Chapter 19

For the second start of my day, I showered, dressed, and walked PC. Caleb was on the back porch, and I stopped long enough to ask him about the two bogeymen. He had a few vague recollections of old folklore about both Tommy Rawhead and Jenny Greenteeth, which amounted to about the same information as Dugan had given me—basically, both bogeymen had a predilection for eating children who disobeyed their parents—but he hadn’t heard anything about either bogeyman taking up residence in Nekros. Caleb was fairly well connected to the independents’ society so if they were here, they were new additions.

“I can ask around,” he said after taking a sip of coffee far too diluted with cream to look tempting. “But I can’t say anyone will pass on the information. Independents are just that because they prefer to avoid getting tied up with the affairs that concern Faerie, so most keep to themselves and expect others to do the same. You’ve helped the local independents before, but not all of them see it that way, and the courts are a little too interested in you for most of the more solitary faes’ tastes.”

“But you will ask?”

He nodded, and as I couldn’t thank him, PC and I headed back upstairs.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal as I made some phone calls. My first call was to John, but he wasn’t in. My next was to the morgue. I didn’t know the tech who answered, and unfortunately, I didn’t have anyone to ask for. Tamara was on her honeymoon by now and she was my only real contact in the morgue. Typically the head ME is enough. But without anyone who might help me out just because they knew me, the only thing I could do without an official job from the police or a release from the family was inquire about the body.

I should have done some research before I made the call. I’d seen news clips on the homeless man, but I couldn’t remember his name and the tech wasn’t very impressed with my description of “homeless man who rode the unicorn.” Go figure. Thankfully my laptop was close at hand. I set down my spoon, pulled up a search, and scanned the plethora of hits that popped up on my screen.

“His name was Gavin Murphy,” I said, after clicking the first article I found. “He died about five days ago. Is he still at the morgue?”

The tech grumbled under his breath, but I heard keys tapping in the background as he looked up the status of the body.

“Huh, well, looks like Mr. Murphy is still here,” he said, and more keys clacked. “Sad case. Looks like he has an estranged sister who declined to claim his body or make arrangements. No other family can be found. If he’s not claimed in another week, he’s doomed for potter’s field.”

A week. If I couldn’t find a legitimate case to grant me access to his body, I’d have to wait a week before he was released and buried. “Where is potter’s field?” I asked, because I thought I knew all the cemeteries in Nekros. It was sort of a professional eventuality.

“It’s just an old expression. He’ll most likely be cremated at the expense of the state.”

Well, crap. Cremation destroyed pretty much everything down to the DNA, which included all the memories stored in the cells of the body. If my suspicions were correct, raising a shade from anyone who’d used Glitter would be difficult with a fresh body, let alone a cremated one. Hell, normal, strong shades were almost impossible to raise from cremation ash.

“Do you have to be family to claim a body?” I asked, casting about for ways I could get access to the body.

The tech was quiet for a long moment. “You could likely donate a burial plot,” he finally said.

And that sounded expensive. The business was barely paying out enough to cover expenses and a very small salary to Rianna and me. Most of mine went to bills. I’d started putting aside a savings, but it was a piddly amount and blowing all of it on burying a stranger whose shade I might not even be able to raise and who, if I could raise, might or might not help probably wasn’t the best option. I wasn’t going to take the possibility completely off the table, but I’d definitely hold off for now.

“You’ve been helpful,” I told the tech as way of thanks before disconnecting.

I needed to talk to John. Or find Falin. Any case connecting to Glitter the FIB could likely claim, so he could probably get me access to the bodies. But he was still in Faerie and I had no idea when he’d return. No other FIB agent would assist me. If I hadn’t already figured that out after previous encounters with them, the agent who’d shown up after Tamara’s wedding had made that fact perfectly clear.

No, I needed Falin. Not just for access to the bodies, but to find out any information the FIB and winter court had on Tommy Rawhead and Jenny Greenteeth. If Tommy Rawhead was the hobgoblin the satyr saw distributing Glitter at the Bloom, finding out as much as I could about the two bogeymen was my best lead on the alchemist. That was a big if, but the coincidence of the bartender mentioning a hobgoblin and then getting attacked by one was just too great otherwise.

Now I just had to figure out how to contact the queen’s bloody hands.

•   •   •

It was nearly noon when I arrived at the Eternal Bloom. I headed into the tourist side of the Bloom first. The satyr I’d spoken to at my first visit wasn’t working. I asked both the current bartender and the cocktail waitress about the two bogeymen, but neither had seen them. I left my card and headed to the VIP room.

I scratched out a note to Falin the same way I’d sent notes to Rianna, Kyran, and Dugan. I didn’t exactly know where Falin was, aside from somewhere in the winter court, but that didn’t matter to the magic. It would find him. I wrote simply that I needed to see him ASAP about the case, and then I headed for a table in the corner. I hadn’t even pulled the chair out yet when a pixie, no larger than my forearm, fluttered over, trailing colorful sparkles and carrying a large dried leaf.

That was a fast reply.

I accepted it and nodded my appreciation, but once I flipped it over to read it, my stomach clenched as if a pound of ice had dropped into it.

The leaf had only one sentence written across it: Attend me now, planeweaver.

Instead of a signature, the queen’s official seal looked as if it had been scorched into the leaf. I stared at it, willing it to say something else—just about anything else.

Then I glanced at the giant tree sprouting through the floorboards in the center of the Bloom. Damn, I’d been summoned to an audience with the queen.

•   •   •

I’d never entered Faerie alone before. Hell, I could count on one hand how many times I’d passed through the door to the winter court. Not one trip had been entirely voluntary, so I guess it wasn’t a huge surprise that I’d always had an escort. This time, I had to go it alone.

I stood to one side of the massive tree, staring at the innocuous-looking bit of space that appeared to be just another part of the bar wrapping around the tree, but I knew better. As soon as I stepped around it, this pocket of Faerie would melt away and I’d be at one of the entrances to the winter court. I didn’t want to do it.

But I had to.

I took a deep breath, nodded my head, and had almost psyched myself up to stepping forward when someone cleared their throat behind me.

“My dear, it works better if you walk into it,” a dry, raspy voice said, and I spun around.

An old woman, bent with age, stood there. She smiled, making the wrinkles in her face rearrange as she flashed her toothless gums.

“Of course,” she said, “if you have the will and magic, you can make it move around you.” She clicked her tongue and patted my arm with twig-thin fingers that felt rough and brittle. “But walking is much easier.”

This sage advice imparted, she turned and shuffled away, her wooden clogs loud on the hardwood floor. I stared after her and shook my head. This place always had interesting characters. I didn’t know what type of fae she was, or if she was fae, though it could be assumed she was, but I had no doubt that somewhere lost in time there was a tale about her.

I turned back toward the tree. “Might as well,” I muttered, and as the old woman had suggested, I walked through the “door.” The bar blurred, melted, and the halls of the winter court snapped into cold relief around me.

“Lady Planeweaver,” a snowy-cloaked guard said, stepping from who-knew-where and into my path. He gave me a small bow. “The queen awaits you.”

Under his cloak, I could see the edges of his ice armor and the hilt of a huge sword at this waist, but with his hood pulled down and his head toward the floor in his bow, I could see nothing of his face. I waited for him to straighten, but the seconds stretched.

“Uh, lead on,” I said, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

Thankfully, the guard straightened, turned on his heel and started down the corridor. I followed, knowing it was likely futile to try to memorize which turns we took, but that didn’t stop me from trying. Of course, I suspected they changed and rearranged themselves after we passed. I was never going to learn to navigate Faerie.

My guiding guard stopped in front of a threshold and stepped aside without a word. Like any door in Faerie, it appeared to lead nowhere so could go anywhere. I assumed it led to the queen. Well, looked like this was it. I took a deep breath and stepped through the threshold.

•   •   •

The space beyond the threshold was smaller than I anticipated. Most of the rooms I’d seen in the winter court had been large and dauntingly impressive. This one was no larger than the reception room at Tongues for the Dead. The walls were the same ice-crusted architecture I’d seen elsewhere, the ceiling lost in swirls of snowflakes that never touched the floor, but this room was much more intimate. Two plush couches sat facing each other in the center of the room, a coffee table carved of ice between them.

The queen paced in front of these couches. She looked up as I entered. Her normally perfect curls were slightly frizzed today and the icicles on her gown appeared to be melting, which I hadn’t even known was possible. Her gaze fell on me, her blue eyes feverish. Was she unwell?

Beyond the queen, his posture rigid, sat Falin. A nasty-looking gash bisected his cheek from the corner of his eye to the edge of his mouth, and a bloody bandage showed under the sleeve of his shirt, just above his elbow. From his slightly pained posture, those weren’t the only wounds he sported. My first instinct was to rush to him and see how badly he was hurt, but I ground my heels to the spot. Ignoring the queen to rush to her knight’s side sounded like a dangerous choice. Particularly now. There was something off about her.

Falin was alone on his couch. Lyell and Maeve sat on the opposite one. Ryese leaned against the arm of the couch. He was staring at nothing, and didn’t look up as I entered. I wasn’t even sure he’d noticed my arrival. The fourth council member, Blayne, was missing.

“About time,” the queen said, tossing her disheveled curls. “I want a full update. Your missive said you had information on the case for my knight. Where are you on finding this menace in my court?”

Actually, the letter had said I needed to discuss the case with Falin. It didn’t say I had any new information. And it hadn’t been sent to her.

Not that I was going to point out any of those things. It was only yesterday she’d sent Ryese for a progress report. I was working as fast as I could. I had actually learned something new, but I wasn’t sure how much closer that information put me to the alchemist. I let my gaze slide past her again until it snagged on Falin. He was watching me, his expression grave, intent. Then his eyes flickered to the queen as she began pacing again, her movements jerky, her stride graceless.

“Are you well, your majesty?” I asked, and then immediately regretted the question as she rounded on me, those feverish eyes slamming into me like a physical weight.

“What I am, Lexi, is under attack in my own court and betrayed by those I trusted. You were supposed to be looking into it. Or, perhaps, you are in on it?”

A shock of panic ran through me, a sour jolt of fear. I tried to keep my too wide eyes from moving to Falin. He couldn’t help me, and looking away would make me look guilty. Not what I wanted. Ryese had mentioned there were questions as to the queen’s fitness to rule, between the pressure of challengers to her throne and Icelynne’s bones displayed in clear threat, the queen was feeling the stress. I didn’t want to get ripped to shreds in her wake. I tried to calm the panic, or at least hide it, and school my face to something more placating.

“I meant no disrespect,” I said, dropping my gaze to the icy floor. “I have a lead I’m following. Two bogeymen. A hobgoblin named Tommy Rawhead and a hag named Jenny Greenteeth. I believe they are connected to the case.” I paused and chanced a glance up. The queen had gone still, her mouth twisting downward. “Are you familiar with them, your majesty?”

Her lips pursed, buckling in an expression that made her pretty face much less so. “No. Knight? Council?”

Maeve and Lyell glanced at each other, too much of the whites of their eyes flashing before both shook their heads. Falin rose, the motion slow, clearly painful. He walked to the queen’s side. He didn’t limp, or hold himself, but his stride lacked the predatory grace I was accustomed to from him. How badly had he been hurt? I couldn’t ask. Not yet at least.

“They are not members of your court, my queen. I would have to check the records to determine if they are independents in your territory.”

The queen flicked her wrist, and I couldn’t tell if she was acknowledging his words, brushing them aside, or if it was just a twitch. She seemed more than a little twitchy.

I chewed at my cheek, weighing my words before I spoke. Finally I let out a breath I’d barely been aware I’d been holding before saying, “Falin’s assistance would be useful to me on this case.” After all, he had access to a lot of information I didn’t, and he could cut some red tape for me when it came to interviewing potential victims. Well, the dead ones at least.

“Oh, you would love taking my knight away from me, wouldn’t you, planeweaver?”

“No, I—” I floundered and glanced toward Falin, hoping he could offer me some guidance before I put my foot so far in my mouth the queen decided it needed to be cut off. Along with my tongue. And maybe my head.

I swallowed and cleared my throat.

Falin stared back at me for a moment, then, slowly, he lifted one hand to his side, pressing his ribs ever so slowly. What the hell did that mean? His hand moved to the nasty-looking gash on his face next.

Oh. I could guess his shirt hid a wound on his side as well. I turned back toward the queen.

“Your majesty, if he is to continue to win duels, he needs time to heal. Wouldn’t he be best utilized investigating the alchemist while he recovers?”

She lifted one dark eyebrow, studying me. Then a smile crawled across her face, making her red lips spread wide. “Yes, a tool must be used to keep its edge. But duels can only be postponed so long.” She turned to Falin. “You have forty-eight hours, Knight. Then you must return to my side. I expect you to return with this menace’s head.” She turned, her gown swishing and flinging melted drops of water. “You’re both dismissed.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. I glanced at Falin, and then turned and hurried out of the room.