“And why,” the halfling said at last, “should I believe you?”
“Why did you send your people out of the room? Why did you leave Sean out of our little tête-à-tête? Why have you allowed me to steer the conversation so far? Something’s already bugging you. Something’s not right. That’s why you wanted this chat.”
“It is customary to dine with one’s captives or see that they have other company for meals. The code calls for captives to be treated civilly. This includes providing opportunities for pleasant conversation.”
She sounded abstracted, however, as if she were speaking automatically while her mind was busy with some other subject. Lily decided to take a step back. T.J., her mentor in homicide, used to say that once a fish takes the bait, you let him run out the line. Grandmother put it another way: it’s best if your enemy persuades himself to do what you want. “You were right about the bread,” Lily said politely. “It’s delicious.”
“We were pleased to find a good bakery, as none of us possess that skill. Tell me, Lily Yu…but we never did settle on what I am to call you, did we?” Her smile was a work of art, warm and lovely. “We use few titles, and I am not familiar with the nuances of those you use. What title do you prefer?”
“Special Agent is correct. But why don’t you call me Lily?”
“Lily. A pretty name. It sounds similar to our word for a certain type of happiness. Your English does not have an equivalent. It is the happiness one feels at a pleasant surprise.”
“Given your remarkable command of English, you probably know that here in America lily means a type of flower. But I was named for my grandmother, who is Chinese.”
“I do not have any Chinese, I’m afraid. Is it permitted to ask what it means in that tongue?”
“Oddly enough, it has no precise meaning. This is uncommon with Chinese names.” Should she ask what Alycithin’s name meant? Cullen said names were a big deal to elves, but what kind of big deal?
“Languages are interesting, are they not? My language has many more names for some things than English does. For example, we have sixteen words that would translate, if rather poorly, as enemy.”
“Does that mean you see sixteen types of enemies?”
“It does.” Alycithin took a moment to select a slice of fresh pineapple. “We have only seven words for friend. It is…what is your phrase? Ah, yes. It is a sad commentary on us that we have so many more words for enemy than for friend, yet we find these distinctions useful. Of course, three of our words for enemy also denote a friend, so the imbalance is not so great as it seems.”
“We call that sort friendly enemies.”
“Yes, that is one type—enemies for whom one feels some cordiality. There are also enemies who seem to be friends, aren’t there? Hidden enemies. And those with whom one would be friends if not for other circumstances. Such as, for example, having given one’s word.”
“Circumstances can be a bitch.”
Amusement gleamed in those bright green eyes. “Bitch is a rude word in your culture, I believe. Yes, sometimes one regrets that someone who is so’elriath—ah, that is an enemy for whom one feels no hostility, one who is simply on the other side—cannot become a friend, perhaps of the fifth degree. But once one’s word is given, it must be adhered to.”
“Of course. But what was that other word? The one for someone who would be a friend, under other circumstances.”
“So’amellree. That is the word in the feminine. My language is somewhat like your Latinate tongues, but it is not the adjectives we change to suit the gender of the noun. When appropriate, we make the nouns themselves either masculine or feminine to suit their referent. So’amellree,” she said, looking Lily directly in the eye, “refers to a woman who would have been a friend, perhaps of the fifth degree, had circumstances been different.”
“So-amel-ree,” Lily repeated. And smiled. Bait taken. Alycithin might be going the long way around, but she was swimming in the right direction. “Do you have a word that means the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE conversation with Ruben took longer than Rule expected. Ruben had persuaded the president to order the secretary of commerce to visit the sidhe delegation at their hotel under some diplomatic pretext or another. In an hour or two the secretary would arrive and be amazed to discover that some of the delegates were missing. When Rule got off that call, he started to touch Tony’s number when his phone vibrated.
It was Tony. One of his wolves had found the scent, but at a location north and slightly west of the hotel. Did Rule want to check it out?
He did, once he learned where it was. He called Special Agent Bergman and asked her to meet him there. Rule got there first and congratulated young Ed, who was extremely proud of himself and wiggled all over in delight, his tail wagging madly. Ed’s escort—a tall, morose city cop—watched with disbelief. “If that’s not the damnedest thing,” he said. “Damnedest thing I ever did see. I could swear he understood everything I said to him.”
“He’s not a dog, officer. Most of the time he’s a man.”
“Still.” The cop shook his head. “Damnedest thing I ever did see.”
Bergman had one of her people drop her off. She’d had a long night, and it showed in the dark circles under her eyes, but those eyes were bright with anticipation. She knew what this meant as well as Rule did.
Ed had found the scent at a bank.
Follow the money. Lily had said that often enough, and this was something Rule knew. Something he understood. Something the Bureau understood, too. They had excellent forensic accountants.
“I’ll do the talking,” Bergman told him.
“Of course.”
“Yeah, that’s why you called me. You want my badge.”
“Of course,” he said again, this time with the hint of a smile.
She almost smiled back. “Let’s go—and pray one of those tellers remembers something or someone who was a little odd.”
“We won’t be relying on memory alone,” Rule said, pushing open the door and holding it for her. “We’ll want the bank’s records of every transaction at this branch in the past two days, whether through a teller or at the ATM. The scent is probably from yesterday, but it might be as much as two days old. We’ll need names, addresses, everything the bank has.”
She snorted. “You’ve got funny ideas about banks if you think they’ll hand all that over just because we say pretty please.”
“Ruben is getting you a warrant.” Rule glanced at his watch. “It should arrive in about thirty minutes.”
She stopped and frowned. “What does he do, wiggle his nose and poof, I’ve got a warrant?”
“That wouldn’t take thirty minutes. He’s having someone deliver it here.”
“Huh. I’m starting to like working with Unit Twelve.” They’d paused just inside the doors. Bergman reached into her purse and took out a leather folder much like the one Lily used for her ID. “Even if it’s just two days’ worth of names, it’s going to be a long list. These elves could look like anyone, young or old, male or female, right?”
“Right.” Rule slanted her a smile. “We’ll be able to trim the list by eliminating those who’ve had accounts here for several years, but it will still require a lot of resources to check out whoever is left. Which is why I like working with your Bureau. You have resources.”