Conviction

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “I’ll wait here as well, then” Evelyn said smoothly. “I trust your own presence will be enough to reassure you that Mother Renard has conducted her inquiries with the thoroughness and discipline of a professional.”

  “A professional fixer, maybe,” Rowyn muttered.

  “Thank you, Evelyn,” I said, meeting the deva-blooded woman’s eyes. “It will put my mind at ease to know there will be someone on this boat capable of keeping a clear head.”

  “Well, it certainly won’t be your partner,” Siobhan needled.

  I turned my back on her again, trusting Liam to keep an eye on the kelpie. Not that I expected trouble. Siobhan seemed very confident in the case against Andy, and I didn’t think she’d do anything to mess that up. Not yet.

  We made our way down the pier toward the back door of the bar. It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized the lone customer at one of the small outdoor tables was eyeing me.

  “Hello,” I said, approaching him. “I’m Mother Renard and this is Detective Sergeant Liam Osbourne.”

  The Otherworld gentleman rose with an easy smile, his teeth bright against his smooth brown skin. “I am Hachim.” He gestured to Siobhan’s boat. “You are here about Agent Bradford?”

  “Yes. And I was hoping I could ask you a few questions?”

  Hachim sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, a very unpleasant situation, isn’t it?”

  “What are you?” Peasblossom asked suddenly.

  Normally, I’d have chastised her for being rude, but under the circumstances, the question was necessary. And Hachim didn’t seem offended.

  “I am a redjal el marja.”

  A redjal el marja was a Moroccan river spirit. Friendly enough as long as you respected their waters.

  No mental manipulation ability.

  I pushed away a stab of disappointment. “Hachim, would you mind if I asked you a few questions? It won’t take long.”

  “Of course, I am happy to help. But I’m afraid I will be little use, as I did not arrive at the scene in time to witness anything helpful.”

  “That’s all right. Just tell me what you saw,” I prompted.

  The door opened and a man stepped outside, shoulders hunched against the cold as he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He nodded to us before taking a few steps onto the pier and lighting up. Hachim watched him with suspicious eyes.

  “I was here,” he said, gesturing at the chair he’d been sitting in when we approached. “I ran around the building when I heard the gunshot, but by the time I arrived, Palgun had already knocked Andy to the ground.”

  “Did anyone else see what happened?”

  “There was one person. A short man sitting in his car at the back of the lot,” he said, gesturing with one hand toward the east. “He got out of his car as I came around the building and he looked white as a ghost.”

  “That would be Deacon,” Siobhan offered. “He belongs to me.”

  “He’s your witness,” I guessed. That would certainly explain why she was so pleased. “I assume when you say he ‘belongs’ to you…”

  “He is my property,” Siobhan confirmed. “And he’s well over eighteen.”

  “So he’ll say what you told him to say.”

  “He’s not the only witness,” Siobhan said smugly. “You’ll need to talk to Mickey V too. He’s the one Bradford claims he was ‘protecting.’” She gestured toward the bar with her head. “He’s inside if you want to speak with him.”

  Mickey V must be the kid that Raichel was trying to drag off. Yes, we’d definitely need to talk to him. I started for the bar, but Liam spoke first.

  “Andy said the kelpies brought kids around here a lot,” Liam said. “Can you tell us anything about that? Did you know any of them?”

  Hachim jabbed a finger at Liam. “The homeless kids. No, I didn’t know them. But there’s a church a few blocks from here that runs a soup kitchen. I bet that’s where they’re finding them.”

  “Kids experiencing homelessness,” I said automatically. “Not homeless kids.” I met his eyes. “Just trust me. It matters to them.”

  “I believe you.” Hachim nodded. “But as I said, I didn’t know any—” Suddenly he stopped, his eyes narrowing at something behind us near the water. “Excuse me.”

  I turned as he stood and strode to the pier where a man was exhaling a puff of smoke as he turned back toward the bar. I thought he was human until I caught Liam scenting the air. He looked at me. “Kobold. Must be wearing glamour.”

  We both watched the man’s eyes widen as Hachim bore down on him, one hand striking out with a flat palm. The smoker shot off the edge of the pier and into the river with a splash.

  “Hachim!” I gasped. “What are you—”

  “Pick up your cigarette butt.” Hachim pointed at something in the water near the flailing man. “It’s just there. Go ahead. Grab it.”

  I couldn’t see into the water from this angle, but the man must have done as he was told. A second later, Hachim lifted his hand in the air, palm up. A surge of water shoved the sputtering man high enough for the redjal el marja to snag the front of his shirt and haul him onto the pier. Hachim kept a tight grip on the man’s clothes, forcing him to look him in the eye.

  “Eat it,” he ordered.

  The man spit out a mouthful of water, gaping with his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “What?”

  “Eat. It.” Hachim gestured to the cigarette butt. “Now.”

  The man shook his head. The river spirit started to heave him back into the water. He yelped and shoved the soggy roll into his mouth, forcing himself to swallow. He gagged, but one look from Hachim gave him the willpower to keep it down.

  Hachim released his clothes and patted him on the back, making a wet, slapping sound against his soaked shirt. “Now. Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d disposed of your garbage in a proper receptacle instead of flicking it into my river?”

  The man nodded miserably, clearly willing to do or say anything to get away. Hachim nodded. “Go on then.” The man took a shaky step and made another gagging sound. Hachim narrowed his eyes again. “If you’re going to throw up, you’d better make a run for the trashcan. You don’t want to throw up in my river.”

  “Do you think he does that a lot?” Peasblossom asked.

  Siobhan shrugged. “Hachim takes pollution very seriously.”

  Beside us, the unfortunate smoker barely made it to the trashcan before vomiting up the cigarette butt and a good bellyful of brown river water.

  Hachim returned to us, waving his hands to dry them off. “Forgive the interruption. I put up signs.” He gestured at a homemade sign that very clearly said Do not throw trash in the river. “Sadly, there are still those who would rather throw their refuse into my river than carry it the extra ten steps to the trashcan.”

  He waved a hand. “As I was saying, I don’t know the names of any of the kids who’ve been here, but I can say that none were here tonight. I’ve been out here all night, I would have seen them. And Valter does not allow underage humans in his bar.”

  He paused, then added, “Ms. Renard, I do hope that you find some evidence to shine a better light on tonight’s events. I do not believe Agent Bradford is a bad man and he’s certainly never struck me as a cold-blooded killer.” He made a fist. “He has always seemed more of a righteous man. Then again, there is often a fine line between righteousness and murder. A matter of perspective, one might say.”

  I could feel Siobhan’s eyes drilling into me, and I kept my spine straight, refusing to give her the satisfaction. “Andy said he was defending a kid. And we know there was at least one kid here tonight. Mickey V.”

  Hachim’s brow furrowed just as the door to the bar opened again, making me turn my attention to the new arrival.

  At first, I thought it was a teenager. He was shorter than me, and I’d have been surprised if he was more than five feet tall. The light green dress shirt under his leather jacket was a little big on
him, big enough to fit a slender energy drink in the pocket, ostensibly as a backup to the open energy drink in his hand. When he raised his hand to take a drink, I saw a watch on his wrist. It had the chunky look of a timepiece that could take a beating, something an athlete would wear.

  He took a few steps toward Siobhan, but then the kelpie held up a hand, gestured to me. It wasn’t until the he turned to face me that I realized he wasn’t a kid at all.

  His grey hair was mussed, and he had blue eyes so pale they were almost grey. His face was lined with decades of smiles, tanned from a lot of time in the sun. He was fifty years old if he was a day.

  “Mother Renard,” Siobhan drawled, “meet Mickey V.”

  Chapter 4

  “You’re Mickey V?”

  Siobhan’s obvious enjoyment of my shock gave me the strength to keep my voice steady and wrench my facial features into polite inquiry. Even so, it wasn’t easy to block out the semi-hysterical voice in my head babbling “Well hello, I see that you are in fact a grown man who could not possibly be mistaken for a teenager by anyone who got a good look at your face. And doesn’t that just blow Andy’s case for defense of a minor straight out of the water?”

  Mickey V gave me a small smile that was gone almost as soon as it arrived. I got the impression he smiled a lot, as people did when they were genuinely content with life. But it would be hard for anyone to smile so soon after standing right beside a murder victim.

  He took a swig of his energy drink and approached me with the bouncy gait of someone jogging to catch up to a friend, or possibly someone who’d had springs installed in the soles of his shoes.

  I wondered how many energy drinks he’d had tonight.

  “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Mother Renard and I’m here about the murder.”

  Immediately his face fell. “Yeah. It’s awful. Poor Raichel.” He hesitated, glancing back at Siobhan before looking at me and Liam. “Are you from the Vanguard too?”

  “I’m working on behalf of the Vanguard, but actually I’m a private investigator.”

  “A private investigator named ‘Mother Renard?’”

  I tilted my head. Interesting that he was obviously familiar with the Otherworld, but he didn’t know the title for a witch. “You can call me Shade. This is Detective Sergeant Liam Osbourne.”

  Mickey nodded to Liam. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Can you tell me what happened tonight?” I asked. “Starting with when you got here?”

  “There’s not a lot to tell.” He finished off his energy drink and threw it in the trash can by the door—earning a satisfied nod from Hachim—then shoved his hands into his pockets. “It was strange. This whole night was strange.”

  “How do you mean?” Liam asked.

  Again, he looked at Siobhan.

  “Tell them the truth,” she encouraged, giving me a deliberate look. “We all want the truth.”

  “Well, for starters, usually Siobhan picks me up at a restaurant on the other side of town. But tonight she called me last minute and said she was running late, and I should meet her here.”

  “Did you go inside?” I asked.

  “No, she was crystal clear that I was to wait outside. Said I shouldn’t even look inside the bar.”

  I turned to Siobhan. “And why would you give him those instructions? Maybe so Andy wouldn’t get a good look at his face? Couldn’t spot that he wasn’t a kid?”

  “Or maybe,” Siobhan drawled, “I didn’t want him drawing the attention of anyone in the bar. You never know what kind of trouble you’ll find in a place like this.”

  Mickey snagged his other energy drink. His hands were shaking, and I didn’t think it was just the caffeine. I scowled at the waterhorse. “Do you have to be here? Can’t you just send Evelyn—”

  Siobhan held up a hand. “Relax. I trust Mickey to be honest, despite any tricks you might attempt.” She pushed off the railing and headed for the door. “I’ll wait inside.”

  Mickey watched her go, seeming to breathe easier when the door closed behind her.

  “You said the whole night was strange. What else happened?” I asked.

  “Raichel showed up instead of Siobhan.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Only she didn’t look like herself, she appeared to be Siobhan.”

  “She was wearing a glamour?” Peasblossom asked.

  Mickey jumped, his eyes widening slightly as the pixie poked her head out from under my hair. “Um…yeah. I guess that’s what you call it.”

  “Did you know it was Raichel right away, or did you find out after she was shot?”

  Mickey shifted uncomfortably and cracked open the energy drink, releasing a puff of candy-flavored mist. “Mind tricks don’t work on me. Including glamour.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Mickey felt human, looked and acted human. But I hadn’t actually asked.

  He watched my face, and seemed to guess my question. “I’m human,” he said. “But I’ve been around people who aren’t. Long enough to know it’s good to have a little…protection.”

  “What kind of protection?” Liam asked.

  Mickey swayed as if resisting the urge to take a step back. “It would defeat the point of having it if I made it easy to take away.”

  Easy to take away. So it was something he was wearing? I pushed my magic outward, letting it brush over Mickey’s body. It was a spell I used all the time, and it was second nature now, just a flex of my will. If my third eye wasn’t damaged, I’d see the spell like a net of silver light, and wherever it went, I’d see colored sparks to show me if there was active magic in its path. Without my third eye, there were no colors, but I could still feel the energy of a spell. Enough to know the watch Mickey was wearing had an enchantment on it. I guessed that was what let him see through illusions.

  I thought of Siobhan, her parting words.

  “I trust Mickey to be honest despite any tricks you might attempt.”

  “Did anyone else know about your ability to see through glamour?” I asked.

  Mickey frowned. “Siobhan knows. She’s introduced me to a few new racers that wore glamour, and she knows I saw through it. I don’t think anyone else knew, but I can’t say for sure.”

  “Did you know Raichel?” Liam asked.

  “Of course I knew her. I’ve been riding at Turning Tides since the beginning, I was one of the first jockeys they hired.”

  “Turning Tides?” Liam repeated.

  “It’s the racetrack out on the lake. The racers are all waterhorses, kelpies, each uisges, neugles, backahasts, and such. Siobhan runs it, and Raichel is her assistant.” He stopped, winced. “Raichel was her assistant.”

  Kelpies, each uisges, neugles, backahasts. None of them had the ability to alter someone’s memories. For the most part, there was very little difference between them, other than minor personality quirks—each uisges were the most bloodthirsty—and some differences in how they tricked their prey—kelpies favored silver bridles that tempted people to attempt to take them, and neugles disguised themselves as logs in the water, waiting for the unsuspecting swimmer.

  I stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. “A racetrack. On the water.”

  Mickey grinned, and the smile made his blue eyes light up. “Yeah. It’s incredible. Unlike anything I’ve ever done before in my life. If you’ve never been, you should go.”

  “Why does a waterhorse need a jockey?” Peasblossom demanded. “They know where they’re going. They aren’t that dumb.”

  Mickey leaned closer, obviously excited to talk more about his passion. For a moment, he seemed to forget the night’s grisly events. “Think of a jockey like a third base coach. A baseball player can’t watch the whole field, they can’t follow the ball and watch the body language of the basemen and the catcher at the same time. They rely on the coach to watch all that, they focus only on their breathing, their body, getting ready to run when the coach gives them the signal. And that’s what I do.” />
  He started dancing from foot to foot, his eyes glazing over as if imagining himself riding in a race even as we spoke. “When I’m riding in one of these races, I pay attention to the details like what horses are creeping up on us, who’s in the lead, who looks like they’re getting ready for a break out. I watch out for anyone who looks like they might try something dirty, anyone who’s tensing for a big push. I watch all of that, so whoever I’m riding just has to concentrate on the water, on the path ahead. They think of nothing but running and they trust me to guide them away from threats, to tell them when it’s time to speed up, or time to hold back to wait for our chance.”

  His breathing came heavier than before, his pulse pounding under the pale skin at his throat. “Racing isn’t just about running as fast as you can. It’s an art. And there’s nothing like running on the water.”

  “And you never worry that your mount is going to get overexcited and eat you?” Peasblossom demanded.

  Mickey blinked. “I wouldn’t dangle myself in front of them, especially right after a race when their adrenaline is high. But they enjoy a race as much as I do, so I don’t think they’d hurt me.”

  “You’re that good that you think they’d rather leave you alone than see you replaced with a new jockey?” Liam asked.

  Mickey lifted his chin. “I’m not that easy to replace. I’ve won my last five races.”

  “So you’re saying you’re too good to eat?” Peasblossom said, letting her doubt show in her voice.

  “I’m good enough to earn personal congratulations and patronage from Anton Winters, so, yeah, I think I’m too good to eat.”

  I froze.

  Anton Winters was involved in Siobhan’s business?

  Ice crackled down my spine, and I took a moment to center myself before speaking, wanting to make sure that my voice was steady. “What does Anton Winters have to do with the races?”

  “He’s Turning Tides biggest sponsor.” Mickey frowned. “You didn’t know that?”

  “I thought you said Siobhan ran the racetrack?” I said.

  “Turning Tides was Siobhan’s idea, but Mr. Winters is the one who funded the start-up.”