It occurred to me that I hadn’t prayed before trying to use the untested staff, before going to Londyn’s house, before…anything. And nothing had turned out okay. I’d had a concussion, so…lesson learned. Of course, Ihadprayed before marrying Asshat and that had been a disaster too.
The ambient sound on the other end changed. I sent the conversation to the wall screen and Brandon Robere introduced himself, his face and upper body life-sized. He smiled and said, “Leandro Villetti. You look good. Better than the last time I saw you. It looks as if your skin grew back well.”
Villetti gave a much smaller smile, clearly not happy to begin this conversation in a lesser position of strength. “Thanks to you. I appreciate you keeping me alive and getting me a Mithran Infermieri.”
“Don’t thank me. It was the queen’s orders: keep you alive.”
Villetti’s head jerked up, just the slightest. Mine went up faster, higher. The wooden vase didn’t suggest anyone was lying. And no one had told me about this. “Queen’s orders?” I asked.
“You’ll have to ask her about it,” Brandon said, his dark hair swept back, a morning shadow on his usually clean-shaven face. “For now, Leandro Villetti, lead detective of the Paranormal Investigations Division of Chattanooga—would that be your title?”
“Close enough.” The vase glowed faintly at the lack of full disclosure, though neither of them would see the glow.
“State your full title, please,” Robere said.
Villetti frowned and sat up in his chair. He gave the date andtime, and added, “Newly appointed chief of the Tri-County Paranormal Investigative Bureau, working out of Chattanooga main law enforcement offices, and liaison with PsyLED unit eighteen out of Knoxville.”
The vase said everyone was speaking truth.
I frowned at the cop, putting things together. When Uncle Rick LaFleur had entered the crime scene at Londyn’s house, the two men hadn’t had to introduce themselves. I hadn’t caught it at the time, but the two cops from very disparate levels of law enforcement had already known each other.They had worked together. Sooo. Villetti was bypassing Uncle Ricky-Bo by coming here alone. Bypassing the protocols set in place when the queen’s standard was raised at Londyn’s crime scene. Deliberately I met Villetti’s eyes. Slowly I pushed my chair back from the table, creating a space between us.
“Angelina Everhart-Trueblood, of Clan Yellowrock of the Mithrans,” I said, my heart like a rock in my chest, “godchild to the queen, Princess Angelina Everhart-Trueblood of the Dark Queen’s court. We’ll dispense with my other titles and honors.”
Villetti sighed. “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.” He took out a recording device and tried to click it on. Nothing happened.
Villetti’s eyes went through a series of emotions as he put things together. He rubbed his head, the familiar motions of a headache. Once upon a time I would have offered him a healing amulet to alleviate the symptoms.
“Will my department be offered an unaltered copy of video and audio from this interview?” he asked.
“Of course,” Brandon Robere said, sounding completely sincere. “The queen is always willing to work with law enforcement.” The vase glowed pink.
“You may as well stay handy, Robere,” Villetti said. “I’ll need to chat with EJ as well. Ms. Everhart-Trueblood. Will you walkme through the events as they relate to Londyn Simms from the time she appeared on your security system?”
My voice cold, I detailed the bomb, gave the timeline of finding Londyn dead, finding our client dead, the search of the house, everything up to Villetti’s appearance at Chancy/Cennet’s. No details, only broad strokes, the facts, and only the facts. I stopped.
Villetti nodded, his lips pursed slightly. “And after you left the premises where your client was found dead, where did you go?”
Here we are,I thought.This is what the cop wanted.
I lifted my brows and stared him down. It was an expression I had seen on the face of the Queen’s Consort. I said, “Thatis the queen’s business.”
On the screen, Brandon Robere said, “And that concludes this discussion, Detective—or should I say Chief of TriCoPara?”
“Detective is fine. This interview is ended. Please end recordings and allow me a moment of privacy with Angelina.”
“No.”
Villetti laughed but the sound was painful. “Fine,” he said, standing up. He bowed to me. It was one of the full-court bows used in the queen’s court. In an instant, his posture changed again, becoming that of the carefree college boy I had known and loved so long ago. “Angie. I will pick you up at six. Casual wear. If the weather is still inclement, I’ll bring takeout.” He turned to the screen and said, “Mr. Robere, please send me an escort and inform Evan Everhart-Trueblood that I will be knocking on his door momentarily.” With that, he walked away from me, stepped into his shoes, took his coat from the hat rack, and left the apartment.
Cats followed in his wake and caterwauled at the closed door.Traitors.
“You are having…dinner…with him?” Uncle Brandon’s tone was cautiously amused. And there was that odd pausebefore and after the worddinner. As if he was actually thinking of saying something else. Like,sex.
“Apparently.” I wasn’t sure why it was disturbing that Villetti had informed the queen’s people about us having dinner. I looked away from Brandon’s face to the cats, who were sniffing under the door.Traitors, traitors, everywhere.
Suddenly, the screen bifurcated and on one side was Aunt Jane, in a different room with a different background, pillows and blankets visible around her. “That will be all on this interview, Brandon. Thank you for your service to the queen’s court. We appreciate you taking the interview with Little Evan. My best to Grégoire,” she added, mentioning the Roberes’ vampire blood master.
Brandon lowered his head in a personal, more casual bow than the full-court doo-wop thing Villetti had done. “My queen,” he said. His image vanished.
