Chapter 11

I stand in the center of a square of immortal soldiers, each wielding a shockstick shield and one of those spears. Caleb and Caspian are beside me, and Andreas is in front, outside the square. We're on the Manhattan side of a bridge, midtown, west side. There's a ward on this side, erected by yours truly. On the far end of the bridge, mortals gather. They're uniformed in basic camo, wearing body armor and wielding assault rifles. About a dozen, perhaps, milling around and waiting. A moment or two later, a huge Humvee arrives, and a figure unfolds from the rear. The soldiers swarm into formation.

I drop the ward and nod at Andreas. He gives no verbal command, just marches forward and the formation around me follows in perfect synch. I move with them, casting a shield around us. Our soldiers notice, glancing at me gratefully. Opposite, Bridgestone and his men move forward as well.

We meet in the middle. Andreas halts and steps aside, putting his back to the railing. The box around me flows to either side, becoming a corridor— Bridgestone's men do the same. I pull the shield inward, so it forms a barrier between the mortals and our men and then step forward to where our forces meet.

Nathaniel Bridgestone is exactly as I pictured him, mentally. Tall, broad-shouldered, heavy-set—a man who was once a powerhouse but for whom age has taken a toll. His hair is graying and thin, cropped close on top and shaved to the skin on the sides. He's clean-shaven and wears combat fatigues—the hems of his trousers are tucked into his boots and bloused. A sidearm is holstered to his thigh, a long combat knife on the other side. His eyes are hidden behind mirrored aviators. He's tanned and leathery, hard-faced, exuding cold authority.

"General Bridgestone," I say, nodding at him. "Well met."

He spits on the ground at my feet. "Freak bitch. You're the one calling herself the queen of immortals or some shit, ain'tcha?"

I sigh. "Your reputation precedes you, accurately," I say. "A foul-mouthed bigot."

"You called the meeting, freak bitch. What the fuck do you want? Surrender? I accept. All of your freaks can report to the Barclay's Center. You'll be counted and registered, and you'll stay there until you can be relocated to an immortal internment camp."

I stare at him. "Leave the island. Give us Manhattan. There's no reason to fight. We're not freaks. We are not interested in war, General Bridgestone. We want equal treatment. We want to be left alone."

"Give you Manhattan?" he repeats and then bursts into raucous laughter. "Just like that, you want us to just concede all of Manhattan to you fuckin' freaks? So you can, what? Turn all the poor innocent mortals on the island into frogs and eat us?"

It's my turn to laugh. "Seriously, where did you people get the idea that anyone is turning anyone into frogs ? It's ridiculous. You sound like a moron. Even if I could turn you or anyone into a frog, which, as far as I know, I cannot, I don't eat frogs, General."

He stares at me—I feel his gaze like creepy fingers on my skin. "If you're not here to surrender, there ain't' shit to talk about. I am not conceding one single square inch of mortal territory to you freaks, mutants, and abominations. Our way of life, our cities, our people. You fuckin' filthy savages don't belong in our world. You never have, and you never will."

"The funny thing, Nathaniel, is that we've always been a part of your world— our world. We are every bit as human as you. We are not freaks, mutants, abominations, or savages. You, Nathaniel, are the savage. You and all your bigoted ilk." I wrap myself in a thick, dense shield like a cloak and step toward him, nose to nose. He stinks of body odor and cigarettes. "You have no clue what you face, Nathaniel. You will surrender. You will concede the island."

His hand drops to his gun. I see it but don't flinch.

"Draw it, Nathaniel. You fear me. And you should."

I feel Andreas getting nervous.

"I don't fear no freak bitch. Especially not a white-haired child like you. I'll squash you and your whole mutant army like bugs."

Anger bubbles inside me. Rages. Boils.

Calm, Maeve. Don't do anything rash. Caleb, in my mind.

We don't need a fight here on the bridge, my love . Caspian, too.

I ignore them.

Consider my options. End the meeting and go back to the island—the logical, safe, wise choice.

Or, give in to my rage and make a point. Irresponsible, rash, and foolish.

I draw prana, and my eyes flash. Bridgestone draws his pistol with remarkable speed, the barrel inches from my skull.

I grin. "Cute." I reach up, put my index finger over the hole of the barrel, and send prana into the metal. Bit by bit, I melt the insides. He doesn't feel it at first, but then the barrel and slide begin to glow a dull orange-red.

He squeezes the trigger—click, click. "The fuck?" He turns the gun sideways, staring at it in confusion, and then drops it with a hiss as the handle burns his palms.

Lances of prana lash out of me and swirl around each of the rifles held by Bridgstone's guard squad. They drop them with shouts of pain—those, I merely heated the outsides.

One of the mortal soldiers draws a pistol from his hip and levels it at me.

"Hold," I murmur to the men around me. "Do nothing."

I just stare at the man and his wobbling, wavering pistol. "Go ahead." I hold up my hands, arms out, palms up. "Shoot."

BLAM!

The round halts an inch from my face as if caught in invisible jelly. I pluck it, holding the shooter's gaze, and send prana into the round. It melts, dripping to the surface of the bridge, where it cools and hardens into a puddle of metal.

I turn my attention back to Bridgestone, who does look a little green around the gills. "I am the Once-Mortal Queen, the WorldBreaker. I do not want war, Nathaniel Bridgestone. But neither will I allow my people to be treated worse than cattle. If you bring war, it is war you shall get." I flip my hand at him, chin high, eyes blazing with anger. "You are dismissed, mortal."

I draw a line across the bridge from one side to the other with my finger in a single sharp, fast swipe. Prana ignites into a wall of white fire, heatless and harmless—but they don't know that. They stagger backward with cries of fear, shoving Bridgestone ahead of them as they scurry back to their side of the bridge.

I watch them go for a moment and then turn on my heel and stomp back to Manhattan, fury boiling in my veins. "I should have turned him into a frog," I snap. I glance at Andreas, trailing a bit. "I assume it is possible."

He shrugs. "Probably. Temporarily, maybe." He sighs. "I'm not sure that little display helped the cause much, Maeve."

I snort. "Against a man like that, there is only one recourse—winning. You said it and you were right. But I had to see for myself before I committed my people to further violence. But now, yes. We fight." I stop so Andreas can catch up, and I hold his gaze. "We fight, and we do not fight fair. We do not harm innocents, and we do not commit the type of war crimes I assume they will. But we use every tool and tactic at our disposal. We fight for the Immortal Enclave, and we show no quarter."

Andreas is silent for a moment. "As you command."

"You disagree?"

He shakes his head. "I do not."

"Then let us plan our next move." I move forward once more. "But first, I need to see more of the city. What we have to work with. How many immortals do we have and what kind, what manner of arms and what equipment? How many mortals are in our controlled territory? Do they wish to flee to mortal-controlled areas? What is life like for non-combatants? If we're going to make this a true self-sustaining Enclave, we have to start setting that up now. What do we need?"

Andreas shakes his head. "I don't have answers for many of those questions at this time. We have roughly fifteen thousand immortals at last count, fairly equally divided between the three races. I have no idea how many mortals. We do have immortals joining us every day. Some mortals flee, some stay."

We walk down the middle of the road, heading east. Towers and apartments and offices rise to create canyons of glass all around, reflecting the early morning sun—we arrived last night and got settled into our quarters—a former corner office once occupied by some wealthy mortal executive. A large bed occupies the middle with a couch opposite. The glass facing the hallway can be turned opaque at the touch of a button to afford privacy. The windows overlook Manhattan—a stunning view. Smoke rises in a few places here and there in the distance.

At ground level, where we are, things are more dire. Trash is piled up on the curb, mounds and mountains of stinking refuse crawling with ants, rats, pigeons, and gulls. I see faces in windows, but most windows are dark, hinting at a lack of electricity.

I glance at Andreas again. "Where does the island stand in terms of electricity, gasoline, food, plumbing, all that? Trash is not being collected."

Andreas scrapes a hand through his hair. "I don't know , Maeve. I've been focused on building, funding, and organizing an army and keeping Bridgestone and the Federation at bay. I haven't had time to think about infrastructure. And for that matter, I'm a soldier, not a politician. You want me to be your commanding general? I'm your man. Running the city? You need someone else."

"Fair enough. In that case, we'll need to find someone suitable for the job."

Andreas's walkie-talkie squawks, then. "Andreas, HQ."

He keys the device. "Go for Andreas."

"We have a visitor. Several of them."

"Okay?" He pauses, waiting. "And? Who? How many? What do they want? Why are you telling me?"

"Leader is an elder fae. Calls himself Elias. He's looking for you."

I stop walking. "Elias?"

Andreas glances at me. "We'll be there ASAP."

We pile into the pickups we took here—once for Andreas, Caspian, Caleb, and me, and another for the guards.

A few minutes later, we're parking in the underground garage and jogging up the stairs. Andreas leads the way through the maze of identical hallways to a conference room. The door is warded from the outside—the ward extends on either side of the door to cover the floor-to-ceiling windows. Andreas deftly unlocks the ward with practiced ease and precedes me into the conference room.

Seated at the head of the table is Elias, my grandfather—tall, lean, narrow-shouldered, graying hair that's gone a bit shaggy from its usual neat, clipped, classic side part. His jaw is shaded by silver stubble. He's wearing faded blue jeans and a black polo—as casually dressed as I've ever seen him. Usually, he wears a full three-piece suit.

He sees me enter behind Andreas and shoots to his feet, eyes lighting up as he hurries to me.

"Maeve! By the gods and blood, you look well! And you're here!" He wraps me in a hug before I can get a word in—I go stiff for a moment, unused to being hugged, and then I relax into the embrace, wrapping my arms around his middle and hugging him back.

"Aeldfar. You're here." I ease back and glance at the table. "With companions."

He smiles at me. "I'm here. I tracked down Andreas, as you requested, but I see you found him first." He indicates the four fae males, one vampire female, and one male shifter arranged around the table. "These are the elders of the Blood and loyal to you. Outside of the former members of the Tribunal, they are the eldest." He gestures at each in turn as he names them. "Arcturus, a Roman, and an expert in wards; Gaius, of a Germanic tribe I've forgotten the name of, and a tactician without peer; Hector, Athenian, a peer of Plato, and a battle-magic master; and Kanatase, a Mohawk warrior, chief, and a close, personal friend of mine from another life." He gestures at the vampire. "Elena, origin unknown to me, a master of shadows." The shifter, last. "Matthias, an Alpha Prime, and the only wolverine shifter I've ever heard of, from central Europe somewhere."

Arcturus is on the shorter side, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, with jet black hair graying at the temples, his face lined and weathered and leathery. Gaius is huge, a muscular man with a generous layer of padding that does nothing to hide the mammoth strength of his frame, with blond hair in a double braid down his back and a long braided beard, both shot through with silver. Kanatase is tall and lean, clean-shaven with no sign of stubble, long black hair braided down his back, sharp-featured and hawk-eyed. Hector is medium height and trim, visibly the oldest, wearing a neat, short silver patrician beard and short, neatly parted hair. Elena is short, slender, and pale—unblooded, with blacked-out eyes and a hard, roving expression that takes in everything and gives out nothing. Matthias is built like the animal he turns into: short, powerfully built, with impossibly broad shoulders and huge arms, massive hands, thick forearms, brown hair left messy, and a shaggy, unkempt beard.

Elias drops to one knee in front of me. "At your service, my queen."

Chairs squeak, and a moment later, all six elder immortals are kneeling in front of me, rayed out behind Elias, heads bowed.

"Rise." I feel like an imposter, as always, speaking that way to immortals who are hundreds if not thousands of years older than me. "Let us sit and discuss the situation," I say. "I'd like everyone's input so we can plan accordingly."

We all find seats around the table; I notice Andreas sits far from Elias.

"The Mortal Federation is a powerful enemy," Elias says. "We did some recon on the way in, and they have a lot of men, a lot of vehicles, and a lot of weapons. And Nathaniel Bridgetone, as reprehensible as he is, is an excellent commander with battlefield experience in Iraq and Afghanistan. Controlling the bridges is key, obviously, to controlling Manhattan." He glances at Andreas. "I know we've had our differences, Andreas, and I know I cannot expect you to forget what I've done—I do not ask you to. Nor do I ask for forgiveness—the only one who could forgive me is my daughter. She is gone, and that's something I have to live with." He exhales slowly. "If you have anything to say to me on that score, say it now. I have nothing to hide."

Andreas is silent for a long time, staring at Elias. "I spent a long time hating you. Once upon a time, if I'd been in the same room with you as I am now, I'd have killed you. Or tried, at least; I admit I'm not sure I could, magic to magic, and I'd not like to test it. I've moved on. What's done is done. I'll never like you. I'll never be your friend. But I recognize the impossible position you were in, and I recognize that your decision did lead to Maeve, who I believe will save us all. As do you, unless I miss my guess." He spreads his hands out, shrugging. "We do not have time for grudges. All our resources must be bent toward defeating Bridgestone and establishing Manhattan as a safe haven for Immortals—we're calling it the Immortal Enclave."

Elias nods. "If you can put the past behind us, then we can work together as professionals. Agreed?"

Andreas nods. "Agreed."

Elias lets out a breath as if a weight has been lifted. "Now. You've done a remarkable job here, Andreas. The army you've built is admirable, and you've done well holding territory against a foe who is superior in several ways. But with Maeve being here, having brought her own small force, and now that I and my friends are here, I think we can make even more progress."

"I have named Andreas commander-in-chief. He reports to me, and you all report to him." I scan the faces for signs of disgruntlement but see none. "Gaius, as a tactician, I think you're best utilized as Andreas's second-in-command. Andreas?"

Andreas nods. "I've heard and read of your exploits against the Roman armies. It is my honor to fight alongside you, Gaius."

Gaius nods once. "I know you too, Andreas. Your stand against the Ottomans at the Battle of Dervenakia is legendary."

Andreas seems uncomfortable. "I did not stand alone. But I thank you, Gaius."

Arcturus taps the table with a thick finger. "I saw some decent wards at the bridges, but they can be improved. Wards can be an excellent offensive weapon as well, especially against mortals."

I smile at him. "Wonderful, thank you. I must rely on all of you—your wisdom and experience are without parallel."

Elias indicates Hector and Kanatase. "They will be invaluable in the coming battle. Being outnumbered and facing superior war technology, we are committed to guerilla warfare. We simply cannot win in a head-to-head slugging contest. Man to man, being immortal, we are superior. But in this age of tanks, machine guns, and grenades, that edge is significantly reduced."

"I'll leave the strategy to those whose province it is. One thing that must be understood, however, is that I am not a figurehead. I will lead our people into battle. It is how I am most effective. I'll leave strategy decisions to the generals, but I will not be told I am more valuable behind the lines. Are we understood on that score?" Everyone assents. "Next. Infrastructure."

Elias frowns. "Meaning?"

I wave a hand at the window. "We have to think beyond battles, Aeldfar. We have to operate on the assumption that we will win, and when we do, we will need things in place here to make this city livable. The central government seems likely to topple completely sooner than later—I have no interest in trying to rule a whole country. I will not be the queen of America, so if anyone is harboring secret notions of installing me as a puppet or some such nonsense, let it go now. My idea is for Manhattan, as the Immortal Enclave, to set a precedent for how mortals and immortals can live together. For how we can establish a city that can provide something like the comforts of civilization we are all used to." I point overhead. "We have lights. We have plumbing. But not everyone out there does—the power grid is spotty at best, from what I've seen. I assume the same is true for most services—people need toilets to flush, lights that turn on, and ways to communicate. Without the systems in place that have run these things for, well, ever, we will need to come up with alternate solutions." I look at Elias. "I'd like to task you, Aedlfar, with that problem. Provide services for the people of the Enclave. Trash collection and what we do with it. Electricity. Plumbing. Food production. We have to be self-sustainable. How do we get there once we have driven Bridgestone and his band of bigots off the island?"

Elias frowns thoughtfully. "That is quite a task, granddaughter."

I nod. "It is. But if anyone is equal to it, it's you. You solved immortal reproduction, after all."

Pain crosses his face. "But what a cost," he murmurs. "You honor me, Maeve. I will see it done. Do you have any ideas or thoughts?"

I shrug. "I mean, not specifically. But if we can glamour a spear to produce a laser bolt," I gesture at Andreas, "then we can surely find ways of merging magic and technology to create necessary services. Power stations, for example. Surely there are power generation stations of some sort in Manhattan? How can we use glamours to make them work after the larger grid goes down? How can we use magic to deal with trash? As for food production, I know in many cities, urban gardening has gained a lot of traction. And now that there will be far, far fewer people living here, we can utilize the vertical space to grow food—again, using magic to bridge any gaps. I know nothing about growing food, but out there we have people who lived much of their lives doing exactly that—all of you who lived in the time before the industrial revolution and modern food production standards can lend your knowledge to this. Rooftop gardens, vacant lots. We can even consider demolishing unused buildings to make room for larger plots. We are going to have to be creative—and just like the world is watching how we deal with the Mortal Federation, they'll be watching what we do after."

Elias regards me with a small, soft smile. "You have grown in wisdom since I met you in that cell below the mountain, my dear." He slaps the table. "I have some ideas where to begin." He glances at Andreas. "I'll need some introductions and some manpower. People with engineering experience and education and others with magical talents. A small task force to start researching."

Andreas nods thoughtfully. Keys his mic. "Zeke? Andreas, over."

"Go for Zeke."

"Find me twenty people. Engineers, glamourworkers, builders, especially people with knowledge of utility infrastructure—put out the call among mortals, as well."

"Yes, commander. I'll have a list for you in twenty-four hours."

"They'll be working with Elias Sparrow, creating a working infrastructure system. Emphasize how important the job is."

"Understood."

The door to the conference room bursts open, and a sweaty, red-faced young woman with ginger hair and freckles skids in. "Andreas! We're under attack. Federation forces are at the Kennedy bridge. We have a small force there, but the ward won't hold for long."

Andreas bolts to his feet, sending the rolling office chair hurtling backward into the wall. "Time to find out how our new leadership works together." He works a quick glamour with experience of long practice and speaks into his index finger as if it were a microphone. "AOMQ forces, all hands. Bridge attack. Repeat, bridge attack. Battle stations, all hands." He glances at me. "Coming, battle queen?"

Caleb draws a knife from his pocket, a small folding knife, and drags it across his palm. "Blood armor."

I draw his blood to me and coat myself with it, over my clothes, forming the skin-tight blood armor I wore under the mountain.

Elena, the vampire, whistles. "A neat trick, my lady. Does it provide protection?"

I grin. "You're about to find out."