Face Off (2 page)

CHAPTER
2

ORRIN AP RHYS
stared out the large round office window, his wings undulating in the subtle current from the air-conditioning. The purple- and red-veined wing layers glanced off each other with gentle nudges, faint flickers of white shimmering in the bright light of the office. In the near distance beyond him, the top of the Washington Monument pierced the bright blue sky. The ornate trim around the window framed the view like a photograph. “How can a
leanansidhe
be in my Guildhouse and I not know about it?”

Laura straightened in her chair at the Guildmaster’s change in conversation. She had been thinking about the dawn mission, mulling whether the deaths could have been prevented. The public-relations implications of Rhys’s latest projects slipped from her thoughts as she remembered the van driver falling from shots fired by his accomplices. The mention of the
leanansidhe
brought her focus back to the conversation.

She avoided looking at Resha Dunne, who sat beside her in front of the Guildmaster’s long ebony desk. Resha was the Guild board director who represented solitaries, small groups and individual fey—like a
leanansidhe
—who didn’t fit into the major fey species categories. The
leanansidhe
survived by absorbing essence from living beings. People died when that happened.

Resha crossed his legs, the hem of his pants riding up to reveal a strip of blue-gray skin. On a day-to-day basis, Laura tended not to notice Resha’s appearance. As a merrow, his pale skin was normal for one of the sea folk, and Laura was used to working with fey whose appearance did not fit into mainstream sensibilities.

“Well?” asked Rhys.

Resha fidgeted. “InterSec is not obligated to inform me about its staff, Orrin.”

Rhys turned, anger glinting in his eye. “Not obligated? We’re talking about a
leanansidhe
, Dunne. Not some inconsequential water sprite.”

Cress, thought Laura. They were talking about Cress, her InterSec colleague. Not some dangerous being with no moral qualms about killing people. Cress had rejected that role for herself, finding alternative means to survive. They weren’t talking about one of the most feared fey in existence. They were talking about her friend.

“This
leanansidhe
seems different,” Laura said.

Rhys stalked to his desk, his gossamer-thin wings sweeping back with the motion of his body. “It’s dangerous. We can’t trust it.”

With a nervous flick of his short-clawed fingers, Resha brushed at his knee, not looking up at Rhys. “She saved our lives, Orrin.”

Many lives, thought Laura. Cress had thwarted a major terrorist attack at the National Archives and almost died in the process. Even Rhys had a personal debt to her. Not that it mattered, apparently.

“Are you two defending it?” Rhys asked.

Laura wet her lips. Rhys didn’t know about her undercover work for InterSec. Part of the delicate balance of her life was maintaining that secrecy. “I think, sir, that things may not be as they appear. Perhaps we need more information.”

Rhys startled them with a slap of his hand on the desk. “I need no more information. I know what this thing is, and I want it out of my Guildhouse.”

Even sitting, Resha appeared to cower. “I will look into it.”

Frustration burned within Laura. As the Guild’s public-relations director, it was not her place to argue with him about it. Worse, she couldn’t argue without revealing why she knew what she was talking about. It chafed to watch Resha capitulate despite the fact that he had a duty to stand up for the rights of the solitary fey. Even if it was a
leanansidhe
.

Rhys leaned back in his chair. “Now, what has been the response to our donation toward the rebuilding of the National Archives?”

Grateful for the change in subject, Laura placed her hand on the folder with the information. As a druid, she didn’t need to read from her notes. Her innate memory retention filed away data for instant recall later. All she had to do was focus on whatever she wanted to recall, and the information would start to flow. “It moved public perception of the Guild slightly upward, but has had no impact on the overall negative impression of the fey. Do you want specific numbers?”

Rhys grunted. “Not now.”

“Was the money not enough?” Resha asked.

Laura didn’t answer. If Resha weren’t so prone to cluelessness in front of everyone, including the Guildmaster, she would have been embarrassed for him. But Resha was Resha, and his naïveté came with the territory. Over the years, Laura had taken to pretending to be fixed on her files or notes when Resha made his off comments.

Ever since the fey folk from Faerie appeared in the modern world a century earlier, the majority of humans feared them and their power. Someone like Laura, a druid with no discernible physical characteristics to distinguish her from humans, enjoyed the benefit of social acceptance. Someone like Resha, with his skin tone and forehead peak and sharp, predatory teeth, had no hope of blending in. Yet, despite having told her once of his personal discomfort with prejudice, he didn’t understand that money did not always buy acceptance.

Rhys made a dismissive gesture. “The important point is humans are making a distinction between the Guild and the fey as a whole. That works to our political advantage. The human politicians can safely support our initiatives without undermining their voter bases.”

Resha repositioned his chair to face Rhys. “In some quarters, there are calls for the Guild to fund the entire renovation.”

Rhys frowned. “I’ve heard the rumblings. Who are these Legacy people?”

Laura masked any reaction that might indicate she knew about Legacy. The Legacy Foundation sought an end to the fey monarchies in Ireland and Germany. Until recently, they acted primarily as a think tank, better funded than most, whose primary focus was to convince the U.S. government to sever diplomatic ties with the monarchies. Recent information indicated they might be radicalizing, which was why she and Sinclair had started infiltrating it for firsthand data. She wasn’t aware of any specific news items or press releases from Legacy regarding the incident at the National Archives. “They’re a coalition of fey and humans who think the monarchies are dangerous. They do a lot of humanitarian work for people affected by the fey. For instance, I know they run medical clinics for humans who have essence-related injuries.”

Rhys smiled. “Perhaps we should offer our support.”

With a serious and considering look, Resha bobbed his head. “Perhaps funding for one of those clinics would show them we care about such things, too.”

Laura met Rhys’s eyes for the briefest of moments. Resha had a tendency to be either dense or clueless. Rhys smirked back. “That’s an excellent idea, Resha. In fact, I think it would look less heavy-handed if you made the call.”

Pleased, he bowed his head. “I’d be happy to.”

A satisfied smile flashed across Rhys’s face. Having a joke at Resha’s expense felt petty. Rhys underestimated Resha and, although often justified, the merrow was astute enough to take advantage of the perception. “I’ll send you what information I can find, Resha. When you’re ready, we can pull a press release together,” she said.

Rhys waved a dismissive hand toward Resha. “Laura and I need to work out some details on the Draigen macCullen reception, Resha. Send me a budget recommendation and let me know as soon as Legacy catches wind of things.”

Resha stood and bowed his head. “I will keep you apprised, sir.”

Laura shuffled the files on her lap as Resha left the room.

“He’s useful occasionally,” Rhys said.

Laura’s smile was practiced detachment. She wondered what Rhys said when she left a room. She sensed he liked her, liked her work; but she had irritated him on more than one occasion. He made no effort to hide his displeasure then, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge. Still, he was her boss, and she played things carefully with him—distant enough to keep things professional, familiar enough for him to view her as an ally. “With all the strong personalities in the Guildhouse, he can be quite a disarming advantage for you.”

Rhys grunted. “We’re going to need all the strong personalities we can get in the next few weeks.”

Laura retrieved a folder and pulled out several papers stapled together. “Senator Hornbeck wants to speak last at the Archive memorial service.”

She handed him the schedule. The terrorist attack at the National Archives had resulted in the deaths of twenty-nine people and millions of dollars in damage. The Guild had plenty of cash to fix the building. The loss of life wasn’t a problem solvable with money. Rhys skimmed the schedule. “That’s fine. I’ll take whatever criticism he wants to throw at us after I speak. We can spin it later in the media outlets.”

He dropped the schedule. “Speaking of which, from now on I want every document relating to the attack to refer to ‘Inverni terrorists.’ ”

Laura folded her hands on top of the folders and pursed her lips. The fey were, in truth, refugees in the world. Faerie existed, or at least had at one time, and was ruled by fairies of the Danann clan. In the early 1900s, the event known as Convergence occurred, the puncturing of the veil between Faerie and the modern era, and the fey found themselves trapped. Their common struggle to find acceptance among the human populace did not mean that the fey forgot their own internal animosities.

“You want to argue with me again,” Rhys said.

Laura let out a tired chuckle. Rhys was a Danann, as was High Queen Maeve. The Danann had a long-standing rivalry with the Inverni, who were the only clan strong enough to challenge Maeve’s rule. When Convergence happened, Maeve made a secret deal with the United States and Great Britain. In return for her aid in time of war, the two human governments agreed to defend Maeve against any threat to her sovereignty. Including the Inverni. Specifically the Inverni.

“I don’t argue, Orrin. I advise. You decide your course of action.” She used his first name purposely to indicate her comment was more personal and off-the-record. It was a conversational trick she used often with Rhys, a way of gaining his confidence by showing him she was comfortable being honest with him.

He smiled. “We have to deflect blame for the attack from the High Queen.”

“It’s a mistake to imply all Inverni are terrorists, Orrin. You will end up protecting Maeve’s standing with the human government at the expense of unity among the Celtic fey.”

His smile became more predatory. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

With amused disbelief, Laura leaned her head back and ran her hand through her blond hair. “Guildmaster, you were the target of an assassination attempt, and that was
before
the world knew your part in the drafting of the Treaty of London. Unless you have a death wish, I do not see the benefit of this course of action.”

Laura had always thought the Treaty of London was the greatest political accomplishment the fey folk had achieved when they arrived from Faerie. The Danann clan had ruled the Seelie Court securely ever since. She had no idea that success had come at a steep price. What no one knew for a century was that the Treaty contained a secret clause in which the U.S. and Great Britain agreed to defend Maeve against any challenge to her rule. Only the Inverni clan, which was currently led by Draigen macCullen, had the power to make that challenge. By default, the clause made the Inverni instant criminals subject to imprisonment if they protested Maeve’s rule in any way.

“I am in contact with the High Queen,” he said, which meant, in effect, the end of the conversation. If Rhys was acting on Maeve’s authority, nothing Laura said would have an impact.

“Am I to draw any inference between the use of ‘Inverni terrorists’ and the visit from Draigen macCullen?” she asked. Draigen was the leader of the Inverni clan in Ireland and, by coincidence, sister to Terryn macCullen, Laura’s supervisor at InterSec. When the Treaty clause had been made public for the first time, Draigen announced she would be visiting the U.S. to discuss business relationships with the president of the United States. Everyone knew that was a cover. Draigen was coming to put pressure on the U.S. to denounce the century-old Treaty.

Rhys closed one eye. “An unfortunate intersection of events, Laura, let me assure you.”

He was lying, she knew. The expression on his face told her so as much as her truth-sensing ability. Laura didn’t mind working the politics between humans and fey. Politics between fey and fey were another matter. Deep, centuries-long animosities simmered between the various races. Some of the issues made no sense post-Convergence. Laura sighed. “Where will the reception for Draigen be held?”

“Here. In the ballroom,” he said.

High Queen Maeve couldn’t forbid Draigen’s visit without making the situation between the Inverni and the Dananns worse, and the U.S. president couldn’t appear to snub one of the most important fey leaders in the world. “We’re covering for the president, aren’t we?” Laura asked.

Rhys shrugged. “We can’t let it appear that the president is endorsing Draigen. He’ll meet with her privately, but a White House reception is out of the question.”

Laura chuckled again. “And Draigen cornered you into the Guildhouse venue instead at the risk of inflaming the situation by refusing her.”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” he said.

“No, it’s not. It’s deft, though. You’ll have to tread carefully with her, Orrin. She doesn’t sound like a pushover,” Laura said.

He opened a folder on the desk. “Now, that is advice I can take. I’m going to put Resha on this, but I don’t want the solitaries getting too cozy with the Inverni. I want you to watch him.”

Laura stood. “As you like. Do you need anything else?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “If you can think of a way to make Draigen disappear, I would appreciate it.”

She let herself out the door. “You’ll be the first to hear it.”

As she waited for the elevator, anger pressed against her chest. As director of public relations for the Guild, she had a job to do. That meant doing as she was told. But Rhys was playing a dangerous game with the Inverni. It was wrong, and he knew it. The world had changed in a hundred years. The Inverni were not the rulers of the Celtic fey, but they had become powerful political players. Labeling them terrorists simply because they disagreed with Maeve wasn’t something the human governments would approve. By slandering the Inverni, Rhys might very well provoke them.