Dead Heat Page 22

  Whatever she saw, and he didn’t see anything in front of her where her attention was focused, it really scared her. His Anna had the heart of a lion.

  Whatever it was that frightened her, he needed to kill it and lay it at her feet. A gift of love, he thought whimsically as Brother Wolf calculated where the invisible and presumably fae creature had to be, based on Anna’s body language and position.

  Charles hit it hard. Brother Wolf had found their target. As it fell with him upon it, he dug in wherever he could. Two things happened when his fangs sank into flesh that tasted of bark, sap, and lemons. First, he could see the fae. Second, Anna’s fear dissipated, and that quick dispersal felt like a spell breaking.

  This is not our villain. There was no doubt in her thoughts. He has been here a long time. He might know something about the fae we are hunting. Who better than another fae who is at large in the same vicinity? He has promised to answer our questions. If you kill him, we’ll never know. Charles, you cannot kill him. Not before we find Amethyst.

  Anna wasn’t hurt. But Brother Wolf wanted the fae to die; leaving your enemies alive was not smart. Any fae who frightened Anna was his enemy. Fear was a power the fae used to protect themselves, to freeze their prey, to kill. He knew that, understood that, if Anna did not. It was a weapon, and this one had used it against Anna.

  Please, Anna said, breathing a little calmness to him. Not enough to influence him; he didn’t think she had done it on purpose. Maybe she was trying to calm herself down and the effect had sifted through their bond.

  But wherever she had aimed, it succeeded in allowing him to think. Anna wasn’t hurt. Anna wasn’t hurt, ergo he did not need to kill this fae. And, given that it had not hurt her, if he killed it, it would be because he wanted to. To kill when it was not a matter of defense or law was murder.

  Woodland fae are too tough to kill easily, anyway, Brother Wolf grumbled at Anna.

  Charles extracted his fangs and stepped back, letting the growl dwelling in his chest ring in the open air.

  The wounded fae was definitely one of the tree folk but not a particularly dangerous one, not if he’d been too frightened to fight back when Charles had attacked him. His skin was more like tree bark and he had no flesh to soften the rawboned look. Yellow and red eyes, one each, blinked up at Charles in fearful horror.

  Though Charles’s strike would have killed a human, this fae was not much hurt, he thought. The fae were tough, the forest fae among the toughest. As Brother Wolf had observed, this one would not die easily under the fangs of a werewolf.

  Beside him Anna shook herself, shivered, and shook herself some more. And even if she was not terrified anymore, she was definitely disturbed, allowing Charles to stay between her and the fae.

  If not for the humans watching, the FBI agent, the Cantrip agents who were cautiously climbing through the remains of the patio doors, and the woman in the house who stared out through an upstairs window, he would have pressed against her, reassuring her that she wasn’t alone. He would have done it despite the audience if she had still been frightened. But she was recovering and he wouldn’t take that from her.

  Charles circled the fae as it struggled back to its feet. The damage he’d done mended itself, the barklike skin flowing together until there was no trace of fang marks or hurt.

  Leslie cleared her throat. “Hey, Charles,” she said. “Quite an entrance.” Her voice was steady, though he could smell her fear.

  He glanced at her and then away. In his current state it wouldn’t be safe for her if he caught her eyes. Excess adrenaline made it impossible for him to stay still, so he stalked back and forth like a lion in a cage and waited for someone to do something.

  “All right, then,” Leslie said. “Sir. I don’t know your name. I think you have to agree that we located you. That’s not a question.”

  The fae shuddered and took on human semblance—a bland-featured man of average height and average build wearing a sand-colored, double-knit suit fifty years out of date.

  “It wasn’t fair,” he said. “It wasn’t fair. I didn’t know it was a werewolf. If I’d known it was a werewolf, I wouldn’t have made that bargain. It wasn’t fair.”

  “You didn’t ask,” Leslie said. “You should know better than to make assumptions.”

  “Not fair,” he said again, pouting. “Spoiled the game.”

  If the fae was talking about playing games, Leslie might need a little coaching. Hostile fae could be difficult. Charles took a deep, deliberate breath and pulled his human shape out and donned it. He shook his head and a few shards of glass tinkled on the ground. He dusted himself off and got rid of a few more. His skin burned where the glass had cut deeply and the werewolf magic continued to heal him.

  “Leslie,” he said. His voice was still gravelly, but he couldn’t help it with Brother Wolf so close.

  She took a step away from him, caught herself, and stepped forward again. He could smell her fear, but she was not giving in to it, which was what he had come to expect from her.

  “Fill me in,” he said. “Let me help.”

  Marsden and Leeds came up and Leslie relaxed fractionally. She nodded at them and then turned to Charles.

  “We came here investigating a report that Ms. Jamison filed about unicorns and dragons, and a green man in her garden. Most of it was a false report, camouflage for the truth that there was a green man in her garden. The deal was that if we found the green man, he gives us three true answers.”

  “First, it isn’t a green man.” Charles looked at the bland man without favor and pretended not to notice that Anna had moved close to him as soon as he stopped moving and was pressed up against him. You didn’t reveal your mate’s weaknesses before the enemy. He couldn’t kill it until Leslie discovered if it could help them find Amethyst.

  “Woodland fae, a tree man, related to the green man. Wearden, the old Anglo-Saxons called them. I have no idea what he calls himself. One of the lesser fae, which doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. Just not as dangerous.”

  The fae curled his lip up and hissed at Charles.

  “Okay,” Leslie said.

  “Ask a question that requires a broad answer,” Leeds said. “Don’t use yes-or-no questions. Oddly enough those are pretty easily fouled up.”

  “What—” The fae leaned forward, just a little. But it cued Leslie in and she rephrased it. “Leeds, please explain that. Yes-or-no seems pretty cut-and-dried to me.”

  “Take the question every husband dreads.” Leeds looked at the fae and then back at Leslie. “You know, the one about if pants make you look fat. A fae could say ‘No,’ which you would take to mean that you don’t look fat, when in fact he means ‘The pants don’t make you look fat, your extra weight makes you look fat.’” Leeds cleared his throat and a flush rose up his face. “Not that you do look fat. It was just an example.”

  Leslie grinned at him but said, “Okay, thanks.”

  “Before you start, I can tell you some more things about this wearden to help direct your questions,” Charles told her. “I am absolutely certain that this is not the fae who stole the child. He smells wrong and I doubt he has the ability to make a fetch as convincing as the one that took Amethyst Miller’s place. He’s the wrong kind of fae to have that sort of magic. The lesser fae’s magic is very specific. He doesn’t have the power to get Chelsea to kill her children, either. He is here because it is hard for the tree-tied fae to move. Those who could were moved into the reservations early on.”

  “Do you—” Leslie glanced at the fae again. She cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to be giving orders, but they are better than questions under the circumstances. Given that he is tied to this place, tell me if you think he will know anything about our quarry. Please.”

  Charles shrugged. “The chances are pretty good; fae gossip like everyone else.”

  “Right.”

  A woman ran out of the house. She was older, Charles thought, but in impressive shape for a human of her age.
In one hand she held a camera with very big lens attached.

  “Can I take photos?” she asked as she ran up to them, out of breath. She was looking at Anna, but she did not specify.

  “Yes,” said the fae, his voice suddenly mocking. “You can take photos, Katie, but I fear you may not. You’ll have to ask the wolves.” He looked at Charles and smiled. “That is question one. Two more.”

  The woman’s face paled as she took in the whole tableau. “I screwed things up.”

  “Leslie, ask your questions,” Charles said when it looked as though they were going to get bogged down in extraneous conversation that might include more irrelevant questions.

  “I’m so sorry,” said the stranger, but she subsided when Charles shook his head at her.

  Leslie took a deep breath and then ran with it. She described in detail what they knew, told the fae about the missing girl, about the attempt to force Chelsea to kill her own children. She added a bit that she and Anna must have discovered, about an attempted kidnapping almost forty years ago. She didn’t talk about the other things, the ones they weren’t absolutely certain were related to their fae, the teacher who hanged herself or the car accident.

  “My first question is, then, what exactly do you know about the fae who kidnapped Amethyst Miller and left a fetch, a changeling, in her place?”

  The fae half shut his eyes, searching for a way out. It probably didn’t matter to him how much he told, except that fae didn’t like giving their secrets away.

  “Once upon a time there was a High Court fae,” he said finally. “Now, the fae of the High Court, they are great ones for stealing human children and teaching them to fetch and carry, to work and to give life to the below lands. This one, this one maybe loved children too much, or maybe the twist happened sometime during the very long time it took Faery to fall in the Old World. His kind take children, but this one, this one, he loved children, stole them from the humans and turned them into his toys until they died and he had to replace them.”

  The fae looked around slyly. “Humans are such fragile things. It was a hobby for him, but when the magic fell and rose and fell again, it took that part of him and twisted it into a geas such as we low fae must follow but usually the powered fae, like the High Court fae, do not.” There was glee in his voice, though his human facade was still bland and doll-like. “So now he must have a child for his collection. He keeps them for a year and a day and then consumes them entirely, at which time he has to collect another. He feeds on the change that time brings upon them, see?”

  He looked at Anna and smiled. Charles felt a rush of magic and put a hand on his mate’s head. She raised her head and growled at the fae man, showing him her fangs.

  He can’t pull that trick on me twice. Anna’s clear voice rang in his head. Justin is dead. If the fae wants to wear his face, that is just fine.

  Rage, squelched earlier, rose like a phoenix. Brother Wolf would kill this one without a twinge of conscience. Not that wolves regretted much. Regret, like guilt, they mostly left to their human halves. He veiled his eyes because he knew that they had lightened to wolf amber from his own human dark brown.

  Leslie started to ask another question, but Charles shook his head. “He’s not finished answering the first question,” he said. His voice was too rough again, but he couldn’t help it. He looked the wearden in the eyes, and the creature took a step back and his magic sputtered and died. “And don’t ask about High Court fae. I know of their kind and can answer any questions you have about them.”

  The wearden sneered at him. Charles just watched him back coolly.

  The fae’s expression gradually grew sulky again and finally he continued. “The humans in Scotland a century ago broke into one of his lairs. They called him the Doll Collector because the girls were dressed up like dolls. The one who was still alive would not talk. She died a few weeks later. But it became impossible for that fae to live in Scotland anymore. Like many of us, though later than some, he hopped aboard a steamer and came to the New World.”

  They waited. When Leslie would have said something, Charles shook his head.

  Finally the wearden spoke again. “He lived here—” The fae gave an address that Leslie jotted down. “For a long time. But when the Gray Lords decided that it was necessary for the fae to reveal themselves…”

  He rubbed his hands down the front of his shirt and looked around nervously. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “I understand that bad things happen to fae who break their word,” said Charles silkily. “The powers that be don’t approve of lying.”

  The fae gave him a nasty look. “The Gray Lords went to the less publicity-friendly fae and forced them to behave. They went to the Doll Collector and took away his power. They froze his need, and his ability, to take the children and left him to his own devices. I did not hear of him again until the Gray Lords released some of the monsters they hold, and that one came back here hungry.” He flashed Charles a look of intense dislike. “That is all I know about the Doll Collector, except for the information you have given me.”

  “What can stop him?” asked Leslie.

  The fae grinned at her. Only his mouth moved, which looked odd. Either he was trying to freak out the humans, or this fae really had little experience trying to look human. “Death stops everything.”

  It dropped the appearance of humanity and stepped back among the trees in the corner of the garden and became a small, scraggly tree in the shade of the big fruit tree.

  “Sorry,” Leslie told Charles. “I guess I was hoping for Kryptonite, you know?”

  Charles shook his head. “Your first question was good. It told us everything it knew.” He glanced at Leeds, who had been writing as the fae spoke. “You have that address, right?”

  “I have it. I’ve texted it to our research division. They’ll have the ownership records and whatever else they can find, like house plans, back to us as soon as they can.”

  “Excuse me.” The woman he didn’t know, presumably the owner of the house, spoke to Leslie. “Do you think I might get a photograph of the werewolf? Photography is a hobby of mine and she is beautiful.”

  Leslie raised her eyebrows and looked at Charles. “What do you think?”

  He was inclined to refuse. “Anna?”

  She hopped on the big granite boulder and posed, looking graceful. And cute. Which was pretty amazing, because werewolves could be beautiful, but they were predators. Cute was not, usually, in the picture. But then, his Anna was amazing.

  We have some time because we need to wait until we have a little more information on the address, right? Her voice inside him still felt new and wondrous. He was so grateful not to be alone. We need to know if we’re breaking into a fae’s prison or the home of some poor slob who happened to buy the house in the last fifty years. And we owe Ms. Jamison. How much damage did you do to her house?

  He smiled at her. “Yes,” he said to Anna, forgetting that everyone couldn’t hear her. “I’ll pay for the damage, of course, but a little PR repair might be in order.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Charles left a business card, one with only an e-mail address and a PO box, for Ms. Jamison to send the estimates for repairs. She wanted him to sign a release for the photographs, but he shook his head.

  “I’m not the one you photographed,” he said.

  “Photos showing people’s faces need release forms or I can’t use them,” Ms. Jamison complained sharply.

  “Werewolves are in a gray area,” he told her. “Use them. If someone gives you trouble about it, write to the address on the card and we’ll take care of it.”

  Leeds’s phone rang, and whoever was on the other end had news. The house at the address the wearden had given them was owned by the estate of a woman who’d died twenty years ago. It was cared for by a property management company for the past fifty years until, in fact, a few months ago when the renters had been asked to leave.

  “Keep
looking for the owner,” Leeds told them. “We’re headed over to that address. Three federal agents with two werewolves for backup. We’ll be okay.” He put his phone away. “Let’s go check this out.”

  “Good luck,” said Ms. Jamison. “I hope you find her.”

  Charles rode with Leslie, who followed Marsden and Leeds since they were local and knew the area. Anna stretched out in the backseat of Leslie’s car. She grumbled because there just wasn’t room in the backseat for a two-hundred-pound werewolf to be both comfortable and secure.

  “Not designed for wolves,” he told Anna sympathetically.

  Riding with Leslie was less troublesome than riding with the Cantrip agents. He liked them well enough, but Brother Wolf approved of Leslie, and she drove better.

  They followed Marsden’s dark sedan for a few more miles, away from upscale houses and into neighborhoods a few notches further down on the economic scale, before Leslie spoke again. “Her change was very slow compared to yours.”

  “We’re all different,” he said after a moment’s thought. “But I’m more different than most. And yes, there is a more detailed explanation for it that I’m not at liberty to tell you.”

  She laughed unexpectedly. “My security clearance isn’t high enough?”

  “You aren’t a werewolf,” he said, half apologetically.

  “Yes, Mr. Smith,” she said. “Just remember, as many politicians can attest personally, secrets tend to come out at the worst possible time and blow up in your face.”

  “We’re trying for a controlled release,” he said.

  She laughed again, and he wondered how well she sang. Maybe she’d like to sing with Anna and him sometime. If her singing voice was like her laugh, it would blend very well with Anna’s. He was adding in Anna’s cello and a little piano … or maybe even guitar to the song in his head when Marsden pulled over in front of a mailbox that fronted a piece of property with a tagged and crumbling eight-foot cinder-block wall.

  On the corner of the block stood a run-down apartment building with a full parking lot of cars that showed signs of spending a decade or two in the unforgiving Arizona sun. Next to it, across the street from where they had parked, was a small house with a fenced-in yard in which a puppy and two boys played a complicated game of fetch and tag.