Frostbound tdf-4

by Sharon Ashwood

  “What’s going on?” a male voice shouted.

  “Nothing,” Lore said in a flat tone.

  Nothing? Her anger wasn’t nothing. She shifted her grip on the bat, wanting to smack the superior look off his face. “I’m so done with the bondage games. C’mon, by now you must know I’m not the killer.”

  He made a disgusted noise. “The wards were for your protection, in case someone came looking for you.” Eyes narrowed, he poked at the spot where the door handle had punched into the drywall. “I guess that wasn’t necessary.”

  “Damned straight,” she shot back, lingering anger making her surly. I trusted you. I cried on you, and you locked me up again.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” the voice yelled again, but this time there was amusement in the tone.

  “Yes!” Lore snapped.

  “Oookaaayy, I’ll take your word for it.” The voice dissolved into a chuckle. “Next time try a dating service. It’s safer.”

  Talia’s cheeks burned with outrage. What the hell?

  With a grumpy expression, Lore made a gesture and said something under his breath. The crackle of electricity stopped. The spell or ward or whatever it was fell away.

  Lore stood aside. “You can put the bat down. You’re free to go, if that’s what you want.”

  “Seriously?”

  His dark eyes flicked away, as if he was embarrassed. “You’re innocent.”

  Talia dropped the bat and hurriedly pulled her boots back on while he stood watching like a grim sentinel. Relief warred with awkwardness. She’d been psyched up for a good ass-kicking, and now nothing. She was mentally stumbling, all revved up with nowhere to go.

  How does he know I’m innocent? Did it matter? She pushed past his solid bulk, suddenly feeling like the bedroom walls were closing in. He could change his mind. This whole thing might be a trick.

  An urge to run warred with curiosity. What had Lore found out?

  Talia nearly collided with a woman taking off a gorgeous black-and-white tweed coat. The woman looked up, and that made Talia slow for a microsecond. Werecougar , she thought instantly, looking at the bone structure of her face. The creatures were rarely seen south of the Yukon, but they were unforgettable. Her skin was the dusky tone of café au lait, her posture that of a runway model.

  “Nice coat,” Talia said, not sure what to do next. Instinct said to dive for the door, but she was curious. Who was this? Why was she here?

  “It’s a Burberry,” the cougar returned, and Talia recognized the smooth voice.

  “You’re Errata Jones!” Talia looked from Errata to Lore.

  “And you’re Talia Rostova.” Errata hooked the Burberry on a coat tree that was crammed with wet outerwear. Lore had several guests. Of course he did—whoever had been teasing him before was male.

  These strangers know who I am! Talia realized with shock. So much for keeping me safe!

  “Don’t look so worried.” Errata fixed Talia with intense hazel eyes. “Lore knows what he’s doing.”

  I’ll bet! Talia rounded on him, but something stopped her before she could vent her feelings. He looked exhausted and unhappy and more than a little apologetic. The urge to scream at him withered as it reached her throat.

  Oh, God, it’s the puppy-dog eyes. Or Stockholm syndrome.

  Errata leaned close, murmuring into Talia’s ear, “He likes you, you know. I can tell.”

  Talia stared at her, both curious and aghast. Lore was narrowing his eyes at them both.

  A sly smile played on Errata’s mouth. “Loyalty. Agility. You could do worse than a guy who can catch a Frisbee in his teeth. Just think what else he can do without using his hands.” The werecougar shrugged, keeping her voice so quiet only Talia could hear her. “Not that he doesn’t need work but, hey, he comes when he’s called.”

  Talia stepped back, stunned by an irrational urge to defend Lore. She drew a breath to protest, but then the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen emerged from the kitchen holding a plastic bag of blood.

  The man held up the bag, pointing to the tiny writing stamped on the bag. He looked from Lore to Errata. “Did you look at the expiry date on this? You could kill somebody with this stuff.”

  Errata gave a delicate snort. “Oh, come on, Joe. You’re three parts vampire and one part hellbeast. It’s going to take more than funky blood to do you in.”

  Talia stiffened, her Hunter sense on alert. This guy was a volkodlak, Turned by a curse that made him immortal and very hard to kill.

  “This is Joe,” Lore said, sounding irritable. “Ignore him.”

  In response, Joe gave her a smile that did funny things to her stomach. He was too pretty for words—a dimpled chin, blade-straight nose, cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds. There were no fangs to spoil the sensual curve of his lips—she knew those only came out for feeding.

  Talia gave herself a mental shake, woozy from too much hot guy. She had to say something to break through his charm, so she focused on the blood. “I wouldn’t drink that, if I were you. It tastes like a garburator bled to death.”

  With a sigh, Joe vanished back into the kitchen. She heard a thwack as he dumped the bag in the sink. “Then let’s get this show on the road. I have to take over the bar at nine thirty.”

  “You’re a bartender?” she asked in surprise.

  “Bar owner.” He gave her another smile that should have carried a warning from the surgeon general. “I own the Empire Hotel.”

  Oh, God. This guy was in the hospitality industry? His species were ravening killers—weren’t they?

  Lore gave Joe a grumpy look. “Time to sit down.”

  Joe winked at Talia and headed for the living room, following Errata. Lore put a hand on the small of Talia’s back, guiding her. Still annoyed at being locked up, she pulled away.

  He dropped his hand, but leaned over to whisper, “I get it. You can look after yourself.”

  Talia was about to deliver a scathing retort—she’d think of one any second now—when she realized there was another person in the living room. He was watching the news on the TV without the sound, and clicked it off as they walked in. He was handsome in a boyish way, brown-haired and green-eyed.

  Talia experienced a shock of recognition. “I know you. You work at the university.”

  He offered a hand. “Perry Baker. Comp Sci.”

  She took it. He had a nice handshake, firm but not a bone-crusher. Warm, but with a different energy than Lore’s touch. Werewolf.

  “Talia Rostova. English Lit. Distance Ed, mostly.”

  “Perhaps we met at a faculty party?”

  “No. It was the day they had all the nonhuman faculty in for orientation.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. The don’t-eat-thestudents speech.”

  Perry laughed, but it had a nervous edge. She was glad he was there. Werewolf or not, another professor represented something from the university, the one place she had a right to belong.

  Talia took a quick scan of the room. The view was nearly the same as from her living room, though several floors down. The main difference was the big, comfortable furniture that marked it as a man’s domain. No bobblehead poodle dogs here. Just a hellhound, a werewolf, and a vampire/werebeast cross. Oh, and a werecougar. What is this? Wild Kingdom?

  By now everyone else was sitting: Joe and Errata on the couch, Lore in an armchair, and Perry on the rug in front of the fire. It was a subtle demonstration of the social position of the three males. Lore had a chair to himself, Perry had none—but he didn’t seem worried about it. They’d tactfully left an armchair for her.

  An instant of fright passed through her. She wasn’t used to dealing with so many new people anymore. On the run, she’d learned to isolate herself. Instinct made an outcast cautious—the straggler from the herd was vulnerable—and here she was faced with a roomful of lions and wolves.

  Taking a breath, she sat and got straight to the point. “So what’s up? How come you think I’m innocent all of
a sudden?”

  Perry spoke up. “First, you didn’t actually have time to kill your cousin, hide the murder weapon, and change into clothes that weren’t covered in blood.”

  Talia gave him a startled look. “How do you know that?”

  “I hacked into the traffic cameras. You drove home minutes before Lore found you.” The werewolf gave a self-satisfied smile. “Yes, I’m that good.”

  Sudden relief flooded her. Someone believes me. It wasn’t the answer to all her problems, but it mattered. It meant that she wasn’t absolutely alone as she had been a moment ago.

  Perry’s eyes turned serious. “I also don’t think you’re a necromancer.”

  All heads were turned to the werewolf, intent in a manner that was decidedly not human.

  “A what?” Talia knew that a necromancer was a sorcerer that summoned the dead. It just wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.

  “Lore told me about the crime scene. There was a Latin word and a symbol drawn in blood. It suggested a spell.”

  A vague dizziness came over Talia, and she leaned back in the overstuffed armchair, grateful for its big-boned, manly man support. “A spell? You mean someone killed Michelle to work magic? That makes no sense.”

  Perry nodded. “It actually does. Once I knew what I was looking for, references to such spells weren’t hard to find. They bind the power of death to the spell they want to work. It’s considered by those in the craft to be a forbidden practice, but since when have rules stopped anybody from doing evil?”

  “But why?” Talia shook her head. “If the murder was for something like that, why Michelle of all people? She wasn’t involved in the supernatural.” Except for me. I was her one link.

  Lore took a deep breath. “I met someone last night who had a theory that her death was connected to the arson at the clinic.”

  Talia listened to his deep voice, her mind scrambling to make sense as he described first the fire, and then his encounter with three rogue vampires in the Empire bar.

  “I remember them,” Joe said. “A pitcher of draft brown ale, three glasses. Paid cash. They didn’t cause any trouble, but they sure looked like it.”

  “This Darak guy talked to Michelle’s spirit?” Talia said incredulously.

  “A few vampires have such power,” Joe replied. “It’s rare, but sometimes the old ones can see the dead.”

  The thought horrified her. “Then Michelle’s spirit . . .”

  “The spirits don’t stay earthbound once the spell has consumed the energy released in their death,” Perry said in a comforting voice. “She’s gone. You don’t have to worry about her.”

  Talia nodded gratefully, forcing down another wave of grief. She couldn’t fold now. Not in public. Not when she was getting solid information. Justice comes first, grief later.

  “Is it possible that you have a personal connection with the attacker?” Lore asked, looking at her closely.

  Talia answered honestly. “I know of a few vampires who did some sorcery, including my sire, but I don’t know of anyone who does necromancy.”

  “Few would admit to it,” said Perry. “Forbidden spells, remember?”

  Talia bit her thumbnail. “Do necromancers ever kill vampires? I keep thinking it was me who was meant to die. But wouldn’t most people be able to tell the difference between a human and a vampire? Michelle looked like me, but a sorcerer should know she was alive, right?”

  Perry looked at her curiously. “I doubt you were the target. By all accounts, humans work best for a death spell. What I want to know is why someone burned the clinic and constituency office—and why use such a labor-intensive method? What’s the point? It’s not going to stop the election.”

  “But think of the effect it has,” said Joe. “It’s showy and scary. It’s going to bring the queen running to find out who the hell is on her turf.”

  “I asked Caravelli to tell Queen Omara to delay her trip.” Lore shifted irritably in his chair. “It didn’t work. He called tonight. She’s coming as soon as she can. The only saving grace is the snow. The airport is closed.”

  “But that means Caravelli can’t come home, either,” Joe added.

  Lore rubbed his eyes, as if tired. “We’re on our own, and we have until the weather breaks to solve this.”

  Errata had sat silently through most of the exchange, but now she stirred. “If what we’ve guessed is true, the necromancer is one of Queen Omara’s enemies. Unfortunately, that’s a rather long list.”

  Joe turned to Lore. “I’m coming in late to this party. Is that why you asked us here? To play were-detective?”

  “Yes,” Lore said simply. “I asked you because you’ve been around the longest. You’ve seen more than any of the rest of us.”

  Joe shrugged. “Glad to know I’m good for something besides mixing appletinis, but aren’t there human police working the murder case?”

  “And what good are they going to be against a necromancer?” Lore replied.

  “Good point.” Joe fell silent, musing for a moment. “I was a soldier. Cutting off a head isn’t easy. Whoever did it had to be strong.”

  Perry got to his feet, pacing over to the window. Talia could see him in front of his classroom, pointer in hand. “With this kind of a spell, the necromancer him- or herself has to do the killing. Because of the enormous amount of time it takes to build the right skills for this kind of magic, I don’t think we’re looking for a human.” He turned to face them. “Sorcerers are usually immortals, or at least long-lived.”

  “You’re not immortal,” Errata returned.

  “Yeah, but I’m a genius. Not a fair comparison.”

  Lore shook his head. “A vampire would traditionally use a sword for a beheading. It didn’t look like a sword wound. That’s the one detail that doesn’t make sense.”

  Talia clamped her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to keep the image of Michelle’s corpse out of her mind. At the same time, the logical part of her brain scrambled to put the facts together. “What about an immortal who for some reason couldn’t use a sword properly?”

  Lore gave her a sharp glance. “What are you thinking?”

  She got to her feet, her stomach roiling with tension. She’d figured it out, but she needed a few minutes to decide what telling the truth would mean. “I think I need some air.”

  “It’s freezing cold outside,” said Errata. “Take my coat.”

  Talia headed for the door.

  Lore jumped up. “What if someone sees you? We know you’re innocent. The police don’t.”

  “I’ll take the back stairs and stay out of sight.”

  She heard Errata’s voice, low and urgent. “Let her go.”

  Talia hesitated before grabbing the Burberry. If she took it, she’d be obligated to bring it back, and every instinct screamed to run. She grabbed an old, ratty jacket instead. It hung to her knees and looked like Lore had worn it while rebuilding a diesel engine.

  She banged out the door and into the airless twilight of the sixth-floor hallway.

  I am in so much trouble.

  Chapter 17

  Outside the fire door at the building’s back entrance, the parking lot was a glittering snowscape. Talia stood in the tiny clearing someone had shoveled so the door could swing open. Beyond was a knee-high drift that stretched across the lot to the street. Rows of snowcovered cars made the landscape look like an inverted egg carton.

  She knew it had been snowing, but this was way more than she’d expected. Back in her hometown, winters had been worse than this, but they’d worked up to it. A body had time to brace itself. This had come on freakishly fast.

  She flashed back to the big hill behind her childhood home. Kids knew how to play even when adults were mired in life-and-death problems. She and her brother, Max, had found a big refrigerator box and used it for a toboggan, sliding down the hill over and over until every last bit of their clothes was soaked. There had been a snowball fight after that, one bunch of neighborhood k
ids against another. They’d known everyone in the area. They were all pretty much related, anyway. Cousins of cousins.

  Her mom had been the odd one out. Whatever had made her marry Dad? Why had he, the ultimate Hunter, picked a wife outside the tribe?

  Opposites attract?

  But not forever. Her father had all but crushed the life out of her mom—not with his fists, but with the hard edge of his will. Why had he wanted to kill the radiance in her that moved his heart? Because loving someone makes you vulnerable. Weakness is never the Hunter way.

  More to the point, why had it taken her mother so long to leave? She had to have stayed for Talia and Max, toughing it out as long as she had. She left just after Talia had gone away to school. Too bad cancer had killed her a year after she’d found freedom.

  The men had blamed Talia. If she hadn’t escaped to university, the family would have stayed together. That had been the weapon they’d used to drag her back home: guilt.

  They made me feel like a monster even before I was Turned. Most of the time that made her angry, but sometimes she believed those old accusations. You’re selfish. You insist on having your own way. Then everything gets worse.

  The facts could be twisted to fit that theory. She’d left for school and lost her mother. Escaped to Fairview and lost Michelle. Tried to break up with her fiancé and lost everything—right down to her life.

  Talia took a step forward. Her high-heeled boots skidded on the frosty ground. There’d been enough of a melt during the day to coat the sidewalk with ice, and then another fall of snow to hide it. She caught her balance, holding her arms out like airplane wings. Cold stabbed at her toes. Clearly, Jimmy Choo knock offs weren’t designed for Arctic exploration.

  She heard the rattle of the door behind her, then Lore’s voice. “You’re going to break something before you make it to the street.”

  “Can’t you give a girl a moment to think?” Her words drifted up on sudden puffs of steam, surprising her. She needed to breathe only when she talked.

  He was silent for a moment. “Wouldn’t you think better where it’s warm?”