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“Sure.” Camille scooted over next to me and took my hand. Once again, I realized how completely she’d accepted my transformation. She never blinked, never grimaced, never gave any sign that my death and rebirth had changed her feelings for me. Delilah was still struggling, and I didn’t hold it against her. Kitten was a lot more uncertain about her place in life than Camille was. I squeezed Camille’s hand, gently, and gave her a grateful smile.
“Thanks,” I said, after a moment. “For being a wonderful big sister.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she said, then after another moment, motioned to the room. “So, what are we looking for?”
“The woman who lived here was named Sabele, and she was the bartender before Jocko. The OIA apparently decided she went AWOL and ran home to her family. I’m not so sure. For one thing, Iris and I found her music box and journal. Did she show you?”
Iris shook her head from over in the corner. “Didn’t have time. We barely were finished carting out all the trash by the time you came back.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.” I glanced at Camille. “You can read Melosealfôr, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“That’s what she wrote her journal in,” I said, hopping up to retrieve the diary. I handed it to her. “What do you think?”
She glanced through it. “You say she was an elf?”
“That’s what Peder says. And the clothing backs it up.”
“Hmm . . . that’s odd.” A curious look spread across her face.
“What?”
“It’s just that Melosealfôr is a Crypto language. While a number of elves understand a few words, few actually use it on any regular basis. Mostly Cryptos like unicorns, centaurs, dryads, and naiads speak Melosealfôr, along with all Moon witches pledged to the Coterie of the Moon Mother, but the language isn’t common.” She began to flip through the journal. “You say she vanished?”
“That’s what Peder says. I doubt if she’d leave her journal behind—or this.” I opened the music box and carefully lifted out the necklace, flipping open the locket to show her the photo and the lock of hair.
“Her boyfriend?” Camille frowned, stopping near the back of the journal. She skimmed over a paragraph, then flipped forward a few pages, hunting for something. I watched as she ran her fingers over the delicate calligraphy. “Okay, this is kind of creepy.”
“What?” I put the locket down.
“This,” she tapped her finger on one passage. “She’s talking about being afraid to walk home alone. That she was followed by ‘that man’ again. A few pages back, she wrote that she had the feeling she was being watched.” After a moment, she placed the book on the bench and shook her head.
“Sounds like she had some trouble on her hands. Any mention of whoever it was who was following her?” I had a nagging feeling that the OIA had never bothered to find out what had really happened to Sabele. They’d just assumed she ran off. And maybe they’d assumed wrong.
Camille shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll read through the whole journal by tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll be able to tell you then. Meanwhile, there’s another man mentioned here. Elf, I think, by the name of—”
“Harish?” At her surprised look, I added, “Peder remembered her boyfriend’s name. If you can figure out where he might be, so much the better. Her family name was Olahava.” I suddenly wanted to know what had happened to her. Was she off somewhere having lots of cute little elf babies, or had something bad happened? “What do you think about tracking her down?”
Camille smiled. “She’s gotten under your skin. I can tell. Okay, fine with me, and Delilah loves playing chase. It’s the cat in her.”
I glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. “You should be getting home. Take Iris with you. She looks beat.” The Talon-haltija had curled up on the bed and was softly dozing.
“Right. By the way, while you were out, Delilah called. She found a truck we can borrow tomorrow afternoon. We’ll come down and clear out the junk from the other room while you’re sleeping. She’s at home with Maggie right now.” Camille stood up, brushing off the back of her dress. She hefted the journal in her hand. “You’ve got me curious. And that can only mean one thing. We’re in for trouble.”
I flashed her a smile. “Aren’t we always knee-deep in a dunghill? I’ve had enough cleaning for one night. I’ll follow you down and give Luke a hand at the bar.”
With a laugh, she motioned to Smoky and Morio and gently roused Iris from her slumber. As they headed out the door, I followed. Vampire or not, there were times I was incredibly grateful for my family—both blood kin and extended.
It was five minutes past one when the door opened, and Chase Johnson wandered in. Head of the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigations unit and chief of detectives, he was also my sister Delilah’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. I didn’t give them a snowball’s chance in hell to make it in the long run, but they were determined to try.
Their relationship was one for the Jerry Springer Show. I only say that because unfortunately, Delilah had forced me to sit through way too many episodes during her late-night trash-TV binges. But I watched the show with her because it gave us time together.
Chase sidled up to the bar. Last time he’d paid a late-night visit to the Wayfarer, he’d been covered in blood, and we’d been off and running on the hunt for Dredge. This time, however, he looked reasonably clean and relatively calm. He glanced around the room, then settled himself on a barstool.
“Club soda, no ice,” he said. “Have you seen Turnabout Willy lately?”
I snorted. Turnabout Willy was all human. Perfectly fine when he was sober, when he drank he thought he was Superman. He’d never put himself in enough danger for the courts to lock him up. At least not yet. But Chase worried about him. Why, I didn’t understand and hadn’t asked.
