Conviction

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “But there was no guarantee.” I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the shock. “You needed Anton’s permission, you needed Flint’s—”

  Realization struck me so hard and so fast, I’d taken a step forward before I realized it. Deacon read my expression and tensed, ready to throw himself in front of Julia if need be. He didn’t, and I wasn’t sure if that was an acknowledgment of my self-control, or if he knew Julia was not a woman who needed—or appreciated—being protected.

  “That’s why Morgan had to call Andy and get him to Marilyn’s,” I said, my voice strangled. “It had to be a frame-up for Andy…because you needed me to be desperate enough to help you. You knew I’d come to see you after Deacon was killed, and you needed me to be willing to do whatever it took.”

  Julia didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

  But I wanted to hear it.

  “Say it,” I ground out. “Tell me you set me up.”

  “I did what I had to do to save my friend from Siobhan,” Julia said softly. “I trust that sentiment sounds familiar?”

  I jabbed a finger at her, fighting to make sure it was just a finger, not a spell. “No. No, it is not the same. I didn’t hand Andy over to Siobhan as some sort of power play. You gave her Deacon. You used him, knowing it would come to this. And then you used Andy. And me.”

  Scath growled beside me, one of those eerie feline growls that send tendrils of ice up your spine. Julia didn’t flinch.

  “You’re right. I used you, and your friend, and I’m sorry it was necessary. But I had nothing to do with Raichel’s murder. I set Agent Bradford up for Deacon’s murder because he was already on the hook, but I’m not the one who put him in jeopardy in the first place. I wouldn’t have done that.”

  I inhaled for the count of seven, then exhaled for the count of eight. My magic still burned inside me, so I did it again. And again.

  “Why would Morgan agree to do that?” Peasblossom asked. “Killing Deacon could have put her in a bad position with the Vanguard, not to mention Siobhan, and Marilyn! She killed him in the middle of an ongoing investigation. And she’s too old to be that stupid.”

  “Obviously I couldn’t spell everything out,” Julia said calmly. “The rumors I started about the night of Raichel’s murder weren’t so specific that Siobhan would have been certain Deacon killed her. They would have worked just as well to convince her that Deacon had seen Mickey kill her. Regardless, Siobhan would have a reason to want him dead. And I’m sure Morgan could make Siobhan think it had been all her own idea in the first place. Sidhe are very talented at that sort of deception.”

  Pot, kettle. “You’ve wasted so much of my time,” I said, pressing my fingers to my temples. “I don’t think you understand the damage you’ve caused. How much your little power play has cost me.” I thought of Raphael and Luna. They’d targeted Andy after seeing him with Morgan. And that fight with them, Raphael’s influence, had driven Andy so much closer to the edge. And then pushed him over it. All because the vampiress arranged a murder to get her lover back.

  “And now I’m saving you time by being honest,” Julia soothed.

  “And how has that helped me so far?” I demanded. “Deacon’s story is the same as it was before. And the second murder has nothing to do with the first. So what exactly have you offered me that could possibly compare to what I’ve given you?”

  “Now you know Mickey carried an unregistered gun, from Siobhan,” Julia reminded me. “Was he one of your prime suspects before?” She smoothed her hands down her dress. “Talk to the racers at the track. Mickey isn’t a cold-blooded killer, that I know. If Mickey did agree to kill Raichel in the event Agent Bradford didn’t, so the agent could still take the fall, that betrayal will have affected him. And the racers will know. I believe tonight he was set to ride Charlotte’s Web.”

  I must have still looked angry, because she sighed. “I will be at the track for the night. I will make myself available should you require more information.”

  “Yes, you will,” I agreed. “And in addition, you’ll owe me three questions. I can ask whatever I want, whenever I want. And you must answer truthfully.” I glanced toward the cabin of the boat, thinking of all the women inside—all the highly educated women who would be an asset to any investigation I might encounter.

  Julia smiled as if guessing the direction my thoughts had taken. “Agreed.”

  That was two vampires who owed me three questions each.

  Even Flint looked impressed.

  When we finally docked, I said goodbye to Julia, and noted that she seemed happy to see me go. I headed toward the small courtyard that sat in the middle of the four ships. The horses were still there, but now they were in human form, marked as racers only by the fact they still lounged about in stalls marked with their names. The walls were lower than a real stall, giving the entire area the appearance of a parking lot full of parade floats more than anything else. It looked ridiculous to me, but then I supposed I wasn’t the target audience.

  I had just stepped onto the walkway that connected the southeast boat to the courtyard when something landed on my head. The sensation was very similar to Peasblossom when she got too tired to fly and didn’t want to admit it. I held completely still until I heard a tiny voice.

  “Thanks for the ride, M-Missss.” Hiccup giggled. “I’d be most grateful if ye could allow me a wee rest before I’m off to find that drunken fool Michaleen. And in exchange for…for this kindness, I will…make introductions.”

  I almost turned down the offer, then thought better of it. Arguing with a sea fairy wouldn’t get me anywhere, and his information could prove useful.

  I hadn’t gone three steps when I felt the familiar itch that meant someone was watching me. I turned, following the sensation. The stall on my right was constructed of unprocessed birch limbs. The leaves had been stripped, but the tree had been left largely intact, with the thick trunk pointing toward the opening of the “stall” and the tufts of thinner branches connecting at the back. The result looked similar to the spider webs one usually had to go to Australia to find.

  Or one my nightmares.

  The racer sitting on a long bench inside the stall watched me with murky blue eyes that shifted like oil on water. Long brown hair fell down his bare back, and he peeked out at me from under a fallen lock. He wasn’t naked, but he was close enough. I didn’t know if his attire—or lack thereof—was a practical nod to his shapeshifting abilities, or if it was part of the show. Based on the number of attendees giving him appreciative glances as they sipped their cocktails, I’d have guessed the latter.

  “Hello,” I greeted him. “I’m Mother Renard. You were one of tonight’s racers?”

  “Aye.” He held out a hand, and I noticed the extra skin that connected his fingers close to his palm. “I’m Charlotte’s Web.”

  His voice made me want to clear my throat. It was too wet to be a rasp, but not quite enough for a gurgle—something nice and uncomfortable in between.

  “Nice stage name,” Peasblossom said.

  I took his hand, trying not to wince at the stickiness of his palms. His skin felt as if it were coated in a thin layer of beautician’s wax, and it took a might effort of self-control not to use a spell to clean off my hand. “You’re an each uisge.”

  He tilted his head, making the lock of hair slide farther over his face, casting more of it in shadow. “Aye.”

  “He’s also a front runner,” Hiccup offered, his words almost clear compared to the man in the stall.

  “What’s that?” Peasblossom asked.

  I swallowed a groan. This was not the information I needed.

  “A front runner,” Hiccup slurred, “is what’s known as a ‘speed’ horse. Our Charlotte here likes to get out of the gate quickly, stay in first place the whooooolllllle time.” He hiccupped and almost slid off my head. I gritted my teeth as he renewed his grip on my hair to hold on.

  “Y’need a hat,” he grumbled. “No much for me t’p
erch on, is ‘er?” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he keeps his energy, y’ see, holds it in, lettin’ it out in spurts so his lead grows, and grows, and grows, and gr—”

  “Thank you, Hiccup,” I said loudly. “Mickey V was your rider tonight, Charlotte’s Web?”

  “He was.”

  Those strange eyes didn’t move from my face. He looked expectant, as if he was waiting for me to ask a specific question.

  “How did he seem?” I asked.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, did he seem upset about anything? Nervous?”

  He grinned, baring his teeth. “Mickey V doesn’t get nervous. But if he did, it’d be hard to tell. Shakes like a leaf no matter what. It’s all the energy drinks, if you ask me. The man is more caffeine than blood.”

  That lined up with what I’d observed myself. “Was he happy here, did he get along with everyone? Anyone have a problem with him?”

  The each uisge shook his head slowly. “You’re investigating Raichel’s murder, and you’re asking me about Mickey?”

  “Who should I be asking about?”

  Charlotte’s eyes gleamed. “If I were you, I’d be asking about Raichel. And who might have wanted her dead.”

  “Someone wanted her dead?” Flint asked. “We’ve heard everyone respected Raichel.”

  “Not everyone.”

  “Siobhan,” I guessed.

  “Siobhan,” the each uisge echoed. “Yes. She loved Raichel when she was making her look good, but Siobhan is arrogant, not stupid. I think she knew Raichel was about to give her a taste of her own medicine.”

  I leaned in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rumor has it she’d recruited statisticians to study the racing odds and was passing out tip sheets on the side under Siobhan’s nose. It’s the same thing Siobhan used to do when Gloria was ruling the racetrack at Fortuna’s. Drove Gloria mad. Now Siobhan’s getting a taste.”

  “Excuse me,” came a woman’s voice from behind me.

  I turned to find a woman in a large hat and a dress covered in black and white stripes that gave me an unsettling feeling of vertigo. She held a martini in her hand, and a bottle of baby oil in the other. “We’re all supposed to get a chance to talk to all the racers. So if you don’t mind?”

  “Talk?” Flint murmured, eyeing the bottle of baby oil.

  Charlotte chuckled, a deep sound that reverberated in his chest and held none of the rasp that his voice did. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mother Renard. Unless you’d like to stick around…”

  I gave him one of my darker witchy looks. “Thank you, but I should be going.”

  Charlotte shrugged, but the amusement never left his eyes. There was another racer in the next corner, so we headed in that direction.

  This stall was constructed of blackened wood, and smelled like someone’s house after a kitchen fire. The man sitting on the bench inside this area had skin as white as the inside of a clam shell, with blond hair and brown eyes that looked like a section of an old log, the edge of his iris slightly irregular. A backahast. He watched me approach like a child watching a waiter getting closer with a tray of desserts.

  “Mother Renard,” Hiccup announced, stirring as he found purchase on the center of my head again. “May I introduce Shadow of Death. Unlike dear Charlotte, Death is more of a stalker.” He scooted forward and leaned down over my forehead, peering into my eye from less than an inch away. “That’s not a legal term,” he clarified, squinting as if trying to focus. “That’s…a racing term. Death likes to stay off the pace, but he stays within striking distance of the frontrunner. He lets them tire themselves out then wham!”

  This time, he did fall off. I caught him in my hand.

  “Hiccup, you’ve had too much again,” Death teased. Then his brown eyes locked onto me. “You’re a witch, are you? Not many witches come to gamble. Boss never encouraged magic users, too likely to take an unfair advantage.”

  “The boss. Would that be Siobhan…or Raichel?”

  “Someone’s been talking out of turn.” He looked over my shoulder. “It was Charlotte, wasn’t it? Such a sucker for pillow talk.” He leaned closer to me and sniffed the air over my skin. Then he drew a finger over my palm. “No baby oil?”

  I jerked my hand away. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

  “Don’t mix business with pleasure?”

  “I’m trying to find out who killed Raichel. Rumor has it she had an eye on Siobhan’s position as leader.”

  “There are a lot of people around here who don’t think Siobhan earned her position because she didn’t win a challenge fight for it. But if you ask me, getting something by being clever counts just as much as brute force.” He nodded toward Charlotte. “Take the sticky one for example. Always bursts straight out of the gate, runs hell-bent for leather for the finish. A waste of energy, a blatant reliance on physical strength. I beat him in two out of three races.”

  “Very admirable,” I said politely. “You said Siobhan is clever. What about Mickey, is he clever?”

  Death’s grin widened. “He managed to make himself the vampire’s favorite, didn’t he?”

  I really hoped that Death wasn’t about to insinuate that Mickey V had been enlisted by Anton to take out threats to his new business venture. If the master vampire had told Mickey V to kill Raichel because she was upsetting Siobhan’s apple cart, I was going to need a lie down. “And how did he do that?”

  “By being insane. By being willing to ride any mount. Not just climb up, hold on, and get through it, but really ride. He spent hours with us, talking, coaxing rides. He’d go out on the lake in any weather, even during a storm.” He chuckled. “The man has no fear. I might not eat him even if he didn’t enjoy the protection of the vampire.”

  “Have you talked to Mickey V tonight?” I asked.

  Death’s mouth thinned into a hard line. “No. He rode Charlotte tonight.”

  “Can I assume this race was among that elusive third that you don’t win against Charlotte’s Web?” Flint asked.

  “I think we’re done here,” Death said flatly.

  “Wait.” I held up a hand, fighting the urge to drive my elbow into Flint’s midsection. “You said Mickey is insane. Did that insanity extend beyond the racetrack?”

  “Yeah. Mickey would do anything for an adrenaline rush.”

  “Did you ever see him with a gun?” I asked.

  Death went quiet, then he shook his head. “I’m done talking. If you’ll excuse me, I have patrons to schmooze before I have dinner.”

  My temper flared. I planted my feet, ready to give him a reason to answer the question, but footsteps behind me made me turn.

  Another racer approached. Like the other two, he was nearly naked, wearing something akin to a leather loin cloth slung around his hips almost as an afterthought. He had light brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. He was smaller than Charlotte’s Web and Shadow of Death, but he was every bit as muscular.

  “You’re Mother Renard?” he asked cautiously.

  “I am.” I hesitated, unwilling to turn away from Death just yet. If he knew something, he needed to tell me. And I wasn’t leaving until he did.

  “I’m Puck. Puck’s Folly. Nuckelavee.” He gestured with his head. “Can we talk?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not finished here.”

  “Oh, but I am.” Death stood, and it wasn’t until he stepped closer that I noted just how big he was. He must have been slouching in addition to sitting, because he was six-foot-five if he was an inch. And the closer he got, the more aware I was of the water lapping against the floating courtyard. The dark lake that was so close. So dangerously close…

  Puck’s nostrils quivered like a nervous stallion’s. “You’re asking around about Raichel. Trying to prove that FBI agent isn’t the one responsible for the murder.” He leaned in, spoke with his mouth right next to my ear. “I believe he’s innocent too.”

  I tensed, then studied his face over my shoulde
r. Trying to determine if he was telling the truth, or just saying what I wanted to hear to make me leave Shadow of Death. “You do?”

  Puck gestured with his head. I hesitated, but only for a second. With one look down at Scath to make sure she was still with me, I followed Puck as he led me to a third stall. This one looked laughably like the set of an old cowboy movie—complete with a lasso hanging on a hitching post.

  “It’s too much of a coincidence,” Puck said under his breath. “Raichel meets with Anton Winters last week, and now she’s dead?” He shook his head. “Siobhan is behind this. I know it.”

  I tried to stay calm. Don’t get excited. Get more information. Get proof. “Raichel met with Anton Winters?”

  “She did. I doubt Siobhan was meant to know about it, but I guess someone told her. Given the timing of Raichel’s death…well, Siobhan is lucky but not that lucky.”

  “You think she arranged for Raichel to be killed, or you think she killed her?”

  I knew Siobhan hadn’t done it herself. The forensics left no wiggle room for that. But I was interested to see if Puck tried to lie about it.

  Puck’s eyes darted around the deck. Charlotte was watching him with those oily blue eyes, and he quickly angled his back to the each uisge. “People have been getting more and more angry with Siobhan lately. Especially Mickey V. She cared too much about winning, about controlling everything. The racetrack was starting to get a reputation that the races weren’t fair.” He stamped his foot. “I like racing. I’m not going to lose this place too because Siobhan wants to feel powerful.”

  He tossed his head. “Not to mention we were heading for the perfect storm, coup wise. Everyone’s getting mad at Siobhan for being greedy. Even Anton noticed. He knew the only person holding this place together was Raichel. Then he met with her last week, right after Siobhan had that mistake with the jockey being late to the race. Everyone was whispering that Raichel was being groomed to take over.”

  “And you think Siobhan was worried enough that she’d arrange Raichel’s murder?” I asked.