“Such as?” Simon asked.

She told them about the islands, about the basic outline, one she and Duncan had refined.

“It may be we use one for the harder of the hard-asses, and the other for those we think, or hope, might build another kind of life.”

“It’s pretty radical,” Travis began, but Simon shook his head.

“Not without precedent. The English sent people here—what was the Colonies—and to Australia.”

“Without a choice, and as indentured servants. We’ll give them a choice,” Fallon added. “And they’ll have a kind of freedom. Maybe it’s not a perfect choice. Prison or relocation. We’d need a council of some sort to determine who would be eligible for the choice. And to determine who would be given the choice to come back, and when. We’d need to calculate how much in the way of supplies, equipment, and resources to send with them. It’s going to be complicated, and there will be more than one who argues against giving any enemy combatant a choice.”

“But it’s the right thing.” Though she’d said nothing throughout, Lana had listened, weighed, searched her own mind and heart. “On the way here, the first time, I saw those, with powers and without, who could never be redeemed. Even before the Doom, it was the same. But I saw people who were afraid or desperate and did things out of fear and desperation they’d never have done otherwise. I’ve used my power to harm, to kill, and will again. That’s a choice we all live with because what we fight against demands it. But we’re not what we fight against, and when there is a choice, we choose what’s right. This is right.”

“Couldn’t have said it better.” Simon toasted her with his beer. “Let’s work it out so when we run up against those arguments, we’ve got the answers. Do you want Duncan in on this?”

At Ethan’s snicker, Fallon sent him a threatening glare. Simon simply looked puzzled. “What?”

“It’s nothing.” With a smile, Lana gave Travis a magickal, motherly buzz. “I’m sure Katie’s happy to have Duncan around. Let’s leave that for tomorrow. So where are these islands, exactly?”

“I’ve got maps.” Rising, Fallon went for her bag, then spread the maps on the table.

By the time she went downstairs, she felt they had more of those answers, and with unified family support a strong force against any dissenters.

When she opened the door to her room, Duncan rose from the chair, set his sketch pad aside. “Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t know you were here. We were working out more details on the islands. You should’ve come up—in. Oh well.”

“It’s a little weird with your family upstairs, and then there’s the idea that if your dad catches me in here, he’ll kick my ass. But.”

“But.” She sealed the door, and went to him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As the commanders arrived, Fallon wondered how long the celebratory air would hold after she laid out the proposed agenda.

She greeted Mick and, amused, tugged on the side braid he’d dyed a bright blue.

“It’s an elf thing,” he told her.

“If you say so.”

“A lot of the shifters are going for tats of their spirit animals. It’s a way of—”

“Embracing heritage,” Fallon finished. She looked around at the mix of people. “And a statement. Magickals won’t hide who and what they are. I like it.”

Duncan moved to her, laid a hand on her shoulder in a way that had Mick’s grin fading. “Mick. Like the blue. Mallick’s here.”

“Oh.” Fallon shifted to look for him. “I wasn’t expecting…” She looked back, saw the hurt in Mick’s eyes, felt it. Before she could speak, he stepped back, stiffly.

“I’ve got stuff.”

“Hard for him,” Duncan commented, and had Fallon turning.

“What do you know about it?”

“Jesus, Fallon, I’ve got eyes. I see the way he looks at you, probably because I look at you the same way.”

“Did you come over here to tell me about Mallick, or what, stake your claim?”

“Both.”

“Ass.”

Unoffended, Duncan shrugged as she cut through the room to Mallick.

“You left your bees.”

“They’ll be there when I get back. I thought you might need me here today.”

“I do. I’m glad you came. I expect some strong objections to what I’m going to propose today.”

“Is it a proposal?”

“What I saw in D.C., beyond the battle. In the chambers of power, such as they were? We won’t go back to that.”

She thought of Mick’s blue braid, of tattoos of spirit animals. “Tribes are forming, Mallick, and pride in them. They need their voices heard. And still…”

“They must be led, and united in purpose. There must be laws established for peace to hold when peace is won. That is for you.”

“Then I’d better get started. Will you sit by my side?”

“Always.”

She caught her father’s eye as she walked to the big table, nodded. He gestured to Colin, brushed Lana’s arm.

As they took their seats, others followed.

“I know you all have stories of the battle of D.C.,” Fallon began. “We’ve buried our dead, treated our wounded. I’m grateful to all of you for your leadership. It’s that leadership that will take us from this victory to New York.”

She listened to the cheers and battle cries, the thumping of fists on the table. Tribes forming, she thought again, and war drums still beating.

“We led ten thousand into D.C.” She lifted her voice over the din. “We’ll lead ten thousand and more into New York. The Dark Uncanny rule there, and Raiders burn and pillage its boundaries. While Hargrove’s rule is over, there are still military that hunt us as mercilessly as they do the DUs, who forcibly conscript non-magickals to increase their numbers, and PW enclaves that hold slaves and executions.”

“There won’t be so many of them when we take New York.” John Little gave the table another fist pound. “We’ll cut them down. We’ll lock them up. My troops are ready.”

Fallon nodded, and took the opening. “We’ll all be ready. But we need the ten thousand and more. And more,” she repeated. “Some we’ve locked up were conscripted. Forced to fight. They would fight with us, or serve as support.”

“How many of us did they kill?” Little demanded.

“How many of them did we?”

Duncan took his cue. “Jamie Patterson,” he began, “seventeen, NM. Taken from his family in a military sweep, conscripted. They took his family, too. His sister, an elf, age fourteen. And his parents. They told him his sister would be held in a containment camp. His father would go to another training center, his mother to another. After five years, they’d be released from service. If he attempted to desert, refused to fight, he and the rest of his family would be tried as traitors and executed.”

“Maybe that’s his story,” Little began, “but—”

“His truth,” Duncan corrected. “His sister, Sarah Patterson, was in the D.C. prison. Do we keep him locked up? Do we tell her he fought against us—sure, he was forced to, but that’s the breaks?”

“There are dozens more with similar stories.” Simon spoke up now. “Isn’t that what we’re fighting against?”

“Look, man, I’ve got a heart.” Little rubbed one of his big hands over his face. “But how do we trust them?”

“How do we trust any who come to us?” Lana asked. “Not everyone who weaves into our communities has good intentions.”

“Kurt fucking Rove,” Eddie muttered. “You’re going to have the shitbirds, but you can’t toss them all in the same bucket, dude.”

“They can and should be given a choice.” Fallon waited a beat. “Those able and willing to fight should fight. Train under trusted commanders. Those unable or unwilling would serve in other ways. If they have a skill, they offer the skill. And those who have families will know, will have our word, that we’ll do whatever can be done to find those families and reunite them.”

“We have a couple of shifters, twins.” Mick drummed his fingers on the table, didn’t meet Fallon’s eyes. “They came in a few days after we took The Beach. They’d been in containment about six or seven years—lost track. They got out in the confusion when a bunch of whacked-out Raiders hit the containment center. They were about eight when the military grabbed them up. The parents tried to stop them, fought back. Soldiers killed their mom right in front of them, burned the house, dragged their dad off. They’d shot him, so they don’t know if he’s alive.”

He looked at Little, around the table. “We’ve all heard stories like it. I don’t see how we can make prisoners out of prisoners, because that’s what they were.”

Little huffed out a breath. “Some of them are going to be assholes.”

And Mick grinned. “If we lock up the assholes, where does that leave you and me?”

Little laughed, waved a hand. “Okay, okay.”

Thomas leaned toward the table. “How do we verify they were conscripted, or have families they claim?”

“We’ve got records.” Chuck spoke up. “We’re still going through them. We got a shit pile of docs from D.C., so it’s going to take some time.”

“We’re making progress.” Arlys, as always, took notes. “Most are conscripted between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five. It’s a practice that’s gone on for nearly twenty years. Some who were taken were also indoctrinated. They acclimated whether by nature or time, who knows. But we found no one who was released. Once they pulled somebody in, they didn’t let them go.”