“If you want.”
I finished brushing Whicker, then returned him to his stall. As I latched the door, Zak picked up a black, dirt-smudged backpack leaning against the wall and slung it over his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed him carry it in, and he hadn’t had it at the crossroads.
My attention turned to the tack room door, which had a table we could use for viewing the map … but there were no chairs in there. My legs were aching from a long day of exertion and I didn’t want to stand anymore.
With a silent sigh, I waved at the druid. “This way.”
He followed me outside and waited while I locked up the stable. He still didn’t speak when I led him around the back, through the rear door, up the stairs, and into my small suite.
“You live here?”
I instantly regretted my choice to reveal where I slept at night. “Give me the map.”
“Where—”
“Give me the map,” I repeated sharply, “and take a shower before you sit on my furniture.”
His eyebrows climbed. He opened his backpack’s front pouch, handed me the folded map, then kicked off his boots and went straight into the bathroom, taking his bag with him. The lock clicked.
I waited for the water to start up before heading into my room to change—my clothes did smell like horse, and I’d need to shower again before bed. Pulling on sweats and a baggy t-shirt, I returned to the main room and lowered myself onto the sofa with a tired sigh.
Just as I was spreading the map out on the coffee table, a hawk shimmered through the wall and landed on the sofa’s arm with a sweep of snow-white feathers.
The druid is in your bathroom, Ríkr remarked, folding his wings.
I studied the red notations on the map. “I know.”
And a lovely black eagle is perched on the roof. He clicked his beak. I lavished her with compliments, but her response was not favorable.
A number and date accompanied each mark on the map. Zak had been thorough. “How did she respond?”
She suggested I prostrate myself in the dirt before speaking with her, as that was my proper place.
“Hm.”
To be fair, he mused, contorting his neck to preen his back feathers, she is well powerful enough to join a court, though not enough to rule one.
“Yet she’s a druid’s familiar. Seems like a demotion.”
Not a familiar, dove. He uncontorted himself to fix me with his crystal-blue stare. The druid’s relationship with the Lady of Shadow is quite different.
“The Lady of—”
The shower shut off with a clunk, and I abandoned my question for another time. Ignoring the rustles and clatters from the bathroom, I focused on the map and the scattered markings that dotted the mountainside. The map on Arla’s computer screen had been marked as well, and I canted my head as I tried to remember where the icons had been. I’d only glimpsed it for a moment.
With a click of the lock, the bathroom door opened and Zak emerged, wearing a clean sleeveless shirt and jeans—both black—with his damp hair roughly combed back from his face as though he’d dragged his fingers through it. His backpack hung from one hand.
Eyeing his face, I demanded, “Did you use my razor?”
“I used my own razor.” He ran a hand over his smooth jaw. “I borrowed your toothbrush, though.”
“What?”
“I’m joking.” He hefted his bag. “Do you have laundry in here?”
“In the closet.”
He opened the closet near the entryway and started loading his garments into the washer—not only what he’d taken off before showering, but at least one more change of clothes. Did that bag contain all his supplies for his mission to earn fae gifts?
I waited to see if he’d ask how the machine worked, but he figured it out. As it started up with a hum, he closed the closet door, set his backpack against it, and strode toward me.
Watching him approach—over six feet of broad shoulders, muscular arms, and dangerous magic—I wondered why the hell I’d brought him into my space. This was my sanctuary, and it’d already been invaded once today. I didn’t know how to handle a second invasion, even one I’d invited in.
Good evening, druid, Ríkr crooned silkily. Welcome to my witch’s humble abode.
Zak’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t buy the shapeshifter’s sincerity any more than I did.
May you find it rife with female temper and sharp blades, Ríkr concluded with a taunting tilt of his avian head.
“I appreciate the well wishes,” Zak replied dryly, sinking down beside me. “Do you care to share a name?”
Ríkr, my familiar offered. By the way, you smell luscious.
“I get that a lot. From fae,” he added pointedly, as though I might’ve forgotten I’d recently informed him that he stank. Post-shower, he smelled like pine-scented soap that reminded me of mountain forests on cool, crisp evenings.
Ríkr shuffled his talons on the sofa’s arm. I suppose your dark lady on the rooftop would be opposed to sharing a taste of your power.
“I’m very sure she would. So would I.”
Annoyed at my familiar’s blatant schmoozing, I cut in, “Are all the bodies marked on here?”
“Yes.” He leaned back against the cushions. “Figure out anything?”
“Lines.”
He blinked. “What do you mean, ‘lines’?”
I pointed to several animal deaths. “These bodies all fall near an old trail that was closed two years ago after a landslide.”
As he sat forward for a closer look, I indicated another few bodies. “I think there’s a streambed here. And here—these ones are in a ravine. I’ve seen it from Munroe Lake Trail.”
“So …” He stared down at the map. “You think the killer traveled along these paths, slaughtering all the animals they encountered along the way?”
I nodded. “These routes are easier than cutting through the forest. And all of them move down the mountain, suggesting the killer was traveling away from the summit. That makes more sense than zigzagging aimlessly across the slopes.”
“Maybe the killer isn’t lurking around the crossroads but coming out of it. They appear from the crossroads, go on a killing spree, and retreat into the crossroads again.”
“Seems plausible.” I tugged on a lock of hair hanging over my shoulder. “The lines are less clear here and here”—I pointed to individual clusters—“but there could be more bodies you didn’t find.”
Zak said nothing, and I glanced at him. Brows drawn down, elbows braced on his knees, he was studying the map intently. With a quiet thought to tell me he was going to keep an eye on the eagle fae outside, Ríkr took flight, disappearing through the wall.
“Do you see the other pattern?” I asked the druid.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “On each ‘line,’ there are multiple animal deaths, but only one fae death.”
I combed my fingers through another lock of my hair, then absently split it into three pieces and started braiding it. One fae death per “excursion” by the killer. Did that mean the killer was seeking out those fae, or was it coincidence? And, I noticed, the fae body was usually the farthest point from the summit. Did the killer return to the crossroads after murdering a fae? Why? What did it all mean?
“What song is that?”
I started. “Huh?”
His gaze slid across my face. “You were humming.”
The tune of the old Irish ballad I’d been singing to Whicker was still running through my head. I shoved to my feet. “We’re done here. You can get out now.”
He leaned back, head resting on the cushions. “You were actually semi-pleasant for a while there.”
I turned back to the sofa and leaned over him. Bracing my hand on his shoulder, his body heat warming my cool fingers, I smiled. “Don’t misunderstand, druid. I’m working with you to find this killer, not because I enjoy your company.” Bringing my face closer to his, I made sure he couldn’t miss my animosity. “Everything you are is every
thing I utterly loathe.”
“And what is that?”
“A powerful man who abuses those weaker than him.”
I didn’t see his hand move, but suddenly, his fingers were clamped around my wrist.
“Then what are you, witch?” he asked, his voice dark and dangerous. “When you wanted to cut that farmer’s teeth out, were you a switchblade angel dispensing righteous justice? Why are you allowed to pass judgment on others, but I’m not?”
He shoved my hand off his shoulder and stood. Trapped between the sofa and coffee table, we faced each other, toe to toe, glaring into each other’s eyes. His palm pressed against my upper thigh, pushing on the switchblade hidden in my pocket, silently telling me he knew it was there.
“I’ve never pretended to be the good guy,” he growled softly. “So quit acting like you’re so much better than me. You might not be as deep, but you’re down here in the dark right along with me.”
My breath rushed out and I shoved away from him. “Get out.”
He moved into the center of the room. “My clothes are in your washer.”
“Not my problem.”
“I’m not leaving without them.”
I swore and turned away from him. “Then leave when they’re done.”
“And go where? I’ll be back in the morning anyway.”
Bristling, I spun back. “Why?”
“Finding a killer, remember? Or has your commitment fizzled out already?”
My teeth clacked together. Maybe I should tell him the MPD was investigating me for murder; the prospect of agents knocking on the door would get him out of here. But revealing that information meant handing him a weapon he could use against me.
“Fine,” I snarled. “Do what you want. I’m going to bed.”
“Got anything to eat?”
“In the kitchen. Help yourself.” I stormed to my room. “But don’t touch anything else!”
Slamming my bedroom door, I gulped back the urge to pull my knife.
Down in the dark, he’d said. I didn’t want to understand, but I knew exactly what he meant. The dark … the violence. We were people who lived with and in violence. Around us and inside us.
But what had he meant when he’d asked why I could pass judgment on others, but he couldn’t?
My breath rushed through my nose. I stomped to my closet, stretched up for the top shelf, and grabbed a clean bedsheet, a spare pillow, and a fuzzy blanket I used on cold winter nights. I stomped back across my room and whipped the door open.
The druid looked up. He was standing in front of my fridge, one hand on the open door as he examined its contents.
I threw my armload onto the sofa, marched back into my room, and slammed the door for a second time. Leaning back against it, I rested my head on the wood. Ríkr? How do you feel about guarding my room all night?
His reply was instant. I will protect your virtue with my dying breath, dove.
I grimaced as I pushed away from the door. My virtue wasn’t what I was worried about.
Chapter Fifteen
“Are we really going to do this?”
The boy didn’t answer as he paced back and forth, his boots crunching on the gravel-strewn asphalt.
We were in the alley behind the “den,” as my aunt called the place where she did business once a week. I didn’t know if the building was a gambling den or something else, but it’s where she and other mythics went to make secret, illegal deals—like selling their nieces to terrifying men called Bane.
She was in there right now. So was Bane. If I had gone up to the attic, I might have been able to eavesdrop again, but the boy and I were out here for the same reason. We didn’t want anyone overhearing us.
Leaning against a graffiti-marked brick wall, I watched him pace. Should I finally ask his name? But then he’d ask mine. Names were dangerous.
“Well?” I prompted.
“I plan to kill him.” He growled the words without stopping his restless movements. “I will kill him. But I’m not ready. I’ll only get one chance so I have to be certain.”
His words echoed my reservations. Killing someone shouldn’t be that difficult. I had a knife and Ruth had a carotid artery. But walking up to her and stabbing her in the throat wasn’t as easy as it sounded. If she guessed what I was about to attempt … if I missed … if she survived …
I shuddered.
“He has a sixth sense for threats,” the boy muttered. “As soon as I make a plan, he’ll suspect it.”
“Poison his food?” I suggested.
“He’d notice. Besides, he’s practiced mithridatism for decades.”
I nodded, familiar with the method of building up a tolerance to poisons by ingesting small doses. “Can you ambush him?”
“Unlikely. If it was that easy, I’d have done it already.”
Then we should just run away. On a night like this, we could do it. As soon as Ruth and Bane went into the den, we could run for it.
But I didn’t suggest that. If my aunt was alive, I’d never escape her no matter how far I ran. I’d always be looking over my shoulder, always watching my back. I wanted to be rid of her forever, and I’d bet the boy felt the same way about his guardian.
Spinning on his heel, he swept over to me and stopped a couple feet away. His hood shadowed his features, the darkness in the alley clinging to us both.
“What about your aunt?” he asked. “How would you kill her?”
Grimacing, I tugged roughly on my blond ponytail, hating the color she had chosen. Hating that she controlled everything about my life, including my body. “She locks me in a room at night, so I can’t sneak up on her while she’s sleeping. If she’s awake, she’s on guard.”
“What about poisoning her?”
“She’s an alchemist. She carries a universal antidote with her everywhere, and—”
“That doesn’t work on everything.”
“And,” I finished, “she has antidotes for almost everything else.”
The boy leaned against the wall beside me, then sank down to sit on the damp pavement.
I lowered myself beside him, my hands tightening into fists. “It’s impossible, isn’t it? She’s gonna sell me to Bane, and he’s going to … what?”
“Feed you to a fae, probably.”
A fae? So Bane was a witch? Did that make the boy, his apprentice, a witch too?
Just like me.
“What if …” He glanced at me. “What if I could get you a poison with no antidote?”
I scrunched my face skeptically. “Where would you get that?”
“It’s one Bane doses himself with for his mithridatic training.” He fidgeted with his sleeve. “I could steal it.”
A thrill of fearful anticipation ran through me. “Really?”
“What will happen to you if your aunt dies?”
I shrugged. “My parents are dead, and if I have other relatives, I don’t know them.”
He considered that. “Bane might try to take you anyway, depending on how bad he wants you.”
“So we have to kill them both. Especially if you’re going to steal from him.”
He bit his lower lip.
“What’s the biggest thing stopping you from killing him?” I asked softly.
His eyes darted around as though he expected a monster to materialize from the darkness. “His fae. They’re always there. Always watching my every move. He knows I’d murder him in a heartbeat, so he always has one shadowing me.”
“Even right now?”
“Not now. My familiars are keeping his away, but that won’t work if he’s nearby. He’d notice right away.”
He had multiple familiars? I didn’t even have one.
My hand drifted to the collar of my jacket. “If you could get past his fae without them noticing you, could you kill him?”
“Yeah, but it’s impossible to sneak past those fae.”
“Actually, you can. With the right magic.”
His attention fixed
on me, intense and piercing. “What magic?”
“I have a … an artifact. It hides the person wearing it from fae senses. I could lend it to you.”
“Something like that exists?” He sounded breathless, as though my words had hit him like a punch to the gut. “You’d let me use it?”
“Borrow it,” I clarified emphatically. “It was a gift from my parents. It’s the only thing of theirs I have left.”
“Borrow,” he agreed quickly. “For one night. Just long enough to … Are you sure that’s how it works? It will hide me from any fae?”
“My parents said it doesn’t matter what kind of fae or how powerful. As long as I’m wearing it, no fae will notice me.”
“That’s … that’s unbelievable.” He raked his hand through his hair, pushing his hood off with the motion. “I could test it with my familiars, figure out exactly how it works …” He looked up, his eyes burning into mine. “If the spell does what you say it does, I can do it.”
“You can kill him?”
He nodded. “He relies on them to watch me. I can slip away using your artifact, and while they’re searching for me, I can kill him.”
“And I can kill my aunt with your poison.” My brief grin faded, and I added haltingly, “And after they’re dead, we could …”
He canted his head toward me. “We could what?”
“We could … band together?” I blew out a breath. “Better than going at it alone, right? I mean … if you want to.”
“Like … long-term?”
I forced myself to nod, my shoulders hunching with uncertainty. Why would he want to saddle himself with someone like me? What did I have to offer? We barely knew each other. We hadn’t even exchanged names.
“I …” He rolled his shoulders. “I like that idea.”
A sharp edge of hope embedded itself in my lungs. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
My cheeks flushed. I hastily looked around for a distraction, then grabbed his wrist. “How’s the cut?”
I turned his hand over, surprised by how much bigger it was than mine, with long, strong fingers. I peered between his ring and middle fingers, finding a rough, pinkish ridge where I’d cut him. A scar.
“Sorry,” I muttered guiltily.
The One and Only Crystal Druid (The Guild Codex: Unveiled Book 1) Page 11
