Rhys was at the door first, and tried to keep the door closed enough so he could slip inside without the furry horde getting past him, but it was a losing battle. They flowed out around him, nine of them, all terriers, staying to mill about his feet. He bent over to touch the heads of the black-and-tan terrier pair, a breed that hadn’t existed in centuries but was the founding breed of most of the modern terrier breeds. The rest of them were all white with red markings, the original colors of most faerie animals.

Galen was almost covered in small lapdogs and tall, graceful greyhounds. For whatever reason, he’d gotten more dogs than any other sidhe. The lapdogs capered around his legs, and the greyhounds nuzzled him for petting. He did his best to give them all attention.

Sholto let me have my hands free to greet my own dogs. There were only two dogs for me, but they were slender and lovely. Mungo was taller than the modern standard allowed, but Minnie was within range, though now her belly was swollen tight with puppies. She was due any day, and she would be the first of the dogs to give birth. One of the best dog vets in the area had started making house calls. We had a camera set up and a live feed on the computer. The computer savvy of us had come up with the idea to charge people for watching the birth of the first faerie dogs born in more than three centuries. Apparently, we were having a lot of people sign up for it, some because of the dogs, and some because they hoped to see me and the men on camera with the dogs, but whatever the motive it was surprisingly lucrative, and with this many people to take care of we needed it to be.

I touched the silky ears of my dogs, and cupped their long muzzles in my hands. I put my forehead to Minnie’s forehead because she liked it. Mungo was a little more aloof, or maybe he just thought forehead bumps were beneath his dignity.

Then the air was full of wings, as if the most beautiful butterflies and moths had suddenly decided to have a ball above our heads. Most of them were the demi-fey who had followed me into exile. They were the afflicted of their kind and had been wingless in a society that saw that as worse than crippled. But my magic, along with Galen’s, Nicca’s, and Kitto’s, had both nearly killed them and given them the wings they’d never had before. But there were demi-fey among them who had been in exile in L.A. for decades or more. The first ones had come quietly, almost afraid, but when they were welcomed we’d more than doubled our numbers.

Royal and his twin sister Penny hovered above me. “Welcome home, Princess,” she said. She was wearing a small robe like she’d borrowed the dressing gown of someone’s doll, except there were slits in it for her wings.

“It’s good to be home, Penny.”

She nodded, her tiny antennae trembling as she moved. She and her brother were both dark of hair and pale of skin, and had the wings of an Ilia Underwing moth. It matched the tattoo I had on my stomach, because something about bringing out Royal’s wings and saving his life had taken me to another level of power, and all great magic leaves its mark on you.

Royal hovered beside my face, his wings moving more than any real moth to keep his heavier body airborne, though there had been that famous physics paper on the moth that proved that none of the demi-fey should be able to fly. He touched my hair and I swept it aside so he could sit on my shoulder. It was like a signal for the other demi-fey to flutter around us. They poured over Nicca’s braids and started swinging on them like they were ropes. He seemed to have an affinity with them, maybe because Nicca had wings of his own. They were a tattoo when he wished, but if not, they rose above his body like a magical sail on some boat that would take you only to beautiful, magical places.

I’d had him as a lover, both when the tattoo was the only thing he had and he’d never had real wings, and after the new wild magic of faerie made the wings real so that they rose above me shining with magic. He’d been the child of a sidhe and a demi-fey who could be human sized.

A flock of the smallest of the demi-fey, most of them ghost pale with white hair like cobwebs around their pointed faces, fluttered around Sholto speaking in high, twittering voices, asking for permission to touch the King of the Sluagh. He nodded his assent and they climbed in his ponytail like it was a playground and perched on his shoulders three deep on either side. None of them were bigger than my palm, the very smallest of the small. Royal was on the other end of their size range at ten inches.

Penny, Royal’s sister, hovered by Galen and asked permission to climb aboard. Galen had only recently allowed any of them to touch him casually. He’d had a bad experience with them at the Unseelie Court. People think it’s funny to be afraid of something so small, but bear in mind that the Unseelie demi-fey drink blood as well as nectar. Sidhe blood is sweet to them, and royal sidhe is sweeter still. Queen Andais had once chained Galen down and given him over to those tiny mouths. Prince Cel had paid their queen, Niceven, to take more flesh than Andais had ordered. The experience had given Galen what amounted to a phobia of them. Ironically, the demi-fey liked the feel of his magic, and would hover around him in butterfly-colored clouds, but they’d learned not to touch him without asking. Penny settled onto his shoulder in her little robe, one hand in the deep green of his curls. Galen had begun to trust Penny.

Rhys had so many of the smaller fey on his shoulders, giggling under his hair, that they looked like children peeking out from between drapes, or leaves, like a storybook. That made me think of our two murder scenes, and it was as if the sunlight were a little dimmer.

“You’re sad suddenly,” Royal said near my face. “What did you think of just now, our Merry?”

It was always tempting to turn your head when one of them talked, but when they were sitting on your shoulder, turning your head completely knocked them off, so you had to turn just enough to meet those dark almond-shaped eyes, but not as much as I would have if he’d been standing beside me.

“Am I so easily read, Royal?”

“You gave me wings. You gave me magic. I pay attention to you, my Merry.”

That made me smile. The smile made him move in against my face so that his body curved into the line of my cheek, tucking his thighs underneath my chin. His small arm went wide around my cheek so that his bare upper body was pressed against my face, and that would have been all right. I might have been able to enjoy the hug—and if most people had been watching they would have seen it as innocent comfort, like being hugged by a child—but I knew better. And if I’d had any doubts, his face was now very close to my eye and there was nothing innocent in his handsome miniature face. No, it was a very grown-up look on a face not much bigger than my thumb.

I would have been okay with that, but it was Royal, and he had to push it. His body tucked a little too close to the line of my jaw, and I could feel that he was happy to be pressed against me.

It was considered a compliment among the fey if just being close to someone aroused you, but … “I’m glad to see you, too, Royal, but now that you’ve paid the compliment, a little breathing room, please.”

“You should come play with us, Merry. I promise it would be fun.”

“I appreciate the possibilities, Royal, but I don’t think so,” I said.

He pressed himself more tightly against me, putting a little hip into the hug.

“Stop that, Royal,” I said.

“If you’d let me use my glamour it wouldn’t disturb you. It would entrance you.” And his voice held that edge of sultry bass that only a larger body with the deep chest to match should have given him. What few outside faerie realized was that some of the demi-fey had the most glamour of us all. I knew from experience that Royal could make me think he was a full-sized lover, and that his glamour could bring me to orgasm with very little effort. It was a gift, his talent.