I opened my mouth, but then snapped it shut with a click. Where had the bogeymen come from? I’d assumed they had to be winter court or maybe independent. But what if they weren’t? Checking probably wouldn’t be too hard—the queen’s people had to have some sort of census list of everyone in her territory. Again, I needed to talk to Falin. Hopefully he was all right. Anyone at the FIB probably had access to a list of the independents at the very least, but I doubted any agent beside Falin would give me access to search for the bogeymen.
But what if they weren’t independents or winter court? I’d made the assumption they were because this was winter’s territory, but bad guys didn’t follow the rules, that sort of went along with being a bad guy. But if not winter, what court did they belong to? Fae took oaths to their courts, but it wasn’t impossible to change allegiances. A frost pixie like Icelynne was likely to belong to the winter court, but while it would be uncomfortable, it wouldn’t be impossible for her to join, say, the summer court. Bogeymen were creatures that thrived in darkness, and like John had said, the subject of nightmares.
I knew neither fae was an actual nightmare—I’d seen nightmares before in the realm of dreams—but that didn’t mean they didn’t belong in that creepy landscape. Or possibly in the shadow court. There was no guarantee, but I could make some inquiries. I even had contacts, of sorts, in both places.
“You’ve thought of something,” John said, his expression caught between a scowl and concern.
I shrugged, trying to make the movement look unconcerned. Judging by John’s deepening frown, I didn’t succeed.
“I suppose nothing I say will convince you to drop this case?”
“I would if I could, John. If I only could.”
Chapter 17
“Are you sure this is the best idea?” Caleb asked after he, Holly, and I signed in on both sides of the door in the VIP room of the Bloom.
“Unless you have contacts that can help identify the bogeymen who crashed the wedding, yeah, it’s the best plan I can come up with.”
Caleb and Holly exchanged frowns. In truth, Caleb’s concern worried me. He was my go-to resource for all things fae. I didn’t know how old he was—it was impolite to ask—but he’d been around a while and he understood fae politics a whole lot better than I did.
“If you could give me a couple weeks, I’m sure we could track down someone who knows,” he said, but followed the comment with a sigh. “I know, you don’t have weeks. Damn, Al, I wished we’d realized earlier that you are fae enough to fade.”
So did I. But we hadn’t, and now time was of the essence. “You two go find a table, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Again, a concerned glance passed between them, but Holly nodded. “We’ll keep an eye on you,” she said, offering what I’m sure was supposed to be an encouraging smile, but it came out too feeble to be very reassuring.
Still, I nodded and headed for the long bar at the far side of the room.
Today’s bartender was an enormous cyclops. The pint glass he was wiping as I approached looked like a thimble in his huge hands. He had a row of horns running down his bare scalp, like a boney Mohawk.
“Uh, hi. I need to send a couple messages,” I said, trying to meet his gaze, but it was hard to figure out how to properly focus on his single red-irised eye.
The cyclops grunted and grabbed something from under the bar. The meaty hand swung out in front of me and I fought the urge to cringe away. He opened his hand and an honest-to-goodness quill floated onto the bar top, followed by a handful of dried leaves.
I nodded my appreciation and scooped up the items. Then I scurried to the other side of the bar, farther from the silent mountain of a bartender.
The first message I scratched on one of the leaves was to Rianna. It said simply that I had a lead to follow and for her and Ms. B to remain in Faerie and contact me if things got too bad. It was a simple message, but scratching it out with the quill still took a while. Once I was finished, I crumbled the leaf. It was so dry, it turned into powder in my hand. I didn’t know how the messages worked, but I’d sent Rianna several over the last few months and the magic always ensured the messages made it to the intended party in Faerie.
Faerie magic—maybe one day I’d understand it.
The next leaf I addressed to Dugan, the prince of the shadow court. I hesitated, quill poised over the leaf. I’d been debating how to word this missive since I got the idea while talking to John, but the exact wording was elusive. Dugan believed he was my betrothed, so asking to meet with him shouldn’t be that hard, theoretically, but he was also heir to the shadow throne. The whole Faerie royalty thing was daunting.