Karl Nystrom’s skinny frame, stringy brown hair, and bony face glared back at me from a photo taken down in the LAPD’s processing center a couple of years ago. The man had been charged with violating a restraining order relating to his recently divorced ex-wife. Nystrom had called in his lawyer, beaten the charge, and got himself released the next day.
The man’s rap sheet didn’t concern me right now. But his vital statistics did.
He was five-foot-five and weighed a hundred and forty pounds.
I looked up at Hector. “No way this guy fired the murder weapon at a downward angle.”
“Mierda,” he muttered under his breath. “Well, if not Nystrom, then who fits the bill?”
The answer came out of my mouth before I stopped to consider it.
“Damon Harrison, that’s who.”
Hector took his hands from the keyboard, pushed back from the desk, and looked around the lab to make sure we were all alone before he answered.
“You mean Archer’s attack dog,” he said. “That’s…an interesting answer.”
“Harrison’s at least six feet tall,” My mind flashed back to the man’s demonstration of uncanny strength and dexterity when he’d smashed up my car. “You said that the shooter was strong. Specifically, forearm and grip strength. Believe me, he’s got that. In spades.”
“That’s enough to put him in the same category of suspects. And the fact that he’s not been seen around here since the day of Cohen’s death doesn’t look good either. I’ll give you those points.”
“But…” I prompted.
“But it’s still just speculation.”
A conflicted look crossed Hector’s face for a moment. He pulled his chair back up to the keyboard. With the press of a key, the images on screen vanished.
I frowned, and then threw him a look. “I guess we’re done here, then. I’m going to see if there’s anything new I can get off that cartridge casing.”
Hector didn’t respond. It felt like things had suddenly gotten awkward between us. I got up, ignoring the leathery squeak of the chair as I did so. I’d just reached for the door handle when he spoke up again.
“Dayna,” he said, not looking up from his work. “In this room, you know that everything’s muy en la onda. It’s cool, it stays between us. But outside…watch your back.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me with a solid-sounding click. I turned down the long corridor and made my way towards the main bank of elevators.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind me on the marble floor. I ignored them, as this corridor wasn’t exactly deserted. This new wing connected the OME to the LAPD’s ‘overflow’ offices, which they used while their newest building came online.
This time, the footsteps happened to belong to a pair of beefy officers in dress blue uniforms. I knew that because they shoved right by me together. This wasn’t a gentle nudge, either. I almost fell as their shoulders smacked into mine, one-two. I caught the stink of sweat under barely-there aftershave.
I barely recovered my balance as I looked up at them, more annoyed than anything else. The two stepped into the open elevator just ahead and turned around. Both men looked like they’d been kicked off the local hockey team for unnecessary roughness. And they both had ever-so-slightly smug expressions.
Feeling thoroughly discombobulated, I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Hey!” I objected. “What was that about?”
I moved to step onto the elevator.
The one on the left put his hand out and touched me on the collarbone with two wide, blunt fingers. His eyes had gone as flat and slate-hard as his voice.
“Elevator’s full.”
He gave me a push. It wasn’t gentle. It was menacing.
And it was enough to make me take a step or two back.
Wide-eyed, I watched as the elevator dinged and the doors closed with a rattle of metal on metal. I stood there for a moment in shock. I’d felt a stab of fear just then. It wasn’t from some psycho sitting outside, it was here, in the inner sanctum of my work space.
The feeling I’d had when I found Cohen’s remains on my kitchen table flashed through my mind. I stepped away from the elevators and leaned against the wall. It occurred to me that both Hector and Alanzo had told me the exact same thing.
Watch your back.
That didn’t sound like a bad idea right now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Upon waking in a fairytale fantasy world, most people would probably be overjoyed. Or disorientated, depending on how they got there. But definitely a mixture of wonderment, bewilderment, and a touch of fear and excitement.
Me? My first thought on waking up for the first time in my tower bedroom was: Oh my God it is cold in here.
Once again, my modern instincts had led me astray. The small fire I’d left smoldering in the hearth had gone out during the night, and there was no thermostat or central heating to kick in afterwards. On top of that, stone walls and creaky wooden shutters blocked most of the drafts, but they were rotten insulators. I couldn’t see my breath or anything, but my nose felt as if it had turned blue.
The ‘Dame’s Tower’, as my place was now dubbed, was four levels deep. The top level, directly under the castle battlements, was my well-furnished and heated office and living area. I’d had a stone staircase and bedroom furniture installed here, in the next level below. Trap doors and wooden ladders led to the bottom two rooms, which I hadn’t even gotten to cleaning out, let alone using.
The top floor had been a general-purpose meeting room. I had been told that the bottom two chambers had been used as an armory. But I was sure that the floor I’d chosen for a bedroom had been a storeroom for spices. As I pulled back the heavy covers and got up, the air around me carried the faint scent of pumpkin pie spice.
I rubbed my arms through my sleepwear to keep warm as I made my way over to the washbasin and makeshift restroom. I padded across the room, careful to keep my bare feet on the rugs and avoid touching the cold stone floor. While I did so, it occurred to me how absurd my room would look to an outsider.
Herald had found a badly nicked wooden bed frame slated for the trash heap or kitchen fires in yet another overlooked storeroom. To my eyes, the scrapes and dings were only cosmetic annoyances. The frame itself was an aerodynamically carved mass of wood that resembled a giant sleigh.
A double-thick wedge packed full of downy feathers made up the mattress. This, plus the rather loose network of ropes on the underside of the frame, gave the bed a surprising degree of softness. The resulting sensation was like sleeping atop a large bag of marshmallows.
Topping this mound of softness were a set of linen sheets and a comforter done up in creamy white and royal purple. Said comforter and all five pillows were adorned with my quarter-field sigil. All in all, my bed set looked remarkably regal.
By contrast, the wash basin was a pitcher of cold water and a shallow bowl on a plain wooden shelf. Toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, and some basic cosmetics stashed in a travel bag hung on a nearby hook. A few feet to one side sat a privacy screen and my now well-traveled chemical toilet.
In the space of twenty steps, I went from five-star bedding to backpacker-lite amenities. And if that didn’t sum up my experience in Andeluvia, nothing would. I used the facilities, brushed my teeth, and then threw open the one window the room had to the outside world. The greenery of the courtyard stretched out below. The spring had been some time coming, but the vegetation seemed to be making up for lost time.
I decided to throw on one of my sets of Andeluvian clothes. Since I was probably going to have to change outfits today, I selected a tunic, or floor-length sleeveless dress. The fabric was reasonably comfortable, and the sky-blue color contrasted nicely with the silvery ornamental fur trimmings that decorated the sleeve borders and neckline.
Both chest and back had been adorned with an embroidered version of my sigil. I considered the outfit in the polis
hed brass of my full length wall mirror. It looked nice, even if it did make me feel like I was wearing the uniform of a particularly unpopular sports team.
The door upstairs opened with a clunk. Next came the clop-clop of multiple hooves. The bass-heavy voice of the Court Wizard called out to me, followed by the lighter Gaelic voice of the Protector of the Forest.
Galen’s voice echoed down the stone stairs. “Perchance would you be awake, Dayna? And ‘decent’ by the standards of your world?”
“If so, join us!” Liam called in turn. “We’ve brought breakfast.”
“Breakfast sounds like an excellent idea,” I called back. “On my way.”
I slipped into a pair of canvas-backed walking shoes and made my way upstairs. A deep rumble like an idling truck greeted my ears as I did so. The cause was obvious once I made my way around the huge, clue-encrusted blackboard that dominated the back of the room. Shaw lay curled up like a giant cat, snoring away by the last glimmering embers in the upstairs hearth.
“The royal pages were nowhere to be found,” Galen explained, as he set out a huge tray on the room’s wooden table. “Therefore, I felt it prudent to take up serving duties myself.”
The tray held a small jug, two cups, three covered silver bowls and a chunk of dry-looking meat the size and shape of a football. The Wizard took the smallest bowl and removed the cover as he set it on the floor. Liam made a pleased sound as the wholesome scent of oatmeal rose from the vessel, and he promptly set his muzzle to it.
Galen divided the remaining two bowls between us, along with a pair of wrapped silverware bundles. I took a seat, lifted the cover, and was rewarded with the aroma of freshly seared ham steaks and scrambled eggs. With a feline snort, Shaw woke as the scent of the cooked meat wafted in his direction.
“Thy demesne has been breached by invaders bearing food,” he joked in a gruff voice. “I must see if the provisions extend to griffins.”
“You can always share my oatmeal,” Liam offered, with a sly smile. “I would sacrifice a portion for you, even though it is a favorite dish for we fayleene.”
Grimshaw shook his head. “Nay, nay. If thy oatmeal attracts fayleene, ‘tis not what a griffin should eat. Rather, oatmeal would be the bait to draw it in!”
“You’re in luck,” I quickly put in, before Liam could reply. “It looks like Galen brought a side of salted pork for you, Shaw.”
The Wizard nodded. “I felt it prudent to ensure our favorite drake does not get in undue trouble.” With that, he tossed the pork over to the griffin. Shaw caught it in midair with his beak. With a series of pleased-sounding growls, he began tearing off finger-sized salt-encrusted strips. To no one’s surprise, at that speed the drake finished his meal far more quickly than the rest of us.
Galen, Liam, and I ate at more relaxed pace. The eggs in my bowl were buttery-tasting, and the ham fork-tender. The jug contained what I’d now learned was the default table drink at the palace, the light, pale yellow wine called ‘summer crush’. About the only thing I was missing right now was a slice of buttered toast to round everything off.
“Liam and I have some information to relay to you,” Galen mentioned, after downing his eggs with a will. “After hearing the suggestion you passed on from Lady Richardson, the Protector and I have run tracing spells upon the crystals we recovered after the battle with Korr of the Seraphine.”
“Already?” I asked, surprised.
Liam looked up from his bowl and licked his muzzle clean before answering. “Given how unsettled the situation is in your world, we felt that we might not get a chance to do proper tracking anytime soon. But now we know.”
“Know what?”
“Alas, a multitude of spells have been cast involving the crystals we recovered,” Galen said. “We know that tracking will be difficult until we untangle the web of enchantments that lie upon this material.”
I considered that. “Do you think Archer, or whomever used these crystals, did this intentionally to throw you off track?”
The centaur shook his head gravely. “There are easier ways to do that. Rather, these crystals have been used consistently to boost the user’s magical power when casting.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Liam added. “I have more difficulty using my powers in your world.”
“This applies to me as well,” Galen said. “I have to put in a good deal more effort to achieve the same result.”
“Probably because my birth realm isn’t a magical one,” I groused. “Well, I’d say that the best we can do is try and untangle that ‘web’ you’re talking about. How long would that take?”
Liam and Galen shared a thoughtful look.
“It is rather difficult to pinpoint that with any degree of accuracy,” the Wizard sighed. “It could take weeks. Even months. We won’t know until we make the initial attempt.”
I sighed. “The fact is, we don’t have a better lead to work right now. If you two are willing, I say that we take this idea as far as it can go.”
“Then we shall do this,” Liam said firmly, and Galen nodded.
I had just finished sipping the last of my drink when a knock sounded at the door. After glancing at me for approval, Shaw got up and opened it.
A tall, thin woman with a permanently ‘nose-in-the-air’ expression strode through the door, followed by a familiar looking blond page. Lady Behnaz wore her customary black dress and moody, dark makeup. Percival bobbed along in her wake like a little blue sailboat.
“Lady Behnaz,” I said, as I stood, inclining my head slightly as I did so. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
She let out an amazed, caustic laugh. “I thought you would know, Dame Chrissie. Tomorrow morning is the start of the Spring Tournament. I am here to get you ready for the event.”
Hoo-boy.
Of course, Lady Behnaz wasn’t the problem here. She and I had started off as antagonists, and technically had to remain so in public. But I’d softened my attitude towards her in more recent times. She hadn’t steered me wrong yet in matters of either the Andeluvian court or my investiture. Grudgingly, I had to admit that I trusted her, even if some of her mannerisms set my teeth on edge.
I swallowed, hard. “I just thought that someone would call for me when the time came.”
She brushed my objection aside with a flippant gesture.
“Nonsense! There are customs that must be followed, Dame Chrissie. The Lord of the Pursuivant knew that I have served in this capacity before, thus I am the ideal person to guide you here.”
“Wait a minute.” I was beginning to sound somewhat desperate. “What ‘customs’ are you talking about?”
“Surely you recall that you have paid a special levy to become the Primrose Lady of Spring Beauty,” Behnaz said breathlessly. “It is quite an honor, and it makes us more like sisters than ever.”
Sisters? This was getting better by the minute.
Lady Behnaz clapped her hands. Percival stepped back and opened the door. Three more of the royal pages appeared. They carried in a representation of the female torso on a carved wooden post. Hanging on this torso was a dress of sorts.
“Behold!” she announced, with a flourish. “The ceremonial gown of the Pink Lady!”
Galen, Liam, and Shaw stared in surprise.
Me? I stared in growing horror.
The servants had brought in a bodice gown with a plunging neckline that would expose the entire upper half of my breasts. Puffy, flesh-colored sleeves billowed out fairylike on either side, and three-inch long frills dangled from the cuffs. A fur-and-fringe lined train draped from the shoulders. The thing trailed along the floor behind the gown for seven or eight feet like a remnant of hallway carpet someone had picked up from a five-and-dime store.
It went without saying that even the fur and fringe on the train had been dyed bright pink. In fact, every square inch of the outfit came with at least one shade of pink I associated with baby showers, attic insulation, or calamine lotion.
And the best part? Someone had sewed and embroidered little pink fabric or bead primroses all over the damned thing. Just looking at it made my skin start to crawl and itch.
Lady Behnaz must have noticed my shocked expression.
“It looks much better ‘on’,” she said encouragingly.
“It looks better ‘on’?” I asked. “On what? On fire?”
She let out a long-suffering sigh.
“As always, Dame Chrissie, you present the most marvelous challenges! Regardless of your opinion of the dress, it need not become a permanent member of your wardrobe. Rather, it is only for one day. And we must get you ready. Prior to dressing you, there is a ceremonial bath. I have already made arrangements to set up a tub of specially scented hot water in your private necessarium, just down the hall.”
“Well, I can’t object to that, at least. I’ll go get my robe and take care of it myself–”
“You shall do no such thing!” Lady Behnaz ordered. “This is a ceremonial bath. Luckily, there were several royal attendants who were eager to help scrub you down and attend to your every need.”
“Royal attendants?” I gulped. “Who are you talking about?”
In answer, the four pages proudly held up long-handled bath brushes.
“I was the first to volunteer!” Percival announced, beaming with pride. “And I asked all my friends to help. Would you believe that they actually fought for the honor of washing your bare body for the ceremony?”
So now it was an ‘honor’ to be my bath attendant. Seeing me nude was just a bonus, I guess.
Just my rotten luck.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Up until now, my three friends had sat off to one side, their expressions carefully neutral.
“Oh, my,” Galen murmured, as he anxiously tapped his fingertips together. “Oh my, indeed.”
“Perhaps we had better leave,” Liam whispered, though his eyes danced with laughter.
Shaw didn’t say anything. He tried to avert his eyes, but an errant snicker escaped his beak, even as he clamped it shut with a one of his lion’s paws.
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