A Shiver of Light
Page 91

“Is he the one who shot Sholto, or did he just load the rifle?” I asked.
Doyle looked down at me, and it was an approving look. “Sometimes in these months of you being pregnant I have forgotten that you were a detective here in the Western Lands before I found you.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever, and never anything else, but being a mother doesn’t make me not Merry Gentry, private detective.”
“We do not know if he pulled the trigger, or if he was part of a conspiracy. Until we are certain we have no other traitors among the sidhe, we will surround you with guards we are certain of, like all in this room.”
“We appreciate the trust you show us,” Barra said.
“The sluagh have more honor than most of the guard of any court,” Doyle said.
Barra gave another of those strangely graceless, graceful bows.
“We need to know everything the suspect knows,” I said.
“He is not wanting to talk.”
“I’m assuming he’s claiming diplomatic immunity as a noble of the court,” I said.
“Of course,” Doyle said.
“Good,” I said.
He looked at me. “Good, Merry? That means the police cannot question him at all.”
“It also means that the sidhe has put himself firmly in the hands of faerie, and I am a queen of faerie. We will treat our traitor as a noble of the faerie courts, and he will tell us everything we want to know.”
“If you torture him, the police will likely stop you.”
I smiled and could feel that it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “I don’t think we’ll have to resort to traditional torture.”
“What are you planning?” Galen asked, and he sounded suspicious.
“How much of the sluagh is here in the Western Lands? Is it just nightflyers?”
“No, our queen, we are many. Your goblin sidhe brought many of us through the mirror.”
“Even better,” I said.
“Merry,” Galen said, “what are you planning to do?”
“I am the Queen of the Sluagh, and he’s slain my king; I am within my rights to use the sluagh to question him.”
“Some of the sluagh seen without magic to protect the mind can cause madness,” Doyle said.
“I think he’ll talk before that happens,” I said.
“Ruthless, and practical,” Barra said. “We approve.”
There was another hissing sound like a Greek chorus from some Lovecraftian nightmare. It made me smile, because it would likely scare the hell out of our traitor.
“I brought you fresh clothes,” Galen said.
I smiled at him. “Then let’s get me dressed and go help Rhys question our prisoner.”
“Let the doctor say you are well enough to go, first,” Doyle said.
“I am well enough.”
“Galen, fetch the doctor.”
Galen turned without a word and went for the door. One of the nightflyers slithered across the ceiling, poured like thick water down the wall, and crawled sideways out the door. Galen held the door without being asked, as if he expected it.
“There are more guards outside the door, both human and fey. It has been decided that none of your lovers go anywhere without extra guard.”
“I agree,” I said.
“We will lose no more princes of faerie to this plot,” Barra said.
I let go of Doyle’s hand so I could hold Frost’s with both of mine. “But we will lose this prince of faerie, eventually. I am so sorry, Frost.”
Frost smiled down at me. “We will grow old together, my Merry. What could be better than that?”
Doyle leaned in and put his dark hand over our clasped ones. I realized he was crying, the tears gleaming in the lights. “Do not leave me all alone, not both of you, I do not think I could bear it. I would rather age and fade with the two of you than live the rest of eternity without either of you.”
We opened our arms and the Darkness laid himself across the bed so we could hold him while he cried, because we would age and he would not.
 
 
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
 
 
TRANCER’S HANDCUFFS WERE fastened through the metal ring on the metal table in the interrogation room. His feet were chained to a ring in the floor. His long brown hair was disheveled, but since he couldn’t raise his hands to smooth it into place, there was nothing he could do about it. I knew how vain the men of the courts were about their appearance, so it bothered him more than it would have most men, but there were probably things about his physical appearance that bothered him more right now. One tricolored eye was swelling shut, the cheek underneath it was swollen, and his mouth had blood drying at the corner of the opposite side from the other damage, as if someone had hit him on one side, then backhanded him and hit him again. For all I knew that was exactly what happened, but honestly, I didn’t care. I hoped it hurt, hoped he was hurting. If he had pulled the trigger and killed Sholto, I planned on him hurting, a lot.
I was strangely calm as I sat across the table from him. I felt icy calm, as if something in me had gone cold and would never be warm again. It was still a type of shock, emotional shock, and I knew that, but thanks to being in shock, I didn’t care about that either. It would help me think; it would help me question the man sitting chained across from me without losing my temper. The police hadn’t wanted me in here, and as Merry Gentry, private detective, I wouldn’t have been, but I was sitting here as Queen Meredith of the Sluagh, and Trancer was still invoking his rights as a citizen of faerie, so being a queen trumped my PI license all to hell.
No matter what you see on television, interrogation rooms are small, so with Rhys and Doyle standing behind me, and Detective Lucy Tate standing in the far corner along with one local detective it was … cozy. Lucy was here as a courtesy since she was L. A. homicide, not Malibu, which was where the beach house was located, but the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s department was like most police departments, they both fiercely protected their turf and wanted desperately to avoid blame in high-profile cases. There was always that mix of wanting to be the hero and not wanting to be the scapegoat for a mediaworthy case like this one. It was a thin line to walk, and they were willing to let me help them walk it, for now.
“You told me you and your wife wanted me to help give you a baby; was that a lie?”
I had a moment to see him surprised by the question, before he schooled his face to polite blankness. It didn’t work as well with the bruises and blood, but he did his best. He was a noble of the Seelie Court; he knew how to hide his feelings.
“Answer her,” Doyle said in a growling deep voice.
“I don’t have to answer her,” Trancer said.
Detective Ivan stepped away from the wall, running a hand through his short, dark hair. He looked exotic, almost Asian, but not quite. “You don’t have to talk to us, local cops, or even Detective Tate here, because your diplomatic immunity means we have no authority over you.”
“See, I don’t have to answer any of your questions.” He sounded far too satisfied when he said it.
“You don’t have to answer our questions,” Lucy said, “but you do have to answer to your own people.”