Chelsea, when she was not dying on a bathroom floor, was a strikingly attractive, if not beautiful, woman. She was tall, half a head taller than Kage, and built like an athlete. Her hair was a Nordic blond that complemented her icy-gray eyes and was cut very expensively to frame her expressive and rather bony face.
Max had given Anna a picture of a charming and funny woman. But Chelsea didn’t engage with anyone, not even when someone spoke to her directly. She would eat a few bites quickly, then set her utensils down as if they were puzzle pieces she had to fit into place. Then she would take a gulp of water, stare at the wall or the table or her hands—and then suddenly grab her silverware and eat another two or three mouthfuls with ravenous intensity. Every once in a while she’d try to eat something besides the meat, and Anna could see her fight to get the food down.
It was probably something from the Change, Anna thought. She didn’t like to think about the weeks shortly after she had been Changed. There were large gaps in her memory—
She curled around herself shivering, cold and hot by turns. The bars of the cage burned her skin, but without something against her back she felt vulnerable to attack. She smelled grease from a fast-food box …
Okay, so some things she remembered just fine, but she could choose not to dwell upon them. There was no cage here, no one to throw a cardboard box of fried chicken at Chelsea. To this day, Anna couldn’t eat chicken from that particular chain.
There were no rapists here.
Suddenly Chelsea’s eyes met Anna’s from across the table and held them. Icy gray became even more pale, and Chelsea’s nostrils flared.
“Who hurt you?” she asked, slicing through the two other conversations going on at the table.
“He’s dead,” said Charles, his hand sliding up Anna’s back reassuringly. “I killed him. If I could, I would bring him back to life so I could kill him again.”
Chelsea turned her gaze to Charles for a moment. “Good,” she said, before she had to drop her eyes. Her intensity faded. “That’s good.”
Charles put his lips against Anna’s ear. “He’s very dead.”
Anna nodded jerkily. “Sorry.”
“No,” he said, his breath warm against her neck. “Don’t be sorry. Just know if anyone ever tries to hurt you again—they will be dead, too.”
And some people had tried, hadn’t they. And yes, she realized, they were all dead. Charles was a big warm presence at her back, better than a solid wall or bars.
She picked up her fork and took a bite of brisket. “Okay,” she told Charles.
They cleaned the table collectively, Ernestine directing traffic. Anna found herself in the kitchen washing pots and pans as Maggie put them away.
“Do you suppose Ernestine made us work together on purpose?” asked Anna.
“Undoubtedly,” Maggie agreed.
She didn’t say anything more for a moment. It wasn’t exactly private—people were in and out with food and dishes. Max had taken up the post at the dishwasher, where he scraped and loaded dishes.
“I loved your husband once,” said Maggie.
“I gathered that,” Anna said. “He cares a lot about you.” She forced herself not to add and Joseph, too. It was true, but it made her sound as though she were jealous. She wasn’t. Territorial, yes. Jealous, no.
“I was not as courageous as you,” Maggie said. “Twenty or thirty years later I would not have made the same choice, but I was young and he frightened me when I found out what he was.” She glanced at Anna. “I was about your age. Werewolf side effects aside, Joseph said that Charles is buying you a horse for your twenty-sixth birthday. You were younger than I was when he found you. And you weren’t afraid of him.”
It was a big concession, implying that Anna was somehow better than Maggie for not running away.
“Yeah. I had already met the real monsters,” she told Maggie. “It gave me some basis for comparison.”
“If I had not been afraid I would have picked Charles,” Maggie said. She headed off to a pantry space with a handful of pots. When she came back she said, “Joseph suited me better. Charles and I are both too serious. Even now, Joseph is a breath of pure sunshine. I’ll send you home with my recipe for burritos. Charles and Joseph both love them.”
And after that they finished up the pots and pans and serving dishes in utter harmony.
“Hosteen is pretty distracted,” said Max, when the dishwasher was loaded and running. He took the big pan out of Maggie’s hand with a smile. “He wouldn’t have let Ernestine put you to work if he’d been paying attention. Why don’t you let me finish this and go sit down as though you’d been doing it all along?”
Maggie exchanged a grin with him and left the kitchen to younger hands.
“Hosteen has been more protective of her since Joseph got sick,” Max told Anna. “She knows he’s feeling bad, so she indulges him.” He smiled. “She’s a tough old broad, is Maggie. He’d better lay off because she’s going to get tired of it pretty soon.”
When the kitchen was clean, Hosteen organized a war council. He began by evicting the innocent bystanders.
“Hey, kids,” said Ernestine in response to Hosteen’s raised eyebrow. “Why don’t you come watch some TV with me up in the gold guest suite?” She took Michael and Mackie by the hand. “Coming, Max?”
Max gave Kage a half-pleading, half-defiant look. “I think I’ll stay,” he said.
Kage nodded. Ernestine smiled at Max and then led the children away as the rest of them reseated themselves around the dining room.
“I’m proud of you,” Anna overheard Kage tell Max. “You’ve been extraordinarily useful today. It’s always hard to be on the support staff when there’s action elsewhere. Thank you for taking care of the kids this afternoon.”
“I did it under protest,” said Max, apologetically.
“But you did it well,” Kage replied. “Good enough for me.”
Hosteen sat at the head of the table and looked down its gleaming surface at Chelsea. “We need to know what happened to you,” he said, not unkindly. “Are you up to answering questions?”
She nodded. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“You are witchborn,” said Charles. “Did you sense anything wrong? Do you know when you were bespelled?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have much training. My mother taught me how to hide myself, but that’s it.”
“When did you notice something was wrong?” Hosteen said, his voice a little impatient.
“In the bathroom,” Chelsea said, sounding a little lost. Kage scooted his chair nearer and put his arm around her. “I was looking for something stronger, for my headache. I knocked the toothbrush holder into the sink and it broke. It cut my hand when I cleaned it up, and I could think for a moment.” She looked at Kage. “That’s how I figured it out, that I could stop myself if I was bleeding.”
“That’s why you stabbed yourself in the hand?” Max asked. Chelsea’s left hand still had a scab on it.
She nodded. “You or me,” she told him. “I picked me.”
He nodded and then said, “I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. Next time—pick me, okay?”
“Not going to happen,” said Maggie. She was sitting next to Max, and she patted his hand. “Nothing to do with your age. Mothers protect their children.”
“When did the headache start?” asked Charles.
“After I picked up the kids, I think,” Chelsea said. “That’s when I noticed it anyway. I left the kids on their own and ran up to take something for it.” She paused. “I took too many pills and then went looking for something stronger. If I’d found the pills instead of getting a cut, would the kids have been safe?”
Anna said, “Pain is a distraction; it can be used to break down your will.” She knew that. “So can certain drugs. Tylenol won’t do it—but what kind of stronger were you looking for?”
“I had some leftover Vicodin,” she said. “But I was just trying to stop the headache.”
“Vicodin would have made it harder for you to fight the geas,” said Charles. “But now we are talking a very complicated magic. ‘Kill your children and then yourself’ is, essentially, two commands. ‘Kill your children if you can, and if they are dead or if you fail to kill them, then kill yourself’ is more complicated. And the geas absolutely tried to make you kill yourself after I told you the kids were safe. If the magic drove you to do something that made you a better vessel to carry out your task … we’re getting into magic that is above the ability of most fae.”
“How long would it have taken to put such a spell on her?” asked Hosteen.
“A Gray Lord with the right magic could do it in an instant,” Charles said. “Or it could have taken hours.”