Conviction

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Julia went with her.

  Anton looked back at me and raised a hand, gesturing for me to come forward.

  “Mother Renard,” he said, “when you’ve concluded this investigation, please come by my office at your earliest after-dark convenience.”

  Torn between relief and a very strong sense of foreboding, I managed a weak smile. “Thank you. Tell Vera and Dimitri I said hello.”

  “I will be staying,” he said placidly. “Dr. Ouellet may not perform her ceremony unless I’m present.”

  He walked away without another word, and Illyana trailed after him, watching everything with unabashed interest. It was the prerogative of a sorceress to be keen on observing any ceremony, and the more unfamiliar it was, the more valuable the experience. I daresay that few sorceresses would have ever seen a vampiress raise a satyr-blood with the help of a leannan sidhe. Even I would have been interested, if the entire situation wasn’t such a bloody mess.

  Kylie opened the back door of the van, then stepped back, making room for Julia. Dr. Ouellet waited with her hands clasped in front of her, the epitome of patience. She radiated confidence, but she made sure to keep me between her and Anton.

  Julia gestured for Flint to enter the van with her. It was a tight squeeze for both of them to stand to one side of the stretcher with Flint positioned behind Julia so he could put his hands on her shoulders. The vampiress practically vibrated with excitement, a soft smile on her lips projecting her triumph loud enough that I could feel ire rolling off Anton Winters in waves. For a moment, all I could think about was what that anger would mean for me. What it could possibly mean for Andy.

  I shook myself out of those thoughts in time to see Flint take a deep breath, then tighten his hold on Julia. His hands massaged her shoulders, pressing into her muscles as if he were kneading his power into her body. I couldn’t feel the energy, but I remembered what it felt like well enough.

  Julia took a deep breath, centering herself amidst the rush of power. She drew something out of her pocket. It was a small satchel, and I would have bet my last healing potion that it contained some of Julia’s grave dirt. She reached into her opposite pocket and retrieved a small candle that she placed near Deacon’s head on the opposite side from where she stood.

  A resurrection ritual of any flavor was nothing to rush through. I stood in the cold air as Julia cleansed herself and Deacon, waving her hands down their bodies, brushing aside lingering energies that might inhibit his return to the semi-living. Pressure built inside the van and rolled out over the observers as Julia concentrated on the bond between her and Deacon, strengthening it, focusing on it as if trying to make the dead man aware of that pull.

  Scath pressed against my side, and I realized I’d started tapping my foot. I stopped and forced myself to calm down.

  Finally—finally—Julia lit the candle, then raised her wrist to her mouth and used her own fang to open a vein. She pressed her bloody skin to Deacon’s lips and murmured under her breath. The candle flared, then went out.

  Deacon grabbed Julia’s wrist.

  The vampiress made a sound between a hiss and a gasp as Deacon latched on with his new fangs, drinking her blood with all the clumsy violence of the newly risen dead. He sucked and licked, digging his fingers deeper into her arm, anchoring it to his mouth. After a minute that probably felt much longer to the vampiress, she reached out with her free hand to touch his cheek.

  “That’s enough.”

  Deacon winced, but he removed his fangs from her flesh, turned her hand over to lay a delicate kiss on her knuckles. The sheet around his hips fell a little farther as he sat up, reaching for Julia to draw her into an embrace.

  “Mistress. I’ve missed you so.”

  Julia pulled away, but took his hand in hers and held it against her chest. “And I you. But we will bask in our renewed acquaintance later. There is much to do, and I’ve promised Mother Renard a word first.”

  Deacon’s gaze slid to me. It was a little unnerving, watching him stare at me when I could still see the dark bullet hole in his pale chest. His eyes were glazed over with a pink sheen.

  Julia tugged at Deacon’s hand even as she turned back to me. “We’ll speak on my boat, if that’s all right. I want to get Deacon inside, cleaned up and dressed.”

  I knit my brow, but Julia raised a hand to ward off an argument.

  “Mother Renard, Deacon was murdered. He was cut open, autopsied.”

  Her words drew my attention to the Y incision on his chest. The wound stood out like black marker on his pale skin, the stitches seeming too jagged somehow. I shifted uneasily.

  “Rising from the dead is traumatic no matter the circumstances,” Julia reminded me. “I want him to feel as comfortable as possible, as quickly as possible. If you don’t feel safe getting on the boat with me, that’s fine. But then I would ask you to wait until I’ve had a chance to take care of him before we talk. I will be as efficient as possible.”

  Peasblossom was trembling now, and she tucked herself completely under my coat.

  Julia tilted her head. “Your familiar is cold. It’s warm on my boat. And I give you my word no harm will come to you on my ship. Contrary to what Mr. Winters would have you believe, I am not a danger to you or your companions.” She arched an eyebrow at Anton Winters and lowered her voice. “Men are so paranoid around strong women. Don’t you agree?”

  I did, actually, but I didn’t say so. I glanced at Scath. The feline sidhe didn’t seem to have an opinion. Her attention was on the small kitten poking his head out of the satchel slung across her body. Majesty seemed to be recovering from his exertion with the leannan sidhe twins, but he still looked like he’d just been rescued from a storm drain. He let out a pathetic mewl, and Scath licked him across his tiny face.

  Flint took a breath as if he’d weigh in, but I spoke first. “Fine.”

  Anton Winters watched me as I turned to head back toward the pier, and one look at those cold blue eyes made me hope my investigation would last until sunrise. I needed some time to figure out how I was going to appease the angry vampire.

  And more time to ponder exactly what he wanted from me.

  I walked past Kylie, and the half-ghoul bit her cheek, her gaze searching my face. The worry in her expression confused me, until I remembered Andy. If Vincent had known about the corruption and not told me, had Kylie known too?

  I paused just long enough to look a little harder at her. Her neck muscles corded, as if fighting not to look away.

  Yep. She’d known too.

  I gritted my teeth and headed for Julia’s boat with heavier footsteps than before.

  “You’re angry with the coroner’s assistant.”

  Flint’s voice didn’t help my mood. “It’s not important right now.”

  “Do you have a personal relationship with Ms. Rose?” Julia asked.

  I glanced over my shoulder. She was following behind us, her arm around Deacon’s shoulders. The new vampire had the sheet from the coroner’s van wrapped around his waist and nothing else. I shivered in sympathy even though as a vampire, the cold would have no effect on him.

  “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, I’d rather not discuss my personal life with someone who’s clearly already learned more than she let on.” I kept my voice even, but Julia was a smart woman. She’d sense the anger.

  “I don’t blame you for being upset with me.” I paused by the gangplank leading up to her boat, and she circled around me, still guiding Deacon. “But I do hope you’ll give me a chance to explain once we’re in a more comfortable setting.”

  I wanted to point out that the last thing I needed was another vampire weaving a verbal tapestry to get around actually sharing information, but I resisted.

  Julia opened the door to the boat’s cabin. A glorious burst of heat washed over me, and I patted Peasblossom where she burrowed into my shirt. She poked her head out and gave a happy sigh.

  The same women I’d met at the racetrack were inside waitin
g for us, and Julia beamed at them as she towed Deacon further into the room. “Ladies, if you would take Deacon below and help him get cleaned up and dressed? Quick as you can, Mother Renard needs to speak with him.” She glanced back at me. “Unless you’re in enough of a hurry that you’d like to go with them?”

  I almost said yes, but then held back. Julia had promised to answer any questions I deemed relevant to my investigation. “No, that’s fine, I’ll wait. I have some questions for you anyway.”

  Julia gave me a small smile. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

  I waited for the women to take Deacon away before I spoke. However angry I might be, I wasn’t cruel. As soon as they were gone, I faced Julia. “You let Siobhan win Deacon. You wanted her to take him.”

  “Sort of,” Julia hedged, completely unsurprised by the accusation. “I had no intention of wagering with Deacon’s life when we agreed to that race. But you were right, I could have withdrawn when Siobhan changed the wager.”

  “But you didn’t,” I said.

  “No.” She moved to a small cart that held a bottle of wine and several tall glasses, quirking a questioning eyebrow at me.

  “I don’t drink,” I said coolly.

  She poured herself a glass of white wine. “Siobhan wanted to take Deacon from me as a childish power play. I was willing to let her think she’d won.”

  “Leaves her cocky enough to make mistakes, plus it gives you a spy,” I guessed.

  “Precisely.” She gestured to the stairs. “And though I appreciate your discretion, there’s no need. Deacon knows why I let him go. Just as he knew I’d get him back.”

  “You said before that Siobhan wouldn’t let you talk to Deacon. So how did you know so much about the night of the murder?”

  “Deacon talked to Jane, and Jane talked to me.” Julia made a tsking sound. “You’d be very surprised how often Siobhan completely underestimates someone she considers beneath her.”

  “So Deacon—through Jane—contacts you the night of the murder and tells you what happened. And you saw your chance.” I stared at her, the wheels in my head spinning. It was a longshot but I asked anyway. “Did you kill Deacon?”

  Julia traced the rim of her wineglass. “No. As I said, I can’t set foot in Cleveland without risking political and possibly literal suicide. Besides, if I’d killed Deacon myself, it would have voided my contract with Siobhan and risked the chance she may have passed him on to someone like so much furniture after her death.” She shrugged. “But I may have said a few things in passing to the people at the track that may or may not have gotten back to Siobhan.”

  I shook my head. “We’re not talking in hypotheticals. I want straight answers from you. Did you arrange Deacon’s murder?”

  Julia arched an eyebrow, but then inclined her head in acknowledgment. “I hinted that Deacon was the one who tried to kill Siobhan. And then, when Siobhan was fully committed to seeing Agent Bradford pay for the crime, I had Jane tell Deacon to start acting guilty, pretending to be tormented by his conscience. His job was to make Siobhan believe that he was the one who’d shot Raichel, and he was working up the courage to confess that fact to you.”

  “But he already told Siobhan that Andy shot Raichel,” I argued.

  “Not exactly. It’s common knowledge that Siobhan was taunting the FBI agent, trying to goad him into committing a crime against the kelpies that she could punish him for. When Raichel was murdered, I suspected that the circumstances were too good for Siobhan to pass up the chance to see Agent Bradford blamed. It makes sense that she wouldn’t ask Deacon for the truth, she would hint to him what she wanted the truth to be and ‘encourage’ him to tell her what she wanted to hear. Which is exactly what she did.”

  Hope flared in my chest. “So Deacon didn’t really see Andy shoot Raichel?”

  “It’s complicated,” Deacon said.

  I jerked my attention back to the stairs that led to the lower level. Deacon stood there, dressed in a soft pair of black linen pants and a royal blue shirt that brought out the color of his hazel eyes. He went to Julia’s side and kissed her cheek before turning to face me.

  “I lied to you before. When I said Siobhan didn’t tell me what to say. Julia is right, Siobhan led me to say what she wanted to hear, no question about it.”

  His expression softened with sympathy. “But I did see Agent Bradford run out and aim his gun, exactly like I told you. Siobhan was coy, but she didn’t need to be. What she wanted me to say I saw was the truth. But there was something else, something I wasn’t allowed to tell you.” He paused, looked back to his sire. “I can tell her?”

  Julia nodded. “You are mine again. Siobhan’s orders to you are no longer binding.”

  Deacon let out a relieved sigh that reminded me how recently he’d been alive. “Mother Renard, forgive me. I wanted to tell you before, but Siobhan forbid it.”

  “Tell me what?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice calm.

  Deacon leaned forward. “A few days before the murder, Siobhan gave Mickey an unregistered gun. For protection. I swear he had it that night when I drove him to Something Fishy. But later, after Raichel was shot I drove him home…it was gone.”

  Chapter 20

  “What?” Peasblossom yelped.

  Deacon licked his lips, then winced when he cut his tongue on one of his fangs. “Siobhan gave Mickey a gun. For protection, she said.”

  “What kind of gun was it?” Flint asked.

  Deacon shook his head. “I don’t know. Guns aren’t a specialty of mine.”

  I unzipped my pouch. “Bizbee, could I have the file with the forensic photos from Raichel’s murder?”

  Bizbee’s fuzzy antennae bobbed as he popped his head out of the pouch and hefted the requested file up with him. He moved with his customary speed, not pausing to look around more than was necessary. But when he turned to shove the file in my direction, he caught sight of Julia. He jumped, his beady black eyes growing wide. “Dr. Ouellet?”

  “Bizbee?” Julia laughed. “Bizbee, is it really you?”

  “Is it really me?” he scoffed. “And who else do ye think could organize a witch’s odds and ends? The state of this place, if ye could have seen it!”

  “How do you know each other?” Peasblossom asked warily.

  “Bizbee worked with a wizard detective on the Toronto police force when I was coroner,” Julia explained, her eyes bright with pleasure.

  “And what are ye doin’ now?” the grig asked, leaning on the edge of the pouch. “I—” He froze. He looked at Julia. Really looked at her.

  “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “You’re dead.”

  Julia clasped her hands in front of her, her smile dimming. “I am.”

  “How? What happened, lass?”

  Julia’s gaze swung to me. “I’m afraid our reunion will have to wait. Mother Renard needs Deacon’s help, and I’m sure she’s in a hurry.”

  I was already flipping through the file, and when I found the picture of the gun that had killed Raichel, I held it up to Deacon. “Is this the weapon you saw Siobhan give to Mickey V?”

  “Looks like it. But like I said, I don’t know guns.”

  I shoved the picture back into the pouch, wincing an apology when Bizbee glared at me and snatched it out of my hand. “If Andy bought an unregistered gun to carry on his surveillance meetings at the bar, then Siobhan could have found out what kind of weapon he was carrying. She could have bought one that was the same make and model easily enough.”

  “So she buys an identical weapon and gives it to Mickey. Why?” Flint asked.

  My brain spun with new ideas, new theories. “Waiting for an opportunity. She’s been taunting Andy for months. Maybe she was getting impatient. She could have been waiting for a situation exactly like this one. A case of Andy confronting a kelpie, no one else around. Maybe she told Mickey to make sure any situation like that ended with lethal force.”

  “And he’d be there with a matching weapon to make sure A
ndy was blamed,” Flint finished.

  I looked back at Deacon. “You’re certain it was Andy who fired, not Mickey? You said you only saw Mickey and Raichel through the window of the van. Couldn’t Mickey have shot Raichel while her attention was on Andy?”

  Deacon considered that. “It’s possible. I couldn’t see their hands. And everyone else’s attention was on Agent Bradford. No one thought anything of it when Mickey bolted for the boat to get Rowyn.”

  “But we know Mickey saw through the glamour, so unless Siobhan ordered him to do it, did he have a motive to kill Raichel?” Flint pointed out. “Wasn’t he one of the few to show sadness at her death?”

  Perhaps it had been more than sadness—regret. I addressed Deacon again. “We need to talk to people who knew Mickey. Who did he talk to at Turning Tides? Besides Siobhan, I mean?”

  “The horses,” Deacon said immediately. “He spent all his time with them. Talking about their strengths, what it was like to run on the water. He tried to ride as many of them as he could. He said he needed to get a feel for how they moved, and what the water was like in different conditions.”

  “Then I need to talk to them.”

  “Easily arranged,” Julia said. “You can ride to the track with us.”

  I nodded. “Deacon, what about your murder? Did you see who shot you? Was anyone around?”

  Deacon shifted uneasily. He looked like he was trying very hard not to look at Julia.

  I stared at the vampiress. “You knew all along, didn’t you? You knew who shot him.”

  Julia put down her wine glass and folded her hands in front of herself. “Morgan shot him. And before you ask, she did it because I made it clear that once Deacon was dead, he would return to me. And that is something he and I both wanted very much.”

  “You told her to kill him.” The words tasted strange somehow.

  Deacon took one of Julia’s hands in his, but his eyes never left me. “It was always going to be that way. It was the only way for me to come back.”