"I'm sorry," Colette Snootypants said, "but is that bird yourpet?"
Tara blinked up from talking to Declan. "Um, no?"
"You're talking to it," Colette said. "And it seems to be responding to you. If you'd just get it to hold still for a minute, I could pull out some feath?—"
"No! God, that's so rude! It's just friendly to me," Tara said, offended on Declan's behalf. "There must be some kind of market in peacock feathers, if you need them so badly."
"It's a very tight market," Colette said, in a voice as tight as the market apparently was. Saunier, that was her actual last name, Tara thought. She sounded Irish to Tara, despite the French name. "Never mind. I have other sources."
A spike of alarm shot through Tara, who breathed, "Shed a feather if you can," at Declan, and stood to follow Snootypants Saunier a few steps away. "Hey, um, excuse me, Ms. Saunier? Sorry, you know, American and everything, but I was wondering—I really love peacocks and take a lot of pictures of them, and if you have sources, I was just wondering, that must mean youknow where I could go to take pictures? I'd love any pointers. And here, look," she said as Declan shed a tail feather with an expression that suggested it had taken a lot of effort. Tara picked it up and offered it to Saunier. "One just for you. Maybe I'm a lucky charm."
Saunier's eyes glittered as she glanced between Tara and the peacock-shaped Declan. "Maybe you are. A peacock-whisperer?"
Tara thought,Oh God,clearly, and glanced at Declan, trying to will him to understand that she needed him to collect a bunch of peacocks and have them all come hang around her.
He stared at her. She offered a fake smile with a lot of teeth, andsworethat the beautiful bird heaved a huge sigh. Tail dragging, he walked off, and when Tara looked back toward Colette, it was to find the woman's sharp features tightening with irritation. "Or maybe not," she said coolly. "Too bad. I could use a peacock whisperer."
A moment later, half a dozen peacocks—which had to be nearly every single one in the park—converged around Tara, who smiled brightly at Colette and said, "Whisper whisper," like an idiot.
The peacocks all gave each other really magnificent glares, and then with similar sighs to the one Declan had uttered, shook their tails and dropped some feathers. Colette's eyes gleamed and she all but leaped to snatch the feathers up, tucking them into her case, which looked more like it was meant to hold a guitar than peacock feathers. "Grand," she said to Tara, with a greedy glint in her gaze. "Can you meet me at Blarney Castle at nine tomorrow morning?"
"I'd be delighted," Tara said in the most transparent lie she'd ever told, but Colette didn't seem to notice. Instead the designer gave a sharp, snake-like smile and stalked off, leaving Tara surrounded by peacocks.
After a few seconds, once she was sure Saunier Snootypants was out of earshot, she whispered, "You're notallshifters, are you?"
One of them shivered, glanced around, and changed into Declan, whose eyes were bright with laughter. "Sure and they wouldn't admit to it if they were. Maybe I'm just good with birds."
"Can you talk to them?" Tara asked, fascinated. "To not-shifter peacocks?"
"They don't have much to say," Declan confessed. "So we're going to Blarney in the morning, are we?"
Tara threw a glance after Colette Saunier. "I don't like that woman. I think she's up to something. I want to make sure it doesn't work, whatever it is."
The tall Irishman nodded. "I can tell you this much for free: it's illegal to buy, sell, or trade in genuine peacock feathers. You're not even meant to collect them when they fall. We could call the guards on her right now."
"The guards?"
"The police," Declan said with a quick smile. "An Garda Síochána, we call them. Guardians of the Peace. Guards, for short."
"Ahn garda shee-oh-kahna," Tara repeated carefully. "That's pretty. Would they actually do anything to help?"
"I don't know," Declan admitted. "I absolutely know there are people who deal in rescuing trafficked animals, but the truth is, I wouldn't know who that agency was unless I looked it up."
"Which we will if we can't handle her ourselves," Tara said firmly.
"So you won't be going from mild-mannered reporter to international woman of mystery?" Declan asked.
Tara tossed her hair, which she felt would have worked better if she didn't almost always wear it in a ponytail. "I canbe mysterious." Then, unable to help herself, she laughed and shook her head. "I'm not in the least mysterious. I'll just have to be a regular law-abiding boring girl."
"There isnothingboring about you," Declan said in a warm, low voice.
Delightful heat splashed through Tara, making her blush—of course—but mostly making her feel all glowy and happy. "I think you're wrong, but thank you."
"Why?" Declan gazed down at her, his green eyes genuinely curious.
Tara squirmed under the intentness of that look, but finally shrugged. "I just don't think 'secretary moonlighting as photographer' is all that interesting. I'm good at what I do—at both jobs—but it's almost impossible to make a living doing artsy things. I mean, you must know that, if you're a sculptor?"
"I do," Declan agreed. "But I'd say the fact that you do it anyway makes you the very farthest thing from boring in the world. It takes real passion to pursue something artistic, when so much of the world is determined to grind it out of us. Eh." He made a face. "That sounded self-aggrandizing, and I didn't mean it that way. Not 'look at me, struggling against the odds, how admirable I am,' like. Especially?—"
