"It looks like a prison," I said. The combination of narrow road and tall walls made me claustrophobic.
"Yes," agreed Zee a bit grimly. "I forgot to ask, do you have your driver's license with you?"
"Yes."
"Good. I want you to remember, Mercy, there are a lot of creatures in the reservation who are not fond of humans--and you are close enough to human that they will bear you no goodwill. If you step too far out-of-bounds, they will have you dead first and leave me to seek justice later." "I'll mind my tongue," I told him.
He snorted with uncomplimentary amusement. "I'll believe that when I see it. I wish Uncle Mike were here, too. They wouldn't dare bother you then."
"I thought this was Uncle Mike's idea."
"It is, but he is working and cannot leave his tavern tonight."
We must have traveled half a mile when the road finally made an abrupt right turn to reveal a guardhouse and gate. Zee stopped his truck and rolled down the window.
The guard wore a military uniform with a large BFA patch on his arm. I wasn't familiar enough with the BFA (Bureau of Fae Affairs) to know what branch of the military was associated with them--if any. The guard had that "Rent-a-Cop" feel, as if he felt a little out of place in the uniform even as he relished the power it gave him. The badge on his chest read O'DONNELL.
He leaned forward and I got a whiff of garlic and sweat, though he didn't smell unwashed. My nose is just more sensitive than most people's.
"ID," he said.
Despite his Irish name, he looked more Italian or French than Irish. His features were bold and his hair was receding.
Zee opened his wallet and handed over his driver's license. The guard made a big deal of scrutinizing the picture and looking at Zee. Then he nodded and grunted, "Hers, too."
I had already grabbed my wallet out of my purse. I handed Zee my license to pass over to the guard.
"No designation," O'Donnell said, flicking the corner of my license with his thumb.
"She's not fae, sir," said Zee in a deferential tone I'd never heard from him before.
"Really? What business does she have here?"
"She's my guest," Zee said, speaking quickly as if he knew I was about to tell the moron it was none of his business.
And he was a moron, he and whoever was in charge of security here. Picture IDs for fae? The only thing all fae have in common is glamour, the ability to change their appearance. The illusion is so good that it affects not only human senses, but physical reality. That's why a 500-pound, ten-foot-tall ogre can wear a size-six dress and drive a Miata. It's not shapeshifting, I am told. But as far as I'm concerned, it's as close as makes no never mind.
I don't know what kind of ID I would have had them use, but a picture ID was worthless. Of course, the fae tried really hard to pretend that they could only take one human form without ever saying exactly that. Maybe they'd convinced some bureaucrat to believe it.
"Will you please get out of the truck, ma'am," the moron said, stepping out of the guardhouse and crossing in front of the truck until he was on my side of the vehicle.
Zee nodded. I got out of the car.
The guard walked all the way around me, and I had to restrain my growl. I don't like people I don't know walking behind me. He wasn't quite as dumb as he first appeared because he figured it out and walked around me again.
"Brass doesn't like civilian visitors, especially after dark," he said to Zee, who had gotten out to stand next to me.
"I am allowed, sir," Zee replied, still in that deferential tone.
The guard snorted and flipped through a few pages on his clipboard, though I don't think he actually was reading anything. "Siebold Adelbertsmiter." He pronounced it wrong, making Zee's name sound like Seabold instead of Zeebolt. "Michael McNellis, and Olwen Jones." Michael McNellis could be Uncle Mike--or not. I didn't know any fae named Olwen, but I could count the fae I knew by any name on one hand with fingers left over. Mostly the fae kept to themselves.
"That's right," Zee said with false patience that sounded genuine; I only knew it was false because Zee had no patience with fools--or anyone else for that matter. "I am Siebold." He said it the same way O'Donnell had.
The petty tyrant kept my license and walked back to his little office. I stayed where I was, so I couldn't see exactly what he did, though I could hear the sound of computer keys being tapped. He came back after a couple of minutes and returned my license to me. "Stay out of trouble, Mercedes Thompson. Fairyland is no place for good little girls."
Obviously O'Donnell had been sick the day they'd had sensitivity training. I wasn't usually a hard-core stickler, but something about the way he said "little girl" made it an insult. Mindful of Zee's wary gaze, I took my license and slipped it into my pocket and tried to keep what I was thinking to myself.
I don't think my expression was bland enough, because he shoved his face into mine. "Did you hear me, girl?"