“No, he won’t be present now, but he will be there soon. This is why I had to hurry you. We must complete the exchange before Benessarai returns.”
“And Benessarai is going to jet back to D.C. with you tomorrow without the prototype?”
“Ah, but he will believe he has it. Sadly, it will turn out that the skull used for the device was damaged at some point in its adventures, so it isn’t working properly now. Robert Friar will apologize profusely for this. But I am assured your sorcerer does not know how to hide his spells, so the spellwork will seem to be intact. Benessarai will give the device to his father, expecting him to be able to duplicate it. Lord Thierath is highly skilled. He could certainly do so if he were given the actual device.”
Lily thought that over. “Wrong skull?”
“I do not have Lord Thierath’s skill, but once I have the original in my possession I can create a close enough facsimile to fool Benessarai.”
“If this device could destabilize your realm, wouldn’t Lord Thierath know that?”
“Your people have a saying—like father, like son.”
“He’s a fool, too.”
“I am sure I did not say that.”
The CR-V slowed. Slowed more, and turned. And stopped. Lily’s heart began to pound.
“We are here,” Alycithin said.
She wasn’t ready. Her stomach went queasy, and her mind went blank.
The halfling used the knife on her belt to slash the rope at Lily’s ankles and seized her foot before she could lash out with it. Alycithin was brisk, efficient, and absurdly strong. She dragged Lily out effortlessly. Lily barely managed to get her feet under her in time to keep from landing on her butt. Dinalaran stood close by with his gun, and Alycithin seized Lily by the restraints and nudged her forward.
They were parked in front of a bare-bones style warehouse—concrete blocks painted a dingy yellow, with a regular door directly ahead and a dock and high-loading door several feet away. There was room for a semi to pull up at the dock.
A car drove by on the street behind them. She wondered what the elf looked like to its driver.
That driver wasn’t the only person around. The warehouse next to theirs was bigger and bustling—two trucks were being unloaded and another waited its turn. Lily had already tried getting the attention of passersby, though, on her way out of the apartment building. Alycithin was too damn good with her Gift.
Alycithin said something in her language.
The people-size door opened. A large, fat man stood in the doorway. He wore a trench coat, T-shirt, jeans, and boots. He was bald with a tattoo on his forehead, and he carried a sawed-off shotgun in one hand.
This wasn’t quite the way she’d intended to find Hugo.
“She’s here,” he said loudly, “with her half of the deal.”
Wait a minute. “How come he noticed you?” she asked Alycithin.
“Does your friend not know how to use her Gift selectively? I suppose little training is available to her here.”
Hugo moved out of the way, and a second man emerged.
Robert Friar was looking good. His deep tan hadn’t faded. The silver in his dark hair was as dramatic and attractive as ever. He wore tailored slacks and a good-quality cotton shirt, open at the throat. It was a deep, rich shade of blue that complemented his coloring. He carried a black bowling-ball bag.
He looked at Lily. Delight lit his eyes. Anticipation. Then his gaze shifted to the woman holding her. “Alycithin, how good to see you again. I hope you will excuse my haste, but we have only a short time before Benessarai and the others return.”
“I do not object to haste, but you must take down the wards on the building so I can confirm that we are alone save for our agreed-upon attendants.”
“I’m afraid I failed in part of my task. Benessarai refused to show me how to take down the wards.”
“Then we will not exchange here and now, Robert Friar. Dinalaran,” she said, adding something in her language as she took a quick step back, pulling Lily with her.
Lily didn’t see it happen. One second she was being tugged backward. The next a huge, hard shove sent her flying—and a gunshot shattered the air. A second shot boomed almost immediately as Lily landed on her knees, still falling, but she rolled so she ended on her side—and saw Alycithin facedown on the concrete, her back a bloody mess. With Dinalaran standing over her, gun in hand.
He’d shot her in the back. Her own man had shot her.
She’d shoved Lily out of the way. Whatever sense had alerted her, she’d used that split second to save Lily, not herself. The rounds in that SIG would likely have gone right through Alycithin and into Lily.
“That,” Friar said disapprovingly as he stepped forward, “was poorly done, Dinalaran. Do you know anything about that weapon in your hand? If Alycithin hadn’t quixotically chosen to— Hugo,” he snapped. “Get her.”
It was awkward to get to your feet quickly with your hands bound behind your back, but Lily managed it—only to be confronted by the elf’s SIG Sauer, all too quickly followed by the oversize Hugo, who pinned her to him with a forearm around her neck. He felt a lot harder and more muscular than he looked. He smelled like pizza.
Lily glanced quickly at the other warehouse. It was only fifty feet away, but everyone there continued to unload trucks. No one had heard the shots. No one had seen a thing. Someone was still hiding them. If not Alycithin, then who? She’d thought Dinalaran was one of the body-magic guys. Could he be that good at illusion, too?
Something dropped to the concrete with a metallic thud. She looked quickly that way and saw Dinalaran sink to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He’d dropped his weapon. He looked up and began to sing.
He had a high, pure voice. His song was clearly a lament, the melody simple and haunting.
“Can’t have that,” someone else said. “It is not fitting that my cousin’s murderer sing her death song.”
Another person had emerged from the warehouse. He was tall and slim and beautiful and dressed all in white—loose white tunic-length shirt, white leather pants, white boots. His long hair was loose and the color of a new penny. It shone brightly in the winter sun, as if it were indeed made of metal instead of collagen. The tips of his pointy ears poked through that copper curtain. He wore what looked like an enormous blue sapphire on a chain around his neck. One slender hand rose gracefully to touch the stone. He murmured a few words.
Dinalaran hushed and stiffened. Slowly his hand moved to his boot. He pulled a knife from it and closed his eyes and rested the tip of the knife on one eyelid. He adjusted the angle slightly and plunged it up into his brain.
His own body fell across Alycithin’s.
“Poor Dinalaran. He has atoned as much as he was able,” the copper-haired Benessarai murmured.
“Ah, well,” Friar said. “We have a saying: all’s well that ends well.”
“Time to tidy up.” Benessarai stepped away from the doorway and gestured. Four more elves flowed out the door. They wore leather pants in a variety of hues, but their shirts all matched his—white and long and flowing. They had great, long knives sheathed on their backs. He spoke to them in his language and gestured at the bodies.
None of the four spoke. Their lovely faces were serene, unmoved by what was supposed to look like a murder-suicide. But when they reached the bodies, they handled them with great care. Dinalaran was shifted off Alycithin. Both were lifted, moved several feet away, and laid down once more. The elves began arranging their clothing and their limbs with finicky precision.
Benessarai spoke sharply. The elves stopped and backed away.