Free Blade Dance (A Cold Iron Novel Book 4) by D.L. McDermott Page A

politics, the surly secretary showing Ann her displeasure.
    Today was not yesterday, the world was not rational, and Ann had knowingly crossed the threshold into the dangerous world of the Fae, had even bargained with one of their number. Stupid, stupid, stupid, because she had let them into her one safe place. The classroom had always been her haven, where she felt safest, where she had learned to control her emotions and her anger, where there were no men to mock her. If she did not feel safe here, she would never feel safe anywhere again.
    The lights in the hall went out. Ann whirled around. The corridor was empty, the late afternoon sun slanting through the high windows and throwing shadows on the linoleum.
    Breathing hard, she tried to persuade herself that the principal’s office had just closed shop early, that the lights were on timers, that everything was normal, but suddenly she did not want to be alone in the echoing halls of the school.
    She would ask Margaret Colby for a ride home. That was sensible.
    Margaret’s classroom was locked. So was Mr. Pensey’s. And the nurse’s office. Lights off and doors closed at half past three in the afternoon. The same was true upstairs: the third grade rooms and library were all dark and locked.
    That was not normal. It was possible that the administrative offices might close early, but for every teacher to be gone before four . . . No. It had never happened in the two years Ann had worked there. The school was a hive of activity in the late afternoon. There were papers to grade and lessons to plan and concerts and art shows to organize.
    At least a few of those darkened rooms had to be occupied.
    There was only one conclusion possible: her colleagues had observed her altercation with Nancy McTeer, and they had turned their back on Ann to avoid the displeasure of the Fae.
    Ann was on her own.
    She didn’t know what to do next. She could call the police, but she wasn’t certain what to tell them. She’d had a confrontation with a parent, but that was par for the course with teachers in this neighborhood. It hadn’t come to blows. Nancy McTeer had threatened her, but not with anything specific.
    There was a little boy missing, but she wasn’t his parent, and the child’s mother wasn’t going to cooperate with the police; that much was certain.
    The person to call was Finn, but she realized with a start that she didn’t know how to reach him. They hadn’t exactly exchanged phone numbers, but she suspected he knew how to reach her any time he liked. She wondered if such creatures actually owned cell phones. Then she recalled the stainless steel kitchen and the thoroughly renovated house and decided that for the most part Finn MacUmhaill lived very much in the present.
    She returned to her classroom and searched for his name online. She came up with nothing. No phone number, at least. She tried Boston’s city tax records and came up blank again. She’d gotten the distinct impression that he owned at least two houses and the bar, not to mention other property in Charlestown, but real estate could be held in trust to keep ownership private, and that went along with the unlisted number. He could keep his utilities under a business or trust name.
    If she only knew the names of one of his businesses . . . but, of course, she did. Sully’s. The dive bar where his construction crew had sent her. She searched for the number, found it, and dialed.
    “May I speak to Finn?” she asked.
    “We’ve got at least three Finns in here at the moment, doll. Which one do you want?”
    “Finn MacUmhaill,” she said evenly.
    “Never heard of him.” The line went dead.
    Great.
    From her classroom window, Ann could see the doorway where Nancy McTeer had lurked. It was empty now, and yet Ann still didn’t want to walk home alone.
    She called her best friend, Elizabeth, who worked just on the other side of Charlestown at the Constitution Museum.
    “I just had a fight with a