Every table was full, and there were people sitting at the curved edge of the bar, waiting for tables or taking their tea at the bar. There was almost an even number of humans to fey, but they were all lesser fey. If I dropped the glamour we would have been the only sidhe. There weren't that many sidhe in exile in Los Angeles, but the ones who were here saw the Fael as a hangout for the lesser beings. There were a couple of clubs far away from here that catered to the sidhe and the sidhe wannabes. Now that I'd lightened Doyle's skin, the ears marked him as a possible wannabe who'd gotten those pointy ear implants so he'd look like an "elf." There was actually another tall man sitting at a far table with his own implants. He'd even grown his blond hair long and straight. He was handsome, but there was a shape to his broad shoulders that said he hit the gym a lot, and just a roughness to him that marked him as human and not sidhe, like a sculpture that hadn't been smoothed quite enough.
The blond wannabe stared at us. Most of the patrons were looking, but then most looked away. The blond stared at us over the rim of his teacup, and I didn't like the level of attention. He was too human to see through the glamour, but I didn't like him. I wasn't sure why. It was almost as if I'd seen him somewhere before, or should know him. It was just a niggling sensation. I was probably just being jumpy. Murder scenes do that sometimes, make you see bad guys everywhere.
Doyle touched my arm. "What is wrong?" he whispered against my hair.
"Nothing. I just thought I recognized someone."
"The blond with the implants?" he asked.
"Hm-hm," I said, not moving my lips, because I really didn't like how he was staring at us.
"Good of you to join us this fine morning." It was a hale and hearty voice, one to greet you and make you happy that you'd come. Robert Thrasher, as in thrashing wheat, stood behind the counter polishing the wood with a clean white cloth. He was smiling at us, his nut-brown face handsome. He'd let modern surgery give him a nose, and make the cheekbones and chin graceful, though tiny. He was tall for a brownie, my own height, but he was still small of bone, and the doctor who had done his face had kept that in mind so that if you hadn't known that he'd begun life with only empty holes where the nose was, and a face closer to that of the Fear Dearg, you'd never have known that he hadn't been this delicate, handsome man all his life.
If anyone ever asked for a plastic surgeon recommendation, I'd send them to Robert's doctor.
He smiled, only his dark brown eyes showing the edge of his worry, but none of the customers would see it. "I've got your order in the back. Come back and have a cup before you approve it."
"Sounds good," I said, all happy to go with his tone. I'd lived in the Unseelie Court when the only magic I could do was glamour. I knew how to pretend to feel things that I wasn't feeling at all. It had made me good at undercover work for the Grey Detective Agency.
Robert handed the cloth to a young woman who looked like a pinup girl for Goth Monthly, from her black hair to her black velvet minidress, striped hose, and clunky retroish shoes. She sported a neck tattoo and a piercing through her dark lipsticked mouth.
"Mind the front for me, Alice."
"Will do," she said and smiled brightly at him. Ah, a perky Goth, not a gloomy one. Positive attitude makes better counter help.
The Fear Dearg stayed behind, twisting his face into a smile for the tall human girl. She smiled down at him, and there wasn't a shadow in her face that saw anything but attraction in the small fey.
Robert was moving and we were following, so I left off speculating on whether Alice and the Fear Dearg were a couple, or at least hooked up. He wouldn't have been my cup of tea, but then I knew what he was capable of; did she?
I shook my head and pushed it all away. Their love life was not my business. The office space was neat and modern but all warm earth tones, and had a wall of photographs from home so that all the staff, even those without a desk, could bring family photos in and see them during the day. Robert and his partner were pictured in tropical shirts in front of a beautiful sunset. Goth Alice had several pictures, each with a different friend; maybe she was just friendly. There was a partition, still in that warm shade between tan and brown, that separated the break area from the office space. We heard the voices before we could see around the partition. One was low and masculine, the other high-pitched and feminine.
Robert called out in a cheerful voice, "We have visitors, Bittersweet."
There was a little scream, and the sound of china breaking, and then we were around the corner of the partition. There was nice leather furniture with cushions, a large coffee table, some drink and snack machines almost hidden by an oriental screen, a man, and a small flying faery.
"You promised," she shrieked, and her voice was thin with anger so that there was an edge of buzz to it, as if she were the insect she resembled. "You promised you wouldn't tell!"
The man was standing, trying to comfort her as she hovered near the ceiling. Her wings were a blur, and I knew when she stopped moving that it wouldn't be butterfly wings on her back, but rather something faster, slimmer. Her wings caught the artificial light with little winks of rainbow color. Her dress was purple, only a little darker than my own. Her hair fell around her shoulders in white-blond waves. She would barely fill my hand, tiny even by demi-fey standards.
The man trying to calm her was Robert's partner, Eric, who was five foot eight, slender, neatly dressed, tanned, and handsome in a preppie sort of way. They'd been a couple for more than ten years. Before Eric, Robert's last love of his life had been a woman who he'd been faithful to until she died at eighty-something. I thought it was brave of Robert to love another human so soon.