“I didn’t think shifters were good with glamour.” The hierarchy at the table had decided their nature for me before I’d heard their casual use of the word pack. “That’s impressive control.”
“Native supernaturals tend to struggle with magic they aren’t born with, and fae power tends to be strongest when it’s purest, but I don’t have those problems.” She didn’t elaborate, and I had no clue if that meant she was an earthborn fae or a native supernatural or what. “Besides, don’t you know it’s rude to ask a person what they are?”
The others chuckled as if they hadn’t cornered me to ask that very thing a day earlier.
Carter had no trouble getting around, but he knew the facility well and had a card that granted him carte blanche to the facility. Others would need a workaround to get that kind of access. Or a gift that helped finesse locks.
Again I pondered Troya’s destination. Had she gone to confront Carter as I feared? If so, how had she gained access? Orderlies would be given cards keyed to doors within their dorm, rooms that fit the parameters of their duties. No way would someone trust Troya—or any normal orderly—with access to a basement suite of apartments with a handy exit to the gardens.
A flash of movement caught my eye, Troya dumping her tray and taking position against the wall, the better to glare at me.
“She don’t like you much,” Advika stated the obvious.
“Aww.” I mimed wiping a tear. “You mean we won’t be making friendship bracelets in group later?”
The others chuckled, but Betty didn’t crack a smile. “Be careful of that one. She bites.”
“So I’ve heard,” I mumbled.
“A warning is all the protection I can offer you there.” She drank her milk and opened her palm as Advika offered hers up too. “Troya and I have an agreement. That special-snowflake access we talked about? She’s our main supplier. From pills to extra toilet paper. She gets in where she’s not supposed to be and back out without getting busted. Plus, she has zero conscience. Both are things I admire in a woman.”
Meaning she had access to get in and out of patient rooms, which I already knew, and the support of a woman willing to sacrifice her people in the name of creating diversions to cover those covert activities. Troya was untouchable, I realized. There was no help to be found in that regard. Not here at this table.
A sinking feeling drained the blood from my face in a cool rush. Troya had the access to kill those men, and she had a singing lure, one that had ensnared Carter once. Match that to the proprietary way she viewed those she fed upon—I doubted hers were willing victims—and it plugged in a neon guilty sign that flashed over her head, complete with cartoon arrow.
“You think she did it, don’t you?” Betty mused, eyes on my carton of milk.
I should have chugged it when she made a grab for Advika’s. Or at the very least twisted off the lid and licked the opening.
The challenge in her stare warned me to tread lightly. “You think she wouldn’t?”
“Hell yes, she would.” She cackled, head thrown back in mirth. “Do me a solid. Since you’ve got big ears, let me know if the chatter swings her way. I need to know if there’s going to be a kink in the supply, so I can stock up.”
“I’ll let you know what I hear.” Carter was hardly impartial when it came to Troya, but he was all the sounding board I had, that I trusted.
The trash cans rolled out, signaling the end of breakfast, and we all formed a line to empty our trays. I spent the walk back to my room pondering Troya’s possible motives. As much as I wanted to point the finger at her, I came up empty-handed. The final nail in the coffin of that line of inquiry was how much blood had gone to waste at the first scene. The MO was all wrong for a glaistig. Yes, Troya had proven herself temperamental. I had no doubt she would lash out and leave scars. But to waste a food source already in tight supply?
One crime of passion, okay. We all let our anger get the better of us. Particularly where guys were concerned. But two?
Either Troya wasn’t the killer, or Carter’s flirtations with me had pushed her over the edge.
Chapter 10
Yoga, it seemed, was not for the faint of heart. Not when the instructor was a dryad, and I was pretty sure also part rubber tree. Between that and group, I’d had a full day and was ready to climb in bed so I could crawl out once Carter arrived after the final bed check. Tonight I planned on sharing a much safer means of visitation with him, one that required the trust he had earned and made use of his knack for careful planning.
The relief that had buoyed me all day gave way to cautious optimism for the night ahead, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face and a dream of fountains in my heart.
The snick of a lock disengaging woke me hours later, and I popped up in bed like a bagel in the toaster, swinging my legs off the edge and bracing my feet on the floor.
No Carter strutted in and cast me a wink or teased me for being jumpy.
No eerie song indicated the killer was on the prowl.
On alert, I rose at the same time Troya slid into my room, wedging her slipper in the door to keep it from closing. The conversation I’d had with Betty earlier sparked through my brain, the possibility I shared a room with the killer a sharp sting to my nerves. “What do you want?”
“The same as you.” She bared her teeth, canines flashing. “I want Lam.”
Lam. That’s what she called him. She had fed my jealousy, and I had spooned it up when they weren’t even on a first-name basis.
I edged toward the bathroom and the safety of the door I could slam shut between us. “You can’t have him.”
“His scent is embedded in your skin.” Her eyes gleamed red in the low light. “What does he see in you?”
“You’d have to ask him that.” As much as I hated tossing Carter to the proverbial wolves—or was that a goat?—he could handle himself. Their magics would level the playing field while I had nothing but my wits, and those were nothing to brag about. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the deaths in M dorm.” Telling Betty had caused the information to spread like wild faefire. A scare tactic no doubt. “Is it safe for you to make the rounds alone?”
“Don’t act like you care.” She folded her arms over her chest. “The victims have been male. I’m not a man. Ask Carter. He can vouch for how much of a woman I really am.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from pointing out she was half goat, so not exactly one hundred percent woman. But then I remembered the choice she had made to be admitted in her glamour and kept my mouth shut.
I had once pretended to be something I wasn’t too, but now I owned it. I would never be a real mermaid, just a magically augmented one. I had made my peace with that. It was the reason I was here, in my own skin, seeing how the world of man operated. I hoped one day that Troya was comfortable enough with her nature to embrace it too.
A howling note whirred down the hall, and the hairs on my arms lifted. The two-part harmony was half wolf song and half anguish, and I looked at Troya as she looked at me. “You heard that too, right?”
Eyes as round as sand dollars, she dropped her aggressive posture. “What the hell is that?”
“That would be the killer you weren’t worried about because of your extreme womanliness.”
We watched as the door pushed open a fraction, as if buffeted by winds we couldn’t feel. Troya slammed her shoulder against it, but it still bucked. I ran over and lent my strength to keeping whatever it was out there.
“Do you see anything?” The hall was as black as pitch to my weaker human sight.
“Nothing,” she grunted. “Something is clouding the window.”
The creature outside raised her voice in a fervent wail that almost buckled my knees. “Any idea what we’re up against?” I had to scream to be heard over the noise. “Bright ideas for keeping our hearts in our chests?”
“A bean sidhe?” she called back.
“Don’t those announce deaths?” As opposed to caus
ing them.
“I don’t know.” Fear pounded in her words. “I’m not an expert on death omens.”
“I wish Carter were here,” I gritted out from between clenched teeth.
“Me too,” she said, exposing her heart in a vulnerable moment. “He carries that flashlight. We could at least bean this over the head with it. Well, if she has a head.”
One more loud clap as the door slammed shut beneath our combined weight, and the storm raging outside dissipated to a whisper.
“Is it over?” She pressed her face to the glass, which even I could tell was less murky.
“It looks like…” Fear clamped my chest in a vise. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”
Concern flickered in her gaze when it landed on me. “What’s wrong, fish stick?”
“I wished Carter was here.” I checked the door. It didn’t budge despite the slipper crushed in the frame. “Are you serious? Now you want to lock?”
“So?” Content the door was locked, Troya prowled around the room, her steps less their usual clip-clop than clip, clip, clip thanks to her missing slipper. “He’s a love talker, not a genie. He can’t grant wishes.”
“He can hear me when I project loud thoughts.” I tapped a finger against my temple. “That thing hunts men, and I called one right to her.”
What I told her was no less true for it being the kinder version of the story. My meeting with Carter had been arranged the night before, but I didn’t want to tell her that. I had wounded her feelings enough for one night.
“Maybe he wasn’t paying attention.” One of her fangs pressed so hard into her bottom lip that a drop of blood welled. “Even if he did come running, he must have seen that thing.”
“He can’t hear it.” I slammed the heel of my palm against the window. “I can’t imagine he could see it either.”
Maybe the creature had already finished her hunt for the night. No. That was a horrible thought. I couldn’t wish someone else hurt or worse to save Carter. I wasn’t him. I didn’t play games with people’s lives; I didn’t play god and decide who lived or died.
But there was one thing I could do.
“Really sorry about this.” I yanked on the soft cord around her neck, hauling the small square device out of the neckline of her shirt. I had only spotted Jeanette’s once, but if the pendant wasn’t some type of emergency button, then why would both orderlies have been issued identical ones? “But I have to make sure he’s okay.”
“I made my bed.” Reading my intentions, Troya straightened her shoulders. “I’ll lie in it.”
“Troya…”
“No.” Defiance blazed in her eyes. “I broke the rules, abused my privileges. I’ll get punished for this either way. Might as well go down swinging.”
“I’ll tell him how you helped me.” Small consolation when this stunt would cost Troya her orderly status.
“Don’t waste your breath. I’m doing this for me.” She reached into my hand and pressed the button. “I’m tired of this gig anyway. Consider this my resignation letter.”
Her soft spot for Carter had gotten her into this mess. It seemed fitting it would also get me out of it.
Together we pounded on the door and screamed bloody murder, waiting for the silent alarm to trigger, until the beams of two dueling flashlights bathed the hall. “Here they come.”
“You’re forgetting one thing.” She cocked her arm back and launched it at my face, clipping me on the jaw. “No one would believe I snuck in here and didn’t lay a finger on you. I have a rep to protect.”
Stars exploded in my vision, and I stumbled against the wall. “Mother trucker, that stings.”
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the doorknob rattling. As much as it stung my pride, I played the part of wilting violet, which wasn’t hard considering the pounding headache throbbing between my teeth.
“Take care of him, fish stick.” Troya flung her knuckles to rid them of the sting then planted her feet wide in preparation to rush the guards. “Don’t think this makes us friends. We aren’t. I won’t be this nice if we meet again.”
As slight as the freedom was, she was giving hers up for Carter, and I respected that.
The door swung open, and Troya charged with the force of a bull. While she hissed and spat, kicking out with legs that carried hidden strength to bowl over the guards, I slipped into the hall then broke into a sprint for the blue exit door. A chill breeze ruffled my hair, a caress as cold as death across my nape. I swatted at the sensation and kept running, out of time to worry about my escalating paranoia. Sliding across the slick tile, I slammed onto my hands and knees in a pool of water smeared across the floor.
“Carter.”
No sign of the cups I had asked him to bring. That was good news. It meant I had one very, very slim chance of reaching him.
One of the more advanced water magics I had learned as a child had everything to do with my innate weakness. Looking like a mermaid didn’t give the human legs powering the illusion of my tail any extra muscles. I couldn’t keep up with my peers, which meant Mom and Dad taught me how to slipstream, a skill usually reserved for adults, to level the playing field. It allowed me to cover great distances I would be physically incapable of navigating on my own.
What should have been my salvation had been the first talent he warped to suit his purposes. Once in my head, he grasped the trick of it quickly and used waterways to keep his movements untraceable. That weak thread of magic had damned me twice over, its presence meaning he could wear me as his skin suit longer than a normal human would have survived playing host.
Pushing to my feet, I shook off the past and slowed my breathing, centering myself in the densest part of the spill. This was my choice, my magic. Not his. Heart a lump in my throat, I sent up a hasty prayer that the rest of the contents of the cup hadn’t ended up splashed somewhere godawful, and focused on the liquid beneath my toes, let it whisper its origin, share its journey from its fall from the sky to its confinement in a clear plastic cup, heard it call with a crystalline resonance to its other half, and that’s when the cascade of cooling magic swept over me.
I embraced the cold knowledge and flowed with the energy, the sensation as if I had stepped into a puddle that had no end. The world inverted, and my stomach pitched, and then I was standing on the stairs with the cup Carter had used for the water hooked onto my toes. He must have stumbled on the landing, dropping the cup on the steps and spilling its contents into the hall. Did that mean he had been pushed? Was that how the creature had sealed his escape route? Cut him off from help? By shoving her latest victim into a restricted area?
The floor slick beneath my feet, I picked my way down with care. Once I hit bottom, I threw caution to the wind and dashed for Carter’s bedroom. I gripped the knob, steeled myself for what I might see, then pushed it open. Empty. His pressed uniform hung in the open closet, and his sparse utility belt rested on the bed. In need of a weapon, I borrowed his flashlight and then checked all the other rooms. All empty.
There was only one place to go from here, and that was out.
I shoved past the exit door and stepped into the garden where a pair of deep trenches gouged the mud. Whatever that thing was, she had dragged Carter, and he had dug in his heels. He was still fighting, and that meant he was still breathing. Thank the gods.
I had taken three steps when a woman’s muted cries drew me into the twisting confusion of the hedge maze. With Troya’s name cleared in the most ironclad way, I had only one guess left as to our murderess’s identity even before I spotted her.
Sitting on a bench hidden by hedges, Bianca gripped the edge of her seat until her bones stood out in stark contrast against her skin. Spine tingling in awareness, I crossed to her. “What are you doing out here?”
Eyes locked on the pavers under her feet, she rocked back and forth.
I rested my hand on her shoulder to still her. “Where’s Carter?”
“He won’t hurt you,” she whispered. “He won’t h
urt anyone ever again.”
Her shaky vow gave me the confirmation I had dreaded hearing.
The moisture evaporated from my tongue. “Where is he?”
“You can’t trust men.” She glanced up, her eyes filling with a black haze, a sure indication of her nascent bond with the creature. “They’re weak. They will fail you.”
A chill sank into my bones, the question of why there had been no third victim answered. Bianca had spent the night in the med ward, drugged to the gills. That had been the reason for the temporary surcease. Whatever her bond to the creature, it must require a level of cognizance on her part before it acted.
“Tell me where he is.” I shook her. “He’s a good man. You can’t let him die.”
I was no judge to hold his crimes up against those committed by Victor or Dione and announce them lesser. A woman had died at Carter’s hands, and that horror was his father’s legacy, but it didn’t have to be his. I wouldn’t let her cost him all the progress he had made toward earning redemption, though I was sure he wouldn’t call it that.
“He doesn’t deserve a second chance.” She tucked her chin to her chest. “He will not hurt you.”
Sinking my hands into my hair, I turned a slow circle, senses stretched for a hint of where he might have gone. A whisper of sound, low and haunting, tempted my ears. For once, I didn’t fight the insistent compulsion to follow. I embraced the summons and ran until the pavers tapered off into nothingness, the black shrouding the air so absolute there was no hint of the massive fountain I knew it concealed. Remembering the flashlight in my hand, I clicked it on and was rewarded with a shrill scream as a pocket of air cleared in front of me.
I kept walking, hacking the black tendrils as if I were an explorer wielding a machete in a midnight jungle. The first layers were hardest. By the time I slashed a way to the center, I heard what the thick blanket concealed. Splashing noises. Words growled in a choking voice. Carter.
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