by Lyra Evans
Oliver merely gaped.
“She went into hiding after the first flurry of announcements,” Brook explained. “She’s still running the search and investigation, but she’s doing it remotely to avoid reporters and tabloids outside her front door all the time. There are rumours she’s afraid she’s being targeted.”
Oliver perked up, his chest expanding. If Nimueh was out of her Court, then they actually stood a chance at questioning her. Oliver leaned toward Brook.
“Where is she, then?” he asked, and Brook’s moment of enthusiasm dwindled.
“No one is sure,” he said. “All we know is that she’s somewhere in Maeve’s Court.”
Chapter 14
It took nearly twice as long to get back to the Birches’ house than it had taken to get out to the border. There were more people on the streets than earlier, many of them converging on the beach, which meant Oli and Connor were like salmon swimming upstream. Once they were safely ensconced in the protections of the Birch home, Oliver allowed himself to collapse on the hard white couch. The sweat raining off his body onto the white canvas hardly mattered to his overheated mind. Maintaining the spells to disguise them both, even with the tethers in their hair, was a draining endeavour. The hardest spells were always the endurance castings. A curse, no matter how powerful, took only a momentary spike of magical energy to cast. But a simple cooling spell tethered to a cheap, included emerald meant a constant, steady sap of magical energy.
Plucking the stones from his hair, Oliver stared wearily at the ceiling. He dropped the stones haphazardly on the coffee table next to him, counting out the tiny plinks as they fell on the glass surface. A sudden rush of plinks told Oliver Connor had seated himself somewhere and had removed all his stones in one go.
“Fae are insane,” Connor said with a low exhale. “I can barely survive in this kind of heat, let alone dance or party. Meanwhile they’re out quite literally baking in the sun.” Connor shuddered; Oliver could hear the effort of it. “No. Give me snow and misty forests any day.”
Oliver snorted. “How very Werewolf of you,” he said, though there was no heat in it.
“I was under the impression you were quite satisfied with just how Werewolf I am,” Connor replied, his tone burning like coals. Oliver shot him a sidelong glance, a smirk quirking his lips. But before he could answer, a green bird appeared by his ear. Oliver jerked sideways in shock and nearly fell off the couch.
Rubbing his shoulder where he pulled it, Oliver tried to listen to the message Rory had sent him through the poorly stifled laughter coming from Connor. When the message was through, the bird disappeared in a swipe of Oliver’s hand, and Oliver reluctantly forced himself up.
“We’ve got to head down to the Virtual Reality room,” he said. “Rory’s got something for us.”
Connor stilled and nodded. The room was as they left it, suspended in time and space, as though it required someone to be inside it for the reality it projected to exist. They closed the door behind them, and Rory popped into being in front of them.
Instinct made both Oliver and Connor stumble sideways and brace, but it achieved nothing short of tweaking at Oliver’s spine. They were in the backseat of Rory’s car as she drove, but the lack of physical movement when all their senses indicated they were speeding along a highway made Oliver feel nauseated.
“Chairs,” Connor called out to the room, and suddenly Oliver and Connor were both seated in physical approximations of Rory’s backseat. Oliver quirked an eyebrow, and Connor said, “Apparently we can command the room to provide us anything we need to make the experience more authentic.” Then he pointed to the earring he wore that connected him to Rory.
“That’s supposed to play out for both of us to hear,” Oli said. With a sigh, he reached out with his magic, searching for a frayed edge to the spell and repaired it.
“—but they gave me a hard time, saying I wasn’t what they expected from a respectable journal like The Banshee, and I told them where they should shove their respectable expectations, and—”
“Rory,” Connor said, his brows knitted low over his eyes, struggling to keep up with her. Oliver had years of experience tracking the thread of her stories, so he was hardly fazed. “Can we get to the point?”
Shooting a slightly annoyed look into her rear-view mirror, as if she could see them, Rory said, “Fine, fine. But you better appreciate what I put myself through to get you this intel before the rest of the damn world. I’ve left the folder open between you. Check it out.”
Oliver glanced down to find an autopsy report. The coroner had completed the autopsy on Logan in record time, likely as a result of the pressure Nimueh and the Court were putting on the NCPD. He scanned through it, through all the details of what trace evidence was found on the body, on the cause of death, the depth of the wounds, the likely cause of them, and any other details deemed relevant.
“Claw marks and teeth marks,” Oliver said, still perusing the document. “Conclusion is he was definitely killed by a Werewolf. The bite marks don’t match with any animal on record, apparently.” He bit his lip, worrying the edge of it. “And cause of death was exsanguination,” Oliver went on, Connor reading quietly to his right. “Which was expected.” The diagram at the top of the sheet illustrated the locations and placement of each wound the coroner identified. They were numerous. Logan was ripped apart. There was damage to the organs, but it was difficult to tell what was anti-mortem and what was post-mortem. Oliver read to the end of the file. “Hang on, is this right?”
Rory glanced back at them in the mirror again. “Yeah,” she said. “I had that reaction too. But it’s been checked over several times. They wanted to make sure they made no mistakes with this.”
Connor reached the part Oliver was discussing. “There’s no—saliva?” Connor asked. “None at all? On the entire body?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Oliver said. He checked again. “And they swabbed every wound, every bit of exposed skin?”
“Every one,” Rory said. “Did a set of extremely sensitive tracer spells too, just to be sure. The kind of magic that can pick up a single atom at a time, if it needs to. And still nothing. No indication of saliva on the body. At least, none that wasn’t Logan’s.”
Connor grew still, distant, and Oliver realized suddenly how real and raw this must have been for him. The ‘body’ wasn’t just a victim, just a stranger they needed to distance themselves from in order to remain objective. This was Logan. This was Connor’s kin. Which meant he was Oliver’s family too. Something pulled tight in Oliver’s chest.
“There’s no way a Werewolf attacked Logan and didn’t leave saliva in the wounds,” Connor said, swallowing hard. “Not that I can really believe any Werewolf would attack Logan like that, anyway, but I’ve seen enough fucked up death in the last few months to start reassessing my perspective on the matter.”
Oliver gave him a sad look. “There should be saliva,” Oliver said. “And skin cells. There should definitely be skin cells. Hell, there should even be Connor’s skin cells if you two sparred earlier that day.” Oliver checked the report again. “None of that either. No markers of any other DNA than Logan’s. That’s impossible.”
Connor leaned back in the chair, staring straight forward out the front windshield. It was a feat to manage, given Rory’s car was compact and rounded in shape. Staring straight forward, leaning back usually meant staring into the fabric of the seat in front of you with your knees up to your nose. Connor’s knees were, granted, pointing high to the sky, but he seemed not to notice as he gazed into the middle distance.
“Logan would have fought back,” he said after a while. “Even if he was drugged, he would have at least tried to defend himself.” He paused. “I’ve fought him myself, I know how good he is. He didn’t become Alpha by chance. He’d have skin under his nails, maybe blood. Why haven’t they tested that?”
Oliver flicked through the pages again, searching for something he may have missed. But he missed nothing.
“There was nothing there either,” Oliver said. “There was no trace evidence under his nails. Not even your skin cells.”
The car zoomed by building after building, each one smaller than the last, sinking away into the distance behind them. Soon buildings became houses became bungalows became abandoned shacks. And then there were trees and sprawling fields with herds of cows or horses or unicorns. Oliver’s mind raced across ideas like the tires sped over the asphalt, but as he spied a peak in the distance, faded and grey, disappearing into the clouds, he sat up.
“Rory, where are you going?” he asked.
“Where does it look like?” she said. “I got the NCPD side of the story, but I want to hear from the Wolves of Logan’s Court too. I need to know what they think happened, what they’re doing to investigate. Don’t you want to know what’s happening there too?”
“Of course,” Connor said, sitting up slightly. He couldn’t quite sit tall for fear of hitting his head against the roof of the car. And riding with his head sitting through the roof of the car somewhat killed the reality component of the Virtual Reality room. “I need to see for myself what’s happening. I need to know.”
Oliver shrunk back, a weight in his stomach. “Are you sure it’s the safest idea, though?” Oliver asked cautiously. Connor shot him a surprised, wounded look. “Rory was at our bonding ceremony,” he elaborated. “She was my second. All your pack know that, and I’m sure most of the rest of Logan’s Court do too. If they didn’t before, they’ll probably have heard by now.”
Connor softened slightly, and Oliver exhaled. Reaching for Connor’s hand, Oliver squeezed it gently. Connor was staring at Rory, though.
“He’s right,” he said after a while. It seemed to take the wind out of him to say it. “It may not be safe for you. They may consider you an accomplice in some way. I can’t promise you won’t be interrogated or searched. And you’ve been close to us, so you will smell of us.”
“It’s totally okay, guys, really,” she said, shaking her head. Her mermaid hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the curls shook out like springs. “I’ve got it all figured out with Donna. I should smell like you because I was with you. Can’t lie about that. But most of the magic of Maeve’s Court is faded on me, thanks to a handy trick I know,” she winked, “and that’s fine because I live there half the time. Plus, the most recent scents are from the police station and crime scene, which all makes sense too, as I’m a reporter.” She smiled brightly. “Donna is going to vouch for me, saying that Logan’s Court needs someone who’ll write honestly about the Wolves and how they’re acting or reacting to this, what’s being done, so that it doesn’t look like Nimueh’s Court is alone in wanting justice. And, of course, so they don’t get all the credit.”
Oliver glanced at Connor, still unsure. “But if they ask how you can be unbiased because you were at the bonding ceremony, what can you say?”
“That I’m a professional and what I’m after, more than anything, is the truth,” she said. “Which is totally accurate. And has the added advantage that people who argue against ‘wanting the truth’ tend to look pretty bad.”
Oliver rolled his eyes, but a smile spread at the corners of his mouth.
They passed over the border with minimal issue, though Oliver and Connor held back their amusement when Rory answered “of course not” to the officer’s question of “are you transporting any illegal goods or persons over the border?”
They drove the route Oliver had come to know well, but this time as the road slipped away beneath him, he felt only anxiety and no excitement. Connor’s manor appeared before them, large and old and stately. It was full of history, full of the legacies of pack leaders and the Pierce ancestry. They had Alpha blood in them going back centuries, possibly millennia, although now all that remained of their family’s kin was in Connor and Nadia, his younger, very ambitious cousin.
They pulled up alongside a vast sea of cars, and Rory got out. Connor and Oli followed, though it felt strange to exit something they weren’t actually in to begin with. At the front door, Rory knocked. A young Werewolf answered, her long walnut brown braids pulled into a strange design on her head. She had freckles and green eyes, and her name was Hailey, if Oliver remembered correctly. She was in Connor’s pack.
“You’re the reporter,” she said, her green eyes keen and sharp. Her nose twitched visibly. “You were at the bonding. And you left with them.”
“I was, and I did,” she answered simply. She offered no answer to questions that were not asked of her. Hailey examined Rory carefully, sniffed again, then stepped aside to let her in.
Connor’s home was luxury inside and out, and all the details were carefully curated to present an aesthetic of warmth and quality. The beauty was approachable, grounded. In some unquantifiable way, it was natural. The world around them. Not like the Birches’ house full of ultra-modern furniture and décor.
Beyond the main entry, there were younger Wolves playing quietly in the sitting room. A television was on in the corner and attached to some kind of video game only two kids could play but six could watch.
Connor gestured to the staircase to the basement, which was where the pack would be. It was the only area large enough to house the whole pack, or more, in the entire Manor.
Rory allowed herself to be guided carefully by Hailey. She held her head high and did her best to ensure no Werewolf looked at her as a threat, nor as an easy meal. Aurora Birch was not to be trifled with.
At the base of the stairs was the sprawling gathering space for the whole of Connor’s pack. The massive television was off, the pool tables and chess tables and game tables put away or set off to the side. The couches were arranged facing inward, in a circular pattern, so that all present could face each other. Most of the Wolves sat on the ground, having fewer chairs than there were attendees. And there were many. Oliver spied every one of Connor’s pack, along with Lane Irons, another Alpha, and most of his pack. Kyrie Plymouth, an Alpha whose consort was murdered by Sky only months earlier, was also present. Approximately half her pack was there, and still others were unnamed in Oliver’s mind.
At the head of the circle there were two women. Donna, standing tall and fierce in her most stunningly deadly black dress, was on one side. On the other, was Nadia. With long, glossy black hair and eyes the shape of lotus petals, Nadia was devastatingly beautiful, and just about as deadly. But she was reckless and hot-tempered, too. And she did not like Oliver.
“What is this?” she asked, shooting Donna a violent look. “Are we letting in riffraff to our private pack events now?”
Rory’s expression didn’t change at all, but her eyes narrowed slightly, and Oliver knew she was sizing up Nadia. Donna crossed her arms over her chest.
“If you call a celebrated reporter from The Banshee ‘riffraff,’ then I suppose so,” Donna said. “She was invited in order to document our side of the investigation. I’m sure the last thing you want is for Nimueh’s Court to solve the case first and get all the credit. Or, worse, take all the credit after we solve the case.”
Nadia narrowed her eyes at Donna. “She was present at the ceremony,” she said. “How can we trust a loyal ally of Oliver Worth?”
Donna growled at her, her neck elongating slightly as though she’d feinted a pounce at Nadia. “I was at the ceremony. Do you doubt my allegiances?”
Nadia quieted briefly, but recovered her fire quite quickly. “We’re not here to play at detective. Connor’s been doing that more than enough for all of us,” she said, and Oliver heard the pop as Connor’s jaw tightened painfully. His fists were balled, his eyes trained on Nadia. “We’re here to discuss the position of Alpha and who should take over as leader in the face of our leader’s heinous cowardice.”
“Connor is still our Alpha!” Donna growled, and approximately half the Wolves present howled in agreement. “You must show due respect until such a time as you prove yourself worthy of the title.”
“He lost the title wh
en he killed Logan like a snake and ran off with his Ape whore, tail between his legs!” Nadia cried, and Oliver was knocked back by the number of Wolves who howled to that. Connor, too, looked shaken by the number against him. They were still split roughly equally, but the fact that so many of his pack had already turned against him, or were at least willing to believe him a coward and a murderer, was like taking a silver bullet to the chest.
“We have not concluded our investigation yet,” Donna snapped. “Or do you trust so easily to the findings of Apes, as you say?”
Nadia’s lip curled in a snarl, and her beauty was, in a moment, undone. “We don’t need their monkey police,” she said. “I was there. I smelled him. We traced the scent back to this place. He was the killer. There is no doubt.”
Donna shook her head, and some of the Wolves in the crowd did too. Oliver’s mouth was dry, his stomach in knots. Rory was scribbling furiously in a small notebook while her topaz brooch glinted and twinkled as it recorded the discussion.
“Why would Connor kill Logan in this way?” Donna asked. “Why shouldn’t Connor have challenged him openly? Logan is his cousin, his kin. Connor would never have killed him, and certainly not in such a manner.”
Oliver smiled at Donna, though she couldn’t see him. He turned to Connor to find his eyes glassy and bright, his jaw tight as he stared at his second in command. Donna was his oldest, closest friend. Oliver sometimes felt a pang of jealousy at that relationship, or envy, because the closest he had was Rory who hadn’t been there his whole life. But today, Oli felt nothing but grateful Donna was there for Connor.
“Don’t delude yourself, Donna,” Nadia said, her words like acid, eating away at the room. “Connor is no saint. Or have you forgotten?” She shook her head, her curtain of long hair swishing behind her. “This isn’t the first time Connor’s been responsible for the death of his family.”
Chapter 15
