Ernie digested that, his wide mouth flattening even more. “Damn. What happened?” After she told him, he shook his head but didn’t look shocked.
“There’s been talk, hasn’t there? If something’s going on, it usually starts here. Nothing gets past you.”
He soaked in her ego strokes, his shoulders widening. “I pick up tidbits.” Then he caught onto her, and his proud expression hardened. “But I stay out of it. Switzerland and all.”
“Ernie, I’m not asking you to take sides. Just pass on the gossip.”
His gaze flicked to the men. “Fringers have been edgy lately. Restless and downright ornery. I heard there’s a big solar storm erupting, and we’re already getting the effects of the flares.”
“We’ve felt the effects of solar storms before, and it didn’t make people kill.”
He hesitated, then relented. “There’s been murmurings, but not about your clan.”
She took a draw of her beer, feeling the rich brew tingle over her tongue and down her throat. Damn. Clan problems again. “What about?”
“Defensive, not offensive.” He leaned across the bar, as casual as could be, and flicked off the peanuts. “Arlo’s not the first Fringer to be whacked lately.”
This was getting worse. “Who?”
Ernie held out his squat fist and flipped out one finger. “Liam Peregrine, killed a week or so ago.” Another finger straightened. “They found something at the scene that pointed to the Wolfrums. So, no surprise that Peter Wolfrum was Breathed two days later.”
She pulled out her phone and put in the names. She had a photographic memory, but hearing information didn’t imprint on her brain worth a damn.
He shifted his gaze to the men by the dartboard, and his voice lowered. “Larry’s grandmother, Shirley, six days ago. I don’t know what they found, if anything, but two days later, Bobby Spears turns up dead.”
No, she didn’t want to be in this place again of tension, hatred, and constant fear. “Bobby is—was a kid!” she hissed. “What, seventeen?”
Ernie nodded, his expression somber. “Good kid, too, for a Fringer, anyway.” Another blunt finger on Ernie’s hand flicked out. Gods, no more. “Dan Murphy, killed two days ago.”
“Breathed?”
“Every one of ’em.”
Her stomach cramped, like a demon had reached right into her insides and twisted her stomach.
“With the history between your clans, could be they thought you did it. Arlo’s death was probably an act of revenge, like some of the others.”
“Did they find evidence?”
Ernie shrugged. “Haven’t heard one way or the other.”
She was cold all over but tried to reveal nothing of what she felt. “We wouldn’t attack another clan unprovoked.” Fringers always had a reason, or at least they believed they had one. “Six murders in ten days. That’s crazy. And scary as hell.” She finished half her beer and set a twenty on the bar.
As she strode over to the Augusts, they snapped to attention. The oldest son scanned her, clearly trying to assess her intent. Come on, like I’m dumb enough to confront four of you?
She kept a table between them and gave Larry, the oldest member present, her attention. “I’m sorry about your grandma.”
Larry narrowed his eyes. “How’d you know?”
The second oldest stepped forward. “Ernie told you, didn’t he?”
“I heard it through the grapevine and was trying to get him to confirm it before I approached you. From the way he tried to pretend ignorance, I figured it was true.”
Larry stuck a wad of chew between his teeth and gum. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”
“I know we didn’t do it. And that she’s not the only one.” The Fringers didn’t go around advertising when they’d lost one of their own. It revealed that your family was now a little weaker. “Sounds like trouble’s brewing again.” She curled her hands over the back of a chair. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Bobby Spears’s death, would you?”
Dragon energy crackled off them. Bren, the youngest and, unfortunately, the one she knew best, stepped forward. “Not a thing, sweetheart. Kid was a jerk. Probably into something or other.” He came around the table and stopped too close for her comfort.
