Touched and faintly amused by the old-fashioned courtesy, I laid the tips of my fingers on his forearm, and we moved away in stately dignity.
“You’re amused,” he said, with uncanny perspicacity.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insulting. I just thought it was mostly vampires who went in for the whole manners as—” I broke off realizing I was about to sound insulting again.
“As what?” Qwendar asked.
I threw caution to the winds and decided to give it straight. “As a form of one-upmanship. A way to do interpersonal warfare.”
“You are a most perceptive young woman.”
“Not really. I just grew up with them.” I paused, then added, “So how do the Álfar use manners?”
“Without any agenda beyond our desire to play the leading role in our own personal drama.”
“Okay, that fits with what John told me,” I said.
“Ah, yes, John.”
We had reached a stone-paved veranda edged with a stone wall. I leaned my elbows on the wall and let my eyes trail across the expanse of lawn and the windswept California pines. Across the highway the Pacific rolled and rumbled. Gulls and pelicans swooped and spun like white kites over the water.
“Your phone call implied this was about more than one changeling brought back to the fold.”
“I’ll dispute your characterization of what happened to John in a minute. What I wanted to discuss was what’s been happening with your people.”
Qwendar became very still, his body almost rigid. “I’m listening.”
“I interviewed Kerrinan yesterday.”
“Ah.”
“Kerrinan said there was an older Álfar at the restaurant where he had lunch. Was that you?”
“Yes.”
“So you saw him on the day of the killing.”
“I suppose I did. I hadn’t really put that together.”
“How did he seem to you?” I asked.
“Fine. He was dining alone, so I took the liberty of speaking to him,” Qwendar added.
“What did you talk about?”
“I complimented him on his movies. Then I returned to my luncheon party.” I sat silent for a few moments, flicking at a few loose chips of rock with my forefinger. “Is this going someplace?” Qwendar finally prodded.
“I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of conspiracy nut.” Drawing in a steadying breath I turned to face him straight on. “I think there’s something strange going on. I think Kerrinan killed his wife, but I also don’t think he wanted to kill his wife. I also don’t think Jondin was in her right mind, though I haven’t been able to talk to her. I also think the narrative of Álfar as dangerous killers of humans is certainly happening at a most convenient time for Human First.”
“Ah, so you checked them out.”
“I did some research. Next step is to actually talk to them.”
“So what do you need from me?” Qwendar asked.
“Information on the Álfar. Any insights on how one might be … controlled or … something.” I met his impassive gaze. “You think I’m a nut.”
“No, I think you are an unusual human, and I think you might be the face of the future. A human who accepts and is comfortable with the Powers. A thing that some view with great disapprobation.” I basked in the approval for a moment. Qwendar continued. “I will provide you with what information I can. And since you are willing to help us, I will return the favor and arrange a meeting with John.”
There was a sudden tightness in my throat matched only by the feeling that my heart wanted to jump out of my chest.
I cleared the obstruction out of my throat. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you.” He held out his hand. “Pact?”
“Partners, definitely.” We shook on it.
“Now, may I suggest that we stroll through the exhibits. They are quite impressive. And there is a very nice café. We can have tea afterward.”
I did notice that he didn’t actually say we would talk about the Álfar.
Thank God they dress differently.
It was the thought foremost in my mind as I faced the brothers across a table at Sompun, a Thai restaurant just off Ventura. The decor was upscale, with a blue vaulted ceiling and plants in the windows and mirrors along one wall that made the space seem larger. Scents of lemongrass, mint, and chili were so thick that they seemed visible in the air.
The journalist twin stared at me with frank interest that bordered on rude. Maslin was dressed in blue jeans, a cotton turtleneck sweater, and sturdy hiking boots. A backpack was slung over the corner of his chair. Merlin was still in his suit from work. The difference in attire was the only way I was ever going to tell them apart. Then, as I looked closer, I realized that Maslin’s skin carried a ruddier tinge, the redhead’s version of a tan, and he had the first hint of squint wrinkles around his blue eyes.
“Merl tells me you’ve got an investigation you need to run,” Maslin said.
“Well, I think so,” was my cautious response, and for the second time that day I launched into my explanation of why I thought someone was targeting the Álfar.
Unlike Qwendar whose expression had been one of sympathetic interest, Maslin’s expression was so neutral that I began to stammer, losing the thread of my narrative occasionally. I ended plaintively, “And now you probably think I’m bat-shit crazy.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he opened the backpack and pulled out a laptop computer.
“Qwendar didn’t,” I added rather desperately.
“Who’s Qwendar?” Maslin asked while the computer powered up.
“Old Álfar dude,” Merlin said.
“Old Álfar dude with major clout,” I amended. “He’s been sent by some kind of Álfar Council to observe the arbitration.” I cocked a brow at Maslin. “I can’t really fill in details about the arbitration.”
He shook his head. “Merl filled me in.” The computer was up and running, and the journalist started typing, fingers flying across the keyboard. “The first question is always, who profits? Well, obviously the folks who brought this lawsuit would profit. If the industry starts to believe that every Álfar is a potential time bomb likely to go off and kill people at any moment and without any warning, then they’ll stop hiring them. Human actors win. We need to take a look at every one of the humans involved.”
“I can’t do that. I’m an arbitrator in this case. I’m just focused on the killings.”
“Yes, you’ve been a good little lawyer. You haven’t violated any of your ethical—such as they are—standards.”
“Hey!” Merlin interjected.
Maslin grinned at his brother and then at me. “I give him shit all the time about being a shyster.”
“Muckraker,” Merlin said affectionately to his brother.
“Why, thank you. A title of honor.” They had turned to face each other, and with their identical grins it was like looking at mirror images.
I waved a hand between them. “Look, back on the subject. I’ve got to maintain neutrality. If anyone discovered I was investigating the human actors—”
“Which is why you won’t. I’ll dig into the background of the various parties.”
“I think this Human First movement is a more likely candidate,” Merlin said. “Those people really are bat-shit crazy. And hateful,” he added.
“Maybe you can answer a question for me,” I said. “Is this a home-grown group, because I thought California was the Left Coast, a liberal enclave, the epicenter of degeneracy that undermines American values.”
“We are,” the twins said in chorus.
“All of those things,” Merlin continued. “But we’re also the state with the screwiest political system in the entire country.”