The Ryu Morgue (A Jane True Short Story) (Trueniverse Book 2) (5 page)

Ryu arched an eyebrow at Maeve, who returned his look with a closed expression. “Obvious how?” he asked.

“Well, you’re careful with each other,” she said. “You haven’t known each other that long.”

Maeve nodded. “You’re right about that,” she said, then pointed to a shelf full of hand-dipped candles in lurid colors. “How much for...”

“But you two also have such beautiful chemistry,” the woman continued, oblivious to Maeve’s attempt to turn the conversation. “I can see auras, and yours are reaching out to each other’s. It’s really quite beautiful where they blend.”

Ryu watched Maeve turn beet-red, and he hoped he looked less horrified by what the little human had said than she did. They were, after all, supposed to be a couple.

“She’s really something special,” he said, pulling the woman’s attention to him. “I’m not surprised you see what you see.”

Maeve gave him a sharp look, but he only smiled at her beatifically.

The woman nodded, clearly satisfied. “The candles are twelve for the dipped pair and, like everything in the shop, they’re made by local artisans.”

“It’s all beautiful,” Maeve said. “You have a lot more selection than some of the other places. You must have been here forever.”

“Oh, no,” the woman said, reaching out to rearrange a table of brightly colored scarves. “I’ve only been in business about a year. But I’m a crafter myself. These are mine.” She stroked one of the scarves lovingly. And, to be fair, they were fairly attractive, just a bit rough around the edges.

“Wow,” Maeve said, moving toward the table. “How neat.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, obviously proud of her work. “I wanted a place to sell my work, but not many places around here wanted things from people like me. I’m not a true artist, you see,” she said.

“Nonsense,” said Maeve. “Crafts
are
art.”

The woman instantly warmed to Maeve, turning a smile on her that could have lit up the moon. “I think so. But that idea is rare, sadly. Most of the places around here only sell things that cost a few hundred dollars, including scarves. And half of it’s not made in Napa; it’s imported from Europe and sold like it’s local. It’s a shame.”

“So you started this place,” Ryu prompted, wanting to get some information on whom else was selling. This woman was clearly human—not a spark of magic swirled around her, despite her claims about seeing auras. That said, while he couldn’t sense anything in the shop itself, any of these items could have a powerful charm on it, one that would be dormant till the item was owned, or worn, or stroked a certain number of times.

“Yes,” she said, pride making her voice husky. “And because I am a local crafter, I knew all the other people who had stuff to sell. Most were already doing so online, but they were happy to have some shop space, for a commission. So here we are!”

“What a wonderful story,” Ryu said. Maeve was moving around the store, browsing through the tables, racks, and shelves containing what appeared to be an infinite variety of crafty things. He was about to ask the owner another question when Maeve called for him.

“Honey, come look at this!”

Ryu gave the short human a shrug of apology and went to where Maeve stood, in front of an antique kitchen hutch. The shelves of the top half of the hutch displayed a variety of knit goods, including scarves, mittens, and even covers for cell phones, tablets, laptops, and other kinds of technology.

“Recognize these?” she asked, sotto voce, pointing at the knitting.

“No,” he said. “Should I?”

“All of the victims had something knit in their personal effects. And this is the same knitting.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I thought there was something I wasn’t seeing at the time, and this is it. They all had knit stuff, and all of them had at least one thing with this chevron pattern. But because it was all different sized stuff, on different tables, and it was winter, I didn’t put it together. But seeing all of it, here, laid out like this…” Her voice trailed off and she reached a tentative finger toward a scarf.

Ryu snatched her hand away, carefully booping the knit with his own pointer finger before touching it more directly and, finally, picking it up. He reached with his magic, but came up short.

It was dead as a doornail. He put the scarf around his neck and waited. Still nothing.

“I’m not getting anything,” he said quietly. “But it’s the only lead we have. Excuse me,” he said, loudly, turning to face the room. “Can you help us?”

The little woman skittered over, nodding happily. “Oh, those are Pai’s,” said the woman. “She does lovely work.”

“Pies?” Maeve asked.

“Pai’s,” the woman repeated, but she clarified the spelling, “P-A-I. I’m not sure what it’s short for.”

“I love this pattern,” Maeve said. “Chevron is very popular right now.”

The woman giggled, a deceptively young sound. “Oh, won’t Pai get a kick out of that. She’s
a la mode
!”

“Is she local too?” Ryu asked, interrupting.

“Of course! I told you all of my suppliers are locals, and I meant it. And she does
everything
herself. Pai owns an alpaca farm up the road. So she raises the animals, spins the yarn, and does the knitting.”

“Fascinating,” Ryu said. “Do you think we could meet her?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Ryu realized she was afraid he and Maeve intended to cut out the middleman. “My mother’s a knitter,” he said. “I’m always looking to buy yarn for her. We’ll take some of those candles, however, from you.”

His offer to purchase something clearly mollified the woman, but she still looked pensive. “Pai’s not very friendly,” she said eventually. “I nearly keeled over when she offered to sell some of her knitting through me. I’m not sure she even sells yarn...”

“We won’t bother her,” Ryu said, using a glamour to soothe the woman and make her more cooperative. “We only want to visit.”

“Okay,” said the human, moving toward the counter. She wrote an address down on a pad of paper by her register. “Here you go.” She handed the slip to Ryu, who put a half dozen pairs of candles into her hands in return.

“We’ll take these,” he said, releasing her from his glamour at the same time. She blinked, then smiled at him.

“Cash or charge?”

“Charge,” Maeve said, passing her the black credit card. It took him a second to register she’d obviously turned the tables on him, picking
his
pocket.

He leaned close to whisper at her. “Touché.”

When she smiled, he couldn’t help but smile back.

EIGHT

“I don’t think an alpaca farm can be evil,” Maeve said, eying the ranch-style farmhouse and colorfully painted outbuildings that sprawled before her.

“Nonsense,” replied Ryu, dusting down his trousers. “Anything can be evil. Besides, have you ever met an alpaca? They’re assholes.”

Despite herself, Maeve laughed. She had to admit, her new partner was funny. For a bloodsucker.

“What’s our cover story?” she asked, instead of telling him any of that.

“Exactly what I said to the shop owner. I want some yarn for my nice mother, who knits.”

“Okay,” Maeve said. “Ready?”

Together, they approached the front of the house. Upon ringing the doorbell, they heard a dog barking somewhere inside, but no one answered.

“Not home, or not here?” Maeve asked, pointing at the front door.

“Let’s find out. Shall we look around?”

Again, he offered her his arm, and despite the fact no one was around to question their cover story, she took it anyway.

They walked behind the house, toward the big yellow barn surrounded by corrals. They hadn’t gone too far when they spotted a tall woman emerge from the wide double doors.

“Hello!” Ryu called. “Are you Pai?”

The woman straightened, turning toward them. She was too far away to make out her features, but Maeve got the distinct impression of gold—her hair was long, glistening like a Disney princess’s in the sun.

“Can I help you?” she asked in faintly accented English when they’d gotten closer.

Ryu walked ahead of Maeve, smoothly telling the woman their cover story while Maeve examined her. She was tall, taller even than Maeve, with a long face, long limbs, and strong, expressive hands. Her hair was indeed golden, although this close up it was streaked with silver. It fell in two long braids from either side of her head, the thick ropes of hair reaching to her waist.

“My yarn?” the woman asked, amused. “How sweet. It has become famous!”

“We saw it in your friend’s shop,” Ryu said, his large tawny eyes widened to reflect his earnestness. “It was so soft. I know my mother would love some, and she’s so hard to shop for. We had to come out and see if it was possible.”

“I am afraid it’s not,” the woman said, looking somber. “I spin only what I need, as I need it. I do not have any extra for sale. I am sorry.”

Ryu looked like he’d just heard tragic news, asking if he could order some. Maeve took her opportunity to walk toward the barn, peering into the cool dimness, smelling the fresh scent of hay and an underlying smell of animal and dung. She jumped, yelping, when something nudged her in the back.

Turning, she found herself face to face with an alpaca. The beast wasn’t anywhere near as big as a camel, but definitely dromedary-ish, its long face and huge, soulful eyes bending this way and that on its slender neck as it inspected her.

And then tried to eat her purse.

“Hey,” she said, laughing. Then she heard Pai’s accented English behind her.

“Leave off, Hodor,” the woman said, slapping the beast lightly on the butt. It gamboled away, head held high, as if moving off had been its own idea.

“Hodor?” Maeve asked. “Are you a
Game of Thrones
fan?”

“Oh yes,” Pai said, her wide mouth splitting in a grin. “There is much death. It is highly entertaining. Have you read it?”

“No,” Maeve said. “But I’ve watched the show.”

“Do you like it?” Pai asked politely.

“Very much so,” said Maeve.

“As I have told your husband,” Pai said, switching directions, “I am afraid I cannot sell you wool today. It has not been spun. I am sorry; you seem like very nice people.”

“Oh. Well, thank you,” said Maeve. “And you have a beautiful farm.”

Pai nodded graciously. Maeve had originally put the woman somewhere in her mid- to late-forties, but now Maeve thought Pai was older. Maybe even much older, although Maeve couldn’t put a finger on why she thought so.

Ryu, who’d been standing behind Pai up until that point, staring at her intently with a troubled look on his face, came to stand beside Maeve.

“Well, I hate that won’t sell us your lovely wool,” he said. “But I understand why. You really are an artist.”

Pai inclined her head with regal grace. “Thank you. I appreciate both your visit and your understanding. I will take your interest into consideration. Perhaps in the future I will sell such items.”

And with that, they said their goodbyes, Maeve wondering why Ryu seemed so eager to leave. Pai was their best lead, and they had gotten nowhere.

She asked him that question once they were out of earshot and near their rental car. “Why the big rush? Did you sense something?”

He shook his head, although the furrow in his brow grew even deeper. “No,” he said. “There was nothing to sense. And by nothing, I mean nothing. It was like a black hole stood in front of us.”

Maeve paused, her hand on the passenger side door’s handle. “A black hole?”

“It’s like...even with you, though you’re not magic, when I scan you there’s still you there. Maybe not magic, but I sense something…life, I guess. If you were magic, I’d sense you and your power. With Pai back there, I sensed absolutely nothing.”

“Does that mean she’s dead?” Maeve asked, trying not to sound as alarmed as she felt. Was Ryu saying Pai was some kind of zombie?

“No, she’s obviously not dead,” Ryu said. “She’s either something I can’t sense or she’s able to hide herself so well I can’t sense her. Neither of which is good. Shit, heads-up.”

Maeve smoothed her features and turned to find Pai striding toward them, something in her hand.

“I feel badly for not being able to accommodate you,” she said to Ryu. “You seem like such nice people. Please take this shawl. It was made for this lovely lady.”

“Oh, Ms.…um, Pai,” said Maeve. “We couldn’t. It’s so beautiful...”

And it
was
beautiful. The woman’s distinctive chevron pattern was done in thick panels of black, gleaming white, and a thinner line of bright blue. The otherwise matte wool contained just the slightest shimmer, Maeve noticed, now that Pai held it in direct sunlight. There was something glittery woven in with all that soft wool.

“I insist,” the woman said. “This is my...what is the word? My hobby. I have been fortunate in my life and I wish to give you this present.”

“At least let us pay you for it,” Maeve said, but the woman shook her head, her long face as mulish as the alpaca’s earlier.

“No, really. I do insist. It is yours. It was made for you...” Pai handed the shawl to Maeve, wrapping the other woman’s fingers around it and then stepping back.

“Well, thank you,” said Maeve. “I do appreciate it. And if you change your mind about the yarn, please contact us.”

Maeve slipped Pai one of the dummy business cards Maeve kept in the front pocket of her purse.

“I will. Please drive safely back to your destination,” said the alpaca farmer, giving a small, but very formal, bow.

Ryu and Maeve got in their rental and drove away, waving to Pai as they turned off her driveway and onto the road that led back to town.

“What the hell was that?” Ryu said and Maeve shrugged, shoving the shawl into her bag and the bag in the backseat.

“I have no idea. But I’m not wearing that thing until you check it out. Thoroughly.”

He gave her a brief glance before turning his eyes back to the road.

“I’m glad you trust me,” he said, eventually.

And, surprising herself, she realized she did indeed trust him. Bloodsucker or no.