[Kassandra Lyall Preternatural Investigator 03] - Bloody Claws (25 page)

Slowly, I nodded.

"We were to unite our courts," she said, "the Leanan Sidhe and the Daoine. The one truth I will give her is that I did seduce a noblewoman of her court, but the Leanan have never been the murderers she's painted us as."

I still found that hard to believe. I mean, she had attacked me twice, and I'd seen the ruins of the mortal woman she'd left behind.

As if she had heard my thoughts, she said, "I have only killed because I have no other choice, Kassandra. I cannot live this damned existence, and if I must kill to break its hold on me, I will."

Where was Zaphara? What had happened to the woods?

Lenorre? Rosalin? Eris? "I'll follow the Daoine Maithe's orders. If she binds me I won't be able to kill anyone, but I will set things right and fight with every breath in me for our place in the world."

"I've seen that look before and it's usually followed by blood and vengeance."

"It's true, it stirs in my breast," she said. "But I've no desire to be chained to your human witch. When you wake, you will know everything about her that I do and may call upon your human police to find her." She touched my hair, and again, I recoiled. An expression of perplexity and deep thought passed over her features. "We'll meet again, raven witch."

"Wait," I said and she waited.

"Yes?"

"Why bring me here? Why couldn't you have told me these things in front of Zaphara and the others?"

"Because there are two sides to every story," she said, appearing amused. "And I wanted
you
to hear mine."

She touched me and the dark world of Oíche fell away.

CHAPTER 
twenty-seven

rue to her word, I woke. I came back to myself in the woods behind Lenorre's house. Rosalin was with me. "Where's my phone?" I asked. "Where are the others?" Rosalin startled. "They went with Zaphara to look for you. I volunteered to wait here just in case." I nodded, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. They were empty. Rosalin handed me her cell phone. "Here, use mine," she said. I could've sworn I'd grabbed my phone before coming out to the woods, but took the one she offered and dialed Arthur's number.

Avaliah's knowledge filled my head like weeks'worth of experience, as if I'd been the one summoned and not her. Arthur answered on the second ring. "Did it work?"

"Yeah," I said. Sure, why not? It might not have gone quite like we'd wanted it to, but everyone was still standing. I hoped. "Miranda Blevins," I said, "she's staying in a motel room a few blocks away from the police station." I closed my eyes, seeing the sign, room number. I spouted the information off to him.

"She's the one that's been summoning and controlling the fey.

She's your murderer. She killed her husband. You'll find his body somewhere along the northern edge of Kielder Lake, along with the car stashed in a bunch of trees."

It seemed as though Avaliah had seen everything. I knew there were traces of blood left in Miranda's silver Impala. Knew she'd used the car to transport her Great Dane and Landon's body to the lake. I knew that his frame was smaller than hers. For some reason, I'd imagined Miranda to be petite, but in Avaliah's memories, she wasn't.

I knew what she knew, and her knowledge haunted me.

Leana Davey.

I shook my head, not wanting that specific memory.

Avaliah had pleasured her while she killed her, using her magic to make Leana completely compliant and utterly willing as she strangled her, taking her half-fey life force and using it for her own personal gain as she sought to escape the astral realm.

"Got it," he said. "I'm heading out there with Ackerman to find Miranda Blevins and sending another team out to search for the body and the vehicle."

"There's blood in the vehicle," I said. "Any word on pulling that guy in from out of town? You're going to need an expert."

"Leave that to me," Arthur said. "I'll call you after we make the arrest."

He hung up. I closed Ros's phone and handed it back to her.

I heard a twig snap and raised my head.

Lenorre stood several feet away, watching me. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," I said. Why did it feel like I was saying that a lot lately? Then again, considering the possibilities,
fine
wasn't such a bad answer.

"Arthur's going to call me after they make the arrest."

"So I heard."

"Where's Zaphara?"

"Searching with Eris for Avaliah."

"Is Zaphara going to try and kill her?" I asked. "She didn't harm me."

"No, I believe she is more concerned with placing restrictions upon her."

I didn't blame her for that, not one little bit. I felt it in my bones, how easily Avaliah would kill for herself, but not just herself, for her cause, her people. If it was a matter of taking energy to get the hell out of Dodge, she'd do it. And the only reason she'd been able to set foot in our world, to reach beyond Oíche in the first place, was thanks to Miranda Blevins and the victims she'd offered up.

"Her true name allows Zaphara to control her?"

"With the fey, it is so. To know the name of a being is to have power over it. If the being willingly offers their
true
name."

I sighed. "Fuck," I said, "this is going to be a long night."

"So?" Rosalin asked. "What's going on?"

I stood, brushing off my jeans. "I'll explain on the way to the house."

We walked toward the house while I explained, relying on the portion of memories Avaliah had somehow left in my head.

Could she have tricked me? Probably, but I didn't sense she had or why she would have.

She could have killed me.

It was unnerving knowing every little detail of what had transpired between Avaliah and Miranda, hearing Miranda's words of invocation, calling Avaliah with blood sacrifice, the elven blood of her husband, an offering.

Knowing that she'd slaughtered two dogs to summon Avaliah made me grit my teeth in anger.

It was dark and dire magic, a selfish pact, Avaliah's search for freedom, for herself and her people, and Miranda's relentless desire to have a child at any cost. Even if she had to kill her husband and countless others to achieve it.

"You'll make me fertile? You'll give me the child I desire, if I do this for you? If I find the power source you need?"

"Yes,"
Avaliah had said, though in memory, it seemed as though my lips had spoken the words.

*

A couple of hours later I found myself standing in Arthur's office at the police station with Zaphara in tow. If we were going to sit and have a little talk with Miranda Blevins, I actually wanted Zaphara with me. Arthur was sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, and staring at her.

"She's a faerie?"

"She's one of the Daoine Maithe," I said.

Zaphara hadn't been entirely thrilled when I asked her to join me in paying Arthur a visit. She wasn't too keen on being surrounded by human law enforcement. Lenorre had insisted and at that, Zaphara had obliged without further disagreement or protest.

The team Arthur had put together had done their job. They found Miranda in her motel room and made the arrest. The other team had found the car and Landon's body at Kielder Lake. I knew Forensics was there, collecting evidence that would hold up in court. I wondered how much of the story they'd omit for the newspapers. I'd learned from Arthur that Johnas Bardsley, a DNA expert from Kansas University, was flying down to lend a hand.

Arthur didn't nod or really acknowledge that I'd said anything. Instead, he changed the subject. "She knows what we're holding her for," he said, talking about Miranda, "but she continues to deny all of it."

"You've got the evidence," I said. "She can only deny it for so long."

"I'm going to ask you to do something I've never asked you to do," he said.

"What?" My brows went up with the question.

"Get a confession out of her."

I turned to Zaphara, searching her expression, trying to figure out if she'd help or hinder me.

The corners of Zaphara's mouth curled darkly.

"I have an idea, if the detective isn't too squeamish about it."

"What's your idea?"

"I want to bring in a witness," Zaphara said rather evasively.

"Who?" Arthur asked, folding his arms over his desk and leaning forward.

"The fey that Miranda Blevins summoned," I said, looking at Zaphara.

"The thing that fucking attacked us in the interrogation room?" Arthur's mouth practically hung open in disbelief and shock. "Hell no," he said stubbornly. "I'm not inviting that thing to come play on our playground."

"Arthur," I said, "it may be the only way to get a confession out of Miranda. If she knows the fey she was working with betrayed her, she might confess."

"No," he said again, stubbornly shaking his head. "Holbrook will have my ass for that. No."

"She was being manipulated, Detective. The witch had bound the fey with magic," Zaphara said. "I had to return her free will to her by breaking the magic the witch had wielded. She bound her with blood and sacrifice. The fey had no other choice but to act on her master's whims. I assure you, she will not harm anyone in this department."

I had Avaliah's memories and knew Zaphara's words were only partial truth. If Zaphara hadn't bound Avaliah to her, Goddess only knows what she'd do.

Arthur appeared reluctant, but said, "Our medical examiner has evidence that the hands that strangled Leana Davey were larger than human. We have evidence against her."

"You can't arrest her, Arthur, even if she was fully on this plane. She has the power and ability to evade arrest."

"If you do this, it's off the books," he said.

"You want a confession," Zaphara said. "I can give it to you."

"Then do it," Arthur said. Zaphara left the room before I could even ask her how she was going to do it.

Would she offer her blood to call Avaliah? Had she bound Avaliah to her? I didn't understand the mechanics of it and was curious to know, but some things you're really better off not knowing. I had a feeling this was one of those.

Arthur picked a file up off his desk and led the way to the interrogation room.

*

As I remembered in Avaliah's memories, Miranda Blevins was a tall woman. Her blond hair fell in layers to her shoulders, highlights of gold and copper streaked through it. She sat behind the interrogation table, zip cuffs at her wrists and ankles.

I guess some part of me expected to see remorse in her, maybe guilt, shame, some human emotion, but the only emotion I found written on her features was anger. Anger flashed in her eyes. I knew without asking that she was angry because she was cuffed and bound and about to be subjected to another line of questioning. Such was a part of the job description: question until they break.

Getting a suspect to snap in their fury of being caught worked just as well as guilt. Sometimes, it worked even better. You just had to hope they didn't manage to kill you in the process.

Miranda Blevins hid behind the mask of her anger. The look she gave us when we entered was boiling.

Apparently, someone had a bit of
sociopathic bitch
mixed into her coffee.

I followed Arthur's lead, sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the table. Arthur didn't bother introducing me. He opened the manila folder he'd carried in and slid pictures out across the table.

Miranda Blevins didn't bother looking at them. She fixed her seething gaze on him.

I made a mental note to myself. Miranda didn't look down at the photographs on the table because she didn't want to face what she'd done. It wasn't that she didn't know what she'd done was wrong; it was that she was unwilling to face it overall. She was in a deep state of denial, refusing to acknowledge her trespasses.

"I'm sure you remember Leana Davey," Arthur said. "She belonged to a group you and your husband had once attended. We have a witness to confirm that they've seen you before and that you had ties to her."

He slid the photograph of Leana Davey's lifeless face toward Miranda, who continued to refuse to look at it.

"I believe this is your Great Dane," Arthur continued, and I looked down at the next photograph he placed on the table. I hadn't known they'd found the dog. As soon as my mind made sense of the picture, I turned away. The dog was lying in straw-like grass, its stomach slit wide open, everything falling out and pooling beside it.

Arthur dropped the folder, ignoring the contents that spilled out, acting as if he'd given up. "We know everything," he said. "The dogs you sacrificed, the murder of your husband, the ritual, the symbol…We know everything, Mrs. Blevins. We know what it means."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, and the sound of her voice was oddly small and childlike.

"I'm a practicing witch and a preternatural investigator, Mrs. Blevins, and yes, you do know what we're talking about. The eight-pointed star," I said, gesturing for Arthur to find the photograph and hand it to me. I took it up and continued, "The alchemical symbol for sulfur, used when summoning darker entities. Ceres, the mother, a representation of yourself, the full moon, your desire for fertility. I know everything, Miranda. You might as well give it up."

"No," she said, rather defiant. "You don't know everything, obviously."

"I know how you branded Leana Davey," I said, remembering the coal igniting between my hands. "How you marked her for the Sidhe, how you offered up a human life in exchange for the life you'd hoped to gain in your womb. A small gift of magic," I said. "You're a halfling, as was your husband, Landon. Fey and elven. I know that the elven blood in his body made him a richer, more substantial sacrifice for the fey. What I don't know is, did he offer his life willingly, Miranda, or did you rape him of it? The police have found the ritual dagger you tossed into the lake. They might not find traces of your DNA on it, but I am confident the blood you missed in the backseat of the car, near the passenger's side door, will be very beneficial in tying you to this murder."

Miranda didn't say anything. She didn't need to. I gauged her reaction, the twitch of muscle in her left arm, the flicker of an eyelid.

I was hitting too close to home.

Good.

Every interrogator has a style and mine tends to be a bit subtle before I switch gears and play the game of
In Your Face
.

I was steadily shifting gears, as I'd once done with Carver, trying to reach into his darkness to get a confession from him, just like I did with Miranda Blevins.

"How did it feel, Miranda, watching your husband bleed to death from the wound you'd created? It was slow, wasn't it? Slower than you ever dreamed it would be. Did you catch him by surprise? Did he plead with you to stop? Did you consider it? Or did the rush of power thrill you?"