Laura stood abruptly, attracting the attention of others in the room. “ ‘ That thing’ is a friend of mine, sir. Whatever prejudices we have all had against the leanansidhe do not apply to Cress. I will thank you to remember that.”
Brinen and Aran were taken aback by her tone. She clenched her jaw as she gathered her files. Lord Guardians apparently were not accustomed to being snapped at. Laura didn’t care. “I will review the remaining issues with Terryn, gentlemen. Thank you for your time and attention.”
Before they could speak again, she walked out. Despite her tone, she showed no further visible indication of her anger. Cress had been with InterSec for decades. If an international agency that dealt with high-level security issues saw fit to keep her on staff, the Inverni had no cause to question her competence. And yet they did, so focused on their own agendas and problems, they couldn’t see beyond their limited experience. If they were going to make Cress a problem, Laura was going to make sure it was their problem, not Cress’s.
CHAPTER 19
IN ORDER TO gain more time in her day, Laura had spent the night in Mariel Tate’s corporate suite a few blocks away. Skipping the commute from Alexandria saved her at least an hour. The elevator arrived blessedly empty in the parking garage. An empty elevator meant no curious stares from other passengers when she got off on the seldom-used back hall of the Guild accounting department. When the doors opened, she crossed the small elevator lobby to the door that led to her private room. She dropped the folders on the bed, making a mental note to retrieve them later. As she shifted out of her glamour, Mariel’s long dark hair swirled up and away back to Laura’s natural blond. She changed out of her gray suit. Mixing clothing between Mariel and Laura had been one of the ways Saffin pieced together her undercover work. She didn’t want to make that mistake again.
She sorted through the ranks of shoes along one wall and caught herself muttering. While the macCullen brothers’ demeaning references to Cress justified her anger, she realized she was also angry with herself. She understood their fears. Leanansidhes were dangerous. She had seen Cress’s power, and, yes, she feared it herself. The only thing keeping Cress from submitting to her inherent nature was force of will and the steadfast support of Terryn. Without both of those, none of them knew what would happen. Despite that, if she could try to put aside her deep-seated fears as she’d told Cress, so could the macCullens.
She slipped on her shoes and checked the outfit in the mirror. As Laura Blackstone, she always looked the consummate businesswoman, stylish and no-nonsense. In control. She had to be to maintain her public personas. Like Cress. But she also knew cracks were forming in the masks she presented to the world. She didn’t feel like herself. She didn’t know what that meant anymore.
If Cress let herself be herself, she would be draining the living essence from anything she could get her hands on, people in particular. She would be a serial killer, plain and simple. Or she could continue as she was now, keeping focused on assimilating into society without resorting to killing to survive. It wasn’t a choice, not for someone with any kind of conscience. And if Laura was feeling the stress of constantly presenting a façade to the world, what did that mean for Cress? What would happen to her if Terryn’s love and support were removed?
As she slipped through the closet into her public-relations office, Laura wondered if the situation made Cress more dangerous or less, and maybe Aran macCullen was right to advocate that Terryn move on with his life without a leanansidhe as a life mate. And that made her feel angry again, only this time at herself for betraying the best interest of one friend over another.
Laura made herself comfortable in her desk chair and not a moment too soon as Resha Dunne marched into her office. He stopped short in surprise. “Where did you come from?”
She rolled her eyes innocently. “Upstate New York. My father bought a small farm there.”
Confusion crossed his face. “What?”
Laura relaxed her face into a natural smile. “It was a joke, Resha. I just got back from a meeting.”
She sensed Saffin at her desk outside the door. How long has Resha been here? she sent.
How the heck did you get past me? Saffin responded.
The door was locked. I came in the window, Laura sent.
Really?
It was a joke, Saf. What was Resha doing out there?
He was on the phone.
“But I didn’t see you,” he said.
“You seemed very involved in your phone conversation. I didn’t want to interrupt. What’s up?”
Resha frowned in deeper confusion, an expression which, on a merrow, tended to look more like anger. “You walked past me?”
Laura drew her eyebrows together in concern. “Are you all right, Resha?”
His eyes shifted in thought as he stared at the floor. He shrugged. “I must have been woolgathering. I stopped by for your advice. The Legacy Foundation rejected our donation.”
That surprised and didn’t surprise her. Organizations rarely refused unsolicited monies that had no strings attached. In this case, though, Legacy was smart enough to know “no strings” meant “invisible strings,” but rejecting it outright was surprising. “Did they say why?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Tell your Guildmaster his guilt money won’t pay for the lives lost at the Archives.’”
“Who said?” she asked.
“Adam DeWinter. He’s the president of the board.”
Laura showed no sign to Resha that she knew DeWinter. She hated when her persona interactions crossed over. It sometimes made things difficult to keep separate. “While not exactly out of character, that’s still odd. Why do you think he rejected it?”
Resha eased himself into the guest chair, which was too small for his lanky frame. “I’m not sure. He seemed to be enjoying the reception. Senator Hornbeck introduced me. When I mentioned the Guild’s donation, he started lecturing me about the dangers of unchecked power among the fey and said the Archives incident was a major example.”
Laura tapped her pen against a pad. “Hmmm. I’m going with Hornbeck set him off. DeWinter used you, Resha. Don’t forget—Legacy is an antimonarchial group looking for political favor. DeWinter used you to establish his credentials with Hornbeck.”
Resha straightened in surprise. “Well, that was rather rude.”
“Didn’t you notice any animosity from the other attendees?”
He rolled his claw-tipped hands open on his lap. “Of course. I feel that wherever I go, Laura.”
His comment reminded Laura again of the race issues so many solitaries struggled with. On a day-to-day basis, she didn’t notice he was a merrow, but when he made a point of saying it, Laura cataloged the characteristics that gave humans pause—the white skin shaded blue and gray, the vertical ridge in his forehead, the sharp predatory teeth, and, of course, those small claws instead of nails on each finger. People who were not fey stared at Resha. He frightened them by existing. Like Cress did to the fey.
Laura softened her tone. “I’m sorry, Resha. I didn’t mean to sound like I was faulting you for anything. I’m frustrated because I thought the donation might quiet them down for a bit.”
Resha nodded in understanding. “Yes, I can imagine we don’t need anyone speaking ill of the fey with the Inverni in town.”
“True,” said Laura. Resha was no fool. Despite the Guildmaster’s contempt, Resha saw more than he let on. That he didn’t always exploit those things to the best advantage of the Guild was beside the point. He hadn’t gotten to be a Guild director because he was a total fool.
“Rhys will be upset with me. I was hoping you could advise me,” he said.