"Lucy, I'm sorry. If you hadn't come down here to help us this wouldn't have happened."
She gave a glare to the paparazzi who were not hurt but whom the police had forced to wait for questioning. "You wouldn't have needed help if these bastards hadn't mobbed you."
"I'm not even sure you can charge them with anything," I said.
"We'll find something," she said, her voice full of anger. The anger was probably more about Bittersweet fleeing the scene and having to tell her bosses that she'd been rescuing the faery princess from the big, bad reporters when it had happened, but the uninjured paparazzi would make a nice target for that anger.
"Go, enjoy your weekend. I'll take care of this bunch and give you an escort to your car. I'll have some cars make sure that no one follows you from the Fael, but if they're waiting for you farther away" - she shrugged - "afraid there's not much I can do."
I took her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you for everything, and I'm sorry that you're going to take grief about the witness."
She smiled, but her eyes weren't happy enough for it. "I'll deal with it. Go, have your picnic or whatever." She turned away, then back to frowning. She moved closer to us and whispered, "How do we find someone who is only four inches high in a city the size of Los Angeles?"
It was a good question, but I had a helpful answer. "She's one of the smallest of us, so she's very sensitive to metal and technology. So look for her at parks, vacant lots, street sides with trees like today's scene. She needs nature to survive here."
"What kind of flower faery is she?" Frost asked.
"I don't know," Lucy said.
"Good idea, Frost," I said. "Find out, Lucy, because she'll be attracted to her plant. Some of them are so tied to a bit of land that if their plant goes extinct they die with it."
"Wow, that'd make you environmentally active," Lucy said.
I nodded.
"Who would know what flower she likes?"
"Robert might know," I said.
"Gilda would know," Doyle said.
Lucy frowned at him. "She's already called for her lawyer. She's not going to talk to us."
"She might if you tell her that not cooperating endangers her people," Doyle said.
"I don't think she cares that much," Lucy said.
He gave that small smile. "Tell her that Meredith cares more than she does, obviously. Imply that Meredith is a better, kinder ruler and I think Gilda will at least tell you the plant."
She looked up at him with a nod of approval. "They're both handsome and smart. It's so not fair. Why can't I find a Prince Charming like these guys?"
I wasn't sure what to say to that, but Doyle was. "We are not the Prince Charming of our story, Detective Tate. Meredith rode to our rescue and saved us from our sad fates."
"So she's what, Princess Charming?"
He smiled and this time it was that bright flash that he didn't give often. It made Lucy blush just a little, and I realized that she liked Doyle. I couldn't blame her. "Yes, Detective, she's our Princess Charming."
Frost took one of my hands in his, and looked down at me with everything in his eyes. "She is."
"So instead of waiting for the prince to find me, I need to find one to save and bring him home?"
"It worked for me," I said.
She shook her head. "I save people all day, or try to, Merry. Just once I'd like to be the one being saved."
I shook my head. "I've been both, Lucy. Trust me, it's better to do the saving."
"If you say so. I gotta go see if Robert knows where to find our little friend." She waved at us as she made her way toward the crowd.
Two uniformed officers appeared as if she'd told them to step up when she left us; she probably had. It was our old friends Wright and O'Brian. "We're supposed to see you safely to your car," Wright said.
"Let's do it," I said.
We started the trip back the way we'd come, through a barrage of new camera flashes from yet more and different paparazzi and reporters.
Chapter Thirteen
We ended up with an impromptu entourage of reporters and uniformed police. At one point the reporters were such a solid mass that Wright and O'Brian couldn't move us forward without laying hands on them, and apparently they'd been ordered not to manhandle the press. They were experiencing the problem that my bodyguards had been having for weeks. How do you stay politically correct with strangers shouting in your face, flashes going off like blinding bombs, and the crowd turning into a mass of bodies that you were not allowed to touch?
The reporters yelled questions. "Are you helping the police with a case, Princess?" "What investigation are you helping the police with?" "Why were you crying?" "Is the shop owner really a relative of yours?"
Wright and O'Brian tried to push a way through without actually pushing, which is a lot harder than it sounds. Doyle and Frost stayed on either side of me, because the crowd had grown beyond the reporters. Human and fey had come out of the shops and restaurants to see what the commotion was about. It was "human" nature to be curious but they began to add to the press around us so that forward movement stopped.
Then suddenly the reporters fell silent, not all at once, but gradually. First one went quiet, then another, and they began to look around, as if they'd heard a noise, a disturbing noise. Then I felt it, too: fear. Fear like a cold, clammy wind across your skin. I had a moment to stand there in the bright California sunshine and feel a shiver creep down my spine.
Doyle squeezed my arm and that helped me think. It helped me tighten my magical shields, and the moment I did, the fear washed away from me, but I could still see it on the reporters' faces.