Breaking Ties by Vaughn R. Demont Page A

doing this because you were in the right place, at the right time, and you immediately assume that Fate must be involved.” He looks away. “Coyotes. So convinced the world exists to provide them material. You’re being moved along your path, never stopping to question. What other piece would you be?”
    â€œI’m not a chess piece, damn it. Being a Coyote means being fluid, adapting on the fly to any trick, not getting bogged down in analogies. You know what happens when you can’t make an analogy work? You change your life to fit it, or change the analogy to make it fit you. You come up with exceptions, excuses, bullshit , so you don’t see you fucked things up eight steps back. And what do Coyotes do? We free you from that bullshit. You think we’re idiots, but you should be thanking us. Because at the end of the day, the Feud is just another steaming pile of bullshit people devote way too much of their lives to so they can plant their flag on top. You know what’ll happen if I pull an Emerald? The Coyotes will have two, and James will likely be dead . I don’t give a fuck about the former but the latter certainly has all my attention.”
    â€œBecause you love him.”
    â€œYeah, you’d love for that to be true, wouldn’t you?” I roll my eyes. “For me to end up with a Phouk anyway after all this.”
    â€œHe’s not a Phouk, Spencer, though being a Phouk is much like being a Keth. It’s simply in the blood, and if it awakens, it awakens, and you’re Phouka. There is no halfway. We are Fae insofar as we pledge fealty to Her Majesty, but not even iron wounds…” He blinks at me. “May you be cursed with the itch and have no nails to scratch with, you sneaky Bard.”
    I hold my ground. “Tell me everything about the Cobalt Order, and I don’t go shouting that from the rooftops.” I force a weak smile. “You wanted me to play the game, Rourke. We could’ve done this civilly, but you wanted the Feud, so if that means using the advantage Fate gave me, I’ll use it. You know I don’t want to spread that around. I hear enough down at Under the Bridge about what the sidhe think of the Phouka getting back into the Feud. They don’t like it because it invites situations like this: a non-Fae poking his nose into Fae matters. I felt Fate tugging my string, Rourke. You know what happens to Coyotes who give Fate the finger.”
    In simple terms? Bad things.
    â€œJust give me the CliffsNotes, I’ll settle for that. Who they are, who’s in charge, who they target, what I should watch out for, maybe a little relevant history. Anything to let me guess why they’d so brazenly attack a commoner bar.”
    The King of the Phouka closes his eyes. “What do you plan to do, Spencer?”
    â€œStop them.”
    He looks at me now, worry in his eyes. “How?” He doesn’t let me answer. “Because what this might require is something you’ve sworn you’ll never do. For a Coyote to involve himself in an internal Fae matter, if it were to draw the attention of Her Majesty…” He takes a breath. “Spencer, the Feud is the Feud, and that is all it must be, no matter your opinion of it. Even if you are no longer counted among your clan, you are still a Coyote, and you could invite war. Is that what you are willing to risk? For Fate?”
    I wish I could be firm about this. Well, part of me is, but that’s the consort in me. Being the hero is having to stand at the cliff’s edge and make these kinds of decisions. A fool does the same while whistling a happy tune, and there’s a dog there if the Tarot card is anything to go by. A Coyote, well, we’re the worst kind of heroes and the best kind of fools, it’s how Fate made us.
    But if I’m reading Rourke correctly, he’s telling me that people are going to die. That I might have to kill someone