Лорел Гамильтон - A Kiss Of Shadows

"Sorry, I've gotten out of the habit," I said.

Barinthus said, "Get back into the habit, quickly. I don't want you hurt because you didn't hide behind us. It's our job to take the risks and keep you safe." He pressed the "hold door open" button.

"I know that, Barinthus."

"And yet you would have stepped into the hall," he said.

Galen very cautiously peeked out of the elevator, then stepped into the hallway. "Clear." He swept a low bow. The small braid spilled over his shoulder to touch the floor. I remembered when his hair spilled like a green waterfall to pool onto the floor. There was a part of me that thought that was what a man's hair should look like. Long enough to drag the floor. Long enough to cover my body in a silken sheet when we made love. I'd mourned when he cut it, but it hadn't been any of my business.

"Get up, Galen." I started walking down the hallway, key in hand.

He stood and half ran, half danced down the hallway to get ahead of me. "Oh, no, my lady. I must needs open the lock."

"Stop it, Galen. I mean it."

Barinthus just followed us quietly, suitcase in hand, like a father watching grown children misbehave. No, no, he was ignoring us the way he'd ignored Jenkins, almost. I glanced back at him and could read nothing on that pale face. He was self-contained, unreadable. There had been a time when he'd smiled more, laughed more, hadn't there? I remembered his arms lifting me from the water with a great shout of laughter, his hair floating around his body like a slow cloud. I'd swum in that cloud, wrapped it around tiny hands. We'd laughed together. The first time I swam in the Pacific Ocean I thought of Barinthus. I wanted to show him this vast new ocean. To my knowledge he'd never seen it.

Galen was waiting in front of the door. I stopped and waited for Barinthus to catch up with me. "You seem solemn today, Barinthus."

He looked at me with those eyes, and the invisible eyelid flicked over them. Nervous. He was nervous. Was he afraid for me? He'd been pleased about the ring, displeased about the spell in the car. But not too displeased, not too distressed, as if it were all normal business. In a way it was. "What's wrong, Barinthus? What haven't you told me?"

"Trust me, Meredith."

I took his free hand in mine, fingers sliding around his. My hand was lost in his. "I do trust you, Barinthus."

He held my hand delicately as if afraid I would break. "Meredith, little Meredith." His face softened as he spoke. "You were always a mixture of directness, coyness, and tenderness."

"I'm not as tender as I used to be, Barinthus."

He nodded. "The world does tend to beat such things out of you, unfortunately." He brought my hand to his lips and laid a gentle kiss against my fingers. His lips brushed the ring and sent a tingling wave through both of us.

He looked solemn again, face closing down, as he dropped my hand. "What, Barinthus? What?" I grabbed his arm.

He shook his head. "It has been a very long time since that ring has come to life in such a manner."

"What does the ring have to do with anything?" I asked.

"It had become just another piece of metal, and now it lives again."

"And?" I asked.

He looked past me to Galen. "Let's get her to the room. The queen does not like to be kept waiting."

Galen took the key from me and unlocked the door. He checked the room for spells and hidden dangers while Barinthus and I waited in the hall.

"Tell me what it means that the ring reacts to you and Galen, but not my grandmother."

He sighed. "The queen once used the ring to choose her consorts."

I raised eyebrows at him. "Which means, what?"

"It reacts to men that the ring deems worthy of you."

I stared up at him, searching that handsome, exotic face. "What does that mean, worthy of me?"

"The queen is the only one who knows the complete powers of the ring. I know only that it has been centuries since the ring has been alive on her hand. That it lives for you is both good and dangerous. The queen might be jealous that the ring is yours now."

"She gave it to me—why would she be jealous?"

"Because she is the Queen of Air and Darkness." He said it as if that explained it all. In a way it did, in a way did not. Like so much about our queen, it was a paradox.

Galen came to the door. "All clear."

Barinthus walked past him, forcing Galen to step back out of the way of the big man and the suitcase. "What's his problem?" Galen asked.

"The ring, I think." I stepped into the room. It was a typical box room done in shades of blue.

Barinthus had put the suitcase on one of the dark blue bedspreads. "Please make haste, Meredith. Galen and I still have to dress for dinner."

I looked at him standing in the blue-on-blue room. He matched the decor. If the room had been green, Galen would have matched. You could color code your bodyguards to your room. I laughed.

"What?" Barinthus asked.

I motioned at him. "You match the room."

He looked around as if he'd just noticed the blue print wallpaper, the dark blue bedspreads, the powder blue carpet. "So I do. Now, please, get dressed." He unzipped the suitcase to emphasize the request, though it had the taste of an order, no matter how it was worded.

"Is there a deadline I'm not aware of?" I asked.

Galen sat down on the other bed. "I agree with the big guy on this one. The queen's planning a welcome home event for you, and she won't like waiting for us to get dressed, and if we're not dressed in the outfits she had made for us, she'll be angry with us."

"Are the two of you going to be in trouble?" I asked.

"Not if you hurry," Galen said.

I went into the bathroom with the carry-on bag. I'd packed my outfit for tonight in the bag just in case the suitcase went missing. I didn't want to have to do emergency shopping for an outfit that would meet with my aunt's approval for court fashion. Slacks were not appropriate dinner wear for women. Sexist, but true. Dinner was formal attire, always. If you didn't want to dress up, you could eat in your room.

I slipped into black satin and lace panties. The bra was underwire, firm hold with lace. The hose were black and thigh high. The old human saying about wearing clean underwear in case you get hit by a bus applied to the Unseelie Court, sort of. Here you wore nice underwear because the queen might see it. Though truthfully I liked knowing that everything I wore was pretty, even the things that touched my skin where no one else would see.

I darkened the eye shadow and mascara to shades of grey and white. I applied enough eyeliner that my eyes stood out in shocking relief, like emeralds and gold set in ebony. I chose a shade of lipstick that was a dark, dark wine burgundy.

I had two Spyderco folding knives. I flipped one of them open. It was a six-inch blade, long, slender, gleaming silver, but it was steel—their military model. Steel or iron was what you needed against my relatives. The other knife was much smaller—a Delica. Each knife had a clip-on so you just slipped them over your clothing. I checked both knives for ease of release, then closed them, and put them on. The Delica fit down the center of the bra on the underwire. I slipped a black garter over my left leg, not to hold up the hose—they didn't need it—but to hold the military blade.

I slipped the dress out of the garment bag. The dress was a deep rich burgundy. It had just enough strap to hide the bra. The bodice was satin, tight and fitted; the rest of the dress was a softer, more natural-looking cloth, falling in a soft, clinging line to the floor. The matching jacket was made of the same soft burgundy cloth except for the satin lapels.

I had an ankle holster complete with a Beretta Tomcat, their newest.32 auto pistol. The thing weighed nearly a pound. There were guns out there that were smaller, but if I had to shoot someone tonight, I wanted more than a. 22 backing me up. The real trouble with ankle holsters is that they make you walk funny. There is a tendency to drag the foot that the holster's on, to widen your step in an odd little movement. The added problem was I was wearing hose, and the chances of not snagging them on the holster as I walked were pretty much nil. But it was the only place I could think to hide a gun that wasn't obvious just by glancing at me. I'd sacrifice the hose to keep the gun.