"That's a nice thought," Gwen said.

"You've heard of a sport? I'm not talking about a physical activity like baseball and football, but a genetic throwback. Perhaps you're a sport of some powerful shamanic line."

"It's something to think about," she said.

He gave her hand a squeeze, then released it. "Are you ready to do this?"

She nodded and reached into the pocket of her new leather jacket for a book of matches.

The first spark flared into the night. Gwen stooped and touched it to the straw they'd carefully scattered among the trees-straw that had been soaked in highly flammable insecticide.

They watched in silence as fire snaked out through the orchard, branching out in every direction like rows of flaming dominoes. Gwen's throat clenched as the flames crept up into the apple trees. The hiss and groan the moist branches made as they burned sounded like the death cries of living beings.

In moments, the entire orchard was engulfed. And with it, the sole crop of the herb-the cruel toy that had caused so much misery.

"We need to go now," Jason said.

Gwen followed him down the hill and into a nearby wooded area. They'd hidden two bicycles there near a narrow dirt trail. No one would see a vehicle leave the area, and they would be on the other side of the woods before anyone responded to the fire. From there, it was a short walk to the small motel where they'd rented a room earlier that evening.

It wasn't a bad plan, but Gwen felt no great satisfaction over the work they'd done. She couldn't wait to collapse on the motel bed, and to seize a few hours of respite from the questions that had come to dominate her every waking hour.

Ian Forest slipped from his hidden place among the trees, escaping a single heartbeat before the apple tree caught fire.

He moved away from the rapidly spreading flames, keeping just beyond the light of the fire. And at the edge of the orchard, he watched as the traitorous Jason Cross linked hands with the elf girl who could either save or destroy her exiled people.

Ian was certain that he would hear nothing of this night's events from the human agent. Obviously Jason Cross was not so committed to Edmonson and his successors as Salvadore Anselm seemed to think.

Or was he?

It was no secret that Ian had resented his service to Edmonson and disagreed with the earl's mode ofdoing business. But the fact that he had been returned to Edmonson's service seemed to indicate that he had been forgiven his old indiscretion: Sylvia Black.

A lovely woman with an almost elflike capacity for pa.s.sion, she was one of those rare humans who possessed a quality that drew Elder Folk to her. The old stories of elves and humans falling in love had some basis in truth. Ian had come very close to losing his heart. He had come closer still to losing his Qualities.

Oh yes, he had reason to know the dangers of ties that bound the Elder Folk too tightly to their human companions. He was determined to keep Gwen from following the same dangerous path. If Jason Cross wished to destroy Gwen, this was one way to do so.

Her s.e.xual adventures meant nothing. There were many ways to toy with humans. But Gwen was capable of deep loyalties, and her ties to the humans were strong.

She not only had friends-she had family.

The young magus had accepted Gwen's true ident.i.ty almost without question. That alone would have raised concern, but Damian O'Riley had entrusted his family problems to Gwen, and had come to treat her almost like a sister. And Sylvia Black had all but adopted her.

With such chains holding her back, how would her starlight Quality emerge?

And if they did not, what would become of her?

Of all of them?

Jason waited until Gwen's soft, steady breathing a.s.sured him that she was deeply asleep. He picked up his backpack and slipped from the room, taking the route through the bathroom window they'd used twice before that night.

He made his way into the woods, moving away from the path they'd taken earlier and in the opposite direction of the orchard he had helped to destroy. And with every step, his heart grew heavier.

He came to a small clearing, a circle of bare earth deeply sheltered by vine-covered trees. A scattering of stones in the center obscured the fire he had built the last time he came to this place.

Jason dropped his backpack to the ground and arranged the stones in a circle. He placed some dry wood inside and lit the fire. When it was burning steadily, he settled down beside it and started unpacking.

Under the clothes he'd packed for tomorrow was a small wooden drum. He tightened the hide and began to tap a soft, rhythmic pattern.

His hands repeated the pattern over and over, until it became a soft sea of rhythm that carried him away on its rise and fall. He was barely aware when the pattern began to change, adding new rhythms that carried him deeper into hidden places within his own heart.

Much later, Jason emerged slowly from his trance, like a swimmer coming up from great depths. He was not surprised to see that the small fire had long ago burned itself out, or to note that his limbs were cold and stiff from long inactivity.It was no easy thing, this strengthening of his shields against the elven magics.

He had told Gwen nothing but the truth-if not quite all of the truth. He had been raised by a shaman, a wisewoman who came from a long line who guarded the knowledge that elves existed. For all his life, he had known it was his task to walk among them. To learn their ways, and undo their plans.

And, ultimately, to find a way to destroy them all.

Shortly before dawn, Ian Forest stepped out of the shadows of a stand of birch trees near an old blue farmhouse. He took a moment to regard his surroundings. Small, neat fields were tucked among rows of fruit trees, the rich soil heaped into long mounds over newly planted seeds. A greenhouse held rows of seedlings that would soon be ready to plant outside. The pretty farm was framed by a majestic sweep of mountains, the tallest of which was still crowned with snow.

Spring had come late to Vermont this year.

The barn held quite a fine a.s.sortment of equipment. The delivery truck was nearly new, as was the small car parked beside it. And best of all, there was a long ladder that would be perfect for his purposes.

Ian circled around behind the farmhouse and easily dispatched the lock on the back door. He slipped inside, making his way through the bottom floor and up a narrow flight of stairs. The house was furnished with very nice antiques, and bowls of fresh flowers scented every room he pa.s.sed.

The elves had paid this particular agent very well.

He found the woman's bedroom and walked soundlessly in. He seized the collar of her nightgown with both hands and dragged her up into a sitting position.

She awoke with a sound that was part gasp, part shriek. Her eyes focused on Ian's face, and surprise chilled into terror.

He released her and stepped away, sending her a faint smile. "If I had wanted you dead, why would I have bothered to awaken you?"

"For sport," she hissed at him.

"Well, yes, there is that," he said agreeably. "But I a.s.sure you, this visit is entirely about business."

The woman shook her head emphatically. "I'm out of that business," she told him. "You told me the Morgan baby would be my last job."

"So I did." Ian hooked his thumbs in his pockets and leaned back against the dresser. "Of course, I have been known to lie when the occasion demands."

"What do you want?"

"I understand you received an interesting phone call recently."

Fear edged into her eyes. "I didn't tell her anything."

"In truth, I believe you told her entirely too much. And I don't believe I can trust you with the information about our changelings' whereabouts."

"I'd never tell that! Can you imagine the trouble I'd be in if I admitted to switching babies?""Can you imagine the trouble you are already in?"

He waited until that idea took hold, until the knowledge of her coming death blazed in her eyes.

The force of his blow snapped her head sharply to one side. Bone gave way with a brittle crack, and the changeling midwife slumped lifeless to the bed.

Ian opened the dresser drawers and removed the sort of clothing one might expect a woman to wear as she went about the business of running a farm and household. Dressing her was an unpleasant necessity, but the local authorities would hardly believe that she fell off a ladder in her nightgown.

When the agent's body was ready, Ian slung her over his shoulder and carried her out behind the house.

He dropped her to the ground and went back to the garage for the ladder. This he placed against the house, near the tallest window. He tossed a pail of soapy water and a kitchen rag to the ground to complete the deception.

The task completed, Ian returned to the circle of birch trees and stepped into the shadows. If he hurried, he could check on his youngest changeling before the sun crested the Vermont foothills.

EPILOGUE.

Ian Forest stood with Salvadore Anselm on the edge of the sea cliff, admiring the view-and pondering the temptation. The man he'd joined forces with to oust Edmonson had not proved to be much of an improvement.

But at least they were in agreement on two things. They believed they were better off without the potent herb, and they were furious that the council had seen fit to send a Black Arrow a.s.sa.s.sin into their territory.

"Dominance and control," Anselm summarized. "That is why we traffic in such human vices as s.e.x and drugs. Edmonson lost sight of the central purpose, and Erin Westland was a pathetic weakling.

Distribution, much less use, is beneath us. We don't become Tiger Leones, we use them."

"For that matter, what purpose is there in controlling the weak? Better to concentrate on those in positions of power, tools with a purpose."

Anselm smirked. "No doubt this is your segue to the Captain Walsh report?"

"In a manner of speaking. Would it interest you to know that Jason Cross did not eliminate a single link between Edmonson and Walsh?"

"He killed the doctor, did he not?"

Ian shook his head. "Gwen's visions are growing in power. She visited Kate Myers's home a second time and learned the truth of what happened there. Adrian Archer tormented the woman, like a wicked child pulling wings off flies, but he did not kill her. Walsh did."

"Ah. And now that we know this, and a.s.suming we can convince him of this knowledge, there is little chance that Walsh will betray our interests."

"That is my reasoning, yes.""Well done." Anselm toed a stone loose and watched it fall into the surf below. "A shame your methods were not quite so successful where our changeling is concerned. We have less hold over her than the humans do. Her 'family' is thriving."

"How so? Her mentor is dead, her young protege is in the hospital, her most recent partner will be tried for Kate Myers's murder. Even Erin Westland's bungling attempts to shift the blame for her husband's murder have borne fruit. Gwen alienated Marcy Bartlett, her closest friend, when she tampered with a crime scene to protect Marcy's lover. Thanks to her emerging Qualities, she has alienated two casual lovers in as many weeks. Other than an aging, foul-mouthed nun, where can Gwen turn?"

"To Jason Cross," Anselm said gloomily. He shot a resentful look in Ian's direction. "I will admit that your judgment concerning the man was sound. We may have a problem in Jason."

The smile that crossed Ian's face was that of an angel contemplating paradise. "A problem," he said softly, "that can easily be resolved."