The Hob (The Gray Court 4) (9 page)

Oberon nodded, pleased. That had been his intention in sending Lord Duncan, a man who was mated to a Knight of Oberon and was himself a negotiator of some note. Jaden and Moira’s ease in Robin’s presence would also be of benefit to Robin in his investigations, as they would easily follow Robin’s lead without question or fear. They would also act on their own as needed, something other Blades forced to work with Robin might balk at for fear of incurring his wrath.

The founding members of Clan Blackthorn were an odd family, but they’d adopted Robin as one of their own and would guard him fiercely. He wondered if Robin was aware of that or not.

“Apparently, one of the delegates is a bit of an issue, but I do not foresee any problems. We’ve made note of his name, and I will keep tabs on him personally.”

“Which delegate?” Last Oberon had seen, the list contained the usual names.

“The Fear Dearc.”

Oberon froze. “Lord Raven MacSweeney is there?” That could be problematic, as the Fear Dearc had a reputation similar to Robin’s, and almost as sinister.

Robin’s head tilted further in a gesture that was almost bird-like. “Was his name not supposed to be there?”

“No.” Oberon waved his hand and the original list appeared in the mirror they spoke through. “It was supposed to be Song Kuan-Yin, a siren.” Oberon frowned. “Perhaps that was the issue, then.”

“Oh?”

Robin’s innocent expression didn’t fool him. The word
siren
had his Hob’s ears practically standing at attention. “The King and Queen of Atlantis have lost one of their daughters.”

“Ah. I see. I am sorry for their loss.”

Oberon’s brow rose. Robin’s regret was less than sincere, but it would take someone who’d known him as long as Oberon had to pick up on it. “She is not dead. She ran away from an arranged marriage to one of the princes of Pacifica. The ensuing merger would grant both sides much power, but apparently the princess decided she did not want to comply with her parents’ wishes and fled.”

Robin grinned, and it was vicious. “The last arranged marriage a child fled resulted in the Child of Dunne. Perhaps a consultation with the Seer is in order?”

Oberon scowled. He had no time for this. His dreams had been…strange, of late, and he was weary. “This is no laughing matter, Robin. Should Princess Cassandra not return to her family, war could break out.” And while Oberon could send someone to negotiate a peace between the two nations, unless directly asked there was little he could do. His main objective was, and always would be, to prevent war between the Black and the White courts. Minor courts, even ones as large as Atlantis and Pacifica, were on their own unless they directly impacted Titannia or Gloriana, or they appealed to Oberon for aid. Atlantis owed shaky, often ignored fealty to Gloriana. Pacifica was sworn to Titannia.

“Who are you sending?”

His Hob knew him well. Oberon would keep an eye on the situation, asked or no. “We have few deep-sea nymphs trained as Blades.”

“I would suggest Dylan.”

A selkie? In the court of Atlantis? That would be amusing now, wouldn’t it? The Atlanteans could be even more prejudiced than the Sidhe when it came to the “lesser” fae. “He wouldn’t have access to the higher courts.”

Robin frowned in thought. “I’ll send him, nevertheless. I might be able to grant him access where normally he’d have none.”

“Hobgoblin.”

Robin started, his attention once more totally on Oberon.

“How will you gain that access?”

Robin started and looked over his shoulder. “I will answer that anon, my liege. For now, forgive me.” He bowed. “It seems I have a date.”

The mirror went dark, and Oberon blinked. “A date?”

What was Robin thinking? Oberon stepped away from the mirror, unsure if he was irritated or intrigued. Boredom was a daily companion, and Robin’s little dance offered to bring some much-needed distraction.

Perhaps a consultation with the Seer was, indeed, in order.

Robin adjusted his breasts and smiled, checking his teeth for lipstick. Never was he gladder to be male than when he forced himself to be female. How did women live with underwire bras and lip gloss on a permanent basis? He swore to himself that next time he would disguise himself as a tomboy. They, at least, wore comfortable clothes. And since it required less energy to simply change clothes than to cause the ones he wore to conform to his wishes, Robin always traveled with an unusual array of attire.

He missed the hippies and their bra-burning ways. It had to be the most comfortable decade of his existence.

He zipped up his high-heeled boots and leaned forward to check his horns one last time, noting absently the overabundance of charms revealed by his low-cut halter top. He’d use those assets to his best advantage as often as needed, with no qualms. He’d gotten more information through the use of low-cut blouses than almost any other method he’d tried.

Women were right. Men were foolish creatures indeed.

Kael was going to have a fit when he saw Robin, but if he was going to recruit the boy he’d need to get him used to seeing Robin in disguise. Robin might prefer to be male and often disguised himself as such, but changing his gender often threw his prey off balance. The pooka would more than likely wind up using his own shape-shifting abilities to don the appearance of other sexes and races himself. The charade was all part of the job.

He tucked the lipstick into the oversized purse and added the final touch, a pair of diamond studs in his ears. He eyed his appearance critically, satisfied with what he’d achieved. While Robin could change his gender or race at will, it took a great deal less power to put on a dress and apply makeup.

Robin had shrunk six inches and gained fifteen pounds, making him a well-rounded female. He fluffed out his curly, blonde hair and batted his big, deliberately vacant blue eyes. He chuckled softly to himself.

He looked both pretty and daft. It should be enough.

He intended to join the con tomorrow as a large, black male, and the day after that? It would depend. If either of his disguises made contact with a delegate, he would use that to further his agenda.

He checked his watch and grimaced. He wouldn’t have much time to case the convention. Robin would have to make sure he was back to male (and gloss-free) in time for his date with Michaela. Robin’s expression softened. She was an odd little thing, with her big, innocent brown eyes and her easy acceptance of the world around her. There was something about her that drew him, made him want to protect her. If she truly was the one for him…

Robin shivered, terrified. The way she dealt with the most insane of situations petrified him. She’d run up to a redcap and
pepper sprayed
it to save a pooka, and nearly charmed the pants off one of Titannia’s top lieutenants, the Fear Dearc. Gods forbid she actually spoke to Cecelia Malmayne in that bathroom. She’d probably arranged to go get her nails done with her.

Robin paled as thoughts of what his future would hold appeared before his eyes in horrifying detail. What would happen when he let her loose in the Courts? He shuddered at the thought; certain catastrophe would follow in her wake. Would she have Titannia and Gloriana over for tea? Meddle in Oberon’s love life?

Redecorate the Gray Palace?

Or worse, interfere with Robin’s work in the guise of “helping” him, thus placing herself in danger too great for her wiles to get her out of?

Ugh. And the very thing he’d been attempting to avoid had already occurred. She’d gotten him so wrapped up in thoughts of her he was distracted from his very real, very dangerous mission. If he did not pull his head out of his ass, Prince Evan could die.

Robin grabbed the compact mirror disguised as a cell phone and stuffed it into his purse. Only Oberon knew the trick of creating them. It was an art long lost, along with the Tuatha Dè Dannan, and Oberon was loathe to give them to any but those he trusted implicitly. As far as Robin knew, he was the only other recipient of a mirror since the war that split the Grand Court.

Robin swirled, his matter dissipating into the ether, reappearing in a swirl of dark mist in a stall in the ladies’ room just outside the fairy convention. He took a deep breath and opened the door, smiling at the startled woman staring at him in the mirror. Considering she was dressed like a troll doll, with bright green hair standing straight up from her head and a fur-lined cloak that had to be too hot to be comfortable, she had a lot of nerve.

Robin fluffed out his blonde hair one last time and strode for the door. He had a convention to attend and numerous fae to spy on. He would find out what Titannia was up to, come hell or high water. He did his best to ignore the insane humans around him, desperately trying to tap into their own sense of the fae. Since the decree of the gods to hide their existence from humans, the mania to find something, anything supernatural in the world had driven humans to highs and lows of insanity. Between the hunting of “devil worshippers” and the Salem witch trials, to the fake fairy pictures of the early 20th century and faery Wicca, humanity was obsessed with the fae, and not always in a good way. This, however…

A man in a set of mechanic’s overalls with wings made of wires and gears glided past Robin, deep in conversation with a much more conventional-looking female dressed in sparkly pink. There was a set of welder’s goggles perched on top of the backward baseball cap he wore, bending fake pointed ears. Black tinted nails completed the man’s look. Robin nearly laughed out loud. Too bad Big Red wasn’t here with him. The gremlin would have surely enjoyed the sight.

Red would have figured out a way to make the man fly.

Robin snickered. That sounded much dirtier than what he’d meant.

Red was brilliant, and one of his favorite Blades. Hell, he’d been the one to find the information that helped take down the leader Malmayne clan. Big Red was Robin’s go-to man when it came to anything computer related.

“Did you hear? They pulled someone out of the Delaware this morning.”

Robin half-listened to the humans muttering around him. He was too busy trying to find any of the Black Court fae wandering the halls. The bitch queen wouldn’t send just anyone to these negotiations. No, if Robin were to guess, their purpose was far more sinister than simply watching humans pretend to be fairies.

“They say it looked like it was attacked by a shark.”

The human next to him snorted a laugh. “Where did you hear that? There aren’t any sharks in the Delaware.”

“Police scanner. My husband’s an officer.”

Robin’s brows rose. Sharks indeed. The humans wouldn’t recognize the bite of an
each uisge
, but Robin would.

Hell. He’d thought they were far enough from the river to be safe from the
each uisge’s
appetites. The
each uisge
, or water horse, was infamous for taking its prey to the water to devour it. It was not a taste Robin understood, nor did he ever wish to acquire it.

There was a reason some naturally gravitated toward the Black, and
each uisges
were a prime example.

However, there should have been very little left of the victim. Perhaps he’d been interrupted in his feeding, enough so that he’d left partially devoured remains to be found by the humans. It was rare mistake indeed, but not unheard of in younger fae with McNeil’s…proclivities.

“I’m telling you, Robin Goodfellow is here somewhere!”

Robin did his best not to seem as if he was paying any attention to the hissed conversation going on off to his right somewhere. Neither of the voices was familiar, and he dared not look, but he caught the scent of fae and
each uisge
. It had to be Lord Wyght, the only male Black Court Sidhe, and McNeil. Robin bent down and examined the dangling earrings of a particularly gifted craftswoman.

Michaela would look lovely in the gold and silver jewelry that was on display. He had a sudden, vivid image of her draped in nothing but silver, gold and her own dark hair.

He shivered. It was the first time he’d ever felt arousal while wearing the body of a woman, and he wasn’t sure he cared for the sensation. It was familiar, yet alien, this throbbing need that had taken him over.

“What do we do? If Oberon sent the Hob, then they’re more than likely on to us.”

Oh? Robin smiled at the vendor and pointed to a particularly stunning necklace made of dripping stars. He’d see Michaela wearing it before the night was through. “How much?”

The vendor named a price, but Robin wasn’t paying any particular attention. He dug into his purse for the required amount, his attention on the two men arguing not ten feet away.

“We stick to the plan. Those were Her orders, and I for one am going to obey.”

“But what if—”

“No. Let the Raven Lord deal with the Hob, Wyght. We do our part, nothing less. Understood?”

The Sidhe lord grunted his displeasure. “Why I have to take orders from you I will never understand.”

Robin paid for the necklace in cash, waiting patiently for the receipt. He was in no hurry to move. This was getting better and better.

“What about the redcap? Do you think he’ll speak?” Wyght was nervous. Perhaps Robin would visit the redcap in the hospital. If he had information on Titannia’s plans, Robin would get them from him.