They failed.
Stone shattered to dust, and energy exploded upward through the ceiling, through the upper floor, and through the roof into the summer night. Pure magical energy surged out with it, through the room, into the night, in a wave of such breadth and power that five minutes before, I would have considered it impossible.
Looking back, that was the moment everything started to change.
Magic ran rampant into the air. It howled through the streets and alleys of Chicago. It thundered through tunnels and roadways, a tsunami of raw power.
And wherever it went, the mortal world fell into darkness.
Power stations exploded. Electronic devices screamed and showered sparks. Screens played diabolical images and screeched in demonic voices before dying. Cars died; systems failed; trains went powerless and slowed. I heard later that there were nearly fifteen hundred automobile collisions in that single moment, resulting in scores of deaths.
Chicago fell into total darkness.
I found myself on my knees, sometime after, breathing hard, making pained sounds. Others were making similar noises. The lighting in the great hall hadn’t changed—not when it had been firelight in the first place.
King Corb and the Last Titan were gone.
I found myself staring at Vadderung as he fell heavily back into his chair, his expression stunned.
30
Asolid quarter minute of stunned silence followed before Gentleman John Marcone hauled himself to his feet, looked around at the destruction and confusion in the hall, and mused, “It would seem we have the Fomor’s answer with regards to the peace process.”
Ebenezar was the next one up. He looked around the room and said, “Is anyone hurt?”
“The dead, it would appear,” Marcone said. He started for the high seat and offered a hand to Molly. She glowered at him but took his hand and rose with a polite nod. He spoke in a low, intent voice that wouldn’t be overheard by most of the room. “Assess Mab, please, Winter Lady.”
Molly stared at him for a second. Then she went over to the hole in the stone wall behind the high seat. She stared for a moment and said, “What’s on the other side of the wall?”
“Storage,” Marcone said.
“On the other side of that,” Molly said, and vanished into the hole.
Etri and his sister stood up together. Voices rose in a babble of confusion and anxiety. Everyone had begun to recover and no one looked like they were happy about what was going on.
My grandfather looked around, eyes searching. He leaned over to Ramirez and muttered something. The Warden nodded and spoke quietly to the rest of the security team.
Carter LaChaise and his ghouls got up and were heading toward the exit.
“LaChaise,” Marcone said in a voice that very much was meant to carry to the rest of the room.
The ghoul looked over his shoulder at Marcone.
“Where are you going, sir?” Marcone asked.
LaChaise pointed a finger at the hole in the rear wall. His voice was a low, rich Louisiana gumbo with some whiskey added in. “You heard that monster. You saw what she did.”
“Yes,” Marcone said, his tone bored. “I also saw your signature at the bottom of the Unseelie Accords, I believe.”
“And?”
Marcone’s voice was mild. “And mutual defense in the case of an aggressor nation is stipulated therein.”
“Mab was the Accords,” LaChaise spat. “You saw what the Titan did to her.”
“And so I did,” Marcone replied.
“If she can do that to Mab, what chance do any of us have?” LaChaise asked. He looked around at the rest of the room. “All of us signed because all of us fear Mab. Do any of you think you can stand up to Corb and Ethniu when even Mab gets swatted down like a fly? Let this mortal throw away his short life if that is his desire. The rest of us were doing business long before these recent Accords, and we can do it again quite comfortably.”
LaChaise turned to leave, trailing half a dozen ghouls in the wake of his massive presence.
“Are you a coward, sir?” Marcone asked, his voice deadly quiet.
The ghoul whirled, light and fast for all his bulk, and a low growl bubbled across the room.
“A question, sir,” Marcone said. “Not a statement.”
“Tread carefully, mortal,” LaChaise said. “I would be pleased to use your own entrails to make sausage links.”
“I ask the question,” Marcone said, “because your next actions will show everyone here what you are, LaChaise.”
LaChaise quivered, his face contorting in rage. Actually, it started contorting from human form into something more bestial, uncomfortable crackling sounds coming from the ghoul’s bulky form as his shoulders rounded and hunched and his back kinked.
Marcone’s voice cracked out. “You are a guest, sir. In my house.”
LaChaise’s eyes had already gone hideous and vaguely serpentine. His weight had shifted to take a step toward Marcone, but the words locked him into place as rigidly as bonds of steel. He looked around the room to see the entirety of the leadership of the Accorded nations staring hard at him.
“Baron Marcone is correct,” Etri said. “You are signatories of the Accords, as are we all. You are obligated to come to Mab’s defense. As are we all.”
LaChaise’s jaw had extended slightly, and it made his voice a snarling, gobbling thing. “Your people are bleeding from a tussle with a mere White Court assassin,” the ghoul hissed. “Do you think you can challenge a Titan, Etri?”
“Not alone,” Etri said calmly. He turned to Marcone and nodded firmly. “Svartalfheim does not make commitments lightly. We will stand in defense of this city.”
Marcone returned the nod.
“Fools,” LaChaise said. “This is hopeless. The enemy has been given free reign to prepare. We have mere hours to assemble our own forces, assuming the attack has not already begun. Do you think Corb means to fight fairly?”
“Obviously not,” Marcone said. “Which tends to make me think that he is not invincible—otherwise, he should simply have attacked, without any of this … drama. It is an attempt to destroy the Accords without firing a shot—to divide us, make us easily taken one at a time.”
“And the Titan?” LaChaise demanded. “Did you see what she was wearing?”
“Titanic bronze,” Etri noted. “An alloy beyond the skill of even my people. Only the Hundred-Handed Ones knew its secret.” He looked at Marcone and clarified, “Mere physical force will never stop her. Only the most puissant of powers stands any chance of doing more than annoying her.”
“A problem to be overcome,” Marcone said, and looked at Cristos. “Perhaps our clever friends of the White Council have a solution.”
Cristos looked at Ebenezar. The two of them traded looks with Martha Liberty and Listens-to-Wind, and the Senior Council put their heads together for a brief conference. Listens-to-Wind looked up from it and nodded at Marcone. “Perhaps. And in any case, we will stand with you and summon a complement of Wardens to the city’s defense.”
“Perhaps they can do something,” LaChaise scoffed. He looked around at the rest of the room. “What does this city, this mortal, mean to any of you? I say it’s better to let the Fomor expend their strength on the mortals.”