When Louise could see again, Jillian was pulling her backwards, shouting, “Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt her, you witch!”
Tesla was standing a foot closer than before, whimpering softly.
“Shhh.” Louise tried to calm all her siblings, making a “sit” motion with one hand at the babies while holding the other up to keep Celine’s attention. She could feel blood trickling warmly down from her nose and taste it her mouth. “I’m okay. Don’t cry.”
Celine watched them closely with a slight pleased smile. “Hurt one, hurt them both. Good to know.”
“We’ll go with you,” Louise stated as calmly as she could. She pressed the back of her left hand to her nose to hide the blood from her siblings. Her hand was shaking and she couldn’t stop it. When she sniffed, the hot metal taste of blood filled her mouth. Every word, every motion, seemed tied to infinite possible outcomes. To cry. To fight. They all tumbled into dark destruction. She had to stay calm. She had to do what Celine wanted. It was the only path that led toward escape for all of them. “Please. We’ll do what you want us to do. Just don’t hurt us.”
Celine nodded smugly. “Good. Come with me.” She headed toward the open door. She pointed at two of the bodyguards and indicated that they were to follow. The others she directed toward the walk-in closet. “Start in there.”
Jillian whimpered and clutched Louise in a death grip.
“It’s okay,” Louise said, even though she wasn’t sure. She had to keep the babies from doing anything to draw attention to themselves. “Don’t be scared. We’ll be fine. Just wait and see.”
Tesla sat down, trusting that they’d return. Louise could only hope that she could keep her promise that she and Jillian would figure a way out to save them all before the secret elves realized what the robot held inside it.
Yves and a dozen of the male bodyguard drivers were in the foyer. Two of the guards stood on ladders, carefully lowering a large painting they had just taken down off the wall. The males worked in near-reverent silence. Yves’ rich voice filled the echoing foyer like an actor on a stage.
“Make sure they understand I want a cashier’s check, not money wired to an account. If you need to, tell them the truth: I don’t trust electronic transactions. I never understood how the Knights Templar sold the idea of banking.”
He glanced up the sweeping staircase as Celine herded the twins down them. “Have you checked their pockets? Wood sprites are like pack rats; they always have some nasty surprise hidden away.”
“No, husepavua. Forgiveness.” Celine stopped them at the foot of the stairs and turned out their pockets. Louise’s heart hammered in her chest, trying to pretend that she was only confused by what was happening as the female tugged and pulled at Louise’s jeans. The taste of blood still filled her mouth as it dripped from her bloody nose.
Celine frowned at the scraps of white rabbit fur, thimble, and spool of thread left over from making the mouse skins. “They’re making something.”
“Of course they are,” Yves said. “It’s in their blood.”
“We’re making designer clothes for our dolls,” Jillian snapped, anger in her voice. Her eyes, though, were on the blood leaking through Louise’s fingers as Louise kept her hand pressed against her nose. Tears started to shimmer in Jillian’s eyes.
If Jillian started to cry, Louise was sure she would break too. She took her hand from her nose and smeared the blood like war paint on her cheeks.
Yves shook his head. “Wood sprites. Always so ridiculously brave for how stupidly small they are. I could never decide if they were our greatest success or our worse failure. Certainly, they are the most dangerous of our rebellious creations.”
Louise stared at him, trying for brave but achieving only fearful confusion. What did he mean by rebellious creation? Did this mean that Leonardo Dufae wasn’t their male genetic donor?
Yves laughed dryly. “You don’t even know what you are, do you?”
“We’re nine years old?” Louise said it before she remembered that Esme had warned her not to be snarky. She was sure that Yves was going to tell her; he thought their helplessness and ignorance was funny.
“All you see. The electricity. The light bulbs. The horseless carriages that drive themselves. All the trinkets of human civilization are the results of a handful of genetic mutants that humans call geniuses. It’s so purely random that anyone who attempts to influence it via breeding is called immoral. God’s touch alone elevates the great thinker from the common human.
“But we are the gods of elves, and we made you.”
“I’m fairly sure Esme had us made from her genetic material,” Jillian muttered.
Yves laughed. “Oh, she only combined together what we wrought several thousand years ago. Two of our greatest achievements in three little females.” He was counting Alexander in with the twins. “And surely there are more than just three. .”
The bodyguard nearest the door lifted his hand to his ear, and cocked his head to listen to some report over an earbud. “Husepavua, Feng’s car just pulled into the driveway.”
Yves growled. “That idiot. I didn’t send for him.”
“Should we turn him away?” Several of the bodyguards moved toward the door, placing themselves between the entryway and Yves.
Yves glanced toward the twins, apparently hoping that they could give him a clue. Louise could only sense onrushing disaster in every direction. “No,” Yves said finally. “Let him come. Perhaps he has some useful news.” He turned from the door to point at a set of Elvish wyvern armor standing in an alcove. “Pack that.” He pointed at a Van Gogh oil painting beside the armor. “Sell that.”
The front door swung open and Ambassador Feng walked through. He checked at the sight of Yves and all the bodyguards in the foyer.
“Yves?” Feng said in confusion.
“What are you doing here?” Yves snapped in English, putting lie to his claim at the museum that Feng couldn’t speak English.
“Where is Aumvoutui? A force from the MSS just landed at Newark. .”
“Have you gone native?” Yves interrupted him. “Use words, not letters.”
“The Ministry of State Security for the People’s Republic of China,” Feng growled out. “They have the authority to arrest me and my entire staff and most likely that’s why they’re in New York. The people of the Republic have realized that they’ve shouldered the funding for the hyperphase gate, five spaceships to a mythical colony that doesn’t exist, and the settlement to the United States for the loss of Pittsburgh. Trillions of yuan. All so our people can return to Elfhome. They are not happy. Riots have broken out in Beijing. They make your Americans look like misbehaving children. They’re calling for blood.”
“Another century, another witch hunt,” Yves stated coolly. “We have taught you the song. Now dance to it.”
“It’s not as simple as Aumvoutui said. They now have cameras everywhere. There is no more anonymity. I can’t just disappear and resurface someplace else.”
“We warned you of that danger when you came to this world.”
“The bank account you gave me for such emergencies is empty. Aumvoutui must—”
Yves pressed his hand against the ambassador’s chest and spoke a word that sounded Elvish. The ambassador went to his knees with a cry of pain. A spell glyph appeared on his forehead, gleaming brilliantly. “You must remember your place. You were my little pet project. I alone made you. I am your god.” Yves cupped the male’s chin in his hand and whispered menacingly as tears ran down the ambassador’s cheeks. “The pure black of your hair. The raven wings of your eyebrows. The strength of your chin. Every line on your face, I picked for you. I planted you into a female’s womb and gave you life. I made you, and I can unmake you with a word.”