Betrayal

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “I don’t think so,” Andy said apologetically. “I think you’re right, and someone thought it was valuable because of how your uncle talked. And they might have seen him taking it to the museum. I’m sorry but I can’t discuss an open case any further.”

  Kathy frowned, but she didn’t argue. We followed her out, and she locked the door behind us. I tensed as I remembered Squirrel-zilla, and tried to listen for any sounds that might indicate a fight to the death.

  Scath chose that moment to trot up the driveway with a writhing, hissing kitten in her teeth. I jumped, every nerve in my body spasming as I registered Majesty’s agitated state, and my brain helpfully supplied me with all the possible consequences. I looked at Scath, trying to ask with just my eyes what had happened to the squirrel. Scath ignored me.

  Kathy stared at me, apparently more surprised by my reaction than the “German Shepherd” with the angry kitten in its jaws. Andy opened the backseat door of the SUV so Scath could climb in, then nodded to Kathy before going around to the driver’s side.

  It was cowardly to hesitate before getting into the SUV myself, but I did. Physics had interesting things to say about what would happen if a rhinoceros was summoned into the backseat of an SUV.

  “Do you have any means of controlling the damage if that thing goes off?”

  I paused in the middle of putting my seatbelt on, then realized Andy wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to Scath.

  The large black cat—no longer wearing her glamour—didn’t answer him. She just settled down in the backseat as best she could with a furious ball of fur in her teeth.

  “Is the squirrel dead?” I demanded. “Or did he go back to his normal size?”

  Scath met my eyes. Then she licked her lips.

  Ew. I closed my eyes and counted to fifty, hoping that would be enough time for my stomach to adjust to that information. It wasn’t, but I forced those thoughts away and turned to Andy. “So what did you think of Kathy?”

  He glanced at the woman in question as he pulled out of the driveway. “I don’t like how quick she was to clean up that crime scene. It was only released two days ago.”

  Kathy didn’t get into her car until we’d left the driveway and were nearly at the end of the block. I twisted in my seat, watching her until Andy turned the corner and she was gone from my view. “It does seem a little unusual that she’d not only get all the carpet torn up that fast, but also have it off and burned away. Mrs. Bendel replaced her carpeting last year, and it was four days before she could get anyone to show up and haul it off.”

  “You think she knows the bowl was magic?”

  “I am not sure it was magic.” I turned back in my seat and resumed drumming my fingers on top of my waist pouch. “I’ll know more when I see the other pieces.”

  “The chalice and the knife are at the Cleveland Art Museum and the house of Catherine Emlyn, respectively,” Andy said. “The museum should be opening up shortly. If we go now, it might be easier to get the undivided attention of whoever works the exhibit with this cup your master’s so interested in.”

  My jaw ached as I clenched my teeth. “Why do you keep doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Referring to Flint as my master. And don’t say because he is. That’s not the point. You’re saying it to be cruel. Why?”

  “I’m not saying it to be cruel. I just think it’s important for both of us to remember that you’re not completely in charge of your own actions right now. He can make you do things you might not want to do.”

  “I don’t need that reminder.” I forced myself to relax my fist, easing my fingernails out of my palm. “I am painfully aware of my situation.”

  “And I don’t need the reminders that I’m human, and weaker than most of what we go up against,” Andy said quietly. “Everything in your world can kill me, easily and with no consequences. I get it.”

  I snapped my mouth shut. Was that all it was? He was teaching me a lesson? Turning the tables on me for my constant warnings?

  I craned my neck to look at Peasblossom, but she looked as torn as I felt. Andy flicked on his turn signal and kept his eyes on the road. Neither of us spoke for the rest of the drive.

  Chapter 3

  “According to Flint’s file, the man who originally owned the cup passed away a month ago.” I drew a finger down the page, following the neat lines of text. “He had no living relatives, so he left the cup to the museum with the strict warning that it could never be sold.”

  Andy flicked on his turn signal before pulling into a large parking lot. The Cleveland Museum of Art loomed before us, pale stone and thick columns broadcasting a sense of power and elegance. I shifted uneasily in my seat. I didn’t like museums. I’d spent most of my life in a house that existed between realms and between times, and it was always a little disorienting to walk from room to room and recognize artifacts or paintings only to read their little plaques and realize they’d been created decades or centuries apart. I had no idea how old I was, not really, and I didn’t need the reminder.

  “If the museum had no interest in the bowl, then why would they want the cup?” Andy asked. “If they’re part of a set, then wouldn’t they be of equal value?”

  “One would think.” I waited for Andy to park the car, then assessed my options. Majesty had fallen asleep during the drive over, apparently exhausted. He was curled up between Scath’s massive paws in a pool of softly vibrating heat. The interior of the SUV was so silent, I might have thought Scath had fallen asleep too, if I couldn’t feel that green stare boring into the back of my skull.

  I twisted around, gently so as not to make noise, and looked at Scath. “I don’t suppose you’d stay here, and keep him comfy and hopefully asleep?” I whispered.

  In answer, Scath pushed her front legs against the door, arching her back in a long stretch that pressed her backside against the side window, her claws pressing into the opposite door until I thought I heard groaning metal. Majesty remained limp on the seat, still sleeping.

  Until Scath picked him up in her jaws.

  “What are you doing?” I grasped my door handle and pulled, heaving the door open just in case a large zoo animal made a sudden, unwanted appearance.

  Majesty cracked open one blue eye. His pupil oscillated as he tried to focus, and he let out a sleepy meow of protest as Scath leapt down to the asphalt with him still in her mouth. I stuttered back a step, staring as she craned her neck, urging Majesty to get onto her back.

  The kitten moved as if intoxicated, waving a half-hearted paw toward her back. Eventually he managed to fumble his way to the center of her spine. He squirmed around until he’d made an indentation in her thick fur, then resumed his nap. His tiny eyes squeezed shut, a muffled purr escaping on every breath. A pulse of magic preceded the wash of Scath’s service dog glamour as it swallowed both her feline form, and the dozing kitten.

  “She obviously wants us to keep the miserable beastie with us,” Peasblossom grumbled. “I don’t like it.”

  “Of course you don’t like it. I don’t like it either.” I slammed the SUV door, a tiny part of me hoping to catch Scath’s swaying tail. The sidhe cat lashed her tail aside at the last minute. “If he goes off inside the museum, there’s going to be trouble.”

  Andy locked the SUV and headed for the museum without commenting on the Majesty situation. My legs were shorter than his, but I was used to keeping up with people with a longer stride than me, so it didn’t take long to close the distance. We reached the door to the museum, and Andy paused long enough to hold the door open for me. A peace offering, I hoped.

  “How will we know how to find the cup?” Peasblossom glared around the vaulted ceilings and the maze of roped off exhibits. She grabbed a lock of my hair and wrapped it around herself like a cocoon. “This place is huge.”

  “The cup was donated by Mr. Lovitz. All we have to do is go to their information center and ask—”

  “Mother Renard?”

  The
voice froze me in my tracks. I knew that voice.

  Unfortunately.

  By the time I managed to get my facial expression under control enough to turn around, Morgan was only three feet away. Her black hair was piled on her head in a nest of glossy braids that gave the illusion of writhing movement. If I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, there was no white in her eyes, just large black orbs with a thin band of dark brown. Avian eyes.

  I didn’t even have time to open my mouth before that strange gaze fell to Scath. The change in the sidhe woman’s attitude was instant. Morgan’s spine bowed as she leaned forward, looking for a moment like she might be sick. The color drained from her already pale face, and her lips opened and closed without forming a sound. The reaction was so intense that I took a step away from Scath, staring at the sidhe feline for some sign that she’d offered a threat, had somehow changed since we left the SUV.

  “Who is this?” Morgan’s voice came out thin, almost strangled. I blinked as I realized her hands were shaking.

  “This is Scath,” I said carefully. I hesitated, then added, “And Majesty.”

  “Scath,” Morgan repeated.

  She was still staring. I had no doubt Morgan saw through the service dog glamour, but I was less certain if she saw anything beyond that. Did she know there was a woman beneath the bestial exterior? Or did she think, as I originally had, that Scath was a cat sith? Morgan was Unseelie, though I wasn’t sure what race specifically, so I had no idea just how much she could tell at a glance.

  Andy stood by without saying anything, and I could tell I wasn’t the only one perturbed by Morgan’s reaction to Scath. He met my eyes, tilted his head slightly in an unspoken question. I shook my head slightly. I was just as baffled as he was.

  “And she’s your…?” Morgan prompted, waving her hand with a jerkiness that betrayed irritation.

  That was an odd question. “Companion,” I answered carefully.

  “Companion,” Morgan repeated.

  She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t so much as swayed in Scath’s direction, despite her scrutiny. Scath, for her part, stood beside me staring at Morgan the same way someone at a hair salon might stare out the window while waiting for their name to be called. Unconcerned. Bored.

  Morgan took a single step closer, her eyes never leaving the other sidhe. “How long has she been your…companion?”

  I looked at Peasblossom. Morgan’s strange attitude was setting off warning bells, but I didn’t know her or Scath well enough to guess why. Peasblossom didn’t meet my eyes straight away, but when she did, she lifted her chin. “No more questions,” she murmured under her breath. “Tell her to mind her own business.”

  “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” I asked, keeping my voice as low as possible.

  Before Peasblossom could answer, Majesty sat up and stretched, his fuzzy head rising far enough that he broke free from Scath’s glamour. For a second, she looked like a German Shepard wearing a blue service vest with a small kitten head sewn to the center of it. Then Scath’s glamour readjusted and Majesty appeared in his entirety sitting on her back. He yawned, flashing sharp kitten teeth at Morgan, then regarded her with sleepy eyes.

  Then he sneezed.

  Morgan’s skin turned blue.

  My mouth fell open, and Andy’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. I blinked, but the effect didn’t fade. Morgan’s face and hands were bright blue. Smurf blue. I stared at Majesty, my mouth working, but no sound coming out. Scath’s ears pricked forward in interest, and she sniffed the air.

  “What?” Morgan demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  Voices behind me warned of the imminent arrival of more patrons, and I quickly circled around Morgan, forcing her to turn to avoid breaking eye contact, positioning her back to the new arrivals. I unzipped my waist pouch with one hand while holding the other out in a “stay calm” gesture.

  “It’s fine, everything’s fine. Bizbee, a mirror, quickly.”

  A small compact mirror thrust up from the depths of the pouch, held aloft by a tiny pale hand. “Oh, aye, right away. And don’t bother with the niceties, I don’t need a please. Or a thank ye.”

  Bizbee had a surprisingly gruff voice for a grig—a tiny fey humanoid with the lower body and antennae of a cricket—no bigger than my hand. And the disapproval that soaked every word only added to the effect. I made a mental note to get him a pack of multi-colored Post-its by way of apology even as I snatched the compact from him.

  “Thank you.” I pried it open and held it up to Morgan. I had no explanation, so I didn’t even try to offer one.

  Sidhe were very big on feeling insulted. Mostly because it was their favorite way to put someone in their debt. I’d recently had a great deal of experience with this pastime, so by the time Morgan’s eyes met mine, I was ready.

  “What did you do?” she seethed, keeping her voice down for the benefit of the other patrons. “Why would you offer me an insult this way?”

  “It wasn’t me.” I kept my spine rigid, and my chin held high. I’d have been looking down my nose at her if she weren’t at least six inches taller than me. With her heels, it was more like nine. “I played no part in it.”

  Morgan stared at her reflection, and I called my magic, used it to feel around her, try to figure out what spell was responsible for her sudden change in hue. I knew it was Majesty’s doing, that much was clear, but I knew next to nothing about the kitten’s magic. Unease rolled through me as I caught the briefest flicker of purple energy before it winked out. Nothing remained, no residue, no trace.

  A permanent effect, then.

  Morgan read my facial expression. She pressed her lips together, then a second later she looked like her normal self again. I couldn’t resist one more probe of magic, just enough to confirm my suspicion. She was using glamour to hide her blue skin.

  “Have you come here to attack me, then?” Morgan asked quietly. “Is this your revenge for my failing you?”

  I lifted the flap of my waist pouch with one hand, scooping Majesty up with the other. This wasn’t the best solution, but I had little choice. I thought I heard Bizbee curse as I dropped the kitten inside and zipped the pouch.

  “I didn’t attack you,” I said firmly. “Majesty is independent. And for what it’s worth, I don’t believe he has any control over his magic.” I gestured at her lapel. “I didn’t even know you worked here.”

  Morgan raised her hand to absentmindedly finger the gold name tag pinned to her black suit jacket. “It’s part of my attempt to make social reparations to Marilyn. You aren’t the only one who found my behavior at the auction to be…less than satisfactory.”

  I stared at Morgan, trying not to let an image of the fey she’d mentioned crystallize in my mind. “Marilyn?”

  “Yes. You did know she’s the museum director? Head of the board?” Morgan laughed nervously. “Mother Renard, nothing happens in the art world without Marilyn knowing about it. Not here, not in Cleveland. This is Marilyn’s domain.”

  I hadn’t known.

  “I don’t believe either Shade or Marilyn has any reason to fault you for your behavior the last time we met,” Andy spoke up, stepping closer to Morgan. “I think Grayson would agree with me.”

  Like a switch being flipped, Morgan’s demeanor warmed, a smile curving her carefully painted lips. “That is kind of you to say, Agent Bradford.” Morgan leaned closer to him. “If I may, I didn’t get a chance to tell you before how impressed I was with your show of strength at the lake. Not many people would take on a kelpie, not even to save a child. And you a human at that.” She hesitated. “I do hope they aren’t still giving you a hard time? Kelpies aren’t the most forgiving creatures.”

  I held very still, some irrational part of me hoping that maybe Andy would let something slip. Instead, Andy stiffened, his features sharpening into alert FBI agent mode.

  “Are they still around?” he asked. “The kelpies?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know if they’re
still staying on Marilyn’s houseboat. But there’s always a handful of them around Cleveland somewhere, being this close to Lake Erie. They congregate at the waterfront bars, waiting for drunks.”

  “They’re killing people?” Andy’s voice dropped to a dangerously low level.

  “Oh, no. Well, I don’t think so. The Vanguard frowns on that sort of behavior. Mostly they get into fights. Every once in a while a man might stumble home from the bar with a story of a wild ride over the waves of Lake Erie and a healthy fear of the waterfront, but I don’t think they’re eating people on a regular basis.”

  For every comforting assurance she gave him, she stepped it back with an offhand grisly comment. Uncharitable as it might be, I couldn’t help but think that was intentional. As if she wanted to lure Andy to the waterfront so the kelpies could finish what they’d started.

  Or maybe this was her punishing me for Majesty’s blunder.

  “We’re looking for a cup that was donated to the museum by a Mr. Lovitz,” I said, stepping forward to put myself between Morgan and Andy. “Could you check your records for us and tell us where we might find it?”

  Morgan waved a hand. “There’s no need to look it up, I know what item you’re talking about. I’m the curator for the medieval section, and that’s one of our showpieces.” She gestured for us to follow her. “May I ask what your interest is in that particular display?”

  “A showpiece?” Andy asked. “I’m not sure we’re talking about the same cup. This one is ceramic. Old, but not worth anything.”

  “It appeared to be ceramic,” Morgan agreed. “When it first arrived here. But actually, it’s gold. Someone put a glamour on it, nothing too difficult to remove. I felt it as soon as the lawyers delivered it, and it was a simple matter to dismiss it during its assessment.”

  “The cup is made of gold?” I asked. “This is the cup that was left to the museum after Mr. Lovitz’s death?” I thought back to the file Flint had given me, recalling the details of the gift. “This item would have had a list of stipulations—”