May 27th, 1929

It was warm enough—unseasonably warm—that Nicoletta had requested some summer dresses. They hadn’t come. Her handlers had refused to collect any of her former belongings, either, and in a fit of pique she’d torn the right sleeve off one of the old winter dresses they’d supplied—leaving the left sleeve over her mechanical arm, since she didn’t need more attention on that—and was rather vengefully enjoying the dubious looks she was receiving. If they were going to brand her a savage, she might as well live up to the expectation.

The dress material was still too heavy for the weather, though, and it was a relief to step into the shaded canteen. Her guard paused to let his eyes adjust. She continued on, using her sense of smell to keep from running into anyone, and enjoying a moment of unhealthy delight when her guard had to beat feet to catch up. 

The scrape of metal tables and chairs against the cement floor filled the space, and the bang of pots and pans from the meal prep area was thunderous. Nothing was cooking at the moment; lunch consisted of a selection of sandwiches and fruit. She dutifully got in line with the others, her guard behind her, and armed herself with a tray. 

She’d just chosen a sandwich and had picked through until she’d found an apple that looked likely when she caught a familiar scent. Nicoletta twitched around, searching the crowd. Her guard bumped her and she lifted her lip without thinking about it in silent warning, but stepped out of line so others could get to the meagre offerings. 

There was Fex, one of the few bright points of color in a sea of army camouflage. He looked fresh and cool in a creamy white suit with a faint brown pinstripe. “Mr. Fex!” She couldn’t refer to him as just Fex in public, it wasn’t proper, but she did want to catch his attention before her guard decided to hustle her back to her rooms.

Fex stood, looking in her direction and spotting her quickly. He waved cheerily, teeth showing in a bright smile. “Miss Nicoletta! Won’t you join me? I’ve just sat down, myself.” He pulled out the chair next to him, and Nicoletta did a double take. She could have sworn the table was larger a moment ago, but suddenly it looked too small to seat three. That must have been one of Fex’s clever tricks. Nicoletta strode briskly forward ahead of her guard, slipping between soldiers and research personnel, knowing her guard wouldn’t get through as quickly since he was bigger than she and not as willing to squeeze. 

She dropped her tray a little more hastily than she meant to, wincing at the clatter as it rattled down beside Fex’s. His sandwich smelled of corned beef and cheese, and he had a small dish of green grapes and—from the scent—a peanut butter cookie on the side. 

Nicoletta pointedly looked away from her guard when she smelled him stopping at her shoulder. He hovered for a long moment, and she couldn’t tell whether he was trying to intimidate her or making a decision. She focused on Fex and said, “How have you been?”

Fex’s smile was more personal this time, though he raised a finger in a “one moment” gesture and his gaze rose to the man behind her. His smile was still charming as he said, “You won’t mind if I borrow Miss Nicoletta for lunch, will you? I promise I’ll return her to you in full working order when our meal is over.” 

Nicoletta could feel the guard’s eyes on her for a long moment before he answered reluctantly. “Of course not. I’ll just be over here.” He moved to the next table, found a seat in Nicoletta’s eyeline, and made a point of watching her as he sat down. 

She glanced heavenward before adjusting her chair so it was harder to see him. 

Fex turned the full wattage of his attention onto Nicoletta.  “Well! I’ve been well, if busy. They’ve been making me practice finding hidden artifacts, even though we both know you can sniff them out with ease. But I suppose it doesn’t hurt if I’m a little better at it. What if you came down with a cold?”

Nicoletta chuckled at the thought. “I suppose that’s a valid concern. Perhaps I should learn to pick locks, then.” She glanced around them, wondering if everyone could hear their conversation or if Fex was glamouring it, like he’d done in the car. 

“I’d be happy to teach you.” Fex plucked one of his grapes, displaying it before folding it into his fist and waving the other hand over it. When he opened his fingers, the grape was gone. Nicoletta smiled; she knew that trick, though she’d never been as good at sleight-of-hand as Vano was. 

“But,” Fex said, settling, “since that seems to imply it’s not been learning to jimmy a lock, what have you been passing the time with since our mission?” 

Nicoletta hesitated. She didn’t know if everyone here knew she was a shifter, or if it was on a need-to-know basis. 

Fex followed her gaze around, turning a little more serious. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They think we’re having the most boring conversation since the beginning of time.”

Again, Nicoletta found herself giving the bare bones of a laugh. “Do you often do that? Hide your conversations?” 

“Only when I have something to hide.” He chuckled. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. His equally dark eyes twinkled. “When I was much, much younger, I used the skill to practice saying naughty words.”

That made Nicoletta laugh, though she covered it quickly. “I can imagine that talent being put to far worse things if my siblings or cousins had the ability.” She said it with fondness and asked, “Were you too proper to hide frogs in your brother’s bed, or spy on your older sister? Or do you not have siblings?”

He hesitated, as if choosing each word to be sure it was correct before he said it. “Not… not really. Not close to my age.” He brightened at some thought. “I do have one cousin—the one I told you about—who was born only a few years before me. Since she can talk to animals, the frog trick would never have worked for me, alas. But I did illusion dry ground over a mud puddle once or twice to trick her. Then my papa stepped into one; he said several of those naughty words and threatened to make a vest from my rotten hide. My mother calmed him down, and later she told me they were proud of what a good illusion I’d made, so…” He laughed at his own memory, then caught Nicoletta’s gaze. “But your brother! I visited him a few days ago. He really is a delight. We took a lovely little tour of the flower garden at the hospital.”

All thought of pursuing information about Fex’s family vanished from Nicoletta’s mind. She sat forward, lunch forgotten. “You did? He’s well?” Then something more important occurred to her and she asked urgently, “How far is the hospital?” She hadn’t caught scent of her brother since arriving here. 

“It’s in the town, on the other side,” Fex told her. “I went by car both times, so I’m not sure exactly how far that is.” His tone was almost apologetic, though she doubted he knew what for. 

She wondered how big the town was, looking beyond Fex as if somehow she could see through the walls and homes and even the curvature of the earth to find out. “As far as our last mission?”

“A little closer. But I had time to fall asleep on my ride back,” he added, “so not so much closer that I’d want to hoof it.”

Nicoletta filed that information away. Over fields? Around hills? Could she run there as a wolf, in a straight line, faster than they could take a car?

Not faster than they could call over and tell someone to lock Vano away where she’d never be able to get him out, though. 

She sat back a little and tried to push the new knowledge aside, at least for the moment. She’d have to think before she did anything. 

The rest of Fex’s words caught up to her, and she gave him a little smile. “Vano’s well?”

Fex’s return smile was warm in part, she thought, at memory. “He’s doing very well. All his nurses seem to be very fond of him, too.”

Nicoletta just bet they were. She resisted the urge to snort. Half the reason their parents had sent him to live with her was because of trouble with the ladies. The other half was because of trouble with said ladies’ boyfriends.

Fex, unaware of her internal eyeroll, tipped his head a little to one side, gaze turned inward for a moment. “He seemed like he was a little sore in the ribs or back, and I’m afraid I may have tired him out a little with our rose garden stroll, but he was so delighted to be outdoors, I’m sure he would say it was worth it.”

Nicoletta caught her lip between her teeth, trying not to pepper Fex with too many questions at once. “I’m glad you went to visit him,” she said at last. “Does he need anything? Maybe I could…” what could she do? What would they let her do? She finished lamely, faltering, “send something to him.” Surely a book wouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like she had to slip a message into it.

As if he’d followed her thought, Fex suggested, “What about a book? Maybe a thriller of some kind? Or—do you bake?” He picked up his cookie as if in demonstration. “Cookies. Or a packet of candy? He seems to have a real sweet tooth.” He took an absent-minded bite of his cookie, then apparently realized he was eating his dessert before lunch and gave a slightly guilty shrug. 

Nicoletta didn’t have Gran’s talent in baking, but she could make a few things. 

Then she considered her winter-turned-summer dress, and the ones that still hadn’t arrived. What was the likelihood that flour, much less sugar for sweets, would actually be delivered? Now that she thought about it, someone would have to go get her a recipe book, as well. She gave her guard a resentful look. He kept eating his sandwich, unaware. Still glowering at him she said, “Going to buy something for Vano might prove problematic.” She had to work to keep the growl out of her voice, and keep her tone even remotely polite.

Fex followed her gaze. “They won’t even let you shop at the on-base commissary?” he asked, tone more frustrated on her behalf than curious. “I don’t understand why they’re so draconian with you. I could go into town to the booksellers or five-and-dime for you. You could write him a note and I’ll take that, too.”

Nicoletta smiled at his frustration and kindness. “I can’t ask you to buy things for me.” It wouldn’t be at all proper. He wasn’t a relative or even a close friend, regardless of whether or not they were getting friendlier, and she had no way to pay him back if he were. “But,” she added, “if you’d be willing to pass him a note, I could write one.” Her first thought was to wonder if they’d let her, or if they’d be too paranoid about her sending secret messages. Her next was that they didn’t have to know. 

She leaned a little across the table. “Is there any chance you have some pen and paper on you?”

“I always carry a pen,” he said, patting his jacket pocket and leaning in a little to match her. “Paper… Hmm.” He looked around the room; Nicoletta did too, but despite the fact that she knew they were doing research here, there were no doctors in lab coats with handy notebooks she could borrow.

“Wait just a moment,” Fex said. He shifted in his chair and then—something. Nicoletta caught a faint scent, the same one she associated with him making an illusion. Then, despite the fact that he was clearly sitting across from her, she scented him at her flesh arm. She twitched just before his disembodied voice whispered, “Tell me about the last moving picture you went to. I’ll be right back.” 

He was surely better than she was at acting. She managed a quiet, “Uh,” to the doppleganger smiling at her, her senses scrambling her brain as her nose insisted he’d moved away and her eyes insisted he was right there. Rather than talk about moving pictures, she blinked hard and dabbed at her eye with her napkin. “I think I have something in…” she faded off, blinking exaggeratedly. 

After a moment, with another little illusion-scent burst, the fake Fex—now the real Fex once more—pulled a lovely black fountain pen decorated with beige—leaves? Butterflies? Something—and placed it neatly atop a sun-faded poster that had been tacked on a wall with several of its fellows. He flipped the poster and slid the items across the table toward her. “Will this do?”

She smiled broadly, taking the pen and settling herself. She glanced at her guard once more to be sure he hadn’t finished eating, and then set to writing. 

Vano,

I’ve spoken with Mr. Fex, and he says you’re doing quite well. I’m glad to hear it. She paused, then looked up at Fex. “I don’t know what to say.” 

Fex didn’t even hesitate. “Tell him you miss him. Tell him you think about him every day, and you wish you were able to visit. Or maybe tell him as soon as you are able to visit, you’ll fly to his bedside. Something like that.” Fex waved his hand holding his sandwich around, encompassing all the somethings that could have been. 

Nicoletta laughed a little and bent to writing; if she told Vano she’d fly to his bedside, he’d think she’d had a head injury.  

Fex continued blithely. “And tell him you’re… what’s his word? Copacetic. If you want, tell him you approve of me. But if you don’t, well… Just don’t tell me. It will make me sad.”

Nicoletta glanced up at him, at the charming smile he was giving her, and fondly shook her head. “I’ll tell him to avoid you, as you’re an utter rascal,” she teased, finishing off her short letter with, 

And should you need anything, I can recommend that you ask Mr. Fex. He has my trust and approval.

She signed her name, then glanced over it once more. She’d told him she missed him, reminded him to behave, and let him know she was all right. She supposed there wasn’t anything else she could tell him without worrying him. Carefully, Nicoletta folded the note into thirds, then folded that into a square before handing it to Fex. 

“Thank you for visiting him,” she said again, “and for telling me he’s well.” Even if the apparent pain in his ribs or back concerned her. “You don’t think he was feeling unwell because of an accident, do you? Not the accident, but something else that might have happened?” She wracked her brain, but she hadn’t acted out or angered anyone she shouldn’t. Not any more than usual, that was.

Fex’s expression was solemn but sympathetic. She was a little bit relieved he was taking her question so seriously. “He said not. I asked him directly, and he said it was just complications from the automobile accident you were in.” Fex frowned slightly. “But I suppose it could have had something to do with his asthma, too. He didn’t mention it, though, and I think he would have. He certainly wasn’t having any breathing troubles when I was there,” he finished earnestly. 

Nicoletta relaxed, nodding. That was good. She picked up her sandwich and gave Fex an apologetic smile. “If there’s a way to get into trouble, Vano will find it.” Which made her wonder if someone had arranged an accident because she was being problematic— 

But no, now surely she was being paranoid. 

He chuckled as if he’d seen Vano making trouble with his own eyes. She wasn’t positive, but she thought his warm, brown skin darkened. “I believe that. I absolutely believe that. He’s a born troublemaker. You must have gotten all the sensible and cautious instincts in the family.”

Nicoletta regarded him a little suspiciously, picking up her sandwich. Before she took a bite she asked, “Did he cause trouble while you were there, Fex?” 

“No,” Fex said, drawing the word out a little. “Not really. But he seems very good at getting his way with a winning smile, even if it bends a rule almost to its breaking point.”

Nicoletta gave him her best Don’t-Fib-To-Me older sister stare. Fex looked calmly back, even taking a sip of his milk. Nicoletta relented, shifting into an amused nod. “That smile of his has gotten him into and out of all manner of hijinks.” She shook her head slightly. “You would tell me if he was doing anything,” she paused to find the right word, “inadvisable, wouldn’t you?”

“That would depend on how good of a bribe he gave me not to,” Fex said with a teasing twinkle in his Fey eyes.

Nicoletta laughed. “If you were his age, I’d worry about the two of you together,” she teased right back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her guard wipe his mouth. She glanced over at him as he tossed his napkin onto his empty tray and stood, heading their way. Her good mood died and she took another bite of her neglected sandwich. 

He stopped practically on top of her. She looked at Fex; she refused to bare her throat to her guard by craning her neck to look up at him. “We aren’t here to dawdle and socialize,” he said. “Are you ready?” 

“Clearly not,” she shot back over her shoulder, noting the dark look Fex gave him. She took another angry bite.

The guard picked up her tray and empty plate. “You have until I get back.” 

Fex’s expression shifted, turning into glacial ice as he regarded the soldier. Nicoletta could feel the tension rise, and didn’t doubt the two had locked gazes. 

“Miss Nicoletta is still eating, Corporal…” she saw Fex scan for a name badge, “Mahoney. And I’m sure you agree that rushing is not conducive to good digestion.” Fex held the stare. Even sitting beneath it, Nicoletta could feel the power of that focus.

Her guard—she refused to give any of them the respect of a name—broke the silence first. “Dogs digest just fine on the run,” he said, the sneer audible. 

Nicoletta flinched and bared a tooth at the same time, furious and humiliated. 

Fex stood, his chair scraping back. He came around the table with leashed power, striding into the guard’s space until the guard abruptly gave way. Around them, people took notice and a hush slowly spread. Considering eyes lingered on Nicoletta, as the center of the argument.

Fex spoke in clear, precise words meant to be audible to the nearest tables. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly. Surely you wouldn’t offer such an insult to a lady. But if you did mean to insult my dining companion, be assured I will not let it slide.”

Nicoletta shot to her feet, dropping her sandwich on Fex’s plate and pivoting to come between the two men. The guard was pale and stank of fear to her nose, his expression twisted between panic and fury. Nicoletta bet he’d just remembered he was talking to one of the Fey. 

Or maybe he didn’t know, and was just scared at Fex’s ferocity. She was certain most of the people on the base were unaware she was a werewolf. Either way, it didn’t matter. She put a hand on Fex’s chest, fingers splayed, and stretched the other out to do the same to the guard. He was slightly out of reach. 

Fex was a handspan taller than Nicoletta, but in that moment she felt sheltered under a cliffside—if her shelter had a spotlight shining on it. More people stared. 

“Enough,” she told both men sharply, angling her face toward Fex. Before the guard could say anything stupid, she turned to glare at him, her back to Fex. “I’m ready to go. Now.” If he was smart, he’d take the excuse she’d just handed him and leave. 

Even though Fex was behind her, Nicoletta could feel the bands of control he wrapped around himself. His presence eased a fraction. When he spoke, it was with cool regard, though not at her. His diction was precise and formal. “As the lady wishes.” 

She stepped toward the guard, lowering her arms slowly. People still stared. Heat burned under her skin. She glanced back at Fex who continued, “Corporal, I trust you will keep your behavior polite and civil with my colleague henceforth.” His anger was still evident in the old-fashioned phrasing, but when he looked at her he tucked it away to give her a small but warm smile. “I look forward to our next work session together. Thank you for joining me for luncheon.”

“It was my pleasure,” Nicoletta mumbled automatically, stepping finally to the guard’s side and into him, as if she didn’t know where he was, getting his feet moving. 

If she’d had hackles they would have been standing on end. As it was she turned away from the bulk of the crowd, keeping her eyes down so she didn’t have to see anyone watching their drama. It was mostly men at the base, and they maintained their silence as she walked forward—she knew her guard would stay with her as an escort. The silence was almost worse than ladies tittering.

She heard her guard deposit their trays on a table and take several quick steps to come alongside her. His hand hovered near her elbow for a moment, as if wanting to grab her and take control of the situation, but he resisted. 

That was wise of him. Nicoletta wouldn’t turn on him now, when she was already the star of this horrible little scene, but they’d be out of sight at some point. It wouldn’t take more than a moment to—

But she couldn’t do that, either. Not with the chain around her neck, ready to decapitate her should she attempt shifting. She realized she was growling when he muttered under his breath, “Shut your mouth.” 

The fact that he didn’t add a slur this time didn’t stop his words from feeding the hard knot of rage that churned inside her. Carefully, she buried it where he couldn’t see. 

**

Fex was still standing next to the table with Nicoletta’s abandoned, half-eaten sandwich on his plate when one of the witnesses to the altercation touched his elbow. 

“I saw the whole thing. That fellow ought to get a formal reprimand.” The speaker was shorter than Fex, and stouter, with a pale, balding scalp. His suit was civilian but the winged enameled pin decorating his lapel identified him as one of the government scientists. “That’s no way to speak to a lady. Or a gentleman, for that matter.”

Fex took a breath to bank the flames of his ire before responding. “Thank you. Yes. Yes, he should. I am sorry we interrupted your meal, though, Doctor…?”

“Hirschel Levin,” the man said. “I’m on the physics team.” He held out a hand.

“Fex Woodward,” Fex said. “Field operations.” He took the offered handshake. Hirschel’s palm was roughly calloused, and there was a healing bruise under one nail. He clearly worked with his hands. 

Hirschel took the seat Nicoletta had vacated and looked up expectantly at Fex.

Fex took his own seat back. “Won’t your lunch mates miss you?”

“We were finished,” Hirschel said. “Just debating whether the swill they try to pass off as coffee here was any better than the swill we get in our building. Looks like the lads decided our building’s would be better.” He tipped his head at a now-empty table nearby.

Fex’s stomach still curdled with anger, but he picked up Nicoletta’s sandwich anyway. More to hold it than to eat. He looked at it, sighed, and put it back down. “Well. I hope she won’t be angry at me for that. But I couldn’t let it stand.”

“No decent man would let that stand,” Hirschel agreed. “Do you know the name of the corporal’s commanding officer? You should report him.”

“I don’t,” Fex said, “but I know how to find out.” He stared past the researcher, calculating whether it would be better for Nicoletta or worse if he did report it. Although with so many witnesses, it was probably going to get back to one of the higher-ups anyway. Mrs. Dunfre and her staff had never made any pretense of treating Nicoletta with respect, so chances were no reprimand for the corporal would come of it, even if Fex did make a complaint.

“It almost seemed like there was a history there,” Hirschel said, interrupting Fex’s dark musing. “Say, you and your friend and the corporal aren’t in some kind of sordid love triangle, are you?”

That was so, so far from what Fex might have expected the man to ask that he actually laughed. “No. Oh, dear saints, no. Nothing like that.” 

“That’s good,” Hirschel said. “I’ve probably been reading too many novels. Where was that boy raised to talk to a lady that way?”

Clearly then, Hirschel didn’t know Nicoletta was a werewolf. And probably didn’t know Fex was anything more than the human he appeared to be.

“Nowhere good,” Fex said. “Somewhere lawless, like Chicago.”

Hirschel laughed. “Not Chicago!” He placed a hand to his chest in mock alarm.

“Alright. Maybe not Chicago,” Fex allowed. “But wherever it was, if Corporal Mahoney was ever taught how to behave in civilized company, he’s forgotten it.”

“He looked young,” Hirschel said. “One of those half-grown ruffians who wants to seem tough. Probably why he signed up if he wasn’t drafted. I know the type.”

“You do?”

“Before I worked here, I taught at a university,” Hirschel said. “So I’ve seen a few like that. Though you can’t be much older than my students were either, come to think of it.”

“I’m… older than I look,” Fex told him.

Hirschel studied Fex for a moment, and declared, “That I believe. You have a gravitas about you.” He waved a hand over his bare scalp. “If you know where the Fountain of Youth is to be found, won’t you share the secret? I miss having a head of hair.”

“The Chinese swear by ginseng root,” Fex said. “And I’m a regular drinker of herbal tea before bed most days, but otherwise?” He shrugged. “I read in the New Yorker once that there’s a group who claim it’s in the Florida swamps.”

“Can’t be,” Hirschel said. “Have you ever seen an alligator? Nothing but wrinkles.” He laughed at his own joke. “Maybe I’ll try your tea idea.”

“Can’t hurt as long as you choose the right blend.” Fex found his fingers twitching through a syncopated rhythm, and forced his hands to still. He was antsy to move now that the surge of his anger had flattened. It left his muscles feeling coiled tight as a watchspring. But he wanted to talk more with this seemingly friendly physicist and learn what he was working on. Was it the portal?

“Well, I’d better get back to it,” Hirschel said, as if he had read Fex’s mind. 

“Oh. Yes.” Fex glanced at his watch, pretending to be surprised at the time. “What are you working on here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind in the least,” Hirschel said. “But I’m afraid that’s not a question I can answer. Security protocol and so forth. I’m sure as a field operative, you understand.”

“Of course.” Now Fex wished he could read minds. Was that a subtle dig at him, testing his story about his reason for being on base? Hirschel was still smiling at him. Fex wished he had a calling card on him to suggest another meeting, but Hirschel took that initiative.

“If you want to get clearance,” Hirschel said, “Ask over in the bigwigs’ offices. Major Noel Robinson’s the one in charge. If he clears it, I’d be delighted to show you around.” He held out a card of his own. It was printed with an abstract design akin to the Rutherford diagram of an atom, and Hirschel H. Levin, Ph.D. Electrical and Mechanical Engineering along with a phone number on an exchange Fex was sure was exclusive to the base. 

“Thank you very much,” Fex said. He pocketed the card. “I look forward to it.”

“Going to go report that man now?”

“I think I will.” Maybe after a walk to settle his jangling nerves.

“While you’re there you can ask Major Robinson for that pass.” Hirschel grinned and held out a hand for a farewell handshake. “Hope to see you soon, Mr. Woodward.”

“Likewise, Dr. Levin.”

Fex watched the man leave the canteen, took his tray to the return area, and headed into the baking summer heat himself.

He needed to think before he took any rash actions, and it would be far easier to think away from the drab bustle of the military installation. There would also be more trees in town, so he turned that way. The checkpoint guards at the fenced entry to the base weren’t concerned so much with who left as who entered. A bored looking private waved Fex through without even asking his destination.

Within a half mile, there was color in the world again. Agapanthus and day lilies in one homeowner’s carefully tended yard; a boisterous pink hydrangea that sprawled along the entire front of another home; roses at the peak of their summer bloom in multiple gardens—red, white, golden peach, canary yellow. The houses themselves, most at least fifty years old and built in the ornate Victorian style, were painted so many shades of so many colors that weren’t khaki or olive that Fex almost wanted to weep with relief. 

And there were the trees. Elms and maples and sweetgums that filtered the sunlight into dapples. White-trunked birches and slender yews. There was something different and better about these civilian trees than their counterparts on the training grounds, even though those were also ostensibly there before the base.

Fex raised a hand to rub his temples. What had he gotten himself into? And in retrospect, had he really had a choice? Robert Droste had framed it as one, but he’d also quite literally hunted Fex with a wolf. A wolf who, it turned out, was a woman, and who was suffering a great deal of indignity working for the organization. 

Maybe even more vexing was how Droste had known where to look for Fex, who lived as stealthy a life as any of the Fey. How had Operation PYRE personnel just happened to appear when Nicoletta and Vano were in their terrible crash? Fex supposed they could have been lying in wait for any magical creatures who might be brought to that particular hospital, but something about the entire situation didn’t feel right. Mostly the way they treated Nicoletta. 

Would it just be worse for her if he got Corporal Mahoney reprimanded? Had he already made it worse for her, with his angry and very public defense?

But again, since it was so public, there was no doubt it would get back to Mrs. Dunfre sooner or later. Probably sooner. Fex winced at the headache his spinning thoughts were doing nothing to help. 

He had a mission. Go to the booksellers and find a book for Nicoletta to send to Vano. Maybe find some sweets. Maybe even find something for Nicoletta, if she wouldn’t misconstrue the gesture.

In the end he chose a recently published novel by Ellery Queen, an up-and-coming mystery writer according to the bookman. And a copy of Amazing Stories in case Vano wanted some shorter reads. 

He picked up three boxes of Jujubes and two more chocolate bars at the five and dime. Then he studied a few of the women’s things behind the counter, until a bright-faced, motherly-looking woman accosted him with, “Getting something for the missus? You’re not in the doghouse, are you, young man?”

“Oh. Ah. Well. Possibly,” Fex stammered. “There was an… argument.”

“There always is,” the woman said. “The sooner you admit fault, the sooner things will be back to aces with you. How about a nice bottle of cologne? Spring Violets is a popular scent.”

“No…” Fex said, thinking of Nicoletta’s sensitive nose. “I was thinking maybe one of those hairbrushes.” He indicated a pearwood-handled brush with a pretty ring of flowers painted on the back.

“That’s a smart choice,” the woman said. “Do you like the daisies or the roses? Roses are better for romance,” she added slyly.

“Daisies,” Fex said at once, and the woman laughed. It wasn’t until she stepped behind the counter and opened the lock on the case to retrieve the indicated brush that he realized she worked there.

Armed with his purchases and the roots of that pernicious headache, he bought one more thing at the pharmacy—a packet of BC Powder—and started back to base.

His first stop was his own apartment, one of four in a larger Victorian not far from from the base’s entrance. Technically he supposed it was civilian housing, but his fellow tenants all worked on the base, too. He took the headache remedy with a glass of lukewarm water, put the chocolate bars in the icebox so they wouldn’t melt, and set the other things, including the paper-wrapped brush for Nicoletta, in the alcove by the door. Carefully opening the mystery novel, he slipped Nicoletta’s note to Vano inside, and put the book back in its wrappings, too.

Then he rebraided his hair, refreshed his glamour, and set off to have a word with Mrs. Dunfre.

It was edging into the hottest part of the afternoon by the time Fex took the steps up into the building where Operation PYRE’s administrative offices were housed. He dabbed the sweat from his temples and the back of his neck with his handkerchief, straightened his tie, and told himself he could hardly make the situation worse. He hoped.

This time he remembered how to find the door to the division. The same typist was sitting near the entrance. She immediately said, “I’m sorry sir, Mr. Droste is out of the office today.”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Dunfre,” Fex told her.

“Is she expecting you?”

“No,” Fex said. “But this is important.”

“I don’t know if she has any time free today,” the girl—Lisabeth Beatty, according to her name tag—said.

“Could you check? Tell her Fex Woodward would like to see her concerning an incident.”

With what looked more like indulgence than genuine helpfulness, Miss Beatty got up from her desk and headed for a closed door at the back of the office. When she came back after a few minutes, she looked genuinely surprised. 

“Come with me, Mr. Woodward.”

Fex followed her to the same door, and was admitted to Mrs. Dunfre’s inner sanctum. It was, unsurprisingly, aggressively tidy. The windowless walls were lined with a startling number of filing cabinets, all neatly shut. Every paper on her small desk was stacked with straight-edged precision. The blotter was centered so perfectly that Fex bet it was down to the sixteenth of an inch. 

Mrs. Dunfre herself stood behind the desk. She wore a dark suit jacket and skirt, as usual, and a plain off-white blouse buttoned to the throat. Her iron-grey hair was pulled into a tight chignon, and her lips were stained with the mid-rose lipstick she always wore. Fashionable enough, but far, far from sensual. She eyed Fex coolly.

“Mr. Woodward,” she said, resuming her seat and indicating Fex should take the chair opposite her desk. “How can I help you?”

“I don’t know if it’s reached you yet,” Fex said, “but I was witness to Nicoletta’s guardsman, Corporal Mahoney, behaving in a way that sullies the honor of his uniform,” Fex said. He watched her carefully as he spoke. Did she already know?

Her neatly groomed eyebrows rose in a slight arch. “Oh?”

“He behaved like a common thug, spitting insults at her that—” Fex was about to say simply that he wouldn’t tolerate, but an inspiration hit him. “That could have potentially exposed the truth of her nature to everyone in the canteen with us. Of course I couldn’t let that go unchallenged.”

Her expression sharpened from muted interest to full focus. She took a notepad and pencil from one of her desk’s drawers and looked up at Fex, pencil poised over paper. “Of course not. Was there a security breach that needs to be handled? Can you tell me who was involved?” 

“I’m unsure,” Fex said. “He made more than one reference to her as a dog, well within earshot of others, but they weren’t people I knew. I reacted with outrage, as any man would when a lady in his company was so insulted. That, I hope, would have thrown anyone with suspicions at least somewhat off the scent. 

“It did not come to blows,” he added quickly, before Mrs. Dunfre became too alarmed, “but only because the corporal backed down when Nicoletta intervened and agreed to leave with him. He seemed to take my threat seriously, but I must admit I fear I made things worse for Nicoletta.” He clamped his back teeth against his tongue at the memory of the corporal’s frightened, angry face. “I don’t feel she is entirely safe in his company.”

Dunfre’s rouged lips flattened and curled into an indulgent smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Mr. Woodward, knowing what we know about our Miss Nicoletta’s nature, it’s hard to believe she’s in danger from anyone we could assign to her.” 

She raised her hand to stop Fex before he could get a word of protest out. “I will, of course, look into the incident and remind our men that secrecy is of the utmost importance, even among the other corpsmen here. I appreciate you bringing this breach to my attention.” Her focus split in a way that made it clear she was finished with the conversation, and completely uninterested in whatever Fex might choose to add.

Fex ignored the dismissal. “Miss Nicoletta is an average-sized civilian woman, and she’s missing one arm. Corporal Mahoney is at least a half foot taller than she is, and he must outweigh her by seventy pounds or more. She can’t shift to protect herself from him while she’s wearing that locket you keep her in, and she can’t remove it herself. Of course she’s in danger with him.”

The more he thought about that, the more agitated he grew. He’d seen plenty of young men like Mahoney in his lifetime; he knew exactly what they could do to a woman they wanted to hurt or control. 

Mrs. Dunfre paused with the paper she’d just picked up from her desk held in the air. She took a slow breath through her nose, gave Fex and the paper equally calculating and unhappy looks, and set the document back with its stacked fellows. Then she smiled, a predator trying and failing to look like prey. Her voice rose in a syrup of false conciliation. “Of course, you’re right, Mr. Woodward. I should be ashamed that I forget, even though she acts the way she does.” 

Acts the way she does. And how was that, exactly? Resentful of the way she was treated? Afraid for her brother? Distrusting of everyone around her? All it took was treating Nicoletta with respect—like a person, not an animal—and she acted perfectly fine. 

Dunfre forged on, ignoring the storm clouds she was creating over Fex’s head. “The guard is focused primarily on protecting those around her from, shall we say, wolfen proclivities, but I must be sure that they also share your gentlemanly manner, especially with her delicate mental state.”

Fex opened his mouth to protest that slight, but before he could get a word out, Dunfre said, “Thank goodness we were able to pair you with her; she’s never responded as well to a handler before.” 

“Handler?” Fex said. “Handler? That’s what you think I am, her handler? I’m her partner. She can handle herself.” He’d raised his voice enough that Mrs. Dunfre actually leaned away from him. Good. “Nicoletta’s sanity is at least as solid as yours, and more so than Corporal Mahoney’s.” Fiery indignation chilled to glacial condescension. “But if you’re referring to our positions as field operatives, then I’m sure you are aware that if anyone, you, Mrs. Dunfre, are the handler, for both Miss Nicoletta and myself.”

“Well—” Mrs Dunfre huffed, then visibly rallied to go on the offensive. “Of course I’m your team’s handler, Mr. Woodward, but that does not make the two of you equals.” 

Horsehockey. Fex kept his silence. It was true they didn’t treat Nicoletta as his equal. At least not off-mission. But in training and briefings and debriefings, they’d repeatedly made it clear that the two of them were to operate as a team.

“I’ve already violated Miss Nicoletta’s privacy enough,” Dunfre said, with unctuous pretense, “but I would advise you that she’s quite convincing. Her doctors recommended that being allowed to roam the base would be good for her, but it sounds as if it’s rather upsetting to you, and if she’s the cause of such a scene as you describe, that’s not good for our troops, either.” She narrowed her eyes at Fex. “Perhaps she would be safest if we restricted her movements for now. Is that what you suggest?”

“You’ve entirely twisted and misconstrued everything I said,” Fex fumed. He felt the ice under him cracking, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What she needs and deserves is additional liberty, not restriction. If she has to be guarded to keep you comfortable, then assign her a guard who’s more discreet in public and less likely to become her attacker in private. Or,” he added recklessly, “make me her actual handler and let me supervise her. Since, I, as you so kindly pointed out, am actually a gentleman.”

Dunfre arched her sharply sculpted eyebrows and tipped her chin up just enough to look down her nose at Fex. “I believe, sir, I will follow the advice of Miss Nicoletta’s doctors in regards to her liberty.” She paused long enough to punctuate the thought without giving Fex an opportunity to reply. “I’m disheartened to learn you have such a poor opinion of our men in uniform, but as I already stated, I shall ensure her guard behaves gentlemanly around her. You have no need to concern yourself further.”

This time the dismissal was thorough. Fex tightened his jaw and locked eyes with her. “Thank you,” he said, without an ounce of genuine gratitude. He scraped his chair back and stood to leave. There wasn’t more to say. It wasn’t until he was stalking away from the building altogether that he thought he could have mentioned Hirschel Levin having witnessed the whole exchange. Maybe it was better to keep that to himself, though. It was clear, as it had been all along, that Mrs. Dunfre would never think of Nicoletta with anything but fear and contempt.

He’d have to find a way to discover where Nicoletta lived and make sure she was safe. For a start, he would put a more sincere fear of the vengeance of the Fey into Corporal Mahoney, and any other guard who threatened her. And maybe they could figure out a way for her to get that shift-inhibiting choker off her.

A new thought struck him, one that made his bowels fill with lead. Were they also guarding him? Was there some secret shadow guard tailing him? A sniper with orders to shoot if he seemed to be going rogue? They didn’t know all of Fex’s abilities, nor his limitations; he’d been vague and misleading in answering their many questions about what, as a Fey, he could do. At the time it had simply been his natural inclination to keep that knowledge out of the hands of the humans. Now it seemed like a double-edged sword. The less they understood him, the more they might fear him. But the more they feared him, the less safe he would be.

Fex slipped the simplest of glamours over himself to hide the way he swiveled his head to look for suspicious shadows. Nothing stood out. When he didn’t see any subtle or obvious threat, it didn’t take long for his thoughts to turn back to Nicoletta. Why was she willing to put up with this job? They had an obvious point of leverage over her with Vano’s medical treatment, but was that really enough? Had they made overt threats of some sort? Do as we say or we’ll let your brother die? But Vano didn’t seem to be on the imminent edge of death anymore. Even with his severe asthma, that was something that any competent sanatorium ought to be able to handle. Whatever injuries he’d received in his accident, they and their attendant complications were resolved enough that he seemed stable now.

Why didn’t she just get herself to the hospital, sign her brother out with her, and head for a civilian hospital in another city? Or head back home to her people? She didn’t seem deeply invested in the effort to extract magical items from dangerous enemy hands. If anything, she was almost disinterested. Which, if Fex was honest, he was, too. Neither of them—he as a stateless Fey, she as Romani—had any loyalties to the United States, nor to any other country. 

The totalitarian thugs rising to power in Europe these days posed a threat to their own populaces, certainly. And any misguided hand could use a powerful magic artifact for evil. It was only the say-so of the U.S. government he and Nicoletta were working for now that their own intentions were peaceful ones.

Fex glowered at the dusty pavement under his feet. The situation was complicated and more than a little alarming. He wished he could talk it out with someone smart who could help him tease out the truth, but he didn’t have that someone anymore. His last close companion, Armand, was long in his grave. As was Zophia before him. Armand who could have, with a few gentle questions (and maybe one or two stern ones), helped Fex see what was evading him. Zophia, who had always known how to get to the marrow of whatever was troubling him. What would either of them say to him if they were here now? Or lovers and companions before them? Not all were as insightful, but even the dullest of them would have been better than Fex stewing alone in his own indecision and perplexity.

He turned a corner and found he’d walked himself almost all the way to the exercise yard where he and Nicoletta had done their first fitness test together. A squadron of young men in sweat-stained khaki exercise togs were there now, crawling under real barbed wire and imaginary gunfire. They were the Corporal Mahoneys and Private Bairds and their ilk, who were on this base to keep it secure. And, it seemed, to protect the humans from Nicoletta, maybe from Fex himself. What were they being told about Nicoletta? About Fex? About the purpose of the work going on here?

Few humans knew the extent of the magic that existed in their world. What they did know was tangled with superstition and secrecy. The Fey were frightening tricksters who could cast a life-altering curse at the slightest provocation. Werewolves were monsters in tales told to children to make them come to bed before the moon was at its height. It made him wonder even more: what did Vano and Nicoletta and her people think of themselves? Did they consider themselves as different from the human myths about them as Fex and his kin were?

He took a slow, chest-expanding breath and tried to let his jaw unclench before he struck sparks off his own teeth. “Kochani, co si dzieje?” Zophia would have said, resting her cool cheek next to his. Beloved, why are you troubled? He could almost feel her touch. Could almost hear Armand’s warm, teasing, “Essaies-tu de résoudre les problèmes du monde, mon amour?” Are you trying to solve the world’s problems, my love?

No. Just this problem. What was keeping Nicoletta here? Why had she let them put that collar on her? Why was she working with them? What had they promised her? And where in the world was she? It wasn’t a huge base. She must live in an apartment similar to his own, even if they insisted on keeping a conspicuous guard on her. Maybe hers was on the base itself, instead of at its outskirts. Fex left the training field behind and headed back to the center of the base with a purpose this time: find Nicoletta’s apartment.