37. In Sheep’s Clothing

"Her name is Leticia. We're hunting her, trying to stop her, but ingesting fae blood has changed her scent, her psychic signature. We'll get her, but we wanted the queen to know that we weren't ignoring the deaths of her people. Clive, the Master of San Francisco, is even now setting a trap for her."

Tilting his head, he studied me, still furious but confused now too. "Psychic signature?"

I shot a quick glance at my friends but found varying degrees of awe and fear directed at the warrior. Fuck me. One job! Since death was apparently imminent, I did my best to calmly redirect and relay the message properly.

"Clive is a vampire—"

The warrior hissed, disgust mingling with fury.

"—who has presided over the supernatural community of San Francisco—fae included—for hundreds of years. He is an honorable leader. Leticia, also a vampire, is trying to kill him, and is using fae blood to mask her scent, to hide from Clive, who is a skilled tracker. He's—"

"You love this vampire." He sheathed his sword and then crossed his arms over his chest again, baffled. "They're dead. Reanimated corpses."

"Yes and no, mostly no. I'm a werewolf, as you know, but I'm also a wicche. A necromancer, to be precise. I can communicate with the dead and all that, but as vampires are kind of dead, I can do the same with them."

Eyes intent, he towered over me menacingly. "Explain."

"The psychic signature I mentioned earlier. I can feel the vampires in my head, know where they are." When he eased back, I went on, sweat rolling down my spine. "Leticia has been hard to find because she's feeding on other supernaturals. At first, it was a werewolf, but I put him out of his misery and took that avenue away from her. Now she's attacking the fae. The supernatural blood changes her chemistry, making her hard to find, at least until her body absorbs the blood. We will find and kill her, though. I came to explain to the queen why it hadn't happened yet."

At the soft mutters behind me, I turned to see a crowd had formed. The warriors were still circled around me, but behind them was a multitude of fae, watching and listening. Damn it. There was no way I was getting out of here alive.

The warrior shoved my shoulder to get my attention and said, "And why shouldn't we march into your realm and kill every last one of you for what she's done to our people?" Fury once more danced in his eyes. The grunts and chest pounding behind me said they were all ready to go to war.

Swallowing, feeling lightheaded, I said, "We came at great personal risk because we wanted to show our respect for Faerie, to let her know that we would police our own in order to protect hers. We know your forces are great, but we're trying to avoid the destruction of innocents."

I paused, glancing at my travel companions. They looked terrified. Well, not Grim. He always looked grim, but Maggie and Liam appeared rightfully thunderstruck by the warrior.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have come. In our culture, communicating a problem right away, even if it casts us in a bad light, is a sign of respect and an acknowledgment that the problem is ours to resolve."

"And how do you plan to repay us for the lives lost?" His sword was once more in his meaty grip. I hadn't even seen him unsheathe it. Some in the crowd took up the question, demanding the payment of our lives for the ones lost.

I was going to get my friends killed. Stomach roiling, I tried to take long, slow breaths while my thumb worried the back of my engagement ring. Glancing around again, I saw a familiar face in the crowd. Galadriel stood to the side, watching, listening.

"A life can never be repaid. It's a gift, a fragile and ephemeral one. People are taken from us, most far too soon no matter the length of their lives."

I thought of my mother, the father I barely remembered, the great-aunt I'd only just met, and—no, I wouldn't grieve the loss of Clive until that sword the warrior kept fingering ran me through. "We're given a finite amount of time to live. In your realm, the life is much longer than in mine, but the loss is, I imagine, the same."

I thought a moment. "Do you have dandelions here?" At his blank face, I rushed on. "It's a kind of flowering weed. It looks like a puff ball on a long stalk, but if you look closely, you see hundreds of tiny, fuzzy stars, perfect and amazing. When a breeze blows, those stars are carried on the wind, far and wide.

"It's the same for a life. We grow in adversity, fighting to survive, often keeping that part of us that is unique and dazzling hidden behind the mundane. And like the dandelion, our lives reach far beyond what we guess. So," I said, shrugging, "can we repay your lost people? No. No one can repay a life. It's too great, too far-reaching a miracle to be reduced to payments."

I made the mistake of glancing again at Galadriel and found glassy eyes staring back. I wouldn't cry, couldn't show weakness. I had to make sure my friends and I made it out.

"A life for a life," he said, to the cheers of the crowd.

"I've heard that saying, too. It's a lie, though. Taking a life doesn't bring another back. It deprives the world of two lives. Killing me in payment for the mermaid helps no one."

"I disagree. It would help me a great deal," the warrior sneered, his guards chuckling.

Swallowing, I fisted my hands at my side, trying to hide the trembling. "It might make you feel better in the moment, but my death won't return that mermaid to the ocean. Deaths, like lives, affect many. I am beloved by an ancient and powerful being. Revenge begets more revenge."

"Perhaps."

"May I see your queen and deliver my message?" If I couldn't talk with the queen, this would have all been for nothing.

"And what would you say to her that you haven't already said here?" He backed up a few paces, as though getting out of the splash zone when one of his men ran me through.

Good question. "I suppose I'd ask Her Majesty if she could give us the time to right another's wrong. We know Faerie holds her own quite dear, so—"

"And what do you hold dear, Samantha?" The warrior had begun to pace in front of me. A plan was no doubt forming.

How did he know my name? "My friends here." I inclined my head toward where Maggie, Grim, and Liam were being held at swordpoint, before gesturing to Pippin on my shoulder. "They are, each of them, a credit to Faerie and shouldn't be punished for my own missteps or for what was done to that poor mermaid."

"The queen deals with her own people as she sees fit," the warrior grumbled.

"Of course."

"Nothing else?" he asked.

"I hold a great many things dear. Foremost is Clive. I love him with all my heart. We plan to marry soon."

He stopped pacing at that. "You'd bind yourself to a corpse?"

"He's only mostly dead." A grin threatened at our familiar joke. "I hold dear my bookstore and bar, my friends Dave and Owen, Meg and Stheno, Russell and Godfrey, George and Coco…" I was suddenly struck by how much my life had changed, how full it had become when I wasn't looking.

"If you had asked me even a year ago what I held dear, I'd have said my life and The Slaughtered Lamb." I glanced at the wall of guards, swords drawn, and shrugged. "I might be safer sticking to home, shutting everyone out, but even if you kill me on the spot, I will have experienced more, loved more, in these last few months than I ever thought possible. I'm standing in Faerie, jeered at by the fae, threatened by her warriors, and completely alive."

Back to pacing, he asked, "And what will your mate do if I decide to take your life in payment?"

I grinned now, not being able to help myself. "He'll cuss me out for getting myself killed." Tears formed, thinking of him on his own again. "He'll fly into a rage, gather an army of vampires, and declare war on Faerie. Regardless of whether or not they'd win, you'd have a legion of supernatural killers tearing through your people. Eventually, glutted with fae blood, he'll grieve, and that will be even more terrifying."

"You seem quite sure of yourself," he said.

I glanced back up at him, confused. "Not me. Him. I'm quite sure of him."

When he resumed pacing, I felt off balance. The warrior looked different. It was subtle, but he was shorter, thinner. When he turned back to me, I couldn't focus on anything but his eyes. They'd been dark brown only moments ago, but now they were a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors.

"And what would you give to avoid war?" His voice was higher, more melodious.

"Anything."

When he stopped in front of me and she finally dropped her glamour, I knew I was speaking with the queen herself. The crowd, who no doubt knew it was her all along, bowed when she showed her true face. I was like a deer in headlights, staring into her eyes.

"How about that pendant around your neck?" She leaned in, studying it.

I touched the carved dragon and shook my head. "I'm sorry. It's not mine to give. Benvair, matriarch of the dragon clan, loaned me this heirloom to keep me safe. I can't offer another's treasure as though it were my own."

Annoyance flitted across her face. "And that ring you haven't been able to stop touching since you arrived in my realm?"

I pulled it off my finger and offered it to her.

"So easily?" She took it from me and studied it, appreciation glowing in her expression, before slipping it on her own finger.

"Not easily, no, but it's a symbol, not the love itself. That ring means the world to me because Clive means the world to me. I gladly give it to you, though, in hopes of seeing him again."

She broke eye contact with me, flicked her fingers, and the swords pointed at my friends were sheathed. It was hard to look at Gloriana herself. She radiated power clothed in ethereal beauty. When she glided back to me, her hypnotic eyes filled my vision once more.

"You, Samantha of Clan Quinn, are one of mine," she whispered.

I hated to disagree with a queen. "Ma'am, I'm not fae. I'm werewolf and wicche."

I felt her anger boil my blood for an instant. "One drop of fae blood makes you one of mine. And you, little one"—she tapped my forehead—"have more than a drop."

All I could get out was, "How?"

"Did you know that the wicche who created werewolves was a Corey?" At my blank stare, she continued, "And did you further know the only reason she was able to do it was because she had fae blood running through her veins? All those in the original line of wolves carry her blood, which is my blood. It's why I sent my soldier to test you. I was curious. So many generations later, the first female, was my magic still strong in your blood?"

My stomach dropped. Every time I finally got my feet firmly planted, someone came along to sweep them out from under me again. "And is it?"