Bloody Bones (24 page)

21

S
OMEONE WAS BANGING
on the door. I opened my eyes to a room filled with soft, indirect sunlight. The curtains in here weren't nearly as thick as the ones in the bedroom. Which was why I was out here and Jean-Claude was in there.

I struggled into the jeans I'd left on the floor and yelled, “I'm coming.”

The banging stopped, then it sounded like they kicked the door. Was this a federal wake-up call? I went to the door with the Browning in my hand. Somehow I didn't think the FBI would be so rude. I stood to the side of the door and asked, “Who is it?”

“It's Dorcas Bouvier.” She kicked the door again. “Open this damn door.”

I peeked through the little peephole. It was Dorcas Bouvier, or her evil twin. She didn't have a weapon in sight. I was probably safe. I put the Browning under the t-shirt in the waistband of my pants. The t-shirt was a large and fell to mid-thigh. It hid the gun and then some.

I unlocked the door and stood to one side. Dorcas shoved the door open, leaving it swinging open behind her. I closed and locked the door, leaning against it watching her.

Dorcas stalked through the room like some sort of exotic cat. Her waist-length, chestnut hair swung like a curtain as she moved. She finally turned and glared at me with those sea-green eyes that were a mirror of her brother's. The pupil had spiraled downward to a pinpoint, leaving the irises floating and making her look almost blind.

“Where is he?”

“Where's who?” I asked.

She glared at me and went for the bedroom door. I couldn't get there in time to stop her, and I wasn't willing to shoot her yet.

When I came up behind her she was two steps into the bedroom, back rigid, staring at the bed. It was worth staring at.

Jean-Claude lay on his back with the wine-dark sheets pulled up to mid-chest. One shoulder and a pale, pale arm were stretched across the dark sheets. In the semidarkness his hair blended with the pillow to leave his face white and nearly ethereal.

Jason lay on his stomach. The only things under the sheet were one leg and, barely, his buttocks. If he was wearing clothes, I couldn't tell. He raised up on his elbows and turned to us. His yellow hair had fallen into his face, and he
blinked like he'd been deeply asleep. He smiled when he saw Dorcas Bouvier.

“It isn't Magnus,” she said.

“No,” I said, “it isn't. You want to talk outside?”

“Don't go on my account,” Jason said. He rolled onto one elbow. The silken sheet slid across his hips as he moved.

Dorcas Bouvier turned on her heel and marched out of the room. I closed the door to the sound of Jason's laughter.

Dorcas looked shaken, embarrassed even. Good to see. I was embarrassed, too, but didn't know what to do about it. Trying to explain your way out of situations like this never works. People are always willing to believe the worst of you. So I didn't try. I just stood there looking at her. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

After a nice uncomfortable silence that caused heat to wash up her face, she said, “I don't know what to say. I thought my brother was in there. I . . . ” She met my eyes finally. She was already regaining her composure, her surety of purpose. You could watch it solidify in her eyes. She was here for more than rousting her brother out of my bed.

“Why in the world would you think Magnus was here?”

“May I sit down?”

I motioned her to a seat. She sat in one of the chairs, spine very straight, perfect posture. My stepmother, Judith, would have been proud. I leaned on the arm of the couch because I couldn't sit down with the Browning down my pants. I wasn't sure how she'd take me being armed, so I didn't want to show the gun. Some people freeze up around firearms. Go figure.

“I know Magnus was with you last night.”

“With me?” I said.

“I don't mean . . . ” Heat crept up her face again. “I don't mean
with
you. I mean I know you saw him last night.”

“He tell you that?”

She shook her head, making her hair slide like fur over her shoulders. It was eerily reminiscent of Magnus. “I saw you together.”

I studied her face, trying to read past the embarrassment. “You weren't there last night.”

“Where?” she asked.

I frowned at her. “How did you see us?”

“You admit you saw him last night, then,” she said. Her eagerness came back in a rush.

“What I want to know is how you saw us together.”

She took a deep breath. “That's my business.”

“Magnus said his sister was better at visions than he was. Is that true?”

“What didn't he tell you?” she asked. She was angry again. Her emotions seemed to collide, spinning too fast over her face and voice.

“He didn't tell me why he ran from the police.”

She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “I don't know why he ran. It doesn't make any sense.” She looked back up at me. “I know he didn't kill those children.”

“I agree,” I said.

Surprise showed on her face. “I thought you told the police he did it.”

I shook my head. “No, I told them he could have done it. I never said he did it.”

“But . . . The detective was so sure. She said you'd told her.”

I cursed softly under my breath. “Detective Freemont?”

“Yes.”

“Don't believe everything she tells you, especially about me. She doesn't seem to like me very much.”

“If you didn't tell them, then why are they so sure Magnus did these horrible things? He would have no reason to kill these people.”

I shrugged. “Magnus isn't wanted for the killings anymore. Didn't anybody tell you that?”

She shook her head. “No. You mean he can come back home?”

I sighed. “It's not that simple. Magnus used glamor on the police to escape. That's a felony all on its own. The cops will kill him on sight, Ms. Bouvier. They don't mess around where magic is concerned. Can't say I blame them.”

“I saw the two of you talking outside under the sky.”

“I did see him last night.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“No.”

She stared at me. “Why not?”

“Magnus is probably guilty of something, or he wouldn't have run, but he deserves better treatment than he's getting.”

“Yes,” she said, “he does.”

“What made you think he'd be in my bed?”

She looked down at her lap again. “Magnus can be very persuasive. I can't remember the last time a woman told him no. I apologize for assuming that about you.” She stopped, glanced towards the bedroom, then back to me. She blushed again.

I was not going to explain how I ended up with two males in my bed. Surely it was obvious from the blanket and pillow that I'd slept out here. Surely.

“What do you want from me, Ms. Bouvier?”

“I want to find Magnus before he gets himself killed. I thought you could help me. How could you have betrayed Magnus to the police? Surely you know what it's like to be different.”

I wanted to ask if it showed, if she could see “Necromancer” written across my forehead, but I didn't. If the answer was yes, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

“If he hadn't run away, they would have simply questioned him. They didn't have enough to arrest him. Do you have any idea why he ran?”

She shook her head. “I've tried to think of something, anything, but it doesn't make any sense to me, Ms. Blake. My brother is a little amoral, but he's not a bad man.”

I wasn't sure you could be a little amoral, but I let it slide. “If he turns himself in to me, I'll walk him into the police station. But short of that, I don't know what I can do.”

“I've been everywhere I can think of, but he's just not there. I even checked the mound.”

“The mound?” I asked.

She stared up at me. “He didn't tell you about the creature?”

I thought about lying to see if I could get information, but
the look in her eyes told me I'd blown it. “He didn't mention any creature.”

“Of course; if he had told you, the police would be down there with dynamite. Dynamite won't kill it, but it would screw our magical wards six ways to Sunday.”

“What creature?” I asked.

“Is there anything Magnus told you that you didn't tell the police?” Dorcas asked.

I thought about that for a second. “No.”

“He was right not to tell you.”

“Maybe, but I'm trying to help him now.”

“Do you have a guilty conscience?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said.

She looked at me. Her pupils had resurfaced, and she looked almost normal. Almost. “How can I trust you?”

“You probably can't. But I do want to help Magnus. Please talk to me, Ms. Bouvier.”

“I have to have your word that you won't tell the police. I am serious, Ms. Blake. If the police interfere, they could loose the thing and people would die.”

I debated but couldn't see any reason the police would need to know. “Okay, I give you my word.”

“I may not have Magnus's way with glamor, but an oath to one of the fey is a serious matter, Ms. Blake. Lying to us tends to go badly.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Think of it as a warning.” The air moved between us like heat rising off a road. Her eyes swirled like miniature whirlpools.

Maybe I should have shown her my gun. “Don't threaten me, Dorcas. I'm not in the mood.”

The magic seemed to seep away like water running into a crack in the rocks. You knew it was still there, below the surface. But for someone who had been threatened by werewolves and vampires, she paled in comparison. Magnus seemed to have most of the talent in the family. On the scale of scariness, Magnus was up there.

“Just so we understand each other, Ms. Blake. If you tell
the police and they let loose the creature, the deaths will be on your head.”

“Alright, I'm impressed; now tell me about it.”

“Did Magnus tell you about our ancestor, Llyn Bouvier?”

“Yeah, he was the first European in this area. He married into the local tribe. Converted them to Christianity. He was also fey.”

She nodded. “He brought another fey with him.”

“A wife?” I asked.

“No, he had captured one of the less intelligent fairies. He imprisoned it in a magically constructed box. It escaped and slaughtered nearly the entire tribe we're descended from. He finally managed to contain it with the help of an Indian shaman, or priest, but he never regained control over it. The best he could do was to imprison it.”

“What kind of fairie did he bring over?”

“Bloody Bones isn't just the name of our bar,” she said. “It's short for Rawhead and Bloody Bones.”

My eyes widened. “But that's a nursery boggle; why would your ancestor want to capture one? They don't have any treasure, or wishes, to give out. Or am I wrong on that?”

“No, you're quite correct. Bloody Bones has no riches or gentle magic to grant wishes.”

“Then why capture it?”

“Most children born of human and fairie blood don't have a lot of magic.”

“That's what the legends say,” I said, “but Magnus proves that wrong.”

“Llyn Bouvier made a sort of pact for himself and his descendants. We would all have fey power, at a price.”

She was dragging this out, and I was tired. “Just tell me, Ms. Bouvier. The suspense is getting irritating.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that this might be embarrassing for me to admit?” she asked.

“No; if that's the case, I apologize.”

“My ancestor imprisoned Bloody Bones so he could make a potion of its blood. But the potion had to be remade periodically, retaken, or his magic deserted him.”

I stared at her. “How did the other fey take this little idea?”

“He was forced to flee Europe, or they would have killed him. It is forbidden among us to use each other like that.”