A Stroke Of Midnight

“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 ca

“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.”