Mark Del Franco - Face Off

Moor’s eyes became hooded. “For what?”

“Legacy,” Laura said.

“I work there. It was a convenient place to hide,” she said.

Laura leaned back, tapping her pen on the table. “Legacy claims they want unity among the fey and humans. They think abolishing monarchies is the way to achieve that. You have a career of antimonarchial activities that involves violence. I get your excuse for being there. What I want to know is why they want someone like you.”

Moor smiled. “I’m very good at keeping people on message.”

Laura arched an eyebrow. “So what’s the message this time? Extortion? Murder? Another bomb?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“We’ve got a dead shopkeeper and a dead suicide bomber, Moor. It’s only a matter of time before we connect them to the other acts of anti-fey violence, then to Legacy. We’re almost there already.”

She sneered. “Then what do you need me for?”

Laura released some essence into her eyes, letting it shimmer in the manner of an Old One. Moor didn’t try to hold the gaze but looked away, easily cowed by the power in front of her. “I want to know what’s being planned, Moor. Whatever your goals are, they won’t be accomplished with murder. I’m going to stop it with you or without you.”

“Go ahead, then. You can’t connect me to anything,” she said.

Laura nudged the folder. “I don’t have to. Whatever is going to happen, you’re out of the game. For good. The Dublin case against you is open-and-shut. You want the justice of the Seelie Court, I will be more than happy to accommodate you.” She pushed the folder closer. “You want to live, I can accommodate that, too.”

“I want time to think about it. And I want a lawyer,” she said.

Laura placed a pen on the folder. “Fine. I’ll give you time. You have thirty seconds. After that, the deal is permanently off the table, and you go to Ireland. I’ll pay for your lawyer’s flight myself. I don’t have more time than that, I’m afraid.”

Moor stared at the documents in front her. Laura weighed the options herself—humane treatment in a U.S. jail in exchange for the betrayal of her associates or certain death at the hands of Maeve’s justice. The Seelie Court was not a kind and gentle judge. It didn’t take Moor long to decide.

“Where do I sign?” she asked.

Laura spread the documents out and handed her a pen. “I’ll walk you through it.”

LAURA HAD PLANNEDthe detention of Fallon Moor for early in the morning in order to free up time for the rest of the day. She was glad she did, since between the initial interview of Moor and the subsequent paperwork, she didn’t get upstairs to the public-relations department until noon.

The chaos on her desk did its best to depress her, but she retaliated by remaining focused. The reception for Draigen macCullen produced layers of pressure that she hadn’t anticipated. Working for Guildmaster Orrin ap Rhys as his public-relations director and for Terryn macCullen as his top undercover agent created conflicts that were becoming harder to ignore. At this point, she recognized that Rhys was no fan of the Inverni—neither past nor present—and enjoyed fanning the flames of their disagreements. As a diplomatic extension of High Queen Maeve’s court, the Washington Guildhouse was playing a major role in discrediting the Inverni position—and Laura was finding her job as public-relations director bumping up against her moral and personal ethics as a friend and colleague of Terryn.

Regardless of her job title on the Guildhouse letterhead, Laura’s public-relations position had expanded over the years by a slow accretion of tasks and favors that had nothing to do with her primary job. Her inherent drive to get things done had clouded the fact that she had let things get out of control. Hiring Saffin Corrill as her assistant helped manage the unwieldy numbers of responsibilities, with the added benefit of finding someone she could trust. Where Laura didn’t want to say no to people, Saffin had no problem booting them to the curb.

To complicate things more, Rhys didn’t know she worked for InterSec. Terryn, of course, knew about her Guild work but made it a point never to ask her for inside information. Which made things harder, since the decision to reveal or not reveal was hers. Depending on the situation, she sometimes was forced to make a choice between Terryn and Rhys, something that did not always sit well depending on which job hat she wore.

Which all came down to why she had become more involved in Draigen macCullen’s reception than she would have otherwise. Rhys had assigned the lead responsibility to Resha Dunne, but Laura wanted Draigen’s meeting with the president of the United States to succeed. If Draigen succeeded, Laura wouldn’t have to draw a line in the sand with Rhys regarding how far she would go to discredit Terryn’s clan. If Draigen succeeded, Laura’s personal feelings for Terryn wouldn’t make her feel obligated to disclose Guild strategies against the Inverni to him. She didn’t want Draigen to succeed. She needed her to.

Saffin arrived with a stack of folders, which she laid out along the front edge of Laura’s desk. “This folder contains top-priority issues. This one has potential issues. This one has issues I don’t think are issues. And this one has issues that I know aren’t issues. Some people need to find better things to do with their time.”

Her efficiency amused and gratified Laura. She and Saffin had worked together for years, knew each other’s rhythms, and helped each other get their jobs done. Without Saffin, Laura’s double life would have been impossible. She had saved Laura’s reputation several times—once literally saved her life.

Brownies by nature were skilled organizational personalities with a knack for order and efficiency. Those talents came at a price. Stressed by an obstacle in their path to successful completion of a job, they transformed into boggarts—a manic version of their normal selves. She had seen the effect recently with Fallon Moor. The physical transformation was exhausting for brownies—and dangerous to the people around them. “Going boggie” had a range of behaviors from an annoying relentlessness to outright violent acts.

Without comment, Laura observed the healing cuts on Saffin’s face and arms. Saffin had been caught in the recent terrorist attack at the Archives and gone full boggart. Her body became a killing machine to save her life and the lives of others. While Laura knew it was a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, she couldn’t help feeling responsible for what Saffin had done, especially since Laura had had to encourage it to save them. If Laura had prevented the attack in the first place, Saffin wouldn’t have been hurt—or hurt others. Saffin hadn’t blamed Laura. She didn’t dwell on what she had done but accepted it as the inevitable outcome of her nature. Laura wished she could be so comfortable in her own skin.

“How about I take the office complaint folder, and you take the reception one?” she asked.

Saffin flipped her wispy blond hair over her shoulders. “Sure. Of course, that means the reception hors d’oeuvres will be vegetarian, people will have to get their own, the music will be rockabilly, and I might consider some kind of role-playing party game to loosen everyone up.”

Laura shook her head. “You do not like rockabilly.”

Saffin smirked. “Neither do fairies. Everyone will leave early, and I’ll have enough leftovers to not cook for a week.”

“You convinced me. I’ll take the first folder,” Laura said.

Saffin sighed. “Have it your way. A Stray Cats reunion would have been awesome.”