“They haven’t narrowed it down yet. The girl knew all about Torsten’s antiquities, and she could put big price tags on all them. According to the security guy, she could put any of those in her pocket to sell on the black market, but everything was accounted for.”
Daniel tapped his pen on his desk. “She could have swapped them for fakes.”
“That’s what I said, but apparently this Rainer is an expert—he says he could tell the difference. All she did was access his computer. His best guess is some competitor paid her to break into his files to find out what projects he was going to fund. Maybe they thought they could get rich investing in the same stuff.”
There were too many holes in that explanation. “If that were true, why would she leave traces on his computer? She’s too good for that. And why wouldn’t she nick some antique to make it appear as if that was what she was after the whole time? Now the fancy investor gets to rethink his strategy. Wouldn’t she assume he’ll change what projects he chooses to fund?”
“You’re still betting this girl is smart instead of just muscle behind a pretty face.” Ray lifted a picture of the woman fighting in the alley from Daniel’s desk. Her foot was poised inches from a biker’s head.
He wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know. I think there’s more to this Torsten situation. Any way you can get me a meeting with him?”
Ray stood. “I’ll check with Sal and see if he can set it up.” He started to walk away before doubling back. “I almost forgot the best part. Torsten has a clear memory of letting her into the apartment. Then she kissed him, and he was out. He thinks she may have worn drugged lipstick. Can you believe that?”
Daniel laughed. “It’s like something out of a spy movie. Let me know when the meet is set. I want to see Torsten as soon as possible.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel asked.
Rainer Torsten steepled his fingers under his chin, drumming them together. “You heard me.”
He leaned back in the chair. Daniel was sitting across from the richest man he’d ever met, on the top floor of new office building downtown.
“I will see what I can do, but are you certain she can’t profit from anything she found in your files?”
Torsten shook his blond head. “I’m between projects now. I had a few prospects under consideration, but none of them were truly viable. I am entertaining new offers, of course, but there’s really nothing on the table that anyone could jump on for profit.”
“And there was nothing else? No bank account numbers?”
“I have a keystroke program installed as a security measure. Eileen, as she called herself, ignored all my investment files.”
Daniel blinked. “Then what was she after?”
“She zeroed in on some of my email correspondence. She stopped searching after reading some messages from an art dealer named Puck.”
“An art dealer?” It sounded like a dead end, but his spider-sense was tingling. This was the right track. He was sure of it.
Daniel ended the meeting shortly afterward, texting Ray with a request to run Puck down.
His partner called him back right away. “Now we’re chasing down art dealers?”
Daniel laughed. “It’s who she’s after, so it’s who I’m after.”
“So your meeting with the rich guy went well?”
He hailed a cab. “It did. And get this…Torsten doesn’t want to press charges. In fact, he had a message.”
“For who?”
“For the girl who called herself Eileen—my ass-kicking biker-beating suspect. He wanted me to tell her that he’d forgive everything if she would just change her mind about dinner.”
7
Serin jumped back as the pipe swung through the air, the swooshing sound more like a flute than the hiss of a deadly weapon. It sliced through the drizzle of rain like a knife.
Pivoting, she feinted right, narrowly avoiding the second assailant’s punch.
This is just my luck, running into a neo-Nazi parade while on the job.
“I don’t have time for this.”
Sprinting a few steps, she leapt, executing a parkour-perfect cat-back vault off the nearby wall, higher than most humans could jump without a big running start.
She landed on the burly human’s back, grabbing his hair and punching down to break his nose.
He instantly crashed to the ground like a huge tree felled in the woods. Her feet landed lightly on either side of his head. Glaring at his slack-jawed accomplice, she repeated herself.
“I said, I don’t have time for this.”
She advanced on the second overweight neo-Nazi, letting the unearthly glow of the Mother’s gift show through her eyes. To him, it would appear as if they started glowing a brilliant azure, the color of the ocean around T’Kaieri.
In reality, this was the true color of her eyes. It had been since she’d been chosen. Gia called it a special quirk of the Mother’s gift. It manifested a little differently in all her sisters. Serin had to make an effort to mute the luminescence of her eyes or risk complicating her day-to-day work among humans. Except when she needed to make a point…
The fat man dropped the pipe. He turned, running away as fast as his legs could carry him. Behind her, the other man groaned.
Turning her attention to him, she strolled over, her head craning to read all of his visible tattoos. Like the runner, this one was also a fan of the swastika, a sacred symbol perverted to another end.
“Care to tell me what you meant by jumping me just now?”
The man hissed, spitting at her. Since he was still lying on his back, the dollop of spit landed on his own face.
“You’re the one who walked by our parade, you stupid cunt!”
He added several race-filled expletives. “People like you shouldn’t even exist. You shouldn’t get to breathe the same air as me.”
Serin’s face twisted. Perfect. Just perfect.
This hadn’t happened for some time, but she had been around long enough to recognize the signs of a brewing race war. You have to keep closer tabs on the humans. It was just as her sisters said… they were cycling up faster and faster.
When Supernaturals fought, it was bloodier and a hell of a lot more dangerous, but their wars tended to burn out faster, lasting a few months at most—usually. Human conflicts could simmer and rage much longer. Sometimes it took decades to get to the boiling point, but once it did….
Whether the brewing resentments would erupt into a full-fledged race war had yet to be determined. Damn. This was going to complicate her operations in this country for years to come. The prospect was exhausting.
For now, the least she could do was take out the trash.
Serin picked up the still-swearing neo-Nazi by the collar. With a flick of her wrist, she launched him into space. He sailed several yards, landing in the open dumpster at the mouth of the alley. Clapping her hands together to dust them off, she continued to the end of the lane, this time avoiding the direction of the nazi parade route.
Keeping her hands in her pocket, Serin made her way down the block. Her skin itched to turn around and show the race-baiters they weren’t as superior as they thought they were.
You don’t have time. There was never enough time. It hurt her heart to admit, but some battles were not hers to fight. Her priority was to find Puck.
She’d already sent out feelers to contacts who had any sort of tie-in with the art world, both human and Sup. One of them, a Loki, said he had something. She was waiting impatiently to find out what that was. It was why she was in a damn alley, for the meeting.
Speaking of which…
There was a shift in the moisture in the air, a little change that told her she was not alone.
“It’s about time, Loki.”
She turned to find the fae posing, leaning against the wall in a black leather jacket and rolled-up blue jeans. He was wearing his favorite glamour, that of a rakishly handsome young man. The fae was gorgeous save for a crooked nose. H
e’d always said perfection was too much of a distraction for others.
Loki were a subclass of trickster fae. They were powerful shapeshifters who could look and sound like anyone they wanted. Some had the ability to create minor illusions, subtly subverting reality around them. A truly determined Loki would have been a terror. As it was, most were content to flit through life playing practical jokes and partying. Thankfully, they were rare.
“Why are you dressed like the Fonz?” she asked.
Loki was even wearing black sunglasses—at night no less.
His face fell, and he threw up his hands. “It’s the fifties’ greaser fashion. I’m going to a party later. It is Halloween, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I forgot.” It was easy to do that when dealing with the supernatural every day. The fae didn’t bother with costumes on All Hallows. “I take it this is a human party?”
“That it is. They’re so cute in their little costumes. Besides, while the booze isn’t all that good, it is plentiful.” Loki pushed away from the wall, checking behind Serin to examine her handiwork. “Keeping busy, I see.”
Serin glared at him. “You picked the meeting place.”
Loki crossed his arms. “Yes, well, I distinctly remember naming the coffee shop around the corner, not the alley behind it.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. Do me a favor. The next time you insist on a face-to-face meeting, try to find a location that isn’t less than a block away from a Neo-Nazi rally. Unless you did it on purpose, of course, to get your kicks.”
They did have a history. Loki liked to attach himself to her cases, out of boredom no doubt. He was a bit of a nuisance at times, but he could be useful, too. And the trouble he caused was never more than she could handle…at least not yet anyway.
Loki was affronted. “I would never do that to you, my sweet Serin. You know that.”
Behind them, a biker whimpered. Loki rushed him, delivering a swift kick to the man’s gut before running back to Serin. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for this rabble. The humans are acting up again.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Loki winked and turned, holding up his hands. He waved, and the bikers turned into old tires. Their groans disappeared with them, but it was a shoddy illusion. It would only work for an hour or so, but a Loki’s glamour was limited when applied to something as big as those men.
“What’s the point of that?” she asked.
It wasn’t as if they had to worry about the Nazis following. The only place these guys were headed to was the hospital.
“I just think they need to suffer a little longer for accosting your esteemed self. This way, no one will rush them to the ER straight off. Unless you think they need immediate attention, of course.”
She scoffed. “I didn’t do any permanent damage. Well, nothing more serious than a limp.”
“They can fix that these days. The wonders of human surgery. It has advanced quite a bit in the last few decades.” He held out his arm with chivalrous flair. “Let’s get out of this weather.”
Crossing her arms, she rested her weight on one hip.
“Yes, of course. The rain doesn’t bother you.” He sighed, giving her hair a longing glance. “Even with a glamour, mine frizzes in the drizzle, you know.”
“You do that on purpose, to fit in.”
Smiling, he batted his thick lashes at her. “And you’re beyond that. That’s why I love you. Tell me when are you going to leave that hopeless mate of yours and run off with me?”
Serin’s shoulders stiffened. She narrowed her eyes at him before turning her back and walking away.
“Do you have the information I want, or not?” she hurled over her shoulder.
If Loki was surprised by her sudden temper, he didn’t show it. He hustled to fall into step beside her.
“I do,” he said. “But I’m afraid what I came across is quite sensitive.”
Her baleful glare bounced off him. “Meaning?”
“Well, I didn’t uncover the identity of your art dealer Puck, not exactly. There are, however, some rumblings. A few juicy rumors. But I can’t share them with you.”
Serin stopped short. “Why not?” The words came out hard and ice cold.
“It…err…is against policy.”
“Policy?” The only rules Loki followed were his own…and the queen’s.
The Fae Queen of Air and Darkness had ruled her people with an iron fist for hundreds of years, longer than Serin had been an Elemental. She doubted the queen had been whispering in Loki’s ear. He wasn’t a fan of court life, and he usually avoided it like the plague. Which meant this rule wasn’t recent. And there would only be one reason for such a blanket policy.
“So Puck is fae,” she confirmed. She had guessed as much from the name he chose to go by.
Loki shrugged. “I can neither confirm nor deny that, but perhaps if we continue, you might stumble upon a certain location that might prove helpful in your inquiries…”
Serin resumed walking. “I need an address.”
They turned the corner, their legs striding in sync thanks to Loki’s peculiar penchant for imitation.
“There isn’t one to give, even if I was allowed to serve up one of my own to an Elemental.”
“Denying me is against Covenant,” she reminded him without heat.
Elementals were the ultimate authority in their world. Her request should have superseded the queen’s, but Serin knew Loki well enough to realize he was dancing on a fine line.
“You did something to piss off the queen, didn’t you?” It explained his reticence to give her real information outright. Loki wanted to help her, but he needed to be careful about it.
The queen wasn’t their enemy, but she definitely wasn’t a friend. Helping an Elemental would have been verboten, at least until Her Highness figured out how to make it benefit her.
Loki coughed. “Yes, well, sometimes the stiffs in court don’t enjoy my little pranks.”
A corner of Serin’s mouth lifted. “What did you do?”
“There was a small matter of one of her favorite’s being inconvenienced. Nothing serious. But it was a distraction from his normal duties.”
She waited, meeting his eyes and lifting a brow.
“I dyed a certain part of his anatomy bright orange. The queen found it distracting.”
An unwilling laugh escaped. “I take it this was one of her consorts?”
“Servicing the queen is an honor.” His tone implied otherwise.
Concerned, Serin put her hand on his shoulder. “Were you ever forced to service her?”
Loki’s eyes shone with crocodile tears. “You do care! But there’s no need to worry, love. The queen only consorts with the highest echelons of fae, usually a member of her personal guard. I’m quite safe from her attentions. Besides, you know I only have eyes for you.”
“Sure you do,” she muttered.
A Loki’s devotion was fervent and true…for the length of time they were proclaiming it. Nevertheless, while he was here, she couldn’t afford to let his little games get in the way. “That’s enough of that unless you want to find yourself in a dumpster, too—a full one this time. Your outfit would be ruined.”
He hopped over a stray piece of trash on the sidewalk. “Not on All Hallows Eve, love. That would be too cruel. In any case, I can’t tell you more about the Puck rumors, but should you happen to guess certain details, I can confirm. Hot or cold.”
“So I have to play Twenty Questions to get intel that is little more than hearsay?”
“Right in one…as usual.”
She exhaled, trying to control her impatience. “At least tell me what kind of fae Puck is.”
“According to the scuttlebutt, he’s the kind who likes acquiring things.”
That could be anything from a gremlin to a leprechaun. “This is going to take forever, isn’t it?”
Loki beamed at her. “Forever is a fluid term for our kind.
Feel like getting that coffee now?”
“Fine. But none of that fluffy sugary crap you like. No whipped cream, or fancy leaves in foam. I take it black.”
“I can be black like that.” Loki snapped his fingers. “Just say the word.”
Serin laughed despite herself. “I’d break you in half, and you know it.”
Putting his hand where a heart would be on a human, he gave a theatrical sigh. “But what a way to go.”
8
Serin parted the drizzling rain so she could see the street number of the darkened storefront. The windows of number thirty-seven were so crowded she couldn’t see the room behind them—just like Loki described.
Once she ‘guessed’ the intel he was feeding her was not for Puck’s location, but for one of his associates, Loki’s tongue had loosened. He described how to find the obscure antique store buried in the diamond district, giving up the idea of going with her when she reminded him that he was all dressed up with better places to go.
Merde. Serin knew something was wrong as soon as she opened the door. The coppery metallic scent hit her like a rogue wave, out of place and overwhelming. A lot of blood had been spilled. It was too strong for a minor household accident. This pronounced a stench meant someone was dead.
Serin murmured a protective spell, a little extra shielding in case whoever was responsible was still around. Closing the door, she picked her way through the piles of bric-a-brac that filled the room.
The body was somewhere near the rear of the store. Like a shark, Serin could smell the minutest traces of blood and other signature olfactory cues. Not that she needed that degree of sensitivity to find this crime scene. Shutting out the overwhelming odor was more of an issue.
She edged around a precarious pile of old clocks and tiny cabinets. There was a thousand-dollar Waterbury lying on its side next to a hamburger phone. Everything was jumbled together in various states of disrepair as if the proprietor didn’t have the time to organize or sort by value.
Water: The Elementals Book Three Page 6
