Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(67)

“That thinking’s what got them in trouble last time,” Ian muttered.

“What other form can they take?” the redhead asked. “Male? Female? Animal, vegetable, mineral?”

“First two, yes. Last three, unknown.”

“So we’re looking for a male or female who may or may not turn into something with four legs, roots, or a rock.”

That earned her some chuckles.

Alain Moreau stepped in, and the humor instantly vanished. “Apprehend them quickly and bring them here. We will keep them here until all five have been collected, at which time they will be returned to Belvedere Castle.”

I couldn’t have heard that right. Belvedere Castle had been built in Central Park in 1869. I’d visited during my round of doing the tourist thing. It’s a combination weather station, observatory, and exhibition rooms. And every Halloween, they have a haunted house. I would have definitely noticed if there’d been fairies living there.

“The one in Central Park?” I asked.

Moreau hadn’t told them where I was from, though judging from the smiles and barely hidden smirks, they’d figured it out as soon as I opened my mouth.

I’m from the mountains of North Carolina. My words have a couple of extra syllables; so sue me.

Ian Byrne hadn’t said a thing when he’d first heard me talk. And being in HSR, Jenny knew where I was from, and some of her relatives lived in the Mississippi River, so my accent wasn’t big deal. She thought it was charming. Though I’d found out since moving to New York that “charming” most often translated to “redneck.”

Hand Crusher smirked and muttered something under his breath. I only heard two words—“Elly May”—and they told me the gist of the rest.

Yeah, I’m from the South and the mountains. Sure, I’m a woman and a blonde, but calling me a “hillbilly”—either indirectly or right up in my face—stepped up to and over any and every line I had. But if I was going to channel Elly May Clampett, I’d have told him that “them there’s fightin’ words,” put him in a headlock, and sicced my pet raccoon on him. But I wasn’t going to channel anyone or dignify his comments with a response. At least not yet. However, that snide remark plus the hand crush had earned him a spot on my shit list that he’d have to work damn hard to get off of.

“Yes, Agent Fraser. It is the East Coast seat of the Seelie Court,” Moreau replied. “The court exists in the same space, but in a dimension next to ours, effectively keeping it hidden from humans.”

Now that was cool. Note to self: Check out Belvedere again, and this time pay closer attention.

“It would reflect poorly on our skills to return fewer leprechauns than we were assigned to protect,” he continued smoothly. “The best outcome of this evening’s shenanigans is political embarrassment. The worst would be if Prince Finnegan or his friends are captured by agents of the Unseelie Court. Leprechauns are the bankers of the Seelie Court. It could give those agents the means to send the economy of the supernatural world into a downward spiral should they gain access to the gold stores; but the security of those potential wishes is our paramount concern. The prince would have no choice but to grant his captor three wishes. And coming from a leprechaun prince, those wishes would carry world-altering power.” He leveled a stare at the assembled agents. “It is critical that those wishes not be made or granted.”

That explained a lot. I didn’t think folks would be getting so worked up if this was only about some leprechauns missing curfew.

“Specifically who can we expect to run into out there?” I asked.

Hand Crusher snorted, then grunted in pain as another agent kicked him under the table. Either I had a defender, or someone just didn’t like bad manners. I’d take either one.

“Any number of things that call a lair—or the underside of a rock—home. But for something of this importance, our most likely opposition will be goblins.”

Oh crap.

On the list of things your momma warned you about, goblins were in the same class as fast boys in faster trucks times a couple hundred. There were some things humans didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of resisting, and goblins lounged seductively at the top of the list.

“Photos of Prince Finnegan and his party—actual and glamours—are being e-mailed to your phones,” the ogre continued. “There’s not much chance of the boys running around town looking like the supporting cast from Darby O’Gill and the Little People, but you never know. His Highness and his companions were inebriated when they were picked up, and since drunk leprechauns don’t make the best decisions, their behavior for the remainder of the evening is an unknown factor. You’ll also receive a list of the clubs they wanted to go to, but if they want to throw us off, they won’t stick to the list. Most of the clubs on the list have surveillance cameras, though not all, as we’re not exactly dealing with high-class establishments.”

An agent laughed. “Just find the club where the girls are getting gold pieces instead of dollars.”

“They had us run by an ATM,” one of the original team muttered. “They’ve got cash.”

Laughs were joined by snorts. I couldn’t help it; I joined in.

“When a leprechaun goes out on the town or out of town, they have a bottomless money bag tied to their belts,” the ogre explained. “This pouch goes straight to their personal pot of gold.”