"You can talk to the demi-fey who fled here to tell the tale. She was full of all sorts of details. Hysterical she was, babbling about the dead being dressed like some child's story complete with picked flowers in their hands." He made a disgusted sound. "Every faery knows that no flower faery would ever pick a flower and kill it. They tend them."
I hadn't thought of that. He was absolutely right. It was a human mistake, just like the illustration in the first place. Some fey could keep a picked flower alive, but it was not a common talent. Most demi-fey didn't like bouquets of flowers. They smelled of death.
Whoever our killer was, they were human. I needed to tell Lucy. But I had another thought. I tried to push past Doyle, but it was like trying to move a small mountain; you could push, but you didn't make much progress. I spoke around him. "Did this demi-fey see the killings?"
"Nay" - and what I could see of the Fear Dearg's small wizened face seemed truly sad - "she went to tend the plants that are hers on the hillside and found the police already there."
"We still need to talk to her," I said.
He nodded the slip of his face that I could see between Doyle and Frost's bodies. "She's in the back with Dobbin having a spot of something to calm her nerves."
"How long has she been here?"
"Ask her yourself. You said you wanted to talk to a demi-fey, not her specifically. Why did you want one to speak with, my queen?"
"I wanted to warn the others that they might be in danger."
He turned so that one eye stared through the opening the men had left us. The black eye curled around the edges, and I realized he was grinning. "Since when did the sidhe give a rat's ass how many flower faeries were lost in L.A.? A dozen fade every year from too much metal and technology, but neither faerie court will let them back in even to save their lives." The grin faded as he finished, and left him angry.
I fought to keep the surprise off my face. If what he'd just said was true, I hadn't known it. "I care or I wouldn't be here."
He nodded, solemn. "I hope you care, Meredith, daughter of Essus, I hope you truly do."
Frost turned and Doyle was left to give the Fear Dearg his full attention. Frost was looking behind us, and I realized we had a little line forming.
"Do you mind?" a man asked.
"Sorry," I said, and smiled. "We were catching up with old friends." He smiled before he could catch himself, and his voice was less irritated as he said, "Well, can you catch up inside?"