by Chloe Neill
I nodded. “It does.”
“Lis, I don’t have any idea why someone would have killed that vampire, or made it look like I did it. I can’t remember what happened, and I’m in this goddamned cell for no reason except, as far as I can figure, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I know, Riley. And I’m sorry. We’re all working to figure out what happened.”
He nodded, but misery swam in his eyes.
“If you think of anything, let me know. Or talk to Connor or Gabriel. Just—tell someone.”
“I will.”
I nodded and turned, guilt following me like a shadow.
“Elisa.”
I glanced back at him. He’d moved closer to the glass, flattened a hand against it.
“Animals shouldn’t be caged.”
The magic and pain and budding fury that swirled in his eyes had me shivering.
* * *
• • •
The grounds of Cadogan House were darker than they had been the night before. The party gear was gone and the sky was overcast, the air warm and damp and still, like misery itself had been trapped in the humidity, ready to suffocate. A swag of black taffeta and crepe hung from the front gate and the front door, a memorial to the immortal killed within.
It was quiet inside, too, and the air was still thick with the smell of yesterday’s flowers.
I found my parents in my father’s office. They stood together, watching the screen my mother held out.
“Good evening,” my father said, glancing back when I stepped into the doorway.
“Hi,” I said, moving to them. “How are you doing?”
“We are . . . concerned,” he settled on. “We had a moment of silence at dusk in honor of Tomas, but that still feels insufficient.”
I reached out, took his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he said. “I was no fan of Tomas. He was pompous and a little paranoid. But that doesn’t excuse murder.”
“Is there any news about the investigation?” I asked, wishing for some smoking gun that would prove Riley innocent—and that I hadn’t entirely misjudged his character.
My mother glanced at my father, then at me. I didn’t take that as a good sign. “We’ve got bad news and odd news,” she said.
“Give me the bad news first.”
“Riley’s fingerprints were the only prints on the knife. And they were in the right place.” She held up a fist like she was gripping an invisible knife, ready to strike.
“The perpetrator could have wiped off the other prints.” And would have done just that if this was the setup it looked like. But the absence of other prints still tied the knot in my stomach a little tighter.
“And the odd news?”
“The blip in the surveillance video,” my mother said, “was magical.”
“I don’t understand what those words mean together.”
“I told you,” my father said with a smile for her. “I didn’t get it, either, the first time.”
“Kelley says the missing video wasn’t caused by a technological problem,” my mother said. “It was magical in origin.”
I frowned. “Someone spelled the camera?”
“She doesn’t know, and there’s nothing before or after the blip that shows who made the magic.”
“A shifter couldn’t work a spell,” I said. “And even if they could, it’s not a very shifter thing to do. To kill someone at a party, in public, and then blank out the footage?”
“It’s pretty passive-aggressive,” my mother agreed. “Shifters tend to take more ownership of their behavior.”
“What about the fence where the killer came over? Have they found anything there?”
“Nothing,” my mother said.
“The Ombudsman continues to investigate,” my father said, and I could hear the irritation and the warning in his voice—that I wasn’t supposed to get involved.
I wasn’t going to argue with him, especially since my best argument involved telling him his daughter wasn’t a real member of his House.
“I’m going to see Lulu,” I said. “I don’t know if she’ll want to talk about this or not, but I figure I could make the offer.”
“Of course you should,” my mother said. “Do you want to take her something from the kitchen?”
It was just the kind of thing my mother would ask. “No, but thanks. You’ll let me know if you find out anything else?”
“We will,” she said. “And give our best to Lulu.”
“I will.” And hoped that would be enough.
* * *
• • •
I wanted to talk to Lulu, and I wanted to talk to Connor, not necessarily in that order. But first, I wanted to take another look at the scene of the crime.
Tonight, the House’s cafeteria was full of vampires taking their first meal of the day before heading out to their jobs in- or outside Cadogan. The smell of bacon permeated the space, and I was half-surprised my mother didn’t mention it was a bacon day. She and bacon had a special relationship.
It was humid on the back lawn, the torches and lanterns gone, the yard dark but for the occasional path lights and moonlight that filtered through the trees. No vampires, no humans, no CPD crime-scene techs. The site of Tomas’s death was empty of people tonight, which seemed equally fitting and sad.
Even if I hadn’t known the way to the patio, the scent of blood would have drawn me. It had been washed away, the scene already photographed and imaged, but it still stained the air.
The patio bricks were laid in a hexagon. There was a kitchen on one side, and a low brick rail on the other that provided seating.
I walked across the brick from one end to the other, gaze sweeping the ground for anything unusual, anything that might have been missed. I found nothing. If anything had been here, it had probably been taken by the forensic team or determined to be insignificant and washed away, just like the blood.
I checked the grass nearby, found nothing but the divots where supernaturals had scuffled in soft grass. But then something crunched underfoot. Half expecting to find a squished bug, I lifted my shoe to find something shiny wedged between grass and brick at the edge of the patio.
I crouched down. It was a brooch, a complicated knot in a careful gold filigree. I didn’t recognize the piece or the design. But it was near the site of the murder, so I figured that made it worth another look.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the handkerchief I’d borrowed from my father the night I’d arrived and had meant to give back. I picked up the brooch, wrapped it carefully, and put it away again.
Maybe it was evidence; maybe it wasn’t. But at least it was something.
TWELVE
I contacted Seri and Marion when I was in an Auto again. Based on their expressions on my screen, the information about the fingerprints and magical tampering of the surveillance video didn’t thrill them.
“A shifter could not affect electronics with magic,” Marion said.
“No, they couldn’t.”
“But that does not exonerate your friend. It indicates only that there was at least one other party involved in the murder. Someone with magical skills and the intention to use them to cover up a crime.”
That made it sound like a conspiracy, which didn’t bode well for the peace talks or peace in Chicago. “Or one person who wanted to cover their tracks,” I said.
“Yes,” Marion said. “That is possible.” But she didn’t sound convinced. “What are your next steps?”
“I’ve talked to Riley, and I’m going to talk to Connor Keene, Gabriel’s son. He’s Riley’s friend and would know if Riley had enemies.”
“Or a temper?”
It was a logical question, but it suggested she wasn’t buying my theory. “If he has a temper, I’ve never seen
it. But I understand and respect your concerns. That’s why I’m going to talk to Connor. If I learn anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“That is as much as you can do,” Marion said. “But I fear for this process. Someone wished to interrupt it. And they have succeeded.”
* * *
• • •
I could hear the music a block before I arrived at Little Red, the low bass line, throbbing drums, and thrumming guitar. Either the Pack had turned up the jukebox or there was a concert tonight at the bar.
I guessed the answer by the dozens of gleaming bikes lined up outside.
I skipped the bar entrance, went in through the office. Berna sat in the lobby on her scooter, staring intently at an e-reader beneath an enormous pair of pink and rose gold headphones. I guess she didn’t like the band. She looked up when I walked in, gaze narrowed.
“Connor,” I mouthed.
“Garage,” she said, returning her gaze to her book.
Permission enough, so I headed through the hallway she’d led me down before. When in doubt, I turned toward the noise.
The door to the bar vibrated on its hinges with each strum of the bass guitar from a band covering Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower.” I pushed open the door and was nearly pushed back by the deafening sound. The tables were full, the air smelled of smoke and spilled beer, and the room buzzed with magic strong enough to raise the hair on my neck. Shifter magic was a powerful thing, and there were a lot of shifters here. That gave it a dangerous edge.
There were also plenty of humans in the crowd, mostly twenty- and thirty-somethings who probably hadn’t come to the bar for the music but for the magic. For the power and the possibility something might happen.
The door to the garage was closed, but shifter free. I walked inside and closed the door, which muted the sound of the band to a dull roar.
I didn’t see any shifters. But the magic in the air said I wasn’t alone.
A low stool rolled through the bikes on the other side of the room with a squeak of rubber on linoleum. On it sat a narrow-eyed Miranda.
She wore skinny jeans, black boots that laced up to her knees, and a black bra beneath a distressed black tank. Her hair was curlier today, soft, dark waves that framed her face perfectly.
The boots said she was ready to fight. And so did the expression on her face.
“You aren’t wanted here,” she said, rising. “You arrested our Pack mate.”
“The CPD arrested your Pack mate because he was literally holding the murder weapon.” But I held up a hand before she could argue. “And I know he didn’t do it, so save us both the lecture. I’d like to talk to Connor.”
“He’s busy trying to take care of Riley. And it’s two days before Alaska.”
It took me a second to get the reference. “Oh, right. The road trip.”
“The return trip,” she said. “It’s important for the Pack.”
“I’m sure it is.” But I didn’t move. “I’d still like to talk to him.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Look,” I said. “I get that you have a problem with me, although I don’t know how that’s possible, since we don’t actually know each other.”
Lips pursed, she looked me over. “I know enough about you and your kind. Brat.”
“That word doesn’t do the damage you think it does. But good try.”
Irritated magic rolled across the room.
The door opened behind me, and she looked over my shoulder at someone who’d entered.
“Connor,” she said, “you have a visitor. The vampire’s here again.”
“I see that,” Connor said, walking toward us. He wore jeans and a gray Little Red T-shirt that snugged against his sculpted abdomen. “Give us a few minutes.”
“She wants to talk about Riley. He’s important to me, too.”
“Miranda.”
Anger boiled in her eyes, but she kept her mouth closed. She walked to the bar door, music spilling into the room like a cresting wave when she opened it, then slammed it behind her again.
“She doesn’t much like me,” I said.
“No, she doesn’t. You’re not her type.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Miranda’s a good Pack member. You’re not Pack. And like many shifters and vampires, she has very specific ideas about loyalty.” Connor kept his gaze on the closed door. “She’s also worried about Riley.”
“Were they together?”
“No,” he said.
He looked back at me, eyebrows furrowed, dark slashes over his blue eyes. Like a man who had things to say but wasn’t ready to say them. It wasn’t hard to guess what he was thinking. “We don’t need more vampire involvement where Riley is concerned.”
“What happened to friendship?”
He gave me a flat look. “He was arrested at Cadogan House.”
“Not by vampires. You know why they had to arrest him. The evidence was there, Connor.”
“He’s in a cage.”
“I know. I went to see him.”
Connor wasn’t the type to show surprise. He generally rolled with the current, whatever it might have been. That was the upside, I guess, of not being too focused on rules. But he definitely looked surprised now.
“You went to see him?”
“I’m not your enemy, and I’m not his enemy. I don’t know how or why he ended up holding a knife, but I know he didn’t kill Tomas. So I went to talk to him, and to find out if he knew anything else.”
“What happened to the deal with the mayor’s office? The ban against Cadogan involvement? I thought you stuck to the rules.”
“I do. But I’m not a Cadogan vampire.”
He blinked. Whatever he’d expected me to say, it wasn’t that. “What does that mean?”
I offered my theory, watched confusion change to disbelief, then appreciation. “You think the Ombudsman will buy that? Or your father?”
“Fifty-fifty on the Ombudsman. And if I have to use it, it’s going to hurt my father. But my father’s not being framed for a crime he didn’t commit.”
Connor watched me again for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. What did you learn by talking to him?”
“That he doesn’t remember anything. That he blacked out or he’s missing time, and he has one hell of a headache when he tries to remember.”
Connor’s brow furrowed. “He told me about the headaches—he was obviously in pain, and I asked him about it. But I didn’t make the connection to his memory.”
I nodded. “Someone was very careful to hide their tracks. Unfortunately, that means Riley can’t tell us what actually happened. And I didn’t get anything else specific—nothing about Tomas or anything weird that happened at the party that might have triggered someone to frame him. Did you get anything else?”
“No.”
“Is there anyone who’d particularly want to hurt him? Not just Pack enemies, but personal ones?”
He walked to Thelma, whisked an invisible spot of dust from her leather seat. “Not that I’m aware of. You know Riley, Lis. He’s likeable. Big and a little gruff, but—and I’ll deny it if you tell him I said this—a teddy bear. He’d chew off his own arm and offer it up if you needed one. That’s why he’s one of us.”
“What about Tomas?”
Connor sneered, and still managed to make the expression sexy. There was, apparently, no expression that didn’t look good on the prince. And that was just irritating.
“My only knowledge of him comes from his displays at the theater and the party. He’s not a man I’d ever want to know, or know more about.”
I couldn’t really argue with that. “Okay,” I said, and pulled the handkerchief from my pocket, showed him the brooch. “Do you know what this is?”
He glanced at it, lifted his
brows. “No. Should I?”
“I don’t know. I found it on the patio at Cadogan House.”
“Did someone drop it at the party?”
“I don’t know,” I said. And this time, looking at the brooch tickled a memory I couldn’t fully access. But before I got any further down that path, the door opened, more waves of music following the big man who walked inside.
This was Eli Keene, Connor’s uncle. He was tall, with tan skin, broad shoulders, and dark wavy hair that skimmed the shoulders of his shirt. There were strands of silver in his hair and the scruffy beard that covered his jaw, and they made him look more experienced, more powerful.
Eli looked at Connor, then at me. If he thought anything was odd about a vampire standing in the Pack’s garage, he didn’t mention it.
He gave me a nod. “Elisa. Heard you were back.”
I nodded back, tucked the handkerchief back into my pocket. “Hey, Eli. Building looks good.”
“It does,” he agreed. There was pride in his eyes, but his expression stayed somber. “You’re needed,” he said to Connor.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Eli looked at him as if debating whether to repeat the order, then slid me a glance before looking back at his nephew. “Make it quick.”
He disappeared again, leaving the cry of a squealing guitar in his wake.
“The show must go on,” I said, when the door closed.
“That’s what they say. Responsibilities.”
“Alaska?”
“Alaska,” he said, but his eyes were shadowed. “He was supposed to go with us.”
“Riley?”
Connor nodded.
“I’m sorry. And that someone is using the Pack for this.”
“Why do you care?”
The words put me on my guard, but the tone was quiet and seemed honest. “Because as much as you drive me crazy, I know you. And I know Riley. And it’s not fair.”
He watched me for a minute. “That’s some of it, but not all of it.”
I didn’t like that he’d seen something I wasn’t entirely ready to talk about. But I’d already crossed that threshold with him once. “Because of the Eiffel Tower.”
