by Anne Bishop
CHAPTER 81
Grimshaw
Watersday, Sumor 8
“Find anything?” Grimshaw asked Hargreaves.
Samuel Kipp and the Bristol CIU team, along with Captain Hargreaves and the officers he’d brought with him, had spent the day searching for Vaughn. It was possible the man had gotten away from The Jumble. Not likely, but possible. The possibility was the reason he had returned after giving blood to help Vicki DeVine survive her injuries. Serve and protect. That applied to fellow officers as well as the citizens of Sproing.
“Not sure,” Hargreaves replied. “We brought in a couple of dogs, but something over there has them spooked. They won’t go near the spot.”
“I’ll check it out.”
“Wayne . . . Haven’t you done enough today?”
He had done enough, and if he had any brains, he would go back to the boardinghouse and get some food and sleep. But . . . “Still my turf. I’ll check it out.”
He walked away before Hargreaves could object. In another hour, they would lose the light, and they were in a part of The Jumble that was a fair distance from any of the buildings. That meant Hargreaves would have to call off the search in the next few minutes and either pack up his men and head back to Bristol or make arrangements to bring in supplies for the night and have the men camp out in the main house. Staying in The Jumble tonight wasn’t an assignment he’d want to give fellow officers.
The pile of branches that were stuffed with grass and leaves made him think of a land-based beaver lodge. It might be primitive, but it was a structure. A dwelling.
“Hello?” Grimshaw called quietly. “Anyone home?”
No answer.
An opening on the farthest side, big enough for a dog to enter. Big enough for a man to enter on hands and knees. Something had churned up the ground in front of the opening. Either something being dragged into the dwelling or someone fighting not to be dragged into the dark interior.
Swearing to himself—and at himself—Grimshaw turned on his flashlight and crouched in front of the opening, focusing the light on what lay in the center of the structure before sweeping the light all around to make sure there was nothing else inside.
From the look of the wounds, Vaughn had been bitten by something extremely venomous. Maybe an adult could survive one bite—if he received treatment in a hurry—but Vaughn’s arms and lower legs were covered in bites.
Could the terra indigene who visited Julian’s bookstore have a venomous form? Or was this something else that humans hadn’t seen yet?
“Crap.” Telling himself he was every kind of fool, Grimshaw crawled into the dwelling far enough to touch Vaughn’s wrist and confirm there was no pulse. Then he held a hand close to Vaughn’s nose and mouth. No feel of breath. Nothing more he could do.
As he started to back out of the dwelling, the light revealed three objects half hidden under the body. He stared, chilled by the implications.
He should not disturb a crime scene. He should not remove evidence. He weighed procedure against the promise to serve and protect. If people found out about this, it might cause a panic that would sweep through the village and that would stir up a shitstorm of trouble all around this lake. He would, of course, tell Hargreaves what he suspected . . . but later. He would tell Julian—and Ilya Sanguinati, on the odd chance that the vampire didn’t already know. And he would tell Vicki DeVine.
Taking the three objects, Grimshaw backed out of the dwelling and breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to stand.
“Found him!” he shouted.
“Alive?” Hargreaves shouted back.
“No.”
As he waited for Hargreaves, Samuel Kipp, and the CIU team to reach him, Grimshaw slipped the three chunks of carrot into his pocket.
CHAPTER 82
Grimshaw
Moonsday, Sumor 10
The courtroom was in the government building next to the police station. A village of fewer than three hundred people didn’t need its own judge, so judges from Bristol and woo-woo Crystalton alternated holding court once a week in Sproing, and most of the time those men sat around chatting with government officials or reading a book.
Not today.
The only thing in the humans’ favor was the Bristol judge wasn’t wearing a particular tie clip, unlike the attorney who came in from Hubb NE to represent Dane and the widows of his business partners, and Yorick Dane didn’t look happy when he noticed that little detail. But as Yorick and Constance, Trina, Pamella, and Heidi stood before the judge, Grimshaw looked at Captain Hargreaves and knew how it would go. That’s why he didn’t look at the other two men—males—in the room.
Had Ilya Sanguinati ever argued a case against a human attorney in a human court of law? In the case of Dane & Company v. DeVine, Yorick Dane’s attorney had pulled out all the theatrical stops, playing to a nonexistent jury, and making Ilya Sanguinati’s calm responses sound lackluster at best, as if he was simply going through the motions and didn’t care about the outcome and the judge’s decision.
But if the Sanguinati, if the rest of the terra indigene, didn’t care about the outcome, why had the guy with the blue-and-yellow-tipped hair come to this hearing?
“To clarify,” Ilya said mildly after Dane’s attorney finished his dramatic summing up of all the trauma that had been done to his clients. “Despite the harm and injuries that Victoria DeVine suffered because of the actions of Yorick Dane and the other members of the organization known as the Tie Clip Club, there is nothing human law can, or will, do to punish the surviving adversaries?”
The judge was quiet and still for a full minute. Finally he spoke, slowly and deliberately. “Mr. Sanguinati, neither you nor the arresting officers can prove that Yorick Dane or the other people standing before the court today knew that Marmaduke Swinn would abduct Victoria DeVine. You can’t prove these people knew that Tony Amorella would attempt to kill Ms. DeVine. Did Mr. Dane and his business partners disregard agreements that had been made with the terra indigene with regard to the property known as The Jumble? Yes, they did. But I think sufficient justice has been done in that regard. However, you did provide a convincing argument that the document Mr. Dane presented in order to repossess the property in question was, in fact, a forged document. Therefore, it is my ruling that the original settlement agreement between Yorick Dane and Victoria DeVine stands, and she is now and hereafter the lawful proprietor of the designated property.”
Grimshaw held his breath, waiting for Ilya Sanguinati’s response.
“The terra indigene will accept your ruling about the land known as The Jumble,” Ilya said.
“Of course you’ll accept it,” Dane said in a voice close to a whine. “He ruled in your favor.”
“But recent events have brought a group of humans to the attention of the Elders—and the Elementals,” Ilya continued, “and they have made some decisions with regard to these adversaries.”
Suddenly Grimshaw felt like he was standing next to a roaring fire. Hargreaves looked uncomfortable too. Ilya Sanguinati did not. As for the guy with the multicolored hair . . .
A chill went through Grimshaw as he considered why the room felt so hot.
“A few generations ago, a club was created in Hubb NE,” Ilya said. “Its members were drawn from the private college, the university, the technical college, and the police academy. The purpose of the club was to form a pool of individuals whose various abilities would be made available to other members—a network, if you will. There is nothing wrong with networks—until they are used to manipulate other people in order for their members to take what doesn’t belong to them. This particular club identifies its members with a distinctive tie clip—specifically, the one my learned colleague is wearing.” Ilya looked pointedly at the other attorney.
Now Ilya focused his attention on the judge. “You have said that the humans standing befo
re you cannot be punished according to your law, or have already been punished since Yorick Dane lost control of the land he coveted and three of the females have lost their mates. As the representative for the terra indigene, I am authorized to accept that judgment. In return, you must accept ours.
“Beginning this day and for the next hundred years, any human connected to the Tie Clip Club, as it is officially known, is banned from Lake Silence, the land around it, and the village of Sproing. The ban includes anyone connected to a member of said club by birth or marriage. Any member of the club who crosses into forbidden territory will be killed.”
Ilya looked at Yorick Dane. “From this day forward, if any of you, or if anyone connected to you, tries to contact Victoria DeVine or distress her in any way or take any action that would damage the property known as The Jumble, a tight, intense tornado will form out of a cloudless sky and destroy your house and all that stands within it. It will destroy the building where you conduct your business. And it will also destroy the . . .” He turned to his companion. “What was it called?”
“Rut shack,” the man with the multicolored hair replied.
“I think humans usually use a more genteel expression.”
“Love nest?” Grimshaw suggested under his breath.
Ilya tipped his head. “Yes. Love nest.”
Constance Dane turned on her husband. “You told me you hadn’t renewed the lease on that place.”
“I didn’t!” Yorick said.
“He didn’t,” Ilya agreed. “He simply rented another one that you didn’t know about. He successfully hid it from you. He can no longer successfully hide anything because now we have reason to watch everything he does—and everyone he does.”
Grimshaw fought not to smile. If Ilya had been looking for a fitting kind of revenge against Yorick Dane, he’d found it.
“If any of you go near Victoria DeVine again, we will strip you, and anyone who helps you, of everything your greed has acquired,” Ilya said. “And then we will strip you of your skin, your muscle, and your blood. But not all at once.”
The other man picked up a rolled newspaper from the table behind him. He smiled as he held it up. “And what the tornado doesn’t take . . .”
The paper turned into a torch that burned fierce and hot and quick. And the hand that held it was made of fire, not flesh.
“I think we all understand one another.” Ilya Sanguinati walked out of the courtroom, followed by Fire, who dropped what was left of the newspaper.
No one spoke. Everyone watched the last pieces of burned, blackened paper float to the floor.
“Captain Hargreaves. Officer Grimshaw,” the judge said. “You will escort these people to the nearest railroad station and see that they get on the earliest available train to Hubb NE. I will remain here until you return. In the meantime, I will call the governor and let him know about this latest . . . development . . . between humans and the terra indigene. This court is adjourned.”
Hargreaves made the decision of who was riding with whom, giving Grimshaw the three widows and driving Yorick and Constance Dane himself. It was possible his captain wanted to give him a break and spare him from listening to the Danes snipe at each other. More likely, Hargreaves had made the decision to prevent Grimshaw from taking a very long detour into the wild country on the way to the train station.
Hargreaves knew him well.
CHAPTER 83
Vicki
Windsday, Sumor 12
“You’re moving back to The Jumble tomorrow?” Julian asked as we settled in the chairs on his porch. He had a beer; I had orange juice over ice since I was still taking a nighttime pain pill in order to sleep.
“Yes, I’m going back, although I’m not sure for how long.”
“Why?”
I hesitated. I went through so much to keep The Jumble; it was hard to admit defeat. “The Jumble is kind of notorious now.” Kind of? Newspapers from Lakeside to Hubbney and all the Finger Lakes towns in between had written about the Tie Clip Club’s schemes and scandals, and the terra indigene’s retaliation against said schemes and scandals. The one good thing that had come out of all of this was that the club had been exposed as a group of wheelers and dealers who were, quite often, underhanded in their business dealings with anyone but their own members.
“I don’t think it’s likely anyone is going to want to rent one of the cabins and take a chance of being eaten,” I finished. Or bitten by critters whose happy faces hid a different, and very lethal, form of terra indigene.
“Do you want to know what I think?” Julian asked after a minute.
“Sure.”
“Yes, The Jumble has some notoriety now, and with the ban on the Tie Clip Club members and their families, you’re not likely to get the snooty crowd coming in for a weekend of summer fun.” Julian leaned forward. “But ever since the story broke, I’ve been fielding calls from people who know people who were aware that I live in Sproing: professors from the Finger Lakes universities, and not just the Intuit university; writers and photographers who provide material for magazines like Nature!; even acquaintances from Crystalton who want to get away from home for a few days but don’t want to go far. They all tried to call The Jumble directly but couldn’t get through. I’m guessing your answering machine is full of messages. Since they couldn’t reach you, they called me, and they’re all asking the same thing: are you taking reservations?
“Vicki, this is a terra indigene settlement that not only allows human visitors to be on the land; it allows them to interact with the Others in a social setting. It’s probably not the only place where that’s possible, but I think it’s among the few, and maybe the only one around the Finger Lakes. Think of it. You can swim in a lake ruled by an Elemental. You can talk to one of the Panthergard or a Bear. You can play a game of cards with a Crow. People who want to study the terra indigene in order to understand what we humans need to do in order to survive on this continent are leaving daily messages at Lettuce Reed because we need places like this. I think we always did, and that’s why Yorick Dane’s great-great aunt built this house and the cabins in the first place, so that the terra indigene could learn about humans and we could learn about them.”
“There are terra indigene living in some of the cabins. I can’t ask them to leave. It’s more their home than anyone else’s.”
“You don’t have to ask them to leave. In fact, you shouldn’t. Having a furry neighbor is part of the appeal. And I did mention that most of the cabins were basic accommodations with toilet and shower facilities in a nearby building. Apparently, when some of these people receive permission to spend a few weeks out in the wild country to do their research or take pictures, they’re living rougher than that. They were excited and made it sound like having toilets and showers at all would be a luxury. And I’ll give you one more reason for letting whoever is already living in the cabins stay on.”
“What’s that?”
Julian sat back and raised his beer bottle in a salute. “Somebody has to take care of the goats and donkeys.”
CHAPTER 84
Grimshaw
Thaisday, Sumor 13
After suggesting that Officer Osgood go out for a foot patrol, Captain Hargreaves settled into the visitors’ chair in front of Grimshaw’s desk.
“So Vicki DeVine is moving back to The Jumble today?” Hargreaves said.
“She is. I’m taking a few hours’ personal time to help out.” Grimshaw cocked a thumb toward the windows. “Gershwin Jones is donating an upright piano in exchange for Vicki hosting a musical evening every couple of weeks. He figures it will bring people into his store for sheet music or smaller instruments. Might even encourage some of Sproing’s residents to take music lessons from him. So I’m helping him muscle the piano into the truck and out again.”
“Not so much of a loner these days?”
“Still l
ike my space.”
“You did a good job here, Wayne.”
“Lost a fair number of people,” he countered.
“No one could have stopped that except the people who provoked the attacks. Would have thought we’d all know better by now, but that wasn’t the case.” Hargreaves said nothing for a minute. “The governor wants this police station manned again. He’s been apprised of why it’s been difficult keeping it manned, but he believes it’s vital to have a police presence here now. With more visitors coming in every day, the area around Lake Silence needs a faster response than people can get by calling the Bristol station if they need help.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Of course, the Bristol station will continue to supply backup. So will the police force in Crystalton. But they need a chief of police here and one officer to work with him. Small place like this, two salaries are going to put a strain on the budget, but Silence Lodge has informed the village council that, if they approve of the people chosen to fill the positions, they will reduce the rent on the police station enough to help take the sting out of paying those salaries. The Sanguinati also said they would provide one of the Mill Creek Cabins as a residence for the new chief, all utilities except telephone included.”
“That’s generous.”
Hargreaves studied him. “Wayne, you’re a good officer, a good man. But you’re too damn ornery and independent to rise up through the ranks in the usual way. It’s a big jump, going from officer to chief, but I doubt an opportunity like this will come along again. That said, your temporary assignment is complete, and if you want, I’ll put you back on the roster for highway patrol. You’re being given the right of first refusal, so this is your decision.”
