smiled, obviously relieved, and hurried off to find someone who really did need a ride to the hospital.
“I’ll give you uniforms to escort you back to your car.” She sort ofnodded toward the press that was being held back by tape and barriers. Oddly, the paparazzi who had gotten injured were now news themselves. I wondered if they were enjoying being on the other side of the camera.
“Some of them will follow us to the beach,” Frost said.
“I can try to lose them.”
“No, I do not want to see what that would mean on the roads to the beach.” Doyle said it very quickly and even Lucy picked up his unease.
“So tall, dark, and deadly is still not comfy riding in regular cars.” She addressed the comment to me.
I smiled and shook my head.
“I prefer the limo; at least then I can’t see the road so clearly.”
Lucy smiled and shook her head. “You know, it makes me like you better that you’re afraid of something, Doyle.”
He frowned at her, and probably would have commented, but her phone rang. She checked, and saw that she needed to answer it. She held up a finger for us to wait.
“Tell me this is a joke,” she said. Her tone was anything but amused.
“How,” she asked, then listened and said, “Sorry doesn’t fix this.” She got off the phone and cursed softly but completely under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“While we were down here cleaning up this mess our witness fled the scene. We can’t find her.”
“When did she get… ?”
“He doesn’t know. Apparently when there were fewer of us, Gilda’s entourage got braver, and when they calmed it down the witness was gone.” I noticed that she was careful not to say Bittersweet’s name out in public. It was a good precaution when murders are magical; you never know who, or how, someone is listening.
“Lucy, I’m sorry. If you hadn’t come down here to help us this wouldn’t have happened.”
She gave a glare to the paparazzi who were not hurt but whom the police had forced to wait for questioning. “You wouldn’t have needed help if these bastards hadn’t mobbed you.”
“I’m not even sure you can charge them with anything,” I said.
“We’ll find something,” she said, her voice full of anger. The anger was probably more about Bittersweet fleeing the scene and having to tell her bosses that she’d been rescuing the faery princess from the big, bad reporters when it had happened, but the uninjured paparazzi would make a nice target for that anger.
“Go, enjoy your weekend. I’ll take care of this bunch and give you an escort to your car. I’ll have some cars make sure that no one follows you from the Fael, but if they’re waiting for you farther away”—she shrugged—“afraid there’s not much I can do.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for everything, and I’m sorry that you’re going to take grief about the witness.”
She smiled, but her eyes weren’t happy enough for it. “I’ll deal with it. Go, have your picnic or whatever.” She turned away, then back to frowning. She moved closer to us and whispered, “How do we find someone who is only four inches high in a city the size of Los Angeles?”
It was a good question, but I had a helpful answer. “She’s one of the smallest of us, so she’s very sensitive to metal and technology. So look for her at parks, vacant lots, street sides with trees like today’s scene. She needs nature to survive here.”
“What kind of flower faery is she?” Frost asked.
“I don’t know,” Lucy said.
“Good idea, Frost,” I said. “Find out, Lucy, because she’ll be attracted to her plant. Some of them are so tied to a bit of land that if their plant goes extinct they die with it.”
“Wow, that’d make you environmentally active,” Lucy said.
I nodded.
“Who would know what flower she likes?”
“Robert might know,” I said.
“Gilda would know,” Doyle said.
Lucy frowned at him. “She’s already
“I’ll give you uniforms to escort you back to your car.” She sort ofnodded toward the press that was being held back by tape and barriers. Oddly, the paparazzi who had gotten injured were now news themselves. I wondered if they were enjoying being on the other side of the camera.
“Some of them will follow us to the beach,” Frost said.
“I can try to lose them.”
“No, I do not want to see what that would mean on the roads to the beach.” Doyle said it very quickly and even Lucy picked up his unease.
“So tall, dark, and deadly is still not comfy riding in regular cars.” She addressed the comment to me.
I smiled and shook my head.
“I prefer the limo; at least then I can’t see the road so clearly.”
Lucy smiled and shook her head. “You know, it makes me like you better that you’re afraid of something, Doyle.”
He frowned at her, and probably would have commented, but her phone rang. She checked, and saw that she needed to answer it. She held up a finger for us to wait.
“Tell me this is a joke,” she said. Her tone was anything but amused.
“How,” she asked, then listened and said, “Sorry doesn’t fix this.” She got off the phone and cursed softly but completely under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“While we were down here cleaning up this mess our witness fled the scene. We can’t find her.”
“When did she get… ?”
“He doesn’t know. Apparently when there were fewer of us, Gilda’s entourage got braver, and when they calmed it down the witness was gone.” I noticed that she was careful not to say Bittersweet’s name out in public. It was a good precaution when murders are magical; you never know who, or how, someone is listening.
“Lucy, I’m sorry. If you hadn’t come down here to help us this wouldn’t have happened.”
She gave a glare to the paparazzi who were not hurt but whom the police had forced to wait for questioning. “You wouldn’t have needed help if these bastards hadn’t mobbed you.”
“I’m not even sure you can charge them with anything,” I said.
“We’ll find something,” she said, her voice full of anger. The anger was probably more about Bittersweet fleeing the scene and having to tell her bosses that she’d been rescuing the faery princess from the big, bad reporters when it had happened, but the uninjured paparazzi would make a nice target for that anger.
“Go, enjoy your weekend. I’ll take care of this bunch and give you an escort to your car. I’ll have some cars make sure that no one follows you from the Fael, but if they’re waiting for you farther away”—she shrugged—“afraid there’s not much I can do.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for everything, and I’m sorry that you’re going to take grief about the witness.”
She smiled, but her eyes weren’t happy enough for it. “I’ll deal with it. Go, have your picnic or whatever.” She turned away, then back to frowning. She moved closer to us and whispered, “How do we find someone who is only four inches high in a city the size of Los Angeles?”
It was a good question, but I had a helpful answer. “She’s one of the smallest of us, so she’s very sensitive to metal and technology. So look for her at parks, vacant lots, street sides with trees like today’s scene. She needs nature to survive here.”
“What kind of flower faery is she?” Frost asked.
“I don’t know,” Lucy said.
“Good idea, Frost,” I said. “Find out, Lucy, because she’ll be attracted to her plant. Some of them are so tied to a bit of land that if their plant goes extinct they die with it.”
“Wow, that’d make you environmentally active,” Lucy said.
I nodded.
“Who would know what flower she likes?”
“Robert might know,” I said.
“Gilda would know,” Doyle said.
Lucy frowned at him. “She’s already
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