CHAPTER 8
STILL GLAMOURED AS Mariel
Tate, Laura entered a small, narrow anteroom deep within the
Guildhouse. Light from a large window into the next room
illuminated Terryn where he stood in the half dark. Without
expression, he stared into the other room at Fallon Moor sitting
immobile, Laura’s sleep spell intact.
“Sorry I’m late. I was trying to process her in,
but everyone suddenly became scarce,” she said.
Terryn handed her a folder. “We can process her
later. I want to keep this out of channels for now, which is why
I’m delivering the paperwork to you personally.”
Laura took the folder with a moment of unease. She
could argue with Sinclair all she wanted that his not being an
official employee of InterSec was irrelevant since the secrecy
protected him. She could argue that he wanted the job, and his
paperwork was a mere formality that would be cleared up once Terryn
felt comfortable. She could even argue that some of their mission
protocols allowed them to bend the rules other agencies had to
follow.
Given all that, she wondered how to justify to him
that a woman named Fallon Moor sat in a glass-enclosed chamber
under arrest, and no one knew she was there. Not the public. Not
her family. Not her lawyer. If InterSec—no, dammit, if
Terryn—decided not to process her into the system, no one would
ever know. Except her. And Sinclair.
She trusted Terryn. She believed he would do the
right thing. Eventually. That thought gave her pause. It was the
eventually part that bothered Sinclair. How long was it before
eventually became inexcusable?
She pushed her thoughts aside and opened the
folder. The first set of documents was an expedited deportation
order for Moor from the Department of Homeland Security that would
send her to Tara without court delays. The second set was a plea
deal with an offer of asylum in the U.S. with a prison term in
exchange for cooperation. Both documents had been drawn in
anticipation of Moor’s arrest. They gave no indication that she, in
fact, had been arrested. So Homeland Security did not have explicit
knowledge of her presence either.
Laura closed the folder. “If she refuses to
cooperate, we’re stuck.”
Terryn gave her a thin smile. “Not really. It will
make going undercover more difficult for you, though.”
She wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t funny. If Terryn
had decided she was going undercover at Legacy, she was going
undercover at Legacy. He had put her in such situations before, and
she hadn’t questioned Terryn’s methods until Sinclair began to make
an issue of some of them. She stared at the sleeping woman. “But
what about her?”
“What about her?” Terryn asked.
Laura licked her lips as she weighed a response.
His tone registered indifferent, even callous. She knew Terryn
could be single-minded, but she wondered if he cared about the
ramifications of his actions beyond his own point of view. It was
true that Fallon Moor was a criminal who was creating an obstacle
to their plans. She was a person, too, though. “Never mind. We can
talk about it later.”
She had a job to do. As she placed her hand on the
doorknob to the room, she boosted the essence charge in the emerald
stone on the chain around her neck. She entered the room, dropped
the folder on the table, and took the seat opposite Moor. With a
casual gesture, she released the sleep spell with a burst of
essence. Disoriented, Moor caught herself as she swayed toward the
table. She glanced around the room without surprise. Her gaze
settled on Laura. “I want a lawyer,” she said.
The hard truth resonating in her voice did not
surprise Laura. “Lawyers may be involved eventually. What’s your
name?”
“Fallon Moor.”
This time, the lie rang through clearly. Laura
pulled the deportation papers out and pushed them across the table.
“Try again.”
Moor glanced at the paperwork and pushed it back.
“It’s like I said to you earlier. You’re mistaking me for someone
else. I never heard of Allison Forth.”
Laura stood and slid the paperwork back in the
folder. “Okay. Sorry. That’s not my problem. You can sort it out
with the Seelie Court.”
“I will fight extradition,” Moor said.
Laura pulled a lazy smile. “That won’t be
necessary. You are already on sovereign territory of the Seelie
Court. Your transfer is a matter of a plane ticket.”
Moor’s eyes bulged. With a few breaths, she fought
the rise of her boggart mania, and her face relaxed. Laura was
impressed with the level of control and noted it for the
future.
“I demand a lawyer,” Moor said.
“For which? Your deportation or your acceptance of
asylum?”
“I have rights,” Moor said.
“So did the people who died in the bombing you
participated in at the Dublin airport. I’m sure you can clarify
that with the Seelie Court when you get back to Ireland.”
Moor set her jaw. “What do you want?”
Laura took her seat again and slid the asylum
documents out. “Your cooperation.”
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.”