I frowned. The robber baron of Chicago was becoming a real concern.

And the hell of it was, I wasn’t sure the residents of my town weren’t at least partly better off for it. For all the harm he dealt out to the world, Marcone’s people had taken the fight to the Fomor when they’d been hitting the town.

The swirl of attendees was a little dazzling, and I took a moment to just take it in.

Broad sheets of silk in a variety of colors decorated the roof and walls, streaming down from overhead to vaguely imitate the interior of an enormous tent, where negotiations would doubtless take place in the field between ancient armies. It took me a moment, but I recognized the various colors and patterns representing many of the nations of the Unseelie Accords, arranged subtly enough to be noticed only subliminally if one didn’t go looking. But of course, here, everyone was looking. I regarded the various colors and patterns on the silk and realized the intention.

Our host had drawn up something of a seating arrangement.

Or, perhaps …

Battle lines.

A swirl of silver and onyx fabric patterned in strict geometric lines spilled down to backdrop a little area set with masterfully crafted furniture carved of … what looked like naturally ebony hardwood of some kind, chased with silver. Seated in a high-backed chair was King Etri of the Svartalves, appearing in his diminutive natural form, his grey skin and huge dark eyes striking against the backdrop. He was dressed in an impeccable suit of silver silk with black pinstripes and carried a cane of shining silver in his right hand.

Etri looked resolved—and exhausted. His broad forehead was wrinkled into a frown as he apparently listened to Senior Councilman Cristos, seated in the chair next to him. The wizard was in a conciliatory posture, bent forward slightly, his hands open, speaking quietly to the svartalf leader.

Etri’s sister Evanna sat next to him, elegant in her own black suit, her fine silver-white hair spilling down over her shoulders like liquid metal. Her forehead was crossed by a band of some kind of metal that seemed to reflect colors that were not actually present in the room. Her dark eyes flicked toward mine and narrowed in immediate suspicion upon seeing me.

Five of Etri’s warriors were spread out silently behind the pair, and every one of them turned their dark eyes toward me a beat after Evanna did. Their suspicion was a palpable force.

“What’re they looking at?” muttered Wild Bill from next to me.

Yoshimo rested her hand calmly on his forearm. “Easy. They’ve done nothing.”

“Pipsqueaks,” Bill muttered.

“We’re surrounded by stone right now,” Ramirez said. “Not the best place to pick a fight with that crew. Especially since Mab would side with them if you did.”

Wild Bill glowered at Ramirez but subsided. “I don’t like side-eye is all.”

“Oh, it’s straight-eye,” I noted. I nodded to Evanna, deeply enough to make it a small bow. Her expression became more neutral and she returned my nod precisely. But her eyes didn’t change, even when she directed them elsewhere. “Maybe we should be covering the old folks, kids.”

“Yeah,” Ramirez said in his take-charge voice. “Yoshimo, stay with Senior Councilman Cristos. Bill, you’ve got McCoy’s back. Chandler and I’ll take Liberty and Listens-to-Wind.”

Ah.

“Where do you want me?”

“Liaise,” Ramirez said. “Head off trouble before it starts. And get me a scout of the room. You’ve met some of these people before.”

I pursed my lips for a second and then said, “Who are you protecting here, Carlos?”

He clapped a hand lightly against my arm. “Hopefully everyone. Eyes open. Let’s go, people.”

The young Wardens moved out purposefully. I grimaced, snagged a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, and touched the rim of the glass to my lips for politeness’s sake before continuing my slow perusal of the room.

Opposite the svartalves’ colors was a streaming silken banner of pure white, intricately embroidered with sinuous shapes in silver thread, cascading down to a number of similarly upholstered sofas, where Lara Raith and her entourage had set up shop. Lara wore a simple white sheath dress cut to show a considerable length of leg and had her blue-black hair pinned up in elegant curls. Scarlet gems at her ears and wrist flickered with bloody red fire in the faerie lights. She sat in the center of one of the sofas as if it were a throne.

Freydis, dressed in a formfitting white bodysuit and a man’s suit jacket, sat on the floor at Lara’s feet like some kind of exotic pet, her green eyes bright in contrast to her close-cropped red hair. The Valkyrie looked distracted and sleepy and wasn’t either one of those things. Behind Lara stood Riley and four of Lara’s bodyguards, all of them looking lean and mean in matching buzz cuts and suits that didn’t show the weapons they were undoubtedly carrying.

Lara looked up, met my eyes for a second, and gave me a serious nod. She moved her right hand in a tiny gesture, palm up, hand tilted toward the sofa beside her. I nodded and made my way over to her.

“Harry,” she said, her tone light and delighted. “What a pleasure to see you. Won’t you sit for a moment?”

“Very kind,” I said, and settled next to her on the edge of the couch, where I could get up again quickly. I didn’t touch her. “So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a dump like this?”

Lara threw back her head and laughed girlishly. It was patently false and impossible not to find appealing. “You’re so funny. You’re always so funny, Harry.”

I blinked. Lara wasn’t exactly a ditzy party girl, but she was doing a damned good impression.

She recognized when I got that something was up. Her eyes tracked over to one side and followed Ramirez as he limped slowly along behind Listens-to-Wind and Martha Liberty, leaning on his cane. Their color shifted from medium grey to a more sparkling color with flecks of metallic silver. “Oh, that poor boy. So pretty and wounded and so many hang-ups. Are you quite sure he isn’t meant as a present?”

I heard a faint, sharp cracking sound, as if someone had snapped a couple of toothpicks. There was a whisper of power released into the air that I could barely detect, and a second later Freydis tucked a small, broken wooden plaque into her suit coat’s pocket and said, firmly, “Clear.”

Lara’s giggling ceased and her smile vanished. “We’ve got about a minute before the happytalk illusion fades. What have you got?”

I pushed out my senses enough to feel the neat little combination privacy spell and external illusion now veiling us. “Little. I put a man I trust on Justine.”

“My people are there.”

“Can’t be too safe,” I said.

Lara grimaced. “Cristos is over there assuring Etri that the White Council will fully support him in this matter. Probably offering to dig my brother’s grave for him.”

“Etri isn’t the sort to subcontract his work,” I said. “And he’s furious.”

Lara narrowed her eyes at the svartalf king across the large room. “There must be a way he can be reasoned with.”

“As a rule, yes,” I said. “But he’s got good reason to be angry right now.”

“He’s got my brother,” Lara snarled.