Power Ballad ch 98 - I want it

“I want it.”

Thekla’s taken her glasses off, a sure sign, Nick’s learned, that her mind is racing. She rubs her thumb along the hinged arm. The glasses shake in her hand. Her voice is tiny and quavering. “We have to do what she wants. I’m sorry, packmistress. I never want to argue with anyone about how to do their job. I swear to God I don’t, but—”

Her voice breaks.

“I want to have a baby,” she says. “I don’t want a donor. I thought I did and that I’d be okay with it. Or with adopting. But now I know it’s possible and I can’t go back. I can’t just—” Her amber eyes stare at the floor of the trailer, where Legendary and Quillbear have gathered away from the crowd and the dragon. “I want Evan’s babies.”

Evan silently holds her, his arms cinched around her middle.

“Seconded.” Kell chews her lip. “I don’t care that it’s dragon magic. I know you guys don’t trust Conna. But I do. Even after everything. She’s my friend, and my wife needs her magic.” She kisses the top of Thekla’s head, and adds: “And that’s the Kamiyons united, cause if me and her want it, you know Evan does too.”

Evan shrugs. “I’m a simp. Would never deny it.”

Everyone’s looking at Dee. She stands up; Nick notes the woozy lightness on her face and the stabilizing step she takes. “Thekla Kamiyon, that’s the first thing you’ve requested for yourself this entire damn tour. Everything else has been oh the band needs this, the bus needs that, Kell needs a coke. This ain’t the kind of thing I say no to. And even if it was, I’d be outvoted.” She solidifies her stance with a light hand on the beige trailer table. “I’ll go tell that scaly skank we’re on for getting her where she needs to get.”

“We really shouldn’t be calling her that sort of thing,” Anise says.

“I won’t,” Dee says. “To her face.”

“I do need a coke,” Kell muses.

  *

Legendary’s tour reaches its final city by evening: Elfheim, gilded and glittering, spired and spanned. Elfheim and its proud millions, a teeming technicolor tapestry, fairfolk of all stripes in defiance of its venerable name. Elfheim, the greatest city in the Old World.

It’s cool, Nick guesses. But they don’t have 24-hour subways.

There’s an unspoken tension among the caravan. It’s the first time the pack’s been back to Elfheim since the bad old Niva days. Their Earthling charges are restless and intense as they prepare for their last handful of concerts in and around the city; these are the ones that count, they tell each other. The rest of the Old World was practice.

And of course there’s the Guest. An unassuming gnome, her eyes bright, her beard a vivid ginger. The tour manager and the packmistress never outright tell their respective crews her identity. But through their don’t ask privacy, and their new hanger-on’s evasiveness, it’s commonly understood.

Nobody complains. But everybody’s on edge. It’s been months since Nick has felt it, this wrong-side-of-the-law tension. It wasn’t like this in Alstorum. This is proactive, premeditated. I’m smuggling an illegal dragon. There’s a new kind of con.

From vanguard rhinoback, Quillbear watch the coronet towers solidify into view, sharpening the twin moons’ light into silvery shards in the horizon.

“Three shows.” Atop Hammer, Anise purses her lips as the packmistress braids her hair. “Three shows in Elfheim and then we’re done, and we go home. We just have to get through those three.”

“They’re gonna tell stories about this one.” Nick tightens his grip on the reins. “I was at Elfheim ‘22. That’s gonna be bragging rights. It’s gonna be incredible.”

“You’re right. I’ll focus in and feel the love, I promise.” Anise sighs. “But right now I just want to survive this week, deliver our interdimensional fugitive, get this shit over with, and then laze around by the river for a month.”

“Y’know. Ani.” Dee clears her throat as she finishes the center braid and starts in on another section. “Conna didn’t just make an offer to Thekla.”

“I know.” Anise cozies up into Dee’s lap.

“Was she right?” Dee’s thumb traces the top notches of Anise’s spine. “That you want it?”

Anise giggles. “Do I want a sacred brain bond that makes your touch feel like a climax? Gosh, I don’t know. It might be nice.” She shakes her head. “But I won’t create something based on magic you hate.”

A faraway look of contemplation lowers the lids on Dee’s big Disney-princess eyes. Nick recognizes what’s going on behind them, sees the gears laid out and turning in his mate’s mind as though they’ve known one another their whole lives.

She does hate dragon magic, for the way it took her sister from her, for the perversion of her people’s sacred bond. And sharing the imprint with an elf is another such perversion. But beneath the tenets it breaks and the past it pulls from the murk, Dee wants this. She’s always been bugged by a one-way imprint. She wants Anise to feel what they feel.

When Nick thinks of the sunbeam glory of a mate’s touch, how it feels on the skin, he wants it for her too. Wants it badly enough to risk the weird dragon’s weird spell. But that’s not his decision. It’s not even Anise’s, now, since she’s disclaimed it.

It’s Dee’s choice. Her history, her pack, her choice. To honor her dead sister or her living lover.

  *

Nick was right and wrong about Elfheim. There are no 24-hour subways.

There are 24-hour flying coaches, though, whizzing through the city on eddies of invisible magic. And those are probably more impressive in the long run.

There’s also one of the only interdimensionally-specialized post offices they’ve come across. Letters delivered here are magically transcribed, at great cost, to a waystation just by the Door, to be shipped back to Earth.

  *

Diak’zinae, mistress of the Voraag River pack, hails the Packland Cross master council and thanks them for their wisdom and patience. This letter serves as official confirmation of the Voraag decision in the Voraag/Trakor dispute.

To Korrigan, master of the Trakor Bluffs pack: Your gift of three days’ lumber rights in the Trakor Bluffs territory is accepted. In recognition of the employment lost because of our dispute, Pack Voraag offers recompense of 2 Zed-eye Semiautomatic Rifles OR 1 Smith & Wesson M&P Sport Rifle, of Earth make. With this exchange of goods, Pack Voraag considers the Voraag/Trakor dispute left in the past. No guilt is admitted, and no apology is required. No fire burns twice.

To Taff, master of the Cross North pack: No guilt is admitted. Go ahead and test my people again if that doesn’t work for you. Kiss my fat green ass, oath-breaker.

The Voraag River Pack will return to the Packlands in approximately two weeks. We stand ready for any further arbitration of the Voraag/Cross North dispute.

So says Diak’zinae of the Voraag River pack.

  *

Dear Rosalia,

I know. Mom sent a letter. Very old-fashioned. In my defense, it’s the only way to communicate across the Door. I hope you didn’t throw it away with all the credit card offers and magazines and crap.

I’m having such an incredible time here, Rosie. I’ve met wonderful people and been to so many places. I have to keep this brief because they charge by the page and it’s honestly a ripoff, but I’m gonna tell you all about it ASAP (probably with a phone call, so buckle up buttercup).

The short version is that I’m staying here in the Old World permanently. This is going to gross you out, but I’ve found some people that I’m very happy with, and they’ve offered me a place with them. I’m part of an Orc pack now!!! A real bona-fide guns-and-rhinos nomadic pack.

You can visit any time you like, and I promise it won’t be awkward. It’s such a blast out here, and my pack would be more than happy to host you. I know you don’t enjoy camping, but I promise it’s fun when you’re traveling with experts. It’s more like glamping (if that’s a word people still use).

The reason I’m so willing to go off and live this different life is that I know you’ve become a wonderful, independent, and put-together woman. You’re going to have such an amazing life, and even a world away, I know I’m gonna feel the earthquakes from all the ass you’ll kick. Don’t stress about the college payments or any of the financial stuff, okay? I’m working it out with the Earth embassy in Elfheim and it’s actually a lot more straightforward than you’d think.

I am so proud of the person you’ve become. This is a cringy thing to write, but I think you’d be proud of who I’m becoming over here too.

I will see you very soon. Your graduation at the latest—I’ll be there, I promise. I just might have a few big scary orcs with me.

Forever your biggest fan,

Mom

(PS I’ve included a photo of me on a rhino. His name is Doink.)

Dear Nathan,

We’ve met C. She sends you her love. She’s told me a lot I can’t put in a letter—but we have our answers and they’re extremely illuminating. More soon. We’re keeping on our schedule (plus or minus some bumps on the road) so expect me back at the Door on the date we planned.

I need you to know: once I’ve finished debriefing with our mutual friends I am going back to the Old World, this time permanently as a member of the Voraag River pack (the name will be familiar, as they’re our security contractors for the tour).

With all the love and admiration I can muster for you and your amazing company, I tender my resignation as a band manager with Warcry, effective at the conclusion of Legendary’s Old World tour.

I think there’s a lot here to build off, Nate. I’m only just getting into the O-Dub sound, but they love loud, rebellious music as much as you and I do. We’ve talked at length about what Warcry can become in this era, what the new mission might look like in a world where the fairfolk have gone from a tiny minority to an entire planet next door. I think you’re in good shape to become the first multiplanar record label.

With the Door open now, I have a feeling that people will try to minimize or marginalize the work you did in what will surely be remembered as the “early days” of Fairfolk rock. Don’t let them! You may be human, but I’ve never for a moment doubted your allegiance or wanted any boss but you. You’re not a tourist or a faker or a fairy-chaser. You are genuine. Remind yourself of that when things get tricky, because I can’t be there all the time to remind you.

I can’t do what my old job was for you anymore with my permanent relocation. But in the brief time I’ll be back Earthside, we should talk. The Voraags have a lot of ability to take care of musicians, and in my Old World travels I’ve found them indispensable. A continued partnership with them, and with the other Packland orcs, could be very fruitful. And I’d love to help you achieve it.

Your colleague and friend,

Anise Cantator-Voraag

  *

Al—

There’s a safe in my apt under the bed. Drill the deadbolt to get in, I don’t care. Tell the super you’re a debt collector if he’s nosy (he won’t be). Combo is my birthday in dd/mm/yy, + 3 years + 12 days. There is a lot of money in there. It’s yours.

You’ll also need a key, which is inside my 12-string acoustic, taped to the inside of the sound hole. You’ll need to feel around a bit but DON’T BREAK IT, MOTHERFUCKER. Sell it and don’t take less than $500.

Take whatever else you want from the place. Pay off the Estonian, then leave the city. I WILL ask around about you in New Layth. If you’re still there when I’m in the neighborhood, I’ll kick your teeth in. Leave with your family. The only thing keeping you from a new life in a better place is your fear.

You’re a brother to me, and I will always love you. Don’t try to find me.