Eventide must have been paying Whitworth to make something for her. I didn’t know what, but that didn’t matter for the moment. We could sort out the details once we’d averted the war.
I stood up and bid farewell to the vodyanoy.
“You might want to get out of here,” I said. “I’m going to be hauling our friend out of here in a minute.”
Kor bobbed his head. “Bye, cunning man.”
With that, he jumped off the side of the boat and splashed into the water, taking his tea cup with him.
I got out my phone and tried to send the audio file of the vodyanoy’s testimony to Lockhart and Early. No luck. Reception out here was pretty spotty. I’d have to try again closer to town, or just wait until I could get everyone to listen in person.
I ducked back into the cabin. The paralyzing effect of the charm loop had weakened, so the redcap was able to narrow his eyes at me as I came back in. I lifted the loop off his head and tucked it back into my bag. His muscles relaxed and he sagged back against the wall.
“Comfy?” I asked.
“Can’t complain.”
“So what’s your decision? You going to tell me who hired you?”
“I’d love to,” the goblin said. “But I can’t. Believe it or not, the people who hire me do so with the understanding that I might be caught. I never met them. Never got a name. Never even heard a voice.” He shrugged. “You’re shit out of luck.”
“How did you get your orders then?”
“By text.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“At home.”
“And where’s home?” I pressed.
“Got a little shack in the woods out west. Took it off a couple of imps who didn’t know when to get lost.”
I’d have to find it later. There wasn’t time to go all the way to the other side of Lost Falls and stomp around in the woods looking for the redcap’s lair.
“So you’re saying you’ve got jack shit to give me?” I said.
Tarnask nodded. “That about sums it up.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ve got a date with some vampires.”
I grabbed the redcap and hauled him over my shoulder. Luckily, he wasn’t too heavy. Goblins never are, even when glamoured. Tarnask didn’t struggle. Smart man.
Flashlight in hand, I carried the assassin back along the trail and out to my van. As I dumped him in the seat and tied a rope around his middle to keep him from trying to wriggle away, I realized I hadn’t frisked him yet. I patted him down and found a small vial in his pocket, half-filled with a fluid that I was pretty sure was Lover’s Embrace. He had a little cash bundled up in his sock, though no identification or credit cards.
I was just about satisfied when I noticed a cord around his neck that disappeared beneath his flannel shirt. Wondering what a goblin assassin needed a necklace for, I lifted it out from his collar.
There was something tied to the cord. A small jar made of white clay with a crescent moon for the handle. Carved in small script, words of power ran in circles around the edge of the jar. As I lifted it up, I could feel the slight slosh of something liquid inside.
I stared at the jar for a second, struggling to process what I was seeing.
“Where did you get this?” I said finally.
The redcap grinned. “Part of the deal I made with my client. Payment for services rendered.”
I tugged sharply on the jar. The cord snapped and I stuffed the jar into my pocket.
“I need that,” Tarnask said.
“Not anymore you don’t.”
35
Twilight seeped across the hills as I drove back to town. The clouds were beginning to thin, swept away by the wind. Stars shimmered above, cold and distant.
My redcap traveling companion sat silent and bound in the passenger seat, staring out at the road ahead of us. A faint smile touched his lips, as if he were enjoying a nice drive with a good friend.
As I drove, I periodically checked my phone. Still no bars. I growled in frustration.
“What’s the rush?” the redcap asked.
“Shut up.”
“Just trying to be nice.”
“I should’ve gagged you,” I said.
“I still don’t know why you’re so wound up about my blood jar. You weren’t that angry about the poison.”
I turned onto a main road and put my foot down. “Because I didn’t make the poison.”
The redcap cocked his head to the side as he considered my response. “You’re saying you made the jar? Huh. Small world. Gotta commend you on the craftsmanship. I was skeptical at first, but it does what it says on the tin. The changeling blood I managed to smuggle out of the Mines was getting all fouled. I wasn’t going to be able to keep going much longer. But that jar, man. Put a little fouled blood in there, let it sit for a while, and next thing you know it’s as pure as if it’d just been bled. I don’t even have to bathe in it. Just a few drops on the old noggin’ and I’m good as new.”
“I really should have gagged you,” I muttered.
I checked my phone again. Nothing. Wait. A bar!
With one hand on the wheel, I tried to cycle through my contacts to Lockhart’s number. By the time I’d found it, though, the signal had dropped away again.
I hit the brakes and did a U-turn, driving back up the road a few yards until the signal returned. I pulled over, hit dial, and brought the phone to my ear.
It seemed to ring and ring. I tapped my fingers nervously against the steering wheel while Tarnask sat beside me, peering down at the lights of the town.
Finally, Lockhart picked up. I started speaking before she could even say hello.
“Sonja, it’s me,” I said. “I’ve got something. I’m sending you an audio file. I’ll make sure Bounding Rabbit gets it as well. It’s testimony from someone who saw what happened at Doyle’s Reach. I was right. Eventide and One-tusk didn’t kill each other. They were attacked. Someone hired an assassin to kill them—a goblin called Tarnask. I caught him, and I’m bringing him to you right now. But listen. I think I know who hired the assassin. It’s…”
I paused. Lockhart still hadn’t said a word. I could sense someone on the other end of the line, listening but not speaking. I waited, but still Lockhart said nothing.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Carlotta?” I whispered.
“Hi, Ozzy.” Carlotta Atwood’s voice was calm, almost conversational.
“Where’s Lockhart?” I asked.
“At her home,” Atwood said. “With me.”
“I told her not to invite any vampires in.”
“She didn’t. Not exactly.”
I licked my lips. “It was you. You hired the assassin. You had Eventide killed.”
“It’s not what you think, Ozzy.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Explain it, then.”
“Not over the phone. Come to Lockhart’s. Come alone. There are some things we need to discuss.”
I snorted. “You’re crazy if you think I’m that stupid.”
“You won’t be harmed, Ozzy. I promise you that. If we wanted you dead, you already would be. You would have died at the ogres’ junk yard. You would have died one of a dozen other times you were alone and vulnerable. When I say we want to talk, I mean it.”
“Wait,” I said. “Who’s we?”
“You’re running out of time, Ozzy. Right now, Sonja Lockhart sits with a stake in her heart in full view of the sky. The first rays of sun should hit her in approximately”—she paused as if consulting a clock—“fifty-two minutes. If you wish to prevent that, then come and talk.”
Christ. I leave the vampire queen alone for five minutes and she goes and gets herself staked. “You know that Lockhart and I aren’t exactly best buds, right? You’re not giving me a compelling reason to put myself in harm’s way.”
“I can’t force you to come. But I think you will. You know what will happen if Lockhart falls. You’re an honorable man at heart. Just
come and talk. You alone. Something good can still be salvaged from all this.”
There was a click, and then she was gone. I lowered my phone and stared at it.
“Well,” Tarnask said. “That sounded intense.”
I had Lilian meet me just down the road from Lockhart’s mansion, out of sight of the house. I brought the van to a skidding halt behind her parked car and jumped out of the van, leaving the door open.
“The goblin’s inside,” I said. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Try not to kill him if you can help it.”
“Don’t you need me to come with you?” Lilian asked.
“Probably, yeah. But Atwood said I had to come alone.”
“This is stupid. It’s a trap.”
“Maybe. That’s why I’m going to have my phone in my pocket with an open line to you.” As I spoke, I pulled out my phone and dialed her. Her phone started ringing. “You hear me scream, you come running.”
“What, in time to avenge your death?” she said.
“Look, I don’t have time to argue this with you. It’s nearly dawn. I just need to know I can count on you.”
She sighed. “Of course.” She answered her phone and I returned mine to my pocket, the line still open.
I touched my hand to her cheek, ran my thumb along her sharp cheekbone. Then I slung my bag over my shoulder and hurried toward Lockhart’s mansion.
The gate was closed, but as soon as I entered the line of sight of the camera atop the fence, the gate swung silently open. I jogged down the driveway, ignoring the aches that flared in my bones with every step. I scanned the thick gardens on either side of me as I moved, peering into the deep shadows for any sign of an ambush. Nothing moved.
My truncheon slapped against my thigh as I jogged. I’d already unscrewed the pommel on the end, exposing the sharp wooden point at the base. It wasn’t much, but it was something at least.
In one pocket was a sunflare I’d transferred from my bag. And in another pocket was my revolver, loaded with silver bullets. If this was a trap, I at least had a fighting chance to get out of it.
And if I didn’t, well, it wouldn’t help Atwood. I’d already sent the vodyanoy’s testimony to Early, who’d shared it with Bounding Rabbit. The war was on hold. If Atwood killed me, she’d soon find out what it felt like to be torn apart by angry ogres.
Lockhart’s front door was closed. I raised my hand to knock, then paused, feeling kind of stupid. I tried the door handle instead. It was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, I threw the door open.
All the lights were on in the entrance hall. Nothing looked out of place. There was no sound except the echoing of my footsteps.
I entered the house and stepped through a large, arching doorway. Ahead of me stretched the long hallway dotted with potted plants and eclectic artwork. The inset lights filled the place with a homely glow.
Halfway down the hallway, beside a shattered sculpture, lay a man’s body, face down. Blood pooled beneath him, creating a deep red puddle on the pale marble floor.
I swallowed, approaching carefully. He was slender, well-dressed, his blond hair matted with blood. As I got closer, I saw the man had a pistol in his hand. A couple of spent casings lay nearby, caught in the pool of red. I could smell the faint scent of cordite in the air, mingling with the sweet stink of blood.
There was no way to approach the man without stepping in the bloody pool, so I took a deep breath and just did it. I moved slowly, careful not to lose my footing on the slick floor.
Crouching, I put my hand on the man’s shoulder and rolled him over. My suspicions were confirmed.
It was Isaac, Lockhart’s favorite swain. His bright blue eyes stared out blankly, his mouth still open in a scream.
It looked like a wild animal had torn his throat out. The wound was gaping and open and ragged, staining everything around it crimson.
The stink of blood and the sight of the dead swain threatened to turn my stomach. Swallowing, I stood and looked back toward the exit. It’d be so easy just to leave. It was the smart thing to do.
“Mr. Turner?” a voice echoed down the hallway. “Are you coming?”
I turned. A handsome old woman was standing outside a doorway at the end of the hall. Her face was tastefully made up and she wore her silver hair in a neat bun. It took me a moment to realize I’d met her before. One of Lockhart’s swains, the one who’d led me through the house on my first visit here. The one who’d made me and Nolan breakfast the next morning.
Elaine. That was her name.
She beckoned. “Come. They’re waiting for you.”
“What the hell is going on here?” My voice croaked. I gestured to Isaac’s body at my feet. “Did Atwood kill him?” A realization hit me. “Did you invite her in?”
“Come,” she said without looking at the body. “They’ll explain everything.”
“Where are all the other swains? Are they all dead too?”
“They’re safe. They’ve been sent out for their own safety.” She gestured. “Come.”
She turned and disappeared through the doorway. I stared after her for a second, then glanced down again at Isaac.
Chewing my lip, I stepped over the dead swain’s body and followed the old woman.
36
I stepped through the doorway into a sunroom. Several heavy curtains stretched to the floor, concealing the large windows that surrounded the room.
A horde of potted plants had carved out this corner of the house for themselves. Fuchsias dangled down from their baskets overhead, while a passion vine climbed up the trellis set against one wall, reaching up to the ceiling. Each corner held a small potted citrus tree.
In the center of the room was a small table with a couple of matching chairs. There was a vase with a bouquet sitting on the table, I guess in case you weren’t sick of flowers already.
Lockhart’s elderly swain stood in the corner, hands folded in front of her, the perfect servant.
Nolan was sitting in one of the chairs at the table, dragging his hand nervously across his mouth. He stood as I entered the room.
Carlotta Atwood was waiting for me as well. She had been examining the fruit of a potted orange tree when I entered. As she turned toward me, she tugged the small orange from the tree. Her face was clean, but the front of her blue top was stained with dark fluid. I could make a pretty good guess as to its origin.
There was a smile on Atwood’s lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She kept throwing furtive glances at the windows and rolling the orange between her palms.
She was nervous, too, I realized. This wasn’t the feigned shyness I’d seen her display before.
Was it just being so close to all these windows that was making her jumpy? Or was it something more?
“Where’s Lockhart?” I said.
Atwood glanced back at the elderly swain by the windows. With a small nod, Elaine pulled back one of the curtains a few inches.
There was a courtyard outside surrounded by more flowering gardens. There, illuminated by the growing twilight and a pair of outdoor lamps, lay Sonja Lockhart.
She was on the paving stones with a wooden stake embedded in her chest. Her dress was uneven and riding up on her, like she’d been dragged out there. Her arms lay paralyzed at her sides while she faced the slowly lightening sky.
I took a step forward. Atwood moved between me and the windows, and the elderly swain let the curtain fall closed.
Of everyone in the room, Elaine seemed the least nervous. There was a calmness to her, a resignation. Her shoulders were set, prepared for whatever would happen next.
And I had a pretty good idea what that was. That woman was Lockhart’s swain. If Lockhart got barbecued, her swains would suffer too. Just like Rachel had suffered when Eventide died.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure the old lady would survive Lockhart’s death. She seemed fit enough, but she had to be more frail than Rachel, and Eventide’s death had nearly been the end of her.
I stared a
t Atwood. I could only think of one thing to say. “Why?”
She shuffled her feet. “Maybe we should go downstairs to talk.”
“No,” Nolan said. “We talk here.”
Atwood glanced at her swain. “But the sun—”
“We talk here,” Nolan said again, harder this time.
The vampire swallowed and licked her lips. For the first time I noticed how pale and drawn she was. She turned to Nolan.
“I’m hungry,” she whined.
“You can feed soon.”
“I haven’t had anything since…”
She trailed off as Nolan fixed her with a hard stare. She shuffled her feet once more, then pulled out a chair beneath the leaves of the orange tree and sat down, nervously glancing again at the curtains.
I watched the conversation play out in a state of confusion. I was having trouble processing it. Slowly, I shifted some things around in my head and turned my attention from Atwood to Nolan.
He gestured to the chair he’d been sitting in. “Would you like a seat, Osric?”
I shook my head, still struggling to find my voice.
He turned to the old swain. “Elaine. You should sit down. You’ve been on your feet all night.”
The swain hesitated, then smiled slightly and nodded her head. Nolan drew out the chair for her and she took a seat, straightening her dress over her knees.
“You don’t need to worry, Osric,” Nolan said to me. “No one here is going to hurt you. We really do just want to talk.”
“What is this?” I whispered to Nolan, finally able to form words. “What’s going on? Why is Atwood taking orders from you?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Explain it quickly. It’s nearly dawn.”
Nolan gave a tired nod. He studied Atwood for a moment, then turned back to me.
“A while ago,” he began, “I made a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I was suffering. Desperate. Trapped. And then someone came to me. They made me an offer. A chance to change things.”
It was a story I recognized. Because it had happened to me as well. After my little brother was spirited away by goblins, and I’d been filled with rage and pain, someone had come to me and made me an offer.
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