Conviction

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Puck leaned closer. “Little hard to ignore the possibility when that’s how she came to power in the first place. Fool me once, and all that.”

  My mouth fell open. “What?”

  Puck frowned. “No one told you that?”

  “Told us what?” Flint said impatiently.

  Puck looked back and forth between the two of us. “Siobhan’s predecessor Gloria was murdered.”

  Chapter 21

  The world tilted around me, a momentary vertigo as my brain rearranged all the information I had so far to make room for this new bombshell. “Tell me what happened,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  Puck looked around again, as if nervous about being overheard. The floating courtyard was getting less crowded, making our whispering group more obvious. The nuckelavee gestured for us to follow him and headed for the ship opposite the one where I’d met Julia.

  The interior of this ship didn’t have the same Old World luxury as Julia’s. Everything was modern, and the air smelled strongly of new leather and glass cleaner. There was another scent underneath it, but a too-deep breath tickled my nose with the chemical scent of the cleaner, so I opted for shallow breaths instead. Puck led us inside, just far enough from the windows so we wouldn’t be too noticeable.

  “Gloria’s killer was also a human, oddly enough,” he said, keeping his voice low. “A gambler back at Fortuna’s. Gordon, I think his name was. He lost more than he won, but Gloria knew exactly how to handle him. He wasn’t dangerous, and she knew it, so she found his tantrums amusing. He’d rant and rave, and she’d just sidle up to him, comp his drinks, let him tell her all about why his horse should have won. Half the time I think he just wanted someone to listen to him. I got the impression he’d lost his family to his gambling addiction.”

  “Was he ever violent with her?” Flint asked.

  “Before the day he killed her, he never laid a hand on her. Then one day he lost big. I mean, he lost all the time, yeah, but he never had that much to bet. Then one day he comes in with this huge grin. Clapping everyone on the back, all joy and bluster. Word around the track was he’d gotten a tip of some kind. Something so good, so reliable, that he sold everything he owned. His house, his car, everything. Granted, neither were worth very much, but still.” He stared at me, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “And he put it all on a horse under a bug boy.”

  Hiccup spoke up. “A bug boy is a jockey who ‘asn’t ridden a winner for a long, long, long, long, looonnnng time.”

  I’d forgotten the sea fairy was up there.

  Puck snorted. “Not like him to make a mistake like that. But even weirder was the fact that he was convinced Gloria had given him the tip. He claimed she’s the one who promised him it was a sure thing.”

  “Could she have?” I asked.

  “No,” he said emphatically. “Never. Gloria never gave out tips. Unlike Siobhan, who was always giving out unofficial tip sheets, making nice with the customers behind Gloria’s back. I think Siobhan appreciates how obnoxious that was now, after Raichel did the same on her watch.”

  “What happened, exactly?” Flint asked. “The day Gloria was killed.”

  “After he lost, Gordon went out of his mind. As usual, Gloria was the one to try and handle him. She pulled him aside, out of sight of the public—which was standard operating procedure. Nothing puts a damper on a race like someone screaming about how he’s lost everything. She took him up to the viewing booth where the announcer sits, kicked the announcer out. Sometimes that calmed Gordon down, getting to sit up there in the big boy seat. No one saw them for awhile. Then Siobhan went up to check on her and found her dead. Iron across the throat.”

  “Siobhan found her?” Peasblossom demanded.

  “Just a little suspicious, isn’t it?” Puck said dryly.

  “Did no one think that maybe Siobhan did it?” Flint asked.

  “Siobhan wasn’t allowed in that room. There was a wizard on the forensics team, and he confirmed there was no trace of her at the scene, DNA or otherwise. She opened the door, saw what happened, and broke the news to the rest of the team. She claimed Gordon was gone when she got there.”

  “And you’re sure Gordon was human?” I asked.

  “Positive. He was human, and he had no idea what we were. Stavros made sure we all wore glamour so the humans didn’t see what was really there.” He laughed. “And he sold enchanted opera glasses to the Others so they could see the real thing if they wanted. Of course there’s no need for that out here,” he added. “Not like you can let humans watch us race on water.”

  “Then how did he know to use iron to kill Gloria?” Peasblossom asked.

  “The iron was in the room—a weapon of convenience. I think it was a scythe.”

  “A scythe just sitting around in the announcer’s booth?” I asked, doubtfully.

  “An iron scythe left there specifically to make sure there was iron in the room,” Puck corrected me. “There was silver there too, but since silver is expensive, that wasn’t left out in the open. Those were just some precautions Stavros took to make sure no Otherworlders tried to manipulate the announcer. Iron for the fey, silver for the shifters.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Are you saying you think Siobhan set Gloria up? Worked Gordon into a froth so he’d go after her?”

  “You said he was never violent before,” Flint argued, “so why would Siobhan choose him for her dirty work?”

  An idea occurred to me. “Wait. Was there any evidence of a sidhe in the room where Gloria was killed?”

  Flint stiffened. “You think it was Raphael.”

  Puck waved both hands. “No, no, no. There were no sidhe in that room. That, I would remember. And to answer your other question, Gordon was never violent to Gloria, but he got into plenty of scrapes with other observers. I got the impression he knew better than to mess with Gloria since she had the authority to ban him if he went too far.”

  I shook my head. I wanted to believe all of this, but it didn’t make sense. Yet. “What exactly makes you think Siobhan was involved? Do you have any proof?”

  “What I know is that Siobhan has never been happy being just another part of the team. She always thought she was meant for bigger things. Gloria had to discipline her on more than one occasion for breaking the rules—like giving out tips. Siobhan didn’t have what it took to beat Gloria outright, so she just weaseled around her, trying to find some weak spot.”

  Flint looked unconvinced. “How could she have known that she’d get to take over if Gloria was killed?”

  “That I can’t tell you. All I know is, shortly after Gloria punished Siobhan, a degenerate gambler blamed Gloria for a phony tip and killed her. The only person who benefited from that whole mess was Siobhan. Suddenly Fortuna’s is shutting down, and Siobhan is buddy buddy with the vampire starting a new business as leader of the team.” He shrugged. “Maybe you have a higher tolerance for coincidence than I do.”

  “Do you know where I can find this gambler that killed Gloria?” I asked.

  “Not a clue. Never saw him after that.” He paused. “Of course, if you believe Siobhan, she killed him.”

  “Siobhan killed Gordon?” I stared into Puck’s eyes, searching for some sign he was toying with me. “She said that?”

  Puck nodded. “She claimed she hunted him down and found him on one of those casino boats. Said she ate him.”

  “But you don’t believe her,” Flint pressed.

  Puck shrugged. “Either she ate him, or claiming she did was a good way to convince the rest of the team not to go looking for him. Not that they needed much convincing. We aren’t herd animals, not really. And even if we were all the same breed—which we aren’t—we don’t need a leader. Most of us are solitary creatures. We seek one another out when the urge to have children catches up with us, but other than that…”

  He gestured at himself. “I’m a nuckelavee. Shadow of Death is a backahast. Charlotte’s Web is an each uisge.
Siobhan and Rowyn and Cassidy are kelpies, and so on. None of us particularly like each other. And the only reason we’re a team at all is because we’ve chosen to have a life out of the water. That requires money. Earning money when you’re Other requires self-control or a leader to organize you and give you a job among people like you.”

  “And you aren’t known for self-control,” Flint noted.

  Puck shrugged. “We’re water creatures. Not many of us are known for self-control. Even the mermaids can be a bit brash.”

  “You said Gordon was a frequent loser and Gloria would comp him drinks,” I said. “Do you remember his last name? Is there any chance she kept some sort of record of him?”

  “His last name was Larkin. I don’t have his last address or any contact information, but I’m sure she would have,” Puck said immediately. “Gloria was almost as good with record-keeping as Raichel was.” He hesitated. “But those records will be in Siobhan’s office. Well, it was more like Raichel’s office since she’s the one that did all the work, but you know what I mean.”

  “Can you tell me where it is?” I asked.

  Puck pointed up. “Second floor. This is Siobhan’s boat.”

  I stiffened. “This is Siobhan’s boat?” How many did she have?

  Flint cursed under his breath, immediately looking out the glass walls of the boat, searching the thinning crowd for kelpies.

  Puck watched him with unabashed amusement.

  “I’m starting to see where you got your name.” I took a step closer to the nuckelavee. He fell back, surprised by my sudden movement, and I moved with him, staying in his personal space.

  “I don’t like being toyed with on the best of days,” I said, my voice low. “But you have picked a particularly bad day to test my patience.”

  “Did I?” Puck kissed the tip of my nose, a quick peck that could not have surprised me more if he’d quacked like a duck when he did it. His brown eyes shone with merriment. “Siobhan has been in a meeting with a temperamental sea nymph for the past half hour. I don’t know how much longer she can stand to listen to her prattle on, but if you want to see those records, I’d suggest you stop wasting your precious time with me.”

  My temper flared, bringing my magic close to the surface. The twinkle in his eyes said he was enjoying this. How much of his “help” had been true, and how much had been a desire to draw me here, in this place, so Siobhan could catch me on her territory?

  “Scath,” I hissed. “Watch him.”

  “If he moves, eat him,” Peasblossom added, multifaceted pink eyes glittering with malice.

  Hiccup rolled over on my head, tangling himself in my hair. “Oof. That’s harsh.”

  I left Puck’s Folly in Scath’s tender care and headed for the spiral staircase in the center of the room. The floor above still held the faint odor of new leather, but it was overwhelmed by the familiar scent of an office supply store. Printer ink and paper, and the faint metallic hint of paper clips. A computer sat at a huge desk against the wall to my right, and filing cabinets lined the wall to my left.

  “How are you with a computer?” I asked Flint.

  “Better than you.”

  It was a myth that magic naturally interfered with technology. Controlled magic was no different from controlled electricity, and the two got along just fine as long as the magic user—and the electrician—knew what they were doing. But I let the comment go and headed for the filing cabinets. I preferred paper anyway.

  Flint sat at the desk and fixed his attention on the computer. With the sound of keys clacking in the background, I stared at the filing cabinets, reading the labels.

  “Expenses.” I opened that filing cabinet and thumbed through the files, looking for the year I needed.

  Peasblossom launched herself off my shoulder. She landed on a filing cabinet at the end of the row and began tugging on the drawers one after the other.

  I was still thumbing through files when Peasblossom shouted, “This one is locked!”

  “Try that one,” Flint said without looking away from the screen.

  “You think?” I muttered. I closed the expenses drawer and went over to Peasblossom. The pixie was already sticking her sword into the lock, wiggling it around. She had it open before I got there, and I snagged the handle of the drawer and pulled it open.

  Andy’s name leapt out at me.

  “Blood and bone,” I whispered.

  Peasblossom peered over my shoulder. “‘Agent Bradford’s Frequented Places,’ ‘Agent Bradford’s Allies,’ ‘Agent Bradford’s Assets.’ We already knew she’d been spying on him.”

  I grabbed one of the files and flipped it open. Surveillance photos. And judging from the daffodils in some of them, they dated back to spring.

  “She started having Andy followed right after he killed Bradan,” I whispered. “She’s been in his house.”

  “Worse than that,” Peasblossom said grimly. “Look. Those pictures are of his new office building.”

  I gripped the papers tighter. Did Siobhan know about Andy’s investigation into Flint? How much did she know?

  I searched through the photos, but didn’t find any of the inside of Andy’s new office. Hopefully she hadn’t gained access yet. And Liam hadn’t said he smelled any kelpies there when we investigated earlier.

  I put the file back. As I did, I noticed another file in the very back of the drawer. I stared at the label, and my field of vision narrowed down to the words typed on that small tab. “‘Agent Bradford’s Death.’”

  Peasblossom landed on my shoulder. Even Hiccup seemed to take interest, scooting forward on my head as I flipped the folder open. There was only one thing inside.

  An SD card.

  “Andy’s missing SD card?” Peasblossom squeaked.

  It took me two tries to find my voice. “We don’t know that. Why would it be in a file labeled as his death?”

  “Because hiding it will mean his death?” Hiccup offered.

  Part of my brain noted that Hiccup sounded significantly less drunk now. But then he groaned and flopped over, so it could have been my imagination.

  “Give me the card, I can see what’s on it right now,” Flint ordered.

  I gave him the card. My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear my own thoughts, but that didn’t matter anyway. Not with how chaotic my brain had suddenly become.

  Flint slipped the SD card into the slot. The clicking of the mouse sounded too loud in the sudden silence. I gripped the back of Flint’s chair, trying to restrain myself from reaching over to jab a button to make it go faster.

  “These are all video files.” Flint hovered his mouse over each of the files in turn. “Seven files.”

  “Just open the one with the date of the murder on it,” I urged.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead as Flint obliged. The image showed the front door of Something Fishy. It was night, but the bulb in the street lamp lit the scene perfectly. Like a spotlight. I held my breath as he clicked play.

  From what I could see, the tape started to record right before sunset. I watched the sky darken, watched the patrons come and go. Flint fast forwarded the video feed, stopping when a familiar figure came into view.

  “That’s Mickey V!” Peasblossom hissed.

  “And that,” Flint said, pointing at the screen, “is a gun.”

  I leaned closer, my eyes glued to the screen. Mickey V stood outside the bar, just like he’d described. Only he hadn’t mentioned the gun before. The weapon was a dark spot on his hip, barely visible where it was tucked into his waistband. I shook my head. I was ignorant when it came to firearms, but even I knew it was a bad idea to tuck a gun into your pants like that. Clearly I’d underestimated Mickey’s desire to live dangerously.

  A van pulled up. The camera was set at a different angle than Deacon’s car had been parked, so the view of Raichel and Mickey was unimpeded by the van. I watched Raichel approach Mickey, gesture for him to come with her. Mickey took a step back, obviously noticing that
Raichel was not Siobhan as she claimed to be. His hand drifted lower, reaching for his gun. He hesitated.

  Raichel noticed the gun. She grabbed his arm, shouting at him as she dragged him closer to the van.

  The front door flew open. Andy rushed out, gun in hand.

  Mickey turned, his face showing surprise. He held up his hands.

  His empty hands.

  “Siobhan” raised her hands too.

  I stared at the screen. I barely felt Peasblossom cuddle against me, barely noticed as Flint pushed his chair back and stood, resting one hand on my shoulder.

  Andy stared in shock at Mickey V’s face—saw the jockey in all his aged glory. A tremble ran through his body, and he hunched over as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Then he was baring his teeth, the muscles in his neck straining. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I’d have bet my favorite coffee mug they’d gone black.

  Andy looked from Mickey V to “Siobhan.”

  Then he raised his gun.

  And shot her.

  Chapter 22

  My cell phone rang.

  I answered it without looking. Even after Flint closed the video and ejected the SD card, I just kept staring at the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mother Renard. Did you enjoy the video?”

  Siobhan.

  I sank to the floor, and only Flint’s arms catching me saved my knees from slamming into the hardwood. Rage threatened to swallow me, the heat making my thoughts swim. Siobhan was talking again, but I could barely hear her. I looked around, trying to find her. Or the camera that she must be using to watch me.

  “Look on the desk, Mother Renard.”

  I stood with help from Flint, searching the desk. It didn’t take long to find the small web cam now that I was looking for it. There was no light to tell me if it was on, but Siobhan’s chuckle was proof enough.

  “That was incredibly satisfying,” she said. “Watching your face. You are so delightfully expressive.”

  What could I say?

  Siobhan laughed as if she knew exactly how I felt. And maybe she did. My magic swelled, and I knew with sudden clarity that I could blow up this entire room. Sink the boat. It would be less effort than holding it in. I could just…let go.