Tainted Blood: A Generation V Novel

by M. L. Brennan

  We stayed like that for a few heartbeats. Then she slipped backward and bounced to her feet, wiggling with gleeful energy, and snapped on the light. I blinked hard at the sudden light, and she laughed again and spun playfully in a circle, stretching her hands out to brush against my wall. She spun until I was dizzy from watching her, and I caught her hand on one of her rotations, tugging her to a stop. That brilliant smile was still spread across her face.

  I knew my own expression was matching it, but the feeling of her hand tucked so comfortably in mine, warm and just slightly sweaty, made my smile fade a little. I looked at her and asked, “Are you going to kiss me every time I get suicidal during my transition?”

  Her smile faded, but she didn’t pull her hand away from mine. Instead she leaned down, close to me, her hair swinging forward to frame her face. She brought her free hand forward and brushed the tips of her fingers along my jaw, leaving a trail of fire behind. “I am a fox, Fort,” she whispered, her words a warm breath against my ear. “And when something is mine, I keep it. If I bury it in a hole to keep it safe, it may stay there for months while I roam and run, but I will never forget where I have put it, and I will always come back for it, because it is mine.”

  Then she slid away, across the room to perch by my window, where the ancient radiator hissed. With one hip propped in my windowsill, she stretched one leg out casually to rest on my computer chair, as if nothing were different. But there was a flush across her cheeks, and the pounding of my heart in my chest was radiating down to my fingertips. She wasn’t touching me anymore, but I could feel the ghost of every place that had felt her skin, and looking at her, and her perfect casualness, I knew that it was the same for her.

  “I called your secretary when I was tracking you down,” Suze said, looking out the window rather than at me. “According to her, you’ve got another half dozen messages from Gil, who was sounding more pissed with each one and demanding to know what we’re doing about the investigation, and one very polite and measured text from Dahlia, asking if there are any resources she can offer to assist us.” She tilted her head, glancing at me over her shoulder. “An interesting dichotomy of reactions—don’t you think? One definitely seems more eager than the other to see our investigation move forward.”

  I stayed where I was sitting and just watched Suzume. Even in jeans and an old corded fisherman’s sweater, she was perfect. “The plan still holds. We’ll go to the funeral tomorrow, and see whether it’s Dahlia or Ilona looking twitchy.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” and her eyes gleamed. “Bright and early.”

  Dan was in the living room when Suze left, and even though she and I didn’t touch or say anything unusual, the air between us was charged enough that when I closed the door behind her, I turned to see the ghoul giving me a wide, inquisitive grin.

  “That seemed promising,” he said. I just shook my head at him and headed for the fridge, to see what I could put together for dinner. “Just remember,” he continued, undeterred. “Once you’ve slept with her, and she’s all mellow from endorphins, remind her about the sanctity of mutual property.”

  There were googly eyes glued to each of the eggs left in the carton. “I wouldn’t hold your breath, Dan,” I said.

  Chapter 7

  Matias Kivela’s funeral was well-attended, filling the stone confines of Saint Paul’s Evangelical Lutheran Church and packing the pews to the point where a small line of overflow participants began lining the side aisles. Suze and I arrived half an hour before the scheduled start, but we would’ve been relegated to the cheap seats had it not been for Suze’s kitsune chutzpah. She marched us straight up the center aisle to a pew that was just behind the ones set aside for family use. It was full, but she leaned down and said, sounding exactly like the bulky bodyguard in a mob film, “Mr. Scott appreciates you making room for him.” I stood back and attempted to look entitled.

  Reluctantly, everyone in the pew shifted over, making just enough room for the two of us to wedge ourselves in. Suze upped her glare, and after a little muttering, a few of the younger sitters collected their belongings and left for other, less desirable seating. Those who were left slid farther down, so that when Suze and I sat, now we had room to spread out.

  “Not sure that was necessary,” I muttered to Suzume as she unwrapped her scarf and pulled off her gloves. After our interlude the night before, I’d expected things to be different—instead, she had arrived on my doorstep in completely appropriate funeral wear and a chipper bounciness that pretty much defied me to make things awkward.

  “Of course it was,” she scolded me with a grin. “You’re Madeline Scott’s kid—you don’t get squished up against some grandma bear. Also”—she nodded to our left—“tell me that this isn’t a good observation post.”

  I followed her gaze. On the other side of the aisle and just two rows up was the full Kivela family. Dahlia was standing, looking tired but completely composed, and speaking with an ever-shifting circle of people.

  “Looks like someone is settling into the leadership spot,” I whispered to Suze.

  “Check out momma bear,” she muttered back.

  I craned my head—Ilona Kivela wasn’t crying, but she definitely was in a different emotional place than her daughter. She looked like a bomb-blast victim, pressed up against the shoulder of her son and rocking slightly.

  “Maybe she realized that we snagged the knife, and she’s had a few sleepless nights?”

  Suze was frowning, though. “Not sure. That doesn’t look nervous. Looks more like she’s trying to hold off a full throwing-herself-on-the-casket breakdown. And look at the way Gil’s keeping close to her. Did your brother say anything about Ilona having some kind of acting background?”

  “I didn’t actually get a chance to talk with him,” I admitted. Then Gil Kivela swung his head around and met my eyes, making me have to work hard to avoid slinking down into the pew. That was a person who was definitely not happy with me, but in addition to his mother, he was also pinned down by the four-year-old girl sitting on his lap. Beside him was the guy from the wedding picture, who had his hands full wrangling Dahlia’s younger daughter.

  “Someone just spotted us,” Suze said.

  “Yeah, Gil looks like he’s trying to force-choke me with his brain,” I noted.

  Suzume’s elbow dug into my side. “Not him—the karhu’s daughter.”

  I pulled my eyes away from Gil’s glare of death, and realized that Suze was right—Carmen Kivela, looking extremely fragile and breakable in a black dress and matching cardigan that emphasized her pale skin and hair, had gotten out of the family pew and was making her way over to us. As she got closer, I could see the redness of her eyes and nose, but she was managing to keep it together.

  “Thank you for coming to honor my father,” she said to me when she reached us. Her chin wobbled a little. “It would’ve meant a lot to him that the Scotts sent a representative.”

  It was an awkward moment, but I winced and went with that explanation. “Matias Kivela was a valuable ally,” I said gravely, “and he will be missed.”

  “Dahlia seems to be stepping into his shoes very smoothly, though,” Suze said, fishing around.

  It worked, and I noticed how Carmen’s cheeks flushed—the curse of the Finnish complexion, because there was clearly no hiding it. “She hasn’t even cried,” Carmen said, and there was a hard layer of anger in her voice. The young bear clearly heard it, and immediately moved to cover it, “Of course, she has so much to do, I’m sure she just hasn’t had time. It’s hard to be the one in charge—my father was always saying that the karhu had to be strong for everyone.”

  I nodded toward the pew. “Your aunt looks pretty distraught. Were she and your father close?”

  Carmen nodded, looking puzzled. “Of course. Aunt Ilona and my dad were almost inseparable. For a while they were even talking about Aunt Ilona selling her place and moving in with us. You know, I wasn’t going to be living there forever, and that way they co
uld keep each other company.”

  “And why didn’t that plan go through?” Suze asked.

  “Because of Dahlia, of course. After Parker was killed, Aunt Ilona moved in with Dahlia to help with Anni and Linnea.”

  “Wait—who was killed?” I asked.

  “You didn’t know about Parker?” Carmen sounded utterly gobsmacked, her jaw dropping. “How could you not know?”

  “Save the pearl clutching and just tell us,” Suze said, annoyed.

  Carmen’s eyes were still round with shock, but she leaned closer and dropped her voice. “Parker was Dahlia’s husband. They got married right out of college, and Dahlia had Anni, then Linnea. Her job with the family business brought in more money, so Parker took care of the kids. I guess he got sick of it, or maybe sick of Dahlia, ’cuz things got pretty rough right after Linnea was born, and last year they separated.” She paused, and looked at us, clearly expecting a bigger reaction to that latest bit.

  “And . . . the metsän kunigas don’t believe in divorce?” I asked. Well, we were standing in a Lutheran church, so apparently I was learning a lot about the bear culture today.

  Carmen couldn’t control a snort, “If both spouses are metsän kunigas, we don’t give a shit. But Dahlia and Gil both married humans.”

  I could feel my stomach drop a little, and I carefully avoided looking at Suze. “And the human spouses know? About, you know . . .” I looked for a way to explain.

  Carmen spared me the phrasing difficulties. “Of course,” she said. “How can anyone keep a secret like that from a spouse? And with kids? You’d have to be crazy to try that.” She shook her head. “Well, Parker swore that he’d keep his mouth shut, said that he’d never do anything that would put his own kids in danger, but my dad said that we couldn’t risk it. My dad thought that Parker might start trying to use the secret as a way to get leverage during the divorce—custody of the girls, maybe more alimony from Dahlia, stuff like that. Dahlia promised that he wouldn’t, and she even said that she’d try to reconcile with Parker if it came down to it, but Dad said that it wasn’t her call, and so he killed Parker.” From Carmen’s face, she knew she was dropping a bombshell on us, and there was just a hint of enjoyment in her eyes.

  “How did Dahlia react to that?” I asked, looking over again at Dahlia and her very, very dry eyes.

  “She wouldn’t even talk to Dad for six months,” Carmen said. “And they work at the same company, so that says something. Aunt Ilona was the one who finally patched things up, but it was still really tense.”

  “But Matias still wanted to make her the heir?” Suze asked.

  “He announced it a month ago,” the bear explained, but from the press of her mouth, this was clearly not a happy memory. “It was just a precaution, you know. I mean, he was in good health. But he said that it was important to just get a name out there in case something happened, and he said that I was too young right now.” Carmen’s jaw clenched. “But Dad would’ve lived another twenty years, easy. Dahlia was the heir now, but that would’ve changed in another five years.”

  “Carmen,” I asked carefully, “your cousins think that this was the Ad-hene. But who do you think killed your father?”

  She paused, and a series of emotions passed quickly across her face, too many for me to identify. People were starting to settle into their seats, and the service was about to begin. But she leaned forward, quickly, her face intense, and said, “Maybe it was the Ad-hene. They’re dangerous, and Gil thinks that they probably blame us for the fact that the Scotts figured out what they were doing in the Lincoln Woods, and for their punishment. But it’s just—” The minister was walking up to the podium, and I could hear Gil Kivela hissing Carmen’s name urgently. She leaned close to me, and whispered, “It happened now, and Dahlia got everything.” Then she broke off and hurried back to her pew.

  I looked over at Suze, who raised her eyebrows very significantly. The first hymn was announced, and as everyone stood, I muttered to her, “Well, that changes things a bit.” She nodded grimly, and her dark eyes were narrowed. For the rest of the funeral, she kept that steely focus on the family pew.

  When the funeral was finally over, the pallbearers lifted the coffin and headed down the aisle, followed closely by the family. Dahlia’s face was completely blank the whole time, but her arms were wrapped around her mother, who had broken down completely into high, anguished wails. Carmen walked on Ilona’s other side, tears trickling down her cheeks while she helped support her aunt. Behind them were Gil and his husband, each carrying one of Dahlia’s daughters. But Gil’s eyes were locked on me, and he leaned over to whisper something to his spouse, and then passed the little girl over so that now the husband was carrying both. With a quick kiss, he left his husband and the funeral party, heading straight to me with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

  I braced myself as he got right up in my personal space and wrapped one huge hand in the lapel of my suit jacket. “We need to talk,” he growled.

  “Oh, I very much agree,” I said.

  We ended up in the corner of the church, by the stone baptismal font, as everyone else continued to stream out the doors. It was a good thing too, because Gil was definitely not able to whisper, and frankly, even his attempts to keep to an inside voice were of middling success.

  “What the hell are you playing around with?” he snarled at me, and it was very easy at that moment to picture Gil in his bear form. “None of us have heard a thing from you about the state of this investigation since you left my uncle’s house. There’s been no activity near Underhill, no indication that you’ve caught whichever Ad-hene did this. Do you at least have a name?”

  I glared right back at Gil, keeping my voice as cool as possible. “Actually,” I said, “given the information we’ve turned up, we are fairly sure at this point that the Ad-hene had nothing to do with your uncle’s murder. Right now we feel that it was probably one of the metsän kunigas.”

  “You’re insane,” Gil snapped, shoving a hand into his hair and gripping tightly, as if that were all he could do to keep from punching me right in the face. “Or you’re completely incompetent.”

  “Assume I’m competent for a minute here, and why don’t you give me some background. Your sister was married to a human—how exactly does that work?”

  Gil looked flummoxed at the shift in direction. “Parker? What the hell does Parker have to do with this? He’s dead. That’s your suspect? A dead man?”

  “Indulge us for a moment, Gil,” Suze said, watching him carefully.

  The sheer shock of this conversation seemed to have knocked Gil away from the desire to commit violence against me, and he blinked his brown eyes a few times. When he started talking, he sounded almost reasonable, albeit flummuxed. “We’re not like the ghouls or the witches, and we can produce viable offspring with humans. We have to be careful about it, since if more than one generation in a row marries a human, then the children start having problems. Partial shifting only, uncontrolled shifting, and eventually it’s possible to breed the shifting out completely. There are plenty of Finns who could trace back to a bear ancestor without having any of the traits themselves. So if one generation marries a human, then the next generation has to marry a metsän kunigas. That can happen pretty normally, but it’s important to keep the gene pool from getting stagnant, so a lot of times there are arranged marriages between different bear communities. Sometimes the marriages work out, and the couple stays together. Sometimes they don’t, and they separate once each partner has a daughter to bring back to their communities, with any sons staying with the mother. My mom was one of those—my dad was from Mexico, and as soon as my little sister was born, he took her back with him, and we haven’t had any contact since then. But because of that marriage, Dahlia got free choice in her partner—human or metsän kunigas. She married her college sweetheart.” A little smile tugged at his mouth, the first I’d ever seen from Gil. “So did I, but I hope things turn out a lot better with me and Kevin
than what Dahlia had with Parker.” Almost immediately, though, the soft look on his face disappeared as the storm clouds of being pissed off with me rolled back in. “Why the hell is this news to you? Why the hell is a Scott who doesn’t even know the first thing about us investigating? This is so goddamn typical—the moment we need the Scotts for something other than just taking our money, the only competent one is too busy dating to stop by and help out.”

  My temper sparked—not from the insult to me, but at the suggestion that somehow Chivalry was off having fun and ignoring his job. The image of my brother as I’d last seen him, wrapped around a table, barely holding himself together, flooded my brain, and I got right in Gil Kivela’s face. “So how did Dahlia feel when Matias killed her husband, Gil?”

  “How do you think she felt?” he snapped, not backing down by an inch. “Parker was being an asshole, but the last thing Dahlia needed in the middle of the destruction of her marriage was to feel responsible for the murder of the father of her children. She argued like hell—” Then Gil broke off, his face suddenly changing, looking at us in near wonder as he realized the direction that we were actually heading. That didn’t last long, and he crossed his arms, stuffing each fist up into his armpit as if that were the only way that he could prevent himself from punching me. It was a good thing that the church was empty, because he was yelling now. “What the hell are you implying about my sister? How dare you even suggest that? Instead of throwing around these kinds of lazy accusations, you need to be following the actual trail—”

  I cut him off. “We did follow that trail, Gil. The murder weapon was in your sister’s house.”

  “Then someone planted it there,” Gil said immediately, without even blinking. “Probably a Neighbor trying to cover their tracks, and hoping that some asshole vampire will be stupid enough—”