Dial? Oh, yes. The human communication system.
“Do you have luggage? I can call…”
“I’ve arranged to have my bags delivered,” Wycke assured him, turning his smile up a notch. Oh, yes. What a lovely young man. He’d be a suitable diversion if Wycke needed one. After his disappointing afternoon, a distraction might do him good. Return to Saris with bad news? He cringed.
No! Business! Focus, Wycke!
Right. Focus on the mission.
An ogre standing behind Carl blanched, fleeing into the office. Interesting. So, he’d recognized someone from his own realm and realized Wycke saw through his human disguise—a relatively mundane human disguise.
Wycke would ask about missing ogres upon returning home. Mere migration? Fine. Running from dire consequences of his own actions? Not good. The human realm served as Wycke’s playground. No one got to mess with his fun.
A pair of sprites giggled their way past him, appearing to others in the form of two teenaged girls. They’d not even bothered to hide their lavender-colored hair. Them, he understood. Where else could a being who’d seen hundreds of winters vacation as someone very young and beautiful? They hadn’t ducked away, so nothing to hide, though the giggling said they knew him.
Wycke sketched a bow. “Ladies.” The sprites giggled some more and wandered off.
A fairy exited the elevator at his approach. She glanced around the corridor before dropping into a curtsy. “Your Highness.” She appeared a tall, thin woman in a business suit to human eyes. To Wycke, her skin shimmered with pearlescence, as did her wings. Like the troll, she’d likely escaped the war by coming here, not punishment, as she showed no fear of discovery. “We’ve prepared your room with everything you need.”
“Thank you, my dear.” She must work with the fairy Wycke employed.
Since the war ended, he’d not set foot in his childhood home and didn’t see much of any kingdom besides Dhugach. Did either king realize the effect of the conflict on other races?
He should ask some of the local magicals when he inquired about the child. His tutors had spoken little of the war’s effect on any race other than his own.
Would anyone know of the child? With a powerful mother, the kid must be strong, too, right? Saris said the suppression band might have been intended for the boy, though she claimed he had no power.
Wycke rode the elevator to the tenth floor, stepped off, and opened the room door.
“It’s about time.” Chynne sat stiffly on a chair, facing the door.
Wycke ignored Chynne and pushed past into the suite. He checked drawers and the closet to find satisfactory clothing already conjured for him. With a bit of training, he’d never need to rely on fairies again. Too bad asking for training might mean condemning himself to death. He’d love to wave a hand and make whatever he wanted appear.
“You’re along for the ride, cat,” he snapped. “You’re contributing nothing to my quest and are a general pain in the ass.” He fixed Chynne with a glare he’d practiced to send servants scurrying. They usually laughed. Wycke wasn’t known for seriousness. Chynne might make him change his mind. “In other words, you don’t get a say.”
Chynne lifted one paw, studying extended claws. “Dragon? Snake? Remember?”
Wycke smirked. “Not in the human realm, unless you want to face censure back in our own.” At least verbally sparring with the cat diverted Wycke’s attention from the matter of a man’s death, a child’s disappearance, and his own helplessness in the matter.
Chynne opened his mouth a few times, seemed to reconsider, then closed his mouth again. Finally, he settled on, “You must sleep sometime.”
Oh yeah? Wycke rubbed his hands together. “So must you.”
Chynne grinned. “Do you really think so? How quaint.” He trundled off, tail high, jumped onto the bed, and curled up.
Oh, no! “The bed is mine. Cats sleep elsewhere.”
Chynne didn’t even bother to lift his head. “Which of us is the more powerful being?”
“Which of us plans to find a willing body and spend the evening giving the hotel staff something to talk about when they see the condition of the bed in the morning?” Wycke grinned his most evil grin. Oh, yes, let the troublemaker squirm. “We’re talking sticky sheets and bodily fluids.”
Chynne wrinkled his little black nose. “Humans! What disgusting creatures.”
“Says the one who licks his own balls.”
“Try having to get by with tongue baths, then come back and say it’s gross.” Chynne moved, taking a good, long lick of his furred balls. “How do you know I don’t have plans for the bed?”
“You want a bed?” No, no, no! No images of Chynne mating allowed!
