Rook

being were marred, hideously twisted. Nerves had been rerouted, arteries and muscles torn out and fused to places they should not have been. It was a deliberate perversion of biology. Myfanwy could no more touch that thing with her mind than she could deliberately drink sewage.
    The creature reclined, partially submerged in a waist-high tank that had replaced a row of seats in the limo. The tank was filled with a viscous fluid that shimmered with oily rainbows. The skinned thing rested its arms on the rim of the tank and laid its chin on the back of its hand. As she watched, a canine twisted itself into place with an audible click. She winced slightly.
    “Good evening, Rook Thomas,” it said. She nodded and smiled politely, pressing her lips together so hard that the blood rushed away. Her powers were tightly wound back into her center, cringing away from everything in front of her.
    “I am Graaf Gerd de Leeuwen of the Wetenschappelijk Broederschap van Natuurkundigen,” it said to her. “I apologize for my current appearance. A new skin is being grown for me, but I did not want to wait. Once we heard that you were unattended, I knew this would be the perfect opportunity to meet with you.”
    Myfanwy nodded sharply, not trusting herself to speak.
    “Let me begin by stating that, regardless of our discussion’s outcome, neither I nor any of my people will touch you this night. Nor will we hurt your friends. I am letting you know this without offering any conditions. This is a courtesy I am extending to you because you have something I want. And because I have been told you have power.”
    Well, that was a well-constructed introduction,
thought Myfanwy. She made a mental note that the Grafters didn’t know who Bronwyn was.
    “They are civilians,” said Myfanwy. “Touching them, following them, or investigating them would be extremely undiplomatic. I would find it difficult to have a productive meeting if I thought theywere going to be harmed, this night or any other night.” She watched the blood flush through the cheeks of the thing in front of her. Or at least, through the capillaries that lay where the cheeks would be.
    “You do not make demands of me,” it said shortly.
    “I wouldn’t think of making any demands,” said Myfanwy. “But let’s change the subject. I gather that I have something you want.”
Whatever it is.
The thing’s muscles jerked in vexation along its neck, and tendons tightened in its fingers. She gritted her teeth as tiny platelets of chitin scraped along the metal rim of the tank. She watched in nervous fascination as it controlled its rage.
    “Very well,” it said through clenched teeth. “Now we will talk.”
    “Fine,” she said.
    “I do not like being in this country,” it said peevishly.
    Myfanwy waited expectantly. She was guessing that what it wanted was not a Eurostar ticket out of the United Kingdom.
    “I would still be in België, but unfortunately circumstances have dragged me here.”
    “That must be trying,” said Myfanwy with as much false sympathy as she could muster.
How tiresome, to have to come and invade a country,
she thought. She was beginning to lose her patience. The skinned man in the tank looked at her with his head cocked to one side.
    “Yes,” he said dubiously. “It displeases me that I am obliged to speak with a member of the Checquy. I have not forgotten the Isle of Wight.” Myfanwy gaped as she realized what this man was saying. He had been there when the Grafters invaded. The thing in front of her was over three hundred years old. In her shock, her defenses wavered, and she began to gag.
I can’t stay near this thing for too much longer or I’m going to be sick all over him. We need to wrap this up,
she thought. With an effort, she fought back the nausea and attempted a smile. It was more of a rictus, but it served.
    “I can understand how vexing it must be for you, but I don’t believe that the first official communication between you people and the Checquy since the War of Wight is that you want them to know you’re angry about being here. So, let us talk plainly. What do you want?”
    “You do not talk to me like this!” he shouted, and he spasmed in his tank, sending fluids splashing. “And you do not play games with me!” His eyes were burning with rage as he leaned forward out of the tank toward her.
    “I am not playing games!” she shouted back at him, all thoughts of diplomacy vanishing. He jerked in surprise,