She turned to Jean-Pierre. “I think I know how we can do this.”
“I do not think I have the capacity to fold all these people out of here, all the performers, the animals. I am so sorry, but I know I do not.”
She smiled. “But I know someone who does.”
At that, he smiled as well. “Of course.”
With the shield around the building gone, she sent her telepathic thread streaking in the direction of the McDowell Mountains, to the white rotundas of Endelle’s palace.
She found Endelle in a split-self configuration, as the ruler of Second Earth hunted Greaves through the darkening.
Sorry to intrude, she sent. She could feel the disruption of the hunt and Endelle’s quick rage.
Fiona, what the fuck are you doing here and how the hell did you break through my security shields? Shit, I’m fucking dizzy. Don’t ever—
We have an emergency in Las Vegas. I need you here in about five seconds or half your High Administrators and their significant others will be vaporized at Dark Spectacle.
A very slight pause, then, Why the fuck didn’t you say so?
A moment later Endelle materialized right next to Fiona. She wore a long purple linen gown, which apparently she used while doing her darkening work. Of course the movement of air caused Jean-Pierre to crouch and draw his sword into his hand once more. At the sight of him, Endelle looked him up and down. “That’s a different take on a tux, just the pants. I like it.”
Fiona didn’t try to admonish Endelle. Instead, she just slid next to her mentally, shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip. Endelle’s vibration was so extraordinary, so powerful, that Fiona knew this would be the work of a second or two.
When she felt Endelle’s awareness of her, she explained about Marguerite’s warning and their current task. Take possession of me. Now.
Just like that?
Yes. Now. Do it so we can fold about twenty thousand people and a few hundred animals out of this place.
I don’t think I have that much power.
Fiona felt joy as she sent, But together, we do. Trust me.
As Fiona let all her restraint go, as she lowered her mental shields, as she gave herself to the possession of the toughest bitch on Second Earth, she felt obsidian flame lock into place.
Endelle, bless her, didn’t hesitate or question or argue. She simply took charge and the ride began. She grabbed Fiona’s hand and folded her to the large central platform in the center of the arena. Fiona lifted her free arm, Endelle lifted hers. Just as a rumbling began, as the explosion erupted, the gold rush of power flowed through her, combined with Endelle’s Third ability. Together they captured everyone, and all the animals, in the immediate vicinity. As one, they folded the crowd to the desert at the foot of the palace.
Hundreds of swans, geese, and ducks, disoriented by the sudden fold, took to the air, their trainers shortly afterward mounting their wings and taking off as well.
Fiona remained in her possessed state with Endelle, no longer afraid of joining her spirit to the power of another. She felt strangely free, the exact opposite of what she had expected. Instead of oppression, her heart felt light, her spirit buoyant as new possibilities opened themselves up to her. Could she make a difference in the war?
Everyone she knew asked that question. How can I make a difference in the war? How many times had she heard Jean-Pierre express this as the deepest wish of his heart? What if together they could make a difference? How tremendous would that be?
What next? Endelle sent.
I don’t know. Address the crowd? Fill them in?
What am I supposed to tell them?
Fiona took a moment to replay the Dark Spectacle event for Endelle, up to the point when Casimir put the entire audience in stasis. None of the High Administrators knows what really happened.
Okay. I get it now. Stasis … wow, that bastard has power. You should have killed him.
Marguerite was adamant and I trust her.
Fine. Whatever. I’ll take over from here.
Fiona separated from Endelle. The ruler of Second Earth looked down at her purple gown and clucked her tongue. She waved her hand and changed into a new ensemble.
“Oh, no,” Fiona murmured before she could catch herself.
Endelle grinned. “You no like?”
Fiona just stared at her, incredulous. She wore strange orange-feathered capri pants and a black leather bustier cut really low. Once more, she sported stilettos.
Fiona opened her mouth, then closed it.
There simply were no words.
But Endelle chucked her chin and whispered, “You need to have more fun.” Then she whirled into the air, levitating higher and higher until she could address the crowd in front of her.
Fiona was not surprised at the number of gasps that filled the air, and not because Endelle was levitating.
She began speaking of the event, of what had so recently been avoided. She had an excellent, strong voice as a public speaker and even used her arms expressively. There actually were times when she could function in her role. Sort of.
Fiona stepped away, shaking her head. The ruler of Second Earth was a conundrum in so many respects.
High Administrators began to move forward, creating an arc around her. Fiona remained close, but she noticed that Jean-Pierre, Santiago, and Zacharius all mounted their wings and took off to form a protective triangle around the crowd, hunting, as they were designed to do, for the sudden, unexpected presence of death vampires.
Of course, the frightened birds darted over the crowd, creating a lot of chaos. But the trainers were busy as well, drawing the swans and geese, one by one, under their control.
Fiona remained near Madame Endelle.
And she smiled.
Jean-Pierre hovered in the air to the north of the crowd, his wings moving slowly. He listed left then right, his gaze shifting back and forth over the crowd, then around him as he turned in a slow circle. His wings moved in concert with his thoughts, making infinitesimal adjustments to keep him thirty feet in the air and pivoting so that he could watch the crowd and scan the skies.
He slipped his warrior phone from his battle kilt and swiped his thumb over the front.
“Jeannie here. How can I help?”
“Jeannie, would you send Thorne to my position as soon as possible, when he has a break in the fighting?”
“You got it. Hey, I didn’t think Dark Spectacle would be over this early—and what are you doing near the palace?”
“Move the grid to the McDowells.”
He heard tapping, then, “Holy shit. It’s lit up with more power signatures than I’ve ever seen. What’s going on? Death vampires?”
Jean-Pierre explained in a few brief sentences. By the end, Jeannie whistled. “No shit. Wow. Okay, sounds like I have a few calls to make. I’ll let Thorne know. Seriffe covered three of the Borderlands with Militia Warriors. I’ll contact him as well, and get some warriors over there.”
“How are the Thunder God Warriors doing?”
“You know, I like that you’re using their nickname. But they’re doing great. They really are. No mortalities, and only one skin burn.”
“That is good, very good. Bon.” Except his stomach tightened at the thought of Militia Warriors battling the usual number of death vampires that entered the Trough at night, all during the night. And it was very early still, not even nine o’clock.
“I’ll give everyone a shout, update the brothers, and I’ll get Thorne to you ASAP.”
“Merci, Jeannie.”
He thought he heard her sigh, that soft feminine lilt. Women seemed to like his French accent. He smiled as he slid his phone back in his pocket.
A moment later, not even ten seconds, he felt a powerful vibration beneath him. He drew in his wings to close-mount, folded his sword into his hand, and aimed at a spot next to whatever entity was folding so close to the crowds.
Fortunately, it was Thorne.
Jean-Pierre touched down.
“Tell me everything. Holy fuck, how many people are here and why don’t the trainers have command of all the swans yet?” His gaze was fixed into the dark night sky. As if on cue, one out-of-control goose buzzed the crowd from the south heading straight in their direction.
A roll of cries came out of the crowd where the poor creature, wild-eyed, searched for a piece of normalcy. Jean-Pierre held his arm out in the shape of a crook, something he had seen the trainers do hundreds of times over the decades. For whatever reason, the goose dove toward him, flapping his arms wildly but settling his big body in that crook. He was a heavy, muscular bird and his heart beat like it would soon burst.
“What the fuck,” Thorne muttered.
“Ça va, ça va,” Jean-Pierre whispered. He stroked the bird’s chest. The goose let out one serious huff and settled down, breathing hard.
“What are you now, the bird-master?”
Jean-Pierre shrugged but smiled. “He has gone through a trauma. Most animals never glide through nether-space. Is not that so, mon petit?”
“Jesus,” Thorne muttered.
A moment later one of the trainers flew close, touched down, then called softly to the bird. The goose turned toward the trainer and dipped his neck.
The trainer very gently took the goose from Jean-Pierre’s arm. “Thank you, duhuro.”
Jean-Pierre almost opened his mouth to refute the ancient, extremely respectful form of address, but he bit his tongue then said, “Of course. They are very frightened right now.”
Thorne scowled. He had blood spatter across the bare portions of his chest and arms, as well as the black leather weapons harness. “What the hell kind of circus is this anyway? I guess you’d better tell me what happened.”
Jean-Pierre related the details, including the point at which Marguerite issued her warning about the need to keep Casimir alive.
Thorne’s eyes flared at the mention of Marguerite and his lips tightened into a grim line; beyond that he just listened. At the end, he glanced in Endelle’s direction.
Jean-Pierre also turned. Fiona stood well back from her. He didn’t like that she was in the shadows and suddenly the hairs on the nape of his neck stood up. “Shit,” he murmured.