“This is not a discussion,” she said. She chanted a short phrase in ancient Gaelic. A burst of essence froze Sinclair in place as a binding spell draped over him. His eyes went wide when he discovered he couldn’t move his lips. She muttered another incantation, and he rose a few inches off the floor. Laura wrapped her arm around his waist and floated him toward the door. The movement did not look natural, but no one paid any attention. Only in a bar, Laura thought, could someone cast a spell and have no one notice or care. Outside, she propelled Sinclair along the sidewalk to her car.
She released the levitation spell and propped him near the open passenger door. “I’m going to release the binding, and you’re going to get in the car. If you make any sudden moves, I will take you down before you finish the thought. Blink twice if we’re clear.”
He blinked twice. She fluttered her fingers in the air and faint wisps of white essence coiled off Sinclair. He swayed in place, caught his balance, and lunged at her. As promised, she hit him in the chest with a handful of white essence. He flew off his feet, hit the car, and dropped to the sidewalk. She didn’t blame him for trying to escape, but it complicated things.
Laura glanced around. A young couple watched from outside the bar. The man lifted a cell phone to his ear. Swearing, Laura checked Sinclair to see if he was breathing. Satisfied that he didn’t have any major injuries, she hauled him up and pushed him inside the car. She adjusted his position on the seat and recast the binding spell before he came to.
She pulled in to traffic and called Terryn. “I need to meet you at the day-care center.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, and disconnected.
A pit formed in her stomach. She kept a keen eye for anyone tailing her. Sinclair never said he was alone. She pulled to the side of the road and braked in the lane. Traffic flowed, but no one slowed more than necessary or looked in her direction. She merged back into traffic.
How in hell Sinclair had made the connection between her glamours stumped her. No one had ever linked her to one of her personas, never mind two. At a stop light, she glanced over and saw that his eyes were open. With a few words, she peeled the binding spell off his head. He stretched his neck.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“Who are you?” she answered.
“Lieutenant Jonathan Sinclair,” he said.
Truth, at least a truth he believed. “Why were you following me?”
“I wasn’t. I was following Gianni.”
More truth. “How did you know I was Laura Blackstone?”
“I asked someone at the Senate building.”
Truth. “Why?”
“Because I thought you were attractive and wanted to ask you out.”
The answer startled a laugh out of her. Truth. “I’m guessing this isn’t what you expected.”
He let a smile play on his lips. “I was having fun until you shot me.”
Despite the smile, he wasn’t relaxed. Not nervous, but disquieted. Laura didn’t find it surprising considering the previous fifteen minutes. “I didn’t shoot you. I used a mild essence shock. That’s different.”
“Tell that to my ribs,” he said.
“They’re bruised. If you cooperate, we’ll fix that,” she said.
“Cooperate how?”
A list of responses sprang to mind. She didn’t want to make any promises. Terryn might have his own ideas. “We’ll see.”
“Where are you taking me?” he asked again.
“You have to sleep now.” She raised her hand and spoke an ancient Welsh phrase. Sinclair’s eyelids drooped shut.
The Guild owned hundreds of properties, some official, some not. Laura drove out of the District and into a Maryland suburb. The neighborhood consisted of street after street of similar houses, the homes of the bureaucrats who some people contended truly ran the government. Laura pulled in to the driveway of a house that looked like a dozen others on the street except for the landscaping. She tossed a ball of yellow essence at the garage door. It closed behind the car after she pulled in.
Terryn stood at an inside door that led to the main section of the house. She got out of the car and gestured to Sinclair. “Would you do the honors?”
He raised an eyebrow when he saw the passenger. “What happened?”
She told him as he lifted Sinclair from the car. Terryn led her into the house and down into the basement. Not the typical finished basement of a colonial house. A warren of rooms had been constructed, incongruous holding cells with iron and glass walls. Terryn shifted Sinclair across one shoulder, passed through a small anteroom with a viewing window to a larger iron-lined room that contained a table and four chairs. He placed Sinclair upright in one of the chairs.
Terryn’s hands rested on his hips. “Assault and battery on a police officer and kidnapping. You crossed state lines, too. I think that makes it worse if I remember correctly. Anything else I should be worried about?”
She tried an ingratiating smile. “No, my car’s fine.”
Laura released the binding and sleep spells. Sinclair slumped forward but caught himself before his face hit the table. He shook his head as if he were trying to clear it. “Where am I?”
Laura pulled her chair closer. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to ask you again, who are you other than Jonathon Sinclair?”
He stretched with care, wincing at the pain from his ribs. “That’s who am I.”
Laura leaned forward. “Jonathon Sinclair is a human. You detected four fairy sentries I didn’t sense at all. That’s fey ability. Who are you?”
He held his arm across his torso, glaring at them. “I am a police officer with the Washington, D.C., police.”
Terryn unfolded his wings up and out, the dark indigo points curving toward each other. “Let me explain what is at stake, Mr. Sinclair. At this moment, you are a security threat. I can make the case that you are technically no longer on U.S. soil. It will take some time to sort that out. You can either start answering questions or leave your loved ones wondering what happened to you.”
Sinclair gave him a cocky grin that hid the anger and anxiety Laura sensed. “I want a lawyer.”
Terryn inclined his head. “If one should find his way in here, I will recommend him to you.”
Sinclair’s confidence slipped.
“Who are you, Jono?” Laura asked, her voice pitched low.
“I told you.”
She laid her hands flat on the table. “I know what you said. I think you’re someone else, too.”
“I’m not the one pretending to be someone I’m not,” he said.
“That’s what I mean. What do you think you know about Janice Crawford or Mariel Tate?” she asked.
“All three of you are the same woman. I was pretty sure before. Now I’m positive,” he said.
“Why is that?” asked Terryn.
He flicked an annoyed glance at Terryn. “Locking me in a basement has something to do with it.”
Laura changed the direction of the conversation. “I didn’t sense you come up behind me in the alley. How is a human able to do that?”
“Your essence field is weak. When you pulled your body essence in to hide your signature, I slipped into the blank spot left behind.”
Only someone fey can do that, Laura. He’s not human. Terryn sent.
We’re missing something, she replied. The only species the fey couldn’t glamour well was human. A glamour can make someone look human, but it was, for all practical purposes, impossible to hide the fey essence underneath. Sinclair didn’t read fey to her at all. In fact, he still felt vaguely null.
“How do you know how to do that?” Laura asked Sinclair.
“I would be risking my life if I answered that,” he said.
A cold white light flickered in Laura’s eyes. “You’re already at risk, Jono. We can’t let you go if we don’t believe we can trust you. You have to tell us how a human can read essence as if he is fey.”
Sinclair considered for a moment, then reached for his collar. Terryn shot his hands out, sparking them with blue-lit essence. “Stop.”