never be able to balance. Another reminder that he
wasn’t human, that his body wasn’t what it looked like....
Jan tried to focus on what he was saying, now that they were
finally explaining things.
“Preters have a history of stealing humans. Used to be, they’d
slip through and steal whatever took their fancy. We didn’t know why they liked
humans so much, but they do. Babies, especially.”
“Changelings,” Martin said.
“Right. Only sometimes they take adults, too. Males mostly, but
sometimes females. And they never let ’em go.”
“And they took Tyler.... why?” Jan knew she was repeating
herself. She was trying to process all this. All right, she’d
accepted—mostly—the fact that there was more than she knew, more to the world
than she’d ever dreamed, after what had happened on the bus. But this?
Changelings and kidnappings and elves from another world, some kind of parallel
universe or something? Seriously?
Tyler was gone. These people—supers—were here, and they were
the only ones giving her any kind of explanation, no matter how insane it
sounded. Unless ILM or some other Hollywood effects company was involved, there
was no way this was any kind of prank.
Then her eyes narrowed, and she looked first at Elsa, then at
Martin, and then back at AJ. “But why do you care?”
A werewolf’s laugh was, Jan discovered, a particularly
atavistically terrifying thing, like a harsh howl that echoed against the roof
and raised the hair on her arms. Almost instinctively she turned again to Martin
for reassurance. He shook his head, his long face solemn, and looked back at AJ.
So she did, too.
“Smart, yeah. You’re smart. And quick. Good.” AJ was serious
again. “You’re right. We’re not all that fond of humanity overall. Sometimes we
have periods where it’s bad, sometimes when it’s hunky-dory, but mostly, we don’t care. But this isn’t about you. It’s about
us. Like I said, this world is our home, too. We both belong here. The preters...don’t.”
“They are not part of our ecosystem,” Elsa said, moving in
closer. Jan shifted, uncomfortable, and the jötunndotter stopped. “They come in like invaders—”
“They are invaders,” AJ said.
“Never forget that.”
Elsa nodded. “They cross borders that should not be crossed,
and take from us. From this world. Humans, and livestock, and whatever else
strikes their fancy. In the past, only a few have been able to pass, and only in
force large enough to be noticed. Troops, they were called, and we could find
them, and force them back.
“That has changed, Human Jan.”
Elsa seemed at a loss for what to say next, and Martin took up
the narrative. It was almost a relief to turn to him, even though Jan knew damn
well—intellectually, anyway—that he was no more human than the other two.
“It used to be, they had to wait until the moon was right, or
some other natural occurrence, um, occurred. Then they came through either one
at a time, or in a troop. Even with the natural world cooperating, it was an
iffy thing, unpredictable. The portals shifted, moved. The damage they could do
was limited, and if they stayed too long, we found them.”
The implication was pretty strong that, when found, they
weren’t invited in for tea.
“The past year, maybe more, that’s changed. They’re coming in
during times that the portal should not be open, in places they should not have
access to—cities were never their domain. Even cities that were built on old
sites: over time the pressure of naturals wore the access away, broke down the
ancient connection.” Martin looked over at AJ, as though waiting for permission
to continue, and then said, “The preters have found some way to open the portals
that we don’t understand, move them to places they should not be, and they’re
raiding us like an unguarded vegetable patch.”
“Taking humans...” Jan was still—understandably, she
thought—stuck on that.
“Taking a lot of
wasn’t human, that his body wasn’t what it looked like....
Jan tried to focus on what he was saying, now that they were
finally explaining things.
“Preters have a history of stealing humans. Used to be, they’d
slip through and steal whatever took their fancy. We didn’t know why they liked
humans so much, but they do. Babies, especially.”
“Changelings,” Martin said.
“Right. Only sometimes they take adults, too. Males mostly, but
sometimes females. And they never let ’em go.”
“And they took Tyler.... why?” Jan knew she was repeating
herself. She was trying to process all this. All right, she’d
accepted—mostly—the fact that there was more than she knew, more to the world
than she’d ever dreamed, after what had happened on the bus. But this?
Changelings and kidnappings and elves from another world, some kind of parallel
universe or something? Seriously?
Tyler was gone. These people—supers—were here, and they were
the only ones giving her any kind of explanation, no matter how insane it
sounded. Unless ILM or some other Hollywood effects company was involved, there
was no way this was any kind of prank.
Then her eyes narrowed, and she looked first at Elsa, then at
Martin, and then back at AJ. “But why do you care?”
A werewolf’s laugh was, Jan discovered, a particularly
atavistically terrifying thing, like a harsh howl that echoed against the roof
and raised the hair on her arms. Almost instinctively she turned again to Martin
for reassurance. He shook his head, his long face solemn, and looked back at AJ.
So she did, too.
“Smart, yeah. You’re smart. And quick. Good.” AJ was serious
again. “You’re right. We’re not all that fond of humanity overall. Sometimes we
have periods where it’s bad, sometimes when it’s hunky-dory, but mostly, we don’t care. But this isn’t about you. It’s about
us. Like I said, this world is our home, too. We both belong here. The preters...don’t.”
“They are not part of our ecosystem,” Elsa said, moving in
closer. Jan shifted, uncomfortable, and the jötunndotter stopped. “They come in like invaders—”
“They are invaders,” AJ said.
“Never forget that.”
Elsa nodded. “They cross borders that should not be crossed,
and take from us. From this world. Humans, and livestock, and whatever else
strikes their fancy. In the past, only a few have been able to pass, and only in
force large enough to be noticed. Troops, they were called, and we could find
them, and force them back.
“That has changed, Human Jan.”
Elsa seemed at a loss for what to say next, and Martin took up
the narrative. It was almost a relief to turn to him, even though Jan knew damn
well—intellectually, anyway—that he was no more human than the other two.
“It used to be, they had to wait until the moon was right, or
some other natural occurrence, um, occurred. Then they came through either one
at a time, or in a troop. Even with the natural world cooperating, it was an
iffy thing, unpredictable. The portals shifted, moved. The damage they could do
was limited, and if they stayed too long, we found them.”
The implication was pretty strong that, when found, they
weren’t invited in for tea.
“The past year, maybe more, that’s changed. They’re coming in
during times that the portal should not be open, in places they should not have
access to—cities were never their domain. Even cities that were built on old
sites: over time the pressure of naturals wore the access away, broke down the
ancient connection.” Martin looked over at AJ, as though waiting for permission
to continue, and then said, “The preters have found some way to open the portals
that we don’t understand, move them to places they should not be, and they’re
raiding us like an unguarded vegetable patch.”
“Taking humans...” Jan was still—understandably, she
thought—stuck on that.
“Taking a lot of
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