I grinned and stepped over to the car to clasp hands with Listens-to-Wind. He was one of the oldest members of the White Council and one of the most universally liked. A Native American shaman, he had seen the end of his people’s world and the rise of a new one and had carried on unbowed. His skin was the color of smoke-smudged copper and covered in a map of leathery wrinkles. His silver braids were still thick, and if he stood with a slight stoop as he rose to his feet from the car, his dark eyes glittered very brightly within his seamed face. He wore the same outfit as the others, although he’d refused to trade in his sandals for formal shoes.
“Good to see you,” I said, and meant it.
Listens-to-Wind squeezed my hand and gave me a brief, tired smile. “And you. You look better than the last time I saw you. More easy.”
“Some, maybe,” I said.
“We got a mutual friend here tonight,” he said. “Crowds aren’t really his thing, though. Maybe you can help me run interference for him at some point.”
“Sure,” I said. “Uh, who is it?”
“Heh,” he said. “Mattie, shall we?”
Martha Liberty smiled, and the two of them started moving deliberately toward the castle, side by side.
Ebenezar came to stand at my side and look after them. “Good old Listens-to-Wind,” the old man said. “The man loves his pranks.” Then he cleared his throat and said, “Wardens, to me, please.”
Ramirez walked over to us, giving the rally sign, and the rest of the Wardens came over, too.
“All right, people,” Ebenezar said. “Remember that this is an Accorded event. The laws of hospitality are in full force, and I expect you to observe them rigorously. Understood?”
A murmur of assent went up.
“That said, do not assume others will be as courteous as we will. Eyes open, all night.”
Wild Bill piped up. “What if we see something suspicious?”
“Use your best judgment,” my grandfather replied, “while remembering that Mab, who is quite capable of enforcing the articles of the Unseelie Accords, will be in the room.”
I snorted supportively. “She takes infractions kinda personal.”
The younger Wardens exchanged uneasy looks.
“The wisest course is to observe the Accords and the laws of hospitality rigidly,” Ebenezar said, his tone certain. “If you are not the first to break the laws, an argument can be made for reasonable self-defense.”
“If we wait for an enemy to break the laws first, it might be too late to enact self-defense,” Ramirez noted.
“Nobody ever said the job would be easy,” I said. “Only that it would make us all rich.”
At that a startled huff of laughter went up; Wardens were paid mainly in acrimony.
“Relax, guys,” I said. “Believe me when I say that everyone else is just as afraid to piss off Mab as we are. Stay sharp, be polite, and we’re home by ten.”
“Warden Ramirez,” Ebenezar said.
“You heard the man, folks.” Ramirez sighed. “Let’s mingle.”
Technically, this wasn’t my first visit to Marcone’s little fortress, but it was the first time I’d done so physically. I’d been dead during the last visit, or mostly dead, or comatose and projecting my spirit there, or something.
I try not to get bogged down in details like that.
But as I approached the front door, I was struck by two things: First, a modest, plain bronze plaque fixed to the wall that spelled out the words BETTER FUTURE SOCIETY in letters an inch high. Second, that my magical senses were all but assaulted by the humming power of the defensive enchantments that had apparently been built into each individual stone of the castle. I had to pause for a moment and put up a mild mental defense against the hum of unfamiliar power, and I had the impression that the other wizards with me had to do the same.
Whoever had constructed this place, they’d warded it at least as heavily as the defenses of the White Council’s own headquarters under Edinburgh. I could have hurled Power at this place all the ding-dong day, and it would have about as much effect as tossing handfuls of sand at sheet metal. It was similarly fortified against spiritual intrusion, with the only possible access points being the heavily armored entryways—and even those had been improved upon since I’d slipped my immaterial self through an open door.
Nothing was getting in now. The castle would make one hell of a defensive position.
Or, some nasty, suspicious part of me said, nothing was getting out, making