Dead and Gone

voice belonged to Diantha, part-demon niece of the half-demon lawyer Mr. Cataliades. “Diantha, you scared me so bad I almost jumped out of my skin.”
    Diantha was laughing silently, her lean, flat body bobbing up and down. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, and she was wearing red Lycra running shorts and a black-and-green patterned T-shirt. Red Converses with yellow socks completed her ensemble. She had a new scar, a long red puckered one that ran down her left calf.
    “Explosion,” she said when she saw I was looking at it. Diantha had changed her hair color, too; it was a gleaming platinum. But the scar was bad enough to recapture my attention.
    “You okay?” I asked. It was easy to adopt a terse style when you were talking to Diantha, whose conversation was like reading a telegram.
    “Better,” she said, looking down at the scar herself. Then her strange green eyes met mine. “My uncle sent me.” This was the prelude to the message she had come to deliver, I understood, because she said it so slowly and distinctly.
    “What does your uncle want to tell me?” I was still on my stomach, propped on my elbows. My breathing was back to normal.
    “He says the fairies are moving around in this world. He says to be careful. He says they’ll take you if they can, and they’ll hurt you.” Diantha blinked at me.
    “Why?” I asked, all my pleasure in the sun evaporating as if it had never been. I felt cold. I cast a nervous glance around the yard.
    “Your great-grandfather has many enemies,” Diantha said slowly and carefully.
    “Diantha, do you know why he has so many enemies?” That was a question I couldn’t ask my great-grandfather himself, or at least I hadn’t worked up the courage to do so.
    Diantha looked at me quizzically. “They’re on one side; he’s on the other,” she said as if I were slow. “Theygotyergrandfather.”
    “They . . . these other fairies killed my grandfather Fintan?”
    She nodded vigorously. “Hedidn’ttellya,” she said.
    “Niall? He just said his son had died.”
    Diantha broke into a hoot of shrill laughter. “Youcouldsay- that,” she said, and doubled over, still laughing. “Choppedinta pieces!” She slapped me on the arm in her excess of amusement. I winced.
    “Sorry,” she said. “Sorrysorrysorry.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Just give me a minute.” I rubbed the arm vigorously to restore the feeling. How did you protect yourself if marauding fairies were after you?
    “Who exactly am I supposed to be scared of?” I asked.
    “Breandan,” she said. “Itmeanssomething; Iforgot.”
    “Oh. What does ‘Niall’ mean?” Easily sidetracked, that was me.
    “Cloud,” Diantha said. “All Niall’s people got sky names.”
    “Okay. So Breandan is after me. Who is he?”
    Diantha blinked. This was a very long conversation for her. “Your great-grandfather’s enemy,” she explained carefully, as if I were very dense. “The only other fairy prince.”
    “Why did Mr. Cataliades send you?”
    “Didyerbest,” she said in one breath. Her unblinking bright eyes latched onto mine, and she nodded and very gently patted my hand.
    I had done my best to get everyone out of the Pyramid alive. But it hadn’t worked. It was kind of gratifying to know that the lawyer appreciated my efforts. I’d spent a week being angry at myself because I hadn’t uncovered the whole bombing plot more quickly. If I’d paid more attention, hadn’t let myself get so distracted by the other stuff going on around me . . .
    “Also, yercheck’llcome.”
    “Oh, good!” I could feel myself brighten, despite the worry caused by the rest of Diantha’s message. “Did you bring a letter for me, or anything like that?” I asked, hoping for a little more enlightenment.
    Diantha shook her head, and the gelled spikes of her bright platinum hair trembled all over her head, making her look like an agitated porcupine. “Uncle has to stay neutral,” she said clearly. “Nopapernophonecallsnoemails. That’s why he sent me.”
    Cataliades had really stuck his neck out for me. No, he’d stuck Diantha’s neck out. “What if they capture you, Diantha?” I said.
    She shrugged a bony shoulder. “Godownfightin’,” she said. Her face grew sad. Though I can’t read demon minds in the same way I can read human ones, any fool could tell Diantha was thinking about her sister, Gladiola, who had died from the sweep of a vampire’s sword. But after a second, Diantha looked