Mortality Bites Box Set [Books 1-6]

by Vance, Ramy

  Either way, I was hoping that one of them would tip their hand and get me one step closer to figuring this whole thing out.

  Deirdre stood to grab a chopping knife, and—less menacingly than usual—whispered, “Answer milady.” She ground her teeth, holding back her pain.

  I’d have thought a knife-wielding Deirdre would set these guys off, but no one moved. They just stared at the giant, who looked at his hands with heavy, sad eyes.

  “Come on, dear fellow. Tell us.”

  Jack pursed his lips and grunted. Then his hands started moving. Sign language.

  “Hold on, hold on. Does anyone understand him?” I asked.

  Remi nodded. “I do.” He crawled over to the giant. “My brother is deaf and my parents forced me to learn. A mistake on their part, if you ask me, because all it did was give us a secret language to play our foolish games with.”

  Aren’t you full of surprises? I thought.

  “I am indeed, young lady. I am indeed. Go on, Jack. Tell us.”

  The giant’s hands started moving again, and as they did, Remi spoke. “He says he recognized the dark elf as … as …” Remi’s voice faltered. “Are you sure?”

  Jack nodded.

  “But it can’t be.”

  “What can’t be?” I said.

  “He says he saw Aelfric, but …”

  “Aelfric is dead,” Sarah said. “Dead a long, long time ago.”

  I scanned the room and saw everyone was surprised by the name, even Deirdre. In fact, I seemed to be the only person in the room not wearing a look of utter shock on her face. I was feeling left out.

  “Okey dokey,” I said. “So, who’s Aelfric?”

  ↔

  “Aelfric, milady? He is the Elf King I told you about,” Deirdre said.

  “The one from King Orfeo’s story,” I said, forcing myself to my feet. If there was ever a time to be ready to duke it out, now was it. “The one you questioned Oighrig End about. The one that all of you are now shocked about.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and I will tell you right now that you are jumping to an assumption that simply is not true,” Remi said, lifting his gloved hands as if in surrender.

  “I don’t know, sometimes assumptions tend to be pretty accurate. I’m starting to assume you all know each other and that somehow this Elf King, this … this—”

  “Aelfric the Great,” Jarvis said in a mournful voice.

  “—connects you all.”

  “But Aelfric was a king of the UnSeelie Court,” Orange said, as though he were a child accusing his little brother of breaking the vase.

  “And?” I said.

  “And we are of the Seelie Court,” the ugly elf said. “We would never—”

  “I swear to the GoneGods, if the next word out of your lips is ‘associate,’ ‘fraternize,’ or ‘hang out with,’ I will punch you in the nose so hard your face will finally achieve the roundness your bald scalp so diligently aspires to.”

  “That, young lady, was a mouthful,” Remi said, pulling out his phone. “And as for your earlier comments, I would like to say that you are not entirely wrong.” He pulled up an email on his phone and handed it to me. “Please read.”

  Dear Sir,

  You do not know me, but I come to you as I do not know where else to turn.

  “This is sounding very Prince of Nigeria-y.”

  “Just read on,” Remi said with impatience.

  As you know, the departure of the gods has changed much, and while most Others have chosen to let go of their old conflicts to start over in this new GoneGod World, such peace is fragile.

  I fear that the infamous Professor Oighrig End is preparing to write a book about certain events that may lead the fae courts to war. It has to do with the death of King Aelfric and the Seelie and UnSeelie courts’ involvement in the Elf King’s demise.

  I have contacted several like-minded individuals in the hope of dissuading him from publishing this damning work, amongst whom are Orange Treener and Sarah Halvis at McGill University. They have agreed to host an event where individuals such as yourself can have unfettered access to the professor.

  Please contact them for further information. We must do whatever we can to stop Professor Oighrig End from publishing such damning work. Should his thoughts be made public, they will sow further discontent between Others and humans and cause a war between the two fae courts that will cost many lives.

  Your Friend,

  Gergeion

  “Gergeion … one of the three who couldn’t make it because of the storm?” I asked, turning to Orange. “The reason why I could get tickets after all.”

  Orange nodded. “I’m afraid you were right. We tried to prevent your changeling friend from coming not because we are prejudiced, but because we feared she might be.”

  “Everyone in this room got a similar email from Gergeion because we all share one thing in common: we don’t want to see war,” Remi said.

  “And that’s why the ticket prices were so high,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Sarah said. “As a university organization, we couldn’t exclude anyone from joining—not without losing our university status. But we could price it high enough that the average student couldn’t afford to attend.”

  “And I’m not average,” I said.

  “In so many ways,” Remi said with a not uncharming wink.

  I considered apologizing for my earlier accusations of bias against Deirdre for being from the UnSeelie Court. But apologies, if they were coming, would have to wait until later.

  “It seems Professor End has some proof that members of the Seelie Court let King Orfeo in so as to start a war between the UnSeelie Court and humans. A war that would weaken the UnSeelie Court and leave them vulnerable to invasion. Granted this happened hundreds of years ago, but fae have long memories, and many will take arms because of such revelations,” Orange said, his voice high-pitched with frustration. “We were trying to convince him to stop the publication of his new book, and in doing so, prevent war.”

  “And when Oighrig End turned up dead, your plan kind of fell apart,” I added.

  “As you can imagine, the authorities discovering our plan would only accomplish two things. One, implicate us as murderers, and two, bring unwanted attention to Professor End’s unpublished book.”

  I saw that. So it seemed this motley crew had good intentions. I looked around at Orange the elf and Sarah the halfling, Jack the giant and Freol, all of whom claimed to be Seelie Court members. But then there was Jarvis, and Snap, Crackle and Pop, who were obviously members of the UnSeelie Court.

  And finally Remi the human, except I now had a feeling he wasn’t who he claimed to be.

  “Thank you,” I said, “for telling the truth and letting me into your inner circle. I want to assure you that Deirdre and I agree with your motives. So can we agree to no more secrets?”

  They nodded, but whether they meant it or not I couldn’t tell.

  “Good. Remi …”

  “Yes?”

  “Your gloves, if you will.”

  Remi hesitated. “I already told you, I have a rare skin condition which I am terribly—”

  “—self-conscious about. I know. But you also agreed to no more secrets. If you don’t mind.” I held out my hands.

  Remi looked around before shaking his head. “You are a clever girl,” he said, peeling off his gloves. “And what you are about to see will implicate me as the murderer, but I assure you I am not the murderer.”

  He took off his gloves and showed me two human-looking hands covered in dry green, blue, yellow and red blood.

  I sucked in a breath. “You’re a ly erg,” I said. “I’ve heard of your kind, but never met one of you before. You’re a fae soldier of the UnSeelie Court. Your kind is indistinguishable from human beings except for one strange trait: your hands become stained with the blood of anyone you’ve slain, like the handsy version of Redcap. Also kind of makes sense now that you’d call me ‘young l
ady.’ You’re probably older than most mountains.”

  “I was a relatively young creation. Ten thousand years or so by human standards.” Remi shrugged. “And as for me and Redcap, I personally would never compare myself to that goblin, but yes, we are both stained by those we kill. Him by his scalp, and me by my hands.” Remi held his hands up before me. “See that green stain? Troll blood. One of those nasty fellows attacked me while on patrol before the gods left.

  “This yellow”—he pointed at the upper joint of his thumb, which was a bright, lemon yellow—“a valkyrie who thought she could enter the UnSeelie Court to steal the Bone Flutes fashioned from Beowulf skeleton. She killed two trolls trying to retrieve her coveted prize. I showed her that thieves and murderers would not be tolerated on my watch, and thus my thumb shall forever be the color of her blood. In fact, all these stains are in the service of my home, my gods, my king. And all before the gods left. Except this.” He pointed at the lifeline on his right palm. It was stained red.

  “Human blood,” I said.

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “There were moments during the first weeks following the gods’ departure that I had to protect myself and those I love from enterprising human hunters.”

  That could be true, I thought. In the early days, just after the gods left, it seemed that any human with a gun deputized themselves and went after Others.

  But then again, it could have been a lie, and the blood red stain could be because of Oighrig End.

  “I am innocent,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “When the authorities eventually show up, I will have to tell them who and what you are.”

  I readied myself for an attack, but Remi just shook his head. “That will be a mistake,” he growled, taking two steps in my direction. But he didn’t take a third, instead clasping a hand over his mouth as if trying to push the words back down his throat. But they were out, so he said, “My apologies. Whatever knocked us out also put my manners to sleep. I see your predicament, and suspect I would do the same if I were in your shoes. Do as you must, young lady. No one here will try to stop you.”

  So Remi was willing to let me show them his blood-stained hands and a body. Either he was guilty and for some reason happy to face the consequences, or there was something else going on.

  I’d barely had time to consider the possibilities when Sarah stood up and turned in the direction of my voice. “He’s innocent.”

  “You can’t see his hands. They’re stained—”

  “He’s innocent. I know he is, because he was with me all evening.”

  ↔

  “So another little piece of truth comes out,” I said. “You two are … what?”

  “Engaged to be married,” Remi said. “We will be the first of our kind. Seelie and UnSeelie Court members bound together by the sanctity of marriage.”

  “How Romeo and Juliet of you,” I said.

  “Turn him in and I shall confess to the murder, too. They can have two innocents in their cells, if they like.”

  “No,” Orange said, “we’re forgetting about the dark elf. You said he was covered in human blood.”

  “And apparently a ghost,” I said, pointing at Jack. “Look, I don’t know who’s innocent and who’s guilty. I don’t know who’s working with who, but a man was murdered, and we can’t just say ‘Forget it’ because he happened to be an asshole. There’s a body, and there will be an investigation.”

  “And if we just tell them about the dark elf, corroborate our stories, and—”

  “A man died. A man died because—if I understand you all correctly—he wanted to tell the truth about some event that happened eight hundred years ago. That man did not have a chance to see the bigger impact of his book. He was not reasoned with so he could consider not publishing it. He was just murdered.

  “But here’s the thing: even if he had heard your arguments and chose to publish the book anyway, he still didn’t deserve to die. No one deserves to die for wanting to share the truth.”

  I looked from person to person, and no one would meet my gaze.

  It didn’t matter. I believed what I’d said and would follow through. That was my truth. And if one of them came after me, if the dark elf chose to attack once more from the shadows, so be it. This was a truth I was willing to fight and die for.

  “Good,” I said. “Now if you don’t mind, I think I’ve heard just about all the preaching I can stand. I’m going to bed, and I suggest we all do the same.”

  Bedtime Musings

  We still weren’t sure who was working with whom, and we were only slightly closer to the truth, but we all retired to our rooms anyway. It had been a very long day.

  Before I left, I grabbed the notes from all the interviews we did and, with only one copy of each, I was sure someone would protest. No one did. No one was interested in the interview notes. No one but me.

  Deirdre asked to sleep with me, given her room was the scene of a murder. Once we were in the room, I dragged a couch to block our door. Deirdre, much stronger than me, lifted the oak wardrobe and set it atop the couch. “Just in case,” she said.

  Looking at her handiwork, I said, “You’re my ‘just in case.’ ”

  With that we got into bed, and I went over the notes before finally giving up and throwing them to one side. I swear to the GoneGods, everyone’s interviews were more ‘How are you doing?’ and less ‘Where were you at the time of the murder?’ Not to stereotype, but fae are the worst detectives.

  Frustrated, confused and no closer to understanding what had happened, I tried to sleep. But the trouble with a murder and being roofied … sleep doesn’t come easy after all that. We lay awake, staring at the ceiling for a long time, neither of us speaking until Deirdre sighed. “We were all poisoned. Does that mean none of us is the killer?”

  I thought about that for a long moment before shaking my head. “It might mean that, but then again, it might mean one or more of the group is working with someone else who’s hiding in the shadows.”

  Deirdre hummed in agreement.

  “Almost everyone there is hiding something.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “In a minute. First I want to ask you something. It might be the missing piece to the puzzle. Then again, it might mean nothing.”

  “Anything, milady.”

  “When we were examining Oighrig End’s body, I saw you do that thing you do with your eyes when you’re trying to keep a secret.”

  She did it again. “Do you think anyone noticed?”

  I shook my head. “It was almost imperceptible. I only noticed because I’ve seen it before. But with that said, what did you see?”

  “A thread from a thistle blade, milady.”

  “Thread? Thistle blade?”

  She turned over and gave me a confused look, as if I must know what a thistle blade was. “A blade crafted from the barbs of a thistle flower. These threads are woven together so tightly that the blade is as sharp as a razor. Thistle blades are used when enacting revenge for a great crime.”

  Got to hand it to the fae—they had something for everything. “Deirdre, you mentioned that the blade was woven. But given how sharp the blade must be, I’m assuming tiny hands are needed to weave it?”

  “Indeed, milady,” Deirdre said solemnly.

  “Abatwa-sized hands.”

  “Thistle blades are one of the crafts they are most revered for.”

  “I see. Given what happened to Pop, it might be the killer trying to tie up loose ends. You know, get rid of the guy who forged the murder weapon.” I sighed as I thought about poor Pop and his missing leg.

  Leg or no leg, I thought, I guess no one is too small to be a suspect.

  “Or too big,” she said to my out-loud thought. She reached down and touched her bruised ankle.

  Or too close to me, I thought (in my head).

  “Deirdre,” I said, “you’re my friend and I’ll defend you until kingdom come.�
��

  “I think kingdom came,” she said with a smile.

  “Joke?”

  “Joke.”

  “Not bad, my changeling friend, not bad. But what I want to ask you—need to ask you—comes from a place of love and respect. And whatever the answer, I swear I will never betray you.”

  “You wish to know if I am the one who ended Oighrig End?”

  I nodded.

  “Milady, I have sworn to you my sword arm and heart. There is nothing I would not tell you.”

  “Good,” I said, looking into her eyes. She didn’t speak. “And?” I said.

  “And what, milady? If I had wanted to kill Oighrig End, I would have had to request your permission first. But I did not request, nor did you command. My hand had nothing to do with his death.”

  Of course, I thought. I wasn’t thinking this all through. By giving me her sword arm, she had basically handed over all free will when it came to fighting, maiming and killing. The only way she could be responsible for killing Professor End was if I had told her to, making me just as much the murderer as her. More so, even.

  “OK,” I said, “so we can rule you out. Can we rule anyone else out?”

  Deirdre gave me a confused look. “Milady, I was led to believe that everyone was innocent. After all, we were all drugged, you have personally seen a dark elf, and then there is the matter of that email Remi LaChance showed you.”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid none of that exonerates anyone.”

  Now it was Deirdre’s turn to give me a curious look.

  “OK, let’s take this one by one. Being drugged. I didn’t mention this before because I was hoping someone would slip up, but it wasn’t just the dark elf, Jack and me. There was someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know, but when the dark elf was squeezing the life out of me, someone came to my rescue, which means there are either two people running loose in the building and they aren’t working together, which is an unlikely scenario, or one of them pretended to be drugged, and when the other player—this dark elf wildcard—attacked, their better nature came out and they saved me.”