed. She glanced up at him without rising. “But we are also kin, Lycaon. Will you not hear us speak, cousin, before deciding?”

Lycaon. Blue Jay felt foolish. Cheval had guessed, of course, but he ought to have seen it right away. The bestial features, the unruly hair, the cruel glint in the eye. This was likely the werewolf himself.

Again he bared his teeth in that false grin. His gaze shifted to take in Chorti and then Blue Jay before returning to Cheval. “I have never had much use for the kinship the Borderkind have presumed since the creation of the damnable Veil,” he said, voice low, as though he did not wish to be overheard.

“Yet we have heard that you have welcomed others of our cousins to remain here until danger has passed.”

Lycaon grinned now, and this time it seemed sincere. “The soft-hearts and thinkers who crafted the Veil are also those who made up rules for this kingdom, and forged a truce with Yucatazca. I don’t like them. Anything that vexes them is a pleasure.”

“We’re welcome, then?” Blue Jay asked.

The werewolf hesitated a moment, then gestured to a table. “You’re welcome to eat. Welcome to pass through. But not to stay.”

That would have to do. Blue Jay nodded. “You have our thanks.”

“Keep them. I’ve done you no great favor. You could still be eaten on your way out of the Quarter.”

He turned on his heel and signaled to a waiter to attend to them. Chorti did not wait, but moved quickly to a nearby table. Blue Jay was not at all surprised, given that the wild man was practically slavering at the scent of meat. After a moment’s hesitation, Cheval joined Chorti at the table.

“What are you doing?” Blue Jay whispered as he went to her side. He did not take a seat, standing beside her instead.

Cheval gazed up at him. “We have been offered a moment of haven and hospitality. It might do well for us to make an effort to be less conspicuous.”

Blue Jay laughed softly and stared at her, wondering if her mind was quite intact. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Already Lycaon had drawn a great deal of attention to them. He looked around and saw two of the Keen Keengs bent close, muttering to one another. The third he caught watching him, but it glanced away upon being discovered.

“This is idiotic,” Blue Jay said.

He strode toward the center of the restaurant, out into the open courtyard. Warm summer rain pattered his hair and jacket, fell upon his hands as he stopped and glanced around. If the whispers were true and there were Borderkind taking refuge in the Latin Quarter, he had not seen any of them here. As he surveyed those lunching at Lycaon’s Kitchen, many of them studied him in return. Human faces narrowed with concern or suspicion or simple curiosity. Blue Jay did not mind the scrutiny. In truth, he had counted on it.

The waiters studiously ignored him. If Lycaon had not slain them or thrown them out, then his staff would not trouble themselves. Only the waiter assigned to the table where Chorti and Cheval sat would pay any attention to them.

Yet there was one other.

Blue Jay raised an eyebrow when he saw Leicester Grindylow emerge from the kitchen bearing a tray of sandwiches. Grin had been a frequent customer at Amelia’s and often substituted as a bartender there. But Blue Jay knew that the long-armed bogie had also been a friend of Jenny Greenteeth’s, and Jenny had betrayed them to the Hunters. He wondered if Grin was also a traitor.

When the Grindylow saw Blue Jay, he lifted one hand in an amiable wave. Grin slid his tray onto the table before him and smiled at the trickster before sorting the plates out in front of the olive-skinned women at the table. They whispered to one another and looked at Blue Jay with gossip and scandal in their eyes.

Blue Jay nodded to Grin and resumed his search of the restaurant.

A pair of hooded men sat at a table near the kitchen. As an oven door opened, the heat and light of the fire inside rushing out, they glanced up. Their faces were wan and gray, eyes black, and their beards were white and braided. Blue Jay knew them on sight as Mazikeen.

Yet if there were Mazikeen here, he did not understand why they had not revealed themselves. They were not cowards, that much he knew. Which meant they had come here for another purpose, and perhaps it was in his best interest to give them their secrecy for another few moments at least.

As he searched, he noted the presence of a few other Borderkind. Several merrows sat together, feasting upon raw fish, their webbed fingers and large green eyes revealing their marine nature. Toward the front of the restaurant, bathed in the gray light that came through the pitted glass of a window, a small man sat eating something that resembled burnt poultry. His features were unmistakably Asian, yet though he was the size of a child, his face was clearly adult. As Blue Jay studied him, he turned away, resolutely refusing to meet the trickster’s gaze.

Borderkind. Blue Jay was certain of it.

He started to walk toward the little man and crossed a place where the warm summer rain was frozen, icy sleet. Blue Jay flinched and glanced upward, but even as he did so he realized what had happened. The roof was open to the gray stormy sky, and Frost had passed above the courtyard, watching him, swirling in the wind and rain.

Cocky and carefree as he normally was, Blue Jay felt a distinct relief at this reassurance that Frost was with him. Cheval and Chorti might be staunch allies, but neither their loyalty nor their skill as warriors had yet been tested.

The little man glanced at last toward Blue Jay as the trickster approached. Fire ignited his eyes and streamed to the sides, flames rising toward his hair. He was no Greek or Roman legend, obviously, and so he must be Borderkind, or have presented himself as such.

Blue Jay strode to within several feet of him and bowed.

The little man with flaming eyes nodded slowly, as though in resignation.

The bang of wood on marble cracked in the air like a gunshot. Blue Jay twisted round even as Cheval called his name. The Keen Keengs had thrown their table aside. Wings spread, they lunged across the restaurant, banging chairs out of the way and driving a waiter to the ground. Chorti rose up in an explosion of fur and claws, huge jaws opening to reveal those perilously long metal teeth. The first of the Keen Keengs grabbed him and drove him to the ground with the power of its thrashing wings, long talons raking Chorti’s fur.

Cheval staggered back several steps, retreating from the attack. But she was not fleeing. She transformed in the space of those steps from stunning beauty to horrid ugliness-from woman to the green-furred, muck-encrusted horse-woman form of the kelpy. She reared back and shot out a hoof, cracking the skull of the nearest Keen Keeng. The thing was shaken, but then it spread its wings wider and screamed fury, ignoring the blood that ran from the fissure in its face.

Blue Jay ran toward his companions, and once again the blur of azure wings colored the air around him. One of the waiters reached out to prevent him from joining the fray and Blue Jay spun, dancing on the air, spirit-wings hammering the waiter, throwing him back onto a table that tipped beneath his weight.

As he raced toward the Keen Keengs, he saw Chorti grip his attacker by the throat and lift him from the ground. The wild man bared his metal claws and slashed the bat-man’s right wing, shredding it entirely. The Keen Keeng reached for Chorti’s eyes, trying to gouge them out, and the wild man plunged metal claws into its chest and, with a splintering of bone and wet ripping of flesh, tore out a handful of pink organ flesh.

The one with the cracked skull leaped toward Cheval. Again she kicked it. This time when it stumbled back, the Grindylow caught it in his arms. Blue Jay took flight, feet sweeping above the ground though he maintained a vaguely human form. The trickster was disappointed that he would have to kill the amiable bogie.

Grin reached up, wrapped an arm around the Keen Keeng’s head, and with a swift jerk broke its neck. He dropped the dead thing to the ground.