Thank you for all the reviews! What with the recent glitch I'm yet to reply to them, but I will directly.
Hot off the presses, chapter 48.
Yes, yes, there will be more Quinn. DON'T PANIC.
Reunions
Quinn wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight. His warmth, his scent enveloped me and I leaned into him, letting go of my suitcase and ignoring the busy airport around us. I needed him, needed that simple physical comfort that had always been easy between us.
Pale, tired, but in one piece.
His thought was accompanied by a deep wave of relief that warmed my heart. He'd been real worried for me. With an appreciative rumble I felt more than heard, he murmured into my hair, "You smell great, babe."
"You too," I said, glad I'd had time to shower and change my clothes before the flight. We'd stopped in Houston to pick up my things from the Elysium. Diantha had said her good-byes there. Meredith had flown back to Memphis with me, but I'd been a terrible travelling companion, my anger at Eric festering into sullenness, and I'd barely spoken a word on the plane.
When Quinn let go of me, Meredith was nowhere to be seen and I didn't blame her.
"Let's get out of here," he said, taking hold of my suitcase and my hand.
"Yes, let's," I agreed.
Traffic was bad. Quinn kept his hand on my knee as we stop-started through the morning rush and while he drove I filled him in on the Hector situation, knowing there would be no talking once we got back to his.
We didn't even make it upstairs.
He pounced on me in the lobby and I was happy to oblige. Our clothes went flying, his shirt, my blouse. When he saw the bandage on my arm he growled, but I snapped back almost angrily that it was nothing. Then I took off my bra and dragged his attention back where it belonged.
Neither of us paused for breath after that. Quinn needed reassurance, needed to know I was okay, that we were okay. I wanted to forget the arguments we'd had at the summit, forget the mess with Bardulf, forget Tabner and his Facility, forget Eric, forget all that ugliness.
Forget everything.
The sheer enthusiasm in Quinn's eyes did a damn good job of that and if, as his heat and weight pressed me into the couch, he had a stray thought or two about Eric, thoughts that were less than charitable, so did I.
…
My hair, still wet from the shower, fell across my face as I added the last of my clothes to the washer. Quinn hummed appreciatively from behind me and I smiled to myself. The robe I had on was short and he was enjoying the view of my legs.
Not above enjoying the view myself, I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked over my shoulder. Quinn was a sight to see, leaning nonchalantly against the door jamb. The jeans he'd thrown on were undone, hanging low, and the sunlight streaming in the window tinted his skin a warm copper. After I'd taken my fill, I stretched forward to shut the washer. Bare feet padded across the floor and large hands settled on my hips as he nuzzled my neck.
So glad she's back.
The sigh I let out was tinged with regret. Quinn had taken the day off and I'd sure enjoyed my welcome, but we had things to do. My hands covered his as they slid to my waist, holding them still.
"We need to talk," I said. "About Bardulf."
He groaned against my neck and when I shivered he chuckled briefly, then sighed himself. "You're right."
"You know it." I turned in his arms and gave him a sweet, lingering kiss. "We can pick this up later."
He grinned. "I'll hold you to that."
In the den, I sat on the couch while he fetched a pile of papers from the safe in his office. "This is a copy of what Cataliades found in Finch's attic," he told me, laying them on the coffee table.
"A copy?" I said, picking up a few pages.
"Cataliades has the originals. Said they were more secure with him." Quinn glowered, not pleased by the implication he couldn't keep his house and therefore me safe from intruders.
"Right," I said, privately agreeing with Desmond that being cautious wasn't such a bad idea but not wanting to say so.
Quinn stayed quiet as I flicked through the sheets of paper, biting my lip in concentration. They were copies of a small notebook, Finch's 'black book' I reckoned. The first few pages seemed to be a contact list, a series of initials and phone numbers written in a cramped but legible hand. The next looked to be a diary of meetings: dates, times, those initials again. A handful, all with a C.M., were highlighted in orange and next to two of those ominous notes had been added in Desmond's neat script:
Vagrant, male, 43, disappeared a week prior.
Minor, female, 17, reported missing mid-July.
The rest of the pages were larger and full of figures, an accounts ledger that I would have found indecipherable if it wasn't for the bookkeeping I'd done for Sam. Desmond had labelled some of the larger amounts 'bribes' and 'cleaners'. I knew what that meant, cleaners for messes like the one Alexei created at…
No, I wasn't gonna think about Eric. I silently rescinded his invitation to my thoughts and slammed an imaginary door shut after him.
That mysterious C. M. appeared next to most of the cleaning charges, the dates matching those meetings highlighted in Finch's black book too. It looked like Finch covered up two murders for Bardulf, but did we have enough to prove it?
"Desmond said he was going to dig deeper," I said, frowning as I shuffled through the papers again, checking I hadn't missed anything.
"Uh-huh. Should be by sometime this afternoon with what he found."
"He's coming here, from New Orleans?" Diantha must have called him. Dear Lord, the poor man was ping-ponging back and forth across state lines for me and my problems. I owed him for this.
Quinn shrugged. "Said he didn't trust phones."
That made sense. Quinn's stomach growled and I grinned at him. "Hungry there, are we? How about I fix you some lunch before he gets here."
There wasn't an abundance of choice in the half-empty refrigerator, but I rustled up some omelettes. Quinn helped out, keeping me company. I always enjoyed cooking with him.
I'd just finished wiping up when there was a knock at the kitchen door. Desmond was standing outside in the lightly misting rain. I hadn't sensed him arrive, but then I'd expected him at the front porch.
"Sorry to intrude, my dear," he said, when I opened the door and stood there catching flies for a moment. His raincoat was wet across the shoulders and he was mopping his face with a large handkerchief, briefcase at his side as always. He glanced back at the trees and added politely, "May I come in?"
The tension in his face registered abruptly and I recovered myself, stepping aside. "Of course. Please do."
Once he was safely inside, I leaned out to scan the yard real quick. No-one around, not even when I stretched out my telepathy to its maximum, but he'd have checked that himself I was sure.
Quinn took his coat, and the three of us exchanged pleasantries as we settled around the kitchen table. Desmond took a long drink of the iced tea I'd had ready for him, unlocked his briefcase with a click and produced three slim files.
He spread them on the table and laced his hands over them. "This is what I have so far, but before we proceed it would be remiss of me not to impress upon you that blackmail is an inherently risky endeavour. Have you considered a more … permanent solution?"
Quinn's eyes lit up, but I squashed that idea real fast.
"There'd be a new king or queen," I pointed out, "and who knows what they'd be like. We could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire."
"True. There are other options you might pursue." Desmond's eyes were on mine, not Quinn's.
I shook my head. Niall couldn't be relied on to protect Quinn, only me, and if Desmond was about to suggest I throw myself on Eric's mercy again, he was fresh out of luck. Eric couldn't be relied on, period.
"We appreciate the warning," I said, emphasising the pronoun. Quinn and I were a team. "But we're convinced this is our best option. Have you, um, done anything like this before? I mean if you can tell us."
"Not precisely like this." He beamed at me like I was his star pupil. "But, as you so correctly anticipate, I am not at liberty to say more than that."
I smiled back. "Then we're mighty pleased to have your assistance."
Quinn rumbled his agreement and squeezed my knee under the table. See? A team.
"Hm," Desmond said, looking at him. "Tiger, do you know what Bardulf has on you?"
"Not yet," Quinn said, his face darkening. "Not that Northman will need cast-iron proof." That fucker would cheerfully rip me apart for breathing wrong.
I nudged his ankle to remind him to cool his temper and for good measure gave him a look too as I said, "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. What did you find out, Desmond?"
"See for yourself."
He slid the files across and Quinn leaned in, wrapping an arm around me as I opened the top one, turning the pages slowly so we could both read it.
Details of a bank account in a woman's name I didn't recognise. Large transfers in and a series of regular cash withdrawals. Statements from a car dealership and a realtor, confirming cash purchases by the same woman. Transcripts of some steamy phone conversations between her and a man. Photos of a swanky apartment complex with a high-end sports car parked outside, a man in his late forties getting into it with a much younger woman.
Quinn whistled at the photos. "That's the BSA rep for Nashville, babe. And that for sure ain't his wife."
I thought for a moment, putting it all together. "I guess he reckoned getting his paramour to launder the bribe money meant it wouldn't be linked to him so easily."
The last page detailed where all that money came from, through a series of accounts and small businesses back to one that I guessed could be tied to Bardulf. Desmond gave me a small nod. He'd heard my thought. I asked out loud and he confirmed it for Quinn's ears.
"Good," Quinn said, grinning. "We have him by the balls."
"Perhaps," Desmond murmured. Worryingly, he didn't sound half as triumphant as Quinn felt. He indicated the other files. "Please continue."
Inside the next, a photo of a man was clipped to a missing persons form. Benjamin Greenslade looked a decade older than his real age, a hard decade older. His face was craggy and his cheeks and nose were an unhealthy dark red that spoke of too much time spent in the company of a bottle. He was holding a number against his chest; no-one ever looks great in arrest photos. There was an arrest sheet, mostly vagrancy and theft, minor felonies. No last known address, no next of kin.
At the back, a police report detailed a body that had been fished out of the river in Nashville missing its hands and face and so badly decomposed that it had stayed a John Doe.
I had a horrible feeling Benjamin's death had been worse than his life.
Shutting the file I looked up and asked quietly, "There's nothing to link this to Bardulf apart from those payments in Finch's diary, is there?"
"Not as such," Desmond replied. "But that should be enough to put a competent investigation on the right track. Further, I have reason to believe Mr. Greenslade was killed in one of Finch's clubs, one of the more … exclusive ones. There may be physical evidence still there should a search warrant be granted."
"I see," I said bleakly. Opening the last file, I swallowed hard.
A pretty teenager looked up at me from another photo clipped to a form. Mary-Lou Trenchant was smiling uncertainly, and as I read her paperwork I wondered if that uncertainty had been there before she ended up at the foster home she'd run away from three times in as many months.
Tearing up, I slid the file over to Quinn without looking at the rest of it. The pulse of revulsion from him was enough to tell me Mary-Lou had ended up dead too. I didn't want the grisly details. If I read them, I'd want to put that file in an envelope and send it to straight to her family so there'd be some hope of justice for her.
But I couldn't do that if I wanted to get us out of this mess. I took a deep breath, shoving disgust and horror to the back of my mind.
"Thank you for finding all this out, Desmond." My voice was steady at least. "How do you recommend we do this?"
Giving me a sympathetic look, the demon folded his hands on the table and sighed. "Bardulf will not take this meekly."
"No, I imagine not." Quinn squeezed my knee again and I gave him a weak smile.
"Blackmail is a blunt tool, my dear," Desmond said, his expression graver than ever, "and the longer you employ it, the harder Bardulf will fight it. I fear he may simply lose patience at some point and attempt to eliminate you both, despite Niall's protection. None of us want that."
"He won't touch a hair on her head," Quinn growled.
Desmond and I exchanged a look. Neither of us thought Quinn had a chance in hell of stopping Bardulf if he had a mind to kill me.
"We just need a bigger threat to keep Bardulf in line," I said, mildly affronted that neither of them expected me to have given our plans any great thought. I'd watched enough thrillers to know how these things worked. Gesturing at the files, I explained: "We'll make copies, give them to someone Bardulf can't touch, and tell him they'll be made public if anything happens to us." I paused. "I was hoping that someone could be you. Desmond."
"It would be better to keep my name out of this."
"Oh." I sounded as disappointed as I felt. I'd reckoned on Bardulf thinking twice about messing with a well-known supe lawyer, but I'd known it was a big ask.
Desmond shook his head. "No, Sookie. I am not unwilling, not at all. But if Bardulf suspects my involvement, he will move against me, tie my hands. I believe I would better able to assist you behind the scenes."
"We can find someone else." Quinn didn't bother to hide the sour note in his voice, or his thought that Desmond was a coward.
Desmond, unfazed, continued, "No matter who you use, Bardulf will search them out if he can, then kill them and destroy the copies. Anything to wrest back control. I fear you are underestimating his tenacity, his deviousness. This is a game of chess, one in which you must stay several moves ahead to survive. You will need more than copies stashed away to control him."
"So how we do to neuter the bastard?" Quinn asked, scowling.
"I am not entirely sure." Sighing, Desmond took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, then his neck. His shirt collar was damp with sweat and there was a faint tang of sulphur in the air. "Bardulf is arrogant. Unfortunately for us, that makes him unpredictable."
"Yes, he is arrogant," I said slowly. "He underestimated Finch because he was human. Bardulf won't think we can outsmart him."
"No," Desmond said thoughtfully. "But it will take more than a simple scheme to do that."
"We just need to do this in a way he understands…" I toyed with the files, thinking about the way Bardulf did things, how his mind worked. Bribery, murder. Reward, punishment. Half to myself I murmured, "Carrot and stick."
Quinn grunted. "Only stick I need is a stake."
"Ah," Desmond said, sitting up. "There is another phrase about sticks, is there not? Speak softly, carry a big one. Hm. Yes, that might be effective."
Simultaneously confused Quinn and I said, "Huh?"
Desmond smiled, eyes twinkling."Use too big a threat and Bardulf will lash out like a cornered beast. But start with something his pride can stomach and he may well co-operate, at least temporarily. Yes, yes. That is a good strategy. One that would give me time to set up a fail-safe in case things turn ugly. Yes, I think that is our best bet."
"So we start small," I said, "and if he stops playing ball, we bring in the heavy hitters."
"Yes, exactly." Desmond took the files, shuffled them and passed one back to me. Tapping the ones he'd kept, he said, "This is the big stick, the threat we hold in reserve, and" — he pointed at the file I had, the bribery one — "that will do our speaking softly."
I didn't understand his choice. Bribing a federal official carried a sentence of up to fifteen years ordinarily, but that had been raised to thirty for vamps on account of their longevity. First or second degree murder got life, but I was horribly afraid that a good lawyer could bargain that down to manslaughter, as had been done for other vamps in bloodlust. That carried a much lower tariff, and there'd been a case where the vamp only got four years.
"Why this one?" I asked, intrigued.
"The harshness of the penalty depends," he said solemnly, "on which authority hands it out. Human or vampire."
"Oh. And you think..."
"Human courts will not concern Bardulf. They have yet execute a single vampire and should they ever do so I expect it will be a quick death. Vampire authorities are … considerably less enlightened. Judgement of his peers is swift and ruthless. That is what Bardulf will truly fear."
"Amun won't go against one of their own," Quinn said, folding his arms. "Not over something like this. They'll close ranks, protect him."
"That would usually be the case, yes. Certainly Bardulf can claim that the bribe was a necessary expediency and no doubt other monarchs chaffing under the BSA's hostile scrutiny will be sympathetic. He will not anticipate a heavy penalty for that. After all, bribery is hardly a new crime, nor one confined to vampires, and it doesn't contradict how they are presenting themselves as ordinary men and women with a restricted diet." He chuckled briefly at that and then continued: "Greedy perhaps, corrupt, yes, but no more than that. He may face a hefty fine, but no more and Amun may even extricate him from a public trial to save face. The murders, on the other hand..." He spread his hands, shrugging. "Vampires do not want to be seen as monsters. Killings like these could tarnish them all."
He made a good case but I'd seen vampires treat human casualties with indifference, as acceptable collateral. Heck, Desmond had killed that antiques dealer and stepped right over his body.
I said doubtfully, "Wouldn't the vamps see two dead bodies as business as usual?"
"They will," Quinn growled in agreement. "Amun will give him a slap on the wrist, cover it up. I've seen it happen. If we go to them, we'll lose our ace and have nothing to show for it."
"Not in the current climate," Desmond replied. "The clans are increasingly strict about such slip-ups. Bardulf's actions will be seen as selfish indulgence, especially by those who are striving to set an example for their own subjects. And he did not cover his tracks at all well; older vampires will see that as gross incompetence. The penalty could be severe."
"Then," I said slowly, "if we threatened to take that to Amun, that'll push Bardulf too far."
"Oh yes. And if you took the murders to the police or the FBI Amun would still hear about it, so even threatening that could provoke Bardulf more than is wise." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Regardless, involving the human authorities would be a bad idea. Amun would not be pleased with you for exposing Bardulf's true nature. There would be … repercussions. We do not want that."
"No," I agreed, imagining ten states worth of vampires out for our blood. "Definitely not."
"We will have to use the murders another way," he said, "without Bardulf knowing we have proof of them."
Quinn growled, frustrated. "How the hell do we do that?"
"You don't, I do," Desmond said simply. "I will pass the evidence to a certain … contact of mine. Should we need to de-fang Bardulf, the information will find its way to the right people."
"Okay," I said. "I think we have the beginnings of a plan."
We spent another hour thrashing out details and when we were sure we'd covered all the angles, Desmond got up to leave. Shrugging his raincoat on he said, "I do not believe Bardulf knows I have been in Tennessee. Act normally until he contacts you and he will not suspect you have a counterstrike planned."
"We will." Quinn wrapped his arm around me and squeezed. "What do we owe you?"
"Nothing, dear boy. This is off the clock."
As Desmond smiled at him, Quinn thought: But this is my problem, not Sookie's. Guess he still approves of me … put in a good word with Sophie Ann in the first place… didn't have to do that …
Oh, really? I'd always wondered why Sophie Ann picked Quinn as her messenger boy, not another vampire.
"Desmond, you've gone to so much trouble," I said, hoping not to offend him. "Can't we offer you something in return?"
"I will not hear of it, my dear. You are practically family." He patted me on the arm and sent me a clear thought: And one does not charge family, especially in a crisis. Think of it as making up for my earlier neglect.
"We should reimburse your expenses at the very least," I insisted. "I wouldn't feel right leaving you out of pocket. All this travel… It must be taking you away from your legal work too."
"The way I travel is free, my dear, and now I am not acting for Louisiana I have time to spare. Time to spare and the freedom to act as I wish. Vampires are such demanding clients." He winked as he opened the door and stepped out into the rain. "Besides, I enjoy the excitement. Makes me feel young again."
…
Later that afternoon, I made a difficult phone call to Liz Carter and her niece Brandy, relaying my condolences for Digger's untimely demise. Brandy's voice swung between defiant and choked as we spoke, and the call left me with a hankering to hear my brother's voice. Quinn was out fetching take-out, so I called Jason right there and then.
All was well in Bon Temps and hearing my nephew's voice in the background was just what I needed to lift my spirits. Re-energised, I sorted out the last bit of unpacking from my trip, hung up a couple of pant suits that needed to go to the dry-cleaners, and finally got round to emptying my toiletries bag.
I'd forgotten the small red velvet box at the bottom of it.
Opening it, I wrinkled my nose at the ring inside. The band was too loose for my finger, the rock far too showy for my tastes and the damn thing was just a big silver fuck-you to every vampire out there.
I loathed it, more for the ugly way I'd gotten it than anything else. Quinn had given it to me for all the wrong reasons. Was there a graceful way to return a fake-engagement ring without bruising the giver's ego?
A car sounded in the driveway; Quinn was back.
I snapped the box shut and left it on the dresser in my room, not wanting to ruin the evening. And there it stayed. I slept in Quinn's room that night, like I did most nights we were both in the house.
I was due at the book-store next morning. I'd cut down to three days a week after New Year, in readiness for my college courses. (And thank goodness I had. I'd had to complete my first assignments early, before the summit.) Adjusting the work roster around my absence had been hard enough without the extra days I'd spent in Texas, but that inconvenience didn't cross Ursula's mind when she saw me.
"Sookie," she said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled at me over her glasses. "How lovely to see you. How was your trip?"
"It was great," I said, feeling bad about lying. She thought I'd taken a vacation with Quinn, which was easier to explain than being hired as telepathic security at a vampire summit. "How have things been here?"
"Good, good." Her mind was a touch … vague. Meredith's handiwork I reckoned, but then her focus sharpened and she added, "I must show you the book I found. It's a history of New Orleans told through women's lives. You'll love it."
We spent a little while catching up before I joined James in the store. He was sour-faced because I'd had so much time off, but his thoroughly normal reaction to my absence was a relief. I worked like a demon all morning to get the stocktaking done, a chore he hated, so he was all smiles by lunch.
It felt good to be back. After all the craziness of the summit, some routine was in order.
Over lunch in the break room, I asked Meredith if Miss Crenshaw was gonna be adversely affected by whatever fairy mind-trick she'd pulled on her.
"No," she said, between bites of the apple she was munching. "It's a clouding spell, that's all. She thinks you asked for a longer vacation than you did."
"A clouding spell?"
"Uh-huh. Clouds the memory. It's very gentle." She looked at me and frowned a little. "It won't affect her, Sookie. You're not the only one who's fond of Ursula, you know."
"I just wanted to be sure." I sighed, wishing my life was less complicated. But it could be worse, I could be locked in a cell like that poor girl in Nevada. "Any news on when Niall will be back?"
"Soon," she said, as James stuck his head around the door, signalling our lunch break was over. That afternoon I tidied some shelves that had gotten muddled and then, as the store was quiet, I worked on a tricky rebinding project.
Alone in the back room, I replayed Eric and Rory's argument in my head. It was like a broken tooth I just couldn't keep myself from poking.
I was still furious, but now that fury was mingled with bitterness and disappointment.
Some of that disappointment was directed inwards. I'd bolted like a frightened rabbit when I should have given Eric that piece of my mind, told him in no uncertain terms I was no-one's asset but my own.
The two of them had discussed me as if I didn't have a say in my own life and I hated that with a passion. It was too much like dimly remembered arguments my parents had over me as a child, back when I really didn't have a say in anything. Lord, what I wouldn't have done to get out of seeing doctor after doctor for those exhausting tests that only confirmed my 'craziness' for my mother.
Having no control was always my deepest fear.
And Tabner's plans for me had plucked that nerve raw. With that threat to my liberty fresh in my mind, every instinct had screamed at me to get away from Eric.
Now the dust had settled, I wasn't truly afraid of him. Sure, Eric was manipulative and opportunistic, but he would never use force. Not against me. I had meant something to him once and even if our time in Texas had left me wondering how well I ever knew him, I was sure I could still count on that much.
But between Eric and Bardulf, I was heartily sick of vamps thinking they could just stomp all over my constitutional right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
I was making my own life in Memphis and I was damned if I'd let anyone take it from me.
I shouldn't have let my guard down around Eric. Heck, that night in his office he'd gotten the impression I was flirting with him. That should never have happened. My mistake had been treating him as a friend instead of a centuries-old vampire king with an eye for an asset that would benefit his kingdom.
I wouldn't do that again.
Not that I would be seeing him any time soon, not if I had anything to do with it.
I had other priorities anyway; I should be second-guessing our plan to contain Bardulf or guilt-tripping myself about what was happening inside those concrete cells in the desert. And that was where I turned my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.
…
That evening Quinn's cupboards were bare, but I found some chicken in back of the freezer and had a hearty home-cooked Southern meal waiting for him when he got back from the office with absolutely no word from Bardulf.
Over dinner, I remembered his stray thought about Desmond and Sophie Ann, and asked him about it.
"Not much to tell. I was down in New Orleans right after the Longtooth contest, working a job for Sophie Ann." He looked a little sheepish. "I asked Jake about you, what he knew about a telepath up near Shreveport. In the day, this was. At those offices Sophie Ann used. Cataliades was around and he must've overheard. Or someone told him. You know how it is."
I did. Gossip was a favourite pastime for supes. Jake Purifoy stirred up a sackful of mixed feelings for us both, so I let it drop. The atmosphere was already balanced on a knife edge; we expected a call from Bardulf any minute and I was itching to put our plan into action.
But vampires never did anything on a schedule convenient for me. That night was disappointingly uneventful. The next day, a Saturday, I pulled into the drive after long day at work, made longer by a trip to the store for groceries. Tired and grouchy, I exited the car and Niall appeared out of nowhere, dressed in a grey suit, his hair shining in the fading evening light.
"You wanted to see me," he said without so much as a hello.
"Good afternoon, Niall. Lovely to see you, I hope your trip went well."
Having demonstrate my manners in the hope they'd rub off on him, I went to the trunk before my politeness edged into outright sarcasm. Niall came to stand beside me as I opened it.
"Meredith tells me you were hurt." He looked me over. "You are recovered?"
If he was so worried about my health, why did he insist I go with Daisy in the first place? Especially after that hissy fit he'd thrown over how dangerous the summit was. Inconsistent much?
"Yep," I said shortly, balancing a bag of groceries on my hip as I reached for another. Then I reminded myself I needed a favour and that sweetness was better than vinegar. "I'm just fine, Niall. But I appreciate your asking."
"You are kin," he said, as if that explained everything. He leaned over the trunk to inspect its contents. "Hmm," he said as he stared curiously at a tub of Cool Whip poking out of a bag. "No lemons?"
"Not today," I said and smiled to myself as he cautiously gathered the remaining bags in his arms. Niall could be sweet too, when he made the effort. I led the way into the house, dumping the groceries on the kitchen counter. As Niall put his armful down beside me, I surprised him with a kiss on the cheek that was half manipulation, half genuine gratitude.
My thank-you gesture wasn't boosted by any fairy magic, but the smile that lit his face was like the sun coming out.
"I'll be right with you," I said, smiling back with real affection this time. "Just let me put this up."
He watched me move around the kitchen for few minutes and then, out of the blue, said: "Fintan was silver-tongued too. The gift came easily to him, even as a child."
I stopped, hand halfway to opening a cupboard, and stared at him in confusion.
"Oh, the charm thing," I said, once I'd worked out what the heck he meant. Meredith must have told him. "You think that's why I have it, because Fintan did?"
He nodded, but he didn't say anything else.
His enthusiasm was … underwhelming. Guess being 'silver-tongued' wasn't all that boast-worthy for a fairy. Not compared to, say, killing fairies with garden implements. He'd been proud as a peacock over that.
When I glanced at him again, he was staring into the distance with a wistful look on his face.
Oh. I guessed he was remembering Fintan as a child, or maybe Fintan's mother. Einin had meant a lot to him. Leaving him to his thoughts, I quietly emptied the next bag.
When I put the steak I'd bought for dinner on the counter, Niall came out of his reverie and eyed it with an air of mild disgust. "We have a tradition in Fae," he said. "A male brings meat he has hunted with his own hands to the female he is courting as a sign that he can provide for her."
"Is that so?" I was busy stacking cans neatly on a shelf and too distracted to take offence on Quinn's behalf. "Back home in Louisiana it's mostly men that hunt, women that cook. We're not so different."
He sniffed. "We do not wrap our food in suffocating layers."
"Just your hands," I pointed out lightly.
"Touché." He laughed quietly, a musical sound I loved to hear and hadn't heard enough of lately. The sound died and, serious again, he said, "Northman was with you in Texas. Is that what you wish to speak about?"
"Meredith tell you that too, did she?" I asked, wondering how much she was reporting to him.
"No, Daisy Riverstone. If the vampire offended you, I will see it doesn't happen again." His eyes were sharp, scrutinising my reaction, and there was ice behind them.
I turned away to wash my hands at the sink, drying them slowly on a cloth. Should I tell him what I'd overheard?
No. Niall's solution was likely to be more final than I'd like and Pam, for one, would never forgive me. I could deal with Eric myself, however much I wanted to strangle him.
If his plans for me ever amounted to anything. That seemed less likely with each passing day, now I was in Memphis and out of his reach. Maybe I'd read more into what I'd overheard than it warranted.
"No, nothing like that," I said, turning back around. "But I do need your help with something."
"You trust me." He looked inordinately pleased about that. "What do you need of me?"
"Something big." I leant back against the counter and proceeded to share everything I knew about Tabner's shadowy Agency and that hellish Facility of his.
As I'd hoped, I didn't need to use Niall's affection for me to stir him to action. He was furious, so furious I glimpsed his true self more than a time or two as I spoke, that cold and terrible beauty beneath the human form he wore.
Mind you, he wasn't furious, as I was, at the kidnapping and abuse of American citizens. He was furious that Tabner had planned to put his great-grandaughter in a cell and that humans were close to discovering Tinkerbell might be more than a fictional character.
But I'd take that if it got that hell-hole shut down and Niall swore to do everything in his power to see it was.
He was particularly outraged with Felipe de Castro. No vampire king would let something like the Facility exist in his territory without investigating. Neither of us believed for a moment that Felipe didn't know exactly what what went on there.
That was a big faux pas apparently, broke some important vamp-fairy treaty. Vamps were not to let humans find out that fairies existed and if discovery was imminent they were to warn nearest fairy bigwig.
Which would be Niall.
Felipe's failure to do that would come at a steep price, judging by the glitter of malice in Niall's eyes.
Felipe was already on his shit list for ordering Lanzo to kill me if he got the chance — Daisy had blabbed about that too — and by the time Niall left, I'd gotten the distinct impression Felipe's nights were numbered.
Couldn't happen to a nicer guy as far as I was concerned. Felipe didn't seem likely to leave me alone any time soon, so I found it hard to care what happened to his caped ass. I just hoped that Niall used that notorious fairy cunning to kill him in a way that didn't start a war.
Felipe was a bonus anyway. Rescuing those poor people was my priority. Fretting about them had been disturbing my sleep.
Now I'd handed the baton over to Niall, I could concentrate on neutralising Bardulf. I had enough on my plate with that.
Not long after Niall left, Quinn walked in. Funny how that always seemed to happen, as if Niall knew just when Quinn would be back. He was later than usual, too.
"Sorry, babe," he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "Got caught up at work." He saw me glance at the dark window and shook his head. "Just Bertolini. He wanted to go over the expenses from the summit. Nothing from Bardulf."
"Damn." We had all our ducks in row ready for him. Well, maybe a few quiet days wasn't so bad. The last few weeks had been hectic. "Wanna help me cook? I picked up some steak."
"Sure, I could eat a horse. Not like I haven't done that before…" He laughed at my grimace. "Gotcha!"
"Oh, you jerk!"
"Now, moose on the other hand," he said, his face completely straight, "that's another matter. I remember one full moon—"
"John Quinn," I gasped, throwing a wet dish cloth at him. "Quit teasing me!"
The cloth hit him full in the face and I only half-swallowed a chuckle as he spluttered to a halt.
Yep, a break was definitely in order. We needed to blow off some steam.
Putting on my best scowl, I sassed him deliberately: "Now put on an apron and get cooking, buster."
Quinn peeled the cloth off real slow and wiped his chin on his sleeve, eyes on me. "No-one," he fake-growled, folding the cloth slowly and painstakingly into a neat square, "but no-one orders me around in my own kitchen."
Before he could exact his revenge, I reached behind me into the sink, scooped up some sudsy water and, quick as a flash, threw it at him. Hit him right in the chest, too.
He froze, staring at the foam sliding slowly down his front in disbelief, the cloth he'd been about to throw at me still in his hand. The wetness spread outwards over his shirt like some strange ink blot and I dissolved into a fit giggles at the stunned look on his face.
Then he lunged at me with the dishcloth and I squealed, bolting for the door.
