Skin Deep (18 page)

She did raise her hand to slap him then, but held back. “What do you want, Sinclair?”

“Answers, just like you. Why does someone I know have secret meetings? And now I’m wondering, why is the Guild interested?”

She regarded him with cool annoyance. “Gianni is connected to a drug raid that involved the fey. The Guild doesn’t know what happened and is being shut out of the investigation.”

“So you know who he is,” he said.

She hadn’t revealed anything that wouldn’t be easy to find out. “Of course. I also know he works at the Vault.”

“He does security there.”

She nodded. “For some very high-level people. The Guild is concerned about security risks.”

He sipped from his beer again. “They must be very concerned to send a PR director.”

She frowned at his snide tone. “I’m not going to explain Guildhouse politics to you.”

He shrugged. “Fine, whatever. My concern is my life. A police officer was killed in that raid. I don’t think it was an accident,” he said.

Laura retrieved her beer. “Why?”

“Someone tried to run me off the road the other night. It was a professional,” he said.

That made murder attempts on two people who were present at Sanchez’s murder. “Has anything happened to Foyle?” she asked.

He hid it well, but Laura felt his surprise at the question. “He doesn’t share information with me. I’m not sharing with him . . . yet.”

“Why didn’t you let me walk into an ambush in that alley?” she asked.

He smiled again. “Self-preservation, for one thing. If they spotted you, I doubt I could have evaded fairy sentries. And if they killed you, I might never know whether you’re really Laura Blackstone or Janice Crawford or Mariel Tate.”

Her hand blazed with essence as she thrust her fist under his chin, just short of touching him. She let him feel the heat and power waiting to be released. “We’re leaving right now. Don’t make me fry your brain.”

CHAPTER 16

SINCLAIR DIDN’T MOVE.
“I suggest you drop your hand, Ms. Blackstone. You are threatening a police officer.”

“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.”

Sinclair froze. He wasn’t afraid, but he recognized power when he saw it. “I have a sort of glamour on. It makes me read human to the fey.”

Terryn reached across and fished a neck chain from beneath Sinclair’s T-shirt. A small flat medallion of a sun with three Teutonic runes inscribed on it hung from a simple gold chain. Laura sensed a deadening field radiating around it, devoid of any essence at all. “Take it off,” she said.

Sinclair pulled the chain over his head and dropped it on the table. His body essence flared brighter, human, but stronger than any Laura had encountered. She played her sensing ability over it, then thrilled as she probed deeper. His human signature had the distinct edge of fey about it. Stunned, she rocked back in her chair. “Danu’s blood, Terryn, he’s a human-fey hybrid.”

“You make it sound like I’m some kind of experiment,” Sinclair said.

“Are you?” Terryn asked.

“My grandfather was fey,” he said.

Laura and Terryn exchanged glances. The fey and humans did not crossbreed well. Their children usually didn’t make it to term, and when then did, they suffered from mental and physical disabilities. Few survived with no discernible effects. It happened, but it was rare. “Who was he?” Laura asked.

“That’s all you’re getting,” he said.

“What species was he?” asked Terryn. Sinclair wouldn’t answer.

Laura closed her eyes and focused. Sinclair’s signature was unlike any she had known, more human than not. Technically, she would call him a solitary fey, something unique, yet fey. She probed deeper. A faint image burned within him, like a ghost pattern within his human body signature. She pushed harder, mentally discarding the human essence to expose what lay beneath.

Her eyes flew open. “Jotunn!”

Terryn looked dubious. “Are you sure? The giants hardly breed among themselves, Laura.”

Laura nodded. “Positive. I can even tell you more precisely—he’s logi-jotunn. I’ve met one before.”

Terryn peered at Sinclair. “A fire giant? Does he have any ability?”

Laura assessed the strange body signature. “The essence doesn’t look active.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m a specimen on a slide. I’m sitting right here,” Sinclair snapped.

I think he would have done something by now if he could,
she finished in a sending.

“You can do sendings,” said Laura.

He nodded. “Not well. They exhaust me.”

Terryn subtly raised his body essence. “If you have such limited abilities, explain how you sensed Laura’s essence. I don’t know anyone who can see through a glamour without special means.”

Sinclair shrugged. “Neither did my grandfather. I don’t sense essence. I sense its shape. Everyone’s shape is unique. Glamours don’t change that. I can’t tell your species, but I sense the difference in the shapes of your body signatures. When I met Mariel Tate, I was surprised that the shape of her body signature matched Janice Crawford’s. I was trying to figure out which one was wearing a glamour. Then I met Laura Blackstone.”

“That’s why you said hello to me at the Senate building,” Laura said.

He shook his head. “That was coincidence. I have to actively use my ability. When I’m around a lot of people, it’s exhausting. I told you the truth about why I wanted to know your name. I didn’t match your essence until tonight.”

Realization dawned on Laura. “You’re the one I’ve been sensing!”

“Could you clarify that?” Terryn asked.

Laura shook her head. “I thought someone was following me. At the drug den and at the Vault. Someone came to the edge of my sensing range and backed off. Someone with an ability to sense the shape of my body signature, isn’t that right, Jono?”

He nodded. “I had to know if I could trust Janice, so I imprinted on her. I was watching Gianni tonight, too, when I saw you park. I thought you were scoping out Blume’s meeting, but when you followed Gianni, I followed you.”

“Where did you get the medallion?” Terryn asked.

Sinclair picked up the chain and rubbed the medallion. “My grandfather made it. He didn’t like the human tendency to kill what it doesn’t understand. He thought I would have an easier time in life if people thought I was fully human. He was afraid if anyone knew about me, I would be studied like an insect. Much like this moment, I imagine.”