“What are you talking about?” David demanded.
“John’s brother … well, I guess you’d call him a brother. The human child John was switched for. He’s back with his human family. I found out last night.”
David frowned and thought. “Before we go chasing off after this changeling, are you getting anywhere with Qwendar?”
“He’s trying to get permission, but who knows how long that will take?”
David frowned some more, then gave an abrupt nod. “All right.”
“I’ll call him—”
“No, go. You need to evaluate him as a witness, and he might not be willing. You can exert more influence in person. You can also report back to the senior partners while you’re on the East Coast.”
“You know, they have phones too.”
“They like the personal touch.”
“What about the arbitration?”
“You can be present via video conference.” He turned and left.
I called our assistant and asked her to get me booked on a flight to Philly. I also had her order a car to take me to the airport. I just didn’t want to deal with the traffic around LAX. Then I gathered up my files, left a note for Merlin, and headed back to the Oakwood to pack.
“So you wish me to be a witness in a hearing that will discomfit the Alfar actors? I would be delighted. I don’t feel particularly loyal right now. They threw me out of the only home I’ve ever known.”
The final words of Parlan’s harsh indictment were suddenly blurred by being forced past a lump in his throat. He coughed. I looked away. Men crying is the one thing that could truly slay me.
We were seated in the living room of the O’Shea house, and quite alone. Big Red and Meg had gone off to watch one of the grandsons play in a hockey game. It was a typical East Coast house. Narrow, three stories, siding, and steep steps leading up to the front door. There were identical houses to either side, the only difference being the color of the siding. The O’Shea house was blue, the ones on either side were gray and beige. Through the living room window I could see an array of snowmen illuminated by streetlights and standing like sentries in the front yards of the houses across the street.
The room had a comfortable, lived-in look. One arm on the big sofa had a kid’s western saddle and an arrangement of rope on the end so a grandchild could play cowboy. The bookcase held an assortment of novels, books on criminology, and coloring books. There was a big flat screen TV, and a braided rug on the wood floor. There were a few paintings on the wall, watercolors that had been done by Meg O’Shea on summer vacations on the coast, but most of the walls were filled with photos of the children and grandchildren. John, proud in his PPD dress uniform, smiled out at me from the east wall. It was my turn to look away and swallow a few times.
Parlan and I looked back at each other at the same time. He was an attractive man. I knew he was forty- three because he and John had been switched as infants, but the lost expression made him seem younger. Parlan had his red-headed father’s flamboyant coloring though silver now frosted the hair at his temples. It was long, held with a silver clip at the nape of his neck, and the tail hung over his shoulder. I wondered how long before Big Red got him in for a haircut? Parlan’s eyes were a deep blue, almost aquamarine, with crow’s feet etching the corners. He had a square jaw with a cleft in the chin, and a powerful, barrel-chested body. He was the antithesis of the delicate Alfar physique. He was dressed in blue jeans and an oatmeal-colored cable-knit sweater that suited him very well.
“But only if you can shed light on the case. What do you know about Alfar magic?”
“Quite a lot, actually. I can’t do it, of course, but I did study with a court enchanter.”
“I don’t understand. If you couldn’t do magic, why have you study it?”
“I had to learn how to resist the glamours. If I hadn’t, I could have been tormented by any Alfars who weren’t terribly keen about having me around.”
“Okay, it sounds like glamours are little magic, something an Alfar does almost without thinking.”
Parlan was nodding. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“So, are there big magics, the kind of magic that would put an Alfar into a killing rage and then not have any memory of it afterward?”
“Yes. I think so. Some of the powerful old ones can really get inside your head and essentially turn you into a meat puppet. But you need blood from the person that you’re looking to control.”
Outside the wind had started to kick, moaning around the eaves of the house and setting the limbs on a big beech tree scraping against the window like nails on a blackboard.
“So, does the glamour require blood?”
“Oh no, no, no, that’s like breathing for them. They don’t even have to think about it. They just do it.”
“Wouldn’t an Alfar know if another Alfar was trying to control them?”
“Not if the enchanter was powerful enough and had enough training.”
“How much blood are we talking about?” I asked.
Parlan shrugged. “It would depend on the skill of the controller. If they were good—not a terribly large amount.” He paused and cocked his head to the side. “So, do you think I can help you?”
“Definitely.”
He gave a rather predatory smile. “Good.”
I couldn’t help it, I blurted out the question. “Did you really like living there?” I asked.
“Of course I did. I was the pampered son of a powerful queen. I was exotic. I got laid a lot. Of course, what I realized too late is that I wasn’t really her son. I was a toy that she played with until she became tired of me.”
I couldn’t help but ask another question. “What’s it like? Do you have modern conveniences? I know you have cars. I saw them when John and I…” Now it was my turn to clear the obstruction in my throat. “Well, I saw them.”
“There wouldn’t be a tree left in the world if we were still living like it was the Middle Ages. We’ve been stealing power off the human grid for decades. Electricity and gas heaters beat the hell out of fireplaces. The translation to Fey does seem to play all holy hell with computers and cell phones, so that hasn’t happened.”
“Were you educated?” I asked.
“Not in a way you’d recognize. I have a courtier’s skills.” He glanced up at me from beneath his lashes and this time the smile was bitter.
“I don’t know what that means,” I said.
“I can dance, hunt, dress well, make conversation. I also found that I liked studying their history and magical arts. They let me because I had something they lacked—focus.”
“John said something like that. I think that’s why he didn’t like it after growing up here. So what are you going to do now that you’re in this world?” I blurted because my internal editor had gone on strike.
“I have no idea. My … father.” The hesitation didn’t escape me. “Says I have to get my GED. Or perhaps I’ll just ask if you want special sauce on that burger. Or deliver pizzas. I hear there’s good money in delivering pizzas.” He gave me a smile. “Of course, I’ll have to learn to drive. Wonder if I could use a horse? Riding was one of my great joys.” Again the smile, both brave and ironic.
“I love horses too,” I said.
“I miss mine. He was spectacular.” The brave front trembled a little, but Parlan recovered.
“She’s just awful,” I said.
“I can’t disagree. All she had to do was wait another thirty or so years and the problem of the human changeling would have been resolved. Now I have to live what remains of my life in a world I don’t know and don’t understand.”
The sadness touched me. I reached out and laid my hand lightly over his. “You’ll be okay. You have good people around you. A family that can help you.”
“But they don’t love me.”
“And she didn’t love you either,” I shot back. “If she did she wouldn’t have treated you this way. Or John. You’re both just objects to her. Things to possess until she gets tired of you.”
His hand was jerked from beneath mine, and he held it up like a shield. “Don’t! I can’t bear to…” He broke off and coughed again.
