My attention fell to the painting’s victim. Shadows danced over her face, but you could still see the blood. Blood that looked fresh. As if it had just been added. There was something about the new blood that drew me a step closer, my brow furrowed, my mind straining to figure out why it looked so—
Handprints. On the fallen woman’s face were freshly painted, bloody handprints.
He’d added burns to the woman’s face, burns that matched mine.
As soon as I saw that, I noticed the woman’s long dark hair, her pale skin and curvy form.
It was me.
My brain zeroed in on the painting with laser focus now. In the background on the right, a herd of eager children rushed toward the crowd of smiling sidhe on the left. The sidhe held their arms open, waiting for the children to rush into their embrace. The theme of the painting was clear. Simon, the hero, stood with his foot on the vanquished enemy, the witch who fought to keep children from the sidhe who would welcome them into new homes.
I could feel everyone staring at me, but I ignored them. I petted Majesty, concentrating on the feel of his soft, downy fur under my fingertips as I shifted my attention to the next painting.
The second painting featured Andy at the lake. The sight of my partner’s face staring at me from Simon’s painting turned my stomach. I remembered that night all too well, and Simon had gotten some of the details right. The dead kelpie floating in the lake. Andy’s gun bared to the moonlight.
Only in this painting, Andy hadn’t walked away from that fight. Instead Andy lay on the sand, his stomach open in a red ruin, his blood smearing the mouth of the remaining kelpies as they feasted on his organs. Revenge for their fallen brother. The breath left my body, and I stared into Andy’s eyes. Simon was good. It looked real.
I was going to throw up. It was too real, too easy for me to imagine. And the blood. I could smell the blood. Hysteria bubbled up inside me as I realized it wasn’t my imagination. Simon had used blood in these paintings. Not pure blood this time, it didn’t smell like a battlefield in here. But he’d mixed enough blood with the red paint for the scent of copper to add to my nightmare.
“He’s so inspired,” Alicia said, genuine admiration in her voice. “Is that his own blood?”
“It is,” Marilyn confirmed. “Simon is a big believer in art as an extension of himself. He understands the importance of sacrifice.”
I stared at the face of my corpse in the first painting. This was the one Shannon had refused to buy, the one Simon had shown the stranger. But it was here. Which meant the stranger hadn’t bought it. But he had been the one who sent Simon here, to Marilyn. Back to the Otherworld.
Peasblossom seemed to read my mind. “But if he’d forgotten about the Otherworld before the stranger sicced Marilyn on him, then how did he paint that?” she whispered.
Simon stood to the side of both paintings, his chest puffed out with pride. His arrogance faltered when I moved closer, flowing into the space in front of him like the shadow of a disapproving parent.
Whatever expression I had on my face unnerved him. He took a quick step back, one arm twitching up as if to defend himself. My gaze locked on his bracelet. I remembered what Arianne had said about it. Had someone sent him a vision, inspired him through dream manipulation?
Marilyn didn’t move, but she turned to more fully face me, blue eyes gleaming, ready to defend her protege. Vazkasi slipped in front of Catherine, a wary look crossing his bestial features, and Devanos stood beside him. Alicia patted Catherine’s shoulder.
“You tried to sell that painting of me to Shannon.”
Simon looked like he wouldn’t answer, but then he took another look at me and the scowl on his face faltered. “So?”
I grabbed his arm. Majesty’s tail lashed against my chest as I shifted his weight to my other arm, but he remained calm. “You called someone after she rejected it. Who was he?”
“Mother Renard,” Marilyn said sharply.
I ignored her. “Where did you get this bracelet?”
Simon jerked his arm away, hard enough he almost pulled me off balance. “I don’t have to tell you that. Mind your own business, witch.”
Everyone was staring at me, and in some corner of my mind, I was aware that I was sliding past the point of “beware the witch, she’s crazy enough to kill you” into “the witch has gone mad, nothing for it but to put her down.”
But I couldn’t back away. I couldn’t stop the theft, couldn’t save anyone from being cursed. But I could find out who had dragged Simon back into this world. I could make someone pay for that.
“Mother Renard!” Marilyn pushed Simon behind her. Her blue eyes glowed with a faint blue light. Her eyes hadn’t turned to crystals yet, but she was hovering on the edge. If I didn’t back down now, I was going to find out what Marilyn’s special skill was.
“If you can’t control yourself, then—”
A gasp behind me made me whirl around, my magic already snapping at my fingertips, my throat thick with a breath of magic. Majesty tensed, tiny ears pricking forward, his energy growing warmer beneath his skin. Peasblossom kept her attention on the crowd, ready to alert me if someone moved to take advantage of my distraction. Only Scath remained calm. Too calm.
Morgan stood in the doorway. She was pushing a cart laden with refreshments, but she’d frozen in place. The blood had drained from her still-blue face, and her eyes had gone solid black, without even a hint of white at the corners. She stared at Scath’s human form as though she’d seen a ghost.
And not the friendly Casper kind.
Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to speak or scream, but something about the sheer intensity of emotion radiating off of her tripped my fight-or-flight instinct. Adrenaline poured into my bloodstream, and Majesty let out a skin-crawling sound between a meow and a whine.
“Morgan, what on earth is wrong with you?” Marilyn gestured at the cart. “Serve our guests.”
Morgan still couldn’t seem to tear her gaze off of Scath and it took her two tries to speak. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat and gave the cart a shove to get it moving.
I looked at Scath. The sidhe watched Morgan, and something in her expression made my blood run cold. Nothing malicious or evil, per se. Just an emptiness. An emptiness that felt soul deep, a stark contrast to the obvious distress that had seized every inch of Morgan’s body.
As Morgan approached, I stepped closer to her, lowering my voice. “What’s wrong?”
She stared at me with a look so intense I almost leaned back. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you, but… Shade, be careful. Please be careful.” She started to say more, then stopped. After a second, she shook her head. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about. Something I need to show you. Down by the beach.”
“Yes, take Mother Renard for a walk,” Marilyn said coolly. “Perhaps the night air will help clear her head.”
I glared at Marilyn, then turned my attention back to Morgan. “What is it?”
“It’s better if I show you.” Morgan dropped her voice even lower, so I could barely hear her. “It’s about Andy.”
The urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until an explanation fell out was strong. So strong, I had to curl my hands into fists to stop myself. It didn’t help that she’d called him Andy. Not Andrew, not Agent Bradford. She hadn’t earned that familiarity.
I closed my eyes, trusting Peasblossom and Scath to keep an eye out for me, and concentrated on my other senses. I felt the mark Peasblossom had put on Catherine’s knife pulsing at the edge of my awareness. I’d be able to find it, even if it was stolen. The range wasn’t long, but I’d know if someone tried to take it off the property while I was otherwise occupied. And in the back of my mind, I felt the other pieces like a steady hum. They were on the property too.
“Oh, Catherine. You truly are a very talented young lady.”
Marilyn’s voice made me open my eyes. There was somethin
g in her tone, something…smug. I followed her gaze to the cart Morgan had brought out—and froze.
Four bowls, four chalices, and four knives lay on the cart next to a bottle of wine and a bowl of fruit. Each of the items was crafted from gold, and featured runes—a perfect match for the missing artifacts.
I stared at Marilyn. “You can’t be serious.”
Marilyn grinned, amusement twinkling in her blue eyes. “Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket, Mother Renard. It’s just a harmless little joke. Devanos wanted me to see how talented Catherine was, and this seemed like a fun way to show off.”
“Forgery for fun instead of profit?” I asked, staring at Alicia.
Alicia narrowed her eyes. “There’s no need to be rude. You weren’t supposed to be here at all, so I’d say if you’re offended, it’s your own fault.”
I stared at the cart, flexing my magic even though I suspected it wouldn’t do me any good. None of the items on the tray had my marks on them. These weren’t the items I’d found at Alicia’s. They probably were fake, but that wasn’t the point.
I glanced up at Catherine. I didn’t believe this had been a little joke, a fun way to show off her skills. Someone was getting ready to make a switch. I’d bet my favorite coffee mug that someone was going to unwittingly use the real artifacts tonight. I just didn’t know who.
“If you’re going down to the beach, I think I’d like to join you,” Catherine said suddenly, looking at Morgan. “If that’s all right?”
“That’s a great idea,” Simon joined in. He approached Catherine and held out his arm. “May I escort you?”
Morgan’s attention flicked back and forth among the party attendants, but then she turned to me. “I suppose the more the merrier?”
“Fine.” I spun to face the door. “Show me.”
Vazkasi stayed with us as we made our way out of the house toward the beach, but he walked a proper distance behind Simon and Catherine. Not so close as to interfere with their private conversation, but not so far that he couldn’t stop an attack. Maybe he was the reason Devanos felt safe letting Catherine wander about with Simon. Though it still seemed strange the protective father wasn’t joining us.
My pulse skipped a beat as another thought occurred to me. The dragon was very fond of Simon. What if they were working together? What if they were luring Catherine away from her father’s protection so they could steal the knife? I’d warned him they were both suspects, but he must not have believed me if he was leaving his daughter alone with them.
“I heard about Andy and the kelpies at the pier,” Morgan said quietly.
Her soft words jerked my attention back to her. Marilyn’s expansive green lawn was immaculate, without so much as a clump of dirt to trip me, but I almost fell over anyway. “He could have died,” I said shortly.
Morgan sighed. “He’s a strong man, and very passionate. You must realize you can’t keep him from trying his best to protect his people. The best you can do with a man like that is make sure he’s prepared.”
“You can’t prepare a human to go after Otherworlders,” I snapped. “He’ll only get himself killed.”
I knew I was lying. And judging by the look on Morgan’s face, she knew it too. The fact of the matter was, humans were incredibly resilient. And I knew of at least two human monster hunters that were very good at their job.
“I don’t want him to get hurt,” I said finally.
“You can’t stop that from happening,” Morgan said sadly. “He’s a defender, and they always get hurt. But you can help put off his death. Starting with this.”
I followed Morgan’s gesture, and my heart stopped. We’d reached the beach, and she’d turned to face the wall of the short rocky bluff that stood between Marilyn’s lawn and the beach. There was blood on the rocks, smeared to spell out a message.
Andrew Bradford. 1975-2020.
Chapter 24
“Shade?” Peasblossom whispered.
I stared at the blood, my pulse thundering in my ears as I shuffled forward like a New Year’s Eve champagne victim, one hand outstretched. Magic rolled down my arm, lashed out at the cliff face as if it could change the writing on the stone. Vincent’s forensics spell tasted the blood, then spit out its findings as a pale smoky form. A human male.
“It might not be Andy’s,” Peasblossom said, staring at the blood.
Scath stepped forward, her nostrils flaring. She wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t smell like him.” She hesitated, then glanced at me. “But we’re at the water’s edge. Sea air makes tracking blood more difficult.”
I filed away the useless piece of information as I fumbled my phone out of the side pocket of my waist pouch. I thumbed over the screen to get to my recent calls. Andy was always in my recent calls. I pressed down harder on his name than I needed to, then stared at the screen as his name flashed, waiting for him answer.
Voicemail.
“When was that written?” I asked Morgan. Andy’s electronic voice echoed in my ear, and I jabbed the end call button.
“I just noticed it tonight. My time trying to earn back Marilyn’s good favor has been rather…stressful. I often come out here to walk and clear my head.”
“Where’s Catherine?” Peasblossom asked suddenly.
I looked up from the death grip I had on my phone. My magic was up, rising steadily with every surge of emotion, along with the general tension of being somewhere people wanted me dead. At some point Majesty had crawled onto my shoulder, but I hadn’t noticed, and Peasblossom hadn’t complained.
My brain fought to think about too many things at once. The death threat against Andy painted on the rocks. My inability to get ahold of him, and what that might mean. I’d gotten distracted, let myself be diverted by things I cared about. I’d forgotten my orders. What I was here to do.
My attention landed on the houseboat where the kelpies had stayed when they’d come for the auction. I pointed at it. “Morgan, is anyone staying on the houseboat?” I asked.
“No, not at the moment. It’s a guest room for the sea-preferring guests, and there’s nothing—”
I ran down the pier. That was the beauty of wearing flat boots with plain rubber soles, I could run without twisting an ankle, and there were no spiky heels to catch between the rough wooden planks. Scath kept pace beside me, and it was interesting to note that despite her equally practical shoes, she wasn’t as graceful in human form as she was in feline form. If the annoyance on her face was any indication, she’d be in her other form before the night’s end.
We boarded the boat, and the first thing I heard was a breathless giggle. I stopped short, the sound easily recognizable, even for someone who hadn’t made it in a very long time.
“They’re kissing, aren’t they?” Peasblossom said, her tone dripping with disapproval.
I turned the corner and found Vazkasi sitting on a couch that was much too small for him, right outside what I assumed was a bedroom door. The dragon huffed out an irritated breath, and smoke curled out of his nostrils.
“Bit awkward, yes?” I suggested, sounding more winded than I would like.
More black smoke curled away from his face. “Kids.”
I glanced toward the door, grudgingly listening to make sure the sounds of youthful passion didn’t turn to shock and panic. “You left her alone with him.”
Vazkasi narrowed his gold eyes. “You misjudge Simon. He would not hurt the girl.”
“Why are you so certain of that?” I was genuinely curious about the dragon’s affection for Simon, but I also needed to stay focused on the case. I needed it to be personal if it was going to compete for my attention over the possible danger to my partner. “Simon is so…angry.”
The dragon frowned. “No, he isn’t. He is one of the happiest young men I have ever known. It is only around you, Mother Renard, that his spirit grows dark. Why is that?”
I pressed my lips together, resenting the fact that I was once again being asked to explain why Simon was better off fa
r away from the sidhe. “Did you know about the auctions?”
“Yes.”
I gritted my teeth. “You had no problem with them.”
The dragon shrugged. “The children that were taken were not stolen from comfy beds. They were taken from one dangerous life and put into another one. In both cases, it was necessary to fight for survival. One battle was fought while Simon was uncertain of where he would get his next meal, where he would sleep when the sun set. And the other was fought between large meals and nights spent in a warm bed.” He shrugged.
“Simon is unstable,” I said quietly.
“Simon would rather live for a week at the top than spend a lifetime at the bottom,” Vazkasi answered. “It is his choice, and it is not a mark against his sanity.”
Tears of frustration burned behind my eyes, and I blinked them away. When this whole mess was over, I’d deal with my feelings about Simon. I’d deal with how it felt to leave him to the life he’d chosen.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “I can’t save him from the choice he’s made. If the people who care for him won’t help, then I don’t have a chance.” I took a deep breath. “I’ve done everything I can to make sure he understands the situation, the risks. I can’t save him from himself.”
“No, you can’t,” Simon interjected.
I glanced at the doorway to find Simon standing there, looking a little more rumpled. His eyes were brighter, and his cocky smirk turned my stomach. Catherine appeared behind him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.
I felt for my tracking spell, confirming that the knife was still here. I couldn’t feel its exact placement, though, and Simon and Catherine were standing very close together.
Catherine seemed to read my expression. She stepped in front of Simon and lifted her skirt just enough to flash me the knife. “Still there. Happy?”
“Want to see my lance too?” Simon taunted, dropping his hand to the zipper of his pants.
Betrayal Page 29