[Merry Gentry 04] - A Stroke of Midnight (13 page)

“Ah, now, Darkness, no need to threaten old Harry.”

“Old Harry, is it?” Doyle smiled. “You can't claim age here, not among us. I remember you as a babe, Harry. I remember when you had a human family and farm to tend.”

Harry scowled at him, a look as unfriendly as he'd given Onilwyn. “No need to bring up hard memories, Darkness.” He sounded sullen.

“Then answer me straight, and no one here need know how you lost your place.”

“You wouldna' tell,” Harry said.

“Give me truth, Harry Hob, or I will give you truth you don't wish shared.”

Harry scowled at the floor. He looked somehow diminished and more delicate than he should have, held between the two tall guards. Maybe he was playing for sympathy, but if so, he was playing to the wrong audience.

Doyle knelt in front of him, staying on the balls of his feet. “One last time Harry; did you see Onilwyn kill Beatrice and/or the human reporter?”

The “and/or” had been a nice touch, because without it Harry would have room to wiggle: if he'd seen only one murder, but not both.

He answered, still staring at the floor, “No.”

“No, what?” Doyle asked.

Harry looked up at that, his dark eyes glittering with anger. “No, I didna' see the tree lord slay my Beatrice or the human.”

“Then why did you hide from him?”

“I did not know he was hid there,” Maggie May said. “Mayhaps, Darkness, it was na' the tree lord he first hid from.”

“Very good,” Doyle said, acknowledging it with a nod of his head. He stood and asked Maggie's question: “Why did you hide yourself, Harry?”

“I saw him,” and he used a nod, since his arms were still held, to point at Onilwyn, who was also still being held.

We waited for him to say more, but he seemed to think he'd said enough. Doyle prompted him, “And why should the mere sight of Onilwyn make you hide?”

“Thought he was her sidhe lover, didno' I.”

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Harry gave me a dirty look.

“I'm sorry, Hob, but Onilwyn doesn't think even I am pure-blooded enough. I can't imagine him having a completely non-sidhe lover.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Onilwyn said in that still thick voice.

I gave him the look he deserved and said, “It wasn't a compliment.”

“Just the same,” he said, “I am grateful for the truth.”

“Who but her sidhe lover would come here alone?” Harry asked.

“Good question,” I said and looked at Doyle.

He gave a small nod and said, “Why did you abandon us, Onilwyn?”

“I had no interest in watching the princess perform with someone else. The queen cured me of voyeurism a very long time ago.”

None argued with that, but Doyle asked, “So you came ahead to begin questioning the witnesses on your own, without either of your captains' or even your officers' permission?”

“You all seemed . . . busy.” And even with the broken nose the sarcasm came through loud and clear.

“You didn't hit him hard enough, Merry,” Galen said, and my gentle knight had a decidedly ungentle look on his face.

“Did you come ahead to seek answers, or to hide them?” Doyle asked.

“I was not the lover of anyone. And I would most certainly not risk the queen's mercy for anything less than a sidhe.” The disdain in his voice was thick enough to walk on.

“Did any of the rest of you know that Beatrice had a sidhe lover?” Doyle asked.

Maggie May said, “No, I've told all mah' people that you leave the big ones alone. Only grief comes of it.”

“So, if Beatrice had taken a sidhe,” I said, “she'd have hidden it from you?”

“Ah, most like.”

I looked to the dainty blue figure that was almost hidden behind Galen's neck. “Mug?”

Galen had to say, “The princess is asking you a question, Mug.”

She'd been too busy playing in the curls at the back of his neck to pay attention to anything else. She wasn't stupid, but I'd seen her like this before, as if the touch of a sidhe was intoxicating to her.

She peered around his neck, her wings flicking nervously. “What?” she asked.

“Did Beatrice have a lover that you know of?”

She pointed to Harry. “Him.”

“Did she have a sidhe lover?” I asked.

Mug's eyes went wide. “A sidhe for a lover? Beatrice . . .” She shook her head. “If I had known, I would have asked her to let me touch him.”

“Beatrice would never have told Mug,” Peasblossom said.

I looked for her and found her perched on the pots that hung from hooks on the near wall. “Did she tell you?”

“She did.”

“Who was her sidhe lover?” Harry asked, voice eager.

None us said anything, because it was one of the things we all wanted to know.

“She wouldn't tell me, said he made her promise not to tell anyone or he would break off the relationship.”

“Why would that end the relationship?” Doyle asked. “Unless . . .”

Frost said it. “Unless he was a royal guard.”

“Who would risk death by torture for less than sidhe flesh?” Amatheon said.

I gave him an unfriendly look.

“I do not deserve that look, Princess; it is only truth.”

I started to argue but hesitated. I had had lesser fey lovers in Los Angeles, and it had been wonderful, but . . . but I had craved other flesh. Once you have had the full attention of another sidhe, all else was truly lesser. I wanted to argue with Amatheon, but I could not, not and be truthful.

“I will not argue with you, Amatheon,” I said.

“Because you cannot,” he replied. He kept his grip on Onilwyn, but his attention seemed all for me.

I acknowledged the truth of it with a nod.

“But if not a guard,” Galen asked, “then why would he care if others knew of his relationship with Beatrice?”

I looked at him, searching his face for any hint that he knew how naïve that question was, but there was nothing in his face that said he understood anything.

Mug cuddled in against his neck and spoke for most of us. “That is so sweet.”

“What?” Galen asked.

“A fair few dabble among us lesser folk,” Maggie May said, “but few wish to acknowledge us publicly.”

Galen frowned. “Why not?”

Amatheon said, “Have you been living in the same court as the rest of us?”

Galen shrugged, almost unseating Mug. He helped her catch her balance by holding up his fingers so she could catch herself. “Love is too precious to be ashamed of.”

If I hadn't already loved him, I would have in that moment.

“You are right, my friend,” Doyle said, “but that is not always how our free brethren feel about such things.”

“Arrogance, such arrogance, to be ashamed of that which the rest of us would give so much to have,” Adair said.

“Who would admit to bedding something with wings?” Onilwyn said.

“Good enough to fuck, but not to love?” Maggie May asked.

Some of the men would not meet her gaze. Doyle had no trouble meeting those hard golden eyes. “Was Harry Hob her lover?”

She nodded. “Aye.”

Mug and Peasblossom answered together, “Yes.”

Doyle turned back to Harry. “It's not every hob who gets to share a mistress with a sidhe.”

“Mistress, nay, I loved the girl.”

“How did you feel about sharing the girl you loved with another?”

“Beatrice had broken up with Harry,” Peasblossom said.

“But we was back together,” Harry said.

Peasblossom acknowledged that was true.

“She had broken up with the sidhe,” he said.

“Dumped a sidhe for you?” Mug said, and laughed, a high twittering sound.

“Don't you laugh at him, Mug,” Maggie May said. “Sometimes love is more than a magic or grand power.”

“Did you know that Beatrice had let Harry go?” I asked.

“Aye, and that she'd taken 'im back, too.”

“If she'd broken with him,” Doyle said, “why did Harry expect him down in the kitchens?”

“Beatrice said he wanted her to do awful things for him. She'd agreed at first, then changed her mind.”

“What kind of awful things?” Doyle asked.

“She wouldna' tell me. Said it was so awful, no one would believe it of him.”

We were Unseelie not Seelie, which meant we were willing to admit most of what we wanted. What could be so terrible that it wouldn't be believed? What perversion that Beatrice had turned from it in fear?

“Her sidhe lord had demanded one last meeting, to try and persuade Beatrice to reconsider. I begged her not to meet with him.”

“Why? Did you fear for her safety?” Doyle asked.

“No, not that. If I had ever dreamed such a thing, I would never have let her meet him alone,” Harry replied.

“Then why didn't you want them to meet?”

“I was jealous, weren't I? I feared he'd win her back. Goddess help me, but all I could see was my jealousy.”

Doyle must have given some signal, for Frost and Galen let go of Harry's arms. He stood there rubbing the arm that Frost had held.

“And you hid when you saw Onilwyn, because you thought he was her lover.”

“We thought he'd come back to kill Harry,” Peasblossom said. “If she'd have told anyone the secret it would have been Harry. I told him to hide.”

“If you feared only Onilwyn, why didn't you come out when you knew we were all here?” Doyle asked.

“Would you want anyone to know that you hid, 'stead of fight the man you thought had killed the woman you loved? Did I want the Darkness or the Killing Frost to know I was such a coward?” Tears gleamed in his eyes. “I didna' know meself I was such a coward.”

“Onilwyn,” Doyle said, “the real reason you came ahead?”

He opened his mouth, had to clear his throat sharply before he said, “Truth then, I know the princess loathes me. With this many men at her beck and call, she could keep me from her bed for some time. I wanted to touch a woman again. I thought if I found some clue, helped solve this mess, it might help my cause.”

I stared at his bloody face, those angry eyes. He met my gaze.

“Why don't I believe you?” I asked.

His eyes were angry and sullen in the bloody mask of his face. “Would I admit such weakness to you, if it were not true?”

I thought about that for a second or two. “You hate me, too,” I said.

“I would do near anything to end this need, Princess. Whatever I felt once, the chance to slake this thirst outweighs whatever loyalty I thought I held.”

We stared at each other, and I didn't know what I would have replied because suddenly Doyle said, “Do you smell that?”

CHAPTER 11

DOYLE SNIFFED THE AIR, AND A MOMENT LATER I SMELLED IT, TOO.
Fresh blood. I moved toward him. “What do you smell, Darkness?” Maggie May asked.

He put his hand to his sword, and the other men were suddenly unsheathing weapons. I don't think any of them had smelled what we had, but they trusted Doyle's instincts.

“It's all right,” he said, but he unsheathed his sword, and that didn't comfort anyone in the room. When he had the blade completely free of its sheath, blood welled on the naked blade, as if the sword were bleeding.

Harry stumbled back away from him and that dripping sword. I couldn't blame him. Peasblossom screamed, and Mug hid her face against Galen's neck.

“Goddess save us,” Frost said. “What is it?”

“Cromm Cruach,” Doyle said.

It took me a second to realize he was using Rhys's original name, when he'd been a deity. Cromm Cruach, red claw. As I watched the blood drip on the scrubbed kitchen floor, I began to understand where the name may have come from.

Maggie May said, “Cromm Cruach, aye. Well, what does he say?”

The blood formed letters on the floor:
DON'T YOU CARRY ANY NONMAGICAL WEAPONS
?

“Oh,” Doyle said, and I swear he looked almost embarrassed. “May I borrow a kitchen knife, Maggie May?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded. “Aye.”

He took one of the long, wicked-looking chopping blades and laid a finger down the flat of the blade. The silver of the blade fogged instantly.

Rhys's face shone in the shiny surface. “Do you know how much blood I've had to waste trying to get you?”

“I did not think I was carrying only enchanted blades,” and again, I had the rare treat of seeing Doyle shamefaced at not thinking of something.

“Whose blood did you use?” Galen called.

“Mine. I heal now, but it still hurts to do it, and it's totally freaked the cops out.”

“How many additional men do you need?” Doyle asked.

“I'm not sure. It all depends on how many of the police Merry lets into the sithen.”

I went to stand by Doyle, so Rhys could see me better. “How many police are there?”

“Counting the local cops or the feds?” Rhys asked.

“Feds?” I said. “You mean FBI?”

“Yep.”

“I didn't call them into this.”

“They say you called an Agent Gillett.”

“I called him, but not to invite the FBI.”

“Well, Agent Gillett called the local contingent of feds and invited them to the party. He told them, or implied, that you wanted federal help.”

“Are you calling to ask if the feds get to come inside?”

“Not exactly, I'm calling because the area around the faerie lands is federal property, and the feds are trying to tell the locals they have no right to be here.”

“Please, tell me you're exaggerating,” I said.

His image blurred for a moment before I realized he'd moved his head. “I'm not exaggerating. We have a major mine's-bigger-than-yours contest starting out here.”

“Can you put the head agent on?”

“No. Do you have any idea how many times I had to cut myself to get enough blood on the blade to write that message? None of them are going to come near this blade. If you want to talk to the humans you are going to have to pick a more mundane method of communication. Though I don't think a phone call will do it.”

“What do you suggest?” Doyle asked.

“Get the princess out here because she's the one who made the calls. What little credibility I had with them vanished into the blood-soaked snow. They're afraid of me now.” He sighed hard enough that it fogged the blade for a moment. “I'd forgotten that look in a human's eyes. It was a part of being Cromm Cruach that I didn't miss.”

“Forgive me for making such measures necessary,” Doyle said. “The princess and I will be there soon.”

“See you then,” and the blade went back to just brightly polished metal.

“Your Agent Gillett misunderstood you, I think.”

I shook my head. “He didn't misunderstand. He hasn't seen me in person since I was eighteen or nineteen. He's reacting as if I'm still that person.”

“He hopes to push his way into this investigation,” Doyle said.

I nodded.

“You don't want to make the feds angry at us,” Galen said. “There's a chance that the local police lab might need a little more help with something they find tonight.” He began walking to me, forcing Mug to raise her face and adjust her balance.

It was a good point, a good clearheaded point. I smiled and went to him, and touched his face. I touched the cheek opposite the one Mug sat by. “Always looking to make peace.”

He laid his hand over mine, pressing it against his cheek. “Just to keep as much of it as I can.”

I went up on tiptoe, and he bent down so I could lay a gentle kiss upon his mouth. Mug made a sound, not a bad sound, almost a yummy sound like she liked being this close to both of us. “Give us room, Mug,” I said. She pouted, but flew off. I let myself lean into him for a moment, let his strong arms wrap around me. If we lived in different times, gentler times, Galen would have been perfect—if peace was truly what we were after, but it wasn't, not exactly.

“What will you do about the FBI?” Doyle understood that I wasn't going to do exactly what Galen had suggested.

“I'll go introduce myself to the local agent, and give him a message to take back to Gillett.”

“And what will that message be?” he asked.

“That I'm not a child anymore, and he can't manipulate me like one.”

Frost frowned. “You invited human science into our sithen to help solve these murders. That is all well and good, but I know enough of their system to agree with Galen. We cannot afford to alienate them completely.”

“Because we may need them later,” I said.

Frost nodded. “Yes.”

It was rare for Galen and Frost to agree so completely, which meant they were probably right. “I will do my best not to offend the FBI, but if we go out there and appear weak, they won't leave, and they will delay everything. We do not have time for everyone to play turf wars. And besides, this is our turf.”

“Then let us go make that point to the authorities,” Doyle said, “both local and federal.” He actually offered me his arm, and I took it, feeling the solidness of muscle underneath the leather of his jacket. I realized, then, that my winter coat was still back at the airport, unless someone had thought to rescue it. I was going to need something to wear out into the December cold. I wondered whose coat I'd borrow.

We sent Onilwyn to find a healer. I still didn't know whether to believe what he had said. Had he come ahead of us to curry my favor, or had he something else in mind? Something more sinister, or maybe I was just looking for an excuse not to have sex with him. Maybe, or maybe Onilwyn had earned my distrust.