The young woman suddenly stepped forward. “Hi,” she said, just a bit ungraciously. “I’m Stephanie Troy. I know who both of you are, of course. We’re happy to have you here with us on this auspicious occasion. The rebirth and regeneration of the White Horse Faction! It’s an honour to meet you, Molly Metcalf.”
Troy barely gave me a second look, but then, that was how it should be. Shaman Bond has a history with most supernatural organisations, usually as a supplier of information, but no reputation at all for getting personally involved in dangerous action. Unlike the infamous Molly Metcalf . . .
Stephanie Troy was tall and fashionably slender, and positively blazed with nervous energy. She had short-cropped honey blonde hair, flashing eyes, and a tightly pursed mouth. She wore a smart grey suit with sensible shoes, minimal makeup, and no jewellery. I was pretty sure she would consider such things distracting, and frivolous. This was a woman who had given herself to a cause, and everything and everyone else would always come second to that.
She darted forward and grabbed Molly firmly by the hand. Molly suffered her hand to be shook, and nodded amiably enough.
“Hi!” I said. “I’m Shaman Bond! Happy to be here; glad to help out.”
“I know who you are,” said Troy, reluctantly releasing Molly’s hand. “Your reputation precedes you.” She didn’t make that sound like a good thing. And she didn’t offer to shake my hand.
“I’m Phil Adams,” said the shortest member of the next generation. He stepped forward, shyly and deferentially, and made a point of shaking my hand as well as Molly’s.
He was barely medium height, far more than medium weight, with a constant little smile and an evasive gaze, wearing a baggy shapeless jersey over grubby blue jeans that looked like they’d been through several wars. His heavy boots were held together with two different-coloured sets of shoe-laces, along with a certain amount of knotted string. He wore his long mousey-coloured hair in untidy dreadlocks, and sported a stubbly and not particularly successful beard. He had a calm, easy manner, but didn’t seem to want to look directly at anyone. I’d seen his kind before. More at home with animals than people, he loved Nature so much there wasn’t a lot left in him for people. He would almost certainly turn out to be the heart and soul of the group, but he’d always leave it to the other two to do the talking.
The last one to come forward announced himself loudly as Joe Morrison. He was a big one, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, wearing a hooded jacket of indeterminate colour over designer jeans and cowboy boots. Given the way he moved, and the way he held himself, I got the feeling he was probably ex-military. Or at the very least, ex-bouncer. He looked like he would have enjoyed saying No trainers! and Your name’s not on the list. He was dark and not particularly handsome, and gave every indication of knowing and not giving a damn. He nodded to Molly, clearly pleased to see her, but just as clearly not as impressed by her reputation as the others. He glanced at me, and sniffed loudly.
“I did my research, once I knew you two would be here,” he said. “Everyone knows Molly Metcalf is the real deal, but I couldn’t get anyone to agree on what you are, Shaman. Have you ever believed in anything, I mean really believed, in your whole crooked life?”
“I believe in getting paid,” I said easily. “And Molly is paying me really good money to watch her back, while she’s here. What do you believe in, Joe Morrison?”
“I believe in protecting Nature, and Mother Earth,” said Morrison. In a way that suggested that hadn’t always been the case. There’s nothing more fervent and more dogmatic than a recent convert.
For a while, we all just stood there in the hallway, and looked each other over. These three may be the next-generation leaders of the White Horse Faction, but Molly and I were the only ones with real reputations. We’d actually done things. In the end, Troy nodded briskly to Molly, and favoured her with a brief smile.
“We’re really glad you’ve come back to the White Horse Faction, Molly. Your parents left a hell of a legacy. We admire their commitment, and revere their contributions, even though we have chosen to follow a different path. I’m sure we’ll have lots to discuss. What we decide here, in this place, will change the world.”
And then she looked at me. I smiled calmly back at her.
“I know,” I said. “I’m just a dilettante in all this, and I’ll never be a true believer. But as long as Molly is putting money in my pocket, you can depend on me.”
“To do what?” said Troy, bluntly. “What can you bring to the cause?”
“I can open doors for you,” I said. “I know people. I can make connections, get you whatever you need. For a very reasonable percentage, of course.”
“Parasite,” said Morrison. He gave Molly a hard look. “What’s he doing here? Is he your . . . significant other, these days?”
“Hardly,” I said smoothly. “Dear Molly’s just the boss lady. I am here . . . because this is a bad place. Which you’d know, if you’d done your research.”
“I wouldn’t have thought the infamous Molly Metcalf would need a bodyguard,” Adams said quietly, tugging reflectively at a dreadlock. “And didn’t I hear you were stepping out with a Drood these days, Molly?”
“A rogue Drood,” said Molly. “And I didn’t bring him, because if I had . . . you wouldn’t have dared turn up. My Eddie has left his very scary family, but I knew you wouldn’t be comfortable in his presence. That’s why I hired Shaman. We’re old colleagues.”
Troy was already shaking her head. “Our invitation was just for you. We are here to decide the final direction of the White Horse Faction—and the future of the whole world.”
“Just the three of you?” I said, innocently.
“We represent hundreds of supporters,” Adams said quietly. “Hundreds of cells, with thousands of fellow travellers, spread out across every country in the world. All of them dedicated to give their all in defence of Mother Earth. We will dictate policy, and our armies will carry it out.”
“Armies?” said Molly. “I thought it was all about non-violence, these days.”
“We have to use language the rest of the world will understand,” said Morrison. “We’re at war with all those who would pollute our waters and poison the air. Just because we don’t believe in violence, doesn’t mean we’ll shy away from open confrontation. We have to save the world while there’s still time.”
“And this meeting will decide how we’re going to do it,” said Troy.
“Occupy!” said Morrison, smiling for the first time. “Stand in the way. Place ourselves between the bad guys and their evil ways. Make it impossible for them to screw up our poor planet any more.”
“In a totally non-threatening, non-violent way, of course,” said Adams.
I didn’t smile. I approved of their sentiments, and admired their courage, but in my experience, the nail that sticks up most is the first to get hammered down.
“Who knows?” said Troy, smiling frostily in my direction. “When you’ve seen all the evidence, and heard all the arguments, perhaps we’ll convert you, Shaman.”