I’d been expecting an argument, been sure I’d get a lecture on fae secrets—or hell, the FIB were technically classified as a government agency, so admonishment that we were dealing with state secrets and classified information not meant for a civilian wouldn’t have been unwarranted. The lack of argument was actually more frightening. It highlighted exactly how little time I might have left.
Please let us find something. I needed a break in this case. A map with a big red X on it was unlikely, but hopefully the FIB database would have something.
Falin used a glyph to unlock the back door of the building and led me through a bland gray hallway. A couple of doors lined the hall, most closed, but the few open ones were rather disappointing. I’m not sure what I was expecting from the FIB offices, but they were run by fae, so something more interesting than a shoebox-sized break room complete with a crappy folding table and a mostly empty vending machine. Falin stopped in front of an office with his name on the placard by the door. Again, no key, just a few glyphs by the lock and the door popped open.
His office was as dull as what I’d seen of the rest of the building. It had depressing gray walls, a pressboard desk with a computer, and a window covered by dusty blinds. Wow, the Tongues for the Dead offices are actually nicer. Of course, that was because of one decorating-savvy brownie who’d had access to a vault of gold I hadn’t known existed until she’d spent all of it, but still. This was the court’s official representation in Nekros, and it was depressingly boring. After the terrible beauty of Faerie, I’d expected more.
I started to say something, but Falin crossed directly to his computer, his face still grave. Yeah, probably not the time to discuss decor. I watched over his shoulder as he pulled up an official-looking program and logged in.
He glanced back, and for a moment I thought he was going to comment on my hovering, but after a brief pause he said, “About twelve years ago the winter court began keeping an electronic database of all the fae in our court and all the independents in our territories. Before that, censuses were conducted when the doorways changed and recorded only on paper.”
“And how many times have the doors changed since the electronic database was created?”
Falin’s shoulders sagged. “We are still in the same territories.”
My lips formed a silent O as Falin keyed JENNY GREENTEETH into the program. I knew that the doorways to Faerie moved, and that they may stay put only a single season or might take decades to move again, but I hadn’t realized the Winter Queen had counted Nekros as part of her territory for quite so long. I doubted many mortals knew who ruled the area where they resided—it didn’t affect their lives much. Fae were another story.
“I’m guessing the fae in other courts’ territories aren’t in your database? Is there some sort of shared database?” The look on his face was a clear no. Humans might believe the FIB was a large unified agency, but each court governed their own territories with totalitarian control. And apparently they didn’t share information.
Falin hit ENTER and a pixilated SEARCHING popped up on the screen. This wasn’t exactly cutting-edge technology, but considering most fae were hundreds, if not thousands, of years old, it probably seemed pretty new and advanced to them. Falin was fairly young for a fae—how young, I didn’t know, just that he’d been born after the Magical Awakening, so no more than seventy mortal years. He was also more technologically savvy than many of his contemporaries and he thrummed his fingers against the desk in a staccato of impatience as he waited for the sluggish program to search for our query.
Finally the computer beeped. I scowled at the NO RESULTS message flashing in the center of a pop-up box. Falin tried TOMMY RAWHEAD next, with the same results.
Falin collapsed backward in his chair, a loud sigh escaping between his lips. I felt equally defeated.
“Now what?”
He pushed out of the chair. “Now we know these two aren’t members of the court or independents in the winter territories, which means they must have sworn themselves to a court member.”
“They couldn’t have refrained from showing up on census day?”
Falin shook his head. “Each time the doors change or an independent relocates to a new territory, he or she has to present himself to the new court or his tie to Faerie erodes and . . .” He made a vague gesture in my direction.
Yeah, I knew exactly what happened to a fae without a tie to Faerie. The two bogeymen hadn’t looked like they were fading. “So if they’ve sworn themselves to another fae . . . ?”