I sprang off the bed, shed my clothes in a heap, and scooted to the bathroom for the fastest shower in history. Oliver, my father, would kill me if I showed up at the Order wearing yesterday’s sweat-wrinkled clothes.
Back in my room, I put on the least-torn pair of jeans I owned, my worn boots, and a faded but clean tank top with a light jacket. Throwing my scabbard on over my head and adjusting it to settle in its usual place over my shoulder and across my chest, I was out the door.
Dammit. I was probably going to be late. Oh well. It was only by pure luck that I didn’t sleep through the whole thing. I always slept more deeply after using my stone armor, and I’d done that twice the previous day. It would be a small miracle if I made it to the fortress close to the start at all, considering the time change between here and San Francisco, where the fortress was located. Not that Oliver or Marisol would see it that way.
I zipped down the road that skirted the train depot and weaved around cars to get to the downtown parking garage that hid the Faerie doorway I had to use to get to San Francisco.
The netherwhere swept away all sense of my mortal form. I emerged with a shiver in Crosson Hall, an abandoned naval base located on Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay Area. Walking Vincenzo through the graffiti-covered corridors and weeds that had encroached into the structure, I exited the base, shoved my sunglasses onto my face, hopped on my bike, and took off down the road. The scooter’s engine echoed loudly off the walls as I gunned it.
I got on I-80 to 580 toward San Rafael. Lucky for me, it was the tail end of the morning commute traffic, and vehicles were moving along. I took advantage of California’s road rules that allowed motorcycles to pass between lanes, and got into the rhythm of weaving between cars on the freeway.
It was a beautiful sunny Bay Area morning, and a relief from the summer scorch of Vegas and the lesser but still toasty heat of Boise. I inhaled the salt-tinged air, enjoying the rush of the wind past my skin. My chest and face still pulsed with a vague ache in the places where my stone armor had been the night before.
Remembering how my mark had eluded me, my mood soured. I’d taken that assignment, which had an unusually high payout, because I really needed the cash. Recent repairs on Vincenzo had eaten next month’s rent money. My irritation turned toward the Stone Order. If it weren’t for this damned meeting, I could be hunting down Van Zant right now. I wouldn’t receive another Guild assignment until this one was resolved.
The Stone Order’s fortress was located in the facility that was formerly the San Quentin prison. It was a formidable concrete structure located on a point overlooking the water. Much of the exterior had been left as it was to mask the fact that it led into Faerie. The non-Fae of the Earthly realm knew of Fae and Faerie, but generally Fae preferred to keep our secrets to the extent possible. Many humans looked upon Fae with suspicion, mostly due to the lore about us stealing human babies away into Faerie. It was a silly story—we Fae had no use for magicless human children who technically couldn’t swear fealty to any Fae ruler.
Marisol had converted much of the old prison into living quarters for the hundreds of New Gargs who lived there and official headquarters for the Order. One of the residents was my father, Oliver.
The interior of the facility had also been transmuted through the hedge to Faerie, so technically it was no longer part of the Earthly realm. Once you stepped through the doors to the fortress, you entered Faerie. It was a strange concept if it was something you were not accustomed to. I admit, it still twisted my mind up a little if I thought about it too hard. Mostly, it meant that the fortress was impenetrable to non-Fae folk unless they were granted passage. Even a very nosy and curious non-Fae would simply find it was a completely inaccessible building. From the outside, the windows appeared to have been sealed over with concrete, and the doors barred.
When I arrived, the place of course looked deserted. I rode around the corner. There was no one else in sight, probably because they’d all been on time. I walked the scooter up to what appeared to be an alcove. I pressed lightly on a lopsided star that looked almost like a random scratch in the concrete and whispered magic words. The wall shimmered like water, and I stepped through the arch and into the interior of the New Garg fortress in Faerie.
Leaving my scooter parked near the entrance—and knowing it would piss off Marisol to no end that I was using the Order’s grand marble entry as my own personal parking lot—I hurried toward the auditorium.
Chapter 4
MOST FAE ARE to some degree obsessed with pretty things, usually the more gold and sparkly the better. The Stone Order’s fortress reflected the slightly different tastes of the New Gargoyles. As a people, we tended to prefer, unsurprisingly, stone in all its forms. Everything from marble to semi-precious crystals.
The Order was decorated with geometric patterns of all manner of stones. As I raced by, I recognized in the wall designs inlaid turquoise, obsidian, quartz, tourmaline, and half a dozen others. The place practically resonated with the vibrational frequencies of various crystalline materials. New Gargoyles also had an affinity for geometry. We liked everything to be at neat angles.
Usually, Marisol had a few courtiers and pages out in the marble entry, acting as sort of butlers and concierges. The empty entry I’d encountered meant that even the greeters had abandoned their posts to attend the meeting.
I could hear Marisol’s voice from within the auditorium. Grasping the metal handle of one door, I held my breath and pulled.
Inside, the concentric circles of stadium seating appeared completely full. The lights were up on the stage, and the audience area was darkened.
I let out some air. It seemed I’d snuck in. I stood with my back to the wall, letting my eyes adjust. There were only around seven hundred Fae with proven New Gargoyle blood that made them eligible to swear to the Stone Order—demonstrated by forming rock armor—and it seemed all of them were here. Others stood at the wall as I did.
I flicked my eyes left and right, and then did a double-take to my left. My father was one person away, and he was peering at me.
“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Petra,” he said over the head of the teenage New Gargoyle girl who stood between us. Sarcasm was about as close as stone-faced Oliver Maguire ever got to showing actual emotion.
I gave him a saccharine smile and tilted my head innocently. “Hey, Dad.”
He whispered in the girl’s ear and they switched places. I held in a groan and turned my attention to Marisol.