Sun Broken Read online

  Waylin was at the door, a large, baldheaded bouncer who brooked no guff. He held up his hand, but we had already stopped. We knew the drill.

  He ran through the spiel, his voice deep. “You are now entering Ginty’s, a Waystation bar and grill. One show of magic or weapon will get you booted and banned. Do you agree to abide by the Rules of Parley, by blood and bone?”

  “We do, by blood and bone,” Herne said. Viktor and I murmured “By blood and bone” behind him, and Waylin nodded for us to move on into the bar.

  The inside of Ginty’s was far more expansive than the outer shell. For one thing, the bar wasn’t one story on the inside. To the right, back of the bar, were stairs leading to an interdimensional realm that wasn’t visible here in our world. The bar was mahogany, polished to a high sheen, with brass fittings and a granite countertop. Behind the bar were rows of bottles, every drink you could imagine.

  Booths lined the walls and the center floor was filled with tables. A rack of antlers over the bar was so large that it made me wonder if Cernunnos himself had donated them. Paintings of the Cascade volcanoes adorned the walls. A large bay window stretched across the front of the bar, giving at least six booths a wide view of the parking lot.

  We sauntered up to the bar and slid onto three open stools. The booths were mostly empty, but it was early. By lunch time, they’d all be full. I stared at the bottles. Most of the liqueurs were foreign to me, and I had the sudden desire to try something new.

  “Well, if it’s not the King Stag and his posse,” the bartender said, wandering over to greet us. Wendy Fierce-Womyn was Ginty’s right-hand woman. Once you met her, there was no chance you’d forget her. Six-two, she sported a platinum Mohawk that shimmered against her rich brown skin. She was built like a brick house, muscled and strong, and she filled in for Waylin, the bouncer, when need be.

  “Hey, Wendy,” Herne said, motioning to the bar. “I’ll have a glass of Blossom-Berry Mead.” He glanced at me. “The best mead around, in my opinion. The Elves in Annwn make it and ship it over.”

  “They ask a pretty penny, too,” Wendy said, pouring a glass of the shimmering honey wine. She set it in front of Herne. “What about you, Ember? And Viktor?”

  Viktor shrugged. “I’ll take a pint of Keros ale.”

  I scanned the bottles. “I want to try something new. Nothing too strong, given we’re headed into parley, but something a little sweet?” I wasn’t fond of alcohol that didn’t have a sweet taste to it, which was one reason I avoided most red wines.

  “Hmm, let me see,” Wendy said, turning to stare at the shelves. “I know! Have you tried a Buckle Up?”

  I frowned, shaking my head. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

  “New drink. Made with Blue Brandy, mint, and chocolate liqueur. It won’t land you flat on your back, but it’s a cool fire in the belly.” She poured Viktor’s ale and started working on my drink.

  “How’s it going?” I asked. I liked Wendy and wanted to get to know her better. She made me feel like a slug, fitness wise, but she was caring and a staunch defender of women. I kept thinking about asking her to one of our girls’ nights.

  “Not bad. I’m actually volunteering at a women’s shelter. Rayan’s House for Women. Have you heard of it?”

  I cocked my head. “Wow, yes, actually I have. In fact, I referred a young woman there this week and it sounds like they’ve taken her in. Her name is Shayla. She’s pregnant.”

  Wendy nodded. “I processed her intake. Her boyfriend couldn’t come with her, of course, but he didn’t have any objections and the only thing he asked was that she call him when she got settled.”

  “Pain is actually excited about the baby, and he’s looking for a job so he can take care of her and the child. So as far as I can tell, he’s a good egg.” I glanced over at Viktor. “You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

  “Pain’s been through hell, but he’s not the sort to pass on his misery. I’ve never once seen any indication that he’s violent.” Viktor sipped his ale, wiping the foam off his lips.

  “Good to know,” Wendy said, sliding a drink in front of me. “Taste that and tell me it’s not a little bit of heaven.”

  I sipped the brilliant blue drink cautiously. The first taste to hit my tongue was a rich warm chocolate, followed by the hint of a smooth brandy, and finally, a kick of fresh mint. Together, the three blended into a flavor that made me want to eat it rather than drink it.

  “I wonder if Angel can reproduce this in cake,” I said, staring at the glass. “This is wonderful. It’s a little heavy for a spring morning, but damn, it’s good. I’ll have to remember this. You called it a ‘Buckle Up’?”

  “That’s the name,” Wendy said. “Glad you like it.” She glanced over her shoulder at the clock. “Ginty’s on the way. He got slowed down by an accident, but he should be here soon.”

  “Are Saílle and Névé here yet?” Herne asked.

  “You know I can’t tell you that. I’m not allowed to tell you who’s in the suites upstairs. So relax and enjoy your drinks.” Wendy brought out a bowl of pretzels and a bowl of potato chips. “Here, eat something. I’ve got to check in the back to see if the chef’s ready to take on the lunch crowd. Ring the bell, will you, if any customers show up? I’m on duty alone until eleven-thirty.” She headed toward a door in back of the bar.

  When she was gone, I took another sip of my drink and grabbed a handful of chips. “How long has Ginty’s been here? I don’t remember it from my days before the Wild Hunt. Of course, I never had the need to attend a parley, either.”

  “Ginty’s has been around since the 1980s,” Herne said. “There was another Waystation bar, but it was farther out, and a lot less accessible. Ginty’s uncle owned it, and when he decided to return home, Ginty won the right to be the Waystation guard of the next bar. He had this one built and opened up in 1987, I think.”

  “That’s the year I was born,” I said.

  “You’re just a sprout,” Viktor said with a grin.

  Herne arched his eyebrows. “No, the sprout is all grown up, I guarantee you that.” He leered at me, and bopped my nose.

  I blushed, once again thinking of my conversation with Morgana.

  “What did my mother say to you? You seem a little on edge today,” Herne whispered, leaning close. His lips brushed mine as he pulled back, and I shivered. Every time he touched me, it set me off.

  “I’ll tell you later. I really don’t want to discuss it in public,” I said.

  At that moment the door behind the bar opened and Ginty strode through. “I’m here. Sorry I’m late—there was a bad crash on the freeway. We’ll get things started in a moment.”

  Ginty McClintlock was a dwarf, around four foot five, all beefcake with ripping muscles and a braid of blond hair that fell to his waist. He was handsome and though he seemed a little gruff around the edges, he actually had a soft heart. He wore jeans and a polo shirt, along with a pair of motorcycle boots, and he drove a beat-up old pickup that was souped up like a bat out of hell.

  He jerked his thumb toward the roped-off staircase and, carrying our drinks, we followed him. Turning to Wendy he said, “Hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing, old man?” Wendy said, flourishing her bar towel as she began to polish the counter.

  “Eh, woman, you’ll be the death of me yet. But my Ireland would beat me senseless if I let you go.” Ireland was Ginty’s wife, and I got the distinct impression that while Ginty ran the bar, she ran Ginty.

  Ginty led us to the velvet rope that cordoned off the staircase. He held his hand out, whispered an incantation, and the rope moved aside on its own, then neatly closed again after the four of us had passed through. I had been here often enough to know that the rope was actually a creature, summoned for protection, and it masqueraded as a velvet rope. I had asked Ginty once what would happen if someone tried to break through without permission. Apparently the rope turned into a snake w
ith very sharp teeth, and a venom that could be lethal.

  We started up the stairs. I glanced over my shoulder to see a swirl of fog rising behind us. We had entered the interdimensional space of the Waystation.

  Four steps up we came to a landing and the staircase turned to the left. The mist grew thick, shrouding our ankles as we ascended. The fog was magical, that much I knew, and it didn’t feel composed of water vapor. A moment later, and the mist completely encompassed Ginty. Another moment and I entered the fog, and few seconds later, I stepped out into a long hallway. The hallway had three doors on either side, but I knew this was only a small portion of the Waystation. We were now in protected space.

  Ginty led us over to the first door on the left—the room we always met the Fae Queens in. He glanced at us. Herne nodded, and we entered the room.

  The room was like any conference room, with a U-shaped table in the center and chairs around the outside perimeter. To the left, sat Saílle and her entourage. To the right, sat Névé and her attendants. Ginty, Herne, Viktor, and I took the seats at the table dividing the two.

  Saílle and Névé were decked out to the nines.

  Saílle was as pale as a winter’s morning, with hair the color of the night sky. It tumbled down her back in a thick current of silken strands. Her eyes were piercing blue, the blue of ice floes and glaciers, and the autumn winds and winter snows trailed in her wake. She was dressed in an indigo gown, gleaming with silver beads that studded the low-cut sweetheart bodice. Her diadem was ablaze with sapphires and diamonds, and the choker around her neck consisted of five strands of amethyst, matching her earrings.

  Her opposite, Névé, brought spring and summer with her. With hair the color of platinum and eyes that mirrored the rich peat of the soil when it was freshly tilled, she wore a gossamer gown that shimmered with spring green and the pink of fresh tulips. Her tiara shimmered with emeralds and diamonds. An emerald solitaire rested at her throat, set into gold, as large as a fifty-cent piece. Névé radiated the joy of flowers of spring, and the heat of summer nights.

  They were beautiful, both of them, polar opposites and yet, they mirrored one another so much that it astounded me how low they could stoop in terms of battling the other. They were born to the war, though—the Fae had been in a constant state of battle since the twin courts had first evolved from the Ante-Fae.

  We all knew the procedure, and no one spoke as Ginty cleared his throat and lifted a golden wand. A smoky quartz crystal glowed on the end, and as he held it up, I could feel him spinning the magic of parley around us. All oaths taken beneath the cloak of his magic were binding before the gods.

  In a clear, loud voice, Ginty began to speak. “I hereby declare the Beltane Parley of the Courts of Light and Darkness, in the year 10259 CFE, open. Under this mantle, all members are bound to forswear bearing arms against any other member of this parley until the meeting is officially closed and all members are safely home. I also remind the Courts of Light and Darkness that they are forsworn by the Covenant of the Wild Hunt from inflicting injury on any and all members of the Wild Hunt team, under the sigil of Cernunnos, Lord of the Forest, and Morgana, Goddess of the Sea and the Fae. Let no one break honor, let discussions progress civilly, and remember that I—Ginty McClintlock, of the McClintlock Clan of the Cascade Dwarves—am your moderator and mediator, and my rule as such supersedes all other authority while we are in this Waystation.”

  We remained silent, waiting as he pulled out a long scroll. It was covered in print—all very small and looking very old. “If you stay, you agree to the rules. If you disagree, leave now, or be bound to the rules of the parley. I have spoken and so it is done.”

  There was a long pause, but no one moved. Ginty cleared his throat again and set down the scepter and the scroll. “Then, if you are all agreed, I shall open the parley. Herne, son of Cernunnos, you have rights of first speech.” Ginty sat down next to me, giving me a look that told me he had better things to do than coddle the Fae Queens. But it was his job and he was exacting in his performance.

  “Then, let me start by saying I’m here on express orders from not only Cernunnos, but also my mother, Morgana, goddess of the Fae. She and my father are deeply disturbed by the recent events in which several innocents were hurt in what can only be described as a road rage incident.” He shook his head. “Queen Saílle, Queen Névé, you are to hand Callan over to me, immediately. He needs to go back to his own time. Now that the Tuathan Brotherhood has been dismantled and the Fae have been reinstated in the United Coalition, you have no more reason to keep him around. So bring him to me, and I’ll take him to my father.”

  He sat back, crossing his arms. I knew him well enough to know just how pissed he was at having to take time out for this. Granted, keeping peace between the two factions was our job, but sometimes it was like trying to herd cats, or rather, babysit powerful two-year-olds in the throes of a tantrum.

  Saílle and Névé both stared at him, not saying a word.

  “Saílle, we know you are hiding Callan,” Herne said, trying again. “By order of the Covenant of the Wild Hunt, you are to turn him over to us before the end of the day.”

  “What makes you think he’s under my protection?” Saílle said, inspecting her nails.

  “Of course you have him,” Névé said, leaning forward, her eyes flashing. “You kidnapped him as soon as the Brotherhood disbanded and now you refuse to give him back to us. Bringing him into this time was my idea, so you hold no claim over him and I want him back.”

  Saílle sputtered. “Your idea? My advisor came up with the plan to bring Callan out of the mists, so he belongs with the Dark Fae.”

  “You lie!” Névé jumped to her feet, leaning her hands on the table. The energy crackled off her in waves.

  “Enough!” Ginty jumped up on his stepstool so he was equal to their height. “As mediator, I command silence!”

  Saílle and Névé obeyed, but both looked ready to strangle the dwarf.

  “You will behave in a civilized manner beneath the mantle of parley. Is that clear?” Ginty spread his arms out to his sides. “This entire room, this entire Waystation, is under my control, and you will behave while the Mantle of Rules holds power. Is that understood?”

  I wanted to cheer, but that would just be egging them on. Instead, I let out a satisfied sigh and waited to see what they would do next.

  Saílle was the first to speak. She was tight-lipped and abrupt, but she said, “My apologies, Master McClintlock. I will refrain from interacting in a hostile manner.”

  Not wanting to be left the bad guy, Névé abruptly sat down and followed suit. “I, as well.”

  “Very well, then. Herne the Hunter, Lord of the Hunt, son of Cernunnos, has issued a proclamation from the gods. Are you stating you’re going to ignore the covenant?”

  Saílle looked ready to bite his head off, but said, “Of course not.” She turned to Herne and in a sarcastic tone, said, “Is this your mother’s final word?”

  “It is. If you do not deliver Callan to our office by six p.m. today, you will be considered in contempt of the gods. And I would not provoke my mother’s contempt, were I you. Either of you.”

  He waited, but Saílle remained silent.

  “Well? Come on, I don’t have all day.” Herne leaned forward. “Look, both of you know you’re not getting away with this one. If you want to kill each other off, feel free. I don’t give a fuck, but you do not have the right to harm the citizens of this realm with your petty-assed bickering. Do you get it? Do I have to spell it out for you any more than that?”

  Saílle glowered, but she kept her composure. After a moment, she said, “Tell your father we will comply. But I take no responsibility if the Light interferes. If you want Callan delivered to you safely, then you’d better send an official escort to pick him up. He’ll be ready at four.”

  Herne rolled his eyes, but turned to Névé. “I’d better not see any of your court attempting there to intervene. Do you understand
?”

  Névé huffed. “You’re as blustery and irritating as your father. But the Light acknowledges Morgana’s decree. We won’t interfere.” She glared at Saílle. “This wouldn’t have happened if the Queen of the Dark had kept our agreement.”

  “Callan asked for asylum in the Dark Court. We didn’t bribe him,” Saílle began but Herne put his fingers in his mouth and gave a loud, clear whistle.

  “Enough! We’ll send an official escort this afternoon at four, with a letter bearing my father’s seal. Now, go home, both of you, and for once, try not to murder each other on the way.” Herne stood and, motioning to Viktor and me, stomped out before Saílle and Névé had the chance to leave. We were downstairs and out the door before either queen could move.

  As we headed to Herne’s car, I glanced over my shoulder. Saílle and Névé were filing out of the bar, followed by their retinues. As they separated toward their respective vehicles, the two queens paused, staring at one another. I could feel the crackle flickering between them. They seemed to sense my scrutiny and turned toward me. I straightened, hands on my hips, as I stared back at them. I was everything they despised, a mix of their warring bloodlines. They denied my right to exist even as they sought to obliterate the other.

  “I’m your balance,” I whispered, so low that surely they couldn’t hear me. But they froze, still staring at me. Not even realizing what I was doing, I said, “I’m your future, so get used to it. You may have an eternity behind you, but the world is changing. It’s time to stop with the us and them, because a greater them is coming and we’re all going to be on our bellies in the trenches.”

  As one, they turned, exchanged glances, and disappeared into their respective vehicles.

  Behind me, Herne cupped my elbow. “What was that?”

  “I think, a warning.” The question was, where had it come from? And who had sent it?

  Chapter Nine