Iron Kissed (24 page)

“When they come after Mercy, I do. And Charles only kills the guilty, not the inconvenient.”

I cleared my throat. “Let's not get diverted from the point. Could Nemane have killed O'Donnell?”

“She's better than that,” Uncle Mike said. “If she'd killed O'Donnell, no one would have known it wasn't an accident.”

Once more I was left without a suspect.

Any of the werewolves could have done it, I thought, remembering the speed that ripped O'Donnell's head from his body. But they had no reason to, and I hadn't smelled them at O'Donnell's house. The vampires? I didn't know enough about them—though I knew more than I wanted to. I knew they could hide their scents from me if they thought about it. No, O'Donnell's killer had been one of the fae.

Well, if Uncle Mike wanted me to investigate, maybe he'd answer some questions.

“O'Donnell was taking things from the people he killed, wasn't he?” I asked. “The walking stick—which is in my Rabbit, parked off Finley Road over by Two Rivers, Uncle Mike—was one of those. But there were others, weren't there? The first fae killed, Connora, she was a librarian—she'd have had some of the artifacts, wouldn't she? Small things because she was not powerful enough to keep anything anyone else wanted. The walking stick came from the house of the fae with a forest for a backyard. I could smell him on it. What else was stolen?”

I'd been reading Tad's friend's book. There were a lot of things that I wouldn't want in just anyone's hands. There were some things I wouldn't want in
anyone's
hands.

There was a long pause, then Uncle Mike said, “I'll be over in a few minutes. Stay there.”

I tossed Samuel the phone and he hung it up. Then I got to my feet, and retrieved the book I'd borrowed out of the gun safe in my room.

There were actually several walking sticks—one that would lead you home no matter where you roamed, one that allowed you to see people for what they were, and the third, the one that had been following me, was the stick that multiplied the farmer's sheep. None of them sounded bad until you read the stories. No matter how good they seemed, fae artifacts had a way of making their human owners miserable.

I'd found Zee's knife, too. The book called it a sword, but the hand-drawn illustration certainly depicted the weapon I'd twice borrowed from Zee.

Samuel, who'd left the couch to kneel beside my chair as I paged through the section I'd read, hissed between his teeth and touched the illustration: He'd seen Zee's knife, too.

Uncle Mike came in without knocking on the door.

I knew it was him by the deliberate sound of his footsteps and by his scent—spice and old beer—but I didn't look up from the book when I asked, “Was there something that allows the murderer to hide from magic? Is that why you had to call me in to identify the murderer?”

There were a couple of things in the book that would protect someone from the fae's anger or make them invisible.

Uncle Mike shut the door, but stayed just in front of it. “We retrieved seven artifacts from O'Donnell's house. That's why Zee didn't have time to hide from the police—and why I left him to take the blame alone. The things we found were items of small power, nothing important except that they existed—and fae power in human hands is not usually a good thing.”

“You missed the walking stick,” I said, looking up. Uncle Mike looked more wrinkled and tired than his T-shirt and jeans.

He nodded. “And there was nothing we found that could have prevented us from finding O'Donnell—so we have to believe that the murderer left with at least one more item.”

Samuel, like me, had refrained from looking at Uncle Mike when he'd entered—a small power play that subtly put us in charge. That Samuel had done it told me that he, too, didn't entirely believe Uncle Mike was on our side. Samuel came to his feet before he turned his attention from the book to the fae. He used his extra inches of height to stare down at Uncle Mike.

“You don't know what O'Donnell took?” he asked.

“Our librarian was trying to compile a list of everything our people had. Since she was the first one to die…” He shrugged. “He stole the list and there are no copies that I know of. Maybe Connora gave one to the Gray Lords.”

“Was O'Donnell looking for the artifacts when he started to date her?” I asked.

He frowned at me. “How did you know they were dating?” He shook his head. “No. Don't tell me. It's best I don't know if you've fae who are talking to you.”

He was trying to keep Tad out of it, I thought.

Uncle Mike flopped on the couch, closing his eyes, giving in to the exhaustion that he was obviously feeling—and giving Samuel the upper hand without a fight.

“I don't think he planned the thefts to start with. We've talked to her friends. Connora chose him. He thought he was doing her a favor—she thought he deserved what she planned to do with him.” He looked at me. “Our Connora could be kind, but she despised humans, especially anyone connected to the BFA. She played with him awhile before tiring of her game. The day before she died, she told one of her friends she was dropping him.”

“So why did you need Mercy?” Samuel asked. “He was the obvious suspect.”

Uncle Mike sighed. “We had just set our sights on him when the second victim turned up dead. It took a while before anyone would talk to us about her affair. For a fae to take up with a human is encouraged. Half-breeds are better than no children at all. But O'Donnell—all the guards really are the enemy. And a fae doesn't consort with the enemy…especially when they are someone like O'Donnell.”

“She was slumming,” I said.

He considered it. “If one of your friends was consorting with a dog, would it be considered slumming?”

“So he thinks he's doing her a favor and she tells him what she really thinks of him—and he kills her.”

“That's what we think. When the second victim was found—we thought it was unlikely that a human could have killed her so we didn't look at O'Donnell again. It wasn't until the third murder that we realized that the motive was theft. Connora had a few items, but no one thought to check if any were missing. She also must have had something else, something that allowed him to hide from our magic. Something much more powerful than anything someone like her should have had.”

He looked at me and gave me a tired smile. “We are a secretive people, and even the risk of disobeying the Gray Lords' orders is not worth giving up all of our secrets. If something you possess is too powerful, They will confiscate it. If They had known that she had something of power, she'd have been forced to give it to someone who could take care of it.”

“So O'Donnell gets it instead.” I closed the book and set it beside me.

“And the list she had compiled for the Gray Lords, of the items they wanted recorded.” He spread his hands. “We aren't sure that she had a copy in her house. One of her friends saw it, but Connora might have turned it over to the Gray Lords without keeping a copy.”

That didn't sound like the woman whose house I'd searched. A woman like that would have kept a copy of everything. She loved the storage of knowledge.

“So O'Donnell takes that list,” I said. “After playing with whatever toys he stole from Connora, he decided he wanted more. He looks at the list and goes after the things he wants.” My sample size was limited, but—“It seemed to me that he was killing the least powerful, Connora, to the most, the forest fae who was last killed. Is that right?”

“Yes. She might have told him or maybe she had the list organized that way. He didn't get it quite right, by the way, but close enough. I suppose whatever items he stole allowed him to kill people he would otherwise never have been able to touch.”

“Do you have any idea at all what things O'Donnell's killer might have?” Samuel growled.

Uncle Mike sighed. “No. But he doesn't either. The list said things like ‘one walking stick' or ‘a silver bracelet,' but it didn't explain what they were. Mercy, the walking stick wasn't in your car. The Fideal says that he didn't touch it. I suspect it will show up again—it has been persistent in following you.”

“It
is
the walking stick that would make all my ewes have twins, isn't it?” I asked, though I was almost certain. The stories about the others had worried me enough to be grateful the stick was useless to me.

He laughed. It started from his belly and worked its way to his eyes, until they twinkled merrily. “You have some ewes you plan on breeding?”

“No, but I'd like to be able to travel more than five miles from home without finding myself on my own doorstep—or worse, be able to see all the faults in the people around me without any of the goodness.” Not that any of that had been happening, but for all I knew, the stick had to be activated somehow in order to work.

“Not to worry,” he said, still grinning. “If you decide to be a sheep farmer, all of your sheep would have healthy twins until the stick decided to roam again.”

I let out a sigh of relief and turned back to what I needed to know. “When O'Donnell was killed, were you and Zee the only ones who knew he was the killer?”

“We hadn't told anyone else.”

“Were you the only ones who knew the murderer was stealing artifacts?” I caught a whiff of something magical and tried to keep my face from showing my sudden alertness.

“No. It wasn't talked about, but as soon as we discovered that Connora's list had been taken, we started asking around. Anyone would have made the obvious connection.”

Beside me, Samuel nodded in happy agreement. Not that he should have objected to anything Uncle Mike said but…

“Quit that,” I told Uncle Mike. I noticed that the tiredness I'd seen in him when he came was gone and he once more appeared to be a kindly man who made his living making people happy.

“What?”

I narrowed my gaze at him. “I don't like you right now, and no fae magic is going to change that.” Samuel jerked his head toward me. Maybe he hadn't caught that Uncle Mike was using some kind of charisma magic—or maybe he smelled that I was lying. I did like Uncle Mike, but Uncle Mike didn't need to know that. He'd be easier to pry information out of as long as I could keep him feeling guilty.

“My apologies, lass,” he said, sounding as appalled as he looked. “I'm tired and it's a reflex thing.”

That might be true, it might be reflex, but he didn't say he wasn't doing it deliberately either.

“I'm tired, too,” I said.

“All right,” he said. “Let me tell you what we are going to do right now. It is agreed among us that the Fideal offered first offense. It is agreed among us that your death would cost the fae more than it would gain us—you can thank Samuel and Nemane for that.”

He leaned forward. “So here is what we can offer you. As it seems important to you that Zee be proven innocent, we can work on that—so you don't cause even greater problems for us. We are allowed to aid the police—except that we cannot tell them about the stolen things. They are powerful, some of them, and it is better if the mortals don't have any idea that they might exist.”

Cool relief flowed down my spine. If the Gray Lords were willing to accept the time and notoriety of an investigation, then Zee's chances had risen exponentially. But Uncle Mike hadn't finished speaking.

“…So you may leave the investigation to us and to the police.”

“Good,” said Samuel.

Now it was true I had no idea where to look for O'Donnell's killer. Perhaps it had been Fideal, or another of the fae, maybe someone who cared for one of the victims, who had somehow discovered O'Donnell was the killer. If it were one of the fae, which at this point was probable, I didn't have a chance of finding out anything. So maybe if Samuel hadn't said “Good,” my response to Uncle Mike would have been different—but probably not.

“I'll make sure and keep you informed when I find out anything interesting,” I told them gently.

“It is too dangerous,” Uncle Mike said, “even for heroes, Mercy. I don't know what relics the killer has, but the things we recovered were lesser items, and I know that Herrick—the forest lord—was a guardian of some greater items.”

“Zee is my friend. I'm not going to leave his life in the hands of people who were willing for him to die for this because it was more convenient for them.”

Uncle Mike's eyes glittered with some strong emotion, but I couldn't tell what it was. “Zee seldom forgives trespasses, Mercy. I have heard he was so angry that you betrayed his trust that he will not speak to you.”

I paid close attention to that “I have heard.” “I have heard” wasn't the same thing as “Zee is angry with you.”

“I've heard the same,” I told him. “But I am Zee's friend anyway. If you'll excuse me, I need to get to bed now. Work starts bright and early.”

I heaved myself out of the chair, tucked the book under my arm, and waved at both of the disapproving males as I limped out of the living room on my sore feet. I closed the bedroom door on them and did my best not to listen to them discussing me behind my back. They weren't very polite. And Samuel, at least, should know me better than to think I could be persuaded to sit back and leave Zee to fae hands.

I called Tim the next morning before I went to work. It was early, but I didn't want to miss him. He'd caught me off guard last night, but I had no business dragging a human into my mess of a love life—even if I liked him that way, which I didn't.

Maybe I couldn't live with Adam—but it looked like I was going to try. If I went to Tim's, it would hurt Adam and give Tim the wrong impression. It had been stupid not to just refuse yesterday…

“Hey, Mercy,” he said as he picked up the phone. “Listen, Fideal called me last night—what did you do to tick him off? Anyway he told me that you came to our meeting to do some investigating into O'Donnell's death. He said you knew the suspect they have in custody.”

There was absolutely no anger in his voice, which pretty much meant that he must have been speaking the truth when he said he wasn't interested in a romantic entanglement. If he'd been interested in me, he'd have felt used.

Good. He wouldn't feel bad when I told him I couldn't go.

“Yes,” I said cautiously. “He's an old friend. I know that he didn't do it, which is more than anyone else investigating can say.” Zee's name was still being withheld from the press, as well as his being a fae. “Since no one else was doing anything, I've been poking around.”

“I suppose we're on the top of the list of suspects,” said Tim matter-of-factly. “O'Donnell wasn't exactly rolling in friends.”

“On top of my list until I attended one of your meetings,” I told him.

He laughed. “Yeah, none of us is exactly murderer material.”

I didn't agree with him—anyone can be driven to kill, given the right cause. Except for Fideal, though, none of them were capable of killing someone the way O'Donnell had been killed.

“I didn't think of it at the time,” he said. “But after Fideal talked to me, I started thinking. That walking stick in your car was O'Donnell's, wasn't it? He'd just bought it off of eBay a couple of days before he died.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it had something to do with his death? I know the police say they don't think that robbery was the motive, but O'Donnell started collecting Celtic stuff a couple of months ago. He claimed it was pretty valuable.”

“Did he say where he got it?” I asked.

“He said he inherited some of it and the rest he picked up on eBay.” He paused. “You know, he said that it was all magical fae stuff, but he couldn't get any of it to do anything. I assumed that he was just being conned…but do you suppose he actually got something that really belonged to the fae and they decided to take it back?”

“I don't know. Did you get a good look at his collection?”

“I recognized that staff,” he said slowly. “But not until Fideal told me that you had a connection with O'Donnell. There was a stone with some writing on it, a few battered pieces of jewelry that might have been silver—or silver plate…If I took a look at his collection, I might be able to tell you what is missing.”

“I think the whole collection is missing. Except for the walking stick.” I saw no need to tell him that the fae had gotten some of it back.

He whistled. “So it was a robbery.”

“That's what it looks like. If I can prove that, then my friend is no longer a good suspect.”

The Gray Lords didn't want any mortals knowing that they had magical artifacts, and I could see their point. The problem was that the Gray Lords could be ruthless in making sure that no word got out. Tim already knew too much.

“Did Fideal know about the collection?” I asked.

Tim considered it. “No. I don't think so. O'Donnell didn't like him, and Fideal never went to O'Donnell's house. I think the only ones he showed it to were Austin and me.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Look, it might be dangerous to know about that collection. If he did manage to find something that belonged to the fae, they wouldn't want that known. And you, of all people, know how ruthless they are. Don't talk to the police or anyone else about it for now.”

“You do think it was a fae who killed him,” Tim said, sounding a little taken aback.

“The collection is gone,” I said. “Maybe one of the fae sent someone after it, or maybe someone else believed O'Donnell's stories and wanted it. I might be able to figure out more, if I knew what he had. Could you make a list of what you remember?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I only saw it the once. How about I do my best to write it down and we can take a look at them tonight?”

I remembered that I'd called him to cancel our dinner.

He didn't give me a chance to say anything. “If I have all day to think about it, I should be able to put together most of it. I'll see Austin at school; we usually do lunch together. He saw O'Donnell's collection, too, and he's a pretty decent artist.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Yes, I know. Good looks, intelligence, and talented, too. He can do anything. If he wasn't so nice, I'd hate him, too.”

“Drawings would be terrific,” I said. I could compare them to the drawings in Tad's friend's book. “Just remember that this is dangerous stuff.”

“I will. See you tonight.”

I hung up the phone.

I ought to call Adam and tell him what I was doing. I dialed the first number and then hung it up. It was easier to get forgiveness than permission—not that I should need permission. Getting a list of what O'Donnell had stolen was a good enough reason that Adam would understand why I went to Tim's house. He might get mad, but he wouldn't be hurt.

And Adam angry was really an awesome sight. Was I a bad person that I enjoyed it?

Laughing to myself, I went to work.

 

Tim opened his own door this time, and the house smelled of garlic, oregano, basil, and fresh-baked bread.

“Hi,” I said. “Sorry I'm late. It took me a while to get the grease out from under my nails.” I'd taken Gabriel and some chains out to the Rabbit after work and towed it home with my Vanagon. It had taken a little longer than I'd expected. “I forgot to ask what to bring so I stopped and picked up some chocolate for dessert.”

He took the paper bag and smiled. “You didn't have to bring anything, but chocolate is—”

I sighed. “A girl thing, I know.”

His smile widened. “I was going to say, it is always good. Come in.”

He led me through the house and into the kitchen, where he had a small bowl of Caesar salad.

“I like your kitchen.” It was the only room that seemed to have a personality. I'd been expecting oak cabinets and granite counter tops and I'd been right about the counters. But the cabinets were cherry, and contrasted nicely with the dark gray counters. Nothing too daring, but at least it wasn't bland.

He looked around with a frown. “Do you think it looks all right? My fiancée—
ex
-fiancée—told me I needed a decorator for the kitchen.”

“It's lovely,” I assured him.

A bell chimed and he opened the oven door and pulled out a small pizza. My oven's timer buzzes like an angry bee.

The smell of the pizza distracted me from my oven-envy.

“Now that smells marvelous,” I told him, closing my eyes to get a better sniff.

A red flush tinted his cheeks at my compliment as he slid it onto a stone round and cut it with expert speed. “If you'll get the salad and follow me, we can eat.”

Obediently I took the wooden bowl of greens and followed him through the house.

“This is the dining room,” he told me unnecessarily, since the big mahogany table gave it away. “But when I eat alone or with just a couple of people, I eat out here.”

“Out here” was a small circular room surrounded by windows. The shape of the room was innovative, but it was outblanded by beige tiles and window treatments. His architect would be sad to know his artistic vision had been swallowed by insipidness.

Tim set the pizza on the small oak table and opened the roman blinds so we had a view of his backyard.

“I keep the curtains down most of the time, or it gets like an oven in here,” he said. “I suppose it will be nice in the winter.”

He'd already set the table, and like the kitchen, his tableware was a surprise. Handmade stoneware plates that didn't match exactly, either in size or color, but somehow complemented each other, and handmade pottery goblets. His was blue with a cracked glaze finish and mine brown and aged-looking. There was a pitcher on the table, but he'd already filled the glasses.

I thought of Adam's house and wondered if he still used his ex-wife's china the way Tim obviously used the stuff his ex-fiancée or maybe the decorator had chosen.

“Sit, sit,” he said, following his own advice. He put a piece of pizza on my plate, but allowed me to get my own salad and a generous helping of some kind of baked pear dish.

I took a cautious sip of the contents of my glass. “What is this?” I asked. It wasn't alcoholic, which surprised me, but something both sweet and tart.

He grinned. “It's a secret. Maybe I'll show you how to make it after dinner.”

I sipped again. “Yes, please.”

“I noticed you're limping.”

I smiled. “I stepped on some glass. Nothing to worry about.”

We both quit talking as we dug into the meal with appetite.

“Tell me about your friend,” he said as he ate. “The one the police think killed O'Donnell.”

“He's a grumpy, fussy old man,” I said. “And I love him.” The pears had some sort of brown sugar glaze. I expected them to be too sweet, but they were tart and melted in my mouth. “Mmm. This is good. Anyway, right now he's ticked off at me for poking my nose into this investigation.” I took a deep drink. “Or else he thinks it's dangerous and I'll quit investigating if he makes me think he's angry with me.” Zee was right, I talked too much. Time to shift the conversation Tim's way. “You know, I'd have thought you would be angry with me when you found out I had an ulterior motive for attending your meeting.”

“I always wanted to be a private investigator,” Tim confided. He'd finished his food and was watching me eat with a pleased expression. “Maybe if I liked O'Donnell, I'd have been angrier.”

“Were you able to come up with a list?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” he lied.

I frowned at him and put down my fork. I'm not as good at smelling a lie as some of the wolves. Maybe I'd misread his response. It seemed like an odd thing to lie about.

“Did you make sure that Austin wouldn't talk about it to anyone?”

He nodded and his smile widened. “Austin won't tell anyone. Finish up your pears, Mercy.”

I had eaten two bites before I realized something was wrong. Maybe if I hadn't been fighting this kind of compulsion with Adam, I wouldn't have noticed anything at all. I took a deep breath and concentrated, but couldn't smell any magic in the air.

“This was terrific,” I told him. “But I'm absolutely full.”

“Take another drink,” he said.

The juice or whatever it was tasted better with every sip—but…I wasn't thirsty. Still, I'd swallowed twice before I thought. It wasn't like me to do anything someone told me to do, let alone everything. Maybe it was the juice.

As soon as the doubt touched my mind, I could feel it. The sweet liquid burned with magic and the goblet throbbed under my hand—so hot that I was surprised my hand wasn't smoking.

I set the old thing down on the table and wished the stupid book had included a picture of Orfino's Bane—the goblet that the fairy had used to rob Roland's knights of their ability to resist her will. I'd bet it would match the rustic goblet beside my plate.

“It was you,” I whispered.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Tell me about your friend. Why do the police think he killed O'Donnell?”

“They found him there,” I told him. “Zee could have run, but he and Uncle Mike were trying to gather all the fae artifacts so the police wouldn't find them.”

“I thought I got all the artifacts,” said Tim. “The bastard must have been taking more things than the ones I sent him for. Probably thought that he might get more money for them somewhere else. The ring isn't as good as the goblet.”

“The ring?”

He showed me the worn silver ring I'd noticed last night.

“And it makes the tongue of the wearer sweeter than honey. It's a politician's ring—or will be,” he said. “But the goblet works better. If I'd made him drink before he went out, he wouldn't have been able to take more. I told him if we took too much, the fae would start looking outside Fairyland for their murderer. He should have listened to me. I suppose your friend is a fae and was going to talk to O'Donnell about the murders.”

“Yes.” I had to answer him, but I could hold back information if I tried. “You hired O'Donnell to get magic artifacts and kill the fae?”

He laughed. “Killing the fae was his thing, Mercy. I just gave him the means to do it.”

“How?”

“I went over to his house to talk to him about the next Bright Future meeting, and he had this ring and a pair of bracers sitting on his bookcase. He offered to sell them to me for fifty bucks.” Tim sneered. “Dumb putz. He had no idea what he had, but I did. I put on the ring and persuaded him to tell me what he'd done. That's when he told me about the real treasure—though he didn't know what he had.”

“The list,” I said.

He licked his finger and pointed at me. “Score a point for the bright girl. Yes, the list. With names. O'Donnell knew where they lived and I knew what they were and what they had. He was scared of the fae, you know. Hated them. So I loaned him back the bracers and a couple of other things and told him how to use them. He fetched artifacts for me—for which I paid him—and he got to kill the fae. It was easier than I'd thought it would be. You'd think a dumbshit like O'Donnell would have a little more trouble with a thousand-year-old Guardian of the Hunt, wouldn't you? The fae have gotten complacent.”