Within ten minutes, Rosa was so hooked on the drama unfolding in front of her that she didn’t pick up on the tell-tale signs that she was no longer alone. She assumed there were signs, later – the flutter of fabric, perhaps, or the inhale of breath. Then again, perhaps there had been no signs at all. As the screens ought to remind her, her visitor wasn’t one for making mistakes, however small.

“I knew you’d be here,” came his voice, velvet and quiet over the hum of the computers.

Rosa, who was in the process of lifting one of the takeaway coffees to her lips, paused. She knew that voice. She also knew there were only a handful of people in the world who could have entered the surveillance room in Alliance HQ completely undetected. If it was anyone outside of that handful of people, she might not even have bothered turning around. Unfortunately, respect wasn’t optional here. Casting a last wistful glance at the screens, Rosa spun round in the office chair and regarded the straight-backed, grey-haired man standing a few metres behind her.

“Ma’at-inety,” she acknowledged courteously, placing the coffee down on the counter and folding her hands in her lap.

Gwythr hadn’t really changed much in over a thousand years, except that he’d (finally) started ditching the togas. He was wearing a dark, military-cut suit today, complete with a tie and a coat which looked far too hot for Dubai’s warm climate. He had his hands folded behind his back and was watching her with a polite but unreadable expression. Diplomats. They were all the same.

“I checked the system for visitors and found one Rosa Llewellyn.” She could have sworn the corner of his lip twitched. “Very amusing. Although your arrogance with your aliases may come back to bite you one day.”

Rosa just smiled blithely, certain that he wasn’t here to chat about her choice of names.

“A straight question then, since I know you appreciate those.” He took a step closer to the screens and studied them. A little unnecessary, since he doubtless knew exactly what was happening in the building. “Are you here to intervene?” He glanced at her. “On either side?”

Rosa spun slowly back round to the screens, her blue-black eyes scanning the drama taking place therein. The black-uniformed task force, which she now understood must be Gwythr’s hand-picked loyals, were making their way around the building. Every screen showed an area which had already been brought under control, was currently under siege, or was awaiting its fate. She considered his question. If Gwythr was here, behind all of this, then her clairvoyance had been right on the money. This was going to be one of the biggest turning points in fairy history.

“I’m no longer employed by the Alliance.” She shrugged lightly. A bit rude, shrugging to a god, but Rosa had always had a certain amount of leeway among the original fairies. “I’m just here to observe.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Gwythr’s hand rested briefly on the back of her chair. “I’m sure I’ll be in touch before long. In the meantime, enjoy the view.”

The pressure on the back of her chair vanished as he disappeared into the ether. Rosa didn’t bother turning around again, but rather leant in closer to the screen.

“Oh, I am,” she muttered, allowing a glimmer of admiration in her voice.

--

Dubai, forty-eight hours ago.
Amazing, she thought as she glanced briefly around the office. Allianah had somehow transplanted her office from Cairo into Dubai without changing a single thing – not even the room dimensions or the position of the doors or windows. The only difference was the view. In the months since Allianah had vanished, Gwythr hadn’t changed a thing either; it was like a little timepod. Ancient Nubian weapons adorned one stretch of wall, completely at odds with the modern desktop computer humming on the curved desk. The sofas were low and functional, decorated in a Sudanese style and circled around a simple wooden coffee table. This window was the only one in the entire building with a lattice structure over the pane of tinted glass, mottling the light as it streamed through.

“Thank you for coming,” Gwythr smiled, a little like a vampire. He squinted slightly at the lanyard around his visitor’s neck. “Is it… Jenifer Bales, today?”

The visitor smiled back and leant over the desk to shake his hand before slipping into the chair opposite the desk. “Let’s just stick with Ruaidhri,” she suggested.

Gwythr nodded once. That suited him. The original fairies were one of only a handful of people worldwide who used Ruaidhri’s real name. Most other times, when it passed people’s lips, it was seconds before their lives ended.

“I have a job for you,” the Roman deity said, sliding a small piece of notepaper across the desk. Ruaidhri picked it up and studied it, noting the number written down there with the US dollar sign attached. Her face didn’t change. She didn’t know yet if it was a good offer or an inadequate one. “It’s a straightforward job, in theory.” Gwythr continued. “There’s someone I need picked up. I want them alive but incapacitated. Unable to use magic, and preferably unable to use limbs as well.”

Ruaidhri nodded once to show she understood. Straightforward, so far. Gwythr slid something else across the desk: a face-down photograph. Ruaidhri flipped it over. Her eyes slid over the woman in the picture, absorbing the details of her face and clothes. The photograph must have been pulled from Alliance CCTV, although that didn’t look like the Dubai office.

Smiling grimly, she pushed the photograph back across the desk. Gwythr quirked an eyebrow.

“You know her?” He asked.

“By reputation.” Ruaidhri glanced back at the photograph again, a little wistfully. “And as much as I’d love to meet her in person, I have one rule and this breaks it. Nepenthe Kroneon is in bed with Mallos. You don’t get to live as long as I do if you mess with the people close to the deities.”

She stood up, adjusting the sleeves of her shirt.

“Don’t be so hasty,” Gwythr’s smile was a little too knowing. “The money is just a jumping off point to start negotiations. I have a few offers you’re going to want to hear.”

Ruaidhri smiled straight back, baring her incisors. “Whatever you’re offering, it’s not worth the fallout I’ll get from Mallos if I touch his stuff.”

At this point in a discussion she’d normally walk out, but people who disrespected the deities – especially certain deities – didn’t live as long as Ruaidhri had either. She remained standing. Gwythr stood slowly, completely relaxed. And confident. Maybe the real reason she didn’t walk out was curiosity. Why was he so certain she’d take this suicide job?

“I can guarantee,” he said after a moment, emphasising the last word, “that Mallos is out of the picture.”

There was silence for a moment while Ruaidhri mulled over the weight of the information in that simple statement. Gwythr slid the picture of Kroneon back across the desk.

“That’s confident,” Ruaidhri noted, ignoring the photograph. “The Alliance seem to be having trouble laying their hands on him.”

“Trust me, Ruaidhri.” He reached down behind the desk and pulled up a bottle of whisky and two glasses. Very confident. “There will be no repercussions from Mallos whatsoever. Unless it’s Kroneon you’re worried about?”

Ruaidhri gave him a look like, oh please. Kind of rude, but she wasn’t used to having her skills questioned.

“Besides, you haven’t heard the best part of my offer yet.” He popped the lid from the whisky and poured a glass. “I know what you’ve spent the better part of two millennia searching for, unsuccessfully. I know what you need to unlock the next level of your power.”

He waved his hand, causing two chunks of ice to appear in the glass. Ruaidhri felt her heart contract and her stomach flip.

“A navaja,” she supplied, her voice sounding a little distant, even to her. “A folding knife.”

“A Spanish folding knife,” Gwythr corrected, pouring the second glass, “and your ren. Mallos has had it, all this time. A group among the originals determined that you could not be allowed to gain any more power lest you become a threat to our kind, and so he took your ren and hid it.” He looked up at her, holding a glass of whisky in each hand. “I assure you, Mallos won’t be coming back. All of his most valued possessions, including your ren, are now with his would-be widow.”

Slowly, Ruaidhri reached down and picked up the photograph of Nepenthe Kroneon, her heart pumping faster than usual. She didn’t even have to think about the decision. She tucked the photograph into the inside of her coat, plucked a pen from a pot on Allianah’s desk and added two extra zeroes to the end of the number Gwythr had written earlier. He accepted this with a broad smile and reached over to hand her the glass of whisky, which was cold to the touch but warm to the throat.

Gwythr flicked his whisky-free hand casually. A thick folder soared out from behind the desk and landed on top of it with a gentle thump. Ruaidhri set the whisky down and picked it up, flipping it open.

“This is hers?” She asked, impressed.

“Everything the Alliance knows about Nepenthe Kroneon is in that folder.” Gwythr confirmed. “And…” He flicked his hands again, causing several more folders to stack up on the desk. “In those you’ll find the all the information the Council has on the planet known as Shaman, its monarchy, and the known demigods that live there.” He swirled the whisky in the glass, visibly satisfied with himself. “I know how much you love reading.”

Ruaidhri thumbed through Kroneon’s folder, the promise of the hunt already quickening the blood in her veins. “Christmas,” she smiled, reaching over to chink her glass against Gwythr’s.


To be continued.

RUAIDHRI