“Fallon Swift.” He eased her back to study her face. “You look good.”
“You, too,” she said even as she tugged on the beard.
“Thomas, Minh.” She embraced them in turn, shook hands with the others. “You’re well? And everyone?”
“We are,” Thomas told her. “And prepared.”
“Let me take you inside. I want you to meet my parents, and the others.” She gripped Mick’s hand. “We need to catch up.”
Others arrived, and she did her best to greet each personally, to make those introductions. And gauge reactions, moods.
Then Mallick stepped in, alone.
She moved to him.
“Mallick the Sorcerer.”
“Fallon Swift.”
She kissed his cheek, stepped back. “You’re alone.”
“I am. I have the map of the base in Utah, and its surroundings.”
“All right.” She turned, took the map to the table to pin it with her own and the one Thomas had brought.
She looked at those gathered. Elves, faeries, witches, shifters, farmers, teachers, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters.
Soldiers all.
“We begin. Here, we work together to coordinate three simultaneous attacks on enemy bases. We will take those bases, free all prisoners, secure and fortify those bases and all assets within as our own. We will send a message to Jeremiah White and all who follow him that we will end their reign of fear and brutality. And that message will reach all who threaten the light and the lives of others. We stand here today, magickals and non-magickals, together for one purpose. To push back the dark.”
She paused. “Thomas,” she continued. “Will you report the results of your scouting mission?”
She listened to the details, watched as he pointed out areas on the map, gave his estimation on enemy numbers, prisoners.
Nodding, she added the information to the board. “How many troops, and support forces, will you need to take the base?”
To her surprise, Thomas looked at Mick, who took over.
“We can take it with sixty. Seventy would be better because it’s spread out. See, we’d…” He moved to the map, picked up one of the toy soldiers—grinned his Mick grin at it. “Cool. They’ve got sentry posts here, here, here.”
She didn’t comment he’d used the soldier toys for the enemy. No doubt Mick preferred to be represented by a lion or tiger.
But his strategy rang clear as he moved pieces.
“They’ve got four boats—two sail powered. We could cut off any escape attempts by water if we had, say, three to five merpeople.”
“We’ll get them,” Fallon told him.
“That cuts them off to the east,” he continued. “They keep the prisoners here—it’s basically a fortified hut on the beach. One guard. Slaves are on this level of the main base.”
“It was a hotel.”
“Lots of rooms,” he agreed. “The top PWs have the top floor.”
“For the views,” Poe put in. “And the status.”
“I guess.”
Mick went over the compound, point by point.
“How do they get power?” Fallon asked.
Sabine answered. “They have three generators, powered by battery and magicks.”
“They have DUs?”
“No.” She had golden skin and deep, dark eyes, wore her hair, black as a raven’s wing, in a straight fall to her waist. “It may be they tortured witches into helping them gain power, or used DUs at one time.”
“We cut the power. Can you do it?”
“I can countermand the magicks. I need one other witch to do it. But Minh says if the batteries are charged, they’d still operate. I don’t know how to deactivate them.”
“We’ll get someone who does to work with you.” Fallon wrote it down. “With the power down, after the initial attack, after they have time to send out the alarm, the leaders will have to get to the battle by the stairs.”
When Mick finished the report and plan, she moved back to the board.
“Seventy troops, including four of the mers, twelve support for medical and rescue transport. How many do you have ready for the mission?”
“Fifty,” Thomas told her. “We have the additional twelve, but only fifty seasoned enough for this kind of mission.”
“Another twenty needed. Mallick?”
She listened without comment as he reported. She didn’t allow herself to wonder for more than a moment why Duncan hadn’t come with him.
When he’d finished, she turned to the board. “You need fifty. How many do you have?”
“We have the fifty.”
“And the eight support?”
“We have them.”
“Good.” She drew a breath. “Arlington.”
Now she felt those doubts, a shift in mood from several corners.
“I gotta say.” John Little, a big man she’d recruited largely by kicking him in the balls, cleared his throat. “Hitting those two bases makes sense. One-two punch. And holding them