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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 211 из 293The bathroom was bigger than most standard modern bathrooms, but once you squeezed in Frost, Doyle, Galen, Nicca and his wings, Kitto, and me, no bathroom short of Queen Andais’s personal bathroom would have been big enough. Kitto was running the bath, playing servant, which he’d started doing more and more. Andais had offered me servants, but Doyle had refused on the grounds of my safety. We couldn’t trust anyone as we trusted each other. That was part of the reason. The other part was that the servant would spy for Andais, and we had too many secrets for that. We didn’t share that part with Andais.
“When I escorted Major Walters and the good doctor to their cars, the FBI was still there.”
“Persistent bastard,” I said.
Rhys shook his head, and stopped beside me. “No, Merry, not persistent. Carmichael, who thought our Killing Frost was so pretty, had just gotten to the cars, too.”
“What are you saying, Rhys?” Doyle was leaning to one side of the door.
“That according to the FBI and the people who escorted Carmichael out, only a few minutes had passed since I put Carmichael outside of the mound.”
“It’s been hours since then,” I said. I was sitting on the corner of the wide marble edge of the tub, trying to make myself small, so we weren’t too crowded.
“Not according to the humans outside,” Rhys said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means that the sithen is playing with time,” Doyle said.
“Time always runs funny inside faerie,” I said.
“But only in pockets,” Rhys said, “and only by a few minutes, maybe an hour. Faerie has been on the same time schedule as the mortal world since before we came to America.” He leaned against the double sinks, fitting himself beside Galen.
Nicca had most of the far corner of the room for himself and the sweep of his wings. “What does it mean?”
Frost spoke from the wall on the other side of the door. “It means that it isn’t only the sidhe and the demi-fey who are regaining some of their old powers.”
“You told me that the humans reacted to the entrance to faerie as if the hallway had its old glamour,” Doyle said. “Why should we be surprised that the sithen is gaining back other abilities as well.”
I hugged my knees, trying to ignore the scratchy dried blood on my jeans. Kitto was testing the nearly full tub. I said, “Sometimes you talk about the sithen as if it’s just a building, sometimes you talk as if it’s a being in its own right, sometimes you speak of the sithen as if it is faerie. I asked my father once if the sithen was alive, and he said yes.
“When I escorted Major Walters and the good doctor to their cars, the FBI was still there.”
“Persistent bastard,” I said.
Rhys shook his head, and stopped beside me. “No, Merry, not persistent. Carmichael, who thought our Killing Frost was so pretty, had just gotten to the cars, too.”
“What are you saying, Rhys?” Doyle was leaning to one side of the door.
“That according to the FBI and the people who escorted Carmichael out, only a few minutes had passed since I put Carmichael outside of the mound.”
“It’s been hours since then,” I said. I was sitting on the corner of the wide marble edge of the tub, trying to make myself small, so we weren’t too crowded.
“Not according to the humans outside,” Rhys said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means that the sithen is playing with time,” Doyle said.
“Time always runs funny inside faerie,” I said.
“But only in pockets,” Rhys said, “and only by a few minutes, maybe an hour. Faerie has been on the same time schedule as the mortal world since before we came to America.” He leaned against the double sinks, fitting himself beside Galen.
Nicca had most of the far corner of the room for himself and the sweep of his wings. “What does it mean?”
Frost spoke from the wall on the other side of the door. “It means that it isn’t only the sidhe and the demi-fey who are regaining some of their old powers.”
“You told me that the humans reacted to the entrance to faerie as if the hallway had its old glamour,” Doyle said. “Why should we be surprised that the sithen is gaining back other abilities as well.”
I hugged my knees, trying to ignore the scratchy dried blood on my jeans. Kitto was testing the nearly full tub. I said, “Sometimes you talk about the sithen as if it’s just a building, sometimes you talk as if it’s a being in its own right, sometimes you speak of the sithen as if it is faerie. I asked my father once if the sithen was alive, and he said yes.