magicians doing damage too,” I snapped.
“We know. We still tell of the horror at the fords,” the little porcelain fae said. “In the hills of Los Vados, a witch tried to wreak vengeance on a rival and fell to her own spell.” Then the fae’s façade cracked, and she shuddered. “It was . . . horrible. A big old splattery mess.”
“We don’t want to shove magic back into the darkness,” Carnes said. “My wizarding master is a university magician. But now, textbooks are filled with magic once hidden in cryptic tomes that took years of study to understand—and magic can be horribly abused.”
“Out here, there’s no law,” said a werewolf. “The vamps only protect humans, their food supply . The only police the Edgeworld has are the wizards, and when they care to, the fae. But a small-g god rides herd over the packs in Georgia—Buckhead, Lord of the Wild Hunt.”
It was true. Buckhead, a stag-headed fae, intervened in werekin battles that went too far. And Christopher Valentine had called Buck a “fading, wannabe god.” Personally, I reserve the word “God” for the Big G; I hadn’t realized how seriously people took Buckhead’s title.
“Werekin combat is formalized in Georgia,” I admitted cautiously, not wanting to draw Buckhead into a trap like the one the Warlock had made for me. “Staged battles, with betting and rules, like a sport. Maybe you could adopt such contests here, blow off steam—”
“Maybe,” the werewolf said. “Maybe you could ask Lord Buckhead to preside.”
The fae all became attentive, and the little porcelain fae looked up, bright and hopeful.
Unexpectedly, Carnes spoke. “If you could, it would mean a lot. To all of us.”
“I’ll . . . ask,” I said. “No promises.”
“Since she agrees to ask,” the Warlock said, “can the Conclave at least agree to bless Dakota Frost’s mission in the Bay, to extend her our protection while she sojourns here—”
“And to wish her daughter success at collecting her prize,” said Carnes. “So moved.”
The Warlock blinked. “Seconded. Speak, all who concur.”
“So mote it be,” said the little fae girl, and all around the table concurred.
———
“Excellent,” the Warlock said warmly. “Welcome to San Francisco, Dakota Frost.”
10. Clearing the Schedule
The meeting adjourned, and the various groups of the Conclave began leaving by threes according to some obviously prearranged order. Each departing group bowed to some groups while snubbing others, and the targets of their bows respected or disrespected the departing groups with equal randomness. Interestingly, the werestags and werewolves were among the most respectful and cordial, the beefy werewolf getting up and muttering something to the Korean, who smiled. But it was the departure of the Wizarding Guild I was waiting for.
“Mr. Carnes,” I called out. He turned, and I raised my hand to my ear in a “call me” gesture. He stiffened, then clenched his teeth. Yep, as I had guessed, Carnes was Ferguson’s boss. I said, “The next time you need to talk, do it direct. I think you have my number.”
Carnes broke from his companions and came back, looking at Cinnamon and me.
“You really came here,” he murmured, “just so she could collect a math prize? ”
Now Cinnamon stiffened, and I clenched my teeth. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, we did.”
“Then,” Carnes said, clearly debating something internally as he looked between the two of us. “Then . . . you should take her to the Exploratorium while you’re here. My daughters love math and science too. If she’s anything like them, she’ll love it.”
My lips parted slightly. “Uh,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. Carnes. We’ll consider it.”
“Yeah,” Cinnamon said, still stiff, staring at him. “T-thanks, sir.”
He nodded to her, then to me, then turned and walked out of the room.
That left us with just the Warlock and the fae. Everyone had bowed to the fae; no
“We know. We still tell of the horror at the fords,” the little porcelain fae said. “In the hills of Los Vados, a witch tried to wreak vengeance on a rival and fell to her own spell.” Then the fae’s façade cracked, and she shuddered. “It was . . . horrible. A big old splattery mess.”
“We don’t want to shove magic back into the darkness,” Carnes said. “My wizarding master is a university magician. But now, textbooks are filled with magic once hidden in cryptic tomes that took years of study to understand—and magic can be horribly abused.”
“Out here, there’s no law,” said a werewolf. “The vamps only protect humans, their food supply . The only police the Edgeworld has are the wizards, and when they care to, the fae. But a small-g god rides herd over the packs in Georgia—Buckhead, Lord of the Wild Hunt.”
It was true. Buckhead, a stag-headed fae, intervened in werekin battles that went too far. And Christopher Valentine had called Buck a “fading, wannabe god.” Personally, I reserve the word “God” for the Big G; I hadn’t realized how seriously people took Buckhead’s title.
“Werekin combat is formalized in Georgia,” I admitted cautiously, not wanting to draw Buckhead into a trap like the one the Warlock had made for me. “Staged battles, with betting and rules, like a sport. Maybe you could adopt such contests here, blow off steam—”
“Maybe,” the werewolf said. “Maybe you could ask Lord Buckhead to preside.”
The fae all became attentive, and the little porcelain fae looked up, bright and hopeful.
Unexpectedly, Carnes spoke. “If you could, it would mean a lot. To all of us.”
“I’ll . . . ask,” I said. “No promises.”
“Since she agrees to ask,” the Warlock said, “can the Conclave at least agree to bless Dakota Frost’s mission in the Bay, to extend her our protection while she sojourns here—”
“And to wish her daughter success at collecting her prize,” said Carnes. “So moved.”
The Warlock blinked. “Seconded. Speak, all who concur.”
“So mote it be,” said the little fae girl, and all around the table concurred.
———
“Excellent,” the Warlock said warmly. “Welcome to San Francisco, Dakota Frost.”
10. Clearing the Schedule
The meeting adjourned, and the various groups of the Conclave began leaving by threes according to some obviously prearranged order. Each departing group bowed to some groups while snubbing others, and the targets of their bows respected or disrespected the departing groups with equal randomness. Interestingly, the werestags and werewolves were among the most respectful and cordial, the beefy werewolf getting up and muttering something to the Korean, who smiled. But it was the departure of the Wizarding Guild I was waiting for.
“Mr. Carnes,” I called out. He turned, and I raised my hand to my ear in a “call me” gesture. He stiffened, then clenched his teeth. Yep, as I had guessed, Carnes was Ferguson’s boss. I said, “The next time you need to talk, do it direct. I think you have my number.”
Carnes broke from his companions and came back, looking at Cinnamon and me.
“You really came here,” he murmured, “just so she could collect a math prize? ”
Now Cinnamon stiffened, and I clenched my teeth. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, we did.”
“Then,” Carnes said, clearly debating something internally as he looked between the two of us. “Then . . . you should take her to the Exploratorium while you’re here. My daughters love math and science too. If she’s anything like them, she’ll love it.”
My lips parted slightly. “Uh,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. Carnes. We’ll consider it.”
“Yeah,” Cinnamon said, still stiff, staring at him. “T-thanks, sir.”
He nodded to her, then to me, then turned and walked out of the room.
That left us with just the Warlock and the fae. Everyone had bowed to the fae; no
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