I gave them all a rundown of what had happened after the meeting earlier that evening. I used short declarative sentences and a neutral tone of voice.
When I finished, Marcone said, “After Dresden’s call, I checked with some contractors who have done work for me. They confirmed that Mister Gregory did commission a device.”
I nodded at Marcone. Then glanced at Talvi.
The handsome man grimaced. “The bear skull is indeed gone from my office. Ms. Lapland has refused to answer my questions regarding its disposition. I presume she lost her temper at the treatment inflicted upon her by Mister Gregory.”
“In summary,” I said. “Both of you have had your people try to end my life in the past three hours.” I exhaled. “This has become an Accords matter.”
The Unseelie Accords were sort of the Geneva Conventions of the supernatural world. They governed how the supernatural powers resolved conflicts between one another.
“Point of order,” Marcone supplied. “Mister Gregory is no signatory.”
“But he is your vassal,” I said irritably, “by every definition and tradition.”
Marcone’s eyes slid aside to Gard, who gave him a careful nod. He opened his hand in a gesture as if dropping something on the ground and said, “Very well. I withdraw the point. As his liege, I bear a measure of responsibility for his actions.”
His voice became very slightly edged. Tripp Gregory was not so far checked out that he didn’t cringe a little away from Marcone when he spoke in that voice.
“And you,” I said, turning to Talvi Inverno. “Nameless son, is it your intention to throw down with me?”
Inverno’s eyes flickered. “Hardly,” he said. “My assistant is… often passionate in her choices. However, I should point out that the attack was not directed at you, but at the man who tried to have you murdered.”
“Yeah, what surgical precision,” I said in a dry tone. “It was reckless disregard.” I turned to Marcone. “Inverno is one of yours. This falls at your feet too.”
Marcone tilted his head and said, “In your judgment.”
From the darkest shadows of the warehouse, a woman’s voice, colder than a scalpel dipped in liquid oxygen, said, “And in mine.”
The Queen of Air and Darkness appeared from the blackness, a woman well over six feet tall with ghostly pale skin, a long black dress, long black hair, and eyes made from spheres of obsidian. She paced to my side with deliberate steps, a being of frozen poise and inhuman beauty. She was the mentor and ruler of every wicked being in Faerie, and still bore herself with a kind of brittle fragility—a remnant of her confrontation with the Titan.
Gard drew in a steadying breath and took a step closer to Marcone. The Baron of Chicago betrayed no such apprehension. He regarded Mab with a calm, rather deep nod and said, “Queen Mab.”
“Baron,” Mab replied. Her black eyes went to Tripp Gregory and she shook her head. “Controlling the excesses of your vassals is one of the duties of a freeholding lord.”
“I am not sure this matter involves the Winter Court in regard to its relations with my realm,” Marcone said. “Dresden was pursuing a personal matter, not the business of your Court—he is assisting a mortal who requested his aid. It may be that this is a matter best overlooked.”
Mab considered Marcone’s words carefully and then turned her eyes to me. “I care nothing for mortals, their children, or their teachers,” she said. It was like standing in front of an open freezer door, to feel her words roll over me. “Explain, my Knight, if you can: why does this involve Me?”
I didn’t show any of the nervousness I was feeling. I think. “They both damaged the company car in the course of their attack.”