Chapter 12

Returning to New Orleans was bittersweet this time. I had felt a connection with the land of my husband, and I'd enjoyed yet another mini-honeymoon with him. However, being the officially presented heir and being tour guide for my friends and mother was exhausting.

When we stepped through the gate from Elphame to our human-world home city, we paused at Beatrice's estate long enough to deliver my mother there. Jesse and Christy stopped by his mother's home in the Outs, which left Sera and Allie in the car with Eli and me.

"It's not so bad there, is it?" Allie asked Sera. They were both in the backseat of the car we were using. It was modified for fae, of course, but much more spacious than Eli's convertible.

Sera smiled. "It's beautiful."

I'd seen her dancing with one of the fae guards she'd met over the summer. And more than once, I saw them walk away together. Allie, on the other hand, was all but chasing the king away with a rolled-up newspaper. Two of my friends seemed liable to be enmeshed with fae, although neither one quite understood how serious their flirtations were.

"You know, Sera, often the fae select their mates based on weighing criteria that only they know." I tried to stare at Allie as I said it. "Eli chose to marry me years ago. He waited and waited, carefully getting closer . . ."

"True." He reached over to the passenger seat and squeezed my leg. "Worth the wait."

Allie perked up. "Well, I think that's just sweet. Patience and all . . . I can't believe how oblivious you must've been."

I opened my mouth to point out that this was kettle-pot statement because she was somehow not catching on that the King of Elphame had her in his sights. No words came. Just a garbled noise as if I was choking. The peril of the faery bargain with Marcus was that I literally couldn't comment.

"Allie . . ." Sera started. "The king looks at you like Eli looks at Gen."

Allie looked at Sera like she was a swamp rat with a piece of trash. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because Gen seems to choke when she tries," Sera said, watching me. "Something is preventing her from speaking clearly. Roisin says that's what happens if there's a bargain."

Allie looked between us like Eli and I were betrayers or like Sera was a mad woman.

"Some traditions are magically binding, Alice." Eli shrugged, but he squeezed my knee in a way that I knew meant ‘it's fine.'

I was, obviously, frustrated that I couldn't say anything, but at least Allie had a bit of a clue now.

"Well, that devious bastard . . ." Allie muttered.

And finally, I exhaled. Marcus might've led her on a bit of a con, but now that Allie knew his intentions, I almost felt sorry for him.

Testing the boundaries of the faery bargain, I said, "Poor Marcus."

Allie gave me a look that could strike fear into seasoned warriors but all she said was, "I'll be needing a bit of a holiday boss. I'll let you know when."

"Oh?"

"Mmmhmm," she said. "I'm overdue for a trip home to Tennessee."

Eli flinched a little, maybe in empathy for his uncle or maybe at the knowledge that an angry Alice was a terrifying thing to ponder.

"Wedding first," Sera pointed out.

"Of course!" Allie leaned back in her seat.

Prim and proper expression back in place, Alice Chaddock could pass for a sweet Southern lady in that moment. Butter wouldn't even melt in her mouth.

And in that instant, any hope I had of Eli avoiding the throne because his uncle would marry and have a child vanished. The King of Elphame had no idea what he'd sparked when he pissed off Allie. I couldn't imagine her forgiving him and marrying him.

Any thoughtI had of the king or Alice or anything else faded as we neared the cathedral. The entire block was filled with tourists. It was like Mardi Gras met Superbowl met Halloween.

"What in the name of sweet baby Jesus is that?" Allie gestured to an effigy that I suspected was to be me because of the garish witch's mask and blue wig. The thing was strapped to a crude post on the street corner. Wood was piled all around it, and what appeared to be tailgaters with coolers were hooting and hollering like it was a pre-game party.

"I think they're . . ." Sera glared out the window. "They're planning to burn you at the stake."

"Well, ‘Die Witch Bitch' isn't the cleverest slogan I've ever—"

"Bonbon." Eli interrupted, as he pulled the car to the side of the street to watch the madness. "I do not find this amusing."

The truth was that I didn't either. I felt several dead presences in the crowd, draugr who undoubtedly were not sanctioned to be there by the reigning queen—who was, incidentally, hosting my wedding at her home.

I let my grave magic roll out, feeling the age of the enemies stoking the hate. No one under two centuries.

As I realized that the fervor was being stoked by political enemies of my grandmother's, my temper slipped a bit more.

"Do you trust me?" I asked.

"Always," Eli answered.

I reached over and kissed him. "I shall see you at the wedding tomorrow. . . or before. Take my bridesmaids home?"

Eli nodded. He obviously could fight, and if I needed him, he would come. Being a few blocks away would be better right now though. I let my grave magic rise up, settle into my bones and skin.

"If you need me—"

"I always need you," I reminded him. "But there are times when your fae energy does not like what I will do."

Sera interjected, "Gen, maybe you could talk to them. . ."

"Hate doesn't listen to words." Eli looked back at her. "SAFARI exists to bring death to fae and draugr. And SAFARI is either involved or behind th—"

"Draugr,"I interrupted, gesturing toward the pockets of dead that I could feel in the crowd.

"For fucking real?" Allie said.

Eli laughed. "I would feel terrible for my uncle if he didn't create his own bed, as you say."

"Made your bed, lie in in it, Prince Eli. That's the phrase. But that man would be so lucky as to lie in a bed with the likes of me," Allie muttered. Then louder, she added, "We'll be at the house, Boss. Go give ‘em hell."

"Try talking to them, at least," Sera asked, grabbing my arm.

"That's the plan," I told them both as I got out of the car and grabbed my sword and dagger from the trunk.

Sharp things. Never go anywhere without them.

As soon as my beloved and my friends were a block away, I had sheathed my weapons and untethered the grave magic that wanted to be released. It felt like a monsoon surging through a hose. Too much. Too forceful. A part of my mind whispered that my own magic would tear me apart.

Another part stretched like a fighter about to get a little exercise after a dull season.

Come out, come out, wherever you are. I summoned the dead, felt them knit bone and flesh together. Heard their voices as one loud symphony in my mind.

"To me." I spoke the words into the air, let magic whip my order across the city.

No part of me was fae in this moment.

No part of me was human.

I was Death Magic given form, and this was my city that had been invaded. I strode across the street toward their signs and crude mockery of me. This was hate and ignorance. This was fear whipped into violence. And I had no fucking time for it.

"Do you follow the dead so eagerly?" I said, projecting my voice as I swung up into a balcony on one of the historic homes that had been preserved well.

"It's her!"

"Death to witches!"

"Burn her!"

"You would come to my city with violence at the behest of draugr?" I called out. At the same time, I summoned the draugr there to me.

I wasn't sure how many of them I could beckon with will and magic while I was raising the dead, but no time like the present to test my limits, right?

One fanger, the youngest, all but threw himself at my feet.

"Well, don't you look human," I murmured. Louder, I ordered, "Teeth. In fact show them what you were like before you were leashed."

And he flashed fang like a child on Halloween.

Then promptly started hissing, slobbering, and generally acting like a newborn fanger.

Apparently, my magic went a little too far. Oops.

Tourists screamed, and more than a few took pictures . . . because of course, they did. Social media was its own sort of monster. Why fear death right here hissing and growling if you could pause to photograph it for your feed?

Elsewhere in the crowd, my magic pressed the same command on the other draugr.

The eldest of the lot flowed to stand in front of me. She was dressed like a Viking playing dress-up as a Goth. An awkward mix of fur and leather and jewelry on a fighter's body that ought to be holding a sword, not a metal chair.

I guess violence is the mother of improvisation or something like that. . .

She swung the folding camp chair at me like it was a bludgeon.

"Stop it." She smacked it into a tourist who went flopping into another, and in short order, we had a riot on our hands as well as an angry dead lady with a camp chair.

"I feel you in my head," she complained, rubbing her temple.

I snorted. "You won't be feeling your head on your dumb shit shoulders if you don't turn around and get out of my city."

"Your city?"

"Mine to protect."

Another older dead-dude showed up then, flowing up to her side. This one had a golf club.

"Seriously?" I almost regretted drawing a sword, but talking wasn't getting anywhere.

I gave talking one last try, though, and said, "Get out of my city. Don't make trouble for me or Beatrice, and I'll let you keep your heads."

"Your days are limited, child," the golfclub-swinging draugr said. "You—"

He stopped talking as my sword sliced through his vocal cords.

Then my army of the dead arrived. Before me and all around us were literal walking corpses that had been knitted together in their moldering graves to do my bidding.

"Remove them from my city unless they swear loyalty to me," I ordered my undead army.

I felt another dead presence to my side and turned, expecting to find one of the other draugr.

Instead, there stood Iggy. "Hello, Hexen."

"Take a number, Iggy." I was unexpectedly impressed as a third dead guy appeared and took up the golf club like it was a rapier. He actually took a fencing stance and motioned me forward.

"I swear, some people think that just because I'm a witch I'm going to be a shit swordfighter." I was more longsword or singlehander than rapier, which was suited for thrusts not slicing and thrusting like a longsword. "I don't have time for this. I need to sit through a manicure yet."

"A manicure?" Iggy said as he watched me fence with the draugr.

"Wedding tomorrow," I called to him. "You aren't invited."

Iggy sighed and with a gesture, the draugr froze. Literally. He was encased in ice. "Fix that, Miss Crowe."

I beheaded the fencer and strode into the crowd hunting the other three draugr. Even if they weren't starting a hate-Gen party, they were obviously not great people—even by my slightly laxer standards for dead folk these days.

"You are a vexing creature," Iggy pronounced as he walked at my side. "I try to offer you shelter and safety, and you chose this . . ." He paused, drew a knife from his hip and hurled it into the throat of a draugr mid-flow.

I was reluctantly impressed.

"You choose a melee over the sanctuary I offered you," Iggy continued, dodging a pair of 17th century corpses dragging a literal sack of yelling tourists away.

"Leave them at the gate, please!" I called to my army.

Then I turned back to Iggy.

"I'm just tidying up." I motioned to the chaos. "I don't want the monsters—human or draugr —running around starting shit on my wedding day."

The formerly-dead Hexen Master frowned. "In my day, we kept women safe. Perhaps not dead women like Beatrice, but aside from her, women knew that they were to stay safely locked away while men sorted out the conflicts."

I paused. "That's why you kidnapped me? To keep me safe?"

"I'd heard rumors of this"—he gestured at the chaos around us—"and I wanted to keep you free from harm, talk to you about training, explain the dangers of Chester and . . . well, I do enjoy your company. I had thought that perhaps you would be receptive."

I stared at him.

"It is not an impossible hope," Iggy said, sounding far too sure of himself for someone I had exactly zero interest in as anything other than a magical mentor.

"Bite by freckled fanny," I grumbled.

Then I flowed away, forgetting for a moment about the cameras everywhere.

"Oh Hexen," Iggy called.

Then with a snap of his figures, lightning flickered around in a beautiful web to various phones and cameras. People dropped suddenly hot electronics, circuitry fried.

"Blessed nuptials," Iggy said as he strolled past me a few moments later. "You obstreperous woman."