He shrugged. "The last one was a few days ago. We missed it." At her pointed glare, he added. "She only giants audiences once per cycle of the mortal moon."
"You've got to be kidding me."
He was, but not about to admit to it. He'd realized in the car— while watching her hand close around the leather-bound stick shift, and mentally substituting his own leather-clad stick shift that seemed to have gotten firmly lodged in overdrive— that if they were successful today, he'd lose his human body.
He'd gotten strangely all-too-humanly panicked. His stomach had actually felt queasy and he'd nearly insisted she turn around. The only thing that had stopped him was that he knew that if she knew that he wanted to stay human just so he could have sex with her, she'd go beg every fairy she could find to take him away this very instant.
And one of them might.
Aoibheal had no such ridiculous schedule, but what his petite ka-lyrra didn't know, she couldn't use against him. He would get her to tell them to come collect him at the next new-moon. He'd easily have her in bed long before then. Get to sate his curiosity before reclaiming his rightful place.
"I am not going to be stuck with you until then," she was saying.
He smiled. By Danu, she was sexy when she was angry: eyes sparkling, nostrils flaring, breasts rising and falling with her tight, angry breaths.
When he made no reply, she flung an exasperated hand in the direction of a bench some distance away, in the middle of the square. "Oh, just go sit over there, okay? They tend to hang out on the square sometimes. I think they like to people-watch, or I suppose fairies would say human-watch."
When he opened his mouth to disagree, of no mind to sit so far away from her, she placed her palm flush to his chest and gave him a little push toward the bench. It was the first time she'd touched him of her own accord. And he'd not missed the tiny hesitation after she'd placed her hand on his body before pushing. As if she had savored the feel of his chest beneath her hand. Her barriers were dropping. Fascinating.
"You can't sit here with me or every fairy that sees us together will know I can see you. I get to choose who to reveal myself to," she gritted. "When I see the ones I want, I'll wave you over."
"As you wish, Gabrielle."
11
It was late in the day before Gabby spotted a pair of Fae she was willing to approach. The ball-game-goers had long since swept back through downtown, retrieving their cars (the Reds won; she'd heard the fireworks), and the sun had ducked low behind the skyscrapers that hemmed Fountain Square, gilding the silvery-windowed walls fiery rose and slanting tall early-evening shadows across the square.
During the interminable wait she'd realized the Fae were, indeed, watching him. Many appeared throughout the course of the day. But since he was just sitting there doing nothing, most of them went away after only a short time. She supposed he wasn't being very entertaining.
Finally, she spotted her two. She chose them because they weren't as blindingly beautiful as the rest, and she hoped, rather like people, the less attractive ones weren't quite so... well, were more approachable.
A male and a female, both blond and shimmery-eyed, were standing near the bench Adam was sitting on, deep in conversation. Rather than waving him over, she decided to join him and get it over with.
"What? Haven't you seen any?" Adam asked, as she approached.
Did that husky, Celtic-accented voice sound almost... cheery? She shook her head at the idiotic notion, deciding the sun must have baked her brains during the long, tedious afternoon.
"They're right there," she told him, pointing.
"Where?" He looked where she was pointing and muttered a string of curses. "Christ, I can’t believe I can't even see them. Are they looking at me?"
"Not at the moment. And they're there," she said, trying to correct his gaze, "standing about ten feet to your left, less than a foot from the trash can." She drew a deep breath, bracing herself to approach them, when suddenly the male fairy turned and looked at her.
"Hello," she said politely. "I'd like to speak with you a moment. I need to— "
"I do believe it sees us, Aine," the male fairy spoke over her, with a haughty lift of a brow.
It? Gabby thought, nostrils flaring. It was calling her an it? The nerve. The unmitigated gall. She was human. She had a soul. It wasn't and didn't. If anyone was an it, it was it not her.
"Oh, get over yourselves already. I'm just here to pass on a message. Adam Black wants me to tell you ..." Gabby blinked and trailed off. They'd turned their backs to her and were paying her no attention whatsoever, carrying on a hushed conversation that she couldn't overhear.