Autumn Thorns (26 page)

“Yes, she's here right now and she warned me that this might be coming. I'll come in right away. Is there any way we might be able to figure out who killed him? I know it's a cold case—an old one—but . . .” A pause, then— “I understand. Thank you. Yes, I'll make arrangements and have them ready when you release his remains.” Another moment. “Thanks, Sophia. At least my boy's come home to rest.”

As she turned back to the table, I looked up to see the
tears in her eyes and I knew exactly how she felt. It was one thing to suspect someone you loved might be dead; it was another to have it confirmed. And yet . . . there was a sense of closure when you found out that someone didn't abandon you, or run away, but had been forcefully taken.

“Murder. He was murdered. A crushing blow to the head. With a case this old, it's highly unlikely they'll find out for sure, but . . .” She slowly returned to her seat. “Whoever killed your mother probably killed my Avery, too. Why else would they be buried so close together?” She paused. Then, “Can you talk to their spirits? Can you find out who did this? You saw Avery in his shifter form. If we had a séance, could you contact both of them? Maybe find out the truth?”

That was one question I always dreaded hearing. I wasn't a medium—I was a spirit shaman. While I could speak with ghosts, it wasn't my place to call them out of their graves. Of course, neither Avery nor Tamil was resting. But regardless, talking to spirits didn't always work like people thought it did. Invoking the spirits wasn't the same thing as picking up the phone and calling for a delivery. And once you invoked the dead, getting rid of them was no simple matter.

“Let me try a few other things first. I have a couple leads I want to check out. Ones that might actually tie into some of the worries Ellia, Oriel, and you have about the escalating spiritual activity around the town.” I thought about telling her Aidan was returning to town, but decided to wait for a bit. I needed to talk to him first—get a good gauge on his personality.

I glanced at the clock. It was eleven
A.M.
, and time for me to put the first part of my idea into action. “Why don't you go talk to Sophia. I'm going to head out for a bit. But I'll keep you in the loop. I don't mean to sound so nebulous, but I just don't want to cause any fallout until I know if I'm on the right track.”

She nodded. “I trust you. You're Lila's granddaughter, and you have a good head on your shoulders. Meanwhile, I'll do as you suggest.” She pushed back her chair. “Kerris, what do you think about burying your mother and Avery in adjoining graves? They loved each other so much.”

I smiled at that. “I think . . . they would like that. But my mother will be buried in a simple box. She spent so much time in the bare ground . . . I don't want to preserve her remains forever—she needs to go back to the earth for good, but this time, remembered.”

Ivy nodded. “That works for me. I'll have to call Roger, to tell him. We haven't talked in years. All right, I'll see you later—at the Crescent Moon Society's meeting tomorrow night, if not before. And love, I'm sorry. I lost a son, but in one swoop, you lost your mother and father.” She hugged me again, and then I set out.

T
he Peninsula Hotel was on Whistle Hollow Way N, shortly after it intersected Cairn Street—the street leading into town from the highway. Easy access for tourists, for one thing. The hotel was also across from the thicket where we had found Tamil and Avery's bodies. I gazed at the thick copse . . . the Tree of Skulls had poisoned the land there, but it was a good tourist attraction, even if a gory one, and it made sense to build the hotel near one of the more notorious murder sites in the area.

The hotel itself was a three-story building, modern enough to attract those angling for a little luxury, and large enough to accommodate a small conference and plenty of tourists in summer. I pulled into the lot, parking close to the front door. There were a few scattered cars around, but this late in the season there wouldn't be too many tourists touring the peninsula. As I pushed through the doors, I ran through my plans. Granted, they weren't the best-laid ones, but at this point, I just wanted to meet the man who had palled around with my grandfather and get a feel for him.

The Peninsula Hotel was even nicer inside than out. Not
five-star, but definitely not your freeway-exit penny-saver hotel. I headed over to the lobby desk. A man in his fifties stood behind the counter, and I laid my odds it was Leon Edgewater, Heathrow's son.

He glanced up at me briefly and did a double take. “May I help you?”

I wondered what had caused the reaction. “Hi, I'm Kerris Fellwater. I was wondering if I could talk to Heathrow Edgewater, the owner of the hotel? He knew my grandfather, Duvall.”

Again, a long blink, and then Leon slowly set down his pen. “Let me see if he's available.” He turned and exited through a door behind him.

I glanced around the lobby. The hotel was clean and neat. If I had just been passing through, it would seem a welcoming stop. A moment later, the door opened again and this time an older version of Leon walked up to the desk. He cocked his head, staring at me, a cold smile on his face. I had the distinct feeling that I was in the presence of a snake or some such creature whom I shouldn't turn my back on.

“Welcome to the Peninsula Hotel. So, you're Duvall's granddaughter?” The voice didn't lend me any sense of security, either. In fact, as he spoke, a chill washed over me. Heathrow was a short, lean man, but he wore his suit and tie well, and looked all too precise and tidy. He was the sort of man who let no detail escape his attention.

Listen to what he says but listen more to what is said below the surface . . .

The whisper sounded like the Crow Man, and I had to stop myself from nodding in agreement. Heathrow Edgewater wasn't to be trusted, and I needed to keep my wits about me while talking to him.

I forced a smile to my lips. “Yes, I'm just back in town. I'm just trying to piece together the jumble my grandparents left for me. In doing so, I found your name, along with several others, in a ledger on my grandfather's desk. I wasn't sure if he owed you any money, or had any business dealings with you that I should know about.” I knew I was playing with fire, but I had to gauge his reaction.

His eyes narrowed and I noticed a stiffening around his shoulders. It was then that I heard something—a soft whisper—and I glanced to his right shoulder where a mist was forming. He seemed unaware of it, same as his son. Leon was ostensibly poring over some form or other, but I could tell he was actually listening very closely to the conversation.

I tried to watch the mist without being obvious. This was the way it usually worked for me. I'd meet someone, and then if there was a spirit tied to them, I'd see the spirit. If they had something to tell me, they'd start jabbering in my ears.

“Ledger? What kind of ledger?” Eyes glittering, he leaned across the counter, giving me better access to see whoever it was trying to materialize behind him.

“Oh, just some accounting ledger. Looks like my grandfather made a series of small loans or something to a number of people. The ledger goes back a long ways, but I flipped to the end and saw your name, along with a number of others, and an amount listed next to each, unchecked for October. I was driving past the hotel and thought I'd duck in to ask about it.” I tried to sound offhand, though I wasn't all that good at bluffing.

Meanwhile, the spirit took shape behind his shoulder. I almost lost it when I realized that my mother was standing there. She held her fingers to her lips but then jerked her head toward Heathrow. I forced myself to stand still and not react.

Heathrow let out a soft sound, almost a grunt. “Bowling lodge fees. Just bring me the ledger and I'll take over. I'm sorry about your grandparents, Kerris. Their loss is a real blow to the community.” He rested his hands on the counter. “So, you've moved back to stay?”

The question was casual; the intent behind it was not. He was fishing.

I nodded. “Now that Lila's dead, it's up to me to take over as spirit shaman.”

Leon was staring at my hand, and Tamil's spirit frantically pointed toward her right ring finger, then to me. I
suddenly remembered I was wearing her ring and quickly turned my hand to hide it before he could see it. If he had helped my grandfather murder my mother, I didn't want to chance him remembering the ring on her finger. “So nice to meet you. I'll run the ledger over later. I left it at a friend's by accident this morning, so I'll have to pick it up.”

As he slowly raised his eyes to meet mine, I could tell the wheels were turning. He glanced over his shoulder, in the direction my mother was standing, and I held my breath but then he looked back at me and I relaxed. With a little luck, he was headblind and wouldn't take notice of any sign that she was watching over his shoulder.

“You wouldn't happen to know if there were any other . . . lodge documents along with that ledger, would you? Your grandfather was the president and he kept tabs on the group. I should really get them all from you so we can keep track.”

“No, I didn't find any. Maybe he had them with him when the car went in the lake? They haven't found his body, you know, though my grandmother's washed up.”

Again, a pause, and I began to get uncomfortable.

Finally, he gave me a faint sneer. “Perhaps so. Duvall had a habit of misplacing things, including his common sense at times.” Before I could ask what he meant, he cleared his throat and leaned forward, too close for comfort. “I have to get back to work. Bring the ledger over as soon as you can and I'll take care of it. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.” He held out his hand.

I stared at it, debating. If I shook his hand, I chanced him seeing the ring, but I couldn't very well refuse. Quickly, using my thumb, I spun it around so that the diamond was facing my palm and all you could see was a rose gold band. I very lightly took his hand, then released it quickly so he wouldn't feel the stone pressing against his flesh. His fingers were cool and clammy. I wanted to wipe away the feel but forced myself to keep my hands away from the legs of my jeans. At that, Heathrow turned and headed back through the door, and the figure of my mother vanished.

Leon nodded good-bye, and I forced myself to calmly
walk out of the lobby. The moment I was out of sight of the huge lobby windows, I ran to my car and slid behind the wheel, locking the door. I pulled out my phone and dialed Bryan. He picked up immediately.

“I have a bad feeling. I just did something that may have been very stupid. Maybe it's just nerves, but . . . Are you home right now?”

“Yes, I generally work from home most days.” A note of concern crept into his voice. “What's going on?”

“Can you go next door and keep an eye on the house? There's a spare key, hidden in a secret recess along the back wall near the second outlet down. I'll tell you when I get there, but I think I just may have triggered someone into wanting to break into my house.”

“On my way,” was all he said before hanging up.

I rested my head against the steering wheel. Why hadn't I thought through the possible ramifications before I stuck my nose in things? Then again, at least I knew for certain Heathrow was in on whatever had happened to my mother. Putting the car into drive, I headed out of the parking lot and home to tell Bryan what I had found out.

*   *   *

P
eggin managed to get off work an hour early—apparently flu season was hitting late and Corbin had an easy day of appointments. She, Bryan, and I huddled around the kitchen table over an early dinner that Bryan had ordered.

The binders and ledger were piled to one side. Nobody had shown up, so my fears of someone breaking into my house had faded. At least for now. I patted the top binder. “We need to do a fuckton of research on these.”

“I can help. I had a slow day at work, so I spent some time surfing the Net.” Peggin pulled out her iPad. “I found a treasure trove of information on Cú Chulainn's Hounds. Turns out, Cú Chulainn is a folk figure in Celtic folklore.”

“That's right.” Bryan let out a snort. “He was quite the hero. He was also a fool.”

“Why so?” I wasn't all that well versed on my Celtic legend and lore.

“Because he had a falling-out with the Morrígan.” Bryan arranged the Chinese takeout containers. “I hope you like everything.”

“Mmm . . . potstickers!” Peggin wrinkled her nose. “Love them!” As I carried the plates to the table, she continued. “Cú Chulainn was a major player, a major hunk, a warrior unparalleled, and was part of the Red Branch—an elite group of knights.” She set her iPad on the table and began to sort through her notes.

“My grandmother mentioned them several times. I skimmed through her Shadow Journal this afternoon and to be honest, she seemed scared as hell of these guys.” While Bryan and I watched the house, I had read my way through half the book.
Speed reading for the win, again.
Not only had I managed to find the ritual I needed to perform tonight, but I had also discovered that Lila was seriously worried about Magda and the Hounds.

“At one point, the Morrígan offered herself to Cú Chulainn and he denied her. She offered him help, and he rebuffed that, too. Long story short, after that, she considered him her enemy and vice versa. She did her best to hinder him in battle. One of the Bean Nighe predicted his death at the end, and Morrígan literally crowed over his corpse, settling on it when she was in the shape of a crow.”

“And Cú Chulainn's Hounds?” This was sounding very much like a long-standing feud.

“The name actually comes from him killing a guard dog belonging to Culann—a blacksmith. Cú Chulainn offered himself as a replacement for the hound until a new guard dog could be reared, and that's how he got his name. Cú Chulainn means
Culann's hound
.” Peggin sat back. “And that's the name his followers chose for themselves. Just like the Morrígan has had the spirit shamans, Cú Chulainn has his Hounds. When he died, they believe his spirit went on to become a god of sorts. They are as much a death cult as the spirit shamans are.”

I groaned. Blood feuds were not on my must-do list, but apparently one had been dropped in my lap anyway. “And I suppose they make it their mission to thwart the spirit shamans out of misguided loyalty to Cú Chulainn.”

“You got it, chickie.” Peggin shook her head. “I couldn't find out much more about them, except they aren't as powerful as spirit shamans, they tend to be human as far as I can tell, and they congregate in good-ole-boy clubs, though some women are known to join them. Usually the women have some sort of magical power.”

I frowned as I scanned the names on the member list. True enough, most of them were men. Except Magda, and a scarce woman here or there.

“Why would Magda belong, though? Her daughters are a lament singer and a Gatekeeper. Wouldn't that make her a daughter of the Morrígan, too, since the powers pass down through the maternal side? None of this makes sense. I wish Mae—my great-grandmother—were alive. Maybe she could fill in the blanks.”

“Well, we know that Magda killed Penelope. Could she be a rogue lament singer who turned her back on the Morrígan? Are you sure the lament singers are born into a family like spirit shamans?” Bryan frowned. “Shapeshifters for the Morrígan are always born of an Irish family; in fact, there are three clans of us dedicated to her service. But not everybody born into our clans and family is destined to be a guardian.”

“Just as there are three lines dedicated to spirit shamans. Does that mean there are three families born into the service of lament singing? Nine is a sacred number, and so is three—three times three. And if so, then how is the Volkov family part of that, given their last name is anything but Irish?” I worried over the pieces, but then it clicked. “Last name wouldn't matter! If the blood comes through the mother, then she could have married anybody anywhere, as far as I know. So that wouldn't matter.”