Twinned Shadow (The Shadow Series Book 1)

by Candice Bundy

  Becka dug in her mental heels, as inebriated as they were. “You know what Brent? It’s a great offer, but I’m gonna have to pass.”

  He looked her up and down. “I didn’t aim to offend, Becka. Your safety is of the utmost importance to both your father and House Rowan.”

  “It’s sweet you believe that, Brent. But the truth is I’m not important to my birth house beyond my ability to produce potentially gifted offspring. As you could see from that brief but pointed conversation with Lagan just now.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s better for everyone if you’re alive and thriving.”

  Becka blew out a sigh. “You’re striking out, Brent. I’m afraid it’s a hard no for me.”

  “So you’d rather keep Quinn around?” he growled. “The liar, as you said?”

  Becka smiled. “Do you know him?”

  Brent frowned. “Not personally. But I know he can hear the truth in the words of others, while having the uncanny inability to give a straight answer. He’s been involved in some shifter/human investigations in the past, and from what I heard, his methods can feel a bit like strong-arming. I have to question whose side he’s on.”

  “Side?” Becka cocked her head. “He’s an Enforcer, they look for the truth, right?”

  “Feels like his truth favors the humans a bit too often for my taste.”

  Becka rolled that around her head for a moment. If Quinn was honest in his work, and he was catching out the shifters and fae, then perhaps that’s why non-humans weren’t fond of him?

  Luckily for him, she was an outcast who had no interest in taking sides against the humans.

  “Yeah, I’m still gonna stick with him. He’s got his charms, the biggest of which is he’s not swayed by internal Rowan drama, which is a huge selling point in this decision for me. Besides, I’m on the case now. I’m going to help Quinn catch Tesse’s killer.”

  “Is Quinn aware you’ve decided to work on the case?”

  “Yes.”

  Brent shook his head. “How irresponsible,” he spat out, his expression downright stormy. “This is a very bad idea, Becka. There’s no cause to endanger yourself when there are plenty of others investigating her murder.”

  Becka planted a hand on one hip while wagging a finger in his face. “I can work with the Enforcer if I want. I’m not guilded. You don’t get to tell me what I can do.”

  “You’re right, I don’t But I’ll inform Vott, and we’ll see what happens. I can’t imagine the Enforcer will be around long after that. I can’t believe he even offered such nonsense! ”

  Becka’s shoulder’s sagged. It’d been a mistake to run her mouth off bragging to Brent about helping on the investigation. “Quinn said Vott couldn’t get him dismissed?”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. When he hears of Quinn’s poor judgment, I bet he’ll find a way. Are you sure you won’t take me up on my offer?” he asked again.

  “Nope.”

  Brent shook his head, sighing in resignation. “I’ll let Duke Vott know you turned down an offer of help from the family.”

  “Duly noted, but I’m outcast. It’s been great talking with you, Brent.”

  Becka continued down the hall to her bedroom, wanting to kick herself in the butt. What if Brent was right? What if Quinn was sent away over his willingness to rope Becka into the investigation? She was just feeling like she had some purpose in being back here, beyond just sitting vigil for Tesse. Becka needed this investigation to keep herself sane. She needed to do right by Tesse in death, as she hadn’t been able to in life.

  She heard footsteps behind her. Could he not take a hint? She stopped and spun around.

  “Dammit…” she paused, ready for an argument. “Oh, Quinn.” She felt a spontaneous, broad smile spread across her face. His presence calmed her so much, and she didn’t even know why. Considering Vott and Brent’s poor regard of the Enforcer, she should be keeping him at a distance.

  Perhaps it was because of her years amongst humans herself that she didn’t begrudge him his position between the two worlds.

  Perhaps it was because of his consistent, direct manner, so like her own that made him more relatable than other fae to her.

  Or perhaps she’d grown too fond of that stunningly gorgeous smile and didn’t want to admit it to herself. “I wondered where you’d got off to.”

  “Did you?” He seemed tense. And serious. He raised a hand and placed it on her shoulder, his brows in super serious mode. “You appear quite intoxicated.”

  Becka huffed and strode off in the direction of her room, Quinn close on her heels.

  “I indulged in the food and drink I haven’t had in eight years. Cut me some slack. Besides, I have a killer headache I’m trying to fight off over here.”

  They reached her room and Quinn went in ahead of her, sweeping the room as he’d done the first time. Becka headed straight for one of the bottles of hot sauce she’d stowed in her bag, unscrewing the top and pouring a hefty amount down her throat.

  “I would think, knowing you might be in some level of peril, that you would abstain from the wine to better keep your wits about you. And that sauce will only muddle your brain further.”

  “You didn’t say to avoid the drink. And I have the option of a mind muddled by the sauce or this headache, and I vastly prefer the dizzy addling of the peppers.”

  He crossed the room to her, unabashedly getting up in her space. “Try to show a little bit of enlightened self-interest, okay?”

  His visceral concern hit her as honest, a refreshing emotion after a dinner filled with posturing guild members. A spontaneous smile returned to her lips, but Becka squelched it, lest he think she wasn’t taking him seriously.

  Instead, she put on her ‘I’m being serious’ face. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I’ll endeavor to be more careful.”

  He cut his chin to the side. “Good.”

  She took another swig from the bottle, relishing the mind-numbing kick. “But the sauce isn’t optional.” The headache slid away like a sheet of water off a duck’s feathers, and she sighed with relief.

  He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Did you learn anything useful over dinner?”

  Becka withdrew to the dressing room to change for bed.

  “Yes, actually. My brother Calder has always yearned for power. With Tesse out of the way, he’s now Maura’s heir apparent. I wonder if he had any involvement in Tesse’s death?”

  “You think he’s capable of killing his own sister? Or just that he would not have been content being next in line to her?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. But I definitely feel he‘s hungry for power.”

  “What about her betrothed, Alain? How did he come across?”

  “He was beside himself with grief, unable to endure with me there.”

  “That’s curious. I’ve read the files. I had the impression they hadn’t known each other for very long?”

  Becka sighed. “He seems unusually melodramatic, even for a fae.”

  He nodded. “Anyone else?”

  “No one comes to mind.”

  “How about Brent?”

  A sinking feeling hit her in the gut. Becka exited the dressing room in her pj’s and grabbed her journal from her backpack. Quinn must have seen them talking? “What about Brent?”

  He stared at her, expression horrified. “What is wrong with you?”

  “What is it, more cat hair?”

  “No. Whatever made you think those rainbow-farting unicorns patterned pj’s would be appropriate?”

  Emboldened by her tipsy and euphoric state, she walked up to him and poked a finger on his chest for the second time today. “I am appropriately comfortable in my favorite pjs. What does it matter? No one but you will even see me in them.”

  An uncomfortable moment hung in the air, an unspoken tension. Neither of them moved and for a few breaths all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart.

  He shook his head, laughed and backed away, brea
king contact. “Anyway...Brent. Did you think he’s a threat?”

  Becka rolled her eyes. “Brent’s pack has worked security for Vott since before I was born. It was his dad, Barric, leading them back then. The wolves aren’t any threat to me nor to the house. Well, at least not the house.”

  “That’s good. And at least he’s not a liar, right?” Quinn raised his brow, his expression tense again.

  Becka groaned. “Why didn’t you just say you overheard us?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Replaying the conversation with Brent in her mind, Becka shook her head. “You know I don’t feel you’re fully honest.”

  “I think we could quibble about definitions all night and not get anywhere. I did wonder why you criticized me to the shifter.”

  “But I also told him I didn’t want you replaced.”

  “Why not? I mean, you had every reason to have Brent replace me. He’s well known to you.”

  She shook her head. “No, he’s allied with Rowan. With the fae. You’re between the worlds, like me. Kind of, anyway. What I’m saying is it’s a marginal improvement, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  His eyes were stormy. Not quite angry. Frustrated, maybe? “No, not like you, but I get your meaning.”

  “Plus, working with you I know I’m helping in the hunt for my sister’s killer.”

  “That you are, and I appreciate your willingness to help.”

  Becka climbed into the large bed, tossing piles of decorative pillows onto the floor. “Where are you sleeping?”

  “I bet I could sleep there and you would never notice I was on the same continent.”

  Becka pursed her lips. “No, really.”

  He chuckled, and then patted the couch across from the bed. “This one. It’s large and has a great vantage point in the room.” He flopped down on the couch, seeking a comfortable position.

  Tucking herself under the covers, Becka opened her journal and started jotting down the day. Becka doodled a goat cheese stuffed squash blossom in her journal.

  “Do you journal every day?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes. I can always find something worth noting and I find it a useful reference tool to recall events and people.”

  After a few minutes Becka placed her journal on the nightstand, and she dimmed the light next to the bed. Since fae gifts had come up during dinner with Calder, Becka realized she didn’t know Quinn’s.

  “By the way, what’s your gift?”

  “You are asking now?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “As a member of the House of Oak, we are all naturally gifted with a bit more prowess and strength than the other clans.”

  “Right, House Oak is known for producing fierce warriors. But your strength and dexterity are considered innate, like the shifters abilities.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But that wouldn’t qualify you as magically guilded, any more than my superior night vision or ability to run marathons. They’re due to my fae heritage, so those are innate skills, not magical.”

  “Indeed. In the House of Staves, we are known not just for our physical prowess, but also for magical gifts which enhance social strength and stability. My gift of being able to hear the truth in the words of others is also considered innate as I have had the ability as long as I can remember, versus emerging during puberty, like many other guild’s gifts.”

  Lucky guy. Pieces of the puzzle around his failure to disclose facts clicked together in her mind. “Is that why you don’t always answer questions? Does being dishonest lessen your ability to read others?”

  “You intuit it correctly. I discovered some time ago that if I lie, my attunement to hearing the truths of others suffers. Therefore it behooves me to be honest, but not always direct.”

  “And that also explains why you’re working with the Enforcers. And with the fae love for intrigue, I bet you don’t make a lot of friends?”

  He barked out a mirthless laugh. “I do encounter a high degree of suspicion regarding my motives. Since I joined the Enforcers that mistrust has magnified.”

  “Quinn?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think telling Brent I’m working on the murder case with you will cause trouble?”

  “Likely.”

  “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “Solve the murder faster.”

  Chapter 11

  Becka woke up in the wee hours, moonlight gleaming into her bleary eyes. She shifted in bed and tried to settle down again, but to no avail. Something was tugging at the back of her mind. Something roused her from sleep.

  Becka sat up and looked around the room. The couch across from her bed, where Quinn had been sleeping, was empty. Where was Quinn? Had something happened?

  She feared the worst.

  Taking great care to be silent, Becka slipped out of bed and did a once-over around her room. A hint of movement caught her eye from the balcony, the tiniest of moonlit reflections. Then she noticed a door to the balcony was open a sliver. Approaching on bare feet, Becka hid behind the roses while getting as close to the door as she could.

  She was close enough to hear Quinn’s voice in low tones.

  “I do not know how to be sure. There have been some hints, but nothing I can pin down with any certainty.”

  Another pause.

  “Well there was something weird with the funerary shroud that got Astrid upset, but I’m not clear how she might have done that. I was watching all of the time. Then there was this odd thing with the cat’s tail. The fur all fell off when she touched it, but that could mean anything.”

  He paused. There was the slightest of whispers. Was there someone out there with him? But no, the sound was tinny, as if far away. Someone on the other end of a phone, then? Perhaps his Enforcer boss?

  “Agreed, that’s the only way to be sure. I am keeping a close eye on her. She’s never out of my sight.”

  A quiet pause.

  “That would be a challenge. The manor is full of not just family, but also guests here for the funeral.”

  Becka felt uncomfortable listening in, but couldn’t stop herself. The nagging feeling at the back of her mind hadn’t gone away. Quinn’s voice was hard. Rough. Devoid of the laid back and mirthful attitude she’d come to think of as his hallmark.

  “There’s additional security watching her as well. It may be best to wait until after.”

  The whispering noise was louder this time. Irate.

  “I understand your frustration.”

  Another infuriating pause.

  “If she goes missing now, it would draw attention. Waiting until after the funeral is ideal. It’s unlikely any of the fae will keep track of her after she leaves.”

  A shot of adrenaline iced through her veins, the frantic beating of her heart suddenly the only sound she could hear. Missing? Becka couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had she completely misread Quinn’s intentions? From their conversations, she’d never had an inkling of this from him.

  Shaking in fear, or was it anger, Becka snuck back over to the bed and hid under the covers. She couldn’t risk confronting Quinn with what she’d overheard or him knowing she’d eavesdropped on his conversation. She might have misread what he said. But what if she hadn’t? Her heart ached. The agreements to help him hunt down Tesse’s killer...had all that been a ruse on his part?

  There would be no cheering of Becka when she helped find the killer. Not that she needed cheering, but a bit of appreciation and validation would go a long way.

  She should have taken Brent up on his offer, but it was too late now without Quinn asking some uncomfortable questions.

  Remembering their conversation about his gift, Becka hatched a plan to ferret out the truth.

  Chapter 12

  “You have been unusually quiet this morning,” Quinn said, hovering over her. His look of concern heightened his already alert appearance as he scanned the crowd. But then, no one had ex
pected the House of Staves Enforcer to be subtle.

  Becka side-eyed him. He didn’t have the look of someone who was planning to abduct her. But how would she know? Cautious in her word choice, she whispered back. “Hush. The demonstrations are about to begin.”

  Her clever idea from last night seemed less feasible in the light of day. She’d planned to use his limitation to always speak the truth and turn it to her advantage, catching him out. However, what if his plans were, indeed, sinister? If she did catch him, what then? Surely him recognizing she knew his plans would place her at greater risk. Perhaps even forcing him into action ahead of schedule. So, instead, Becka stewed in her thoughts and fears, hoping for inspiration.

  At least the headache hadn’t returned. Yet.

  They stood in a wooded grove consisting of aspen with a few conifers sprinkled into the mix. Large glacier-deposited boulders dotted the landscape. A broad, flat boulder lay at center stage. A young cousin of hers stood upon the rock.

  It was day three out of seven on the ceremonial wearing of gray for the attendees, and Becka’s choice to wear black stood out even more so from the throng. True to the fae-touched embrace of creative expression, the range of variation in design did not disappoint. Yet the field felt like it was swaddled in mediocrity, the color gray drowning out the bright green summer leaves of the aspen and muffling the brilliant points of color gifted by hundreds of wildflowers.

  Which was fitting for a funeral observance. Ugh.

  “We are far enough back I am confident the performers cannot hear us,” he whispered.

  “They do not like to be called performers. They are presenters of homages to the departed.”

  What could she say to him after overhearing his phone call last night? Are you planning to abduct me on the way home? Where are you planning to take me after the funeral?

  At least she didn’t have to worry about any of the family or guests initiating conversations with her. The most contact she’d had with anyone besides Quinn today was brushing against them as they milled around the grove waiting for the presentations to begin.