Oak & Thorns

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “Would you like a glass of water?” I asked. She looked far too pale for comfort, even though I knew that was her natural pallor. Herne flashed me a silent thank-you.

  Over the past couple of months I had learned to break the tension by offering to fetch water or coffee or anything else that would give our clients a chance to gather their thoughts. It gave them time to breathe when they were talking about painful subjects, and it tended to prevent breakdowns in the office.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. It’s been a year and I still expect him to come dashing around the corner, laughing and saying it was a bad joke.” The tears were thick in her throat, but she maintained her composure, only her eyes exposing the sorrow in her heart.

  I poured her a glass of water from the jug on the sideboard. Herne waited for a moment before he asked the next question.

  “Where did they find his body?”

  She flinched, closing her eyes briefly. Then, taking a deep breath, she answered.

  “At the bottom of the ravine, near the shore. The police didn’t let us know until the next day. I’m not sure why they waited so long, except they probably didn’t want us mucking up the crime scene. Jona…his body had been mangled. He had over a hundred puncture wounds on him, but the coroner couldn’t tell us what caused them. Apparently, his throat was so scratched up inside that it looked like someone had taken a giant razor blade and shoved it down his throat, scraping it round and round. There was no blood left in his body.”

  The tension rose in the room and I could tell she was trying to keep control. I waited a beat, then asked, “Vampire?”

  In cases of exsanguination, that was always my first thought.

  “That’s what the police thought. Or at least, what they told us. Any of those punctures on his body could have been from a fang, they said. But what kind of vampire bites their victim all over their body? And how the hell did they rip up his throat from the inside? We asked a lot of questions, and got a whole lot of nothing for an answer.”

  “They wouldn’t tell you anything else?”

  “Well, one of the deputies made the mistake of telling us that Jona had been alive as recently as the day before, but the sheriff barked at him and he clammed up. So whoever had him kept him alive for a while.” Again, she closed her eyes. We all knew what that meant.

  “Were all the wounds made at the same time? The coroner would be able to figure that out.”

  “I have no clue. We asked, but as I said, nobody ever got back to us.”

  Herne was frowning. “Did they say anything else? Anything at all?”

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “A few days later, the cops told us they would probably never be able to find the killer because ‘vampires move around too much.’ The case is still unsolved, even though they stamped ‘vampire kill’ on it. But since we don’t know exactly who killed him, it’s considered a cold case. And everybody knows that once you label a death as a vampire kill, you might as well kiss any further investigation good-bye.”

  The look on her face told us what she thought of the way the police had handled the case.

  “Did anybody ever come forward? Were there any witnesses?” I was finding myself pulled in.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. The police shut us down. All they would say was that we needed to let it go and move on. It’s been a year, but after the first two weeks, I don’t think they lifted a finger on the case.”

  “Why did you wait until now to come to us?”

  It was never easy to fathom why our clients came to us when they did, especially with older cases like this, but we always asked. Usually there was some sort of trigger that sparked off the sudden desire to find a resolution.

  Rhiannon worried her lip for a moment.

  “Marilyn has tried to make a life for herself and her son. As she should. Three weeks ago, she confided in me that she was going on her first date since Jona died. She said that she owed it to her son to move on. I guess…”

  “You aren’t ready to move on,” I said softly.

  She nodded. “It feels like everybody has forgotten Jona. I suppose I’m angry. Oh, I didn’t say anything, because I wouldn’t hurt her for the world, and I know she’s doing what she needs to. But Jona was brutally murdered and everybody’s acting as though he just moved away. I want closure, damn it. I want to know who murdered him. Every time I go to the police—and I’ve been there several times throughout the past year—they’ve told me go home and talk to a therapist. They say there’s no way they can ever figure out who killed him. But I know full well that it wasn’t a vampire.”

  And there it was, her reason for sitting here in our office, asking us to help.

  “Playing devil’s advocate for just a moment,” Herne said, “why don’t you think a vampire killed him? I’m just trying to get a feel for what strikes the wrong chord for you.”

  Marilyn hesitated, then said, “I’ve become acquainted with some of the local vampires. Every single one of them told me that it couldn’t be a vampire kill. They keep close tabs on their community. One of the vampires—his name is Rayne—told me to look into the history of the island. I’m not sure why, but that’s all he would say. So I decided to come to you. I chose you because I’ve heard of the work you do, and you aren’t on the island. I didn’t want anybody who might be…”

  “Paid off by the authorities?” Herne asked, a faint smile on his face.

  She nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”

  He tapped his fingers on the desk. “You do realize this will be an expensive investigation? We’ll have to drive up to Whidbey Island and stay for a few days, at the very least. And we can’t guarantee any results, although we will do our very best.”

  Rhiannon waved off his comments. “I’m the Matriarch of the Foam Born Encampment. With that title comes the keys to the treasure chest. I can afford your fees.”

  “All right.” Herne began jotting down a string of numbers and I realized he was putting together an estimate of the retainer.

  Without skipping a beat, she pulled out her checkbook. “Just name the figure and I’ll write you a check right now.”

  Herne looked at me. “What do you think? Should we take this on? We’ve had a busy season and I know everybody’s tired.”

  It sounded like a difficult case, but I wanted to take it. There was something behind this—something that wasn’t right. “Hey, for a chance to get away to Whidbey Island? Even though we’ll be on a case, I can use some time out of the city, and I think the rest of us can, as well.” The thought of getting away to the relatively unpopulated island where we could breathe clean air and saltwater appealed to me.

  “All right,” he said, nodding. He turned back to Rhiannon. “How about if we drive up to Whidbey Island for a few days? We’ll see what we can find out. If it looks like the case is going to hit a brick wall, we’ll call it quits. I don’t want to drain your bank account. If we do find anything, then you can make a decision whether you want us to continue.” He pulled out a retainer form and jotted a few notes on it. “Take this form to Angel at the front desk. You can pay her and she’ll give you a receipt. We have to wrap up some things here in the city, but we can start in a couple of days. Will that work?”

  Rhiannon breathed a long sigh of relief and nodded. “Thank you. Just knowing that you’re going to even take a stab at it gives me some hope. And right now hope is all I’ve got.” She stood, shaking our hands. Then, clutching the form that Herne had given her, she exited the office, closing the door softly behind her.

  Chapter 2

  “WHAT DO YOU think?” I asked, turning to Herne after she left.

  He slipped from behind the desk, stopping by my side. As he slid his arm around my waist and pulled me to him, I caught my breath. His very touch set me on fire. This had been the first time in a while that I had been able to sustain a relationship without something deadly happening to one of my
boyfriends.

  “What I think,” he said softly, “is that you should give me a kiss.”

  He kissed my nose, then tilted my chin up with one finger as he bent down, pressing his lips against mine. They were warm against my own, yet his kiss was demanding as he pressed himself close. It was one of those kisses that said, “You belong to me.”

  I moaned. I wanted to rip my clothes off right here in his office, but I had more self-restraint than that. Although more than once I had thought seriously about doing just that. But Herne and I did our best to keep it professional at work, limiting ourselves to stolen kisses. It wasn’t that everybody didn’t know we were knocking boots. We just didn’t want them to be too uncomfortable, given how loud we could both be.

  “That’s better,” he said. “I missed you last night. And the night before. And the night before that.”

  Angel and I had been attending a week-long series of evening seminars. Given the time we spent there, plus our workload, it had been several days since Herne and I had had a chance to get in a good fuck-fest. And right now, standing so close to him, that was all I could think about.

  I pressed my hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Even the gods had hearts. “You were the one who suggested Angel and I take a course on police investigation for the layman.”

  “It made sense at the time,” he whispered, taking my hand and kissing each finger in turn.

  Even though I had been a freelance investigator, I haven’t dealt much with the police. And Angel had steered clear of them as much as she could. The course was giving us insight into how investigations were run, although the teacher conveniently sidestepped the fact that the Fae heavily influenced the police. Just like the vampires stacked the deck at Wall Street, the Fae manipulated the puppet strings of the police. There wasn’t much anybody could do about either situation, so most people ignored it and went on as usual.

  “I’ve missed you too. It’s been almost a week,” I said, thinking that I actually had missed him. While I enjoyed my time with Herne, probably more than I wanted to admit, I still needed my privacy and time spent with my friends. Although, to be honest, I didn’t have many friends beyond Angel. She and I had been BFFs since childhood, but otherwise I had been a loner until I came to work for the Wild Hunt.

  “Trust me, I’m feeling the lack.” The way he said it made me stare at him for a moment. He sounded hungry. Very, very hungry. I could see it in his eyes.

  “Dude, remember, I’m not immortal, even though I am Fae. I bruise.” But I winked, and he laughed.

  “I promise, I’ll take it easy on you. So, are you busy tonight?”

  Reluctantly, I nodded. “It’s the last night of the seminar and I don’t want to miss it. You were right, I think this is going to be a big help to us. Angel and I are learning a lot. And given how busy we’ve been the past few days, I’m already dead tired. So, changing the subject, when do we leave for Whidbey Island?”

  “Day after tomorrow, I figure. And changing the subject right back, what about a rain check? Tomorrow night?” He wiggled his eyebrows, making me laugh.

  I conceded, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Sounds good. Do you want to call a staff meeting this afternoon?”

  “I think we’d better. We have some research to do before we leave. Go ahead and alert the others. We’ll meet in half an hour. That will give people time to order in lunch. Meanwhile, as delightful as you are, I have a few calls I have to return.” He kissed me again, then let go of me. “Remember—half an hour.” As he waved me out, turning back to his desk, I shut the door behind me.

  Angel was waiting at her desk.

  “You were right. Meeting in half an hour.” I sniffed the air, the smell of fish and chips hanging heavy, and my salivary glands went into overdrive. “That smells so good. Please tell me you bought enough for me?”

  “I bought enough for both of us.” She held up a sack that read anton’s fish shack on it. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell the others about the meeting? I’ll meet you outside on the stoop. We might as well catch a little sunshine while we can.”

  I nodded, heading back to the other offices.

  DOWNTOWN SEATTLE WAS a jumble of stately old brick and modern chrome and glass. The streets showed signs of neglect, with too many potholes and crumbling patches of asphalt, but all in all, the city was beautiful. At night, when the neon was blaring, and during the long rains, Seattle could feel gritty and cold. But right now with the sun shining, and the streeps—the people who lived in the back alleys, and the homeless shelters—blasting out their music as they danced on the sidewalks, it was a welcoming place.

  The Wild Hunt Agency was on First Avenue, in a five-story brick walkup. We had the entire fourth floor to ourselves. At least the building superintendent had finally fixed the elevator. The fifth floor was empty, but a low-income urgent care clinic had taken over the bottom floor, a daycare and preschool had control of the second, and the third floor belonged to a combination yoga and dance studio. I was grateful they weren’t on the floor above us, because every time we passed by when dance class was in session, the noise was overwhelming.

  I joined Angel on the stoop. She had claimed a place on one of the wide stone railings. It was seventy-two degrees, with barely a cloud in the sky, and I sucked in a lungful of the air, coughing as a cloud of exhaust hit me from a passing car.

  Across the street, a series of fetish brothels with darkened windows waited for evening to entice their customers. On one side of our building, the smells of sandwiches and pizza wafted out from Nigel’s Deli. On the other side, old men shuffled near the entrance of the Spank-o-Rama, another fetish shop.

  The kinky boutiques were everywhere, but they brought in good tax revenue for the city and were well-regulated, keeping out the world of pimps who desperately tried to eke out a living by trading flesh for dollars. Legalized prostitution was pushing them out of business, even as it kept the hookers and sex workers safe, and forced them to have regular checkups.

  Angel handed me a white cardboard carton. “Here. Never say I don’t love you.”

  I opened it, finding two servings of fish and chips. “Bless you.” My stomach protested that it had waited far too long, thank you, and would I feed it now.

  “I wish I could eat like you do,” she said. “Then again, I’d be broke.” Angel was human, which meant her appetite wasn’t as big as mine. The Fae ate a lot.

  The sun glowed against her skin, which was a beautiful golden brown. Angel could have been a model, she was so striking. At five foot ten, she had a dancer’s body. Her tightly crimped curls were caught back in a neat ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of black leggings with a blue tunic that acted like a mini dress.

  I rested my container on the railing between us and hopped up on the wide stone slab.

  In contrast to Angel, I was five-seven, and one hundred and fifty pounds of boobs, muscle, and contrariness. My hair was wavy, though not as curly as hers, and it reached the middle of my back. I usually kept it back in a braid, but today it was hanging loose, falling over my shoulders. I was wearing a pair of torn jeans, my knees poking out, and a snuggly fitted tank top that was vivid blue, which contrasted against my pale skin. We had been so busy that I hadn’t had a chance to do laundry for over a week and was wearing my clean but ragbag-destined clothes.

  I bit into the fish, letting out a contented sigh as the flavors of salt and fat and cod trickled down my throat. “We get to go to Whidbey Island,” I said after swallowing.

  “Want to make a bet I have to stay here to man the desk? I could sure use a couple days away.” She picked at her french fries, holding one up. “Limp. Figures.” With a sigh, she added, “I suppose I shouldn’t complain. I got to see DJ last month, even though we were so busy that I wasn’t sure Herne would let me have the time off.”

  DJ was Angel’s brother, or rather, her half-brother. Ten years old, he was Wulfine—half wolf shifter. Angel had taken care of hi
m after their mother died and did her best to make a good life for him, but working for the Wild Hunt could put DJ’s life in danger, and so Herne convinced Angel to let a shifter family take care of him. It’d been a difficult adjustment for them both, but being able to visit him regularly made a world of difference.

  “I doubt he’ll make you stay behind. We all need a rest. Even though this isn’t going to be a vacation, just getting out of the city sounds so freaking good.”

  “I like that idea,” she said. “So, ready for our last night of the seminar?”

  “More than ready. It’s interesting, but honestly, I’m exhausted. I even turned down a date with Herne after class because I’m so tired.”

  At that moment, a car pulled up across from the building. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it until the door opened and a man stepped out. It was Ray Fontaine, my ex-boyfriend who had gone from friend to stalker with a startling rapidity.

  “Oh fucking hell. Just what I need.” I stood up, staring at him without a smile. What the hell did he want this time? Besides for me to take him back, that is.

  “Should we just go inside?” Angel touched my elbow, watching Ray with a wary look as he crossed the street toward us.

  I shook my head. “It wouldn’t do any good. He’d just follow us up to the office.”

  I had dated Ray briefly, ending our relationship months ago. We hadn’t even slept together. I called it quits when I realized that I was going to put him in danger. Since he was human, he didn’t stand much of a chance against my lifestyle. Most of my other boyfriends had ended up seriously injured or dead and after thinking about it, I had decided to shut down that side of my life.

  Until I came to work for the Wild Hunt, I had been a freelance investigator, and I had encountered more than my share of nasty creatures. Unfortunately, humans bruised easier than members of the SubCult. Ray had a nasty scar on his body to prove it. So I broke it off before one of my adversaries ended up taking him out for good.