Chapter 6

There are parts of Tacoma that even the locals do not go to after dark. And some parts no one goes day or night. The old mansion on the edge of Wright’s Park was one of those places. An old, decrepit husk of a once glorious Victorian mansion that was by turns faded whitewash and incredibly old bare wood. The undergrowth in the yard gave little doubt that it was abandoned and about to fall over in disrepair. It is spectacular what one can do with the right fairy glamour.

Which is why the appearance of numerous vehicles in the area around the house drew more than a passing curiosity from passersby, the presence of clearly armed guards did tend to cool that curiosity, however. The hum of activity at the old mansion gave the impression to the few that paid attention that an armed camp had suddenly sprung up in their midst. However, since the armed men wore dark glasses and windbreakers with ATF and FBI on the back, most residents of this end of town made every attempt to steer clear of them. More than one of the guards smiled at the thought that by impersonating the ‘Feds’ they were insuring noses stayed where they belonged.

Within the cool confines of the house, a very tense gathering for war was getting under way. Members of every street gang and underworld mob in the state were here, and they were on their best behavior. That didn’t mean that long held hatred of rivals wasn’t evident, and there was a fair amount of shoving and mock bravado, but it was more reserved than most outside observers would have expected. The tension in the room virtually thrummed with felt power and barely suppressed fury. Most of this energy emanated from one source; a rail thin woman dressed all in black who sat stone still on a throne at the head of the great hall. As more and more of her minions shuffled in, the rage and fury only grew.

“It has come to this, now hasn’t it?” Queen Morgana raged in her mind. “I am surrounded by imbeciles, and my son is the stupidest one of them all. I will simply have to take matters into my own hands from now on. I certainly can’t afford another screw up like the last one.” Her eyes burned brightly with suppressed anger as she watched the last stragglers shuffle stupidly into place.

Smiling a smile that came nowhere near to her eyes, Morgana glanced toward the rear of the room, and one of the Wild Hunt closed the door with a thump. Slowly, regally, Morgana rose, and the room swiftly fell silent.

“Alright, you worthless worms, I’ve had about enough!” Morgana snarled out before raking the room with her eyes. “The lot of you couldn’t find your own backsides with both hands! Some of you couldn’t pour water out of a boot with directions written on the heel!” One or two titters of laughter were heard before the source was located and soundly beaten into silence. “Well, this will end now. I will assume direct control of all operations and the primary mission remains the same, that of catching that little bitch and bringing her to me. Failure is not an option. Failure will be punished by death. And death will not come quickly enough for any that fail me. Is that clear?” This last was said in a whisper that left little doubt, even in the minds of the stupidest of her minions, that she meant every word of it. Morgana did not make idle threats.