He was ticked and hoped Eochy knew it.

"If you'd give people some notice, Eochy, and not spring these things."

Eochy smiled. That was always a bad sign.

"If you'd check your e-mail once in awhile you'd be better informed. I sent a reminder just a week ago, Otherworld time."

Gaelen shook out his wings and tried to make himself comfortable with their unfamiliar weight on his shoulders.

"E-mail? You sent it by e-mail?" He looked around then, scanning the crowd. "Where's Lucas?" When he didn't spot his little brother, he settled back in the chair and smirked at Eochy. "There, see? You must have left us off your e-mail alias, Eochy. Lucas checks the e-mail, and he isn't here either."

Eochy smiled again.

Double-damn.

"That's right. And if you'll look at your agenda, you'll see Lucas is item number three."

His mouth snapped shut and Gaelen jerked his eyes down to the single sheet of paper lying on the table in front of him. Spotting number three, he decided he'd keep his mouth shut for a bit longer.

The ritual preliminaries passed without Gaelen even hearing them. He'd responded by rote, ignoring the meaning and depth of the words. Still seething, shoulder blades sore, deadlines and unfinished work weighing on his mind--it was all giving him a splitting headache.

Not to mention having his brother waiting for him at number three.

"Now," Eochy intoned, settling his spectacles on the tip of his nose. "Item one, the 'Fairy Controversy.' Without objection, since this relates to the matter of item three, we'll pass on to item two, 'Reclaiming Ireland for Her Indigenous Peoples.'" Eochy pulled off his specs and leaned on the table. "Phelan, I know you mean well," Eochy said, his eyes meeting those of the man on Gaelen's left, "but we made a deal with them. We can't back out after three thousand years."

"But it was a bad deal. That Iberian con man took us, and we all know it."

Eochy squashed a smile. Gaelen felt his own lips move with unwelcome amusement.

"Well, Phelan, we can all agree that agreeing to splitting Ireland in half and accepting the half underground was not the most shrewd land transaction in the history of the world, but what's done is done. This Council has had this debate at least once a year for three thousand years, and I'm sure everyone is getting tired of it."

"I make a motion to table the issue," one of the Hundred said.

"I second," another said.

Gaelen could predict the process.

Phelan wasn't to be deterred. "I demand a recorded vote." He sneered at the assembly. "Just so we know who the weak-kneed fairies are."

The chamber rocked with moans and expletives in various languages, some of them very interesting to a linguist like Gaelen in their imagination, and a variety of suggestions as to what Phelan could do with himself, various barnyard beasts, and sundry of his own female relatives.

"Give him his vote, Eochy," Gaelen muttered, just wanting the whole thing over with. He glanced down again at the agenda and Lucas's name there. How long had it been since he'd seen his younger brother? He started to worry.

Eochy grimaced. "All right, the motion has been made."

Gaelen blocked out the droning voices and voting. He focused his mind and tried to find his brother.

* * * *

"Holy Bridget!" Lucas Riley struggled through the open window of Erin's house. His shirt stuck to the trickle of blood oozing from his torn wings.

How could I have been so stupid? Acting like an untried schoolboy on his first outing, forgetting himself to the point of....

Lucas scrambled over the sill and set one foot down on the floor inside the Tinkers' sprawling ranch house. It was dark still, but it would be daylight soon and he had to be gone before Mrs. Tinker was up and around.

He had to check on Erin. The terror on her face just as he popped out was imprinted on his memory and made him heartsick that he'd caused her such anguish. Worse, he'd not been able to stop himself until somewhere near the Great Pyramid. When he'd gotten back to where they'd been parked, Erin was gone.

"Oh, Bridget! What must she think?" A twisting, mangled ripping mutilated him deep inside. He laughed at himself as he recognized the signs of fairie sorrow. "Aye, boyo, and you've got it pretty bad, ha' you not?"

Aye, I do, he admitted to himself as he struggled to his feet and headed down the long hallway between the bedrooms at the end of the house, peeking around the doorways, not making a sound, not even breathing. The last thing he needed was for Mrs.