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Manhattan looking like a wet dream and pretending to be the guy on the Lucky Charms box?”
    Corinne froze right there in the Chronicle ’s doorway. “What did you ask me?”
    “You heard me. Four of my models have bailed on bookings in the last six weeks because they said they were being stalked by an elf. So either they’re insane, the coke has melted their brains, or there’s some freak who thinks Christmas-themed slave laborers in August is the perfect cover for a crime spree. Or they’ve actually stumbled on to something they really shouldn’t know about. Have you heard about any of your fellow media types sniffing around something like this?”
    Corinne’s response was very pithy and, she thought, entirely appropriate. She cursed like a dockhand, hung up on Ava, and slugged back what was left of her soda. Then she shouldered her way through the fire door to the hall outside the office. She needed to get back to her desk and the bottle of little white pills waiting inside. To hell with her liver. If even Ava’s bubble-headed models had sighted this “elf” bumbling his way around Manhattan, there was no way Corinne would be the only one on the story. Something was going to break, and the annoying niggle of her conscience told her that she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t give the appropriate Others a heads-up.
    Picturing what she had to do next, Corinne groaned. To hell with the aspirin. What she needed was vodka. Maybe there would be a bar on the way.

Three
    “Shit. I need a drink.”
    Luc cocked one eyebrow and tried not to look too smug, but he was glad to see someone else react to his mission the same way he had. “I brought a flask of Faerie wine, if you’d like a belt of that.”
    His companion scowled at him and opened a cabinet door to retrieve a graceful glass decanter of amber fluid. “Thank you, my friend, but as much as I would like to pass out and forget what you told me, I don’t think it would help your cause. The Council and I had hoped that we could resolve this issue before we reached this point. We had not yet confirmed that Seoc had begun to mingle with the humans.” He poured two glasses of brandy, the red-gold color less exotic than the crimson of Faerie wine, but also less likely to knock a grown Other on his ass.
    Luc’s host, and his first stop on his trip through Ithir , happened to be one of the few inhabitants of the mortal world who would neither attack, nor be particularly surprised when a Faerie portal opened up in the middle of his office. As the head of the Council of Others, Rafael De Santos had grown used to unusual occurrences.
    “I think that’s what we all would have preferred,” Luc said, accepting the snifter Rafe handed him. “As it is, I’m beginning to think getting seriously drunk might be the only thing that can help. At least if we’re shit-faced, we won’t realize how much this sucks.”
    The Feline shifter looked at him over the rim of his glass. “Even dead, this would suck, my friend.”
    “True. Speaking of dead and sucking, though, how’s Dmitri doing? I heard he got married. And I think someone said his bride was mortal.”
    Rafe grinned and nodded. “He did indeed marry, earlier this spring. And was remains the operative word. He wed a charming young woman, who can now discard any worries over encroaching crow’s-feet and age spots. They had a lovely ceremony. Great caterer. Even better scenery.”
    “Scenery?”
    The grin widened. “The bride has some remarkably attractive friends. One of whom is currently expecting the Silverback Alpha’s first cub.”
    Luc felt his eyes widen. “Graham bit it, too? With another mortal?” He shook his head and downed a gulp of his brandy. “What is this human world coming to?”
    “Mating season, apparently.”
    “Does that mean you’re feeling the call of the wild yourself?”
    Rafe shrugged. “We cats are more solitary than the Lupines, and the jaguar is more solitary