Autumn Whispers (An Otherworld Novel)

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “I’m afraid we have to be going.” He smoothly turned and, once again, propelled us forward.

  As we neared the door, the man behind us called out, “Please, do come again. And bring your lady friends. We always enjoy having beautiful customers grace our halls.”

  And then, we were out, crossing the street toward the parking lot. None of us spoke, but I was incredibly grateful that Shade was behind us. And I was also thankful that we’d parked in a lot, where it wouldn’t be immediately apparent which car we were getting into.

  The minute we settled ourselves in the Lexus, I noticed Camille began to shake. “What’s wrong?”

  “That man, he scared the fuck out of me. He’s not human, I know it. He’s nowhere near human. I think he might be daemon but I can’t be sure. But . . . his energy? He’s as dangerous as he is gorgeous. And that charisma he has? It’s natural—like our glamour. There was no magic being used there.” The words spilled out of her in a rush, and she clutched the steering wheel.

  “She’s right. He does have a natural charm.” Shade looked around the lot. “And he is dangerous. Which is why I didn’t let you say anything. We do not want to arouse his suspicions, given the building’s nature, nor engage him in anyway—that much I can tell you.”

  “Dude, I wasn’t going to be snarky, regardless of what you thought.” Camille let out a long sigh. “I was simply going to tell him thank you and then leave.”

  “Either way, we needed to leave there. Fast. It looks like we can exit through the alley there. I’d rather not pull out on the street in case he’s watching. He doesn’t own the coffee shop, I can tell you that. Nobody wearing that suit owns a freaking coffee shop.”

  I glanced at them. “There was something seriously wrong about him. I think . . . I think we need to figure out who he is and what his connection with the building is. Because if there’s a daemonic problem like Grandmother Coyote thinks there is, then I’ll bet you anything that he’s a big part of it.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Shade asked. “We can describe him to Carter but . . .”

  “I’ll tell you how,” Camille broke in. “While he was talking to you, I managed to snap a picture of him with my phone. We can download it at Carter’s and he can perform some of that tech mumbo-jumbo and see if he can come up with a facial recognition of anybody in his files.” She stopped and grinned. “At least, that sounds about right to me.”

  “Get a move on, woman. The longer we sit here, the more time he has to come check out our license plate.” Though his voice was gruff, Shade was smiling.

  I had to smile too. “I’ll make a detective out of you, yet. You can join my agency.”

  “Right. And you can shimmy back into those gold lamé pants Menolly had you in that one time, and go clubbing with Trillian and me.” She snorted, easing the car into the back alley.

  • • •

  All the way to the park my mind kept racing over the man at the coffee shop. He was dangerous. He was rich. Or could he be married to somebody who’s rich? But no. He exuded power and men like that didn’t give over control to a rich wife. They kept hold of the purse strings, and they had the trophy wives and the eye candy on the arm.

  I tried to shake the thought out of my head. We had something to focus on that might yield definitive results. And that would be the park. The rains could easily have washed away footprints, but my guess was that if anything else had been dropped, it would still be there, caught in the tangle of undergrowth. The park was thick with ferns and huckleberries and vine maple that grew between the trees.

  When we reached Violet’s cottage, it looked the same as it had. A thought struck me—something I’d done before and gotten Chase pissed out of his mind at me for, but too bad. It was a way to find out what we needed to find out and the only way anybody could bitch at us was if they found out.

  I headed to the mailbox. Camille stared at me, a faint grin on her face, as I yanked it open and pulled out the stack of mail. It was obvious that it hadn’t been picked up for a while. I tucked it into the car, Camille locked the doors, and we headed into Violet’s backyard.

  Interlaken Park was only a few yards behind the cottage, and a metal fence divided the two. But the fence was low and easy to step over. It would have been just as easy to break down, too.

  I swung over it with no problem and so did Shade. But Camille, in her skirt and corset, eyed it with hesitation. It really wasn’t that tall, but she could easily catch any number of laces or hems, or one of those teetering heels on it. Shade laughed and leaned back over the fence, picking her up as easily as he might pick up a feather. He quickly deposited her on the ground next to me.

  Camille laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t even think about a fence without a gate. Okay, let’s have a look around. Where’s her bedroom?” She shaded her eyes and gazed back at the cottage. I followed suit.

  There—there it was, to the far left corner. And not all that far from here. It wouldn’t be hard at all to see what was going on inside the bedroom if the lights were on and the curtains open. Or if someone had night vision.

  I glanced around. “You take that patch over there. Shade, go back a little farther. And I’ll look here. Check under ferns, under bushes, at the base of the trees. Look for footprints, debris—cigarette butts, food wrappers, cups, and the like. Anything that might give us a clue as to whether Violet was being spied on. If she had a stalker, she might have been abducted. And she might have been abducted at home, although Albert thinks her purse is missing.”

  “If anybody wanted to rob her via her ATM cards and kidnapped her from home, they would have probably stolen other stuff too. Though her laptop is missing.” Camille shrugged. “Let’s get busy.”

  As we combed the area, rain beat steadily down. Camille shrugged her capelet tightly around her shoulders and I turned up my collar. The trees offered some protection, but the drops still filtered through.

  The cedars creaked in the wind, and the firs followed suit. The sky was getting progressively darker, even though it was barely past noon. The clouds banked up thick, and looming, and though the rain had been steadily pouring, thunder rumbled through the air. The ground shook with the echo of the clap, as a streak of lightning bolted through the sky, flashing so bright it blinded me for a second. I blinked, shading my eyes, and then began to hunt around. We were relatively safe here, out of the open, and if the storm got worse, we could always leave.

  On the west coast of Washington State, the ground is wet most of the year. There’s almost always a layer of moisture trapped in the fallen leaves and needles that turns the trails and soil in forests to a rich mulch-like consistency, which makes—if you’re off trail—twisting an ankle fairly easy. It also creates a thick layer of loose detritus, and if you drop something, half the time it will disappear into the compost. And if you happen to drop something and not notice it . . . well . . . that’s what we were looking for.

  The ground here was covered with the usual mixture of sodden leaves, dead fir, and cedar needles that had dropped to make way for new growth next spring, and a plush layer of brilliant green moss. Mushrooms were everywhere—toadstools mostly, but I recognized a chanterelle here and there. Expensive taste treats, but we weren’t here to collect wildcraft edibles.

  I knelt down and began pushing the leaves aside, sifting through the mass of debris. The usual mixture of fungi, insects, and banana slugs. The latter were both cool and freaky: six-inch-long funky town mollusks that made their home up and down the west coast, eating plants, leaving a trail of slime.

  A spider scuttled across my hand and I shook it away. Ever since my ordeal with the Hunters Moon Clan—a group of hobo werespiders—I tended to err on the side of caution around the eight-legged beasties, but then, before I could dwell on it, something caught my eye. A tamped-out cigarette. I had learned enough from Chase so that I didn’t immediately pick it up, but instead pulled out a plastic baggie and used that to cover my hand as I lifted the butt. No lipstick, b
ut that didn’t mean it had to be a man. I dropped it in a second baggie, and held it up.

  “Someone was here. These things don’t just put themselves out. Comb this area thoroughly.” I went back to scavenging and came up with a candy wrapper. Not for a candy bar, but for one of those expensive truffles. I added that to the bag. Then Camille let out a shout and both Shade and I hurried over.

  She pointed to a footprint. It was caught in the moist dirt beneath a tree, shaded from the rain. While it was mildly eroded, it hadn’t been washed away. I knelt down, examining it and looking around the nearby area. There was another partial print right near it, half in, half out of the foliage. Enough of it showed to tell me it was the matching print, the other foot.

  I frowned. “We should take a cast, I suppose.”

  Camille joined me, cautiously squatting down in the mud. “What about calling Chase? He could send out a man to do that and it would be professionally done.”

  I glanced at her. “We can’t. Chase would have to open an official file if we called him in and I promised Tad and Albert we wouldn’t do that. Not yet. But if I get enough quick dry cement, we can make our own.”

  “I don’t know if that’s going to work—” She broke off as I pursed my lips and cocked my head. “Fine. But if we ruin the results, don’t blame me.”

  Shrugging, I looked up at Shade. “I need you to run out and get us some quick dry cement. Hurry back.”

  He stared at the two of us, and it was impossible to read what his thoughts were, but the next moment, he was gone and we were alone. I marked out the corners of the prints with large enough rocks to keep us from plowing through them by mistake, then Camille and I withdrew beneath the trees, trying to avoid the downpour. It was silly, we were both soaked to the bone, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

  As we stood there, the park grew quiet, and I began to feel an odd sense that we were being watched. I glanced up and found myself staring toward Violet’s bedroom window. It was an easy gander from here, but then . . . how easy was here to get to from the main park trail? Could someone just out for a stroll have dropped that cigarette?

  “Come on, let’s try to track his path.” The his was automatic, even though we’d faced more than one female adversary.

  I looked around. The undergrowth was so thick it would be hard going except for one direction, where it looked like the fern fronds on both sides had been crushed, as if somebody had walked between them. As I followed the line of trampled fronds, with Camille behind me, it led out into an open area that looked like it was used for picnics. Beyond that, a path looked like it wound through the rest of the park. We stopped, the pelting rain soaking us even further. Camille frowned looking back.

  “You can’t see her house from here,” she said.

  “What?” I was busy scouting out the area, trying to assess where the voyeur may have come from.

  “You can’t see her house from here. Unless somebody just happened to trample that path through the ferns, they couldn’t see Violet’s cottage from here. So either it was someone who stumbled on the area behind her house by mistake, or it was somebody who knew where she lived in relation to this area of the park.” She smiled as I realized what she was saying.

  “I’ll be damned. You’re right. Hell, you are so right. No, whoever was watching her house wasn’t there by accident. I know it—my gut’s tingling.” And it was. That little voice inside was whispering, Whoever set her up, they were watching her. Which meant she had been stalked.

  “I think so, too.” Camille shook her hair back, her makeup smearing in the downpour. “Should we check the garbage cans over by the picnic tables?” She pointed to one of the wooden benches. “There’s no guarantee that whoever we’re looking for stopped there, but we’re here and we might as well have a look.”

  We split up, tackling the four tables that were scattered around the clearing. There was also a barbecue grill, set in concrete, but that yielded nothing. Two large garbage receptacles and a recycling bin showed a mishmash of garbage, but nothing stood out of place to either one of us.

  A few minutes later, I shook my head. “All we’re doing now is just getting wetter and wetter. Let’s get back to that footprint. Shade should be here any time with the concrete.”

  We retraced our steps through the bushes, and by the time we arrived at our original spot, Shade had returned. He could travel between the worlds, but if he took someone alive with him, they didn’t fare so well. Morio had been sick as a dog the one time Shade had transported him.

  Shade was holding a bag of concrete—the quick dry kind—and a bucket. It had water in it already.

  “You thought of everything,” I said.

  Shade grinned. “I filled it from her tap out back. Seemed a waste of time to wait till you two were back, and I figured if there was trouble, my Spidey-sense would be tingling.” He’d recently discovered the Spider-Man comics—or rather, I’d turned him onto them—and he had developed an inordinate fascination with the superhero. I knelt down to examine the print again, as Shade began to stir the cement.

  Camille stood back. “No offense, but I don’t want to mess up my clothes. And you know me. If I can spill it down my bra, or on my skirt, I will.”

  I motioned her back as Shade carried over the bucket. “No problem. We can do this.” As he poured the concrete, I smoothed it out. He’d also thought to bring a mini-tarp to cover it with until it dried. Speaking of . . . “How long till this stuff sets?”

  Shade checked the bag. “For this amount? Probably twenty minutes. What do you want to do until then?”

  Camille snorted. “I vote we wait in the car so we don’t get any wetter than we already are.”

  That would give me plenty of time to go through Violet’s mail. But there was one little issue. “Sounds good, but I don’t want to leave this alone. I doubt whoever made it will return today, but . . .”

  Shade rolled his eyes. “But if he does come back, he might realize someone is on to him and destroy the evidence. All right you two. Get your butts to the car and dry out, and I’ll wait here. I’ll bring the casts when they’re done. Don’t you dare drive off and leave me, though.” He swatted my ass, then pulled me to him for a deep kiss. I melted in his arms with a contented sigh.

  Camille was already on her way to the front yard, but I caught up with her. The minute we were inside the car, she turned on the ignition and jacked up the heater. She shrugged out of her jacket and I did the same, and we draped them in the backseat.

  “When I first bought this car, I didn’t want to get it dirty at all. Or water-stained or anything like that. Things have sure changed.” She laughed. “Considering how many bloody injuries we’ve had to ferry around, I’m amazed it’s in as good of a shape as it is.”

  “Don’t you feel the tiniest bit guilty about how we got our cars?” I grinned at her, already knowing her answer. We’d gone down to the dealerships after Chase had taught us to drive in a free-for-all nightmare of a two-week time, and between Camille’s boobs and our natural glamour, we had charmed the hell out of the salesmen. We’d gotten all of our cars at well below cost, with all the options we could want.

  “No. Do you?” She glanced over at me, shaking her head.

  “Well, no.” I picked up the stack of mail and divided it. “Here, you go through this pile while I go through this one. Look for anything out of the ordinary.”

  “What would be ordinary for her?”

  Damned if she didn’t have a point. I scrunched up my nose. “Whatever seems out of the ordinary to you, I guess.”

  “Fine. But you know we’re breaking federal laws by tampering with her mail.” Camille pressed her lips together and I could tell she was trying not to laugh.

  “Since when have you been concerned about breaking laws?” I stuck my tongue out and we got to work, flipping through the hefty stack of letters and fliers. The junk mail we could obviously discard, but the letters and bills were worth a look-over.

 
Camille held up one envelope. “She has a pretty thick credit card bill.”

  “Open it—that will give us an idea of her shopping habits and might lead to answering where she hangs out.” I stopped at another envelope. It was from an online dating site—Supernatural Matchups. “I thought she had a boyfriend?”

  Camille glanced over at the return address. “So what? I have three husbands. You’re engaged to a half dragon and you also have the hots for an Elemental Lord. Menolly’s married to a werepuma and she’s also the consort of a vampire lord. Get my drift?”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. “Violet is Fae. She’s not likely to be monogamous, like you told Tad.” I sliced open the envelope, using my pocket knife. A Spyderco Endura, my new blade was a handy affair, well-made. With a black nylon handle reinforced with fiberglass, and a lip that made it as easy to open as a switchblade, it had become my go-to knife for a dozen small jobs.

  The envelope open, I slid out the paper inside. It was a listing of several matchups, but with no names. Instead, it gave a list of numbers, as well as links to the online videos for her to look at, along with information on the potential hotties just waiting to fulfill her life. The letter also included her user name, but no password.

  I showed it to Camille and she gave me a long look. “Well, you’re good with computers, and if you need backup, you can always call Tim. I say you go online, hack her password, and log in as her. Any one of these guys . . . or women, I suppose, might have found out her private information and been stalking her.”

  “Me, hack her info? No can do, but I’ll bet Tim can.” Wading through a bunch of lonely heart Supes sounded like so much fun. Not. Chances were, eighty percent of them were pathetic, or desperate. Just like bar hookups or produce-aisle stalkers. “Crap. Why do I always get stuck with the dirty work?”

  “Because, my love, you are the detective, after all. Even if you don’t take on many cases.” Before I could protest, she laughed, pressed her hand to my cheek, and pointed toward Violet’s cottage. “Here comes Shade. At least you aren’t on the dating-go-round anymore. But you have to admit, there’s nothing quite like the anticipation of meeting someone new. Of that first kiss, that first hookup . . .” She sounded almost wistful, but then laughed again. “Of course, when it goes bad it usually goes really bad.”