Richelle Mead Dark Swan Bundle: Storm Born, Thorn Queen, Iron Crowned & Shadow Heir (82 page)

“Hi, Eugenie.” Lara appeared in the kitchen beside him, her hair as messed up as his. Her clothes—including Tim’s “West Coast Powwow 2002” T-shirt—showed signs of hasty assembly. She was blushing, but her embarrassment turned to surprise as she eyed my appearance. She still wasn’t used to seeing me in real life. “Rough day?”

“Days,” I said.

“Oh … I don’t suppose … I don’t suppose you’d be interested in hearing about some job offers?” It was the first time she’d been hesitant to bring up work. I think she was finally starting to understand the grueling nature of my life and that back-to-back jobs weren’t as easy as checking items off a list.

“Not really. Not for a few days.”

“A few—” She bit off her protest and meekly nodded.

I walked around them, heading for my room. “I’ve got things to do,” I called back to them. “So you can go back to … whatever it is you were doing.”

Truthfully, I didn’t want to do the task hanging before me. I wanted to find whatever baked goods Tim had squirreled away in the kitchen and then take that nap I’d longed for at Kiyo’s. But, no. I’d made a promise to Deanna, one I had to honor, no matter how messed up the rest of my life was. So, after cleaning up and changing, I sat on the edge of my bed and picked up my cell phone. I stared at it for a long time, running my fingers
along its edges as I procrastinated. Finally, I dialed a memorized number and waited.

There was a good chance that no one would answer. I was calling my mom’s cell phone, though, which gave me better odds than if I’d called her house number. I knew Roland had asked her to keep her distance from me, but after seeing me at the hospital, my mom would likely resist any directives like that—if only out of fear that I’d lost a limb or something.

“Hello?”

My breath caught, and I almost couldn’t speak. Just that one word … the sound of her voice. It sent a flood of emotions through me, and I forced myself to remember my mission here.

“Mom?”

“Genie? Are you okay?” she asked promptly. As suspected, she feared limb loss.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. How are you?”

“Fine. Worried about you—like always.”

“I’m okay,” I said. “Really. But I need … I, um, need to talk to Roland.”

Long silence.

“Eugenie—”

“I know, I know. But I need his help with something. It won’t take long. Just one question. Please.”

She sighed. “Oh, baby. I wish I could, but he’s made it clear … You know how he feels about everything….”

“It’s a human thing,” I said, only partially lying. “A job in this world. Please, Mom. Just ask him if he’ll talk to me for a minute?”

More silence, then another sigh. “Hang on.”

I waited, nervously twisting the fabric of my bed’s duvet. What would happen? The two most likely options were that either my mom would relay his refusal or they would simply hang up on me. But, no. It was Roland’s voice I heard next.

“Yes?” Cold. Wary.

After everything that had just happened to me in the Otherworld, hearing his voice nearly broke me. I wanted to sob and beg him to forgive me. Beg him to love me again. My mom had undoubtedly done a fair share of that already, though. She’d clearly had no luck. I had no reason to believe I’d fare any better, so I made my tone match his as I swallowed back tears. Just business here.

“I need a referral,” I said brusquely. “To a private investigator. One who isn’t going to be freaked out by the stuff we deal with. I figured you must know someone.”

“You need a P.I. to deal with some monster?” he asked harshly.

“No, no. It actually should be pretty mundane—all human stuff. But considering what we do … Well, I thought I should have someone prepared in case things get weird.” I didn’t have any reason for Deanna to interact directly with a P.I.—or for me even to mention her—but I wanted to be safe.

“Well,” said Roland. “Let’s make it clear: ‘we’ don’t do the same kinds of things.”

With great effort, I bit off the retorts that wanted to burst out of me. I wanted to explain for the hundredth time that I’d never expected—or
wanted—to reach this level of involvement in the Otherworld. Again, I opted for directness.

“Please, Roland,” I said simply. “This is for a human family. Just forget about me for a minute.”

When he didn’t respond, I thought for sure the anticipated hang-up would come. “Enrique Valdez,” he said at last. “You should be able to look up his number. I’ll call too and give him a heads-up.”

“Oh, Roland. Thank you so—”

Click.

There it was. I pulled the phone away and held it in front of me again, staring at it as though it were to blame for all my problems. A few moments later, I tossed it on the floor. Anger surged through me, quickly fading into sadness. My eyes fell on my travel pack in the corner, the pack containing the Iron Crown. That—and all it represented—was the source of my problems.

I fell back onto my bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on my ceiling. Roland, Dorian … I was losing the men in my life. Why, why had Dorian done that? Why had he let me fall in love with him, only to play me? Was that what love meant to him? Was that how all his relationships worked? He’d hurt me, hurt me so terribly, and the petty, dark voice that lived inside me said that if sleeping with Kiyo had hurt Dorian in return, it was no more than he deserved.

Kiyo.

Kiyo was all I had left now, and I didn’t know if I could trust him either. Before I could ruminate very much on that particular woe, a cold presence
filled the room. I sat up quickly, putting aside all my self-pity as Volusian materialized before me.

“Mistress,” he said.

“Volusian,” I replied. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve come with a message, as you requested.” As always, his words were emotionless, yet he somehow conveyed the feeling that he resented every one of them. “Queen Katrice has responded to your news of the Iron Crown.”

That was fast, even for the Otherworld. “And?”

“And, she has agreed to a temporary truce.”

I shot up from the bed. “You have got to be kidding.”

Volusian didn’t respond. I’d long since learned that any comment I made about him joking or kidding was treated rhetorically. Volusian did not joke or kid.

“It worked,” I murmured, more to myself than him. “I can’t believe it. Dorian was right.”

“Indeed. But I assume my mistress will not resume carnal relations with him.”

I made a face. If there was anyone I hated discussing my sex life with more than Jasmine, it was Volusian. “No. It doesn’t matter if he was right. He lied to me to make it happen. He should have told me the whole story. He used half-truth means to achieve his ends.”

Volusian nodded solemnly. “I told you that long ago, that the Oak King’s own agenda will always come first. As will the kitsune’s. But, unsurprisingly, my mistress chooses to ignore the only sound advice given to her and instead listens to those
who use affection for their own purposes.” The word ‘affection’ was spoken with particular venom.

“Kiyo and Dorian don’t—Look. Stay out of this, okay? I never asked for your ‘sound’ advice. Get back to Katrice. How does this truce work exactly?”

“Hostilities will cease until all parties are able to discuss the current situation. How said discussion proceeds will be settled beforehand by messengers. You and the Oak King may meet with her directly, or you may have representatives do the negotiating.”

I tried to picture myself in a room with Dorian and Katrice. Lovely. “And where would this happen? I’m sure as hell not going to the Rowan Land.”

“That too will be negotiated during this truce,” he said. “A neutral kingdom is the most likely choice. Shaya would like to discuss that with you at your earliest convenience.”

“I’m sure she would. Go back and tell her I trust her to set up whatever arrangements need to be made. If I have to go myself … well, then I go. I’ll check in with her soon, but come back if anything happens in the meantime.” Volusian waited, and I gestured him away. “Go.”

He vanished, and I sank onto my bed. My eyes fell on the concealed Iron Crown once again, and I dared to wonder if maybe some good had come out of this whole mess.

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I said we should go out on a date.”

It took me a few days to get in to see Enrique Valdez, and Kiyo had decided to accompany me. While waiting for my appointment, I’d checked in once with the Thorn Land, only to find the whole experience frustrating. Though no one openly said it—well, except for Jasmine—they all thought me breaking up with Dorian was the worst idea ever. I also learned from Shaya that arrangements for a war meeting were getting bogged down. Dorian insisted all three monarchs meet in person. Katrice wanted to send her nephew. There was also the matter of which kingdom would host because several others wanted to, most likely in the hopes of getting in good with one or all of us. I told Shaya I didn’t care about the details and to simply do whatever it took to finish this war quickly.

When Kiyo and I reached Enrique’s address, we found it was in a small, sad-looking office building in one of the more rundown areas of downtown
Tucson. I eyed it askance as we stood outside and waited for him to buzz us up.

“I don’t get why it took us three days to get in,” I said. “It doesn’t really seem like he’s got that much business.”

The door buzzed, and Kiyo opened it. “Maybe it’s a cover,” he said. We walked up to the second floor, where Enrique’s office was located. “Maybe he wants to hide how successful he is.”

“That’s ridiculous—”

I stopped when the office door opened before we knocked. Even with Enrique standing in the doorway, I could see beautiful, expensive furnishings.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered, entering at Enrique’s gesture.

He was shorter than me, with deeply tanned skin and black hair starting to gray. I put him somewhere in his mid to late forties. His attire didn’t quite match the office’s opulence. In fact, it looked like stereotypical P.I. clothing from some old detective noir film, complete with a fedora.

“Markham’s girl, huh?” he asked, voice laced with a faint Spanish accent. His eyes fell on Kiyo. “And a bodyguard?”

“A friend,” I said sharply. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Right.” Enrique didn’t sound like he believed that. He pointed us to some plush leather chairs while he sat in an even bigger one across from us. A huge cherry desk was situated between us. It gleamed deep red in the late afternoon light and didn’t look like the kind of thing you’d find at IKEA.

I stared around at the rest of the office, still
amazed at how it contrasted with the exterior. Books—ranging widely from
Moby Dick
to Arizona state law—lined shelves that matched the desk, and small pieces of art—paintings, statues, et cetera—adorned the room.

“So,” began Enrique. “What’s his name, and why do you think he’s cheating on you?”

“I—huh?” I jerked my head from a sculpture that looked like some Mayan god and stared at Enrique in astonishment. “What are you talking about? Is that what Roland told you?”

“No, he didn’t tell me anything. I just figured that’s why you were here. That’s usually what women come in for.”

Kiyo made a small sound beside me that I think was a laugh. “That’s ridiculous,” I exclaimed, unsure if I should be offended or not. “I need you to investigate a murder.”

Enrique arched an eyebrow. “That’s what the police are for.”

“They already investigated it. And actually, they declared it a suicide.”

“And you need me because …?”

“Because I don’t think it was,” I said. “I think it was a murder and that the victim’s family might be in danger.”

Enrique made no attempt to hide his skepticism. “Do you have any evidence to support this … theory?”

I took a deep breath, hoping Roland had been right about this guy. “The victim’s, um, ghost said she didn’t kill herself.”

“Her ghost,” he repeated. As though on cue,
Deanna materialized in the room, though Enrique couldn’t see her. Kiyo and I could with our Otherworldly senses, but neither of us gave any indication of her arrival.

I nodded. “Roland said you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Enrique. “I know about that hocus pocus he deals with. I’m also guessing suicide might be so traumatic that afterward, maybe a ghost blocked out what she actually did.”

“That’s not true!” exclaimed Deanna.

I supposed it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but I’d explore all other options first. “I don’t think that’s the case. I think she really was murdered. If that’s true, we need to make sure no one else in her family gets hurt.”

“If she was murdered,” countered Enrique, “then statistics say someone in her family probably did it.”

“That’s not true either!”

I ignored Deanna’s second outburst and stayed fixed on Enrique. “Well, one way or another, I need to know.”

He leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk and crossing his arms behind his head. If he’d called me ‘dame,’ I wouldn’t have been surprised. “The police take all this into consideration, you know. What makes you think I’d find something they haven’t?”

“I thought guys like you were smarter than the police,” said Kiyo. “Figured you had connections and channels above the law. That you didn’t play by the same rules.”

“That’s true,” said Enrique, seeming pleased at the compliment. I swore, he was also taking Kiyo more seriously than me. “I can look into it, I suppose. But it’s not like I’ll do it for free, just because you’re cute.” That was directed back at me.

I repressed a scowl. “I didn’t expect you to. I can pay.”

He considered this and finally gave a nod, straightening back up in his chair. “Okay. Tell me what you know, and I’ll get to it when I can.”

“What!” cried Deanna.

“This is kind of time sensitive,” I said. Mostly because I wasn’t sure how much more of Deanna I could handle.

Enrique gestured to a stack of folders on a table. “So are these. I’m drowning in paperwork. Can’t keep half of these straight.”

“We’ll pay for you to expedite it,” said Kiyo.

I shot him a look of astonishment, not thrilled that he’d speak for me—especially considering my income was lower than it used to be. Nonetheless, it got Enrique’s attention. “Expediting it is, then.”

I gave him all the details I’d recently learned from Deanna, and to his credit, Enrique diligently wrote them all down and asked pertinent questions that reaffirmed my faith in his legitimacy. The price he named didn’t cheer me up as much, but there was nothing to be done for it.

When Kiyo and I finally got up to leave, I couldn’t resist asking the obvious. “You seem to be doing pretty well … so why’s your office in a dump like this?”

Enrique didn’t look offended so much as scornful that I’d ask such a ridiculous question. “Do you know how much office rent is lately? I’m saving tons of money.”

“Maybe you should put that surplus toward a secretary instead of statues,” I pointed out, nodding toward the tower of folders.

“I don’t trust anyone,” he said bluntly. “Especially when ghost clients show up.” He opened the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Charming,” I said, once Kiyo and I were on the road again. “The only thing I’m convinced that guy can do is help in the regression of women’s rights.”

Kiyo tried to hide a smile and failed. “He was right about you being cute, though. And I don’t know … something tells me that despite the attitude, he’s pretty competent. Crappy building aside, he couldn’t afford that office if he wasn’t achieving results. Besides, Roland wouldn’t recommend anyone incompetent.”

“Unless he was trying to sabotage me.”

Kiyo’s smile faded. “Do you really think he’d do that to you?”

I stared out the passenger seat window. “No. He wouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry, you know. I really am. About Roland.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. My mood plummeted each time Roland’s name came up.

“Okay, then. You want to salvage this ‘date’ and get some lunch?”

I didn’t have faith in the change of subject. I didn’t think anything could really distract me,
certainly not the crappy Mexican restaurant Kiyo took us to.

“Are you serious?” I asked. Felipe’s Fiestaland was the cheesiest restaurant in town, figuratively speaking. In a place like Tucson, where you could get amazingly authentic Southwestern cuisine, Felipe’s was for tourists and suburbanites who didn’t know any better.

“Are you saying a margarita wouldn’t do you good?” he asked, getting out of the car.

“I would never say that. But there are better places with better margaritas.”

“They still use tequila in theirs. Isn’t that what really matters?”

“Fair point.”

We were greeted by a hostess who sounded like she’d taken one semester of Spanish in high school. Piñatas hung from the ceiling, and bad mariachi music blasted from speakers. I scanned the drink menu as soon as we sat down and was ready when the waiter came by.

“I’ll have your Double Platinum Extra Premium Margarita,” I told him.

“Grande
or super
grande?”
asked the waiter.

“Super.”

Kiyo looked impressed. “I’ll have the same.” When we were alone, he asked, “What is that exactly?”

I propped an elbow on the table, resting my chin on my palm. “I’m not sure, but it sounded like it had the most alcohol in it. Places like this tend to drown their drinks in mixers.”

“Spoken like a pro.”

“Stating the obvious. You and I both know Roza’s has the best margaritas.”

Kiyo smiled at that, flashing me a warm and knowing look. I had a feeling he was thinking about a memory that had come to me too, back from when we’d dated. We’d gone out to Roza’s—which really did have the best margaritas in town—and gotten so drunk that neither of us could drive home. So, we’d used the car for the only thing we could: sex. Twice.

The drinks arrived and were about the size of fishbowls. They were also about half-mixer, as suspected, but at least that still left a reasonable quantity of alcohol. I drank mine down quickly as we waited for our food. Alcohol numbed my shamanic powers a little bit and sometimes let me forget my problems. Not so much today.

“Do you think Enrique might be right?” I asked. “That Deanna did commit suicide and blocked it out?” The ghost had left us once we departed from the office.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if she’d believe it, even if he turned up a film or something.”

I grimaced and downed more of the drink. “I hope not. It’s nothing I’d want to watch. I’m tired of bloodshed.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And no matter what I said before … and how upset I was when this war started … well, I have to admit. You’ve handled it as best you could. Word gets around. I know you’ve made some tactical moves that minimized casualties—and not just for your own people.”

“‘Tactical.’ ‘Casualties.’” I shook my head, eyeing
my low margarita. “Those are terms I never thought I’d use. And really, I don’t have much to do with that planning. Rurik does.”

“But you give the okay,” Kiyo pointed out. “Not many rulers would. Most would do whatever it took to crush their enemies quickly.”

“I’ve certainly wanted to.” Dorian had as well, and the few disagreements we’d had during our wartime partnership had been over civilian collateral damage. “Can we talk about something not Otherworldly? And not about suicide?”

“Sure.” Our waiter suddenly appeared with the plate of Mile High
Muy Bueno
Nachos we’d ordered. Kiyo flashed him a grin. “She’ll have another margarita. Also, it’s her birthday.”

I shot Kiyo a look of horror as the waiter scurried off. “Are you out of your mind? You don’t say something like that in a place like this!”

But it was too late. Because in a matter of minutes, the entire waitstaff of Felipe’s Fiestaland had surrounded our table. Someone put a sombrero on my head and a candlelit piece of flan in front of me. The whole group then launched into an out-of-tune rendition of
“Cumpleaños Feliz,”
set to equally bad out-of-rhythm clapping. I stared at Kiyo the whole time and mouthed
I will kill you.
It only made his smile grow.

“You don’t look a day older,” he told me, once the mob had dispersed.

“I can’t believe you did that.” I jerked off the sombrero and dove into the new margarita. “Do you know how humiliating that is?”

“Hey, it got your mind off everything else, didn’t it? Plus, check it out. Free flan.”

I blew out the candle and hesitantly poked the gelatinous mass below it. “It looks like it’s been sitting around a while.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, dragging the plate over to his side of the table. “With all the preservatives in it, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I’m going to get you back for this,” I warned, narrowing my eyes.

The look he gave me was knowing. “I hope so,” he said. “I certainly hope so.”

I can only blame the margaritas for what happened next, because as soon as we’d paid our bill and were back in the car, we attacked each other.

“See?” he said, trying to pull my shirt over my head. “Who needs Roza’s?”

“It was dark out then,” I reminded him, my own hands fumbling for his pants.

“We’re in the back of the lot,” he argued. “And the sun’s going down.”

He had a point, and when he brought one of my nipples to his mouth, I kind of let the subject drop. We really were out of sight, and there were more important matters to take care of. We reclined and pushed the seat back as far as it would go, then finally managed to get each other’s jeans off. I brought my hips down, taking him into me.

“See?” I gasped. “You’re sorry now.”

“Very,” he managed to say.

Our awkward positioning kept my breasts pretty close to his face, and he was taking advantage of it with his hands and mouth. As for me, I was just
thrilled at the feel of being on top of him. After always playing submissive with Dorian, I suddenly exalted in this sense of power—especially since Kiyo had definitely been the one in control the last time we had sex. Now, it was all me, and I took a fair amount of satisfaction in taunting him, alternately increasing the speed of my movement and then slowing down when he got close to coming.

“Eugenie,” he begged at last. “Enough. Please … do it….”

I leaned toward him like I might kiss him—and then pulled back when his lips sought mine. With a grin, I straightened up as much as I could and rode him hard, finally letting him have the release he’d begged for. His body bucked up as he came, his hands holding tightly to my hips as though I might leave before he finished.