Grave Visions Page 15

  But it wasn’t like I had time to cross my arms over my chest and pout. John didn’t know I was fae, and with the current strife in our relationship, I wasn’t feeling particularly willing to share. That also meant he didn’t know my precarious position of lacking any tie to Faerie or the urgent reason I had to solve this case and find the alchemist.

  I didn’t bother forcing a smile, but I did lean back slightly in my chair, trying to look relaxed. And as if I wasn’t going anywhere. “So have the narcotics guys interviewed any of the other kids from the dance? Did they find anyone else who saw the dealer?”

  “I told you. That case was handed off to the FIB,” he said, but his eyes darted to his half-full coffee cup as he spoke.

  “Yeah, you guys handed off the murder case,” I said, putting my hands on the arms of the chair and leaning in toward him. “But you can’t tell me you guys aren’t looking into the drug connection.”

  He huffed, still not meeting my eyes. Which was pretty much a yes.

  “So the kids? Surely Bruce wasn’t the only one approached with the drug.” Though I hoped that if anyone else had accepted, that they hadn’t used it and had heeded the warnings about the danger. “Did you get more information on the dealer?”

  John finally looked up, his blue eyes were tired, the wrinkles around them deeper than I remembered. I’d never thought about it before, but John was probably getting close to retirement age, and it was starting to show. He ran a hand over his bald spot before letting his fist fall limply to the top of his desk.

  “Narcotics investigations aren’t as . . . straightforward as murder investigations. In murder you examine the body, the scene, and gather what information you can. Then you talk to the friends, the family. You find out who wanted to kill the person, who had motive and opportunity. And hopefully, at the end of the day, you get a confession or have enough evidence to nail the suspect in a trial.”

  He picked up the file he’d been studying before I entered. He tapped the edge of it against his desk, not opening it. “Narcotics tends toward long-term investigations. You bust someone low on the pole, usually a user. You get them to give you information on their dealer. Maybe you turn them, or maybe you use an undercover to do some buys and then you bust the street dealer, but these are still the little guys. They might be carrying three hundred dollars’ worth of product on them at any time. You try to work them back to their source. This guy’s the real dealer. If you’re lucky, he’s the one cooking the drugs, but usually, he’s still a middle man. Oh, he might be the local ‘drug lord’ but he’s getting the drugs shipped in from somewhere else—especially if it’s being run by a gang. Anyway, getting to him isn’t easy. You need probable cause for a warrant and you want to bust him when he has a large stash you can put him away with. It takes surveillance, maybe even getting a man inside, and once you do have the warrant, a raid. You’re talking weeks, months, sometimes even years of police work to get that far, and even then, you don’t necessarily know where the drugs are coming from.” He frowned at the file.

  I chewed at my bottom lip. I didn’t doubt anything he was telling me, but I didn’t have that kind of time to wait on the cops, and I certainly didn’t have the resources or knowledge to do it on my own. “So how far have your guys gotten?”

  “Alex, we found out about all this yesterday. We haven’t scratched the surface. We’ve got a rough sketch of the dealer based on the shade’s description, and we’ve tracked down and questioned a couple of kids who were at the dance, but no one is saying anything.”

  I sighed and pushed out of the chair. “I suppose if I ask if there is anything I can do to help . . . ?”

  “That I’ll tell you to go home.” He gave me a look that said it wasn’t a hypothetical suggestion.

  I nodded and grabbed my purse, but I paused at the door. “John, it’s important I find this guy. Like life-and-death important. Just . . . just give me a call if you can.”

  I didn’t stay and press him. It wouldn’t help, I knew that. Without waiting for him to sputter something about police business or ongoing cases, I left.

  • • •

  By the time I reached my house, I was more than a little discouraged. I’d heard nothing from the satyr at the Bloom, which, as it was fairly early in the day, was not surprising, but I realized I didn’t even know when he’d be bartending next. For all I knew he was required to work only once or twice a week. I hadn’t heard from Falin either. I’d taken a taxi back to yesterday’s crime scene to retrieve my car, and I was sure he’d be at my place by the time I drove home, but when I pulled up to the house, the driveway was empty.

  But my porch wasn’t empty.

  I stopped, my foot frozen above the bottom step leading to my rented room. A tall figure stooped in front of my door, something long and wrapped in black paper in his arms. Whatever the object was, I couldn’t tell if he’d been in the process of picking it up or putting it down when I’d mounted the steps, but he straightened when he heard me, turning to face the stairs.

  Ryese grinned down at me from the landing in front of my door. The bright sunlight caught in his hair, making it glisten like crystal refracting light and spilling prisms of color around his face. The effect was blinding. I frowned at him and briefly considered turning and getting back in my car, but I wasn’t going to be driven away from my own home. Not more than I already had been, anyway.

  I took the stairs at a slow, but deliberate pace. While I didn’t relish seeing the fae, and I was more than a little unsure about what his presence at my home meant, I didn’t want him to see me frightened. Still, it took everything I had not to draw my dagger as I climbed the last few steps.

  “Lexi, dearest,” he said, opening his arms as if he’d sweep me into an embrace.

  I stopped, out of arm’s reach, and glanced at what he carried. The long, paper-wrapped object turned out to be the largest bouquet of roses I’d ever seen. Black roses at that, mixed with sprigs of delicate baby’s breath. It was a striking contrast.

  “What’s that?” I nodded at the roses.

  Ryese glanced down as if he’d forgotten about the flowers. Then he shot me a sheepish smile. No, not sheepish, guilty.

  “This? Nothing. I—” He swung the bouquet over the porch rail as if he intended to drop it.

  I stepped forward and grabbed the paper-wrapped roses. Something about the whole situation was off. Not like a trap, though if that thought had entered my mind a moment earlier I probably would have hesitated long enough for him to toss the bundle, but the resounding thought in my head was that black really wasn’t Ryese’s color. He tended to deck himself out in so much white it was blinding. And the queen favored things dusted in ice or snow.

  Ryese scowled as I rescued the roses, but quickly covered the expression with a blatantly insincere smile. “Shall we linger in doorways like a couple of peasants?” he asked, gesturing toward my door.

  I ignored him and fished the card from among the roses.

  FOR MY LOVELY BETROTHED.

  There was no signature, but with that message, it didn’t really need one. Dugan had been here.

  I tucked the card back into the bouquet, careful to keep my expression schooled to neutral. Now that I knew for certain where it had come from, I couldn’t care less if the roses ended up tossed in the trash—or over the rail—but Ryese was watching, his expression dark, and I didn’t want to show my hand. I had no doubt he’d report back to the Winter Queen on whatever I did. He may or may not know who had sent the roses, but I doubted he’d missed the word “betrothed” on the card.

  So, I kept my features neutral as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Then I had a moment of uncertainty. Theoretically I should put the roses in a vase of water or something. But I didn’t own a vase. I wasn’t really a flowers kind of girl. I settled for placing the still-wrapped bouquet on the counter before turning back to Ryese, who, no real su
rprise, had followed me in.

  “What do you want?”

  “Lexi, Lexi, Lexi, is that any way to treat your beloved?”

  I cocked an eyebrow—I’d been practicing and I was damn good at it now. He was most certainly not my beloved. Hell, he wasn’t even my “beliked.”

  When I just crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him, he coughed quietly and turned away. His attention settled on PC, who normally greeted my guests, but was standing a careful distance away from Ryese, sniffing. Smart dog.

  “That is one ugly mutt,” Ryese said, shaking his head.

  My fists clenched, heat lifting to my face. “You’re not endearing yourself here.”

  He glanced up and shot me a quick smile. I never realized a smile could look quite so hateful.

  “Dearest Lexi, I am simply here to see how you are doing on your little case. I thought you might need some help, especially since the knight is otherwise engaged.”

  I opened my mouth to turn him away and then closed it. I did need help. But could I trust anything that came from him? Well, I guess he wasn’t really any less trustworthy than Falin: both would be reporting back to the queen. But it was certainly a less appealing offer.

  And speaking of Falin . . . “What do you mean ‘otherwise engaged’?”

  His smile spread, lips parting in a gleefully malicious grin. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t know. He’s been dueling.”

  He said it casually, turning as he spoke and wandering around my small space.

  “Dueling?”

  He stopped in front of my dresser, leaning in to examine the pictures surrounding the edges of my mirror.

  “Oh yes. Between the recent, high-profile fae-related crimes in winter court territory and the . . . rumors. Well, let’s just say some aren’t terribly confident in my aunt currently. Which means she’s received several challenges for her throne. Of course, all challengers have to duel her knight first, so he’s rather busy.”

  The blood drained from my face. While I wasn’t a fan of the queen and didn’t care if she lost her throne, Falin fighting everyone lining up to challenge her didn’t sound good. He was a spectacular fighter, but he wasn’t invincible and each challenger would be coming to him fresh while he’d still be recovering from the previous.

  Ryese turned, his eyes twinkling as he took in my expression. “So, you see, there is a lot of interest in your progress. What have you learned?”

  If I’d had something—anything—I’d have told him then. But I didn’t know anything. I was floundering.

  I moved like a sleepwalker across my room and sank onto the edge of my bed. Damn this alchemist. How the hell was I going to find him? And now Falin was in the winter court fighting the queen’s duels.

  “Going that well?” Ryese asked as he leaned against the dresser. Why the hell did he always smile so much? He didn’t mean the smiles. Wasn’t that a kind of lie?

  I didn’t stand, but I forced myself straighter, trying not to look like I was shrinking in on myself, even though that was how I felt. “The alchemist is making a drug. I don’t know why. It’s killing mortals with nightmares or hallucinations. I’m working on a lead tracking down a hobgoblin who might be involved.”

  Ryese tapped his chin with one long finger. “A hobgoblin you say? Anything else?”

  I cast around for any other strands I had to follow, but it was too early in the investigation. I just didn’t have anything.

  After my silence stretched, Ryese nodded. “Well, then, I think I will return to court to pass on this rather distressing news. You are, of course, welcome to join me.”

  I shook my head. I had even less idea of how to go about tracking down the alchemist in Faerie than I did here in a realm where I at least understood the rules. I’d likely have to take my investigation there eventually, but right now I’d likely just end up dead or trapped if I started blindly poking about Faerie. For now I’d keep looking for the Glitter connection here.

  Ryese shrugged, taking my silence for refusal. “If you change your mind . . .”

  My phone rang, cutting him off as Annabella Lwin proclaimed her want for candy. Holly’s ringtone.

  I shooed Ryese toward the door as I dug the phone out of my purse and answered. From the background roar of wind it was obvious wherever Holly was calling from, she was driving.

  “You going to be ready in about an hour?”

  Ready? I glanced at the clock. More time had passed than I thought. I had to get ready for the wedding. Hair and makeup we’d all work on together, but— “Shoes. I don’t have shoes for the wedding yet.”

  “Seriously? Alex, okay, I’m turning around. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  I hastily agreed before hanging up. I started toward the closet before realizing Ryese still hovered by my front door.

  “Out,” I said, pointing at the door.

  He lifted his hands as if surrendering, but made no move to leave. “Big day?”

  I considered saying yes and leaving it at that, but if he’d read Dugan’s card he would already be reporting back that I was theoretically betrothed. He likely guessed it was to someone in another court. If the queen thought my marriage into a rival court was imminent . . . who knew what she might do.

  “I’m a bridesmaid. Now leave so I can get ready.”

  Ryese pursed his lips, and for a moment I thought he was going to refuse to get out of my house. Then he gave me an elaborate—and dare I say, mocking—bow complete with intricate hand flourish, before ducking out the door.

  There’d been no other car in the driveway, so I wasn’t sure how he’d get back to the court, but I hoped he’d be off my porch and out of my yard before Holly arrived. In the meantime, I gathered the pathetic collection of makeup I owned, the hairpiece Tamara had given me as a bridesmaid gift, and the dress. Then I went on a mad search for panty hose.

  Chapter 15

  I channeled a small string of magic into the flower arrangement in front of me, activating the charm held within. The spray of chrysanthemums glimmered faintly, like a small ember had taken hold of each scarlet petal. Then I stepped back, glancing around the gazebo.

  “I think that’s all of them,” I said as Holly straightened, moving away from a similar display of shimmering orange mums.

  She nodded and glanced around, checking our work. Every flower in the quaint wooden structure glimmered from within. The effect was faint now with the sun still a deep orange hanging low in the sky, but once dusk hit, the glow would give the gazebo a romantically dreamy look as Tamara and Ethan exchanged their vows. Which was, of course, the point, and why Tamara had spent the last two days charming all the flowers. We may have planned this wedding in a month, but that didn’t mean she was willing to skimp on her fairy tale.

  “Looks like we finished just in time,” Holly said, nodding toward the front of the gazebo.

  A long red carpet ran down the wooden steps into the grass beyond. White folding chairs were set up on either side of the carpet in rows of five across. A small cluster of people were gathered behind the last row—the first wedding guests. I didn’t recognize them, so I guessed they must have been Ethan’s family or friends.

  Tamara’s younger brother, who was acting as an usher for the wedding, was already striding across the grass so I felt no pressure to go greet them. I gave the decorations one last glance. Everything looked fabulous. I’d have liked to take credit for that, but Holly and I had mostly just activated the charms. Tamara, her sister, and her mom had done all the actual arranging.

  “We should get back to the tent,” I said, heading down the short stairs, but neither Holly nor I hurried.

  Both the bride and the groom had small pagoda-style tents so that the bridal party could get ready on-site. The tents were on opposite sides of the park so Ethan wouldn’t accidentally see his bride before her procession, and all the bridesmaids we
re supposed to be in the tent helping the bride. Tamara was one of my best friends, but I was seriously considering stealing off to the groom’s tent. After all, while us girls had hair and makeup, what could the groomsmen be doing? Probably talking about football and tossing back a beer while they waited. Okay, maybe not, but at least they didn’t have—

  “What took you two so long?” a shrill voice asked as Holly pulled open the tent flap.

  —The Mother of the Bride.

  I sighed, but forced my expression to pleasant as I stepped inside. While I’d met Mrs. Greene on only a few occasions, I’d liked her in the past. Today? Not so much. Isn’t it the person actually getting married who gets the free pass to be a bridezilla? Not her mother? Granted, while Tamara’s little brother was married, she was the first girl in the family to get married. Still, the woman had been a hovering micromanager since Holly and I arrived—late, which hadn’t helped.

  Mrs. Greene had curled her lips at the shoes I’d picked out, berated every color I chose for my makeup, and had finally forced me in a chair so Tamara’s sister could redo my hair. When it had been mentioned that the charms needed to be activated in the flowers, Holly and I had jumped at the opportunity to escape the tent. But now we were back.

  “How’s it going?” I asked, hovering near the tent exit. That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as it opened the door for Mrs. Greene to go into a spiel about everything from the bouquets to the fit of Tamara’s dress.

  For her part, Tamara sat serenely in front of the large vanity mirror, apparently unfazed by her mother’s incessant commentary or meticulous administrations with the curling iron. Personally, I would have been cowed, or at least annoyed. But Tamara only sat there, beaming at the room as a whole. A month ago she’d nearly deteriorated into a ghoul as her life force had been drained away. We’d stopped the process, but the experience had turned her normally full-figured, curvy form to one that was skeletally thin. A month’s time to recover had helped, but she was just now barely out of her first trimester of pregnancy, and the unending morning sickness had made it hard for her to regain the weight. But while she was still a little too thin, her honey-colored skin had a glow to it that said she was much healthier.