Chapter 4: The Newport Sidhe

The elderly man extended his hand as if they were meeting at a cocktail party instead of standing in the wreckage of Jack's apartment. "Duncan Thrift," he said, his accent carrying hints of old Ireland. "And this is my associate, Dobbs."

The portly man in the three-piece suit nodded politely, adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Frost. Though I do wish it were under more pleasant circumstances."

Jack stared at them both, his mind struggling to process what he'd just witnessed. The way Duncan had made Bander's iron armor rust with just a touch, how Dobbs had turned that walking stick into something that could deflect a supernatural weapon—these weren't just helpful neighbors who'd happened to wander by.

"You're Fae," Jack said. It wasn't a question.

"Local representatives of the Newport Sidhe, to be precise," Duncan replied, stepping carefully around the pools of melting ice. "We've been keeping an eye on you since the disturbances began. Though I must say, your awakening has been rather more... explosive than we anticipated."

Summer moved to Jack's side, her sword still glowing faintly in her grip. "Duncan Thrift. I should have known the local Sidhe would involve themselves eventually."

"Summer of the Seelie Court," Duncan acknowledged with a slight bow. "Your reputation precedes you. As does your mission, I suspect."

"My mission is my own business."

"When it involves the heir to the Winter Throne manifesting power in our territory, it becomes our business as well." Duncan's eyes found Jack again, ancient and calculating. "Especially when that manifestation attracts the attention of the Host."

The Interface pulsed in Jack's peripheral vision:

[NEW ENTITIES DETECTED]

[DUNCAN THRIFT - LEVEL: ???]

[DOBBS - LEVEL: ???]

[CLASSIFICATION: NEUTRAL ALLIED]

[WARNING: POWER LEVELS EXCEED SCAN PARAMETERS]

"What exactly are the Newport Sidhe?" Jack asked, noting how the Interface couldn't even read their levels. That seemed significant.

"Every major city has them," Dobbs explained, producing a handkerchief to clean his spectacles. "Local Fae who've made their homes in the human world, maintaining the balance between realms. We handle the small problems so they don't become big ones."

"And prevent big problems from destroying the neighborhood," Duncan added, glancing meaningfully at the ice-covered ruins of Jack's studio. "Though in fairness, Mr. Frost, your particular problem was rather beyond our usual purview."

A distant howl echoed through the broken windows, followed by another, then another. Summer tensed, her sword blazing brighter.

"Bander's calling reinforcements," she said. "We need to move. Now."

"Already handled," Duncan said calmly. He pulled an ornate pocket watch from his vest and consulted it. "The Host's little swarm will find themselves quite lost for the next hour or so. Newport's streets have a way of rearranging themselves when properly motivated."

Jack looked out the window and blinked. The familiar view of Thames Street was gone, replaced by a maze of narrow alleys that definitely hadn't been there an hour ago. Fog drifted between buildings that seemed to lean in on themselves, and streetlights flickered in patterns that hurt to follow.

"You changed the city," Jack said weakly.

"Borrowed a few blocks, temporarily," Dobbs corrected. "Newport has always been a thin place, Mr. Frost. The boundary between worlds runs close to the surface here. It's why so many of our kind have settled in the area over the centuries."

"And why young Fae with awakening bloodlines tend to manifest their first powers here," Duncan added. "The Veil is gossamer-thin in certain locations. Your apartment happened to sit directly over one of the strongest confluence points."

That explained a lot, actually. Jack had always felt drawn to this particular building, even when he could barely afford the rent. He'd assumed it was just the north-facing windows that provided good natural light for painting.

Another howl sounded, closer this time, but the fog swallowed it almost immediately. Whatever Duncan had done to the local geography, it was working.

"The question now," Duncan continued, "is what to do with you, Mr. Frost. Your power has been unleashed, your location is compromised, and half the supernatural community will be converging on Newport within hours."

"Half?" Summer asked.

"The other half is likely already here," Dobbs said cheerfully. "Word travels fast when a Winter Court heir manifests. Especially one with an Interface."

Jack started. "You know about the Interface?"

"Rare as phoenix feathers," Duncan said. "Perhaps one in ten thousand Reality Shapers develops a System connection. It indicates a level of potential that's... concerning to various factions."

The Interface flickered, displaying new information:

[BLOODLINE ANALYSIS COMPLETE]

[HERITAGE: WINTER COURT NOBILITY - PURITY 87%]

[POLITICAL VALUE: EXTREME]

[BOUNTY PLACED BY MULTIPLE FACTIONS]

[CURRENT SAFETY RATING: MINIMAL]

"Eighty-seven percent," Summer read over his shoulder. "That's impossible. The Winter bloodlines were diluted centuries ago."

"Not diluted," Duncan corrected. "Hidden. Protected. Scattered to the far corners of the world and left to sleep until the time was right." He studied Jack with those ancient eyes. "Tell me, Mr. Frost, what do you know of your family history?"

"Not much," Jack admitted. "My mother disappeared when I was ten. Never knew my father. Grew up in foster care after that." The words tasted bitter. "Why?"

"Because your mother didn't disappear," Duncan said gently. "She was murdered. And your father was the last Prince of the Winter Court."

The world tilted. Jack grabbed the doorframe for support as the implications crashed over him. "That's... no. That can't be right."

"The Winter Court fell three centuries ago," Duncan continued. "Its nobles were hunted to extinction by a coalition of Summer Fae and human witch-hunters. Only a few bloodlines escaped, and they went deep into hiding. Your line is the most direct—the main branch of the royal family."

"Which makes you," Dobbs added apologetically, "quite possibly the rightful King of Winter. If such a title still meant anything, of course."

Summer's sword flickered and nearly went out. "You're telling me I've been protecting the Winter King?"

"Potentially," Duncan said. "Though titles are meaningless without power to back them. And power without wisdom tends to end badly for everyone involved."

As if summoned by his words, something massive slammed into the building's exterior wall. Plaster dust rained from the ceiling, and the lights flickered. The howling outside grew louder, more organized.

"Your maze isn't holding them," Summer observed.

Duncan frowned, consulting his pocket watch again. "No, it's not. Someone's unraveling my working faster than should be possible." His expression darkened. "Someone with significant power and intimate knowledge of Newport's ley lines."

Another impact shook the building. This time, Jack heard the sound of splintering wood from somewhere below.

"They're in the building," Dobbs said, his cheerful demeanor finally cracking. "Multiple contacts, coming up the stairs."

The Interface blazed urgent warnings:

[MULTIPLE HOSTILES DETECTED]

[THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME]

[ESCAPE ROUTE ANALYSIS: BLOCKED]

[RECOMMENDATION: PREPARE FOR SIEGE]

Jack's mana had regenerated to 31 points—enough for maybe one good manifestation, if he was lucky. Summer's sword was steady in her grip, but he could see exhaustion in the tight lines around her eyes. Duncan and Dobbs seemed confident, but they were three floors up with enemies below and no obvious exit.

"Options?" Jack asked.

"Fight," Summer said simply.

"Negotiate," Dobbs suggested.

"Run," Duncan said, moving to the window. "Though running will require a certain leap of faith."

Jack joined him at the broken window and looked down. Three stories to the street, no fire escape, no convenient ledges. "That's not running. That's suicide."

"Not if you trust us," Duncan said. He placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, and Jack felt power flow between them—ancient, patient, deep as stone roots. "The Newport Sidhe have been protecting this city for two hundred years, Mr. Frost. We don't intend to lose our first Winter Court heir on our watch."

The sounds from below grew louder. Multiple voices now, speaking in languages that predated human civilization. The Host had brought friends.

"Decision time," Summer said, raising her blade as shadows began moving in the hallway.

Jack looked at his destroyed studio, at the Interface showing impossible statistics, at the ancient Fae who claimed he was royalty, at the warrior woman who'd saved his life twice in one night. Six hours ago, his biggest worry had been whether he could afford ramen for dinner.

"Trust," he said, stepping up to the window. "Right. No pressure."

Duncan smiled, and for a moment he looked less like an elderly man and more like something wild and dangerous wearing human shape. "None at all, Your Highness."

The first shadows reached the doorway just as Duncan grabbed Jack's hand and stepped backward into empty air.

Jack's scream was lost in the wind as Newport fell away beneath them, but instead of pavement rushing up to meet them, there was light—silver and gold and impossible—swallowing them whole.

When his vision cleared, Jack found himself standing in a place that definitely wasn't Rhode Island anymore.

The Interface helpfully informed him:

[LOCATION: GILDED HAVEN - NEWPORT SIDHE STRONGHOLD]

[SAFETY RATING: MODERATE]

[WELCOME TO THE HIDDEN WORLD, JACK FROST]

Behind them, the window they'd jumped from was nothing but empty air three stories above a street that no longer existed. And from the impossibly ornate mansion now surrounding them, Jack could hear Duncan's voice echoing through halls that stretched further than physics should allow:

"Welcome to the war, indeed."