A Stroke Of Midnight   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

I fought not to look behind me.

Doyle leaned in close to Onilwyn. “Are you saying a brownie and a half-human princess have struck you such a blow that you are brought low?”

He made no sign that I could see, but Galen called out, “Peasblossom, Mug, come out and talk to us.” He walked around the table, and for a moment I thought the two little fey had been the ones hidden under the sink and I was simply too suspicious.

I turned to see him go to the open cabinets above the sink area. Mug, the pale blue fey that had come to fetch Rhys, and another tiny winged figure were peeking out from among the teacups. It was Mug’s voice, high and twittering like the song of birds made human speech, that answered, “We feared Maggie’d forget us in her anger, Galen Green Knight.”

He was by them now, gazing up at them. “So you hid among the teacups.”

“Unless she was bogart for good, she’d not bust up the good china. No she wouldn’t!” Mug walked carefully out from between the cups and flittered sky blue wings to flutter down to Galen’s shoulder. I remembered Mug now; she’d been a pet once of one sidhe or another. But when her last master had grown tired of her, Maggie had invited her into the kitchen, so she could earn an honest living and not have to cater to the whim of one of the large ones. Large one was an insulting term used by the lesser fey for the sidhe. Mug had come to the kitchen about the time I left faerie. Peasblossom, on the other hand, her I knew.

I called to her, “Peasblossom, there’s no need to hide.”

Frost had moved up on the other side of the sink from Galen, who was chatting away with the tiny blue fairy on his shoulder. She’d cuddled close to his neck, hands as delicate as pale blue petals, stroking along the bareness of his ear. Mug had a real “thing” for sidhe men. I’d never asked, nor wanted to speculate, what pleasure she and her masters had gotten from each other. She was smaller than a Barbie doll and more delicate looking. I did not need the visuals. I was able to look at them and keep an eye on the curtain without staring at it. Galen gave us all a reason to look in that direction.

Frost said, “Come down, little one, so we may question you.”

The tiny face scooted back among the good china, like a mouse ducking back into its hole. Her voice was like the sighing of the wind, a delicate spring breeze that warmed the skin and made you believe that the flowers merely slept under the snow. And were not dead. Her voice brought a smile to my face before I had time to think glamour.