I noticed the Cathers, the elderly couple who lived next door to me, sitting on a pair of camp chairs on the other side of the crowd.
"I hope it doesn't rain. We wouldn't want to miss seeing Samuel play," she'd told me yesterday morning when I'd found her tending her flowers. "He's such a nice man."
Of course she didn't have to live with him, I thought, chin on my knee as I watched him play. Not that Samuel wasn't "a nice man," but he was also stubborn, controlling, and pushy. I was stubborn and meaner than he was, though.
Someone whispered a polite "excuse me" and sat in the small square of grass in front of me. I found it a little too close for someone I didn't know, so I scooted away a few inches, until my back rested firmly against Adam's leg.
"I'm glad you talked him into playing," murmured the Alpha werewolf. "He's really in his element in front of a crowd, isn't he?"
"I didn't talk him into it," I said. "It was one of the nurses he works with."
"I once heard the Marrok and both of his sons, Samuel and Charles, sing together," murmured Warren, so softly I doubt anyone else heard him. "It was..." He turned away from the stage and caught Adam's gaze over the top of Kyle's head to shrug his inability to find the words.
"I've heard them," Adam said. "It's not something you forget."
Samuel had picked up his old Welsh harp while we were talking. He played a few notes to give the tech time to rush around and adjust the sound system for the softer tones of the new instrument. He ran his eyes over the crowd and his gaze stopped on me. If I could have scooted away from Adam without sitting on top of a stranger, I would have. Adam saw Samuel's gaze, too, and put a possessive hand on my shoulder.
"Stop that," I snapped.
Kyle saw what was happening and put his arm around my shoulders in a hug, knocking Adam's hand away in the process. Adam snarled softly, but he moved back a few inches. He liked Kyle - and better yet, since Kyle was g*y and human, he didn't view him as any kind of threat.
Samuel took a deep breath and smiled, a little stiffly, as he introduced his last piece. I relaxed against Kyle as harp and harper made an old Welsh tune come to life. Welsh was Samuel's first language - when he was upset, you could still hear it in his voice. It was a language made for music: soft, lilting, and magical.
The wind picked up a little, making the green leaves rustle an accompaniment to Samuel's music. When he finished, the sound of the leaves was the only noise for a few heartbeats. Then the jerk on the stupid Jet Ski came buzzing by, breaking the spell. The crowd rose to their feet and broke into thunderous applause.
My cell phone had been vibrating in my pocket off and on for most of the song, so I slipped away while Samuel packed away his instruments and vacated the stage for the next performer.
When I found a relatively quiet place, I pulled out the phone to find that I had missed five calls - all of them from a number I wasn't familiar with. I dialed it anyway. Anyone who called five times in as many minutes was in quite a lather.
It was answered on the first ring.
"Mercy, there is trouble."
"Uncle Mike?" It was his voice, and I didn't know anyone else who spoke with such a thick Irish accent. But I'd never heard him sound like this.
"The human police have Zee," he said.
"What?" But I knew. I had known what would happen to someone who was killing fae. Old creatures revert to older laws when push comes to shove. I'd known when I told them who the killer was that I was signing O'Donnell's death warrant - but I had been pretty sure that they would do it in such a way that blame would not have fallen anywhere. Something that looked accidental or like a suicide.
I hadn't expected them to be clumsy enough to attract the attention of the police.
My phone buzzed, telling me that there was another call coming in, but I ignored it. Zee had murdered a man and gotten caught. "How did it happen?"
"We were surprised," Uncle Mike said. "He and I went to talk to O'Donnell."
"Talk?" Disbelief was sharp in my voice. They had not gone to his house to talk.
He gave a short laugh. "We would have talked first, whatever you think of us. We drove to O'Donnell's house after you left. We rang the bell, but no one came to the door, though there was a light on. After we rang a third time, Zee opened the door and we entered. We found O'Donnell in the living room. Someone had beaten us to him, ripped his head from his body, a wounding such as I have not seen since the giants roamed the earth, Mercedes."
"You didn't kill him." I could breathe again. If Zee hadn't killed O'Donnell, there was still a chance for him.
"No. And as we stood there dumb and still, the police came with their lights and bean si cries." He paused and I heard a noise. I recognized the sound from my karate. He'd hit something wooden and it had broken.
"He told me to hide myself. His talents aren't up to hiding from the police. So I watched as they put him into their car and drove away."
There was a pause. "I could have stopped them," he said in a guttural voice. "I could have stopped them all, but I let the humans take Siebold Adelbertskrieger (the German version of the name, Adelbertsmiter, Zee was using), the Dark Smith, to jail." Outrage didn't completely mask the fear in his voice.
"No, no," I told him. "Killing police officers is always a bad plan."