“He’s always been warm toward you.”
“Warmer before I got naked with his daughter. But he’s warming up again. After the drink, let’s have another tradition and get naked before the war.”
“I’m for that. It’s all in, Duncan.”
“And it’ll be all in and done. It’s the right move, the right time. We’re ready.” He gave her a quick yank, took her mouth, took them both away for just a moment. “More of that later.”
Alone, she walked back to the map. She expected she’d have another heated argument with Colin, but she would keep him solidly on support on this one. She had additional fighters with the resistance—undisciplined for the most part, but fierce.
“Hey.”
She glanced over. “Mick.”
“Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. We had a little distraction.”
Since mud and blood streaked his face, his clothes, she doubted it had been little or merely a distraction. “Are you hurt?”
“Nah.” He swiped the back of his hand over his face. “Some DU thought they could push us out of Chelsea—your mom’s old neighborhood, right? We thought different. Got an assist from a small band of resistance, and tamped it down. But I couldn’t get here for the briefing.”
He wandered in, his forehead creasing as he looked at the map. “Is that my battalion?”
“Yeah.”
“When do we strike?”
“Daybreak. Let me run it through.”
While she did, he pulled a pouch of sunflower seeds from his pocket—offered her some, munched.
“You’ve got Poe leading Colin’s troops.”
“Colin’s not cleared for combat.”
“He’s gonna be pissed. You know he’s working on getting a tat on the arm—after we hoist the banner here. That’s not going to screw up the magicks, is it?”
“It’s the same as his own skin now. It is his skin now, so no.”
“Cool enough. Shit, almost forgot. I brought one of the resistance guys back with me. He wanted to check, see if he can find his daughter. He got her out awhile back with directions to New Hope.”
“Did he give you a name?”
“Funny name. I’m not sure—”
“Marichu.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I told him somebody around here probably had records, or could find out.”
“I know her. She’s here.” Gesturing for him to follow, she started out. “What’s his name?”
“Jon—nice and easy to remember. I never figured she’d be here. He said she’s sixteen.”
“She says seventeen now, but either way young. And persuasive.” She found an elf runner, gave him instructions. “Let’s find Jon.”
They took the stairway. They had the elevators working on magickal power, but Fallon found them too confining and slow.
“We keep records in an office on the main floor. Support staff are trying to keep it updated. Rotating troops in and out, wounded, casualties. How’s your father? And Minh?”
“Dad’s good. Minh took a hit—nothing serious,” Mick said quickly. “Just some shrapnel in the leg. He’ll be up and running for tomorrow.”
“Good to hear.” She flicked him a glance. “We’re okay, right? You and me?”
“Yeah.” After only the briefest hesitation, he gave her an elbow poke. “It’s hard to think of anything but the next fight when you’re in the thick of it like this for weeks. Makes you realize … stuff. I’ll be glad to get back to The Beach. Man, New York’s just too closed in and covered with concrete or whatever. How the hell did anyone live here?”
“Millions did.”
“Count me out. But that doesn’t mean the assholes can have it. We’re going all the way down?”
“That’s right.”
He grinned. “Race ya.”
For a precious few minutes, she was back in the woods, in their faerie glade, in the youth, racing Mick to a finish line. When he edged her out, she shook her head and laughed. “You had a head start.”
“Blew you away.” He pulled open the door.
In one section of the gilded lobby, medicals treated wounded. In another, support staff issued new supplies when needed. On a higher floor, a commissary had been converted to a mess hall to cook for the medicals, the wounded, to prepare the MREs.
She started to direct Mick toward the back when he called out. “Hey, Jon! That’s him.”
Fallon saw the man—black beard with a sprinkle of gray, tired eyes, worn and muddied boots—move toward them. He had a limp, a slight one, and a rifle slung over his shoulder.
“They’re checking.” His voice, gruff, grave, held the fatigue she saw in his eyes. “Said it would take awhile and I could get some of the meal packs for my people.”
“We’re fighting the same fight,” Mick said cheerfully. “This is Fallon.”
“Fallon Swift.” Jon scrubbed his hands on the thighs of his pants before offering it. “It’s great to meet you. We never lost hope, but there were days, and nights, when it was hard to hold on to it. My girl—”
“Marichu,” she said. “She reached us.”
He closed his eyes, then pressed his fingers to them. “Thank God. Thank God. I had to get her out, make her go. I didn’t see any other way to— She’s okay?”
“She’s … fast,” Fallon decided as Marichu streaked through the main doors. “See for yourself.”
“Dad.” Colorful hair flying, she all but leaped over the marble floor.
On a choked sound, Jon grabbed her up. All the strain in his face just melted away.
“Let’s give them some room,” Fallon murmured.
Mick stepped back, but watched the reunion, draped an arm over Fallon’s shoulders. “That’s what it’s about. That’s the reason.”
“Yes.” Love, she thought, bright as the sun. And friendship. She circled Mick’s waist with her arm. True as the heart.
That night she felt both lying in Duncan’s arms, and when they rose, vowed to take that—the reason—into battle.
Power pulsed through her, around her, in those hushed moments before light broke the dark. She saw it in her mind’s eye, the troops poised, positioned strategically around Central Park. The warriors crouched in other parts of the city, ready to block, to cut down any who tried to break through the lines.
They held, the men, women, witches, warriors, elves, faeries, shifters, all who’d fought for weeks for a city smothered in black magicks. All who’d fought to bring the light back.
Like the statue of Prometheus, she thought, this city could, and would, shine again.
As the light blinked through the haze in the east, through the towers that stood even after two decades of war, she drew her sword, set it to flame.
Saw the answering flame of Duncan’s, the tipped fire of Tonia’s arrow, the surge of light from every direction. At that signal, she pointed her sword east, pulled light from the burgeoning sun.
Day burst like a bomb.
And they charged.
They rooted the enemy from burrows, flushed them from trees, drove them in so her northern troops broke through to take more ground.