around back to a trail that led to a clearing. Two dozen people were gathered there around a fire pit. A fine rain had begun to fall, and a fire would have been welcoming, but the pit was nothing but ashes, the remnants of Beltane. Nor was there welcome in the faces that turned to them. Many were openly hostile.
And they were all Elven. A male Rath came forward but did not attempt to shake her hand. “I’m Dalazar. You’re the Keeper.”
“What’s she doing here?” a woman demanded, palpable anger in her voice.
“She’s the one,” Alessande said. “I thought you should see for yourself. Sailor, take off your sunglasses.”
Sailor did so, then watched the crowd back up as though she’d pulled out a sword. “For the love of God,” a man called out, “get her out of here.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” another man said, and walked over to Sailor for a better look. “You won’t catch it from looking at her, or even touching her.”
“How do you know?” someone else asked.
“Because I’ve read the texts. And because Alessande here treated her after the incident, and she’s healthy enough. Keeper, where were you clawed?” When she indicated her chest, he asked, “Would you mind showing me?”
She unbuttoned three buttons and let him see the scratch marks.
“I brought her to the Elven Circle today,” Alessande said, “because she’s the living symbol of the disease.”
“Why do we need a living symbol?” a woman asked. “We have four dead ones.”
“Yes, but this one’s a Keeper, Saoirse. By some standards, that’s mortal. You can’t look at her, at the color of her eyes, and then write this off as an Elven problem. She is not just our liaison in the outer world, but she is also the best chance we have of making our case to those who will vilify us for what we’re about to do.”
“What are you about to do?” Sailor asked.
“You’re talking public relations,” a woman said. “Not appropriate for an Elven Circle.”
This Elven Circle, Sailor realized, was a far cry from the Keeper Council. There was no cocktail chatter here, no smiling. The lack of social facades was unsettling.
“This Keeper’s a child,” a man added. “Who’s going to listen to her? Highsmith?”
“Highsmith doesn’t speak for the entire Council. Yet,” Alessande replied. “And if we’re not to be outcasts, we need a Keeper on our side or no one will stand with us.”
The woman named Saoirse said, “You’re missing the point. It is to avoid war that we’re taking this step, Alessande. It’s the Old Way.”
“The Old Way,” said Alessande, “worked in the old country. I’m not confident it can work here, Saoirse.”
“Already decided upon,” Saoirse said.
“May I ask,” Sailor said, “are you the Ancients?”
Someone snorted in derision.
“We’re a coalition of all tribes, all sects,” the man called Dalazar said. “The Ancients keep to themselves. They want nothing to do with governing.”
“What is the Old Way?” Sailor asked. “And what is the plan?”
Dead silence ensued. Sailor looked around the circle, seeing distrust on their faces, each face more physically beautiful than the one before. Déith, Rath, Cyffarwydd...
Saoirse spoke up. “She can’t know. She would give the plan away.”
“The plan,” a Cyffarwydd man spoke up, “does not depend upon secrecy.”
“It better not,” said a Rath woman dressed for motorcycle riding in a leather jacket. She addressed Sailor. “Does Charles Highsmith know what happened to you? And the manner of it?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’ll be expecting this plan,” the woman said. “Highsmith knows the Old Ways. He has in his possession treaties dating back to the Middle Ages. I’ve seen them. Our proposal has a long history of efficacy.”
“It hasn’t been used since the 1940s,” Dalazar said. “And never in America.”
Sailor couldn’t contain her impatience and asked again, “What is it? What’s the plan?”
“Tell her,” Alessande said. “Try to sell her on it.”
“All right,” Dalazar said. “Four Elven are dead. Deliberately poisoned. The perpetrator is a vampire or shifter, which we know from the attack on you. So we take four hostage—two vampires, two shifters. We hold them for three nights and three days. If the killer comes forward or is brought to us, the hostages go free. If not, we execute them in place of the killer and there’s an end to it.”
Sailor stared. “That’s—” She was at a loss for words.
“Barbaric?” Alessande asked. “Yes.”
“Not as barbaric as war,” Saoirse said. “In three days we are done and honor-bound to walk away. Case closed.”
“First,” Sailor said, finding her voice, “the killer is not a vampire.