Grave Dance (27 page)

except, hopeful y, my father.

Okay, way to think myself nervous. “You are independent, aren’t you?”

My father looked over at me. “No.”

Crap.
Why hadn’t I thought of asking him that
before
I asked for his help? I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were headed, but now that I glanced outside, I realized we weren’t going toward the mansion he cal ed a house.

“Let me out of this car.”

“Sit down, Alexis, before you dump that poor dog on the floorboard,” he said, and I noticed that the purse, with dog, in my lap was teetering. A lot. “I am not winter court, nor do I care what that impetuous and selfish queenling has to say.”

care what that impetuous and selfish queenling has to say.”

“Oh?”
Tell me how you really feel, Dad.
But he couldn’t lie, and there hadn’t been much wiggle room in that statement. I sank lower in my seat and clutched PC to my chest. “What court are you, then? And if you aren’t winter court but you are aligned, how are you here? I thought court fae had to move with their courts.”

“Typical y,” he said, but didn’t expound on the answer.

I frowned at his profile. I admittedly didn’t know enough about fae, but it real y irritated me that people kept breaking the rules I had heard. I noticed he also didn’t tel me which court he belonged to—which theoretical y, I also belonged

to.
Except Faerie acknowledges me as

unaligned.
I knew the fae inside Faerie were born into courts. They could change, but initial y they belonged to the same court as their parents. So did Faerie not realize I was his daughter?
Is he that deep in hiding?

“Does your court know where you are?”

“Alexis, I do believe that is the most intel igent question you’ve asked al night.”

“I’l take that as a ‘no.’”

I was surprised when that statement earned a smile, and not the one he gave to voters, but a grin that made his hidden fae face look mischievous. “Very good, Alexis.”

Deep hiding it is.
“So how do I hide what I am?” “Right now? You don’t. Your fae mien is undergoing a kind of metamorphosis.”

Great. I guess I should be happy I hadn’t woken as a cockroach.

“Tel me, Alexis, did you inherit in Faerie?”

The question switched gears so fast it caught me off guard. “Should I have?”

“It is a simple enough question. You destroyed the body thief. Did you inherit his holdings?”

I stared straight ahead, not making a sound. After a couple of moments, my father chuckled under his breath.

“You have final y learned the value of silence.” He

“You have final y learned the value of silence.” He sounded strangely pleased by that fact. “Now I must decide if I know you wel enough to decipher your silence. Perhaps you are silent because you are so uncomfortable with your fae nature that you do not wish to admit it. Or perhaps you didn’t inherit and you stil possess the desire to earn paternal approval so you do not wish to tel me. Or perhaps you simply do not trust me.”

That almost got a reaction from me. Almost. I did
not
seek George Caine’s approval. But I managed to keep my face completely clear as I stared out the window at the world flying past. We were in a part of the city I didn’t venture to often. You can’t have a truly
old
portion of town with a city that has existed for only fifty or so years, but we were now in what was left of the original norm homes built after the space unfolded.

“What are we doing here?”

“I am here to drop you off. You are here to get some rest.”

He turned onto a street fil ed with narrow, one-story houses built so close together you could reach out your window and touch your neighbor’s flower box. The whole neighborhood was in need of a refresh-and-repair charm—

or at least some paint. My grave-sight didn’t even make the houses look that much worse than reality. We turned into the driveway of a dingy gray house, and my father cut the engine.

A Porsche is really going to stand out in this
neighborhood.
I could imagine the neighbors looking out windows, but when I climbed out of the car, I found myself staring at a double image. A Porsche was underneath, but a boxy monstrosity with two different colors of dul paint was what the rest of the world was seeing.
Glamour. When did
he do that?

I looked up and found myself staring at a stranger. I was no longer with the governor of Nekros, but an older man in his mid-seventies with a bent back and a limp as he walked. Of course, under that image was the fae. My mouth walked. Of course, under that image was the fae. My mouth went dry. How did I know this fae even real y was my father?

Actual y, I did know he was. He acted just like him. But stil , it was creepy to see him turn into someone different.

“Don’t dawdle,” he said, limping his way up the drive to the front door.

I wonder if he changed what I look like, too?

I expected him to drop the glamour once the door closed behind us, but he remained an old man. “Here is a key in case you decide to leave—though I don’t suggest that course of action. The wards on the house wil prevent tracking spel s from locating you as long as you are inside.

I’l stop by in the next few days to check on you. In the meantime, I have a brownie who tends the house. He’l provide you with anything you need.” He stopped and turned his head toward the back of the house. It was built shotgun style, the front door leading to the kitchen, then a combo den/living room, then a hal with a couple of doors along the wal s and a back door at the end exactly paral el to the front door. “You heard that, Osier—whatever she needs.”

No response came from the old house, but that didn’t seem to surprise or upset him. He turned back to me, and I looked around the kitchen. Al the appliances looked like they’d been new in the same decade as the now decrepit house.

“Have you owned this house al these years?” I knew from the face he hid that my father had once gone by the name Greggory Delane, and had been the governor of Nekros back when it was first named a state. He’d been openly fae then, one of Nekros’s few fae governors. Fifty years later he was part of the Humans First Party—the thorn in the side of witches and fae everywhere.
Go figure.

My father shrugged. “On paper? No. I’l check in on you.”

The ancient hinges of the front door squealed as he let himself out. I caught the door before it could close.

“Can you get a message to Falin Andrews for me?”

“Can you get a message to Falin Andrews for me?”

His face darkened. “No. Have a good night, Alexis.”

Chapter 26

“W
el , PC, looks like this is our temporary home base.”

I set my purse on the floor, letting PC hop out onto the worn shag carpet that I was guessing had once been red.

“Oh, no,” a voice yel ed from somewhere to my right. One of the cabinet doors under the sink opened and out stormed a little man. He wore a green suit, a pair of green suede shoes, and a smal green hat. White hair escaped from under the hat on al sides. “He says take care of the girl, so I’l take care of the girl. Wipe her snotty nose if I have to. But I wil not have that”—he pointed a large wooden spoon at PC—“in my house. Won’t have it. Won’t have it!”

The brownie swung the wooden spoon like a lacrosse stick, and I scooped PC off the floor before the little man managed to hurt my dog.

“You must be Osier.”

“Must be? Might be.”

I frowned at the smal creature. “Okay, then who are you?”

He crossed short arms over his chest, the spoon tucked under one armpit. “I am much put out.”

Right.
“Can he stay one night?”

“Hmph.”

“Just one night. We’l leave in the morning.” I was being run out of a house by a man who didn’t even reach my knees. How sad was that?

The wooden spoon lowered, and I got a begrudging nod from the smal fae. “One night only,” he said. Then he turned and marched across the kitchen, climbed back under the sink, and slammed the cabinet door shut.

“Wel , it’s good to be welcomed,” I said, setting PC back

“Wel , it’s good to be welcomed,” I said, setting PC back on the floor.

“Heard that,” Osier’s voice cried, but thankful y he didn’t venture back out from under the sink.

I took a few moments to explore the house—and it took only a few. The rooms off the hal proved to be a master bedroom just big enough for a ful -sized bed, a dresser, and a couple of lamps, and on the other side of the hal , a second, smal er bedroom that was used as storage and a dated bathroom. PC and I headed to the master bedroom, and I dropped my purse on the bed. Sleep sounded awful y tempting; after al , I had used a whole lot of magic in the last twelve or so hours. But there was stil too much to do.

Digging through my purse, I pul ed out the letter I’d picked up at Caleb’s house. It was a little the worse for wear after having been in the purse with PC. I flipped it over. At one point it had been sealed with crimson wax, but Caleb must have broken that when he read the letter. A smal clump of crimson remained, and I frowned at the buzz of a spel locked in the dark wax. Reaching with my senses, I immediately recognized the magical signature—no surprise that it was the same as the constructs. The spel itself was a simple alarm spel meant to alert the caster when the seal was broken.
So they know it’s been read.
But not by me yet. I hoped it wasn’t too time sensitive.

I pul ed the letter out of the envelope and unfolded the parchment.
Crap.
I stil wasn’t actual y seeing with my eyes, and what my psyche saw was badly weathered. I squinted, struggling to read the neat but smal letters. A lot of staring, looking away, and moving closer to and farther from the paper was involved before I final y pieced together the message. Not that it was long.

Alex Craft,

Your friend, while useful, does not have your abilities. If
you would like her returned safely to her home, come to
the old bridge. Two a.m. Tonight.

There was no signature, but what did I expect, the bad guy to leave a forwarding address? I paced around the smal room, PC fol owing at my heels. “The old bridge” had to refer to the stone bridge below town.
And how exactly
am I supposed to get there?

My head was pounding. Probably from the mix of exhaustion, expending too much magic too many days in a row, and the frequent rushes of adrenaline that had been flooding my system. I dipped my head, burying my face in my hands as I rubbed my eyes and temples.

If I went to the bridge, I’d be walking into a trap.
But what
happens to Holly if I don’t?
I needed some sort of backup.

An edge. But what did I have? A dagger and a six-pound dog. Maybe a ghost if he popped around.

I wished I knew how to contact Falin. Not that he was likely to agree to my going to that bridge. Digging my phone out of my purse, I cal ed Information, but, of course, Falin had no listed number. I briefly considered trying to cal the local FIB branch. If anyone knew how to reach him, it would be the FIB. But, one, they probably wouldn’t give me a number even if they had one, and two, with my luck they’d figure out who was asking and trace the cal . Wards that protected me from being tracked did little good if I let technology pinpoint my location.

I continued to pace. If I went to that bridge alone, there was no guarantee that whoever had Hol y would release her. I had to go to the police. I cal ed John.

He answered on the second ring. “Alex? Girl, where are you? Actual y, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Did you know the FIB has a warrant out for your arrest?”

“Yeah. It’s . . . complicated.”

“You keep using that word. What the hel is going on?

You’re working for the FIB. Then Andrews shows up, causes a scene, drags you out of the station, and an hour later I find out a warrant’s been issued.”

I cringed. John was my friend, but he was a cop first, and I cringed. John was my friend, but he was a cop first, and I knew I wasn’t instil ing a lot of confidence. I could almost hear him thinking that he was going to have to report the fact that I’d contacted him. I took a deep breath. “I wasn’t ever working for the FIB, but I think I’m sort of, accidental y, involved with Falin. I had no authority to be on your crime scene.”

The line was silent a moment longer. Then a low chuckle rumbled over the phone. “Accidental y involved? Only you, Al,” he said, apparently forgiving me for the trespassing without a word. “You have broken more of my boys’ hearts after a one-night stand than I can even guess, and then you end up ‘accidental y’ dating the biggest asshole to ever walk through this place. You’re right. That’s complicated.”

By “boys” he meant cops. I had a bit of a reputation at the station, so I let John have the laugh at my expense. I knew the next thing he would say would be on a more somber note.

“So tel me what you did to piss off the FIB. It has to be more than trespassing on the crime scene. The warrant is sealed. Al anyone around here knows is that you are to be detained and turned over to the FIB.”

“It’s bul shit. The reason they’re after me is tied in with the fact that I can see through glamour.” Which was true—it was just that the reason I could see through glamour was because I could peer across realities. I wasn’t going to share that detail with anyone, though, not even John.

Folklore was ful of stories about mortals being struck blind because they could see through glamour, so my ability to See was reason enough for John to believe the FIB would take an interest. “And, John, their timing sucks.”

I told him an abbreviated version of Hol y’s kidnapping, the most recent construct attack, and the meeting at the bridge tonight. I left out the bits about independent fae getting spirited away to Faerie, the constructs being fueled by souls, and my theories involving the reaper.

“Damn,” John whispered when I finished. He and Hol y

“Damn,” John whispered when I finished. He and Hol y weren’t terribly close friends, but as an assistant district attorney and a homicide detective, they had worked more than a few cases together.

“So what do I do?”

“You need to file a missing-person report. As there’s a ransom note, it’s clearly an abduction.” He paused.

“Actual y, let me take care of that. You can’t walk into a station while the FIB is looking for you.” His chair squeaked again and I could tel he was pacing. Wel , so was I. After a moment he said, “The detectives in charge of missing-persons inquiries wil cast a tracking spel , though I have to warn you that most kidnappers are smart enough to hide victims behind wards, so there probably won’t be a quick solution. The detectives in charge wil also likely try to make contact with the kidnapper. That wil probably be hard since you’re in hiding, but they wil try to buy time and get the kidnapper’s demands.”

“We already know what they want.”

“Alex, you can’t go to that bridge. This isn’t a money drop that can be done quietly and hope for the best. Whoever this is wants you for her, and it’s not like you’ve had any confirmation she’s even stil alive.”

My throat tightened. “She’s been gone less than a day.” “I know,” he said, and his voice had that raw sound people get when they don’t have the right words. “This is not my type of investigation. If I get handed this case, something has gone very, very wrong.”

Considering that John worked homicide, I couldn’t agree more.

We were both silent for a moment, the only sound the static buzzing as the house wards interfered with my cel signal.

“You’re going to go, aren’t you?” he final y asked.

“Yeah.”

His heavy sigh carried through the phone. “I’l make some cal s, see if I can get you some backup on that bridge at the cal s, see if I can get you some backup on that bridge at the very least. But, Al, if this goes down, I can almost guarantee the cavalry that swoops in to the rescue wil also arrest you.”

I sank down onto the bed. “Yeah. I know.”

There was real y nothing left to say after that. He disconnected with a promise to get back to me and a warning to be careful. I checked the time. Nine thirty. I had four hours before I needed to leave to reach the bridge at two.
Well, I can always get some sleep.
Rest could only help. I set my phone alarm for midnight. Then I col apsed on the bed, settling in for what I was afraid might be the last bit of rest I managed to snatch for a while.

By the time I woke, my eyes had recovered and my psychic vision had faded until the other planes were visible only as ignorable washes of color. At twelve thirty I cal ed for a taxi.

I didn’t have any more cash, but I had my bank card. It would leave an electronic trail I didn’t want, but it wasn’t like the cops didn’t know where I was headed. John had sent two text messages while I slept. The first said missing persons had no hits with the tracking spel and the second said we were set for two.

I’d already taken a shower—and I’d been shocked to find my clothes clean and folded and my boots buffed when I got out—but I stil wasn’t ful y awake, so I headed for the kitchen while I waited for the car to arrive. I was on the hunt for coffee when a cabinet door smashed open behind me.

“Outta there. Outta there,” Osier yel ed, charging out from under the sink. He swatted my calf with his spoon hard enough to sting through the thick leather of my boots. “My kitchen.”

I jumped back. “I was looking for coffee.”

“Little girls shouldn’t drink coffee. It’l stunt your growth.”

I wasn’t sure which I should object to more: that he thought I was a girl or that he thought I’d be growing any thought I was a girl or that he thought I’d be growing any tal er. “Point me in the right direction and I’l be out of your kitchen in a minute.”

“Sit,” he said, using the spoon to gesture toward the white table by the window. “Suppose you want gril ed cheese. Always did like gril ed cheese best.”

What I wanted was coffee, but now that he mentioned it, real food would be good too. “What do you mean, always?”

I asked as he shooed me to the table.

“Boy would say hamburgers or spaghetti. But, no, you’d cry gril ed cheese, gril ed cheese. Cried more than the baby. Always had to leave to get more cheese.”

I gaped at the little man. I did have an older brother and a younger sister. “Have I met you before, Osier?”

“Helped raise you, didn’t I?” He waved his spoon, and a tub of butter and a chunk of cheese floated out of the fridge, a pan jumped down from a cabinet over the stove, and the bread took itself out of the bread box.

Osier marched along the counter like a general overseeing his troops as he directed the gril ed cheese sandwich to assemble itself. A moment before, I would have been mystified and intrigued by the magic required for a sandwich to cook itself, but now, with his words stil ringing in the air, it was his statement that left me speechless.

I had absolutely no memory of the brownie. Hel , I would have sworn I’d never seen a brownie before I met Ms. B

less than a week ago. If Osier had “helped raise” me, as he put it, I must have been young. Real y young. I’d spent most of my time at academy after I turned eight, and my brother, Brad, had disappeared a year after that.

The sandwich, lightly browned on the outside with a runnel of cheese escaping between the thick pieces of bread, floated out of the pan and hovered as it crossed the room. A plate fol owed, a tal glass of milk right behind it.

“So you knew my family when I was a kid?” I asked. Osier jumped onto the table and sat cross-legged in front of me jumped onto the table and sat cross-legged in front of me as first the plate, then the sandwich, and final y the glass settled between us. “Stil know the family, don’t I? Though I’ve never seen much of the baby and I’ve been told the boy is gone. Sad, that. He was a good boy. Liked more than just gril ed cheese.” As he spoke, he looked from the mentioned meal to me, his gaze asking why I wasn’t eating.

“It’s not faerie food, is it?” I thought it was a perfectly legitimate question; after al , it
had
just prepared itself.

Osier jumped to his feet and slammed the butt of his spoon against the tabletop. “Ungrateful. Selfish. Spoiled—”

“Look, look, I’m eating,” I said, and true to my word, I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “It’s good.” And it was. I mean, it was gril ed cheese, so it didn’t exactly take refined tastes to enjoy it, but it was crispy on the outside and gooey in the center, which pretty much classified it as perfect.

As I ate, a car stopped out front and honked its horn. I crammed the rest of the sandwich in my mouth and jumped to my feet. “That’s my taxi.”