Blood Faerie (10 page)

She searched his eyes with those swirling pools of silver. “You’re lying to me.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.” He squeezed her hand and removed her fingers from his arm. He felt like a jerk. He was horny, she didn’t want him, and now he was being an arsehole about it. “I’ll be okay, Eilidh. I just need a minute.”

He left her in his bedroom and went to the kitchen to get a beer.
I am such a moron.
He tried to think of a way to make things right and erase the awkwardness. His idiotic libido couldn’t be allowed to get in the way of the case. How could he have let himself forget why he was talking to her in the first place? As soon as she came out, he’d make sure they talked about the case and only that. He’d keep his mind out of her pants and focus on catching the blood faerie before he killed again.

When half an hour passed and she didn’t appear, Munro returned to the bedroom. He had to apologise; he knew that. He’d been an idiot—and insensitive. Of course she wouldn’t be attracted to him. It was probably her magical nature that made him feel this unbearable pull. He imagined all humans might react that way to the fae. It made perfect sense and probably explained why she’d kept to herself. Considering that she’d been exiled and forced to live in the city, he felt even more of a tool.

When he opened the bedroom door, he turned immediately to the open window. Eilidh had gone. Sitting on his dresser was the stone teardrop he’d given her at the park.

Saor stepped out of the shadows, startling her.

“Well, that was—”

“Shut up,” Eilidh said. She walked around him, wanting to put some distance between herself and the rows of box-like human houses. She didn’t even bother to ask why Saor had spied on her. He’d obviously seen everything, judging by his haughtier-than-usual expression.

Saor easily caught up with her and kept stride. “You have needs, I suppose, and little hope of meeting one of our kind in the foreseeable future.”

She felt venom in his voice, as though he’d caught her doing something shameful. She supposed he had, but she couldn’t see that it was any of his business—not anymore. “You should dress more appropriately if you’re going to come into the city, Saor.”

He waved a dismissive hand as they crossed a major street and he continued to follow her west. “I have remained unseen.”

They were already in the northwest part of the city, so she made for Huntingtower, an old estate with large grounds surrounded by farmland. The nearest building other than the ancient Huntingtower Castle was a nearby country hotel. It was close enough to the human populations that the kingdom influence was almost imperceptible, even at the darkest summer hour. Eilidh didn’t like to risk being outside the highway that ringed the city, and this was as far as she would usually dare go. Tonight, though, she felt strange. Angry, but not the vague anger at the injustice of her exile. That anger would normally be tempered by her own sense of guilt about her malformed magic. She didn’t even know who she was angry at. Munro, perhaps, for kissing her, at herself for letting it happen, for forgetting where she was, at Saor for having the indecency to witness the whole humiliating incident.

Eilidh stepped recklessly in front of a car on the A9, causing it to swerve. Saor grabbed her arm and whisked her across the road. Soon they made it to the nearby farmland, and Saor spun her around and put his hands on her shoulders. “By Faith, what is wrong with you?”

His anger only excited hers. “You know truly what is wrong with me. Or didn’t the conclave explain it to you? I seem to remember a decree was issued on the matter.”

“Do you care for him?” Saor’s face was still in the moonlight. His perfect lack of expression spoke volumes to Eilidh. She could feel his tension.

“Of course not. He’s human, for the love of the Mother.”

“He appears to care for you.”

Eilidh shook his hands away and sat in the middle of the fragrant green field. “Don’t be ridiculous. That wasn’t caring you saw through the windows, but friendship. I think humans associate nudity with sexuality. He believed I was requesting a sexual encounter. As a friend, he did what he thought I wanted him to do.” She sighed. “They appear enough like us that, after a time, it’s easy to forget their ways are so different.” Eilidh reflected that she’d never forgotten before, and Saor did not challenge her.

Saor sat beside her as Eilidh stewed. She had confused Munro, and she didn’t know enough about him to make things right. It had been cowardly to leave, but she couldn’t bear having to confess her ignorance. It was bad enough that she’d had to tell him about her exile. He’d wanted to know about her…disability…her crimes, but she was too ashamed to tell him. One chance, she’d had. One chance in twenty-five years for a friendship, some connection beyond watching from her tower and talking only with rats and spiders, and she’d ruined it with her ignorance and fear.

Her anger resurfaced, and she aimed it squarely at Saor. “What are you doing here, anyway, spying like a naughty child or scorned lover?” She glanced to the stars, checking the time. “Shouldn’t you be on watch?”

“Apparently I’ve been reduced to messenger boy.”

She started to lash out at his spiteful tone, but stopped herself when she realised what he’d said. “You have a message? From the conclave?” Her heart thumped with excitement. “Are they sending help?”

Suddenly, Saor’s anger left, replaced by a twist of compassion. “No, Eilidh. You should not hope they will have a change of heart.”

She swallowed her disappointment and nodded. “Who then?”

“Imire.”

“My father? What message did he send?”

“He wishes to see you, if you will risk it.”

Ah, then he would not come to her. It was rare for any faerie to leave the kingdom. They had an innate attraction to the Halls of Mist and the Otherworld. To travel where they could no longer feel it, well, none would do it by choice. Even Saor would not be here if he had not felt compelled by loyalty to Imire. Eilidh wanted to believe she’d grown accustomed to the loss, but it still haunted her, even more so now, since she’d been in kingdom lands so recently and felt the longing return. “Where?”

“He said he would come to the folly.”

She nodded. It was a good choice. Atop a hill overlooking the city, a Scottish lord had built a tower over two hundred years ago. It was difficult to reach and rested on the edge of kingdom influence during the night, when no human would attempt the steep hiking trails. A footpath led to the stone structure, perched atop a three-hundred-foot sheer drop. The heights were home mostly to peregrines. “When?”

“Tomorrow night when the bear ascends to the weaver’s peak.”

Eilidh nodded. She too still kept time by the stars, even though no one else in the city did. She supposed she should learn to follow the human clocks. The numbers on the dial did not confuse her as much as the talk.
Half-past
and
quarter-to
they would say,
tea time
or
noon
. She wondered if Munro might teach her. Her thoughts returned to the kiss. It would have been wrong to take advantage of him, wrong to use a human in such a way. But it had been a very long time since anyone touched her out of desire, much less kissed her. The last, of course, had been Saor, decades ago. He had been the most handsome faerie she’d ever seen. She loved his unusual golden hair and his sense of humour. They used to laugh together. Everything between them had been easy and fun. She stole a glance at him in the darkness and found he was watching her intently.

“I used to be able to read your mind,” he said. “Now your thoughts are closed to me.” The Ways of Earth did not actually enable the fae to read minds, but he had known her so well back then, he could read every mood.

“Seeing you these past days has brought back memories.”

“Not unpleasant ones, I hope.”

She smiled. “No, not unpleasant ones.” She tried to put the thoughts behind her. Time had eased the sharpness of the longing for her old life.

“I will meet you at the folly then,” Saor said and stood to go.

It pained Eilidh, reminding her that she should not grow accustomed to even these brief visits. “Will you?”

“Imire asked me to stand guard.”

It alarmed Eilidh that her father thought they would need protection. Was he still watched because of her escape? She always thought if she were careful and stayed away from even the fringes of the kingdom territory, she would be safe. She hoped none would care enough about her life or death to make an effort to find her. But if Imire wanted a guard, he either feared for Eilidh or for himself. She stood and turned to Saor, searching his face.

“Don’t worry, Eilidh. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Eilidh could not deny that his words comforted her.

***

After Eilidh left, Munro took a shower, trying hard to ignore the memory of her standing naked in that small space. He felt tired and overwhelmed and paced about the house like a caged animal. He went to the fridge and reached in. He’d just cracked open his second beer when he felt a sudden alarm. He turned east. A sense of dread made his hands shake. The open can fell to the linoleum. A scream filled his head. Then as quickly as it had come, it ceased, leaving a horrible, empty silence. Munro felt a loss, but he could not place it. Without a doubt, something
wrong
had happened.

It felt like his hunches sometimes did, but with a clarity he’d never experienced. So either what had just happened was worse than anything he’d ever encountered, including the murder of Robert Dewer, or something in him had changed more than he realised. He knew, however, it was a murder.

Munro’s first instinct was to call Getty and ask him to pick him up right away. His car was still at the police station, and a taxi would take too long. But as he strode toward the phone in the hall, he realised it wouldn’t be the best move. Sure, Getty and even Sergeant Hallward knew about Munro’s hunches, but there was no way he could explain being the first on the scene for two murders, especially if the second hadn’t been called in yet. That would move him to the top of the CID suspect list, if they even had one.

Munro got a towel, mopped up the beer, and thought hard. His adrenaline had kicked in, making him too jittery to do the smart thing, which was to wait. Tossing the towel into the sink, he started to pace. He asked himself what Getty would do, but dismissed it as soon as he thought it. Getty would turn on the telly and wait it out. His partner didn’t believe in hunches, except maybe Munro’s. Even then, Munro could tell Getty didn’t like them much. Hallward would tell Munro to take his meds, go to bed, and see the doc first thing.

Munro asked himself what Eilidh would do. She, more than anyone, understood the danger and what was at stake. She certainly wouldn’t sit around waiting for someone else to call. Not that they would. Munro was supposed to be on sick leave. He wasn’t even a major part of the case, so who would think to keep him posted?

Munro went to the hallway and pulled the telephone plug out of the wall, strode out the front door, and locked it behind him. He wished he had his car, but he didn’t need it. Whatever happened had been close. The after-effects of the violence hung in the air like debris after a bomb detonation.

He walked through his neighbourhood’s curving streets until he reached the easiest access to a main road. Between the railway that cut through a steep gully nearby and the odd triangle of twisted roads, it took him longer to get out than he would have liked. The advantage of living in a neighbourhood that was tucked away turned into a disadvantage of tangled streets and frustration. His instincts led one way, but the confusion of good-intentioned civil engineering took him another.

At least there was little traffic along Dunkeld Road this time of night, and crossing on foot didn’t prove much of a problem. Even though his feeling of dread intensified, Munro’s steps grew faster as he ducked into the Muirton housing estate. The darkness drew him past the rows of terraced houses and flats as he turned along Bute Road, keeping to the shadows on the left as much as he could. At this time of night, no one loitered around the bus stops. He was close now. He felt it. As soon as the fences surrounding the Perth Grammar School came into view, he knew he’d find the body there.

The extra time it took to walk around the school pained him, but he didn’t want to be seen, just in case someone had already called the police. Or worse yet, if they hadn’t. Within a few minutes, he was in the back garden of property that backed onto the school’s. He jumped the fence with little effort and went into an overgrown grassy field.

That’s when he heard the strange clicking noise. He couldn’t see much in the darkness. “Quinton. This way,” Eilidh said.

Munro picked his way through the uneven scrubby ground to where she was hunkered down. He squatted beside her, following her gaze toward the high school. “Another murder?”

She turned to him in the darkness, her silver-green eyes glowing brightly. “You felt it?”

“A little while ago. Took me a few to get here though. Has anyone called it in?”