Since the Fae queen had a profound connection to the Fae power nestled deep in the earth, I was certain her estimate of mere months was correct. And considering we’d been gone more than a month of those “mere months,” I was grateful Ryodan had thrown himself into the issue of the black holes with the same intense focus he turned on everything.

In our absence he’d befriended Dancer, or rather commandeered the young genius to report to him daily about the progress being made at Trinity College, where a crew of thirty of the finest minds Dancer and Caoimhe had been able to gather struggled with theoretical physics and music theory, in an effort to fathom our problem and define the essence of the Song of Making.

“Ryodan’s been spending hours a day with them,” said Enyo, the tough, young French-Lebanese sidhe-seer who’d stepped up to the plate at the abbey in Jada’s absence. She’d banged in the door of the bookstore about one minute after Jada and I arrived, as I’d been on my way upstairs to peel off my jeans and change into something sans guts, blood, and gray matter. Sighing, I’d gone right back down, and now sat in the middle of the wrecked bookstore, listening as Enyo brought us up to date. “Absorbing their theories, posing challenging questions, pushing their minds even further outside the box. Dancer’s opinion of Ryodan has certainly changed.”

Ryodan had also turned the focus of his meticulous gaze, Enyo told us, to the other side of the city, dispatching men to the abbey where they labored day and night displacing rubble in hopes of uncovering and salvaging as much of the abbey’s libraries as possible. The sidhe-seers searched whatever tomes were found, seeking useful Fae lore. He’d dispatched RVs and tour buses to the heavily damaged fortress, to afford temporary living quarters.

He’d also done the unthinkable: Chester’s was closed for business. The sleek, modern chrome and glass-walled dance floors of the biggest postwall nightclub in Dublin had gone as dark as the king’s boudoir. Nobody was partying on his watch, when the Earth was in imminent danger of extinction. The streets of New Dublin were patrolled day and night by dozens of troops of the Guardians, an order that had grown enormously in our absence, attracting men and women from all over the world as the influx of immigrants to the city continued unabated. Enyo informed us they were under new leadership, as Inspector Jayne had mysteriously disappeared and was presumed dead.

I received the news of the good inspector’s death with sorrow. I’d liked Jayne. He’d toed a hard line from day one, but it had been a necessary line, guided by a good heart. I glanced at Jada to see how she was taking the news. She locked gazes with me and shook her head minutely. Tell you later, she mouthed when Enyo wasn’t looking.

Each and every black hole on Ryodan’s map, Enyo told us, had been secured, not merely by orange ropes cordoning them off, but heavily armed guards, in our country as well as those in England, Scotland, Germany, France, Spain, Poland, Romania, Greece, Morocco, and Norway. Fortunately, there weren’t nearly as many in other countries as there were in Ireland.

I was amused to hear Ryodan had begun publishing a daily paper, Ryodan’s World News, a fact that chafed Jada enormously. When Enyo handed her Ryodan’s paper, she was even more rankled to find it well-written and informative.

“People rush out to get it every morning,” Enyo told her. “They pass it around like the latest YouTube video gone viral.”

Jada’s scowl deepened and I knew what she was thinking: The Dani Daily had been midlist at best, but Ryodan’s paper was a number one bestseller. She was only mildly mollified when I pointed out that becoming well-known in the media was probably Ryodan’s worst nightmare, without going into detail in front of Enyo about the whys.

Immortals survived eternity by hiding themselves, staying well out of the media, yet Ryodan had known that the world needed a strong, well-spoken leader to follow in times of pending catastrophe, and decided he was the only one that fit the bill.

Yep. King again.

I wondered how many other centuries and countries he’d taken over in times of crisis, and if he understood how lucky he was that Cyberspace was currently down. Like every other nine-day wonder, once we saved our world he might be able to melt quietly into the background without having to tolerate a Facebook fan page devoted to him, where people eagerly posted reports and photos of the latest Ryodan sighting. I couldn’t think of much else that would piss him off more. Well, I could think of a few things.

According to Enyo, Ryodan had mysteriously leveraged the leaders of the black market to provide free food and supplies to all the Guardians and armed guards throughout multiple countries, as well as taken over WeCare’s meeting houses, turning them into free soup kitchens, feeding anyone who came in hungry, turning no one away.

“He did not,” Jada snapped, sitting up straighter. “Sorry, Enyo, I was willing to go along with you right up until that one. Ryodan doesn’t give a bloody damn about the fate of the human race, and he would never divert his resources to feeding them.”

“It sure looks like he cares to me,” Enyo said hotly. “I’ve seen him out there in action, personally keeping tabs on every inch of this city and all its operations. I’m beginning to think the man never sleeps.”

I could assure Jada he didn’t. But I wasn’t about to.

She screwed up her face in a look of such utter disgust that for a moment all I could see was young Dani again, and I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“Oh, why don’t you just bloody saint the man, then?” she growled. “Ryodan this, Ryodan that. Ryodan’s World News, my ass. Doesn’t he know you need a catchy title? A little alliteration, a lilt to roll along the lips?”

“Either that or just the latest news,” I said without thinking, then absorbed the look on Jada’s face and added hastily, “Not that yours wasn’t. It was. I loved your papers. They were endlessly entertaining and informative. The Dani Daily rocked, and that one Jada Journal I saw—”

“Oh, stow it, Mac,” she snapped. “His idiotic paper is…” She glanced down at it irritably, where it lay smoothed out on her lap. “Good,” she allowed tightly. “He reports the news in a calm, objective manner that instills confidence that someone knows what’s going on, and inspires hope. He has his finger on world events—not just what’s happening in Dublin like I did—and his frigging bullet points at the end of it, with lists of things for people to do each day, focuses them on tasks that keep them too busy to panic.” She sighed and muttered, “Fucker.”