“You’ll need to go out and meet it,” Thorne said.
“Me?”
“You’re the senior Stone Clan domana in Westernlands.”
“How do I outrank Forest Moss when I’m human?”
“He does not have a household. Also, currently he’s not lucid.”
“Fine.” He put down the paintbrush he’d been using and started out of the room.
“Do you really want to meet them dressed that way?” Thorne asked.
Oilcan glanced down at his painting clothes. His old blue jeans and black T-shirt were splattered with years of paint. “I look more human this way.”
Thorne made a little noise of agreement with that and followed him down the stairs.
Who had the Stone Clan sent and how would they change things in Pittsburgh? They couldn’t take the children from him, but they certainly could offer them a more secure household. They couldn’t take Thorne Scratch from him, but they could offer her a true beholding.
It hurt to think of losing them. He knew he could fall back to how his life had been before he met Merry, but that life seemed achingly empty. He had grown to love this new pattern of his life.
He reached out and took Thorne’s left hand. She looked down in surprise at their fingers intertwined.
“It’s something humans do,” he said.
She smiled slightly and tightened her hold on his hand. Together they strolled across the wide meadows toward the incoming Stone Clan domana who could steal all his newfound happiness away.
The first of the newcomers was landing from the gondola via a steel-caged elevator as Oilcan and Thorne strolled up to the anchors. Laedin warriors in black were securing the area. They gave Oilcan and Thorne surprised looks but moved off to establish a perimeter.
The elevator climbed back to the gondola and then glided downwards again, this time loaded with sekasha. Thorne slipped her hand free. Oilcan expected Thorne to start a conversation with the newly arrived sekasha, but apparently that wasn’t how it was handled. After one surprised glance to Oilcan, one of the males shifted forward and squared off against Thorne Scratch, locking into a silent stare-down. Thorne Scratch had her warrior’s mask on and looked wildly beautiful, stone cold and deadly.
A minute later, the elevator returned again, this time bearing a male domana. For an elf, he was plainly dressed. He wore slouch boots, doeskin pants, and a white silk shirt that showed off the fact he was strongly built through the shoulders and chest. All the hair in his braid was dark brown, and the only lines on his face were laugh lines at the edges of his dark eyes, but there was something vaguely grandfatherly about him.
Oilcan knew enough about elf customs that he should introduce himself first. “Welcome to Pittsburgh. I’m Oilcan Wright. Lacking any other candidates, Prince True Flame has deemed me head of the Stone Clan, because I’m a descendent of Unbounded Brilliance of Stone.”
The male stared at him with hurt and dismay on his face. His gaze dropped, taking in Oilcan’s clothes and paint-speckled hands.
“Forgiveness, I was painting.” Oilcan held out his hands as evidence.
The male breathed out a laugh like it been kicked out of him. “You could always tell what room she was working in by what colors were on her hands.” He reached out and rubbed at Oilcan’s face, scrubbing at a splotch of paint. “You have her eyes and her smile.”
“Forgiveness — I–I don’t understand.”
“You have your grandmother’s eyes.” And the male wrapped him tight in a hug. “My child, I have prayed for this day.”
And then the whole grandfatherly feel became clear. The male was a weirdly younger, elfin ghost of his grandfather, Tim Bell. “You’re Forge of Stone?”
Forge smiled. “I’ve come to take you home.”
35: FOREST MOSS
Tinker had heard that Forest Moss was not lucid, so she expected finding him would be fairly simple. A quick check with the hospice — where she expected to find him drugged — and Ginger Wine’s — where she was hoping to find him locked up — both turned up empty.
The elves were letting a mad howitzer roam Pittsburgh unchecked? A quick scry showed that Forest Moss wasn’t even in Oakland.
In the end, she called Riki. “Do you have any idea where I can find Forest Moss?”
“He’s at Kaufmann’s.”
Kaufmann’s been built in the heart of Pittsburgh back in the 1800s. Clad in limestone, decorated with carved stone arches, cherubs, and lion heads, it stood like a fortress, resisting time and space. The elevators boasted bronze doors with art deco designs. The ancient escalators on the upper floors were clad in wood. The only department store that survived relocation to Elfhome, it was normally overstocked with all that humans might want to stay well-heeled while isolated on another planet. Two months being stranded without restocking from Earth, and even Kaufmann’s was starting to look picked over.
There was something slightly incongruent about riding up the wooden escalators with her Hand in armor and carrying swords and bows. .
It all became very surreal when they found Forest Moss.
The crazed elf was in the children’s department. There were no humans on the floor — both customers and salesclerks had abandoned it to the elf. The air was oddly hazed, as if a sudden dust storm had erupted in the department. Forest Moss sat in the back corner at a tiny tea table, not exactly alone. All of the pint-sized mannequins were gathered tightly around the table, clothed and naked, brightly smiling and headless, hands and amputated arms all outstretched to the elf in silent welcome. Someone had supplied Forest Moss with a china toy tea set, a plate of the bakery’s fancy cookies, and real tea for the teapot. He had shared out the cookies and tea and was now imploring the children to eat. All the while, a fine dust snowed down on the mannequins, the table, and the white-haired, one-eyed elf.
“Try the yellow ones,” he murmured to the mannequin standing beside him. It was a little brunette eight-year-old-girl in a white tank top and blue flowered pants. He put his arm about it and pulled the doll close, rubbing his empty eye socket along the mannequin’s pale cheek. “They are sweet perfection like you.”
Somehow, Tinker doubted that questioning the insane elf was going to useful, but she had to try. “Forest Moss?”
The male’s good eye flicked to Tinker even as he continued rubbing his wound over the curves of the mannequin’s face. “Hmm, Wolf’s child bride, so young and waif-like. What could she want with one such as me?”
“I want to talk to you about the children,” Tinker said.
“My beautiful, lovely children are all so happy and carefree.” His hands slipped under the tank top to caress the flawless plastic skin underneath.
Tinker controlled the urge to rip the mannequin out of the elf’s hold. He was better off playing with the dolls than pinning down real children. She tried to ignore the way that the fabric of the tank top stretched tight, molding to Forest Moss’ large hand as it traveled over the small, anatomically correct body.
“Do you know that Earth Son told people that he would sponsor them if they came to Pittsburgh?”
“Earth Son? Now, there was a disappointing child.” Forest Moss frowned and glanced at one of the boy mannequins standing to his right. “Whine. Whine. Whine. I told you to shut up, you spoiled little coward!”
Forest Moss flicked his free hand up to his mouth, set up a resonance, and gave a quick closed-fist gesture. Pony snatched Tinker up and whirled her about, putting himself between her and Forest Moss. She didn’t see the boy mannequin explode, but fingers and toes and part of an ear tumbled by as white dust woofed out around Pony’s shields. Only then did she notice that the floor was already littered with plastic body parts and tattered clothes. The explanation for the haze became evident.