Dana's lips thinned with anger and-Anna's nose told her-a wisp of fear.
"You said you brought me a gift?"
Dana was just trying to change the subject, Anna judged. But Anna was in control of the conversation.
"You didn't know," she said, sounding, with some effort, relatively sympathetic, "when you cursed Charles, that we all knew you broke your word to protect the wolves attending this conference, did you? I saw, Angus saw-and we told Bran and Charles. Not enough for an accusation. But more than enough that if Charles died of unnatural causes, Bran would look right at you."
The fae put down her paintbrush and used it as an excuse to look away. But Anna could tell a lot more from scent than she could from her expression, anyway. The scent of panic was an old friend. She wasn't afraid of Anna. She was afraid of the Marrok. Good. Hopefully it would be enough.
Anna strolled around the painting, until she stood only a couple of feet from Dana.
"Nimue, Lady of the Lake," Anna said, calling upon the part of her that soothed and calmed. "Take the curse off my husband. My word on it that no word of your deceit makes its way out into the world." And my word is good, she thought, but she didn't say it. "The Marrok will not hunt you, nor harry you out of his lands."
The fae stared at the painting on the easel. Picasso was a wiser choice than Vermeer, Anna thought inconsequen tially. Not even experts could agree on what Picasso was trying to say with his paintings. No one could tell Dana she'd gotten it wrong.
"No," said Dana, her voice thick with rage. She raised her hand and pointed it at the painting, not hers, but the one on the wall-the Marrok's gift. "I have not hurt so in a thousand years. Look what he did to me. Every time I look at that, it feels... it feels as it did the day I had to leave it. I vowed before the both of you that I would repay him in kind. That he would pay, and pay in the same way I do-with the same sorrow. I lost my home, he loses his son. I will go back to Europe, and he will-"
Anna stabbed her with the dagger she'd concealed in Tom's jacket. Under the ribs and through the heart-just like her favorite forensic TV show had taught her.
The fae's eyes flashed surprise, just for an instant, before there was nothing in them at all.
" 'No' was the wrong answer," Anna informed her.
"Don't move," said Tom, and he used the sword that had been sitting against the wall.
Anna pulled the dagger out of the body and cleaned it with a rag Dana had on the small table with her paints. Trying to avoid thinking about what had just happened. And failing miserably.
"That's six headless bodies this trip," she said, hating that her voice shook. "And I'm not counting the first two vampires we killed-because their bodies are dust. Six is just a bit much, don't you think?"
"Maybe she'd have stayed dead," Tom told her. "I don't know much about killing fae. Cold iron is supposed to do the trick-and that dagger's got plenty of that, nice sharp cold iron. But I for damned sure didn't want to run into her ever again after this, so there's no harm in making sure."
"Would you... would you call?" Had she been in time? Did it even work? Was Charles dying while she stood here?
Tom took the bloody rag from her and wiped the sword clean with a few efficient swipes. Then he handed it to her and pulled out his cell.
"Hey, Moira," he said. "How's Charles?"
"Better." Moira sounded half-dead. "Not good. Not good by a long shot. But the curse dissipated a few minutes ago. He'll make it."
"That's what happens when an Omega goes negotiating," Angus commented. "Even the fae can't stand against one."
Tom looked down at Dana's body. "Just so," he said. "Though I don't know that anyone expected exactly this result."
THE troll, in his guise as a street person, was waiting for them just outside the door. He was leaning against the boat, smoking a cigarette and watching his feet.
Tom stepped in front of Anna.
"Well," said the troll, soft-voiced. "I guess that showed 'em. Wasn't no one thought ye had it in ye, Lady. Most especially that one." He tilted his head at the boat.
"She was going to kill my mate."
The troll nodded. "And yourself, too, sounded like. She should have knowed that some people take things like the killing of mates right to heart, all right." He stubbed the cigarette out on his thumb and tossed it into the water. "I'm supposed to take possession of the-"
Anna stepped around Tom and held out the dagger in one hand and the sword in the other.
"They aren't mine," she said. "I don't want them."
The troll stepped back, then had to do some fancy footwork to keep from falling in the water. "Don't you be wishing those on me. Don't you. I'm supposed to take possession of the body. We'll see to it Ms. Dana Shea doesn't get discovered." He seemed calmer once Anna let her hands drop and quit holding out the weaponry. "That's better, there see. Now I'm supposed to ask you to watch over those a little bit longer. Someone will be along to collect them later. Someone else." And just in case she hadn't gotten it, he said. "Someone not me."
"All right," Anna said. "Agreed."
He pulled off the old trench coat he was wearing. "Happen you might want to bundle things up in here. It'll keep 'em out of sight-a little magic... and a lot of material."
She bit back a thank-you. Tom, who took the coat, didn't seem to have the same trouble.
"I'll see that the coat goes to whoever gets the weapons," Tom said instead. "Maybe they can return it."