by Lyra Evans
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” a woman’s voice asked, and Oliver and Connor froze. She pointed at Connor, her head tilted to the side as though the massive flower stuck in her hair was weighing it down. After a moment, her eyes lit up. “You were on Maeve’s Court Top Model, weren’t you?”
Flooded with glorious, cool relief, Oliver shook his head. “He gets that all the time,” he said with a laugh. Connor shifted awkwardly. “It always makes him squirm, but I kinda like hearing it. Makes me all the luckier to be dating a guy hot enough to be a model, right?” he said, and the woman laughed openly and nodded before walking off with a wave.
Oliver ushered Connor forward, through street after crowded street, while Connor became increasingly uncomfortable amid the crowd. His purple hair and new clothes were effectively masking his identity, but they made him a target of a different kind of attention. He was the epitome of a Maeve’s Court partier, and his stunning good looks actually began to work against him. They were stopped again and again by people asking if they knew him as some kind of one-liner or introduction. Oliver did his best to shrug them off, but half the time the interested party only offered themselves up for a threesome of some sort.
When they finally broke to the edge of the city and met the beach, they transitioned between the alert shoppers of the entertainment district and into the lazy lines of sunbathers and beach-goers. They passed smoothly around groups of Fae lying face up or face down on towels, allowing the assaulting sun to bake them to a deep brown, or in some cases, a bright, cherry red.
Connor’s shoulders began to turn a bit pink as they moved, and Oliver rushed them to the less populated end of the beach, where the palm trees and flora took over the sand. They were nearly at the border now, having only passed a handful of intrigued Fae on the beach. Mostly people just seemed curious about their bathing attire, but Oliver brushed it all off, aiming for the area full of tall grass and low-hanging palms. Once they were ensconced in the trees, Oliver and Connor finally took a moment to breathe.
“That was more terrifying than when I fought Alistair for Alpha of my pack,” Connor said, panting softly and bracing himself against his knees.
Oliver wiped his forehead of sweat, his now-blond hair sticking to his skin. “Let’s just get to the cave Rory mentioned,” he said. “It’ll probably be cooler there anyway.”
He led Connor around the trees and through the grass, searching for the point where Maeve’s Court becomes Nimueh’s. The beach on the side of Nimueh’s Court was much shorter and less visited. Massive cliffs emerged from both sides of it, breaking up the leisure spot with heavy stones and rocky surf. Oliver reached out a hand and stopped Connor, his eyes falling on a tiny wooden hut in the distance.
The two of them crouched down to better hide in the foliage and watched as the door to the hut opened. A set of guards in standard blue uniforms emerged, armed with assault rifles and gloves with quartz crystal inlays. The guards did a circuit of the area, checking for the usual signs of trespassers and illegal crossings, then went back to the booth. It all happened very quickly, and Oliver surmised by the glinting emeralds at the base of the hut that inside was air-conditioned.
Taking quick stock of the area, Oliver spotted the cave Rory must have meant. The entry was partially blocked by some trees, and Connor and Oli made their way carefully there, hoping not to rustle the plants too much. Once inside the cave, they sagged against the stone walls and soaked in the cooler air.
“Now what?” Connor asked.
Oliver gulped down breath like water. “Now we keep a lookout and wait.”
It had taken then nearly an hour to get to the cave, so Oliver expected not to have to wait long. He poked his head out every few minutes, searching for the familiar form. Minutes passed with no change, and Oliver began to worry. Sweat ran down his back, his feet carrying him around in a circle as he paced the cave. It was a dangerous gamble, he knew, coming out here to meet with someone who worked in conjunction with the NCPD. But it was a risk they both had to take, if they wanted any real information.
Finally, after twenty minutes of waiting, Oliver looked out to see a figure crossing the border dressed in khaki shorts and a light polo shirt. He travelled through the brush and the grass, pausing behind some palms, searching. His polo pulled strangely over his side, like he was concealing something. Oliver held back, waiting, and finally the figure spotted the entry to the cave and made his way over.
Pulling his head back, Oliver straightened and prepared himself for a difficult conversation. Connor got to his feet from where he’d been sitting against the cave wall and stood behind Oliver. Exchanging a glance between them, they waited for him to come.
A rustle of leaves and the crash of distant waves, and the figure appeared at the mouth of the cave. Oliver and Connor stood in shadow, watching his actions.
“Hello?” their guest called out into the cave. “Ms. Birch? I’m sorry I’m a few minutes la—”
Oliver and Connor stepped forward then, and the newcomer’s apology fell off. His eyes widened, his mouth slack in shock for a split second, then from the bulge Oliver had marked, he pulled a gun and trained it on Connor.
“Nice to see you too, Brook,” Oliver said.
Chapter 13
The air in the cave crystallized with tension. An electric pulse played on the air, emerging from the central point between the three men. Brook pointed his gun at Connor, arm steady and gaze never shifting, while Connor stared Brook down, his body curving, widening impossibly, as though he was much larger than he really was. Oliver stood halfway between them, hands held out to each to try and calm them. But Connor was only responding to the gun pointed at his heart, the obvious threat.
Oliver turned to Brook, his back to Connor, as though he could shield his lover from the silver bullets held in the gun’s magazine. Brook never wavered in his stance, his eyes still on Connor, but something ghosted across Brook’s pale blue eyes that stopped Oliver.
“You don’t want to do this,” Oliver said, knowing in his chest that it was true. Brook didn’t move, didn’t react at all, but Oliver felt the invisible pull of the right direction. “We aren’t going to hurt you. Why would we arrange to meet you all the way out here just for that?”
Brook held firm to the gun. “Who knows what you’d do anymore.”
Stung, Oliver swallowed his pride and sidestepped. “You know me,” Oliver said. “You know what kind of person I am, what kind of Wizard. I’m the kind that fights for justice and truth, that leaves no stone unturned, that protects his friends and their secrets, no matter from whom.” The implication in his words was clear. Brook was noble, from one of the highest ranked families in Nimueh’s Court, and not a soul he worked with knew it. Only his superior knew the truth. And Oliver. Brook’s eyes flickered for a moment to Oliver. It was momentary, but it was enough.
“Are you threatening me?” Brook asked, his voice harsh.
“Of course not,” Oliver answered. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t hurt my friends.” Oliver took a tentative step toward Brook, aligning himself more clearly in the path of the gun. “And I’m pretty sure I know you too.” He took another step. “I know you don’t want to rest on your laurels, that you think service means something, that putting your life on the line for your kingdom is something you would consider an honour. I know that you will, one day, make a fantastic courtier, a great Counselor to the Queen.” Oliver paused. “I also know you don’t buy into the bigoted crap spewed by half the Court. I know you don’t consider any other race beneath yours, or any other person beneath you for that matter. I know you have a good relationship with Logan’s Court, and that you wish that the tensions between the Courts could ease. Because you’re in love with a Wolf, and your position means you can never act on it.”
Brook’s stony mask crumbled away, leaving only the heartrending indecision of someone at war within himself. He lowered the gun, though he didn’t holster it, and set his jaw, tilting his chin up
in false confidence. The aquiline planes of his face were pure nobility—attractive, haughty, elite. But Brook was never haughty, never like any of the other courtiers Oliver had ever met.
“So what?” he asked. “I’m in love with a Werewolf. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change anything.”
Oliver shook his head. “Of course it does,” he said. “You talk to him every day. You probably have a better grasp of the behaviour and culture of Werewolves than anyone else in Nimueh’s Court.” Besides me, anyway.
Chest rising and falling as though he’d run a great distance, Brook stared Oliver down now. Oli, meanwhile, felt Connor moving soundlessly behind him, shifting their positions to stand next to Oli rather than behind him.
“I thought I did,” Brook said. “I thought I knew him, knew you. But I could never imagine you doing something like this.”
“Exactly,” Oliver said. “Because I wouldn’t. Why would I?” He made a vague questioning gesture. “What does killing Logan get me? What does it get Connor?”
Brook hesitated. The obvious answer was ‘Alpha.’ But that just wasn’t true. The evidence so far showed that. Killing Logan in the dark, alone, without allowing him to defend himself meant that no Werewolf would take Connor’s claim seriously. It was dishonourable. It was cowardly. Connor was none of those things, and though Brook didn’t know Connor well, even he could see that about the white Wolf.
“Maybe there’s more at stake than just reign over a kingdom,” Brook offered, and Oliver raised his eyebrows.
“More than a kingdom?” Oliver asked. “What might that be?”
Brook exhaled, finally holstering his gun. “Look, I don’t know. It didn’t make sense to me when I first heard it, but all the evidence they’re collecting—”
“None of it is real, Brook,” Oliver said. “Not a piece of it. I saw it too. But it just doesn’t make sense. That’s why you can’t understand it all. Because it’s not understandable.”
Connor finally began to relax slightly, though his shoulders were still square, his eyes trained on Brook’s every move. Brook pressed a palm to his forehead, brushing his dirty blond hair back.
“Then who did it?” he asked. “And how did all that evidence get there? How does it all point to Connor?”
Connor said, “Has it occurred to you that someone wanted it to be there?”
Brook looked up at Connor, eyes wide. “Planted? You can’t—but who could do that? How could the police not—”
“Unless the police are involved,” Oliver said in an undertone, but Brook heard him.
“You think NCPD is trying to frame Connor?” he asked. “That’s completely ludicrous. They’re not criminals.”
“Most of them aren’t criminals,” Oliver said. “It doesn’t take much to push some of those guys over, I can tell you.” He’d witnessed all sorts of corrupt behaviour in the past. Stealing from evidence lockers, fudging paperwork, blatant disregard for the law when it came to traffic stops—Oliver had seen it all. Usually the officers were reasonably reprimanded. In some circumstances, they were removed from the force. But there were definitely still bad eggs, so to speak. Davin was living proof.
“Why should the NCPD want to frame Connor?” Brook asked. Oliver shook his head again.
“I don’t think they do,” he said. “I think someone else does. Someone who can control the NCPD.” Which meant, of course, nobility. The Court and Counsel were the only ones with enough power to manipulate the NCPD. They already were doing so by turning the whole force loose on the case. Nimueh, of course, was also on that list, but Oliver wasn’t sure he wanted to tread there yet.
Brook looked unconsciously over his shoulder, as though the whole of the Counsel of Nimueh’s Court would appear to accuse him of slander. “You honestly think someone in the Court is conspiring to frame Connor for Logan’s murder?” He asked the question, as his loyalty to his family demanded, but there was little shock in his eyes when he looked at Oliver.
“I think it’s a very real probability,” Oliver said.
“But why would they? Why not just catch the real killer?” Brook asked, and Oliver considered him. Did he really not see?
“That would likely be self-incriminating for them,” Oliver said slowly, and Brook swayed as though he’d been struck.
Head shaking, eyes elsewhere, he said, “You can’t be serious. You—but why would—I just can’t belie—”
But he never finished any of his thoughts, his eyes darting back and forth over the stone floor as though reading. Oliver waited, glancing at Connor to offer him a subtle nod. Brook would know better than anybody, he would understand better than anybody. The courtiers of Nimueh’s Court were a varied crew, but many of them were united in their legendary ruthlessness. Any number of them could have conspired to murder Logan and frame Connor. The question that yet remained unclear was why? What, specifically, could that accomplish? Why Connor?
“So you really didn’t do it,” Brook said more than asked, turning his attention to Connor. Connor shook his head.
“Logan was my cousin. He was kin. Family. I would never,” he said, his words growing slightly strangled at the end. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “I had every intention of challenging Logan publicly, fighting him, and taking over as Alpha. But I would not have killed him, in that fight. I would not have had to. He had every intention for me to take over as well. Killing him put all that in jeopardy.”
Brook considered him a moment. The smell of salt air and the thick humidity that clung to the stone walls of the cave made Oliver’s mouth dry. He swallowed against the stickiness in his throat.
“So why am I here?” Brook asked. “If anyone finds me, or finds out I met with you and didn’t take you in—this could mean my career. Or my life.”
Oliver nodded darkly. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “But if we’re going to find the real killer and clear our names, we needed to speak with you. I know that the last thing you want is to sit by and watch as this kind of vile corruption roots deep in Nimueh’s Court. Who knows what could happen next?”
Brook nodded. “Obviously,” he said, then nudged Oliver on with a nod of his head.
“We’re trying to build a timeline for Logan, a complete one,” Oliver said. “We know what he was doing until six p.m. Between then and the murder, we’ve no idea what Logan was doing in Nimueh’s Court.” He paused, studying Brook’s face. He sucked on the inside of his cheek and nibbled at it. “I have a feeling you do.”
Again, Brook glanced over his shoulder. “No one knows exactly what Logan was doing in Nimueh’s Court,” he said quickly. He rolled his shoulders and took a calculated breath. “But there have been rumours.” Brook shrugged, and Oliver forced himself not to step toward Brook, toward the information. “I want you to understand, rumours of all kinds spread in the Court. Most of the time, they’re nonsense, and they change from one minute to the next. This kind of event means more rumours than usual. Some of them are completely mental. Like suggesting Logan wasn’t really a Werewolf, that he was just a Wizard in disguise and came back to Nimueh’s Court every new Moon to be with ‘his own kind,’ or some such idiocy.” Brook nodded vaguely, noticing Connor’s incredulous expression. “But some of the rumours sound more plausible. The main one that’s gained traction is that Logan was in our territory to meet with Nimueh.”
Oliver and Connor shared a look. If Nimueh was the last person to see Logan alive, that did not bode well for Connor. The chances of speaking with her personally to get her account of the night were infinitesimally small, ignoring the fact that she likely wouldn’t give them that information anyway. And if Nimueh was in fact, somehow, the murderer, than it held to reason that she’d be putting pressure on the NCPD to catch Connor instead. She needed the case closed.
But it didn’t sit right. Nimueh had never seemed like the type to murder a peer. She was famously good friends with Maeve, and her relationship with Logan had always been pleasant and polite, from the moment of the signing o
f the Treaty. Where the mass populations of Nimueh’s and Logan’s Courts were still often at odds, full of barely contained hostility, Nimueh and Logan themselves always behaved as old friends coming together after a long separation.
“Do you have any idea what the meeting was about? What they were doing or discussing?” Oliver asked.
Brook shook his head. “Everyone’s got theories, of course, but none of them makes any more sense than the last. Not one of them has stuck effectively. It could be any reason from democratic liaison, to negotiating more trade deals, to catching up over dinner, to planning a joint assault on Maeve’s Court.” He shrugged. “Each idea is more ridiculous than the last.”
Oliver began to pace, his feet carrying him in circles across the entrance of the yawning cave. The ocean waves crashed against the rocks in the distance, and droplets of seawater streamed down the inside of the rocks in tiny rivers and waterfalls. Oliver strained to find a plausible option amid the ridiculous ones.
After a few minutes’ thinking and tearing his mind apart to find an answer, Oliver reached up and grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, crying out in frustration at the domed roof of the cave. A faint echo followed his outburst, and Oliver released his hair.
“If only we could talk to Nimueh!” Oliver said, throwing his hands up. “She could clarify what the hell was going on and maybe point us toward a more specific target. This is maddening, trying to pick a suspect out of a phonebook!”
“We certainly can’t cross into Nimueh’s Court,”Connor said, arms crossed over his chest. “They’re searching far and wide for us. No disguises can properly shield us there. Plus she’s probably holed away in her massive castle to wait out the storm of media.”
“No she’s not,” Brook interjected suddenly. Oliver and Connor both looked curiously at him. “She’s not in our Court.”
Connor blinked at Brook. “Excuse me?”
