“You don’t look upset.”
“I’m going to if you don’t stop staring at me like I’m the corpse at a wake and tell me what’s going on,” I replied.
“Qwendar called me early this morning. He said you had a rough meeting with John, and he was concerned about you. Did you see John?”
“Yes. But this is bullshit. How dare Qwendar call you. As if you have anything to do with this at all. And how could he think I’d go into a decline because a man—” I shut up before I could reveal just how much I was hurt.
“Why did you do that without telling me?” David asked.
“Because Qwendar called me late last night, and I don’t see how it’s any of your business anyway.”
“O’Shea was an employee of the firm. We have an interest.”
“Okay, that’s just hooey. He was an independent contractor. I know full well that the senior partners hired another private eye to handle investigations for the firm. They certainly weren’t losing any sleep over John.”
“But you were, and the firm does have an interest in you.”
“And I’m fine. Actually I’m glad you’re here. I was about to come see you. I talked with Kerrinan yesterday, and he just flat admitted that the Álfar throw glamours, almost without thinking about it was how he put it.”
“Palendar will deny it,” David said.
“And an accused murderer probably isn’t the best witness to refute that claim, but when you look at Kerrinan’s statement and the statistical evidence, it’s pretty damn clear.”
“So we need to find an Álfar who will come clean,” David said. “Although it rather galls me to be doing LeBlanc’s job.”
“To be fair she probably hasn’t been able to find an Álfar who would testify. No offense, but the Powers tend to stick together. We do want an equitable outcome, don’t we? And it’s pretty clear the humans can’t fairly compete.”
“So you’ve decided against McPhee’s position?” he asked.
“I thought about it a lot, but ultimately his analogy breaks down. Yes, money can be an obstacle to people getting cosmetic surgery, but people can acquire money. They can’t acquire Álfar magic.” An idea began to blossom. “We have the right to call witnesses too,” I said.
“Yes, so? We don’t have an Álfar either.”
“But we can get one. Well, he’s sort of a half-assed Álfar, but I’m betting he might be willing to testify about Álfar magic since he just got kicked out of Fey on his ass. Assuming he knows about their magic, of course. I’d have to find out.”
“What are you talking about?” David demanded.
“John’s brother … well, I guess you’d call him a brother. The human child John was switched for. He’s back with his human family. I found out last night.”
David frowned and thought. “Before we go chasing off after this changeling, are you getting anywhere with Qwendar?”
“He’s trying to get permission, but who knows how long that will take?”
David frowned some more, then gave an abrupt nod. “All right.”
“I’ll call him—”
“No, go. You need to evaluate him as a witness, and he might not be willing. You can exert more influence in person. You can also report back to the senior partners while you’re on the East Coast.”
“You know, they have phones too.”
“They like the personal touch.”
“What about the arbitration?”
“You can be present via video conference.” He turned and left.
I called our assistant and asked her to get me booked on a flight to Philly. I also had her order a car to take me to the airport. I just didn’t want to deal with the traffic around LAX. Then I gathered up my files, left a note for Merlin, and headed back to the Oakwood to pack.
“So you wish me to be a witness in a hearing that will discomfit the Álfar actors? I would be delighted. I don’t feel particularly loyal right now. They threw me out of the only home I’ve ever known.”
The final words of Parlan’s harsh indictment were suddenly blurred by being forced past a lump in his throat. He coughed. I looked away. Men crying is the one thing that could truly slay me.
We were seated in the living room of the O’Shea house, and quite alone. Big Red and Meg had gone off to watch one of the grandsons play in a hockey game. It was a typical East Coast house. Narrow, three stories, siding, and steep steps leading up to the front door. There were identical houses to either side, the only difference being the color of the siding. The O’Shea house was blue, the ones on either side were gray and beige. Through the living room window I could see an array of snowmen illuminated by streetlights and standing like sentries in the front yards of the houses across the street.
The room had a comfortable, lived-in look. One arm on the big sofa had a kid’s western saddle and an arrangement of rope on the end so a grandchild could play cowboy. The bookcase held an assortment of novels, books on criminology, and coloring books. There was a big flat screen TV, and a braided rug on the wood floor. There were a few paintings on the wall, watercolors that had been done by Meg O’Shea on summer vacations on the coast, but most of the walls were filled with photos of the children and grandchildren. John, proud in his PPD dress uniform, smiled out at me from the east wall. It was my turn to look away and swallow a few times.
Parlan and I looked back at each other at the same time. He was an attractive man. I knew he was forty-three because he and John had been switched as infants, but the lost expression made him seem younger. Parlan had his red-headed father’s flamboyant coloring though silver now frosted the hair at his temples. It was long, held with a silver clip at the nape of his neck, and the tail hung over his shoulder. I wondered how long before Big Red got him in for a haircut? Parlan’s eyes were a deep blue, almost aquamarine, with crow’s feet etching the corners. He had a square jaw with a cleft in the chin, and a powerful, barrel-chested body. He was the antithesis of the delicate Álfar physique. He was dressed in blue jeans and an oatmeal-colored cable-knit sweater that suited him very well.
“But only if you can shed light on the case. What do you know about Álfar magic?”
“Quite a lot, actually. I can’t do it, of course, but I did study with a court enchanter.”
“I don’t understand. If you couldn’t do magic, why have you study it?”
“I had to learn how to resist the glamours. If I hadn’t, I could have been tormented by any Álfars who weren’t terribly keen about having me around.”
“Okay, it sounds like glamours are little magic, something an Álfar does almost without thinking.”
Parlan was nodding. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“So, are there big magics, the kind of magic that would put an Álfar into a killing rage and then not have any memory of it afterward?”
“Yes. I think so. Some of the powerful old ones can really get inside your head and essentially turn you into a meat puppet. But you need blood from the person that you’re looking to control.”
Outside the wind had started to kick, moaning around the eaves of the house and setting the limbs on a big beech tree scraping against the window like nails on a blackboard.
“So, does the glamour require blood?”
“Oh no, no, no, that’s like breathing for them. They don’t even have to think about it. They just do it.”
“Wouldn’t an Álfar know if another Álfar was trying to control them?”
“Not if the enchanter was powerful enough and had enough training.”
“How much blood are we talking about?” I asked.
Parlan shrugged. “It would depend on the skill of the controller. If they were good—not a terribly large amount.” He paused and cocked his head to the side. “So, do you think I can help you?”