Elfhome

His brain went back to Rustle. The musician’s arm was still not healing readily. True Tinker’s arm wasn’t as badly broken, but she had regain limited use of hers in two days of the same aggressive healing spells. Nor was Rustle sleeping as much as Tinker did while healing. Maybe he should take Rustle back to the hospice. Perhaps something about the kids’ weird genetic make up meant that the healing spells didn’t work the same on them. What Pandora’s box did Tinker open when she picked the chest’s lock?

“Knock, knock, pick the lock,” he sang. “Open the box, take the spell from uncle’s room, run away, save the day…”

Oilcan trailed off as he realized the song wasn’t some innocent children’s song, but a literal history of his family.

Strong arms caught hold of him and he was jerked off the ground.

“So he did leave a record, after all.” Iron Mace growled into Oilcan’s ear. “I was afraid he would. It was obvious he must had, the way all his children turned against their clan. No, no, no.” Mace pressed something soft against Oilcan’s face to muffle his shouts. “We don’t want to get the doubles involved in this. Too many innocents have suffered already.”

Oilcan stopped shouting as he realized only the kids were on the third floor. Mace’s Hand was down on the first floor and Forge was across the street. Even Thorne was out — carefully sent away. He focused on trying to get free, but Mace had him tight.

“Just relax, let the saijin do its work.” Mace carried him toward the bank of windows standing open to let out the construction dust.

Oilcan buckled in Mace’s hold even as the edges of his vision went shimmering white with the drug.

“Go to sleep,” Iron Mace growled. “That way you won’t feel anything.”

Oilcan struggled to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t move. He felt like he was sinking into warm, bright quicksand. Even Oilcan’s fear was slow, seeping through him. Was this how Amaranth really died? Drugged to helplessness and then murdered in a way to look like she had killed herself? Had Mace dropped her from a window too?

Forge’s voice came thundering from a great distance. “What are you doing? Put him down! Get away from him!”

The world was washed in brightness as Mace laid him on the floor, the flower kissing his face. Oilcan struggled to roll his head, but Mace was holding him still. Mace hovered above, a darkness in the shimmering light. “You didn’t do anything to save my sister. I told you that she was driving herself insane with all that digging through the moors for his body. I told you that you had to take her away from that place, take her somewhere not haunted by his ghost. You didn’t listen. You did nothing and she slipped through your fingers.”

Forge’s voice lost its thunder. “I didn’t think she would — I didn’t think—”

Oilcan tried to shout his fear and it came out a moan. No, no, don’t listen to him!

“If you do nothing, we’re going to lose all we have left of her!” Iron Mace raged, sounding like a grief-stricken older brother, but then he’d had centuries to perfect the act. “The Wind Clan already took one of our little ones; she’s gone to us. Are you going to let him slip through your fingers too?”

“I’ve done what I can.” Forge finally eclipsed Oilcan’s view of the ceiling. He gazed down at Oilcan with eyes dark and luminous with tears. “You can’t—”

“Save him!” Mace shouted. “Or are you going to let him die too?”

“You can’t just drug him and change him.” Forge reached for the flower.

Iron Mace caught Forge’s hand. “He’s twenty-two years old, Forge. Twenty-two! What does he know about life and death? He’s still a baby. The law says a parent can act for the good of their child.”

Oilcan’s eyes closed against his will and he sank down into the light.

“He’s — he’s not a baby.” Forge’s voice is full of despair. “He’s good and kind and patient…”

The light was dimming, fading to black. Tooloo had warned Oilcan to be careful; that the Stone Clan would twist him around and then murder him in his sleep.

“And he’ll be gone soon if we don’t save him.” Mace thundered in the darkness. “Don’t fail him like you failed Amaranth.”

The last thing Oilcan heard was Forge groan and whisper softly, “Oh child, forgive me, but he’s right.”

And then Oilcan was lost in the darkness.

38: Unclean Blood

Lemonseed was Windwolf’s major domo. She was patient and unmovable as a mountain. She looked no older than Lain, her face only lightly touched by time. Small wrinkles gathered at the corners of her Lady Madonna smile. She had two locks of pure white hair that she wove like silk ribbons through her Wind Clan glossy black hair. She was, however, the oldest member of Windwolf household and well over nine thousand years old. She had been born when humans were just wrapping their brains around the idea of keeping animals as pets and planting seeds into the ground to create farms. She had lived through thousands of years of Skin Clan rule before the clans won their freedom.