Nicole Peeler - [Jane True 01] (34 page)

I forged ahead, anyway. “When we got here and I met Jimmu, I could swear
I recognized him, but I just figured I was crazy because obviously I would
remember someone who looked like him, right? But then this morning, I went out
to the pool. Jimmu surprised me, with a sword. I think he must have been
practicing, because I don’t think he was expecting me. But he scared the shit
out of me, and he was coming toward me when something distracted him. Anyway,
his Mohawk had fallen and he looked even
more
familiar.” Ryu was staring
intently at me—he could tell that I believed what I was saying, if nothing
else.

“I ran away into the Compound where I bumped into Morrigan. We were
talking, and she mentioned the fertility problem thing, and she was talking
about teams of scientists. Later, thinking about what she had said, I realized
that if you took out Jimmu’s piercings and dressed him in conservative clothes with
some big geeky glasses, he’d be the guy from the store.”

Ryu sat quietly for a moment, and I could tell the wheels were spinning.

“Ryu,” I continued, “I think Jimmu’s the one behind the murders. Why
else would he be in Rockabill? And it would explain why he’s exhibited such
animosity toward me. I was next on his list.”

Ryu shook his head, as if to clear it of what I’d just said. “Jane, if
what you’re saying is true, then everything just got seriously complicated.
Jimmu does nothing without Jarl’s consent, and Jarl does nothing without the
knowledge of Orin and Morrigan.”

He watched me, waiting for his words to sink in. “So if Jimmu
were
the murderer, I can’t see how he acted on his own,” he concluded. “Which would
mean that the Alfar are directly responsible for these killings.”

“Fine,” I said, my mind racing. “Maybe he’s
not
the murderer.
Maybe he was following Jakes for some other reason, maybe to check up on him
for the Alfar. But he was
definitely
in Rockabill. I
know
it was
Jimmu I saw that day. Despite his disguise.”

“I just can’t believe it, Jane.” Ryu shook his head. “I’m sorry, I know
that you believe what you’re saying, but I can’t believe it was Jimmu. I don’t
want
to believe you—it would mean too many incredibly bad things if what you’re saying
is true.”

I stared at him, never more frustrated with anyone in my life.
What
part of “I know it was Jimmu” don’t you comprehend?
I wanted to scream. But
deep down I understood his fear—because I could see that what I’d said implied
that something was rotten to the core of Alfar society.

At that moment there was a light tap on the door, and Elspeth came in
with coffee and breakfast for two. We sat in silence as she arranged the trays.
How can I get you to believe me?
I thought, staring at Ryu.

And then I remembered my Edith Wharton. The servants know everything in
those books.

“Elspeth,” I said, my voice tense. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded, smiling benevolently. “It’s about Jimmu,” I started, then
paused. I didn’t know where to begin. “I saw him this morning,” I continued,
trying to stall till I could figure out how to ask her what we needed to know.
“He’d been working out. Those piercings are really something.”

“Yes, they are.” Elspeth’s smile was gone, and she shuddered. “Every
time he does it, he makes me help. It’s awful.”

Ryu’s eyes narrowed and he inhaled sharply. “What do you mean, every
time?” he asked, his voice low.

“Oh, Jimmu is always leaving the Compound. When he does, he takes his
piercings out, and then he has to re-pierce himself since he heals so quickly.”
She looked at me, and I tried to keep my expression from betraying my
excitement. “He makes me help him do the piercings.” She shuddered. “
All
of them.”

I got what she was insinuating and gave her a sympathetic grimace. “And
the Mohawk?” I asked. “Is that new?”

“Yes.” She was surprised. “It is, actually. He’s only had it for a few
days. Since he got back from his latest adventure. He doubled the piercings and
gave himself a Mohawk. You’d think he was in disguise.” She laughed, as if to
imply how ridiculous that notion was. Ryu and I exchanged looks.

“He left them in this time, though.”

“What?” Ryu and I asked, simultaneously.

“Jimmu left the Compound about a half hour ago. He’s not coming back
until tomorrow, apparently. But thankfully he didn’t take out his piercings
this time.”

“Do you know where Jimmu went?” Ryu asked nonchalantly.

“Oh, no, of course not. We never know where he goes. Only Jarl can keep
tabs on Jimmu.” Elspeth smiled again. “Well, enjoy breakfast. Shall I come
round tonight to help you get ready, Jane?”

“Thanks, Elspeth, I’d appreciate it,” I said, getting up to usher her
out the door. Ryu and I definitely needed to talk, pronto.

When we’d exchanged good-byes and she’d left, I shut the door behind her
after taking a quick look around the hallway to make sure nobody was lurking
about to hear our conversation. I was getting paranoid.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you
, I
reminded myself as I shut and locked the door.

“Well?” I asked Ryu, returning to my place on the sofa.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he looked
rueful. “Okay, maybe Jimmu could have been in Rockabill. But
why
?”

“I don’t know, Ryu. Iris said that Jakes recognized someone who made him
afraid. Maybe Jakes realized that Jimmu must have been the murderer all along.”

“Or maybe Jimmu was following Jakes,” Ryu interjected, “but it’s because
he knew
Jakes
had gone rogue and was killing the halflings. Which would
also explain why Jakes was scared.”

I frowned. “I can’t believe that Iris could sense, or taste, or
whatever, that Jakes was scared but not also be able to sense that he was a
serial killer. But you would know better than me about that.”

Ryu poured us each a cup of coffee, and I reached for a croissant even
though I’d already had breakfast.
No point in going hungry, after all
, my
stomach sighed, contentedly.

“I don’t know what to say,” he answered, finally. “Jakes could have
hidden something like that from Iris, especially if he was such a psychopath
that he genuinely didn’t rate murder a big deal. But I’ve met Jakes, and he
wasn’t a psychopath that I could tell. Although I guess that psychopaths don’t
usually advertise themselves as such.” He shrugged. “But my gut instinct is that
you’re right, and that Jakes didn’t kill the halflings. Especially since he was
also murdered and that Gretchen and Martin were murdered after him.” He sipped
his coffee slowly, as if drawing strength from his cup. “I just really don’t
want to contemplate the idea that Jimmu is the one who murdered them all.”

“Well,” I said, “there’s no point in thinking about the repercussions of
Jimmu being the murderer if we don’t even know whether we’re right or not. What
we need to do is figure out how we prove whether it was Jimmu, and then we can
take it from there.”

We drank our coffee in silence. I helped myself to another croissant.

“Lucky Jimmu went out today, isn’t it?” I commented, as Ryu poured
himself another cup. He blanched at me.

“I knew I should have packed my cat burglar clothes,” he said, quaffing
his coffee before standing up. “After all, I do look pretty hot in a ski mask.”

The lock clicked open with a
snick
, and we held our breath. When
no one yelled at us from inside the room, we exhaled. I took another
surreptitious look around the hallway as Ryu pushed open the door to Jimmu’s
quarters.

We crept inside, closing the door after ourselves. Ryu turned on the
lights and we looked around to get our bearings. Jimmu’s rooms were just like
the ones shared by Ryu and me: a small bedroom with en suite bathroom and a
small sitting room. And despite the fact that these rooms served as Jimmu’s
only home, they were equally as impersonal as ours.

“Where’d you learn to pick locks?” I hissed at Ryu. “And why doesn’t
Jimmu have better security? He doesn’t look the trusting sort.”

“I’m Nosferatu, remember?” Ryu grinned. He was loving this, I could
tell. Since we’d left our rooms he’d radiated happiness. He might not like the
exact circumstances, but he was definitely a man who loved action. “What kind
of a nightwalker can’t pick a lock? And as for security, this is a public
compound. Servants need to get in and out of these rooms, as do cleaners or
maintenance. What you gain in overall security living in the Compound, you lose
in privacy.” He pointed to the bedroom. “You look in there, I’ll look in here.”

I poked my head into Jimmu’s bedroom, making sure he wasn’t napping
before I walked in. Something told me he
always
got up on the wrong side
of the bed. But the room was as empty and anonymous as the sitting room. I
started with the bathroom, which, except for an industrial-sized bottle of hair
gel and a sliver of soap lying in the dish, was completely empty.

The bedroom wasn’t much more interesting. There were a few pairs of
underpants, mismatched dark socks, and some wife-beaters in one drawer of the
bureau. In the closet hung a few pairs of ripped-up jeans and a few T-shirts. I
started to close the door, when I noticed that there was something on the top
shelf.

I pulled the little armchair from the corner of the room over to the
closet and stood on it to get a closer look. On the highest shelf, in the very
far corner, I caught a glimpse of the edge of a steel box. I stretched out my
hand, unsure whether or not I’d even be able to reach, and nearly grazed the
lid. But just as I was about to make contact, I felt that tiny unmistakable
frisson of power. I hesitated, deciding not to risk it.

“Ryu,” I called. “I might have something.”

He came in, dusting off his hands. “Nothing in there,” he said. “Jimmu
doesn’t even own a magazine. He’s quite an exciting guy. What do you have in
here?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “There’s a box up on this shelf, but I
didn’t want to touch it. I think it’s whammied.”

Ryu grinned. “Whammied?”

“You know, magicked. I could feel the tingle.”

Ryu got up beside me and peered into the closet. He hissed, his fangs
suddenly extended.

“Jane, get off the chair.”

I got down without hesitation. I took commands well, when they sounded
like that.

Ryu’s hands hovered on either side of the box as he concentrated. I felt
the hairs on the back of my nape rise, and my bangs twitched slightly as the
power swirled around him.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably about thirty
seconds, he chuckled, sounding very pleased with himself.

“Whammy, indeed.” He grinned, lifting the box off the shelf and jumping
down from the chair.

“You’re a clever clogs, not touching that,” he said, as he set the box
down on Jimmu’s bed. “If you had, you would have blown up not only yourself but
a substantial section of this part of the Compound.”

“Great,” I said, dryly. “Thanks for telling me. So how did you open it?”

“Boxes are my specialty,” he said, grinning lecherously. “I’m good at
opening things.”

And I’m living proof
, I thought, not taking the bait. “What’s
in it?”

“Let’s find out,” he said, undoing the little latch at the front of the
box.

We both peered inside. “Oh, crap,” said Ryu. I gagged.

Inside the box was a Ziploc bag. At first I thought it contained dead
mice. Then I thought it was dead hairless mice. Then I realized what it was.

The bag was full of ears.

Protected as they’d been by Jimmu’s shield, they were untouched by
decay. They’d also been sliced off cleanly, with surgical precision. Neither detail,
however, made them any less grotesque. Mashed up together in a bloody heap,
they struck me as so vulnerably, individually
human
—from the slightly
thickened helix of one to the prim little pearl earring bejeweling another. I
think I would have preferred them rotten and unidentifiable.

I sat down on the bed, heavily, my stomach heaving. Ryu shut the box and
then got back on the chair to replace it. I watched, taking deep breaths, as he
wiggled his fingers in front of the box’s clasp. When he was finished, he put
the chair back where it was supposed to be, and then took my hand and led me to
the door. We walked out of Jimmu’s rooms, after Ryu checked to make certain no
one was in the hallway, before frog-marching me back to our own quarters. Where
I bolted for the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before I spewed
up both croissants and my coffee.

Ryu held my hair out of my face with one hand, stroking my back with the
other. He murmured to me quietly, as if settling a horse. I couldn’t stop
retching—every time I felt a little better I’d think of Joe Gonzalez from
Shreveport. One of those ears had been his. All he’d ever done was grow really
nice tomatoes, and for that his ear was in a Ziploc bag while he moldered in
the ground.