Author Games: Empty Night

Quarterfinals: The Cachail

            Power was the language of Others. It dictated where one could go, how one could live among one's fellow creatures; it forged certain paths and blocked others, and it struck down those who believed it to be their friend. The Cachail had understood these truths for years, from the moment he had accepted his badge from the Unseelie Court to the moment he'd found himself fleeing the Seelie Court. Power had been good to the Cachail, but it would not save him when those who possessed more power decided that he was better off dead.

This was why the Cachail slumped against the blank wall of his city loft, regretting that power had ever taken an interest in him, wishing that he had forsaken power long ago.

The Cachail spent little time in his loft, though he kept it tidy and fashionable. A few simple paintings dotted the sandy-colored wallpaper, and a sparkling chandelier hung from the living room ceiling. Though he'd stocked the loft with chairs and couches, preparing years ago for company that had never come, the Cachail had chosen today to recline on the oak floorboards. He felt more grounded this way, despite the loft having been built dozens of stories above the earth. He felt as if he could think here, as if the fetters of civilized society would fall away now that he sat in an uncivilized manner.

His suit jacket had been tossed to the side. The cuffs of his starched shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and his hands and forearms were bare, though they should have been dusted with ice crystals. If he took off the shackle, the cold would not hesitate to seep out of his palms, and the loft and the floors beneath it would be placed at risk. This way, the Cachail's worry would be contained.

He should have returned to the precinct. Despite the danger it would have posed to the people inside, any handler would have told him to travel straight there from the conservatory. After all, the Seelie guards that had pursued him should have turned back once he'd crossed onto Unseelie territory—entering that station would have been tantamount to a declaration of war.

But the Cachail had nearly declared war already, hadn't he? He'd flung his lack of propriety in the Assembly members' faces, both by standing during the meeting and by fleeing their chambers without a word. Of course the guards had chased him down the street—he had conveyed that the Seelie's courtesies did not matter to the Unseelie, that the Court believed itself above the Seelie's common practices. Perhaps the assembly had also sensed that the Cachail had gleaned more than he'd verbally indicated. Perhaps the lead elder had regretted sidestepping the Cachail's inquiries, forgetting that, to a trained investigator, these maneuvers were almost an admission of guilt. All parties present at that meeting had understood the truth: the Seelie Court had not looked after Word of Atropos properly, and the book had been stolen or damaged under their poor supervision. Any judge would find this a worse error than the Cachail's own breach of decorum.

Yet the Cachail had not taken his findings to the Court, nor had he sought refuge within the walls of the precinct. Instead, he had shaken off his pursuers alone, weaving through the streets of Chicago in business attire while the guards' traditional uniforms had caused a spectacle. They'd been slower than the Cachail because of this, and also because the Cachail had taken them by surprise. Looking back on the incident, he doubted that the guards on duty had specialized in foot chases—the Cachail had escaped due to good fortune and timing, not his own expertise. He'd been lucky to reach his loft without at least one guard tracking him to this side of town.

Willow would expect a report. Already, informants would have communicated the basic details—the Cachail had upset the Seelie Court, and he had fled to Chicago's east side. Perhaps the Seelie Court had filed a warrant for his arrest, too, though the Cachail doubted that they would risk opening themselves to scrutiny now that they'd mishandled Word of Atropos. Regardless, Willow would want a debriefing with the Cachail himself, as soon as he was physically able to participate. She would not expect a call from him, as she preferred not to communicate electronically for security reasons, but she would wait for him feverishly at the station. Most likely, she would be furious.