"We can do this the hard way or the easy way," the spellcaster said. "Either we carry you with no problems, or we beat you up the side of the head until you pass out, and then we carry you."

I smiled at him. "What's the matter? All out of juice?" The driver punched me in the stomach. I wasn't ready for it and keeled over like an embarrassed sack of rocks. So much for taking either of them out. "Okay. Okay. I won't struggle." It was the driver's turn to chant. I felt my weight dissipate as I almost left the floor. The two elves stood on either side of me and grabbed my arms. I floated up with little effort. They guided me to an old wooden door. "You guys make a great team. I guess you have to, considering neither one of you can stand on your own."

"We could drag you if you prefer," said the driver. He opened the door with his free hand. I could feel the slighl tingle of a ward stone as we passed into a long corridor. Il had the same look as the old basement corridors, only long disused. Dust and debris lay thickly along the edges and a single, old-style wall torch flickered orange halfway down. Just past the torch, we stopped at an iron door. The driver opened a small viewing panel and peered into blackness. He gave no indication what he was looking for. He closed the panel and opened the door.

As if on cue, they dropped me to the floor. The driver patted me down. His hands seemed to insist on avoiding my right boot. For a moment, I thought he might be an ally after all. But more likely, Briallen had a warding spell on the dagger she gave me. With his own knife, he sliced some of the duct tape to loosen it. They shoved me inside the dark room and closed me in.

The little square panel opened. "Let me know when you've got the tape off," the driver said.

I sneezed. The room had a rank odor of rot and urine. It was so bad, I could smell it even through my sinus congestion. I flexed my arms and heard the gratifying rip of the tape. After several more tries, I managed to free my right hand and remove the rest along with what felt like most of the hair from my arms. The tape around my legs gave way more easily.

"Done," I called.

"Put out your hand," said the driver.

With not a little reluctance, I put my hand through the opening expecting it to be slapped, followed by giggles. Instead, he pressed a kitchen match into my palm. The beam of a flashlight blinded me, and I stepped back.

"You get the one match. Don't ask for another." e nashlight beam illuminated a small torch a few feet away on the side wall. I felt the wall to make sure it was dry, then raked the match head against it. It flared and before it went out I touched it to the torch. A feeble yellow flame flickered up. I turned back to the door. He slammed the panel closed. I could hear their muffled voices through the door as they settled in to watch.

I took in my surroundings. It was an old storeroom of some kind, forgotten in the depths of the building. A small space near the door remained clear, but the rest was a jumble of boxes and crates and old furniture. And a bad smell. I hoped nothing-or no one-had died. That wouldn't be a very good omen. A coolness permeated the air that the torch would never warm. I knew I should have worn my jacket. A soft sound rustled in the pile of junk. Rats. On top of everything else, I had to contend with rats. At least I understood their motives.

I paced in the dim silence, trying to understand how I ended up in a dark dungeon on a summer's day. I had run too late and hidden too obviously. I wondered if Keeva knew about the recording stone in my apartment, or if she had unknowingly been charging it up for macDuin all this time. I couldn't believe even she would stoop so low. I didn't get it. If she was working against me, why had she bothered saving my ass the last time the two elf goons came around?

I resisted the urge to try the door. Not even these guys would be dumb enough to leave the door unlocked. I had to wait and see what macDuin had planned for me. I just hoped I didn't wait too long. It wasn't exactly cold in the storeroom, but the creeping damp air was already getting uncomfortable. I didn't relish the idea of rummaging around in the pile of junk to find something smelly but warm to wrap myself in.

The fact that Gerda Alfheim's son Gethin was in Boston intrigued me. What were the odds? Too high to be more than coincidence. Was he lured here? I wondered. I thought of Corcan Sidhe, half-elf and half-fairy, just like Gerda's kid. All the other cross-species children had died except these two. Dealle Sidhe had old German connections; that much was clear. Could Gerda have sent Gethin to her? Fostering was far from unusual among the fey. Who better to foster a mentally handicapped child than someone who had one? And macDuin was aware of both of them.

Footsteps sounded out in the corridor, and my guards stopped talking. The gait was long and firm. I didn't need any special ability to recognize it. The bolt on the outside was thrown, and the door opened. MacDuin stood in the doorway flanked by his annoyingly smirky minions.

We faced each other silently. He wore his usual black suit, but here within the confines of the Guildhouse, or maybe just for my benefit, he made no attempt to hide his wings behind a glamour. They rippled up high behind him, their translucent texture reflecting gold and silver pinpoints of light from the torches.

I tried my best to look unimpressed. It wasn't hard. I'd seen it before. "Care to explain why you had me kidnapped, Lorcan?"

He merely smiled. "I came to be sure you were secured. You are fey. I can always say I was holding you for questioning in a case."

"Even the commissioner wouldn't believe that."

If anything, his smile broadened. "I wouldn't expect him to."

That gave me a cold feeling. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He arched a languid eyebrow. "Let's just say that the commissioner and I have come to an agreement, and you are not part of it."

That really didn't sound good. I decided to bluff. "People are going to be looking for me, and you're the first place they'll go. I was on the phone when your goons grabbed me."

"He's lying. He didn't have time to say anything," said the elf who had driven the car. He leaned in toward me with a sneer. "He didn't even know what hit him."

I rolled my eyes toward him. "Don't make me bite you again."

A touch of real amusement came to Lorcan's smile. "You should have stayed out of this, Connor." He turned to the spellcaster. "Keep him here for now. He will prove useful in a day or two." He began to walk away.

"I know about Germany."

Lorcan put a hand up to stop the door. He gave me a measuring look. "What do you know about Germany?"

I had to bluff him. I didn't know if he was lying about having been there. "I know what you did."

"Meaningless. Many people knew I was there last fall." He turned his back and gestured for the driver to close the door.

"I know about Gerda Alfheim."

That got him. He froze in place for a long moment before facing me. With a placid stare, he took several more moments as he seemed to digest what I said. "That does complicate things. I didn't think you had gotten this close. I had hoped when this was all over, your conspiracy theories would look like a desperate alibi. You might provoke a few unwanted questions now."

"You're going to pin this on me? Do you think Gerda Alfheim will keep quiet if I go to jail?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't place my trust in Gerda if I were you, Connor. She will be taken care of in due course."

I took a step forward. MacDuin raised his eyebrows in response, but otherwise didn't move. "Lorcan, you can't believe what you're doing will help. You won't be able to control it. No one will."

"You are not the first person to underestimate me, Connor. I haven't worked to convince Maeve of my sincerity only to have your pathetic interference ruin everything now."