Roses & Rye (Toil & Trouble Book 3) (4 page)

I
leave the bar, my head aching. I could’ve sworn I smelled Seph when I woke up, that light scent of rain and flowers dancing in the air for just a moment. I could almost taste her. Then it was gone. Back to the musty hint of a fading memory.

That kind of thing has been happening a lot lately. More proof that I’m losing it. Or maybe it’s just that spring
is
approaching…or trying to. I’m not inclined to allow it this year.

With a hard smile, I pass the towering piles of dirty snow on my way up the hill. But no matter what I do, spring is inevitable.

I’ll fight it as long as I can. Because when winter fades this time, it’ll be like saying good-bye to her all over again. Time should stop when someone you love dies, goddammit. No more changing of the seasons, no more turns around the sun. Unfortunately, one thing that is beyond even my power is stopping time. I stomp up the hill. It would be easier to take my bike, but I don’t want the noise, and this body needs the work out. I’m keyed up, with good reason. It’s finally happened.

It may look to the casual observer like I’m wandering, but I know exactly where I’m headed. I’ve been patiently waiting for this for months. Perhaps I should replace ‘patiently’ with ‘quietly seething.’ Thomas Animkii finally left the Gosse house last night. Rochka’s been watching it almost round the clock for me these past few weeks. Now the one person I need to get my hands on to set my plans in motion is within my reach.
Finally.

With Seph gone, so is my way into that house. And there’s something in there I need. The wards Oriane raised against me slammed shut again like the mythical gates of hell. And while Rochka can get in through Carly’s murals, she can’t get what I need
out
. I’ve been stuck waiting for Thomas to get better and leave. I have a sneaking suspicion he was fully healed months ago and it’s simply been Ana’s caution holding him hostage, but in any case, the man has left.

Thomas doesn’t live in Fond du Lac, the Ojibwe reservation, though as far as I know, he’s entitled to. He has a small house on the outskirts of Duluth. Seconds later, I’m looking at a single lighted window in the darkness. I should know what I’m going to say, I’ve been rehearsing this for months. But suddenly my throat is tight.

Thomas is my only chance for an ally outside of Rochka. I can’t go to the Gosse sisters directly and ask for what I want, obviously.

Going to the Council is also out. Cerunnos rules them almost as completely as he does the Dark one now. I’ve no desire for him to learn what actually happened on Yule’s eve. Not yet.

Kivistö is dead, even if he would have listened, which is debatable. But Krueger might and it’s him I plan to go to, but I need at least one other person on my side first.

Someone who was close to Seph who will speak up for me.

And who owes me enough to take the risk.

I stare at the door in front of me, head pounding. Thomas definitely owes me, but will he believe me?

Only one way to find out.

I raise my hand and knock.

Twenty minutes later, Thomas is looking at me over a cup of black coffee, his face slack. He’s a big man, and a striking one, with that streak of white in his long black hair and those pitted red scars the werewolves left him with. His most recent brush with death at the hands of a crazed female alpha hasn’t done him any favors. He’s thinner, almost gaunt. For the first time since I met him, Thomas looks older than me. Damn humans. This is part of why I stopped living among them all those centuries ago. I hate their mortality. The stupid things die too easily. Like Seph.

Of course, she had help. My hands clench under the table. I see the ice creaking up Thomas’s kitchen window out of the corner of my eye. Restless, I get to my feet, needing to pace, to do something to keep my magic in check. I don’t need to scare him on top of everything else. I’m enough of a scary guy lately.

“Exactly what are you saying here, Jack?”

He isn’t going to want to believe this. But I need him to. Not just for the damn plan, but because I
need
someone to believe that it wasn’t me. Someone besides Rochka. Somebody who loved Seph, too.

“I’m saying they’re wrong, Thomas. It was Jett. Not me.”

Thomas drops his coffee. The crash of ceramic hitting tile is drowned out by the window at my back exploding in a screeching hail of glass. A chill wind swirls into the room along with a sparkling flurry of snow. Something hard slams against my windpipe, lifting me off my feet as I choke and kick. Before I can get away a sharp pain stabs deep into my shoulder along with the incongruous smell of black licorice.
Vampire
. The world fades to black in a way that is all too familiar.

I have no idea how long it is before I come to again.

I’m slumped in a chair at the table, the night wind and the broken window still at my back. Tyr, assassin of the realm and all-around bastard, is facing me, his naked sword across his knees and murder in his oil-black eyes.

I’m unrestrained, and I think I know why, though from the corner of my eyes, I see that Thomas is tied tightly to a chair over in the corner. Out of harm’s way? Interesting.

As if reading my thought, the assassin speaks up.

“Don’t concern yourself with the human; he’s not to be harmed.”

That’s also interesting. Who is Tyr’s employer that they’d take such pains to ensure a human’s safety? Certainly not Cerunnos.

I ignore this for now and raise my eyebrows at the sight of the two small objects on the table in front of Tyr. He nods and points at each in turn.

“A vampire fang. An associate of mine enchanted it to work for me once we found a suitable donor. You are acquainted with Ivo Grant, I believe? He was quite eager to help out, though he sends his regrets that he couldn’t be here in person to reap the effects.”

“How very generous of old Ivo. What do you want, assassin?”

Tyr ignores my question, tapping the bloodstained fang with a fingertip. “Your magic is gone for the next hour or so.” The tip of his finger brushes the second object, a vial filled with a wine-red and viscous liquid, which I can only assume is my blood. He pockets it, smiling at me. I’m not sure what he wants with my blood, but I’m fairly certain it won’t be good. Unfortunately, trying to take it from him at the moment is not an option. “So I’d like to have a chat before we get started.”

“Get started? So you are here to kill me, then?”

His smile widens. “Well, I’m not looking to play pat-a-cake, Frost. And without your magic, we both know I’ve got a better than average shot. You’re no god yet.” His eyes are flat as they bore into mine. I keep my expression neutral, despite the warning tendril that creeps up my spine. He can’t know about
that
. No one does, not even Rochka. “I plan to savor this commission, you know. I liked that sassy little witch.”

Thomas speaks up in the brittle silence that follows, panic tightening his already high-pitched voice. “But Jack said he didn’t do it. Right before you crashed through my window. He said that he didn’t kill Seph.”

Shit.
Shut up, Thomas.

Too late. Tyr raises an eyebrow, his gaze turning sharp and speculative. “Is that so?”

I shrug, my mind racing through all the probable outcomes of continuing this conversation. I know Tyr isn’t loyal to Cerunnos. Any assassin of the realm’s loyalty is to coin and coin alone. But do I want a creature like him to know the whole truth? Very probably not. “Perhaps I lied.”

“Perhaps.” Tyr gets to his feet and studies me as Thomas blinks. “Somehow I wonder, Frost. You’re not as good at lying as you once were.”

He lifts his sword and cuts it lightly at my throat. I don’t flinch, though my shoulders and arms tighten. I hate that thrice-cursed blade of his, and it hates me. The sword is imbued with the element of fire, my antithesis. Tyr smiles as the tip of it hovers an inch from my nose, smoky red flames licking along both lethal edges.

I raise my eyebrows, deciding to play a single card and see where it leads. “Damn shame you don’t have the truth stone on you, isn’t it? I guess its master is keeping a tighter grip on it these days.”

His smile fades and his eyes narrow. “She told you about that?”

I let loose a bitter laugh. “Oh, much better, assassin. She used the damn thing on me.”

Tyr cocks his head. I can see his mind working as quickly as my own. What to share, what to conceal. What to use. The constant vigilance required to navigate our world. The part Seph never really got. “That’s interesting.”

“Not as interesting as things would’ve gotten had Seph been able to use the stone at her inquiry. Did you like her enough to double-cross Cerunnos, Tyr?”

He grins and shakes his head. “You know better than that, Frost. A sexy ass and a smart mouth aren’t enough to make
me
change sides. Though it seems enough for some.” He contemplates me, those black eyes cool. “Had Persephone made her Council date, I would’ve been somewhere far, far away, with a fat and happy wallet, laying quite low.”

I would’ve never guessed Tyr would betray Cerunnos so baldly. Oh, I knew he had the balls to do so, but assassins take risk very seriously. Who, or what, could’ve enticed him to take that sort of risk and steal the truth stone—let alone give it to Seph? Despite what he’s insinuating, money alone seems unlikely.

Opportunity never runs out, but luck will.
It’s a saying favored by assassins of the realm for a reason.

“But you’re here now. Who paid you to help Seph, Tyr? The same person who wants me dead now?”

He doesn’t answer, not that I expected him to. The sword moves closer to one of my eyes, the wicked point sheathed in flame. The taste of sulfur coats my throat as I take a deep breath, preparing for anything.

There is a slim possibility I can take Tyr without my magic. But with him in possession of that sword and me unarmed…

I’d really prefer we settle this without finding out. I listen to the drip of melting snow outside from the eaves above the broken window, trying to ignore the wink of the blade in front of me.

After what feels like ages, Tyr takes his seat, though he doesn’t sheath his sword.

“Talk. I’ll admit I’m curious. And stick to the truth this time, else my curiosity will dry up real quick.”

I don’t know why I do it, but I do
. I tell the fucking assassin the truth.

“I didn’t
kill Persephone. Her sister did.”

“Which one?” His tone is sharp, but I find it curious he doesn’t dismiss my statement out of hand.

“Jett.”

Tyr relaxes ever so slightly, leaning back into his chair. His eyes find the ceiling, even as his fingers tighten on the grip of his sword.

“Why?”

“I have no idea. But she did. I saw it with my own two eyes.” My hands tighten under the table again as I will the images away.

“And you’ve told no one this because…”

“You know why. Cerunnos would be after my head otherwise. Maybe he already is.” I make the last words into a question, which elicits a soft chuckle from Tyr.

“Stop fishing, Frost.” The assassin studies the play of shadows above us as if they hold the key to the universe. “But no, he didn’t hire me for this. You’re his favored bitch at the moment, remember?”

“Am I? Sometimes I wonder about that.”

He lowers his gaze to mine and smiles. “That’s probably wise.”

A chill that isn’t my doing runs through the air. We stare at each other across the kitchen table for a long time. Thomas clears his throat. “Why do I feel like there’s a whole conversation going on here that I’m not hearing?”

“He’s rather clever, for a human.” Tyr’s eyes don’t leave mine, both of us trying to read every nuance of the other. Both too skilled to give away much. Or so I hope.

“Yes, he is.”

“But why is Jack Frost visiting a human to tout his innocence when up until now he’s been perfectly happy to take credit for the murder of a certain witch?”

I decide to drop another card. I need to stall the assassin a few more minutes and—my eyes flick to the fang on the table—perhaps I can make use of him. “Maybe because I need someone to bear witness.”

Thomas frowns. “I didn’t witness Seph’s death—”

Understanding burns in the assassin’s eyes as he cuts Thomas off. “He doesn’t mean that kind of witness, he means a character witness. You’re going to the bruins. But how does that work? Neither you nor the witch fall under their domain.”

“Actually she did.” My teeth grind together as soon as the words leave my mouth.

Tyr leans back in his chair, his expression guarded. “
Really
? Kivistö took things that far?”

“He did.”

I don’t think Seph ever realized just how seriously Georg took his offer to marry her. I do. Even from the grave Kivistö enjoys taunting me. But this time the bastard inadvertently did me a favor.

“Ahh.” Tyr pauses, mulling it over. “You are going to appeal to the heir apparent.” He’s quick, I’ll give him that. Tyr knows exactly who I want on my side, if not precisely why.