Silence followed his story, until Kaaiai brought his focus back to Margrit and smiled suddenly, grounding himself in something closer to her world. "That will do, as a password. And, no, it doesn't translate well on television. We're all equal in the camera's eye, it seems. Why?"

Adrenaline burned out, leaving Margrit sinking under a wave of exhaustion. "Nothing important." Even if Janx didn't know about Kaaiai's heritage, it seemed impossible that the selkie would trouble himself with a crimelord's people.

Unknotting that tangle would wait. Margrit drew in a deep breath and still couldn't raise her voice above a scratchy whisper. "Mr. Kaaiai, I have Cara's sealskin. If you know where she is, I've got to return it to her. I promised. I know she said she could survive without it, but that must be like being a bird with clipped flight feathers. Surviving isn't flying. Do you know where I can find her?"

Pleasure emanated from the selkie. "You're not curious as to why I think your acquaintance with Daisani might be useful? Just Cara? She's your only concern?

"She told me Deirdre would die without her sealskin. Maybe Cara's not that vulnerable, but I made her a promise and I haven't been able to keep it. So, yes, right now all that really matters to me is being able to return it." Embarrassing sentiment stung Margrit's nose and she looked away. Nerves prickled along her back as she heard one of the suite doors open.

"I told you," Cara Delaney said in a soft voice. "I told you she was one of the good ones."

"Cara!" Margrit jolted to her feet for the second time, this time rounding the end of the couch to skid across the carpet toward the petite selkie girl. She seized Cara's shoulders to hug her, then, appalled at her own rudeness, released her grip. Cara laughed, stepping forward for a gingerly embrace.

"I'm sorry,"Margrit blurted. "I didn't mean to manhandle you. But I was afraid you were dead, with your neighbors tearing your apartment apart and then you disappearing. Where did you go?" She released the other woman, giving her a scowl disrupted by delight.

"It's all right." Cara's dark eyes were full of pleasure. "I don't think anyone's ever been this glad to see me. A few of the others came just after you left, and took us away. I'm sorry if you were worried, but once we had Deirdre's skin we thought it was safer for us to disappear, so Daisani couldn't get to it again. You won the fight against him." Admiration lit her irises to amber. "Even without me you kept fighting for the building. Thank you, Margrit."

"The building wasn't about you at all." Margrit pulled her into another impulsive hug, surprised to find herself trembling with relief. "Daisani just got lucky with his workmen finding your skins, Cara. He was having a temper tantrum," she said, only considering how ill-advised the words were after she'd spoken. Damage done, she shrugged, glancing toward Kaaiai. "It turned out it was actually over the speakeasy down in the subways that you're offering security financing for. It used to belong to Daisani, and he was pissed off at Grace for giving it up to the public. She-"

"Grace," Kaaiai interrupted. "Grace O'Malley? They told me about her in the grant for financing. I can't understand why anyone would let themselves be saddled with a name like that. The real Grace O'Malley was a brigand and a murderer, not a hero."

Margrit crooked a smile. "Humans do that, Mr. Kaaiai. We make romantic heroes out of violent, awful people. Billy the Kid. Bonnie and Clyde. Captain Jack Sparrow," she added with a wink. "Anyway, the modern Grace is a sort of vigilante. Maybe she's trying to redeem the name."

"Vigilante implies violence," Kaaiai said with a note of disapproval. "I was given to understand she eschewed violence."

"I've met her. She says she doesn't kill people." Margrit shuddered and brushed her fingertips over her forehead, where Grace had once pressed the barrel of a gun. "I don't think she does. I think she just scares them. She's been trying to get kids off the streets for years, from the bottom up, literally. She's got areas staked out in the storm drains and tunnels under the city. One of them was under your building," she said to Cara. "Daisani was after it, not you."

"All of this," Cara murmured. "All of this because of a mistake?" She glanced toward Kaaiai, apology written in her eyes. "Maybe-"

"No," he said with gentle certainty. "No, Cara, you were right to come to me, and right to suggest what you have. I apologize, Ms. Knight, go ahead. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Margrit glanced between the selkies, curious, then offered a smile to the girl who'd been her client. "I don't have it with me, Cara, but your sealskin is safe at my apartment. Daisani gave it to me. I earned it," she corrected, watching Cara's eyes darken further. "I remember what you said about owing him, and I took the warning to heart, but I think it's too late for me."

"Not necessarily." Kaaiai stood, inserting himself back into the conversation physically as well as vocally. "If you're on our side, Ms. Knight-"

"Your side?" She shook her head, stepping away from Cara to face the broad selkie male. "I don't even know what sides there are. I'm not on anyone's side."

A memory of alabaster skin seared her, carved angles of a wide, beautiful face whose blue-tinged shadows would never know sunlight. Desire flared at the remembrance of a scent like sun-warmed stone and strands of heavy white hair flowing over her fingers. A tremor had caught them both as she'd brushed fingertips over the soft membrane of wings, a sensual, silken touch. She'd made her choice to stand beside Alban as his advocate, first when he'd asked for her help, and later when he'd rejected it. If there were sides to consider, Margrit already knew where she stood. "I'm not on anyone's side," she repeated without conviction,

"Cara tells me you've spoken with Janx. I know for myself you talk to Daisani. My official job here in New York has nothing to do with the Old Races, Ms. Knight, but having an attaché like yourself who can move between the two of them freely would allow me to accomplish some other business while I'm here. Unless you have a specific loyalty to one of them that could compromise your position as a negotiator?"

"A neg - Mr. Kaaiai." Margrit put all the firmness she could into his name. "I think you're overestimating my ability to influence anything in your world. I owe Janx two open-ended favors. Eliseo Daisani gave me a drink of his blood because I caught a bad guy for him, and he's trying to get me to work for him. At best I'm walking a high wire between those two. You want me to start running back and forth on it playing messenger?"

"What if I could turn that high wire into a platform?"

"Can you?" Margrit's voice was dubious. "I don't know what it would take, but I don't think a handful of selkies are going to be able to pull off that kind of trick. I've already had one misguided gargoyle try to rescue me, and all it's done is drag me deeper into the hole."

"Alban Korund." Kaaiai said the name thoughtfully. "I've got more experience at this sort of thing than he does, which probably doesn't reassure you."

"Not really. What?" Margrit asked, with a glance toward Cara. "You don't curl your lip and call him 'the outcast'?"

Kaaiai gave Cara a brief smile. "Young people are staunch in their prejudices."

"I've noticed old people are, too," Margrit said dryly. "It just seems a little weird to me that a people who've chosen exile for their whole race would call Alban's kettle black. I don't even get the idea that he broke one of your laws, just that he walled himself off from his people."

"To a gargoyle, there's not much worse. I think none of us can understand." Kaaiai indicated not only himself and Cara, but Margrit, with a small circular gesture. "None of us share the intimacy gargoyles do, with their ability to exchange memories and thoughts. Deliberately exiling ourselves from the Old Races was a choice we made as a community. It didn't leave us alone in the fashion that Alban Korund keeps himself. I think it would be like cutting away your hand, or your heart, to do what he's done."