Lucy's partner said, "Does anyone else hear bees?"
Robert stood, raising his hand toward the hovering fey like you would to encourage a bird to land on your hand. "Bittersweet, they want to help find the men who did this terrible thing. They are here to help you."
The sound of angry bees rose high and higher, loud and louder. If I'd been outside, I'd have been running. The tension level in the room had gone way up. Even Frost and Doyle were tense beside me, though we all knew it was a sound illusion that would keep curious big people from coming too close to the small fey, or her plants. It was a noise designed to make you nervous, to make you want to be elsewhere. That was the point of it.
There was another loud knock on the door. Lucy said, "Not now." She kept her eyes on the hovering demi-fey. She wasn't treating Bittersweet like a child now. Lucy was like anyone who had been on the job long enough; they get a sense for danger. All the best cops I know listen to that crawling sensation on the back of their necks. It's how they stay alive.
Robert tried again, "Bittersweet, please, we are here to help you."
Wright opened the door enough to relay Lucy's message. There was urgent whispering back and forth.
Doyle's leg was tensed under my hand, ready to spring him forward. The line of Frost's body had a slight tremor up its entire length where it touched mine like an eager horse. They were right. If Bittersweet used the same power on the detectives that had knocked Doyle and Robert down, they could be badly hurt.
For the first time I wondered if Bittersweet was more than just scared. Once was lashing out in hysteria, but twice? I wondered, was she crazy? It happened to the fey just like humans. Some fey went a little mad in exile from faerie. Had our star witness hallucinated the killers? Was this all for nothing?
Robert moved forward, his hand still upraised. "Bittersweet, my sweet, please. There's more cake, and I'll send for fresh tea."
The angry buzz of bees grew louder. The tension in the room rose on the strength of the sound like a musical note drawn out too long so you almost wanted it to change at any cost rather than simply continuing.
She turned in midair, her wings making a silver and rainbow blur around her body. Tiny as she was, all I could think was that she hovered like one of those fighter planes. The analogy should have been ridiculous for someone four inches tall, but malice rolled off of her in waves.
"I am not some foolish brownie to be calmed by sweets and tea," she said.
Robert lowered his arm, slowly, because the insult was a true one. Brownies had often taken their payment in sweets and tea, or good liquor in the olden days.
There was some kind of commotion outside the door, raised voices, as if a crowd was trying to get past the policemen whom I knew had to be on the other side. Bittersweet did another of those precise, almost mechanical turns, this time toward the door and the noise. "The killers are here. I won't let them take my magic and destroy me." If someone forced the door now she would hurt them, or at least hurt Wright and O'Brian, who were on our side of the door.
I did the only thing I could think of. I spoke. "You asked for my help, Bittersweet."