Realizing she’d been sidetracked for nearly an hour, she dropped Windwolf from her search words and added Prince True Flame. She found a mother lode of recordings from the black willow fight on the North Side. Apparently her failed attempt to stop the black willow had given people time to get into position with cameras. From the various recordings, she was able to assemble a composite of the fight. Annoyingly, the black willow (which had tried to eat her) instantly seemed to recognize it was outpowered and retreated as the prince blasted it into cinders. The increasing distance between the tree and the domana gave Tinker the vectors she needed to determine how the prince controlled the fire-strike spell. None of the cameras, however, had caught the prince putting up his very cool fire shield.
She flopped back onto the blanket and held her hands up to the sky, studying her splayed fingers. So much potential locked away from her. So far she had only figured out the Stone Clan shield spell and one Fire Clan attack spell — in theory — and she wasn’t even sure she could tap the Fire Clan Spell Stones.
“The Fire Clan esva is combined with the Wind’s at Aum Renau?” she asked the sky.
“Yes, they are.” Pony’s voice was level and calm despite the fact that he was fending off Little Egret, Rainlily, and Cloudwalker. “Cover!”
Tinker glanced over and watched as Pony whirled back as Stormsong slid into his place, graceful and strong, blocking attacks with her practice sword. They were as beautiful to watch as dancers. They were all smiling widely; they loved to fight, even just each other.
Stormsong took up the discussion. “The first thing we did when we arrived in the Westernlands was set up the stones for both esva at Aum Renau. We slept that winter among the stones, warmed by their heat and protected by their shields.”
The stones generated a constant shield that could shrug off a nuclear bomb. From what she understood, the shield not only protected the stones but also acted as a safety valve on the massive pool of magic under the stones, bleeding off excess power when the stones weren’t being tapped.
“And the Fire esva is keyed to Fire Clan, not Wind?”
“Windwolf can use both esva,” Stormsong said. “Since he used himself as a blueprint when he transformed you from human to elf, you will most likely be able to use the Fire esva once you’ve been trained.”
Tinker considered her hands again.
Windwolf’s mother was Fire Clan and his father was Wind Clan. Of their ten children, Windwolf was the only one that could use both esva. Tinker knew enough about genetics to know that nature flipped a coin when a child was conceived. Heads, the child had the Fire Clan blond hair. Tails, the child had the Wind Clan black. How did Windwolf get both esva? Was this like blood type, where you could have AB blood from an A blood-type mother and a B blood-type father? That didn’t seem right, though, since if that were the case, statistically half of Windwolf’s siblings would have had both esva.
It wasn’t simply that the gene was recessive. There was no way that it could be and Tinker still have access to the Stone Clan esva. It had been half a dozen generations since her elfin ancestor was trapped on Earth and married a human. If the key was recessive, it would have been bred out along with the immortal lifespan, pointed ears, and almond-shaped eyes.
She was aware of movement, and suddenly she was bracketed by Pony and Stormsong in full Shield mode. “What’s wrong?”
Lemonseed was Windwolf’s majordomo and thus head of the housekeeping staff (embarrassingly enough, Tinker had thought she was just a very bossy cook for the longest time.) Nine thousand years had made her infinitely patient. She waited a few feet away, hands folded over her stomach in a manner that Tinker had learned meant that someone was here on official business. “Ginger Wine would like to speak with you.”
“Sure.” Tinker sat up.
Only recently had Tinker started to learn how to identify castes on sight. What she always considered as “high caste” was actually nivasa-caste. They had been bred by the Skin Clan to be elegant, beautiful, and empathic in nature; they used their gifts to run the enclaves as long-stay hotels. Unlike most of the other Wind Clan members, they weren’t uniformly black-haired and blue-eyed. Ginger Wine had glorious auburn hair and eyes like emeralds, though she compensated by drenching herself in Wind Clan blue silk.
The enclave owner bowed in greeting and said tentatively, “I–I’m worried about cousin.”
Judging by the way Pony went tense, this was bad news. Tinker couldn’t remember, though, who Ginger Wine’s cousin was. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“He brought a Stone Clan female to my enclave yesterday. None of the domana were available, so he spoke with Earth Son’s First. Not only did Thorne Scratch refuse responsibility for the female, she forced cousin to accept it, and then she threatened cousin.”
“Did Thorne Scratch hurt Oilcan?” Pony asked.
“Oilcan?” It felt like Tinker had grabbed hold of a live 220 line. “What did Thorne Scratch do to Oilcan?”
“She did not hurt him,” Ginger Wine said. “But this Stone Clan bitch — she clearly has no sense. Who knows what trouble she will cause, and the holy one will blame cousin for it.”
What the hell had Oilcan gotten himself into? Tinker had to see him, make sure for herself that he was fine. She headed for the coach house where the Rolls were stored, trusting that her Hand would follow.
5: TRAIN SPOTTING
Even when Oilcan was young, he always knew his tiny cousin would eventually find something large enough to express her soul. He’d assumed that it would take the form of a sixty-foot-tall robot that she could ride around in, smashing cars underfoot like Godzilla. It was somewhat of a relief that she settled on a collection of warriors. She was better off with flesh and blood that loved her than a thousand tons of quasi-intelligent metal. Still, it was a little bit startling to open the door to her “shave and haircut” knock and be face-to-face with sekasha first thing in the morning.
Pony filled the doorway, right hand on his ejae, scanning the apartment behind Oilcan with eyes cold and hard. When no danger was found, the warrior abandoned the death mask and smiled bashfully, revealing his gentle spirit. “Good morning, cousin.”
“Hi, Pony.” Oilcan had learned the drill well enough that he stepped sideways without being nudged. Pony and Stormsong brushed past him to search for spear traps and hidden ninjas. Oilcan lived in a three-bedroom loft in a high-rise apartment building on Mount Washington. It always seemed ridiculously huge until Tinker visited; even before she picked up her elves, she overflowed the condo. With the sekasha, however, the space became claustrophobic.
Tinker was on Stormsong’s heels. She poked Oilcan in the ribs. “You have a female move in with you, and I have to hear about it from Ginger Wine?”
“I was busy!” Oilcan said.
“Obviously,” Tinker said.
Cloudwalker grinned in greeting, handed Oilcan a basket smelling of breakfast, and closed the door. Because his condo could only handle so many warriors comfortably, the rest of Tinker’s Hand would stand guard in the hall, frightening his neighbors to either side.
A slight squeak from Merry reminded Oilcan that his new roommate was terrified of sekasha. Pony had moved into the bedrooms, accidentally herding Merry out of her room. The little female scurried into the hall and careened off Stormsong with another frightened squeak.