“Okay. Now, though I’m happy I got to bring backup with me this time, why is Lex here?” The faerie woman didn’t answer, her expression unchanging. “Great.” I sighed quietly. I guessed they were allowing him to be a one-man cheering section, which was fine by me. I needed all the help I could get.

Licking my lips, I approached the first cell. Peering through the bars, I spotted an imp sitting on a cot, its tiny legs swinging back and forth as it stared at a spot on the floor, its bright red skin a startling splash of color in the dull gray cell.

“What did you break?” I asked. Imps are one of the less intelligent creatures of Faerie, and thankfully less powerful as well. If faeries are the embodiment of magic, imps are the embodiment of mischief. They seem to serve no purpose other than causing destruction and mayhem. Despite what you may think, those aren’t necessarily bad things. Often a little purification by fire can go a long way in raising awareness about a problem, bringing attention to an area, things like that.

The imp looked up at me with its beady little black eyes, and its tiny shoulders slumped in obvious defeat. “It wasn’t that important!” it protested in its high-pitched voice.

“Important enough to get your butt tossed in jail, buddy.” I pointed a scolding finger at it. “What was it? Cut somebody’s brake line? Cause a pile-up on the Kennedy during rush hour?”

“No.”

“Cough it up. Confession is good for the soul, you know.”

The imp sniffled and then burst into tears. I suppose I should have felt bad, but I’ve had enough bad imp experiences to not be fooled by their crocodile tears. I didn’t believe it was sorry for whatever it was it did-it was sorry that it had gotten caught. Rolling my eyes, I decided to move on to the next and come back later to find out what the little bugger had done. I didn’t have time for crying imps, I needed to go home so we could talk to Lex’s next contact and figure out why the vampires wanted their puppet as Oberon.

I moved to the middle cell. This one was much darker than the one the imp occupied. A dank, musty odor permeated the air, and there was something vaguely familiar about it. Frowning, I leaned forward and was rewarded by nearly getting my dumb face scratched off as a furred arm shot through the bars and swiped at me with a set of wicked claws.

“Cat!” Lex shouted. Dragging me out of harm’s way, he held me tight against him as my pulse thudded loudly in my ears. Cackling laughter reminiscent of a hyena’s call sounded from the darkness of the cell, and I glared at it.

“Cute, real cute,” I growled between gritted teeth. A snuffling noise answered me, and a stubby snout approached the bars, sniffing in my direction like a dog. It was some sort of canine, caught halfway between human and beast. Pale gray eyes stared from above the snout-they were human and not animal eyes, and a gleam of madness shone in them. Despite the fact that shapeshifters are controlled by wild magic, most of them are very stable, sane people. However, when wild magic is loosed on a weak, fractured mind, the results are catastrophic. Shapeshifters are not creatures of Faerie though, and belong to Earth. If this one was being held here, it must have done something to harm a resident of this world.

Lex released his grip and stood by my side, and together we stared at the shapeshifter. “That one’s lost. It’s got no control left.”

“I know,” I answered him and then addressed the shifter. “So what’d you do to get tossed in here?” I barely heard the click of claws on stone as the shifter moved, pacing up and down the row of bars as it watched us.

“Witch…” it whispered in a soft hiss. A chill ran down my spine and I couldn’t help but shudder. I swear it laughed at my reaction. “Witch. I am guilty of no crime.”

I raised an eyebrow at it as the shifter continued to pace. “Okay. What do they think you did?”

“They think I hunted the hunter, but I did not.” The shifter snarled with a snap of its teeth. “The hunter hunted me, I defended myself. That is no crime!” It shrieked, an inhuman howl worthy of a werewolf movie that echoed off the stone walls.

“Hunter?” There were those who hunted shapeshifters exclusively, for a variety of reasons ranging from the benign to the malicious. Attacking a human or magician hunter wouldn’t have landed the shifter here, though. “Do you know what it’s talking about?” I asked Lex.

“It killed a guardian,” he replied, his voice hollow. “That’s the shifter that killed Thompson.”

“I had to, it would have killed me,” the creature snarled.

“What’s the story here?”

“Thompson was a guardian in Arizona. He was killed while tryin’ to enforce a warrant on that shifter. Happened last week.”

Like in an old western movie, the good guys weren’t supposed to kill an outlaw unless it was wanted dead or alive, or just plain dead. If the shifter had a death warrant, yeah, I could see why it would have fought back that ferociously. The question then became how had it earned a death warrant in the first place?

“What’d you do that they sent a guardian after you?”

“I was a very bad dog. Come a little closer, and I will show you.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass.” I shuddered, glad I was out of arm’s reach. The wild magic had broken this one. I didn’t have to know the details of its crimes to know it had committed at least one inhuman atrocity, if not more. It simply couldn’t help itself-it had all the instincts of an animal and no control over them.

I moved on to the final cell and saw a thin, scrawny teenage girl seated on her cot, her arms wrapped around her legs. She looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes, her gaze heavy with fear and sorrow. The sight of her made my heart ache.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” She hiccupped. “I just wanted him to like me, I didn’t-” The girl’s eyes filled with tears and she swallowed down a sob. “I didn’t know.”

“What didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t know he was allergic to the pollen.”

“Pollen?” For a moment I pondered that, wondering just what sort of magic the girl had used on the poor boy. If a flower was involved, it was probably used in a potion, and love potions were the most popular recipes. However, there was only one love potion I’d heard of that contained an ingredient that would catch the attention of the faeries.

“Was the pollen from Medb’s flower?” I asked, and she nodded miserably. Medb’s flowers grew only in Faerie and were famous for their ability to control the minds of men. “You’re an alchemist?” The girl nodded again. “And the boy’s not a magician?” Another nod. Poor kid, talk about dumb luck. It was hard to tell what magical ingredients a straight will have an adverse reaction to, particularly in the age of allergies.

“He’s…he’s in the, the hospital.” At least the boy hadn’t died, that was a good thing. If a healer could sneak in to see him, the kid could probably be put to rights, no permanent damage caused.

“You know love potions don’t cause real love, don’t you, honey?”

“I just wanted him to notice me. I thought if he did he’d see that I’m so much better than that stupid Jennifer.”

Ah, young love. I hadn’t suffered from a real debilitating crush until college, myself. Probably because I was convinced that men were the worst kind of scum and should be avoided like the plague. It took some time and therapy for me to realize that it was unfair to blame all men for the crimes of my father.

“Even if he did notice you because of the potion, it wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t last. True love’s a rare thing, you know? Can’t put it in a bottle.”

She nodded, sniffling miserably, and I hoped she understood what I was saying. I couldn’t see how this poor kid could possibly be deserving of a death sentence. Hell, she ought to be considered not guilty by reason of mental defect (said defect being teenage hormones).