“I’m sorry, Fort, but I can’t think of a single one.” Her scrubbing slowed, and she looked over at me uncertainly. “What do you have that’s leading you to the Neighbors? Was there a glamour on something? Did Suzume smell a Neighbor?”
“Neither,” I admitted. “But the karhu’s family thinks that the Ad-hene were involved.”
Now she snorted, and some of her anxiety momentarily receded, replaced by the protectiveness that I’d seen her display toward many of the Neighbors her own age and younger. “Well, I’m sorry, Fort, but I think they’re looking for honey in the wrong tree. Believe me when I say that we have more than enough internal issues keeping everyone busy.”
I paused, considered, but I had to ask it. “How were the fanatics killed?”
“We let the women do it, the ones who were their victims.” Now she looked me straight in the eyes, almost daring me to question her. “They wanted to, and it was pretty hard to argue that they didn’t have a right.”
“Did Iris participate?”
She nodded silently, her face pale enough that her scattering of freckles showed against her face in sharp relief, but she didn’t back down.
There was another long pause while I tried to weigh what to say next. “Lilah, murders are supposed to be reported to the Scotts. Why haven’t we been told about these?”
Lilah shook her head with enough force that small drops of water flicked off her damp hair. “We don’t have to report murders, Fort. We just have to report a death if we want it investigated.” Her mouth twisted. “I was in charge, and I didn’t need anything investigated. All of those who died were Neighbors, so we weren’t poaching any of Madeline Scott’s humans. We destroyed the bodies in Dr. Leamaro’s old incinerator and no one is going to call the police, so there’s nothing that the Scotts would worry about.”
“You were glad it was me instead of Prudence, Lilah.” I pointed out. “You knew that my family wouldn’t be thrilled to hear about this.”
“Madeline Scott wants stable communities, Fort. Solid vassals who pay their tithes and don’t cause trouble.” She laughed a little, with a harsh cynicism that she hadn’t shown when I’d met her a month ago, before she had known what some of the Neighbors were capable of. “We’re keeping the tithes flowing, but we are really far from stable right now.” Lilah was pensive as she looked at me. “It was a good thing it was you, Fort,” she agreed.
“Are you going to be okay, Lilah?” I’d made her the Scott liaison to the Ad-hene to keep her safe from their retribution, and I’d encouraged her to try to reorganize the power structure because I’d known that she had a desire to protect Neighbors who had been abused under the old status quo, but I had the very stark realization that she was in a potentially very dangerous position now—largely thanks to me.
Lilah didn’t bother to pretend not to understand what I meant, but she shook her head. “Don’t worry about me, Fort. I’m riding the tiger right now, but they know that they need me.” At my questioning look, she smiled just a little, an expression that reminded me that she might’ve looked more human than her sister, but half her DNA belonged to a species that had driven itself right to the edge of extinction because its members had thought killing one another was fun. “They all know that I helped you when you were trying to find out who killed Gage, and you were the one who made me the Scott liaison to the Ad-hene. So no one is going to do anything to me, since they’ll want me to be the one to contact you later on.”
“Later on?”
“There’s been talk. The treaty with Madeline was negotiated by the Ad-hene, with their interests in mind. There are a lot of people who want to negotiate a new treaty, one that’s with the Neighbors instead.” The nervousness and guilt were completely wiped from her face, and now she leaned forward, looking every bit the political operative that usually graced my mother’s dinner parties.
“I’m not sure that my mother—”
“Not with Madeline, Fort. With you.”
And looking into her eyes, I realized that the Neighbors knew that my mother was dying.
Her voice dropped, and I recognized my friend again. “Those who were truly loyal and devoted are dead, and the Ad-hene themselves are safely in Underhill. Nothing will happen until your mother is . . . gone, and there’s a new opportunity for change, and for the things we want. We’re all waiting, Fort, and I can’t think of a single Neighbor who would jeopardize the situation by killing one of the bears.”
“Tell me what the Neighbors want,” I said.
“You’re my friend, Fort. I’m trusting you not to tell this to your family. You know what would happen if they learned what was going on.” There was a stubbornness on her face, but I tried one last time.
“The metsän kunigas are what my mother told me to look into, and that’s all I’m looking into for her. But tell me what the rest of the Neighbors want.”
She shook her head firmly. “No, Fort. I told you what you needed to know—that you have to look somewhere else for your killer—and I trusted you with a lot. But we’re still in discussions about the other thing, and I won’t talk to you about it until we’re decided.”
I watched her closely. I knew that she meant everything she said, and I knew that she’d told me a few things that would’ve had my sister arguing for her death. But I also knew that Lilah had never had a poker face. “This thing,” I said quietly. “You agree with it, don’t you.”
It hadn’t really been a question, but her face gave me my answer anyway. She picked up a small dish towel and wiped her hands, then folded it precisely and set it back down. “Tell Suze that I said hello,” she said, and I knew the conversation was over.
* * *
Back in my car, I checked my phone, which I’d turned off when I’d gone to talk with Lilah. There were two missed calls, both from numbers that I didn’t recognize. I returned the first, and found myself speaking to the extremely polite Catherine Celik, at the Celik Funeral Home, and being told what the ghouls had found when they had examined the body closely.
“The blow to the back of the head was the first strike,” Catherine informed me. “It had enough force behind it to fracture the skull, and without quick medical attention, the bleeding into his brain would probably have been fatal on its own. It also knocked him unconscious.”
“There were a lot of stab wounds in his chest,” I noted. “It looked like there must’ve been a fight.”
“No defensive wounds on his hands or arms to suggest that,” Catherine said. “The state medical examiner is one of ours, and she was kind enough to come in last night after her shift was over and perform a full examination, so this is the same level of information that the police would be given.”
It was clear that she’d felt insulted, and I hurried to smooth it over. “I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t know what you were looking at,” I said, even though I suppose I had been, a bit. “I guess I was just confused about why so many wounds.”
“Seventeen,” she said, her voice sounding slightly less frosty as she apparently accepted the apology. “All in the chest. Even disregarding the head trauma, he would’ve been long dead halfway through.”
“This is sounding a bit personal,” I noted. “Was the examiner able to find anything new about the attacker?”
There was the rustling of papers. “Ah—well, from the angle of the wounds, the attacker was probably straddling the body when the stabbing began, so no ideas about the height. She was able to determine that the weapon was steel, straight edged and ground along both sides, and eight inches long.”
I rubbed my face. “So, probably the missing kitchen knife?”
“It does sound a bit like my best vegetable chopping knife,” she conceded. She might’ve said vegetables, but given what I’d observed of Dan’s dietary requirements, I was betting that her chopping knife was used on a lot of meat as well. I shuddered a little. I’d made the mistake only once of talking to Dan while he was cooking—and there had been no disguising the
organ meat he used.
Catherine Celik’s calm and precise voice, clearly honed from years of being a funeral director, cut into my thoughts. “Mr. Scott, will you have any further need of the body? The Kivela family would like to know if they can schedule the funeral.”
I hesitated, then asked, “When will the funeral be held?”
“Not for at least two days, possibly more. I know they’ll need to schedule a long wake to accommodate the out-of-town metsän kunigas who need to travel.”
“Okay, tell them they can schedule it. But, please, Ms. Celik, could you put off doing anything to the body for as long as possible? Just in case I need something else from it.” I was fumbling in the dark here, and I wished heartily that someone was with me who could help out. Unwillingly, my thoughts turned to Matt McMahon, former cop, private eye, and the man who had been my surrogate uncle and the last remaining link to my foster parents until a month ago when he’d received a very sudden initiation into the world that most humans lived their entire lives blissfully unaware of. We hadn’t spoken since, and I pushed the thought of him away.
“Of course, sir. I will inform the family that the body will not be ready until the day of the funeral, and that we will instead set up a closed and empty casket for use during the wake.”
“That might not make them too happy,” I observed, imagining Gil Kivela’s reaction, “but I appreciate it, Ms. Celik.”
“It is a pleasure to assist the Scotts in this delicate matter, sir,” she said smoothly, and we exchanged good-byes.
The second call was a bit stranger. It was from the witch’s assistant, explaining that Rosamund was on vacation and out of the country. Apparently Rosamund had designated a substitute for any calls from the Scott family, but at that point in the conversation the assistant started sounding weaselly.
“Rosamund said to pass you along to Esmé Adams, who lives in Vermont, but . . . well, I heard that you were investigating this yourself. . . .”
The subtextual hinting was pretty heavy. “Yes . . . ?” I prompted cautiously.
“Well, I have another number. . . . Valentine Sassoon lives in-state, and . . .” If the witch on the phone had been in front of me, I would’ve had to suppress the urge to strangle her during all of these charged pauses. “He’s really interested in meeting you,” the assistant finally concluded.
Given the way that my morning with Lilah had started, I really didn’t want to deal with any more undercurrents in conversations, but I sighed and gave in, saying, “Why don’t you give me both numbers, then?”
The assistant was almost overcome with her eagerness to read Valentine Sassoon’s number out to me, but then she started verbally backtracking, apparently finally realizing that she hadn’t exactly been subtle. I agreed three times not to mention the private recommendation to Rosamund, assuming I ever met her, and finally got off the phone.
I pondered the situation for a moment, then called Suze. I gave her an edited version of my conversation with Lilah—I wasn’t sure exactly how much of the inner workings of the Neighbors’ problems she would be okay with me telling Suze (and, by extension, telling the kitsune in general), so I kept that part as bare bones as possible, saying only that the Ad-hene weren’t exactly equipped to carry knives right now, and mostly focusing on filling her in on what the ghouls’ autopsy had shown and my sudden surfeit of witch phone numbers.
“Call the one the assistant recommended,” she said immediately.
“Why, do you know him?” I asked.
“Never even heard of him, but I’m curious. Usually assistants who change a boss’s recommendation have a good reason.”
“Fine, I’ll call.”
“Come pick me up,” she insisted. “I’m missing all the fun.”
“And whose fault is that?” I asked. She made a very rude noise and hung up, which I took as an acknowledgment of my point.
I turned the Fiesta on and headed over to Suze’s, dialing as I went. Fortunately Rhode Island didn’t require hands-free sets yet, and since I was over the magical age of eighteen, the state assumed that I could multitask maturely. I slowed down anyway. There might not be laws against it, but the police took fairly dim views toward people driving while talking on their phones, and they had been known to hand out speeding tickets to people going thirty in a twenty-five miles per hour zone just to make their feelings about phone use known.
Another assistant answered the call, and I was immediately assured that Dr. Sassoon had left clear instructions, and that I was to come over at any time I wanted. I pulled a pen out of the glove compartment and, probably pushing multitasking just a bit too far, held the phone with my shoulder while I wrote the address the assistant rattled off to me down on my hand. Once I had it, I ended the call, stuck the pen back in its holder, tossed my phone into the passenger seat, and shifted gears. In New England, the speed limit is for when you’re doing something you shouldn’t be or when it’s snowing. At all other times the flow of traffic demands at least fifteen mph faster than the posted signs.
* * *
“Sorry, I really don’t have any plans to accept Jesus as my personal savior.” Suzume stood in her doorway and gave me an extremely amused look.
“Ha, ha,” I deadpanned as I hung up my jacket. Normally I would’ve just had her run out to the car and hit the road, but the cereal I’d eaten for breakfast this morning was already long gone, and I needed a pit stop.
While I made a beeline for Suzume’s fridge and the Hot Pockets that I knew she kept stashed, her focus never left my attire. “Am I expected to dress to match, Fort?” she asked. “I’m not sure my wardrobe is equipped for that level of blah.”
I pulled open her freezer. Jackpot—four-cheese pizza in microwavable sandwich form. She had two packages, and I pulled them both out for myself, then snagged one of the Philly steak ones for her.
“It’s barely eleven, Fort,” Suze noted.
“Then if you get hungry in the middle of interviewing this witch, don’t blame me.”
She considered that, then conceded the point. “Fine, cook them up. Better throw in a few more, though.” There was the distinctive clicking sound of claws against tile, and I looked over to see two small, inquisitive fox kit faces peeping out of the cracked bathroom door—one gray and one red. Apparently Yui and Riko were visiting. Suze didn’t look at the fox kits, but she did raise her voice very pointedly. “But if anyone violates their time-out, they’re going to see me feed their lunch to the crows.” There was a flurry of scampering noises and the kits disappeared back into the bathroom.
“They’re not coming with us to Sassoon’s office, Suze,” I said flatly. My mind filled with images of how much destruction kits could wreck in a doctor’s office. Frankly, just bringing Suze along was risking menace to property.
“Since you have not kit-proofed the Fiesta, I would say not.” She gave a snort that clearly outlined her feelings about that.
“Suze, I’ve got to go talk with this witch. If you’re babysitting, I’ve got to go on my own.”
“What, without me?” Suzume sounded hurt, and she gave me a full dose of big sad eyes. I wished that I were less vulnerable to big sad eyes. “I’m just watching the kits for half an hour. Tomomi woke up with an earache, and Yuzumi had to take her to the pediatrician. It’s not going to take long, and then she’ll be back for the others and we can head out.”
I pulled open a Hot Pocket package with unnecessary force, feeling irritated. Somehow it felt less than professional to have the murder investigation sidelined by babysitting. “Doesn’t your grandmother usually watch them?”
“Wednesdays she’s got her senior swim group down at the Y.” She raised her eyebrows at my expression. “What? It’s important for the elderly to stay active. Besides, Sassoon’s receptionist told you that you could come over whenever. Let’s test that theory a little.”
“Fine,” I groused, though I knew that I’d been beaten even before I’d shown up, “but this had better not take long
.” I put the first plate of Hot Pockets into the microwave and hit the reheat button. “By the way, I’m still single, not that you asked.” The smell of melted cheese filled the apartment, and I pulled my plate out as soon as the microwave gave its little dinging noise. Plate in hand, I turned, and was suddenly brought up short by Suzume, who had come right up behind me, well inside my personal space, and had waited patiently for me. I froze automatically as she placed her hands very deliberately on my shoulders, leaned in close, and took a deep sniff of my face and chest.
She quirked an eyebrow at me, her expression unreadable. “Not even a hug from Lilah? Interesting.” Then she stepped back and busied herself by pulling out more freezer food for the kits.
If I hadn’t had anything else on my schedule, watching the kits wouldn’t have been a half-bad way to spend time. Once Suze released them from their time-out in the bathroom, they were energetic little bundles of fur and teeth. My willingness to continually throw a small, spit-soaked rubber ball down the hallway for them apparently endeared me greatly to their foxy hearts, and then I was given the very important job of distributing tummy rubs, and finally the kits collapsed on the end of the sofa for their naps.
My clothing was a bit worse for wear (Riko really liked nibbling at my shirttail), and I was wiping kit saliva off my shoes with a paper towel when Suze asked, in completely conversational tones, “So, what did Lilah tell you that you aren’t telling me?”
“What?”
“Seriously, Fort. I might not have caught a scent of anything but bear at the scene, but one conversation with Lilah and you’re basically crossing the elves off the suspect list. Spill the beans.”
I paused and considered her. I thought back over my conversation with Lilah, and how much she’d emphasized that a lot of the information she’d told me was potentially dangerous to her if it got back to my mother. “How much of what you see when we’re working do you report to your grandmother?” I asked. Atsuko Hollis, after all, was Madeline’s closest ally.
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