Chapter 7: The Boring Dinner
The Gator Bait Grill was exactly the kind of place Mandy would have chosen if she'd wanted to punish someone. The neon sign outside flickered between a grinning alligator and one that looked vaguely constipated. Inside, the walls were covered in fishing nets festooned with plastic lobsters and what appeared to be genuine enchanted shrimp cocktails that levitated slightly above their plates, garnished with jellyfish that pulsed with an eerie bioluminescence. The jukebox in the corner was playing a song about a woman who turned her cheating husband into a lawn ornament, and the lyrics were, as far as Mandy could tell, entirely cursed.
The hostess had seated them at a long table near the back, far from the windows, as if she could sense that this particular group of damp, tired, emotionally wrung-out humans was bad for business. The waitress, a wiry woman with a name tag that read "Dottie" and hair that defied gravity in ways that suggested either heavy hairspray or a mild glamour, had taken their order with the tired resignation of someone who had seen too much weirdness in her life to question anything anymore.
"We'll have the fried clam strips," Mandy had said, her voice bright and empty. "And the onion rings. Extra crispy. And a pitcher of sweet tea."
Dottie had blinked. "That's it? For seventeen people?"
"There's more," Ben added, his arm slung around the back of Mandy's chair. "We're still deciding. We're in no rush. We're having a very important conversation about... insurance premiums."
Kim, seated across from them, had nodded solemnly. "And property taxes. The assessment on our meditation center came in way too high. We're considering an appeal."
Mandy had smiled up at Dottie with the unnerving cheerfulness of someone who had recently faced down an elf sorceress and a wyvern and was now deeply committed to the bit. "We're also comparing the relative merits of different ballpoint pen brands. The Bic vs. the Paper Mate. It's a contentious debate."
Dottie had written something on her pad, muttering under her breath, and retreated to the kitchen.
For the next forty minutes, the group had committed to the performance with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Hank had genuinely gotten into a discussion about tire rotation with Maryam, who had strong opinions about tread wear patterns. Rick had been explaining the differences between sourdough starters he'd cultivated, his voice taking on the droning quality of a man who had truly lost the will to be interesting. Calista had been describing, in excruciating detail, the way light fell across the pickup truck in the parking lot, her elfin beauty somehow making the mundane observations even more surreal.
Beth had been photographing the salt and pepper shakers. Marty had been helping her, his red hair falling across his forehead as he adjusted the angle of a plastic alligator-shaped napkin holder.
Mai had been scrolling through her phone, occasionally muttering about bandwidth speeds.
Fatima had closed her eyes, meditative, occasionally sipping her sweet tea with the serene air of a woman who had seen empires rise and fall and knew that this, too, would pass.
And then the world had shimmered, and Mandy had found herself standing in a ballroom.
The transition was seamless and sickening, like being yanked through a hole in reality and stitched back together wrong. One moment she was reaching for an onion ring, the next she was barefoot on polished marble that reflected the light of a thousand floating candles.
She was, of course, completely naked.
Mandy looked down at herself, then around the vast, empty ballroom with its vaulted ceilings and murals of frolicking elves—all of whom were, naturally, also naked in the paintings—and let out a long, slow breath.
"Okay," she said to the empty room. "This is getting old."
A figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the ballroom. Alban, resplendent in his dark suit, his dark hair swept back, his handsome face arranged in an expression of smug satisfaction that Mandy found deeply, personally offensive. He walked toward her with the unhurried confidence of a predator who knew its prey had nowhere to run.
"Miss Williamson," he said, his voice smooth as poisoned honey. "How pleasant of you to join me."
Mandy put her hands on her hips, entirely unselfconscious about her nudity. She'd spent enough time around the Green Moon crowd to have lost most of her shame about being seen bare, and aside from that, Albanian formality was precisely the kind of thing her parents would have rolled their eyes at. "I was in the middle of a really important conversation about pen brands. You interrupted my flow."
Alban's smile flickered. "Your resistance is noted. And admired, in a way. Few humans can be this tedious without even trying."
"That's the goal." Mandy tilted her head. "Is this the part where you remind me I have less than a day left before my parents are more decoration than people? Because I really do have a lot of thoughts about the Bic vs. Paper Mate debate."
"I was going to offer you something more... pleasant." Alban gestured, and the air shimmered. Three figures materialized beside him.
Rick, Beth, and Calista appeared, all naked, all wearing expressions ranging from Rick's tired defeat to Beth's amused curiosity to Calista's cold, regal disdain.
"Oh, great," Rick said, his voice flat. "He got the whole family. That's efficient."
Alban's jaw tightened. "You are all so determined to be underwhelmed. It's almost impressive."
"Almost?" Beth raised an eyebrow. "That's the best you've got? My dad would have had a much better comeback."
Alban's eyes flashed with something dark. He snapped his fingers, and the shadows behind him roiled.
Four figures stepped forward. They were, Mandy noticed with a sinking feeling, uncannily beautiful. Not in the way of the elves, with their alien elegance, but in a softer, more familiar way.
It was Ben. Another Ben, with his dirty blonde hair and flashing grin, his body the same athletic build, but somehow... more. His skin was luminous, his eyes held a warmth that the real Ben's had never quite possessed. He was completely naked, his cock fully erect, and he stood with a confidence that the real Ben, awkward, earnest Ben, would never have been able to replicate.
Another Stacy followed, then another Marty. A perfect, idealized Calista, apparently working under the assumption that all elves are in love with themselves first and foremost.
Each of them looked like the real person, but polished. Perfect. Their smiles were just right, their postures exuded just the right mix of confidence and vulnerability, and their bodies were flawless.
"Oh, no," Beth said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "He's made copies that are better-looking than our significant others. However will we resist?"
Mandy stepped closer to one of the copies of Ben. She studied his face with an expression of clinical detachment. "Nice rack," she said finally, gesturing vaguely at his chest. "But my Ben has a weird mole on his left shoulder. Yours doesn't."
The Ben-copy's smile faltered.
"Also," Beth added, circling the copy of Marty, "Marty has this really awkward way of standing, like he's not sure where to put his arms. Yours is too smooth." She poked the copy's chest. "It's unsettling. Calista, what do you think?"
Calista was studying the copy of herself with an expression of glacial boredom. "It's a flattering imitation," she said finally. "But it lacks my mother's fire." She lifted one hand, and a small flame flickered to life on her palm. "The real thing is always more dangerous."
Mandy turned back to Alban, her face set in that bright, unflappable customer-service smile that had gotten her through more impossible situations than she cared to count. "Thanks for the offer, but we're good. Can we go back to dinner now? I really do want to beat Ben in the pen debate."
Alban's composure cracked. His face twisted, and for a moment, Mandy saw something genuinely ugly beneath the handsome mask. "You reject the gifts of the Unseelie Court? The physical perfection of your heart's desire? You would choose your flawed, mortal lovers over these... ideals?"
"Flaws are what make people interesting," Rick said, surprising everyone. He'd crossed his arms over his chest, and there was something rare and defiant in his usually anxious eyes. "Casey—my mom—she has grey hair now, and she's getting chubby, and she looks at my dad like he hung the moon. That's worth more than this." He gestured at the perfect copy of Stacy. "This is just... empty."
The copy of Stacy, who had been smiling with practiced warmth, suddenly flickered. For a moment, her face showed something vast and cold, something that had no understanding of human love at all.
Then the illusion shattered.
The four copies dissolved into wisps of shadow, screaming silently as they dissipated. The ballroom tilted, the candles guttering, and Mandy found herself falling through darkness.
She landed back in her chair at the Gator Bait Grill with an audible thump.
The onion rings were still steaming. Dottie was refilling their sweet tea pitcher. Mai looked up from her phone.
"Did I miss anything?" Mai asked.
Mandy blinked, her heart hammering in her chest. Beside her, Ben was also blinking, his hand having instinctively moved to her shoulder. Rick was looking at his own hands as if checking they were real. Beth had her camera up, capturing the moment.
Calista was examining her reflection in her iced tea glass, a small, satisfied smile on her lips.
"We just got kidnapped to a fantasy ballroom," Beth said, her voice casual. "Alban tried to bribe us with naked clones. It didn't work."
"Oh." Mai nodded, as if this were an entirely normal occurrence. "Did you get a chance to use the toilet before you left? Because I need to go and the line's probably massive."
Fatima set down her sweet tea with a thoughtful expression. "He's getting desperate," she said quietly. "Casting an astral net that wide, that precisely, must be draining him. He's running out of patience."
Mandy reached for an onion ring, her hand only slightly trembling. "Good. That's what we want. Desperate enemies make mistakes."
She bit into the onion ring. It was, genuinely, the best onion ring she'd ever tasted. The hot oil burst across her tongue, the crisp batter shattering, and something about the physical sensation of eating grounded her in a way that all her carefully rehearsed banter hadn't.
"These are actually really good," she said, her voice muffled. "Did anyone else order the calamari?"
Hank held up a plate. "Got the fried pickles, too. Maryam dared me."
Kim, still in her meditative pose, opened one eye. "I'm going to need to meditate for a week after this trip. The astral plane is exhausting."
Calista finally spoke, her voice carrying a note of concern beneath its usual coolness. "Alban is more unhinged than we thought. He's breaking the rules."
"Which rules?" Ben asked, reaching for a fried pickle.
"Unseelie Court etiquette," Calista explained. "Messengers don't do their own dirty work. They report, they negotiate, they scheme. They don't personally abduct mortals into astral constructs. That's the kind of behavior that gets them ostracized." She paused, her silver eyes distant. "If he's doing this, it means he's either gone rogue from the Court, or he's acting on orders from someone even less stable."
"Could be both," Rick offered. "It's not like the Unseelie are known for their emotional health."
The table lapsed into a thoughtful silence punctuated by the crunch of fried food. Mandy chewed, swallowed, and reached for her sweet tea.
"We have twenty-seven hours," she said finally. "If Alban can pull stunts like that at this distance, we can't just wait him out. We need to be ready for him to try something else." She glanced at Kim. "How much Green Moon mojo can you work on a group this size?"
Kim's face flickered with calculation. "I can create a protection circle, but it's not standard practice for our order. We work with consent and amplification, not barriers." She paused. "I could set up a meditation space later tonight, though. Help everyone center themselves. Ride out the psychic static."
Beth held up her phone. "I got some photos of the ballroom before I bounced. Might have captured some useful astral geography, if anyone wants to study it."
"I do." Mai was suddenly very interested. "I've been wanting to map the Unseelie Court's non-physical territories for my channel. This could be a goldmine."
Mandy looked around the table at this bizarre collection of people she'd somehow become responsible for—a jock engineer, a runaway elf noble, her brother the anxious baker, her adopted sister who was also her niece in some complicated time-travel way, a pair of identical twins who were more different than they looked, her uncle figure Hank who was methodically working through the fried pickles, Fatima the Egyptian ex-assassin who meditated, Mai who wanted to ride a dragon, Beth who was trying to teach the O'Connor boy what real life was like, and Marty himself who was watching Beth with golden retriever devotion.
They were all absolutely, completely unprepared for what they were facing.
And they were all still standing.
"Okay," Mandy said, pushing her plate aside. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to finish dinner, because that much was always the plan. Then we're going back to the beach house, where we're going to do everything we can to prepare for whatever comes next." She looked at Fatima. "You've dealt with the Unseelie before. What's their pattern when a messenger goes rogue?"
Fatima set her tea down carefully. "They're patient. They like elaborate, multi-stage schemes. But when cornered, they fall back on what they know best: brute force magic and psychological warfare." She paused. "The attack on the astral plane is a bad sign. It means Alban is skipping steps, burning resources. He's not thinking long-term anymore."
"Which means he'll try something big," Hank said, picking up an onion ring. "Something to end this game in one decisive move."
"Exactly what I'm afraid of." Mandy's mind was already racing through contingency plans, triage protocols, emergency contact lists. She reached for her phone, then stopped. "Wait. Where's Bruce? He should know what happened."
Rick pulled out his own phone, frowning. "Still with Felicity and the lawyers. I'll send them a message, tell them to be careful."
"Do it," Mandy said. "And I need to check in with my mom and dad's..."
She stopped. The words died in her throat. Her parents were stone. Her parents were statue-silent, statue-still, trapped in their own bodies on the other side of the country.
For a moment, the carefully constructed facade cracked. Her face went slack, and Ben saw something naked and terrified in her eyes that she'd been hiding all day.
Then she shook her head, squared her shoulders, and forced the mask back into place.
"Anyway," she said, her voice steady. "We eat, we rest, we plan. And we find a way to break those statues."
The table murmured agreement, though no one really had an appetite anymore.
Fatima reached across the table and took Mandy's hand. "Your parents are not lost," she said quietly. "They are alive in there. I have seen Jan do stranger things with less. They will be freed."
Mandy met her eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "I know. I just have to keep breathing until then." She slid her hand free and picked up another onion ring, raising it like a toast. "To annoying the hell out of the Unseelie Court."
"To annoying the hell out of the Unseelie Court," the table repeated. Even Calista smiled, a sharp, hungry thing.
They finished dinner in a silence that was less comfortable than before, but more determined. Dottie, sensing the shift, brought out extra fried pickles and a slice of key lime pie "on the house, because you kids look like you've been through a war."
Mandy ate her pie with a fork and wondered what kind of war they were actually in. Because this didn't feel like a battle. It felt like a siege.
When they piled back into the van, the tension had changed. It was still there, coiled and waiting, but now it had direction. Kim was texting something to her mother with a focused expression. Calista was humming a tune under her breath, something ancient and fire-touched. Rick had his arm around Mai, who was leaning against him, still scrolling through her phone.
Ben settled into the seat next to Mandy, his hand finding hers in the darkness of the van's interior.
"You doing okay?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.
Mandy turned to look at him. In the dim glow of the dashboard lights, his face was all concern, all earnest devotion. He had no idea he was outclassed, outgunned, outmagicked. He had no idea how dangerous their enemies were. He was just here, beside her, because that was where he belonged.
"No," she admitted softly. "But I will be. I keep telling myself that."
Ben squeezed her hand. "That's a good start."
"And you?" Mandy asked. "How are you handling all this?"
Ben was quiet for a moment. "I keep thinking about what my sister said to me once. She said, 'The only way out is through.' I didn't really get it at the time. But tonight, when that overgrown elf started making those copies, I got it." He turned his head to look at her. "We can't fight the game. But we can play it better than they expect."
Mandy let out a surprised laugh. "That's actually a really good insight."
"See?" Ben grinned, the flash of her own mother's mischief lighting his face. "I'm more than just a pretty face and a big—"
"Don't." Mandy laughed. "We're in a van full of people."
"Just saying."
The drive back to the beach house was uneventful, which felt almost anticlimactic after the afternoon they'd had. The neon lights of Miami's coastal highway flickered past, casting everything in shades of red and gold. The Gulf of Mexico glimmered darkly on their left, and somewhere out there, Mandy knew, the mermaid Barbie was swimming with dolphins, unaware of the crisis unfolding on land.
The van rolled into the driveway of Judy's beach house just as the last traces of sunset bled into the deep purple of a Miami evening. The Gulf whispered against the shore, rhythmic and indifferent, as if the ocean hadn't just witnessed a day of impossible horrors. Mandy killed the engine, and for a moment, no one moved. The silence inside the van was thick, exhausted, punctuated only by the soft hum of the cooling engine.
Then she saw the other vehicle parked in the driveway—a sleek, late-model sedan with Illinois plates. Her heart lurched.
"Jan and Mara are here," she said, already unbuckling her seatbelt. "Something's happened."
The group spilled out of the van in a disorganized wave. Hank stretched his back with a groan, Maryam popped her neck, Kim rolled her shoulders like a fighter preparing for another round. But Mandy was already moving toward the house, her bare feet slapping against the warm concrete of the driveway.
The front door swung open before she reached it. Jan stood in the doorway, her red hair loose and tangled, her green eyes bright with a restless energy that Mandy recognized all too well. Godfrey III perched in her arms, his small Maltese face alert, his dark eyes tracking Mandy's approach with an intelligence that belied his size.
"Mandy," Jan said, her voice clipped. "Good timing. We need to talk before anyone else gets settled."
Mandy didn't bother with pleasantries. "What happened?"
Jan stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. "Mara finished the petition. We're going to the Seelie Court." She paused. "But there's complications."
Mandy stepped inside and immediately saw Mara at the dining room table, surrounded by legal pads and sticky notes, her dark curly hair escaping from a messy bun. Stacy stood by the window, arms crossed, her posture radiating readiness. Judy was seated at the far end of the table, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed despite the late hour, her manicured fingers steepled in front of her.
"Complications," Mandy repeated. "Define."
Mara looked up, and there was something in her face—a tightness around her eyes that Mandy had never seen before. "The Seelie Court's receptionist gave me a look. One of those looks that says she knows something I don't. And I don't like going into meetings with blind spots."
Mandy pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. Ben appeared beside her, hovering, before settling into the chair next to her. The rest of the group filtered in, filling the room until it felt crowded.
"Tell me everything," Mandy said.
Mara took a breath and laid it out in crisp, legal terms. The petition was finished. It was airtight, precedent-supported, and tailored to the Seelie Court's obsession with decorum and procedure. They had a chance—not a guaranteed victory, but a chance. The timeline was the problem. The Seelie Court, like all faerie institutions, moved at its own pace, and that pace was glacial.
So they were going to force the issue. Mara, Zack, Jan, Godfrey, Stacy, and Judy—Judy, who knew the city, who drove with a GPS and could navigate the faerie roads safely, and who, according to herself, had "no intention of missing this show."
Bruce and Felicity would hold down the beach house. Guard the statues in the basement. Make sure no one else tried to claim the Mike-and-Casey-shaped prize before the courts could act.
"Me and Ben are coming," Mandy said. It wasn't a question.
Mara shook her head. "You're needed here. Bruce and Felicity can't handle security alone, and you—"
"Mara." Mandy's voice was flat, final. "Those are my parents. If there's a chance I can help."
Mara met her gaze for a long moment. Something passed between them—a recognition of loss, of the weight of family. "Fine. But you do exactly what I say. No improvising, no customer service, no trying to annoy the elf court into submission."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Zack, who had been quiet in the corner, spoke up. "We need to move fast. The petition has to be filed before the deadline, or it's moot." He glanced at Jan. "Can you keep the doors open long enough for us to get through?"
Jan nodded. "Green Moon protocol. We don't usually do formal courts, but we know how to open the way." She looked at Judy. "Your car still got that special GPS?"
Judy's perfectly shaped eyebrow rose. "The one that shows faerie roads? Of course. I bought it after the incident in '42."
"Good."
Stacy uncrossed her arms. "I'm coming armed. I don't care what the Seelie Court's rules say about weapons. If this goes sideways, I want options."
"No one's arguing with you," Mara said wearily. "Just don't shoot the furniture."
The next hour was a blur of preparation. Judy retrieved her keys and the strange, ornate GPS that had been gifted to her by a client who owed her a favor. Mara packed the petition into a leather portfolio that had survived three apocalypses and one particularly aggressive audit. Jan fed Godfrey a treat and attached his service animal vest to his small white chest. Stacy checked her sidearm, ejected the magazine, slid it back in with a practiced click.
Bruce showed up at the door with Felicity in tow, both looking winded from their sprint down the beach. "Glad we caught you," Bruce said, his Scottish accent thickening with urgency. "Felicity's been having feelings about the basement. Bad ones."
Felicity nodded, her blonde hair whipping around her face. "There's something wrong down there. Beyond the statues, I mean. Like something's been watching them." She paused. "I can't explain it better than that. But I felt it."
Mandy and Mara exchanged a look. Neither of them was willing to dismiss a paranormal gut feeling, not in this world, not now.
Bruce set his jaw. "We'll keep watch. You go do your lawyer thing." He glanced at Mandy. "And you—keep your head on straight. Your dad's been in worse scrapes and come out swinging."
Mandy nodded, not trusting her voice.
The convoy split as night settled over the coast. The first vehicle was Judy's sedan, sleek and black, its GPS glowing with a map that showed roads that didn't exist in the mortal world. Jan rode shotgun, Godfrey perched in her lap, while Stacy and Zack took the back seats. Mara sat in the passenger seat behind Judy, her legal pad balanced on her knees, already muttering through her arguments.
Mandy and Ben followed in the van, trailing them at a respectful distance.
They drove for two hours through the winding coastal roads before the GPS suddenly indicated an exit that led to a strip mall that seemed to have been closed since the early aughts. The parking lot was cracked, weeds pushing through the asphalt. A faded sign declared "SUNSET PLAZA: SHOPS & SERVICES," and the storefronts were dark, their windows dusty and filmed over with age.
Judy's sedan pulled into the empty lot. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the facade of an old barbershop with a rusted sign that read "CUTS & CURLS."
"Here?" Judy's voice was incredulous even through the window. "This is the place?"
Mara was already unbuckling. "The front of the Seelie Court looks different to everyone. This is what it looks like to us." She stepped out, her heels clicking against the broken asphalt. "Remember what I said. Say nothing. Let me do the talking."
Jan got out, Godfrey in her arms. The small dog let out a soft whine, his dark eyes fixed on the barbershop's grimy windows. Stacy followed, one hand resting on her holstered sidearm. Zack brought up the rear, his briefcase clutched to his chest like a shield.
Mara pushed open the barbershop's door, which creaked on rusted hinges.
Inside, there was no barbershop. Instead, they found themselves in a vast, sunlit atrium, its walls covered in living vines that pulsed with a soft, inner light. A fountain burbled in the center of the room, its water shimmering with silver and gold threads. A reception desk stood against the far wall, and behind it, a young elf woman with silver hair and tired eyes looked up from a stack of paperwork.
"Can I help you?" the elf asked, her voice flat with the exhaustion of a thousand bureaucratic years.
Mara stepped forward, her stride confident. "I'm here to file an emergency petition on behalf of Mike and Casey Williamson, mortals of Chicago, currently transformed into statues by a rogue Unseelie messenger. The timeline is sensitive."
The receptionist blinked. "You're a... lawyer?"
"Yes. A mortal one." Mara's smile was sharp as broken glass. "The petition is under the Inter-Fey Accords Section 44(b), which states that no immortal or fey entity may violate the autonomy of a mortal citizen without due process of law, nor may they impinge on the legal rights of said mortal by any means, magical or otherwise. We're claiming emergency consideration due to the threat of permanent harm."
The receptionist took the portfolio Mara slid across the desk. She flipped through it, her expression unchanging. "You've cited Article 14 as well. That's... ambitious."
"I'm an ambitious woman."
The elf studied Mara for a long moment. Then her tired eyes sharpened, and she looked up with a gaze that held something unreadable.
"Miss Henderson," the receptionist said slowly, "I recognize your name. You're the one they call 'the scariest lawyer in Chicago.'"
Mara didn't blink. "It's a living."
The receptionist set the portfolio down. "I'll have this reviewed. But I should warn you—the Seelie Court isn't the only one that will be looking at this petition."
Mara's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"
The elf leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Someone in the Unseelie Court is interested in this case. And not just the messenger who's been causing trouble." She paused, her silver eyes boring into Mara's. "There are factions on both sides who want those statues to stay just how they are. You may be outmaneuvered before you even begin."
Before Mara could respond, the elf straightened, her professional mask snapping back into place. "I'll file your petition. You'll hear from us before the deadline expires."
It was a dismissal.
Mara stood there for a moment, her mind racing. Then she nodded, turned, and walked out of the barbershop into the darkened strip mall parking lot.
Judy was already waiting by the car, her arms crossed. "Well?"
Mara was silent until everyone had climbed back into the vehicles. Once the doors were closed and the GPS was recalculating their route to nowhere, she spoke.
"Alban isn't working alone. He has allies on both sides of the courts." She looked at Jan. "Someone on the Seelie side wants this to go to trial, and they want Mike and Casey to lose."
Jan's face was pale in the dashboard light. "Sweet mercy."
Mara's jaw tightened. "We need to be careful. I don't just mean legal strategy. I mean—watch your backs. We're playing against more than we thought."
The drive back was silent, heavy with the weight of her words. The beach house materialized out of the coastal mist at the end of the street, and just as they pulled up, the van drove past, taking the last spot in the driveway.
Mandy was already out of the van and sprinting toward them before the sedan had fully stopped. "What happened? What did you find out?"
Mara stepped out of the car, her face unreadable in the night. "We need to talk. Inside. Now."
The group reconvened in the dining room, a strange convocation of mortals, half-elves, and one very alert Maltese. Mara laid it out in concise, damning terms. The political situation, the receptionist's warning, the presence of allies on the Seelie side. She ended with the same conclusion she'd drawn in the car.
"Whoever is pulling Alban's strings is also pulling the Seelie Court's strings," she said. "They want this to go to trial. They want Mike and Casey to become precedent."
Mandy's face hardened. "The hell they will."
"Agreed," Jan said. She set Godfrey down on the floor, and the little dog trotted to the center of the table, as if convening his own court. "But we can't fight on two fronts at once. We need an advantage." Her eyes lit with a familiar, dangerous spark. "And I think I know where to get one."
Everyone looked at her.
Jan smiled, slow and sharp. "The Green Moon has a branch in Savannah. They've been studying the Seelie-Unseelie political dynamic for centuries. If anyone knows who's pulling strings, it's them."
Mara frowned. "That's a detour. We don't have time."
"We need information," Jan countered. "Mara, you're a brilliant lawyer, but you're flying blind. Let me get you sight."
Mara held her gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Fine. But we leave at dawn."
The room dispersed, nervous energy crackling in the air. Mandy caught Ben's arm before he could follow the others.
"Hey," she said, her voice low. "You still with me?"
Ben turned. His face was tired, but warm. "Always." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We'll figure this out. Your parents are too stubborn to stay stones forever."
Mandy let out a shaky laugh. "You're right. They're probably swearing at the walls in there."
Ben smiled. "See? Nothing can hold Williamson spirit down." He paused. "Except maybe your mom's cooking."
"Shut up." Mandy shoved him lightly. "My mom's cooking is fine."
"It's a crime against humanity."
"It's a crime that you're still breathing."
They bantered for a moment longer, but it was a weak shield, and they both knew it. As the house settled into a restless quiet, Mandy found herself unable to think about anything but the stone figures in the basement—trapped, silent, waiting.
And somewhere between the waves and the wind, she swore she heard her father's voice, carrying across the water.