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GABRIEL
The homeless man's face changed, reverse aging until he looked about Gabriel's age.
"Aren't you going to ask how we know who you are, Gabriel Walsh?"
"There are too many possibilities, and it hardly matters how. You do. As for how you found me, it would be the camera at your office. When it detected a figure, it sent an alert and, presumably, an image, which you recognized. Then you were able to track me here. Being pixies, with the power to make people lost, I would assume you can also find them."
"Oh, but you are clever," said a voice behind Gabriel. "Just not clever enough to avoid that camera."
Gabriel turned. Behind him stood a young woman who was undeniably Christina Moore. She smiled, and her form seemed to ooze, features reconstituting into a dark-haired young woman. Another glamour. Which ought to be impossible. Most fae possessed a single one, which they could age up or down as they desired. None could impersonate another person. Yet clearly she had.
Gabriel said, "If I avoided the camera, you wouldn't be here, and I would have to hunt you down. This is easier."
The pixies laughed. There was, however, a thread of uncertainty woven through it. Not that Gabriel had any clue how to turn this situation to his favor. He just couldn't let them know that.
He took out his phone and checked it.
"Waiting for something?" the male pixie said.
"Nothing of import," he said, in a tone that suggested otherwise. "Now, I would like to discuss the matter of Christina Moore."
The female pixie feigned a yawn. "Dull. Let's talk about someone else. His name starts with a G. Not Gabriel, though. What was your mother even thinking, naming you after the opposing team?"
When he didn't reply, she prodded, "Gabriel's Hounds? It's another term for the Cw^n Annwn."
"I prefer to think she named me after the archangel, as befits my saintly disposition."
When they hesitated, Gabriel discreetly texted Patrick: Tips for dealing with pixies?
"What are you doing?" the male asked.
"Checking my stocks. I'm thinking I might want to drop any interests in Pigsie Industries. I hear they are about to suffer a setback."
Silence. Then the male snorted, "Oh, that's good. Clever Gwynn."
If Gabriel tensed at the name, the pixies failed to notice, and the female said, "One of our kind met you years ago. Or so she said. Gwynn ap Nudd, the greatest king the Tylwyth Teg have ever seen, reborn as a street boy seeking shelter in abandoned buildings. Others thought she was telling stories. I knew it was true--proof of how far the Tylwyth Teg had fallen. Their king, a dirty-faced boy rooting around in trash cans."
Gabriel could say he never ate from the garbage, but the truth was that he'd come closer than he cared to admit. Instead, he only shrugged. "Isn't that one of Gwynn's titles? The warrior with the blackened face? I was simply fulfilling my destiny. Now, about Christina--"
"Let's talk about Gwynn. Do you know who he is to the pixies?"
"Nothing, I presume, as you are not Tylwyth Teg."
The pixie blinked, as if he'd stolen her punch line.
"No," Gabriel said. "That's not entirely correct. I am something. I am useful. That's why you've waylaid me."
"We waylaid you to tell you to get out of our business, which is not Tylwyth Teg business. We want you to remember that."
"That's what you seek, then. A pardon from the king, for this and all future transgressions committed on his lands."
"This is not your land," the female spat.
"Of course it is. In asking me for diplomatic immunity, you acknowledge the territorial rights of the Tylwyth Teg as extending beyond Cainsville--"
"We didn't ask for diplomatic immunity."
"You've asked me to allow you to conduct your business on what is presumably Tylwyth Teg territory or you would not ask--"
